Angel

self indulgent writing to soothe the soul

[profeshgooner]

"Rep yuh flag nah gyul 🇹🇹"

Blog for all my debauchery. Lots of smut and thirsting. Professional lover of spooky and smutty. Experienced fanfic reader of 5 years. I don't write from experience I fear.

Masterlists 📨 - links to all my work Asks ❔- questions, comments & concerns

[ozzgin]

You've been forced to move out after a stalker encounter, and your new apartment seems too good to be true. Probably because it's rented out by the Japanese mafia. Alas, you're much too desperate to refuse the offer. Besides, your criminal landlord is eager to look after you. Meet Daitou, a terribly peculiar and violent fellow, Kazuya, his charismatic best friend, and Boss, the head of the Family and Daitou's adoptive father.

The game will have three dating options: Daitou, Kazuya, Boss.

The player will be gender neutral with no described appearance

While the game will feature yandere themes, the player is willing and 100% onboard with everything

If you already want to see more of the official character art, as well as future updates, you can check this post on my Patreon. The game and all of its contents, however, will be free for everyone once it's out.

Everything is based on my Yandere Yakuza Series!

[reignpage]

For Extra Credit You Can Hit!!

Synopsis: Toji, the TA, won't bump up your latest essay a couple marks, not with just some begging at least, so you try a different method:

good ol' pussy persuasion

Warnings: toji art by @/youKa.i on insta, smut, porn with a lil plot, nerd!toji, a couple years older than reader but both students, reader harasses him but don't save him he's right where he wants to be, some comedy aspect, college au, non curse au, f!reader, blowjob under the desk, unethical behaviour, fingering, cunnilingus, p in v, briefest choking, sex against the window, pússy inspection, belly bulging, overstimulation, spitting, a little fisting I guess or almost, Toji's poor so this is canon compliant jkjk, creampie and unprotected sex, brief pussyjob, size kink/difference, hidden sex, not proofread Word Count: 10.7k

“For the last time,” he drawls, “I’m not bumping you up a grade.”

You groan, pushing your legs to catch up to him faster.

“Come on, I need this. I’m not asking you to break the rules. All I want is for you to reread my essay and find extra marks, which you will!”

Toji Fushiguro is a tough nut to crack, though he doesn’t look it — one glance at him and one would think he’s a laidback TA. He’s the exact opposite; he takes his job a little too seriously. 

For days now, you’d been hounding him, pleading with him and degrading yourself all for him to ‘remark’ your last paper and ‘coincidentally’ find a few extra marks that would push you to the top performing spot you’d been eyeing since forever. Each time you rushed into his office, waited for him after his classes, and followed him to his apartment, he’d shrugged you off with the same ‘I don’t get paid enough for this’ look in his eyes. 

Rounding the corner, his long legs making no accommodations for your shorter ones, he says, “No. If you wanted better results, you should have put in a better performance. Surely you’re smart enough to work out that that’s how life works.”

Hands grab his arm, yanking back with all your strength only to be dragged along with him and his burly body. Your heels scrape along the floor. People stare. You don’t care. “Don’t be an asshole. You know my essay was good. It was really good. Just give it a read. A proper one, and not the rushed job you do because you’re overworked and underpaid.”

He stops.

Your face bumps into this back, forehead nearly bruised by the hardness. 

His brows rise above his glasses as he fixes you a look. “Kid, your essay was good — decent introduction, clear structure, sufficient evidence — but it’s not good enough for the extra marks to push you into the top band. Your closing argument fell flat ‘cause of your wishy-washy writing style, you didn’t adequately humour the counter arguments and undermine them to strengthen your thesis, and, worst of all, you misspelt ‘complement.’”

A frown graces your features. 

“No, I didn’t. C. O. M. P. L. I. M—”

“No. With an I, it’s to flatter someone. With an E, it’s to enhance, pair well, or complete another thing.” Toji explains rather robotically, eyes still dead and voice monotone. “For example, if I said you’re a pretty girl, that’s a compliment. And if I said, your essay goes well with the trashcan over there, that’s a statement that suggests the two complement each other. See the difference?”

He’s already stalking off again, hands in his pockets, huge stature unwilling to accommodate the people walking down the hallway. 

You break into a jog, panting embarrassingly by the time you reach him. “Dude, we’ve known each other for three years. We’ve gone through a lot together. We’re basically friends. Can’t you do your best pal a solid?”

Toji glances down at you. He pushes a door open, holding it a second longer than he needed to. You follow behind him. Somewhat amused, he replies, “We know each other because we’re on the same course, not by choice. And I don’t know what you mean by the whole ‘we’ve gone through a lot together’ thing — the most dramatic thing we’ve faced is when the projector didn’t work and we had to go into a different hall. And we’re definitely not friends.”

Well, fuck, you’re running out of rope. 

“Then, let’s officially be friends,” you offer, elbowing him gently. “If you ever need help, buddy, I’ll always have your back.” Then, in an act of complete desperation, you begin shakily singing, “You’ve got a friend in me. You’ve got a friend in me. When the road looks tough ahead—”

A heavy hand shoves you away by your head. You stumble into a bulletin board.

“Enough,” he gruffs. “My day’s already fucked because the prof lost his papers and wants to blame me. I don’t need to lose my hearing on top of that.”

Your head flits around. “Did you guys see that?” People give you weird looks. “He just shoved me. The TA just shoved me. We need to protest his violent behaviour by demanding he remarks our papers. Who’s with me?”

Everyone walks past without another look at you.

Toji, on the other hand, lifts his glasses and runs a hand down his face. Muttering something under his breath, he pushes a door open and holds out a hand before you can mindlessly follow. “It’s the men’s bathroom. Tell me you’re not shameless and stupid enough to come in here.”

“I’ll wait outside.”

His eye twitches. 

As though an idea comes to him, he straightens ever so slightly. “I’m gonna take a dump; you’ll be waiting a while.”

“That’s okay — I have no more classes so take your time but make sure you don’t stay sitting down longer than you need to,” you tell him, smiling innocently and standing aside to let a guy walk out, ignoring the freaked out face he makes at you. “You can get hemorrhoids."

He groans. “Jesus fucking Christ, woman.” 

That seems to be as much of you he can tolerate because he walks in without another word to you. Opposite the door, you lean against the wall, whistling and coming up with alternative lines you can pull on him. 

God, he’s so stubborn. 

It’s not like giving you the marks docks his pay or lowers the professor’s opinion of him. He’s clearly just being an ass. 

If he wasn’t such a good TA, a genuinely intelligent man, you would have gone above his head and asked for the prof’s personal assessment. But no, he has to be knowledgeable, a helpful source of information when you’re lost, someone who seems to know everything about any topic, who knows the exact pages of a textbook you should read to further your understanding, and who’s never declined a meeting for clarification on something you wrote. 

For years now, you two have had a friendship-like relationship, often sharing snacks and exchanging brief words before or after lectures and classes, despite what he says.

Everyone gets along with him, though you’ve never actually seen him hang out with friends or go to parties. Maybe he doesn’t have any. Word on the street is he works part time in a couple different places. Some say so he can afford drugs, some for tuition. 

The rumours never interested you, apart from any that mused about his love life, which seems to be nonexistent except for the many girls who hit on him. Not that you’re especially interested.

It’s just fun to be in the know.

Who knows how long has passed since he went in there. Your phone says fifteen minutes. Is that a normal amount of time for someone to be taking a dump?

Hesitantly, you push the door open and yell out, “Fushiguro? You doing okay? Is it stuck? For a couple extra marks, I’ll give you a hand.”

No one replies. 

Brows furrowing, you bend down, looking through the stalls. No feet. What the hell?

Ahead, a window is ajar. Big enough for a man to squeeze through. Well isn’t that convenient? The kind of convenient that exists only in fiction.

Aggrieved and feeling bamboozled, you stomp back to your dorm room, slamming the door, jumping face down on the bed and screaming into the pillows. You’d feel better if you knew he had a grudge on you, if you bumped into him the first day and spilled his coffee all over himself and he’d never forgotten it. Instead, he’s just like that: does things by the book, does his job well, and achieves the best grades with ease. 

Naturally, he’d become the professor’s assistant, a coveted position that seemed like it was made for him from the very beginning, and made your life a living hell because he won’t ever make concessions for you.

Sure, you shouldn’t ask him to, but it’s not like you’re asking for much. You’re generally a high performing student — punctual, hard working, ambitious — but you had one bad day which resulted in one bad essay and it lowered your average and now the internship you’d been eyeing could be snatched from your hands in a blink of an eye. 

“It’s just not fair,” you cry out to your teddy bear. “It’s three marks. Three! Would it kill him to reread my essay and find those three marks?”

Mr. Teddy stares back at you and says, “He’s a grumpy man. Don’t take it personally.”

You sit up, blinking and processing his reply.

“Teddy…you’re right. He is a grumpy man, a TA with broad shoulders, yummy arms, and thick thighs with a bubble butt, but a man nonetheless. If he won’t pull favours for me, student to student, maybe he’ll pull favours for me man to woman.”

The plushie falls to the bed as you stand, staring at yourself in the mirror and formulating a plan. 

With that you decide to seek him out the next day, sporting a new outfit and a different attitude.

.

.

.

“Hi.”

“Fuck off.”

The cafeteria’s busy. It always is. It’s loud enough that most people wouldn’t even hear the exchange — chairs banging on tile, trays clattering, someone laughing too loudly at a table nearby. 

Toji’s hunched slightly over a bowl of udon noodles, chopsticks moving lazily as he slurps them down. Some sports clip plays on his phone, propped against his dented metal water bottle. Commentators yell about something you don’t understand. His sleeves are pushed up over his forearms, revealing ropey muscle and the faint silvery line of an old scar running across his wrist.

An old hoodie hangs off his shoulders over a plain white T-shirt. Distressed jeans, worn sneakers. He’s too big for the plastic chair, long legs spread under the table. When he saw you approach, his feet had hooked onto the chair legs, forcing you to fight to remove it from his clutches so you could take a seat.

So damn rude.

His glasses have fogged slightly from the steam of the noodles.

He doesn’t look up. But he knows it’s you. You can tell by the way his mouth tightens for half a second before he goes back to eating.

You snatch his phone away. His green eyes flick up, annoyed. You smile, arms pushing your breasts together so they spill over your tight top. Toji’s gaze doesn’t waver. He continues to stare at you like you’re a pest. 

“You can’t take no for an answer?” he asks though it’s not a question at all. “Might want to retake the consent course.”

Manicured fingers walk up his bare forearm before scratching down from his elbow. His skin is warm. Light dusting of hair tickling your fingertips. “Oh, Toj, have I ever told you how handsome you are? Because you really are. You’re so damn hot I can hardly focus on the lectures.”

He snorts, still eating his noodles and still refusing to look at your cleavage. “That’ll explain why you’re missing marks.”

Jaw dropping, you force yourself to recover quickly. A heeled foot brushes against his calf, sliding his jeans up. You bat your lashes, sultrily saying, “The only thing I’m missing is your cock in me, big boy.”

Toji meets your eyes again. His scarred lips twitch. “I don’t need to tell you that was bad, do I?”

You cringe, foot dropping and whole body slumping back into the chair. “Yeah, I heard it as soon as I said it.” Then you sit up, handing him his phone, and asks, “Are the noodles good? I’ve never had them.”

Phone pocketed, he shrugs. “They’re just the cheapest deal on the menu. Growing girl like you should get something more filling.”

The menu’s extensive, and the only thing sticking out to you is the chicken burger and chicken tenders meal deal. It seems to be especially popular today but you’re not sure you can finish the whole thing. 

“Hey, if I get the Meal Super Cluck Blaster, will you share it with me? I’ve got dinner plans later so I don’t want to fill up.”

That finally gets a reaction. Toji leans back a little and gives you a slow once-over. Tight top. Lacy bra peeking up. Glossy lips. More jewellery than usual. His eyebrow lifts. “That why you’re dressed like a hooker?” he asks lazily. “Hot date?”

“Nah,” you reply, waving him off. “Wore this for yo— Wait.” You lean forward, staring at him wide eyed. “Are you jealous? Are you in love with me already? Because for extra marks, I’ll cancel my dinner plans and promise myself to you for all eternity.”

Toji rolls his eyes. “Go get something to eat; you sound insane.”

You hop up. “Okay, but stay there, alright? Take my burger because I only want the tenders. Oh, and will you share a pot of cheesecake with me? I’m lactose-intolerant but I really want cheesecake right now.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

He’s still here when you come back. 

As soon as you hand him the wrapped up burger, he scarfs it down the way big men do, like they haven’t eaten in days. You push him the tenders too. You’d actually gotten a double serving of everything so you have your own portion of tenders and he gets to eat another burger. There’s no way a man his size could survive on udon noodles.

“Also, let’s not act like you didn’t leave me hanging outside the men’s bathroom yesterday,” you bring up after sipping your juice. “Can’t believe you left through the bathroom window just so you could get away from me.”

“I didn’t,” he says, mouth full and adjusting his glasses. 

You frown, dipping a piece of chicken in hot honey. “No, you definitely did. I peeked and there were no feet in any of the stalls. Unless you’re telling me you can grow invisible.”

“Just lifted my legs when I heard you come in, which I knew your crazy ass would do, so I could finally leave in peace. Didn’t think it’d take you fifteen minutes though.”

A laugh escapes you. “You were waiting me out? Does that sound like the mature thing to do? Jeez, you need to act your age.”

Toji’s eyes meet yours. Your smile falters for the briefest second. “I’m not that much older than you,” he reminds you. “Only by two years.”

“And yet you call me kid or kiddo,” you retort, clearing your throat. Have his eyes always been that green and deep? And is his voice usually that husky and masculine? Because you could have sworn guys your age don’t sound like that.

He shrugs again, second burger finished in a blink of an eye. “Never hurts to remind yourself.”

“Remind yourself what?”

The legs of his chair screech as he pushes it back. He stands, picking up his tray, and answers, “Forget about it. Enjoy your dinner plans. And I’m taking the cheesecake — no one wants a gassy date.”

“Wait,” you call out before he can turn away. “My marks?”

A pat on the head ruffles your hair. 

“Still a no, kid.”

.

.

.

“What if I suck your dick?”

Toji lifts his glasses to rub at his eyes. “I’ve got a ton of papers to grade for another class; I don’t have time for you.”

The door shuts behind you. His office is bare, not a single decoration littering the place, not a plant nor a picture. 

His office is exactly how you remember it — disappointingly, aggressively empty. The walls are a dull institutional beige that makes the overhead fluorescent light feel even harsher. No posters. No photos. Not even a sad little plant struggling for life in the corner.

Just a desk. A filing cabinet. Two chairs that look like they were stolen from a waiting room. It’s the kind of office someone occupies temporarily, like he expects to leave at any moment and doesn’t see the point in settling in.

Leaning against the desk anyway, your fingers drum lazily along the edge.

You’ve been here before: once to argue about a paper he’d shredded with red ink, once because you’d missed an exam and needed him to sign a form, and once because you’d sworn you heard him swearing loud enough to be heard halfway down the hallway.

You grip his shoulder, squeezing as you scan the fat stack of papers on his desk — the prof’s particular about handwritten essays. There’s so much to read through; you do not want to be him. 

“God,” you mutter, flipping through a few pages of the stack. “There’s like fifty here.”

“Seventy-two,” Toji corrects without looking up. His handwriting is sharp and aggressive, red ink slashing through entire paragraphs like he’s committing academic murder. You wince in sympathy for whoever wrote the paper currently being dismantled.

“Good thing you can multitask, can’t you? I’ll suck your dick under the desk, you grade papers, and you bump me up a grade. Easy.”

He shrugs you off, hulking body hunched over and pen scratching on the papers, leaving harsh circles and comments like, ‘what the hell does this mean?’ and ‘you can’t just say perchance.’ 

Toji gruffs, “I’m serious. Take your jokes elsewhere.”

Nah, you think to yourself. 

With a massive struggle against his weight, you yank his chair back, wheeling him a distance from the desk and clambering under before he can fill the space again. He makes some noise above you but you pay him no mind. Your hands rest on his meaty thighs through his sweatpants, marvelling at the density, at the strength you find in them. 

“You’re fucking ridiculous.” His foot nudges your knee. “Get the fuck out. I’ll cropdust you if I have to.”

You call his bluff by clutching his clothed cock. He jolts, grunting. Laughing softly, you muse, “You say all that but you have a semi already — did my proposition get you hard, Toji?”

You’re rubbing his hard on, trying not to get flustered by how big he feels, and how fat the girth is. Of course he’s big. In hindsight, you really shouldn’t have been so surprised; he’s a big man so naturally the proportions will match up. 

“Suck my dick, don’t suck my dick, it doesn’t matter,” he says, sighing and probably pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re not getting those marks.”

He thinks that’ll stave you off because he knows you’re whoring yourself out for a grade. What he doesn’t know is that your stupid little brain’s already forgotten about all of that the moment you felt his cock. Now all you can think about is how you’ll have to stretch your lips nice and wide to take him in, and even then, even when your throat is lax and loose, you won’t be able to take him to the base. 

Toji grunts again, peering down at you. “You mouthing at my dick? Did’ya not hear what I said?”

Like you’ve been possessed, you press kisses to where his tip is, humming around it. “I heard, but your dick’s saying other things to me, and I know which I prefer to listen to.”

“My dick’s not marking your paper, so get the fuck up,” he growls.

“Don’t wanna.”

“You’re fucking killing me here.”

A heavy hand bundles your hair up, pulling but you fight against it, hooking your fingers under the waistband and releasing him from the constraints. His boxers have a hole, and yet you only find it endearing. Freeing his cock so it bounces up and smacks your cheek, it leaves a wet mark on your skin. 

Tutting, he wipes away the wetness from your skin. 

Oh fuck, he really is big. 

With nothing between you and his dick, you can see him in all his glory in the partial shadow of under his desk — long, thick, flushed red, already shiny at the slit, veiny as hell, hairs at the base wild and unruly, with weighty balls to match. You’ve never seen anything better. 

Tongue out, you lick him from base to tip, prodding at his frenulum.

“Quit it,” he commands through gritted teeth. 

You moan wantonly, already addicted to the salt on his kin, to the texture of his veins, to the softness of his cockhead. “Toji, you’re so big. I don’t think this’ll fit inside me.”

The thing throbs, bobbing. A droplet oozes out and you quickly lick it up. The hand that was pulling your hair has grown slack, simply resting on the back of your head, keeping you from bumping the wood. 

Voice hoarse, he mutters, “If anyone can make it fit, it’ll be your stubborn ass.”

Your eyes meet his from under the desk, mischief sparkling in them you’re sure. His cock throbs again. “I thought you had papers to mark, Fushiguro. Maybe you should get on that, no?”

A calloused thumb presses down on your lips, shushing you. It slides down, bringing your bottom lip down with it, before releasing it so it’ll bounce back in place. That same thumb holds your jaw open, hand guiding your mouth to his tip. You know what he wants. You also know that he knows that you both know that you won this time. 

Wide as you can, you take as much of his length as possible. You don’t get much further than a third of the way, full beyond belief and overwhelmed by just how much of him there still is. Your nails dig into his thighs.

“If this is supposed to convince me to give you extra marks, then you’re failing real hard, doll,” he notes, gripping the base. “Can barely fit the head, can you?”

He’s acting like it’s your fault he’s so big. 

Challenged, you loosen your throat to take him an inch deeper. You gag around the length. Toji curses under his breath. “Careful,” he mutters. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

You ignore him in favour of shallowly bobbing, sucking and licking what you can, as though he’s a lollipop. It’s actually kinda fun.

The familiar sound of pen scratching on paper and paper rubbing on paper echoes in the relatively quiet office. Only the wet sounds of your mouth sucking his cockhead pierces the silence. 

Growing more and more used to his size, you flick your tongue around the head, letting your hands wrap around the rest of him, squeezing and tugging in time with your mouth. Occasionally, he makes a couple breathy noises — low grunts when your tongue laps up his tip, gravelly groans when you hollow your cheek to suck, and rough exhales through his nose when you grip his balls, massaging them, thumb rubbing the seam. 

It becomes easier to forget why you were here in the first place; you’re just blowing him for your own entertainment now, wanting something to occupy your throat. 

Then, he asks, as though he’s making casual conversation, “How was the date?”

“Hmm?”

Toji rolls his eyes. “The date,” he repeats. “How was it? He pay for the meal? Open doors, see you to your door, kiss you goodnight and shit?”

Your lips stretch into a smile. You release him with a pop! “I didn’t go on a date,” you tell him. “My friends hosted a housewarming party because they moved in together. I had a great time, thanks for asking.”

Is he pleased? Unaffected? Genuinely just making conversation? Hard to tell, except for the pushing of his hand, urging you back to his dick, and taking him further inside your throat, till his tip bumps the back of the gummy walls. 

“Good,” he exhales out, thighs flexing around your body. “That’s real good.”

“My blowjob skills or that I had a great time?” you ask, words muffled and barely understandable.

“Both,” he answers. “Both, doll.”

A knock on the door has you both stiffening. Toji glares down at you and whispers, “It’s the prof. Do not make a sound.”

He didn’t need to tell you that — you’re well aware that if you get caught, you’ll both face disciplinary action, and will likely be kicked out of the university. That’s worse than not getting the internship. 

The office falls quiet so suddenly you can hear the ticking of the wall clock. Toji’s hand tightens briefly against the desk as the knock comes again. “Come in,” he calls, voice steady.

The door opens before he even finishes the word.

“Ah, Fushiguro, there you are,” the professor says, stepping inside with a stack of papers tucked under one arm. “I wasn’t sure if you’d left already.”

From your position under the desk, you can only see shoes. Polished leather. Slow steps across the floor. You don’t slide his cock out of your throat, lest it makes a sloppy noise that’ll give you both away. So you breathe through your nose, being very, very quiet.

“No, I was just finishing up some grading,” Toji replies, cool as a cucumber.

His tone is annoyingly normal. Completely unbothered. He’s really convincing. Has he done this before? Is this a normal occurrence? Do a lot of girls offer to blow him for better marks, and does he take them up on it? Are you the one exception to his generosity? 

“Good, good.” Papers shuffle. A chair creaks as the professor sits across from the desk. “I actually wanted to ask about the research methods essays.”

Of course he did.

You squeeze your eyes shut.

Toji shifts slightly above you — just enough that the movement brushes your shoulder — and then he leans back in his chair. “Yeah?” he says.

“I noticed something odd in the submissions this year,” the professor continues. “Half the class seems to misunderstand the section on sampling bias.”

He hums thoughtfully. “You mean where they’re supposed to explain the limitations of convenience sampling?”

“Exactly.”

A sheet of paper slides across the desk.

“You see this one here—”

From below, you hear Toji pick it up.

“—they describe the method correctly, but their conclusion contradicts their own analysis.”

There’s a pause whilst the TA reads. You stare at the underside of the desk and try not to shift your knees. God, this is like torture. Having a cock lodged in your throat and not being able to do anything with it is hell. Above the desk, they’re chatting away, talking about your fellow students, with the professor none the wiser that one such student’s under the desk. 

“Yeah,” he says after a moment. “They’re treating correlation like it proves causation.”

“Precisely!” the professor says, sounding delighted. “It’s surprisingly common.” Another pause. You hear a pen tap the desk twice. “I was thinking next year we might restructure the lecture slightly,” the professor continues. “Maybe introduce a short case study before the assignment.”

“Could work,” Toji replies. “Give them something concrete, tangible, to analyse.”

Your legs are starting to cramp. Your lips tighten around his hot cock. Toji brushes your hair back from your face, a quiet act to show he hasn’t forgotten about you. The professor keeps talking, completely unaware.

“Also,” he says, shuffling more papers, “the literature review sections were stronger this year.”

“Mm.”

“I suspect the workshop helped.”

Toji lets out a quiet huff that might be agreement.

“You handled that well, by the way,” the professor adds. “The students seem to respond to your feedback.”

This is way too boring, you decide. In an act you might end up regretting for the rest of your life, your offended tongue prods his tip where he’s still leaking salty precum. 

He grunts, knee crashing up on the wood. 

The professor asks him if he’s alright, and Toji replies, “Fine. Sorry. Just had a cramp.”

A triumphant smile pulls at your lips, which is quickly wiped away by the sudden pinch at your cheek. You wince, unable to smack him in retaliation. 

A sigh fills the room. “I fear you work too hard, Fushiguro. You ought to take a break here and there. Do something fun and wild, or whatever it is people your age do nowadays.”

“I am having fun,” Toji says, hand coming back to rest on your head, growing heavier and heavier until you’re forced to take him inside your mouth, deeper and deeper. “In my own way.”

He’s filling you up more than he was before, now more insistent, no longer so passive. You’re struggling to take him but he’s not letting up. Fuck, you’re soaked between the legs. Who knew you had an oral fixation?

“Well, good,” the professor says. He pushes his chair back. Your heart jumps in joy. “I won’t keep you any longer, I know those papers won’t mark themselves. Boy do I not envy you.” He laughs. “Enjoy the rest of your day.”

“You too, Professor.”

Footsteps move toward the door. The handle turns. The door opens. Closes. Silence. Two seconds pass.

Then Toji peers down, licking his scarred lips, and mutters under his breath, “You needy fucking girl. Couldn’t wait, could you? Couldn’t resist not being a pain my fucking ass. If you want cock so badly, then here you go.”

His hips thrust up, hand keeping you in place. Your eyes fly open, throat stretching to take all of him in. Oh, he was as pent up, as frustrated, as you were. The force in which he’s rutting inside your throat displays that nice and clear. 

“You’ll do anything for a good grade, won’t you? Even debase yourself like this. God, you drive me crazy.”

You gag around his cock but he doesn’t pay any mind to that. No, Toji’s just rutting inside your mouth over and over again, grunting louder and louder now. 

Meanwhile, your hand seeks out the heat between your legs. You grind against the heel of your palm, moaning around his length. The vibration has his balls tightening up.

“Fuck!”

Hot cum bursts inside, coating the walls of your throat and your tongue. 

Toji leans back in his chair, which creaks. You pull him out, coughing at the salty burn. Damn, even his loads are big. It’s like a cream puff exploded inside your mouth. 

Hands carry you up, sitting you on his thigh. One rubs your back in circles, the other wipes away the tears at your eyes, licking at the wetness he’s collected on his thumb. “You good, kid?” he asks, brows furrowed. 

“Yeah,” you respond, voice hoarse and not fooling anyone. “I’m good.”

You take a sip of his water from his water bottle, not caring about the fact that you’re drinking from where he had been, and if he cared that your mouth which had been sucking on his dick and cum is on his cup, he didn’t say.

He sighs, tucking himself back in and says, “Come by my place tonight. Hand me your essay again and I’ll reread it. But I’m not making any promises about finding extra marks, alright? It’s just a second chance, and the only one you’ll get.”

Dopily, you smile at him. “Throat game that good, huh?”

His lips twitch. He shoves you away, smacking your ass as you walk away.

“I’ll text you the time and place. Don’t be late.”

Nodding, you head for the door, not leaving however till you ask, “Should I wear matching underwear, or is this a strictly keep your clothes on meeting?”

“Fuck off before I regret it.”

“Lacy thong it is!”

.

.

.

“Should I spread my legs now or do you want me to fluff you first?”

Toji’s deadpan face meets you when he opens the door. He sighs as though he’s regretting this already. Regardless, he lets you in. 

You can tell he showered recently — there’s the scent of cheap soap lingering on his skin and his hair is still a little damp. 

His apartment is nice and clean, which surprises you somewhat. Most guys your age tend to be messy. But you should have known the TA would be neat and organised. 

“I’m serious,” you begin, snuggling up to his side and batting your lashes up at him, “what position do you want me? I’m not the most flexible but I’m not too bad.”

Shaking you off, he pushes you in the direction of the living room where the coffee table is covered with carefully laid out papers he no doubt carried from campus to continue working on. “Go sit down, you horny gremlin. Make some room for your essay and let’s get this over with.”

You do as he says, folding your legs so you can sit by the coffee table on the rug. You take the essay out of your bag, shoving all the others to the side. With a frown, you ask, “So we’re really not fucking?”

He folds himself down too, sitting beside you, knee brushing yours. “I don’t solicit sex in exchange for academic favours. Dunno why you’re so surprised by that — can’t recall having done anything to make you think otherwise.”

“Well, you did give in after I blew you, so…”

“I was gonna offer before you did all that,” he informs you, snorting. “Just never promised to give you the marks.”

Toji adjusts his glasses, taking your papers and starting his reassessment of it. His lips purses, brows furrows, and he stares at the thing like it could tell him the answers to the universe. That or it’s so bad he just can’t fathom what you were thinking. 

“Second paragraph, third line, why the hell is it so convoluted?” he asks, voice returning to that grumpy tone you’re more than familiar with now.

It’s the latter, it would seem. He really meant business. You shaved and everything for nothing. What a shame. 

Leaning over, you rest your head on his big bicep, and, with a pout, reply, “I thought it sounded smart; I was pretty proud of that line actually.”

“No, doll,” Toji says, sighing. “The simpler the better. Don’t purposefully complicate your syntax. Only do what’s necessary to get the point across. If I, an expert in this topic, can barely understand what you mean, how is the ordinary person supposed to?”

“Yeah, okay. Simple is better, I get it.”

He continues reading, red pen in hand and making annotations as he goes. Meanwhile, you’re worming your way into his lap: one hand resting on his thigh at first, then a leg thrown over his. He notices what you’re doing — there’s no way he doesn’t know — but he doesn’t put up a fight. Eventually, you’re sitting in his lap, his chin resting on your head, and his arms caging you in. 

Toji’s warm. He’s comfy to rest on despite all the muscles. Closer now, his soapy scent envelops you. It goes straight to your head. You find yourself squirming. 

“Keep still,” he reprimands, underlining a phrase twice for emphasis. “You can’t just use jargon if you’re not going to explain it. It’s bad practice.”

“Got it.” Fiddling with his spare hand, running your fingers down his and over his palm, you ask, “Are academics supposed to have calluses?”

“They bother you or something?”

“No, not at all. I’m just curious.”

He hums. “I do odd jobs here and there, some more manual than others so yeah I built up some calluses.” Without missing a beat, he pivots the topic. “Tell me again what the difference is between compliment and complement.”

You bring that hand up to your breast, imploring him to grope your tits as you reply, “With an I is to praise someone or something, and with an e is to say something matches well with another.”

A moan escapes your lips when he squeezes in approval. Toji mutters, “Good girl. Guess you do listen to me.” Thumb brushing your hardened nipple through the thin material of your top, you squirm in his lap. His lips move against the top of your head. “No bra?”

“I figured you were going to take it off me anyway so I didn’t bother,” you say, still pressing his hand to your tit, riding the motions of every grope and flick of your nipple. 

Another hum. 

Slowly, you guide that hand down lower. He must know what you’re doing, where you want it to end up, but he doesn’t stop you, doesn’t reprimand or put up any resistance; he’s curious to see how far you’re willing to go. And you’re curious to see how much restraint he has, how long he can hold out before his façade of nonchalance breaks and he’s fucking up inside you.

You tease yourself, and him, first — his fingers, with your guidance, tease your bare thighs, following the hem of your tight skirt. Growing breathless, you ask, “What kind of odd jobs do you do?”

Toji’s calluses tickle the sensitive skin in your inner thighs just right. He’s still marking your paper, occasionally fact-checking your ideas and his theories in a textbook on the table. Amused, he retorts, “You curious about me, doll?”

“Hmm, I want to know exactly whose cock will be stretching me out in a minute.”

He snorts, patting your clothed pussy. You jolt with every impact. “I tutor on the side. Fix up some cars in the garage in town. I’m a physical trainer for three clients at the local gym too. And when I’m low on money, I sell risqué pictures of myself. That disgust you?”

All while he answers, Toji’s blunt nails scrape your slit through your panties. He’s not applying much pressure at all, if any, and yet every skim, every travel up and down has goosebumps rising on your skin.

“N-no,” you answer quickly. “I think that’s really cool. If I had a body like yours, I’d take pictures all the time too.”

His laughter rumbles in his chest. An odd sense of pride warms your own. He says, “Your body’s more than good enough to sell too, you know. Don’t act like you don’t know guys give you double takes all the time, or that your ass could stop traffic.”

Giggling, you lean back, gazing up at him with a smile. “Do you stare at my ass sometimes, Toji?”

God, you’re soaked. You can tell, though you’re not embarrassed whatsoever. If anything, you’re just itching for him to pull your panties to the side and touch you skin to skin, to plunge inside your pussy and make a mess out of you.

“Tell me where you can, and should, insert a semi-colon in paragraph six, and I’ll give you an honest answer.” 

He nudges you with his chin. “Go on. Quit thinking with your pussy and give me the right answer.” A little aggrieved, you sit up straight, holding his wrist to keep his hand between your legs. Your eyes scan the section. Tentatively, you point to a full stop on the second line. Toji shakes his head and smacks your clothed pussy again. “Try again, and don’t guess.”

“Here,” you snarl, feeling way past pent up. “Now give me my reward.”

Toji huffs. “Semi-colons help for varying sentence structures. It’s in the little ways you can convey your points compellingly. Don’t underutilise the right punctuations.”

“Yeah, yeah, smarty pants. Rub my clit and answer my question already.”

Cool air brushes against your swollen, glistening lips. You sigh when his warm hand covers the entire slit barely a second later. His middle fingers are instantly coated in your wetness. He groans. “Fuck, doll, you’re dripping.” Toji doesn’t give you a moment to respond to that; his fingers rub at your throbbing clit in tight circles, drawing it out of his hood. You moan, back arching. 

Finally, he answers, “I stare at your ass all the fucking time after I glare at the losers whose eyes wander from their laptop screens . I’m a big, fucking hypocrite — that what you wanna hear?”

“Fuck yes!”

Rustling of paper reaches your ears. Then two hands are on you: one furiously rubbing the bundle of nerves and the other gripping your throat. He squeezes threateningly. Your vision spots, jaw dropping. “Look at you, all desperate to have my cock inside you. And for what? For a couple marks? You’re not ashamed?”

Your ass is grinding back on his boner, sandwiching the hard thing between your cheeks as your own answer. How could you be ashamed when he wants you so bad too?

“I’m horny! Are you gonna fuck me or not?”

In a split second, you find your world spinning. Your back falls on something hard. You’re staring up at the ceiling, papers scattered beneath you. Rough hands tug you down by your thighs. When you peer down, Toji’s staring up at you from between your lips.

“Yeah, I’m fucking you. You already knew I was gonna. You gonna let me taste your pussy first?” A challenging brow quirks up, like he’s waiting for you to push him away. 

Instead, your legs hook over his shoulders, ankles crossed. You grin at him.

Panties pulled to the side, his fingers spread your pussy for him. Those eyes scan every inch. He releases a shaky breath, cheeks flushed and Adam’s apple bobbing. “Even your pussy’s pretty. Fucking gorgeous.” Running a hand through his hair, he says, “You’re always such a pain, aren’t you?”

“I can’t help that every part of me’s pretty,” you reply, twirling your hair.

“Shut up and play with your tits — I like a show with my dinner.” Toji spits a fat dollop right on your clit. It slides down your slit but before it can disappear in the crevice of your ass, his tongue is collecting it and shoving it inside your cunt. 

You gasp. “Fuck, Toji!”

In spite of his aggressive tone, you pull down your top, letting your tits bounce out. Those eyes follow every jiggle. “Good girl,” he rasps. “Squeeze them for me nice and hard. Good. Real fucking good.”

His glasses are foggy now with your own humidity, rattling with every movement. He’s eating your pussy out like he’s starved, like he’s never tasted anything better, like he’s going to make sure not a single trace of you can be found in his apartment after he’s done with you. 

Growling, he spread your thighs wider. “Course you’ve got a sweet pussy,” he says, brows furrowing in what appears to be anger. “Course it’s sweeter than that fucking cheesecake. Course I’ll be craving you till I die.”

Fingers tangle in his hair, tugging for purchase. “Ngh, Toji, my clit…suck my clit!”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Those scarred lips, the very ones you’ve stared at more times than you can count, wrap around your clit, sucking hard the way you did when you were blowing him under the desk. Electricity sparks inside, sending tremors up from your lower belly to your tits to the very tips of your fingers. “Oh fuck, that’s so good.”

Filthy squelches are being wrung out of you, and you know he’s doing it on purpose, addicted to how responsive your body is to him.

Two fingers worm their way through your pulsing hole, basking in the rough textures of your entrance, stretching your gummy walls on their way to curling against that spot that has you oozing more cum out. 

“You’re fucking tight,” he hisses. “You’re gonna struggle taking all of me later.” Then he barks a laugh, spare hand pressing down on your belly where the pressure builds up. Your toes curl. “A better man would take pity on you, go slow or wait another day, but I’ve already had my tongue inside your cunt so I’ll spare you the gentleman act.”

More fingers shove in, ignoring the screech that you let out. You’ve never had more than two and yet all four of his thicker, longer fingers are inside pushing your walls to their very limits. 

Despite that, he remarks, entertained by the shock on your face which he studies through his glasses, “Suck it up, buttercup — my cock’s thicker than this, you know that.”

You do. 

It’s all you’ve been thinking about all day. Hours after, your jaw’s still stretched out, sore and creaking after the workout you put it through. The thought of having something even thicker, longer than his four fingers has you growing dizzy, head handing over the coffee table.

“Yeah, my cock can’t wait to feel you too,” Toji says, not to you but to your pussy which is squelching lewdly and loudly. “Had to resist jerking my dick raw all day so you better make it good for me.”

Is it seconds later, or minutes, maybe hours, when you cum?

How ever long it is no one can deny it’s the strongest orgasm of your life. 

Your entire body trembles, spasming beyond control. Are you screaming or silently moaning? Are your eyes shut or have you gone blind? And is he still pistoning his fingers inside you, damn near pushing all of his hand in? 

“Stop,” you cry out. “No more, please!”

Mercifully, he yanks his hand out. Unfortunately, it leaves you feeling so empty you immediately crave the feeling of his hand gripping you from inside. 

Lips and chin glistening, he kisses both inner thighs, which tremble. 

Toji gathers you with one arm, showing off his strength as he carries you off the table and to the glass door which leads out to the balcony. It’s dark out and all you can see are the lights of people’s rooms in the apartment across. There are families lounging, dogs sleeping, TV’s blaring. 

Behind you, you hear the rustling of his shirt as he throws it off carelessly. Bare skin grazes your own soon after his hands make quick work of the clothes you’re still wearing. In a flash, you’re naked. He bends down to pick up your fallen panties, inhaling the gusset deeply. Your legs cross tightly at the deeply satisfied groan he lets out. 

“Next office hour,” he starts, lazily spreading your pussy lips and smearing your juices around so he can listen to the squelches and keep your squirming, “you better leave your panties with me. Consider it payment.”

You laugh. “Sure.”

Groggily, you try to keep your head up, wondering what you’re doing by the window, still a little out of it. A hand clutches your jaw, aiding you. 

“I’m gonna fuck you against this window,” he announces, leaving no room for arguments. “You want those extra marks? Then you’re gonna be a good girl and take my cock like a champ.”

Ass gyrating back against the hot, heavy thing still confined in sweatpants, you wonder, “Do you have an exhibitionism kink?”

He lets go of you. You have to catch yourself by pressing your palms to the cold glass. Toji drags your hips back, foot kicking your legs apart. His cock plops onto your ass, scalding. “No, I have a ‘get my time’s worth from shameless women who waste my time with demands for better grades by humiliating them’ kink.”

“Sounds long. We should get that shortened,” you drawl.

His cockhead slides through your pussy, coating itself in your wetness. The fat thing bumps against your clit. You shudder. 

Satisfied with your natural lubrication, he prods your entrance. “Yeah, we should. Let’s call it, Shut The Fuck Up And Take It.”

Then he enters you in one go.

You scream.

The window fogs up with your breath. Your eyes roll to the back of your head. 

You’re taking so much of his length so quickly that it should be painful. Despite that, there’s not an ounce of pain, not one you didn’t like at least — only the overwhelming pleasure of being filled up is resonating. 

Toji grunts. “Almost had to fist this cunt and you’re -hah fuck- still too tight.”

Pummelling his cock in, his hips don’t pause for a second. You gasp for breath, palms slipping and sliding on the condensation that’s built up on the glass. It’s like you can feel him in your lungs, so impossibly deep, so hot, so intimidating. 

“God, it should be a crime to have a body like this,” he says, hands groping every part of your flesh he can reach. He slaps your ass to watch it jiggle for him. He’s an ass man, that much is clear.

The force of his thrusting has you pushed closer to the glass, so close now that almost your entire front is flush with the surface. The coldness grazes your nipples. You moan. 

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

He tugs you back to him, body sliding down the glass till your ass is jutted out. Toji carries your hips up so you can reach him, but it means your toes are only brushing the floor. You cling to the glass door as much as you can. Through the glossy haze, you see the marks you left on the glass, from the oils and sweat on your skin. You see the outline of your tits, all round and fat, the handprints you left and the smearing of them all over the place because you couldn’t grapple with one position to have them in. 

Are people watching? Are you flashing a poor old man, are you reigniting a sexual appetite in a pitiful divorcee, making a housewife jealous, creating fantasies for some guy your age? Are people rubbing one out to the flashes of ecstasy on your face, to the swaying of your tits, to the rippling of your ass?

Toji’s fingers creep under you, furiously teasing your clit. You whine. “I think I’m gonna cum again.”

“Go on, gorgeous,” he rasps. “Lemme feel you cum around my cock. Make my dreams come true.”

Two fingers gather the cream that’s formed a ring at his base. He draws three letters on the glass for you to stare at. It spells out c u m.

God, he’s dirty.

Another orgasm ripples through you. Your thighs shake. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, Toji!”

He growls out, hands tightening their grip on your hips, threatening to bruise, “Shit, you’re gonna make me cum early.”

Without waiting for you to come down from your high, he flips you around. Your back thuds against the door. His cock reenters you in a clean, easy slide, cunt beyond soaked and stretched out. Your arms and legs wrap around him. 

Those glasses of him have fogged up so thickly now that they fail to serve their purpose. Toji takes it off with one hand, sliding it onto your head, like a headband keeping your face clear of your hair. “Don’t let them fall,” he orders. “They break and you won’t be getting that internship.”

And his lips?

They smack against yours.

He kisses you, all tongue and teeth and drool dripping down chins, like he’s been waiting weeks, months, perhaps years to do that. And you kiss him back just the same. 

Inside you, his cock throbs. Toji’s hips swing back and forth, pelvis grinding on yours, rubbing your clit and wringing our more obscene squeeeelches. 

“Oh god, I’m so full, Toji. You’re so fucking big.”

“You’re -hngh- t-taking me so well,” he praises, littering sloppy kisses all over your face and neck all while he pinches and rolls your nipples. “Moaning so adorably, all pretty and finally keeping this mouth quiet of smartass comments. You should be like this all the time.”

The rocking of his cock inside you is even better like this. The closeness, the warmth, the taste of him — you wonder why you waited so long to do this. 

Tits squashed to his chest, your nipples scrape his skin, slipping and sliding with the sweat beading down your bodies. The hard planes of his chest feel magnificent. Nothing about his muscles are for vanity only, and the knowledge of the strength he’s holding back has your eyes rolling to the back of your head. 

“You’d miss my smartass comments,” you tell him, head thrown back and hips working their way down on his cock of their own volition.

Toji groans against your neck, licking droplets of sweat. “Yeah, maybe. I definitely wouldn’t miss your spelling errors though.”

Smiling, you tug his head up by his hair, and bite his bottom lip. You pull and let go so it’ll snap back into place like he’d done with your lip when you were under his desk. “Maybe if you taught me like this, I wouldn’t -hah- make so m-many mistakes— deeper, Toji! Fuck me deeper.”

His hips plough deeper inside, like you wanted, hitting that spot inside you till you’re sure it’ll be bruised in the morning. Moans after moans are fucked out of you; his neighbours will give him an earful tomorrow, you’re certain. 

“Book more office hours just to see me and not because you want something from me, then we can see if I can fuck your stupidity out of you,” he retorts. 

You peck his lips. “Aw, does poor, needy Toji want me to give him more attention? Does he miss me when I’m not there? What a cute little baby.”

“Yeah, he does, actually,” he says, smirking. “That a problem?”

“It will be if you don’t make me cum.”

Toji reminds you, “You’ve been cumming around my cock this entire time; you still want more? Greedy girl.”

He pulls away from the window, stalking over to the sofa instead. Each step burrows him deeper inside you, kissing your cervix and pushing out gasps from your lips, all of which he swallows. 

Carelessly, he throws you on the sofa. You bounce with an oomph!

Ankles held by one hand, he keeps your legs upright, hips lifted up to meet his. Toji presses a kiss to your ankle bone before he pushes his cock back inside. Your back arches with a mewl. Like this, his huge body becomes even more glaring — he’s casting a shadow over you, completely dwarfing you, reminding you how easily he could break you, how he could take whatever he wants from you. 

Every time he buries himself to the hilt, a bulge pops through your tummy, right under your belly button. 

“Look at that,” he mutters, brushing a thumb over it. You whine. “Feel me deep inside you? You’ll be feeling me inside for days, won’t you? Once it starts to fade, you can always come back for another fill, you know.”

“Promise?” you ask, grinning ear to ear. 

Toji pulls out, leaving just his tip before he slams back in, jostling you down on the sofa. His abs contract, cock throbbing at the sudden clenching of your walls around him. “Fuck, yes, doll. Promise. I fucking promise.”

His glasses have slid off, rattling somewhere on the sofa with the impact of every thrust. He doesn’t seem to care about them anymore. You’re nearing another orgasm, head whipping around at the intensity of the pressure building in your core. He’s bullying his cock relentlessly in your cunt, chasing after his own high and sending you to yours. 

When your eyes clash with his piercing, green ones, unobstructed by his glasses, you explode with a scream. 

“F-fuck,” he grunts, following soon after. 

Searing cum spurts inside you, cock pulsing, cum painting your walls. His thumb rubs your clit, aiding you through your orgasm. Your moans are vibrating against the walls, definitely disturbing his neighbours, but so are his groans. 

He slumps over, rolling the two of you on the sofa so you’re resting naked on his heated body, his heavy arm preventing you from falling off. Your pussy’s sore, a mix of your cum and his dribbling out and creating a sticky mess on your inner thighs. 

Absentmindedly, as you both catch your breath, he rubs your back. You draw shapes and letters on his chest. Toji combs his hair off of his forehead, chest rising up and down with his breathing. The dirty marks you two left are still on the glass, though it’s no longer foggy. 

Reaching up above him, he gracefully finds his glasses, sliding them on his face. You like him with and without them. 

“So,” you begin, “about those extra marks.”

Toji lifts his glasses up to rub a hand down his face. “Jesus, yes, you’ll get the marks.”

“Thanks!” you chirp. 

“God, you’re a pain in the ass.”

.

.

.

“Fuck, Toji,” you moan. “I already came three times. It’s too -hic- too much.”

Your TA ruts his cock inside you, face buried in the crook of your neck. His glasses are on your nose bridge, blurring your vision; he gets so frustrated when the thing gets in the way of kissing you or eating you out.

“Shut up,” he rasps, hand pressing down on your lower belly so you can feel him even more. “You’re the one who dragged me here. Take every orgasm I give you and be grateful.”

That’s true — you were supposed to have an office hour with him, which is really an excuse to see your boyfriend before you have to attend the internship induction session, but then you took one look at him and his amazing body and started soaking through your panties so here you two are.

Oh yes, you did say boyfriend.

After he blew your mind out, you’d been visiting his apartment after classes so often, you were practically living there, and he didn’t mind. It started out casual, but after realising you two would go grocery shopping, watch movies together, and text each other practically every day, you decided to just seal the deal and make it official. 

In short, he fucks good, and he can tolerate your personality, so you two stuck together. 

A month in, neither of you are really regretting it. At least, if his desperate thrusting and sloppy kisses to your neck’s anything to go by. 

“Missed you so much, Toji,” you whine, hips fucking back into him.

Toji groans, hand groping your tit from under your shit. “Yeah, baby?”

“Mmm.”

“Missed you too,” he confesses, licking a stripe up your neck and scraping his teeth down. Goosebumps rise on your arms. “Been wanting to see you all morning.”

You giggle, holding onto the stall for purchase and so his thrusting won’t make you smack face first onto the door. “You’re so cute w-when you’re needy.”

“Fuck off,” he says with no real heat to his words. 

In the near distance, the door to the men’s toilets opens with a dull metallic creak, the sound echoing faintly off the tiled walls. Feet pad in—slow, unhurried. The steady rhythm of someone who expects the place to be empty.

“Fushiguro?” a voice calls out. “You in here?”

The two of you go very, very still. Toji’s entire body stiffens behind you, muscles locking. His hand clamps firmly over your mouth for extra measure, warm palm pressing tight enough that you can feel the tension in his fingers.

Your heart slams against your ribs, loud enough that you’re half convinced it might echo under the stall. What the hell is the professor doing here?

“Susan told me she saw you walk in this direction. You got a minute?”

Toji releases a tense breath through his nose, annoyed at the interruption but left with no choice but to answer. He lifts you up so your feet hang over the floor and won’t be seen by the outsider. “Yeah, prof. But I’m kinda in the middle of something.”

The professor laughs. “Yes, yes, I’m sure. I do apologise for interrupting you. I was just locked out of my account and can’t send emails for the next hour. You know how terrible I am with technology.” He enters the stall next door. He unzips his pants. You cringe. “I only wanted to ask if you’re prepared to host the internship induction later.”

You go still, this time for a different reason. 

Your boyfriend releases your mouth. Fingers creep over to between your legs, where you’re still connected to him, where he’s still throbbing inside you. He slowly rubs your clit, keeping you from squirming in complaint with his strong arms. Toji responds, “Yeah, got all my notes ready.”

The bastard’s trying to distract you…

“Ah good, good,” the older man joyfully responds. His stream hits the water, and you fight the urge to face palm. “I had a look over the plans and the schedule. Very well organised, I must say. The competition was fierce, which is a testament to the success of the event, so props to you.”

Do men hold conversation so casually in the toilets?

Toji carefully begins moving in slow and shallow thrusts, prodding your g-spot over and over with his fat cockhead. You bite your lips to keep from moaning. Your nails dig into his thick arm. He ignores you. 

“Don’t mention it, Professor.”

The man zips himself back up and flushes, exiting the stall. Outside, the tap runs, and you’re both still as quiet as rocks, afraid that any sudden movement will out you both as sexual deviants. 

He adds, “Oh, and thank you for handling the applications for me; you know I hate all that paperwork nonsense.” 

Your jaw drops. 

Beyond tense, Toji replies like he’s aware of the weight every word exchange carries, “I do what I can do to help out.” 

“I couldn’t do what I do without you,” the professor continues, sincere and ignorant to the fact that you’re there. The rustling of paper towels echoes. “Well, I’ll see you later. Apologies again for interrupting.” 

The exit door swings open and you relax, but then his voice fills the space again. 

“Do say hello to your pretty, little girlfriend for me.” 

Your heart? 

Drops to the fucking floor.

Toji’s grip on you tightens just slightly, barely noticeable unless you’re pressed this close to him.

Your mind races. Did he see you come in? Did someone tell him? Did Susan, whoever the hell she is—

Toji speaks before you can spiral further, his tone sharper now, suspicion threading through it. “What do you mean, Professor?”

“Oh, you know, the girl you’ve been eyeing for a while now — she’s on the internship, yes?” Then he laughs the kind of laughter old men do, all paternal and wise. “Don’t worry, son, I’m not accusing you of pulling strings; I know she’s a very intelligent young woman. Ambitious too. Almost as ambitious as you. I hope you two work something out.”

Your heart slows its beating but you’re not any less tense. 

Sighing, Toji responds, “I’ll let you know if we do.”

“Yes, yes,” the professor says before he leaves for good. 

Finally, it’s just you two in the men’s toilets again. The silence and emptiness is maddeningly relieving. Although, you’re seething, practically vibrating with accusations and anger.  

Toji lets you down. Your feet touch the ground again. You pull him out, whirling on him with a disbelieving glare. You snatch his glasses off your face with one hand and smack his chest with the other. The man doesn’t budge.

“You sneaky piece of shit!”

He gathers both of your wrists with one hand, rolling his eyes. Toji takes his glasses from you and slides it on his face. Seeing you clearer now, he guides his cock back to your pussy, re-entering with ease. You moan, allowing him to hike your leg over his hip so he can press in deeper.

Kissing your lips, he mutters against your lips, “I did what I had to to get your attention. Sue me.”

“God, you’re the worst,” you breathe out, chest jutting out to his, nipples aching and clit throbbing. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, “I’m the big, bad wolf, and you’re creaming all over my dick right now. Let’s not act like you got the short end of the stick here.”

“Master manipulator,” you hiss, kissing him back, fingers tangling in his hair as soon he lets go of your wrists to grope your tit and ass.

“Whore,” he fires back.

Then the two of you smile, clutching each other tightly as you both rock into each other, nearing your mutual orgasm and riding the pleasure growing in your bodies. Fuck, he feels so good.

“We’re gonna be together forever and ever, aren’t we?” you ask.

Toji’s scar brushes your forehead with his kiss. 

“That’s the plan.”

[kamiflix]

this is the best toji fic to ever graze my tl, argue with the wall.

[kissthesword]

more yuji please🙏🏼

running from it

aged up!yuji

your face was pressed against the pillows, soft trails of drool running down your chin as your mind went to mush. yuji’s hips were almost punishing, slamming greedily into your ass with every forward thrust.

his dick felt as if it was growing impossibly bigger inside of you, your cunt was fucked raw, clit swollen and puffy from all the overstimulation. you really couldn’t remember when—or even how—it started. but you did know that yuji wasn’t stopping anytime soon.

yuji’s deep grunts filled your ears, one hand squeezed your ass as the other was planted firmly on your waist. pornographic sounds were spilling from your mouth before you could stop them, whines and pleas to slow down falling onto deaf ears.

it was all too much and too little as the same time.

as if your body was moving without your command you slowly inched yourself away from the brutal attack on your cunt, body reaching forward ever so slightly. it was that you wanted him to stop—quite the opposite actually—but the pleasure was so overwhelming you couldn’t help but try to escape from it.

of course he noticed, yuji noticed every movement, every little sound.

“don’t tell me you’re trying to run, baby.” his voice was rough, a stark contrast from his usual bubbly persona. you whined out, a small noise of protest coming from you as yuji tugged you back into him by your waist, free hand now coming up to press between your shoulder blades, pushing you further into the sheets.

“do i not make you feel good? wan’ me to stop?” he mocked concern, hips still steadily thrusting into you, jolting you against the mattress. “n-no yu—ji!” a squeal erupted from you as yuji suddenly pushed you flat against the bed, large body caging you in, trapping you.

his thrusts never let up, wet smacks of skin against skin bounced off of the walls. “then why don’t you take it? quit trying to run.” his demeanour had shifted rapidly, mere minutes prior his tone was softer, contrasting his rough movements.

now yuji’s tone matched his pace, rough and punishing as he fucked you into the mattress.

you were so full of him, the way each vein rubbed against your walls just right, how his bulky frame swallowed your body whole, the way he moaned in you ear. your head spun as everything hit you at once, the new angle forcing you to take him impossibly deeper.

small hiccups could be heard from your trembling lips, mewls mixing in with the lewd sounds of the room. “yuji, ngh—cumming, please.” your voice was raw from the previous orgasms, stomach tightening with the familiar feeling of your peak catching up to you.

“dunno, you did try to run away so do you really want to cum?” his words were punctuated by particularly harsh thrust, you could practically hear his pouty expression through his words. yuji’s once sweet eyes were now blown wide with lust, soft smile morphed into one of pure desperation.

“please, promise i’ll be good.” your speech was starting to slur, your begs being a last ditch effort to cum. “how can i ever resit those pretty begs if yours. come on baby, give me it.” yuji’s reply sent you spiralling, your hips tried to buck pathetically back into him, hurrying your face into the pillow as yuji pressed more of his body weight onto you.

your cunt spasmed around his dick as he continued to fuck you, tip hitting so deep you could feel it in your lungs. you cried into the pillow, tears coating the plush fabric. yuji’s coos only spurred you on, his gentle praises continued as he neared his own peak.

your over sensitive walls burned from the pressure, body twitching to get away but yuji was too strong, his weight pressed you against the bed, his hips hammering into you with such force it sent your eyes rolling back.

“stop squirming, please, ‘m gonna cum just a few more…” yuji’s voice trailed off as he felt his high hit, vision momentarily blinding as he pushed himself flush against you. breathing coming out laboured as he slowly rolled his hips into you, cum coating your walls with hot spurts.

you flailed under him, body going limp in seconds as yuji continued grinding into you.

you two lay still for a few moments catching your breath, slowly yuji pulled out, hissing at the loss of contact before flopping down next to you and pulling you to his chest.

“y’know, you’re really gonna have to try a lot harder to get away from me.”

[profeshgooner]

I’d chase immortality if it meant I got to fuck on this man everyday bro, I swear on my life

[bakwaaas]

love when men are big and strong but really gentle and calm

[bonesofall]

the white knight / simon "ghost" riley

cw/ kinks. non/dubcon. brief description of harassment (from a stranger), abduction, naive! reader, established relationship, toxic! simon, drugging, manipulation, primal play, violence and hostility, fear play, dacryphilia, fingering, brief mention of blood, nausea and dizziness, fingering, size difference, belly bulges, pussy and ass eating, unprotected sex, rough sex, edging, squirting, ass play. simon is a BAD boyfriend, very dead dove. SMUT

synopsis. you dont listen to your boyfriend's warnings to keep safe, and so he shows you what it's like to be kidnapped.

a/n. this is dark. if you are uncomfortable or the warnings trigger you, feel free to scroll. consume media with your own discretion. know yourself and your limits.

kinktober '25 masterlist | multifandom masterlist | masterlist | navigation

simon didn't like to think he was controlling of his girlfriend.

he knew how men operated, though. saw sweet, bubbly things like you and immediately their minds would fill with the urge to corrupt such purity.

a bartender, you once were before he whisked you away. having endured constant leers and gropes from drunken bastards would've made simon believe you'd learned from experience to keep your guard up, but you hadn't. not even close, actually. your survival instincts were dreadful in all regards.

the night you met, simon'd just left the pub you worked at a few minutes after you did - intending to head back home after meeting old friends - when he'd found you, soft and trembling with your purse clutched to your side as a man held you up against a brick wall. as the stranger's grimy hands groped sloppily at your tits, you were crying and begging for mercy. "i just want to get to the bus, sir… p-please don't hurt me."

the man obviously had no intentions of letting you go, and so simon acted. grabbing the fucker by the back of his dirty flannel, and throwing him to the ground hard enough for his head to connect with the concrete with a sick thud. then, he looked up at you, shivering and in deep shock, with several buttons of your uniform top undone.

"face the wall and cover your ears, girl. don' look 'till i tap you."

his voice came almost unnervingly quiet, but it brooked no argument. you didn't resist. the least you could do, since this man had rescued you, was obey his command to disassociate from the violence he was about to rain down on the other man. you press your trembling palms flat against your ears and turn to look at the brick wall, faintly hearing repetitive, dull thudding of fists on muscle and flesh. then, the occasional muffled, sickening crunch of a bone.

you pinch your eyes shut tightly and try to imagine a different scenario. the beach. you always liked the beach. waves crashing in the distance, the sun kissing your skin, the scent of salted ocean...

you feel a hand on your shoulder and snap out of your thoughts. the man who harassed you is nowhere to be seen, but there's a puddle of blood on the ground where he used to be. your stomach churns. he's wiping his hands on his dark jeans, his knuckles bruised from hitting your attacker.

"y'alrigh'?"

you blink up at him upon hearing the sound of his voice, eyes fluttering for a moment as you try to make sense of all the recent turn of events. being harassed, getting saved, your attacker getting beat into a bloody pulp.. no, you're not okay. your brain is foggy and your heart is pounding so hard that it echoes through your ears. he leans down to be level with you and holds onto your arms. not in a restraining way, though. his grip is loose and comforting.

" 'm sorry if i scared you," he murmurs, looking down at you calmly, but earnestly.

he's breathing heavily from adrenaline and his body's worked up like a tight coil, but he's still very gentle with you. soft for someone whose hands are still sticky with blood. you nod slowly, your breathing regulating once your body understands you're safe with him. he rubs your arms to stop you from shaking.

"you're shaking like a leaf. must be cold." he mumbles, shrugging off his jacket before you even nod. it smells delightfully like his cologne when he drapes it around your shoulders, a clean and woodsy scent that reminds you of cedar trees.

" 'm simon." he adds after a beat. "whas' your name, girl?"

you tell him your name softly, and he repeats it right after, wanting to make sure he's got it right. "s'pretty, suits you well." he says smoothly. he still hasn't let go of your arms, thumbs brushing back and forth like he's trying to ground you. he looks at you a little too long than a stranger should, eyes searching your features. you sniffle a little, staring up at him with big, watery eyes. "t-thank you..."

"d'you needa ride home?" he asks tentatively, seeming to be a little unsure if he's overstepping, but determined to protect you nevertheless. "s'late. your bus'll be another half hour, if that. wouldn't be man o' me to leave y'standing here."

you nod softly, "o-okay. uhm yes, please. i don't wanna be out here anymore."

he leads you towards his truck, opening the door for you and putting his hand on the top so you don't bump your head by accident. he then buckles your seatbelt for you, knuckles brushing the top of your thighs as he clicks it in place.

"th-thank you, simon" you say as he gets in on his side and turns the key in the ignition to start the car.

" 'course" he mutters, putting his hand on your thigh casually. "couldn't leave you like that."

a smile spreads across your face and you find yourself even more comfortable with the strange man. and so you start talking. perhaps a nervous tic due to a rush of sudden emotions flowing through you; or a dislike for sitting in silence, but once it starts, it doesn't slow down for a second.

you tell him everything. your full address. apartment number. that you live alone. that your roommates moved out and you haven't replaced them yet. that your bedroom window's always sticking open and that your landlord won't call someone to fix it, and it makes you nervous sometimes because you're a heavy sleeper.

you don't even notice the way his jaw tightens as you speak, knuckles going white around the steering wheel you're telling him information he could use to rob you, kill you, force himself on you, like nothing. all the more, you're wide eyed and grateful, holding onto the sleeve of his jacket still wrapped around your shoulders.

he looks over at you. "shouldn' be trustin' people so easy," he says with an edge in his voice. "i could be a bad man. coulda only got rid of that prick to have you to m'self."

you blink, a frown crossing your lips. you don't seem to be scared by his question, more upset at the suggestion that he could be bad. in your mind, you've labeled him as your savior. "you're not one of the bad ones."

he stares at you, trying to make sense of your words. you seem confident that he's the epitome of a white knight. he wants to be angry at how easy that came out of your mouth, but he can't be when you're staring up at him like that. he's a sucker for a pretty face.

he sighs and turns his gaze back to the road. "just sayin' you oughta keep your guard up more, girl. y'don't know me."

you don't take your eyes off him, feeling a little drop in your tummy when he takes his hand off your thigh. "i know enough, though. you helped me. that's what's important."

he exhales hard through his nose and shakes his head like he's trying to clear it. you watch the streetlights flicker across his face as he drives, and you feel the uncomfortable feeling in your body give way for warmth. he parks in front of your building fifteen minutes later. "this it?" he questions, having committed your address to his memory subconsciously after you'd told it to him. he'd been able to drive here with no assistance.

you give him a quiet nod, unbuckling your belt and looking up into his eyes. something in you feels like you should give him something for doing all of this for you. maybe a hug? however, you didn't want to overstep, and you find yourself awkwardly patting his shoulder instead.

you curse yourself under your breath for your evident lack of social skills, hoping he doesn't think you're as strange as you seem. not wanting to hang around longer than you're welcome to, you wave to him like he's your boyfriend dropping you off after a movie. simon watches you disappear inside with an unreadable look on his face.

you're halfway through unlocking your apartment door when something makes you turn back. the street's quiet, his engine still idling. you jog down back down the stairs all the way down to the path toward the curb, the sleeves of his jacket flapping over your hands.

he rolls the window down as you approach. "what're y'doing back here? go to bed."

you pant, breath puffing in the night air. "i... it's just, d-do you want tea? or... or dinner? i know it's late, but i feel bad just letting you drive off after all that."

simon blinks at you. he can't believe what he's hearing.

you shouldn't be inviting a strange man into your flat at this ungodly hour. he's probably not entirely sober either. if he wanted to hurt you, he could, with zero effort. men with his size usually send most people bolting the other direction.

you rush to fill the silence. "you saved me, and i just- i mean, it's the least I could do, right? i make really proper sandwiches. and tea. everyone compliments my tea. i'll put sugar in it. do you like sugar, simon?"

he should say no. but you're looking up at him like he's sunlight after a storm, eyes wide and hopeful. he doesn't have it in him to turn you down. not when you're already clutching his sleeve and tugging at it like you expect him to follow.

"do i like sugar." he echoes in mild disbelief, cutting the engine. "okay, i'll come in. just for a bit."

you smile so big it makes your cheeks hurt. the second he's out of the car, you're tugging him eagerly back up the stairs with you.

you live in a cozy little walk-up that contains a mess of throw pillows and mismatched mugs and other clutter; it's obvious you're a little hoarder. there's cute trinkets everywhere showing you've done your best at bringing the dull London apartment to life, but you've failed to capture one consistent aesthetic. it's charming, nevertheless.

"sorry it's messy," you chirp, dropping your keys into a bowl shaped like a cat and kicking off your shoes while he helps you out of his jacket. "i didn't have time to clean up. didn't think to, either. i hardly get any visitors. all my family live outside town." he kneels in front of you after, undoing your lace-up boots delicately to put them in the corner. you thank him with a little grin, offering him house slippers right after.

he blinks down at them. "they've got bunny ears."

you giggle, a soft sound, like windchimes. "i've got bear ones too if you want."

God almighty.

he accepts the bunny slippers.

you make him tea first, bustling around your tiny kitchen like a little homemaker. he offers to help, but you frown at him like he's personally insulted you. "no, no, you sit. i'll take care of you." he can't remember the last time anyone said that to him. probably never.

you chatter as you move around the kitchen, barefoot now, he notices. you've already forgotten he's not a stranger. you rave about your favorite teas, how you like your eggs, and ask him if he wants toast or an english muffin. you even hum a little as you stir something in a pan.

every now and then, you drift closer to him, touching his arm to get his attention or leaning against the counter beside him while something cooks. simon can't tell if it's nerves or attraction (or some dangerous mix of both) but your sweetness is starting to eat away at the last of his restraint.

you make him a plate, serve him like it's the most normal thing in the world to cook for a man who could've easily snapped your neck twenty minutes ago. "hm. thank you."

when he's finished, you sit beside him on your couch, pulling your knees up and crowding close into his space, you keep offering him bites off your fork even though he's got a whole plate in his lap. and he lets you. lets you curl into him as you browse for a movie. lets you tuck a blanket over both of you. lets you sigh happily as your head lolls against his shoulder.

you're asleep on him. a stranger. he's about to move you off gently, but then you whimper quietly, pressing closer in your sleep, and your fingers twitch in the fabric of his shirt. you're holding on.

he exhales slowly and sinks deeper into the couch. he's decided he'll stay for tonight. just to keep you safe in case some slimeball creeps through your faulty window.

you jolt awake with a little gasp, embarrassed immediately, but simon doesn't flinch. he cracks one eye open and grunts.

"you slept here."

"reckon i had to," he murmurs, voice gravelly with sleep. "y'never moved off me."

"oh my gosh," you sit up. "sorry! i really didn't mean to, i just- my shift was so long and i was so tired- let me make you breakfast. do you- would you want that?"

he looks at the visible eagerness to please etched into your features. the minute he huffs out, "yeah that sounds lovely." you rush to your feet to start working. you're halfway through pulling eggs from the fridge when you realize you haven't asked him what he actually likes, so you turn back, holding the carton against your hip. "do you want your eggs fried, simon? or i could scramble them. or i could make them poached."

he's sitting on your couch still, big hands rubbing at his face, hair a little mussed from sleep. he looks far too at home in your space for someone who walked in for the first time just hours ago. "whatever you like," he says through a yawn, leaning back and stretching lazily until the hem of his shirt rides up over his stomach. simon doesn't miss how your eyes follow the movement and linger.

when you set the plate down in front of him, consisting of eggs, toast, beans, sausage, his brows lift. "that's well nice," he mutters, almost to himself, before picking up the fork. you hover a little, chewing your lip. "you think so?"

he takes a bite, chews, swallows, then looks straight into your eyes. "yeah. i like it a lot."

it shouldn't make you as warm and fuzzy as it does. you grin and go to sit opposite him, sipping tea while he eats. simon's not saying much, but you can feel his gaze on you more than the steam rising from your mug. he's in no rush to leave. in truth, you don't want him to. this sweet stranger has already begun to carve a soft spot into your heart.

simon had told himself, at first, that he was just checking in on you. but every time he tries to stop, you beg him to promise that he "won't act like a stranger" and to visit you as much as he liked. that you were lonely and his visits made your day. how safe you felt with him (as you kept reiterating). you begin to rely on him more and more.

you warm up to him even more each time he comes over. you start calling him "si." you bake him sweets. you tell him every thought that pops into your head and giggle at your own jokes. you look up at him like he hung the stars.

he told himself you needed protection. that's all. but it wasn't long before he was letting himself into your apartment without knocking and doing things around your house. fixing things and cooking for you and doing chores like it's his apartment. your feelings for him grew stronger and stronger each and every day, and before you knew it, odd jobs and work in your living space turned to him coming home with flowers everyday.

kissing your face.

murmuring sweet talk.

asking you out on a date.

and finally, making you his girlfriend.

you're sprawled across his lap on the couch, still in your soft pajamas, your cheek pillowed on his shoulder. you squint up at him, face scrunching. "you know, I liked you right away. I knew you were safe."

he knows damn well he isn't, and you don't. he's buried it away far enough so you don't have to see it. nevertheless, simon leans down, kisses your temple, his hand splayed over the curve of your back to curl you closer to him.

you're still just as naive as the day he found you crying by the bus stop with that god-awful lost look in your eye. you're too nice, trusting, and living like nothing in this grimy, spit-on city could ever touch you.

you're lucky it was him that found you, not someone else. lucky it was his truck you got into. it's his body you fall asleep on. he sees the way people look at you when you're walking alone, headphones in, no sense of danger in those pretty eyes. he has to recognize it for you every time; filthy pricks eyeing you up like you're nothing but meat.

"luvie," he warns one morning, voice gruff as he adjusts the strap of your little bag over your shoulder, "you've got to stop smilin' at every fuckin' bloke who makes eye contact with you, alright? it's bait."

you blink up at him all dewy-eyed, utterly unfazed. " 'm just being friendly," you say, "you're so dramatic sometimes."

his jaw tightens. " 's not dramatic. you walk around and keep battin' y'lashes, someone's gonna get ideas."

and every day, it's something new.

you leave the pub after dark because your shift ran late and he told you to call him but you didn't want to "be a bother." you give a man on the street your number because he "seemed lonely" and "was really polite." you let some random cab driver walk you to your door after a night out because "he offered and you didn't want to be mean." you let out a sigh when he scowls at you, unimpressed by your clear nonchalance regarding the situation. with a tilt of your head, you say: "you worry too much. nothing happened! nothing ever happens."

simon crosses his arms, standing in your kitchen. he's watching you pour cereal like nothing's wrong, as if you didn't nearly lead a man up to your apartment (thank god he was there and scared the fucker off) two nights ago. it's interesting, because you'd invited simon up to your place back when he was a stranger. but back then, he thinks grimly, you'd been vulnerable. shaken. grateful. you'd given him your trust because you felt safe in that moment, not because you were handing it out like sweets to anyone who smiled at you.

"d'you even understand how close that was?" his voice is low and stern.

you glance up, blinking. "i said i was sorry..."

"it's not about sayin' sorry," he interrupts. "it's about learnin'. fucking hell, i told you not to entertain men off the street. what part of that didn't sink in?"

a sigh leaves you, and you wilt like a puppy being scolded. you do love how simon protects and dotes on you, but you don't like the condescending tone in his voice when he chastises you. you're a grown woman, and you know what you're doing. "obviously, if a man tried to make a pass at me, i'd stop him." you say, but that's exactly the problem. simon knows you wouldn't be able to.

you wouldn't react fast enough or firmly enough before the wrong kind of man took your hesitation as an invitation.

he pushes off the counter, advancing on you. "obviously?" he echoes, incredulous. "you don't bloody know, that's the whole point. you keep thinking blokes will back off if you say no, but you don't see it, christ- half of 'em won't give a toss what you want."

"you're always mad at me lately!" you respond defensively. "i don't mean to-"

"i know you didn't mean to," he cuts in, dragging a hand through his hair. "you never mean to, love. that's the problem."

you gaze down at your bowl, blinking hard, and his gut twists with guilt, but only for a second.

"d'you think I like getting calls from you where you're cryin' in the middle of the fuckin' road?" he asks. "do you think I like picturein' what could've happened if i got there a minute too late?"

you drop your spoon with a clatter, the sound loud in the tense kitchen. your voice is filled with frustration and panic that threads through every syllable. "i'm not a child, for gods sake, i can handle myself!"

his chest heaves, hands clenching into fists at his sides. "no, you don't!" he snaps back. "you don't know how fast someone can ruin your life. you don't know how little it takes for someone to see you as prey and act on their urges while you make it so fucking easy for them! you think you're being nice and sweet, but you're just… you're just asking for trouble, and i can't fix it before it finds you!"

you're heated. "you're just scared that because i'm not living in fear every second, i'm prone to getting in trouble. i know when something's unsafe, simon! i can be polite without enticing men!"

"polite?" he laughs bitterly, shaking his head in disbelief at your sheer stupidity. you are not understanding the situation at all, and no matter how many times this happens to you; how many close calls you have, you still don't take your safety, or your life, seriously. he tries to spell it out for you. "polite gets people in your bed, gets them on top of you without your permission. polite doesn't keep you alive! you think just because you smile or answer them nicely, they'll go away? they won't."

"and you keep allowing it to happen over, and over, and over."

you feel your chest tighten, heat rising in your face. he looks at you for a long moment, the tension between you strung taut. "just stop trying to control me. i know what i'm doing. i was surviving before i had you, wasn't i?"

it finally clicks for him.

no matter how many times he tells you...

no matter how hard he warns.

you're not going to really understand until you really experience it. until danger has it's teeth-bared close.

he doesn't tell you that, though.

simon exhales sharply, running his tongue over his teeth. his deep blue eyes rake over your stubborn face.

a beat of silence.

then, "fine. well. guess we'll see, then."

"…what's that supposed to mean?"

"nothin'," he says too easily, backing off a step. "eat your food."

a heavy, musky pile of fur is pressing down on you, soft, with the faint scent of smoke and something animal. it's the first thing you register before the cold hits. the air is biting, sharp enough that it stings your cheeks with every gust of wind and numbs your fingers, even though they're gloved. you blink, but your lashes feel clumped, stuck with the wetness of half melted snow.

you push your hands out of the furs clumsily, joints stiff and sore like you've been lying still for too long. everything feels wrong. too quiet, too far away. the ground beneath you isn't a floor; it's hard and uneven, scattered with a thin crunching layer that snaps when you shift your weight. snow. you're in snow.

you sit up too fast and your stomach lurches. you have to catch yourself on your palms, breathing slow to fight the black creep of dizziness at the edges of your vision. you don't recall falling asleep here, let alone anything that's happened in the last several hours. a chunk is missing in your memory.

you remember walking, your hands shoved in your coat pockets, breath fogging in little clouds. you remember…

your head throbs. a strange chemical tang is lodged in your sinuses, something sour and artificial that makes your stomach turn if you inhale too sharply. "where..." you blink, scanning your surroundings. the forest closes in on you on all sides, tall and dense. it's muffled here, sound swallowed up by the snow and the tree line. no hum of traffic, no voices, no power lines. Only the brittle snap of branches shifting overhead.

you turn in a slow circle, your breath puffing in the air. nothing up ahead. not a path. or houses. or a road. you're alone.

until.

there. footsteps, somewhere behind you, muted but distinct, a deliberate crunch-crunch-crunch that doesn't align with the frantic beat of your own pulse. then it stops. then comes again.

it's not steady, in a rhythm you can follow. just there. a crunch that's far too deep rooted to be the random settling of ice or the soft fall of snow from a branch. someone's putting their weight down. you whip your head toward it, but the trees all look the same. black spines, white drifts, shadows stitched between them. you squint until your eyes sting, but you can’t discern any movement.

the sound stops. your ears strain in discomfort with the silence. when there's no noise around you, you can hear your own heartbeat in your head, a slow, dragging thud. "it's nothing..." you mutter. "it's nothing. a deer... maybe a fox." you take an unsteady step forward, snow crunching under your boots. boots that you weren't wearing before you got here.

crunch.

you freeze. the breath you were about to take stalls halfway, sticking in your lungs. the sound is a lot closer than it was before, but when you turn to scan the darkness again, the trees loom too dense in every direction. you can't tell if it's twenty feet away or seven. every instinct you have starts clawing at you. move, move, move... but your legs feel lead-heavy, locked in place. your fingers tighten around the edges of the furs draped over your shoulders, bunching the fabric up.

crunch.

this time, behind you.

your stomach drops so hard you feel it in your fucking feet. you twist again, but you still can't see anything. the cold air is starting to taste metallic in your mouth. there's nothing around you but the sound of your breathing and the footsteps, stopping and starting, circling. you begin backing away, boots slipping a little on the ice. your eyes keep darting between the trees, trying to catch something; a shape, a flash of movement, a face.

then it comes. not one step, or two, but a multitude of them, plowing straight toward you from behind. as the sound fills your ears, your instincts finally take the reins. your fight or flight comes full force. you run.

you don't even think about direction, just away from the noise, away from the beast tailing you. your breath starts coming out in ragged clouds. the furs are heavy, but you can't make yourself drop them, not when you can already feel the sting of the wind on your exposed skin.

somewhere behind you the footsteps speed up.

you're tearing through the snow like it's the only thing between you and death, every muscle in your legs screaming at you to stop, to slow down, but you can't. if you slow down, it's over. the crunch of boots behind you is relentless, eating at the distance you're trying to claw back with every step.

you keep trying to look over your shoulder, desperate to see them, to know, but the dark swallows everything. the trees blur into one unbroken wall of black, and all you can hear is the sound of your own breath paired with those heavy, deliberate steps that quicken rapidly. you whip your head forward just in time to trip over something half-buried under the snow.

your skull comes in contact hard against something solid and unmoving, the pain blooming so fast and hot it steals the air from your lungs. white bursts across your vision, your ears ringing like they've been stuffed with static. the cold seeps instantly into your knees and hands where you've hit the frosted ground.

panic claws its way through the fog in your head and forces you to move. you lurch upright, dizzy, the world spinning hard enough that you have to grab at the nearest tree to keep from going down again. you don't even know if you're running in the same direction anymore, but you don't care. your legs take over, sprinting so hard you can barely keep your footing. "move..." you gasp to yourself, willing yourself to pick up speed again. nevertheless, the widening thud of those boots in the snow is gaining.

the resounding steps behind you are fast in a way that doesn't make sense for something that big. your lungs are on fire. your legs keep threatening to give out. you hear them closing in. you try to push harder, but your foot catches again, your balance tips, and you stumble so badly your body can't even recover before- hands.

massive hands. they catch you like you weigh nothing, one clamping around your middle, the other hooking under your arm to yank you fully off the ground. your legs kick, scraping snow out of the air, but your boots never find purchase again. the grip is unshakable as they drag you back against something solid, living, breathing, and far, far stronger than you.

the noise behind you changes. less crunching snow now, more of a deep, steady inhale, like whoever has you is taking their first real breath of you. you thrash so hard it feels like you're tearing something inside yourself, your voice shredding as you scream. "LET ME GO! s-stop it! who are you?!" your yells come out raw, high-pitched, so loud your own ears ring. you kick wildly, boots slamming into shins as your heels dig into flesh behind you for leverage. your fists flail to punch at whoever's holding you back.

they don't make a single sound.

you twist and lurch in his grip, but the chemicals still humming in your blood make the world lag a fraction behind your movements. but you fight anyway because the alternative is unthinkable.

the huge man barely stumbles as you slam both elbows back into him. he shifts his weight and you're suddenly turned, your shoulder wrenched hard, boots skidding uselessly over the ice-slick snow before he drives you into the ground, snow flying up around your head.

his knees pin your hips before you can twist away, one giant hand fisting in your coat to keep you from bucking. the other catches your wrist mid-swing and slams it into the ground beside your head.

you scream again, the sound cutting through the trees. you try to twist your head to bite him, to do something, but that's when his hands shift, both of them sliding to your throat. not squeezing the windpipe, but worse. the sides. the soft spots. vulnerable places where the blood moves fast to your brain.

it's instant. your pulse jumps and your vision sparkles. the fight or flight in your body explodes into frantic, jerking panic, and your nails rake at his wrists, your heels dig trenches in the snow as you buck and twist. the world tilts violently, black spots flickering in the corners of your eyes...

you're making wildly unpleasant, desperate little sounds, half-sobs, half-groans, but the hands on your neck don't shift. the beast holds you there, the grip like a vice until your arms feel heavy, until your legs stop kicking quite as hard, until the pounding in your skull turns hollow.

the dark seeps in from the edges. your lungs burn, and your head feels like it's filling with warm water. slowly, your body betrays you, weakening even though you're begging yourself to keep fighting.

the last thing you're aware of is the faint sound of his breath and the sharp wind of the winter above you as everything fades to black.

you come to slowly.

your head is pounding and your mouth is uncomfortably dry from lack of saliva production, though you're unsure if it's from chemicals in your system or if you're just severely dehydrated. how long have you been out this time? when was the last time you ate, or drank water?

as you sit up, the first thing you notice is the smell. wood smoke from a fireplace burning somewhere in the background. leather. mahogany candles. your eyes adjust to the dim lighting of the room and you see log walls, a rough-hewn ceiling beam above you.

you've been taken to a cabin.

for a moment, you're delusional enough to think maybe you wandered here yourself, that someone found you in the snow and patched you up. there's something wrapped expertly around your head; a bandage, and when you touch it, your fingers come away faintly tacky.

blood, from your fall.

you swing your legs off the bed, bare feet hitting creaky floorboards. your balance is unsteady and the pounding in your skull causes the room to sway, but you force yourself up.

shuffling towards a table, you search for some kind of clue as to where the hell you are, maybe your captor left a device laying around for you to call simon and the police.

fuck, simon. he must be anxious out of his mind. you don't know when you were captured, but your boyfriend goes crazy when he doesn't hear from you for extended periods of time while you're out without him. but now, when you should've been at home with him a long, long time ago, he's either called the police or gone looking for you himself. you can imagine him checking everywhere you usually go like a lunatic.

your heart aches at the thought of never seeing him again...

someone's watching you.

it takes your eyes a second to land on him. the beast lurks in the far corner of the room, standing perfectly still with his broad shoulders brushing the walls, face swallowed in shadow and the thick balaclava covering his face. you're not able to discern how long he's been there. but you're sure it wasn't just now. "please…" your voice wavers so bad it's barely sound. "please, i don't... my boyfriend is crazy about me, okay? h-he's gonna find me and then he'll kill you for kidnapping me!" you shake your head, tears stinging before they even fall.

he doesn't answer.

you take a step back, palms lifted like that might somehow make you smaller, safer. "just- i'm hurt. i can't-" your voice breaks again, and you swipe at your eyes uselessly. "i just wanna go home. i won't tell anyone."

the movement from him is sudden. just a few long strides and he's in front of you before your brain even catches up. his huge hand clamps around your bicep and you gasp, tripping over your own feet as he hauls you backward. "no, no! please, stop, i didn't do anything wrong! i'm sorry, please don't hurt me!" you kick at the floor, nails digging into his wrist, but it's like fighting a stone pillar. he doesn't make a sound.

you hit the bed hard, the mattress dipping under your weight. he follows instantly, using one hand to press you flat against the blankets like it's nothing. he uses his weight to pin your hips down, while one hand splays flat on your chest.

"get off me! my boyfriend will find me!" you keep reiterating your certainty that simon will come to rescue you before this beast does anything to you. it just sounds like you're deluding yourself. simon is tactile and told you about his stories in the military and his days of hunting where he tracked creatures miles upon miles. but as you remember being outside, there was nothing around you at all. you're in the middle of nowhere with a blizzard sure to hit within the week. your captor took you conveniently so finding you would be impossible, realistically.

your voice dissolves into sobs, messy and gasping. you twist hard, try to roll to your side, but his hand on your chest shoves you flat again without effort.

it's pathetic, how weak you are against him. every jerk of your body is countered before it's even fully started, every scream muffled by the thud of your own heart in your ears. in contrast, his breathing is slow and measured. he behaves as though he has all the time in the world.

he didn't restrain you because he didn't need to. he holds you down with that one hand effortlessly, and you try to grab for his mask in a desperate attempt to uncover the psychopath who's doing this to you. but oh, that earns you punishment. he slams your hand back to pin it against the bed, maneuvering both your wrists into one hand and placing it roughly over your head. he's calculated. knows how to grip you hard enough to bruise, but not enough to break your bones.

your captor tilts his head just slightly, studying you. the movement chills you worse than any words could have.

his free hand moves. cupping your cheek, forcing you to look up at him.

then, it slides down. down. down. to your waist, peeling up the furs he put you in and your work top you'd been wearing when he'd chloroformed you. you let out a cry and desperately attempt to squirm away, but his hand and body pinning you don't allow you. he shoves your shirt and bra up in his fist till they bunch at your collarbones, exposing your breasts. your nipples pebble immediately when the cold air hits them.

his thick, calloused fingers find your breast, roughly squeezing the soft mound like dough. your nipple, already stiff, gets caught between his fingers, rolled and pinched until you can't hold back a strangled whimper. his hand is so large that it engulfs your breast entirely, leaving no part of it untouched by his groping. he seems to relish in the way your body yields beneath his touch, the supple give of your skin and tender tissue molding to the contours of his palm. "fuck! stop it, get off me, you psychopath! you c-can't just kidnap me and ngh- damn it-!"

his other hand, still wrapped around your wrists, tightens slightly in a wordless warning. you can feel the strength in his fingers and know instantly that any resistance on your part would be futile. maybe even dangerous, with how unpredictable he is. still, your instincts drive you to squirm and try to pull away from his touch, your body recoiling instinctively from the undesired fondling.

he seems to pity your feeble struggles, a soft scoff leaving him. leaning in closer, his masked face hovers over the exposed flesh of your breast. he lets go of your wrists to raise his mask above his mouth, attaching his lips to one of your nipples. the sensation sends jolts of revulsion and unwanted arousal through your body. "mngh, no oh my gosh, stop it! please no more-"

he flicks your nipple upwards with his tongue, leans down, and engulfs the entire bud in the wet heat of his mouth. you gasp, a shock of sensation shooting straight to your core as he suckles and nibbles at the sensitive peak. his tongue swirls around, tormenting it until it's rigid and achy. he can't get enough of the way your body responds to his touch in shivers or little flinches.

tears leak from the corners of your eyes, dripping down onto the pillow beneath your head. he takes his time torturing you, lavishing each breast with the same attention. your captor's tongue and teeth work your flesh, alternating between tender suckling and sharp nips.

when you thrash, his grip on your wrists tightens warningly. he pauses, his masked face lifting from your breast. behind the fabric, you feel the weight of his displeased gaze. without warning, his lips move sloppily down your body, open-mouthed kisses laving over your cool skin.

he lets go of your wrists. no need to hold them down any longer; you're not capable of fighting back against him at your full strength, and now, when you're panicked and disoriented from hitting your head and the chemicals in your system, you're defenseless. he stops at your skirt, unbuttoning it with nimble fingers before dragging down the zipper, then the waistband, with his teeth.

the man leans down, mouth hovering over the sensitive skin just beside your pussy, dragging wet kisses down your thigh slowly and agonizingly. he keeps you spread wide, pushing your skirt to your ankles and following the movement with his mouth.

once your skirt's on the floor and his mouth is at your ankle, he drags a wet trail of kisses up your calf and sinks his teeth into your flesh, holding in place until you scream. he digs harder, harder, rupturing a blood vessel with his maw, and when he pulls back, there's a bite mark blossoming on your skin along with a trail of blood.

he makes a grunting noise that indicates his satisfaction, and licks your blood off his mouth. a snide grin stretches across his pink lips. he doesn't hide his enjoyment of your discomfort, and your expressions serve as encouragement for him to continue. his tongue drags along the trail of blood dripping down your leg, cleaning it up and sucking on the bite mark he left while you wriggle in place. your body is caught in such a strange mix of pleasure, pain, fear and arousal.

he begins to move back down again, making his way down your leg; nipping, sucking... all while keeping his gaze fixed on your screwed up face. you aren't being noisy anymore. the screaming and begging display your terror, and if you're able to control it, he isn't scaring you well enough.

that means you could get yourself kidnapped again by not taking this seriously. and the next time your captor might not be your boyfriend in disguise.

he stops between your thighs once more, noticing the damp patch that's begun to grow on your soft cotton panties. he pushes two thick fingers at the seam of your cunt, making your body jolt and your hands to fly down to the intrusion between your thighs. "wait-"

he huffs and knocks your hands away carelessly, intrigued by the considerable patch of wetness that's gathered between your legs. certainly you're not getting off on this.

you stare up into your captor's eyes. if you weren't so disoriented, you'd realize they're an exact copy of your loving boyfriend's; from the thick lashes to the striking color. he rubs three of his thick fingers against the cotton covering your hole while thumbing around for your clit. he wants better access to you. his free hand grabs the waistband of your underwear and tugs it up hard so it grinds into your dripping pussy. you scream at the sudden mildly painful sensation of the crotch of your panties pushing up between your swollen pussy lips.

slowly and silently, his thick fingers nudge the cotton into you while his other hand keeps the band of your underwear pulled tight. "mmh! what are you- no, it hurts, no more! please," you gasp, your mouth parted in half choked whines that you aren't able to hold back. every twitch of your body only makes him adjust his grip, jerking the elastic higher and harder as the soaked fabric rides against your clit so sharply you gasp. "not there, it's pressing there!"

as his chest rises and falls raggedly, his fingers drag back down, three of them broad and heavy against the damp strip, pressing until the fabric is shoved right between your cunt, molding it together.

"mmh! please, please, it feels weird-" he interrupts you by tugging it up sharply, making you break off into a scream. any more and the fabric will tear from how much tension it's enduring. he licks his lips once he feels the way the cotton is soaked through as the fabric rolls against your folds.

thick fingers curl around the edge of the fabric between your thighs, tugging it cruelly until your pussy lips spread under the pressure, and there's no barrier anymore, only cotton plastered to you so tightly it might as well be your skin.

"you're hurting me!" you swing your arms up at him uselessly, hoping they'll connect with flesh, but he leans down and grabs a fistful of your hair roughly to stop you. tears spark in your eyes from the pain, and your arms raise up quickly to fly to your head. you can only hope he doesn't yank hair clean out of your scalp. the message that he's not one to be trifled with is understood.

you arms drop, and he lets go of your hair to pat roughly at your cheek as one final reminder. as a weak sob bubbles out of you, he returns to rocking the soaked gusset of your panties side to side, dragging the cloth across your clit in slow, merciless friction. every noise you make causes his eyes to flit up to your face. he's feeding off the sounds you can't swallow down.

you're dripping, slick spreading along your thighs and pooling beneath you. guilt ebbs at your conscience. how could you be enjoying ministrations from him - a man violating you - while your boyfriend must be out there, worried sick? regardless, your body reacts against your will, jerking against the bed as he keeps you strung open while he toys with you. he rubs and rubs and rubs until you're shaking under him, your panties nothing but a soaked rag grinding your hole raw.

your captor finally gets tired of simple teasing. the hand holding your waistband shifts, yanking it sideways with no warning at all. The soaked fabric snaps against your skin before it's wrenched aside. you're bared to the cool air, your folds glossy and swollen. you squeal and kick at his chest, your foot finally giving purchase as it collides with his shoulder. somehow, you budge, maybe even harm the goliath of the man, as his grip had loosened enough for you to use your other foot - you reel both back and kick hard at his chest to knock him back a little more, then you run.

you bolt off the mattress and scramble to your feet, heart hammering. every nerve in your body is screaming at you to get out of here. you kick off your skirt to help you, momentum carrying you forward - but before you can make it three steps, a massive hand wraps around your ankle. "get off!" you scream, twisting wildly, but he yanks hard. the sudden pull throws you off balance and your body pitches forward. you hit the floor hard, your forehead colliding with the cold surface with a dull thud. dizziness blooms instantly, stars exploding behind your eyes.

strong hands clamp under your arms, lifting you effortlessly. your body arches involuntarily as he hauls you through the air, your legs kicking, your ears are ringing so much from shock and pain that your screams come out muffled. unfazed, he tosses you onto the mattress hard enough to make your body bounce against the frame. you land in a tangled heap, arms flailing weakly, hair splayed across the pillow. "i-i can't, please p-please stop… just a second," your skirt is now in a heap on the floor, leaving you more exposed to him than before. you'd done nothing but anger your captor further and make yourself more vulnerable.

he looms over you again, his broad frame swallowing the small space. you're completely at his mercy once more. "shouldn'ta done that, girl." he finally uses his voice. you lift your head weakly at the vaguely familiar sound. the gravel, the baritone... it matches simons.

you must've hit your head too hard again.

he drags two thick fingers through your seam, spreading you open with the pads just to look. your thighs try to snap shut, but he's already there, pressing them down, watching the way your hole flutters when he teases the slick around it with nothing more than the edge of his fingertip. simon smears your slick higher, splits your folds apart with two fingers, and you squeal, half-panicked, half-overheated, your hands flying down to clutch his wrist. "pl- fuck, please be gentle for a moment, i-i need just a second."

it does nothing. he ignores your weak little attempts at holding him off and pushes, one long finger nudging, testing your hole. and then, without any warning at all, he shoves both digits inside.

you choke on your breath. it's too much, it's so much, the stretch immediate, your walls gripping so tight around the intrusion of his fingers inside you. your hands tighten desperately around his wrist. "please! it's too much, i know you can hear me, stop it!" he only exhales a rough grunt, jerks his hand out of your grasp, and uses the heel of his palm to slam your thighs wider apart until your knees are nearly to your chest.

now there's nowhere to run. he can get deeper.

his fingers piston forward again, filling you to the knuckle in one thrust. he drags them back out to the tips, then forces them back in roughly, again, again, again, until your belly clenches and you can't breathe from the stretch. your lack of sexual experience becomes evident as two fingers alone have you writhing and ready to plead for mercy. you hadn't had sex with simon yet; he'd been so respectful, wanting to take his relationship with you slow. the two of you had only touched on the surface - frotting, panted french kissing, and he'd let you cum on his tongue once after eating your pussy slow and gentle during a movie night.

he'd never rushed you, never pushed, never even slipped his hand beneath your clothes without asking first. that was your simon. that was the man you were falling deeper and deeper in love with.

this wasn't him. this was someone with his voice, his face, his hands... a cruel copy of your sweet boyfriend.

and to think your last conversation with him had been an argument.

your body seizes around his fingers. he pumps harder, rougher, until your juices begin coating his knuckles. his free hand slides up between your thighs, thumb finding your clit without hesitation. there's no gentleness in the way he touches you, no patience in the way he circles. it's rough, paired with pinching and dragging the little bundle back and forth. your hips buck wildly, half away from the sensation, half toward it, but it doesn't matter. he follows, rolling it between his fingers while his other hand drives those thick fingers into your hole. scissoring, twisting... pushing against the softest parts inside you that your own fingers have never been able to reach.

he sucks his teeth and speaks for the second time. "cunt floodin' my hand. must be a pervert, t'get off ta' thing like this." your response is a pathetically pitchy moan. you can't find it in yourself to muster a defense, because he's right, isn't he? you're sick... a pervert... to be gushing for a faceless degenerate instead of fighting him like your life depended on it. he twists his thumb against your clit a little rougher, your head tossing against the sheets. "it... mmhn, 's... 'it's n-not my fault!" that earns a scoff from him.

he spreads you wider with his fingers, toys with the folds at the edge of your hole just to push them back in again. he's trying to see how far you'll open for him before you break.

when you're writhing so hard your whole body lifts off the bed, he pushes deeper, grinding the heel of his palm against your clit while his fingers fuck you into the sheets, pumping into you roughly and quickly. you clamp your puffy walls down on him with a scream, white covering your vision. you're certain you're at your limits... but he tears his fingers out of you.

it makes you sob out loud, hot and frustrated tears spilling down your cheeks before you even realize you're crying. your hands shove at him weakly, and your voice comes out cracked and furious, "l-let me go! i hate y - hic - this, i-"

he knows exactly what this is. you're not broken like he wants, you're just furious that he ripped your orgasm away. that means his work isn't done.

simon grabs your wrists in one big fist, yanking you back down flat to the mattress. then, his other hand pushes your shoulder over so you roll until your face is pushed into the cold pillows and your ass is tipped high. your thighs clamp shut in panic again, but he forces them apart, spreading you wide so he can watch where you're open and dripping for him. your pussy is glossy and twitching from the ruined build-up with your underwear still rucked to the side. yet you keep trying to wriggle away, tears wetting the sheets beneath your face. "get off me, stop it! just let me go- ah!"

with a sudden surge forward, he buries his face into you like a man starved. his mouth seals over your hole, tongue shoving deep without hesitation, lapping up everything you've spilled out already. he moans at your taste, the sound rumbling against your core as his tongue flattens and curls, dragging through your folds.

you shriek into the sheets as his palms spread over the fat of your ass to hold you still. his nose grinds against your swollen clit while his tongue plunges sloppily inside, and you can feel his jaw working, can hear him slurping shamelessly, sucking your juices into his mouth.

you're wailing, trying to shove yourself up on your hands and knees, but the weight of him forces you into the bed, giving you no wiggle room. you didn't want to stop fighting, but even if you got out, where would you go? there’s a snowstorm and surely there's no phone signal... you're locked in with the beast.

his tongue drags down further, tracing the seam of your ass, hot breath spilling against the tight ring before he pushes, filthy and unashamed. "oh my- ahn, not there, please, it's dirty!" your cry shatters into breathless moans as he presses his mouth against your rim, tongue teasing the rim before descending back to the dip between your holes then dragging back down to your folds again. "mm. shu'up." he mumbles into you.

simon switches back and forth, slurping at your pussy until you're squealing, then shoving his tongue against - and in - your ass. he can't decide which one he likes more. you're dripping all over his chin, his stubble coated in a combination of his saliva and your arousal. but he hadn't forgotten about punishing you for trying to escape earlier, so he focuses on your ass, biting the plush flesh of your left cheek until iron fills his mouth and adds to your sweet taste on his tongue. you sob and kick back at him pathetically, just for him to dive in again.

thick thumbs spread your folds apart for his tongue to push into your pussy, twisting, writhing like he's fucking you with it. every plea that breaks out of you only makes him more ravenous. simon slaps his tongue against your hole, sucking hard enough to make you jolt, then laps up the mess drooling out of you while you moan indecently

he lifts his head, then he's spitting onto your ass, spreading it with his tongue, and diving back in. "mmnh! i s-said not there, you- fuck, no more!" your cries fall deaf on his ears as he works his mouth gluttonously on you, tongue darting between your hole and then laving over the wet outside. then he drags his fat, heavy tongue back down and sucks so hard on your clit that your orgasm from earlier resurfaces instantly. but again, he pulls away with a wet smack and leaves you throbbing, your body screaming at the loss.

"no! please, please, please, i can't, i can't take it anymore!" a rough hand fists in your hair, shoving your head down into the mattress again to shut you up, your cheek smushed and your cries muffled. by now, everything is swollen and achy or painful for you. you can't tell if your head or your cunt from two denied orgasms feels worse. your captor unbuttons and tugs down his pair of faded trousers, tossing them to the floor to join your skirt in a heap. he's holding you down so you can't see what he looks like. his boxers come down to his knees next, and you can hear him begin to palm himself heavily, the lewd slap of his fist milking his cock echoing through the room.

you try to twist and look back at him, but his grip tightens, shoving you deeper into the bed. he curses lowly while fisting himself above your messy pussy before he settles in behind you. again, he lets a thick glob of saliva drop from his tongue to get you even sloppier. the slick drip runs down between your folds, and he smears it with the fat head of his cock, spreading it around.

your voice cracks through the pillow, panicked and begging, "j-just... at lea-least -sniff- at least use a condom, please." you don't even get the full plea out before his cockhead slaps against your hole, cutting you off. he does it again, smearing himself through your slick and letting his fat, flared tip drag between your ass cheeks mockingly. it circles your rim, descends down through your folds, presses against your swollen clit in messy passes until you're gasping into the sheets.

with no warning, he pushes inside you with one brutal thrust forward, splitting you open around the thickest part of him. he stretches you raw and impossibly wide in a single thrust. you scream as his cock drives all the way inside, your body clamping down around him like you're going to tear apart. he groans gutturally, shoving until his hips are flush against your ass, his cockhead nudging so deep inside you it makes your belly jump. the pain of two fingers stretching you out doesn't even come close to the excruciating stretch and burn of a cock that feels like the size of your forearm.

every inch of you is stretched to its limit. unable to form a single thought, your hands claw uselessly at the mattress in an attempt to anchor yourself away from him and off his cock. meanwhile, he just holds there, thick and throbbing inside you. he lets you squirm on his cock while he cages you down with his weight. after watching you flail stupidly for a moment, he gets tired of toying with his food. his big palm spreads over your stomach and presses up, firm, forcing your belly against his cock.

an undistinguishable sound that combines a cry, moan, and scream leaves straight from your throat as you feel the hard shape of him inside you through your own stomach, every vein and ridge outlined under his palm as he stirs your guts from the inside.

"haa, i'm g-going to… oh no!" your thighs start shaking uncontrollably and your gaze fuzzes up again suddenly. the coil in your belly from before resurfaces way too fast, and when it snaps, you gush - squirting helplessly all over his cock, the sheets beneath you soaking instantly. "oh fuckin' hell, squeezin' me so damn tight," he groans, rutting his hips to stir deeper and coax more out of you. his palm rubs in circles, pressing down harder to exaggerate the swell, to force your pussy to clench around him while the wet gush continues to splatter down his pelvis.

delirious from the fullness and the overstimulation, you begin babbling nonsensically. with your pussy squeezing him so hard your walls spasm around the fat length of him, he's not sure how much more he can take. "mngh. loosen up, girl. y'chokin' m'cock." he pants, trying to get you to relax by pressing your belly up more, thumb stroking over the bulge of his cock inside you.

he thrusts once, grinding the head against your cervix. "listen to that," he mutters. "squirting 'round me like a proper whore."

"'s too big! i can't take any more!" you wail. "you're gonna break me, please, i c-can't-"

he drags his hips back slowly, thick cockhead catching at your hole, then slams back in in one brutal stroke.

he stays still for a long moment, letting your belly rise and fall rapidly under his palm as you quiver. he's memorizing the way your insides clench and pulse around him to adjust to his size.

then, finally, he moves - every shift of his hips pushing his length inside you deeper and scraping against the swollen walls of your pussy. the first push of his hips rattles you entirely. you feel so stretched that you can hardly function. you squeeze around him, wailing. every convulsion of your walls pulls him impossibly deeper. his palm presses harder against your stomach, forcing you to feel exactly how full you are.

the burn of his cock dragging through your walls is overwhelming, the stretch so raw you can't even control the way your nails tear at the sheets. "c-can't-" your voice comes out weak because your throat is raw from crying, but his response is nothing more than a low, guttural groan. the sound of your desperation feeds him. he doesn't slow down. instead, he drags back until only the swollen head is keeping you stretched open, then rams in again, hips slamming flush against your ass with enough force to make the mattress creak.

your body jolts forward with every thrust, your cheek grinding against the now-damp pillow since your hot tears have been smearing into the fabric. the initial discomfort of being stretched out blooms into an aching pulse that makes your body feel blissful even when your mind screams at you to resist. simon rewards every involuntary move of your hips with a rough thrust.

sliding lower, his hand leaves your stomach. you think for one moment he might ease up, but he doesn't. thick fingers pinch your clit, rolling it between calloused pads with the same rough impatience as before; he can't decide if he wants to torture you or rip an orgasm from you by force. the double assault makes your hips buck wildly, your cries pitching higher as you try to twist away, but his cock is already locking you in place, stretching you wide around him.

"ah, shit - hear that? sloppy cunt can't get enough of me stuffin' it." he says, voice gravelly, more a growl than words. his fist grabs at your hair, yanking your head back enough for your body to arch. "look at you, cryin' and leakin', but still pushin' back for more." you can't keep your voice down, your pleas splintering apart until they sound like nonsense. it doesn't matter, because he's not listening. his cock batters at your insides, thick shaft dragging mercilessly against every sensitive place inside you, each thrust driving your body closer to a place you don't want to go again.

he changes his angle suddenly in one rough adjustment of his grip on your hip, shoving your ass higher and your thighs wider. the new position drags him deeper still, scraping along parts of you untouched until now.

"tha's it," he grits out, breath harsh in your ear. "body knows what it wants. no need f'you to keep pretendin' not to be a cockwhore." his words make your stomach twist, embarrassment clashing with the unbearable fullness until you can't tell which hurts more. as your stomach turns at the shame of finding pleasure in this despite your lack of consent and the fact that you're simon's, one of his big hands slides down again, a finger prodding at your other hole. the first push of his fingertip has your body jolting violently, a strangled scream muffled against the sheets while his finger forces its way into your ass.

his finger twists. the stretch makes your whole body seize. you're crying in earnest as he works his finger, curling, fucking your ass in time with the brutal rhythm of his cock splitting your pussy open.

your body can't keep up with the assault, cock pounding your cunt, finger stretching your ass, thumb still rolling your swollen clit whenever he wants to hear you shriek louder, which you do. he takes out his finger to slip a second inside harder, all while his cock continuously bullies your soft insides as they squish around his cock.

he takes his fingers out from inside you again to smear your leaking juices with his hand; up your backside, getting it wet by dragging it over your hole before stuffing in a third finger. your whole body lurches forward, choking on your own breath as he works you open there too. "p-please, please, not another, I'm begging! please, not there, it hurts!"

"quit your fuckin' whining." his thrusts turn brutal, each one snapping your body forward against the sheets. you're unable to keep track of what part of you is hurting and what part of you is melting from the way he won't stop. he takes his hand off your clit out of nowhere just to grip your jaw from behind, dragging your face up until your mouth is open for him to lean down over you, hot breath spilling onto your cheek as he snarls into your ear. "open up. stick y'tongue out, too."

you let out a weak cry. "p-please… i will if you take your fingers out of my a-!" he shuts you up with closing his mouth around yours, his tongue tangling with yours messily. his saliva and yours mix each time he swirls his tongue around yours, slurping and sucking on you while he ruts into you with no rhythm, cock battering your cervix until your stomach is tight and bulging where he's dragging you open.

you moan into his mouth without meaning to, muffled cries swallowed by him. as you're forced to kiss your captor, you think of simon - sweet, careful simon, who never kisses you like this, who never shoves his tongue down your throat. you try to pull back to get a breath, but his grip on your jaw is iron, tilting your face until you have no choice but to meet him.

remembering simon makes your belly twist worse, makes you sob into his mouth because you feel an insurmountable amount of guilt. it's like you're betraying him, but your body doesn't care.

he bites your lip and pulls back, spit stringing between your mouths. "aw, hear that?" he mutters, nosing at your cheek and then licking a broad stripe over the skin to taste your tears. mocking them. "messin' yourself for me like a bitch in heat. bet your boyfriend's never pulled it outta you like this."

he pounds inside harder, upward, and you cum messily around him with both holes clenching around him tight, slick soaking your thighs and his cock to make every thrust wetter, louder, nastier.

your body jerks violently as he continues stretching you open while his cock thrusts incessantly into you. he keeps your jaw trapped in his hand, not letting you hide. his gaze is locked on every expression break across you; the roll of your eyes backwards, you biting hard on your lip to stifle moans, the way your lashes flutter when he hits too deep.

regardless, he keeps dragging you back every time you start to collapse forward, holding you suspended on the thick stretch of his cock like you're nothing but a sleeve for him to use.

your body's given up. you're cockdrunk to the point that all you can do is squeal brokenly as he forces you back down, rutting into you like he wants to hollow you out and keep you stuffed forever. he hitches your hips higher by banding his arm round your thighs, now curling and pumping his fingers in your hole while holding you suspended while he rams up into you. helplessly, you dangle there while he uses your body to chase his own release. "gonna cream this lil pussy full," he drives in harder, harder, rutting with a desperation that's more animal than human. "gonna knock y'up, make y'carry me in ya every fuckin' day after this. that what y'want? huh?" he jerks you back harder.

your insides clench and gush again, helpless, the thought making your head spin. another orgasm tears through you before you can even answer. the sound you make is raw and embarrassing, high and broken, as your cunt milks around him.

his hands squeeze bruises into your hips as he holds you open, keeps you stuffed full. "y'hear that? y'cum when i tell you m'gonna breed you. thas' what your body fuckin' wants." he says, then shoves deeper. he keeps your ass arched, fists in your flesh like handles, slamming you back to meet his thrusts until you're nothing but a wet hole clinging around him.

"not done," he snarls, yanking himself free with a gush of slick. then he hauls you up, flips you onto your back, and drives in again, pinning you under his weight. you squeal at the sudden manhandling as he flips you and drives back in, fucking you on your back. he holds your thighs up against your chest, forcing you to stare at his face even through your blurry tear-filled vision. "look at me. I want you to remember."

your mouth falls open as he forces your face toward his, and his mouth slots against yours messily, wet tongue tangling with yours as you moan into him, dizzy and humiliated and so far gone you can't stop yourself.

"you're gonna remember who did this," he mutters hot against your lips between kisses, "every time you're out late all on your own. every time this pussy gets all slick. every time your little boyfriend tries to touch you, you're gonna feel me instead. me. right here." he says curving his cock to hit the deepest parts inside of you repeatedly.

the last few thrusts are deep, punishing, until his body locks hard against yours and he grunts through his teeth, cock pushing up deep inside you. hot, heavy spurts flood you so much you feel it spilling instantly, leaking down your ass, but he keeps pumping it in, dragging you down tight onto him, refusing to pull out. cum leaks out with every slam, spilling down onto the bed, and he groans, angling his hips to push it deeper, to force more of him into you until you're stuffed past the brink.

he locks you there, cock swelling and throbbing while he pours another hot load into your womb, fucking it into you so none goes to waste.

[profeshgooner]

I don’t even like Ghost like that, but it’s just so well written

[profeshgooner]

Kinktober Day 3 - 02.11.25

Kinks - Threesome Cw: salirophilia (again), spit-roasting, mention of slut shaming, birthday sex a/n - used my ocs for this, expect more of these two in the future, also, got busy with college apps and disappeared... whoopsie?

A shrill yelp tore out your throat at the sting of your ass, hand flying back to shield yourself. You whipped around, cheeks heating up from indignant anger, eyes narrowing at the assholes now before you. "Whoops." Your eyes narrowed at the red-head beside you, who didn't seem to regret his actions in the slightest. "What? It was right there— whit'd ye expect me tae dae?" he teasingly argued, laughter bubbling up and lighting his face, "I'd say its gettin' bigger too, don't ye think Donae?" Said man responded with a snort, already walking in closer to hook an arm around your shoulder, in the way a sleaze-bag would try to poorly serenade a girl. Except you know him much too well to feel anything but annoyance, embarrassment and a slight pool of warmth in your gut. "I dunno, lemme check for myself," he mused, smooth and soft as his hand shamelessly lowered to reach for your mini skirt. Your hand snapped down, slicking at the wandering grasp at your butt, hiding the fat of your ass from them while still letting them in so close. "Oh my god, y'all ever heard of consent?" You say that and yet you're really not fighting as hard as you should. Though you really don't want to start getting frisky anywhere that wasn't your shared apartment. "C'mon, hen, we've earned a wee reward after a day like that, eh?" Brody piped up beside you, hand big, firm and warm on your lower back, truly anything but the pinnacle of faux innocence. He wasn’t wrong. You’d dragged them around all over town. Your dad had gifted you a nice sum, and the two of them had happily offered to help. You’d made them carry your bags, drive you everywhere, and survive your taunting like little servants at your beck and call. But they didn't get you a pair of heels that you really wanted, sick of your shit and forcing you to haul ass in the car. "I'm not doing anything without those heels—" "If you'd wait and check the trunk, Brody picked it up while you were in the washroom," Donae blandly commented, raising a brow at your shit. Oh. Well, you mean, they spent a thousand on heels, so it’d be really mean not to at least… celebrate their effort in their favorite way.

"—daein' aw this for a pair of heels— you've nae shame have ye bonnie?" Brody teased, though it sounded a little strained when he pushed your head further down on his veiny cock. He was absolutely bruising the back of your throat, drool coating his length and running down your chin, ruining the sheets below you. You let out a pained whine, throat squeezing around him after a hand struck your left ass cheek, in tandem with the slow rolls of dick into your velvety cunt.

"Can't slut shame if we're paying for it," the darker male mused behind you, a smug smile that you know was there widening when his hand lowered to deepen the arch of your back, "s-shit, worth it for this fat ass though." All of you were damn filthy, nasty words and the musk of sweat and slick permeating the spacious bedroom. Honestly, you were half-way to being cock drunk, ignoring your own choking to take down that dick to the hilt, even as you teared up, beginning to ruin your mascara. There were gloss stains all over the two men because of you, though in comparison you looked significantly worse. Bruises began to bloom on your rear and hips, in addition to the little nips all over your chest and wrists. Trying to hide all this is going to be an utter bitch in the future. But you're a little too eager for cock to care about that right now, just focused on how full you felt, pushing back against the man grinding up into you. "Y-yeah baby... it's okay, I know," he dragged out, a condescending coo as his hand slipped to your front to press against the bulge he was forming in your stomach, "you can take it, you wanna make us feel good right?"

Your arms grew weak at that, only sounding more pathetic as they both started to speed up, thrusting in tandem just to see how overstimulated you got. It was too much, being used like a toy like that with the two of them. You tried to stay strong, you really did, but you're got limits and getting double stuffed like an Oreo is a little too much for you. Your warm walls squeezed Donae tight as you let go, getting fucked through it all as if their pleasure was more important. Your body locked up, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you felt the warmth of someone's load filling your pussy, Brody pulling out just in time to spurt all over your face and hair. “Aye, that’s it, bonnie — nae idea why ye were botherin’ tae pretend ye didnae want it," Brody snarked, grabbing your chin to tilt you up, showing you off to his partner in crime. "Donae, glaze her ass an' grab me a candle— ’m fair starvin’ for a bit o’ cake noo." Best. Birthday. Ever.

[profeshgooner]

Kinktober Day 2 - 02.10.25

Kinks: Kidnapping Cw: threats, implied noncon at the end, slight rough play a/n - old story revamped specifically for today's prompt, idk why I struggled so much with ts... not my fav but wtv

You wedge yourself beneath a nearby metal desk, pressing so far into the shadows you could damn well disappear, curling into yourself as if it'd make you any smaller. Clammy hands seal over your mouth to muffle the ragged breaths and soft whimpers you are trying and actively failing to hide.

You fucking hate yourself for finding yourself in this completely, preventable situation.

Only a jackass with a mental deficiency would think a late night run with a 5 dollar taser from Temu would do shit.

But alright Billy Badass, since you're so sure you'd be just fine.

Of course someone would point a gun at you. Of course he’d knock you out and haul you into his truck. A nice truck, sure— Ford, maybe, clean interior— probably makes good money from... whatever he's gonna do to you.

But still— why you? You were careful, confident, had something to scare him off. The shit looked fake as fuck, but it had to count for something. You have so much to live for and now it's ending in bum fuck nowhere.

That sound— heavy, military boots striking concrete tile causes the claws of fear to squeeze tight around your chest. That's definitely not you walking, so it must be him.

Oh for Christ's sake—

“C’mon,” a low voice hums, unbothered, like this is just a casual game of hide and seek. “How long you gonna keep this up?”

Confident, steady and calm. Everything you wish you could be at the moment.

You could try to run, but you don’t know the layout. You don’t have a weapon. The thought of surrender makes you sick, fear riling up the bile currently creeping up your throat, but what other options do you have?

Each step draws closer, deliberate and unhurried. Every thud of his heel makes the frantic slamming of your heart against your ribs  thud louder in your ears. You press yourself deeper beneath the desk until the thin sheet metal groans softly under your weight.

Your heart drops to the depths of hell itself.

There is no way in fuck he didn't hear that shit.

“I’ll be nicer if you come out yourself, y’know,” he calls, amusement lacing his tone. “I won’t even play that rough if you come real nice on your own.”

A soft scrape of metal follows— something sharp dragged along the table’s edge. Then his boots appear in front of the opening.

In the dim light, a beautifully crafted swiss knife glints.

Hope shrivels up and dies pathetically. Why bother after seeing that shit from a guy that has twice your size and might beat the breaks off your dumbass?

You're so fucked. Like you've seen this a thousand times in horror movies and screamed at the dumbass lead to do something. Ranting on and on about what you would've done instead to survive.

Hypocritical-ass bitch aren't you now?

Large hands clamp around your ankle and yank hard. Your head hits the floor with a dull crack; pain blossoming hot and white at the base of your skull, vision absolutely swimming upon impact.

He drags his feet lazily, towering over you now. Only his eyes show above his mask, bright with glee— like a child finding a long-lost toy.

At least one of you is happy.

He crouches, fingers gripping your cheeks tight, squeezing painfully as he drags your face toward his, eye to eye with you now. The weapon in his grasp glints dangerously close to your skin.

"There you are," he crooned softly, glowering down at you. You could hear the smile in his voice, could feel the dark grin hid behind the thin stretch of cloth over his mouth. He stared into your glassy eyes and tear-stained cheeks from prior tears, clearly satisfied with what was staring back.

Broken murmurs tumble from your lips — apologies, pleas for mercy, anything is better than nothing at this point.

“You’re so fuckin’ cute, poor thing,” he coos, his grip sliding to pat your cheek with condescending gentleness.

“You done now?”

The question was so light-hearted, a playful tease under normal circumstances, too bad it was him of all people saying it. You wordlessly nod, weak sniffles and salty tears all you could manage anymore.

“Good girl.”

He stands, then crouches again, snaking an arm around your waist. You’re lifted effortlessly, slung over his shoulder like a slaughtered lamb being taken for skinning. His hand presses firm and heavy on the swell of your ass to keep you still as he re-sheathes the blade at his thigh.

"I-i'm sorry," your voice cracked weakly, dizziness still not having dissipated, a distressed last ditch effort to save your skin, "m'so sorry I swear I didn't mean to run—" 

You're lying out your ass right now.

He pauses, grip tightening just enough to make you whimper.

A dry chuckle slips out, low at first, then building into a darker, nastier laugh. “Sorry?” He wipes at his eye, still breathless with amusement. “shit, you can come up with a better excuse than that.”

He pats your ass once, mock gentle before continuing his previous statement.

"I'll teach you about lying to me, right after we deal with your little running problem."

The way he says it— like he’s promising a lesson, not a punishment, makes your stomach flip and your thighs clench.

Yeah slut, you keep on and thirst after your kidnapper. All you know what to fucking do is think with your clit right?

He shifts you higher on his shoulder, humming a tune under his breath like this is just business as usual.

“Trust me,” he murmurs at last, voice a dark purr against your ear.

“You will be.”

Someone needs to correct fear responses to 'flight, fright or fuck' already.

[bonesofall]

know your place

cw. power dynamics, light misogyny, outdated husband-wife dynamics, unprotected sex, rough sex, toxic masculinity, doggy/missionary, mean man, crying

synopsis. your man found out you’ve been taking money out of your bank account to help pay bills. he’s very insulted.

kinktober | main masterlist | navigation | multifandom masterlist

he comes home early to address the insult to his masculinity that's been eating at him all day. his wife, the woman he's supposed to be providing for and taking care of, has been sneaking behind his back and paying for things she has no business in contributing to, let alone worrying about. 

he's allowed you, albeit reluctantly, to keep your job because love the bakery a whole lot. it gives you practice at decorating and making sweet treats, and you and him get to share the cakes, pastries and donuts that are leftover at the shop by closing time. 

however, the money you get from working never meant you could start slipping your own card in at the grocery store. it never meant you should be comparing prices on groceries, or help pay for a date. that's his job. and now you've gone behind his back and paid for insurance.

he responds gruffly to your excited, "you're home! oh my goodness, i have so much to tell you about work today!" 

"mmh. evenin'. "

your face falls. he doesn't usually enter the home like this; he usually drops his things and opens his arms wide for you to run into, then presses a long, warm kiss to your lips and sweeps you off your feet to deepen it. right now, he's just staring at you and frowning. 

you walk over to him, mood already plummeting at the thought of him having a bad day, or worse, being upset at you for something. you reach out to hold him and ask what's wrong, but he beats you to it, shrugging his coat off and taking a printed bank statement out of the pocket, pushing it into your hands. 

"explain."

you freeze but recognize it immediately, the paper reflects our own bank activity, bolded and circled. it's impossible to miss the hefty payment labeled "insurance".

you look up at him with wide, guileless eyes. you'd simply made the payment because he'd been buying you so many things recently, pretty dresses, lingerie, a planned vacation to the country you've been daydreaming about for months; he'd noticed you looking longingly at pictures of the island online and had surprised you a week later with plane tickets. with so much money spent on you in such a short period of time, you thought the least you could do was contributing a little to some of your shared bills. "oh... it's just me chipping in a little. i thought i was helping…"

"helping?" his voice drops and he stares at you more intently. one of his large hands reaches up to cup your cheek and rub his thumb lightly beneath your eye, a reassuring gesture that's meant to lull you into a false sense of security. you immediately lean in to rest your face in his palm. "did i ask for help, sweetheart?"

"no, but-"

he slaps your cheek lightly so you go quiet, then he brings his hand down to your jaw and squeezes, making sure you're looking right into his eyes while he speaks. "and did i ever give you the impression i needed your money?"

you blink, stunned by the sudden shift because his palm that was so gentle a moment ago is now clamping around your jaw. your lips part, but he doesn't give you the chance to answer yet.

"you think i can't take care of my own wife?" he demands. "you think i need your bakery tips to keep food on our table and you in those pretty little outfits i like seeing you in?" you try to shake your head, lip wobbling. you hate when he's mad at you. you really thought he'd appreciate you trying to help out. "that's not-, i didn't mean it like that."

"i don't know what you meant," he cuts in, thumb swiping over your lip . "but that's not your job, sweetheart. it's mine. now i've got t'show you what yours is."

he's pressed behind you with one hand on the back of your neck and the other holding your hip to keep you in place. your face is in the mattress while he pounds into you with hard, rapid thrusts that make your body jolt every time. his cock drags against your walls hard and thrust, burying to the hilt each time while his heavy balls slap firm against your ass. "y'think i need y'fucking money, woman?"

you whimper into the sheets, hips arching, thighs trembling. And he grabs your waist tighter, rough fingers digging in like he's trying to brand you. "n-no sir," you manage to choke out through a loud whine that sounds garbled because it's mixed in with your squeaky little sobs.

his hands slide down from your waist to your thighs, lifting you just enough to shift, pressing deeper, harder. His hips slam into yours with a sudden, brutal force that knocks the breath out of you. "what kind of man would i be," he growls, squeezing the sides of your neck to make you dizzy. "if i let you run around spending y'money on me and letting you sneak behind my back?"

you're shaking under him, hips jerking up, thighs all shaky while he fucks you harder and harder. the slick between you has become a fucking mess by now. he's not just fucking, he's saying, loud and clear, he's the one taking care of shit. the one putting food on the table and keeping you in those pretty little things he can't stop staring at.

his cock is buried so deep inside you it feels like he's never gonna come out. he's fucking you straight into the mattress just to prove a point. he drags out slow just to slam all the way back in, hitting so deep your legs go weak and your breath catches in your throat. "you like that, don't you?"

"mmh, mhm... yeah," you mumble into the pillow. he scoffs at your dazed little voice. seems like all you care about right now is cock and not the lesson he's trying to instill in your stupid head.

his grip tightens on your hips, not enough to bruise yet but enough to jolt you out of your haze for a second and clench around him. your body responds even when your mind goes soft, even when he's scolding you like you're too dumb to understand anything but the stretch of his cock.

"so now you remember how to use your mouth," he mutters, "but you couldn't open it to ask me before you went behind my back, hm wife?"

you sniffle and try to say something, but he fucks into you too hard for words to form as he bullies his cock deeper into your soaked pussy.

he leans down over you, his broad chest blanketing your back, hot breath puffing against your ear as he shoves in again deep until you squeal. your hips collapse to the mattress and he doesn't let up, just grabs your ass with both hands, spreading you open and using you. filthy, deep thrusts that make your toes curl and your brain go soft. "let's get -fuck- one thing straight." he mumbles into your ear.

"you. don't. pay. for. shit." each word a thrust. each one harder than the last. "understand?" "y-yes-!" "say it." "i-i'm sorry! ohmygod," you gasp out, voice wobbling. "i didn't mean to, I wasn't trying to- mmh, sir, i'm sorry! i won't pay for anything!" "that's fuckin' right."

his hand slips up your back and tangles in your hair, yanking your head up just enough that your mouth falls open in a helpless gasp. he keeps your face turned to the side so he can see every expression while he keeps pounding your pussy.

you're dripping all over the sheets, thighs shaking uncontrollably, mouth slack with how good and overwhelming it feels. he watches for a second, watching the mess he's made of you, the way your body shakes with every thrust and tightens every time he presses deep.

your whole body locks up as your climax crashes over you without warning, a messy, gasping, trembling orgasm that leaves your thighs soaked and your voice gone. you clamp down around him and he grunts loudly in your ear, cock pulsing inside you hard as he spills thick cream deep into you and filling you even more.

he doesn't pull out. just wraps both arms around you, cradling you against his chest while your body trembles in aftershock.

[profeshgooner]

I fear I got a love for light misogyny and those outdated husband-wife dynamics bad, its so damn sexy

[kinktober26]

Welcome to Kinktober 2025!

As there wasn’t an official Kinktober prompt list last year, we’ve put together an unofficial one for 2025, along with an AO3 collection. The graphics were all made by @latte-cucumber, and she's also made a banner that you’re welcome to use for your Tumblr Kinktober posts:

More information

Kinktober is an October prompt challenge that’s been running in one form or another since 2016. There are three prompts for each day in October, and the challenge is to use one (or more!) of the prompts to create something for that day. If you don’t want to use any of the three daily prompts, you can swap them out for the bonus prompts at the bottom of the prompt list.

If you have any questions, check our FAQs. Our askbox is open for further questions about how the challenge works or what the prompts mean.

Prompts

Masturbation – Orgasm Control – Incest

Coming Untouched – Ageplay – Kidnapping

Threesome – Nipple Clamps – Alien Abduction

Voyeurism – Sounding – Hypnosis

Finger Sucking – Wax Play – Dacryphilia

Outdoor Sex – Humiliation – Intoxication

Blindfolds – Chastity – Bloodplay

Webcam – Figging – Cages

Exhibitionism – Shibari – Tentacles

Oral Sex – Punishment – Consensual Non-Consent

Come Licking – Handcuffs – Somnophilia

Sex Work – Kneeling – Sissification

Dildos – Dom Bottom/Sub Top – Medical Play

Omegaverse – Possessive Sex – Choking/Gagging

Semi-Public – Object Insertion – Sex Pollen

Remote Control – High Protocol – Fire Play

Messy Sex – Service Kink – Anal Hooks

Size Queen – Dom/Sub – Genital Torture

Creampie – Sensory Deprivation – Electricity

Mirror Sex – Golden Shower – Dubcon

Rimming – Forced Orgasm – Monsterfucking

Quiet Sex – Crawling – Gunplay

Biting – Praise Kink – Enemas

Anal Sex – Gags – Noncon

Double Penetration – Impact Play – Pillory/Stocks

Lingerie – Cuckolding – Sex Robot

Hair Pulling – Animal Play – Gangbang

Multiple Orgasms – S&M – Needle Play

Body Worship – Omorashi – Full-Body Bondage

Breeding – Fucking Machine – Degradation

Hot Tub Sex – Foot Fetish – Writer’s Choice

Bonus prompts:

Aftercare

Fisting

Wall Sex

Sugar Baby

Uniform Kink

Free Use

Temporary/Permanent Marks

[profeshgooner]

Masterlist 📩

Oneshots - spanks for your troubles - facefuck

Original Fiction ...

Drabbles ...

Kinktober 2025 - Day 1: Masturbation - Day 2: Kidnapping - Day 3: Threesome - Day 4: Free Use

[profeshgooner]

Kinktober Day 1 - 01.10.25

Kinks - Masturbation, Salirophilia Cw: panty sniffing, breaking and entering (sorta), slight voyeurism, general perversion, mentions of rough play

He's a pervert— he knows that. Always something he had going on since his hormones started raging and these urges from hell itself became ever-present.

And at first, he managed those thoughts somewhat alright, somehow suppressed them. Made the effort to respect the women around him and not act on such heathenous fantasies, keeping to himself. Until you came around and fucked that up for him, of course.

His eyes always found themselves on your legs when you were distracted, or the grip he always had dangerously low on your back. Jacking off to your soft breaths and drooling face whenever you fell asleep on FaceTime calls. Shit— he's even brushed himself up against your tits and ass a couple times and labeled it as an accident. All easy to hide, and nothing too violating.

But using the spare key under your welcome mat, stowing away in your bedroom and sniffing your dirty panties while rubbing one out?

Yeah, no, he's so fucked.

Utterly and completely fucked— not even the worst sinner in denial could try and rationalize this one.

He's beyond saving too, because instead of guilt and shame filling him up, all he does is squeeze the base of his cock harder at the thrill of being caught.

Would you be mad? Surprised? Turned on? Would you kick him out and block him on everything? Ruin his social life by blasting what he'd done to your friends? Or maybe you'd blackmail you with the incident and take advantage of the fact that your best friend so desperately wants to fuck you and has a the tool to have you crying on it—

Ah shit, he's not gonna last long like this.

You smell so fucking good too, crotch of your lace pressed right up to his nose, eyes threatening to roll back. It's a little sticky too, like your pussy had been fucking gushing before undressing to take a shower.

You had to have been playing with yourself while reading those dirty books he's caught you engrossed in. Books in which he teased and threatened you with exposing repeatedly, much to your mortification.

It'd be so nice to make you read one out loud, make you re-enact a couple scenes with him.

He's gotten a peak at your little stories you write, he knows you're not a fucking angel, as much as you try to portray yourself as such.

Maybe he could tug on your hair whenever you talk too softly, smack your ass if you don't enunciate your words like a proper scholar since you read so much like one, slow down to an agonizing pace just to hear you cry and beg for more—

"Fffuck," he dragged out under his breath, strokes growing all the more swift and rough.

The nasty 'schlick, schlick, schlick' of his lubed up hand up and down his dick was so lewd. The room's gonna linger with the filthy scent of sex and it'll be all his fault.

All because he couldn't be normal about his friend.

His gaze fell on the plushie he'd gotten you on your bed, a brown plushie with a cute bow on its ear, some cute shit only a girl like you would enjoy. Said cute shit that he's seen you snuggle up to countless times whenever he called you late at night.

And alas, his thoughts are much too far gone to stop himself, common sense and basic decency long out the window.

He'd leave you a gift— only fair after he came over to your place without your knowledge.

Without hesitation, he leans over your bed to grab at the soft bunny, twitchy tip being rubbed all over its face. He didn't even give the poor thing a chance, rutting up against it like he was a mutt in heat.

He could only wish it was your face he was dragging his veiny cock all over.

And he's so entranced on finally reaching his high, he doesn't hear the click of your front door. Doesn't hear the soft jingle of your keys hooking up on the rack near the door, or your bag dropping against the floor. Didn't even hear the sound of footsteps echoing in the hallway leading up to your room.

He did however, hear the creak of the gateway to his demise, his name tumbling out your lips just as he came. White, hot and thick all over your favorite stuffed animal, contrasting against its chocolate brown fur.

Stuttered breaths are all he could manage, figure slumped over the edge of your bed and eyes blown out wide like an addict's as he met your own.

There is no remorse or chagrin. Only lust. Only need. Only hunger for what he's been so desperately craving for months on end with no relief.

"Oops."

He's so fucked.

[profeshgooner]

CW: f!reader, face-fucking, threats, slight degradation(?), praise

"C'mon, baby please I was just playing around," you nervously chuckled, sounding more whiney than anything. Arms found themselves wrapped tight around him, cheek pressed up against his lower abdomen with hope that it was enough to get him to forgive you. Unfortunately, puppy dog eyes and a big pout can't save you, having really crossed a line this time. The lies had rolled off your tongue so fucking easy, conviction as if you were reciting quotes from the gospel. 'No— he's my bitch' and 'If I tell him to bark, he'll be on all fours' as if he didn't basically have you trained and obedient in private. But no, you just had to play entertainer and run your fat mouth while your boyfriend sat there, brow raised as if this was also news to him. Worst part is, they believed you.

May God be your witness, there wasn't a soul that didn't eat up the shit you were pulling out your ass. You couldn't blame them, he's such a quiet, laidback person who was usually quite soft-spoken. What business does a man like that have with such a loud mouthed, dramatic woman such as yourself? He had to be following orders and letting you run shit right? How else could he handle someone known to be 'too much' for so many? Well, they just didn't know him like you did. "You can do better than that," so calm yet so firm, like a father correcting bad behavior, "I thought you were little miss 'I-Run-Shit'? Where's she now, hmm?" Rough hands find their way to your chin, tilting your head up to meet his fully, eyes cool as ever. They were sharp though, like they were silently picking you apart piece by piece. Fuck if that didn't get you wet, squirming under his gaze, sight causing the corners of his lips to tilt up. "Ah, I see," he started, free hand already lowering to his belt, flicking it off with one hand, pulling it completely off. His hand tightened on your jaw, a way that was teetering on bruising if he wasn't careful. "You just need some dick to put you back in your place," he hummed, so casual as if making a comment on the chilly weather outside. Maybe that's why you kept doing this, the attention it got you. The laughs or scandalized gasps didn't mean anything after a couple minutes. Didn't get you going at all, not like his amused gaze, clearly enjoying the show you put on. Especially not like when he has a fistful of your hair and a warning to do a good job—

—if you really wanted his forgiveness in the form of cock that is. You got snapped back to the present with the slapping of his tip on your cheek, smile so disarming it could've fooled you had he not held his belt in his other. "You are going to suck it like your ass depends on it, cause it does," threat delivered so sweetly, without a visual, one could've thought it was just a joke. And he's trained you so fucking well, little peck on the head, using his pre-cum like lip gloss before taking him deep in your mouth. Wasting time wasn't your forte, quite the impatient girl as you drag your tongue along a vein on the underside of his length. "T-that's it boss, right where you belong," he mocked with a grin, belt raising to lightly tap your face, "so fucking cute aren't you?" He cooed that last part, words not without their effect, thighs squeezing and only encouraged to do more, work harder to make him keep praising you.

Head bobbing lower, your nose brushes his bush before raising back up once more. The length and girth caused your eyes to unintentionally water, slight gag causing your throat to tighten around his dick. Didn't take him long before he grew a little desperate, hand in your hair tightening considerably. "Just keep your mouth open pretty, I'll do all the work," spoken in such a condescending tone it was making your mind all fuzzy. His grin quickly grew razor sharp before his hip snapped forward. Pace impatient, he didn't give much time before pushing in and out repeatedly, your nails digging into his thigh for leverage. Drool and pre started to leak past your lips, dribbling down your chin and dropping onto your cleavage and the floor beneath you. Didn't help that your mascara was running all down your cheeks either, a hot fucking mess. All the while he fed you praises, even amidst the desecration of your mouth, like it was just another hole to fuck. "See? You're so sweet when your mouth's full," he started, voice cracking in the middle of his teasing, pace growing just a little more erratic, balls slapping the underside of your jaw aggressively, "just needed something to stuff it." Eventually he'd hit the edge, forcing the entire length down your throat, nose smushed up against his pelvis as warm, thick liquid sliding down your throat, not a drop wasted. He pulled out, leaving you coughing a little greedy gulps for air before looking back up at him with glassy yet oh-so-hopeful eyes. "C'mere sweetheart," he murmured, picking you up with ease, hand hooked under your thighs and the other firm on your back. So gentle as he lowered you onto the plush, leather couch. "I forgive you," he started, tone light and easy going, a little 'but' right after, lowering his face to yours, serious look on his face. All the while his hand hooked on your mini skirt, pushing it up your hip with a still hunger. "The next time that shit happens again, I'll fuck you in the car and make you go back out just like that and apologize for lying, 'kay pretty?" Oh you were so doing this bullshit again.

[profeshgooner]

CW: spanking, fingering, degradation

Frankly, you're not as mad as you should be in this situation. Of course your face is still hot and your wrists are sore, but dare you say they add to what can only be called a masochist's wet dream.

"Fucking answer me when I'm talking to you," followed by a bloody harsh smack, a pained yelp rising out your throat and another sniffle.

Thick fingers rubbed at your sore ass, deep voice always so quiet and low ringing in your ears once again.

"Imma ask one more time; why the fuck did you think you could take my stuff and I wouldn't find out?"

Leftovers mind you, days old lasagne and stew chicken— he hadn't touched it in bloody days! You weren't going to let it waste to you?

"N-no, listen— I just thought you didn't want it anymore—" you attempted to explain, involuntary mewl at the two fingers rubbing at the thoroughly soaked crotch of your cotton panties. Cute, just like you... sometimes. "Nah, you just like getting smacked around after you do dumb shit," he sneered, all while sliding the elastic to the side, exposing your wet heat to the cold air. His digits slid right in, no resistance as he found himself knuckle-deep inside your cunt.

You keened at that, strangled noise of pleasure forcing out your throat as your head dropped, toes curling and thighs attempting to squeeze closed. Instinctively your hands tried to move, to grip something— anything, but cool metal kept you right in place. His hands were much too cold on your neck, slight squeeze to keep you in place in his lap, continued assault with absolutely no concern for you. Grip tightening after you let out a mewl, the asshole continued talking as if he wasn't pumping his fingers in and out your drooling hole. "Stop moving— you want me to gag you? Huh?" he mocked, your gummy walls clenching around him at the thought, "course you do, nasty little bitches like you love that shit." If you didn't know any better you'd say he hated you. "M'not— shit just like that— you're being mean," you whined, back arching into him, even as you're being taken in such an embarrassing way. And you know you're a lost cause when you felt like crying when his hand began to slow. You've got more self-respect as to not cry over not getting to cum, your lip isn't wobbling at all right now. You are a strong girl and you can get through this— —is what you'd say if you were stronger, but alas you are weak and slutty and need this desperately. Pathetic whine as your hips automatically bucked back against his palm, much more focused on the fact that this was supposed to be a punishment. Clearly, you're either much too brave for your own good or too dumb to think rationally about consequences. He leaned over to your ear, like the devil over your shoulder encouraging such debauchery. It's happened so many times before and yet you fly into his trap time and time again. "That's it mama, take what you want," he cooed, more sinister than sweet, tugging your hair just a tad as your hips chased after his hand. Dignity is a luxury you cannot afford at the moment, the prettiest whimper at the nip at your ear, encouraging you to soak his pants while smiling so sweetly.

Took you a couple of minutes, but it was worth it, biting down onto his thigh as you rode your high, coil in your stomach finally coming undone. You felt boneless, taking you a second to catch your breath, choked noise as he pressed a sweet kiss atop your head. "You do that a couple more times, and we could talk about how you can make it up to me." Fucking asshole.