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𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝒞 toji fushiguro

SYPNOSIS .ᐟ toji comes back to you on an afternoon washed with honey dewed sunlight and the smell of apples in the air, rugged and tired, only letting himself crumble when its in your arms

★ INCLUDES 18+ NSFW, cowboy outlaw! toji, angst, western au, friends with benefits (is it still fwb if you're both madly in love but refuse to call it that?), bath sex, cowgirl, cunnilingus, fingering, clit play, cum licking, dirty talk, filthy and soft, porn with plot, mentions of blood and injury, slight alcoholism, frottage, nipple sucking, spanking, floor sex

⌗ A NOTE FROM IVY ⸝⸝ in honour of the austin gp, i present you cowbow outlaw toji. may this grant us a ferrari win this week. amen.

The sun’s soft when Toji rides in, sky bleeding blue over the hills and the dust kicking up behind his horse like smoke from a dying fire. By the time he makes it to your porch, his legs ache, his coat’s dusty, and his bones feel heavy.

He’s tired. Not the kind of tired that sleep fixes—no, this one sits deep, marrow-deep, like rust in his joints. The kind of tired that creeps into his soul and stays there, until the wires stringing his muscles together pull taut and force him to more. He drags his boots up your steps, one after the other, each creak of the wood groaning beneath his weight. His shoulders hang low. His hat’s pulled down low over his eyes.

He looks like hell. He feels worse. He don’t know why he’s here again. You’re the last kind of person a man like him ought to be haunting. Your ranch is small and clean and alive—soft edges and sunlight and the smell of apples drifting out through the window. Wind chimes sway lazily from the eaves, catching the breeze. There’s a lace curtain drawn half-open in your kitchen window, and the faint clink of dishes carries out into the afternoon.

It's all so pretty.

Toji isn't pretty. He's six foot three of killer instinct and calloused hands from sligning pistols and bare fisted brawls. Scars litter his skin, winding over his arms, his stomach, even his legs like ivy, each bullet mark long healed but never truly fading. A testament to the kind of man he is; the kind that shouldn't be on your front step on a golden afternoon.

But he's so fucking tired.

Tired of running from town to town, hauling in bandits for a couple stacks, trading lives for money with blood staining his teeth and a feral desperation to keep moving threading his muscles together. Bounty after bounty, pistol loaded and then emptied and then reloaded again. He moves through towns like a ghost, like a whisper. People run when they hear his name—the boy turned weapon coming to collect.

He's long gotten used to the permanent copper tang that accompanies his name, the way people's eyes avert when he's sat in a saloon, chasing thoughts of you away with whiskey that's long stopped hurting his throat. He's moved from drink to drink—whiskey, spirits, anything to chase that burn that travels down his throat and makes him hurt a little because nobody's ever got close enough to try. But he too soon got used to the hurt, and the liquors slide down his throat easily as water with no burn to chase away thoughts of you. He ended up finding his way back to whiskey even when every drop tasted like your name.

Toji thought he was made for this kind of life, for killing and moving on. Ever since he felt the weight of his first Colt .45 in his hand, the grooves of the leather and the curve of the trigger under hs finger, he thought it was meant for him. Some boys were made for Sunday church and buttons. Toji was made for pistols and leaving. He didn't know good manners no matter how hard his family tried to drill them into him; they'd been the good kind, old money and the religious kind of folk that had tried to make him attend Sunday services. Toji had been wild since the day he left his mothers womb, always getting into scuffs with the older boys, always using his fists first, prayers last. He'd left his family behind, adopted a new last name and became the devil of the west, the man with over a hundred bounties to his name, the man who sweeps through towns with a gun and a debt to collect.

And he was good at it. The killing. The hurting. The collecting. It wasn't some sort of biblical justice or anything as pretty as that. Toji just did what he was good at to make a living. Words like morality, like justice don't belong in the same sentece as him, because he doesn't do it for a higher purpose. No, he weeds out the worst of the West for the fat stack of bills that gets slid over the counter when he trades a bloody poster in return. For the weight of cash in his back pocket, and the ability to keep moving and never looking back.

He's always been good at running. Until you. The one exception to his rule. The place he keeps coming back to. The person he keeps looking back for, retracing his steps until they lead him to your door. He'd met you one afternoon, when he was passing through town. Heard your laugh first, saw your smile after. Dimples, was his first thought. Two of them, embedded into your cheeks, small crescents that curved whenever you smiled. You had looked at him when he accidentally bumped into you, blinking softly. "You look like you're lost," you'd said, soft and almost teasing, lips curved in a small smile, dimples flashing, not knowing he had barely just washed the blood from his hands from his last bounty.

Toji never thought he was lost until he was found by you. You were the kind of girl that deserved sunflowers and morning pancakes, not gunshot wounds and knocks at your door before dawns even broken. The kind he would watch from a distance but never get close enough to feel the warmth of your smile on him. But he'd gotten wrapped up in you anyways.

He stares at your door now—at the chipped paint, the apple-shaped doormat, the faint scent of pie drifting through the evening—and feels his lungs ache in a way that’s got nothing to do with the ride. When he knocks, it’s soft. Two dull raps, his knuckles cracked and bruised. Inside, he hears the shuffle of your steps, the faint scratch of your record player spinning a slow, soft tune. The door creaks open, and there you are, haloed by the warm glow of the afternoon sun, kissed golden and every bit as pretty as the day he met you.

You look like summer come to life—hair loose, skin soft, eyes wide and kind in a way that makes his chest hurt.

“Toji,” you breathe, and it sounds like something gentle when it comes from your lips, less of a curse, more of a name.

He lifts his head slow, the corner of his mouth twitching in something that he thinks might pass for a smile. “Hey there, darlin’.”

You take him in—the dust on his coat, the blood on his sleeve, the exhaustion etched into the lines of his face. There’s a flicker of worry in your eyes, but you stay there anyway. You always do. “You’re back,” you whisper, and you smile, small surprised and soft, like you're happy to see him.

Dimples, he thinks faintly.

He steps close, wraps an arm around your waist, pulls you into him. You smell like apples and warmth and something safe he's never known. His face finds the crook of your neck, breath rough, body trembling with a kind of exhaustion he can’t fight.

“Yeah,” he breathes, voice rough against your skin. “M’back.”

You press a hand to his jaw, thumb brushing the stubble there, gentle in a way no one’s been with him in years. And Toji—outlaw, bounty man, devil of the West—closes his eyes and lets himself break a little. Because out there, he’s a killer. A ghost. A man made of scars and tallies to his name. But here, with your hand against his skin and your breath soft against his throat, he’s just Toji.

He can feel your eyes flicking over him—the overgrown hair curling at his nape, the new scars crawling up his knuckles and over the veins of his hands, the glint of his pistol at his hip. You see it all, though you don’t say a thing. You don’t have to. The way your lips part and your brows pinch faintly says enough—he looks worse than before. The weight of it, the exhaustion, the dirt and blood and the distance he carries in his eyes.

“You look worn down,” you murmur softly, and he pressed his face into your soft hand, unscarred, untouched by violence or anger. Just soft supple skin and palm creases criss crossing in lines he's long since memorised.

He huffs a soft dry laugh into your hand. “Been worse."

You don’t ask him why he’s come back. You never do. You just ease his arms from around you, your touch feather-light, and take his rough, calloused hand in yours to lead him inside. He follows without a word, heavy boots thudding dully against the worn floorboards, spurs faintly jingling with every step. The house smells like you—warm vanilla, baked apples, and warmth. It’s the smell of peace, of everything he doesn’t deserve.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” you murmur.

Toji nods once, a jerky small motion, the sound of his breath rough in the quiet as you guide him down the narrow hall. The floor creaks beneath his boots; your small hand is swallowed up in his, rough skin against soft, a weight he would trade for the heaviness of a pistol every time. His eyes stay on the back of your head as you lead him through your home, his fingers tightening around yours.

The bathroom’s small, just big enough for a porcelain tub, a tiny window cracked open to let the late sunlight in, a few jars and bottles lining the counter. It’s clean but lived-in, filled with the kind of quiet domestic touches that feel foreign to a man like him. A half-burned candle sits by the sink, something vanilla-like and rich, and towels hang neatly on the rack.

You gesture for him to sit, and Toji drops down onto the closed toilet seat, elbows on his knees. His hat sits lopsided on his thigh, his holster heavy at his hip. He watches you as you move, the way your skirt sways, the soft rhythm of you working, filling the tub, testing the water with your wrist. His fingers twitch on his knees, restless, aching for the weight of your hand in his.

Steam starts to fill the room, curling around your face, softening the edges of the world. You don’t look at him, but he keeps looking at you, cataloging all the small changes. Your hair's a bit longer. Skin kissed deeper by the summer sun. There’s a fullness to you that speaks of a life steady and rooted, a softness and steadiness to the way you move, to the way you breathe.

When you bend over to adjust the water, the hem of your dress rides up just enough to show a flash of skin—the tender curve of your thighs, smooth and supple in the warm light. Toji’s jaw flexes; his fingers dig in tight into his thigh, cock twitching in his jeans, trapped.

“It’s ready,” you say softly, straightening up.

Toji forces his shoulders to relax, nodding, ignoring the throb of his cock. His belt comes first with a faint clink as he loosens it. Then his twin pistols, unbuckled from his sides and set carefully atop the toilet tank. His shirt comes next, dusty and bloodied, peeled over his head and tossed aside. The room seems to shrink as he straightens, chest broad, muscles taut under the wash of golden light. Scars stretch across his skin, pale scar tissue from bullet holes, knife slashes, things you don’t ask about and he never says.

Your eyes dip before you can stop them—tracing the shape of him, the strength, the ruin—and then you look away, cheeks flushed. You reach for his shirt to fold it, fussing with it like it gives you something to do.

Toji doesn’t miss it. The way you avoid looking directly at him, the tiny tremor in your breath, the blush flooding your cheeks. His lips twitch faintly. He drags down his trousers until he’s bare and the air hits him soft and warm. He watches you tidy the last of his clothes into the hamper, your back turned, your shoulders a little more tense. The silence between you hums, thick and full.

“Go on,” you murmur, not looking back. “You can get in.”

Your voice is quiet, but it slides over his skin like silk. His cock twitches with the sound alone, filling against his thigh, and he exhales slowly through his nose, fighting down the heat. Toji steps into the tub, steam curling around his body, blurring the lines of his scars. He lowers himself in, hissing when the hot water bites at the cuts still healing along his ribs. The sound that leaves him isn’t quite pain—more relief than anything else. The water envelopes him, soaking the dust and blood away, the scent of your oils rising around him in waves.

For a long moment, he just sits there, breathing. The warmth seeps into his bones, softens something that’s been coiled too tight for too long, the wires stringing his muscles together cut loose finally.

Then you move closer. The floor creaks softly as you kneel beside the tub, dipping a small cup into the water. You pour it gently over his shoulders. The touch makes Toji tense, every muscle pulled tight like wire, a reflex carved from years of violence.

“Relax,” you whisper.

And he does. Because it's you. Your hands move slow, gentle—pouring water over him, fingers sliding through his hair, rubbing the dirt from his skin. You lather the soap into your palms and work it into his hair, your touch firm but careful, dragging your fingers through the strands like you’re taming a wild mare who's never known gentle touch.

Toji’s head falls back against the edge of the tub, eyes slipping shut. His breathing deepens, slow and even. For the first time in months, maybe years, he lets go, lets himself be held in your small, soft orbit. He lets his sharp edges be smoothed by you, let you piece him back together into something less devilish, more human. Your touch is gentle, slow, and Toji's soul aches for more, to feel it everywhere, taming him into something softer, something gentle and worthy of your hands.

You work the shampoo through his hair slowly, fingertips digging in just enough to make him sigh, the sound low from his chest. His hair is thick and damp, coarser than you remember, the suds gliding through the strands as the smell of soap fills the air. Steam curls along the tiled walls, softening everything—the mirror, the edges of his shoulders, the line of his jaw. He sits still beneath your hands, head tilted slightly back, eyes half-lidded. You can see how the tension starts to ease from his body with each slow stroke of your fingers.

“Forgot how good this feels,” he murmurs, voice low and tender.

You huff a laugh, thumb brushing along his temple and he fights the instinct to lean into it. “You always forget how much you like being taken care of.”

He hums, a deep rumble that vibrates through his chest, though he doesn’t open his eyes. For a long moment, the only sound is the quiet splash of water as you rinse his hair, pouring it over his head with gentle, careful sweeps. The water runs down his neck, tracing the lines of his muscles, the faint silver of old scars catching in the light. You reach for the towel beside you, meaning to dry his hair, when he shifts. The water ripples, a subtle warning. Before you can react, a calloused hand slips out, catching your wrist.

“Toji—”

You barely manage his name before the world tips.

"C'mere," he murmurs and gently tugs you in. You stumble forward with a soft gasp, knees hitting the edge of the tub before the warmth of the water rushes up around you. The shock of heat steals your breath; your soaked dress clings instantly to your thighs, heavy and translucent in places where the light hits.

You blink, half laughing, half gasping, “Toji, what—”

He’s already looking up at you, still sitting in the tub, broad shoulders glistening under the rising steam, water catching on his dark lashes, a faint flush on his cheeks from the heat. His eyes trace you slowly, taking in the wet fabric of your dress clinging to you, the curve of your throat as you catch your breath, the heave of your chest. There’s a quiet hunger in his eyes, dragging over your tits where the wet fabric clings to you, nipples already straining under his gaze.

You swallow, heat pulsing between your thighs. You've almost forgotten what it feels like to be looked at like that, all heat and hunger in those dark eyes, refusing to be coy or shy about it. That's always how Toji has been—upfront, unapologetic, even with this. He doesn't try hide the way his eyes watch the way your dress clings to your tits, or how they drag down to your thighs where the fabric clings obscenely.

“Couldn’t help it,” he murmurs finally, voice dropping low. “You were too far away.”

You shake your head, chiding, but the corner of your mouth betrays you. He sees the faint smile that pulls at your lips, and for a second he just stares at it, like it’s something rare and precious. His hand rises from the water, fingers trailing over your jaw until his palm cups your face. His thumb traces the soft curve of your cheekbone, rough skin against tender flesh.

“Haven’t seen that in a long time,” Toji murmurs, voice gone low and quiet. “Missed that pretty smile.”

The words land heavy, the warmth of them spreading through you until it’s hard to breathe. You lean into his palm without thinking, eyes fluttering shut, feeling the roughness of his hand, the way his thumb presses just slightly like he’s grounding himself with the touch. "Missed this pretty face too," he mumurs, thumb brushing over your jaw, watching your lashes flutter over your cheeks.

He shifts you easily, pulling you closer until you’re fully straddling his lap, water spilling over the sides of the tub. The warmth of his body radiates through the thin layer of your dress. You can feel every solid inch of him beneath you—especially where his cock stirs, thick and heavy.

Your eyes flutter shut at the contact, a soft sound slipping from you before you can stop it. Toji’s breath catches; his grip on your hips tightens just a fraction.

“Yeah,” he breathes against your ear, voice gone low and rough. “That’s the sound I missed, too.”

"What else did you miss?" you murmur, a breathy quality to your voice that makes his cock throb where it's gently curving against his stomach, but he pays it no mind.

"Missed your pretty eyes," Toji murmurs, thumb dragging over your cheek, enjoying the way you swallow as his voice goes lower. "Missed your pretty laugh, the way your dimples show when I make a shitty joke," he mutters, thumb dragging over your cheek, pressing gently where the indents are curved into you.

His eyes drag down your body, all heat. "Missed this pretty little body. How you sing for me when I've got my mouth on your cunt."

You flush, and he watches the way you bite your botton lip, thighs shifting beneath the water like you're needy for it. Fuck, he loves that.

"Missed that so much, doll," Toji murmurs, voice dragging low, hand sliding down your chest, cupping one of your tits jsut to hear your breath hitch as his thumb drags over a hard nipple. "My face buried between those gorgeous fuckin' thighs, forgettin' the world exists." He squeezes one of your tits and your hips jolt, searching for friction, breaths coming faster.

"Missed tasting that pretty cunt," Toji mutters as his hand flattens and drags down your stomach, where the fabric clengs wetly to you, water lapping at your thighs. Your head falls forward, forehead brushing his shoulder as the heat coils tight in your stomach. He hums low, letting you fold into his as his hand slips down slowly, the heat of your breath against his throat, arms wound around his shoulders.

"Missed havin' you on me," Toji murmurs into your ear as his fingers reach the hem of your dress and slip under, finding your soaked panties. “That sweet little pussy on my tongue, ridin’ me like you can’t get enough.” His fingers drag your panties to the side and drag down to feel your cunt, clenching and swollen.

"You remember that, don't you, doll?" he whispers into your ear and you whimper as Toji's thick calloused fingers drag over your cunt, rubbing slow at your clit, slow little circles he knows gets you worked up. "Last time I came 'round. Had you on my tongue for hours, you screamed yourself hoarse."

You cling to him tighter at the words, whimpering, as he hums as his fingers circle your clit, middle finger sliding down to slowly slip into you. "Mm, you remember, don't ya? Made you cum god knows how many times that night," he breathes into your ear as his finger works into you, tight hear clenching needily.

"It was a long, long night, that one," Toji continues, voice raspy and thick like molasses as his second finger slips in with a small grunt. "You took my cock so fuckin' good, didn't ya baby? Rode me cause' my leg was all fucked up from that bullet. Gave me such a good fuckin' show with your hair all messy and tits bouncin'."

You can only gasp in response as Toji scissors you open, clinging to him, hips chasing his fingers, water sloshing gently as he opens you up, searching for that sweet spot, and when he brushes over you, your voice breaks and your breath stutters, hips jerking. "T-toji—"

"There it is," he mutters as he draws his head back slightly to watch you as he fucks his fingers into you slick heat, rubbing over your g-spot, thumb rolling over your clit. "There's my pretty girl."

The water sloshes softly as you shift closer, whimpering and gasping his name as our knees brushing his hips, your arms wrapping around him tighter, fingers curling into the hair at his nape, tugging as you get closer and he holds you, one arm wrapped around you, takig your weight easily, fingers fucking into you, thumb rubbing over your clit.

"That's it," he grunts as he rubs harder, sending electricity down your spine, tangling in your gut, fingers curling in his hair, gasping. "Cum for me baby. Lemme see it."

"Toji—" you whine, clutching at him desperately, hips chasing his fingers, cunt clenching, pleasure hitting your every nerve.

And when you cum on his fingers, Toji makes sure to drink it in, the way your eyes roll back, breath hitching and stuttering on his name as your hips jolt, cunt clenching around his fingers as he works you through the waves of pleasure. "That's it," he breathes, as his fingers slow into a gentler shallow thrusts, thumb slick and dragging over your puffy little clit until you're melted into him, panting and flushed.

He watches you try catch your breath, the way your lashes flutter and the flush spread over your cheeks. You’re soft in his hands, almost unbearably so, softer than he’s ever known how to handle. His hands are made for blood snd dust, for the cruel bite of metal and the worn handle of his favourite pistol. They aren’t made for soft round curves, slick and flushed skin. He feels like he’s cradling the sun in his hands when all he’s ever known is the swallowing emptiness of the night. It makes the words slip from between his ribs, out of his throat before he can take it back.

“Did you miss me?” Toji rasps and your lashes flutter, eyes opening, round and confused and still hazy from pleasure, catching your breath.

His heart knocks against his ribs painfully in the second of takes you to answer.

“Yeah,” you whisper as you swallow, panting softly, and his heart stutters. “Missed you.”

Toji swallows, fingers curling around your hips, the wet fabric of your dress slippery. He breaths out like you’ve punched him, like your answer has tugged his heart from beneath the cracks of his ribs. HIs forehead falls foreward against yours, his breaths soft and uneven , nose nudging against yours, eyes searching yours.

You’re flushed and wet in his lap, soft and beautiful, and he almost feels like he might’ve dreamt this. That any moment now he might wake up to a cold motel bed and blood drying on his hands. But it’s real. You’re on his lap, slick and flushed and warm, the steam wrapping around you both. His breaths are soft but ragged, nose brushing yours, lips brushing yours once, twice before pressing fully, a low groan as you kiss him back needily, his tongue licking into your mouth, lips chasing yours in a messy lewd kiss that’s all pent up need and months of being apart.

Toji's fingers slip down your thighs, over the soft swell of your ass, squeezing the tight suppleness and groaning into your mouth at the feel of your ass in his hands, kissing you harder. His mouth slants over yours, tongues tangled, his hands squeezing and rubbing your slick ass, the water sloshing as he drags you closer on his lap, until your cunt is pressed up tight against his cock.

"Mm—" you gasp into his mouth at the touch and he takes the moment to drag you in by your ass, letting his thick hot cock drag against your folds, precum dribbling down your cunt, slicking your clit as you whimper and shift forward, chasing the heat and friction against your pussy.

Toji groans, low and heady, mouth dragging hot over your wet skin, down to your throat as you rock needily in his lap, trying to rub his cock against your clit and he reaches down a hand to press his cock snug against your cunt, the swollen cockhead catching against your clit every time you shift. "God, there's that pretty pussy," he breaths into your throat, sucking at the sensitive slick skin.

You moan breathily, high and needy, arms around his neck as he pants into your throat, water sloshing and slippery. His fingers drag you closer, guiding your movements, letting you drag your cunt over his cock, humping him desperately, moans tumbling from your lips into the steam smothered bathroom.

Toji watches with heavy eyes under his dark wet lashes, how your lips part and head falls back as you rock harder, cunt clenching around nothing, clit throbbing. He pants softly, licking his lips at the sight of you—slick with water, dress half slipping down your shoulder, one of your tits almost spilling free, cheeks flushed a beautiful shade of pink, expression loose and needy.

"Toji—" you whimper, soft and needy and he groans.

“That’s it, baby, rub that needy pussy on me, lemme feel it," he grunts, watching as you try drag your pussy against him, hips canting up desperately in jerky needy movements, dragging the slick of your cunt against his flushed thick cock. You press forward, whimpering as his cock drags over yout clit, folds hugging him tight, water sloshing against the edges of the tub.

“Goddamn,” Toji grunts as a hand slips up to fondle your tits, feeling the heavy weight and roundness in his palm, squeezing and bouncing as you rub your pussy on him.

His lips find your nipple, latching on with a greedy pull that makes you jolt and cry out. The suction is wet, deliberate—his tongue flicking, curling, tasting. Every drag of his mouth makes your cunt throb harder, slicker, until you’re pressing down against him without even meaning to. He hums at the sound of your moan, vibrations buzzing through your chest as he suckles harder, one hand still rolling the other nipple between his fingers.

“Toji—” you gasp, voice pitching high when his teeth graze lightly, a teasing scrape that borders on pain but melts into pleasure when he soothes it with a wet lick. He switches sides, lips closing around your other nipple, sucking until you arch into his mouth.

The drag of your hips against him grows desperate. You can feel the thick weight of his cock trapped between your slick folds, hot and heavy, pulsing against your clit as you rock against him. The heat between your thighs borders on unbearable.

"T-toji—" you whimper again, and his fingers slide down to your hips, dragging you onto his cock, slowly sinking you down on it.

You cry out, head falling forward, forehead pressing against his shoulder as his cock sinks into you inch by inch. The stretch is obscene—too much and just enough all at once—and your nails dig into his skin, leaving crescents of red in his shoulders.

“Fuck,” Toji grunts, his own breath shuddering out of him, thick neck corded as he watches your body take him. “Tight little thing, huh? Always so fuckin’ tight for me.”

"I can't—Hngh—" you move slowly, hands on his shoulders, slick, heavy tits bouncing as you grind down, and he grunts, watching as you slowly lift up and down, pussy clenching around him.

"That's it baby," Toji grunts as he helps you bounce on his cock, water sloshing and spilling, steam thick in the air as he grips your ass, smacking it once as you jolt and gasp, clinging onto his slick shoulders, pussy clenching around him. "Move that ass, baby. Show me how much you missed me."

You stutter out moans and whimpers, rocking down harder and his hips roll up shallowly, dragging you down harder until his cock is deep inside you. You brace your hands against his shoulders and move faster, the sound of your skin meeting his echoing in the steamy air. Your tits bounce with every thrust, wet and heavy, and Toji can’t stop staring.

"Fuck I've missed this," he hisses, hands squeezing your ass, dropping you onto his cock, mouth latching onto one of your nipples, kissing and biting at the slick heaviness, slippery as his hand squeezes your tit. "Beautiful fuckin' girl. Made for this cock, ain't ya?"

"Toji—" you gasp, and he sucks at your nipple, teeth grazing and catching the sensitive nub, until you're jolting, pussy clenching tight and making him groan, muffled againhst your skin.

"Toji—Toji—I can't—" you whine and he feels the way your pussy flutters, tight heat wrapped around him, and he sucks at your nipples, pressing your tits together, squeezing them rough and slippery as they spill between his fingers. You can barely speak—just broken, needy sounds spilling from your lips as your hips snap down harder, the friction perfect, unbearable. Toji meets every movement with a shallow roll of his hips, driving deeper each time until the head of his cock nudges something that makes you see stars.

You’re trembling, thighs quivering as your rhythm falters, pleasure coiling deep and tight in your stomach. Toji feels it—the way your walls start to flutter around him, the way your sounds pitch higher, more desperate. His grip on your ass tightens, helping you move faster, rougher.

"Cum for me baby, cum on my fuckin' cock," Toji grunts and you gasp, voice cracking on a cry, head rolling back, nails biting his shoulders as you cum with a cry.

He groans at the feeling of your cunt squeezing around him, body shuddering as he spills inside you, cock throbbing as you wring him dry, grinding down shallowly. The world blurs into heat and steam.

You pant for breath, chest heaving, tits marked up by his mouth and Toji drags the flat of his tongue up your throat with a low groan. Your chest rises and falls and his hands slip down finding the hem of your dress, dragging it off, heavy tits springing free of the clinging fabric, leaving you bare as he drops it somewhere to the side.

“Not done yet,” he grunts as he lifts you up before you can respond, hands under your thighs, water sloshing as he lifts you easily, muscles roped with sinew and strength. Toji's mouth slants over yours even as you gasp at the sudden change, holding onto him tight.

“Still gotta get my mouth on that pussy,” Toji breathes into your mouth as he steps out the bath with you in his arms, water sluicing down in small rivers, slipping onto the hardwood floor as he sets you onto the floor, dragging your thighs open wide, wasting no time to drop to his knees and drag his tongue over your slick, swollen cunt.

You gasp, hands in his hair, tangling in the wet dark locks, whimpering as he drags your thighs obsecrñy open, tongue dragging over you. You look down, panting, flushed and wet, and Toji looks up at your from under dark wet lashes. You whine as he licks sloppy and messy, hips canting up before you can stop yourself and he grunts, licking harder, sucking at your clit, holding your legs open as your hips jerk up, practically humping his face, pressing your cunt to his waiting tongue.

“Keep doin’ that,” Toji grunts muffled, tongue delving into you, and you whimper embarrassed but holding his head down as your hips rock up, desperate and he groans into your pussy, letting you use and hump his tongue.

He licks sloppy and messy, until you’re gasping and tugging at his hair, orgasm approaching faster than any man has ever even managed between your thighs. He licks like he’s starved, like he’s making up for every second you were gone—his mouth slick and hot, his tongue curling around your clit, dipping down to fuck into you.

“Toji—Toji gonna—“ you whine, tugging at his hair hard enough to hurt and he drags his tongue, lapping and licking, holding you open as you cum all over his face, pussy clenching as slick cum squirts from you.

He groans, pressing his face to your pulsing swollen cunt, drowning himself in your cum, lapping it up from your slick pussy, until it’s smeared over his mouth and jaw. He pulls back to catch his breath, eyes focused, pupils dilated as he sees the mess he’s made of your cunt, the cum dribbling between your folds, white and messy. His thumbs drag your folds apart, and he bends down to drag his tongue flat over your swollen cunt, making you flush and twitch under him, thighs still trembling as he pulls back, savouring the taste on his tongue.

“Missed that taste,” he breathes, voice gone raspy as he pulls back, chin and lips slick with you.

You look up at him, all flushed and slick frpm the bath and he presses his forehead to yours, both of you panting into the small gap between your faces. Your arms wind around his shoulders, and Toji's eyes flutter shut and for the first time in god knows how long, he feels at peace.