Summary: Satoru Gojo is your plus one for the company Christmas Dinner, but he just DOES NOT like how your boss Sukuna looks at you. MDNI- smut- explicit semi public sex/play- Christmas PWP
A/N-I went to a company dinner and thought of this SMUT lmao, Gojo is possessive and a lil yandere- w.c. 1.2k
"I don't like how he's looking at you." Your boyfriend Satoru Gojo murmurs in your ear, as the Christmas music is playing in the fancy restaurant for your company's dinner. Satoru's wearing the sexiest pinstripe suit and black tie, and you're wearing a lacy little black dress as you stand along side the buffet table, sipping wine.
"You're so silly, looks at me how?" Your boss, Sukuna, smirks over at you, earning Satoru's grip even tighter against you. "Satoru..."
"One more smirk and I'm fucking you in front of your entire office." You gasp now, looking up at his bright blue eyes, as he tosses back the sweet moscato in one gulp.
"You're acting as if it's you ovulating. Swear." You tease, tugging at his tie now, he leans closer to you, barring you against the buffet table, you're getting so flushed, looking around, worried everyone can see. "Toru, baby..."
"Don't Toru baby me. I can smell how turned on you are, fuck." He practically inhales your neck, earning a smack on the shoulder.
"You can not, psycho. Wait till we get home-"
"Hello, my favorite employee." Mr. Sukuna comes up, grinning and raising his brows, ruby eyes glinting as you slip out from under your psycho boyfriend's hold.
"Mr. Sukuna, thank you so much for one year." You say with a smile, holding your hand out, but he pulls you in.
"No need to be so formal, now." He hugs you right in front of Satoru, his hands pressing against your back, and you don't see it, but he's smirking right at Satoru, as Satoru is scowling back. "And this is your boyfriend, huh?"
"Y-yes!" You clear your throat, stepping back to stare at your furious, handsome boyfriend, who's about to kill your boss now. You tug on his stiff arm. "Satoru Gojo, say hi."
"Hi." He speaks through his teeth, Sukuna chuckles.
"A man of few words. Well, do you care for a dance-"
"She's not feeling so great, think she needs some air."
"What now-ah!" Satoru's dragging you out of the banquet room, where some coworkers are dancing to jazzy music. "Just where are we going-"
Satoru has you in this stupidly fancy bathroom now, pressing you against the door, turning you and lifting up your skirt. You cry out softly as he starts kissing your neck, your shoulders, his teeth sinking into delicate skin. "You are mine, say it."
"Of course I'm yours... Satoru are you jealous!?" He scoffs, now your dress is up over your hips, the cool air of the bathroom breezing against overheated skin, you're wearing tights but he rips them, he fucking rips them.
"Not jealous, no, just need to fill my pretty girl up with me." He sinks two long fingers in your eager cunt, your head falls back against him, gasping now. "Fill you up so you're dripping my cum when he comes near you."
"Y-you- f-fuck!" You're whining now when Satoru turns you, pressing your back against the door now, your pretty black dress is shoved and scrunched as he kisses you, hot, messy and desperate. It's so insane you can't even get a breath, when your hands fumble with his belt of his slacks, watching his length spring out, already drooling with precum.
His eyes are so dilated they're damn near black, just a ring of blue, his fingers back to pumping and curling in your cunt, breath against your lips, sweet like wine. "Say you're mine baby."
"M'yours Toru- ah!" He picks you up like you're nothing now, you cling to his jacket, fingertips pressing against his shoulders, crying out weakly when his pink tip presses on your swollen little clit. "Here!? Are you crazy?!"
"Crazy for you, gonna knock you the fuck up here and now." You gasp when he sinks his full length inside your soppy pussy, you're drooling down his lenth as he slams your head against the heavy wooden door, stretching and filling you so good you can't fucking think.
"Mine, mine, mine." He mutters, his eyes fucking insane, lips parted, sinking deeper and deeper into you, until you're shattering, so close when his curved tip drags on your spot. "Gonna cum for me aren't you baby?"
You just nod, letting him fuck into you harder, his lips slam on yours, his big hands pressing into your hips, his lips do nothing to muffle the cries however. He's abusing your cervix, whispering nonsense, psychotic, needy, insane nonsense, that just makes you that much closer.
"Gonna cum f'me, huh baby?" You whine, and he chuckles, breath against your ear as he fucks you deeper and harder. "That's it, lemme feel you, you can do it."
You cover your mouth with a hand, screaming out, head whacking the door so hard it hurts, but the orgasm rocking your body eliminates it all. You're pulsing aroung Satoru's veiny cock, and he groans now, biting your neck again, a hand slipping up to your breast, squishing it in his huge grip as he starts pumping hot cum in you.
"Fill you s'fuckin... full you..." He whimpers in your ear as his hot sticky white cum coats your walls, you're trembling, sweaty and fucking destroyed as it brings you again, now he keeps pumping, the squishing lewd and insane in the big fancy bathroom. "Oh my god... baby..."
"You're fucking crazy, I swear I c-can't bring you anywhere." You huff now, as he eases you down, cupping your face gently like he didn't just rip your tights and fuck you on a bathroom door.
"I'm sorry baby I lost it." He pouts now all cute, blinking snowy lashes at you. "You're too sexy I'm sorry."
You sigh now, adjusting your dress, feeling his cum drip down your thighs as you do. "You have nothing to worry about, I love you, crazy ass."
"Promise?" He pouts more, puppy dog eyes melting you.
"I promise. I only want you." He moans, kissing you softly, again and again as he calms, stroking your back gently. "Can you behave for the rest of the party?"
Satoru nods, but he's eyeing the bruise he just gave your neck, the little bit of wrinkle to your dress, your kissed off red lips, smirking now. You head back to the dinner, and when Sukuna talks to you again, Satoru knows that his cum is dripping from your bare cunt, with nothing to stop it from sticking to your thighs, giving him much more comfort.
You look at him with a curious little smile, your perfect hair is just a little messy, he brushes it back when he sits down for dinner with you, and another co worker, Nanami is eyeing you, smiling. Satoru decides to push his cum back in your pussy right under the thick white table cloth, enjoying how you struggle to maintain normal small talk, while you're drooling down his fingertips.
"Satoru I will never take you anywhere again." You hiss in his ear as you all walk out that night, waiting on the Valet to get Satoru's car, you're wearing his suit jacket and trembling in the chilled night, cunt throbbing.
"Merry Christmas?" He teases, a giant grin, but you're scowling, he will have to fix that tonight.
Lmao I would be concocting Satoru smut at my company dinner 😭
౨ৎ experienced!sukuna x virgin f!reader
[adult boutique au] - ongoing series
❝ chasing your dreams isn't all it's cracked up to be. your apartment shakes when the train passes and eating a scoop of peanut butter and calling it girl dinner is getting depressing. when you finally manage to land a job at a store that sells sex toys, it's possibly the biggest relief of your life. there's just one issue:
you're a virgin.
you don't know the first thing about toys and you don't want your cute and flirty white-haired co-worker to know. against your better judgement, you find yourself turning to your other co-worker for lessons and learn the hard way he's just as much of an asshole in bed as he is at work. ❞
౨ৎ cw ; mdni, 18+ only. fwb but you aren't friends. slow burn romance/fast burn smut. sukuna is 23ish, reader is 24/25ish. reader is sexually reserved but confident, nerdy, and a band geek. arrogant!sukuna. mild love triangle with gojo. dom!sukuna. mild corruption. size difference. sex toys & explorations of safety in kinks. smut & piv. virginity loss. see masterlist for full cw.
౨ৎ wc ; 9.4k.
౨ৎ art ; ackshuallyvalerie
main masterlist || series masterlist || next ⪢
There comes a point where you have to wonder if you just aren’t meant to be applying for jobs. The amount of rejection emails and calls you’ve gotten is staggering, and that doesn’t even begin to touch on the amount of applications that simply haven’t gotten a reply.
‘We regret to inform you’ feels like a personal attack at this point.
Sitting outside this particular store, however, has you questioning if maybe you just aren’t cut out for work at all.
It’s not like you expected a paying gig right out the gate when you moved to the big city to chase your dream of becoming a musician, but you at least figured you would be able to get something that pays in the meantime.
At this point, every rejection is a shot straight to the heart.
You applied to every store you could find with a hiring ad. Both online and in-person, skipping over the occasional store that you felt you weren’t cut out for. Now, it’s come to the point where you don’t have the luxury to be picky.
Still, the shoe store that wouldn’t hire you? At least you have shoes, even if they’re worn-in Vans and Converse for the most part.
The reception job at the law firm? It’s not like you have a degree or can cite any, but you know general laws.
This? You sigh as your gaze traces the letters across the failing light box, deep red letters spelling out Adult Boutique.
It’s not that you have anything against it.
It’s that you’ve never used a sex toy.
Hell, you don’t know the first thing about them.
You’ve never even had sex before.
Sighing, you throw your head back against the headrest of your old rusting sedan and take a moment to breathe in the harsh disappointment of chasing your dreams. Your hands settle in your lap as you set aside any reservations you have, snatching your resumé from the passenger’s seat and shutting the door behind you. You walk with as much confidence as you can muster into the shop, but it’s almost humiliating how far out of your wheelhouse you are when you’re met with the interior. For as confident as you are, it drains from you in an instant.
Humiliation is a kink though, right?
“ID?” You pause in the doorway before you can get much of a look at the store, staring at a man with piercing blue eyes and white hair. He’s handsome, maybe a year younger than you, and his friendly smile is horribly infectious.
You stand like a deer in the headlights, your lips caught in an embarrassing ‘o’ before your mind catches up. ID. You’re in an age-restricted store. Right.
“Shoot–” Your hands fly down to your pockets, reaching for the wallet…
… That you left in the car.
Your jaw hangs ajar at the realization, warmth climbing from the back of your neck to the tips of your ears as the handsome clerk’s startlingly blue eyes pin you in place.
You shut your eyes, biting down on your lower lip. “I’ll be right back.”
In the midst of your walk of shame back to your car across the street, every thought reminds you that you could just leave. You could forget this ever happened and simply accept you aren’t getting the job. The fact that your wallet is so empty that you left it in your unlocked car in a shady part of town serves as a reminder that, again, you don’t exactly have the luxury of being picky.
With a forlorn sigh and a drag of your hands down your face, you put on your best confident smile and make your way back inside. The clerk grins as you hand over your ID, leaning over the counter on forearms that you swear you’re not staring at.
They’re just veiny.
And incredibly hot.
“Sorry,” you sigh as you pocket your ID again.
“Don’t worry about it,” there’s a small wave of his hand to brush you off, and when you look up to meet his eyes, there’s a particularly sultry look to his gaze. It’s enough to warm your cheeks again, and you can only pray he doesn’t notice how much you’ve been staring. “Looking for anything in particular?” He bears a lopsided tilt to his grin that sets your nerves further alight as your stomach ties in knots under the handsome stranger’s gaze.
It’s gotta be a bad combination to be clueless on everything around you and thinking about the hot man in front of you rather than the job you’re applying for.
Shaking your head to center yourself, you put on your best smile. “Yeah, actually.” The man’s expression changes to intrigue as you hand over your resumé. His eyes skim it, brows raising.
He gives you a once-over, setting the paper down with a more genuine grin. “We could use the help,” he admits. “The owner’ll be in tomorrow morning, I’ll have her give you a call.”
That’s the most positive response you’ve received to an application thus far. Although you find yourself nervously eyeing a bottle of G-Spot Stimulating Gel on the counter that you don’t know the first thing about, you’re honestly relieved that things could be looking up. You can handle this job with a bit of research, surely.
“That would be great,” you offer a smile. “Thank you.”
–
So, the good news is that you have a job. The bad news is that you still don’t know the first thing about what you’re selling. Admittedly, you probably should have done some research or looked over the product offerings on the store’s site, but somewhere between preparation for a new job and trying to sleep through the train shaking your apartment every few minutes, you forgot.
The kind woman who interviewed you over the phone and the store’s owner– Jillian– greets you at the door as you push into the store. Her graying hair is curled tightly at her roots, her eyes wrinkled at the corner and kind. She wears a pale pink wool sweater that compliments her lip gloss, standing at about the same height as you. She’s old enough to retire and still gorgeous all-the-same.
“Welcome, dear,” she smiles brilliantly at the sight of you, ushering you towards the front counter with a hand on your shoulder. “I appreciate the help, it’ll be nice to step back from the counter and keep my job behind-the-scenes.”
“I’m happy to help,” you reply with a kind grin, keeping up your best customer service attitude. As she leads you behind the counter, your eyes flick to the two tall men standing behind the counter. You recognize the first as the hot white-haired man who accepted your resumé. Cheery, charming, and strikingly handsome with toned muscles visible from under his white t-shirt.
The man beside doesn’t bear the same welcoming nature. In fact, they’re the definition of polar opposites.
Standing a couple of inches taller than the one you recognize, he has black hair that must be dyed, pink roots standing out like a rose among thorns. His ears are pierced in a multitude of ways with matching brow and lip piercings and tattoos that travel up the back of his neck, reaching his jaw. He’s in far darker and more casual clothes, arms crossed over his broad and built chest with his hip leaned on the counter, and a look of mild disinterest that does no favors for your nerves.
Where the white-haired man bears a friendly smile and a button-up that makes him look ready for a job in a cubicle, his black-haired colleague is very clearly assessing your every move, and looks like he could be on-stage at a dingy bar.
She introduces you to the men, earning a grin from the one you recognize and… nothing from the man with black-dyed hair.
“I’ll be in every couple of days to do the cash deposit,” she explains. “I’ll also drop by to check on the office and put together paperwork, but Satoru–” she points to the white-haired man who casually salutes in greeting, “and Ryomen–” her hand waves towards the frowning man who doesn’t react save for a glance at the older woman, “will train you. Satoru usually does the opening shift and Ryomen does the closing shift. We’re closed Mondays and Tuesdays, but you’ll work the rest of the week.” You’re grateful for the consistency, if nothing else. “You’ll take the midday Wednesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays, you’ll be alone for a bit while the boys are in classes, and you’ll take the closing shifts on weekends to help Ryomen during busy hours.”
His gaze, a crimson so striking you have half a mind to wonder if they’re contacts, flicks to you, indiscernible, then back to Jillian.
“You won’t be alone while you train of course though, the boys and I will cover until you’re comfortable being alone.” She pats you once on the shoulder. “Does that work for you, dear?”
“Not a problem at all,” you nod. You clasp your hands together politely.
“Perfect!” She claps once in glee, clearly happy to step away from serving customers. You can understand that sentiment. “I’ll grab your paperwork.”
Satoru’s gaze follows her as she heads for the back room, then turns cheerily to you. “Hey, newbie!” He steps forward from the counter, outstretching his hand. “Nice to meet you.” Shaking his hand, you match his grin. “Well, by name anyway.”
You turn your expectations to Ryomen, who doesn’t move from the spot he’s standing in. His weight shifts to the other hip, still leaning against the counter when he juts his chin out in less of a greeting and more of an acknowledgement. “Hey.”
“Nice to meet you, Ryomen.” You give him a little wave.
“Sukuna,” he corrects you. His words aren’t sharp per se, but they carry a blunt edge. “Only the old lady can call me Ryomen.” His voice is as gruff as his style and stature, fitting of the brutish impression he gives off. His slightly narrowed eyes give off the notion that he’s evaluating you. Reading you.
With a tight-lipped smile, Satoru scratches at the back of his head. He shoots you an apologetic glance as you uncomfortably gather that this isn’t unusual for Sukuna.
“Got it, sorry.” You offer an apologetic smile, which he accepts with a nod.
Satoru steps forward to save you from the interaction, motioning with his head out to the store’s floor. “Why don’t I show you around?”
You nod gratefully, letting him lead you away from the counter. Sukuna’s gaze is quick to drop to the counter as he leans over a book of some sort, his chin resting atop his hand. You turn your attention back to Satoru as he leads you through the long back area of the store
A colorful assortment of dildos and vibrators line the walls of the first aisle, anything from glass to silicone in different shapes and size varieties. The light in the far corner flickers when you step into the aisle, faux wood creaking under-foot. The store has that sort of old strip mall feel where, although well-maintained, its age is evident in the old fixtures and failing lights.
“Sorry about him,” Satoru’s voice is a near-whisper as he shakes his head. His hair falls in front of those striking blue eyes as he leads the way down each aisle. You’re not sure you’d really call it showing you around, but you’re certainly walking the floor. “He’s uhhh–” he waves his hand through the air as he searches for the right term. “Moody, or something.” He chuckles. “I don’t know, you get used to it. Don’t take it personally.”
“He doesn’t seem like a customer service person,” you admit sheepishly, keeping your voice down.
Satoru does no favors keeping his own down as he barks a laugh. “No, not really, hey? He’s Jillian’s friend’s son, so–” he shrugs as you mentally connect the dots that landed him this job. “It’s an easy enough gig and honestly business is slow.”
“That’s a shame,” you offer, mostly for Jillian’s sake, although you don’t mind it being slow.
“I said it was slow, not bad,” he grins, eyes narrowing to that sultry gaze he shot you when you dropped off your resumé last week. “We have a lot of regulars. People who spend a lot. You’ll recognize them in time.” He shoves his hands in his pockets. “It’ll be nice to have some company for the end of my shifts,” he adds, tilting his head to eye you. He crosses his arms over his chest, catching your attention as you glance at his muscles just long enough to consider yourself caught. He takes the opportunity and swings with it. “I’m looking forward to getting to know you.” His voice drops a tone, the flirty lilt warming the tips of your ears.
“Yeah, it’ll be nice to get to know you too.”
Jillian returns with paperwork before Satoru can take the opportunity to flirt any further– but you get the feeling he will. It seems to go hand-in-hand with his personality. Once everything is signed and Satoru has headed off for class, Jillian leaves training in Sukuna’s hands as she retreats to the back to file your paperwork.
Sukuna’s gaze is a slow drag down your form as he evaluates the dark blouse and nice jeans you chose to wear. Admittedly, you now feel a little overdressed given his relative comfort and ripped jeans, but in spite of the judgement clear as day in his eyes, he keeps it to himself. At least, as long as you don’t count the frown he bears. You can’t really tell if that’s meant for you or if that’s his neutral expression.
With a sigh, he shuts whatever book is on the counter behind him and gives you a rundown in short, clipped sentences. “Floor work first, cash after. You worked cash before?”
You nod, though the register looks fairly old here.
He gives a hum of approval. “Good. The floor's pretty self-explanatory. Everything is ordered by brand, then color. Shipments Mondays and Thursdays. Back room for any overstock.” He points over his shoulder to where Jillian disappeared as he lays out instructions like facts. “No clock system. Just work when you work. Pay is every second Friday. You’ll get a check.”
Again, you nod.
His gaze travels the length of your figure, but it doesn’t feel as though he’s checking you out. It’s an evaluation. And you’re pretty sure you’re failing before you’ve had the chance to start. “I don’t care what you do when customers aren’t around. Study, read, go on your phone. I don’t give a shit.”
“Oh, okay. That’s kinda nice.”
His tone is apathetic as he hums in agreement. “I didn’t have time last night and I know Satoru’s lazy ass didn’t clean this morning, so I’ll get you to organize the shibari while I put some shit away.”
You nod, slipping away from the counter onto the floor. His gaze tracks you as you very unconfidently thread through the rows in search of shibari. To your horror, nothing is well-labeled, which means there isn’t a distinct section with some big flashy sign to point you in the direction of a kink you don’t know the name of.
“It’s at the back,” Sukuna’s low voice calls out. Biting down on your lip, you move towards the back of the store, your gaze trailing along the wall. There are a number of bondage devices you can’t name, ropes that you assume go with bondage, and chains and whips that all feel bondage-adjacent.
So, more or less, you’re still at a loss.
Really failing that evaluation now.
Behind you, Sukuna is replacing products that were atop the counter at the front, but his movements stop when he fixes you with his narrowed gaze. “The ropes,” he points them out on the wall with displeasure prickling around the edge of his sandpaper-scraped voice. Now that you look at them, it feels obvious given how out of order they are.
“I know!” Heat flares beneath your skin in all the wrong places. Still, you won’t let him get to you. “I was just looking.”
He doesn’t reply, his crimson gaze boring into your expression so hard that you’re pretty sure he can see right through you.
At least you can’t fuck up the organization of the ropes.
Quietly sucking in a breath, you turn to the wall, pulling down the plastic-covered rope bundles that are out of place.
“So,” you turn your gaze over your shoulder. “You’re in school?”
“Mhm.”
“What are you taking?”
“Business.”
He’s difficult, too. Great.
Once the ropes are in a more sound order, you spin on your heel to face him. He’s already turning away, moving to a different area to put away a vibrator.
“Can I–”
“Here.” He tosses a bottle of lube at you, caught clumsily in unexpecting fingers. “Put that away, too.”
Pressing your lips into a tight line, you nod, more to yourself than him. At least you know what lube is.
You search the store for the spot where it belongs, twisting it on the shelf so the label faces out, then make your way to the counter where Sukuna’s already standing over his book again. Before you have the opportunity to speak, the bell over the door rings as a customer walks through the door. She’s around your age, and quickly flashes ID towards Sukuna, who nods.
A regular, you suppose.
The tattooed clerk’s eyes trail to you, jutting his chin out expectantly towards the customer.
Making your way up to the woman with cute blonde hair cut short, you fall into your customer service voice. “Can I help you find anything?”
“Hi!” She beams at you, her smile putting your first day nerves at ease. “Thank you, but I know where most things are,” she waves you off politely. “I appreciate it, though!” She moves past you towards the back of the store, whirling around suddenly as her gaze shifts between you and Sukuna. “Oh, actually, did you get any more of the cherry stimulants in?”
You turn your attention to Sukuna, who fixes you with a lazy unsure expression. “She can check for you.” He leans his hip on the counter again, arms crossed over his chest as he faces you. “It’ll be in the back. They come in a box with a cherry logo on them.”
Worrying your lip between your teeth, you nod as you make your way to the back.
Truthfully, the cramped room is a bit of a relief from the uncomfortable tension Sukuna just seems to naturally exude. Him and Satoru are big personalities in the most opposite way you can possibly imagine, but at least Satoru is willing to chat.
Jillian glances over her shoulder from an old computer at the back of the room. “Everything going well, dear?”
“Yeah,” you grin, though truthfully this already feels like a disaster where you’re being scornfully judged by your colleague and accidentally making enemies on day one. With one of the only people you work with. So that’s great. “There’s just someone looking for stimulants.”
She shifts in her chair, doing a once-over of the boxes. “Not back here. There’s an inventory list on this computer that you can usually use, but I don’t want to lose progress on your files. Can you ask Ryomen to check the holds drawer? Satoru might have put some on hold if he knew they were looking.”
“Sure, thank you!”
With a grateful smile, you head back to the front and relay the information to Sukuna.
“Holds drawer’s there.” He points to a handle on the lower inside of the counter. Within are a number of boxes and small sachet packs. “Mm, there they are.”
Clearly one of the sachet packs is what she’s looking for. Unfortunately, they all fail to say exactly what they are on the front with bright and bold brands rather than descriptors or even a damn cherry logo, which means you haven’t the faintest clue what you’re looking at.
“The orange one,” Sukuna adds when you’re still paused staring at the drawer. There’s an unimpressed lilt to his tone that has you wincing before you pull the sachet pack from the drawer. You do what you can to keep your expression neutral and feign confidence when you stand upright again.
The whole situation is tense and embarrassing. It might at least be tolerable with Satoru, but Sukuna either enjoys your suffering or he’s an asshole.
The unfortunate third possible option is both.
His grimace as you set the pack in his hand isn’t lost on you, although you choose to head towards the register in hopes that he can at least teach you how it works and you can get on with this day. He chooses not to say a word to you as the customer finishes looking around, returning to the front with a rose-shaped vibrator.
“Ooh, thank you!” She grins as she spots the packet at the register.
Sukuna nods, glancing over his shoulder to make sure you’re paying attention. “Just type the amounts into the register,” he explains, putting both prices from the stickers into the old machine. Once he hits the equals button, the cash drawer pops open as he gets the total and it calculates tax for him. The customer flashes a card, so Sukuna shuts the drawer and types the amount into the machine to his right. “While she pays, get the serials on each tag and write them here,” he explains, pulling the number from each barcode and writing them on a pad of paper left of the register. Once her payment is processed, a receipt prints, which he hands to her, keeping the second copy under the till. Finally, he bags the items.
She thanks him, giving you a polite little wave and retreating out the door.
You let out a breath, nodding. “The register seems easy enough,” you try more friendly commentary in spite of his half-assed teaching, but you suppose by now you shouldn’t expect Sukuna to be receptive. He hums, a judgemental flash in his eyes as he pins you in place with a narrowed gaze like he can see something you can’t.
He works his jaw in a slow grind of teeth like he wants to say something but thinks better of it, dropping your gaze. “I’ve got to study. There’s not much else to the job besides that, so keep yourself busy.”
Thankfully the rest of the day passes without much of a hitch and you’re able to leave as evening hits, with Sukuna staying to close the store.
He doesn’t give you another word for the remainder of the day. He doesn’t expect you to handle customers. He handles the till. He doesn’t even look at you as you let him know your shift is over. You aren’t sure whether to be grateful or dread the rest of your shifts with him, but thankfully you’re able to spend more time with Satoru tomorrow.
Given that you’re off a couple of hours before close, you use the opportunity to stake out local bars with stages and take note of a small pub tucked away in a little corner. The outside has a sign that doesn’t light up in the night’s cover, but within it’s rather warm, with string lights hung over a stage in the back. While you work on your online presence, it’s the perfect spot to get your stage skills up.
The thick metal of the door is cool on your hand, creaking on its hinge as you press through to the interior warmth. There’s a small two-man group on-stage performing low-energy grunge that seem to be garnering decent attention from onlookers and groups you would be willing to bet are regulars based on the way they move around the small scene.
Adjusting your jacket over your shoulder, you make your way to the bar. The bartender looks to be a couple of years senior to you, with short brown hair kept neat aside from a couple of stray strands that fall over his forehead. He has a prominent nose and sunken eyes that give him an overall air of tiredness.
The apron he wears over a clean-cut button-up pulls taut across his chest as he reaches overhead to set a bottle of whiskey along the back wall before turning his attention to you with a polite smile. “What can I get for you?”
“Oh, um, actually,” you begin with a polite smile, “I was wondering who I need to impress to be up there.” You point to the grunge band at the back as his gaze follows you.
He hums, his calm demeanor shifting from the routine of bartending to something more friendly. “I can give you the owner’s email. If you fit in with the crowd, he’ll work with your schedule.”
Casting another glance at the two men on-stage, you nod, chewing on your lip in an effort to hide your giddy smile. “That’d be great. So… what– a little moody, kind of chill? Maybe some minor chords in there?”
The bartender chuckles, picking up a glass like routine simply fills his subconscious. “Sounds to me like you’ve already got the gig.”
Leaving behind the smell of drowned sorrows and shared laughter, you can hold onto the fact that while your day took a turn for the worst, it’s just a job. Once you leave the building, you don’t have to think about it and can focus on music. Sukuna isn’t the end of the world and if you can manage to stay out of his hair, surely you can find some sort of common ground with him.
–
Wind whips too fast across the street when you lock your car behind you. Your unzipped coat flails in the wind, leaving you with a flustered expression as the shop door slams shut behind you.
“Hey newbie,” Satoru greets you with an amused grin. You flash him a smile as you smooth down your outfit, far more casual than the previous one with jeans and a band shirt. “How was yesterday?” He asks, wiping down the counter and tossing the wipe in a garbage as he claps his hands together to brush them off.
The chuckle that parts your lips is half-hearted as you drop your laptop bag atop the front counter. “Kind of a disaster?” You wince, shaking your head. “Is he seriously always like that?”
Satoru stands upright, running a hand through white locks. “He gets better when you get to know him, but yeah he’s kind of an asshole,” he laughs brightly, unbothered. “I’m pretty sure he thinks he’s all that and a bag of chips.”
“Sure, if the chips are sour,” you mutter.
Satoru snickers, nodding. “What happened anyway?”
“I didn’t immediately know where everything is without being shown,” you wave a hand through the air, letting it hang there for a moment in disbelief.
Satoru, unphased, grins. “Oh, yeah. Sounds like a classic case of not running on Sukuna’s schedule. You should really get on that.”
You throw your head back with a sigh, giving a dismissive wave of your hands. “Whatever, it’s a new day, right? Maybe it won’t be so bad today.”
Satoru teasingly sucks in a breath through his teeth. “Sorry newbie, but my sources are telling me today’s weather is looking cloudy in Sukuna-land.”
Satoru’s unseriousness helps settle a modicum of your nerves as you find yourself laughing at his charm.
“But hey, you’ve got me for a couple of hours first.” He grins, settling the balls of his palms atop the counter as he leans his weight back. One of his sleeves, rolled to the elbow, slides down his forearm to his wrist. “What did he go over with you, anyway?”
You laugh loosely. “Like, nothing. He gave me a thirty second run-down of the till and told me I don’t need to clock in or out.”
“That’s gold,” Satoru shakes his head in an effort to get hair from falling into his line of sight. “I thought he’d be nicer to a pretty girl like you.” His face lights up as you avert your eyes, smiling at the scuffed floor underfoot. He keeps the conversation flowing like it’s second nature. “Tell you what, I’ll actually try to show you around before he gets here, and you can tell me what brought you to the city.”
Recovering quickly, you fix him with a humbled expression at the callout. “Is it that obvious that I’m not from here?”
Satoru barks a laugh. “Yeah. You’ve got small town energy.”
“Small town energy? What does that even mean?” You follow him out from behind the counter as he leads the way to the back room first.
“Just vibes,” he shrugs. “It’s good. Cute,” he grins. You get the feeling he’s a bit of a flirt through and through, but truthfully you enjoy the attention.
Plus, he’s hot.
“Thanks,” you murmur with a bashful smile, chewing on your lip. “I uh– I wanted to give my dream a shot before tying myself down in a career I hate.”
His eyes light up as he turns to you with a palm on the door handle for the back room. “Oh yeah? What’s your dream?”
“Singing. Music,” you admit, feeling just shy enough that you avert your gaze in spite of your giddiness.
“No way.” He’s grinning widely now, his hand leaving the door handle as he chooses to lean against it instead, arms crossed tantalizingly over his chest. “I feel like I’m obligated to be the annoying guy who asks you to sing for me now.”
You laugh heartily. “At least you know it would make you that guy.”
With a chuckle, he finally turns around to lead the way into the back room. He peppers actual explanations of the job’s inner workings between personal questions.
After explaining the inventory system on the back computer and how boxes are organized, he leads the way back through the aisles, pointing out different sections as you walk. “So, do you take gigs between shifts?”
“When I can,” you nod. “I’m trying to put together the money to get some studio time soon. I have some self-recorded stuff, but I don’t think I’m much of a producer.”
“Will you at least tell me what genre?”
“Um,” you shrug thoughtfully, “I guess like punk or indie rock?”
“Oooh, so you’re a moody guitar girl. I like it, I like it.” He nods his approval with a wide grin. The faintest of dimples forms at the corners of his lips, giving him a charmingly boyish smile.
Your genuine shared laughter sends flutters to the pit of your stomach, warm and welcome, as you finish threading through aisles and head back to the front counter. Satoru pushes up on forearms that flex under his weight as he settles atop the counter. You follow suit on the opposite counter, head tilting as you inquire about him.
“Jillian mentioned you’re in school, what are you taking?”
“Business,” he replies with a lopsided smile.
“Oh, like Sukuna?”
“Damn, you got an answer out of him?” Satoru chuckles. “Yeah, he’s a year ahead of me but we’re in the same program. I think he wants to do the whole company startup thing though, I’m looking to kinda take over for Jillian and eventually buy this place if things work out. She’s holding out until I finish.”
Your brow raises as you fix him with an inquisitive look. “You wanna take over here?”
“Don’t sound so shocked,” he chides, gaze lidded with an almost-cocky attitude. “Don’t get me wrong, I know it doesn’t seem busy even with online orders, but I actually think there’s a huge untapped market here.” He straightens and you can see the passion and drive gleaming in his eager gaze. “I think the way sex toys are sold both online and in-stores is outdated and makes a lot of people feel uncomfortable and I want to try to do something new to help people feel more comfortable and open in terms of sex.”
You blink, nodding at the insightful way that he goes on to explain the ins and outs of his opinion on the industry and how, although he loves Jillian, he can see a lot of ways to use his knowledge to improve the business and hopes to change the way kinks are viewed.
It’s not like it hasn’t occurred to you just how inexperienced you are, but as you nod along to his passionate explanation, it occurs to you just how experienced he is. He doesn’t say it outright, but he talks about the way condoms are made and how bad they can be for some people, how he hopes to bring in products for people who struggle with medication killing their sex drive, and even the intricacies of what products work well and which don’t and how he would love to stop stocking them altogether.
It shouldn’t come as a shock– it doesn’t– after all, he’s hot and flirty, but it certainly gives the butterflies in your stomach an edge that you aren’t sure what to make of. It’s not uncomfortable– Satoru’s still kind and has a welcoming personality– it’s closer to inadequacy. Like you should know more, and not just for job purposes. It doesn’t sit well.
But you shouldn’t be thinking about your coworker like that anyway, right?
Thankfully, before you can think too hard about the subject, Sukuna walks through the door with a heavy step to his boots.
Maybe ‘thankfully’ doesn’t suit his arrival, though. His gaze flits briefly between each of you before he heads straight to the back, giving you both a noncommittal wave as you greet him.
When the door shuts behind the brute, Satoru turns to you. He grimaces, faux empathy shining in cerulean seas. “The weather report was right.”
The day passes so quickly with Satoru even without a single customer entering the store that the rest of the day feels like a slog without him. Or maybe it just feels like a slog because Sukuna makes it clear he wants nothing to do with you. He even stayed in the back until Satoru had to leave in spite of the changes in their regular schedules just to train you.
He’s not even that unfriendly with Satoru either from what the kinder of the two told you. He tried to reason that your tattooed co-worker simply isn’t fond of new people, but you’re pretty sure your inexperience grates on his nerves.
And unfortunately, every little slip up seems to tack on. Your shifts with Satoru are a breeze that leaves you grinning bashfully over your new crush while your shifts with Sukuna have you questioning every life choice you’ve ever made.
Your first weekend closing shift with Sukuna, you’re pretty sure you confirm your suspicions that he simply doesn’t like you.
The bell rings overhead as a tall man with dark hair walks through the door. You greet him and offer a hand, but his gait is purposeful as he heads into the back after flashing ID. Passing the time by fiddling with a pen as Sukuna stares blankly at the door with a hand lazily strewn over his textbook page, your gaze lifts when the man returns.
“Excuse me. Do you know the difference between this–” he shows you a bullet vibrator, “and this?” He holds up a hitachi wand next, “aside from size?”
Your jaw hangs open stupidly as you try to formulate a response but find yourself at a loss when size seems like the reasonable answer. Feeling your face flush, you glance sidelong at the business major.
If looks could kill.
The worst part? It’s not even glare.
It’s the most unfiltered and raw disappointment you’ve ever seen.
He huffs, pushing up from the counter. “The bullet is discreet but weak. It takes batteries and they usually only last for five hours overall. It’s still a good amount of use, but they might be watch batteries, which can be a pain.” He shoots you a pointed stare that makes you wonder if you would rather have just embarrassed yourself in front of Satoru in spite of your crush. “The wand is rechargeable, way stronger, lasts about fifteen hours, and has a lot more vibration modes,” he explains confidently.
The man nods, setting the bullet aside as he brings the wand to the counter. Over the course of the past few days, Sukuna’s taken most of the floor-related duties away from you in spite of the fact that you have tried to do some research and are getting to know the sections and general genres of toys. That question simply didn’t come up. Yet for all of the times he’s made a motion for you to take over cash, he doesn’t even offer it this time.
You get the feeling this goes beyond his usual irritation.
You can practically feel it radiating off of him in waves of negative energy.
The moment the customer walks out the door, Sukuna’s palm splays across the counter as he turns with frustrating evenness to face you. Somehow his ability to keep his actions level while being visibly affronted is worse than if he would have just yelled.
“Do you think you’re cute for making my job harder or did you just apply for the wrong fucking job?”
Okay. Fuck this guy.
“You can’t be serious right now.”
He lifts his hands in a loose shrug. “Do I look like I’m kidding?” He replies, dry and even with venomous fangs.
You scoff, but relent nonetheless given that he is close to the store’s owner and you can not afford to lose this job.
Literally.
You can’t call a scoop of peanut butter dinner again.
“Look, I’m sorry, this is just–” you hesitate, your mind muddled as you search for an explanation. Sighing in exasperation, you throw your hands up, letting them fall to your sides with a plop against your jeans. You settle on the truth before you take too long to reply. “Sex toys are new to me.”
His jaw ticks as he leans his hip back against the counter, arms crossing over his chest. Somehow, he makes Satoru look small– not thin or short, but small– given how much bulkier he is. He’s hot too, but his personality stands as a bit of a wall between you. His jaw works, eyes narrowed as he takes in your words.
At last, he chuckles. Dry and devoid of any amusement. “Why the fuck did you apply here if you don’t know anything about the shit we sell?”
“Because I need a job?” You reply incredulously.
He huffs a sigh. “Just my fucking luck.” He turns back to the register, haphazardly tossing the receipt into a small bin under the counter before he grabs the bullet vibrator and heads out onto the floor. “Figure that shit out,” he calls sourly without looking back at you. “Watch porn or buy something, I don’t give a shit. Just don’t make my job harder.”
Leaning back against the counter where it meets the wall, you let your head fall back in disbelief.
Asshole.
–
You wish you could say your first month passes seamlessly, but Sukuna makes the seams painfully obvious.
With Satoru, they’re subtle but you still feel them.
They both present separate problems.
Sukuna is an outright asshole and you want to get things right if only to not hear his virulent voice. The silence is somehow better.
Satoru is kind, open, and caring, but leagues ahead of you in experience and you have a massive crush. There aren’t enough customers in the morning to embarrass yourself in front of him, but you do find yourself wanting to impress him and against your better judgement, you’re pretty sure you’ve given him the impression you know what you’re doing from what little research you’ve done and what you’ve picked up over the month.
At least you’re trained enough that you get a couple of hours to yourself between Satoru’s departure and Sukuna’s arrival now that their hours aren’t extended in order to train you.
“You gonna be okay on your own?” Satoru asks, shrugging his jacket over his shoulder.
“I’ll be fine,” you brush him off with a smile.
He nudges your arm, unknowingly sending goosebumps in a trail up your skin. “Good. Text me if you need something. Or, I dunno. If you’re bored.”
Your heart does a little flip. “Yeah. Okay, thanks.”
You watch bashfully as he leaves, offering a little wave. Once he’s out of sight, you lean on your forearms over the counter. With a forlorn sigh, you drop your chin to the vinyl below, staring blankly out the window. Truthfully, it’s nice to have a breather between each man. You need the time to prepare yourself to handle Sukuna.
Your mind’s distraction comes in the form of your phone buzzing a few minutes later.
1:36 PM Satoru || not bored yet? ;)
A distraction to be sure. Whether it’s fortunate or not– yet to be determined.
The door seems to be opening more and more with him these days and as giddy as that makes you, nerves are beginning to show more and more at the seams. It’s foolish really, and you know that, but you find yourself constantly coming back to your lack of experience.
1:37 PM You || Give me like 5 more minutes and then I will be
You can practically hear the laugh he barks, having grown fond of his company.
You’re still casually texting back and forth when Sukuna’s shoulder presses on the door. He moves confidently through the shop, casting a single glance at you before dropping his bag off in the back room.
He’s still a pain in the ass, but Satoru was right that you do get used to it. You’re not sure that you’d call that a win, but at least you’ve come to some sort of silent agreement with him out of sheer necessity.
He didn’t leave you with many options after realizing just how little you know about the industry. When he got in the following day and returned your greeting with a painfully mild ‘don’t bother’, you had to figure out some sort of system that would prevent him from interacting with you altogether if it means his attitude is milder.
That’s how you landed here. He handles the floor and questions, you handle cash. You can tell he hates the arrangement given that he’s not a chatty guy, but at least you aren’t pinned in place by his vile appraisal every time you interact.
He’s civil.
Civil enough.
Most of the time.
For him, anyway.
He’s less judgemental, at least, and when you are able to help on the floor, he tends to leave you be more often than not. It’s like the loosest form of appreciation you can think of.
You’re pretty sure ‘tolerates’ is a fitting word for how he sees you. Like some sort of intrusive insect that sits just out of reach.
When he re-emerges from the back with his coat shrugged off, you’re surprised to see him in a black button-up and slacks, carrying his usual aloof expression as he makes his way to the counter. Admittedly, it’s a good look for him.
It’s unfair that he gets to be hot and an asshole.
“Is there a reason you’re staring?”
Thank god you don’t find him intimidating anymore. He’s a dick. Even to customers from time to time, but you don’t find yourself feeling small under his judgement. Maybe you should, but your ability to quickly bounce back could easily be placed at fault.
Blinking, you avert your gaze. “Sorry. I’m just not used to seeing you so dressed up.”
He examines your expression as though he suspects a lie in your words. “I had a presentation,” he explains, surprisingly open as he offers the explanation willingly.
Holy shit. It’s the first sunny day in the Sukuna forecast.
“What sort of presentation?”
“A marketing pitch.”
“Oh, nice.” You nod, trying to keep the peace. “How’d it go?”
He nods, turning to the counter to open his laptop. “Good. We’re gonna workshop it a bit, but I’m hoping to pitch to investors soon.” There’s pride within the evenness of his voice that has you tilting your head, intrigued to get something genuine from him.
Leaning in, you push to see how much you can get from him. “Like, a startup idea?” You recall Satoru mentioning something of the sort.
His gaze fixes you from over his shoulder. You get the feeling with him that he’s always trying to read you. “Yeah. A platform where people can pitch their businesses to customers within a certain distance without needing social media.”
“Oh,” you blink, mildly surprised. “That’s a really good idea.”
He hums, turning back to his laptop.
“You don’t really strike me as the CEO type, if I’m being honest.”
“I’m not,” he agrees, surprisingly unbothered by the observation. You consider yourself lucky he doesn’t take it as an insult. “I’d be looking for a co-founder to handle the personal, financial, and sales bullshit. I’d run strategy and go-to-market.”
Admittedly, yeah. That suits him. He’s sharp and straightforward, he seems like the type to be more inclined to work on strategy and run everything without the constant need for approval and help from others.
“That sounds more your style. What made you think of the platform idea?”
He doesn’t look back as he replies. “Just seemed like something that would make money.”
You recognize that as Sukuna being polite. He’s shutting you down without a look that makes your skin crawl for once. You suppose it’s as good of a time as any to return to your texts. Your friend from back home has been religiously sending memes during your shifts to get you through the Sukuna days and today is no exception. You laugh at a few of them under your breath.
The day is as uneventful as usual. Sukuna even casts an approving glance in your direction when you correctly answer a customer’s question. He’s not so bad when he isn’t glaring every couple of minutes.
You pray the weather stays sunny in Sukunaland.
Shutting the register as a customer leaves, you turn back inside the store to find Sukuna back to work, hunched over his textbook and regurgitating the information into notes. You opt not to bother him, turning your attention instead to a flickering bulb in the back of the floor. Much like both men have chosen not to mention or fix it, you have too.
Turning your attention back to your phone, you cast a smile at your latest text from Satoru.
5:53 PM You || The weather's looking surprisingly sunny today!!
5:54 PM Satoru || be on the lookout for rain. the weather can change on a dime
5:54 PM You || I can handle a bit of rain
5:55 PM Satoru || i’ll bet you can ;)
There your stomach goes doing flips again. Your thumbs fiddle with the edges of your phone case, pulling at the plastic as you stare at the message with that horrible mix of nerves and your stomach tying in knots. You get so caught up in your own self-doubt, you don’t realize you’re staring at Sukuna, busy with his own phone.
“What?” He gruffs, retaining that hint of annoyance.
“Hm?” You blink, brought back to the present. Before you, Sukuna is leaning against the counter, phone in-hand as his jaw shifts left and right. His lip ring noticeably catches like he’s fiddling with it. “Oh. Sorry.” With a shake of your head, you stare back down at your screen. Your gaze catches on the winky face. The underlying meaning behind it and his text. The impression you’ve probably given off working at a sex toy boutique.
The goddamn butterflies, though. The same ones causing the wave of self-consciousness that you know is foolish. But fuck is it hard not to feel that way when Satoru is undeniably the kind of guy that has people hanging off his shoulder with little to no effort. Your experience shouldn’t matter, but society has taught you to think otherwise.
“Hey,” you speak up on impulse before your mind can catch up to the move your mouth is already making. You can’t be certain whether it’s bravery or stupidity. “You know a lot about what we sell, right?”
His eyes narrow, minute. Just enough to catch your attention. “Yeah. I’m good at my job.”
The dig at your knowledge has you pressing your lips together. God, he’s frustrating. “Asshole.” His brow raises slightly, like something he once deemed uninteresting or unuseful has caught his attention and he’s appraising the situation to find if you’re deserving of it. “Is there, like… a way to improve without watching porn?” You query, worrying your lip between your teeth.
No longer engrossed in his laptop upon noticing your stare, Sukuna’s gaze bores into you. He doesn’t particularly make you uneasy now like he did when you first started, but it is sharp in spite of the evenness behind it. “I told you. Buy toys.”
You suppose you could have been a bit more specific. “No, I know that. A lot of them need a partner, though.”
He waves his hand in disinterest through the air like you’ve already answered your own question and he’s done entertaining any more. “Find one, then.” He’s already looking away as he replies.
You suck in a breath. “I’m from a small town. I just moved here, I don’t really know anyone.”
Sukuna just stares at you again like he expects you to figure it out yourself. His arms cross over his chest, his hip leaned against the counter. It’s not until the air turns stifling, your words hanging a hair too long as you meet his gaze that he cuts the tension with a disbelieving laugh.
“You’re asking me?” You can’t make heads or tails of his expression when it sits somewhere between disbelief and intrigue. It’s akin to the look you got upon calling him an asshole.
“No! Or– maybe? I don’t know.” The wince you shoot him is humiliating as you try to navigate the stormy seas you’ve set yourself sailing through.
“Why don’t you go ask Satoru?” He queries, pushing a hand back through his black-dyed locks like this question was never meant for him. Still, his tone doesn’t give off the impression that he’s irritated by you, so much as something more curious in nature.
Your gaze averts as your jaw hangs open in a frustrating moment of hesitation. Briefly glancing at the texts sitting in your hand is the only tell Sukuna needs, unfortunately able to read you like a book for some god forsaken reason.
“You’ve got to be fucking with me,” he chuckles, airy and amused. He pushes up off the counter, taking a step towards you like he’s laying out a challenge. “You don’t give a shit about the job. You’re trying to impress that fucker.” He rakes his tongue over his teeth, standing over you like he owns this damn conversation.
You cross your arms over your chest, fixing him with your own judgement. “You don’t have to make a big deal out of it.”
He pushes a condescending breath through his nose, smiling with nothing but mockery. “I don’t, but I’m gonna. You two would hit it off.”
Frowning, you opt to not give him the reaction he wants. Your nails dig into the skin of your arm. “I think I liked you better when you didn’t talk as much.”
“Most people do,” he smirks. He steps forward, hands in his pockets as he leans over you. “You still want me to teach you a thing or two, sweetheart?” His tone drips with condescension now that the person he once saw as little more than a pain in his ass has become something he can toy with.
You roll your eyes. You hadn’t expected your quiet co-worker to be this kind of an asshole. Why couldn’t he just say no and move on? Where did all the theatrics come from? “Why are you such a dick?”
“Answer the question,” he deflects, unbothered and painfully egotistical.
You huff, staring at the lemon-shaped vibrator sitting atop the counter that you’ve been contemplating buying for the last hour. “Fine. Yeah, I do.”
He blows a breath through his nose, standing upright again once he’s gotten your admission in his hands. “What’s in it for me?” The way he stands over you, chin tilted, and eyes narrowed, makes you huff.
You hadn’t exactly thought that far ahead. Hell, you didn’t expect to even voice your thoughts out loud. You barely even know enough about him to offer him anything. “I took business as a minor,” you suggest. “I could tutor you.”
“Nah, I’m set.”
You shrug, exasperated. Your hands wave uselessly through the air before plopping back down at your sides. “What do you want, then?”
He regards you with a thoughtful expression. “I’ll train you to close. Doesn’t matter what you’re doing, if I ask you to take my shift, you drop whatever you’re doing and take it.”
You shift your jaw to the left, chewing on the inside of your cheek. You expected worse.
“And you don’t tell Jillian or Satoru you took my shift. I keep the money.”
Ah. There’s the ‘worse’ you expected.
Frowning, you give the nerves in the pit of your stomach a moment to settle over making a deal with the devil. You want to say figuratively but you aren’t so sure. “Fine.” You extend your hand, but the man shakes his head, frowning.
“Rules first, then we shake.” He holds up his pointer. “Don’t tell a soul. Not even your friends back home.” Another finger. “No kissing. No making out. No sex.” He holds up a third finger. “This isn’t a little romantic fantasy thing. This isn’t a relationship. Don’t call this shit friends with benefits or fuck buddies, either. We’re not friends. Don’t expect anything cute from me. Got that?”
You don’t bother holding back a scoff. “I wasn’t going to, trust me.”
He smirks, unbothered. “Good.” His hand extends first this time.
For a long moment, you stare. You contemplate your life choices. You debate just ignoring your fears with Satoru and praying you can play the role of having experience. You equally contemplate just telling him you have no experience and that you’re nervous.
But somehow, the way nerves churn your stomach makes the butterflies worse. You want to squash them. You want to impress Satoru.
And you know. You know it’s stupid. You know you shouldn’t have to impress him, but the heart and mind don’t always connect, do they?
Against your better judgement, you clasp hands with him. You go to do the actual motion of a handshake but he keeps your hand in place. When your gaze raises to meet his in a silent question, he’s scrutinizing every little movement in your features.
His expression doesn’t hold the condescension you expect. His gaze is devoid of amusement, fixated on the frown you bear. “You really sure about this?”
You don’t hesitate to nod.
His eyes narrow a sliver. “Well, aren't you full of surprises?” There’s that hint of assholery. “One more rule.” His hand remains unmoving, still clasped with yours as he holds your gaze. “Either of us can shut this down at any time. It still never gets mentioned.”
You nod. “Agreed.”
Finally, he goes through with shaking your hand. “When are you looking to start?”
Your nose wrinkles at the way he makes it sound. “Do you have to say it like it’s a– I don’t know, job or something?”
“Oh, my bad,” he sneers, his grin too proud. “When do you wanna get fucked?”
You shouldn’t have asked.
Pulling your hand away from him, you rub your temples. You’re definitely not about to prod any further, lest he get more vulgar. “I’m free ton–”
“Not tonight,” he interrupts. “I got someone coming over to study.”
Scheduling ahead doesn’t sit right with you either. “Can we just decide during shifts? See how we’re feeling?”
“Whatever suits you,” he shrugs. The mild arrogance to his tone is… another can of worms to unpack, but as your colleague turns back to his studies, you only have one question for yourself.
What the hell have you gotten yourself into?
main masterlist || series masterlist || next ⪢
౨ৎ a/n ; i hope you enjoyed the first chapter of what will be a VERY kinky series LOLOL. i'm having a lot of fun with these two so far and i hope you are too <3
as a note, i'm trying moving tags to another blog which some of you may have seen due to changes in how tumblr's bot detection system is working, so please bear with me while i figure out how to not get my account flagged while doing taglists 🙃 edit; it's not working. if you weren't tagged, bear with me while i try to figure it out :')
feat quarterback!toji x camgirl chem partner!reader
summary: Toji Fushiguro considers himself a very generous man, especially after using part of his D1 quarterback paycheck towards his favorite camgirl. If anything, he's a patron of the arts: dedicated, curious, and always ready for the next big thing. So when he finds out his quiet little chem partner has the same bedroom as his idol? Well... color him intrigued.
content: MDNI 18+ ONLY, fem!reader, camgirl!reader, chem partner!reader, quarterback!toji, fratboy!toji fanboy!toji, jjk college au, no use of “y/n”, porn with a ridiculous amount of plot, vibrators, oral sex (m!receiving, f!receiving), piv sex, squirting, dumbification, toji has a biiiiig dick, daddy kink, size kink, breeding, etc.
word count: 10.1k (i don't play abt this man)
author's note: all credits of the above pictures go to their creators. The left-most picture is from thatsallitchief on X or tiktok. If anyone knows the artist of the right-most picture let me know so I can tag them!
toji's pre-game playlist: gemstone - don toliver, homecoming - lil uzi vert, don't kill the party - ty dolla $ign, love me - lil wayne, you - don toliver, nightcrawler - travis scott
These were intense times.
The Michigan Wolverines were right in the midst of the NCAA College Football Playoffs, and it has been weeks of non-stop practice, conditioning, strength training, and late-night film recaps for the team of 100-odd men–all in preparation for a chance at being the nation’s top seed.
There was much on the line, especially seeing that Senior Quarterback and Captain, Toji Fushiguro, was aiming to secure his spot in the upcoming NFL draft.
As such, his pre-game ritual (one that he has refined and perfected over the course of four years) was a strict routine backed by, and rooted down in, evidence-based science and partially unbiased statistical analyses.
It all starts with his protein shake: two whole bananas, one cup of oats, a shit ton of peanut butter, one spoon of raw honey, four scoops of protein powder, and full-fat milk.
Next, his attire. He needed his signature gray game-day sweats (unwashed for the past 10-games in a row), a muscle tank he’s owned and stretched out since high school, and his most industrial-grade, noise-cancelling headphones.
As for schedule? He needed thirty minutes of privacy, unrestricted and uninterrupted access to high speed internet, and most importantly of all: he needed to watch at least two of “stargiirl_xx”’s videos prior to heading out onto the turf.
Give him that, and he was bound to have a fuckin’ phenomenal performance on the field.
His meaty hand was already squeezing his growing erection through his sweats, the thick outline of his cock visible against the backlight from stargiirl’s newest video loading up on his laptop screen, and his protein shake already half finished by his bedside table.
He wasn’t just a fan. He was her #1 biggest financer.
Though she never showed her face, he had come to memorize the curve of stargiirl’s thighs and the moles on her hips over the course of the years. He knew her room layout by heart, and diligently watched the animes that she kept posters of on her walls.
She was the best of the best. Not showy, not performative, just purely indulging herself.
And sure, if keeping her active meant donating a sizable portion of his D1 stipend to fund her… pursuits, well, then call him a patron of the arts.
His dick shamelessly pulsed in his pants as the page finally stopped buffering and the title of the video loaded.
“Lessons in Vibrations Pt I”.
Part one?!
He knew almost immediately that tonight’s game would be a fantastic one.
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The Wolverines won their first round of the playoffs in a sweeping victory: 41-20.
And Toji Fushiguro? Well, he was the star of the show, of course. He completed more than 85% of his passes (with six of them leading to touchdowns) and led an 80-yard rush all in a single game. He was on fire: skin buzzing with adrenaline, cool sweat dripping down his face, and his large canines glinting under the fierce stadium lights as the deafening crowds roared his name.
“To-ji! To-ji! To-ji!”
He felt indomitable, floating on a high all the way from the stadium, to the bus, to the afterparty.
But in the lecture hall? Well…
His grades were barely passing for the majority of his classes, and in fact they were quite below when it came to Applied Chemical Kinetics II.
He was truly a lost cause.
He had missed countless of Yaga’s lectures throughout the course of the semester, promising himself that he would catch up on the review notes (he didn’t) and trying to watch the recorded lectures on the bus rides to any of the away games (he never).
So really, it came as no surprise to anyone when he absolutely tanked his midterms those six long weeks ago.
At the time, he was desperate. Failing class meant getting booted off the team. He needed someone who could easily cover his sorry ass for the rest of the semester, and fast.
Therefore, the obvious choices for a final project partner were between Ijichi and, well, you.
And, seeing as Toji Fushiguro had a pair of functioning fuckin’ eyes and a brain that lived partly in his pants, he chose the latter.
It wasn’t easy persuading you to take him on for the project, which was something he honestly didn’t quite expect (nor was he used to). You were stoic to his ill-attempted flattery and unaffected by his usual charm. Every smile he flashed at you seemed to wither upon arrival, and every playful remark was met with nothing more than an empty stare.
In the end, desperation drove him somewhere pride never would’ve allowed before: straight into his football stipend.
“Listen. I’ll give you $300 if you can help me pass this class.”
It was the Wednesday before the Thanksgiving break, and he remembered how his words rang loud and heavy in the dusty air of the old lecture hall. Everyone had left at this point, the class long-since over.
You had stood before him unmoved, your books hugged to your chest and your normally impassive gaze slowly piquing in interest.
He remembered how you looked up at him through your lashes, and the way you tilted your head almost cutely. “Make it $400,” you said it softly, yet with little hesitation.
He remembered how he felt himself gulp, not from the number, but at the way your eyes were scanning his face like it was the first time you even noticed him.
His hand had gripped the strap of his backpack just a little tighter.
Though, you didn’t seem to notice as you continued. “I’ll meet you on Mondays and Thursdays only, I work every other day. And I want half as security in advance.”
You pulled out your phone, swiftly punching in your password before holding it out to him, the contacts app already open on the screen.
For the first time in all of his college experience, he was genuinely caught off guard.
What the fuck?
He took your phone.
“$400?” he repeated, huffing faintly under his breath (was he amused? Annoyed? Aroused? He couldn’t tell at the time, nor does he know now) as he typed in his number. His large hands looked almost comical holding your small device. “You rob everybody like this, or am I just that special?”
He handed your phone back, his calloused fingers gently grazing your warm ones.
“You’re failing chem,” you replied flatly. “You are not special.”
He hated how his dick twitched at your words.
But most of all, he hated how he didn’t know what to say in response.
He was the star quarterback, captain of the football team, most popular guy on campus and an undeniable chick-magnet, for god’s sake!
His silence surprised the both of you, and you took it as your queue to leave. “See you later,” you glanced down at your phone, looking at his contact. “Fushiguro.”
You didn’t even know his fuckin’ name?!
And with that, you gently breezed past him, only offering him a small nod as you walked out of the room. The scent of your shampoo faintly caught in his nose as he tried to will his boner to stop growing in his sweats.
After that, the break passed uneventfully, and by the time campus filled back up again and the chill of early winter settled in, your project was impossible to ignore.
He kept to his word of paying you the $200 in advance.
You kept to yours by meeting him that following Monday.
The two of you developed a routine during the second half of the semester, meeting in libraries and cafes to review material and project timelines for the final submission.
And during those couple of hours on the Mondays and Thursdays that he had you, he came to the haunting realization that you were so… chill.
He was blunt, but you were blunt back. You flicked him when his head got too large, and he flicked you whenever you were too stuck in yours. He shoved you out of your shell at times, while you pulled him back down to Earth. It was rare, and so fuckin’ odd, this kind of dynamic between the two of you, the kind that goes unnoticed until suddenly you realize it’s there.
Soon, he would find himself calling your name from across the quad, and you would nod with what looked like a smile at him when you passed his row in lecture. He gave you tickets to his games (which you would resell for 200% of its value), and put your name on the list for the Kappa parties despite you never showing up. You sent him stupid instagram posts, and brought him homemade coffees whenever the two of you met post-game days.
And thankfully for Toji, today was one of those days.
“How’d it go?” Your voice was like honey and wine, low and smooth, as you looked up at him from behind your computer. The light from your screen illuminated halos in your eyes, and the steam from his opened thermos curled languidly in the air between you both.
You sat across from him in a quiet, off-campus cafe.
He grinned, smug and wolfish and borderline sleazy, as if he’d been just waiting for you to ask. He leaned back in his chair and stretched his overwhelmingly large, muscular arms over his head. He made a point to subtly flex his biceps while under your scrutiny. His shirt lifted slightly above his abdomen, and you blinked your eyes to focus on the scar on his tanned face, rather than the dark happy trail that ran down, down, down to his…
“Perfect game. You’d know if you actually came ‘round ‘n watched.” He playfully winked, his deep chuckle echoing as you gave him a deadpan stare.
“I’m quite alright, Fushiguro.” He pouted in mock defeat as you looked back down at your screen. The battery symbol on your laptop flashed red in warning: low power.
You’d only been there for thirty minutes and you could’ve sworn you charged the damn thing last night. Sure, your outlets were kind of fucked, and sure this was a twelve year old laptop with a battery life the size of a peanut, but surely it wouldn’t give out on you this early in the day?!
You exhaled a long breath. The thought of putting money down for a new computer made your heart physically ache.
The two of you (mainly you) had just started to make headway with the report (“flow state”, as Toji would call it), and you knew you wouldn’t have a chance to work on the project again until after your Wednesday shift. “You got a charger on you?”
He scoffed, almost offendedly. “Wanna try askin’ that again sweetheart?” He tsked you lightly.
You rolled your eyes, a heavy sigh tumbling out of your soft lips.
“Forget it. I know you don’t,” there was something prickly beneath your uncaring tone, and he curiously paused to examine you.
He could see the faint circles under your eyes that you tried to cover with concealer, the way your shoulders sagged slightly from the weight of your backpack as you lifted it from the seat beside you, and the brief glimpse of all the mini bookmarks sticking out of your planner as you dropped it inside the bag.
“I guess we’ll have to call it here then. I’d need to go back to my apartment and grab my charger to do anything else.”
And, perhaps it was because the two of you had formed this unexpected bond over the past several weeks, something deep and quiet and far more important than Toji would ever willingly name, that the weight of being the weakest link finally made Toji Fushiguro feel the heavy hammer of guilt bury deep within his hardened chest.
A moment passed before he cleared his throat, holding up his hand.
“Or…” the words were slow to move out of his mouth, embarrassment thickening in his throat. “Why don’t we work there?” You stared at him, almost startled, as if he’d grown another head. His ears warmed under the intensity of your gaze as he continued. “I still got power, I can keep goin’ if you’re down.”
His triceps flexed as he scratched the back of his neck, tan skin pulling taut as he looked away.
“It’s a small place,” you warned.
He shrugged, his voice catching in his throat at the way you were holding his gaze. “I don’t mind. I’d go any place you choose.”
He paused, his eyes widening slightly at the words that tumbled out of his mouth, as if he didn’t realize what he said until after he said them.
You breathed, and a beat passed before a small, pretty smile pulled across your features – the first he’s ever gotten from you like this. And this time, your tired eyes warmed into something soft, something akin to appreciation, something new.
“Yeah. Yeah, okay, then I’d like that.” You tilted your head slightly, and his heart thumped oddly loud in his muscular chest. “Thank you, Toji.”
For just the briefest of moments, you looked at him as if he had just offered the world.
All he could do was swallow and nod.
He didn’t even realize you called him by his first name until you were both out the door.
The walk to your apartment was comfortably silent. Despite Toji’s taller stature and athletic build, he wordlessly matched your slower pace, walking between you and the road.
Your apartment was situated right on the outskirts of campus; too close to drive, but too cumbersome to walk. He quietly marveled at your resolution to go in person to class every day, especially when he had difficulty hauling his ass to the lecture hall that was just a block over from frat row.
The taller man was so lost in his own thoughts that he didn’t even realize how close he was standing to you as you both paused at your front doorstep. His towering frame loomed over you, and he could feel the heat of your body as you dug through your bag, and he could see the goosebumps that rose on your neck when your arm accidentally grazed against his abdomen.
Your keys softly clinked! together as you unlocked the front door.
And, there was something faintly intimate about being led up the creaky wooden steps to your 3rd floor apartment, your hips gently swaying in his face with each ascent up, and your soft hands lightly tracing the railing in your wake.
He intrusively thought about reaching out to touch your fingers, to run his hand along the curve of your waist–
He coughed lightly.
What was he thinking?
As you opened your apartment’s door, he was immediately hit with the light smell of lemon and jasmine.
Your place was small but tidy; a one-bedroom attic apartment where the kitchen and living area blurred together, soaking in the same sunlit space. Despite its size, it carried your mark: two types of server aprons hung on the coat rack, a soft crocheted throw blanket you made draped over the worn couch, and a set of reading glasses laying beside a hand-painted mug on your round window table.
It was cute; homely. A small glimpse into your life outside of class.
“You can start getting set up in here, I’ll just grab my charger from my room.” You spoke quietly as you led him to the table.
You silently turned before he could respond, padding across the old wooden floors to the door that was directly across from where he had set his bag down.
He had only just started typing his password into his computer when he lazily looked up, his dark eyes catching the movement from your room.
And, holy shit.
No.
There was genuinely no way in hell.
He was scrambling up out of your wobbly kitchen chair before his mind could even register it.
His body felt as if it were moving through water, and his brain felt like jam. Was that his own blood roaring past his ears or his soul escaping his body?
Cool beads of sweat began to form on his neck, tickling at the ends of his dark, grungy hair. He had crossed the width of your apartment in three long strides, until suddenly he was at your doorframe, his large body leaning against it like it was a lifeline, and his scarred mouth parted into the dumbest looking “o”.
His wild eyes scanned your room fervently. The walls, the Cowboy Bebop poster by your bedframe, the pale linen sheets, the empty vase on your bedside table and the stack of yellowing paper backs in the corner of it.
Everything looked familiar.
Scratch that. Everything looked the same. The same as–
“Can I help you?”
You were on all fours. All fuckin’ fours.
You tilted your head up to face him, taking a pause from wiggling the stubborn plug out of the ancient socket underneath your desk.
And… could you? Can you? He was at a genuine loss for words.
All he could do was stare dumbly, his large fists clenching and unclenching at his sides, and his body emanating a heat that he prayed to god wasn’t visible from where you were.
“Uh. Y-you got a bathroom up here??”
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He scoured through every single video and rewatched every single clip that night.
The furniture, the decor, the walls, the window placement: everything was the same.
And so, the verdict was in: you–his quiet, guarded, asocial, and steely chem partner–were none other than stargiirl herself.
What. The. Fuck.
It was confusing to wrap his head around, this whole stargiirl-chemgirl business. But would he go as far to say that it wasn’t attractive? That he didn’t pop a boner every time he thought about it?
No. He couldn’t. He’d never.
Was this divine intervention or his own personal hell?
He couldn’t tell.
What does this mean? How should he act? What does he fucking do with this information now?
He rubbed his temples before running a tense hand through his hair. At the same time, a notification popped up on his computer.
“Check out a new post from stargiirl_xx !”
He could feel the blood in his veins thumping against his skin.
“Don’t do it. Please don’t fucking do it-” he mumbled.
He tapped into the link despite himself.
“Lessons In Vibration Pt II”
He wordlessly clicked the play button on the video.
For a moment, he thought his screen was buffering. The camera was set up to look out onto your bed, though you were not in frame yet, presumably twiddling with the settings of your camera.
But when you finally did walk into view, his heart nearly imploded.
The frame only showed you from the mouth down, your identity mainly concealed. You were bottomless, bare legs walking across the floor as you situated yourself on your bed. The only piece of clothing you did have on was an overlarge sweatshirt, his sweatshirt, one that he, in his panicked daze to get out of your apartment earlier, forgot he had left behind.
He didn’t dare breathe, nor could he move. His head was craned so close to his computer, as if he wanted to go through the screen itself just to get a better look.
He noted how his hoodie fell past your ass, large and consuming and honestly? So fuckin’ perfect on you.
You were nearing the end of your normal introduction, and he realized you spoke differently on video, low and confident and sensual and hypnotic.
“I’ve been thinkin’ a lot about my content throughout the years,” your hands started to draaag the bottom of his hoodie up, letting it bunch just slightly above the dip of your waist, enunciating your curves. “-And I’ve realized I’ve never had a partner during any of them.”
The comments on the side bar started to flood through, hundreds of viewers already volunteering themselves to be your +1.
His jaw ticked, hard.
“I think,” you leaned forward like you were sharing a secret. Toji gripped onto his computer until a faint pop! could be heard of one of the inner screws coming loose. “I think I would like to change that in the future,” and then you smiled, really smiled, a full, playful grin wiping across your features in a way he had never been able to see in person before.
His dick bobbed in his pants.
This could not be happening to him right now.
You continued, “but for now, welcome back to my Lessons in Vibrations series.”
He watched as you started introducing the toys you would be using today, before you slowly began to touch yourself, teasingly showing glimpses of the purple lace panties you had on underneath his hoodie.
And he couldn’t help it, really.
Because when you started rubbing your vibrator against your clit, your deft fingers plunging skillfully into your cunt, soft whimpers escaping your lips as your pussy started squelching out a fucking melody – all while wearing his fuckin’ sweatshirt – what the fuck else was he supposed to do?
His sweats were already halfway down his thighs, and his meaty hand greedily pumping his own cock in sync to you fucking yourself on your fingers.
He watched hungrily as you pushed his sweatshirt up further along your body, exposing your stomach, teasing the view of your bare tits. He bit back a groan at the thought of your scent lingering in the fabric, and prayed to whatever deity above that you wouldn’t wash it out before he got it back.
Below, your fingers languidly teased the head of your vibrator against your entrance. It was the insertable kind, with a slender tip and curved body, the type that had your hole trying to suck up the device with every rub against your dripping slit.
He could feel the veins in his cock pulsing hotly in anticipation, pushing up thick pearls of precum out onto his flared tip.
He wondered what it would be like to slip his shaft against your drenched pussy lips, to massage the underside of his cockhead against the tight ring of your entrance, to feel you squeezing around him, and to hear the sounds you would make just for him.
He gulped, cool sweat starting to form on his brow. You were beginning to fuck the device into you, pumping the vibrator in and out and in and out. He could see your legs trembling, your juices starting to uncontrollably splash outside of you, and your pussylips fluttering with every bzzz bzz bzzzzzt of the vibrator fucking and swirling and massaging into your g-spot.
He was matching your pace, furiously pumping his dick, thinking about how you looked on all fours earlier, thinking about how you smiled when you called him his name, thinking about how you look when you concentrate and the mole above your brow, thinking about the coffee you made for him and the weird shitposts you sent and the way you could look at him like he was nothing, and everything, all at the same time.
And suddenly, he wasn’t climaxing to the stargiirl he had always seen on screen.
It was his tough, quiet, calm chem partner.
And as he shot hot spurts of thick, ropey cum all the way from his dick to his chin (the most he’s ever released before), he realized only one thing.
He just finished to the thought of you.
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Toji Fushiguro had a problem.
No, scratch that.
He had a fucking crisis.
It was drill day, and his head was absolutely nowhere near the turf. He fumbled balls, missed targets, and was a full thirty-seconds under his usual sprint times.
And that was only how one of his practices went this week.
It had been five whole days since he last saw you.
Five days of being dogshit at his sport.
Five days of holing up in his frat, avoiding campus, avoiding class, avoiding your texts, avoiding you.
It’s not like he wanted to do this, but he didn’t know what to do, how to act, or what to even say.
How could he talk to you casually while knowing he’s given probably a third of his checks to you? How could he be normal in your presence knowing that he’s watched every single one of your streams, and in turn has finished an embarrassing amount of times to each of them?
How could he trust himself when the thought of you alone had his heart pounding so hard his ears hurt? Or how his chest squeezed so tight he almost went to urgent care, just because you texted asking where he’s been and if he was okay?
How could he face you, knowing that he somehow developed the largest, fattest, most egregious fuckin’ crush on you?!
And, for the record, Toji Fushiguro did not do crushes. He hadn’t necessarily “ran through” the entire roster of available chicks on campus, but he did have an occasional fling, nothing serious, nothing long, nothing that would distract him from football and his dreams.
He was known as the campus heartthrob and heartbreaker. He was Mr. Non-Chalant, Mr. Everybody-Wants-A-Piece-of-Him, and Mr. I-Don’t-Get-Attached all wrapped up in one 6’4, 230 lbs body.
A crush? That was new, unexplored territory for him.
He stared down at your last texts to him.
⭐️(Thursday, 12:03pm): i got us a nice spot!! im sitting on 2nd floor @ clark ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧
Ba-dump!
⭐️(Thursday, 12:18pm): knock knock, is mr. toji theree
Ba-dump! Ba-dump!
⭐️(Thursday, 12:56pm): hey, is everythin ok? r we still on for today?
Ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump–
⭐️(Saturday, 10:01am): r u alive
It physically sickened him that he couldn’t get his cowardly fingers to just fucking write back. But every time he opened up your text chain, all he could do was stare.
Which is exactly why he couldn’t see you yet.
He needed time.
He needed space.
He needed to get this shit under control.
Fortunately (or unfortunately) for him, the Kappa Epsilon fraternity was throwing a rager tonight. With the group of men only one week out from the next bracket of playoffs, this would be the last night the football frat would get to drink together for a while if they were to make it to the finals.
It would be the perfect distraction.
About an hour or so into the party and he was buzzed. He absolutely demolished that shithead Ryomen in beer pong, crushed a pack of PBRs, and now was cooling off in the kitchen, his body feeling swimmy and light.
He reached for his phone. Maybe, just maybe, if he looked at your messages again for the umpteenth time today, maybe he would know what to say, maybe he–
“Ah, so you can come out and party but ignore all of my texts?”
His heart did that stupid thing where it pounded so hard against his chest he wondered if his ribs bruised.
Despite the booming of the bass coming from the room over, and the idle chatter of randoms idling in the kitchen, he could hear the dry, unimpressed, and entirely too familiar voice coming directly from behind him.
He turned, his eyes lowering to find you, as if it was muscle memory, as if it was his second nature.
You never showed up to these parties (and trust, he has invited you to them all). Yet here you were, your body leaned up against the kitchen counter, arms crossed over your chest, and your hair falling around your frame.
He grinned, the buzz in his head making it easy for a stupidly cheeky and wide and boyish smile to plaster onto his face. (a/n: toji has a hung smile. Okay? Okay.).
“Hey, party animal,” he said, almost dreamily.
The top you wore clung to you like a second skin, accentuating the swells of your breasts and the dip of your waist: features that you usually hid underneath your normal, bulkier campus-attire.
He was indecisive, his eyes bouncing between the unreadable look on your face to the sliver of exposed skin right above your miniskirt.
You looked good, really fuckin’ good.
Your eyes widened, before your cheeks blushed the prettiest shade of red, your manicured fingers tightening around the plastic solo cup you were holding
Did he say that outloud?!
You straightened, steeling yourself, willing the warmth in your cheeks to go away. “You’ve ignored me for five days, Fushiguro-” your voice was firm and cool, cutting sharply through the noise of the party.
Back to the last name basis.
You looked away, before adding, “-and you ditched me on Thursday.” You spoke that last part softly, deliberately, a look of sadness flashing briefly in your pretty, doe-like eyes.
A dull pang rippled through his chest.
He knew the implications of your words – the two of you never missed a meetup since this whole “deal” started.
And, like those days in the libraries or cafes where he found himself sitting before you, following your every word and direction, he now found himself moving towards you, a small pout forming on his scarred lips, as his strong arms caged you in until you were wedged between himself and the counter.
And, you knew he was huge before.
But now, up close, you realized just how large he was - his broad shoulders obscuring your view, his muscular chest rippling under the tight black shirt he wore, and his huge hands riddled with veins that climbed up, up, up his forearms.
He was overwhelming and all-consuming, surrounding your senses with the kind of intensity only he alone could pull off. You breathed in, your chest rising, fighting against the cotton of your ill-fitting top. He smelled of fresh pine and warm leather, clean and raw and manly.
You came here pissed, but now found your resolve completely fogged and muddled.
He leaned forward, dipping his head low, until his shaggy fringe tickled softly against the shell of your ear.
You knew he had been drinking, but the question was, did he know what he was doing right now? Was this purposeful? Was this real? You couldn’t quite tell, but the way his breath stuttered as his nose traced light patterns into your neck, the way he was breathing you in, and the way his hands periodically clenched onto the countertop as if to restrain himself, told you he was at least semi aware of what he was doing.
Your heart was hammering in your chest. The two of you never stood this close before, let alone touched each other.
You turned your head slightly, trying to put at least some ounce of space between your face and his.
But for him? That just would not do.
He slowly pulled away from your neck, his nose lightly mapping a path from the base of your neck, across the soft expanse of your cheek, to the tip of your own. Noses brushing, breaths mingling, chests heaving, and hearts pounding as his scarred lips hovered your glossed ones.
“Why have you been avoiding me?”
The air between you was warm and thick, charged with something tender and so deeply intimate.
“Because you scare me,” he mumbled.
“Oh, really?” Your mouth twitched.
“Mm.” He nodded once, nose rubbing softly against yours in an eskimo kiss. You could see how his eyes were dark and heavy-lidded, lips dangerously close to pressing against yours.
“‘Think ya cursed me.” His neck flushed red, his low voice was barely above a whisper.
“I can go-”
“Don’t.”
And then his large hands were latching onto your waist, the heat of his skin searing through the thin material of your skirt.
“Don’t. Don’tDon’tDon’t.” His brows scrunched together, his face becoming serious. “Don’t go. Don’t leave. Not when you’re here, with me, pretty girl.”
You breathed, taking your time to steady your voice after hearing the pet name roll off his tongue. “Then what should I do?”
“Stay.”
It was as simple as that, really.
And then his lips were on yours, warm and soft and commanding. He kissed you like you were sin, drinking you in, savoring you on his tongue, before inevitably, always inevitably, going back for more. He didn’t let you breathe; he wouldn’t. He was greedy and wrong and possessive, claiming your mouth like it was his alone to conquer. Your knees weakened as his tongue massaged against yours addictively, molding against you like you were made for him; like he was made for you.
Your hands moved before you could think, before you could decide if you were angry with him or if you hungered for him. You found purchase on his broad shoulders, before making your way up, up, up to his neck, one hand running through his dark hair while the other held onto the underside of his strong jaw, thumb gently caressing the scar on the side of his mouth, pulling him in.
He pressed into you further, your ass hitting the lower counter. His body was flush against yours, his chest purposefully rubbing against your tits.
He could feel your nipples hardening through the flimsy cotton of your top, and he couldn’t stop the sleazy grin that was forming on his face.
Below, his grip on you was gentle but firm, bringing your body to press and grind against his in an unhurried, languid way, like he had all the time in the world, like all of this was fated from the start.
And his fingers, oh his fingers, which spanned across your hip, slowly found their way to your ass, gripping and cupping and kneading into the soft, jiggly flesh.
You could feel something move against your thigh, something sturdy and heavy and completely fucking monstruous.
“Haah-” you shakily sighed out, breathy and dazed as you looked down to the outline of his bulge. Your eyes widened.
“I like when you use that smart mouth, y’know,” he was talking against your lips, not able to find it in himself to pull away. His hand slid up the side of your waist, until he stopped right underneath your breast, his thumb rubbing against the underside of where it started to swell.
His voice dropped an octave lower, whispering to you like it was a secret. “Talk to me. Break this curse. Tell me it’s not just me that feels like this.”
Please.
His heart was racing. He was stone cold sober. This was it. This was his admission.
ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump–
You breathed.
The party raged on in the background, muddled and distant, like his ears were submerged under water–
“It’s not just you, Toji.”
Your voice was quiet, your cheeks tinted rouge, your pretty eyes looking up at him in earnest.
And that was all he needed.
He picked you up like you were nothing (his bench was 350 lbs, squat 600 lbs, and his hip thrusts? don’t even worry ‘bout it), a smug, victorious grin tugging at his scarred lips.
He carried you out of the kitchen, and a steady stream of wolf whistles and howls erupted from his frat brothers and party goers as the two of you made your way across the foyer, up the stairs, and towards a bedroom. His bedroom.
He carried you inside, keeping the lights off, letting the warm glow of the streetlamp beside his window spill softly across the room. Without a word, he set you down on his large king-sized bed.
The air in his room was tender and still. You could hear the faint bass of the stereo downstairs, vibrating against his wooden floors like a heartbeat. The distant cheers of the crowd down below faded to quiet as he pressed his mouth to your own.
He leisurely climbed over you, never breaking the kiss, his muscular arms holding his body above your own.
It didn’t take long for the makeout to turn heated again, teeth clashing against teeth, bodies pressed against each other, rubbing and teasing in a way that had your head spinning.
You put your hands against his chest.
“Toji-”
“Stay,” he breathed, whispering the words against your lips, like he could read your mind. “-Stay with me tonight,” he pressed his body closer into you, rutting his hips, “and lemme show you the things I’ve been wantin’ to say to you all week.”
You could feel his cock twitch ominously against your bare thigh as you swallowed.
His lips were swollen and glistening from your mixed salivas, his eyes glazed over, jade irises almost completely black. His grip on your lower body was unrelenting, holding you in place.
You lightly pushed your hand against his chest, a hesitant look crossing your features.
A beat passed. For a second, he didn’t even realize he stopped breathing.
“You’ve been drinking,” You paused, your voice coming out small. “What if.. what if you don’t mean this in the morning?”
And for all your expertise and genius, oh, how completely wrong you could be.
He let out a humorless chuckle, his sharp canines peaking through his lips in the process.
“Did it sound like I was jokin’, sweetheart?” He shakily exhaled through his nose as he pressed his erection against your clothed cunt, holding himself there, letting you feel the pressure and full weight of what he was packing. “Does it feel like I’m jokin’ ‘bout this?”
You bit your lip, pussy throbbing, a warm slickness starting to soak through your panties, before messily spreading between your clenched thighs.
You shook your head.
“What’d I say about usin’ your words?”
He pulsed his dick, the sensation making your pussy clench.
Fuckin’ tease.
“Nngh- no. No it doesn’t feel like you’re joking,” you almost gasp out.
A satisfied smirk plastered onto his tanned face.
“Good girl.”
And then he’s moving down the bed, his calloused hands spreading your legs as he pressed wet kisses against the hot skin of your thighs. He was methodical and slow, making his way up your inner thigh, savoring the small sounds that you tried to suppress as he reached the bottom hem of your skirt, his face mere inches away from your sopping pussy, and his breath puffing warm air against your dampened panties .
“Ohhh jus’ look at ya,” you could tell he had the most shit-eating grin on his face right now, pride swelling in his voice as he carefully dipped a large, rough finger between the seam of the thin purple fabric you adorned. “This all f’me?”
And - Holy shit.
The videos of you didn’t even do this justice.
Because low and behold, here you were, under his body, and you were so fuckin’ wet. His finger slid against your folds with little resistance, putting just enough pressure that you couldn’t help but moan his name as he rubbed circles against your clit.
And, Toji Fushiguro never claimed to be a patient man. So, it should’ve came as no surprise when he grabbed your hips and used his hulking strength to push your clothed pussy to his scarred lips, his face nuzzled to your cunt, nose pressed firmly to your clit, and his greedy tongue lapping you up through the soiled fabric.
It was obscene and perverse and dirty and wrong.
But oh, how he loved it. Loved the heady taste you left on your panties, and the sweet scent of your gushing pussy, and the excess slick on your thighs that made its way onto his rough cheeks.
He groaned, a low, guttural sound against your skin that made your tummy squeeze into knots.
“T-Toji, please,” you whined, pressing your greedy cunt into his face, “need your tongue. Need you. Need more.” You could hardly string a true sentence together, and he hadn’t even fucked you proper yet.
His heart was thunderous against his chest.
And his dick?
Hardest it’s ever fuckin’ been in his fuckin’ life.
He was grinding his erection against the mattress as he obliged your wishes.
After all, how could he say no to you?
He pushed your panties to the side.
And oh.
His balls tightened below him, the urge to cum almost threateningly near as he stared at your bare, swollen pussy.
Holy. Shit.
Everything was soaked and glistening.
He rubbed one thumb across your puffy skin, his coarse finger getting soaked in the process.
He leaned in, gingerly licking fat stripes along your folds, lapping you up, drinking you in. He worked thoroughly, gathering you onto his tongue, until the lower part of his face was a mixture of your juices and his drool.
It was only after he was satisfied with his work did he make his way to your clit, humming and sucking, the wet sounds of his mouth making out with your cunt filling the air of his room.
The warm pleasure of it all was beginning to pool in your belly, your toes beginning to curl, legs beginning to shake – but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t.
“Toji, I might-”
He plunged a rough, thick finger inside you, spearing your tight velvet walls apart, all the way up to his knuckle.
You saw fuckin’ stars.
The sound you made was so erotic, so loud and depraved and raw, that his dick lurched in his pants, warm gooey pre-cum beginning to leak out from his throbbing tip and into his briefs.
He wanted to hear you again, and again and again and again.
He wanted videos, home movies, and spotify playlists of the way your pussy was talking to him.
Emboldened, his tongue was unrelenting on your clit, as one finger became two, and then two became three.
You mewled as he crooked them up, massaging against that soft, spongey bundle of nerves that had you panting his name out like it was prayer.
Your ears were ringing, your eyes beginning to get wet with tears.
Soon, he was fucking you on his fingers proper, setting a debilitating pace as he plunged his digits in and out and in and out. Filling you up, stretching you out, hitting your most sensitive areas. Again, and again, and again.
The pressure in your core was reaching its limits now, and the pleasure from the sheer fullness of your pussy and the sinful patterns of his tongue were beginning to send violent tremors down your legs.
You were orgasming before you even realized it.
And yet, he was didn’t stop – didn’t even give you time to breathe as he’s diving into your pussy, slurping you up, his large nose rubbing against your over-sensitive clit as he’s fucking his thick tongue and his fingers past the tight ring of your entrance, fucking you, warm and wet, through each of your peaks.
Your hands held onto his hair like a lifeline, your fleshy thighs locked around his head as if to keep him in place.
“You taste so good, sweetheart,” he moaned, his eyes glazed over, completely and utterly pussy drunk, as you looked down at him, his mouth still latched onto your cunt.
You could see your slick dripping down his face, mixing with the light trails of perspiration that sprouted from his temples.
Your heart squeezed in your chest.
It was only after the last few waves of your orgasm subsided when you could finally respond.
“I think,” you gently reached down to run your shaky hand through his scalp, tenderly pushing away the sweaty fringe by his eyes. “I think I can think of something that might taste better.”
And then you’re pushing him until he’s moving to the top of the bed, his back resting against the headboard as he pulls his black shirt up and over his head, triceps flexing, exposing his muscular pecs, washboard abs, and the light tufts of hair that sprouted on his chest, and got increasingly darker the further down his abs it went.
You could feel your pussy walls clamp down, warmth pooling in your core again as you reached out instinctively to run your hands along the length of his torso.
You never thought, in all of your wildest dreams, that this would be happening. Nor could your dreams do justice to the perfect build of the man before you.
“Well look at you, Mr. Fushiguro.” Your soft hands slowly sliding up, up, up against his skin, all the way from where the dark tufts of thick hair started to disappear under his pants, and towards his pecs, feeling the way his traitorous heart stuttered as you called his name. “Aren’t you quite the heartbreaker.”
You held his gaze, the air around you charged with anticipation.
Who would move first?
His breathing was shallow as he stared at you, your cheeks flushed and eyes glazed. Your top was rumpled to hell, exposing the line of your cleavage in a way that had his pants tenting painfully, and your mini skirt was so far scrunched that it looked like a belt around your waist.
“For others, sure…” He grabbed your hands, pressing them deeper into his skin as he slid them up to cup his face. “But for you?” he was whispering now, his ears growing steadily pinker by the second, “I’m afraid you have me beat.”
Oh.
And then you’re leaning in, tenderly pressing your lips to his own, mumbling his name over and over again to stop you from saying those other three little words, before sealing it with your tongue.
And then he’s pulling you into his lap.
You could taste yourself in his mouth and on his lips, your nipples tightening as his large hands grabbed handfuls of your ass, spreading your cheeks apart before making them clap together again.
A muffled groan escaped from the depths of his chest, vibrating against your mouth, as he felt new gushes of your slick begin to dampen the front of his pants.
“Mmmnh- get comfortable, pretty girl.” He slurred out as he pulled at the waistband of your skirt, before letting go, allowing the material to slap against your skin with a light sting.
“Hmm… only if daddy gets comfortable too.” your eyes were big as you stared at him through your lashes.
And oh fuck.
Toji had to lean his head back, his skull hitting against the wall with a dull thud!
The way the words left your mouth had him breathless, brain short-circuiting, and dick throbbing. He needed to recuperate. Calm down.
Breathe in. Exhale. Repeat.
You smiled slyly, completely aware of how your words affected him, as you pulled your flimsy top off, followed by your bottomwear. Your tits were heavy and full as they were released from the cotton, nipples peaked and stiff.
You were bare before him, your arms on either side of his hips, squeezing your tits together lightly as you bent low to whisper against his ear.
“You like when I call you that?” Your voice was sweet as honey as your hands traced the large outline of his dick through his pants, gripping his shaft through the tight material, and feeling the monstrous size of his girth.
“Careful, sweetheart,” his voice was a mixture of restraint and warning, “don’t start callin’ me that unless y’er tryna see it through.” His neck was visibly tense, and his hands clutched on to the meat of your hips as he stared at you.
Pretty girl.
He squeezed tighter.
His pretty girl.
A moment of silence passed as you considered his words. “And what if I do wanna see it through…?” Your head tilted cutely while your mean hands found their way to his happy trail, running your nails down through the thick tufts of dark hair, dipping juuust below the waistband of his pants, before retreating back up again in slow, agonizing loops. “Show me your worst, daddy.”
And who was he to deny you?
Before you knew it, he had his pants and briefs shoved down his legs, his massive cock heavily thudding against his washboard abs
Your mouth gaped open.
And ohhh how he relished the dumb look on your lil’ cute face.
You didn’t even think anyone could be this large.
Yet here he was, with a dick that looked like it belonged in a porno, pulsing fat and heavy and huge as he leaked pre-cum all over the angry mushroomed head.
He smirked, cocky as ever, as you subconsciously licked your lips, eyes glazed over, cock drunk just off the look alone.
Your pussy gushed warm, new slick between your legs as you carefully leant down, your hands grabbing around his base, slowly bringing his dick closer to your face.
He could feel the warm puffs of air coming from ur plush lips, his dick twitching like crazy at how close you were to finally, finally getting your mouth on him.
You pressed a gentle kiss to his leaking slit, before running your lips over the excess pre-cum, painting your lips with the milky substance.
He swallowed hard. His eyes were wild and his breathing ragged.
He groped your tits, rolling your stiff nipples in his calloused fingers, eliciting the sweetest moan from you that reverberated around his dick.
You gave him small kitten licks at first, teasing the idea, before gradually licking thick fat stripes up and down the length of his huge dick. You traced the pulsing veins that climbed up his hot shaft and licked around the sensitive underside of his throbbing cockhead.
And it was only when his chest was heaving, his impatient hands gripping onto your skull, did you finally, finally begin to throat fuck the shit outta him.
None of the videos he had watched of you before even came close to the sensation of seeing the bulge forming in your throat from where his cock was buried inside of you, or the way your nose tickled against the tufts of dark hair at the base of his cock.
You moaned dreamily around him at the feeling of his heavy dick pounding against the back of your throat, filling your mouth and overwhelming your senses. You couldn’t help the tears that threatened to spill from your eyes as you bobbed him in your mouth, hands jerking off what you couldn’t reach, and your thighs rubbing together greedily, craving any ounce of friction against your throbbing pussy.
But before you knew it, he was lifting you off, a light string of saliva following en suit, connecting the two of you together.
“What’s wrong?” You had a devilish grin on your pretty face. “Scared you're gonna cum too quick?”
A low, humorless chuckle rumbled through his body as one of his hands wrapped around your throat, while the other smacked your ass.
“Nah,” his canines glinted in the lowlight, a predatorial grin etching into his features. “Just tryna make sure nothin’ gets wasted.” And then he's shifting you up, rubbing his thick cock against your gooey cunt, mixing his thick pre with your juices.
Your heart fluttered.
His dick was so warm against your skin – so, so much better (and bigger) than the toys you regularly used to get yourself off.
You’ve had enough. You’ve done your waiting. You needed him inside you.
You lifted yourself up, your hands bracing themselves on either side of Toji’s broad shoulders. Your pussy was dripping down onto his angry dick as you slowly lowered yourself, hips circling, letting his throbbing head trace your sopping lips.
He could have almost passed out from the sight alone.
Instead, he panted out a deep breath, his chest tightening as he tried to restrain himself from bucking up into your cunt.
You paused your hips, lowering yourself again ever so slightly so that his leaking head was now smooching against your gummy entrance, the heat of his cock stirring something warm and familiar in your belly.
Please, please, please, ple–
And then your pussy is swallowing his head whole.
“Oh, fuuuck you’re tight mama,” his eyes squeezed shut, fringe sticking to his sweaty forehead as Toji gasped out at the sensation of his thiiick cockhead squeezing past the tight ring of muscles at your entrance.
Your gummy walls sucked against him from all angles, squishing into his hardness and rubbing deliciously against the sensitive underside of his mushroomed tip.
And this was just the tip.
He didn’t know if he would make it out of here alive. At least, without getting you pregnant.
You whimpered, actually fuckin’ whimpered his name as you reached down, touching where he was spearing you apart, your lips drawn thin and tight to accommodate for the sheer size of him.
“You’re so big Toji,” a tear rolled down your flushed cheek. “Look at how much more I gotta take.” And he did, he really did look. Because you began to let your finger slowly slide from where the two of you were connected, down, down, down to the tufts of hair at the base of his cock.
“Haah- Ya’ think it’ll fit, sweetheart?” He grunted, his lips involuntarily bucking as you pouted cutely at him.
Something impassable flashed across your feature. “I’ll make it fuckin’ fit.”
And then you’re slamming down onto his dick, and it feels like the literal wind gets knocked out of both of your chests.
He has never felt something so deliciously tight before.
You have never felt so goddamn filled up before.
You’re clenching around him, velvet walls fluttering and smooching around his raw cock as it pulses heavy and thick with animalistic need.
It took you several moments to orient yourself, to gather your scrambled senses back together to remember what you were doing, what your goal was, why you were here.
“I have a secret to tell you.” You stared down at him, an unreadable look passing over your features.
“O-oh really?” you squeezed your walls around him, catching him off guard.
“I know you watch me touch myself,” you whispered it like it was a secret, sly and just a touch proud.
And of all the things you could’ve said, nothing would have prepared him for that.
His dick bobbed from inside of you.
“Fushi-daddy420 isn’t the most subtlest of names, no?” you grinned meanly as you watched his jade eyes turn impossibly black as you began to slowly, teasingly, mercifully bounce on his cock. Up and down and up and down.
“But-?”
He thought you would hate him if you knew.
He agonized for days for this reaction?!!
“And after you ran out on me after seeing my place?” you were panting, riding him as you talked. “Yea, that kinda solidified it.”
And just when he thinks you’ve found your rhythm and set your pace, you slowly begin to circle your hips, hitting new angles deep inside your guts that have his throbbing tip pressing into the spongy part of your pussy.
“You don’t -fuhh- don’t hate me?” his mind was swirling, how could he focus when you felt this good?
“Never.” Your hips rolled, and you pressed your tits together, giving him a show.
And you were doing so well, and felt so good. He pressed a fat thumb against your clit, spelling out his name, as if to claim you, mark you, over and over and over again.
T-O-J-I !
He throws his head back as he feels you creaming around his cock, while your eyes are rolling into the backs of your head as you feel his thick goopy pre frothing at your entrance, dripping down onto his balls. The pace is getting faster, the air getting hot, and thick beads of sweat are rolling down your back. The obscene sounds of sweaty skin slapping against skin filled the hot, sex-scented air.
You lean down to kiss him, tongues messily entangling, drool spilling from the sides of your lips as you ride his cock like a fuckin’ animal, ass jiggling from the force of his hips rocking up to meet you, his heavy balls smacking against your pussy like a promise.
In one swift motion, he’s flipping the two of you over, your back to the bed, his dick never leaving your pussy, as he continues to fuck into you. He has your legs spread wide, your knees to his sides as he buries himself deep within your warmth, the new angle allowing you to feel his fat tip smooching against your cervix.
He’s panting, breath shaky as he slows down, rutting shallowly, not allowing himself to be too far from your gummy insides. “T-tell me where you want it,” his voice came out strained, and you could see where his veins were protruding on his neck.
Oh. His cum.
His balls were pressed against you, tightening with every passing second. You could feel his dick bobbing against your walls as he was direly trying to stop himself from cumming.
You smiled, soft and sweet, as you pressed a hand against your lower tummy, feeling the bulge of where he was nestled inside you.
“Oh, you already know,” and you were batting your pretty lashes up at him, making his heart stutter. “Isn’t that right, daddy?”
And oh, how his broken mind snapped.
The next thing you knew, he’s pressing your knees so far up they’re knocking against your tits, his hulking body leaning over and pressing down into you, chest against chest, until you could feel his warm lips sucking bruises by your ear.
And then he’s draaagging his thick cock through your pussy until only the tip is inside you, before snapping his hips forward, forcing his cock the deepest it could go back inside you, spearing you apart, and setting an absolutely cruel, delicious, depraved pace that has his balls bruising your ass and his cock breeching your womb.
It goes for what feels like seconds, minutes, hours.
Your legs began to shake at all the sensations, your pussy walls convulsing around him and your ears ringing as you started to see white.
And he truly couldn’t keep it in any longer.
Not when you sounded so hot, with your face scrunched up in the prettiest ‘o’ and your nails digging crescents into his back as you called his name, begging for his seed.
And so he bucked up, his hips flush against yours, locking you into the meanest of mating presses, as his dick lurched, balls scrunching, as he pumped copious amounts of his thick, sticky cum straight into your womb.
And he’s still bucking his hips, through each of your peaks, fucking his cum deep inside you, until your belly was bloated and full of him.
“Thattaa girl,” he pressed a warm kiss to your mouth as he fucked you through the last few peaks of your orgasms, gingerly swiping his thumb across your cheek as if you were something precious. “My girl.”
And later on, as you softly drifted to sleep, with a belly full of his cum and his softening dick still inside you, you could feel his scarred lips pressing light kisses across your face, and the mumblings of something that sounded vaguely too close to “iloveyou” whispered into your warm skin.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
Five weeks passed, and the Michigan Wolverines were in the midst of the NCAA College Football Championships.
After weeks of non-stop practice, conditioning, strength training, and late-night film recaps, the team of 100-odd men were finally going up against their biggest competitor in the nation.
There was much on the line, but thankfully, Senior Quarterback and Captain, Toji Fushiguro, had quite the good luck charm on his side.
Not only did he pass Kinetics (albeit by the skin of his teeth, thanks to you), but he now had a new, fool-proof pre-game regimen (with an even better success rate!).
He still kept his same protein shake recipe.
He still kept his same choice of attire.
But this time around, he needed at least one hour of your undivided attention, with the provision that his cock be buried so deep and raw inside your trembling cunt that you could feel him in your womb.
And it was only after intense, depraved, animalistic fucking, with your pussy stuffed full of his gooey cum, and hickies in the shape of a ‘T’ on your neck, could the 6’4 230 lbs man say with absolute certainty, that this championship was in the god damn bag.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
The Wolverines won their final round of the playoffs in a sweeping victory: 52-38.
And the star quarterback of the show could not wait to celebrate with you, his pretty lil’ girlfriend.
it’s fate if you’ve meet three times in the rain. at least, that’s what toji believes, especially when he has the strong urge to keep you close.
✵ tags — heavy nsfw, blood, violence, ANGST, corruption kink, virginity loss, unprotected sex, major spit kink, praise kink, crying, oral ( f!receiving), fingering, biting, full nelson, pussy drunk, pussy slapping, cum dump, spanking, dacryphilia, protective toji, angry toji, dumbification
✵ notes — binging lookism is prob the best fcking thing everrr this was originally gonna be a samuel seo fic but I changed it last min xp
love isn’t the word. obsession may be a little too strong. infatuation…now that has a ring to it.
“should I call an ambulance?!” the airy voice slowly brought the man back to consciousness. “wh-why’re you running—“ you suddenly felt a tight grip around your wrist, immediately bringing you down to your knees. the rain hitting the garbage cans hiding the squeak that escaped your lips.
“fuck…are you?” his eyes blinking up, the rain continuing to cloud his sight until he felt a cold hand brush away the strands from his forehead. he suddenly felt his chest tighten. it was a sight. the flushed cheeks, the pouty lips forming into an o, chest rising and falling with each heavy breath, the droplets sliding down her soft cheeks, and of course the big bright eyes that seemed to shine a light in the dark ally.
“I was with a friend….she’s gone now…but you’re all beaten up. along with those other guys,” she looks around at the pile of men just laying unconscious in the alley, all at his feet.
“are you alright?” his voice had you blinking.
“yes, I’m fine—“
“are you alright in the head,” his cold words hit. tapping the side of his head repeatedly, emphasizing it. who the fuck is he? “what kind of person decides to come running into an alley full of bleeding men? clearly you have no fucking sense of where the fuck you are or you would’ve ran away just like your little friend did—“
“just because you lost this little gang fight doesn’t mean you haveta take it out on me,” you snap back. that was a mistake, because the next thing you felt was a grip around your jaw, his fingers digging into your cheeks.
“do you have any idea who you’re speaking to right now?” you felt your blood run cold, you’ve never seen that kind of look on someone’s face. his words and his body were scary, terrifying…but his eyes…they looked….why did you feel a warmth crawling up your cheek.
“no,” your blunt response had the man’s brow twitching. “a loser?”
why is he getting so worked up? he wasn’t a loser. he was just taking a little rest after beating up all those men. but this nobody comes fussing around him.
“fuck off,” he finally lets go of your wrist, subtly looking from the corner of his eye, the way her small hand rubs at the bruise that had formed. was he gripping her that hard? how easily does this girl bruise?
she gets up, I guess she has some sense.
“what’re you?” his eyes go wide as he watches you pull some jackets off the unconscious bodies hidden under a roof, before coming back to the man.
“here you go,” you put the dry jacket around his exposed shoulders, rubbing your hands over it to warm him from the cold rain.
“your hands are cold, this isn’t helping—“
“you’re so noisy!” you huff, “I don’t think you have any friends,” you grumble, using the other jacket to wipe some of the blood from his body.
“don’t need them,” he replies, eyes slowly trailing over the stranger. was she coming back from a party? her shirt was sticking to her pretty chest, adorable bra visible. as for her skirt, it was drenched resting high on her upper thighs as the rain showcased the pretty skin exposed to his lustful eyes.
“what about those guys?” he nods over to the men that lost. “not gonna clean em up and act like a good girl?”
“no,” you mumble, eyes flickering up as you rose to your feet. “i thought you were strong?” fucking brat, he thinks, yet he can’t contain his interest and stands up, your fixing the jacket on him, not bothering with yourself considering how drenched you are, and your body trembling just a bit, it was like you were dunked in an a ice bath.
you move to take his hand, leading him away from the mess only to feel a warmth drape around your shoulders. you look up seeing the man cover you with the jacket, leaving him once again naked from the waist up.
“you can’t just copy me,” you fuss, cheeks puffed. “you’re injured, crippled, broken—“
“that’s enough,” he snaps, “it’s not my blood.” he concludes, allowing you to get another look at his body and he was right. from what you could make trying your best to ignore his inked body, aside from the cuts around his knuckles, the rain swept away the blood that had drenched him, not a single trace of a cut on his body. yet you still go to grab another jacket and drape it on the man. trying your best not to stare too long at the intricate tattoo designs that covered his entire biceps and chest, some even peaking out of his waistband .
“there…matching,” you smile, holding his hand and leading him out of the alley. he watches you closely, are you not scared? his thumb brushes your hand for a moment, your hands really were cold, but also split at the knuckles.
you finally bring him to a small hotel, he doesn’t necessarily know why he follows inside. he has business he should probably attend too, but instead he wants to see where this is heading. he stands in the entrance as you go over to the front desk. his eyes watching as your skirt sticks high up under your perky ass, rising up as you lean over the front desk.
“just one room, please,” there’s a sudden swell rising in his chest when he sees the clerk man drag over your form, obviously eyeing your chest that was so so visible in your drenched shirt—
“here’s your key—“ you blink as you feel a grip suddenly around your shoulder, hand closing your jacket as the man snatches the key card from the clerk.
“oh, you angry or somethin, loser?” you mumble to him as you raise a brow at him, his hand still holding your jacket closed. he’s so strange.
“you’re fucking annoying,” he huffs, “not a loser. toji.” he lets go of you as he walks away from the desk man, not before sending him a glare that immediately had him pissing his pants. fucking gangsters.
you scratch your cheek as you take his hand again “whatever you say, loser.”
“toji,” he corrects through clenched teeth.
“to…” he looks at you. “…loser.” you lead his fussy ass to the room. once you arrive you open the room and hold for him to enter. so this was so you can sleep together? were you going to strip now, show off and ask for money? whatever…i guess he wouldn’t mind some sex right now. letting off some steam after a fight was always a good feeling. you didn’t look like an escort though, was this your first time, is this to pay for college as some side hustle? you didn’t look like you were going to ask for money. should he ask?
the small hand in his had his eyes wavering. no…it wouldn’t hurt to just sleep with someone for himself. especially if it was you—
“there you go,” you perk from the door. he looks over his shoulder seeing your hand extending the key card out to him. “so you’re not resting in some cold alley and getting yourself into more fights.” what’s happening?
“you—“
“I booked it for two nights, that’s all I have for now,” you let out an gentle laugh. “i have to go now. be good, though. don’t go making scary faces at everyone or you won’t have any friends. bye bye loser!” he was too stunned to say anything in return which allowed you time to escape before he had time to process.
he would’ve been grateful for this room if it was him a couple years ago. but after selling his innate talent for fighting in exchange for money, he could’ve just gone back to his well furnished apartment. yet, you didn’t even bother to ask him if he needed a place to sleep. maybe you didn’t want to embarrass him, or assume things? was it really just kindness? but it was hard to tell with your stubborn attitude.
however, when he went to the front desk to check out the next day, he found out you left the hotel room under your full government name. at first he thought it was too easy, but he guessed you really were just helping him.
y/n l/n…pretty.
nevertheless, as much as the man wanted to search for you, he didn’t have the time to go digging into some random girl’s life. as if he had any time for anything other than this life, if you can even call it that.
the nicotine circled his lungs before he exhaled out, dark lashes closing for a moment to savor the addicting sensation, before flicking the cigarette right before dodging the knife that was lunged at his face.
his fist colliding with bone, the snaps and cracks of the falling men ringing in his ears, gaze glanced unbothered at the splits decorating his knuckles with each jab. he wondered what you’d thought when you took his hand. you didn’t say a word. your hand took his like it was nothing at all, as if the blood didn’t also taint your hand. were his hands rough, disgusting…?
“can loser’s be gangster?” the sudden voice had the man looking up. the figure in the distance covered by the rain suddenly had his mind short circuiting. “your blood or no?” your lips pursed as you slid your lollipop to your right cheek.
“you live around here?” toji rubbed his temple, how is this happening again? coincidences cannot be that frequent.
“I think I have some money for food, not another room,” you take the lollipop from your lips. toji quirks a brow, taking a cigarette out only for the rain to remind him it wasn’t possible at the moment.
“you think I need yer allowance from daddy?” he snickers.
“i do.”
the man tsks, glaring at you. “go fuck off before you get lost,” what was he thinking? all he’s been doing was thinking about you and now that you were here it only confirmed, this was not something he needed—
“huh?” your nose scrunches in annoyance. “you sensitive or somethin? embarrassed to take money from a girl?” you roll your eyes and all the man could think was how cute you looked right now. he could almost laugh at your attitude, yet he also felt a stir to press back.
“i don’t have time to play with some college kid,” he brushed past you, unbothered by the steam that left your ears.
“whatever, like anyone would come and— hey! you’re walking away! hey!” your voice easily fell deaf compared to the loud thuds of the rain hitting the pavement and buildings. what did stop him was the group of men he walked past.
“I saw her come this way! I swear it, she quickly came rushing after her shift. she looked so hot in the cafe and when I found out she works there too! I’m going—“
“you? as if she’d open her legs for you. I told you to shut the fuck up and just stand and keep watch. how many fuckin times did I say I’d be the one that’ll take y/n’s sweet innocence—“ the words were immediately knocked out along with a couple teeth.
toji’s chest was suddenly heaving, blood pure red as it sizzled in his body, eyes completely dark. all he could see was red, wet dripping red.
“hey! why’d you run away! I said I’d get you food!” your voice suddenly rounding the corner had his eyes snapping back. he was unsure if the two men on the ground were even alive. “hey! loser!”
“why’re you always yapping ?” he suddenly appeared just as you turned the corner. his large frame covering the little incident behind him.
“huh? whatever, I forgive you so let’s go eat,” your soft hand easily slips into his rough ones like it was second nature. your lips moving as if you didn’t feel the blood that was tainting your clean ones, even if the rain easily washed it away.
“it’s okay,” toji ignores you as he drapes his coat over your shoulders.
“everyone’s staring at you,” his jaw clenches, but you misunderstood. heat suddenly crawling up your neck. there it was, again. you couldn’t explain it. he made you feel hot even when the rain was cold. is this normal?
toji sat across from you. his hand running through his wet hair, slicking back the long dark bangs that dripped on his face. his eyes never leaving you as you moved around in the booth. his cheek resting in his hand watching as you ordered for him. his brows pinched, noticing a small cut on your bottom lip.
“you’re not getting anything?” he voiced with a slight edge.
“I said my treat,” you take out another lollipop.
“that usually means you treat yourself and the guest,” his eyes half lidded as he notices your brow quirk and your arms cross, not before taking the lollipop out to wave around.
“now that doesn’t make any fucking sense,” you scoff, only causing toji to scoff in return, leaning back against the booth. his black dress shirt stretching across his big chest, material still wet from the rain only accentuating his big figure.
“don’t scoff.”
“I don’t think people that fight in rainy alleyways know what treating someone means,” you meet toji’s glare with your own.
“I can see your bra,” toji glances down at your chest, even though the jacket covered, you knew he’d already seen the wet silhouette of your body earlier.
“so?” you roll your eyes. “never seen one before?”
“don’t worry, princess, I’m used to taking them off,” toji sits up as the food arrives, smirking to himself at your flustered state.
“perve,” you mutter as the waitress leaves, but not before she makes eyes with your guest, who gives an easy laid back smile as if this sorta thing happens every day.
“if you want me to flirt with you, just say so,” toji takes a bite of the burger, his thumb wiping the sauce from the corner of his mouth, slipping it back in between his lips, sucking it clean. your legs unconsciously closed.
“I don’t need anymore of that,” you reply in distaste. suddenly grabbing the man’s attention.
“anymore?” he felt the sudden stir from earlier return. the men’s voices from the street echoing through his mind.
“do you like the food?” you’re leaning forward, smiling as he ate with no complaints. your finger coming up to your face as your eye closed as the other gave him the cutest fucking smile ever. “it’s okay to admit defeat again, loser. I know I have great taste in food.” you tease, but so fucking sweetly.
toji couldn’t stop his heart from beating a bit quicker than before. the air just abruptly leaving his lungs as he coughed aggressively, almost choking. the sight was something that sent his mind short circuiting.
“what happened there,” toji points to his own lip, calming himself a bit. you touch your lip, your eyes hesitant for a moment before your usual smile returns quickly.
“I was biting at the skin…exam season,” it was hard to tell, especially as you laughed oh so lightly he could almost faint, yet your body stood up. ready to return the jacket and leave, that is until a large hand wraps around your own cold one as you stood beside his booth. you felt your body heat up like a fire burning under your skin.
“don’t like owing someone twice,” he mutters, retracting his hand. you feel the paper in your palm. “keep the jacket.”
you left. again.
he did owe you, that’s why he gave you his number. there was no other reason for that. was he going to admit that maybe he was worried. maybe the sudden loss of control he had in the alleyway scared him. that the thought of this ‘not being a first’ kept him up at night. what job? what happened to your lip? what was bothering you?
he didn’t know you. but he answered every unknown number. every call that could be a spam risk, every single one until it was finally your voice that rung into his ear.
“why did you give me your number?” the rain made it a little hard to make out your voice, but he could manage. it was probably the one voice he’d be able to hear even if it was miles away.
“why did you call?” he could sense the hesitation on your end. should he push you— “where—“
“the bus stop,” your location was easily given to him and his body was already turning his motorcycle around, cars honking as he swerved around. he didn’t need any explanation nor did you feel the need to give one. your heart was beating a bit too quickly, a mix of feelings circling inside.
the roar of the motorcycle was covered by the late night traffic bustle. but he could make you out, along with the three other men that stood a bit too close even as you continued to shuffle away from them and yell at them to stop. his grip almost broke his bike’s handles. the rain drenched your clothes through. body shivering as the water dripped from the ends of your little skirt, shirt stuck to your body as your arms hugged your chest for some warmth.
“cmon, we spent the night let’s continue this date sugar—“ distracted one of the man’s hand slowly crawled up— just then a motorcycle suddenly stopped in front of the bus stop.
“you’re pretty fast,” your smile almost broke his heart. the relief that swept your features, the forced smile that reached your sunken eyes, fuck! your shoulder still tense, your grip still tight on your bag had toji’s chest clenching. the men that were surrounding you, immediately stumbling back at the appearance of the big scary looking gangster on the motorcycle.
“nothing I can’t handle,” toji teased back, teeth peaking as he gave you a grin, he took off his helmet watching your pretty lashes flutter from the pouring rain, eyes rimmed red. he couldn’t stop himself anymore. his hand reached out, cupping your cold cheeks letting his hands warm you up as you looked up at him, breath stopping.
“hey, who is this—“ one of the men had the courage to step forward, but toji was just quicker, pulling you into his firm chest, arm circling your shoulder as he suddenly took the role of your protector.
“don’t fucking look at her,” your fingers tightened around his shirt unconsciously, his voice was deep, if looks could kill….. toji immediately pulled away, unzipping his coat and putting it over your shoulders, zipping the big jacket as your arms went inside. that immediately grabbed the men’s attention as they noticed the intricate tattoos that decorated the man’s thick arms.
“ever been on one?” toji teased, pulling an extra helmet out of the seat and placing your bag inside as he helped you clip it on.
“you think I’m some lame nerd?” you scoff a bit too sarcastically.
“nerd isn’t the word, not when you’re running into dark alleys alone and picking fights with gangsters,” he sits on the bike, extending a hand to help you behind him. “i know you’re a tough one.”
“so you admit you’re a gangster!” you shout standing up on the bike.
“don’t shout! and sit down!” toji scolds, gripping your thigh. “hold onto me!”
“don’t yell!” you immediately yell back, yet your arms circle his firm waist, hugging him close, pressing your chest against his back.
“I’ll kick you off!” toji huffs, only to curse himself once he feels your arms only tighten at his words. should he be yelling at you right now, but he can’t help it.
“you’re so grumpy, that’s why you’re always fighting,” you scoff, toji can feel your eyes rolling, which only has his lips curling up. you weren’t that easy to break. cute.
once he began driving, your words slowly fizzled away. now your body was the only thing that spoke to him how you were feeling. he felt your hand grasping his drenched shirt when he’d go a bit faster. his hand would go to your exposed thigh at stop lights, gently rubbing the skin in reassurance. his jaw clenches when he felt your body trembling from the cold.
“you’re not gonna tell me where to take you?” toji rubbed gentle but firm circles against your wet thigh as you held him closer burying your face against his back. “loss for words?” no response. “….that’s a first.”
he didn’t need much after that. he didn’t understand why he knew what to do, but it almost felt like he understood you. understood you enough to know that you’d feel comfortable when he parked his bike in the unfamiliar parking lot. his fingers drifting to your thigh again.
“gonna hold me all night?” he jokes, but he maneuvers off the bike, unclipping your helmet pulling it off with his. your eyes are casted down, toji felt his chest tighten. he didn’t like seeing your face so sullen. what was going on? he knew absolutely nothing about this girl.
“is this where you live?” you brush the strands that stuck to your face, all messed up from the rain and the helmet pressing it.
“were you expecting some box under a bridge?” he helps you off the bike, practically lifting you off the bike and placing you in front of him. your eyes gaze up at him, breath warm as you tried to calm your beating heart. there were too many things going through your mind, you couldn’t even respond to his comment. instead you opted on following him into the building.
“wanna talk about it?” toji cringes at his own words. talk about it? since when has he spared anyone his ear…ever?
“no,” you’re still holding his arm, staying close behind him as he maneuvers around his spacious apartment, picking up some leftover garbage lying around.
“you hungry, then? I can order some—“ his breath hitched.
“don’t wanna,” you’re suddenly pressing your face to his back, arms circling his torso catching him off guard. he couldn’t wrap his head around you. a missing piece was dangling in the rain and he just needed that one piece to put you together. yet here you are.
“don’t wanna?” he felt your fingers grip his shirt. he could feel your body trembling against his. “can ya talk to me?” he’s getting a bit frustrated now. turning around in your hold, you bite the inside of your cheek as his hand brushes your cheek, forcing you meet his gaze. his eyes seem a bit feral, desperate to hear anything.
you’re silent.
“fuck, y/n,” he swears, he takes a deep breath calming himself. soon noticing the way your body is trembling. “you’re gonna catch a cold,” he takes your hand, leading you into the bedroom.
he waits outside until you step out in some dry clothes. the sweats were big, but the sweater felt so cozy. it smells like him, your body seems to relax as toji dries your hair, he felt uneasy not hearing your annoying voice.
“what’s this?” toji’s voice was low, thumb brushing the bruised skin on your shoulder, his fingers slid to push the collar down only for your hand to stop him.
“you’re really not gonna say shit?” he pushes, what else can he do? he picked you up, brought you to his home, gave you clothes…was it so bad to ask what the fuck is going on, especially now??
“it’s none of your business,” you snap, fingers gripping your his sweater. “you don’t hear me asking about your gangster fights or whatever.”
“that’s all you ask about,” he deadpans.
your cheeks puff out. “i can just leave,” you move to stand up, only to get pulled back by the mysterious man, your body falling in his lap, as he holds you close.
“did I say you can leave?” his evergreen eyes seemed too much to handle as you looked away. “you can stay,” he rubs your back soothingly, his voice deep, clear he’s had his own long day.
“i…” your voice fizzles as you bow your head, jaw clenched as your fist tightened. “thank you,” your throat feels dry. “thank you,” your voice hitches.
“yeah, yeah,” toji sighs, accepting your broken self as he pulls you to his chest, knowing you were desperate to keep composure in front him so he allowed you to bury your face in his chest. “you’re one fucking piece of work,” he sighs, stroking your back soothingly as he brushed the back of your head, trying to compose his own helplessness as your body shook quietly.
he hadn’t even realized the night came to end until his phone started going off like in the next morning. he groaned, turning over, just to hit the ground with a loud thud.
“fuck,” he sits up, cranky attitude looking around to see himself in the living room. the events of last night slowly flooding back. he hadn’t even realized he’d knocked out holding you. “y/n?” he rubbed his face, only to hear his phone again. groaning once more as he looked around for his cellphone.
“what is it?” he snaps sharply, standing up as he rubs his chest under his sweater, yawning as his feet pad to the bedroom. his eyes scanning the room. he searches the entire apartment, only to sit back in the kitchen, call ending.
where the fuck did you disappear too?
his thumb hovered over your number. would you even answer? his jaw clenched, fuck! he has to deal with some business first. he’ll call you later.
your jaw was locked, body completely tense with fury. your breath was shaky as you felt a hand brush your leg.
“what’s wrong, honey? i won’t give you another tip if I don’t see you drink with me,” your customer sat in the booth with you, sitting a bit too close for your liking as his colleagues also littered the table.
“sorry, sir, if you’ll excuse me, I just need to run to the ladies room,” you felt his grip on your wrist. your entire body reacting, only for your face to relax as you forced the instinctive smile that had every customer swooning. “I’ll only be a minute,” you reassure.
“I’ll be waiting for you, sugar.” you shuffle through the loud atmosphere, passing by other hostesses and drunk grabby customers, until you made it to the stairs, moving up quickly. your fist was colliding with the door at the end of the hall.
“you promised I didn’t have to come in today,” your chest is heaving, desperately trying to keep composure. your boss sits behind his desk, the tension felt suffocating as he glared up at you.
“that was our deal, but when you throw drinks on customers, the night cancels out,” he refers to the incident last night.
“they were touching me! that’s against the rules!” you snap, completely furious. the loud crash of the boss’s chair startled you. his grip was painful on your jaw.
“every other bitch lets their fucking customers touch them except you,” he seethes. “you’re fucking lucky I gave you this job. be grateful for what you have!” he seemed more angry than usual, but that didn’t mean you were going to hold back any punches either. which seemed to be your mistake.
“your interest increases every week, if you don’t want next month’s payment raised, you’re going to fucking take these vip customers,” he seethes, ushering in some security.
“I have a booth right now,” you snap back, only to get cut off by the stinging in your cheek. he lets out a deep breath. at least he wasn’t wearing rings this time, you think, brushing a hand where he’d just slapped you.
“don’t fucking talk back to me. they’ll fuck off and you’ll take these ones. my men like the young ones, and sadly you’re one of the three that’s working tonight,” the old bastard lights a cigarette. “Don’t worry, sweets, you won’t be alone; and I’ll be joining in a bit.”
you felt your stomach churn, you couldn’t think. your brain pounding the back of your skull as you were escorted by the security to the vip room. you held your stomach, calming yourself, not able to afford an increase in your shitty debt. even though you were supposed to be working at the delivery service tonight, this still paid more, so suck it up!
“Ah yes, come in darling,” your knock was welcomed with a booming voice. you slid the door, stepping in, eyes on the ground as you immediately bow, introducing yourself with a gorgeous little smile.
“I’m happy to be one of your hostess for the night, I hope I can do my best to serve you all—“ you straighten up, only to feel your entire world stop….you could practically hear your heart dropping, body running stone fucking cold.
the deep forest eyes were dark as night.
“is everything alright, darling?” one of the men spoke, catching your attention as you turned, breaking into your smile as you gave an light laugh. the six men and two hostesses sat on the tatami mat on the raised platform around the center table, drinks already littering the place.
“of course, my apologies,” your sweet smile had the men around the table swooning as they immediately forgave you. “come join us here.” the same man made room for you. the two other hostesses already sitting beside some—
a drink suddenly slammed on the table, starling the hostesses and men. your eyes met once again. you felt a cold sweat break out.
“sit here,” toji. you gulped, nibbling on the inside of your cheek.
“c’mon toji, we’re all here for good time!” one of them had the courage to speak up, laughing as he had his legs spread. the four other men agreeing as they coddled up with the other two women.
“are you asking me to repeat myself?” his words seemed to cut like ice, immediately silencing the table. “sweetheart,” you felt your breath hitch, you had used an alias when introducing yourself just now, he knew it was bs. you bit back your tongue as you stepped out of your shoes and walked onto the platform around the table, before taking a seat down beside the man. “how was your morning?”
your mind was moving too fast for you to keep up. this was so humiliating, was it because you didn’t want this life colliding with the other? or was it because you felt so degrading being seen in this kind of place? but then again, you had no idea who this man is. why do you care what he thinks?
the table seemed to ease once toji started speaking to you as they returned to their conversations and drinking games.
“what’re you doing?” his voice close to your ear, it sent a chill down your body. he was leaning on his arm behind you, practically brushing his face in your hair as he spoke.
“serving you,” you smile with your face, eyes closing a bit as you force yourself to get through this night. but all you could think was what was he doing here? you didn’t want him to be like everyone else? you definitely had a different image of him that you were feeding yourself. did you really think he was different?
“y/n—“ your body tensed immediately.
“don’t say my name,” you snap under your breath.
“then fucking answer me,” the hushed whispers received some glances from the men sitting close by. toji didn’t care, especially when he noticed the slight bruise on your cheek.
“what’s this,” his fingers brush the bruise.
“don’t touch me,” you speak through clenched teeth, turning away from him, chest rising as you feel the room start to close in on you. this was too overwhelming.
“let’s talk business men!” your boss immediately yells as he steps into the room. the men standing to greet him immediately, toji remained sitting.
“boss, we’ve ran through the data and I think it’d be wise to expand our reach to shinjuku,” one of the men starts rambling, but all you could hear was the boss. did these men work for that bastard? toji looked down, eyes narrowing at your shoulders tensing.
“hold on,” toji picks up his drink, arm resting on his knee perched up. “I couldn’t give a fuck about your expansion. we had a deal, so let’s talk about that shit first, then you can beg me for another fuck job,” your brows pinched. you didn’t want to be here. you couldn’t keep your composure, it was difficult at times, but you usually pushed through. but this time around, this time, it felt like new scars being made, why was your heart hurting?
their voices blurred in the back of your mind. your eyes blank as you stared at the table. hearing toji’s voice close to you, your boss talking, the men around the table. how much longer do you have to live like this? what’s the point in being here? you’ll be dead before you can pay off this shitty debt your uncle left you. should you give up? working this job, working four more, barely getting any sleep? what kind of life is this? but what about your dreams? don’t you have ideals? you can give up? is there a life after this? is it even possible—
“you seem agitated toji, you don’t think I’ll go back on my word do you?” your boss grins, shining his gold teeth with a laugh.
“I need to use the restroom,” you suddenly stand up, immediately catching toi’s attention, hand coming to yours only for you to pull away. you quickly make your way to the exit stepping off the platform, until a hand tightens around your wrist, a yelp escaping.
“sit your fucking ass down, bitch,” your boss sneers, his grip on you making you wince in pain.
“i need to use the bathroom,” you whisper through clenched teeth, blood boiling, but the entire room is staring.
“you have customers, sit back with mr. zenin,” he was a hefty old man, probably three times your size, so his grip felt like it was about to snap your wrist in half.
“I’ll take her with me,” toji’s grip was tight on the boss, causing him to let go with an embarrassing whimper. your wrist sore as toji pulled you away from the man, arm around your shoulders. the boss looking up with a raised brow.
“they’re hostesses, not escorts zenin,” your boss looks at you. “as much as she looks like one…besides her shift isn’t over. you don’t need to step in—“
“I’ll take my payment as her,” you felt your heart stop. what is he thinking? buying you so easily? “this is my last time working with you. these shit delays in payments is fucking embarrassing.”
“waste of good money,” your boss scoffs, glaring down at you, before brushing off the private hire and turning back to continue his business.
“what the fuck is wrong with you!” you snap, the early night breeze sent goosebumps down your exposed arms. you winced now feeling the bruise on your wrist.
“you couldn’t tell me this? really?!” as if the man was going to hold back from yelling at you. “tell me! he gave you that cut on your lip and those fucking bruises, right?” he was practically seething. his teeth could draw blood from how hard he was struggling to keep it together.
“I’m not saying shit, so just leave it alone,” you huff, turning on your heel.
“y/n!” his hand mistakenly takes your bruised wrist causing your body to wince as you yelp in pain.
“let go!” you shout. “everyone’s always fucking touching me!”
“did he break it?” his grip loosens, but he still holds it to check.
“it’s fine,” your tremble, holding your wrist to your chest. “it’s probably just sprained.”
“do you trust me?” toji had to calm down right now, but it was difficult. it really fucking was.
“no,” you answer bluntly, eyes narrowing at his as he glares back.
“well, trust me.”
“that’s not how it works,” you look up at him as he steps forward, hand cupping your face again, eyes looking at the small bruise ghosting your cheekbones. you hated that you couldn’t bring yourself to push him away. why was his touch okay?
“that’s how this is going to work,” he’s speaking much softer right now, and you feel the warmth around your shoulders. another coat….asshole, he knows what he’s doing.
“hey!” the shout has you looking over your shoulder, toji also checking in the distance, both noticing the three men charging down the street. “you fucking bitch! ya had us kicked out?! for what?!” you immediately recognized your table from earlier that night. “I fucking paid for you, so I’m getting my fucking moneys worth—“
the moment he came into reach, toji pulled you into his chest, back pressed against him as his hand came up covering your eyes. your breath hitched, “close your eyes, y/n.”
toji easily swinging directly at the guys face. you heard the grunts and the movement from toji as he held you close.
your cheeks were flushed as you pushed him away. “close my eyes?” your cheeks puffed, eyes locked on his. “I told you stop fighting!”
toji felt his heart almost beat out of his chest as he looked at your flustered expression.
“cmon let’s go,” your hand once again easily slips into his, leading him away from the mess you didn’t bother to look it.
“you live pretty close,” toji steps into your little apartment, the door needing to be pushed a bit harder to close.
“well, it’s because the old bastard found it for me,” you spit, going over to the kitchen “needed me close by,” you pull out some bandages. toji immediately comes over grabbing the supplies from you and pulling you to sit on the couch as he kneeled on the ground. “I can do it—“
“you’ve got one hand,” he snaps back, you huff looking away with an annoyed pout. he found it pretty easy to move you around how he pleased, tying the bandage tight on your wrist, causing you to wince. “it has to be tight.”
“I didn’t say anything,” you roll your eyes again, toji looks from under his long dark lashes. you were leaning back against the couch, knees closed as your dress sat bunched up on your flush thighs, your brows furrowed—
“can you tell me now?” he’s now holding your hand gently, fingers grazing your own as he sits at your feet. his own eyes seemed to be filled with concern? your stomach swarmed with butterflies, seeing this big man on his knees—you look away.
“what part of it’s none of your business— do you not understand?” you meet his eyes again, only to see them darken. your skin felt hot, mouth dry as you licked your lips. “just because we’ve met a couple times doesn’t mean we’re friends.”
“why’d you buy me food then? the motel room?” he presses.
you scoff, “i was just throwing cash.”
“you don’t look to be in a position where you can afford that kind of spending,” you roll your eyes, heat crawling up your ears from embarrassment.
“you don’t know shit, I’m an impulsive spender,” you shrug, crossing your legs.
“but can’t afford to buy yourself new shoes?” his calloused hands glide down your calve, brushing your anklet as he lifts your foot up, displaying the worn out heels.
“I couldn’t find any other ones like these…they’re my favorite,” you lie, as toji hums.
“you do look very pretty in them,” his fingers glide down your foot, his other hand pulling the shoe off. you feel your breath start to stagger. eyes wavering as you watch his hands glide to your other foot, taking off the other heel.
“have some kinda foot kink or something,” you roll your eyes, trying to calm your beating heart.
“you like cracking jokes,” he lifts your foot, placing it on his shoulder as he leans close, lips pressing against the inside of your ankle. he slowly begins to lean in, pressing wet kisses up your soft leg, until your knee was bent over his shoulder, his warm hands stroking your thighs, before they held your waist. his body pressed close to you.
“toji,” his dark green eyes never leave your own. watching your lips part just a bit as you take a deep breath, your working hand covering your face, too embarrassed to look at him.
“I thought you weren’t an escort,” he clicks his tongue.
“don’t be mean,” you look at him, his eyes still on you. “what?” you were growing more and more embarrassed.
“nothing,” he shrugs, fingers still brushing your leg, the other rubbing your side. he hasn’t even done anything, yet you felt like he was surrounding you. you’ve only known how scary it was, but it was him—and it felt okay.
“you’re looking at me like that.”
“like what?” he raised a brow.
“like, you know!” you’re growing annoyed.
“like I wanna fuck you?” your breath hitched. his grin already splitting his face, tongue swiping at his scar as he sees your stunned expression. “isn’t that what you were saying.”
“I didn’t say it like that,” you snap, embarrassed.
“that’s what you meant though,” he leans closer to you, his breath fanning close to your lips as your cheeks darken. “tell me what you meant, then.”
“i dunno,” he’s so close! your mind was scrambled. he was doing this on purpose!
“you can’t answer me now?” his lips press against your bruised cheek, his chest tight at the small wince, he moves down to your jaw kissing you again, now under your ear, your neck, your chin, your body was squirming, you’ve never experienced something like this, you couldn’t help but let your fingers move up his neck, holding the back of his head as he sucked and panted, almost laying on you.
“are you scared?” his breath was fanning against your ear. your finger still tangled in his hair, one leg hooked in his arm, but the other unconsciously spreading as it was propped up on the couch. you shake your head. “you lying?”
“I’m not,” you mumble, holding his head close, almost hugging him.
“what do you want me to do?” his tongue laps at your ear, your head tilting as you squirm.
“you’re taking advantage of me,” you mutter, toji hums.
“why do you think so?” he sucks another bruise on your neck as you whimper.
“you’re obsessed with me after I buy you a meal and give you shelter. that’s what stalkers do,” he suddenly break into a laugh.
“if I remember you pulled me to those places!” he’s laughing hysterically.
“I was being nice,” you let go of his hair, rolling your eyes.
“really?” his voice suddenly serious. you held your breath. “why did you come down that alley?”
“what do you mean?” your voice is low.
“you say you hate fighting, but you walked into an alley full of bleeding men, some dead, and yet you sat in front of me?” you look away for a moment.
“i was checking if you were alright—“
“don’t!” the sudden rise in his voice startled you. “don’t lie to me,” he calms. he looks down, your bandaged hand resting on the couch. “you saw me fighting, right?”
your chest was rising, lips parting, but you look away. your eyes were glossed over. “it doesn’t matter—“
“you wanted my help, didn’t you?” the slight hesitation in your eyes immediately told him.
“help with what?”
“just ask me,” his lips return to your cheek, lips close to your ear.
“ask what?” you sigh, struggling to hold back. your free hand was tight on his shirt.
“ask me,” he presses again, “ask,” he chants in your ear, littering your face with his feather like kisses, unbothered as he feels the small trickle of your tears kissing his lips.
is it okay? is it okay if you ask? would it be possible to see a future? to live a life instead of surviving. are you allowed too? he was scary, but you were never scared of him….
“save…me…” that’s all he needed.
“of course,” his lips crash into yours. more tears flow down your cheeks as he opens your lips for his tongue, deepening the kiss. it was so wet, his lips were desperate as he kissed you with everything. your lips parting, panting as he continued to play with your tongue, you did your best to keep up, which he found adorable. immediately understanding how skilled he was in comparison. but you didn’t care, not one fucking bit.
your eyelashes kissed your cheek as he watched you with half-lidded eyes as his tongue stuck out once he pulled away, smiling when you obediently copied him. his tongue kissed yours. your lips wet with his spit as he closed the space again. his body moving up, lips still locked with yours as you felt him moving. you pulled away to look up.
“where’re you goin?” your hand is tight on his collar.
“now you can’t let me go?” he teases, pulling his shirt off, that you hadn’t noticed had some blood on it.
“I wanna kiss some more,” you pout under your breath. his eyes snap to you, practically seeing hearts as he grabs your face with both hands and kisses you hard.
your whines are muffled as you squirm, holding his wrist. he’s slowly leaning you down on the couch only for you to push him back.
“what’re you—“ toji stops as he watches you crawl on his lap, hand stroking his cheek as you lean to kiss him. god she’s so fucking cute! he almost screams. arm wrapping around your waist as he rubs your side, hugging you as you play with him. you were absolutely drunk on this man’s lips, every few seconds you pull away to catch your breath, your thumb caressing his scar for a few moment. lips just millimeters apart so toji can just tilt his head and graze your wet lips.
your eyes almost sparkle as he sticks his tongue out waiting for you. his free hand trailing up your dress, pushing the material up so he can feel the globes of your ass, squeezing the flesh. you let his hands wander as yours stay in his hair or hold his face kissing him like there’s no tomorrow.
“you gonna let me eat ya out?” he pants, almost out of breath with how much you’re kissing him. his lips a bit swollen making them all pink, matching yours.
“want it inside me,” you kiss him again. toji raises a brow, eyes looking at you as he caresses your ass.
“what’s your experience, sweetheart?” toji mumbles, easily pulling your dress off, your hands going up to help, before quickly returning to him. your fingers touch his scar, smiling at the pinkish swell from how much you were kissing him.
“none,” you kiss his scar, sighing as you kiss it again and again as toji rocks his bulge against your clothed heat, pulling you higher up his lap as you sigh.
“then I needa open you open, pretty girl,” he grunts as he finally gets some friction after being hard the entire time you guys were making out.
“I don’t wanna,” you pull your panties off, before getting back on his lap, tongue inside his mouth as he groans, his hand moving down to cup your wet heat, his eyes almost closing at how much you were dripping.
“fuck, you’re leaking,” you whimper as he rubs his thick fingers through your folds, your lips on his cheeks panting from the subtle touches, until you pull away.
“i want you to fuck me now,” you start to unbuckle his belt, tossing it to the side, desperate to get his pants down.
“it’s gonna hurt if you don’t let me stretch you,” he holds your hand trying to slow you down. “you can’t rush this.”
“I’m not. I’ve waited forever for this,” you huff, finally getting his pants down just enough to pull his boxers down for his hefty length to spring free.
“It’ll hurt—“ your lips cut him off, again. whining on his lap as you push his pants down to his thighs but struggling. his arm wrap around your waist as he stands up. your body immediately holding him so you don’t fall. “fucking impatient,” toji grunts, kicking his last articles of clothing until he’s bare. you don’t waste a moment to latch your lips back onto him. he hums, squeezing your ass before giving it a hard spank.
“I wanna put it inside,” you whine, tugging his hair, waiting impatiently for him to sit back down.
“can’t give me a fucking please, just gonna whine like a brat?”
“ya,” you huff, licking his jaw, as he sits back on the couch facing the full length mirror. what was he expecting? every interaction you’ve had together was always a push and pull. he plops down resting his back as he holds onto your ass giving it light spank, informing you.
“let me open you,” he tries another time, but you just push his shoulders, leaning back as you stare down at his thick cock.
“ ‘s fine,” you mutter, biting your lip as you start to get jittery, toji clicks his tongue, spitting in his hand first and bringing it down to his dick. “wait I want it inside—“
“common sense baby, lemme just make it wet so it doesn’t hurt,” he cuts you, grabbing his heavy cock and stroking himself. you watch in amazement, pupils dilating at the sight of toji jerking off, his cock only growing in size, especially with how you’re looking at him (but that wasn’t to your knowledge).
“don’t cum,” you order, seeing his pants get a little heavier.
“so bossy, fucking brat,” he gives your ass a slap, letting go of his dick. “let’s see what you got,” toji looks over at the mirror behind you. watching as you lift your ass up. “don’t hurt yerself.”
“I just slip it inside?” you ask, holding his tip making him grip you tighter from the unexpected swipe you give at his leaking slit.
“ya, then just slowly sit down on it,” he holds your ass apart, eyes locked on the mirror, looking at his cock brushing your wet pussy, already leaking onto him.
“right here?” you pant gently, his tip pushing at your little hole.
“ya, right there, pretty girl,” he squeezes your ass, as you unconsciously hold your breath, trying to sit down on him. “you’re too tight,” toji grits, your eyes half lidded as you barely get his tip in.
“let me do it,” you huff, almost out of breath just by trying to push his tip in. toji spreads his legs further apart, causing your own to spread some more, gripping his shoulders for balance. he’s slowly starting to loose patience as you barely go down, only teasing his tip as you whimper in his shoulder.
“you haven’t even got the tip in,” he swears giving your ass a slap as you latch your lips onto him.
“I’m trying,” you mumble, lost in his lips to not notice his hand rubbing down your ass until he was lifting you off his tip and instead sinking in his finger. “ahh,” your body pressed forward, breath catching in your throat.
“arching your back like a good girl,” toji laughs, pumping his fingers inside you causing your voice to raise a pitch. “squeezing my fingers so tight.”
“I want your dick,” you choke out, eyes rolling back as your body moved with each pump of his fingers, his other hand caressing the arch of your back, before stroking the back of your head.
“can’t take it if you’re all tight and nervous,” he swears, hearing the squelching of your wet pussy as he fucked his fingers faster, curling them against the gummy walls.
“toji don’t wanna cu—uh! please!” your voice was breaking as you whined and moaned, drooling on his chest as your body slid to arch even more for his hand.
“such a fucking slut, you like my fingers in ya?” he groans as he turns you over so you’re laying across his lap. “lemme get a look at this dirty pussy,” he spreads your ass as you arch some more for him. his pupils dilate at the sight.
“put it in now…want it,” you whine again, only to receive a harsh slap, your body jumping as you grip the couch. “toji!” you cry, breath hitching as you feel your other orgasm coming.
“stop the fucking whining or you won’t get anything,” he leans down, burying his face behind you, tongue lapping at your drenched pussy.
“ahh! what’re you—you’re hngh ahh!” your body’s trembling as he holds your pretty ass apart, your back arching to the max as he sucks your clit into his lips. “toji!”
he hums at your cries, your legs trembling.
“like spreading your legs for me?” he laughs, pulling away to watch your whines grow louder, you had absolutely no control in your voice. “too dumb to use your words?”
“you’re so annoying!” you huff, cheek pressing against the couch as you look back at him, brows pinched together — he could almost faint at how adorable you looked. instead he opted to give your pussy a harsh slap. your eyes rolling back as you yelped.
“what’d you say?” he waits for your reply as you catch your breath.
“said…” you’re panting. “said….you’re being a fucking….prick,” tears swell in your eyes at the slap. he was impressed you didn’t stutter. your body was burning as you unconsciously arched some more allowing him to get better access to your glistening pussy.
“dirty fucking girl,” he pulls your cheeks apart, tongue swiping at his scar as he leans down, spitting directly on your pussy causing you to moan. “so cute,” he couldn’t stop the words from slipping past his lips. especially with your pretty pussy shaking at the feeling of his spit sliding inside you. he easily dove back in, fingers pumping another orgasm from you.
“toj—jiii uh uh pleaseee,” you’re squirming as you cream around his fingers, desperately trying to catch your breath as you feel his lips latch back onto your heat licking you up.
“what is it, babygirl?” you’re trying to twist around, arm extending out for him as you lay on your side. “so needy,” he cooes, huge body crawling up allowing your arms to wrap around his shoulders pulling him down to your lips.
you hum in satisfaction, eyes fluttering as you play with his tongue. you’ve never tasted yourself, but his lips and chin and even nose was drenched in you. you’re hugging him close, whining in his mouth as his teeth bite down on your bottom lip.
“think you can take me now?” he swipes his cock between your folds, teasing your clit as he grips your jaw. “gonna be a good girl?”
“I’m always good,” you reply, tongue hanging out for him which he follows for his thumb to glide inside your mouth, rubbing down on your tongue.
“are you know? where’d you get that idea?” he taunts, his dark green eyes following the movement of your lips enclosing around his thumb. you were humming, practically purring when his other hand caressed your cheek. “fuck me,” he shivers at your confident submission.
your eyes flutter arms resting on the couch over your head, pretty tits nice a perky for him. toji pulls his thumb out, holding your chin as he pulls your lip down, lolling your tongue out. he hums in satisfaction, tilting your head up as he lits a glob of spit fall into your mouth.
your cheeks burst, eyes closing as you audibly whimper. he easily manhandles your body so you were folded in half, pumping his dick aggressively as he watches you swallow his spit in time to feel him pushing his tip inside your tight leaking hole.
“ah fuck, you’re still tight,” your back arches, head thrown back as he pushes inside you, your eyes rolling back. “fuck,” toji laps at your perky nipples, latching his lips as you suddenly start panting, hands pulling his face.
“wai—wait! ahh uh toji! wait!” your eyes are filled with tears and your face is burning with embarrassment at the reaction to him barely inside you.
“you were begging for it, and now you’re crying about the tip?” he grunts pushing further in, his hands planted on the couch beside your head, your legs over his shoulders as you hold his face.
“it’s—ah!” your lashes flutter, lips parting as drool slips out. “kiss me,” your wish was his command. his lips crash into yours, swallowing your pathetic little cries. fingers digging in his hair as pulls his hips back, and slamming them back in. he feels your tears coat his face as he slowly but surely pushes his hefty cock into your squelching cunt.
“did ya just cum, pretty?” he pulls away as you shiver, burying your face in his neck as you cry. your lips pressed open mouthed kisses. you were squeezing him so fucking well.
“more, want more,” you babble, and surely you feel your body being hoisted as he sits upright, turning you around and hooking his arms under your legs. he easily picks up up, standing as his dick goes back in and starts thrusting into your drenched cunt.
“this what you want?” he groans as you grab at his forearms, nails digging into his flesh as your moans get higher and higher with each snap of his hips. “you lookin at yourself, pretty?” his lips press against your ear, watching your eyes flutter open to look at the mirror in front of you.
“to—oji—“ your face flushes as he moves closer, fucking you in front of the mirror watching your glistening pussy suck in his fat dick as your juices flowed down his balls and thighs. you turned your face, looking away.
“what’s wrong, getting shy now?” he clicks his tongue, leaning to bite your cheek, unbothered as he easily handles you to lift you up and down his impressive size.
“ahhh! ji—ung uhh—“ you could no longer form words, growing dumber and dumber as the sounds of his cock squelching inside your wet insides sent your mind fuzzy.
you couldn’t open your eyes, you knew you wouldn’t be able to handle it if your eyes open. toji raised a brow as you moaned and cried in his neck.
“sweetheart,” your breath hitched as you felt him lift you higher, his tip just barely inside you as he fully pulled out. “open your eyes!” he accentuates his final words by dropping your entire weight down and pushing his full entire length inside you.
“ahhhhh!” your scream pierced the air as you immediately felt your insides snap.
“shit,” toji is laughing in your ear as he doesn’t stop his movements, arms flexing as his fingers dig into your under thighs. “who knew you were a squirter,” your eyes are blurry from your tears. “do it again,” he commands, “and watch closely this time,” his voice was deep it sent shivers down your spine as you tried to blink the tears away to look.
“your little hole is all red from how much I’m moving in and out, see,” your eyes look at the mirror at where you’re connected. and of course, your pussy hole was red. “taking my dick like a big girl,” he grins, as you flush at his words. “squeezing me whenever I bottom out, inside you princess.”
just as he bottoms out again, your pussy unconsciously squeezes him earning a shit eating grin from him. “see? you’re pretty cute sucking me in,” he cooes in your ear as you squeeze his arms. “so shameless shaking your pussy for me earlier,” he clicks his tongue. “it’d be a shame if I didn’t show you how cute this little cunt is.”
“hhngh—ahh don’t wanna see—“ you whimper, too overstimulated by his words as you pant, tears running down your flushed cheeks. this feels so good! “ ‘s —ahhh deep— filling me up!”
“ungh fuckk—“ toji groans, jaw clenching as he feels your pussy squeezing him unbelievably tight. “you really like this mirror thing, huh?”
“ngh! ahhhh oji—uhhh, uh uh—“ you’re eyes are crossing as you drool feeling your body build up, you felt him deep in your insides kissing your cervix harshly ; you were going to pass out.
with another snap of his hips, you felt him so deep your body snapped, back arching away from his chest as your pussy squirted.
“hngh!” toji audibly groans, unexpectedly shooting his heavy thick load inside you. you’re clenching his cock, panting as you whimper.
“fuck,” he bites at your shoulder, muffling his groans as he spurts more and more cum deep inside you. “fucking squeezing me to death, pretty girl,” he pants, your head turning as your hand comes up to his cheek, moving his face to meet your lips.
his body immediately melts, still holding you up as you devour his lips. moaning and shaking as his cum slides down his cock to his frothy base of cream. the mirror dirty from your own surprised squirt.
you don’t even feel him sitting back on the couch until he’s picking you up to turn you around, only for his load to slide out of your swollen pussy. your eyes cross as he pushes back inside you once your facing him, legs on top his thighs as you lift your body up.
“there ya go, keep going, pretty angel.” his head falls back, relaxing his muscles for a moment as he slaps your pretty ass.
“good—‘s good toji—feels uh uh uh—“ your nails dig into his shoulders as you ride his big cock, pat pat pat the sounds in the small apartment were lewd. squelching and unbothered with making a bigger mess as more of him spilled out the faster you tried to bounce.
“so much stamina, good girl,” he spreads your ass watching your back arch into his chest as you bite his neck, arms circling his neck as you kiss him some more.
“toji,” you pant into his lips, it was the only thing you could think of, the only thing you could say, the only thing you wanted—toji!
he was suddenly pounding into you from behind. you didn’t even remember him moving to the bedroom. kneeling behind your ass he ruts into you. your grip tight around the sheets as it soaked your dumb tears.
“making a mess, ungh cumming everywhere,” toji grunts, slapping your ass as you fuck your hips back into his. “squirting on the mirror, the couch,” he grunts, head tilting back. “good fucking girl—fuck!—gonna fuck you all night,” he leans over your body, hand holding yours as he kisses your cute flushed cheek full of tears.
“toji! wan’ more cumm—ah—“ you’re just babbling at this point, nothing coherent anymore as toji feels his stomach constrict, kissing your cheek and sweaty shoulder as he starts moaning loudly.
“fucking you dumb, can’t even finish yer sentence, huh?” your eyes roll back at his filthy words. it’s been hours of fucking you, he was surprised how long he was going for as his body tingled from the overstimulation. but you were just doing so fucking good for him, he can’t remember the last time he’s had such a good fucking girl.
“shit, you can still squirt, baby,” toji breaks composure for a moment as he feels you gushing around him. “I’m gonna spill everything—hngh—“ a loud strangled moan escapes his lips as he buries his face in your shoulder; his thrusts get sloppy feeling him twitch deep inside you, until you felt a load of warmth swell in your belly.
“uh shit pretty—take it all,” he groans with each broken thrust, ignoring the shivering of his own body as you whine. panting uncontrollably.
you’re body is limp as toji continues to shove his hips into you, his big cock still spurting his heavy seed inside your abused hole. your hand comes up, running through his hair as you lead him to your lips.
“shit baby,” he sighs against your lips. completely out of breath as you kiss him, his own moans slipping inside your lips from the aftershocks. your lips are sloppy as drool runs down your chin. you were so ruined. his body shivers as he feels you clench around him, his hand instinctively comes to your hips halting your movements. “one sec, baby,” his eyes close for moment, chest rising as he’s hovered behind you. his lips agape as you stroke his face.
toji carefully pulls out, a whine leaving your pretty lips as he inches out, his cum oozing out as he falls to the side. your body trembles at being empty again, now so used to the feeling of him inside you, your body was clawing for him again. he’s unbothered as he wraps a strong arm around your torso completely, pulling you into his side as your arms circle his neck, littering his face with kisses. his body completely sinking into the mattress as he allowed you to do as you pleased.
“stay with me,” your voice was hoarse, the night of screaming and whining finally scratching at your throat as you pant softly. his rough hand gently caressing up and down your back. his broad chest, rising n falling as he laid on his back, your body leaning over his.
“you’ve gotten so needy, pretty,” he teases, free hand coming up to hold your cheek. your eyes half lidded, so completely exhausted, as he gently pulls you to his lips again. the kiss much softer, as he brushes his thumb across your cheek, feeling the damp tears. “i promise.”
his body was so warm, the cold apartment suddenly felt cozy, his embrace was reassuring. before you knew it, you were drifting off to sleep.
the memories of the night were printed in your mind. so when the sunlight spilled into the small bedroom, the first instinct was to reach an arm beside you.
“to…ji?” your voice groggy as you rolled to your side, rubbing your face in the pillow, opening your eyes. “toji?” was he using the bathroom?
you sat quietly. if you moved it will be real. no…just stay here for a little while longer. just hold onto to last night for a little bit more…..no….don’t cry…..your teeth pierced the skin of your trembling lip, scratching at your cheeks, no you weren’t crying!
he wasn’t different. how could he be?
“y/n, table 7 is asking for you!” the diner manager snaps. you can’t even respond as you move over to table 7. the day moving how it should always. from the first job to the next and the next and the next. no sign of him. it’s for the better. one night is better than anything you could’ve asked for….yes…you should be grateful. stop complaining, y/n. at least you’re alive…..
“huh,” your movements halted. the hostess club was closed, policemen and ambulances surrounding the block…. “what’s going on?” you ask one of the hostesses.
“I don’t know, but they’re saying they’re all dead!” she freaks, hand over her mouth in disbelief.
“what? who?” your heart was beating in your ears.
“the boss! all his men!”
your body froze. what….what’s going on? was it…? no! it couldn’t…. save me…. the words were flooding back to your head. did you let this happen? was it your fault that they’re dead…no, he wouldn’t—
your eyes freeze, because there he was. shoving random shit from your room inside the duffle bag in the middle of your apartment. the sound of the front door slamming behind you, immediately grabbed his attention.
“where the fuck were you?” he snaps, but he stops noticing your pinched brows, and trembling hand. “wh—“
who cares? fuck it.
so your body moved. running across the room and jumping into his arms. toji stumbled back, holding you up in surprise. your legs wrapped around his torso.
“you said you wouldn’t fucking leave! asshole!” you yell, causing the man to wince.
“shit baby, don’t fucking yell in my ear—“ your lips cut his shouts.
“fuck you,” you wipe your tears, toji humming as he brushes your cheek as well. you can’t help but kiss him again.
“what is it now?” he rolls his eyes, waiting to hear it.
“I said no more fighting,” toji meets your eyes. you know…
“it was a last goodbye,” he grins, watching you reciprocate the same one, wiping the last of your stupid ass tears. god, how much you hated crying.
“what now?” you hold his face, wiping the dried blood on his forehead.
“we’re leaving.”
“Is it that easy?” you raise a brow. toji winks.
“yes, that easy. I am a master a my job. we don’t have to leave if you really like it here—“
“no!” you stop him. “I wanna leave!” you say eagerly.
this was it. the only thing you needed was him. and he knew it so fucking well, that he couldn’t care about anything else other than you. so he pulls you to his lips and mutters so surely….
where to?
omfg!! the way this fic took me a fcking century to finish cuz uni started! sorry for the wait guys :’)
[ 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)
thinking of MODULO YUJI who has been secretly fucking nobara's granddaughter.
ALL REASON ASIDE : THE SERIES !
PLOT. you’re nobara’s granddaughter, which means yuji was never supposed to touch you…until he does, and it turns into something neither of you ever define. even after disappearing from your grandmother’s life, he keeps coming back to you behind her back, keeping you well fucked—until one day, he leaves your life as well. a year later, on the night you get engaged, yuji comes back.
WARNINGS. 18+, mdni, smut, angst, porn with plot, age-gap (60 years), yuji is 83-years-old, reader is nobara's granddaughter, taboo relationship (?).
CHARACTERS. ITADORI YUJI (JJK MÓDULO).
masterlist :: modulo yuji collection
CHAPTER 1
LOVE ISN'T RATIONAL, IT'S PHYSICAL !
WARNINGS: 18+, mdni, angst, porn with plot, age-gap (60 years, yikess), yuji is 83-years-old, reader is nobara's granddaughter, taboo relationship (?), tension, cheating (reader is engaged), smoking, yuji is a slightttt jerk (imo), fingering, cunnilingus, p in v, doggy style (prone bone), unprotected sex, creampie, not proofread (i gave up).
WC: 4.2k.
CHAPTER 2
AND EVEN I KNOW THIS AIN'T SMART !
WARNINGS. 18+, mdni, porn with plot, age-gap (60 years), yuji is 78-79 years old here, reader is 20, reader is nobara's granddaughter, taboo relationship (?), tension, smoking, yuji is a little cold, virginity loss. fingering, p in v, protection is used, not proofread.
WC. 5.2k.
CHAPTER 3
HE LIES, HE BLUFFS, HE'S UNRELIABLE !
WARNINGS: 18+, mdni, angst, hurt no comfort, porn with plot, age-gap (60 years), yuji is 78-79 years old here, reader is 20, reader is nobara's granddaughter, taboo relationship (?), yuji is a jerk tbh, almost getting caught, p in v, bathroom sex, no protection, creampie, brief oral sex (f. receiving), brief cum eating, not proofread.
WC. 5.8k.
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!!
i sincerely apologize for what you are about to read
cw: mdni, dubcon(?), portal pocket pussy, unintentional cheating, male infertility, creampie, take the phone away from me pls
jin itadori gifts his asshole twin brother a pocket pussy thinking it'll help with his anger issues. sukuna finds it fucking dumb yet on one desperate night when he's got no fling to call since he pissed them all off and he's at his brother's house, he ends up putting the thing to use.
it's ridiculous really, his tatted face heating in embarrassment when he licks at the pearly little clit of the plush pussy that's tarty sweet and warm against his tongue. toy or not, he can't fucking help that he's a munch, dipping his hot, wet muscle into the fluttering hole, slathering it in his saliva as he groans at the slick oozing onto his awaiting tastebuds. when it swells and clamps down on his swirling tongue, he tips his head back, adam's apple bobbing as his tongue is coated with the dripping cum.
now that his thirst is temporarily satiated, he shucks off his jeans, cock smacking against his abdomen that flinches and bunches as the thick, dark-veined shaft lolls against it heavily. he pumps it in his fist a few times then slaps his weeping tip against the clit, smirking when it jumps. then he eases it inside the sopping cunt, jaw slack and brows knit as he watches the hole stretch wide around his girth, swallowing him slow and snug.
he can hardly hold himself back from working the squelching, drooling pussy up and down his cock, slobbering the pulsing length of it in tangy, honeyed juices that foam around his base in a creamy ring as lazy grunts and slurring groans spill from his mouth and into the quiet guest room.
meanwhile, back at the ranch aka his brother's bedroom, his wife who absolutely hates sukuna because he's been nothing but trouble and stressing out your husband for as long as you've known is gasping and moaning high-pitched, fucked-out sounds as a thick cock—that definitely doesn't belong to your husband who can't fuck you since your pussy is already filled—pounds into you relentlessly.
“ah-ahh-hah, fuck, fuck, fuck, it's too much,” you whimper, sweat beading on your forehead, expression pained from the sheer overload of pleasure wracking through your system. legs kicking out, your writhe and squirming to get away from whoever is fucking you but you just can't—
jin is frazzled, glasses askew as he runs his hands through his touseled, coral tufts that are already in disarray as he tries to figure out how the fuck this is happening. it makes no sense. the pocket pussy linked to yours is tucked away in his nightstand, unused. he's saving it for his business trip in a few weeks so how—
“oh my god, it's so big, i can't, i can't,” you cry out, tears glittering as they run down your cheeks, sobs ripping from your throat as you fall back onto the bedding. “jin, do something, please.”
a strangled noise leaves your distressed husband. “i'm sorry baby, i don't know how this could be possible. maybe they mixed it up at the shop and made it a portal pussy or something.”
you hardly hear him, feeling the cock dragging within you throb and kick, your eyes knocking into the back of your skull. “shitttttt, he's gonna come inside. he's coming, he's—angghhh!”
the man you married watches in horror as your pussy spasms and convulses, you coming with the stranger before thick, creamy cum drizzled out of your abused cunt in syrupy streams as you pant and sigh, bones melting.
a loud, belly-deep groan sounds from the other end of the house and your husband stills, realisation dawning him like a bucket of ice water dousing him on a below zero day.
shit, shit, shit! that's right—he gave the tatted, dickhead version of him a pocket pussy as a gag gift. he was sure the man would scoff and chuck it in the trash but not only did he just use it—jin accidentally swapped his own with his twin!
his wife would fucking murder him if she found out.
(though this may work in his favor because you both have been trying to have a baby only to be told that jin is infertile by a few doctors and since sukuna is basically him, maybe he can knock you up. your husband won't mind, he wants a baby with you bad—)
as your husband slowly descends into a spiral of madness, you're seeing stars, boneless and blissful as you stare at the ceiling after what might have been the best sex of your life.
don't get you wrong, sex with your husband is good, really good. but he's so gentle, aggravatingly gentle. sweet and slow, dragging out the act as if there's no destination in mind which would be satiating if you weren't a lustful vixen who enjoyed being manhandled and fucked hard. sometimes he doesn't even make you cum, your cunt squeezes as if you did orgasm but it's as anticlimactic as an interrupted sneeze or cut-off yawn.
so you shamefully hope that you never find out who actually has the pocket pussy and that they fuck you like that more often.
as for sukuna, he's found his new obsession, staring at the pocket pussy in his hand with starry, droopy eyes and a dopey, sleazy grin on his face.
blame @yenayaps for egging me on to post this travesty
︎▶︎ Tyrant, every time I ride it (starring . Dabura)
synopsis . Using his horns like handlebars while you ride him. content . slight/eventual dom f!reader, rough sex, all porn no plot, he gets a lil’ needy, feralness—on both ends, dirty talk, “improper use” of horns (lol), creampies, fucking him stupid, overstim, breeding kink, size kink, man(?)handling, etc. (not proofread)
"So this is what human pussy feels like, hm? How erotic," Dabura hums indifferently as if you weren't currently creaming around his looongly stretching length, gushing all over each widening inch expeditiously. His head merely cocks over some, "And pathetic," He adds, "Can't even take every inch of mine. Is this your best attempt at riding cock? You look as though you're about to cry."
"S-Shut-, ah-, shut up!" You huff out in between moans, lashes fluttering with a delicate sum of wetness already coating each one, "S'not my fault you're so big, asshole."
He laughs right in your face, as if what you'd just said was truly that funny to him. Then there's a faintly gentle smile—a twitch in his lips—that you notice before he says, "I am not big." His vexing eyes begin to trickle down to study the way your cunt is struggling around his veins, sopping each one up deliciously, "You just have a stubborn pussy. But it's cute how hard she tries."
Dabura is entirely unlike anything you ever could have expected and far better than any person you've ever slept with prior, undoubtably so. The only issue here is that it seems impossible to get a different reaction out of him. His eyes rarely ever show any emotion outside of the occasional instant in which his plump cockhead bumps against that particularly juicy spot inside you. It's in the way you gasp and choke over your own breath that makes his otherwise sternly sat expression falter for a second long enough to showcase pleasure.
"Does this help?" He asks after a few more seconds of finding amusement in the way your walls struggle 'n quiver around him, the thick pad of his thumb coming near your clit to swab out the letters of his name, "It's just a couple more inches, pretty thing." Dabura coos all sweetly. The moment he feels your syrupy walls begin to relax a little around him and then sink further, he finally allows you to catch a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, "Thereee you go. You asked to ride me so do that—ride. And do it properly."
The alien's large hands are settled on the purchase of your perfectly rocking hips for a while after and although he knows you've been trying (and failing) to get a different reaction out of him for the past few minutes, nothing works until he notices yours hands traveling up all of a sudden. "Oh, w-wait-," He tries to get it out before your fingertips graze the smoothness of his horns. He jerks his head back a bit in an attempt of avoiding the gesture but fails entirely.
The stutter he just let out catches you off guard since that's the first and only time he's ever tripped over his words but, outside of the shock, you're left rather encouraged by the sudden break in his words.
Encouraged enough to wrap your fingers around his horns and get a good grasp on them while drawing your hips high up above his length, that sloppy wet tip of his slipping out of you with something gooey oozing out of the centered slit already.
"Fuck—damn human—I said.. wait," Dabura attempts to warn again. His voice comes out slow ‘n heavy, lacking the previous sense of mockery and amusement he had when this whole thing started. The syllables used to nastily glide off of his tongue but now they’re falling out with an almost pathetic rasp. Hands sliding up to hold your waist firmly, grasping at every stretch of skin available there, he then squeezes as if to warn you or something.
Do you heed said warning?
Fuck no.
Your grip on his horns gets even tighter and he's still trying to tug his head away from you, something suddenly fogging up his gaze as you maintain your hold on him and plop your warmth back down onto his firmly-standing cock. “Let go,” He groans deeply, the sound vibrating against his inked throat. Ignoring the poor alien, you smile and arch forward all sensual-like,
“Mmnh, see? I knew you could make other faces!” You exclaim all excitedly as you drink in the sight of his eyes failing to uphold that hardened look from before.
He couldn't keep up with his glares no matter how hard he tried, not when you've got your palms rubbing up pressed against his horns. No one ever touches them, especially not in a situation like this but, here you are.
He should've known better than to agree with you about doing all this for science or-, whatever bullshit it was you uttered to him before all this. “I demand you release my horns this-, hahh..." His lashes flutter rapidly and his hips begin to unconsciously lift up to meet yours slightly, "—this instant, angh.” Dabura groans.
Now you're the one smiling, “But, mmngh! You feel like you’re enjoying it,” You point out softly just as your hips come flush with his and you start to grind with his cock knocking around your insides, “I wonder what happens if I move my hands… up, like this,” With your little narration, your touch on his horns begins to travel in a way that's far too stimulating.
So much so that Dabura's jaw falls open and something whiny runs out of his throat. “Fuhh-, fuck. Don’t-,” Pausing to swallow thickly, “Don’t stroke them, slut—" He's cut off by the spinning of his own mind. Suddenly, he didn't know where to focus his attention. There was too much pleasure: the sensation of your hands caressing his horns, your pussy greedily gulping in every inch of his all the way down to his deftly sat base, and then the way you squirm in reaction to him being flustered. "Please? I… I meant to say please,” He corrects.
“Awwww," You mock, trying to get back at him for each time he'd done so earlier, "That was a cute attempt at trying to regain control here, really."
Dabura's eyelids lower a bit more, hiding the way his vision is slightly fogging over with something watery, “I could-, mngh.." His jaw tenses tightly enough to flash a vein decorating his sharp jawline, "I could have you under me within seconds. You’re already pushing your luck here, as if it was not you who begged for me like this.” He argues with a sudden thrust upwards.
The motion throws you off your balance for just a second, causing your voice to leave you all shaky-like, “I did n-not beg.”
“You did," He protests further, leaning-, no, slouching back and then letting his sharp fingernails dig into your skin, "You whined for me to let you play around with my cock and now that its toying around inside that sloppy pussy of yours, you’ve the nerve to get—fuck—bold with me.”
“Anh! Dabura-,” You're moaning again while he uses his firm grip on you to fuck himself deeper—impossibly deeper—inside you.
Something whorish splays out across his lips and you think he's drooling for a split second as his shaft ever-so-rudely thump! thump! thumps! against somewhere new, “You should be more appreciative of what I give you," He grunts hotly, maw beginning to dangle open whilst something feral coats his gaze, “Especially when my cock is so snug inside you like this. Can you feel that? The way I kiss the depths of this pussy?”
You hate how swiftly he had you looking like some stupidly-fucked whore on top of him, “Y-Yes, fuck! That feels s’good.”
His brows furrow with true curiosity, “Does it?” He asks, a faint softness caught in his throat. When you start nodding again, he pulls at your body so that you can resume your needy grinding, “Mmh. Prove it to me.” At that, its almost like you snap out of your daze. Your hands don't just grip onto his horns to tease him, no, no. This time around you roll your hips forwards and hold onto his horns just to keep yourself steady. Dabura tries prying his head away from you again, gasping, “Ah-, that’s cheating.”
You ignore him, of course, and with your perfect hold on him, you begin to bouce—frantically so—the sounds of your skin slapping down against his flying throughout the room and leaving everything to sound a slicked mess of sex. “Not my fault you’re sensitive here," You taunt.
“I am not—ohfuck," Dabura tried to fight back this time, he really, really did. But with the way you rut your hips back 'n forth and back 'n forth before switching to that up 'n down, hungry bounce of yours, he just couldn't keep up.
The rest of his taut frame falls into something submissive and he whimpers when you jerk him forward by the horns to match your pace. Husking, “Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop,” like a broken little mantra as his pupils blow out and he starts to lean into your touches, “Fuck me good, keep fucking me like this.” He encourages in between the hot flashes of something rigidity and heavy building up inside him, “Yesyesyes-, I’m gonna cum-," The alien gasps with abruptinly bucking hips, "I'm gonna-, mmmgh, fuck!”
You lose your balance again and almost flop forward entirely but his hold on your hips keeps you upright, leaving your hands to gravitate to his face just as a single tear of pleasure rolls out of his left eye. The moment he feels it and you notice it, he starts thrusting up faster in an attempt to distract you from it.
“Ah! Mmgh," You moan, feeling the way he tries exasperatedly to bring you to tears instead, only to fail no matter how many times his cockhead weeps tender thwaks! against your cervix. "Cum inside me?" You choke, "B-But—“
“Wanna stuff you with all of me,” Dabura pours out throatily. It was like talking to a brick wall at this point, he was already smearing something warm 'n creamy into you as he spoke, “You’ll be so pretty with my seed dripping out of you so, please,” Another pitchy gasp cuts through the air, “Take it, let it be yours—for... for science, remember?”
Just then, you almost laugh. You probably would've if you weren't busy agreeing to his babbled words, nodding your head and chuckling, “Uhuhh, cum inside me then. M-Mmnh! For science."
banner art by Rororogi Mogera || tags (people who showed interest):
Didn’t you want a baby? Your boyfriend can help! (MDNI 18+)
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"mngh- ji..!" The desperate moan tumbles from your lips, raw and needy, as Toji's thick cock plunges into your drenched pussy, splitting you open with every merciless thrust.
You're splayed out on the bed like an offering, wrists pinned above your head in one of his massive hands, your legs hooked over his broad shoulders, your body folded in half like he's determined to bury himself as deep as humanly possible. His scarred hands grip your thighs bruisingly, holding you open and exposed, and every brutal thrust sends jolts of pleasure-pain ripping through your core.
"Fuck, that's it, mama.” Toji growls, his voice rough and low, dark eyes locked on where you're joined—watching his thick length disappear into your dripping folds over and over.
He's relentless, hips snapping with a punishing rhythm, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing through the room. Megumi's napping soundly in his room, the almost-three-year-old finally giving you these precious, uninterrupted moments, but right now, all that matters is the overwhelming stretch of Toji's girth claiming you completely.
You'd mentioned it once, offhand during dinner the other night—something sweet about how adorable it would be to have a little one of your own, picturing tiny feet pattering around the house with megumi.
You hadn't pushed, hadn't begged—it was just a passing thought, born from that deep-seated ache of baby fever. But Toji?
He hadn't let it go.
His dark eyes had flickered with something possessive, intense, and now here you were, paying for that casual whisper with your body folded beneath him, his hips snapping forward like he was on a mission to etch his seed into your very soul.
"Keep moanin' like that, doll..” he snarls, voice gravelly and edged with hunger, his free hand digging into the soft flesh of your hip to hold you steady as he grinds deeper, the head of his cock kissing your cervix with every stroke. “You want a baby, mama? Gonna give you one. Fuck you full 'til it takes."
He's watching you intently, scarred face twisted in concentration, sweat dripping from his brow onto your heaving breasts. Your nipples pebble under the cool air, begging for touch, and he obliges roughly—leaning down to latch onto one, sucking hard enough to make you yelp, teeth scraping as his tongue flicks the peak.
Your walls flutter around him, squeezing his pulsing length like a vice, and you can't hold back the sobs of pleasure as he angles his hips just right, hammering that spongy spot inside you. "Toji—ahh, fuck, it's too much!"
He releases your nipple with a pop, trailing bites up your neck as he murmurs hot against your ear. "Didn't think I'd forget, did ya? You want my kid? You're gettin' it, mama. Gonna pump this tight pussy so full of cum, you'll be leakin' it for days."
His fingers—rough and calloused—slip between your thighs, finding your throbbing clit and pinching it lightly before rubbing in firm, fast circles. The added friction shatters you, your back arching off the bed as your orgasm rips through, pussy convulsing wildly around him, gushing slick down his shaft.
"Shit—yeah, that's it, cream all over my cock.”
Toji groans, his rhythm faltering for a split second before he doubles down, fucking you through the waves with short, punishing thrusts. He's close now, you can feel it in the way he swells inside you, veins throbbing against your sensitive walls.
“Take it, mama. Every fuckin' drop—gonna knock you up, make you mine forever." With a guttural curse, he buries himself to the hilt and erupts, hot spurts of cum flooding your womb, thick and endless as he rocks his hips to push it deeper.
You whimper, overstimulated and boneless, as he stays lodged inside, plugging you full to let it take hold. His hand strokes your belly possessively, a smirk curling his lips. "Say it again—tell me you want my baby, mama.”
You can only nod, already knowing he won't stop until it takes.
CW: kidnapping, dubcon, smut, fear play, fingering, p in v, light degradation, teasing, creampie, power dynamics, agegap, filthy talk, emotional tension. 18+ only. @repost
synopsis : you were minding your own damn business until someone made it theirs too. toji had one fuckin' job and now shiu's gotta pay for the consequences.
WC : 5.8k
You were just walking.
AirPods in, volume turned up, humming along to some upbeat trash-pop that made you feel like you had your shit together, even if your hair was a mess and your stomach was growling. It had been a long day. Midterms, missed breakfast, one lukewarm coffee in the afternoon. You were finally heading home on the empty back road you always took when you didn’t want to see anyone.
Safe, quiet, predictable.
Right until you felt a heavy arm snake around your waist and a massive, gloved hand clamp over your mouth. You jerked, eyes wide, the scream muffled against a calloused palm.
"Quit movin’," a deep, gravelled voice rumbled in your ear. "Tch. Fuckin’ hell. Why do they always squirm."
You tried to twist free, kicking back at him, but the bastard only grunted and hauled you like a damn potato sack over his shoulder. Your phone hit the pavement. One AirPod popped out and skittered into the gutter.
"HEY!" you yelled once his hand moved. "You gorilla-ass freak—put me the fuck down before I end you—"
"Shut up," he snapped, tossing you into the backseat of a black car like you weighed nothing. "God, you’re already loud."
“You kidnapped the wrong bitch if you thought I’d go down quiet.”
"Don’t flatter yourself. I don’t think at all when I’m working."
He slammed the door and circled to the driver’s side, completely unfazed by your kicks against the window. You scrambled up, heart racing.
“You’re so dead. Do you know what I—”
“Don’t care.” He started the car like this was just his morning commute. “You don’t shut it, I will gag you. And trust me, I’ve got real good tools for that.”
You shoved at the door. Locked. Of course. “You’re gonna regret this! You fucking freak!”
“I’m regrettin’ it already,” he muttered.
**********
The next few hours were a blur of rough curses and rapid turns. You had no clue where he was taking you, only that he was confident and fast, and you didn’t dare try jumping out when he slowed. His eyes—sharp and dead—flicked to you every time you opened your mouth. And you kept opening it.
“This car smells like rotten corpse.”
“...You look like you eat raw meat for breakfast.”
“You ever heard of moisturizer? Or is being ugly part of the job?”
At the third insult, he sighed like a disappointed parent and pulled a thick piece of cloth from the glove box.
“No—don’t you—DON’T—"
He stuffed it in your mouth with zero ceremony, tying it behind your head like a gift bow. “There. Peace and fuckin’ quiet.”
Your glare could’ve set him on fire. He didn’t flinch.
“I miss the kids who cried. You? You just won’t shut up.”
He kept you tied to a chair in what looked like a storage room for the next several hours. He tried to feed you once. Took the gag off. Brought over what looked like cold noodles.
“Eat.”
“Go to hell.”
His brow twitched. “You really wanna die, huh?”
“I’d rather die than eat your half-assed garbage.”
“Suit yourself.” He shoved the bowl into a bin with a clatter. “Starve then.”
Later, he paced the room like he was trying to burn off the irritation you caused just by breathing.
“Thought you’d be more scared,” he said at one point.
“You thought wrong,” you sneered.
"Should’ve figured. Smart mouth like yours? Bet you grew up with too much attention. Or not enough. Couldn’t shut up for five minutes if your life depended on it."
“Would’ve been quieter if you weren’t a fucking prick.”
His jaw clenched. For a second, you swore he was gonna haul you up and slam you against the wall. Instead, he just chuckled dryly and turned away.
“You’ve got some nerve. Might actually be fun breakin’ you down.”
You ignored the weird flutter that gave you. When he finally got on the phone—out of your earshot—you only caught snippets through the wall.
“Yeah... got her... no, didn’t check... what the fuck do you mean that’s not her?... She had the file’s hair, features, whatever... What? You’re kidding me.”
The next time he came back into the room, he was rubbing the back of his neck like he had a migraine.
“You lucky bitch.”
“What?”
“Shiu’s coming to get you.”
“And who the hell is that—?”
“You’ll see. Try not to bite him too. Or do. Whatever.”
Shiu showed up ten minutes later, perfectly put together in a sleek coat, pressed shirt, and not a single hair out of place. The contrast between him and Toji—hulking, disheveled, arms crossed like he’d rather punch the wall than be part of this—was staggering.
Shiu blinked at you.
"...Who the hell is this?"
You froze.
Toji exhaled through his nose. “The girl. Obviously.”
Shiu’s lips flattened. “Toji. That’s not the girl.”
A long pause. Toji turned his head slowly toward you. His eyes narrowed. “...You serious?”
Shiu tilted his head, something almost like pity in his gaze. “This one’s not even close.”
“Oh for fuck’s sake—” Toji turned, walked a few feet, and kicked the wall. “I knew something felt off—mouthy little brat...”
“You kidnapped the wrong person?” you yelled.
“Shut up,” Toji snarled. “You looked close enough, alright? Got the pic this morning, blurry as shit.”
Shiu sighed. “I apologize for the… inconvenience.” He crouched beside you, undoing the ropes around your wrists. “Are you hurt?”
“Only emotionally. And maybe spiritually. I’ve been in a dusty room with that ogre for twelve hours.”
Toji flipped you off.
Shiu chuckled softly, then said, “I can take you to eat. At least.”
You stared at him. “Oh, now I get food?”
“Yes. Anything you’d like.”
You cleared your throat. “I have a list.”
Shiu raised a brow. “A list?”
You held up your fingers. “I want Pasta. Smashed burger. Chocolate milkshake. Fries. Ice cream—chocolate, and vanilla. Oh, and a side of vengeance.”
Toji muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “spoiled little gremlin.”
Shiu helped you up. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“You better. I’ve been starving all day because that man is an uncultured ape.”
Toji gave you a smirk, stepping past Shiu as he made for the door. “Whatever. I’ll go get the real one.”
You throw the cloth at his back. “Hope she kicks your ass.”
“Hope you choke on your fries.”
You flipped him off as you walked out with Shiu.
*********,
Shiu was true to his word.
He took you to a sleek, dimly lit rooftop restaurant—not some greasy hole-in-the-wall. He must've felt bad. Or maybe just embarrassed by Toji's mistake. Either way, you weren’t complaining.
“Order whatever you like,” he said, offering the menu with a mild smile as you sat across from him, still damp from being half-kidnapped.
You didn’t hesitate. “I want pasta. Extra cheesy. And a double patty burger. Extra cheese. Fries. Large. A Chocolate milkshake. And blueberry cheesecake.”
He didn’t flinch. “Drinks?”
“Obviously. Tequila shots.”
He paused. “You sure?”
“You kidnapped me.”
“Toji kidnapped you.”
“You work with him.”
“…Fair point.” He flagged the waiter. “Get her whatever she wants.”
The food came quickly. You ate like you hadn’t tasted joy in weeks. Shiu watched silently, arms folded on the table, a glass of red wine untouched at his elbow.
“You’re quiet,” you said between mouthfuls. “What, cat got your tongue?”
“I’m just… fascinated,” he said flatly.
“By what?”
“You. The amount of food you’ve consumed in ten minutes.”
You rolled your eyes at him, then downed another tequila shot. The warmth hit your chest like fire.
Another round. And another. Until the edges of the restaurant softened and your limbs got heavy, eyelids drooping.
Shiu’s voice came faintly from across the table. “What’s your address?”
You blinked at him slowly, lips parted. Then slumped forward, cheek hitting the table.
“Shit,” you heard him mutter.
He didn’t intend to carry you. But the rain started just as he was walking you to the car.
Not a drizzle. A storm. The kind that soaked you both in seconds. His coat was useless, the umbrella in the trunk forgotten as thunder cracked across the sky. Your unconscious body hung limply against him, breath soft against his chest, and he cursed under his breath as the fabric of your shirt clung to you.
"You're going to get sick," he muttered, unlocking the door one-handed and carefully settling you into the passenger seat. "Tell me your address, kid."
You replied something incoherent.
“Fuck,” he said under his breath. “Alright. My place it is.”
**********
He laid you on his bed like you were glass.
And then just… stood there.
You were drenched. Hair stuck to your face. Shirt nearly see-through. Shorts riding up. And cold—your body still trembling slightly, even unconscious.
“I’m not doing this,” he told himself, dragging a palm down his face. “I’m not that guy.”
But then you whimpered again, shifting, your teeth faintly chattering. And his conscience overpowered his pride.
He grabbed one of his soft, oversized black t-shirts from a drawer. Closed his eyes. Swore like a sinner in church as he carefully peeled off your wet clothes.
Hands careful. Gentle.
Not looking. Not touching more than needed. When you were finally dry, dressed in his t-shirt that swallowed your frame, he exhaled and tossed your clothes into the dryer.
The rain continued to pound outside, and you slept like the dead, curled up in his duvet, skin warm and safe now. He didn’t look at you when he changed into a towel and moved around the room, searching for dry sweats. His back was to the bed when you finally stirred.
Your lashes fluttered. Eyes opened halfway. You blinked—slowly—taking in the unfamiliar ceiling, the scent of soap and cologne that didn’t belong to you.
Then your gaze landed on the tall man standing in front of a closet, steam from the shower still clinging to his skin.
Only a towel hung low on his hips. And nothing else.
You blinked again. “...What the fuck?”
He turned, startled. Paused. Saw you staring. You threw the blanket off and sat up. Looked down. You were wearing a shirt that clearly wasn’t yours. And… nothing underneath.
“What the fuck—?”
"Listen, kid. It's not what you think."
"You bastard, what did you do to me?"
Shiu lifted both hands, voice calm. “You were shivering. You passed out. You wouldn’t wake up. Your clothes were soaked. You could’ve gone hypothermic—”
“So you fucked me?!”
"I didn't fuck you."
"Then you stripped me?"
“You’re wearing a shirt.”
“Your shirt!”
He sighed. “Do you want your wet clothes back? Or another round of tequila and hypothermia?”
You opened your mouth. Closed it. Huffed. "...Still creepy."
He turned back around. “You’ve been unconscious for three hours. I haven’t touched you.”
“You’re wearing a towel.”
“You’re wearing my tshirt. What’s your point?”
You folded your arms, lips pursed. “You’re weirdly calm about having a half-naked hostage in your bed.”
“You’re not a hostage anymore.”
“Tell that to the trauma.”
He finally turned, towel still secure, brow arched. “Do you always run your mouth when you’re drunk?”
“I’m sober now.”
“Pity.”
You narrowed your eyes. “Why, you liked me better when I wasn’t yelling at you?”
He smirked, eyes dragging down to your exposed thigh where the shirt had ridden up. “No. I just liked the silence.”
Your stomach flipped. There it was. The shift. Subtle. Dangerous. You yanked the blanket back over you, glaring at him.
“Don’t flirt with me. I still remember the part where your co-worker tied me up.”
“His name's Toji. I rescued you.”
“After the kidnapping.”
“Technicality.”
He moved toward the dresser, back to you again, muscles shifting under damp skin. You watched in spite of yourself.
Then mumbled, “This shirt smells like you.”
“I know.”
You swallowed. “…Why didn’t you just drop me at a hotel?”
“Too much trouble.”
“Why didn’t you just let me shiver?”
He paused. “That… would’ve been cruel.”
You blinked at him. “So you do have a conscience.”
“No,” he said, turning to meet your eyes again. “I just hate owing anyone anything. Now we’re even.”
“You think we’re even?”
“You got free food. A warm bed. My favorite shirt.”
You snorted. “Fine. Next time I get kidnapped, I’ll ask for you.”
“Don’t. I’m not babysitting again.”
You didn’t respond. Just stared at him, the tension between you growing thicker by the second. Then your voice dropped.
“…If I asked for another drink right now, would you say no?”
He didn’t answer at first. Just stepped toward the bed, close enough to see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes.
“No,” he murmured, voice low.
“Then why aren’t you moving?”
“Because you’re in my bed, wearing my shirt,” he said softly, “and if I stay here any longer, I’ll want to take it off.”
Your breath caught. You didn’t say anything. Didn’t need to. He walked away. The tension crackled like static.
The moment he turned away with that comment—that smooth, low warning wrapped in indifference—you felt it everywhere. A flush bloomed hot on your cheeks, neck, even down between your thighs. And then your mouth tried to fight the heat rising through your chest.
“Wh—what’s that supposed to mean?” you stammered, pulling the blanket tighter around you, fingers gripping it like a shield. “I… you—shouldn’t say stuff like that, perv.”
He didn’t even flinch. Just strolled over to a cabinet, towel slung low on his hips, and pulled out a glass. His voice came soft, almost bored.
“Stuff like what?” He glanced at you over his shoulder. “I’m not the one calling strangers pervs while naked in their bed.”
“I’m not naked.” You sounded scandalized.
He turned, finally, one eyebrow quirked. “No? That shirt’s barely covering your ass. Want me to check?”
“Don’t you dare—!”
He stepped closer. You instinctively pulled the blanket tighter, but your eyes didn’t leave his chest—your vision catching on the light trail of hair down his torso, on the sharp lines of his hips as the towel shifted just a bit too low. Your mouth worked, trying to form words.
“But—but you—why are you even wearing a towel still? Can’t you put on some pants like a normal adult?”
His voice was smooth, slow. “Does it bother you?”
“No—yes—I mean—” You cut yourself off, flustered, heartbeat thudding like mad in your ears. “I’ve just been through a lot today, and now there’s a half-naked man teasing me in a bedroom that isn’t mine.”
Shiu poured himself a drink. “So dramatic. You act like you didn’t try to bite Toji.”
“He gagged me.”
“You deserved it.”
“I insulted him.”
“My point exactly.”
He took a sip, and then sat at the edge of the bed. Not too close—but close enough that you felt the warmth of him seep through the air. The towel still held firm, but barely. He was bone-dry now. You weren’t. You pulled the covers tighter, avoiding eye contact.
“Calm down,” he said, setting the glass aside. “I’m not gonna jump you.”
Your voice came out small. “You said you wanted to take the shirt off.”
“Did I?” He blinked slowly. “Hm. Must’ve slipped out.”
He knew exactly what he was doing. Your lips pressed into a tight line, face burning. Then—you looked at him from under your lashes. Your voice dropped just a notch, soft and slow.
“Well… next time you say something like that, try not to sound so disappointed. Makes it feel like a threat when it could’ve been an offer.”
Silence. It hit him like a slap. Not loud. Not explosive. But it landed. You saw the shift. His lips parted just slightly, eyes narrowing in a way that was no longer amused. Not teasing. More like…
Curious. Dangerous.
He tilted his head, slow. “You sure you’re sober?”
You shrugged, gaze still on his mouth. “Sober enough to know when I’m not being taken seriously.”
“Hm.” He leaned back on one palm, gaze dragging down your figure beneath the blanket, even though most of you was hidden.
“I didn’t expect that from you,” he murmured.
“Didn’t expect what?”
“That mouth.” His voice was barely audible now. “So full of attitude, but sharp when it matters.”
You licked your lips. “Disappointed again?”
“No,” he said softly. “Not even a little.”
There was a long pause. A pull in the air, heavy, slow. His eyes flicked to the blanket again.
“I bet you’re warm under there,” he said casually, tone conversational. “Sweating, maybe. Flushed. Not just from the tequila, though.”
You glared. “I’m fine.”
“Yeah?” He raised an eyebrow. “Then why haven’t you moved? You keep holding that blanket like it’s gonna save your soul.”
“Maybe I just don’t want you to see something you can’t handle.”
That landed again. Harder this time. He laughed, soft and low in his throat.
“God,” he muttered. “You’ve got a fuckin’ attitude for someone I rescued.”
“I never asked for it.”
“No, but you didn’t exactly fight when I brought you here either.”
“I was unconscious.”
“Semantics.”
You opened your mouth to fire back—but paused when his fingers brushed your ankle. Bare. He’d found the edge of the blanket. Lifted it just a few inches.
You stiffened. “Don’t.”
“Relax,” he said, voice too damn calm. “Just wanted to see if you’re trembling again. Can’t have you catching a cold, right?”
But that wasn’t why he did it. He was testing the waters. Testing you. And your body betrayed you—your thigh twitching, a shiver not from cold but from heat skimming along your spine. His thumb ghosted along your ankle bone. Just once.
“Thought so,” he said, pulling away.
You swallowed.
“You’re playing with fire,” you whispered.
He smiled, slow. Unbothered. “So are you.”
Then— You leaned back, licking your lips again.
“Well,” you murmured, curling under the blanket, heart racing, “I hope you sleep with that towel tied tight.”
He stood up slowly, smirk widening. “I don’t plan to sleep much.”
And then he walked out of the room. Left you there with your racing heart, your soaked thighs, and his shirt clinging to you like second skin.
You didn’t sleep either. Not with the sound of the door clicking shut and the image of him seared behind your eyelids like sin.
**********
You tossed. Turned. Pulled the blanket tighter. Nothing worked.
That damn man had infected your thoughts. That older, smug, calm bastard with the sharp jaw and sharper tongue who acted like he couldn’t care less—and still put you in his shirt, still brought you food, still looked at you like he knew things you hadn’t even admitted to yourself.
Tch.
Why was it so warm when he was near? Why did he smell like expensive cologne and a sin you want to commit?
The storm outside hadn’t let up. Rain slammed against the windows, wind howling like some cursed beast. You curled tighter under the covers, but the cold still crept in—little shivers climbing up your spine, down your thighs.
You just needed warmth. That was all. Just a little warmth. Your feet touched the floor before you could stop yourself. You wandered out of his room, blanket clutched around you like a cloak, bare feet padding soft against the cool floor until you stopped in front of another door.
Barely open. Light from the hallway poured across the wooden floor, a stripe of gold slicing through the dark inside. You pushed it open.
He was asleep—sprawled across the bed. One arm thrown over his face, the other resting low on his stomach. His towel was gone now. Replaced by loose sleep pants hanging dangerously low, hips exposed, one leg bent just enough for you to see the muscle, the curve of his waist. His chest was bare, rising and falling slow.
You weren’t even sure if he snored. Of course he didn’t. The bastard was perfect even in his sleep. It’s because you were cold, you told yourself again. Just that. Nothing more.
You crept inside, heart hammering, slipping into the farthest side of the bed like a criminal. Staying by the edge. You didn’t even lift the blanket he was under—just pulled your own around you tighter and curled toward the wall, facing away from him.
His bed was so warm. So was his body. You sighed, eyelids getting heavy. You didn’t even realize you were falling asleep until—
A hand. On your waist.
You flinched. Wide awake now. Breath caught in your throat.
“What,” his voice rasped behind you, slow and deep and not sleepy at all, “are you doing?”
His palm tightened slightly—just enough for you to feel the press of his fingers through the thin blanket. Just enough to make your thighs twitch.
You cleared your throat. “I—I couldn’t sleep.”
“That doesn’t answer the question.”
“It was cold. The rain. I just—needed to get warm.”
A pause. Then, low and flat— “You couldn’t just ask for a space heater?”
“Do you even have one?”
“No.” You could hear the smirk in his voice. “Didn’t think I’d need one.”
You shifted slightly, pulling the blanket higher. “I wasn’t gonna disturb you. You were asleep.”
“Was I?”
Your breath caught again. “Don’t flatter yourself,” you whispered.
“I’m not the one crawling into people’s beds.”
You rolled your eyes. “You didn’t complain.”
“I didn’t have time to complain.”
His hand moved lower, dragging slow across your waist, settling on the dip of your hip. “You always sleep this tense? Or is it just when you're pressed up against older men who make you nervous?”
“I’m not pressed up against anything,” you muttered, voice hitching as you tried to keep still.
“You will be if you keep wiggling like that.”
“I’m not—wiggling.”
He chuckled. “Sure, sweetheart.”
You hated the way your skin tingled from that one word. “Don’t call me that.”
“What should I call you, then? Trouble? Brat? Mouthy little thing who says no but keeps ending up exactly where she shouldn’t be?”
You squeezed your thighs together under the blanket. God. His hand was still on your hip. Still warm. Still there. And then—
“I should kick you out.”
“Then do it.”
“You’d pout.”
“You wish.”
“You’d stand in the hallway shivering in my shirt like a pathetic little stray.”
Your breath faltered. “Asshole.”
His hand moved again. Not off you. Down. Low. Lower. Grazing your lower stomach now.
“I can feel you shaking,” he murmured. “Still cold?”
You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. You hated how your voice would betray you. He leaned in then, the heat of his chest brushing your back, lips right beside your ear.
“Or maybe it’s not the rain making you tremble.”
Your breath caught entirely. His voice was honey and poison, silky and cruel.
“You came to me, sweetheart.”
You swallowed.
“And now,” he added, fingertips brushing the hem of the shirt you wore—his shirt—“you’re in my bed, in my clothes, lying right beside me, breathing like you want me to do something about it.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“No,” he said slowly, “but you didn’t say stop either.”
You opened your mouth. Closed it. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. Then, still teasing, still cruel—
“Want me to help you fall asleep?” His hand slipped just under the shirt now. “Just a little? No touching. Not really. Just warmth. That’s what you wanted, right?”
Your eyes fluttered shut.
“Tell me no,” he whispered.
And you didn’t. His fingers grazed your skin—just under the hem of the shirt—barely brushing, barely there, but burning like fire.
“Still cold?” he murmured near your ear, his breath warm and even. You felt it drift down your neck, across your shoulder. “You’re shivering.”
“I-I’m fine,” you lied, your voice barely a whisper.
“No,” he hummed, dragging his fingertips higher, over your stomach, the shirt riding up with each second, “you’re not. Still tense. Still freezing.”
You swallowed hard. His hand moved up, grazing your ribs—then higher, cupping your breast beneath the shirt like he’d done it a hundred times. Your breath caught.
“You’re cold here too,” he murmured, thumbing your nipple slow. “Need to get you warm everywhere, don’t I?”
Your hips shifted. You didn’t even realize how tightly your thighs were pressed together.
“You’re not saying no,” he said, fingers rubbing your nipple now—slow circles, featherlight pressure that made your back arch despite yourself.
“I-I didn’t—”
“Didn’t what?” he asked, voice composed but wicked. “Didn’t ask me to stop? Or didn’t think this would happen when you crawled into bed with a man like me?”
His hand slid down again, gliding across your stomach, dipping into the waistband of your panties now. You gasped.
“Look at that,” he muttered, smirking, “you’re warm down here already. But still trembling.”
His finger pressed lower, right between your folds, teasing you through the slick mess he found waiting.
“You were gonna sleep like this? Dripping and needy?”
You buried your face in the pillow, mortified.
“Might as well help you out, yeah?” he added softly. “Can’t have you cold and fussy all night.”
He rubbed slow, lazy circles over your clit, two fingers sliding between your folds while the heel of his palm kept pressing right there, exactly where you needed. You choked out a moan.
“Just getting you warm,” he mocked, voice low. “That’s what you said.”
“Y-you—ah—you’re—”
He pinched your nipple again, harder this time, and your hips jumped.
“That mouth of yours,” he muttered, voice tightening just a little. “So fucking loud earlier. Couldn’t shut the hell up. And now?”
You were panting, biting back more sounds. He pushed two fingers inside you—slow, deep, curling up. You let out a broken whimper.
“Now look at you. Fucking soaking my hand.”
“Shiu—”
His name left your mouth like a plea. Like a confession.
“You always get like this?” he asked, curling his fingers again while the pad of his thumb rubbed your clit. “Mouthy brat until someone gets their fingers in you?”
“F-fuck—”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
He pumped slowly, rhythm deliberate, unhurried. You were unraveling against him, thighs quivering.
“See?” he whispered. “You’re so warm now. All that attitude’s melting off you.”
He kissed behind your ear. Soft. Cruel.
“You gonna thank me?” he asked, voice low. “Or should I keep going until you’re crying from how warm and full you feel?”
“Please,” you gasped, hips rocking into his hand now, chasing the high.
“Please what?”
“Don’t stop—”
He chuckled. “Tch. That mouth’s real sweet when it’s begging.”
You moaned again, louder this time.
“I should gag you with your own panties next time. Bet you'd cum even faster.”
You cried out—your body tightening, unraveling, all heat and slick and shame. And his fingers never stopped. Not until you were shaking for a different reason entirely. Your body trembled under the weight of your release, legs still parted around his hand, your slick coating his fingers as he slowly pulled them out. You were gasping into the pillow, throat hoarse from moans you didn’t realize had been that loud.
He leaned in again, his breath ghosting over your ear.
“Feeling warm now?” he asked lowly, fingers lazily dragging up between your folds, spreading the mess you’d made. You didn’t respond. Couldn’t. Your brain was still foggy, skin burning hot, but you shook your head weakly.
Shiu’s smirk returned.
“Still cold, huh?” he said, licking his fingers clean with slow, deliberate ease, like he was tasting fine wine. “Maybe you need something hotter.”
“Wanna try that?” he asked, fingers now pulling your soaked panties down your legs, inch by inch. “Wanna feel something even warmer?”
You nodded, cheeks flushed, thighs still trembling. He tsked.
“Such a good girl all of a sudden,” he murmured, flipping you gently onto your back.
Your shirt had ridden up past your chest, exposing your breasts—nipples stiff, marked with his fingerprints. Your thighs were wet, spread, waiting.
“I should’ve fucked that bratty mouth shut hours ago,” he said calmly, tugging the pants down from his hips just enough to free himself. Your eyes widened. You could see all of him now—long, thick, already hard. He chuckled at the look on your face.
“Don’t look so surprised. You asked for it.”
He lined himself up, not rushing, just dragging the tip through your folds, pressing it against your overstimulated clit until you squirmed.
"Still twitching from those fingers," he noted, amused. "Bet you’ll sob once I’m in."
And then—slow, merciless—he pushed in. You gasped, your hands flying up to grip the sheets. He was thick, hot, stretching you open with no resistance. Your body, already slick and aching, took him in inch by inch.
“There we go,” he sighed, hips finally flush against yours. “So tight after all that. Gripping my cock so tight.”
You moaned again, one leg wrapping weakly around his waist. Shiu groaned under his breath, leaning in close, his chest brushing your breasts, his hand sliding up to hold your jaw.
“That’s it, pretty,” he whispered, voice low and dangerous. “Let me fuck the cold right outta you.”
And he moved. Slow at first, deep—then faster. Harder. Your body jerked with each thrust. The headboard tapped the wall, your moans rising again, louder, more shameless. His hand found your breast, squeezing, thumb flicking your nipple. He slammed into you harder.
You whined, head thrown back. “Shiu—too much—”
“Too much? Didn’t seem like too much when you were rubbing up on me like a needy little tease.”
He pinned your wrists above your head with one hand, fucking into you deeper, pace brutal and perfect.
“That mouth gave me hell,” he panted against your ear. “Now it’s just begging. Moaning like a good little girl who knows her place.”
You keened under him, body shaking again, and he felt it.
“Ohh,” he laughed darkly, “you’re gonna cum now?”
“No—m'not—”
“You will.”
He snapped his hips even harder, grinding into you at the end of every thrust. Your back arched off the bed.
“Cum on this cock,” he growled, voice finally rough. “Show me how warm you got from me.”
And then it hit. You came again—loud, shameless, your walls clenching around him like a vice. Shiu cursed, buried himself deep, and stilled. A thick, hot wave filled you seconds later—his release, raw and endless. He groaned in satisfaction.
“Fuck,” he muttered, still inside you, still hard. “Now you’re warm.”
**********
You didn’t even know when you passed out—your body must’ve given in. But what roused you now wasn’t sleep... it was warmth. Wet warmth.
A cloth, soft and damp, moving slowly between your legs. The tenderness of it made your skin twitch. His fingers were steady, sliding delicately over the mess he left inside you. The towel grazed your folds, and you could feel the ghost of his earlier touches all over again.
You stirred with a little noise, eyes cracking open.
And there he was—Shiu, crouched beside the bed, holding the cloth and smiling faintly, like he was just wiping crumbs from your chin.
“Morning,” he said casually, patting your thigh, then your head like you were some sleepy kitten. “Let’s eat something, yeah?”
No mention of last night. Not even a hint in his voice. The same calm, smooth-talking devil. He didn’t even wait for your answer. Just left you there to dress while he moved into the kitchen, unfazed, like he hadn’t fingered you into delirium and fucked the cold right out of your body hours ago.
After some quiet bites of toast and lukewarm coffee, you’d murmured your address.
And now, silence filled the car. You hadn’t said a word. Just stared out the window, arms crossed. You were barely processing the scenery when the back door opened and in slid him—Toji.
He sprawled out in the backseat like he owned the damn car, one leg propped up, eyeing you with a half-lidded grin.
“Well, well,” Toji drawled. “The brat’s all quiet now. What, you finally got house-trained?”
You glared forward, refusing to give him the satisfaction. Shiu chuckled lightly, keeping one hand on the wheel.
“She needed some… warming up,” he said, voice like velvet and smirking at the windshield.
Toji let out a bark of a laugh. “Tch. Figured. You got that look like you had your fill last night.”
You flinched.
Shiu didn’t even blink. “She was cold. I fixed that.”
Toji leaned forward just enough to let his eyes catch yours in the rearview mirror. “Damn, you really shut her up. Didn’t think it was possible.”
Before you could open your mouth, Toji tapped Shiu’s shoulder and gestured something low about the next job, slipping into conversation like none of this was abnormal. When it was time for him to get out, he opened the door but not before flicking your forehead with his fingers—hard enough to sting.
“Later, princess,” he snorted, then sauntered off.
You rubbed your forehead, still silent, still stewing. Shiu kept driving like it was a regular Thursday. The rain had eased, leaving streaks on the windows. Your house came into view, and he pulled up with a smooth stop. Didn’t even put the car in park—just leaned his elbow on the wheel and looked at you with that same unreadable calm.
“Here,” he said.
You unbuckled, still not speaking. Still pissed. Still flushed. Still aching in a way that had nothing to do with your body and everything to do with the smug prick who acted like you were just another day’s job. You grabbed the handle—but stopped.
“Y’know what?” you muttered, voice small but angry. “You’re a fucking dickhead.”
That got him. Shiu’s hand reached out fast—faster than you expected—and wrapped around your wrist, pulling you back slightly before you could get out.
“Mm,” he hummed. “What’s with the attitude, princess?”
You finally looked at him—really looked. Your eyes were wet, red around the edges, and your mouth trembled slightly. Not from sadness. From frustration. Confusion. Want. You hated how calm he looked. Hated that smug glint in his eyes. Hated that last night meant something to you and maybe nothing to him.
He just chuckled.That low, knowing sound that made your stomach tighten. Then he reached into the console and pulled out a slim black card, tucking it into your hand.
“Next time you feel cold,” he murmured, voice dropping low as he leaned in, close enough for your breath to hitch, “call me.”
His lips brushed near your ear.
“I’ll come stuff you full of heat until you pass out.”
You blinked. Mouth parted. Brain fried.
And Shiu? He just smiled, lazy and smug, eyes dipping to your stunned face one last time.
“Maybe then you’ll learn to keep that bratty little mouth busy.”
He let go. Sat back. And just like that, the door was open, the rain had stopped, and then he left you standing on the curb with your heart pounding, thighs clenched, and his card burning in your palm like a fucking brand.
psychiatrist!geto is better to fantasize about than your selfish boyfriend | 18+
cw: mdni, porn with plot, mentions of masturbation, sly suguru, bro is NOT a good psychiatrist lmfao, shy reader at first, office sex, unprotected sex, cheating oops, 3.1k words, art by chuucho95 on x <3
Doctor Geto Suguru is the same age as you.
Yet the wall behind him is mounted with accolades that rivals veterans in his field.
The rain blurs the lights of the city into watercolor smears against the windows of the doctor's office. Inside, the room is silent, scented with sandalwood and the crisp smell of old books.
Psychiatrist visits inspire thoughts of padded rooms and grippy socks but you're not here due to a sickness of the mind and rather one of the body. One you're certain is going to migrate to your mind if it's not handled now.
See, you can't come. It's been an issue for a while now that's bothered you and you're tired of faking them with your boyfriend. You've decided to come here and see if it's owing to stress.
You lay on the leather chaise, the cool material grounding you as you recounted another week of feeling like a ghost in your own relationship. Another week of your boyfriend’s heavy, selfish touch that left you feeling used rather than wanted.
Dr. Geto sits in his chair, a notebook resting on his thigh, slender fingers curled around his fountain pen as he hums, scribbling down notes with intent nods as you speak.
His long, raven hair gathered loosely at the nape of his neck, trailing over the shoulder of his charcoal suit. He's a man of serpentine beauty—fluid, graceful, and deceptively large, his muscular frame filling the tailored fabric in a way that feels both protective and overwhelming. A few strands frame a face that is unnervingly kind.
“The guilt you feel regarding your own body, it’s a symptom of the neglect you’ve endured,” he says, his voice a low, soothing baritone. “You deserve to reclaim your pleasure.”
While his words aren't inherently lewd or explicit, you still squirm in your seat, unaccustomed to discussing such intimate topics with a man let alone a stranger. However, you're trying to get to the bottom of your rocky relationship with sex and how to resolve the unease you feel so this will have to do.
“How do I do that?”
“You have to touch yourself.”
Rearing back, you swear the corner of his mouth twitches in amusement at your appalled reaction. “I beg your pardon? Doctor, I can't do that. It's inappropriate.”
“Not here, Miss,” he clarifies and your face warms from jumping to conclusions. “Just from how you're reacting, I can deduce that you haven't indulged in self pleasure before. You don't know what you enjoy and have no autonomy over your body. Hence, you need to experiment and try out new things to figure out what pleases you and what does not.”
Nodding slowly, your hands twist the hem of your skirt as you absorb his words. The idea of masturbation feels shameful. You're not particularly religious but after growing up in a household where it was seen as a sin to be lustful, you still harbor such thoughts in your subconscious.
Lifting your shy gaze, you're stripped bare by his amethyst eyes scanning over your face, mentally jotting down every microexpression of discomfort that flickers across it.
Setting his notebook aside, the gentle smile he graces you with has your stomach flipping. It's startling how just that gesture has you relaxing, his presence easy to melt into, loosening your tongue.
“As your doctor, I want what's best for you,” he utters your name in that rich, mellow voice of his akin to a wife calling her husband and you perk up. “Please tell me if I'm overstepping your boundaries. I do not mean to be anything other than strictly professional.”
“Oh, no, no. You're fine. I was just taken aback is all,” you assure him with a shake of your head and an earnest smile.
Relief loosens the tension in his shoulders, his eyes softening. “Good, now shall we begin?”
“Yes, please,” that polite word has his irises swirling but you chalk it up to a trick of the light.
“Alright. Are you okay with following my instructions? There's this genre of audio erotica called guided masturbation which I recommend you look into but for professional purposes, I just want to ease you into it so you're not lost when you try it out, okay?”
Swallowing, you nod, shifting to get comfortable as you're laying on the plush couch. “Okay.”
“I want you to close your eyes and imagine your boyfriend touching you. You're in control, he's listening to you and eager to know what pleases you. Tell him how to touch you.”
Brows twitching, you want to tell him that this seems like an exercise for fitting for sex therapy but he'd already told you in your last session that he creates these activities based on the specific needs of his patients according to his observations and what he deems necessary.
“Where would you like him to start?” he asks in a quiet voice that wavers like you're suspended in a body of water, waves lapping at your bobbing body. “Your lips? Your neck? Your chest?”
Hand rising, you brush your fingers over your lips, eyes fluttering shut as they tingle. “My lips.”
“How do they feel against his ones?”
“Soft like petals.”
“How do you want him to kiss you?”
Tongue peeking out, you tentatively lick the pad of your finger, tasting salt. “With…tongue. I've never done that before. He's always refused.”
And perhaps that is why your brain cannot conjure the image of him kissing you. You've always had a vivid imagination but now his silhouette is distorted like the still surface of water disturbed by pebbles dropped into it.
“Does it feel good?”
“This is hard,” you admit, embarrassed.
“How so?”
“I can't picture him doing this.”
The psychiatrist goes silent for a few moments, the faint sound of traffic and the ticking of the clock on the wall all that fills your ears, amplified by your lack of sight.
“No worries, you can picture someone else. A teenage crush, maybe a celebrity you like. Many people fancy imagining their favourite characters too,” he offers simply.
Lips thinning, the daydream you're in darkens, slowly seeping away and your disappointment creeps in. “I can't. Maybe we should try another time—”
“If it’s too difficult to focus on him, imagine me.”
Scandalised by the suggestion, your eyes fly open, head whipping to the side to look at him, your imagination shattering like stained glass hit by a brick.
“Excuse me? That's hardly appropriate.”
“Am I a worse candidate than your boyfriend?” he questions and your eyes widen at the teasing lilt in his voice.
“Um, no. I just find it odd. Don't you?”
A smirk curls at the corner of his mouth. “I can assure you that I've had patients who've tried much worse than just picturing me in their fantasies, Miss.”
Heat licks at your cheeks. “Ah, okay.”
“You have my consent. Ready to continue?” he cocks his head and asks, sleek hair cascading down his shoulder like spilled ink.
Assuming your position again, you sigh, eyes sliding shut. “Yes.”
“Imagine my hands. Where do you want them while we're kissing?”
With your eyes closed, you followed his forbidden directive. Your hands slid over your ribs, trembling.
“Here,” you murmur, squeezing at your plush waist and skating palms up to the curve of your breasts that tighten. “And here.”
“Okay, let's start slow. We want to build up the tension, drag it out. There's no finish line to race to. Just feel.”
Obliging, you run your hands up and down your sides from your hips to your waist, groping and caressing. They're not your delicate fingers but his thick, long ones digging into your flesh over your clothes, grabbing greedy handfuls of you.
“Does that feel good? My hands gripping at you, feeling you up in fistfuls?”
The question trickles into your ears, your pulse melting into hot syrup that pools in your stomach and dips between your legs. An airy, needy sigh passes your lips.
“Great,” you breathe a dreamy sound, thighs rubbing together, skirt bunching up and you can feel the phantom of his deft fingers hooking into the hem to hike it up.
“Very good,” he praises, voice light and sweet like he's proud of you for being an active participant in this exercise. “Now on to your neck. My lips are grazing your skin there, what do you want from me?”
“Bite it,” you blurt instantly, brows knotting as your neck warms with the ghost of his teeth sinking into it, your pulse racing against the enamel as he sucks a flowering hickey into the blank canvas of your skin, hot, needling desire swirls in the pit of your stomach and sizzles against your clit.
The dream morphs into something lucid, him hovering over you, caging you with those bulky limbs, mouth latched onto your neck as your nails drag down the cotton of his shirt that's taut against his meaty pecs, the muscles flexing beneath your palms. The zwip, zwip, zwip of your clawing against the fabric, laddering it with how desperately you're scratching.
His gentle scent of lilies and something woodsy, the tan terrain of his skin, the dips and ridges of his sculpted form, sweat beading his skin, a devouring hunger in his eyes that scares you and arouses you at the same time because it's so visceral and yet he's holding himself back, willing to kneel at your feet and worship you.
You don't see your boyfriend’s indifferent face; you see Geto's broad shoulders and his dark, predatory gaze softened by that clinical smile as he tells you how good you're doing for him, kissing down your neck and unbuttoning your blouse, calling out your name as you moan in response.
“Miss [Name].”
No, that's actually him talking to you right now. A big, warm hand clasps your wrist and tugs, your eyes blinking open, vision blurred and slowly clearing as you look at him.
Tie askew, his hair is not as neat as it was before you shut your eyes and his cheeks are slightly red as he peers at you.
“Sorry for touching you without your permission but you were getting carried away there,” he apologises, glancing down at your chest and away.
Glancing down, you gasp as he lets go of your wrist as you see the lace of your bra on display. You'd been undoing the buttons of your blouse, skirt ridden up so far that one move would have your panties flashing him too.
Mortified, you spring up and he hands you the blanket beside him which you gratefully accept and cover yourself with. “I am so sorry. I didn't realise—”
“It's okay, just tell me that your imagination will work perfectly when you're exploring it yourself somewhere private,” he interjects with a reassuring smile, clearing his throat.
Clapping, he stands. “Well then, this session is over. We made good progress, I think. Get home safe,” he greets you with a nod, exiting to room to give you privacy to gather yourself.
The fantasy was a revelation. It makes the drive back to your apartment bearable; it makes the shower sessions a sanctuary where you’d slip your hand between your thighs and whisper your psychiatrist's name into the steam.
After all, there's no harm in practicing. It's make believe, it's not like you're cheating on your boyfriend. Everything is alright.
It's liberating, really. The realisation that you're not a broken woman. That you're not undesirable. Touching yourself becomes a self love ritual.
The shame that usually curdles in your stomach evaporates, replaced by a searing, liquid heat.
Weeks pass. Your boyfriend is the last thing on your mind. When he fucks you, his movements are still clumsy and selfish, but you simply close your eyes and summon Dr. Geto, hand slipping between your thighs to rub your clit and make yourself come.
You're glowing, revitalized, and Geto watches it all from behind his mahogany desk, taking meticulous notes on your psyche—and your scent.
For months, he had been the architect of your recovery. After your boyfriend had spent years treating your body like an inconvenient vessel for his own release, Geto had taught you that your pleasure was a sovereign right.
During your final session, the air in the room changed—charged, heavy with the scent of his expensive cologne and the sudden, sharp intent in his eyes.
“I’ve been observing your progress,” Geto muses, standing up. He moves with the grace of a panther on the prowl, stopping beside the chaise. “You’re smiling more. You’re distancing yourself from the man who doesn't deserve you. But there is a final stage to this therapy—one that addresses the psychosomatic tension you’re still carrying.”
The man reaches down, his large, warm hand cupping your cheek. The touch is electric. “Sit up.”
You obey, heart hammering against your ribs.
He clears the papers from his heavy mahogany desk with a single, slow sweep of his arm. “Your boyfriend treats sex as a conquest. I treat it as a necessity. Bend over, please.”
Fantasy is about to become reality.
Moments later, you're gripping the edge of the polished mahogany, the grain cool against your palms, as Geto comes up behind you. He takes his time as he lifts your skirt, his fingers tracing the line of your spine with agonizing slowness.
“This is the session I've been waiting for,” he whispers against the shell of your ear, his breath hot.
Skirt rolled up to your waist, he bares your ass to him and peels away your soaked panties, picking them up and inhaling your musky sweet scent deeply. It's dizzying, so addictive. He balls up the flimsy cloth and stuffs it into his pocket.
When he eases in, it isn't the clumsy, impatient shove you are used to. It's a slow, deliberate push. He's massive, a solid weight that filled the void your boyfriend had left behind. You let out a shattered cry, your forehead pressing into the desk.
“That's it, you're doing so well,” he growls, his hands catching your hips, his thumbs digging into your hipbones to hold you steady. One hand slides to your belly, pressing down on the bulge there as you whimper. “Feel me here? Feel how perfectly you fit against me."
The drag of his cock inside you is all-consuming. Every time he drives forward, his heavy weight presses you down into the desk, the glossy wood and the heat of his body creating a sensory overload. Each vein and ridge rubs back and forth inside you, tickling all those sweet spots inside you that have your head swimming, drool dribbling from your parted lips and moans spilling from you that you barely recognize.
"Your body isn't a burden," he whispers, his voice thickening as the friction built toward a fever pitch. "It is a temple, and I am its most dedicated servant. Tell me... does your boyfriend ever make you feel this seen?"
"No," you breathe sharply, vision dimming with heat. You're jelly, your senses dissolving into the scent of his cologne and soap.
"Then let him go," he grits, his grip tightening until his knuckles were white. "Forget his name."
Who?
He leans down, biting the sensitive skin where your shoulder meet your neck, his long hair falling like a curtain around you both. As he hits your deepest point, over and over, you feel the last remnants of your old life shatter.
"This is the only medicine you need," he hums, his voice breaking. "And I'll be sure to provide it whenever you want it."
You could feel the power in his thighs, the strength of his chest against your back as he presses his lips into the softness of your neck, cock sinking into you deeper and deeper with each smooth roll of his hips, the desperate drag of his body against yours nearly molding you two together as his cock carves a home for itself in your snug cunt.
“Fuck, do you know how good you feel? Sucking me in so greedily, fitting me like a glove. Your boyfriend barely left a mark,” he seethes, biting down on your shoulder as his lazy, savoring thrusts descend into something feral and harsh, grunts thrumming though your skin as the desk creaks and whines with you.
“Ah, Geto—”
“Suguru, baby. I'm your Suguru,” he mumbles in a drunken slur against the side of your face, lips smushed to your wet cheek, licking up the tears of pure bliss and relief that streak down your face.
“Suguru,” you gasp out and a long, drawn-out groan rumbles out of him, his abdomen bunching against your lower back as his hips smack against your plush ass, the flesh rippling.
“I’ve spent months learning every fracture in your psyche,” he rasps, his pace quickening, the sound of sweat-slick skin slapping skin echoing in the quiet office. “I know exactly where you’re broken. And I know exactly how to fill those spaces.”
He reaches around, his large fingers finding your aching clit, circling with a clinical precision that sends sparks crackling through your vision. You are far gone, your mind turning to white noise as he buries himself to the hilt, over and over.
Cupping your jaw, he turns your face so he can get a good look at you, half-lidded eyes dark and glistening with elation as he takes in your messy hair, smudged eyeliner, tears dotting your lashes and parted lips.
Ducking down, he licks a hot, wet stripe up your chin, slurping the drool there, tongue delving into your mouth and kissing you sloppy like you had fantasized about for months, hip thrusts stuttering from how sweet and buttery you taste.
“You’ve never looked better," he moans into your mouth, his voice thick with a dark, satisfied pride as he feels your pussy clench around him in a violent, weeping orgasm, drinking down your whimpers. “This is the only medicine you need from now on. I'll give it to you every time, yeah?”
“Yeah,” you mewl, incapable of saying anymore as you struggle to kiss him, legs quivering and cunt convulsing, drawing his orgasm forward, thick, creamy cum splattering inside your squelching walls.
You lay slump against the mahogany, breathless and gold-spun with afterglow. Suguru doesn't pull away immediately, buried deep within you, his arms wrapped around your waist, holding you together.
"Much better," he sighs, pressing a tender kiss to your shoulder, his kind smile returning to his face even as his eyes remained dark with a predatory satisfaction. "I think we’ve made excellent progress today."
Smiling deliriously, you're spent and shimmering, a patient finally cured by the most radical of treatments.
note: i doubt i did that blurb justice huhu but i wanted to write suguru
୨୧ ― Sukuna's tatted hand is tangled in your hair, fingers fisted tight enough to make your scalp burn, wrenching your head back at an angle that has your spine curved like a bow. Your face is smushed into his rumpled dorm bedsheets- drool pooling beneath your slack mouth, mascara smeared across the cotton, tears and snot mixing into a pathetic mess.
“HHNNGGHH-! NNGHH-! AH, AH, AHHHN-“
Your moans are muffled by the mattress, garbled and broken, punctuated by the sound of Sukuna's hips slamming against your upturned ass. He's fucking you like he hates you -or maybe like he owns you- each stroke punching deep enough to kiss your cervix, his heavy balls swinging forward to smack your swollen clit with every impact.
“Louder,” he grunts, sweat dripping from his brow onto your arched back, “Want the whole floor to hear how pathetically desperate you are.”
“MMMPHH-! S'KUNA-! S'KUNAAAA-!!”
His free hand cracks down on your ass, the SMACK echoing through the room, leaving a perfect red handprint blooming across your jiggling cheek. You wail, cunt clenching involuntarily around his thick shaft, and he laughs- a beautifully dark and cruel laugh.
“Squeezing me already? We're just getting started.”
Neither of you hear the door open.
There, framed in the doorway, stands Gojo Satoru -Sukuna's unfortunate roommate-frozen mid step with a physics textbook clutched to his chest like a shield.
“Sukuna have you seen my-“
His beautiful blue eyes -stunning even behind those thick rimmed glasses- go wide as he processes the scene before him. Sukuna. On the bed. Balls deep in some girl, fucking her so hard the cheap bedframe is creaking against the wall. The wet schlck of her soaked pussy getting absolutely ruined filling the room, followed by broken, sobbing moans…
Oh my god. Oh my GOD.
Gojo's mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. No sound comes out.
And then you lift your head.
Just slightly -Sukuna's grip loosening for a fraction of a second as he adjusts his angle- and your tear streaked, fucked stupid face turns toward the door. Tongue lolling out. Eyes rolled back so far the whites show. Drool connecting your lips to the sheets in shiny strings.
Gojo's heart stops.
That's-
He knows you.
He's seen you. Curled up on the common room couch with Toji, sharing a blanket, stealing bites of his ramen while he pretended to be annoyed. Laughing at Toji’s terrible jokes. Wearing his oversized hoodies.
That's Toji’s girlfriend.
“The door” Sukuna grunts, hips never faltering, “was locked for a reason, four eyes.”
“S-Sukuna-“ Gojo's voice cracks, strangled.
Sukuna doesn't stop. Doesn't even slow down. He just turns his head- slowly, lazily, like a predator acknowledging prey that poses zero threat and grins.
“Like what you see?” Sukuna's smirk is practically audible as he pulls out slowly -you whimper at the loss- giving Gojo a full, glistening view of his cock, veins pulsing, slick with your arousal. Then he slams back in, punching another scream from your lungs.
“I-I-“ Gojo stammers, textbook slipping from nerveless fingers.... He should leave. He should definitely leave. But his feet are rooted to the floor, and his cock is hardening traitorously in his sweatpants, tenting the fabric in a way that's impossible to hide. Fuck fuck fuck-
“I- you- she's-“ Gojo's brain is short circuiting, glasses fogging from the sudden heat of the room. His eyes dart between Sukuna's sweat slicked torso, your arched back, the obscene gape of your pussy every time Sukuna pulls out to the tip before slamming back in, “That's Toji’s girlfriend!”
“Is she?” Sukuna's voice drips with mock innocence. His tatted up hand tightening in your hair, yanking your head up so Gojo can see your face clearly. Can see the way your eyes have glazed over, pupils blown wide with need, any trace of shame long since fucked out of you, “Could've fooled me. She's been my personal cocksleeve for months now.”
“Wha- months?!”
You moan- high, desperate, shameless and push your hips back against Sukuna, chasing his cock like your life depends on it, “AAAHHHH-! OH GOD-! S-Sukuna, he's- he's watching-“
Gojo makes a choked sound. She's- she's not even trying to-
“I know.” Sukuna's red eyes lock onto Gojo's frozen form, “Isn't that the point?” He yanks your hips up higher, so Gojo can see everything -the way your puffy lips stretch around his girth, the creamy ring of arousal at his base, the way your clit throbs with every impact. “Come closer, Satoru. Get a real look at how a pussy should be fucked.”
I should leave, Gojo thinks frantically, even as his feet carry him two steps closer. I should definitely leave. This is insane. This is- I should turn around and walk out and pretend I never saw this. I should tell Toji. I should- His hand drifts unconsciously toward his straining erection-
“Don't touch yourself,” Sukuna snaps, and Gojo's hand freezes mid air, “You don't get to cum. You get to watch. Learn something, virgin.”
Gojo doesn't move.
“I can see your dick twitching from here. Poor pathetic virgin, watching his roommate ruin another man’s girl. Getting off on it. Tragic.”
Gojo's face flames scarlet. His hand shoots down to cover the obvious tent in his sweatpants, humiliation burning through him- but he still doesn't leave.
Toji’s going to kill him, Gojo thinks wildly. Toji’s going to find out and literally murder him on campus.
Sukuna slams back into you so hard the bed screeches across the floor, “-pay attention, looser.”
What follows is the most deviant lesson of Gojo Satoru's life.
He watches the entire time- glasses steamed, cock throbbing, shame weighing heavy in his chest as Sukuna fucks you through orgasm after orgasm. Sukuna even flips you over and makes you ride him reverse cowgirl so Gojo can see everything- the way his thick cock splits your pussy open, the way your creamy slick drools down his shaft, the way your stomach bulges slightly every time he bottoms out.
“Look at him,” Sukuna commands, gripping your jaw and turning your head toward Gojo, “Look at the pathetic little nerd jerking off to you getting bred.”
Gojo's hand is in his pants now... He doesn't remember putting it there…
You look at him -eyes glazed, mouth hanging open, utterly fucked stupid and smile, D-Does it feel good... Gojo-kun?”
He cums in his pants like a goddamn teenager after hearing your sweet voice… shit…
Sukuna laughs until he's breathless, then flips you onto your back again and fucks his own orgasm out of himself, painting your insides white while Gojo watches with a hand still wrapped around his softening cock.
“Haaaahhh… hahhhh…” You twitch and moan through the aftershocks, feeling his seed pump into your womb in thick, pulsing ropes. It's so much. Too much. It starts leaking out around his cock immediately, dripping in a creamy river onto his ruined bedsheets.
Sukuna pulls out slowly, a thick pearlescent strand of cum connecting his softening cock to your ruined, gaping hole. Your pussy clencheson nothing, pushing out more of his seed in a slow, obscene drool that patters onto the floor.
He turns to his roommate, not even bothering to wipe himself off, “clean ups on the bed.” Sukuna nods toward where you're still slumped, trembling, cunt exposed and dripping, “And Satoru?” He tucks himself back into his sweats, utterly unbothered, magnificently bored, “Next time, knock.”
He saunters out, and the door clicks shut.
Silence.
Just your ragged breathing and Gojo's sharp, pants filling the room.
Gojo doesn't move. Still stuck where he’s at admiring your glistening body- damp hair plastered to your face… the way your legs tremble…
Leave, he screams at himself. Fucking LEAVE. But… what if she needs help…?
His feet carry him forward, right to where you’re at.
One step. Two. Three.
You lift your head weakly from the bed, still trembling, mascara smeared down your cheeks, lips swollen and slick with drool. Your eyes -glazed, fucked out- find his.
You don't tell him to stop, don’t tell him to get out… you just wait and see what happens.
“He said...” Gojo's voice cracks, barely a whisper. His cock stirs to life again painfully in his soaked sweatpants, the wet patch at the front growing. He's so hard it hurts, harder than he's ever been in his pathetic virgin life, “He said clean up was on the bed…”
What the fuck am I saying, he thinks wildly, what the FUCK am I- she’s Toji’s- Sukuna’s? She isn’t my responsibility-
You shift on the bed, spreading your shaky thighs wider until more of Sukuna's cum oozes from your gaping cunt. Your swollen clit pulses visibly, still engorged, still needy.
“Then clean me,” you breathe.
Gojo drops to his knees so fast his bones crack against the floor next to the bed.
Oh god oh god oh god- His hands shake as they grip your thighs, pushing them further apart and bringing you closer to the edge until he's eye level with your pussy now, close enough that the musk of sex and Sukuna's cum fills his nostrils… until it makes his head spin. She's so- it's so- I can see inside her- she's still clenching- there's so much cum-
“I've never-“ he chokes out, face burning, “I don't know how to-“
“Lick.”
He licks.
His tongue drags a hot, wet stripe from your dripping hole to your throbbing clit, and the taste of you, mixed with him, salt and musk and sweet- explodes across his tongue. You keen, hips bucking against his face, and Gojo moans like he's the one being touched.
“Nnghh- f-fuck- more- G-Gojo- get it all- please-“
He buries his face in your cunt.
Lapping at your folds, sucking Sukuna's cum from your twitching hole, tongue fucking into you to chase every drop. His nose grinds against your oversensitive clit and you cry out so prettily, fingers fisting in his white hair, shoving his face harder against you.
“J-just like- oh god- just like that-“
She tastes so good, Gojo thinks deliriously, even with his cum- especially with- I'm eating his cum out of her- I'm- His hips rut pathetically against nothing, I'm so fucked. I'm so fucking fucked.
“Ahhhn- right there- suck my clit- s-suck it-“
He obeys. Like the good boy he is.
Wrapping his lips around your swollen bud, sucking hard, tongue flicking rapidly- sloppy and inexperienced and desperate to please. Your thighs clamp around his head, muffling his whimpers, and his hands grip your ass to pull you tighter against his mouth.
“Good boy,” you gasp, and Gojo sobs against your pussy, hips jerking, “Such a good- nnghhh- good little clean up boy- eating his cum right out of me-“
“Mmmph- mmhhnn-“ He can't respond, mouth too full of your cunt, but his cock leaks in his sweats, another spurt of precum joining the mess.
The door opens.
“Shit I forgot my wallet-“
Sukuna stops.
Gojo freezes, face still buried between your thighs, Sukuna's cum smeared across his lips and chin.
Sukuna's eyes take in the scene- his roommate on his knees, face deep in the pussy he just bred, glasses askew, sweatpants tented once more and soaked…
“Well, well.” He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, smirking, “Maybe you're not completely useless after all, four eyes.”
I'm going to die, Gojo thinks, He's going to kill me. I'm going to-
“Did I say you could stop?”
Gojo's tongue resumes its work against your sloppy cunt until you throw your head back and moan.
Sukuna watches, pulling out his phone.
Click.
…
That night, Toji texts Gojo: Hey man, have you seen my girlfriend around? She's not answering her phone.
