synopsis: with your rankings lowering and the sudden surge of couple content, your cam girl reputation is at stake. but when your friend makes an accidental appearance on your stream and your viewers go crazy, you think you have found the solution to your problem.
contains: MDNI, unedited (the tenses are off oops), cam girl reader, golden boy caleb, explicit smut, protected sex, filming (obviously), dirty talk, guided masturbation, a sprinkle of praise and degradation, pussy slapping, tattoos and piercings, 6.5k words
note: based on this prompt by @tired-biscuit! art by raonnni <3
The fall from the top is never a good feeling. While you took it in stride with grace like an angel whose wings were injured in front of others, as you sat in your dark bedroom, you felt like a sore, ungrateful loser, feathers scattering sadly all over your floor.
For three years you'd stayed at the top of the charts without doing anything extreme. No collabs. Just you—streams, teasing chats, cozy late-night vibe videos, and the kind of photos that made viewers feel like they were right there with you. Though the videos of you playing with yourself and talking your viewers through it did do numbers.
Apparently that wasn’t enough anymore.
You scrolled through the profiles of the creators above you. Some girls are new and others old. Almost every one of them had partner content now. Couples kissing in thumbnails. Hands on hips. Bodies meshed. Someone behind the camera whispering naughty jokes that made the woman touching herself smile naturally.
You stared at the chart on your second monitor like it was a long time friend that stabbed you in the back which it did feel like on some days.
Three weeks ago you'd been sitting comfortably in the top ten. As of last week, you were hovering around fourteen, occasionally slipping to sixteen when someone new went viral.
“Come on,” you muttered, refreshing the page again.
The rankings didn’t change.
Your chair creaked as you leaned back and rubbed your eyes. The problem wasn’t that you'd gotten worse at streaming. Your viewers were still there, still chatting, still tipping.
Everywhere you looked it was duos climbing the charts.
You sighed and opened a few competing pages just to torture yourself. Half of them had a guy behind or in front of the camera, laughing softly, interacting with chat. The thumbnails alone looked more real. More intimate.
Apparently the majority of the viewers didn't want solo content that reflected their own situations behind their screens while they watched. Now they wanted to live vicariously through other people's relationships as if that wasn't just as lonely once they shut their devices off and were confronted with the fact that it wasn't their reality.
The numbers weren’t bad, you still made plenty of income from your subscribers and generous, loyal tippers. They just weren’t as satisfying anymore. It left a hollow feeling inside you as if you were subconsciously basing your worth on this career that was supposed to just be a side hustle for pocket money.
After paying off your full tuition in just a year of posting content, it obviously turned into more than that.
The analytics page glowed on your monitor, the chart line dipping slightly where it used to climb. Not a crash, not a disaster—just slipping. You're worried that it may drop lower and lower until you reach rock bottom and everyone forgets about you.
It sucked really, letting numbers and views be your source of validation, but it had been three years of being in this industry so it became a bad habit. You just had to choose a job that revolved around attention, didn't you?
Recruiting a fake boyfriend was out of the question. Having witnessed how crazy fans could get, you had no doubt that they would be able to figure out who you are, who the hypothetical guy is and expose you for being a fraud. It'd concerning how parasocial they could get but you thankfully had no issues like that so far as you kept your identity a secret and set clear cut boundaries for your interactions.
Besides, if you did stage a relationship, you think you'd eventually crack under the pressure of pretenses and the guilt you'd undoubtedly feel for lying. Building yourself up to be something you're not will inevitably come back to bite you in the ass and the facade will fall away when you're too exhausted to keep it up anymore. One white lie would snowball really quick.
You wish your life was as easy as Caleb's. Golden boy of the engineering faculty. Perfect grades, star basketball player, heartthrob smile, lived in hoodies and libraries but also knew how to party and put himself out there. The only man you trusted not to turn weird about your profession. He wasn't judgemental in the slightest when you opened up about it though he did get all flustered.
As if you jinxed yourself with those thoughts, he texted you to ask if you wanted to have a sleepover which you agreed to. It was a good distraction, having him at your apartment and assembling model airplanes with him while some movie played in the background and you ate takeout.
But then it happened.
The next morning he walked past your streaming room brushing his teeth, half-asleep with his brown hair messy, shirt nowhere in sight. He wasn't even fully in the frame of your camera, just a sculpted torso and low riding boxers, arms flexing with the movements of his toothbrush.
Yet that was all it took.
Your chat spammed messages asking who the shirtless guy was. The mystery guy from your stream was suddenly trending, your ratings and ranking climbing once more, shocking you. Everyone began speculating who the man was, wondering if you had a boyfriend even if you insisted that he was your friend.
So now you face a different problem.
However, an ingenious idea was forming in your mind that just might fly you back to the top. Perhaps this moment of your friend breaking the internet will work in your favor.
Later that week, you walked into the living room where he was scrolling his phone. It was a rare sight for a guy who liked to code his own otome games and read up on the latest aerospace breakthroughs in his free time.
“So… funny story,” you start, settling beside him on the couch as you thought about how to word your request as if you didn't think it over countless times already.
“I thought I was the comedian in this dynamic,” he comments in faux offense, tone filled with dry amusement.
“My chat saw you the other morning.”
His head snapped up at that, eyes widened. “You told them I exist?”
Raising your hands, you wave them. “I didn’t tell them anything! You just wandered through like a crossover between a Calvin Klein ad and a toothpaste commercial.”
Caleb groaned and buried his face in a cushion. While he did like attention, being an extrovert and all, he wasn't all that happy about making an accidental appearance on your stream.
“They’re asking about you now,” you continued carefully. “But don't worry. All they saw was your torso.”
“What if they enhance the video and see my tattoos, they'd be able to find me,” he counters, sounding panicked as blood drains from his face, imagining his future career as an aerospace engineer slipping through his fingers.
“No, they won't! Besides, you don't go around showing off your ink to everyone,” you remind him since he's never really shirtless on campus.
“I don't know if I can do this,” he tells you, already thinking of the worst-case scenarios and how showing up on a cam girl's site might just jeopardize his life.
“Wait, hear me out!”
“No.”
“You wouldn’t even show your face.”
He looked up slowly. “Go on.”
Relieved that he was giving you a chance to state your case, you continued. “You’d just sit off camera and talk sometimes. Like a mysterious co-host.”
“Why would I do that?”
You grinned.
“Because the internet is already obsessed with the shirtless toothbrush guy.”
He stared at you for a long moment.
“I hope that nickname doesn't stick.”
“You can change it if you give them other ideas during a stream,” you suggest. “So… is that a yes?”
“Only if I get to raid your snack cupboard.”
You deadpan at that. “That's something you already do.”
Nodding, he thinks about it. “Oh, then let me crash here whenever I want. You know how rowdy my housemates can get. It's hard to study like that.”
“Sure,” you agree since he's already over often enough that he might as well start staying here. “As long as you clean up after yourself and keep up your hygiene.”
His violet eyes bulge out at that as he jerks back in outrage. “I'm not a pig. I take very good care of myself and my surroundings, you don't have to worry about that.”
Caleb knows you're just ribbing him, the smile on your face just confirming that. He smiles as well as you clap and throw your arms around him, pulling him into a crushing hug that makes him chuckle.
“Thank you, Cable Car!” You exclaim the nickname you'd come up with for him one night you were tipsy and called him that instead of his name.
“You're welcome.” He pats your back. “I can’t believe I’m considering becoming an anonymous internet cryptid.”
As you anticipated, your viewers love Toothbrush Guy who's now called Boy Next Door as everyone's so taken by how likable he is, ever the conversationalist. They all agree that he sounds handsome just from his playful, charming tone and the boyish laughs he lets out while talking to you.
Some even tell him to get into voice acting or do those kinds of audios on the same site and he's very flattered by all the compliments.
“Audio porn, huh? I heard about it but didn't know it was such a popular form of sexual media,” Caleb muses.
He's sitting at your dining room table with his laptop, half-absorbed in something that looked suspiciously like code.
He’d been staying over for a few days while his apartment building dealt with a plumbing issue. A polite houseguest. Barely took up space but his presence was felt everywhere.
It was hard not to notice him. He was unfairly good-looking for someone who sat hunched over his laptop like that. Tall, dark hair, soft amethyst eyes, the kind of energy that made people gravitate towards him instantly.
“Yeah, a lot of women prefer it over the videos honestly. I guess it's because the videos are mostly catered towards men and their fantasies whereas audios are more intimate and feel like you're being addressed directly,” you explain, taking a sip from your can of soda.
Caleb blinked at you from behind his glasses, half-hidden behind his laptop like it was a shield to hide his mischievous smirk.
“Oh yeah? So you prefer that over videos, huh?” he asks, dark eyebrows wiggling teasingly.
Face warming, you shrug. “Yeah, I do. What's wrong with that?”
Chuckling, he shakes his head. “Nothing, I'm just messing with you.”
The clicking and clacking of his fingers on the keyboard fill the silence that settles over you for a few moments until he speaks up again.
“So what kind of audios do you listen to?”
“Huh?” You blurt, not expecting the question as you take another mouthful of soda to stall answering.
Observant as ever, he picks up on that and presses further, leaning back against the chair and stretching his arms over his head, the fabric of his shirt pulling taut on his bulky arms and chest, eyes on you.
“Ah, come on. Don't get shy on me now. I already know what you do,” he says and yeah, this is nothing compared to some of the content you make. “So what do you like then? The boyfriend roleplay? The ambient stuff? Guided masturbation? Story based ones? Dirty talk?”
“Um, a bit of everything, I suppose.”
He perks up at that like a detective that just got a lead on a crime and you feel like you made a mistake by entertaining this conversation.
“Oh? Dirty talk too? So what like praise or degradation? Or both?” He prattles questions as your face gets hotter.
“Depends on my mood,” you answer vaguely and he hums, evidently entertained.
“I see, and guided masturbation, huh? You liked to be told what to do?” His smile is teasing.
“Sometimes.”
There's cogs turning in that brain of his as he tilts his head, gaze roaming over the interior of your apartment while he thinks. “What do they say then? Call you a pretty slut? Tell you to fuck that sweet wet pussy for them? Be a good whore and come for them?”
Vulgar words spew from his mouth casually and leave yours agape, brows shooting up to your hairline as your stomach flips from how he'd lowered his voice to say that.
“Excuse me?”
An easy chuckle leaves him. “Just giving examples. I'm not calling you all those things.”
“Obviously,” you say, though you're not all that convinced.
“Obviously,” he affirms with a barely contained grin.
Clearing your throat, you take another sip of your soda, parched and Caleb just watches. “Yeah, pretty much. Some of them can really go over board and kill the mood though.”
He cringes in solidarity, knowing that he's been put off by high-pitched, overexaggerated moans from porn stars while trying to find something good to get off to at night. There's only so many titles along the lines of “daddy's little cunny” that a guy can take before he goes soft.
Meanwhile, you're still flustered by his mimicry of those audio porn actors. Liquid heat rolled into your stomach from the things he said and you hated to admit it.
“You're good at talking. Maybe we could put that yapping mouth of yours to work and have you talk me through one of my videos.”
It's his turn to be dumbfounded, cheeks pinkening as he points at himself with an index finger to his chest, eyes bugging out. “Me?”
“Only if you want to! I know it's weird but—”
“Sure, I'll do it,” he agrees quicker than you could come up with your next thought.
“Um, okay. But we'll start small. Maybe you could take those boyfriend perspective photos for me and we'll see how it goes from there?” You offer, picking at the loose threads of your old t-shirt.
Mulling over it for a beat, Caleb nods and you beam at how he hardly hesitates when it comes to you. “Thank you!”
“Anything for you.”
With how smooth his responses are, one would think he's a total flirt and even a playboy. You accused him of being a womanizer after your first real conversation on the porch of a frat house where he made you laugh harder than you'd like because no man deserves to see you so entertained by them.
Caleb had widened his eyes comically, jaw dropping to the rickety floorboards as he lowered his head as if deeply offended. But he didn't deny your accusations as he's got them many times before and accepted that a part of being a man is pretending to be worse than you actually are.
His player reputation—as misinformed as it was—preceded him like a gloomy, old house would spin tales of an evil entity residing within its walls.
Whereas a lot of the assholes on campus don't bat an eye and turn their heads away as one of their own harasses a woman, Caleb was the decent human being who stood up to them and called them out on their inexcusable behavior. That's where the rumors about him being a womanizer and fucking half the school's population came from because there wasn't much else dirt they could find to slander him.
Much to their dismay, Caleb accepted and owned those rumors, taking the power they tried to have over him and wielding it once more. He had to hand it to them, now girls would flock to him even more than before and even the crushes he had would be among them so it was a win.
When a guy and a girl have been friends for long enough, they often stop viewing each other as potential romantic partners altogether—that's if there was any other attraction other than platonic there in the first place. The pull just fades into the background.
Yet occasionally there’s a brief moment where one of them suddenly notices the other’s appeal and wonders if there could be something more—or if it’s just a random, fleeting impulse. Most of the time, that thought disappears as quickly as it came, and the friendship returns to its usual rhythm.
Caleb does not know what to make of you now when you're like this in front of him and you know it's not the same as when Macie first helped you film content three years ago after she talked you into starting your page.
The afternoon light pooled through your curtains, warm and quiet, making the living room that was now your photoshoot set feel almost sleepy. Domestic. Intimate.
Just what the viewers would want to see.
“Okay,” Caleb chirps cheerfully behind the camera like a soccer dad at his kid's game rather than a photographer. “Just sit like that. Don't move.”
Curling your legs beneath you, on the couch, the hem of your baggy sweater falling around your bare thighs, you held the pose. “This good?”
“Yeah. Perfect,” his tone was distracted, as if he was only half-listening to her, concentrating on doing his best to get good pictures for her. The camera lifted. “Now look up at me.”
Tipping your chin toward the lens, your eyes shine in the sunlight, intent and bright, framed by long lashes. Your hair was effortlessly unruly, Caleb having told you to keep it that way when you woke up from your nap.
You didn't see why that was important since you made faceless content but went with it because he said it adds to the cozy vibe.
The gentle tilt of your lips was soft and almost secretive as if you were giving someone a glimpse into the privacy of your life. That someone being Caleb.
“Hold that,” he murmured. The click of your camera followed shortly after.
“You look…” he goes quiet, searching for the right words, “really sweet like this.”
A soft chuckle leaves you at that. “Thanks, Caleb. That's kind of the point, no?”
Huffing at your sass, he rolls his eyes, a smile on his face. “Alright, alright. Keep that smart mouth shut for a bit and let me work my magic.”
Amused, you oblige, doing all the poses he instructs you to, little laughs and grumbles of disapproval filling your quiet living room as you sometimes purposely do the wrong thing just to see the downturn of his lips and slight furrow of his brows.
“Looking good so far,” he nods to himself like he's proud of his work as if this was another passion project. “Now, tilt your head a little. Yeah—just like that. And keep looking at me, yeah?”
The cute girlfriend part of this shoot was over so you stepped out of that role, expression shifting slowly, deliberately. The soft pull at your mouth is still there but something salacious curves at the edges, the gleam in your gaze inspiring thoughts that treaded into uncharted, wicked territory.
“Good,” your friend says from where he's standing in front of you, voice quieter now. “And lean forward just a bit.”
The sweater slips from one shoulder as you do as you're told, eyelids lowering halfway, lashes shadowing your gaze as you peered up at him.
“Is this what you wanted?” There's a low hum in your voice that makes his chest tremble ever so slightly with his next breath.
Caleb's heart had never thudded like this in your presence before and it's like you could hear it as you smirked something feline.
Swallowing thickly, he manages a nod. “Yeah, that's good. Really good.”
The sweetness seeps out of the air, something else slinking into the space between you—slow and curious—as it wraps around you. The man feels it like a weighted blanket coming down on his weary body after a hot shower and a hectic day. He feels drowsy and heavy in a comforting way.
“Give me that look again,” he mutters, tongue in his cheek as he holds the camera a little tighter.
Inclining your head, you hold his gaze through the lenses, not demanding or trapping but rather beckoning and inviting without any pressure. He wants to stare, not feeling as if he's forced to.
“Perfect,” he whispers, a bit breathless.
The whole “talking you through it” thing wasn't mentioned after that day you brought it up and you never thought to do so after. The pictures were enough and after cropping your face out of them, you posted it and the thread got thousands of likes within seconds.
It was Caleb who reminded you of the proposition a few days later while he was sitting on your couch, barely paying attention to the movie playing and fidgety like he had something on his mind. Now you know what it was.
About half an hour later, you're set up in your streaming room which is essentially a guest room with your gaming console and monitors on one side and a bed on the other with minimal decor, nothing to give away who you were or where you lived.
Back against the cushioned headboard, your legs bent at the knees and thighs parted as Caleb sat in front of you, camera in hand but his hold slack as he watched you.
“Can you see it?” Your voice is coy as if you don't know that his attention is zeroed in on the spot between your thighs.
“Yeah,” he breathes.
The shiver down your spine is either from the cool air that hits the wetness coating your inner thighs and exposed pussy or his gawking. Maybe both.
A maroon crewneck covers little of your upper body, bunched up just beneath your breasts while your lower body is only clad by your socks. The blinking of the red recording light flashes and you get into character.
“Baby,” you call out to Caleb, peeling him out of his stupor and sending him into another with that endearment topped with honey. “I'm really wet, huh?”
Gulping, your friend is all round-eyed and adorably speechless but he recovers quickly. “Mhm, you're soaked, sweetheart.”
Sliding a manicured hand down from your neck to your soft tummy and then stopping at your thigh, you hum. “Am I soaked for you?”
Lifting his ametrine gaze to yours, his chest hitches as he finds your eyes staring right back at him, expectant. The one-sided smile you grace him with has his cock swelling shamefully in his pants. He tells himself that it's a normal reaction, it's one you've primed yourself to bring out of men in this line of work.
“All for me,” he affirms, voice deeper now.
Caressing your thigh with your nails, you tilt your head, watching him attentively. Caleb's suddenly a rabbit in the presence of a starving wolf and he holds eye contact, paralyzed almost as if he knows he's going to be eaten alive.
“Hmm,” you hum as you pretend to think. “Tell me how you'd touch me if you could.”
Oh, Caleb blinks, heart pounding in his ears. Heavy pumps of the blood rush down to his aching erection, threatening to pull him under. He shakes them off, remembering to be professional as he was just your cameraman.
Who was about to direct you through touching yourself “for him” but he digresses.
“Spread your legs a bit more for me, let me get a better look at that pussy,” the words come out of his mouth easily, just him voicing his thoughts.
The view that greets him stutters his breath as he takes in your swollen, hot cunt, angling the camera towards it. Shifting closer to get a better look before blushing and remembering that he can zoom in instead.
Skin glistening with your excitement, your folds are glossy and puffy, slit as delicate as the petals of a flower. Saliva pools in his mouth.
It's not enough. For the viewers, of course, not him. Definitely not him.
“How pretty,” he compliments and you ignore how your chest swells from the praise. “Put those fingers to use and show me your clit, will you? I'm sure everyone wants to see that new nail set too.”
Smiling at how he's playing along well, you slip your hand lower, cupping your mound briefly then parting your pussy lips with your index and ring fingers, the breeze kissing your sopping cunt. Slick dribbles out of your entrance and strings shimmer and stretch like webs between your folds, smearing you in that sheen.
The hood of your clit is pulled back by your middle finger, the nub flickering and your pussy fluttering around nothing. It's like they're winking at him, daring him to touch.
A sighing exhale comes from Caleb, loud enough for the recording to pick up. He's admiring your pussy like it's the prettiest thing he's ever seen and your stomach flips. His eyes are hooded and dark, hair falling into them but there's more than lust in them, there's awe and adoration. It's a fond look that has no place here.
“Want me to show you how I touch myself when I'm thinking of you?”
“Fuck yes,” he blurts with a low groan that has you laughing a purring sound while he flushes.
Eyes on his, you dipped your two wet fingers deep inside you, cunt sucking them in and milking them as you delved and probed at your gummy walls.
“Curl your fingers for me,” you do just that, lips parting on a gasp. “Thaaat's it. Rub your cute little clit too. Don't neglect my baby like that.”
Something snatches his stomach when you look at him again while fucking yourself on your fingers like you'd want him to. Eyes wetter and low lidded, face dewy and mouth parted on pants and sighs, hair clinging to your forehead as your pussy gurgles around your drenched fingers. He's over the fucking moon that no one gets to see this expression of yours.
Fuck, Caleb wanted to palm his cock, maybe pull it out and stroke it in tandem with the pumps of your fingers in and out of you as your stomach caves and your chest rose and fell. But he couldn't, he was just your cameraman.
“Doesn't feel as good as your fingers would, baby. Want you to touch me,” you nearly whine and Caleb almost forgets that you're in character.
“Make yourself come on your pretty fingers and I'll consider it next time,” he promises, truly and sincerely like it's a vow. It makes you clench around your fingers as something flutters in your tummy.
Pumping your fingers into your pussy faster, you gaze dips to his big hands and his long, slender fingers, veins climbing up the back of them. You push another finger in because three of yours would be as thick as two of his. The slight stretch as your back bowing as you buck into it.
Drawing your fingers out of your greedy hole, you spread your arousal all over your aching clit, stomach shuddering as you rub tight, firm circles on the pulsing bud.
“Get a little rough for me,” Caleb tells you, voice gravely now, gaze as dark as dusk as he bites the inside of his cheek and juts his chin towards your ministrations. “Slap it.”
A sharp, crackling wave of electricity zaps you all the way from your spine to your bundle of nerves as you land a heavy palm on your pussy, body jolting. A surprised cry rips from your throat.
“Fuck,” you hiss as the prickle of pain swirls into a pulse of pleasure.
“Come on, you can do better than that. Harder,” he demands and you choke on a sob as you do so, head dropping forward.
“Hey,” his tone is threaded with something dark. “Look at me. I want to watch you come.”
Bleary eyes opening halfway, you stare at him, squirming as your hips grind into the strokes to your clit. Noises growing desperate and higher, you pick up the pace of your petting, the pool of heat in your stomach welling, sitting heavy in your lower belly until it gives into the force of gravity and drops, crashing down on you in a shockwave.
The orgasm is dizzying and leaves you hazy as you melt into your sheets, slumping against the headboard with labored breaths, the layer of sweat making your skin sparkle under the fairy lights.
“That's my girl,” Caleb murmurs, voice all tender and breathless like he had just come too. “You did so well for me. Gonna make it up to you next time.”
Your viewers went absolutely insane after that video was posted. Caleb insisted on editing it just like he did with your photos, making a copy of it on his laptop for safe keeping (the originals where your face was showing). The comments were flooded with requests for more videos like this, adding all kinds of scenarios you could do but the ones that stood out the most were about Caleb.
“That man needs to be in front of the camera, not behind it. Don't hide him from us!” You read the top comment out loud to him in a bored tone that didn't match the enthusiasm of the person who typed it.
“People are willing to pay a pretty penny to see you fuck me,” you say with a snort as you're sat in his apartment while he whips up some delicious pasta for you both.
“It's not about the money,” he murmurs under his breath and you strain to try and hear it.
“What?”
Turning his head to you, he smiles innocently. “Nothing! I'm down for it if you are. I'd love to help you out. Seeing you get your spark back is really rewarding.”
“Oh…thank you.”
“Trust me, the pleasure is all mine,” he assures you as he plates up the food and comes over to eat with you, eyes lingering on your form for longer than necessary as he watches you take the first bite.
A week later, you're back in your streaming room. The camera is set up and it's live but you've honestly forgotten all about it.
It was pointless to think of anything else while your friend is fucking you within an inch of your life.
Headboard kissing the wall bruisingly, the thuds were broken by the snap of his hips against your ass as it echoed through the room. Each stroke is punctuated by a filthy, sloppy squelch that chorus with your whimpers and mewls. Clawing at the sheets, you search for reprieve that the man behind you refuses to give.
You're not sure what's more mind-boggling, the fact that harmless, compassionate Caleb is doing this to you or the wanton, unrecognizable sounds that are being kicked out of your lungs with each punch of his tip to your cervix.
“Fuck, you can't speak, can you?” Caleb hisses, crowding you from behind, hands braced on the bedding on either side of you as he ruts into you. “Going dumb on my cock? This is what you wanted, right?”
Back arched in a painful, neat fold, you can only garble out a moan in response. Shutting your eyes, you buried your face in your pillow and bit down on it, sweet whines and squeaks tumbling out of you one after the other as he churned your cunt. The creamy, white ring at the base of his shaft is bubbling and dripping with each shove back into your swelling, abused pussy.
Plump folds numb from overuse in the past hours of relentless fucking, you were undeterred, fully ready to keep going much to your friend's delight. He was like a rabbit in heat, barely stopping for five minutes after coming and just pulling out to discard another condom then roll on a new one. You don't even want to think about how much storage the video is going to take up.
The cold metal of his necklace is refreshing against the dip in your back, cooling your balmy skin as beads of sweat coalesce and run down to the curve of your ass and onto his cock. Your body wasn't sore or stiff, the only part of you that felt exhausted was your mind.
Which was a good thing because if you could string together a bunch of intelligible words to make a sentence, you'd just be saying his name and exposing his identity. The chimes and pings from the live chat reminded you that they were watching and sending generous tips as compensation for you giving the people what they asked for.
Caleb is enamored by the sight of you under him as he mounts you like a feral animal, hands gripping at your plush hips to pull you back to meet his thrusts. Propping yourself up on your elbows, you drop down on him over and over again, cunt smothering his cock as you do and his head drops back at the snug fit.
The webby slick of your arousal glinting in the low lights and clinging to his cock in messy strings has his mind all fuzzy and clouded with you, you, you. Your scent, your body, your voice, your face, your smile, everything.
“Fuck, you're perfect. Should've done this sooner, pretty girl,” he grunts, rocking into you deeper, pressing you into the mattress with his heavy body as you groan.
After coaxing another earthshattering orgasm from you, he pulls out much to your chagrin just to flip you onto your back, tapping the tip of it onto your clit, relishing the way you twitch from the touch as your folds nestle him again, hips drawing back and pushing forward to glide between them.
He's folding you, knees up to your ears, giving you the perfect view of his cock pushing into you again, relieved sighs heaving out of you both. You'd think you're lovers reuniting after years rather than just a few seconds ago. It's nice that he's as insatiable as you are.
Drooping, dazed eyes blink and refocus as you stare down your body to where he's dragging his cock in and out of you, deep stroking you into a coma. Glancing up at him, sheepish from the sight this position gives you despite being quite acquainted his body now, your cheeks warm as you admire him.
A sheen of moisture coats him, his hulking, tanned body shaped by years of discipline and athleticism. The yellow star stickers you'd put on his nipples earlier while rewarding him for making you come with them (as someone requested) are still in place. It's oddly cute.
Bulging biceps, broad pectoral muscles that cushion his dog tag, ridges on his deeply etched abdomen and dips in his hips that direct your gaze down to where he's pumping in and out of you have you drooling. His thighs ripple along with his stomach, sculpted like the rest of him and mouthwateringly thick.
His dark, tousled hair falls over his forehead, framing his sharp features and a subtle flush across his cheeks, damp bangs draping messily over one violet eye as he catches your gaze and winks at you.
The ink that swirls on his skin and his piercings give the impression that he moonlights as the face of a punk rock band. A glinting bead at his eyebrow, silver hoops and studs climbs up his ear cartilage and a lip ring caught between his teeth as he smirks down at you.
“There she is. Do you know how pretty you look? How good you feel?” He rumbles out the questions.
“Mm, just as good as you do, I'd hope,” you reply, finding your voice now that his pace had slowed into something sensual.
Raking your fingers through his hair, you smile to yourself as he shudders from the scrape of your nails on his scalp, cooing at him. “You're so good to me, baby. Really good at this too,” you slur.
His fluttering lashes open so his intense purple irises fix on you, the tips of his ears reddening from something other than exertion as he watches you watch him, ardent. “I'm just following my pretty girl's instructions.”
There's a syrupy, gooey feeling drizzling into his veins at the tender, almost loving smile that you dazzle him with in response. His heart thuds fast, each beat a blow to his chest. It's practically galloping and he has to dissolve this intimate moment into something debauched so his racing pulse can be excused as something else.
Hair fanned out, your brows knit with a squeaky moan of surprise as he barrels his cock into you without warning or time for you to adjust to the swift change of pace. Hard grunts and growly groans bubble out of him as he drives into you, distracting himself with the bounce of your tits, face flushed and scrunched as your pussy drools all over his cock, swallowing it like a glutton.
“Good fucking girl, get louder. Let them hear how good you're getting it,” he purrs and waits for you to do so as if you're not finding it hard to do anything else but take what he gives you. He doesn't let up either, pummeling into you and ripping orgasms out of you before you even register them coming on.
Cupping your face, he squishes your cheeks together until your lips pucker, wrecked, fucked-out noises spilling from your throat as he hums in approval at the sound of them. The mattress springs creak and squeak while the bed frame sways.
Licking at his teeth, Caleb's breathing grows heavy and faster like it has every time he's about to finish too. Burying his face in your neck, he bites down on the skin there, reveling in the whimper you give as he sucks a bruise into it.
Vision dimming, the rhythm of his merciless thrusts loses its consistency and becomes sporadic as his noises grow whinier and needy. With one suffocating squeeze from your cunt, his orgasm rattles through him ruthlessly, hips stuttering as he collapses on top of you after a few weak humps, weight crushing you into the bed.
“There, there. Breathe. You did so good, baby,” you whisper in his ear, hand smoothing over his hair as you press your lips to his sweaty temple, his spent cock spurting a little more into the condom from your soothing words.
“I've got to end the livestream,” you remind him, pushing at his chest to crawl out from under him.
“M'kay,” he mumbled into your pillow, boneless and finally ready to call it a night.
Once you greeted your viewers and bid them goodbye, you switched everything off. “Gosh, I hope that was enough and they don't demand more.”
His head perks up at that, brown tresses sticking up in all directions as he watches you drag yourself to the bathroom to clean up.
“I wouldn't mind!” Caleb calls out to you, voice loud and energetic like he didn't just tire himself out. Your laugh has him smiling as he drops his face into the pillow again. “What's a little more cock between friends?”
Buzzing from his phone disturbs him and he taps around the nightstand to retrieve it. The brightness of the screen is harsh and he squints to read the texts that were sent to him just a minute apart from each other.
Macie: OMG! YOU FILMED A VIDEO WITH HER?!
Zayne: What's this Macie is saying about you “making a movie” with you-know-who?
when you visit nanami's office for bringing him lunch.
Synopsis : You were just trying to do something nice—deliver lunch to the man who always takes care of you. but Toji didn’t like that. So he sent you off to Nanami’s office bare under your cute little dress. You only wanted to be kind. Now you’re bent over a desk, stuffed full of consequences.
Content warning : public risk, fingering, facefucking, dom!Nanami, praise & degradation, light humiliation, obedience kink, power play, voyeur risk, possessiveness, no panties, teasing. Nanami being dangerously composed while wrecking you. 18+ Minor do not interact.
read the main series here
You were slicing apples with unnecessary precision, biting your lip in focus, soft music playing in the background. The clock was ticking closer to noon when you heard it—
"What are you making?" Toji’s voice. Lazy, deep and very much suspicious. You looked up, startled. He was leaning on the kitchen doorway, towel slung around his neck from his morning shower, shirtless and smug. His arms were crossed, eyebrows raised.
"Oh—uhm... I was just cutting some fruits," you mumbled, cheeks already warming under his stare. "Nanami forgot his lunch today, so I thought I'd go drop it off. Packed him some fruits too."
Toji tilted his head, tongue in cheek. "Oh? so what, you're his little wife or something?"
You nearly dropped the knife. "N-no! I mean—no, I just... he always cooks for me and stuff, so I thought—"
He scoffed and stepped into the kitchen, slow. "You never done this for me."
"You never forget your lunch..." you pointed out weakly, trying not to look at how low his sweatpants were hanging.
"Tch. If I do one day, will you do the same?" his tone was teasing, but there was an edge. Something darker behind his narrowed gaze.
You blinked, blushing. "Yeah... of course, Toji."
He let out a rough hum, satisfied but not entirely convinced. "Hmm. fine."
You tried to change the subject, still flustered. "Umm, aren’t you... going to the gym?"
"Yeah, in a bit. What?" he asked, already knowing where this was going.
"... Can you drop me at Nanami’s office then?" you asked softly, eyes wide.
Toji’s smirk grew lethal. "Sure." Then he leaned in, his voice dipping low, filth curling around every syllable, "but only if you cling to my back so close... wanna feel that pretty squishy tits of yours pressed right into me the whole ride."
"Tojiiiiiii!!!" your knees nearly buckled, but you so nodded fast, you felt dizzy. He just chuckled and slapped your ass lightly as he walked away.
You picked out a cute white shirt dress, short and soft, one that Nanami had once complimented. A little innocent, a little too short if you bent down. Toji was already at the door when you showed up, holding the lunch bag.
"Ready?" you chirped, cheeks pink.
He turned, gave you a slow once-over. "Hmm... lookin’ so cute for him, huh?" he stepped closer, way too close. "too cute," he murmured, gripping your thighs suddenly, his hand riding up under your dress, fingers brushing the fabric of your panties.
You gasped, clutching his shoulders. "Toji—what—!"
He hooked a finger into your waistband, yanked them down slowly until they dropped around your ankles. You could feel the air hit your cunt, feel his breath as he leaned in and muttered against your ear, "You really not gonna wear panties to see Nanami? tsk tsk... such a tease."
"But you're the one—" he shut you up as his fingers rubbed over your folds, knuckles brushing your clit just enough to make your legs tremble.
"Give him a little surprise, yeah?" he whispered, voice like smoke. "Sit on his desk with nothing under that dress. See how long your gentleman lasts."
You whined, trying to squeeze your thighs shut, but he just laughed low in his chest, palming your ass once before pulling away and tucking the panties in his pocket. "I’ll keep these."
***
Ride was silent and too hot. You sat behind toji gripping onto his shirt, your dress riding up with every bump. When you reached Nanami’s office, he pulled over, leaned in, and kissed you fiercely on the cheek, then one on your forehead, warm and affectionate. "Be good."
And then he drove off, engine roaring, leaving you standing there, pulse racing, holding a lunch bag and a secret under your dress. You walked through the front doors of the building, heart thudding loud.
The lobby was cold, overly sterile, with marble floors and clean lines. Toji’s voice still echoed in your ears. “Sit on his desk with nothing under that dress…”
You shook the thought away, clutching the lunch bag tighter as you stepped into the elevator. Floor 6. You stared at your reflection in the mirrored walls, hair perfect, dress innocent, lip gloss dewy. Totally normal. Totally not hiding a filthy little secret under your dress. The elevator dinged. You stepped out and walked toward his office door, then pulled out your phone and called him.
“Sweetheart?” Nanami answered almost instantly, voice warm and deep. “What is it?”
“Nanamin... I’m here… at your office.”
“Oh?” he sounded surprised. “Why?”
“You forgot your lunch,” you said, fidgeting with the hem of your dress. “So I thought I’d bring it.”
“Did I? I haven’t even checked…”
"Yeah...you did."
"It was fine baby, why would you..."
“Mhm.” you smiled softly. “You always do things for me, Nanami. It’s just lunch.”
There was a pause followed by a low chuckle. Then the door opened. Nanami was there, glasses on, sleeves rolled up and his eyes softened the moment he spot you.
“You didn’t have to,” he said again as he guided you inside.
The air-conditioned hallway buzzed with curious murmurs as workers glanced over, some subtle, others bold.
“Who’s that girl?”
“Nanami’s girlfriend? wife, maybe?”
“Nah, she’s way too young for him…”
“Maybe he likes them young.”
“Is that why he’s been ignoring me? I’ve been dropping hints for weeks.”
“Ugh, figures. Nanamin already has someone.”
You clutched the lunch tighter as Nanami placed a warm hand on your shoulder, leading you past their stares like it meant nothing. Like you were his. And no one else mattered. He guided you into his private office and closed the door quietly behind you. The tension snapped shut with it.
“Thank you, dear,” he said, placing the lunch on his desk. “You really didn’t have to. I would’ve just bought something later.”
You sat down on the edge of the table, legs swinging slightly. “It’s fine… didn’t have class today anyway.”
Just then, his phone buzzed. Nanami glanced at it, unlocking it with a sigh. Then his brow twitched, just slightly. “Toji,” he said flatly, and turned the screen toward you.
"Yo golden boy, is she there yet? she got a surprise down there for ya 😉👙"
Your face flushed in an instant. You panicked, eyes widening as you tried to grab the phone, but Nanami pulled it back, observing you quietly. “Oh?” he said, voice calm but low. “So Toji was telling the truth?”
“N-No, he's nottt!” you stammered, clenching your thighs. “nothing, Nanami… I-I mean there’s nothing, really—”
He didn’t respond immediately. Just walked over slowly. Deliberately. You were still on his table, legs dangling, knees together. He placed one large hand on your thigh, gently parting them.
“So,” he murmured, thumb brushing up the inside of your bare skin, slides under your dress and stopping at your wet heat, “Oh? what do we have here .... is this the lunch you've brought me hmm?"
You shook your head mortified.
"You came here with no panties on.”
You nearly whimpered under his gaze, heat pulsing between your thighs.
“And what were you expecting to happen?” he asked softly, eyes dark behind his lenses. “Me to behave?” Your lips parted to answer, but no words came. Only a gasp as his fingers teased your folds more, his knuckles brushed slick warmth, and he hummed.
“You’re wet.” His tone was unreadable. Cool and collected. But his fingers stroked like a man starved. “Did he do this?” he asked, slipping one finger inside slowly, dragging it out again with agonizing control. “Toji?”
“N-Nanami—!” you hissed, squirming.
“Or was it me?” he whispered, pushing back in. His fingers curled expertly. “Was it the thought of sitting on my desk, spread open like a gift? did that make you this wet?”
You bit your lip hard, trying not to cry out. He leaned in, lips brushing your ear. “You walked past all of them like this. Dripping and nothing underneath this tiny dress.” A second finger slid in. You clenched tight around him.
“That was reckless, sweetheart. Dangerous.” He pumped them deeper now. Slow and punishing.
“Do you like the risk? the thrill of nearly getting caught? wanting someone to hear the sounds I can pull from this pretty little cunt?”
You moaned softly, head falling back. He pressed a kiss to your throat, then pulled his fingers out with a wet pop and licked them clean like a gentleman tasting wine. “Filthy little thing,” he muttered, voice still calm. “You’ll sit still and be good now, won’t you?”
You nodded, trembling. Nanami just smirked, loosened his tie, and reached for the blinds. “Nanami… I didn’t—It was Toji. He did it. I-I didn’t mean—”
Your words broke apart as you tried to explain, thighs trembling from the last wave of teasing his fingers had left behind. Nanami looked down at you, his hands now on his hips, sleeves rolled to his forearms, the veins on them tight. The man was composed, but you knew him well enough now to see it, he was barely holding back.
“Is that so?” he said, stepping forward slowly. “Toji did this?”
You shrank back a little on his desk as he approached.
“You’re such a tease,” he murmured, voice dipped in something close to disappointment, “doing something so dirty like this, y'know... I have a meeting in less than half an hour.”
“I—I’m sorry, Nanamin…” your voice quivered, hands gripping the edge of his desk. He looked down at the growing bulge in his pants, palming it with a slow roll of his hips.
“How am I supposed to do my job now?” he said, mostly to himself, almost amused at his own restraint. Your gaze fell to the thick shape straining against the fabric, and he caught your expression. He tilted his head, stalking closer. “You like the idea, don’t you?”
He brushed your knees open again, fingers tracing your slick folds. “Is this something you read in one of your little smut stories? a nice girl showing up at an older man’s office with no panties… spreading her legs on his desk like a gift? Hmm?”
You were already panting, hips twitching. “N-No! I— I mean I didn’t mean to, I swear—”
He cut you off with a quiet tsk, fingers rubbing again in slow, slick circles, then he unzipped his slacks. “You can’t even speak properly now.” His voice was still calm, condescending. “Making a mess on my office desk and you’re telling me this wasn’t planned?”
Your eyes widened as he pulled himself out, thick, flushed, heavy in his hand as he stroked slow from base to tip.
“You’re such a handful,” he sighed, lining himself up, the blunt tip dragging up and down your folds. Not pushing in. Just gliding through the slick warmth, over and over, watching your body twitch at the tease.
“Look at that.” His tone dropped lower, amused. “You’re soaking. You want this. You’re fucking dripping onto my desk like a needy little girl who doesn’t care if someone hears her.”
You whimpered, hips lifting to meet him. Then— knock knock.
“Mr. Nanami?” a voice called from outside. “Apologies for interrupting, but you had asked for the quarterly reports to be sent over? Should I email or print a hard copy?”
Nanami didn’t flinch. Didn’t even stop moving his cock up and down your folds, slow and heavy, smearing your arousal all over himself as if nothing had happened.
“Email it,” he called out smoothly, eyes never leaving yours. His tone was sharp. “And I’ll review it before the three o’clock. Thank you.”
“Of course, sir.” The footsteps faded. Silence returned.
You stared at him, wide-eyed, completely dazed. He leaned in, lips barely brushing your ear.
“You’re going to be good now,” he whispered, voice dangerously soft. “No sounds. No mess. No biting your lip so hard you bleed, either. I want to hear the way you break, just quietly enough to not get caught.”
He pushed in. And everything inside you snapped. His thrusts were slow, deep, and punishing, one hand over your mouth to muffle the messy gasps he was coaxing out of you, his breath harsh near your ear.
“Tch… you’re tighter when you’re doing something you shouldn’t.” He hissed as he bottomed out again, dragging out slowly, savoring the way your walls clenched. “Acting like such a good girl, then showing up here like this. You’re trouble, sweetheart.”
But just as he pressed his hips into yours again—Knock knock. “Mr. Nanami—sorry, but I need to show you this. It's urgent.”
Nanami clicked his tongue, exasperated, and looked down at you, your legs trembling around his waist, mouth still covered, eyes blown wide. You whined in protest when he pulled out with a wet, reluctant sound, cock flushed and still hard.
“Hide under the desk,” he ordered lowly, zipping halfway, voice calm but sharp. “Now.”
You scrambled under, hands on your knees like a trained little pet. You were breathless, cheeks burning as Nanami sat down, just inches from your face. His cock rested thick over his thigh, still slick with your arousal.
“Come in,” Nanami said, adjusting his cuffs with his usual cold composure.
Click. The office door unlocked. Footsteps entered. You stayed still, heart hammering in your ears, but your eyes kept drifting to the tip of his cock, still flushed and twitching slightly. Tempting. So fuckin' tempting.
The man sat across the desk, flipping open a file. “This is the report for Sector D—we need sign-off before 3, sir.” Nanami nodded, voice calm as ever. “Go ahead.”
You leaned forward slowly. Tentatively. Then your lips brushed the head of his cock. He shifted, only barely but you caught the way his hand gripped the pen tighter. You licked up a long stripe. Then wrapped your lips around the tip, eyes locked on the underside of his chin. His thighs flexed slightly.
“Sir? Are you alright?” Nanami cleared his throat, not even looking up from the file. “Yes. Continue.”
You slid your mouth down further, sucking softly, cheeks hollowed. He didn’t move. But you could feel it, the subtle tension coiling in his muscles, the way his jaw clenched tighter. He kept signing, speaking in his usual tone, while your tongue circled around his shaft, lazily, lovingly. Occasionally, he gave the tiniest push of his hips when the man looked away. A silent approval.
When the man finally gathered the file and left, Nanami didn’t move. He waited until the click of the door lock sounded again. Then his head tilted down, his voice was lower now, strained, almost breathless.
“You’re really something, aren’t you?” he said, voice still silky. “Dirty little minx, drooling on my cock like that while someone’s in the room.”
Your eyes fluttered up at him, still licking him slowly. "M'sorryyy Nanaminnn.."
An apology that sounded so painfully unconvincing that he almost laughed. Apparently, that was the final straw.
“Since you’re so eager, open wider.”
Without waiting, he gripped the edge of the desk and shoved his chair back just enough. Then his hand wrapped in your hair and guided your head down onto his cock deep.
“Fuck…” he exhaled, hips rolling slowly up into your throat. “That’s it. Take it. Gag on it if you have to.”
You choked softly as he fucked your mouth at a steady rhythm, hips rocking up, his breath coming shorter, thighs trembling. Your eyes watered but you didn’t stop, not once, not even when he muttered:
“Look at you, on your knees under my desk. Do you even know how obscene you are right now?” He thrust harder. His voice was strained but tight. “You're lucky I'm busy. If I didn’t, I’d bend you over this desk and make sure everyone outside hears you scream.”
Then with a growl, he shoved deep one last time and came hot, thick ropes flooding your throat as he held you there, hips trembling. “Swallow,” he whispered harshly, thumb brushing your cheek. “All of it.”
When he finally pulled out, cock twitching against your lips, he helped you stand. You were gasping, face cold with sweat, makeup slightly smudged. He smirked, his version of it, subtle but smug.
“Such a nasty girl,” he muttered, buttoning his shirt cuffs. Then he kissed your cheek, and your lips, gentle but brief. “I’m booking you a cab.”
You nodded dumbly, still dazed. He walked you to the office door, but not before leaning in one last time.
“When I get home,” he said lowly at your ear, “you better not be wearing panties again. You pull a stunt like this, get ready to be punished properly.” Then he kissed your forehead.
“Now go. Before I cancel the meeting and fuck you over my desk anyway.”
You had just entered Valko’s research lab, hoping to possibly catch him for a little lunch break together.
As the door slid shut behind you, you paused to look around. Your eyes were pulled by the various beeping and blinking of the advanced tech surrounding you, but there was no sign of the redhead anywhere.
“Valko?!” You called out, to no response. Stepping deeper into the facility, you reminded yourself that he had granted you unrestricted access to his equipment, space, and personnel; You figured he certainly wouldn't mind you making yourself at home while you waited.
Then, a gleam in the corner of your eye drew your attention. You turned to look at it, only to find Valko’s nightprowl suit, all pristine and shiny, displayed in a sleek glass case. A devious idea popped into your head. I meannn, he did say you could use anything you wanted.
So there you were, drowning in the enormous jacket. You had initially intended to try on the whole suit, but the boots alone proved to be absurdly heavy, tiring your feet after just a few steps. Realizing the rest of the gear would be just as exhausting, you settled for just the overcoat, the one that spanned Valko's entire length, complete with the hood and ear slots.
You had to admit, though, that it was insanely comfy. The hem of it, which almost hit Valko's feet when he wore it, was now pooling at the floor, acting as a makeshift mop as you walked around the lab. The hood, meanwhile, completely covered your head, and in fact half your face too, the ear pockets flopping around without the usual support Valko’s ears provided.
You told yourself you'd put it back before he came, but the plush warmth draping over your shoulders made it too easy to delay, until the man himself finally came back into his office.
Uh oh. You sheepishly turned around to the sound of a door clicking shut, finding Valko standing there with his head tilted and a brow cocked, the corner of his mouth twitching upward in amusement. Yet, when he caught the full view of you when you turned around, his breath hitched and his eyes darkened imperceptibly. He noticed how small and vulnerable you looked enveloped in his gear, your face caught in a guilty expression with those droopy, puppy-like ears adorning your head.
Obviously, Valko was a werewolf. And he was well aware that this came with certain... wolfish instincts. Yet right now, how intensely territorial he felt towards you surprised even himself, and it took him all his will to not immediately pin your small body up against a wall and shove his dick in you all the way till you were filled with him.
“Valko– I need a break- hic,” you whimpered breathily, your voice utterly tired from the hours he’d spent dutifully worshipping you and your practically abused hole.
“I know love, just a little bit longer. You’ll hold out for me, won't you?” he cooed. But contrasting with his gentle voice, his pace didn't seem to falter in the slightest. His pupils were blown out to the point where no iris was shown, looking at you draped over one of his desks, entirely naked, the heavy jacket long since discarded on the floor.
You twitched under his tight grip, stupidly big hands enough to wrap around your waist entirely. You initially already had a hard time adjusting to his cock, taking a long time of him just eating you out before you could even begin to handle it. But what made it worse later on was his goddamn knot.
Every ounce of restraint vanished from him, making you endure round after round of him filling you with his seed, his knot keeping everything inside you. Yet, after a point, even that didn't stop his cum from leaking out. The deranged man almost lost his mind when he saw that, shoving everything back with his dick and fingers, hellbent on breeding you till your womb practically inflated from all that was pumped into you.
And oh did he love to see it, “ngh- Just so adorable for me aren't you pup,” he said, more to himself than you, shoving his thumb in your mouth, moaning as you immediately sucked on it. “Such a good girl. You’ll let me cum in you again yeah?”
“W-wait, no more,” you barely managed out. All the pressure inside your cunt was making you dizzy, and you would be kidding yourself if you said you could take any more, but Valko obviously had other plans.
He moved his hands to let one rub on your clit, while the other, cruelly nonetheless, pushed onto where your belly bulged out. The pressure of it all made you explode yet again, an orgasm crashing through you intensely, your mind blanking out till all you could think of was him and his massive fucking cock.
Valko smirked, his canines showing through as he took a little advantage of your clouded state. “Please? You want my babies dont you, want me to breed you full till we have a damn litter.”
He leaned forward to kiss your fucked-out self, the two of you moaning into each other's mouths as you completely lost yourself to the pleasure.
♡ Bunny's Note: Sorry gng, not even Bunny is immune to writing the wolf with a breeding kink. I know it’s cliché but I couldn't help it, the idea sounded way too hot in my head😣 ₍ ᐢ.ˬ.ᐢ₎
Happy Juneteenth to us black Americans and black Americans only!!! I hope you have an amazing day💕💕💕
Thank god for our ancestors who lived through and those who died because of slavery, for those who fought and still fight for our rights and freedom today.
“Her hands once only knew ruin. Then she met a man monstrous enough to love the darkness in them, and together they built something savage, tender, and dangerous enough to survive the end of the world. But love born from blood never stays quiet for long.”
One. The House with No Mercy
Two. The House That Let You Return
Three. The Shape of Staying
Four. The Body's Revolt
Five. Under the Maple
Six. Teeth & Tenderness
Seven. The House that Learned How to Breathe
Ryomen Sukuna, the feared Emperor of curses, had discarded two wives before you arrived at his palace—offered as a treaty, expected to be just another ornament in his collection. But unlike the others, you didn't fear him. You didn't try to change him. You simply existed beside him with a quiet grace that began to transform everything you touched.
The gardens bloomed brighter. The servants smiled wider. And somehow, impossibly, the monster himself began to feel human.
They say even emperors can fall in love. But some lessons come with a price.
Pairing: Emperor Ryomen Sukuna x Empress Wife Female Reader (Y/N)
Rating: Mature/Explicit (18+)
Genre: Historical AU, Romance, Angst
Warnings: Explicit sexual content (Chapter 3), mentions of concubines/polygamy, heavy angst
[𝜗℘] :: only you are worthy to kiss true form!sukuna & no one else :: tags. concubine!reader, fluff, suggestive.
you’re standing at the entrance of the estate, along with some other concubines. four of them. uraume is there with you as well. you’re all awaiting the one person you’re serving; ryomen sukuna.
it’s silent. the women don’t dare to speak up nor do they dare address you in a menacing manner because of uraume’s presence. you’re thankful for them. you really don’t want to have another petty fight with the concubines. not before your little trip to the village nearby.
you’re all accompanying sukuna to meet up with an infamous clan leader. it’s official business, but you’re needed as a sign of your lord’s high status. you’re basically his trophies that he likes to show off.
“interesting choice of clothing,” sukuna finally shows up. you all bow, showing respect. you look up and only then realise that he’s addressing you. his eyes wander over your figure, “who’s chosen that for you?”
you glance down at your kimono. it’s a beautiful red—suiting the color of sukuna’s eyes. your hair is put up in a neat bun, with a matching crimson hairpin that represented who you belong to.
him.
“my lady-in-waiting, my lord,” you say quietly. you cannot see it, yet can easily feel it; the jealous glares from the four women. they’re dressed in the exact same color red, yet their lord hasn’t paid them any mind. not even a glance.
sukuna just hums in response and makes a mental note of your answer. at least his human servants are good for something. he continues to shamelessly check you out.
“lord sukuna,” uraume interrupts carefully. they bow their head once the king of curses looks their way with a stoic expression, “we’ll have to leave now if we wish to make it there at dawn.”
it’s a gentle reminder, but there’s some urgency in their voice. sukuna rolls his eyes—he may have some official business, but he’s not attending that. not before taking care of other more important stuff first. “silence,” he comments to uraume, heavy steps heading your way afterwards.
your eyes meet his. you blink in confusion, eyelashes fluttering. the sight makes sukuna’s hands twitch at his sides. the way you stare up at him with such naïveté is making him want to destroy it.
you’re unsure what sukuna wants from you. as he orders, everyone stays quiet. you watch as his big hands wrap around your body—your waist engulfed by his warm palms. your eyes widen, but before you can question his actions, your lips are sealed by his.
it’s rare that he does this. kissing sukuna is a privilege. one that no one has ever gotten the honour of having, except for you.
you’ve tasted him. you’ve felt his tongue slither against yours. you’ve had his saliva mix with yours. you’ve had him grunting in your mouth.
you’ve had it all.
no one says a thing. even as your feet are lifted from the ground by the sheer strength of sukuna’s grip on your small body. to reach his lips properly, he has to pick you up and hold you against his chest. it’s his favorite thing to do.
“pretty thing,” sukuna coos with a grin. you can feel his lips curling up menacingly against your mouth. it makes you whine. you instantly shut up once you realise that you’re still outside and surrounded by others—who are basically waiting on you two to be done.
you’re embarrassed to the point that you want nothing more than to hide your face against sukuna’s chest. but he will not let you until he’s had his fill. your tongues swirl around each other passionately, followed by him sucking on your bottom lip and biting it with his sharp fangs.
“my lord,” you whine quietly. you know this’ll end up like that one time in the garden. where he shamelessly took you in front of his servants. you’re unsure if it’s a smart thing to do right now. sukuna has an appointment to go to after all.
his mouth doesn’t stop interlocking with yours. his thick fingers tug at the hairs on the back of your neck, causing you to part your lips in surprise. the king of curses takes his chance and explores your warm little mouth. the one that he’s claimed as his the moment you became his concubine.
you tug at his sleeve as a reminder. sukuna grumbles in annoyance, but he knows you’re right; he should let go. his bottom set of eyes dart over to uraume for a second and upon seeing their expressionless yet determined face, he sighs.
all that official business can suck his dick.
sukuna finally detaches his lips from your now wet and swollen ones. you’re breathing hard, trying to catch your breath. you’re flustered to the point you actually bury your face into sukuna’s chiseled chest. you’re sure this’ll be the only talk around the estate for the upcoming week. you’ll become the victim of some more. . . bullying.
the king of curses notices that you don’t let go of him at all. he grins at the sight of you so desperately clinging onto him. he tries to undo the little mess he made of your once neat hair in the meantime.
“what? want me to carry you all the way there, doll?” sukuna raises an eyebrow, teasing you as per usual. you don’t let go of him since you’re still cooling off. you’ve never really kissed outside of the bedroom. it always happens behind closed doors, so this one time took you by surprise.
you shake your head and plop down on your feet again. “no, my apologies, my lord,” you straighten the material of your kimono and don’t even dare to look at the others. uraume would understand, since they’re used to their lord’s antics, but the concubines will cause big trouble once you’re back home.
sukuna nods in acknowledgment. he still got that evil smirk on his face. his thumb brushes the smudged lipstick from the corner of your mouth, cleaning up his mess once again. he’s nice enough to do so today.
“heh.” sukuna lets out an amused chuckle before walking away and ahead of you—the others silently following, as do you. you’re right behind him, on his right side, as he turns his head to yours, “just so y’know, i’m not done with you.”
you know sukuna isn’t. you can easily tell by the way that he didn’t even bother to wipe the lipstick from his own lips. he’s wearing that stain like it’s a medal of sorts. evidence that you’re the only one he’s ever going to show such affection to.
either way; you’re in for one hell of a ride once you’re back from your little business trip.
Synopsis: Your kingdom fell to Sukuna, the King of Curses. Now the last survivor, you kneel before him as his prize. He claims you fully, breaking your resistance until you beg for more.
Pairing: Sukuna x Reader
Content: MDNI, fem!reader, dark!Sukuna, noncon/dubcon, resistance to submission, rough sex, oral (fem and male receiving), breeding kink, size kink, overstimulation, marking, creampie, spanking, dirty talk, degradation, praise kink, full nelson, feral Sukuna, multiple rounds, cum on face/body, graphic violence, swearing, pet names, probably more that i forgot
Word count: 6.1k
A/N: im new to tumblr and this is my first fic, give me grace!!!!
The throne room lies in complete and utter ruins around you, a haunting testament to the devastation caused by Sukuna’s unrelenting assault. The once-polished marble floors, symbols of your kingdom’s grandeur and stability, are now cracked like fragile eggshells beneath the crushing pressure of his cursed domain expansion. It had enveloped the entire space, wrapping it in a suffocating veil of malevolent power that still seems to linger in the air.
The walls, once adorned with intricate tapestries that depicted your family’s storied history, have been scorched to a deep, charred black. What remains hangs in tattered, brittle strips, eaten away by the relentless flames of cursed energy that licked through the room during the brutal battle only hours ago.
Blood pools across the ground in irregular splotches, seeping slowly from the lifeless bodies of your loyal guards. They had sworn solemn oaths to protect your kingdom with their lives, and they held that line until the very end. Men you had known since childhood, who had shared stories and laughter with you in quieter times, are now nothing more than fallen bodies scattered among the debris. Their eyes stare blankly at the ceiling, caught in a silence that feels too heavy to escape.
The air hangs thick and oppressive, heavy with the metallic stench of smoke and death mingling into something suffocating. It clings to your skin and clothes, settles in your lungs. Even now, distant echoes of screams linger at the edges of your hearing, like a mourning chant that refuses to fade, replaying the final moments of your people’s desperate struggle.
Above you, your family’s banners hang in tattered remnants from the rafters, swaying faintly in the draft from shattered windows. Once proud symbols of centuries-old rule, they have been shredded without mercy, left as ragged reminders of the destruction that has befallen everything you held dear.
You remember when it all began with painful clarity, as though the memory has been etched into your soul.
At first, it was only whispers in the court. Subtle, easy to dismiss, but growing louder with each passing week. Stories spoke of a demon king rising from the shadows of ancient legend, a being of pure chaos and power that had been sealed away for millennia. Curses trailed behind him like obedient hounds, manifesting as twisted creatures that devoured everything in their path.
Your father had dismissed it with a hearty laugh one evening at dinner, his voice echoing through the hall as he raised his goblet. Nothing more than old wives’ tales, he said. Stories meant to frighten children and give shape to superstition.
But the attacks came.
Villages burned in the dead of night, reduced to ash and charred remains by morning. Soldiers vanished without a trace on routine patrols, their horses returning alone, spooked and riderless. And then, at last, the castle gates fell, splintering like matchsticks beneath Sukuna’s strength.
He led the assault himself.
His laughter carried over the walls as he tore through your defenses, unrestrained and merciless. Nothing slowed him. Nothing stood in his way. His power crushed every barrier as though it were nothing, while curses swarmed behind him, consuming everything in their path.
You had hidden in the winding halls, pressed against cold stone, your heart pounding in your chest. Even from there, you heard it all. The clash of steel against something unyielding. The sharp crack of blades shattering. The sound of men screaming as they were torn apart, their voices cut short one by one.
Now the room reeks of fresh blood, the metallic tang heavy enough to coat your tongue.
Your hands tremble within the chains that bind your wrists, the cold metal digging into your skin with every movement. The links are unyielding, a constant reminder of your captivity.
As you kneel there in the wreckage, your mind drifts without warning.
To sunlight. To laughter.
You remember running through the castle gardens with your siblings, the grass soft beneath your feet, your laughter echoing freely through the air. Flowers bloomed in vibrant color under the sun, their petals bright and endless. Servants bowed as you passed, offering smiles and fresh fruit.
Your mother guided your hands through careful embroidery in the afternoons, her touch gentle and patient. Your father stood over maps in his study, speaking of alliances and peace, his voice steady with certainty.
Now it feels distant. Like something half-forgotten.
Sukuna has turned it into a nightmare from which there is no waking.
You clench your fists against the chains despite the pain, the links rattling softly. Fear coils in your chest, but it does not stand alone.
You will not break. Not for him.
Sukuna sits upon your father’s throne as if it has always belonged to him, lounging with an ease that makes something in you twist. His massive frame dwarfs the ornate seat, the gold tracery nearly lost beneath him. Four arms rest across his broad, tattooed chest, while the others tap idly against the armrests in a slow, deliberate rhythm.
Black markings shift across his skin like living things, pulsing with cursed energy. His four red eyes gleam with a quiet, malicious amusement, each one fixed on you with the focus of a predator studying its prey.
Chains drag you forward across the cracked marble, the metal scraping harshly against the floor as you remain on your knees. Cursed energy pulses at your wrists like an unnatural heartbeat, steady and relentless.
Your royal gown clings to you in disarray, damp with sweat and stained with dirt. What was once pristine silk is now smeared and ruined, the hem torn into jagged edges that trail behind you.
You are pulled closer, inch by inch, until there is nowhere left to go.
And you are left at his feet.
He tilts his head slightly as he looks down at you. A slow grin spreads across his face, sharp fangs catching what little light remains. "So the princess finally shows herself." His voice is low, steady, but it carries through the chamber with ease, like it belongs there now more than anything else. You can feel it on the floor beneath you.
"I expected more from you," he continues, almost amused. "Royal blood and all. Your armies fell apart too easily." There's a pause, just long enough to make it deliberate.
"Your family died trying to hold what couldn't be held." His gaze drags over you where you kneel.
"And now you're here." He leans forward a little. "Do you know what happens next, princess?"
You glare up at him, refusing to look away. Your heart is pounding so hard it hurts. Grief and rage twist together until you can barely tell them apart. The loss of everything sits heavy in your chest. Your home. Your family. Everyone you ever knew. It weighs more than the chains cutting into your wrists. "You get nothing from me," you say. Your voice shakes, but you force it to stay steady. "If you're going to kill me, then do it. But I won't let you turn me into your subject. My kingdom is gone. My family is dead. But I'm still here. And I'm not broken, you monster."
His laughter echoes loudly through the ruins once more. The sound sends fresh chills racing down your spine. "Kill you? Oh, no, princess. That would be a complete waste of such a tight and breedable cunt waiting to be used." His hand shoots out in a blur to grab the chains. He pulls you close with effortless strength. You stumble awkwardly up the steps of the dais. You stand between his spread thighs in vulnerability. Heat radiates off his body like an open furnace. You can feel the raw power coiling within him. It presses against your senses. "You are my prize to claim as I see fit. I will claim you fully. I will break you like the pathetic bitch you truly are beneath that facade. I will breed that royal pussy of yours until you swell with my cursed heir inside you."
You pull back hard, twisting with everything you have. His grip doesn't budge. It's like iron clamped around you. "No. Get your filthy hands off me!" You shove at his chest with your bound hands. Your nails scrape across his skin, but they leave no mark. Panic rises sharp in your chest as another hand grabs your chin. He forces your face up. His eyes glow red and lock onto yours. "I will not submit to you. I will die before I let you touch me."
You kick out at his leg, desperate to hurt him. Your foot misses. He laughs louder, the sound rolling through the room. "Keep fighting. Your weak little struggles only make this more fun for me." His eyes move over you slowly. They look hungry. "I see the fear on your face. I see the hate in your eyes. But underneath? There's something else. Your body knows what's happening. It wants the king who took everything."
"Feisty little princess." He says it is soft, almost sweet. His eyes darken with twisted pleasure. His fourth hand slides up your thigh. It bunches your gown higher. The third hand traces your collarbone, slow and mocking. "I like that fire in you. It makes breaking you sweeter. Watch how fast that pride of yours crumbles when you beg for my cocks like the desperate whore you are." He leans in close. His breath is hot against your ear. "Your body is already saying yes, princess. I can smell the fear mixed with how wet you are. Your cunt is leaking for the monster who killed your family."
"Liar." You hiss through gritted teeth. But your body flushes with unwanted warmth. Heat pools between your legs in betrayal. Shame burns your cheeks like fire. You try to knee him once again in desperation. He catches your leg easily with two strong hands. He spreads you wider for his viewing. Your balance shifts precariously. You lean on him just to stay upright. "Let go of me right now! I hate you with all my soul, you sadistic pig!"
"Hate me all you want." He growls the words low. He shreds your undergarments with one quick flick of his nails. Cool air hits your bare skin. You gasp. You struggle harder, trying to close your legs. The chains rattle loud. His fingers slip between your folds. They find the wetness immediately. He holds his hand up so you can see it glisten. "But this greedy cunt? It begs for me. Dripping like a bitch in heat. Ready to be mounted and bred." He circles your clit slowly. Teasing. Light. Your hips jerk forward on their own. You hate it. You hate how your body reacts. You're caught between fighting and the sparks of pleasure that keep building. Your hips twitch again without your permission.
"Stop this now. Please, don't do this." You plead with a cracking voice. He adds more pressure. His thumb rubs in maddening circles. Your hips jerk on their own accord. They chase the friction despite your will. Tears well up in your eyes from frustration. "I will not give in to you. I cannot let you win."
You bite the inside of your cheek hard. You try to hold back the rising tide. But the sparks grow into flames. Pleasure creeps in despite your efforts. You fight it desperately. You think of your dead friends to ground yourself. You recall your ruined home to fuel your hate. But his touch feels too good. It is far too good to ignore completely.
"Can't what exactly? Can't resist getting fucked like the royal slut you are deep down?" He chuckles darkly. He inserts a thick finger inside you. He curls it to stroke that sensitive spot deep within. You bite your lip harder to stifle a moan. But it escapes anyway. It comes out as a soft, broken sound. "Look at you right now. You fight so hard while your walls suck me in eagerly. Admit it to yourself. You want this king's massive cocks splitting you open wide. You want them flooding your womb with my hot load until it overflows."
"No!" You shake your head furiously. You push at his arms with all your strength. But the pleasure builds fast and unrelenting. It coils tight in your belly like a spring. His other hands roam freely over your body. They pinch a nipple until you arch in response. They twist it with just enough pain to mix with pleasure. They spank your thigh with a sharp sting that makes you yelp. Your skin reddens from the impact. "You are forcing this on me. I hate it all. I hate you!"
"Forcing this?" He pulls his finger out abruptly. He smears your arousal on your thigh as undeniable proof. The slick shines in the light. "This sloppy pussy says otherwise. Don’t deceive yourself." He shoves you back onto the throne's wide seat with force. He throws your legs over the armrests casually. He spreads you wide for his view. You try to close them in panic. You kick out wildly. His hands pin you open without effort. His muscles hold you still like a vice. "Time to taste my stubborn little fucktoy. Let’s see how long you last before you’re grinding on my face like the needy whore you are."
His mouth drops to you without warning. His tongue moves over your folds with rough, hungry strokes, wet and hot. "Fuck, you taste so sweet," he says, voice low and thick. "Like nectar from a conquered whore's garden." He groans against you. The sound vibrates through your skin, making your hips jerk. He closes his lips around your clit and sucks. He pulls gently at first, then harder. You thrash under him. Your hands fist in his hair. You push, trying to force him away. You yank hard, desperate to stop it. But the pleasure hits too strong. It crashes over you like a wave you can't fight. Your back arches off the throne seat. Your legs tremble. "Stop fighting, princess," he murmurs against you. "Your body is already mine. I'm going to tongue-fuck this dripping cunt until you beg me to knock you up."
Tears run down your face while you twist and squirm under him. Everything inside you is pulling in two directions. You hate him so much it hurts. You want to kill him for what he did to your family and your home. But his tongue feels too good. It keeps moving, sliding in and out, then flicking over your clit with sharp, perfect strokes. "N-no," you manage to choke out. "I won't give in. Ah, you sick fuck!"
He pushes his tongue deeper. It curls inside you while one finger rubs fast circles on your clit. The sensation hits hard. Your hips jerk up against your will. He smacks your ass. The sound cracks loud through the room. The sting turns warm and makes you tighten around him. Another smack comes right after. Then another. His palm leaves red marks across your skin. Every hit sends a jolt through you. Pain and pleasure mix until you can't tell them apart. "That's right," he says against you, voice muffled but rough. "Take the punishment like the stubborn slut you are. Your ass is going to be bruised and raw by the time I'm finished pounding every hole."
You fight it with everything left in you. You bite down hard on your fist to keep any sound from escaping. But the pressure keeps building. It climbs and climbs until you can't hold it back anymore. Something inside you snaps. Your orgasm hits like a broken dam. A raw, shattered cry rips out of your throat and bounces off the ruined walls. Your walls flutter and spasm around his tongue. Slick floods out of you, soaking his face completely. It drips down his chin in thick trails. Shame crashes over you like cold water. But the aftershocks keep rolling through your body. You tremble hard, legs shaking, breath coming in short gasps. Every bit of fight you had left crumbles away.
"See that?" he says, pulling back just enough to let you see his smirk. His chin shines with your release. He runs his tongue slowly over his lips, licking it clean. "You broke so fast, pathetic little whore." He gives a low laugh. "Now show me some gratitude. Suck your king's cocks, princess."
He yanks you up by the arms, rough enough to make you stumble. With one sharp tug he rips his cloth open. His dual cocks spring free. Both stand thick and heavy in front of you. The upper one is thicker, veins standing out along the shaft, flushed dark red and angry-looking. The lower one curves slightly, just as long, just as intimidating. Pre-cum beads at both tips, glistening. You freeze for a second. A last flicker of defiance sparks in your chest. "I... I won't," you whisper, voice barely there. But your eyes keep drifting to them. Your mouth waters even though you hate it. Your throat feels tight and dry at the same time.
"Won't you?" He fists your hair tight. He pulls your head down hard. "You will. Or I'll fuck your throat until you choke on every drop." He presses the tip of the upper cock against your lips. Pre-cum smears across them, warm and salty. "Open wide, princess. Worship what owns you now. Take it deep. Gag on it like the royal cocksleeve you were always meant to be."
You hesitate. Part of you still wants to fight, to spit defiance even now. But the haze of pleasure clouds everything else. Slowly, you part your lips. He presses forward. The head of his upper cock slides past your lips. You take him inch by inch. The taste hits you immediately. Salty, musky, thick with pre-cum. It coats your tongue as you swirl around the tip. You suck lightly at first, careful, unsure. He lets out a low groan from deep in his chest. One hand tightens in your hair. He guides you down further, gentle but firm. "Fuck, that's it. Take it deeper, you filthy whore. Use that royal tongue like it's made to swallow my load."
You gag when he hits the back of your throat. Your eyes water instantly. The stretch burns. But he doesn't pull back. He rocks his hips in shallow thrusts. Slow. Controlled. While he does, his other hands come down on your ass again. Sharp, stinging slaps land in rhythm with his movements. Each one makes your skin bloom hot. The pain pushes you forward, makes you take more of him.
"Good girl," he growls. His voice is rough, edged with satisfaction. "Choke on it harder, you greedy slut." He watches you. "Look at you drooling all over my cock like a desperate cum-addict. Swallow it down. Earn that thick load I'm going to pump straight into your throat before I breed your other holes." Tears slip down your cheeks from the burn in your jaw. Your mouth aches from the girth stretching it wide. But his words sink in. They light a twisted heat low in your belly. Shame and need mix until you can't separate them. You start moving faster. You hollow your cheeks, creating tight suction. Your tongue presses flat along the underside. You trace the thick veins, feeling them throb. His lower cock presses heavy against your chin, neglected but leaking steadily. The slick head rubs against your skin with every bob of your head.
"That's right," he says. "Work for it. Suck harder. Or I'll face-fuck you until your jaw gives out."
You hum around him, low and deliberate. The vibration hits him hard. He curses under his breath, sharp and rough. His fingers tighten in your hair, pulling just enough to sting. He pushes deeper. Your nose presses flat against his base. Your throat stretches full, almost too much. You hold it there, fighting the urge to pull away, lungs burning. Then you ease back slowly. You gasp for air, chest heaving. Saliva strings from your lips to his tip. You dive forward again right away. Faster this time. Messier. Your mouth works him with wet, sloppy sounds. Drool spills over your lips. It coats his shaft completely. Your chin glistens, slick and shiny from the mess. His hands come down on your ass again. Sharp smacks land in time with your rhythm. Each one jolts you forward, pushes you deeper onto him. The sting blooms hot across your skin.
His breathing turns uneven, ragged at the edges. His grip in your hair tightens until it hurts. Suddenly he yanks you off with a wet, filthy pop. Thick strings of saliva stretch between your swollen lips and his glistening tip. He holds your head back by the hair. "Open wide, princess. Look up at me." His voice is low, commanding. You obey without thinking. Your lips part. Your tongue rests out slightly, waiting. He strokes himself fast with one hand. The other keeps your head tilted. His lower cock twitches against your chin, leaking steadily. He aims the upper one right at your face.
"Fuck. Take it all over that pretty royal face." He snarls the words. His hips jerk. Thick, hot ropes of cum burst from the tip. The first heavy spurt lands across your cheeks. The next hits your nose. Then your open mouth. Some coat your tongue. Some drips down your chin in slow trails. You flinch at the sudden warmth and volume, but you keep your mouth open. You let him cover you. The last few pulses land on your eyelashes and forehead. He groans deep in his chest, long and satisfied. His hand keeps stroking, milking every last drop until nothing more comes.
He stares down at you. His eyes burn. "Look at you. Covered in my cum like the claimed whore you are." He drags his thumb through the mess on your cheek. Then he pushes it into your mouth. You close your lips around it. You taste him—salty, thick, overwhelming. He pulls his thumb free with a wet pop.
"Now we breed you properly," he says, voice low and rough.
He flips you over with no effort at all. One second you're facing him, the next he's got you turned. He hooks his arms under your knees from behind, pulling you up into a full nelson. Your back slams against his chest. Your legs spread wide apart. Your feet hang useless in the air. You're completely open, exposed, held up like you weigh nothing. He lowers you slowly onto his upper cock. The thick head presses against your entrance. Then it starts to sink in. Inch by inch. The stretch is slow and merciless. The angle makes it feel even deeper. Gravity pulls you down harder onto him. He doesn't stop until he's buried all the way. His hips meet your ass with a satisfied grunt.
The fullness hits hard. His cock spears straight into your core. Your walls have to stretch wide to take the ridged length. You feel every vein, every bump sliding against your sensitive insides. The blunt head presses right up against your cervix, kissing it with heavy pressure. His lower cock, still rock-hard and dripping, slides between your ass cheeks. It smears warm pre-cum over your skin with every small shift of his hips.
"Fuck," he growls against your ear. His fangs graze the shell. "Feel how deep I am already? That greedy womb is already kissing the tip like it's begging for my load." He flexes his hips once. Sharp. Mean. The head batters your cervix again. A loud, wet squelch echoes in the ruined throne room. "Hear that? That's your royal cunt sucking me in. Never been this full, has it? No one's ever split you open like this."
You can't form words. Your mouth hangs open. Every breath gets punched out of you by the pressure inside. Your belly bulges where his cock sits. The outline is clear under your skin. He sees it right away.
"Shit, look at that." One hand leaves your knee and presses down on the swell. He pushes hard. You feel him shift even deeper inside. A strangled cry tears out of your throat. "You can see my dick right here, bulging in your guts. I'm gonna paint this spot white. Gonna make sure every drop stays locked inside until it takes."
He starts to move.
Not gentle. Not slow.
He drives up into you with hard, punishing strokes. Each thrust lifts your body a little before slamming you back down onto his cock. The wet slap of skin meeting skin bounces off the cracked walls. Your breasts bounce with every rough impact. Your head falls back against his shoulder. Drool slips from the corner of your mouth and trails down your chin.
"Feel that?" he snarls against your ear. "Feel how your pussy is already trying to milk me? Clenching like a desperate little whore who needs to be bred." His free hand slides down between your thighs. Two thick fingers find your swollen clit. He pinches it hard, then rolls it roughly between them. "Cum on this cock. Show me how bad you want my seed. Show me how much this slutty cunt craves being filled."
The angle is brutal. Every upward thrust slams right against your g-spot. Combined with the rough fingers on your clit, the pleasure builds fast. Too fast. It coils tight in your core and snaps.
You break.
Your whole body locks up. Your walls flutter hard around him. A sudden gush of slick sprays out around his shaft, dripping down his balls and onto the ruined floor below. Your vision whites out for a second. A raw, broken scream rips from your throat. Your legs shake in his grip. Your fingers claw at his arms. The orgasm rolls through you in heavy waves, leaving you trembling and gasping.
He doesn’t stop.
"Fuck yes," he groans, pace turning feral. "Squirt all over me like a good bitch. Soak my cock while I fuck a baby into you." His fingers keep rubbing your oversensitive clit in tight circles. The overstimulation is brutal. Your thighs shake. Tears stream down your face. You can’t tell if it’s pleasure or pain anymore. Maybe both.
He shifts his grip. Both lower arms lock behind your neck, forcing your chest out, arching your back painfully. The new angle drives him even deeper. You feel the head batter your cervix with every brutal thrust.
"Look at you," he pants against your neck. "Spread wide, stuffed full, leaking like a broken faucet. This is what a conquered princess looks like. This is what my breeding bitch looks like." He slams up harder. "Gonna cum so fucking deep. Gonna flood that womb until it’s overflowing. You’ll be dripping for days."
You can only whimper. Words are gone. You can’t even think. There is only the thick drag of his cock, the relentless grind against your g-spot, the burn of overstimulation on your clit, the ache in your stretched thighs.
His rhythm stutters.
"Fuck, here it comes," he growls. His voice is wrecked, rough and strained. "Take it. Take every fucking drop."
He slams up into you one last time and holds there. His whole body tenses. His cock pulses hard inside you. Thick, hot ropes of cum flood your pussy first. They paint your walls and fill your womb in heavy spurts. The heat spreads fast. The volume is too much. You feel it stretching you even more, pressure building deep. Some leaks out around his shaft anyway, slipping past where your walls grip him tight.
He keeps you locked in the full nelson. He grinds slow, lazy circles with his hips. Each small roll forces another pulse deeper, making sure nothing escapes. You feel every twitch, every spurt settling inside.
When he finally finishes, you're shaking. Your limbs go limp. Your body feels ruined, heavy, spent.
He lowers you slowly to the floor. His cock slips free with a wet, messy gush. Thick cum spills from your gaping pussy and runs down your thighs. He turns you over carefully, almost gently, and lays you on your back.
Then he straddles your chest.
His lower cock, still rock-hard and slick with your release and his own cum, hovers right over your face.
"Clean me up," he orders, voice low and rough. "Taste what you did to me."
You open your mouth without thinking. He feeds the tip past your lips. The taste hits you immediately. Your own slick mixes with his thick, salty release. You suck weakly. Your tongue moves slow around the head. He groans low in his throat, satisfied.
"Good girl."
He strokes himself over your tongue, slow at first, then faster. His grip stays firm in your hair. You taste every bit of him mixed with your own slick. He hardens again quickly. The thick veins stand out more. His breathing gets heavier.
He moves down your body. His weight shifts. He spreads your thighs wide with two strong hands. Your legs fall open easily. You're too tired to fight it. He lines up both cocks. The upper one presses against your soaked pussy. The lower one nudges your ass. Both tips are still leaking.
"Round two," he murmurs, voice low and rough.
He sinks in.
Both at once.
The stretch hits hard. You scream. The taste of him still coats your tongue. Your voice cracks. The upper cock forces its way back into your pussy. Swollen walls part around the thick length again. Every ridge drags against raw nerves. The lower cock pushes into your ass. It stretches the tight ring wide. The burn is sharp and deep. Both shafts fill you completely. They press against each other through the thin wall inside. The pressure makes your vision blur. Your lungs burn for air between broken cries.
He doesn't give you time to adjust.
He starts thrusting. Hard. Deep. No gentleness. Each stroke pulls almost all the way out. Then he slams back in. The wet slap of skin on skin fills the ruined hall. Your slick and his earlier cum make every thrust loud and filthy. Your body rocks forward with the force. Your palms slide on the blood-smeared marble. Your knees scrape against the rough floor. You can't brace yourself.
One lower hand wraps around your throat from the front. Fingers squeeze just enough to make your pulse race under his grip. "Breathe through it," he growls in your ear. "You take what I give. Every inch." His other lower hand slides between your thighs. Two thick fingers find your clit. He pinches the swollen bud hard. Then he rubs fast, merciless circles. The dual assault makes your hips jerk without control.
The angle is brutal. Every upward thrust grinds the upper cock right against your g-spot. The lower one presses deep in your ass, hitting spots that make your legs shake. Pleasure coils tight again. It builds fast. Too fast. Your thighs tremble. Your toes curl.
He feels every twitch. "Already close again?" His voice mocks you. "One load on your face and you're dripping for more." He tightens his grip on your throat. Stars burst behind your eyes. "Beg for it. Beg me to wreck you."
Words spill out in broken gasps. "Please... ruin me... fill me again..."
He laughs low and dark. "That's my good little whore."
His pace turns savage. His hips piston up into you with brutal force. Each thrust lifts your body slightly off his lap before slamming you back down hard. Your breasts bounce painfully with every impact. Your head falls forward. Drool slips from the corner of your open mouth and drips onto the floor below.
His fingers on your clit speed up. He pinches and flicks the swollen bud in perfect time with his thrusts. The overstimulation becomes unbearable. Your body locks up tight. Your walls clamp down on both cocks like a vice. A raw, broken scream tears from your throat. Slick sprays out around his upper shaft in messy pulses. Your ass flutters wildly around the lower one. The orgasm crashes through you so hard your vision blurs and your ears ring.
He doesn’t slow down.
He keeps fucking you through the aftershocks. His thrusts turn erratic. His breathing grows ragged and uneven. "Fuck, gonna flood you again," he says. His voice is wrecked and strained. "Gonna pump both holes so full you'll taste me for days."
But this time he doesn’t cum inside you.
He pulls out abruptly. Both cocks slip free with a loud, wet gush. Your slick and his earlier seed spill out immediately. You whine at the sudden emptiness. Your pussy and ass clench around nothing, aching and fluttering.
He flips you onto your back in one rough motion. Your legs fall open wide. You’re too exhausted to close them.
He straddles your hips this time, not your chest. He kneels tall over you. His upper cock hovers just above your lower belly. The lower one rests heavy against your mound. Both are still rock-hard. Both are still leaking.
He strokes himself with his upper hands. Fast. Rough. His eyes stay locked on your wrecked face. Cum is still streaked across your cheeks. Tears are drying on your temples. Your lips are swollen and parted.
"Look at me," he commands.
Your eyes flutter open. They’re barely focused. Your pupils are blown wide.
He aims down.
He cums.
Thick ropes lash across your stomach in heavy, hot stripes. The first spurt lands just below your ribs. The second crosses over your navel in a wide line. He angles higher. White ropes paint your breasts again, thicker this time, dripping slowly down the curves. Some collects between them, pooling in the dip of your sternum. At the same moment, his lower cock pulses. It sprays across your mound and inner thighs. Sticky warmth coats your skin everywhere. He keeps stroking both shafts until nothing more comes out. His groans are deep and satisfied. His hands slow. He smears the mess across your belly with his palms. He rubs it into your skin like he's claiming every inch.
Then he leans down. His mouth crashes against yours. The kiss is filthy. His tongue pushes in deep. He tastes the remnants of his earlier release on your tongue. He tastes your tears. He tastes the desperation still clinging to you.
When he pulls back, his eyes burn.
"Round three."
He spreads your thighs wider. He lines up both cocks once more.
He sinks in.
Both at once.
Again.
And the night stretches on.
But this time he doesn't rush.
He fucks you slow. Deep. Deliberate. Each thrust drags out every sensation until you're trembling on the edge of too much. Your body is oversensitive now. Every movement sends sparks through raw nerves. You whimper into his shoulder. Your nails dig into his back. You can't form words anymore. Only soft, broken sounds escape.
He keeps the pace torturously steady. He builds you up without mercy. When you're shaking again, right on the brink, he stops completely. Both cocks stay buried deep. He stays still.
"Beg," he says quietly.
You do. Your voice is wrecked, barely more than a whisper. "Please... don't stop... I need it... I need you..."
He chuckles softly. "Good girl."
Then he gives it to you.
Hard. Fast. Deep.
No holding back.
Your orgasm hits like a storm. It crashes over you. Your walls spasm around both cocks. Slick gushes out in a messy flood. Your ass clenches tight around the lower shaft. You scream his name until your voice cracks and fades.
He follows right after. A low groan rumbles from his chest. Warm pulses fill both holes. He cums slow this time. He lets you feel every thick spurt deep inside.
When he finally stills, he doesn't pull out.
He gathers you against his chest. Four arms wrap around you. He holds you close.
The throne room is silent except for your shared breathing.
Dawn light creeps through the broken windows.
He presses a kiss to your forehead.
"Sleep," he murmurs. "You're mine now. Completely."
Your body is limp. Exhausted. Fucked out beyond reason. Your mind is hazy. Your limbs are heavy. You can't fight anymore. You don't want to.
You close your eyes.
The world fades.
And for the first time since everything fell apart, you feel something close to surrender.
A/N: im nervousssss, if you have any feedback lmk!!! still learning how to tumblr #sos
synopsis: You ran from your arranged marriage in a torn white wedding dress, desperate to escape the cruel lord your family sold you to. By midnight, you’re on your knees in front of the village butcher, begging for shelter.
Toji Fushiguro doesn’t help runaways.
But when you blurt out that he’s your husband in front of the biggest gossips in town, suddenly the whole village believes you’re his. Now you’re trapped in a fake marriage with the terrifying butcher — a massive, rough, possessive man who has decided that if you’re going to call yourself his wife… he’s going to make it very, very real.
pairing: butcher!toji fushiguro x runaway bride!reader
mdni | warnings: smut, first time, size kink, breeding kink, creampie, cum play, rough sex, possessive/jealous Toji, dirty talk, spanking, manhandling, strength kink, overstimulation, oral (f receiving), fingering, spitting, multiple orgasms, multiple positions, fake marriage
word count: 14.8k
a/n: im kinda obsessed with this ngl... also lmk if your enjoying these longer fics!
The great hall of your family estate felt more like a tomb than a place of celebration.
Thick beams of dark oak loomed overhead, and the air was heavy with the greasy smell of over-roasted venison, spilled sour wine, and your father’s desperation. Two massive iron chandeliers flickered with dying candles, casting long, distorted shadows that danced across the walls. Servants had long since been dismissed, leaving only the three of you: your father, Lord Kato, and you — the silent prize being traded away.
Your father slumped in his carved high-backed chair, cheeks bloated and flushed deep red from too much drink. His once-fine tunic was stained with grease and wine. With a trembling hand, he slid the sealed parchment across the table. The wax bore your family’s broken crest.
“She’s untouched,” he slurred, trying and failing to sound proud. “Barely nineteen summers. Fertile. She’ll give you strong sons, I swear it. Obedient when properly disciplined. This marriage settles every debt between our houses — the gold, the eastern lands, the failed harvests… all of it wiped clean.”
Lord Kato sat across from him like a spider in human skin. Tall and unnaturally pale, with sharp cheekbones and eyes the color of frozen ink. His lips curled into a thin, cruel smile as he let his gaze crawl over your body without shame. He studied the swell of your breasts beneath your gown, the narrow dip of your waist, the way your hands clenched into fists at your sides. The way you trembled.
He took a slow sip of wine, then spoke, voice smooth and cold as winter steel.
“She’ll do nicely. The ceremony will take place tomorrow night at my estate. I expect her delivered in the finest white lace and silk… and nothing beneath it.” His smile widened, revealing teeth that seemed too sharp. “I want easy access the moment the guests leave. I’ve waited long enough for my new bride.”
You stood motionless in the center of the hall, heart pounding so violently you could hear it in your ears. Your skin crawled as if his eyes were already peeling the gown from your body. Nausea twisted in your stomach. This man had already buried three wives. Whispers spoke of bruises, broken bones, and screams that echoed through his halls at night. And now your own father was selling you to him for coin and land.
No one asked if you agreed.
No one asked what you wanted.
No one ever had.
You kept your face blank, eyes lowered like the obedient daughter they expected, while inside your mind screamed.
Later that night, when the household finally fell into drunken slumber and the torches burned low, you moved.
You had planned this in secret for weeks. A plain dark wool cloak stolen from the stables. A small bundle of hard bread, dried cheese, and a waterskin. Soft leather shoes you hoped would last. But the most valuable thing you owned was the wedding gown itself. You had decided to wear the half-finished white dress during your escape — the expensive satin and delicate lace might fetch enough coins in a distant village to buy you passage far away from here. It was risky, but you had nothing else of real value.
You slipped out through the narrow servant’s entrance at the back of the kitchens, the heavy door groaning softly behind you like a warning. The moment your feet touched the cold, dew-soaked grass, terror and fragile hope surged through you in equal measure.
You ran.
The forest swallowed you whole.
Ancient trees loomed like silent judges, their branches clawing at your white gown as if trying to drag you back. The delicate satin — still only half-finished, with pins and loose threads — snagged mercilessly on thorns. You heard fabric tearing again and again: sharp rips that sounded far too loud in the darkness. The long lace veil caught on a low limb and nearly yanked you off your feet; you tore it free with shaking hands, leaving half of it fluttering behind you like a surrendered flag. Mud and wet leaves caked your bare feet. Sharp stones and roots sliced into your soles until every step left bloody prints in the dirt. The cold night air burned your lungs. Sweat soaked your back and chest despite the chill, making the torn gown cling obscenely to your skin. Your legs screamed with exhaustion after only an hour, but fear kept you moving. Behind you, distant shouts echoed through the trees — your father’s guards, torches flickering like angry fireflies. Dogs barked. They were coming.
You pushed harder.
Branches whipped your face, leaving stinging cuts across your cheeks. Your hair fell loose from its elegant pins, wild and tangled. Tears streamed down your face, mixing with blood and dirt. Every shadow looked like a man ready to grab you. Every snap of a twig made your heart seize. You ran until your vision blurred and your chest felt like it would burst. You ran until the shouts grew fainter and the trees finally began to thin.
Hours had passed. The moon hung high and merciless overhead, bathing the world in cold silver light. Your legs trembled violently as you stumbled out of the treeline onto a wide, muddy road. In the distance, warm golden lantern light glowed between clusters of simple wooden buildings. A village.
You nearly collapsed with relief.
The main street was deserted, shutters closed tight against the night. Only one building still showed signs of life. Warm light spilled from its open front door onto the dirt road, carrying with it the thick, metallic scent of fresh blood and raw meat. A weathered wooden sign creaked overhead in the cold breeze:
Fushiguro Meat Co.
You limped toward it, every cut and bruise screaming.
A massive man stood under the wooden awning, illuminated by the lantern light. He was enormous — broad as a barn door, easily over six feet tall, with shoulders and arms so thick with muscle they looked carved from stone. He wore a blood-streaked leather apron tied low on his narrow hips. Beneath it, a simple white tank clung to his sweat-slicked chest, the thin fabric molded to heavy slabs of muscle and dark, scattered scars. His black hair was damp and messy, strands falling across his forehead. A deep, jagged scar twisted the corner of his mouth, giving his face a permanent, dangerous smirk even when he wasn’t smiling.
Thick veins stood out on his forearms as he slowly wiped a long, wicked boning knife clean on the edge of his apron. The blade gleamed.
He looked like violence given human shape — raw, brutal, and utterly terrifying.
You didn’t know his name. You didn’t know anything about him except that he was the only soul still awake, and you were completely out of options.
Your legs gave out the final few steps. You dropped hard to your knees in the cold dirt right in front of him, the torn white satin of your ruined wedding gown pooling around you like spilled milk mixed with blood and mud. Your chest heaved. Fresh tears cut clean tracks down your filthy cheeks.
“Please—” Your voice came out cracked and hoarse, barely more than a whisper. “Hide me. Just for one night. My family… they sold me to Lord Kato to settle their debts. He’s going to break me. Hurt me in ways I can’t even speak of. I’ll do anything you ask — scrub floors until my hands bleed, haul carcasses, sleep in the cold room with the meat, be your servant, your cleaner… anything. Just please… don’t let them take me back.”
You bowed your head, trembling, and clutched desperately at the bloody hem of his apron with both hands, staining your fingers red.
The man stopped moving. He looked down at you slowly, sharp green eyes narrowing as they took in every detail: your torn and filthy wedding dress, the cuts on your face and feet, the desperate tears, the way you knelt before him like a supplicant before a god of slaughter.
He flicked the long knife shut with a loud, metallic click that echoed in the quiet street.
“Not my problem, princess,” he rumbled. His voice was deep, low, and rough — like gravel being dragged across stone. There was no pity in it. “I don’t hide runaways. Go beg somewhere else before you bring trouble to my shop.”
You stayed on your knees, fingers still twisted tight in the bloody hem of his apron. Tears kept falling, mixing with the dirt on your cheeks. “Please… I have nowhere else. They’ll find me by morning. Lord Kato will—”
Footsteps. Soft, quick, coming from the narrow alley beside the butcher shop.
Three women emerged into the lantern light, their shawls pulled tight against the night chill, each carrying a small lantern. They stopped short at the sight of you kneeling in your ruined white gown in front of the massive butcher.
“Gods above,” the tallest one gasped. “Is that a wedding dress? Child, what in the world happened to you?”
The women hurried closer, lanterns swinging. Warm golden light spilled over your torn satin, the mud-caked hem, the blood from his apron smeared across your bodice and hands. One of the younger women pressed a hand to her mouth. “She’s bleeding… and look at her feet!”
You looked down at yourself — the once-beautiful dress now filthy and shredded — then up at the stranger towering over you. His green eyes were narrowed in clear irritation, jaw clenched like he was seconds away from shoving you into the street and bolting the door.
A wild, desperate plan came to your mind.
You pushed yourself up on shaky legs, ignoring the sharp pain in your cut feet. Before he could step away, you grabbed his large, calloused hand with both of yours, clinging desperately. His palm was warm, rough, and still faintly sticky with dried blood.
Turning to the three women with the most exhausted yet radiant smile you could force, you announced clearly:
“This is my husband.”
The words rang in the quiet night air.
The women froze.
You kept going, voice trembling but determined. “We were married in secret this evening. My family didn’t approve — they tried to sell me off to a cruel lord to settle their debts. So I ran away through the forest to reach him. The dress… it got ruined on the way, but I’m here now. I’m exactly where I belong.”
Silence stretched for a heartbeat.
Then the women erupted.
“The butcher got married?!” the tallest one exclaimed, eyes wide. “Toji Fushiguro actually took a wife? I never thought I’d live to see the day!”
One of the younger women clapped her hands together, beaming. “Look at her, even all torn up she’s lovely! Brave thing, running through the woods in the middle of the night just to get to her husband.”
The third woman laughed warmly. “We’ll bring fresh bread and some stew first thing in the morning for you newlyweds. Can’t have Toji’s new wife going hungry on her first day here!”
Toji.
So that was his name. Toji Fushiguro.
You felt the man — Toji — stiffen beside you. His massive hand twitched hard in your grip, muscles flexing like he was fighting the urge to rip free and deny everything. His sharp green eyes burned into the side of your face, dark with fury and silent threat. But the women were watching excitedly. The whole village would know the story by sunrise if he contradicted you now.
You squeezed his hand tighter, nails digging into his skin in a silent, desperate plea. Please. Just play along.
Toji’s scarred jaw flexed. A low, dangerous growl rumbled deep in his chest. For one terrifying second you thought he might expose you.
Then, in the flattest, most reluctant voice you had ever heard, he grunted:
“…Yeah. She’s mine now. Wife.”
The women squealed with delight. They offered more congratulations, promised gifts for the “newlyweds,” and finally bustled away down the dark street, lanterns bobbing and their voices already carrying the juicy news.
The moment their footsteps faded, Toji’s grip turned bruising. He yanked you forward so hard you stumbled against his broad, solid chest, then dragged you roughly through the open door of the butcher shop. The heavy oak door slammed shut behind you with a resounding thud that rattled the walls.
Inside, the air was thick and heavy — cold iron, raw meat, woodsmoke, and the faint metallic tang of fresh blood. A single lantern burned low on the wooden counter, casting long, flickering shadows over heavy chopping blocks, hanging meat hooks, and rows of sharp knives.
Toji spun you around and shoved your back against the closed door. One thick, powerful forearm braced beside your head, completely caging you in. His massive body loomed over yours, heat rolling off him in waves. The scent of blood, sweat, and raw masculinity filled your lungs.
His green eyes were dark with fury… and something much darker, much hungrier.
“What the fuck was that?” he snarled, voice low and lethal. “You just told half the goddamn village you’re my wife. You got any idea what you’ve done, little runaway?”
Your heart slammed against your ribs. You could feel the hard press of his chest against yours, the sheer size of him making you feel tiny and trapped.
“It was the only way,” you whispered, breathing fast. “They would’ve dragged me back to Lord Kato by morning if they knew the truth. Now they think I belong to you. No one will question it. Please… just let me stay the night. I’ll disappear at dawn, I swear it.”
Toji stared down at you for a long, heavy moment. His scarred mouth twisted into a slow, dangerous smirk. His free hand came up and gripped your chin firmly, tilting your face up so you had no choice but to meet his intense green eyes.
“Disappear?” he growled, thumb pressing hard into your jaw. “Too late for that, princess. You just tied yourself to me in front of witnesses.”
He leaned in closer, so close his breath ghosted hot across your lips. His voice dropped even lower, rough and full of promise.
“You owe me now. Big time.”
His gaze dragged slowly down your body — over the torn white lace barely clinging to your curves, the bloodstains, the way your chest heaved with fear and adrenaline. He just held you there, pinned against the door, letting the heavy tension coil tighter and tighter between you.
“Upstairs,” he finally ordered, voice like gravel. “Now. We’re gonna have a long talk about what you just got yourself into.”
Toji didn’t give you time to argue.
His massive hand clamped around your upper arm like a steel band and he hauled you away from the door. You stumbled after him on aching, bleeding feet as he dragged you through the back of the shop. The scent of raw meat grew thicker near the cold room, but he turned toward a narrow wooden staircase tucked behind a heavy curtain.
“Move,” he growled when you hesitated at the bottom step.
You climbed. Each step sent fresh pain shooting up your legs, but you bit your lip and kept going. Toji followed close behind, his heavy boots loud on the old wood, one hand still gripping your arm so you couldn’t possibly run.
The stairs opened directly into a small, sparse apartment above the butcher shop. It was surprisingly clean for a man who spent his days covered in blood. A single main room served as both living space and kitchen — a sturdy wooden table with two chairs, a stone hearth with dying embers, a few shelves holding jars of preserved meat and dried herbs. A narrow hallway led to what you assumed were the bedroom and washroom. Moonlight spilled through two small windows, painting everything in cool silver.
Toji kicked the door at the top of the stairs shut behind him and finally released your arm. You immediately backed up a few steps, the torn hem of your wedding dress whispering across the floorboards.
He folded his thick arms across his broad chest, blood-stained apron still tied around his waist, and stared at you like you were a problem he was deciding how to carve up.
“Start talking,” he said flatly. “And don’t leave anything out. Who the fuck are you, why is a lord hunting you, and why the hell did you decide to drag me into your mess?”
You swallowed hard, still catching your breath. You introduced yourself by name, then continued quietly, “My family is in debt. Deep debt. They sold me to Lord Kato yesterday to settle it. He’s a cruel man. Three wives before me, and none of them lasted long. He told my father in front of me what he plans to do on our wedding night.” Your voice cracked. “I couldn’t stay. I ran in the only thing of value I had — this dress. I thought maybe I could sell it in a village for enough coin to disappear.”
Toji’s green eyes flicked over the ruined white lace clinging to your body — torn, muddy, bloodstained. He let out a low, humorless snort.
“And instead of keeping your mouth shut and hiding somewhere quiet, you decided the best plan was to announce to the biggest gossips in the village that you’re married to the local butcher.” He took one heavy step closer. “You realize what you’ve done?”
You nodded quickly. “They won’t hand me over now. Not if they think I belong to you. The whole village will protect the butcher’s wife… right?”
Toji laughed — a short, dark sound that sent a shiver down your spine.
“Protect?” He shook his head. “You just painted a target on my back too, princess. Lord Kato isn’t the type to let his property run off. When he comes looking — and he will come looking — he’s going to hear all about how the village butcher stole his bride.”
He dragged a large hand down his face, clearly pissed off, but there was something else in his expression now. A glint of dark amusement. Maybe even reluctant interest.
“You’re either the bravest idiot I’ve ever met… or the most cunning.”
You stood there trembling in the middle of his living room, arms wrapped around yourself. The torn bodice of the dress had slipped dangerously low on your shoulders, but you didn’t dare fix it.
“I’ll leave at first light,” you promised again, softer this time. “I won’t cause you any more trouble. Just… let me stay until sunrise. Please, Toji.”
Hearing his name from your lips made his eyes narrow.
“Don’t,” he warned. “You don’t get to say my name like we’re actually married.”
He turned away from you and walked over to the small hearth. He crouched down, added two fresh logs, and stoked the fire back to life with practiced efficiency. The warm orange glow slowly filled the room, chasing away some of the chill.
When he stood again, he looked even bigger in the firelight — shoulders impossibly wide, muscles shifting under the thin tank top, the scar at his mouth pulling as he scowled.
“Sit,” he ordered, nodding toward one of the wooden chairs at the table. “You’re bleeding all over my floor.”
You obeyed, lowering yourself carefully onto the chair. The moment you sat, exhaustion crashed into you like a wave. Your feet throbbed. Every cut and bruise ached. You were filthy, terrified, and running on nothing but fear and adrenaline.
Toji disappeared down the short hallway and returned a minute later with a metal basin, a clean rag, and a small jar. He set the basin on the floor in front of you, then dropped into the chair across the table, watching you with those sharp green eyes.
“Clean your feet,” he said gruffly. “I’m not carrying you around if they get infected.”
You dipped the rag into the water and started wiping away the mud and blood as carefully as you could. The silence stretched between you, thick and heavy. The fire crackled. Outside, the village was completely quiet.
Toji leaned back in his chair, arms crossed again, studying you like livestock.
“You really think this marriage story is gonna hold?” he asked after a long minute. “Village folk love to talk. By noon tomorrow everyone’s gonna want to meet my mysterious bride.”
You kept your eyes on your injured feet. “I just need a day or two to figure out where to go next. I can… I can work. I’m not useless. I can clean, cook, help in the shop—”
Toji’s low chuckle cut you off.
“You? Working in a butcher shop?” He shook his head. “You look like you’ve never touched anything bloodier than a sewing needle in your life.”
He watched you struggle to clean a deep cut on your sole for another moment before he made an irritated sound and leaned forward.
“Give me your foot.”
You hesitated.
“Now,” he growled.
You slowly lifted your leg. Toji took your ankle in his huge, rough hand — surprisingly gentle despite the calluses and dried blood on his fingers. He pulled the basin closer and started cleaning your wounds himself with careful, efficient movements.
The contrast was jarring: this terrifying mountain of a man, covered in someone else’s blood, carefully tending to your torn-up feet.
“You’re staying the night,” he said quietly, not looking up from his work. “Not because I’m kind. Because if I throw you out now, those three hens will ask questions I don’t feel like answering. Tomorrow we figure out what the hell to do with you.”
He finished cleaning one foot and moved to the other. His thumb brushed accidentally over a sensitive spot and you hissed softly.
Toji’s eyes flicked up to your face for a second, something unreadable flashing across his expression.
“After that…” He set your foot down carefully and leaned back again, voice dropping into a low, dangerous rumble. “You’re gonna start paying off the trouble you just caused me.”
He didn’t explain what that meant.
But the way he was looking at you — slow, heavy, possessive — made heat crawl up your neck despite the fear.
Toji held your gaze for another long moment before he finally released your ankle. He pushed the basin aside with his boot and stood, towering over you once more. The firelight danced across the hard lines of his face, catching on the jagged scar at the corner of his mouth.
“Stay there,” he muttered.
He disappeared into the back room again. You heard the sound of water splashing, then heavy footsteps returning. When he came back, he carried a thick wool blanket and a tin cup. He set the cup in front of you — it was filled with cool water — and dropped the blanket over the back of your chair.
“Drink,” he ordered. “You look half-dead.”
You obeyed without thinking, your hands still trembling slightly as you lifted the cup. The water was clean and cold, soothing your raw throat. Toji watched you drink the entire thing, arms crossed, before he spoke again.
You lowered the empty cup. “Thank you… for the water. And for cleaning my feet.”
He made a dismissive sound in the back of his throat, like thanks made him uncomfortable. Then he leaned against the edge of the table, close enough that his thigh nearly brushed your arm.
“You really thought this through?” he asked, voice low. “Running in a fancy white dress, announcing yourself as my wife in front of the nosiest women in the village… What’s your actual plan once the sun comes up?”
You stared down at your bandaged feet. “I didn’t have time for a real plan. I just knew I couldn’t let them marry me off to that monster. I thought if I could get far enough away, maybe sell the dress, I could buy passage on a cart or a boat. Start over somewhere no one knows me.”
Toji exhaled through his nose, almost a laugh but darker. “Selling that dress would’ve gotten you robbed or worse before you even reached the next town. You’re lucky you only made it as far as my doorstep.”
Silence settled again, broken only by the crackling fire. You pulled the blanket tighter around your shoulders, suddenly aware of how exposed you still were — the torn bodice of the wedding gown hanging loosely, the lace ripped in several places, dirt and dried blood streaked across your skin.
Toji’s eyes drifted over you again, slower this time. They lingered on the curve of your shoulder where the dress had slipped, the rise and fall of your chest, the way the white fabric clung to your thighs.
“You look ridiculous,” he said bluntly. “Like a bride who lost a fight with a pack of wolves.”
Despite everything, a tiny, tired smile tugged at your lips. “That’s… not far from the truth.”
He pushed off the table and walked over to a wooden chest in the corner. He rummaged inside and pulled out a large, worn linen shirt — clearly one of his. It looked big enough to reach your knees.
“Here.” He tossed it to you. “Can’t have you walking around my place looking like that. Change. There’s a washroom down the hall if you want to clean up more.”
You clutched the shirt to your chest. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” he warned. “You’re still in my house. Still wearing that damn dress that’s going to bring trouble to my door.”
He turned his back to give you a moment of privacy, busying himself by adding another log to the fire. You quickly stood, wincing at the pain in your feet, and slipped behind the partial wall that separated the washroom. You peeled off the ruined wedding dress with shaking hands, letting the torn fabric pool at your feet. The cool air kissed your bare skin as you pulled Toji’s shirt over your head. It smelled faintly of smoke, soap, and something unmistakably masculine. The hem fell halfway down your thighs.
When you stepped back out, Toji turned around. His eyes darkened the moment they landed on you in his shirt.
“Better,” he grunted, though his voice sounded rougher than before.
He gestured toward the narrow hallway. “Bedroom’s at the end. Only one bed. You take it tonight. I’ll sleep out here.”
You hesitated. “I can sleep on the floor. I’ve already caused enough—”
“Don’t argue,” he cut you off. “My house, my rules. Get some sleep. You look like you’re about to fall over.”
You walked carefully down the short hall, every step still painful. The bedroom was small and simple like the rest of the apartment — a large wooden bed with thick blankets, a single chair, and a window overlooking the dark village street. You climbed onto the bed, pulling the covers over yourself.
Toji appeared in the doorway a minute later, leaning one broad shoulder against the frame. The firelight from the main room silhouetted his massive form.
“Door stays open,” he said. “And don’t even think about sneaking out in the middle of the night. If I have to chase you down, I won’t be in a generous mood.”
You nodded, sinking deeper into the mattress. Exhaustion was pulling at you hard now, but sleep still felt far away with him standing there watching you.
“Toji…” you whispered.
He raised an eyebrow.
“Thank you,” you said again, softer. “For not throwing me out.”
His expression didn’t soften, but something in his eyes shifted. He pushed off the doorframe and turned to leave.
“Get some sleep, runaway,” he muttered. “You’re gonna need it.”
He left the door wide open. You heard him moving around in the main room — the creak of the wooden chair as he sat down, the quiet clink of a cup. The fire continued to crackle.
You lay there in his bed, wrapped in his shirt, the weight of everything that had happened pressing down on you. The fake marriage. The village women who now believed you were his wife. Lord Kato still out there searching. And the terrifying, strangely careful butcher who had just tended to your wounds and given you his bed.
Sleep finally claimed you, but even in your dreams you could still feel the heavy weight of Toji’s gaze on your skin.
You woke to the sound of knocking.
It was loud, cheerful, and relentless — three sharp raps on the shop door downstairs, followed by muffled feminine voices. Sunlight streamed through the small bedroom window, warm and golden. For a brief, disoriented moment you forgot where you were. Then everything crashed back: the forest, the blood-stained butcher, the lie you’d told.
You sat up quickly. Toji’s oversized linen shirt had ridden up your thighs during the night. Your feet still ached, but the bandages held firm. You heard heavy footsteps downstairs, then Toji’s low, irritated growl as he opened the door.
“Morning!” a cheerful woman’s voice called up. “We brought breakfast for the newlyweds! Fresh bread, stew, and honey cakes. Don’t tell us you’re still in bed on your wedding night!”
Another woman giggled. “We’re dying to meet your bride properly!”
Toji’s heavy footsteps came up the stairs. He appeared in the bedroom doorway, looking imposing in the daylight. He wore a clean black tunic stretched tight across his chest, the same blood-stained apron tied around his waist. His hair was messy, jaw set with clear annoyance.
“They’re here,” he said flatly. “Three of them. Loaded with food.”
Your stomach twisted. “What do we do?”
Toji’s green eyes dragged over you — bare legs, wearing nothing but his shirt. Something dark flickered across his face.
“You sold us as newlyweds,” he reminded you, voice low. “So act like it. Smile. Look happy. Keep the story straight.”
He stepped closer and tugged the hem of the shirt down your thighs possessively. “There’s a spare skirt and blouse in the chest. Change. Quickly.”
You moved fast, wincing at the pain in your feet. Toji turned his back while you dressed in the simple dark green skirt and cream blouse. They were a little loose but far more practical.
When you were ready, Toji gave you one last look and jerked his head toward the stairs. “Downstairs. Remember — you’re my wife.”
The three women had already let themselves into the front of the shop. They had laid out a generous spread on the wooden counter: warm bread, a pot of hearty stew, honey cakes, and spiced cider. The moment you appeared behind Toji, their faces lit up.
“Oh, here she is!” the tallest, round-faced woman exclaimed. “Look at you, dear. Much better than last night. I’m Mrs. Sato, by the way! My husband runs the bakery just down the street.” She gestured to the other two. “This is Mira and little Hana.”
The younger women smiled warmly.
“You clean up beautifully,” Mira said. “You already have that newlywed glow!”
You felt heat rise in your cheeks. Toji’s large hand settled heavily on your lower back, warm and claiming.
“Thank you,” you said, offering a shy smile. “You’re all so kind. I’m sorry for how I looked last night… the journey through the forest was harder than I expected.”
Mrs. Sato waved her hand. “No apologies needed! Running away from a bad match to be with the man you love? It’s the most romantic thing to happen in this village in years.”
Toji grunted, his thumb slowly stroking your spine. “Wasn’t exactly planned,” he said dryly. “But here we are.”
The women laughed and chattered while you helped serve the food. They asked how you met, how long you’d been secretly courting, and whether you planned to stay in the village. You answered carefully, sticking close to the story. Toji added short, gruff confirmations, never moving far from your side.
Just as the women were gathering their empty baskets to leave, a loud, sharp knock echoed through the shop.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
This knock was different — heavy, authoritative, and impatient.
Toji’s hand tensed on your back. His expression hardened instantly.
Mrs. Sato glanced toward the door, curious. “Are you expecting more visitors already?”
Toji didn’t answer. He moved toward the door, positioning himself so his broad frame blocked most of the view inside. You stayed behind the counter, heart suddenly hammering.
He opened the door.
Two armed men stood outside, wearing the dark crimson and gold colors of Lord Kato’s household. Swords hung at their hips. Their eyes scanned the interior of the shop coldly.
“We’re searching for a missing girl,” the taller guard announced. “Runaway bride. White wedding dress. She fled the lord’s estate last night. Anyone matching that description come through here?”
The air in the shop grew thick. Mrs. Sato and the other two women turned to look at you with wide eyes, then back at the guards.
Toji’s voice was calm but ice-cold. “No one like that here.”
The second guard tried to peer past him. “Mind if we take a look inside?”
You stayed frozen behind the counter, heart hammering. Before Toji could answer, Mrs. Sato stepped forward with the confidence of someone who had gossiped through every scandal the village had ever seen.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she said brightly, waving a hand. “You boys are wasting your time. That right there is Toji Fushiguro — our butcher for the last fifteen years. We’ve known him since he was a surly teenager dragging whole pigs through these doors!”
Mira immediately jumped in, nodding eagerly. “And he has a wife! They’ve been happily married for two whole years now. We were at their quiet little wedding ourselves. Very romantic.”
Hana clapped her hands together dramatically. “Yes! They’re the sweetest couple. Toji can barely keep his hands off her even when he’s covered in blood. Always canoodling right outside the shop like they’re still courting!”
Mrs. Sato leaned toward the guards like she was sharing precious village lore. “Honestly, if some runaway noble girl in a fancy white dress had shown up here last night, the entire village would’ve known before sunrise. This dear girl has been living above the shop for ages. Helps Toji with the accounts and everything. She’s no fugitive — she’s the butcher’s wife, plain and simple.”
Toji finally moved. He reached back with one thick arm, caught you around the waist, and pulled you forward against his side in one smooth motion. His grip was firm and possessive, his large hand resting heavily on your hip as he held you close.
The guards blinked, clearly thrown by the united front.
The taller one squinted at you. “But the missing girl was wearing a white wedding dress…”
Mira let out a theatrical laugh. “Plenty of white dresses in the world! Our girl here has been wearing plain village clothes for years. Look at her — does she look like some pampered noble who ran away last night?”
Hana nodded vigorously. “Exactly! She even makes the best meat pies in the village. We’d know if she was some lord’s bride.”
The two guards exchanged uncertain glances. Between Toji’s intimidating size, the three women’s absolute certainty, and the perfectly domestic scene in front of them, their suspicion melted away.
The shorter guard cleared his throat. “Seems like a false lead, then. Sorry to bother you folks.”
The taller one gave a reluctant nod. “Apologies for the intrusion. If you hear anything about a girl in a white dress, send word to the lord’s estate.”
Mrs. Sato smiled sweetly. “Of course, dears. Safe travels back!”
The guards turned and walked off down the street without another word.
The moment the door clicked shut, Mrs. Sato burst into laughter and fanned herself. “Well! That was more excitement than we usually get before noon.”
Mira winked at you. “Don’t worry, love. We’ve got your back. No one’s taking the butcher’s wife anywhere.”
Hana grinned. “We’ll spread the word. The whole village will keep an eye out.”
Toji gave them a short, gruff nod. “Appreciate it.”
The women gathered their empty baskets, still buzzing, and finally left with more promises of future visits and gifts.
The shop fell quiet again, morning sunlight streaming peacefully through the windows.
Toji slowly turned to face you. His hand was still on your waist, heavy and warm. For a long moment he just studied you, green eyes dark and intense.
“You’re damn lucky those three are the nosiest women alive,” he muttered. “They just sold that story better than we could’ve.”
He stepped closer, backing you gently against the counter. His voice dropped low, rough around the edges.
“So the whole village’s got our back it seems.” His thumb brushed slowly over your hip bone. “This lie keeps growing. Whole village thinks you’re mine now.”
His gaze dropped to your lips for a heartbeat before returning to your eyes.
“So tell me, runaway… how long do you plan on playing my wife? And how far are you willing to go to make everyone believe it?”
You swallowed, suddenly very aware of how close he was. The counter pressed into your lower back, and Toji’s broad body blocked out most of the morning light. His hand remained heavy on your hip, thumb still tracing slow, absent circles that made your skin prickle beneath the thin blouse.
“I… I don’t know,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t think past getting away from Lord Kato. I just wanted to survive the night.”
Toji hummed, low and thoughtful. He tilted his head slightly, studying your face like he was trying to decide whether you were worth the growing headache you’d brought him.
“Surviving isn’t enough anymore,” he said. “Not after this morning. Those guards will report back. When they don’t find you, Kato will send more men. Maybe even come himself.” His fingers flexed on your hip. “And the whole village now believes you’re mine. If the story breaks, they’ll look like fools. They won’t forgive that easily.”
You met his eyes, heart thudding. “Then what do we do?”
For a moment he didn’t answer. Instead he reached up with his free hand and brushed a stray lock of hair behind your ear, the gesture surprisingly gentle for someone so rough-looking. His calloused fingertips lingered against the side of your neck.
“We lean into it,” he finally said. “Hard. You stay. You act like my wife in public — every smile, every touch, every time someone knocks on that door. No slipping up. No running off when it gets hard.”
He leaned in a fraction closer, voice dropping. “And in private… we figure out the real terms.”
Your breath caught. “Real terms?”
Toji’s scarred mouth curved into a slow, dangerous half-smirk. “You cost me peace and quiet, runaway. You cost me the simple life where nobody bothered me. So you’re going to start paying me back.”
He didn’t elaborate, but the heat in his green eyes made it very clear what kind of payment he had in mind.
“I won’t force you,” he continued, surprising you. “Door’s right there. You can still walk out and take your chances on the road. But if you stay…” His hand slid from your hip to the small of your back, pulling you flush against him. “Then you’re mine until this blows over. Or longer. Depends how good you are at pretending.”
The solid wall of his chest pressed against you, warm and unyielding. You could smell faint traces of smoke, soap, and the metallic hint of blood that never quite left him. Your hands came up instinctively, resting lightly on his abdomen.
“I’m not pretending right now,” you whispered.
Toji’s eyes darkened. For a second you thought he might kiss you — really kiss you — but he held back, letting the tension stretch until it was almost unbearable.
“Good,” he murmured. “Because the village expects a devoted wife. They’ll be watching. Bringing food. Asking questions. Asking when we’re going to have little butchers running around.”
Your face burned. Toji chuckled, deep and rough, clearly enjoying your reaction.
“Don’t worry. We’ll give them a good show.” He finally stepped back, giving you room to breathe again, though his hand lingered on your waist a moment longer. “For now, help me open the shop. Act natural. If anyone else comes asking, you know what to say.”
You nodded, still flushed.
As he turned to start his morning routine — sharpening knives, hanging fresh cuts, preparing the counter — you moved to help where you could. Every time you passed near him, his hand would brush your lower back or arm — small, deliberate touches that looked casual to anyone watching but felt heavy with intent.
By midday, a few villagers had already stopped by “just to say hello” and congratulate the newlyweds. Each time, Toji played his part perfectly — gruff, possessive, pulling you close with an ease that made the performance feel dangerously real.
An older man dropped off a small basket of eggs and clapped Toji on the back. “Didn’t think I’d live to see you settle down, Fushiguro. She must be something special.”
Toji’s arm tightened around your waist as he gave a low grunt. “She is.” His fingers flexed against your side, warm through the fabric of your blouse. You leaned into him instinctively, playing along, and felt the solid wall of muscle beneath his tunic.
A young mother came next with her toddler in tow, offering a jar of preserved berries. She smiled at you brightly. “You two look so good together. How long have you been hiding her from us, Toji?”
“Long enough,” he answered, voice rough but carrying a hint of smugness. He pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to the top of your head right in front of her. The casual affection made your stomach flutter.
By early afternoon the steady trickle of visitors finally slowed. Toji flipped the shop sign to “Closed for the Day” and locked the front door with a heavy click. The sudden silence felt louder than all the chatter combined.
You let out a shaky breath and leaned against the counter, arms wrapped around yourself. “They really believe it. All of them.”
Toji wiped his hands on a rag, watching you from across the room. He tossed the rag aside and stalked toward you, slow and deliberate.
Gods, he was huge.
Up close like this, in the quiet afternoon light, the sheer size of him hit you all over again. Broad shoulders that seemed to stretch the fabric of his black tunic, thick arms corded with muscle from years of hauling heavy carcasses, a powerful chest that rose and fell steadily. The jagged scar at the corner of his mouth only made him more striking — dangerous, rough, and strangely, undeniably attractive. Those sharp green eyes pinned you in place, intimidating as ever, yet there was something magnetic about the way he moved. Like a predator who knew exactly how much power he held and chose not to use it… yet.
He stopped right in front of you, so close you had to tilt your head back to meet his gaze. One large hand came up to cup your chin, thumb brushing along your jaw.
“You’re handling this better than I expected,” he said quietly.
You felt your pulse quicken under his touch. “I feel like I’m going to faint every time someone looks at me.”
His thumb stroked slowly over your skin. “You’re not fainting. You’re standing here in my shop, wearing my clothes, letting me touch you like you belong to me.” His voice dropped lower. “Looks pretty convincing from where I’m standing.”
The air between you thickened. You could smell the faint mix of blood, woodsmoke, and clean sweat that clung to him. His sheer physical presence was overwhelming — the heat rolling off his massive frame, the way his broad chest nearly brushed against you with every breath.
“What happens when the guards come back?” you asked, voice softer than you intended.
Toji’s expression darkened. “Then we give them the same show. Or I handle it my way.” His hand slid from your chin to the back of your neck, fingers threading gently into your hair. “But right now? Shop’s closed. No more visitors. No more pretending for a little while.”
He didn’t move away. Neither did you.
Instead, you found yourself leaning into his touch, exhaustion and adrenaline twisting into something warmer, heavier. Your hands rose to rest on his chest, feeling the hard, solid muscle beneath your palms.
“Toji…” you started, unsure what you even wanted to say.
He cut you off with a low sound. “Careful. You keep saying my name like that and I might start believing this marriage is real myself.”
His grip on the back of your neck tightened just slightly — not painful, but enough to remind you how easily he could pull you in. His green eyes dropped to your mouth, lingering this time, dark with hunger.
“You still haven’t answered my question from earlier,” he murmured. “How far are you willing to go, runaway?”
The shop was quiet except for the distant sounds of village life outside. No one was watching now. It was just the two of you, the weight of the lie, and the growing, electric heat between you.
You wet your lips, heart racing.
“I’m still here,” you whispered. “That should tell you something.”
Toji’s scarred mouth curved into a slow, hungry smirk.
“Yeah,” he said, voice rough. “It does.”
The silence that followed felt heavier than before. The shop was quiet now, the afternoon light cutting sharp lines across the wooden floor and the rows of knives hanging on the wall. Toji didn’t step back. He stayed right there, towering over you, one hand still gripping the back of your neck while the other rested heavy on your hip.
He really was massive up close.
Broad shoulders that strained his tunic, thick arms veined and scarred from years of brutal work, a chest so solid it looked like it could take a hit from a horse and keep going. The scar at the corner of his mouth gave his face a permanent edge, dangerous and rough. Yet there was something about the way he looked at you — intense green eyes, half-lidded, focused — that made your stomach tighten in a way that had nothing to do with fear.
Toji noticed you staring.
“Eyes up here,” he muttered, but the corner of his scarred mouth twitched like he was amused. “You keep looking at me like that and I’m gonna get the wrong idea.”
You swallowed. “I’ve never been this close to someone like you.”
“Someone like me,” he repeated, almost mocking. He leaned in a little more, voice dropping low. “Big, ugly butcher covered in blood half the time?”
You shook your head. “Not ugly.”
The words slipped out before you could stop them. Toji paused, eyes narrowing slightly like he was trying to decide if you were lying. Then he let out a short, rough breath.
His thumb brushed slowly along the side of your neck, calloused and warm. You could feel the strength in his hand, how easily he could tighten his grip if he wanted. The contrast between that raw power and the way he was holding back made the air feel thick.
“You’re playing a dangerous game,” he said quietly. His gaze dropped to your mouth for a second before flicking back up. “I’m not a patient man, runaway. And I’m definitely not a gentle one.”
Your hands were still pressed against his chest. Under your palms, his muscles were firm and warm, shifting slightly with each breath. You didn’t pull away.
“I know,” you whispered.
Toji’s jaw flexed. For a moment his control looked strained — shoulders tense, fingers pressing harder into your skin. He leaned down until his face was inches from yours, close enough that you could feel the heat of his breath.
“If you stay,” he said, voice low and deliberate, “this stops being fake whenever I say it does. Behind this door, you won’t be playing a role. You’ll be in my bed. Under me. Taking what I give you.” His thumb dragged across your lower lip. “And you’ll moan my name like you mean it.”
Your breath caught.
Toji held your gaze for another long second, then slowly released you. He stepped back, rolling one shoulder like he needed to shake off the tension. The sudden space felt colder than it should have.
“But not right now,” he added gruffly. “You’re still half-dead on your feet and I’ve got work to finish before the meat spoils.”
He turned toward the back counter and picked up his sharpening stone. The steady scrape of metal filled the shop as he worked on one of his larger knives. You stayed by the front counter, watching the way his back and arms moved — powerful, efficient, every motion reminding you exactly what kind of man had just offered to claim you.
Every so often he glanced over at you, eyes dark and unreadable.
The silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable. It was charged. Heavy with everything neither of you was saying out loud.
After a while, Toji spoke without looking up from his work.
“You hungry?”
You blinked, surprised by the sudden normal question. “A little.”
He jerked his head toward the stairs. “There’s leftover stew from this morning in the pot upstairs. Heat it up if you want. Or stay down here. Doesn’t matter to me.”
You hesitated, then moved to help him organize the counter instead. Every time you passed close by, his arm would brush yours — deliberate, not accidental. Small reminders that the tension hadn’t gone anywhere.
The afternoon stretched on like that. Quiet work. Occasional glances. The weight of his presence never really leaving you.
By the time the sun had fully set and the village outside grew dark and quiet, the tension between you had only thickened. Lanterns flickered in distant windows, but inside the butcher shop everything felt hushed and intimate.
Toji locked the front door with a heavy click and killed most of the lanterns, leaving only a single low one burning near the stairs. The warm glow followed you both upstairs, casting long shadows across the wooden beams.
He grabbed a spare blanket from the chest and headed for the worn couch against the far wall without a word. The piece of furniture looked comically small beneath his massive frame as he tossed the blanket over it. Then he reached back and pulled his tunic off in one smooth motion.
Your mouth went dry.
Firelight danced over his bare back and shoulders — thick slabs of muscle shifting under scarred skin, powerful arms flexing as he folded the tunic. His waist tapered into a sharp V, disappearing beneath the waistband of his trousers. Every inch of him looked hard, battle-worn, and undeniably masculine. The sight made something low in your belly tighten.
You stood frozen in the bedroom doorway.
“Wait,” you said, voice barely louder than a whisper.
Toji glanced over his shoulder, one dark brow raised. The movement made the muscles in his chest and abdomen flex visibly.
You twisted your fingers in the hem of your blouse, cheeks already burning.
“You don’t have to sleep on the couch,” you offered shyly. “The bed is… big enough for both of us. I don’t mind sharing.”
The silence that followed was deafening.
Toji slowly turned around to face you fully. The low firelight carved deep shadows across his torso, highlighting every ridge of muscle, every old scar, the faint trail of dark hair disappearing into his trousers. He looked even bigger like this — raw power barely contained, green eyes locked on you with dangerous intensity.
He took one slow step closer, then another.
“Careful what you offer me, runaway,” he said, voice low and gravel-rough. “I’m not the type to hold back.”
You swallowed hard but didn’t back away.
“I just… it doesn’t feel right making you sleep on that tiny thing after everything,” you murmured, eyes flicking involuntarily down his bare chest before snapping back up. “We’re supposed to be married. At least to everyone else.”
Toji stopped just inches away from you. The heat radiating from his body wrapped around you like a cloak. You could smell him — smoke, clean sweat, and that faint metallic trace that always clung to his skin. His sheer size made you feel small and fragile in comparison.
He tilted his head, studying you like prey.
“You offering to share my bed isn’t about being polite,” he murmured. “If I get in that bed with you, I’m not staying on my side. I’ll pull you against me. I’ll have my hands all over that soft little body. And if you keep looking at me with those wide, needy eyes…”
He leaned down, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he spoke.
“I won’t be able to stop myself from spreading those pretty thighs and finding out exactly how wet pretending to be my wife has made you.”
Your breath hitched sharply. Heat flooded your face and pooled between your legs. You pressed your thighs together instinctively, but Toji noticed — of course he did. A dark, satisfied sound rumbled in his chest.
He pulled back just enough to look at your face again, eyes heavy-lidded and hungry.
“I’m not gentle,” he continued, voice dropping even lower. “I fuck hard. I take what I want. And right now, I want to ruin that shy little runaway who dropped to her knees at my door and turned my whole life upside down.”
His hand came up, knuckles lightly dragging down the side of your neck, over your racing pulse, then lower until they brushed the neckline of your blouse. Not quite touching skin, but close enough to make you shiver.
“So think very carefully before you offer again,” he warned. “Because once I’m in that bed, the only pretending left will be how long you can keep quiet while I’m buried inside you.”
The air felt too thick to breathe.
Toji’s scarred mouth curved into a slow, predatory smirk as he watched the effect his words had on you.
“Still want to share a bed with me… wife?”
Toji’s words hung heavy in the air.
You didn’t answer with words.
You looked up at him, heart hammering so hard you could feel it in your throat, and gave a small, shy nod.
That was all it took.
Toji’s control snapped. A low, almost feral sound rumbled in his chest as he moved. In one fluid motion he scooped you up, one thick arm under your knees and the other around your back, lifting you like you weighed nothing. Your breath caught at how easily he carried you — his biceps flexing hard against your body, the heat of his bare chest pressing into your side.
He carried you the few steps to the bed and laid you down on your back with surprising care, but the look in his eyes was anything but gentle. The mattress dipped deeply under his weight as he climbed over you, caging you in completely with his massive frame. His broad shoulders blocked out most of the firelight, leaving you in shadow beneath him.
“You a virgin?” he asked, voice low and rough, green eyes searching yours like he was looking for any hesitation.
You nodded again, cheeks burning with embarrassment.
“Fuck,” he breathed, the word almost reverent. His gaze darkened as it dragged slowly down your body. “Gonna have to take my time with you then. Can’t wreck this tight little virgin cunt on the first thrust.”
He kissed you deeply, tongue claiming your mouth in slow, filthy strokes while his rough hands explored every inch of you. He took his time peeling your clothes off — first tugging your blouse over your head, then sliding your skirt down your legs, and finally hooking his fingers into your soaked panties and dragging them off. When you were completely naked beneath him, he sat back on his heels and just stared, drinking in every inch of your exposed body like a man who’d been starving for weeks.
“So fucking small,” he muttered, almost to himself. His large hands ran up your thighs, thumbs brushing the sensitive skin on the inside, then spread your legs wide open. “Look at this pretty virgin pussy… already glistening and I’ve barely touched you.”
The cool air hit your wet folds and you shivered. Toji’s eyes were locked between your legs, dark and hungry, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
He lowered himself between your spread thighs like a man on a mission. The first slow, hot drag of his tongue from your entrance all the way up to your clit made your entire body jolt. Toji groaned deeply at your taste, the sound vibrating straight through you.
“Sweet as hell,” he rasped, voice thick with lust. “Could eat this pussy for hours.”
Then he devoured you.
His tongue worked in slow, broad strokes, licking every inch of your soaked folds before focusing on your swollen clit. He sucked the sensitive bud into his hot mouth, flicking it rapidly with the tip of his tongue while two thick fingers teased your entrance, circling and pressing but not pushing in yet. When you started whimpering and rolling your hips, he finally pushed one thick finger inside you — careful, but relentless.
“So goddamn tight,” he growled against your pussy, the vibration making your toes curl. “This little hole is gonna fight my cock the whole way in.”
He curled his finger slowly, searching, until he found that spongy spot that made your back arch. He rubbed it firmly while sucking harder on your clit. The wet, obscene sounds of his mouth and fingers filled the quiet bedroom — slick, filthy, and loud. Your thighs started trembling around his head as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in your belly.
“Toji— oh gods—”
He didn’t let up. He ate you out like he was starving for it — messy, hungry, and completely focused on pulling every sound out of you. He added a second finger, stretching you open carefully, scissoring them while his tongue flicked fast and firm over your clit. The pressure built unbearably fast.
Your orgasm crashed over you without warning. Your back arched clean off the bed as you came hard on his face with a broken, sobbing cry of his name. Your walls clamped down around his fingers, pulsing wildly.
Toji licked you through every wave, slow and thorough, drawing out every last tremor until you were twitching and oversensitive, whimpering softly. Only then did he pull back. His chin and lips were shiny with your slick. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes dark and satisfied as he looked up at your flushed, panting face.
Then he shoved his trousers down.
His cock sprang free — thick, heavy, veined, and longer than anything you’d ever imagined. The flushed head was already leaking steadily.
“See this?” he said, stroking himself slowly. “This is gonna stretch you wide open, baby. But I’ll make it fit.”
He climbed back over you, pushing your legs up and folding your knees toward your chest. The position left you completely exposed. He rubbed the fat head of his cock up and down your drenched folds, coating himself in your wetness, teasing your clit with every pass.
“Deep breaths,” he warned. “Gonna go slow.”
He pushed in.
The stretch was intense. You gasped sharply, a high-pitched whimper escaping you as just the thick head popped inside. “Ah—! Toji… it’s so big…”
Toji groaned, jaw clenched tight as he fought the urge to slam forward. “Fuck— so tight,” he hissed. “Relax for me, baby. Let me in.”
You whimpered softly, fingers clutching at his shoulders. “It burns… but— ah— don’t stop…”
He worked himself in inch by slow, careful inch. Every time you tensed, he stopped, leaning down to kiss your neck or suck on your tits until you loosened again. Sweat beaded on his forehead from the restraint.
Halfway in, you let out a shaky moan, eyes fluttering. “Oh gods… I can feel you so deep already…”
Toji looked down at the bulge already forming in your lower belly. “Shit… look at that,” he groaned, pressing a big hand over the swell. “My cock’s barely halfway and I can already see it inside you.”
When he finally bottomed out, hips flush against your ass, you felt so full you could barely breathe. A broken whimper left your lips. “T-Toji… you’re all the way in… I feel so full…”
Toji stayed still, buried to the hilt, letting you adjust while he kissed you slow and deep. “Good girl,” he praised, voice strained. “Taking every inch of my cock on your first time. Such a perfect little wife.”
When your whimpers turned into soft, needy moans, he started moving — slow, deep rolls of his hips at first. The wet drag of his thick cock against your walls made you cry out.
“Feel that?” he growled. “Feel how deep I am? Gonna breed this cunt so full tonight.”
“Ah—! Yes… I feel it,” you moaned, voice trembling. “It’s so deep… Toji—!”
His pace gradually picked up. The bed started creaking rhythmically as he fucked you harder, deeper. Your tits bounced with every thrust. You couldn’t stop the desperate sounds spilling from your mouth.
“Gonna fill you up,” he panted. “Pump this tight womb full of my cum until it takes. Want you walking around the village with my kid growing inside you. Everyone’s gonna know exactly who fucked you first.”
The filthy words sent you spiraling. “Please— Toji— I’m gonna—!” You came hard around his cock, walls fluttering and squeezing him like a vice as you screamed his name, “Toji—! Ahh—!”
Toji snarled and fucked you through it, pace turning brutal. The wet slap of skin on skin echoed loudly.
“Fuck— gonna cum,” he groaned. “Gonna breed you— take it all—”
You whimpered and moaned beneath him, voice hoarse, “Cum inside me… please— fill me up—!”
He slammed in deep one final time and came with a long, guttural moan. Thick, hot ropes of cum flooded your pussy, pulse after heavy pulse. There was so much it leaked out around his cock despite how tightly you were stretched around him. Toji kept grinding deep, pushing every drop into your womb, hand pressing down on the bulge in your belly like he wanted to keep it all inside you.
You let out a soft, overwhelmed whimper at the feeling of being so full of him.
He stayed buried inside you for a long moment, chest heaving against yours, both of you slick with sweat.
Then he leaned down, kissed you slow and possessive, and murmured against your lips:
“This cunt belongs to me.”
Toji stayed inside you for a while longer, gently grinding and kissing your neck, before he finally pulled out with a low groan. A thick trickle of his cum leaked from your abused hole onto the sheets. He looked down at the mess with dark satisfaction, then rolled onto his back and pulled you against his chest.
“Rest now,” he said quietly, voice rough but surprisingly gentle as he wrapped a heavy arm around you. “You’ve had a long day, runaway. Close your eyes.”
He pressed one last kiss to the top of your head, his large hand resting possessively on your lower belly.
“Go to sleep.”
-
You woke up to warmth.
A heavy, solid arm was draped across your waist, pinning you to a broad chest. Toji’s body was curled around yours from behind, one thick thigh wedged between your legs. His breathing was slow and deep, but the moment you shifted even slightly, his grip tightened possessively.
The room was still dim, early morning light just beginning to creep through the small window. Your body ached — a deep, satisfying soreness between your thighs, faint bruises on your hips from his fingers, and the unmistakable sticky warmth of his cum still leaking out of you.
You tried to move again, but Toji’s low, sleepy growl stopped you.
“Stay,” he muttered against the back of your neck, voice rough with sleep. His hand slid down to cup your lower belly, pressing lightly. “Not done holding you yet.”
Heat rushed to your face. You stayed still, letting him pull you tighter against him. His cock — already half-hard again — rested heavy against your ass.
After a few quiet minutes, Toji sighed and finally loosened his grip. He rolled you onto your back so he could look down at you. His hair was messy, eyes still heavy-lidded, but the smirk on his scarred mouth was fully awake.
“Morning,” he said, voice gravelly. His hand stayed on your stomach, thumb stroking slow circles. “How’re you feeling?”
You shifted, wincing a little at the soreness. “Full… and sore,” you admitted softly.
Toji’s smirk widened into something darker, more satisfied. He leaned down and kissed you — slow and lazy at first, then deeper, tongue sliding against yours. When he pulled back, he dragged his hand lower, fingers brushing through the mess between your thighs.
“Still leaking my cum,” he murmured, almost proud. “Good.”
He pushed two thick fingers back inside you, slow and careful, fucking his dried cum deeper. You whimpered, hips twitching.
“Toji—”
“Shh,” he soothed, kissing your temple. “Not fucking you again right now. You’re too sore.” He kept his fingers inside you anyway, lazy and possessive. “Just keeping you full.”
You stayed like that for a while — his fingers buried inside you, his mouth brushing lazy kisses along your neck and shoulder. The morning was quiet except for the occasional creak of the bed and your soft sounds.
Eventually he pulled his fingers out, brought them to his mouth, and licked them clean while watching your face.
“Breakfast,” he said simply. “Then we open the shop.”
He got up first, completely naked and shameless. You couldn’t stop yourself from staring at the powerful lines of his back, the flex of his ass and thighs as he moved. He caught you looking and chuckled.
“Keep staring like that and I will bend you over the table downstairs,” he warned.
You quickly looked away, cheeks burning.
He tossed you one of his clean shirts and a fresh skirt. While you dressed, he pulled on his usual trousers and tank top, tying his blood-stained apron around his waist.
Before you left the bedroom, he caught your wrist and pulled you close one more time. His hand cupped your jaw, thumb brushing your bottom lip.
“Last night wasn’t pretend,” he said quietly, eyes serious. “Not for me. You’re mine. Understand?”
You swallowed and whispered, “I understand.”
He kissed you again — hard, claiming — then rested his forehead against yours for a second.
“Good.”
He led you downstairs, his hand firm on your lower back the entire way.
The village was waking up outside. And for the first time since you’d run away, you didn’t feel like running anymore.
Toji unlocked the front door and flipped the sign while you tied on a clean apron. The morning air carried the smell of fresh bread from Mrs. Sato’s bakery and the distant clang of the blacksmith’s hammer. A few early customers began drifting toward the shop.
The first hour passed in a surprisingly calm rhythm. You helped weigh portions, wrap cuts of meat in clean paper, and hand them over with a shy smile. Toji stayed close the whole time — sometimes reaching past you for a knife, sometimes resting a hand on your waist as he moved behind you. Every touch felt deliberate, like he was marking his territory even when no one was watching.
Then the bell above the door rang again.
A tall, sun-tanned man with kind eyes and an easy, friendly smile stepped inside. He looked to be in his late twenties, with the strong build of someone who spent his days working the fields. He greeted Toji with a familiar nod.
“Morning, Fushiguro. The usual shoulder cut, please.” His gaze shifted to you behind the counter and softened with genuine interest. “You must be the new wife everyone’s been talking about. I’m Haru. I run the big farm past the mill.”
You returned his smile politely. “Nice to meet you, Haru.”
He watched as you carefully wrapped his order, your hands still a little clumsy with the butcher paper. “It’s good to see a new face around here,” he said warmly. “You seem really kind. Gentle. The kind of person who makes a place feel brighter just by being in it.” He rubbed the back of his neck, almost shyly. “If you ever need anything — extra vegetables from the farm, help carrying something heavy, or just someone to talk to when things get quiet — my door’s always open. Wouldn’t want you feeling lonely so soon after moving in.”
You tilted your head, completely oblivious to any hidden meaning, and gave him a grateful smile. “That’s very kind of you. Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind.”
Before you could say anything else, the air behind you changed.
Toji’s large hand settled heavily on your hip, fingers digging in with clear possession as he pulled you back firmly against his chest. His other arm slid around your waist, locking you in place.
“She won’t be needing anything,” Toji said, his voice low and dangerously even. “I take care of my wife.”
Haru blinked, the friendly smile faltering as he finally registered the tension rolling off the butcher. “Of course. I was just… being neighborly.”
Toji’s grip on your hip tightened. “Neighborly is saying hello. The rest sounded like something else.”
The silence that followed was thick and uncomfortable. Haru swallowed hard, quickly paid for his meat, and muttered a polite goodbye before leaving without another word. The door swung shut behind him with a soft jingle.
The second he was gone, Toji spun you around and backed you against the counter. His green eyes were dark, jaw clenched tight with barely-contained jealousy. One big hand came up to cup your jaw, thumb pressing lightly against your bottom lip.
“You really didn’t notice?” he muttered, voice rough.
You shook your head, genuinely confused. “He was just being nice…”
Toji let out a short, irritated breath and leaned in closer, forehead almost touching yours. “He wasn’t just being nice. He was testing the waters. Seeing if my wife might be open to something else. Offering you a soft place to land if you ever got tired of me.”
His other hand slid under your skirt, fingers brushing between your thighs and finding you still slick from the night before. You gasped softly as he pushed two thick fingers inside you without warning, curling them slowly.
“Toji—”
“Mine,” he growled quietly against your ear, pumping his fingers in a lazy rhythm. “This pussy is mine. You are mine. I don’t want you smiling so sweetly at other men. Understand?”
You whimpered, clutching his shoulders as pleasure sparked through your still-sensitive body. “I understand…”
He kissed you then — hard, possessive, and hungry — while his fingers continued their slow, deliberate strokes. When he finally pulled back, his eyes were still dark with jealousy.
“Next time someone talks to you like that,” he said, voice low, “you let me handle it.”
He reluctantly withdrew his fingers, straightened your skirt, and stepped back like nothing had happened. But the tension in his shoulders and the dark look in his eyes remained.
“Back to work,” he said gruffly, still clearly worked up.
You nodded, legs shaky, heart racing, and turned back to the counter.
The rest of the morning passed with Toji staying even closer than before — a constant, heavy, possessive presence at your side. Every time another customer entered, his hand found your waist or lower back, silently reminding everyone (and you) exactly who you belonged to.
The rest of the morning dragged on with the same heavy tension.
Every time a male customer stepped through the door, Toji’s demeanor shifted. His hand would find your waist, your hip, or the small of your back — a silent, unmistakable claim. He answered questions in short, clipped tones and watched the men with sharp, warning eyes. You tried to focus on wrapping orders and smiling politely, but the constant possessiveness was becoming impossible to ignore.
By early afternoon, when the shop finally quieted again, you couldn’t hold it in anymore.
You turned to him while he was wiping down the counter.
“Toji,” you said softly, “you’re being too much.”
He paused, setting the rag down slowly. When he looked at you, his green eyes had gone dark.
“Too much?” he repeated, voice low and deceptively calm.
You swallowed but stood your ground. “Yes. The constant touching, the glaring at every man who even looks at me... They’re just customers.”
Toji stared at you for a long, heavy beat. Then he slowly walked around the counter, backing you up until your hips hit the edge. He caged you in with his massive frame, one hand braced beside you on the wood, the other coming up to grip your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes.
“You think I’m being too possessive?” he murmured, thumb brushing your bottom lip. “Tell me something, wife… What kind of husband would I be if I let other men think they can have access to what’s mine?”
His voice was rough, low, and dangerous. “If I smiled and stepped aside while they flirted with you? While they offered you help and soft words like they had any right to you?”
He leaned in closer, breath hot against your ear. “I’d be a fucking joke. A weak man who doesn’t know how to protect what belongs to him. And I’m not weak.”
His free hand slid under your skirt without warning, fingers pushing between your thighs. You were bare underneath. The moment his calloused fingertips brushed your folds, he groaned softly — low and rough — when he found you already wet again.
“Already soaked,” he muttered, voice thick with satisfaction. “Complaining about me being too possessive, but your pussy is dripping the second I touch you.”
“Toji—” you whimpered, hips twitching as two thick fingers pushed inside you in one smooth motion. The stretch made you gasp, your walls still tender and sensitive from the night before.
He curled his fingers slowly, deliberately, stroking that spongy spot deep inside you while his thumb found your swollen clit and rubbed tight, firm circles. His mouth latched onto your neck, sucking hard enough to leave another mark, teeth grazing your skin as he worked you open.
You moaned, loud and broken, clutching desperately at his broad shoulders. Your legs trembled around his wrist as pleasure sparked hot and fast through your body.
“You can tell me I’m too much,” he growled against your throat, biting down lightly before soothing the sting with his tongue. “But we both know the truth. You like it when I act like this. You like knowing no one else can touch you. You like being mine.”
His fingers pumped faster, curling with every thrust, the wet, obscene sounds of your arousal filling the quiet shop. Your hips rolled against his hand instinctively, chasing the pleasure even as your thighs shook.
“Ah— Toji… please—” you moaned, voice cracking. Your head fell back, exposing more of your neck to him. He took full advantage, sucking and biting along your skin while his fingers drove deeper, faster.
You were right there — teetering on the edge, muscles tightening around his thick fingers — when he suddenly pulled his hand away completely.
You let out a desperate, needy whine, hips chasing his fingers uselessly. Your core throbbed, aching and empty.
“Toji…!” you whimpered, voice hoarse and frustrated, eyes glassy with unshed tears of need. “Please— I was so close…”
Toji smirked, dark and satisfied, eyes gleaming with lust as he watched you squirm. He brought his glistening fingers up between you, holding them in front of your face so you could see how wet they were — coated in your slick right up to his knuckles.
“Open,” he ordered, voice low and commanding.
You obeyed instantly, parting your lips. He pushed his fingers into your mouth, letting you taste yourself as you sucked them clean, tongue swirling around them obediently. His green eyes darkened further, pupils blown wide as he watched you.
“Good girl,” he murmured, voice rough with arousal. “Look at you… so fucking eager. Whining because I stopped, sucking my fingers like you’d do anything for my cock right now.”
He pulled his fingers free with a wet pop and leaned in, kissing you deeply, tasting you on your own tongue. When he pulled back, his breath was ragged.
“You can complain about me being possessive all you want,” he said, voice dark and low, “but your body doesn’t lie. This pussy knows exactly who it belongs to.”
He suddenly lifted you onto the counter with ease, as if you weighed nothing. The wood was cool against the backs of your thighs as he shoved your skirt all the way up to your waist in one rough motion, baring your dripping pussy completely. He stepped between your spread thighs, his broad body forcing your legs wider apart until your knees were nearly touching your shoulders.
His hands gripped your hips hard enough to bruise, fingers digging deep into your soft flesh with unmistakable ownership. With his other hand, he freed his cock — thick, heavy, and already throbbing. The veined shaft glistened as he stroked himself once, slowly, eyes locked on your exposed, glistening cunt.
“Since you think I’m too possessive,” he said, voice rough and dangerous, “I’m going to remind you exactly why I am.”
He rubbed the fat, leaking head of his cock up and down your soaked folds, coating every thick inch in your slick. He teased your swollen clit with every slow pass, tapping it lightly until your hips jerked and you let out a needy whimper.
“Toji… please—”
Without another word, he pushed in with one deep, powerful thrust.
You cried out sharply, back arching hard off the counter as the thick head forced its way inside, stretching you wide open. The sudden, overwhelming fullness stole your breath. Toji groaned deeply, burying himself to the hilt in one smooth stroke, his hips flush against your ass.
“Fuck… still so tight,” he growled, voice strained with pleasure. “Even after I filled you last night. This greedy little cunt keeps sucking me in like it doesn’t want to let go.”
He didn’t give you any time to adjust. He started fucking you hard and deep, the heavy wooden counter creaking loudly under the force of every brutal thrust. Your moans echoed shamelessly through the empty shop as he claimed you right there in the middle of the day.
“Mine,” he snarled against your neck, biting down hard enough to leave another dark mark. “Say it.”
“I’m yours— ah— Toji—!” you moaned, voice breaking as your legs wrapped tightly around his waist, heels digging into his lower back.
He fucked you even harder, hips snapping forward with powerful, punishing strokes. The wet slap of skin against skin filled the room, loud and filthy. One of his big hands reached between your bodies, his thumb finding your swollen clit and rubbing fast, tight circles.
“That’s right,” he panted, breath hot against your ear. “My wife. My pussy. No one else gets to look at you the way I do. No one else gets to touch you. No one else even gets to fucking think about you.”
Your moans grew louder and more desperate, your walls fluttering around his thick cock with every deep thrust. The counter shook beneath you. Your tits bounced wildly inside your blouse with the force of his movements.
He suddenly leaned back slightly, gripping your thighs and spreading you even wider as he drove into you. The new angle made him hit even deeper, the bulge in your lower belly becoming visible with every thrust.
“Look at that,” he groaned, eyes fixed on the spot where his cock disappeared inside you. “You’re taking me so fucking deep. This tight cunt was made for my cock.”
You cried out, nails digging into his shoulders as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter inside you. “Toji—! It’s too deep— ahh—!”
“You can take it,” he growled, fucking you harder. “You’re going to take everything I give you.”
Your orgasm crashed over you without warning — fast, violent, and overwhelming. Your walls clenched hard around his cock, fluttering and squeezing as waves of intense pleasure tore through your body. You screamed his name, thighs shaking violently around his waist.
Toji snarled like a beast, his rhythm turning erratic and savage as he fucked you through your climax. He kept pounding into you, chasing his own release, hips slamming against yours with wet, filthy sounds.
But he didn’t cum.
Instead, he suddenly slowed his thrusts, grinding deep and slow, keeping you right on the edge of overstimulation. His breathing was ragged, sweat glistening on his chest and neck.
He leaned down, capturing your mouth in a messy, possessive kiss while still buried deep inside you.
“You’re not done yet,” he murmured against your lips, voice dark and full of promise. “We’re nowhere near finished.”
Before you could catch your breath, Toji pulled out of you with a wet, obscene sound. You whimpered at the sudden emptiness, your pussy clenching around nothing, already missing the thick stretch of him. But he didn’t give you any time to protest.
In one swift, powerful motion, he flipped you over onto your stomach across the counter. Your chest pressed against the cool, smooth surface, your cheek resting on the wood as he yanked your hips back and up, forcing your ass high in the air. Your skirt was still bunched uselessly around your waist, leaving you completely exposed — bent over like a whore in the middle of his shop.
Toji kicked your legs wider apart with his foot, then pressed one large hand firmly between your shoulder blades, pinning you down hard against the counter.
“Fuck, look at you,” he growled, voice thick with raw lust. “Bent over my counter like a proper little wife. Ass up, pussy dripping for me.”
He spread your ass cheeks wide with both hands, exposing your swollen, abused pussy completely. Without any warning, he spat directly onto your folds — a thick, warm glob of saliva landing right on your clit and dripping down. You gasped sharply at the filthy sensation, your hips twitching.
Toji groaned at the sight and used two thick fingers to rub his spit into your pussy, mixing it with your own slick, pushing it inside you. Then he brought his palm down hard on your ass with a loud, resounding smack.
The sharp sting bloomed hot across your skin. You cried out, jolting forward on the counter.
“Stay still,” he ordered, voice rough. He smacked the other cheek even harder, watching the way your flesh jiggled and turned pink under his hand. “This ass is mine too. Every fucking inch of you is mine.”
You moaned helplessly, pushing back against him despite the sting. Toji lined up the thick head of his cock again and thrust back inside you in one brutal, deep stroke.
The new angle made him feel impossibly bigger, reaching even deeper. You moaned loudly, fingers scrambling for purchase on the smooth wooden counter as he immediately started fucking you hard and fast.
The counter creaked loudly under the force of his powerful thrusts. Each snap of his hips drove his thick cock impossibly deep, the wet slap of skin against skin echoing through the empty shop. Toji’s hands gripped your hips in a bruising hold, pulling you back onto his cock with every stroke like he was using you.
“Fuck— this pussy feels even better like this,” he groaned, voice rough and strained. He smacked your ass again, harder this time, watching the way your flesh rippled red under his palm. “So fucking wet. You like being bent over and used like this, don’t you?”
“Yes— ah— Toji—!” you moaned, cheek pressed against the cool counter, eyes fluttering shut. Every brutal thrust made your breasts press harder into the wood, your sensitive nipples dragging against it.
Toji reached forward and fisted a hand in your hair, pulling your head back slightly as he fucked you even harder. His hips slammed against your ass with wet, filthy sounds. He spat on your pussy again, right where his thick cock was stretching you open, and used his thumb to rub the saliva into your swollen clit.
“Such a messy little wife,” he panted, smacking your ass repeatedly between thrusts — sharp, stinging slaps that made you clench tighter around him. “Dripping all over my counter. Taking my cock so deep like you were made for it. Look at this greedy cunt swallowing every inch.”
Your moans turned into broken sobs of pleasure. The combination of his brutal pace, the stinging heat on your ass, and the filthy words pushed you right to the edge again.
Toji leaned over you, his broad chest pressing against your back, his breath hot and ragged against your ear as he kept pounding into you without mercy.
“Tell me who this pussy belongs to,” he growled, smacking your ass one more time, hard enough to make you yelp.
“You—! It belongs to you— Toji—!” you cried out, voice hoarse and desperate.
He snarled in satisfaction and fucked you even harder, the counter shaking beneath you. His hand slipped between your legs again, rubbing your clit fast and rough.
You came with a broken scream, your walls clamping down hard around his thick cock, thighs shaking violently as intense pleasure tore through you.
Toji groaned loudly as your orgasm triggered his own. He slammed in deep one final time and came hard, flooding your pussy with thick, hot spurts of cum. He kept grinding into you slowly, pushing every drop as deep as possible, his hips pressed tight against your reddened ass.
For a long moment, the only sounds in the shop were your heavy breathing and the faint drip of his cum leaking out of you onto the floor.
Toji stayed buried inside you, leaning over your back and kissing the back of your neck possessively.
“Still think I’m being too possessive?” he murmured against your skin, voice dark and satisfied.
You could only whimper in response, too overwhelmed to form words. Your body was trembling, pressed against the counter, pussy still fluttering weakly around his thick cock. Every small shift made you feel the mess he’d left inside you — warm, sticky, and so full it was leaking down your thighs.
Toji let out a low, rumbling sound of approval. He stayed deep for a long moment, grinding slow and lazy, pushing his cum even deeper as if he couldn’t stand the thought of any of it escaping. His large hand smoothed over the reddened skin of your ass where he’d spanked you, almost soothing now, before giving one last firm squeeze.
“Answer me,” he said quietly, lips brushing the shell of your ear.
“…No,” you breathed, voice hoarse and shaky. “I don’t.”
He hummed, clearly pleased. He finally pulled out slowly, watching with dark eyes as a thick trail of his cum dripped from your abused hole onto the floor. The sight made him groan softly.
“Fuck, that’s a pretty sight,” he muttered. He used two fingers to push some of the leaking cum back inside you, then straightened your skirt with surprising care.
Toji helped you stand on shaky legs, turning you to face him. He cupped your jaw with one hand, thumb brushing your flushed cheek as he studied your expression — eyes glassy, lips swollen, hair messy.
“You’re going to feel me for the rest of the day,” he said, voice low. “Every step. Every time you move. I want you thinking about who fucked you over this counter.”
He leaned in and kissed you — slower this time, but still deep and possessive. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours for a brief second.
“Clean yourself up a little,” he told you, pressing one last kiss to your temple. “We’ve still got half a day left.”
Toji stepped back, tucking himself away and adjusting his apron like nothing had happened, though the dark, satisfied glint in his eyes remained.
You stood there on unsteady legs, heart still racing, feeling the unmistakable warmth of his cum slowly leaking down your inner thighs.
And somehow, you couldn’t find it in yourself to complain.
a/n: aren't the old hags kinda iconic? lmk what you think and if you'd be interested in a part two! likes and reblogs appreciated!!
Your roommate grew up on a ranch before moving to the City and now she INSISTS that you come along with her to one of the biggest rodeos around. Having moved in not too long ago, you reluctantly agree even though dusty, wide open spaces are a foreign concept to your polished City girl demeanor. By chance, you meet one of the biggest names in pro-rodeo complete with a belt buckle as big as his ego. A cowboy through and through, he hates the City and the people that reside it. Little does he know that lasting eight seconds on a bull is easy compared to fighting feelings for a girl he’s supposed to hate.
Content Tags/Warnings Throughout Work: slight enemies to lovers, eventual smut, Sukuna is a rodeo cowboy, reader is a city girl, slight mentions of blood/injury from rodeo activities, happy ending, more to be added
AN: This was inspired by @indiewritesxoxo's He's (Not) My Man, it made me wanna take a stab at cowboy Sukuna! LMK if you wanna be on the taglist!
Pt. 1 - Long Haul
Pt. 2 - Out of the Blue
Pt. 3 - This Cowboy Breaks Horses not Hearts
Pt. 4 - Let Me Taste What I Need Most
Pt. 5 - Who Do You See When Your Eyes are Closed?
Pt. 6 - Her Evaluation of my Cowboy Reputation had me Beggin' for Salvation all Night Long
Pt. 7 - If You Were Mine
Pt. 8 - Embers in the Ashtray Glow Like Memories that won't let Go
Does anybody know this fic where Sukuna is a cowboy and reader is a city girl. they are in long distance relationship and Sukuna ends up getting hurt and end up losing his memory.
[ SUM ] — college soccer coach toji has a secret admirer. but how secret is it when most of the highlights in the school paper are photos of him, instead of the players scoring goals?
[ TAGS ] — MDNI 18+ ONLY. nsfw. piv. raw. unprotected. age gap (mid 30s x early 20s). slight exhibitionism. HEAVY CREAMPIE. FAT BULGE. spanking. CUNNILINGUS. oral f!recieving. dacryphilia. reader kinda freaky. thick dark sexy HAPPY TRAIL. nudity. SHOWER SEX. SCENT KINK. pet names. spitting. wc: 19.1k
[ A/N ] — inspired by coach!toji from my fratkuna series. I was gooning too much whenever I’d mention him soooo
photo-journalism can mean many things. at its core though is documentation and being present. it’s about recording what happens so it doesn’t vanish into the noise of the world. and that’s what you’ve been doing since you started uni.
working for the school newspaper means covering everything that matters to the university. big events, games, and when you attend a school with a division 1 soccer team, that’s ranked the top of the country, it means your weekends are spent on the sidelines of the pitch. floodlights humming overhead, cleats tearing into the turf, and the air sharp with anticipation.
everyone’s eyes are on the match, on the players, the scoreline, and the inevitable victory. everyone’s, except yours.
your lens has a habit of drifting. and it always finds him on the sidelines, the head coach.
standing just outside the white chalk lines. shaggy raven hair that never looks styled, stubble he clearly forgot—or chose not—to shave that morning. his infamous scar pulling at his lips as he shouts. he wears the same black team jacket unzipped, sleeves rolled up his thick forearms. when he folds his arms or gestures sharply toward the field, you always catch his muscles shifting beneath the fabric, veins flexing making it so impossible to ignore.
it’s just a photographer’s eye for striking subjects. for sure….
he beautifully contrasts against the chaos of the game…even if he’s shouting, or breaking his clipboard…. still, you capture him mid-shout, mid-thought, jaw clenched as he’s holding the entire team together.
and then later, when the photos run, and his photos dominate the highlights more than the actual goal, well, you pretend not to notice how often your name sits beneath them in a small, neat printed font.
he doesn’t know you. you’re just another person with a camera on the sidelines. you’re just another face in a sea of professional press badges, not just one of the universities many photographers. but you know him. you know the way his brows pinch when one of his players gets injured, the way his mouth twitches when his team scores, and the way he exhales with relief when the game ends.
and you keep clicking the shutter button—
“again?!” the head editor exclaims. “you didn’t get the goal?”
“I did!” you huff, glaring at the senior grad student who basically runs the entire school newspaper.
“not the first one, the final goal! the one scored by the universities ace! sukuna—“
“god forbid i missed a shot, I basically got everything else, plus I’m not the only one taking photos on the pitch. don’t you have other photographers?” you tsk, arms crossed.
he glares at you behind his desk, clicking through the photos you’d uploaded. “you got every single expression of the damn coach,” he mutters under his breath, clicking through one of toji shouting, then another of him spitting on the grass, then another of him scratching his jaw—
you nibble on your cheek, slouching slightly in the seat.
“you hate when we use someone else’s photos,” he adds, licking his teeth as he finally gets to your photos of the actual players. and they were spectacular. the action shots were perfect, you can see the sweat dribbling down their foreheads.
“because it’s my job,” you mutter, glancing at your editor who frowns when the photos return back to the head coach.
“unbelievable,” he mumbles, exhaling slowly as he sits back in his seat. “you’re killing me.”
your heel kicks the floor. this wasn’t a first. this happens almost every time. your lens just happens to drift away from the ball and fall on the head coach.
even with fans shouting in the stands, and the other cameras flashing in the other direction. your camera can’t help but find coach toji in the chaos. he was just as important as the team. he’s acting like toji isn’t mentioned a million times in the articles! god forbid you want him getting his flowers. but your editor wasn’t very appreciative of your sympathies.
“we’re going with these three, and taking one from the other photographers for the final goal you didn’t get,” he sighs, showing you your three photos, one of the team celebrating, another of satoru gojo sprinting across the field with the ball, and of course, the final — and in your opinion the best — of head coach toji standing with his muscular arms crossed at the start of the second half.
your editor rolls his eyes turning his screen back to him. “if you bring another folder and it’s seventy percent of this damn coach, I’ll drop you and pull noah up.”
the threat has you lowering your head and muttering a hesitate okay, because at the end of the day, you were the only photographer that worked full time for the paper, and you go to every single match. the rest are focused on other stories, or working their way to become editors.
while you liked photo-journalism more. it helped, that on weekends, you got someone to admire. and your editor was not the only one that’s noticed.
“what the hell, you’ve got to be kidding me,” geto huffs, snatching the paper from gojo as he sits on the pitch. “why am I never in these damn fucking articles??” he huffs with anger
“score more goals,” gojo sticks his tongue out, just to get kicked harshly by his friend.
“I fucking scored this game,” geto snaps, grumbling even more as he flips through the paper, seeing the team celebrating.
sukuna chugs his water behind them, “my picture sucks ass,” he grumbles, spitting the water right beside their goalie making him jerk back in annoyance. “you didn’t score, but I get the shit picture?” he snaps lowly at gojo.
geto frowns, “I scored, and at least you get a picture.”
gojo chuckles, pointing at the next photo, making the entire team roll their eyes simultaneously.
“some things never change,” one teammate, yuno, mutters. his hands are on his hips as him and the rest of the team glare at the immaculate, pristine, jaw-dropping photo captured of their strict, grumpy, nicotine addicted head coach, toji.
sukuna snarls as geto looks like he’s going to fucking tear out his luscious black hair. “fucking unbelievable.”
gojo snorts even louder, snatching the paper just to wave it from his place on the ground towards toji, who’d just gotten off the phone. “coach! you’re mogging the cameras again!”
toji’s brows pinch until he notices the photo. and it’s always the same reaction from the head coach. his eyes scan over the photo, then they fall down to the same printed name underneath. “not bad,” he casually says, handing back the newspaper like it’s nothing.
but the entire team is seething, with the exception of gojo laughing his ass off.
“I finally figured out who your secret admirer is,” gojo announces, “it’s definitely the cutie with the charm on her camera and stickers on her flashlight.”
geto raises a brow “how d’ya know that?” the rest of the team immediately huddle in.
gojo clears his throat.
“for the last few games I’ve been purposely fixing my shoes or drinking water on the sidelines where they’re all huddled up. obviously I ruled out all the old farts, then I narrowed it down to the ladies. then i crossed out the outside press, but it’s hard since I can’t see all their press badges—but then i noticed,” gojo holds up the newspaper, slapping his index finger on your name beneath the photo. the entire team have basically memorized your full name by now. “she was the only one still photographing the field, BUT it was pointed at coach,” gojo points to toji.
“AND,” gojo continues, “she had this cute little charm on her camera, and this sticker. and it’s definitely your secret admirer,” gojo confidently smiles.
however, geto scratches his jaw, glancing at gojo then the newspaper. “so which one was her instagram?”
oh right, gojo rubs his neck in disappointment.
your name under a majority of the game’s photos started catching the teams attention a couple months ago. your credentials at the bottom of the article was always signed with your first and last name. however, when the team caught on to your not-so secret admiration for their coach, and neglect of the rest of team, they tried stalking you.
yet, they couldn’t find a single social media handle. not your instagram, twitter, tiktok — even your linkedIn was just the default linkedIn pfp. and the school paper website didn’t have a photo for you. either way, the team was on a mission.
“I don’t think her socials are even under her name,” gojo admits, making the team groan.
toji, silently watching the ordeal transpire, claps his hands, breaking the gossip. “enough, continue your drills unless ya wanna stay till sunset!”
once the team finally finishes practice and began packing their gear. neither one of them notices the students enjoying the nice weather on campus, or the girl that take a detours to walk past the field.
your eyes easily fall on your perfect subject. his hand cracks his neck as he stifles a yawn, kicking the soccer ball towards one of the players as they kick it up, tucking it under their arm.
it was a routine….one that you found yourself subconsciously doing on practice days. you would follow the path down from the quad, until you reach the second soccer field on campus, mainly used for practice and training.
your bag hangs off your shoulder along with your camera — the lens was downsized to your fixed 24mm and the flash wasn’t on — that’s usually how your camera is when you aren’t at events, or games.
it isn’t uncommon to watch the schools infamous soccer team practice. especially when half of them are also part of a fraternity. hell, on the other side of the field were a few girls fawning over the sweaty players.
in other words, you don’t stand out. and you’re unbothered by the hot players that glance your way as they pack their bags. well, until a certain white haired player is squinting across the field, before muttering a quiet “no way…”
geto gives his friend a look, lifting his duffle over his shoulder as sukuna wipes his face with the hem of his jersey, “what?” he grumbles.
gojo’s bag hit the grass. he locks eyes with you. then he does the worst thing imaginable. he shouts your name.
the entire team snap their necks in your direction. gojo suddenly leads the pack of six foot whatever college men across the field — their bags drop, cleats half untied, some bare foot. but all on one mission.
you.
the color immediately drains from your face. your body freezes like a deer in headlights. and when the entire team of sweaty, built, hot men crowd the waist-high fence that separate them from you. you’re ultimately stuck.
“you’re-you’re—“ slightly out of breath and pumped full of adrenaline, gojo heaves out your name. not just a first name, no—your full government name. “right!?”
you eyes lazily drag between the men, fixing the strap of your bag, your camera clinking against the side, drawing every man’s attention to the little charm gojo had just described less than an hour ago.
“yeah,” you manage to exhale, shifting your balance. “did you need something?”
“yeah,” the low voice of the hot headed team captain interrupts. he hadn’t ran with rest of the players, instead he walked up, casual and full of loud confidence. finally making his way across the field, energy drink in hand, glaring right through you as he continues. “why the fuck was my picture the only one not taken by you? it looks like shit.”
you exhale, about to answer when another one cuts in.
“why haven’t you taken one of me? the game last month was my debut and you didn’t get me going on the pitch—“
“I liked that shot you got of me when—“
“can you get my good side next time—“
“why did you—“
“can you—“
“you didn’t get my goal!” geto manages to dogpile. all the men yell complaints and compliments, overwhelming you with critiques. until you’re frowning, glaring harshly at the group of men you’d watched from a distance since your freshman year.
“I don’t work for you guys,” you finally snap. your words are cold making the men frown. “I work for the schools paper, and they choose the photos, not me.”
“and yet coach is in every single one of em?” geto bites back, and that’s when they all catch the slight surprise that crosses your face.
gojo smirks, leaning over the fence, getting close as he tilts his head. “seems like a majority of your photos have our coach. it’s like your editor can’t help but be forced to put him in.”
you feel your stomach churn, glancing between the sharp sapphire eyes. “that’s not how it works,” you mutter.
you did not expect your first interaction with the soccer team to be this. accusing you of favoritism. you can practically feel all their eyes on you, like they knew exactly who you are, even if this is your first time speaking to them.
“sure looks like it,” sukuna drawls, smirking wide when he sees you shift uncomfortably. “you like our coach or somethin?”
“of course she does,” geto’s smooth voice cuts in. “do you get all hot lookin at coach toji?”
you swallow thickly, pushing down the heat crawling up your neck to glare at the men. “you guys are disgusting,” you spit, but the men don’t falter, instead they continue gloating and poking.
“we just wanna get to know you. you’ve been takin’ our pics for months, we can’t have a chat now?” geto cuts.
they were quietly impressed with your composure. your poker face would’ve been perfect if not for the slight fidgeting you’re doing with your bag and camera strap. either way, your glare was mean, unwavering until—
“cut it out.”
the sharp voice slices through the team. then, one strong palm shoves gojo into geto, and the rest of the team topple on each other like dominos. the head coach plants himself between the fence, his team, and you.
“i forget you’re all a couple children,” toji tsks, his arms are crossed standing like a lone knight keeping a pack a wolves from a poor princess.
your heart slams against your rib cage. all your composure evaporates into thin air, struggling to catch your breath. this was the closest you’ve gotten to the head coach. you can practically smell the mixture of his cologne and natural musk. your cheeks grow hotter by the second, completely dazed and loosing all other senses, unaware that practically half the team noticed your sudden shift.
gojo elbows geto eyeing the way your pupils basically turn into bright pink hearts. even your lips look more glossy from the drool collecting in your mouth.
they’d never seen anything like it, and for their coach of all people?!
you’re caught up in gawking at the huge man, eyeing his wide shoulders, the veins straining from his compression shirt, his shirt clinging to every muscle that could break you in a blink of an eye — that you miss his short lecture towards his boys to quit scaring off a young woman, all to end with him shouting—
“ten more laps!”
the team’s eyes bulge, jaws dropping in shock, and quickly follow up with a spew of complaints.
“ya heard coach!” sukuna, the hot-headed captain, interrupts. and if the team wasn’t scared of their coach, they definitely had a reason to be with their captain. they ultimately drop their things and start their laps. however, sukuna hangs back at bit, “I didn’t even say sh—“
“you were late to practice, so you were gonna do the laps anyways,” toji cuts, earning a loud tsk from the tattooed captain. his duffle drops on the floor dramatically, eyes flicking towards yours, which — no surprise — haven’t left the coach’s profile, and with his own groan, his cleats hit the grass starting his lap.
with the entire team running laps….you’re left alone.
coach toji doesn’t move.
instead, he leans against the fence, strong arms crossing. you’re barely a foot behind him, close enough that the scent of grass and dizzy cologne reaches you when he shifts his weight. close enough that your brain short-circuits again.
then he looks over his shoulder.
it’s not rushed or sharp. it was an easy turn of his head, his dark emerald eyes flick to you with calm, assessing. and up close, he’s worse. he’s broader than he looks from the sidelines, his stubble shadowing his jaw feels unfair for a sunday morning. sunlight catches the edge of his cheekbone, and the curve of his mouth makes you stare shamelessly especially when it lifts just slightly. he’s amused by something you’re not aware of yet and you don’t even notice.
your heart stutters.
you practically forget how to stand or how to function like a grown ass adult, instead you feel like someone who’s just had their fantasy materialize directly in front of them.
heat rushes to your face, your chest tightens, and you pray, desperately, that your expression isn’t as transparent as it feels. you focus on keeping your hands still, even as your pulse flutters wildly under your skin.
and toji’s gaze lingers. he takes you in like the way someone experienced does, without staring, without shame, just a brief glance that drifts. from your fidgeting fingers, to your necklace trapped between your pretty cleavage, to the tank top that hugs your chest, to the zip up hoodie falling off your soft shoulder. to your lips, wet from the amount of times you’d lick and bit them.
and you still don’t notice it! you’re too busy trying not to melt into the grass beneath your feet. all you register is how hot the space suddenly feels, how solid he seems standing there.
from the field, a player snickers mid-lap. a majority watching the entire interaction, waiting for someone to make a move. gojo snickers as geto analyzes.
you don’t hear any of it, all you know is that the knights are real, and he’s right in front of you, and your carefully maintained composure never stood a chance. especially when his eyes meet yours and his deep, husky, voice sinks into your bones.
“been wondering who was seein’ me like that, sweetheart.”
you were gone.
s-s-s-sweetheart!?
your heart bursts, veins burning through your skin as your lips part, words falling into the void as your brain struggles to reply.
and he finds it adorable.
college girls are cute, but you, you’re a little pervert. how many photos have you taken of him? and for the past year too? he’s wondered just like his team had, who was behind all those photos. who was oogling him while the best team in the nation was playing right before their eyes?
at first, he was bothered, confused even, how big of a stalker did you have to be to take his photos for months and not introduce yourself?
but now he sees it. the way you’re struggling to find words. the way your eyes flick between his — surprised even that you’re not shying away from eye contact, but instead, struggling to just respond. like the words are right there, but your dumb brain is getting fried just by his presence. cute.
“I’ll try an’ wink next time.”
he just hammers the nail straight into your heart. your face bursts into flames as you let out a strangled hum like whine, face burning even more. unfortunately, your audience isn’t as silent. instead a few had caught your reaction and were bursting with laughter. a few whistling at their coach.
“she’s too young for ya, coach!”
“get someone y’er own age!”
“coach, the shy ones are the freakiest!”
the last one — somehow — snapped you back to reality. your glare cut through the field, immediately hitting one of the players making him burst out laughing along with the others around him. your face pulls into a scowl, heart hammering at the teasing you’re receiving from the team. who even are they? they don’t know anything about you!
shy?! you?!!! you scowl in annoyance, eyes rollin—
“ignore em, sweetheart. they’re just being dicks.”
fuck.
your face burns hot again, heart hammering against your ribs as you stutter out another nod, fingers gripping your bag as you glance at the head coach again. his green eyes were unbelievably dark, just staring at them, you felt like you were getting dizzy.
the scar on his lip twitches up, leaning an elbow on the fence, his eyes flick down to your camera. “what kinda camera is that?”
your eyes widen, looking down like you’re surprised it’s there. but it seems like he flicks a switch in your brain with that question, because now you’re fumbling to hold the delicate thing in your hands. then you hold it out for him.
a small puff of air leaves his nose in amusement. you’re cute. he turns, reaching his hand out, just for your small ones to place the expensive camera in his. the same one you’d deny your friends from even holding, afraid they’ll drop it.
b-but if coach toji holds it…if he wants to hold it…who…who are you to stop him!!!
your blush only breaks out across your body once you feel your hands brush his, eyes so bright and big even he can see the hearts explode from your irises, fuzzy pink flowers glowing around your head like a cartoon.
“looks expensive,” he finally takes his eyes away from you to momentarily examine the camera. it was nice, sony. “bought it yourself?”
you nod, smiling as you rock on your heels. “it was…” oh first words, toji’s eyes flick to you, eyeing your glossy lips as they part. “my first big purchase,” you glance at the camera then back up at toji as you point with your manicured index finger, towards the camera. “it’s nice…right?”
well fuck me.
toji chuckles internally. he really can’t read you. from rude (to the team), to shy, to snappy (to the team), to demure, to charming—all while looking up at him like he’s some shinning knight and not a coach, albeit for the best team in the nation, but still.
his lips curl up, his internal switch already flipped when he shooed the team away, and the smooth voice of his poured out like second nature. “very nice, sweetheart.”
you nod, enthusiastically.
god, you were a cutie.
“and you take such good pictures with it too, you’re a natural,” the sweet words just keep pouring from his mouth like honey, and you’re eating up every drop. your feet manage to carry you closer to the fence…closer to him.
you wet your glossy lips, leaning close to point at the camera, “it also takes video here…I initially wanted to do more videography, but I stuck with photos. but it’s a nice perk with the camera…and I can shoot in raw and jpeg, so I can edit them afterwards if I want, and uh and I have other lenses too. this one is a fixed one, so it can’t zoom, but I have two other ones that zoom, I usually use those ones for work…like during your….games.”
your rambling was one of, if not, the most attractively adorable things you could’ve done at this moment. especially when you’re oblivious to the light flush that settles in the coach’s stomach as he eyes you down.
his gaze flicks between your fingers on the camera, and your profile from his height. your hair lightly brush’s back from the wind exposing your neck, your perfume reaching his nose.
“can I try takin’ a pic?”
your face bursts hot, you feel like it’ll melt off as you gawk up at the head coach, before nodding your head frantically, a wide smile pulling at your lips. you try to clear your throat as you turn the camera on for him and take the lens cap off.
“good?” he asks.
you just nod again, biting your cheek feeling how wide you’re smiling it almost hurts, but you can’t take your eyes off the way his big hands handle your camera. your biggest crush ever is using your camera!
you contain a squeal as he stands straight. he brings the camera to his eye, before lowering it again, confused. your eyes widen momentarily before realizing he’s struggling and quickly stepping up again.
you lean over the fence. and toji purposely avoids coming down to your height. instead, he watches you hold the fence to stand on your tippy toes, the other gently holds his wrist to ask him to lower the camera just a bit from his eye so you can instruct him. fuck, the confidence to touch him when you were just a jittery mess a second ago.
“the shutter button is here. if you half press it, it’ll auto-focus for you—“ you move to the front of the camera flipping some switch, “jus’ turned it on. but just press down all the way and it’ll take the picture,” you say, mistakenly glancing up from where you are, just to realize that coach toji’s face is inches from yours. his warm breath fans against your cheek, his scar so close, his lips right there and his eyes….
you were beyond gone. the steam immediately comes off your face as your eyes turn into big giant hearts. you’re so easy to read it should be illegal.
you fall back on your heels, allowing toji to attempt again. what you weren’t expecting was for him to point the camera at you.
well considering the wider lens, I guess he wants to shoot something closer for more satisfaction. but it caught you slightly off guard, your cheeks flame once more, heart stuttering, but your face immediately lights up.
his lips curve up behind the camera, watching you give him a cute smile, angling your head to tip to the side a bit. people that automatically smile when a camera is pointed at them is definitely a cute trait.
he takes a few quick photos, before pulling the camera back. “how do I see ‘em?”
this time he lowers the camera for you, but keeps it close to his body so you’re still leaning over and up beside him, albeit with the fence between you both.
“ah the sun was behind me,” you realize now looking at the photos. toji hums like he knows what that means (he doesn’t) but he clicks the button to go to the next picture and same thing.
“let’s do it again,” he says, already pulling the camera back, but your finger quickly reaches out, easily flipping it back to view mode before moving back. toji watches you glance up at the sky, before moving yourself in front of the sun. “smile f’er me, sweetheart.”
you were smiling, but now—toji chuckles through his nose at your reaction. he knows exactly what he’s doing. he takes one photo, than another.
your smile turns more pose worthy, not so big, but just as beautiful. “you’re a natural,” he comments, with full honesty.
your cheeks flush, waving your hand in front of you, “don’t glaze me.”
toji snorts, “jus’ saying what I see, not my fault you pose like a model.”
a model?!
toji notices the way you bite your cheek and the way your hands fidget with your bag. “put the bag down, sweetheart.”
your heart skips again, the nickname electing a response from you every time. but you oblige, setting your bag on the ground. now without anything to fidget with, your hands carefully clasp behind your back, your navy hoodie completely off your shoulder, exposing the casual white tank top. his eyes glance at the swell of your tits that your bra pushes up. and the sliver of skin that peaks at the bottom.
the wind was like a perfect accessory, blowing a warm spring breeze in your direction brushing your hair again.
you do your best to pose casually, smiling at the camera, eyes low as you stare into the lens, heart beating erratically as you wait for coach toji to finish.
your breath catches momentarily. cheeks stinging and lips parting like a deer in headlights, because you notice it. just briefly, the way toji lowers the camera from his eye, gaze tracking down your figure, eyeing your thighs, then your hips, then your tits.
he’s definitely checking you out.
you glance away, flustered, unaware that toji was now clicking the library to view the photos he’d just taken.
“I think I’m a pretty good shot,” he compliments his nonexistent skills, but the light hits you so well.
you smile watching him look at the photos. eyes glued to his lazy smirk, stomach hot and heart fluttering at his short comments. he’s so handsome, you glance at the curve of his nose, the stubble on his cheek. he’s so so pretty.
your mind was getting dizzy, all because coach toji is in front of you, but it made you completely forgetful that if he keeps clicking next, it’ll eventually reach—
“oh.”
you first notice the slight raise of his brows, then the scar on his lip twitching wider, then the greens of his eyes darkening.
“did ya’ submit these too, sweetheart?”
your brows furrow for half a second, then it clicks. you lunge forward.
this can’t be happening!
you immediately cover the screen and take the camera as you hear the coach chuckle. of course you’d forgotten that you had these on your sd card.
staring back at you is a photo of toji’s fat bulge from the game. you managed to catch the moment he reached down to itch himself, grabbing it. if he saw this one he definitely saw the three before this of the closeups of his lips, his big biceps, his ass when he was fixing his shoes.
your heart is beating in your ears, skin sizzling with embarrassment as your vision starts to narrow. your eyes flick up to the coach in horror, flustered beyond speech. “it’s not—“ you struggle to explain, “you weren’t supposed to see that. I was just taking one—then I someone bumped so like, the camera went down—“
the rambling was unlike the one before, this one was much more uncoordinated, fueled by your humiliation, anxiety, and desperate attempt at defending yourself to him, so that he doesn’t think you’re some creep.
“I wore that shirt from the match two weeks ago. not this one….” his head tilts, arms folded across his beefy chest. “why do you still have ‘em?”
the older man is quite unbothered. instead, his chest grew hot, and his mind wandered off imagining this hot college girl laying in her bed, staring at pictures of his crotch with her small fingers playing with her wet little pussy. his eyes flick to your chest again.
your eyes are wide, glancing at your camera.
“I just forgot to format the card,” you quickly reply, pretty chest rising and falling. “I always forget, and I realize after when I’m exporting the photos or run out of storage—I delete them, i-i swear!”
he snorts, head tilting, “you swear?”
you nod frantically.
his emerald eyes narrow, tongue poking out to wet his lips, touching his scar. his eyes flick to the camera in your hands. you’re quite the actor…
“okay, I’ll take your word then. you wouldn’t lie to me…?” his gaze was intimidating, the darkness of his pupils felt like a black hole pulling you in. but somehow you manage to shake your head.
“no, sir.”
toji holds eye contact, before tearing it away to reach for his phone, “good girl.”
your heart beats in your throat, threatening to tear out, but you step forward, eyes big and sad. “sorry, coach.” there’s a slight waver in your voice, the man’s eyes widen briefly, chuckling under his breath as he brings a hand up to the crown of your head.
“don’t worry about it, keep taking photos of me. ya’ make me feel important,” his comment is punctuated with a flirtatious wink, shooting another arrow straight into your heart.
you were lovestruck the entire trip home. and so unbelievably grateful.
you talked your way out of such incriminating evidence. because how could coach toji know that in truth, you have an entire album of photos just like the ones he saw, that you pull out almost every night to help you cum.
you really should be an actor, you think, blushing at the way he called you good girl. the way he looked at you, the way his fingers brushed yours on the camera —ahhhh, you bury your hot face in your hands.
you were in shock for days, heart slamming against your chest and face heating up every time you thought back to the moment.
you were so in your head that you hadn’t even noticed the two athletes walking up behind you on your way out of class, crossing the quad.
it’s like that thing that happens. when you’re finally introduced to someone for the first time, then you’re suddenly seeing them everywhere. that’s how geto and gojo felt. you’d been under their noses the entire time.
with a lecture of over two hundred students, of course they’d spot you when you entered today. gojo elbowed his friend, nodding in your direction. geto’s eyes nearly popped.
“what the hell?” geto leans forward, the two men closely watch you enter the lecture hall, walking a few rows down before slipping in. geto’s eyes narrow at the camera you carefully place in your lap as you take out your ipad.
it was like the cards were being dealt out for him perfectly.
“wait, I don’t get it,” gojo huffs catching up to his friend as the lecture hall empties.
geto tsks, “what’s not to get? I’m gonna bribe her into taking photos of me next game. I’m fucking tired of being some fucking blur—“
“you’ve gotten some photos man—“
“well i want more. ones where I’m actually scoring,” geto huffs, brushing his bang back in frustration.
once the two men hit the pavement outside, they spot you. gojo is tagging along for the fun, while geto is set on a mission. one he conjured up mid-lecture the second he saw you. it was perfect. genius—
“what?” your face scrunches in mild disgust. the two men baffle at your reaction, especially at the way you’re looking up at them with narrow, and irritated eyes. your expression isn’t hard to decipher, it’s basically screaming, why tf are you talking to me?
geto licks his teeth, exhaling through his nose, “you heard me fine, sweetheart—“
“don’t call me that.”
his jaw clenches, repeating his line without the pet name. “the next two games are the semifinals and then the finals, so I’ll give you access through our manager to join press during the media window two days before the matches—“
“I already have access to that through the school paper,” you give him a look, immediately ticking him off.
“let me fucking finish will you—“
“you’re taking forever and I’m being cornered,” you snap back, rolling your eyes at the pretentious athlete. geto bites his tongue, as gojo gasps.
“you’re not being cornered!” he states, just to exchange a look with geto as they both see that they’ve steered you off the pavement and against a tree. “no—we’re just talking.”
you exhale, glancing back at geto, “whatever, just finish.”
geto licks his lips, continuing, “you’ll also get access to our locker room strategy meeting or whatever, and behind the scenes access — you only do photos, no video or interviews?”
you shake your head, heart beating just a little quicker because now you’re starting to see the perks. bts access is the one thing university teams can deny since they don’t like any outsiders butting into their strategies or taking them out of “the zone.”
that also means you can see….coach toji.
gojo and geto both notice the realization crossing your face, especially when your lips part, much more glossy than before. unbelievable.
“but,” geto snaps you back, your eyes darting up to meet his, “you better take some good fucking shots of me during the game. if I’m not in the fucking paper and insta page, then no deal.”
you gasp, “dude, you’re literally acting like I’m the one in charge of that?? it’s my editor that picks the photos to put in the articles.”
geto tsks, “yet somehow coach is in every single one.” your jaw clenches, stomach heating up. “take more photos of me so it’s inevitable. got it?”
your lip curls in annoyance, eyeing geto, just for gojo to suddenly but in—
“but also take some of me, i look so hot in them and i like reposting them on my insta,” gojo flashes you a smile.
your frown deepens, “there’s other photographers. you guys know that right?”
“yours are the only ones they choose and they look better than whoever took sukuna’s,” gojo snorts, remembering their captains complaints.
nevertheless, geto and gojo wait for you to agree, both men standing with their arms crossed, blocking the spring sun from hitting you.
then a certain captain happens to pass by, noticing his two teammates, and frat brothers.
“the fuck are you guys doing?”
the men whip their heads as sukuna steps up, bag slung over his shoulder wearing a backwards baseball cap. and with a quick explanation from his friends, sukuna tsks glancing at you and adding.
“coach always showers before or after our games.”
and it was that one bit of information that automatically has you saying: “deal.”
—
you don’t rush setting up. you check your flash, bouncing it once off the ceiling to make sure it won’t wash anyone out. your fingers move with muscle memory, standing in these rooms plenty of times for the school paper, along with other journalists from the school paper especially for media days, post-game scrums, pre-season press.
so this isn’t new territory.
the room is packed, though. there’s national outlets mingling with campus press, and clusters of journalists already talking. you hear familiar phrases float past as you move, many talking about the teams unbeaten streak, their goal differentials, their historic season.
familiar names are easily getting tossed around. captain sukuna coming up first, always, and his leadership, and the way he commands the field. gojo’s speed follows after, and his natural talent and eye for goals, then geto’s consistency, his intelligence and composure. someone mentions scouts again, plural this time, and how a few clubs have been hovering around those three all season.
you barely react because you’ve heard all of this before, and it was impressive of course, you enjoy it. however, what does get you, embarrassingly, is his name.
every time coach toji is mentioned—his tactics, his discipline, the way he rebuilt the program and incorporated new strategies —you feel heat creep up your neck. it’s a soft and traitorous blush that you’re grateful no one’s looking closely enough to notice you smiling.
you keep your eyes on your camera, pretending to fiddle with a setting you don’t actually need to adjust, reminding yourself that he’s just part of the team. a very effective, very respected part of it.
then finally, the noise dips and the conversations fade into an expectant quiet as the side door opens.
the players file in first, with sukuna at the front, expression unreadable, gojo already grinning, geto calm and observant as ever. everyone’s cameras lift, and recorders click on. and then he steps in behind them.
coach toji, in a suit.
your face breaks into a hot mess, heart skipping a beat as you eye him through your lens. it fits him too well. dark, sharp, shoulders filling it out like it was tailored perfectly. no team jacket today, no morning stumble. no, he looked clean, with polished shoes, and authority. he guides the team forward eyes sweeping the room calmly.
your flash fires once, professionalism wavering again. how can it not when your knight is walking into the room and reminding you exactly how out of reach he is.
the entire team easily spots you in the front row for the first time. your charm hangs from your camera strap, along with the little sticker on your godox flash. they all know who you are now, so their wasn’t any hiding the way they’d purposely glance at your camera lens, giving you their best shots.
many of the questions are being directed towards the coach, your eyes focus on his reaction, lens zooming close as he rolls his dress shirt over his forearms. your camera flashes and your cheeks warm. you do this every time. acting like it’s your first time seeing the coach in a suit even though he wears one every semifinals press. but you can’t help it!
journalists throw questions without breath, firing rounds until the set time is up.
“photographers only, please.”
the room clears out fast. chairs scrape back, and laptops snap shut. you step forward instinctively, already lifting your camera. the players shift back into place. sukuna straightens, his expression resetting into something stoic. gojo cracks a joke under his breath that earns him a look. geto adjusts his sleeves, calm as ever.
toji moves standing just off to the side at first, arms crossed, smooth dress shirt crinkling over his taut muscles, and unforgiving across his shoulders.
the manager gestures. “let’s get the team all together first.”
cameras flash as the team pose, all in their uniform. you move easily getting their shots, unaware of the emerald eyes watching your every move.
coach toji noticed you the minute he stepped into the room. however, he remained composed, knowing how many eyes were on him. but now, his eyes sweep over your figure.
your grey dress pants hugging that right ass, and those hips. the tight dress shirt hugged your frame, with the top buttons undone allowing some of your cleavage to be revealed along with your necklace stack. business casual, but he’s sure half the team is looking at your tits. your pretty anklet catching the light as you move in your kitten heels.
“coach with sukuna,” the manager says.
toji steps forward.
you track him without thinking, framing the shot as he places a hand lightly at sukuna’s back, guiding him a half-step to the left. your shutter clicks, noticing how easily he steps into your frame, how naturally he fills it. his height just a hair taller than the hot headed captain, at least in your eyes.
“alright, another group photo,” the manager says.
toji turns, motioning the players in with two fingers. his eyes briefly catch yours making your eyes widen. the team clusters around their coach, heads bowed slightly, listening even though there’s nothing to hear. he speaks low anyway. you circle to the side, careful, capturing the curve of his shoulder, the way his jaw tightens when he focuses.
toji’s gaze lifts again, slow and deliberate, landing on you.
why does he keep doing that?!
it’s brief. just a glance that lingers a fraction longer, his eyes flick from your face to the camera in your hands and back again, like he’s remembering the photos he saw on your camera.
you feel heat blooming under your skin, pulse kicking hard enough to throw you off guard. you steady your hands, inhaling subtly, pretending you don’t feel the way the air shifts when he turns slightly…when he ends up closer than before, just at the edge of your frame.
“okay, we’re good,” the manager calls.
the team breaks, the players disperse, but toji stays put for a beat longer, adjusting his sleeve, posture relaxed again, unreadable.
you lower your camera only when it’s over, breath leaving you in a quiet rush you didn’t realize you were holding. you don’t see him glance at you when you step back to check your photos. you also don’t notice the small, satisfied curve of his mouth.
not until you’re feeling a gentle, firm, hand on your waist, and a low voice right against your ear, “say hi next time. you’re not a stranger anymore.”
your body immediately catches on fire, eyes snapping to the man like a magnet, heart slamming against your ribs as you watch him pull back, emerald eyes meeting yours.
“right, sweetheart?”
your face stings, as you nod quickly, heat pooling deep in your stomach, feeling his thumb caress your hip over your shirt. your lips part, mind dizzy as you glance as his strong forearms, he’s towering over you, slightly leaning down to speak to you in quiet whispers.
“I’ll see c’ya tomorrow, yeah,” he gives your waist a squeeze as he greets you with a kiss to your cheek like some gentleman. then he walks away. and if you weren’t a mess before, the casual glance he shoots over his shoulder has a third arrow piercing your heart.
you couldn’t contain it anymore. you were consumed by this man. every waking thought was spent daydreaming about him— his voice, his eyes, his hands, his demeanor. it was intoxicating.
all for you to show up in the lockerroom, the next day, hours before the match. the team is either dressed in their uniforms, or still shirtless, huddling around the white board as they prep for the game.
geto was the second to notice you, after gojo. both their eyes twinkling as they walk up to you. “they gave you the pass,” geto nods to the press badge around your neck.
you nod, glancing around the lockerroom. it felt tense, the aura suspenseful as the time ticks closer to when they walk onto the pitch.
“get your vip shots, but you better get my photo,” geto hushes in your ear.
“and mine!” gojo blurts, just as a certain coach is stepping out of the steam.
and you feel it. the towel wrapped low around his waist, skin still slick with water that traces unhurried paths down his sculpted torso. his hair is darker when it’s wet, heavier, droplets slide from it and disappear along the hard lines of his shoulders.
your eyes catch his muscles moving when he walks, hard mass, that shifts beneath skin without effort. you swallow thickly, body heating up, stomach fluttering as you catch the trail of dark coarse hair leading down from his navel, and disappearing beneath the towel. your eyes follow it to the bulge you know is under there. your cheeks sting at the thought of it.
you were utterly shameless. as if the two men standing beside aren’t still talking to you. but they immediately recognize the shift in your attitude and notice the steam leaving your face. gojo stifles a laugh, as geto sighs. you’re hopeless.
your eyes follow the scars you’ve never seen before. the old pale marks catch the light, etched across his side, his pecs, and back, proof of some life before this one. then he turns just enough and your heart stutters, and your panties soak.
ink blooms along his ribs where the towel dips. the tattoos are sharp and intimate, black against his skin that’s still flushed from the heat. you’ve photographed him dozens of times, from every angle, but you’ve never seen a peak of a tattoo.
“how wet are you right now?”
the comment snaps you back, glaring straight at the crystal ocean eyes narrowed in amusement.
“don’t talk to me like that,” you huff, “I’m working.” your attitude really is night and day when it comes to anyone else and toji.
gojo blushes, “I love mean girls.”
you roll your eyes.
“what’re you two doing? get the fuck over here,” sukuna snaps.
the team huddles as the fifteen minute timer starts. and that’s what you should be photographing, but instead you glance back. toji is now pulling up his pants, wet hair still dripping down the expanse of his back. his eyes catch yours for a second, gaze flicking to your camera, taunting…
his hand subtly cups his crotch, squeezing his girth just to present you with a size, one that has your lips parting with a shaky exhale, heart pounding as you glance between his emerald eyes and the way his forearms flex when he fixes the waistband of his boxers, pulling the material down just a bit that you catch more of the thick patch of hair at his base seeing a peak of it, before he’s fixing himself again.
and once he zips his pants up, glancing at the team as they huddle for some words from the captain before coach steps in, toji walks to you. just a few feet away, your eyes widen in surprise, heart stuttering as you watch him lean down to greet you with a kiss to your cheek, again!
he’s acting like you’re familiar even though this is just your third interaction with him…but maybe you are…
“thought I told you to say hi next time,” he says against your ear, pulling away.
your face heats up, “you were….changing.”
“so?”
you gulp, eyes flicking between his, heart pounding. he’s so close. your breath catches when his scent hits your nose, sandalwood, oak and something deeper under it. his stubble is darker than yesterday, rougher along his jaw, and you realize you’ve been staring for too long when the heat creeps up your neck.
he doesn’t move away though, he stands beside you, attention forward on sukuna as he speaks. focused, and so aware of you’re attention he has to hold back a smirk. and maybe he doesn’t mind messing with you, so his hand remains at your lower back, light, almost absent, but there.
your stomach flips, attention gone. you try to listen, you do. sukuna is talking about positioning, about discipline, about not getting sloppy or something and the room is locking in around you, everyone leaning in. these would be great photos—but all you can think about is how close he is.
how his hand hasn’t moved, every small shift makes your pulse jump. you keep your eyes forward. you don’t trust yourself to look at him again.
and that gives toji the opportunity to take you in. his pupils dilate just a fraction as his gaze travels down your body. his eyes zero in on the multiple open buttons of your tight dress shirt. you’re not even hiding yourself, and the sliver of skin that peaks between your pants and shirt doesn’t help.
his hand remains over your clothes, heat settling in his stomach when you take a deeper breath and your tits push up, and his eyes shamelessly look down your shirt from his towering height. fuck, he wants a look at that pretty ass too—
“coach! you’re up!” sukuna’s voice cuts through everything, snapping toji back. your gaze whips with it, catching him off guard as you wait for his next move like anything he touches is gold.
he controls himself, giving your waist that same squeeze before his hand leaves you just like that.
you push down the feeling that hits immediately, sharp and cold. but now you can finally breathe properly when he steps away. he moves past the players without rushing — a few of the boys let their eyes roam over you— toji adjusts his sleeve ignoring the feeling bubbling up when he notices them. and then he’s at the front.
he doesn’t raise his voice, doesn’t need to now, but he usually gets to that point around the halfway mark. but this was the first time you’re seeing him speak in private…and when he speaks, they all listen—every single one of them.
gojo notices, gossip second nature to him. but the quick glance your way already has a grin tugging at his mouth before he nudges geto. geto follows his gaze, then sukuna does too, just briefly—and it’s obvious. painfully obvious. the way your expression softens, the way your attention doesn’t wavers. it’s written all over you.
“she’s actually really hot,” gojo comments.
though you wish you could stand there forever, the time finally comes for the team to head to the pitch, and that’s when the chaos begins.
not just on the field…but off it.
the press box is packed, bodies press against you shoulder to shoulder. the field below is relentless. everything fast, and aggressive, and loud enough that the noise bleeds through everything. you always forget how overstimulating and exhilarating semifinal matches are. but you remember the deal you made with the three stars.
your camera moves with them, tracking their plays, snapping multiple shots of them without hesitation, and then catching the moment when things go wrong...
sukuna gets taken down hard during a penalty shot—and there’s no whistle. no call.
you’re already shooting when the other team pushes, then scores, and the stadium erupts, but sukuna is on his feet, shouting. the goal should be discounted. the captain was known to be a hot head, but even you could see that the tackle he received was completely brushed off by the ref and he was right.
everyone watches as the team moves forward in defense of sukuna, but also holding him back. the other side meets them just as hard. the crowd shouts as they watch the players shove, yell, and slam into each other—and through it all you keep shooting. you catch toji too, voice cutting through the chaos as he orders his players to pull sukuna back.
the press talk amongst themselves as halftime quickly breaks up the argument. your feet quickly carry you out of the press box, towards the locker room.
“no locker room access.”
your jaw tightens immediately irritation flaring hot and sharp.
“I have a different badge,” you show the security guard your press ID. the one geto gave you.
“no press allowed, do i need to repeat myself?” the man snaps.
your irritation ticks at your side. fine. whatever. the second you step back, your mind is already running, already circling back to geto. you scoff under your breath, shaking your head as you pace along the corridor, camera swinging lightly at your side.
seriously? all that talk, all that stupid ass convincing, and for what? you were supposed to be there. that was the whole point! you roll your eyes, heat building the longer you think about it, every step feeding into this petty irritation instead of cooling it. were you overreacting —yes, but whatever—if he’s not holding up his end, then why should you?
by the time you make it back up, you’re done. done thinking about it, done entertaining it, done with their stupid deal.
the second half starts and you fall back into rhythm. camera up, focus sharp, and attention on only one thing now, the ball….
gojo and geto drift near the press box occasionally, clearly expecting something, acknowledgment, a photo, but you don’t even bat an eye. not a look, not a flicker, hell, they might as well not exist.
it’s almost satisfying. almost.
the final whistle blows and the stadium erupts, the first leg ended in a draw, preparing for next game to see who’ll continue. cameras around you go wild, capturing every second of it. the quiet annoyance of both teams, the noise in the crowd. but you don’t. you lower yours, expression flat, already turning away. it’s petty. a little unfair, but still, you walk.
“you’re not coming to the locker room?” gojo’s voice follows you, footsteps quick behind yours as you head in the opposite direction.
“why would i?” you snap, sharp, not even slowing. “am i even allowed,” there’s an obvious clip in your tone that has gojo confused.
“what’re you talking about?”
“deal’s off.”
huh?!????
gojo barely has time to react, before you’re walking away.
baffled and utterly confused, gojo makes his way back to the locker rooms. the energy is stiff, sukuna is grumbling under his breath about how embarrassing it was to end their first leg in a draw, geto is lounged beside his bag scrolling on his phone, and toji is in the corner talking to the managers. ugh, does no one care that their personal photographer isn’t taking photos of them???
they do care.
especially when the next paper comes out and the article is filled with photos taken by other people, not you!
“WHY THE FUCK DO I LOOK LIKE THAT!??” sukuna shouts, entire body fumming as they all sit outside during practice. sukuna is not the only one pissed, geto is practically seething because there isn’t even a single photo of him or gojo.
“what is this girl’s problem?! i thought you idiots made a deal with her?!” sukuna snaps, already in a foul mood, but now it’s worse.
geto licks his teeth, jaw ticking, “we did.”
“I told you guys she was pissed that she didn’t come in during halftime,” gojo throws, as if anyone was listening to him after their shitty match.
“so she throws a tantrum because she didn’t see coach’s dick during halftime?” sukuna clips.
“she looked super hot when she was all pissed though,” gojo throws, “she’d definitely go for me after she realizes how old coach is.”
“what’s wrong with you?” geto rolls his eyes, confused how gojo can talk about your looks when you screwed them over. even if he maybe also finds you attractive, it doesn’t negate your shitty attitude.
gojo throws his hands up in defensive, “I’m just calling dibs now.”
toji, just a few feet away, strides over after noticing the group no longer doing drills. “what’s the hold up!” he grunts, also in a shit mood because of the embarrassing match and then overheating what gojo had said.
“your stalker fucked us over,” geto snaps, eyes burning into the school paper. “she didn’t even get a pic of you.”
gojo’s eyes light up, “oh shit, yeah—she’s definitely over you!”
the paper then hits toji’s chest, his brows furrowing as he holds it up. his eyes glance over the sports section, and just as geto had stated, there wasn’t a single photo of him, unless you’re counting the wide shot of the field and you see him standing in the corner, but it definitely was a starch contrast from the streak you’d created.
“so?” toji tosses the paper like it’s nothing, “you guys playing for the cameras or because you want to win?!”
the men baffled, gasp and scoff. “we want to win!”
“then get off your fucking asses! I don’t have time to be doing this shit with you all!” he snaps aggressively, uncharacteristically pissed off, whether it’s because of the teams misdirected frustrations, or something else. either way, the school paper is long forgotten beside their bags and the team is splitting into practice teams.
it doesn’t matter…
it doesn’t matter that you made a deal with suguru geto and satoru gojo. and the captain pushed you to seal that deal with the information about coach — and they broke it. none of it matters! you still should’ve taken those photos, especially when you’re receiving an earful from your editor, and then sulking through the week of classes.
“what’s your problem,” your friend, shoko, cuts in, snapping you back to the campus day festival. you were once again sulking on the picnic bench, ice cream melting in the cup as you stare off.
“you’re gonna get annoyed…” you mutter, brows pinched in agony.
for most passing by, they immediately steered clear of you, not only did you carry a lethal rbf, your words of “agony” really translates to, you’ll rip someone’s head off and if looks could kill, everyone would be dead. it was quite funny, considering how you’re pretty sweet when you want to be, shoko quietly thinks. still, most would rather avoid you, thanking the heavens that you stay behind the camera so you don’t interact directly with people.
“don’t start,” shoko groans, piecing together the not so subtle mystery.
you frown, “i didn’t even say anything!” you whine even more, glaring at your ice cream. your pretty camera sits on the table beside you, collecting dust when you should be photographing this event. “I just screwed myself over,” your tongue laps at the dripping ice cream.
“agreed.”
your glare snaps to your friend, to which she brushes off with a shrug.
“you should’ve taken those photos,” she starts.
“I know…”
“then you would’ve made your editor happy,”
“I know…”
“and then you wouldn’t have to do this event.”
“I know.”
“and you’d have more weird pictures of coach toji.”
your heart drops. eyes snapping to shoko. “what?!”
shoko goes mute. suddenly realizing what she said. “nothing.”
“pictures?” you repeat, “I have weird pictures of the coach?? I don’t—why would you even say that??“ you’re not subtle at all. and shoko feels guilty at your horrible lying skills, but still…she confesses…
“you uploaded photos to your drive, when we’d study together,” she tries to hold in her laugh as heat crawls up your neck, “like more than once.”
you glance away, eyes flicking over your camera, “that’s it?”
shoko raises a brow. “yeah…what do you mean?”
you look back, “like that’s how you know, it’s not like you heard from someone else or anything?”
shoko shakes her head, “no, who else would know?”
your cheeks are burning at this point, and it was written all over your face now. the realization hit shoko in seconds. “no…” you’re silent. “does the coach know about your photos?”
you don’t want to make eye contact.
“how?!!”
even though it happened days ago, why is it now starting to feel even more embarrassing. maybe because of your cool headed friends reaction— “it was an accident.”
“how did he find out though?” shoko pushes.
you cringe, “well…” you swallow, “when I first spoke to him, remember…” shoko nods, “I let him use my camera because he was interested.” you pause, reliving the humiliation all over again. “then he kept swiping to see the pics, and just found them…” your hands slap your face, “that’s not bad!”
shoko is getting second hand embarrassment, “dude.”
“STOP IM GONNA KILL MYSELF!!” you cry out, humiliation seeping from your pores.
shoko is trying not to laugh, but it’s quite hard not too, especially when you’re groaning like that. “what was his reaction?”
“I obviously said it was an accident, and he was like whatever and seemed fine,” you explain quickly, trying to cool the situation. “It’s not bad!”
“okay okay!!” shoko laughs, trying to calm your reaction. however, shoko knows about your huge crush, what she didn’t know is about a deal her two friends made with you. heck, she didn’t even know that you interacted with them. not until those two men are standing directly behind you, sweaty and pissed. “what the hell—“
“I guess you don’t know how to keep your word,” geto spits, bag dropping aggressively on the bench beside you.
you jump, then, your eyes flick over your shoulder, immediately rolling them when you see them. you turn back to shoko.
geto snaps. “there wasn’t a single photo of us!”
“not my problem,” you scoff, attitude returning in seconds, shoko completely used to it. but she’s shocked that you know gojo and geto. “not like you guys even played well.”
gojo’s vein bulges, “we played fucking good, we didn’t lose!”
“you didn’t win,” you shrug, cold.
that’s when gojo and geto both glance up at shoko. shock crossing their expressions. “you know her?!” they both point down at you.
shoko raises a brow, “she’s my friend.”
“she’s a bitch—“ geto spits, just to receive the worst glare of his life from you, but he just rolls his eyes. “how the fuck do you know each other?”
“I just told you she’s my friend. you’re the ones that screwed her over.” shoko takes your side.
gojo gasps, “we didn’t screw her over! she screwed us over! you saw the paper this week—not a single highlight!”
you glance at shoko, ignoring the men behind you, “how do you know them?”
“we went to high school together,” shoko throws with a bored wave.
frustrated, geto straddles the bench facing you, his hand falls on top of your camera, immediately making you snap your attention to him.
“hey—“
“listen. our deal was that you get access and then we get photos, you didn’t finish your job,” he keeps a grip on your camera. shoko frowns.
“you guys didn’t give me access—i got like ten minutes before the match, then I couldn’t even go in during halftime where everyone was pissed, so what’s the point?” you snap, getting in his face.
“the point is that has nothing to do with me!” geto shouts, your eyes pierce his in two, but neither of you back down.
“it literally does though!”
“guys,” shoko and gojo attempt at intervening, but neither of you will back down. especially when geto won’t let go of your camera.
“let go,” you seethe, hand on the camera as geto flexes, grip strengthening around it.
your heart pounds against your chest, the hot spring sun beats over the four of you, sweat building on your neck while geto scoffs. “you better take those photos of us this week—“
“or what?” you glare, “are you seriously threatening me?” you were dripping with ego and confidence, except for the fact that your eyes kept darting to your camera, your poor, expensive, beautiful camera—
“is this your first time being threatened—“
“the fuck.”
the deep, intimidating voice breaks the argument in seconds. geto’s eyes widen as he feels the gravity taken away from him and being lifted off the seat. the collar of his jersey tightens around none other than toji’s brutal grip.
your eyes break into hearts, grasping your camera before it clatters back on the table, glancing up to see geto gripping his coach’s forearm.
“since when do you fucking shout at girls. you?!” toji barks, baffled. sukuna sure, gojo maybe, but geto?!
“I wasn’t fucking shouting, we were talking,” geto tsks, neck red from embarrassment.
toji shoves him back. geto slams on the bench. you hadn’t realized it but they all looked like they just finished practice, geto and gojo both still in practice uniforms and duffle bags, and coach toji wearing his usual black cargos, and that compression shirt that left nothing to the imagination.
geto scowls, rubbing his back in pain.
“you were shouting, that’s why i came over—“
“she was shouting at me!”
“so what!?”
the table is quiet. a few passerby’s glance over before quickly walking away. it isn’t a shock to know how unbelievably hot your face is right now. especially when coach toji continues his stern lecture to geto.
“you’re defending some girl that can’t keep her word, mind you,” geto mutters, flashing you a glare—his breath catches. you’re not even looking at him!! shoko stifles another laugh along with gojo, because you really were, truly, unbelievable.
how can you look at someone like that?!? like he’s some idol?! him! a musty ass college coach?!
but none of it mattered, not when toji’s attention shifts to you!!! a warm heat floods between your legs, as your lips part. then suddenly, you glance away…
“I actually did shout too…” you confess, taking accountability. “and kinda screwed them over.”
gojo, geto, and shoko, stare at you in shock.
toji sighs, like some grown ass man (which he is), his hand settles on his hip as the other scratches his hair like he’s surrounded by immature children and figuring out what the fuck to do with you all. so he decides to confess too…
“i told security not to allow any outsiders.”
your heart drops.
“including you.”
oh shit.
the three audience members immediately glance at you, and what none of them, not a single one, expected, is to suddenly see the your eyes tear up.
toji felt a sharp twist in his gut, eyes widening for a moment, before sighing. “it wasn’t personal.”
your throat feels dry, unable to look away until now. a tear hits your camera. “how is that not personal,” you whisper, bottom lip trembling.
shoko’s brows pinch in hurt, at least out of everyone, she knows how much and how long you’ve liked this man. and then sulking and now— she knows you’re absolutely shattered.
“I needed the team to focus, and you’re press,” he states like some cold fact, and that hurt even more.
your grip tightens on the camera. “but…” your not a stranger anymore…. but you can’t get the words out…your heart pounds loudly in your ears, the heat surrounding you felt suffocating, and your head was growing dizzier by the second. and the only thing spinning in your mind was how fucking embarrassing this is.
“don’t be upset.”
you manage a small nod, though another tear falls on the camera, and your body freezes. “how can i not be upset?” your small voice catches toji off guard.
you’re standing up, eyes hot with tears, walking past the esteemed coach.
“wait,” he catches your wrist, “if you have something to say don’t just run away.”
you’re fuming, your pretty chest rises and falls, the disappointment turning into built up anger, “I don’t have anything to say right now, and it’s stupid—“ your hand twists in his grip. “let go.”
he does.
you’re practically heaving, tempted to turn away, especially when the dryness in your throat gets worse. the stinging behind your eyes burns like hell as you try to rip your gaze away from the towering man. you really are stupid…
toji wets his lip, head tilting as if disinterested, but the cooling in his chest says otherwise. why does he have a weak spot for women?
“we can talk.”
his words hang in the air. a silent, open invitation for her. it’s a clear sign of his guilt for making this cute college girl cry. he was too blunt, forgetting she isn’t one of his boys.
your hand comes up to the bridge of your nose, quietly recentering yourself as this older coach watches. your shoulders rise with a deep exhale, then inhale.
pull yourself together…
you nod. cute.
you swallow the embarrassing lump in your throat, clearing your throat. “can we talk while walking…I have to work,” your usual clipped tone used for everyone except him, comes out, but he can hear the slight shakiness.
“sure.”
gojo, geto, and shoko are left in utter shock. it’s not until you and toji completely disappear into the crowd, do they slowly exchange looks.
“what…”
“the fuck,” geto finishes shoko’s sentence.
gojo stares baffled, “did we just set them up?!”
geto’s brow jumps up, “why is he always saving her like some knight?? and he was the one that screwed us all over!!”
gojo shakes his head in agreement, “nah for real, what the hell, blaming us but it’s all him.”
geto slouches back in the picnic table, rolling his eyes. “still,” he tsks, “she didn’t have to be so bitchy and not take our pictures. isn’t it her fucking job—“
“hey!”
“ow!” geto feels a slap upside the head from brunette, her eyes harsh. “what the hell!”
“don’t call girls bitches what’s wrong with you?!” shoko huffs, baffled by geto’s attitude.
gojo snickers beside the man, “he’s been like this since he met her.”
“I haven’t,” he grits, rolling his eyes at the thought of you. “she’s just a—she just gets on my nerves.”
“really because she reminds me of you,” shoko cuts him off. geto’s eyes widen, as gojo breaks into a loud laugh.
“WHAT?!”
“oh god BAHAHA she does!” gojo’s obnoxious laugh sounds like knives stabbing his ears.
shoko hums, “she has that rbf look, intimidating, very blunt, but also so cute with her friends.”
“cute?” geto frowns.
gojo smiles, “it comes out when you’re hanging out with ussss.” gojo and shoko dramatically strike a cute pose. geto tsks.
the campus was packed with students and faculty roaming to booths and small events. it was the university’s 102nd anniversary, and as memorable as it is for the students to enjoy the activities during this nice spring day, you couldn’t bring yourself to give a shit.
not only did your editor scream at you all week, still pissed about the shit photos you took during the match, he also threatened removal if you didn’t take good photos during this event. and now, after sulking with shoko, then procrastinating some more, you decided you’d be able to take such fanatic pictures while your idol and crush trails beside you….sure.
toji lets out another sigh, hands in his pockets as he stands to your left watching you snap some shots of laughing students beside a booth.
“it’s not a big deal,” you mutter, behind the camera. toji notices the twitch in your fingers. “I overreacted, so it’s whatever.”
toji wets his lip, “sukuna and a couple others jus’ get jumpy with cameras.”
you hum, looking at the photos you just took. “I understand.”
“I didn’t know about this deal you did with geto,” toji admits, hand instinctively coming to your waist and guiding you away from some unaware boys shouting and laughing. your cheeks flush, stepping away from his hand. toji notices. “we didn’t have a good game anyways.”
“I know, so it whatever. not a big deal,” you sigh, heat crawling up your neck. this is so embarrassing, so embarrassing! ugh you really don’t know how to keep a cool head at all when it comes to this coach. you overreacted during the match, then blamed geto for screwing you over, then almost cried because the coach locked you out on purpose, and now—
“I feel bad.”
your heart stops.
toji glances at your manicured nails holding your camera, your cute necklaces dangling on your exposed chest, cleavage glistening from the heat. but then his eyes flick up, and you’re staring at him like he’s holding the entire world.
“I didn’t mean to make you upset,” his voice is softer, gentler, nothing like how you’ve heard him for months, shouting, harsh. your stomach heats up, face stinging.
his hand, unexpectedly, comes up, feeling your hair between his fingers. “you work hard, and all your pictures come out so nice…” the compliment hits your heart. “but I couldn’t risk the boys getting distracted.”
your face suddenly twists, lips pursing and jutting out just a bit, your brows pinch. your dewy makeup makes you look like a fucking doll, he thinks. “I was jus’ gonna take photos in the corner, not interview them,” you reply harshly.
“you saw how they are when they talk to you,” he cuts in. your brow quirks, noticing his sharp inhale. “sweetheart, you’re hot.”
your face bursts into flames, pupils turning to literal swirls, and brain getting fried in seconds.
what?!
your reaction was priceless. toji controls his smirk, thumb brushing your adorable cheek, glancing at your glossy lips then your eyes. “I know you’re a professional, but most of those boys aren’t, y’ understand?”
you nod, cheeks sizzling, you’re surprised his thumb isn’t burning.
“so you see why I couldn’t allow you in the locker room then, and i won’t next time,” he watches you nod again. god, you’re fucking precious.
then, your tongue wets your bottom lip before speaking… “are they the only ones that would’ve been distracted?”
shit. can a grown man really pop a boner that fast?
toji’s chest heats up, glancing between your pretty eyes filled with hope. this isn’t the first time a younger girl has crushed on him, and it also isn’t the first time he’s nice to one. but what really got him, is the way you’re maintaining eye contact, almost afraid to look away, and you’re holding your ground against him.
“no,” he admits, “they’re not the only ones.”
oh. your lips curve into a smile toji hasn’t seen before, and his hand flexes in response. you look like you’re going to eat him alive right there, and he’d let you, no questions asked—
“that’s good to hear,” you pull away. you touch your heated cheek with the back of your hand, wetting your lip as you glance over the coach’s flushed face. “your cheeks are red.”
what?! his eyes bulge, catching you off guard as you break into a loud laugh.
“tch,” he looks away, his own hand rubbing down his face. it really is burning out here. but even so, his emerald eyes look through his fingers at this pretty college girl laughing at him and he doesn’t know why his chest warms at the sight.
“I can buy you ice cream. I feel bad now that you had to explain yourself when I was just being the unprofessional one,” you start, already leading him to the nearest ice cream booth.
your camera hangs over your shoulder as you point to your favorite flavor than glance up at him, he points at the cookies n cream. “oh! I love cookies n cream,” you say, reaching for your phone to pay.
ding.
your eyes widen as toji pays instead.
“wha—it was supposed to be my treat, man,” you huff, accepting the cone he gives you, hand on your lower back as he guides you away from the booth. neither of you batting an eye to the multiple people gawking at the renowned coach of their soccer team, walking around with the hot, rude, student photographer.
“as if I’d let you pay,” he snorts.
your brows pinch as you take a lick of your ice cream, the cool sensation leveling your body temperature. your eyes narrow at him as he enjoys his ice cream, grateful to have something that cools the heat building up under his skin. “so not fair,” you mutter.
“how come?”
the two of you walk across the quad, sun still beating down.
“I wanted to use it as an apology,” you say, “I said that.”
“you don’t need to apologize,” he shrugs, casual, unbothered. you huff again. this time toji smiles, scar twitching up. “you can pay next time.”
your heart skips a beat, stomach doing a stupid flip.
“….next time.”
toji catches the smile behind your cone, his eyes trailing over the ice cream coating your tongue, your pretty hand wrapped around the waffle as your bracelets clank around your wrists.
“there’s other things you need to apologize for,” he coolly says, finding a bench and dropping his weight, eyeing you as you sit close beside him. unashamed.
your brow quirks, eyes narrowing, full body facing him, “what other things?”
toji shrugs, “we can talk about it next time.”
“but I can’t just be left in suspense, that’ll give me anxiety?!”
toji snorts, loud. his big tongue is finishing the ice cream so quick he’s already eating the cone. “don’t be anxious,” he says with his mouth full.
you tsk, rolling your eyes, and you don’t notice the twinkle in the older coach’s eyes. he can definitely see geto’s point about your attitude, but if he leans over—
your eyes go wide. stomach flipping.
he takes a bold bite of your ice cream, emerald eyes shut, and thick lashes kissing his flushed cheeks. your heart feels like it’ll break from your ribs, then, he opens his eyes. he doesn’t pull away yet, instead his tongue cleans his lips, humming in low delight. the heat around you wasn’t helping your own body temperature as it skyrockets.
“taste’s sweeter than mine,” his voice his huskier than before, catching you by surprise, and the heat pools between your legs.
“i—“ you can’t even form words! your eyes won’t tear away from his lips, and your chest is moving erratically because he’s so close.
“do you want a taste of mine. I took a bite without asking yo—“
his words cut the minute your lips press against his.
shock prevents him from reacting, eyes going wide. you gave in so quick, sure he was teasing, but still. he could feel the certainty in your kiss, along with the warmth, and anxiety. after a long ten seconds you pull away—
you pant against his lips, chest rising and falling, brain scrambled. “i jus’…” your heart is beating loudly in your ears. mind trying to keep up with what your body just did. you kissed him. you kissed the coach. the one you’ve been idolizing and photographing for months—
“we can do it again.” his free hand tilts your chin up, lips hovering over yours again. his breath is warm. “kiss me.”
you do.
this time you’re a little bolder. your lips connect with his, soft again, sucking his bottom lip, skillfully. slowly. he brushes your jaw with his thumb, humming in delight just like he did with the ice cream. but the sound goes straight to your core. completely unbothered by the rowdiness of the uni day activities around you. your free hand rests on his thigh, leaning more into the kiss.
“open,” you murmur against his lips. you can feel the the shit-eating smirk that breaks his face, groaning just low enough to make the heat furiously spread under your skin.
then, his lips part.
his tongue immediately connects with yours. caressing the wet muscle. he tastes the ice cream, delving a little more. it was just so easy taking control, and your little whines are too sweet for him to stop. his jaw opens wider, taking the lead as you follow. his hand cups the side of your face, unexpectedly possessive, ignoring the alarms sounding off in his head.
you had a crush, you’re fucking adorable, and you kissed him. plus, you make these cute sounds when he shoves his tongue against yours, thumb pressing into your cheek. how could he resist?
your grip against his thigh tightens, his back is pressed fully against the bench, while you were practically leaning over him, trying to swallow him whole.
“breathe,” he mutters, lips hovering close, waiting for you to inhale. his scar quirks up, you’re so cute. his thumb brushes your cheekbone again, eyes glancing between your fluttering lashes. “if we keep kissing, I’ll have a problem.”
your face burns, eyes darting down to the tent pressing up near your hand. and unlike toji, you let your second ice cream of the day melt and fall to the ground. you were a mess. you carefully lean back in your seat, the sudden space between you allowing you to take another deep breath. being near coach toji is intoxicating. it’s not that you didn’t feel like yourself, but you definitely throw all common sense out the door when he’s in front of you.
“are you staying to see the booths and stuff?” you clear your throat, trying to ease your erratic heartbeat.
toji finds it cute. his hand once cupping your face, slides down to brush the hair off your shoulder, fingers brushing the multiple earrings that dangle from your piercings. you’re much more stylish than he is…your accessories, the cute tank top that hugs your breasts, and embroidered low rise flared jeans.
“nah, gotta drive back home so i can take my son to practice.”
toji eases, not a single thing can bother him. it was a routine, the subtle throw away line about having a son that scared off many young women, or had them wanting a one night stand with the older dilf. so his eyes flick over you, the second he finishes his sentence.
your freeze.
your blood runs cold, eyes flicking down to his ring finger.
even if you’re looking, you know he isn’t married. you know. you’ve been photographing him for months, and not a single time have you ever seen him daunt a ring on his finger.
“there’s no one waiting for him at home?” you question, wetting your lip.
toji’s fingers slide from your earrings to the dried ice cream on your chin. “nah, if I’m late he’ll go to his friends house.”
you nod, anxiety slowly dissipating. “how old is he?”
“ten.”
your eyes light up, “my nephew is just a year older, that’s when they get really fun to hang out with,” your voice is so light and sweet, toji has to shove down the weird somersault his stomach does.
“really?” toji is not convinced. “all my son does is give me attitude and bully everything i do.”
you laugh, waving your hand, “yeah they get super opinionated, but it’s funny—trust trust he’s just doing it because you’re an easy target.”
“I’m an easy target.”
you nod, waving a hand again, “your his dad, my brothers and i were the same to our parents.”
brothers? toji doesn’t comment how that peaks his interest, but he naturally asks, “how many siblings do you have?”
“three older brothers,” you nod.
damn….toji hums, that explains your attitude and how you can handle geto’s bitchy moods. what also quietly settles in his mind is how your oldest brother would probably be around his age, considering your nephew is a year older than megumi. is that why you’re easily holding a conversation this long…maybe the age gap isn’t that big then…
“they were so freakin bossy, definitely why i pushed to dorm away from them,” you huff, toji zoning back into your rambling. it was cute watching you talk mindlessly, hands waving making your bracelets clank against each other. the sweat glistened across your skin, making you look eternal, which is amusing since you’re just talking.
but still, toji is the one to lean up this time. his hand settling on your waist as a anchor and he presses a firm kiss to your warm cheek.
your glossy lips part in shock, heart stuttering again. unbothered, toji casually stands up, towering over you as his hand gently settles atop your head. “i have’ta get going, but I’ll see you next week for the match. I’ll also let em know you can come in before and after the game, but not during halftime. okay?”
you nod.
“I’ll see ya’ sweetheart.”
and with a wink, he solidifies the fourth arrow straight through your heart.
—
it was very likely that your entire week looked like sunshine and rainbows, all because you had a full on make out session with your idol on a park bench. you couldn’t bring yourself to care much about anything else—well except for your job. you had to scramble to get photos after toji left, afraid of staying on your editor’s bad side.
luckily you pulled through, and convinced him to keep you on for the semi final match this coming weekend.
which leads you to your current blissful state. watching toji speak to the team in the locker rooms. unlike last time, you grabbed different shots, smiling every time toji glanced at the camera, but frowning any time any of the other boys looked.
“surprise surprise, couldn’t stay away too long,” gojo coo’s after the team breaks to finish changing.
“don’t bother me or I won’t take photos of you,” you throw, eyes flicking up at the tall man.
gojo pouts, “but I’m just talking to you,” his words drag.
geto is scowling a few feet away, jaw tightening and relaxing, until he finally comes up to you. your attitude shifts, eyes narrowing up. geto holds eye contact, chest rising with a subtle inhale. but once he exhales, his shoulders ease, and his eyes close, the fakest smile you’ve ever seen graces his naturally attractive features.
“I’m looking forward to seeing your photos after the game.”
your lips purse, brow quirking. “yeah…”
geto leaves. shortly after, the team gets called out. gojo utters the same line geto had just said, but much more cheerfully, all while toji walks up to you. brow furrowing at the two athletes as they walk towards the exit.
“they still bothering you?”
your eyes light up the moment you see him. “s’ fine,” your pretty lips pull into an easy smile, unexpectedly warming the coach’s heart. is it that easy to smile because of him?
“I’ll tell them to fuck off again,” his voice is naturally deep, hand subconsciously roaming up to the strap of your camera.
you smile, “okay.”
god, you’re really cute. his hand cups your cheek, leaning down and easily locking lips with you.
you’re immediately caught off guard, but his hand is so firm on your cheek, you just melt. your lashes flutter shut, leaning in more. he’s so big and tall. your cheeks sting, humming against his lips, trying to fight off the butterflies in your stomach. but it’s worse when he pulls away, and your heart leaps into your throat as he brushes his rough thumb against your lip, dragging the spit across the plumpness.
“I’ll c’ya after.” he winks.
you barely feel your feet when you step back out onto the field. your camera in hand, strap tight around your neck, everything exactly where it should be, and still, your entire body is giddy.
toji….toji toji toji—
you press your lips together, trying to fight it down, but it’s useless. your mouth keeps twitching, threatening to break into a smile and you can’t help it! he kissed you. twice now! like it was nothing—
you snap a shot.
sukuna’s first goal. the team and stadium erupts, and you’re already capturing it, body moving before your thoughts can catch up. you don’t need your editor screaming at you this time, so you shift angles, crouch lower, shoot through. geto lines up for a penalty shot, and you catch that too. the strike, the follow-through, and the way the net snaps back as the ball hits. you don’t miss a second of it.
but…inevitably…your lens drifts…to him. you can’t help it!
toji’s on the sidelines, where he always is. his sleeves are pushed up again, pacing, shouting, running a hand through his hair. you catch the flex of his arm, his biceps bulge and you feel heat pooling between your legs. you catch the drag of his palm across his broad huge chest, the set of his jaw when gojo almost tackles into another player.
you shouldn’t be taking this many photos of him. you know that, but you take them anyway. your chest feels tight with every picture, cheeks still burning, and your smile impossible to get rid of.
halftime comes and goes, and you don’t even try to get into the locker room this time. instead, you linger with the rest of the press, nodding along to conversations, camera hanging loose in your hands. you don’t care. not really. not when your mind keeps replaying it—his hand on your face, the way he looked at you after, the wink.
the second half starts and you’re back in position immediately. getting more action shots of the players—ugh but you keep stealing other moments too…small unnecessary ones. his biceps when he folds his arms. the scratch of his chest. the tilt of his head as he watches the field.
your thoughts don’t stop. why did he kiss you? why did he kiss you again? what is that supposed to mean? is he going to kiss you again??
the spiral doesn’t fully come to an end until the pitch breaks out into celebration. the team is off to the finals!
managers and the rest of the team flood the pitch as the stadium breaks out. you do your best to get the best shots of the team together, and you stay after to capture them talking to journalists, and press. unaware of the coach that slips away.
you follow the team and a couple managers back to the locker room as they continue celebrating. you can’t help the smile about how happy they are, they played well.
“how was the match?” geto corners you quickly.
“good,” you nod casually, fixing your flash. “you guys played really well.”
geto’s brow quirks. that’s nice….his lips purse. “I scored.” he mutters, glancing at the multiple piercings on your ear as you tuck a hair behind it.
“yeah, it was a nice shot,” your eyes flick over your camera before glancing up to meet his eyes, testing, “you wanna see?”
his eyes narrow again, “no.”
he’s quick to ignore your eye roll, as he points over his shoulder. “coach is calling for you.”
you can’t control the way your head whips to geto, then following the direction he’s pointing at. you don’t hesitate, your legs carry you across the locker room, and into the steamed shower room.
your heart hammers against your chest, putting the lens cap back on your camera and carefully sliding it off your shoulder, afraid to step further in until you put it back in your bag.
a single curtain is closed. shower running.
“coach toji?” your voice echos.
there a beat of silence, then…
“that you, sweetheart?”
you flush. controlling the smile that breaks your face as you hum, “yeah.”
the shower is still running, steam collecting in the room. your heart is beating erratically, you barely register anything aside from the fact that coach toji is definitely one hundred percent fully nude just a few feet away. his clothes are laid on his duffle on the bench beside the door.
“sweetheart?”
you jump. “yeah?”
“you gonna come in?”
you blink. again, then once more. then— “WHAT?”
your screech bounces off the tile floors, making you shrink at how loud you are. but it was a normal reaction. he just asked you if you wanted to come in? how else would you react—
“leave your things by my bag,” he doesn’t even react, like what he’s saying is the most casual kind of flirting. the kissing was one thing, but this…
your camera is zipped back in your bag, and in seconds, you’re peeling your panties off standing completely naked in the middle of a shower room. goosebumps break out, necklace and bracelets still on as your nipples harden.
what’re you doing, seriously?
one, this is highly unprofessional (whatever). two, you haven’t even gone a date with this man. and three, w-why would he even ask you to come in?!?! does he like you?! he does—he has too—
your bare feet pad against the steamed tiles until you reach the curtains. your hands won’t stop shaking, face burning hot, and lips parting as you let out a shaky exhale. then, you slowly pull back the curtains—
“come in before someone sees you,” is what you hear just as you’re being dragged into the steaming water, curtain pulled closed behind you.
the steam wraps around your skin instantly, thick and suffocating. your pretty nipples perk up in seconds. and standing right in front of you is the 6’5 two hundred pound man. water cascading down his body in slow, steady streams. you don’t even realize you’ve stopped breathing until your chest tightens, and your hands hover close to his forearm.
you’re so close.
your gaze is eye level with his broad solid chest, rising and falling slow and controlled like none of this affects him. like you standing in front of him naked is something he expected. but your too dazed to care. especially when you follow the droplets sliding over his muscles, catching the shallow lines as you continue going lower, and lower. the heat pools more obviously between your legs as you see the thick patch of dark coarse hair…then you see it.
your face burns hotter, stomach flipping hard making you even dizzier.
his cock twitches under your gaze. your knees almost buckle just at the sight. it’s huge. you have to suppress a whine, lashes fluttering as you feel a strong hand cup your chin.
“say hi first,” his voice is unbelievably deep, tearing your gaze away from the monster between his legs. his dark forest green eyes sink into you.
“hi.”
shit. he bites back a groan, eyes trailing down your naked body. nipples already perky and standing all pretty for him. his hand comes up, cupping the side of your face as he leans down, lips colliding with yours.
you whine immediately. your lips move together, tongues colliding as your hands slide up his muscular chest, feeling the deep ridges of his abs as he holds the side of your face, dominating the kiss.
it was overwhelming, the shower box, his body heat, his cock touching your thigh, it was all making you dizzy in the best ways possible. he pulls away, letting you catch your breath, but he stays close, brushing his lips over yours like it’s not enough. because it isn’t.
“did anyone see you come in?” he husks, hand still cradling your face as the other brushes your naked waist, pulling you closer. your skin is so soft under his palm.
“no,” you shake your head adorably, tongue poking out to wet your lip, “I don’t think so.”
the older coach hums, his hands freely roaming your side as he nudges your nose with his. “good,” is all he adds before he resumes the heated make out.
your tongues collide and caress, jaw falling slack as you moan a little louder when he grips your ass. groaning into your lip when your arms lock around his shoulders, wet chest pressing against his. you were such a sweet tasting girl.
his hand nudges your thigh. “jump.”
you gasp when he easily picks you up, back already pressed against the tiled wall. the hot water cascades down his back as he continues kissing you. “were you mad at me?”
you pull away, breath hot as you glance at his features. he’s so handsome, your hand cups his face, pushing his drenched raven hair back. “why would I mad?”
“because I kept ya out during halftime.”
you shake your head, lips curving as you trace his wet eyebrows, chest rising and falling. “no,” you drawl, wetting your glossy lips again. “I was jus’ confused about how much you kiss me.”
his scar tugs up, biting back a smirk threatening to break free. “you kissed me first.”
“that one time.”
“you started it,” he leans close, lips brushing yours, “so you can’t blame me for getting hooked.” his eyes are lidded. “it’s really hard for me to break bad habits.”
this time you kiss me.
you’re so unbelievably hungry for this man’s affection, you can ignore all the blaring red light going off in your head. he’s so hot, he’s so big, and he’s so fucking sexy! your mind has been completely and utterly fried and you don’t care.
“fuck, you’re dripping,” toji husks, his finger collecting your juices from your pussy, groaning at how turned you are. “kissing me makes ya feel that good? your cunt always dripping like a fountain?”
“yeah-aah—“ your lips part as he shoves a finger inside. he groans against you, chuckling at the choked whines leaving your pretty lips, your nails dig crescents along his shoulder.
his lips trail down your neck, tongue flattening against the wet skin and licking until you squirm a cute whimper. his smirk is impossible to hold back. he sucks a dark bruise as another finger pushes in your fluttering hole.
“c-coach—“ you gasp, lips so wet from spit. you try to look down at his fingers pistoning inside you. every muscle on his body flexing, keeping you up like you weigh nothing, while fingering you against the little shower wall. “fu-fuck, I’m gonna—cu-uhm—“
it really is too much for your obsessed brain.
coach toji’s fingers are inside you. he’s kissing you like he’s hasn’t pleasured a woman in years. and his groans are going straight to your pussy—
“I wan’…coach—“ your whine drawls a little longer, thighs shaking, and arms locking around him, head falling to neck.
the older man chuckles close to your ear, voice deep and husky as you fall apart, in his arms. hugging him like he’s your savior. his fingers curl, slowly pumping you through your orgasm. “that was quick. my baby hasn’t cum in awhile?” he says as a matter of a fact, but you just hug him closer, lips pulling away to trail kisses up his neck. your fingers coarse through the back of his head, grasping them as you kiss the corner of his mouth.
“it’s b’cause of you, toji.” you kiss his scar, panting as he pulls his fingers out and lifts you up suddenly, hooking his arm under your knee.
“you want a good fucking princess?”
you nod frantically, cheeks dewy and stinging, as you glance over his face then his chest, then you feel his cock between your slick folds.
“it’s a big stretch,” he mutters against your lips. “you saw.”
you nod, nervous stirring at the way he’s preparing you. but you don’t break away. you doubt you physically can, when your mind is only screaming his name over and over.
“I can take it, coach,” you nod, determined.
“you’re so fucking cute,” he snorts, a light blush dusting his cheeks as he kisses your lips in quiet reassurance. “ever take a cock this big?”
you shake your head, water droplets falling from the tips of your hair. your pretty necklaces still wrapped around your neck, all wet and glistening between your perky breasts.
“it’ll hurt,” he strokes himself underneath you, thumb running over his tip multiple times before lining it with your pretty clit and teasing you. “then you’re gonna cry.” you gulp, nodding along. “then you’re gonna tell me to stop—“
“I won’t!”
he snorts. “it’s okay if you do.”
you shake your head, “I won’t I’ll be okay. okay coach? I can take it, I wan’ you inside me. please.”
the tug to his heart is immediate. how can it not be when this cute hot girl is begging him to fuck her? but he can’t even formulate this emotional string that’s tying him to you. the only physical response coming out is this fucking erection that feels like the most painful shit he’s experienced, twitching after he first spoke to you and then again when you kissed him. surely it’s disgusting….an older man like him getting that quickly turned on…
but maybe it was the way he’s only felt this tug in his chest one other time in his life, and even if it didn’t end the way he wanted, he never regretted pursuing his baby mama.
so he’s all in right now.
“deep breath, sweetheart.”
you inhale sharply, just as toji pushes his engorged tip past the tight rim of your pussy, and you suddenly clench—
“shit!—“
your eyes widen, “I don’t feel anything,” you mutter, glancing down to see his ears burning a deep shade of red.
“your cunt squeezed me too early and shoved me out,” he wets his lips, as he crashes his lips against you. “relax, baby,” he husks.
you whine against his dominating mouth, lower body relaxing as he lines up again and the moment you ease up, he snaps his hips in.
“angh!—“
your jaw slacks, and he continues kissing, groaning at the unbelievable tightness that’s squeezing every corner of his tip.
“Mmm so warm, took me in good,” he groans, rocking his hips and grabbing a handle of your ass. “you’re gonna make me feel good?”
you nod, lips connecting with his, it’s messy, teeth clashing, spit mixing.
toji’s guttural groan echos through the shower, bouncing off the tiles as he rocks his hips, going in inch by inch, until he’s finally shoving his entire length deep inside your cunt with one mean thrust.
“fhuck—“ he chokes, jaw slacking as you clamp around him again. “full?”
you nod, brain scrambled as you glance at your tummy, cheeks stinging at the obvious bulge. “keep going,” you pant, securing yourself better as he grunts, pulling out and snapping his hips back.
it was mind numbing, toji holding you up with his strong arms hooked under your knees, hands gripping each ass cheek as he ruts into you like a beast in heat. the squelch and clapping was deafening as it bounced off the walls, the steam enveloping you closer as your whines flow right into his ear.
“nghhh—gettin’ me worked up,” thrust. “when you squeeze me,” thrust. “with this tight.” thrust. “fucking.” thrust. “cunt!”
his massive cock is stretching you in ways you never could’ve imagined. his blunt tip slams into your cervix with every thrust. your thighs shake, eyes filling with unshed tears as your nails dig into his tough skin.
“m’ s-sorry—haah ah coa—ahh! it feels s’ fuhh—fuh’me ple-easee—ahh!” your pretty lips were so glossy, drool coming down as water droplets fall from your pretty breasts with each vicious slam of his hips.
he was unforgiving. and his laugh like groan didn’t help your pussy from fluttering and tightening around his chubby cock. you can feel every thick pulsing vein and ridge. it was numbing your brain to mush. your fingers curled into his hair, tugging as he gives your ass a mean, violent, spank!
“angh!” your eyes bulge, a wave of heat crashing into you.
toji laughs, gripping your ass as he quickens his pace. “admit it,” he husks, voice condensing, and eyes dark with lust. “this is what ya’ wanted.” you’re falling apart around his cock, and he’s not slowing down, even as the tears finally break, making you look even more irresistible. you’re gasping like you can’t breathe. “you always wanted the coach to fuck you. taking those dirty photos of my bulge—nghh!” thrust. “imagining how big my dick is.” thrust. “how big is it baby, tell me.” thrust!
you were fucked dumb.
your face is flushed, eyes glossed over, as you whine like a full blown slut. and even with your two orgasms in a matter of minutes. your mind was still screaming one thing: toji.
“c’mon baby, I know you’re still with me,” he snorts, ears red, and body flushed with sweat as he feels his climax edge closer. “tell me—fuck—how big is it?”
your stupid brain catches his words, and your fingers dig into his neck as you gasp and moan, the stimulation of his massive cock slamming into you was ruining you. mentally and physically. it was humiliating. but still…
“haah—fuh its’ it’s so big— i wan’ you to cum in me! please —wan’ your cum so bad, wanna feel your big fat cock cum inside my pussy toji—ahh!”
anothet sharp spank takes your breath away.
toji is at a loss.
his grunts grew louder and thrusts sloppier, until finally, he gave you one final thrust, and stilled. his ass tightens, body pressing you into the tiled walls, face buried in your neck, and teeth sinking into your shoulder. toji completely unravels in the shower, holding up a pretty college girl that whines so beautifully in his ear he thinks he’d never cum this hard again, but sure enough—
your adorable whine has him rutting shallow thrusts into your pussy, like a fucking dog. his cum pumping out as he continued stuffing you full, purposely milking out ever drop as his dark wet pubes rubbed against your puffy clit.
you both catch your breath. your lashes wet from tears, as the water from the shower head fills the silence. after a moment, toji pulls away from your neck, his lidded eyes, hypnotizing as he stares up at yours.
you don’t know why you suddenly feel shy. your cheeks burn as the emerald irises bore into your own. lips parting, and a gentle hand coming up to his cheek. you brush back the raven hair flattening against his features, smiling softly when his full face comes into view.
and he could’ve sworn you looked like an actual angel at this moment.
your eyes twinkled above, face illuminating in the dark shower, and body glistening like you’re an eternal being.
“toji…” the soft call has his heart doing something it hasn’t done in years. and that has his soft cock twitching inside you. “I’m,” you lean closer, arms wrapping around his shoulder, lips hovering near his, breasts smushed against his chest. your confidence comes back the moment you feel the man lean closer..but you continue. “I hope you don’t think…i wanted to have sex…just because i thought your dick was really big.”
toji blinks.
then he does the worst thing ever.
he laughs.
your cheeks sting, watching his head fall back in loud laughter. your hand flys to your face, embarrassed. “I’m being serious!” you yell.
toji laughs louder, body shaking as he lifts you up, his cock slipping out. he carefully sets your shaky feet down on the wet tile. the height difference returns, making you even more ticked off, your little attitude was oozing out, and his slick cock couldn’t help but twitch against his thigh at your pouting.
god, you’re fucking hot.
he brings your attention back to him. hands cupping your face, tilting your head to look up at him. your brows are pinched together, and lips pulled in a subtle scowl.
toji smirks. “don’t worry, I know you also took pictures of my face.”
you flush, rolling your eyes. “those were accidents.”
“so you just wanted pictures of my dick?”
your eyes widen, “no! i told you they were all accidents.”
toji clicks his tongue, leaning down to your level, making your tummy flip “you’re fucking cute, but let’s not lie to adults.”
“I’m an adult though,” you raise a brow, pushing back, and god if that wasn’t the hottest thing ever.
but still, toji’s easygoing smile remains on his playful lips, “it’s embarrassing. i understand,” he softens the blow as your face heats. it was humiliating when he found those pictures, “taking photos of the coach like that. but now’s the time to take some accountability.”
you lick your teeth, eyes boring into him, narrowing. but it’s toji. toji is asking. and you can’t hold back any longer…
you exhale, glancing away, even though he’s still cupping your face. “yeah, obviously I took those photos on purpose,” your eyes meet. “happy?”
water is still running down his shoulders as he keeps your face tucked carefully in his hands like you’re something precious despite the grin threatening to split across his face again.
but then toji smirks. “ecstatic.”
your eyes narrow immediately, “you’re so annoying.”
he huffs another laugh under his breath, quieter this time, thumbs brushing over your heated cheeks. standing this close to him is ridiculous now that the adrenaline’s settling. he’s huge. his broad chest still damp against yours, muscles flexing every time he shifts, towering over you while you stand there completely naked except for the necklaces you’re wearing. the little gold chains glisten under the shower head, delicate against flushed skin, and toji’s eyes flick down to them for a second before returning to your face.
that look in his eyes makes your stomach tighten all over again. he knows he’s not trying to be mocking, or casual like before. it’s fondness.
“those shots were real creative, sweetheart,” he says, voice rougher now. “nice and close too.”
you groan, immediately trying to shove his chest, but he barely moves. “oh my god, can you let it go already?”
“can’t,” he answers easily. “been thinkin’ about it for weeks.”
your face burns hotter. weeks?!
toji watches it happen in real time, watches the attitude crack just enough for embarrassment to slip through, again. and it does something terrible to him. you’re sharp with everyone else—cool, hard to impress. he’s seen it. seen the way you brush off gojo and geto without a second thought. but with him? you melt.
even now, glaring up at him with your brows pulled tight, lips still swollen from kissing, legs trembling from the multiple orgasms, trying so hard to stay irritated while your body keeps betraying you. it’s fucking adorable.
“don’t look at me like that,” you mutter weakly.
“like what?”
“like you know things.”
his grin widens instantly. “but i do know things now.”
what proceeded after was the thirty something year old coach, dropping to his knee and lifting your leg up, burying his face between your legs like a starving man. your lips part in shock.
but still, as toji works your pretty body to another orgasm, tongue shoved inside, cleaning this little pussy up, jaw slack as he gulps down his own cum. your fingers thread through his hair, tugging whenever he’d give your clit a mean rough suck, cheeks hollowing. his hand, grips your ass from behind, squeezing and slapping as he pleased, until you were falling apart.
afterwards, he cleaned you up. this time with some soap. his big hands roamed your body, every crevice and curve, hands massaging your breasts as he had your back pressed to his chest, chuckling when you’d whine. thumbs tugging playfully. hand rubbing between your legs, head tucked in your shoulder as he watches your smaller hands hold his forehead, face hot.
“toji,” you whine, embarrassed, as he teasing a finger against your hole again.
“what,” he smirks, watching your reactions, “I’m jus’ cleaning you up.”
he’s a fucking perv. but still, he teases you through the whole shower, keeping you close to his body and even letting you wash his back, admiring the muscles and ink that decorate his skin.
eventually, he steps out first, keeping you inside so he can grab an extra towel. his own wrapped around his waist.
that was the start of all of it.
three months later….
you and shoko are sitting out in the quad. table covered in assignments and forgotten laptops. all while you explained to shoko how your weekend went.
“no, we definitely got along. megumi is so cute!” you gush about the ten year old, describing how your first meeting went. toji had spoken about you enough to prepare megumi, waiting until the right time to introduce you both.
and now, you’re going to every single one of their soccer games, toji and megumi’s.
and eventually, after another hour passes by. a group of athletes comes walking down the path. covered in sweat, holding their duffles, and behind them is a very hot coach, already breaking into a smile when you jump up.
“toji!”
it was a routine. your arms thrown around his shoulders, as he lifts you up with one hand. zero regard for any pda, as he kisses you deeply. smiling as you hum, pecking him over and over.
“why do you guys look like that?” shoko grimaces, looking at gojo and geto who look far worse than the rest of the team that leave.
geto scowls, glaring at his best friend, “fucking coach overhead him again.”
shoko shakes her head, rolling her eyes, at the white haired idiot. “you need to stop—“
“it’s been three months and she’s not over that old man?!”
“he’s not even that old!” shoko defends.
but gojo scowls harder, glancing over his shoulder at you laughing and talking, hands animated, like the man in front of you was holding the world. “it’s always the mean girls.”
shoko frowns, “you’re messed up in the head.”
but even geto narrows his eyes when toji wraps a possessive arm around you, glaring up at the two players.
it was clear as day.
you’re his.
a/n: this was LOONG overdue, mb guys!!! but i hope you all enjoyed it!!! ahhhh i love coach toji sososososo much—like its a serious problem, i cant make reader behave normally when its toji, like she has to be obsessed with himmm
anyways, the next oneshot will def be the frat gojo fic! possibly thinking of frat geto after this oneshot too bc i put in some little easter eggs about how they both kinda lean into mean girls so stay tuned! — (divider by @/strangergraphics)
