cw. public-ish sex, jealousy, riding, thumb sucking, possessive!reader, territorial behavior, very subtle femdom energy, toji being too sweet and too fuckable for his own good, claiming in a library after-hours
you weren’t supposed to see it.
you were just stopping by the library to pick up your notes—left them in the second floor study lounge during your 4 p.m. calc panic—and figured you’d be in and out before the closing lights even flickered.
but fate, as always, had other plans.
the laugh catches your ear before anything else. it’s high and girlish and artificial in a way that makes your jaw tighten without thinking. the math aisle curves into a little alcove near the back, and as you round the corner, you catch the tail end of a sentence:
“oh my god, you’re so smart.”
you stop walking.
she’s sitting far too close to him. the air between them isn’t even warm—it’s thick. intended. she’s propped up on one arm, leaned over his thigh just enough to toe the line of inappropriate without technically crossing it. her voice is saccharine. fake clueless. the tone of someone who knows exactly what they’re doing.
and toji, your sweet, soft-spoken boyfriend?
he’s none the wiser.
he’s got that tired, shy smile on—the one he gives when someone compliments him and he doesn’t know what to do with it. he’s kneeling on the floor, glasses slipping low on his nose, cardigan sleeves pushed up as he scratches an equation into a spiral-bound notebook. he’s explaining something patiently, slowly, like he’s done a hundred times before, completely unaware of the way her eyes are devouring him.
“you make it sound so easy,” she giggles. “i think i just need one-on-one tutoring every week.”
he chuckles quietly. “you’re getting better, though.”
you don’t even hear the rest.
your spine feels too hot, your molars press too tight.
you turn, step back into the next aisle over, and press your tongue against your cheek.
you don’t doubt him. it’s never about trust. it’s about her.
and if she’s gonna act like your man is fair game, then maybe she needs a reminder.
forty minutes later, the library is closed.
you’re still inside.
technically the door is locked, technically there are signs that say the study spaces shut down by 10:30, and technically you should be halfway across campus by now. but you’re not in the mood to follow rules. not tonight.
you hear him before you see him again.
his voice is low. muttering something to himself.
and then—there he is.
back still pressed to the shelf. glasses on. clipboard in his lap. sleeves rolled up, collar twisted, legs folded long beneath him like he’s settled in for the apocalypse. he doesn’t even notice you at first. just squints down at his notes, muttering numbers under his breath.
you take a step closer.
then another.
he finally glances up. blinking.
“…you’re still here?”
his voice is tired. soft. unaware.
and in a single breath, you decide you’re not letting him go home unclaimed.
you kneel between his legs slowly, deliberately, and his brows furrow with that dumb little concern he always gives you when you act slightly out of pocket.
“baby?” he asks, breath catching. “what’re you—”
you straddle his lap.
his mouth parts just a little.
you lean in and brush your lips along his jaw—soft, slow, like you’re kissing a bruise. his breath catches again.
“you’ve been out here helping girls who already know how to divide matrices,” you murmur, voice featherlight against the shell of his ear. “i figured i’d come remind you who’s actually failing math and needs your attention.”
he freezes. blinks. stutters.
“she really did need help—i wasn’t—i wasn’t trying to—”
you rock your hips.
he goes silent.
his cock is already thick beneath you, pressing up against the soft material of his corduroy pants, and when you grind down again—harder this time—he chokes on a breath and tips his head back into the shelf with a soft thud.
your voice dips lower, curling like steam.
“you’re hard already?”
his glasses fog faintly.
“you—fuck—you’re grinding on me, how could i not—?”
you hum, skirt hiking higher, heat building. every shift of your hips drags your soaked panties over his clothed cock. he’s shaking beneath you already.
“thought you liked when i was quiet,” he breathes, a pitiful attempt at levity—but it comes out too needy, too cracked.
you kiss the corner of his mouth, lips grazing his skin as you whisper:
“you’ve been sweet to everyone but me today. so no, baby, i don’t want you quiet.”
his hands come up like he wants to stop you, but they don’t land anywhere. they hover—lost. he looks up at you with that helpless expression, face flushed, mouth parted. his hair’s falling into his eyes.
you take his glasses off slowly, fold them, set them on a forgotten textbook.
he looks dazed.
you kiss his cheek, then press your thumb to his bottom lip.
he gasps. swallows. obeys immediately.
his mouth opens. you slide your thumb in.
his tongue presses against it. warm. wet. obedient.
“i didn’t mean to make you mad,” he murmurs, voice thick around your thumb.
you tilt your head slightly. “you didn’t make me mad.”
you lean forward, lips brushing his jaw.
“you made me territorial.”
his hips twitch.
your cunt clenches around nothing.
you roll your hips again, slow and deep, pressing his cock right against your slick heat—and he whimpers, chest arching toward you, arms trembling like he’s holding back from tearing you down onto him.
his throat is flushed. adams apple jumping.
“you’re—fuck—” he groans. “i can’t—please slow down, i’m gonna—i can’t hold it—”
you kiss his throat, twice, maybe three times, before you finally reach down and tug your panties to the side.
“don’t wanna slow down,” you whisper. “wanna make you cum so hard she feels it when she tries to talk to you tomorrow.”
his breath breaks.
you sink down on him.
he moans—loud, wrecked—and it echoes through the dead-quiet library like sin.
you keep going anyway and now you’re already fucking him before he can catch his breath.
your panties are still tugged to the side, your skirt rucked up around your waist, and his cock’s buried so deep inside you it feels like it’s been there for hours—like it belongs there. he’s warm and full and pulsing under you, breath shattered into fragments, like he doesn’t know if he should be begging you to slow down or speed up.
but he’s not really speaking anymore. just soft, helpless little moans—like “ah…hahh… please…”—mouth parted, lashes wet, trying to blink up at you through the blur.
you’re sitting flush against him now. riding him slowly, cruelly, grinding your hips down just enough to feel him twitch every time your cunt sucks him in. it’s hot between you—your skin damp, your chest flushed, your thighs clenched around his. the quiet library air turns sticky. you hear your own wetness in the air, slick sounds echoing off the walls.
toji’s cardigan is slipping off his shoulder. his glasses are tossed away, useless. he keeps trying to focus, keeps trying to look at you—but his eyes roll every time you move.
his head tips back into the bookshelf behind him, a quiet thud lost in the heat between you.
you lean in—close, chest brushing his—and reach up to touch his jaw with one hand. he leans into it like it soothes him. you trace his bottom lip with your thumb. just once. slow.
and he moans.
his mouth parts, barely even a second of hesitation, and then—he pulls your thumb in with his lips, tongue wrapping around it immediately like he’s starved for something only you can give.
you feel it all. the warmth. the texture. the tremble in his breath as he sucks, slow and instinctive, his eyes fluttering half-closed as he lets the sensation anchor him.
his hips jerk again under you.
“baby,” he breathes around your finger, voice low and ruined. “you’re—i’m gonna—fuck—”
he tries to hold still.
he tries. but his cock twitches again, and your pussy tightens around him like a reflex, and that’s when you see it—the way his whole face starts to break open, all flushed and vulnerable and raw.
you keep your thumb in his mouth.
and keep moving.
not faster. just deeper. every grind is a threat, a promise, a pressure point. your walls clamp down around him with a wet, obscene sound and his breath shatters completely.
“too much,” he whispers, barely able to say it. “s’t-too much—feels too good—fuck, fuck, please—”
his thighs tremble underneath you. his fingers dig into the back of your sweater like he needs to cling to something, anything, or else he’ll come apart.
you shift just slightly, angle your hips a little higher so his cock hits deeper—and he gasps around your thumb. doesn’t stop sucking. doesn’t even think to.
you lean down, forehead to his, lips brushing his flushed cheek.
“you close?” you whisper.
he nods. barely. eyes unfocused.
“don’t hold it back.”
he comes like his body can’t help it.
trembles. cries. lips still wrapped around your finger, mouth dripping. his whole body jolts forward like you’ve shocked him, and you feel his cock throb inside you—once, twice, three times—hot cum spilling deep as his hands slip down to your thighs, clutching like he’s drowning.
and still—you don’t stop.
you grind down again, soft and slow. drawing out every shiver. every breath.
his whine catches in his throat. his thumb twitches against your ribs. he nuzzles your neck like he’s trying to ground himself, but his mouth is still open, still latched around your thumb like it’s the only thing keeping him from falling apart all over again.
your other hand slides into his hair.
you kiss his temple.
you ride the high with him.
and when he finally looks at you—eyes red-rimmed, lips parted, spit shining on your thumb—he looks like someone who doesn’t just love you.
he belongs to you.
t6ji | 2025 prod — do not copy, reuse, or translate anything written on this blog.
cw. public-ish sex, jealousy, riding, thumb sucking, possessive!reader, territorial behavior, very subtle femdom energy, toji being too sweet and too fuckable for his own good, claiming in a library after-hours
you weren’t supposed to see it.
you were just stopping by the library to pick up your notes—left them in the second floor study lounge during your 4 p.m. calc panic—and figured you’d be in and out before the closing lights even flickered.
but fate, as always, had other plans.
the laugh catches your ear before anything else. it’s high and girlish and artificial in a way that makes your jaw tighten without thinking. the math aisle curves into a little alcove near the back, and as you round the corner, you catch the tail end of a sentence:
“oh my god, you’re so smart.”
you stop walking.
she’s sitting far too close to him. the air between them isn’t even warm—it’s thick. intended. she’s propped up on one arm, leaned over his thigh just enough to toe the line of inappropriate without technically crossing it. her voice is saccharine. fake clueless. the tone of someone who knows exactly what they’re doing.
and toji, your sweet, soft-spoken boyfriend?
he’s none the wiser.
he’s got that tired, shy smile on—the one he gives when someone compliments him and he doesn’t know what to do with it. he’s kneeling on the floor, glasses slipping low on his nose, cardigan sleeves pushed up as he scratches an equation into a spiral-bound notebook. he’s explaining something patiently, slowly, like he’s done a hundred times before, completely unaware of the way her eyes are devouring him.
“you make it sound so easy,” she giggles. “i think i just need one-on-one tutoring every week.”
he chuckles quietly. “you’re getting better, though.”
you don’t even hear the rest.
your spine feels too hot, your molars press too tight.
you turn, step back into the next aisle over, and press your tongue against your cheek.
you don’t doubt him. it’s never about trust. it’s about her.
and if she’s gonna act like your man is fair game, then maybe she needs a reminder.
forty minutes later, the library is closed.
you’re still inside.
technically the door is locked, technically there are signs that say the study spaces shut down by 10:30, and technically you should be halfway across campus by now. but you’re not in the mood to follow rules. not tonight.
you hear him before you see him again.
his voice is low. muttering something to himself.
and then—there he is.
back still pressed to the shelf. glasses on. clipboard in his lap. sleeves rolled up, collar twisted, legs folded long beneath him like he’s settled in for the apocalypse. he doesn’t even notice you at first. just squints down at his notes, muttering numbers under his breath.
you take a step closer.
then another.
he finally glances up. blinking.
“…you’re still here?”
his voice is tired. soft. unaware.
and in a single breath, you decide you’re not letting him go home unclaimed.
you kneel between his legs slowly, deliberately, and his brows furrow with that dumb little concern he always gives you when you act slightly out of pocket.
“baby?” he asks, breath catching. “what’re you—”
you straddle his lap.
his mouth parts just a little.
you lean in and brush your lips along his jaw—soft, slow, like you’re kissing a bruise. his breath catches again.
“you’ve been out here helping girls who already know how to divide matrices,” you murmur, voice featherlight against the shell of his ear. “i figured i’d come remind you who’s actually failing math and needs your attention.”
he freezes. blinks. stutters.
“she really did need help—i wasn’t—i wasn’t trying to—”
you rock your hips.
he goes silent.
his cock is already thick beneath you, pressing up against the soft material of his corduroy pants, and when you grind down again—harder this time—he chokes on a breath and tips his head back into the shelf with a soft thud.
your voice dips lower, curling like steam.
“you’re hard already?”
his glasses fog faintly.
“you—fuck—you’re grinding on me, how could i not—?”
you hum, skirt hiking higher, heat building. every shift of your hips drags your soaked panties over his clothed cock. he’s shaking beneath you already.
“thought you liked when i was quiet,” he breathes, a pitiful attempt at levity—but it comes out too needy, too cracked.
you kiss the corner of his mouth, lips grazing his skin as you whisper:
“you’ve been sweet to everyone but me today. so no, baby, i don’t want you quiet.”
his hands come up like he wants to stop you, but they don’t land anywhere. they hover—lost. he looks up at you with that helpless expression, face flushed, mouth parted. his hair’s falling into his eyes.
you take his glasses off slowly, fold them, set them on a forgotten textbook.
he looks dazed.
you kiss his cheek, then press your thumb to his bottom lip.
he gasps. swallows. obeys immediately.
his mouth opens. you slide your thumb in.
his tongue presses against it. warm. wet. obedient.
“i didn’t mean to make you mad,” he murmurs, voice thick around your thumb.
you tilt your head slightly. “you didn’t make me mad.”
you lean forward, lips brushing his jaw.
“you made me territorial.”
his hips twitch.
your cunt clenches around nothing.
you roll your hips again, slow and deep, pressing his cock right against your slick heat—and he whimpers, chest arching toward you, arms trembling like he’s holding back from tearing you down onto him.
his throat is flushed. adams apple jumping.
“you’re—fuck—” he groans. “i can’t—please slow down, i’m gonna—i can’t hold it—”
you kiss his throat, twice, maybe three times, before you finally reach down and tug your panties to the side.
“don’t wanna slow down,” you whisper. “wanna make you cum so hard she feels it when she tries to talk to you tomorrow.”
his breath breaks.
you sink down on him.
he moans—loud, wrecked—and it echoes through the dead-quiet library like sin.
you keep going anyway and now you’re already fucking him before he can catch his breath.
your panties are still tugged to the side, your skirt rucked up around your waist, and his cock’s buried so deep inside you it feels like it’s been there for hours—like it belongs there. he’s warm and full and pulsing under you, breath shattered into fragments, like he doesn’t know if he should be begging you to slow down or speed up.
but he’s not really speaking anymore. just soft, helpless little moans—like “ah…hahh… please…”—mouth parted, lashes wet, trying to blink up at you through the blur.
you’re sitting flush against him now. riding him slowly, cruelly, grinding your hips down just enough to feel him twitch every time your cunt sucks him in. it’s hot between you—your skin damp, your chest flushed, your thighs clenched around his. the quiet library air turns sticky. you hear your own wetness in the air, slick sounds echoing off the walls.
toji’s cardigan is slipping off his shoulder. his glasses are tossed away, useless. he keeps trying to focus, keeps trying to look at you—but his eyes roll every time you move.
his head tips back into the bookshelf behind him, a quiet thud lost in the heat between you.
you lean in—close, chest brushing his—and reach up to touch his jaw with one hand. he leans into it like it soothes him. you trace his bottom lip with your thumb. just once. slow.
and he moans.
his mouth parts, barely even a second of hesitation, and then—he pulls your thumb in with his lips, tongue wrapping around it immediately like he’s starved for something only you can give.
you feel it all. the warmth. the texture. the tremble in his breath as he sucks, slow and instinctive, his eyes fluttering half-closed as he lets the sensation anchor him.
his hips jerk again under you.
“baby,” he breathes around your finger, voice low and ruined. “you’re—i’m gonna—fuck—”
he tries to hold still.
he tries. but his cock twitches again, and your pussy tightens around him like a reflex, and that’s when you see it—the way his whole face starts to break open, all flushed and vulnerable and raw.
you keep your thumb in his mouth.
and keep moving.
not faster. just deeper. every grind is a threat, a promise, a pressure point. your walls clamp down around him with a wet, obscene sound and his breath shatters completely.
“too much,” he whispers, barely able to say it. “s’t-too much—feels too good—fuck, fuck, please—”
his thighs tremble underneath you. his fingers dig into the back of your sweater like he needs to cling to something, anything, or else he’ll come apart.
you shift just slightly, angle your hips a little higher so his cock hits deeper—and he gasps around your thumb. doesn’t stop sucking. doesn’t even think to.
you lean down, forehead to his, lips brushing his flushed cheek.
“you close?” you whisper.
he nods. barely. eyes unfocused.
“don’t hold it back.”
he comes like his body can’t help it.
trembles. cries. lips still wrapped around your finger, mouth dripping. his whole body jolts forward like you’ve shocked him, and you feel his cock throb inside you—once, twice, three times—hot cum spilling deep as his hands slip down to your thighs, clutching like he’s drowning.
and still—you don’t stop.
you grind down again, soft and slow. drawing out every shiver. every breath.
his whine catches in his throat. his thumb twitches against your ribs. he nuzzles your neck like he’s trying to ground himself, but his mouth is still open, still latched around your thumb like it’s the only thing keeping him from falling apart all over again.
your other hand slides into his hair.
you kiss his temple.
you ride the high with him.
and when he finally looks at you—eyes red-rimmed, lips parted, spit shining on your thumb—he looks like someone who doesn’t just love you.
he belongs to you.
t6ji | 2025 prod — do not copy, reuse, or translate anything written on this blog.
ghostface!toji x fem!reader — comments and reblogs are appreciated <3
although you’re not 100% sure how you ended up with your face smushed into the wall, hands pinned behind your back like you’re being arrested, you find toji’s breathing in your ear—muffled through the ghostface mask—and he sounds fucking rabid.
“you like this shit, huh?” he pants, dragging your wrists up higher, chest caging your back. “dressed like a little slut, opening that door like you were expecting me.”
you’re trying to speak—trying to get words out—but he’s grinding against your ass so slow and heavy it knocks the air out of your lungs.
his cock’s not even inside you yet, but it feels like it. hard and thick under his pants, pressing up between your thighs where your pussy’s already wet and leaking through your panties. he’s not even trying to hide how he’s rutting into you. slow and mean. like he wants to break you in with your clothes still on.
“fuck,” he mutters under the mask. “you’re already soaking my cock and i haven’t even pulled it out.”
you whimper. he shoves his thigh between yours and makes you ride it.
“c’mon,” he growls. “grind on it. show me how bad you need it.”
you do. you have to. thighs shaking from the friction of your ruined panties against his jeans, dripping slick that’s already soaking through both layers. he lets one of your arms go so he can snake his hand up your throat from behind, thick fingers wrapping tight around your neck—just enough pressure to make your head swim.
his gloved hand squeezes your cheeks next, tilting your face back toward his mask. he licks his lips behind it. you can’t see it, but you hear it. his tongue dragging across the plastic as he breathes heavy. nasty. obsessed.
“open your mouth.”
you do. no hesitation.
he spits. right past the holes in the mask, straight onto your tongue.
“swallow.”
you gulp it down, throat bobbing against his palm. he laughs.
“good girl.”
and then it shifts.
he bends you over the couch without warning. shoves your face into the cushions like you’re nothing but a fucktoy he gets to use. panties get yanked down. not even off, just pulled to the side, all soaked and stuck to your folds. he doesn’t finger you, doesn’t prep you—just lines himself up, thick, veiny, and angry-red, and sinks in slow enough to make you feel the stretch in every breathless inch.
“god damn,” he groans, dragging his cock out halfway before slamming back in. “tight as fuck. greedy little pussy.”
he fucks you nasty. rough, deep strokes that slap skin to skin, loud and raw, like he wants the neighbors to hear. like he wants your body to bruise and ache with his shape inside you.
you’re crying by the third minute. clawing at the cushion, mouth open, drool on the fabric. but it feels too good to stop.
“look at you,” he huffs. “fucked dumb by a man in a mask. didn’t even take you outta your shirt.”
his gloved hand wraps around your throat again and pulls you up, arching your back as he pistons into you.
“breathe,” he whispers.
then he squeezes.
your vision goes white around the edges. pussy clenching hard around him. he doesn’t let go until your knees buckle.
“that’s it, baby. come on my cock.”
you cum shaking, wetness pouring down your thighs. he keeps going. keeps using you, cock swelling.
“gonna fill you up now,” he groans. “fuck it in deep, make it stay.”
he buries himself to the hilt and lets go with a deep, broken grunt. thick cum filling you so full it leaks out as he keeps rutting through it. won’t stop. won’t let you go. not until he’s sure you’re stuffed full.
and when he finally pulls out, mess dripping down your thighs, he slaps your ass once, admiring the wreckage.
“answer the door like that again,” he mutters, “and i’ll fuck you on the porch next time.”
t6ji | 2025 prod — do not copy, reuse, or translate anything written on this blog. lmk what you thought!!
ghostface!toji x fem!reader — comments and reblogs are appreciated <3
although you’re not 100% sure how you ended up with your face smushed into the wall, hands pinned behind your back like you’re being arrested, you find toji’s breathing in your ear—muffled through the ghostface mask—and he sounds fucking rabid.
“you like this shit, huh?” he pants, dragging your wrists up higher, chest caging your back. “dressed like a little slut, opening that door like you were expecting me.”
you’re trying to speak—trying to get words out—but he’s grinding against your ass so slow and heavy it knocks the air out of your lungs.
his cock’s not even inside you yet, but it feels like it. hard and thick under his pants, pressing up between your thighs where your pussy’s already wet and leaking through your panties. he’s not even trying to hide how he’s rutting into you. slow and mean. like he wants to break you in with your clothes still on.
“fuck,” he mutters under the mask. “you’re already soaking my cock and i haven’t even pulled it out.”
you whimper. he shoves his thigh between yours and makes you ride it.
“c’mon,” he growls. “grind on it. show me how bad you need it.”
you do. you have to. thighs shaking from the friction of your ruined panties against his jeans, dripping slick that’s already soaking through both layers. he lets one of your arms go so he can snake his hand up your throat from behind, thick fingers wrapping tight around your neck—just enough pressure to make your head swim.
his gloved hand squeezes your cheeks next, tilting your face back toward his mask. he licks his lips behind it. you can’t see it, but you hear it. his tongue dragging across the plastic as he breathes heavy. nasty. obsessed.
“open your mouth.”
you do. no hesitation.
he spits. right past the holes in the mask, straight onto your tongue.
“swallow.”
you gulp it down, throat bobbing against his palm. he laughs.
“good girl.”
and then it shifts.
he bends you over the couch without warning. shoves your face into the cushions like you’re nothing but a fucktoy he gets to use. panties get yanked down. not even off, just pulled to the side, all soaked and stuck to your folds. he doesn’t finger you, doesn’t prep you—just lines himself up, thick, veiny, and angry-red, and sinks in slow enough to make you feel the stretch in every breathless inch.
“god damn,” he groans, dragging his cock out halfway before slamming back in. “tight as fuck. greedy little pussy.”
he fucks you nasty. rough, deep strokes that slap skin to skin, loud and raw, like he wants the neighbors to hear. like he wants your body to bruise and ache with his shape inside you.
you’re crying by the third minute. clawing at the cushion, mouth open, drool on the fabric. but it feels too good to stop.
“look at you,” he huffs. “fucked dumb by a man in a mask. didn’t even take you outta your shirt.”
his gloved hand wraps around your throat again and pulls you up, arching your back as he pistons into you.
“breathe,” he whispers.
then he squeezes.
your vision goes white around the edges. pussy clenching hard around him. he doesn’t let go until your knees buckle.
“that’s it, baby. come on my cock.”
you cum shaking, wetness pouring down your thighs. he keeps going. keeps using you, cock swelling.
“gonna fill you up now,” he groans. “fuck it in deep, make it stay.”
he buries himself to the hilt and lets go with a deep, broken grunt. thick cum filling you so full it leaks out as he keeps rutting through it. won’t stop. won’t let you go. not until he’s sure you’re stuffed full.
and when he finally pulls out, mess dripping down your thighs, he slaps your ass once, admiring the wreckage.
“answer the door like that again,” he mutters, “and i’ll fuck you on the porch next time.”
t6ji | 2025 prod — do not copy, reuse, or translate anything written on this blog. lmk what you thought!!
just your boyfriend(s)— aka jjk men being pussy drunk for their girlfriend. mdni! cw: pussydrunk!jjk men, filthy bull
your man’s shoulders spread your thighs like he has been deprived of getting his hand on you, cheek pressed into your inner thigh just to feel how hard you throb when he spits on your pussy like it’s nothing.
doesn’t even bother warming you up with fingers. doesn’t bother being nice. you’re already soaked—he made sure of that twenty minutes ago when he talked about what he was gonna do.
the way he leaned down and said it slow, in that low murmur like you weren’t gonna start dripping through your underwear just from hearing it: “gonna get my whole fuckin’ face in it. right here,” he said, thumb dragging through your folds like he was clearing a path.
sure it turned you on but you’re still shy with him being so bare for you and when you tried to make an excuse, your man hit you with: “you think i care how messy it gets? c’mon, y’know want it messy.” he breathes on your hot skin. “wanna ruin you with my mouth.”
and now here he is. kneeling like it is the only will he came here to fulfill. holding your cunt open with both thumbs, just watching— no, observing you naked. for a second you think he’s teasing you but your wrong thought is cut short when his tongue is dragging up the mess like it’s syrup off a spoon. slow, heavy, filthy.
then he goes mean.
mouth clamping down like he’s starving. lips sucking your clit in tight while his tongue swirls rough circles around it—sloppy and deep like he’s fucking it with the tip of his tongue. and then both thumbs dig in. spreading you further, holding your pussy taut and pretty and open like he’s putting it on display just for himself.
“you hear how wet you are?” he says right into your cunt, lips brushing your clit when he talks. “you did this. just from me putting my mouth on you, you nasty fuckin’ thing.”
you moan—loud. too loud. that kind of noise you don’t even mean to make. it’s just what comes out when he does that flutter thing with his tongue and your thighs lock up, toes curling like your whole body’s trying to grab onto something. anything.
he doesn’t let up. not even when you’re trembling. not even when your hips start to buck.
“baby, stay still.” he pinches your thigh softly. “let me eat.” he spits a globe of spit again. lets it dribble right down the middle and then licks it back up like a pervert. like he’s obsessed which he definitely is. jaw tight, lips shiny, nose pressed in while his tongue drags every single moan out of you. he wants you dripping down his chin, messy, sobbing, twitching from how good it is.
“gonna suck on this tight cunt ‘till you cry,” he groans into it. “then i’m gonna fuck your hole so deep you won’t remember your name, get it?” you’re almost wasted.
his tongue slows—not out of mercy, just to watch you squirm.
he leans back slightly, lips shiny from your juice, chin slick with spit and arousal and everything he’s worked out of you already. breath heavy. hungry eyes fixed on your twitching cunt like it just pissed him off.
“part your lips,” he demands, voice low but fierce like it’s a fucking order. “spread it open for me. i wanna see it.”
your shaky fingers move on instinct, reaching down to obey. you hook your fingers under your folds, pulling yourself wide, and he groans low in his chest like it hurts to see you like this. so wet. so raw. clit swollen and twitching from the attention he’s given it—and now, exposed like this, it’s almost too much. it should be too much.
but then he leans in again, and your whole spine arches like it’s bracing for impact. he doesn’t start with his tongue this time.
no. he starts with his nose.
just brushes it up the slit slow, deliberately letting it nudge your clit—bump, bump, bump—like he’s testing your reaction. like he’s marking time with the softest part of him while your legs flinch and your stomach pulls tight from the overstimulation.
“look at this greedy little thing,” he murmurs, voice warm and dark against your cunt. “swollen like she’s beggin’ me to hurt her.”
then he flicks his tongue out—sideways, not up. not gentle. your thighs clamp down again.
“don’t fuckin’ close up now,” he growls, annoyed slap getting delivered to the inside of your thigh hard enough to sting. “i said open.”
you do. because you have to and this shit feels so good.
your boyfriend sucks your clit back into his mouth again, lips plush and tight around it, and just holds it there. tongue flicking back and forth underneath like a motor, side to side, building that high-pitched pressure that makes your whole lower body feel electric. and just as you’re about to go—
he slides one finger in, “fuuuuck.” he mouths, watching you stretch then adds another.
then—fuck—a third.
all in one go. deep. curling them inside you like a ‘c’mere’ sign. he knows exactly where to press and he does. his fingers are thick, deliberate, merciless. your walls clamp down, a slippery squeeze that makes his groan vibrate through your clit.
“tight as fuck,” he growls into you, barely able to talk through the wet suction of his mouth. “look at you. all stretched open and still tryna suck me in like you’re starving.”
his wrist moves faster. three fingers fucking in and out of you with obscene speed, knuckles wet, palm slapping against your cunt. he’s feeding your pussy the sound of it—squelch, squelch, squelch—and every time he presses up into that spot, every time he sucks on your clit at the same time, you swear your vision whites out.
“you feel that?” he pants. “that’s me fucking you with my hand. stuffing you like you’re made to take it. this hole’s so good i’m about to lose my fucking mind.”
you moan something incoherent—can’t even tell if it’s his name or just sound—and your hips try to run from it, but he just growls low and hooks one arm under your thigh, dragging you right back down to the base of his wrist.
“don’t fuckin’ run,” he says, licking a wide stripe up your pussy like a punishment. “take it.”
and like a good girlfriend, you will. you have to.
your legs are shaking.
trembling like you’re being exorcised, like something holy and terrifying is ripping through your core and trying to claw its way out. you’re babbling—words, moans, curses, all mangled into one long, wrecked sound while his mouth stays latched onto your clit like he’s feeding from it.
and his fingers— god, his fingers.
three thick digits fucking into you like he’s digging for something deeper, pumping in and curling like they’re sculpting you from the inside out. it’s fast. rough. deliberate. every drag of his palm over your soaked entrance sends another wave of heat crashing up your spine.
“you’re close,” he says into your cunt, voice tight and wet and vibrating directly into your clit. “tightening on me and shit, so proud of you.”
your thighs are twitching.
your belly’s clenching.
your whole body’s bucking off the bed like you’re being shocked. and he just laughs, this low, mean sound that makes your stomach drop—because he knows. knows what’s coming. knows exactly what he’s doing to you.
“yeah, baby, that’s it,” he groans, sucking your clit hard while his fingers slam into you. “give it to me. i want it.”
your vision goes white.
your hips lift off the bed.
and then it happens.
your cunt grip down like a vice—and your whole body seizes up, thighs locking around his head as you squirt all over his face. gushes. hot and fast, soaking him down to the jaw, running in messy rivulets down his neck and chin.
he doesn’t flinch.
doesn’t pull away.
doesn’t even slow down.
“fuck, there it is,” he grunts, filthy and proud, lapping it up like he’s dying of thirst. “so sweet when you let go like that. look at this mess you made on my face. you fuckin’ animal.” you would’ve playfully slapped him if you were in the right state of mind.
“so good for me.” your thighs are still twitching when he finally looks up at you, lips slick, eyes dark and hooded—but soft. not hungry anymore, just… proud. reverent.
“look at you,” he murmurs, voice all low and ruined. “still shaking.”
you try to speak, but nothing really comes out. your lips part, but all you can do is breathe, jaw slack, chest rising too fast.
he leans in anyway. kisses the inside of your knee. then your hip. then drags his hands up your sides, slow and grounding, like he’s trying to put you back together.
“you okay?” he asks, pressing his forehead to your stomach. “talk to me.”
you nod, but he doesn’t move just yet. just holds you, skin to skin, letting your body calm in his hands. his fingers trace lazy circles over your ribs, over your waist, like he’s memorizing every inch all over again.
“you were perfect,” he whispers. “every fuckin’ second.”
and even when your breath steadies, he stays right there. quiet. close. just making sure you’re still here with him.
t6ji | 2025 prod — do not copy, reuse, or translate anything written on this blog. — like and reblog if you enjoyed!! lmk your thoughts 💕
best friend’s dad!toji x fem!reader — mdni! this is basically what a horny bsf’s dad toji would do to you every time you two are togethe.
best friend’s dad!toji who spits on your pussy before sliding in just to watch you squirm. says “you like that, huh? fuckin’ messy little thing” but his thumb’s already circling your clit with the kind of pressure that makes your hips lift off the bed.
best friend’s dad!toji who grabs your chin and makes you open your mouth wide, shoving his fingers past your tongue like “you cryin’ already, baby? didn’t even stretch you yet.” and he doesn’t pull out until your eyes roll.
best friend’s dad!toji who teases your entrance with his tip for so long it hurts, holding your thighs apart like he’s got all the time in the world. “you want it? say it. beg me like a little whore.” and he doesn’t move until your voice cracks.
best friend’s dad!toji who mutters filth nonstop—“tight little cunt, fuck,”, “made to be filled up,”—but presses soft kisses between your shoulder blades like he’s trying to comfort you through every cruel, perfect stroke.
best friend’s dad!toji who grinds his hips down so hard you swear you feel him in your ribs. he palms your lower belly and rubs it slow like he’s worshiping the way you stretch around him. “see that? that’s me, sweetheart. all the way inside.”
best friend’s dad!toji who pins your wrists above your head and uses the heel of his hand to rub your clit hard and fast, grinding it down until you’re gasping, twitching, overstimmed—and he just smirks like “what? too much already?”
best friend’s dad!toji who forces eye contact the second you start shaking from an orgasm. grabs your face, holds your jaw in his hand and mutters “that’s it. fuckin’ look at me when you cum. want you to remember who makes you feel like this.”
best friend’s dad!toji who says “good girl” like it’s a reward and a threat. like “that’s my perfect little slut, takin’ every inch like you were built for me.” the kind of praise that makes you soak his cock even more.
best friend’s dad!toji who presses the pads of his fingers against your clit and rubs it in slow, evil circles while still thrusting—watching you twitch and beg with that lazy grin, saying “c’mon, baby. don’t run. i know your body better than you do now.”
best friend’s dad!toji who fucks you hard but still brushes your hair out of your face when you cry. kisses your cheek, calls you “pretty girl” in the softest voice even while his hips snap into you like he’s trying to break you.
best friend’s dad!toji who picks you up while still inside you, carries you to the bathroom and sits down with you in his lap in the warm tub. “relax, sweetheart. lemme clean you up. you took all of me so good.”
best friend’s dad!toji who turns you to the mirror after, still dripping, his cum sliding down your thigh, your makeup ruined. palms your waist and mutters “look at that. you should see how pretty you look when i wreck you.”
best friend’s dad!toji who leaves a deep, grinding bruise on your inner thigh with his mouth. doesn’t bite—but sucks hard and slow enough to make you whimper, just so he can pull back and say “mine. no one else gets this fuckin’ close.”
t6ji | 2025 prod — do not copy, reuse, or translate anything written on this blog.
toji as your brother’s best friend who’s also like a brother in public but fingers you secretly behind the doors is just…
your brother left to grab snacks.
ten, maybe fifteen minutes tops. enough time for a grocery run. not enough time to be doing this. not enough time for you to be in toji’s lap, thighs spread, skirt bunched around your waist, and his fingers knuckle-deep inside you.
but here you are anyway.
the door’s still shut. your breathing’s not.
“fuckin’ filthy,” toji mutters against your neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin like he could taste your pulse. “i don’t even have to ask if you’re wet.”
you are. soaked, actually. embarrassingly so.
his fingers slide out and back in with ease, curling slow, dragging against that one sweet spot that makes your back arch and your knees shake. he knows exactly what he’s doing. of course he does. this man’s dangerous with his hands and even worse with that smug-ass voice.
“what would he think, huh?”
toji’s mouth moves lazily along your jaw, kissing between words, fingers never stopping.
“his sweet little sister like this—legs wide, whimperin’ in my lap like she’s never been touched before.”
you try to bite your lip to keep the sound in, but it slips anyway—soft, high, trembling at the edge.
toji grins.
“that’s it. let me hear you.”
his thumb brushes your clit, featherlight. teasing. “toji..” you jerk. he laughs, low and dark.
“you’re so fuckin’ sensitive. has no one touched you like this before?”
you don’t answer. you can’t. not when your body’s already reacting to him like it’s the only thing that matters.
“you’re squeezin’ my fingers so tight, baby,” he groans, pressing his palm harder against you, letting you grind down. “you want more?”
you nod. it’s pathetic how quick it is. how desperate.
he rewards you with a slow roll of his wrist, fucking into you deeper, the rhythm dragging slick sounds into the air between you. your thighs are shaking. your hands are fisting the hem of his shirt. your eyes are glassy and wide and blinking way too fast.
“so fuckin’ pretty like this,” he says, voice quieter now. tender. cruel.
“fuckin’ leaking all over my hand and you’re still takin’ it like a good girl.”
you don’t realize you’re clenching around him until he groans again—this time sharper, almost strained.
“yeah, keep doin’ that and you’re gonna cum all over me.”
you whimper. your hips are chasing his hand now, rolling without control. you can’t even be embarrassed about it—not when his fingers are everywhere you need them to be.
“you gonna cum for me, sweetheart?”
he nips your earlobe, free hand sliding up your stomach, holding you tighter.
“gonna let me make a mess outta you before he gets back?”
you nod, breathless. you’re right there, dizzy with it. and the second his thumb presses down—
you shatter.
quietly, but fully. jaw slack, back arched, thighs trembling as your body gives in. his fingers never stop moving—just enough to pull it out of you. just enough to worship it.
“there we go,” he whispers. kisses the side of your face like you didn’t just cum on his hand. “that’s my girl.”
you’re still shaking when he finally pulls out, wiping his fingers along your inner thigh like he wants to leave a mark there.
and then—
he licks them clean.
“next time,” he says with a smirk, as you catch your breath, “you’re riding me.”
t6ji | 2025 prod — do not copy, reuse, or translate anything written on this blog.
best friend’s dad!toji x fem!reader — mdni! this is basically what a horny bsf’s dad toji would do to you every time you two are togethe.
best friend’s dad!toji who spits on your pussy before sliding in just to watch you squirm. says “you like that, huh? fuckin’ messy little thing” but his thumb’s already circling your clit with the kind of pressure that makes your hips lift off the bed.
best friend’s dad!toji who grabs your chin and makes you open your mouth wide, shoving his fingers past your tongue like “you cryin’ already, baby? didn’t even stretch you yet.” and he doesn’t pull out until your eyes roll.
best friend’s dad!toji who teases your entrance with his tip for so long it hurts, holding your thighs apart like he’s got all the time in the world. “you want it? say it. beg me like a little whore.” and he doesn’t move until your voice cracks.
best friend’s dad!toji who mutters filth nonstop—“tight little cunt, fuck,”, “made to be filled up,”—but presses soft kisses between your shoulder blades like he’s trying to comfort you through every cruel, perfect stroke.
best friend’s dad!toji who grinds his hips down so hard you swear you feel him in your ribs. he palms your lower belly and rubs it slow like he’s worshiping the way you stretch around him. “see that? that’s me, sweetheart. all the way inside.”
best friend’s dad!toji who pins your wrists above your head and uses the heel of his hand to rub your clit hard and fast, grinding it down until you’re gasping, twitching, overstimmed—and he just smirks like “what? too much already?”
best friend’s dad!toji who forces eye contact the second you start shaking from an orgasm. grabs your face, holds your jaw in his hand and mutters “that’s it. fuckin’ look at me when you cum. want you to remember who makes you feel like this.”
best friend’s dad!toji who says “good girl” like it’s a reward and a threat. like “that’s my perfect little slut, takin’ every inch like you were built for me.” the kind of praise that makes you soak his cock even more.
best friend’s dad!toji who presses the pads of his fingers against your clit and rubs it in slow, evil circles while still thrusting—watching you twitch and beg with that lazy grin, saying “c’mon, baby. don’t run. i know your body better than you do now.”
best friend’s dad!toji who fucks you hard but still brushes your hair out of your face when you cry. kisses your cheek, calls you “pretty girl” in the softest voice even while his hips snap into you like he’s trying to break you.
best friend’s dad!toji who picks you up while still inside you, carries you to the bathroom and sits down with you in his lap in the warm tub. “relax, sweetheart. lemme clean you up. you took all of me so good.”
best friend’s dad!toji who turns you to the mirror after, still dripping, his cum sliding down your thigh, your makeup ruined. palms your waist and mutters “look at that. you should see how pretty you look when i wreck you.”
best friend’s dad!toji who leaves a deep, grinding bruise on your inner thigh with his mouth. doesn’t bite—but sucks hard and slow enough to make you whimper, just so he can pull back and say “mine. no one else gets this fuckin’ close.”
t6ji | 2025 prod — do not copy, reuse, or translate anything written on this blog.
boss!toji fushiguro x mistress!fem!reader — cw: MDNI, dishonesty, vulgarity, phone sex, dom!toji, mutual masturbation, no string attached (who knows tho??)
he calls just past midnight, when the rain’s light and the world’s quiet and you’ve just stepped out of the shower, warm and freshly lotioned, robe sliding down one shoulder like it always does when you’re not paying attention.
the name lights up your phone like it owns the screen.
incoming call…
Mr. Fushiguro. 💼
not “work.” not “unknown.” not anything you could ever explain to someone else.
you answer before the second ring.
“mr. fushiguro.” your voice comes out softer than you mean, breath still sticky with steam, body still humming from the heat, and you already know what kind of night this is turning into by the way he exhales into the line—low and long like he’s been waiting for you to pick up all day.
“hey, pretty girl.”
his voice is smooth, calm, deep enough to curl under your skin and settle there. “you alone?”
you glance down at your robe. it’s untied, skin glowing, legs curled under you on the bed like a scene out of a dream he’s had a thousand times and you smile like he can see it.
“you always call when i am.”
he chuckles softly, like he’s indulging you, but the edge in his voice is unmistakable. “damn right. last thing i want is me disturbing you.”
you bite your lip, shifting your weight just a little, letting the fabric part further, your chest rising with the slow ache already blooming inside you.
“rough night?”
there’s silence for a beat, then the soft creak of him sitting back somewhere far away—maybe a cheap motel room, maybe the inside of a dark car, dark silver briefcase on the seat beside him, his shirt still sticking to his back with sweat and adrenaline.
“long day,” he says, voice steady, like it’s just a statement, not a complaint. “field’s quiet now, but my head’s not y’know so i figured i’d call the only one who knows how to take care of me right.”
your breath stutters.
he always says things like that; calm, intentional, like every word is placed exactly where he wants it. toji doesn’t chase the moment. he builds it.
“you miss me?” you murmur, dragging a hand over your thigh, fingertips leaving streaks of moisture from where the lotion hasn’t fully sunk in.
“not the way you’re thinking.” his answer is low. unhurried and you? you almost get embarrassed, your cheeks heating up with shame but he’s fast enough to conceal that feeling.
“but yes, i miss you.” he states. “i miss your skin. the way you look when you’re under me, flushed and soft and tryin’ to keep quiet. i miss the way you breathe when i’m three fingers deep and still not satisfied. i miss your body, baby. the rest?”
he pauses, letting that silence sit just long enough to sting. “you’re a sweet girl, but it’s that mouth and that pussy that keep me up.”
you exhale like you’ve been slapped. thighs clenching. heat flooding straight to your core.
“you’re disgusting,” you whisper, but it’s breathy and useless, and you both know you love it.
“mm, and yet here you are,” he says, soft and smug, “probably drippin’ all over your sheets just from my voice.”
shit, he knows you well.
you whimper, legs twitching. your fingers trail down your belly, hesitant only because you know how fast he can unravel you. “what are you wearin’, pretty girl?”
his voice is warmer now, smoother, like he’s easing you open just by talking.
“bet you’ve got that robe i’ve bought you on, the pink one. the one that barely hides anything.”
“yeah,” you breath heavy. “it’s open too,” you say without thinking, already gone, already feeling that weight settle over you like a command.
“good.” he grunts, low and satisfied.
“camera on.” you hesitate.
“toji—” you’re cut fast.
“c’mon don’t make me ask twice, baby.” he’s still calm. still firm, it’s like he’s not even tired no more.
“lemme see what’s mine.”
you reach for the camera, angle it down, let him see your thighs part slowly, skin still damp, chest rising and falling under the soft folds of silk. you’re already glistening where your fingers brushed earlier, and you know he sees it—knows because he doesn’t speak for a long moment.
“goddamn,” he mutters. “look at you. my girl’s always so ready for me. so fuckin’ pretty when she’s needy.”
your fingers move back between your legs like it’s instinct, like his voice is the only permission you need.
“go slow, yeah?” he says. “i wanna watch you take your time.”
you start to circle your clit, lazy and soft, lips parted, eyes fluttering shut as the sensation spreads. it’s not fast but it is deliberate. drawn out. like you’re savoring it just for him.
“that’s it, baby. make it nice for me. keep your legs open. i wanna see all of it.”
your breath comes quicker now, thighs shaking just a little as the heat grows sharp.
“toji—feels so good—”
“mm. i know it does.”
his voice is velvet now, heavy and rich, each word slower than the last.
“wish i was there to slide my fingers in, curl ‘em just right. you remember how i do it, yeah?”
you nod before you remember to speak.
“yes—yes, i remember—”
“go ahead then. two fingers. i know you can handle it.”
you obey instantly, the stretch dizzying, your body so wound up from just his voice that the ache feels almost too good to hold.
“fuck—” you cry out, head dropping back. “toji, i—i can’t—”
“yes you can,” he says, tone deepening, voice sharp enough to slice through your whimpering.
“you’re my girl. you take what i give you, even when i’m not there to give it.”
your orgasm creeps closer, your fingers moving faster, slick sounds filling the room as the pleasure builds thick and fast and hot, overwhelming in that way only he ever manages to pull from you.
“cum for me,” he growls, “don’t hold back. wanna hear you fall apart, pretty girl.”
and you do.
you’re loud, trembling, thighs shaking as your orgasm crashes over you, and you can’t even pretend to stay quiet. what toji hears? it’s all gasps and moans and his name tumbling off your lips like it’s the only one you know.
on the other end, he groans deep, like your sounds are all it takes to push him there, his breath catching in his throat, his rhythm speeding up as you pant and tremble through the comedown, and then he lets out a rough, broken growl, thick and low and satisfied as he finishes with your name under his breath like it belongs there—like it’s a prayer
“shit, baby… just like that…” his voice breaks off, uneven, and you know his head tilted back, hand sticky, muscles tight, his eyes probably squeezed shut from how hard you made him cum just from your voice and your body on a screen
the line goes quiet after that, only soft breathing filling the space between you. both of you catching your breath, your body limp across your sheets, his silence a little stunned, a little reverent
you stretch slowly, robe falling further open, fingers gliding gently over your thigh as the haze settles into your bones and all you can do is smile at your screen; lazy, content, a little sore from how hard you came
“feel better?” you murmur, your voice warm, teasing, like you already know the answer
“mm.” he breathes, slower now, calmer. “you always know how to fix me right.”
a pause.
then he sighs, deep and real and honest, and it’s so quiet you almost miss it when he says: “get some sleep. you earned it.”
you hum in reply, cheek pressing into the pillow, lids heavy as you start to drift, warmth still pulsing gently between your thighs, body slack with that deep, private kind of satisfaction
“night, toji.”
“night, baby.”
he doesn’t hang up right away.
you both just lie there, the soft sound of your breath crackling through the line, not saying anything, not needing to—just staying connected for one more minute while the world fades away, quiet and full.
then finally, when the silence is heavy enough to hold, the call ends.
no goodbyes, did what you just done, exactly the way you both like it.
t6ji | 2025 prod — do not copy, reuse, or translate anything written on this blog — like and reblog your thoughts if you enjoyed 💕
maybe it started when you unlocked the cell. maybe it started the first time he called you “pretty girl” and didn’t mean it like an insult.
but right now? none of that matters.
you’re flat on your back on the prison cot, legs hanging off the edge, your shirt open, bra pushed up, pants and underwear long gone. the uniform that once meant something is in a pile on the dirty cement floor.
and toji’s cock is buried so deep inside you, all you can do is cry.
his body is massive over you. thighs thick, muscles hard, sweat dripping off his chest as he slowly fucks up into you, pelvis grinding, dragging his cock along every sensitive ridge inside you like he’s trying to dig your name out of you.
but you don’t know your name anymore.
all you know is yes, and please, and deeper, and fuck, toji, don’t stop—
he grunts, slow and low, lips dragging down your cheek.
“you’re shaking, baby,” he murmurs. “you gonna cry for me again?”
your hands are clutching his arms — his biceps flex every time he rocks into you, slow and deep and deliberate, like he’s etching himself into the walls of your pussy.
you can’t speak. you’re sobbing too hard. your legs won’t stop trembling, overstimulation pulling tight across your belly as you clamp down around him.
his voice is calm. like he’s discussing a fucking chess move.
“there it is. she’s pulsing.”
he kisses your jaw. “you’re gonna come again, aren’t you?”
you nod helplessly.
he hums, almost affectionate. “how many’s that now? four?”
you don’t answer. you’re drooling a little. tears running from the corners of your eyes. your thighs are soaked, your pussy so wet it’s making slick, obscene sounds every time he thrusts.
toji pauses.
and pulls out just enough to see the mess you’ve made.
your cunt clenches around nothing, fluttering like you’re begging him back in — and he groans like it’s physically painful to not be inside you.
“fuck… look at that.”
his voice cracks a little.
he reaches down with one big hand and spreads your folds with his thumb, watching your pussy drip. it clenches around nothing, twitching, so overstimulated that your hips jerk away on instinct.
“nuh-uh,” he grabs your thighs and drags you back onto the edge of the cot, so your ass is barely hanging on. “you’re takin’ this dick, sweetheart.”
then he lines himself back up and pushes in — slow, thick, stretching you wide again like it’s the first time.
you scream into your own wrist.
his voice turns rough, but it’s still quiet. still focused.
“there she is,” he mutters, eyes locked on your face. “my sweet little cop. takin’ it like she was made for it.”
his hips roll into you again. deeper. harder.
and it knocks the air out of your lungs.
“t-this is too much—” you sob, voice cracked and slurred.
he leans down, nose brushing yours.
“then why’s your pussy grippin’ me like it don’t wanna let go?”
you cry out again. his cock fills you perfectly — too much but just right, fat and long and dragging against your deepest, rawest nerves.
he starts fucking you harder.
still rhythmic, still controlled — but rougher now, each thrust punching gasps out of your lungs.
your hands fly to his chest and he grabs your wrists, pins them above your head with one big palm.
“stay open for me,” he growls. “don’t fuckin’ run.”
you can’t even move.
his hand snakes under your throat, thumb at your jaw, other fingers resting right below your pulse.
“you don’t get to hide this from me. you hear me?”
he leans in — voice breathless now. hoarse.
“you don’t get to pretend you don’t love the way i split this pretty little cunt open. the way i ruin it.”
and then his tone softens. terrifyingly so.
“you’re mine now,” he whispers. “look at you. my perfect girl. my ruby.”
you’re crying again. broken little gasps, every nerve in your body pulled tight as your orgasm builds fast and violent, boiling in your belly like a fucking explosion.
“t-toji—!”
he doesn’t stop. just fucks you through it.
“come for me,” he says, deep and dark and reverent. “come on my cock and give me everything.”
you come so hard you forget what air is.
your body convulses under him, thighs quaking, mouth slack — a soundless, endless moan while your pussy clenches around him like you’re trying to drag him in deeper.
he watches you break.
and he moans — long and low — finally losing the last of his control as your cunt milks him, slick and desperate, walls trembling around his cock.
“fuck, baby—gonna come—inside you, shit—”
his thrusts stutter. jerk.
“take it. fuckin’ take it—”
and then he presses his hips in deep, buried to the hilt, cock twitching as he fills you up, thick, hot, so much cum that you feel it spill out around the edges.
he stays there.
cock softening inside you. face in your neck. breathing hard.
you’re still shaking. still twitching. your body’s soaked in sweat.
your chest rises and falls like you ran a marathon. your cunt pulses around him in slow aftershocks.
his voice finally breaks the silence.
“…what’s your name again, sweetheart?”
you blink up at him. blank. empty.
he laughs.
“yeah. that’s what i thought.”
t6ji | 2025 prod — do not copy, reuse, or translate anything written on this blog.
cw: mdni, boss!toji x mistress!fem!reader — oral fixation, cheating, blowjob under desk, spit/mess, heavy tension, slight power play, public risk, eye contact, dirty talk, reader gets off on being his secret, slight dom!toji, possessive toji, (needs warning) flushed toji — like & reblog if you enjoy!
the office is quiet except for the soft hum of the overhead lights and the slow, wet sounds coming from beneath the desk.
your knees are dug into the plush carpet, thighs parted for balance, hands resting on his thick thighs as you suck him slow—just the flushed head of his cock between your lips, tongue swirling, teasing, lips barely touching the shaft. lazy. deliberate. torturous.
he’s trying not to react.
he’s failing.
“shit fuck,” toji mutters under his breath, one hand tangled in your hair as he leans back in his chair, suit jacket stretched across his wide chest. “y’know what that mouth does to me, baby?”
you hum lowly in response, lips sealing tighter around his tip, letting your tongue trace the sensitive slit as he exhales through his nose. he tastes clean and faintly salty, like sweat and sin, and you swear you feel him twitch every time you so much as look up at him with those wide, innocent eyes.
“teasin’ me like that…” he huffs. “i oughta fuck your throat raw.”
you moan at that, and he grits his teeth, glancing at the door like it might swing open at any second—because it could. you’ve been down here long enough that it’s not just dangerous now, it’s stupid.
“don’t suck too hard, baby, i got a meeting—”
and then there’s a knock.
sharp. decisive. professional.
toji freezes. so do you.
he clears his throat fast, wipes his palm down his jaw, tries to sit up like he wasn’t just getting deepthroated by his own employee. “come in.”
you do not move.
not off your knees. not off his dick.
you just hold the tip on your tongue, eyes fluttering shut, fingers massaging his balls beneath the desk as the door opens and—
“sir?” his assistant, mayu, peeks in, tablet in her arms. “you’ve got the client call in five. just making sure you didn’t forget.”
you can feel toji tense. the way his thighs shift under your palms, the subtle twitch of the cock in your mouth. he doesn’t even look at you but his hand presses against your scalp, firm, reminding you: don’t move.
“mm.” he clears his throat again, voice a bit deeper than usual. “yeah. got it.”
mayu lingers. shit, toji thinks he’s fucked.
“…everything alright, sir? you look a little flushed.”
you nearly laugh around him. the power you’re holding right now, it’s delicious.
toji just grunts, glancing briefly down—he doesn’t look at you, but he’s definitely thinking about you, lips stretched tight over his teeth while you start to suck again. light pressure. just enough to feel the veins throb against your tongue.
“air vent’s busted again,” he lies flatly. “it’s hot as hell in here.”
mayu nods, stepping back slowly, though she still seems unsure. “i’ll have maintenance look at it.”
you swirl your tongue again. he sucks in a breath through his nose.
“good. thanks.”
as the door shuts, you moan around his cock, and finally—finally—toji slams his fist against the armrest.
“you fucking brat,” he growls, shoving the chair back just a few inches, enough to look down at you properly now, teeth clenched. “you really get off on this shit, huh? suckin’ me off while my assistant’s in the room?”
you pull off just slightly, stroking him now with one hand, licking the tip like a popsicle. “you love it.”
he glares at you, breath uneven. “yeah. i fuckin’ do.”
then you sink back down.
no more teasing. no more soft licks.
you take him deep, letting your throat open around his length as both hands cup his balls, stroking them in slow, firm motions that have his hips jerking off the seat. spit leaks from your lips. your mascara’s smudging. and toji is a mess—cursing under his breath, fighting every muscle in his body not to start fucking your face into the back of your throat.
you don’t stop until he cums. hot and heavy, shooting down your throat while he hisses your name and pulls your head down, holding you there while you swallow every drop.
“fuck, baby…”
when he finally lets go, you sit back, wiping your chin, catching your breath as you look up at him through ruined lashes.
“…you’ve got three minutes before your meeting,” you say softly, lips slick and red.
toji grins, watching your flushed face.
“plenty of time to bend you over this desk and return the favor.”
t6ji presents | 2025 — do not copy/repost/claim as your own, everything written under this blog is original and for entertainment purposes only. — like & reblog if you enjoyed! lmk your thoughts
hi! just a question because i’ve seen many writers who frequently use daddy kink but don’t write DDLG. i feel like the themes are often the same (small, innocent, girly reader) so it’s just a bit confusing to me? is the difference simply one is actively pretending to be a little girl? i asked since i saw your rules! not trying to single you out. just genuinely curious and hoping i don’t sound insensitive not being able to tell the difference…
hi love, not insensitive at all! that’s actually such a thoughtful question and nice that you’re asking instead of assuming.
so basically, the daddy kink by itself is usually more about the power dynamic, the praise, the protectiveness, and sometimes the dom/sub tension; like being called “good girl,” getting taken care of, or a dom saying “daddy knows best.” it can totally include softer, more nurturing dynamics, or a bratty back-and-forth, but it doesn’t necessarily mean the reader is acting like a child. it’s more of a role or title that evokes authority and care in a sexy way.
on the other hand, DDLG (which stands for daddy dom/little girl) is a full-on roleplay lifestyle kink that does usually involve age regression or pretending to be younger (like speaking in a little voice, using pacis, stuffies, rules, routines, etc.). it can be sexual or non-sexual, depending on the people involved, but it’s always more structured and intentional about that “little” identity.
so the main difference is really the intent and depth of roleplay. just because someone likes being called “daddy” or writes soft/submissive reader characters doesn’t mean they’re into DDLG at all.
and again dw, you didn’t sound rude or ignorant. you actually asked in the kindest way possible. hope that clears it up a bit. always happy to explain stuff like this if you’re ever unsure 💕
small notice: this is strictly 18+ blog, it contains heavy and explicit content. you are what you consume, i do not take any responsibility for your actions therefore you’ve been warned. — MDNI ❕
— T O J I F U S H I G U R O.
A PLUS
MIRROR TOY
LATE RETURN
AFTER HOURS
WAY TOO DEEP
STRESS RELIEF
KEEP IT SECRET
OFF THE CLOCK
UNDER PRESSURE
filthy 1am thoughts
01. 02. 03. 04. 05. 06. 07. pending…
t6ji presents | 2025 — do not copy/repost/claim as your own, everything written under this blog is original and for entertainment purposes only.
cw: boss!toji x mistress!reader — mdni. explicit. raw backseat sex. overstimulation (m). lipstick. thumb sucking. car smells like sweat & sex. guilt. daddy kink. married man. emotional rot.
the car smells like sex.
not perfume. not aftershave. not even the new car scent that used to linger.
no, it smells like the mess you made out of him. sweat and slick and something darker—something animal, something wrong. and you don’t stop riding him.
not even when his head falls back against the leather, sweat dripping down his throat, fists clenched at your hips.
“fuck—baby, wait—”
his voice cracks, gravel-rough and desperate.
“‘m too sensitive—c-can’t—”
you don’t listen.
you never listen.
you grind down harder. slow, tight circles of your hips, pussy choking around his cock, sucking him back in like you’re trying to fuse your body with his.
“thought you said you could go again,” you whisper, lips brushing his neck.
“was that a lie?”
he groans. long and guttural.
his cock’s still hard, twitching inside you, even after he already emptied himself twice tonight. once bent over your office desk. again against the back door of the car.
now? he’s ruined. overstimmed and soaked in sweat, undone in the most humiliating way.
and you’re sitting right on top of his thick cock like it’s yours.
“fuckin’ hell—”
he braces a hand on the seat behind you.
the other slides down to your waist, gripping hard.
you lean forward, licking at the smudge of lipstick smeared across his jawline.
“you can’t even sit still,” you murmur, tongue dragging slow down his throat.
“so noisy, daddy. what would your wife say if she saw you like this?”
his whole body tenses.
you feel it—every twitch, every pulse of his cock throbbing inside you, still so wide it stretches you in a way no one else ever could. the girth of it makes your pussy flutter, already aching and sore, yet greedy for more.
“don’t—don’t bring her into this,” he grits.
but you’re already lifting your hips, dragging your soaked folds up his cock, so slow the head catches and drags against your walls like a threat.
his tie’s hanging crooked around his neck. his shirt is half-open, buttons lost somewhere in the front seat. his thighs are trembling beneath you, hair stuck to his forehead.
and god, he looks ruined.
“daddy,” you whisper sweetly.
“you gonna cum again for me?”
he growls.
that’s the only word for it. animal, broken, frustrated.
but then—you slide your thumb into his mouth.
and that breaks him.
his eyes roll back as you press the pad of your thumb to his tongue.
he moans around it, lips parting wider, sucking it in deep.
you watch him fall apart, chest heaving under you, whole body jerking as your cunt squeezes tight around his cock—wet, hot, unforgiving.
“just wanna feel you,” you whisper.
“wanna milk you dry. wanna make you beg me to stop.”
his hands dig into your waist.
and he begs.
“please—can’t—baby, please—gonna cum—”
you lean close, tongue in his ear, riding him faster now.
“then cum for me, daddy.”
and he does.
it hits him like a wave—hips jerking up off the seat, mouth falling open around your thumb, cock twitching so violently you feel the spill of it pump inside you, thick and hot and never-ending.
you don’t stop moving. not right away. you roll your hips gently, milking him, while his entire body trembles under yours.
“f-fuck,” he gasps, voice breaking.
his grip on your waist tightens, finally stilling you.
“no more,” he whispers.
“can’t.”
you press a kiss to his lips, tender and slow. he kisses back, dizzy and fucked-out.
your sweat-slick bodies stay tangled, your pussy still wrapped around his cock, keeping him deep inside you.
and then—buzz.
his phone lights up in the front seat.
you glance over his shoulder. he doesn’t.
but the name at the top of the screen makes your stomach drop.
“wife 💕”
you freeze.
the message previews automatically, cruel and quiet.
wife 💕 [11:36pm]
megumi fell asleep waiting for you. he was so excited to see you before bed… we miss you. 💕
behind the text, a picture.
his lockscreen.
his wife and son.
in a park. arms around each other. smiling.
the shame hits you like a slap. like you weren’t just full of him two seconds ago. like his cock isn’t still pulsing weakly inside your dripping pussy.
toji exhales through his nose.
doesn’t look. doesn’t speak.
you don’t climb off him.
not yet.
you just stare at the phone. and wonder why it hurts
toji | 2025 do not reuse, translate or copy my works please — if you like this please reblog and like to shoe your appreciation!
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