and here, my sweet little angels is my newest fic that i have been brewing up for a minute now…it’s a short fic but it’s still a yummy SatoSugu one
Satoru Gojo has one problem with his new apartment: his neighbor.
Suguru Geto is loud, inconsiderate, throws parties at all hours, smokes weed on the balcony, and seems personally committed to making Satoru's life miserable. After an entire week of noise complaints, passive-aggressive notes, and increasingly heated encounters, Satoru finally snaps on Sunday night.
One drink turns into another. One argument turns into something else entirely.
By Monday morning, Satoru discovers the man he spent the night with is also his new boss.
Everyone expects frat Gojo to be the freak, but nobody knows that nerd Gojo is actually the biggest freak of them all. He just look innocent. But you know deep down in your heart, your boyfriend is not innocent at all.
Wc: 2.9k
Dom!gojo, sub!reader, college au, p in v, unprotected, rough sex, dirty talk, oral (gojo receiving & you receiving), facefucking, pussy eating, fingering, creampies, squirting, spitting, overstimulation, manhandling, degradation, praise, and aftercare.
Everyone thinks they know what Satoru Gojo is like in bed.
The rumors circulate through the sorority group chats, passed between girls who've never been within six inches of him but speak with authority anyway. They say he's probably shy. Too lanky to know what he's doing. The type who asks permission before holding your hand. They look at his round glasses and his messy white hair and the way he giggles at his own stupid jokes, and they decide: harmless. Sweet. A little pathetic, maybe.
You let them think that.
You sit in the dining hall while your friends dissect him over iced coffees, and you nod along. You let them call him cute, innocent, probably a virgin. You let your roommate tell you that you could do better, that frat boys who look like librarians are never any good in bed, and you just stir your straw through the melting ice and say nothing.
Because if you opened your mouth, you'd tell them the truth.
That Satoru Gojo has hands that know exactly where to go. That he talks dirty like he's reciting poetry — low and unhurried, like he's been saving up the words all day. That the same fingers that dog-ear his manga pages can make you fall apart in under a minute flat.
They don't know.
They've never seen the way his eyes go dark behind those glasses. Never heard the shift in his voice from honey to gravel. Never felt his palm wrap around their throat, gentle and final, while he leans down to whisper exactly what he's about to do.
But you have.
And every time, you forget. Every time, you let yourself believe the mask, too — that he's just your sweet, goofy boyfriend who brings you pastries from the campus bakery and kisses your forehead in the library stacks. He's so good at the soft version of himself that you almost believe it's all of him.
Until he gets you alone.
Until the door clicks shut.
---
It starts in his dorm room, like it always does.
You're sitting cross-legged on his bed, scrolling through your phone while he fusses with his bookshelf, arranging volumes of some sci-fi series for the third time this week. The late afternoon light cuts through the blinds in golden stripes across the floor. Everything is soft, domestic, ordinary.
He's wearing that oversized grey hoodie you love, the one with the frayed cuffs. His glasses are pushed up into his hair, and he's squinting at a crooked spine like it personally offended him.
"You're staring," he says without turning around.
"I'm appreciating."
He snorts. Shifts a book a millimeter to the left. Then another. You watch his hands — long fingers, elegant knuckles — and you think about how those same hands felt on your skin last night, and a heat climbs up the back of your neck.
"Done?" you ask.
"Almost." He moves a third book, then turns, finally, and gives you that sunshine smile. The one that makes freshman girls swoon in the student center. "Miss me?"
"You were three feet away."
"Three feet too many."
He crosses the room in four long strides and drops onto the bed beside you, all loose limbs and easy grace. The mattress dips. He's warm — he's always warm, like a furnace under all that lean muscle. His hand finds your thigh, casual, like he's not even thinking about it.
"You okay?" he asks.
"Mhm."
"Tired?"
"A little."
He hums, and his thumb starts tracing circles on your jeans. Slow. Soothing. "We can just hang out," he says. "Watch something. Order food."
It sounds so reasonable. So sweet. You almost believe he means it.
But you know him. You know the way his thumb is pressing just a little harder now, the way his breathing hasn't changed but something in the air between you has. You know he's testing, waiting to see if you'll call his bluff.
You don't.
"Actually," you say, and you're proud that your voice comes out steady, "I was thinking about something else."
"Hm?" Innocent. Wide-eyed. The mask.
You reach up and push his glasses back down onto his face, just to see the flicker — the way something sharp moves behind the lenses before the smile smooths it over again.
"Take them off," you say quietly.
And there it is.
The smile doesn't disappear, exactly, but it changes. Curves different. His hand on your thigh stops its lazy circles and squeezes, once, firm enough to make your breath catch.
"Yeah?" he asks, and his voice has dropped an octave.
"Yeah."
He takes his glasses off slowly, folds them, sets them on the nightstand. When he looks back at you, his eyes are the color of a summer storm — bright and dark at once, with nothing soft behind them.
"Use your words," he says, and now it's not a question. "Tell me what you were thinking about."
Your mouth goes dry.
"I was thinking about — about your mouth."
"Good start." He shifts closer, one knee sinking into the mattress between your thighs.
"And?"
"And your hands."
"Where?"
Everywhere, you want to say. But the word sticks, because he's looking at you like he's already undressed you, like he knows every inch of you and is deciding where to start.
"Around," you manage.
His laugh is low, breathless. "Close enough."
And then his mouth is on yours, and you remember.
He kisses different when the door is shut. Nothing like the pecks he gives you in public, the shy little brushes that make people coo. This is a claiming. His hand cups the back of your neck, tilts your head, and he takes the kiss deeper like he's been starving for it. His tongue slides against yours, and his teeth graze your bottom lip, and you gasp into his mouth.
"That's it," he murmurs against you. "I've been wanting to do that all day."
"Then why didn't you?"
"Because I like watching you wait for it."
He pushes you back onto the mattress, and you go easily — you always do. He hovers over you, forearms braced on either side of your head, and for a moment he just looks at you. Drinks you in. His hair falls forward, brushing his brow, and his pupils are blown so wide his eyes look almost black.
"Tell me what you want," he says.
"You."
"Too vague."
I want you to ruin me, you think. I want you to make me forget my name. I want everyone who thinks they know you to be dead wrong.
"You know what I want," you whisper instead.
His smile turns wolfish. "I want to hear you say it."
"Then make me."
Something flares in his gaze. A challenge accepted.
"Wrong answer," he says softly, and then his hands are everywhere at once.
He strips you with an efficiency that makes your head spin — jeans gone, shirt gone, bra undone with a single flick of his fingers. You're left in nothing but your underwear, and he's still fully dressed, and the imbalance makes you feel exposed in a way that only makes the heat pool hotter.
"So pretty." He trails a finger down your sternum, between your breasts, over your stomach. "You have no idea what you do to me."
"Show me."
"I plan to."
He sits back on his heels and pulls his hoodie off in one motion. The t-shirt goes with it, and you forget how to breathe for a second — because you've seen him shirtless before, but you never get used to it. The sharp lines of his collarbones, the lean muscle of his chest, the way his waist narrows and his shoulders stretch broad. He's built like a swimmer, all economy and power.
He catches you staring and his mouth quirks. "Like what you see?"
"You know I do."
"Yeah." He leans down, kisses your throat, your collarbone, the swell of your breast. "I know."
His mouth traces lower, and lower, pressing open-mouthed kisses down your stomach, your hips, the sensitive skin just above the waistband of your underwear. His fingers hook into the fabric and pull it down slowly, deliberately, like he's unwrapping a gift he's been saving.
"I'm gonna take my time with you," he says against your thigh. "We've got all night."
You don't have all night. You have maybe four hours before his roommate comes back, and you both know it. That's exactly the point.
He settles between your legs, and his breath is hot against you, and you brace yourself for the first touch of his tongue.
It doesn't come.
"Look at you," he says, and his voice is casual, almost conversational. "So wet already. And I haven't even done anything yet."
"Gojo — "
"Satoru." He bites your inner thigh, just hard enough to sting. "Use my name when I'm between your legs."
"Satoru." It comes out breathless.
"There we go." His thumb traces your slit, featherlight, not quite where you need him. "You ready for me, baby?"
"Yes — please — "
"Please what?"
Your head falls back against the pillow. You're going to kill him. You're going to goddamn kill him.
But then his mouth finally meets you, and murder is the last thing on your mind.
His tongue is merciless. He knows exactly where to press, exactly how to flick, exactly when to pull back and let you chase his mouth. He eats you out like a man possessed, like he's been thirsting for it, and maybe he has — because Satoru in private is insatiable in a way that no one would ever guess.
"That's it," he says, pulling back just enough to speak, and his chin is slick and his lips are wet and the sight of it makes you clench around nothing. "You taste so fucking good. I could stay here forever."
His fingers find you without warning — two at once, crooked just right, and you cry out. He doesn't slow down. He pumps them in rhythm with his tongue, fast and deep, and you're already close, embarrassingly close, because he's done this to you before and he knows exactly how to break you.
"Don't you dare come yet," he says against you.
"I — Satoru — "
"I said not yet."
He pulls his fingers out, and you whimper at the loss. He shushes you, soft and cruel, and then he's shifting, crawling up your body, and his mouth finds yours.
You taste yourself on his tongue. Salty and intimate in a way that makes your head spin.
"Suck," he says, and pushes two fingers past your lips.
You taste yourself on them too. You suck without thinking, hollowing your cheeks, and the groan he lets out is raw, guttural.
"God, your mouth." He pulls his fingers free and drags them down your chin, your throat, your chest. "Look at you. So pretty on your knees for me."
"But I'm not on my knees."
"Not yet."
He shifts off the bed, lands on his feet, and offers you his hand. You take it, and he pulls you up, guides you off the mattress until you're kneeling on the floor in front of him.
"That's better." His voice is a low caress. "Now show me what that mouth can do."
Your hands find his belt. Your fingers fumble with the buckle, and he lets you struggle for a moment before he covers your hands with his, guides you through it.
"Eager," he says, not unkindly. "I like that."
His jeans drop, then his boxers, and he's hard and heavy and right in front of your face. He's already leaking, a bead of moisture at the tip, and you lick your lips without thinking.
"Go on," he says, and his hand settles in your hair — not pulling, not yet. Just resting there. A reminder of whose hands are in charge.
You wrap your lips around him, and his head falls back, and the sound he makes is wrecked.
"That's — fuck, yeah. Just like that."
You take him deeper. His grip tightens in your hair, not quite pushing, just holding. Waiting.
"More," he says. "Take more."
You try. You gag, and he shushes you again, but this time his hips twitch forward, just a fraction, just enough.
"Breathe through your nose," he reminds you. "You can do it. I know you can."
You focus on breathing, on relaxing your throat, and you take him deeper. He groans, long and low, and his hips start to move — small, shallow thrusts at first, testing.
"That's my girl. Taking me so well."
His pace picks up. His hand in your hair tightens, and you let him guide you, let him fuck your throat at the rhythm he wants. It's messy and wet and your eyes are watering and you've never felt more completely owned.
"S'too good," he pants. "Gonna — don't stop — "
You don't stop. You double down, take him deeper, and when he comes with a guttural moan, you swallow everything he gives you.
He stays there for a moment, breathing hard, his hand still tangled in your hair. Then he pulls out slowly, and his thumb traces your bottom lip, smearing the moisture there.
"Look at you." His voice is gentler now, but still rough. "Did so good for me."
He lifts you to your feet and kisses you, soft and slow, like he didn't just have your throat wrapped around him. Like he's reverent.
"Get on the bed," he says against your lips. "On your hands and knees."
You scramble onto the mattress. You hear him behind you and then his hands find your hips.
"You ready?"
"Yes."
"I need to hear you say it."
"I'm ready, Satoru."
He pushes into you in one smooth stroke, and you both moan.
"Jesus Christ," he breathes. "You're so tight. So perfect."
He bottoms out and stays there for a moment, letting you adjust, letting you feel full. His fingers dig into your hips hard enough to bruise, and you don't mind. You want the marks.
"Move," you beg.
"Since you asked so nicely."
He pulls out and thrusts back in, and the pace he sets is brutal from the start. Deep, punishing strokes that hit somewhere so deep you see stars. His balls slap against you with every thrust, and the sound of it — wet — fills the room.
"Yeah, take it," he grunts. "Take all of it. You can do that for me, can't you?"
"Yes — "
"Good girl."
One hand leaves your hip and snakes around to press against your clit. He rubs tight, fast circles in time with his thrusts, and you're already so close, teetering on the edge.
"You gonna come for me?"
"Yes — Satoru, please — "
"Then come. Now."
And you do. You shatter around him, crying out his name, and he fucks you through it, doesn't stop, doesn't slow down.
"That's one," he says. "I want another."
"Too much — "
"No, it's not." He slows his thrusts, grinds deep, and the overstimulation makes you keen. "You can give me more. I know you can."
His fingers keep working, relentless, and he pistons into you at a new angle that has your vision going white. The pressure builds again, impossibly fast, and you're coming before you can warn him, gushing around his cock.
"Oh, fuck," he groans. "That's it. That's so fucking hot."
He doesn't let up. He fucks you through the aftershocks, and a third orgasm builds somewhere behind the first two, too much and not enough.
"Please — I can't — "
"One more," he says, and his voice is breaking. "One more and I'll let you rest. Give me one more."
You sob his name, and it crests over you, and this time he follows — three more jerky thrusts and he's coming with a sound that's almost pained, his body shuddering against yours.
He collapses forward, his chest pressing against your back, his breath hot against your neck. You feel every inch of him, heavy and warm, and you're shaking.
For a long moment, neither of you moves.
Then he pulls out, and you wince at the emptiness. You hear him cross the room, the sink running, and then he's back with a warm, damp cloth. He cleans you with the same care he used to take you apart — gentle, thorough, reverent.
"Roll over," he says softly.
You do, and he's there above you, his hair a mess, his eyes soft again. The mask is back. Or maybe this is the real him, too. Maybe both versions are true.
He kisses your forehead. Your nose. Your lips.
"You okay?"
You nod, still breathless.
"Was I too rough?"
You shake your head.
"Use your words, baby."
"No. It was perfect. You're perfect." A pause. "I keep forgetting."
"Forgetting what?"
"That you're like this." You reach up and touch his jaw. "Everyone thinks they know you. And they have no idea."
His smile is small, private, meant only for you. "Good."
He settles beside you and pulls you against his chest. His arms wrap around you, and he kisses the top of your head.
"Let's order food," he murmurs. "I'm starving."
"You're always starving. You just — "
"Shh." He grins, and for a second, he's just your goofy boyfriend again. "Don't ruin the moment."
You laugh and burrow into his chest, and his hand traces lazy patterns on your back.
Pairing: Heian Era Empress!FemReader x Concubine!Toji
CW: MDNI, angst? ig, smut, lowkey hate/ angry sex, teasing, Toji is jealous af, praise, degradation, a lot of dirty talk from Toji, rough sex on a desk, hint of breeding kink?
WC: 4.3k
[Part 2: Your Most Adored Concubine - Suguru Geto]
╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦
You pace back and forth in your chambers, anger sizzling beneath your skin. You might snap once Toji shows himself.
You’ve been stalled not once, but twice just tonight. Aching for release and still having yet to find it. And of all people, it’s him coming in at this hour to discuss a ‘private, urgent matter’. What could possibly be so urgent he has the gall to demand an audience?
Could you have turned him away? Of course.
No one would’ve thought twice if you did, but– you know Toji. If you turned him away, he'd stay out front, berating the guards and staff until dawn.
Toji was your first concubine you took and relationships were strenuous at first– to say the least. Shortly after your reign began, you did not see the point of having concubines. You already had your nieces as heirs and strong alliances with most of the clans.
That was until the stress of the crown started to weigh heavy on you. Most rulers sink into their cups and medicinals to relieve themselves of the stress. That usually leads to an early grave or a disorganized, unstable leader.
You wanted to keep those vices as pleasures, not something you’d come to rely on. Finding release in the most natural way possible seemed to be the best option.
When the announcement was made that you would start hearing petitions for possible concubines, your imperial hall was filled with suitors. Needing your staff to carefully examine and whittle down the flock until it was left to a dozen suitors.
Even amongst a dozen other men, Toji stuck out to you from the start. The aura he radiates was captivating and intriguing, making you want to know more about him. Just how he carried himself; confident and so assured is what made that initial pull toward him.
And the chemistry between you two was undeniable from your first meeting. He was impossibly charming, knowing exactly what to say and how to say it in that deep, rough voice. Just a simple greeting had your heart racing and your blood pumping hot.
Once you accepted him, his jealous nature started rearing its head. He acted as if you two were married, feeling he had a claim over you. He’d get offended when you’d want to sleep alone and paranoid when you wouldn’t send for him consistently.
You can’t begin to count how many fights you two had over his smothering behavior. And in turn, how much sex you’d have after those heated fights.
And when you took Suguru in as your second… all hell broke loose when it came to you and Toji’s relationship. He would interrogate you about Suguru incessantly; even while he was inside you. Asking questions like, “Does he fuck you like this?” and saying statements like, “I know you’ll never be as loud for him as you are for me”.
He wanted to understand why you took another– thinking it meant he wasn’t good enough. He’d never say it like that, but it was obvious. His insecurities caused an impossible friction that made the room fraught with unspoken emotion.
Your relationship with Toji was rocky most of the time. You always found release with him and the positions he’d bend your body into were unspeakable. You’ve never screamed so loud as you have with him.
The sex was amazing- phenomenal even. But everything else with Toji was hard. You wanted a concubine who would provide companionship and comfort. And that’s where Suguru came in.
Toji’s way of coping with ‘sharing’ was acting as if Suguru didn’t exist. He requested to be in the complete opposite part of the palace, asking the staff to make sure their schedules do not overlap. And you’d never bring up Suguru in his presence. That also meant no joint dinners or functions. If there were events, Toji would stay far away from who he viewed as his competitor.
It had been two years since you took in Suguru and it took about a year to find an unspoken compromise with Toji.
Now as you pace back and forth waiting for him, you’re realizing that you’re probably gonna have to go through this ordeal all over again with him.
A knock at the door sounds, making you halt in place. “Empress…” the weary voice calls out, “Toji is here.”
“Send him in,” your voice is all ice, void of emotion as you stand in the middle of your room, arms crossed over your chest.
As soon as he walks in through the door, you can see him wearing his rage like it’s a second skin: lowered eyebrows, cheeks flushed red, lips in a tight line that points downward.
Once the door is shut behind him, you shrug in your shoulders in a huff, “Well, what is it?”
“I have to hear you’re taking another concubine from the gossiping servants…” he steps forward unhurried and you can tell he’s using all his strength to keep his voice even.
Your blood runs hot just from those first words he utters, “Are you fucking kidding me?! This is what you’re summoning me for at this hour? This?! A matter that is none of your concern!”
“Yes, I have a right to know. I should’ve heard it from you.”
“You have no right, it is not your place. As I need to remind you, again” you take a deep breath before continuing, trying to control your anger. This can not turn into another explosive fight. “The arrangement was just made this morning. I did not expect word to spread this quickly.”
He stops within a few feet of you, feet planted in a wide stance, narrowed eyes solely focused on you. An emotion covering his features you can’t quite read.
“Our meetings will be less frequent now, won’t they? You have a new young toy, so why would you still need to seek me out?” His usually cool tone starts to waver, shaking a bit as the admission slips from his lips.
“What?” You whisper, more to yourself than him. Realizing once again where his anger is coming from.
“I will still see you, Toji.” Trying to sound assuring, but that obvious annoyance keeps slipping to the surface.
“I used to see you all the time, then you took him,” he emphasizes the pronoun with clear disgust. “Now, it’s a miracle if I see you once a week.”
You have to reign in the eyeroll you want to let out. Instead, you keep your eyes centered on him, trying to stoke the flames behind them.
“What reasons do you have to keep me? Why not get rid of me? I’m replaceable after all.” He takes another step closer, now within arms reach but keeping within his bubble.
“I can't get into this with you. It's late–please,” you stick your hand out, motioning toward the door.
“Tell me- why did you have to take another? What am I not doing?” His voice turns into a growl, demanding an answer.
“It’s not that. What else did you hear from the servants? Did you by chance hear the circumstances around it? I wasn’t left with much choice.”
He scoffs, head turning over his shoulder before snapping back toward you, “You are The Empress! What do you mean you had no choice?”
“I’m not explaining myself,” you’re now having to use your authoritative voice. The one reserved for the council or squabbling clans. “He was presented and I accepted him, and I’m glad for it- regardless of the circumstances.”
He drops his head in dismissive laughter, shaking his head from side to side. As if what you just said was hysterical, “Glad for it, huh?”
He brings his eyes up to meet yours, before sliding his gaze to behind you. “Who was here before me?”
You stay silent, still hitting him with a gaze that’s threatening to turn him into flames. Knowing if you explain what was happening, that will only make him erupt.
“I can tell…” He steps forward until you’re within a breath of each other. Eyes tilted down, his figure towering over you.
Your heart begins racing in the way it always does when he’s this close. All your pint up frustration and anger bubbling to the surface. Your chest tightens, making it impossible to get a full breath in.
He brings a single finger to your jaw, brushing lightly, “Your hairs all frizzy, the beds a mess… and you’re in one of those gowns.” There’s a hint of sake on his breath, which must be having an effect on you. All of sudden, a warm tingle is stretching through your body - as if you downed a cup yourself.
A claiming hand grabs hold of your waist, the tension between you being ramped up with that one, single touch of his hand. When your stomach tightens into knots, it steals your breath as well. You’re now trapped under his gaze, stalled in place.
“I can tell you were getting fucked,” the way his voice drops when he says that last word… it makes that anger dissolve into reluctant desire, “Was it the new one? Kamo?” His eyes search your face, trying to find any hint of an answer.
He keeps that finger on your jaw with a feather light touch, waiting for your answer.
You’re unmoving, gritting your teeth and making that muscle twitch beneath his touch. The look you’re giving him right now would send most people running from your vicinity. But that look to Toji is a challenge.
His eyes sparkle in response, knowing he's doing to you what he always does.
“Hmmm? Not gonna answer? You had a lot to say just a moment ago…” that hold on your waist tightens, maybe he can squeeze the answer out of you.
“Well…” he gives a taptap to your chin, “whoever was in here, didn’t finish you off, did they?”
The words come out before you can choke them back, “And how could you possibly know that?”
He moves that finger from your chin to your temple, giving another taptap there. The touch of his skin to yours has a static charge behind it, lightly zapping your brain, and quickly making you forget you were pissed at him.
“Your eyes,” he says plainly, “they’re still wide and bright. But- after I fuck you, they get all dark and heavy.”
You keep those alleged wide eyes on him, not daring to make the next move. Your pride won’t let you.
Now both of his hands are secured on your waist, butterflies roaring in your stomach at the additional contact, “Tell me… do you need me to finish what they couldn’t?”
You so badly want to tell him that he’s the reason why you couldn’t finish. That you were literally seconds from coming undone beneath Suguru when he rudely interrupted. Would telling him make him leave or just make him fuck you harder?
You can’t risk the possibility of him leaving. You need to find that release like you need to breathe in air. And at this moment, neither are happening.
“Fuck off,” your words do not match what your mind and body want. You push your palm against the plains of his defined chest, but he doesn’t budge.
“That’s not an answer,” he flashes you a feral smile that’s all teeth. Your knees are about to give out beneath you from the incessant ache between your thighs, that’s only getting worse and worse.
His fingers tease the neckline of your gown, tugging softly as his eyes trace the fabric. It’s taking immense effort to control your breathing, not making it too obvious how worked up you are.
“Tell me to go and I’ll go. But… if you want me to stay, you know I’ll take care of you,” he yanks the fabric down, exposing your shoulder.
He leans down to brush his lips against your skin that is burning up. Your skin only grows hotter when his lips drag against you.
Your body betrays you, chin tilting up and you sway forward, wanting more of him. That anger inside is getting harder to keep alive.
You want to deny him, just to hurt his already inflated ego. You should turn him away and tell him you're bringing Suguru back in here.
Alas, you can’t.
His lips are still tickling your feverish skin when you turn your head to meet him. Your sign of surrender.
His lips crash into yours instantly and his large hands reposition: one behind your neck, the other on your lower back. Pulling you in for a demanding, feral kiss. His lips engulf yours over and over like he’s trying to brand the shape of his lips onto yours.
That normally buzzing, lively sensation in your core is a thunderous roar. Your knees finally start to go weak and wobble off balance. Your feet shuffle backward just a step, but you’re stalled by the grip he has on you. Not letting you move too far out of his overbearing embrace.
Those massive hands zip down your body to the backs of your thighs, hauling you up with such a speed, it steals your breath.
Your legs cage around his waist, locking yourself against his solid body. You shamelessly grind your center against his abs, chasing any kind of relief from the unbelievable pressure that’s been building like a pot about to boil over.
He takes a few steps while keeping that claiming hold on your lips and then your ass is meeting the cool wood of the desk against your wall.
Yanking your gown up to your waist, he looks down at your dripping cunt that’s dying for relief. He smiles at your body like he's a starved man looking at a full course dinner.
“Whoever was in here before me didn’t finish either, I see,” he notes that only your arousal is dripping from you and no one else's.
“Shut up,” you mutter as you swiftly pull at his robes, trying to get through the excess fabric to free him.
He yanks the fabric until the front of him is exposed, his cock is practically throbbing in his grip as he fists his hand over it.
His other hand grabbing at your hip and pushing yourselves closer. You widen your thighs, allowing him to slot into place and he stops with his flushed tip right at your entrance. Pathetically fucking your fluttering entrance with just his tip, keeping it gripped in his fist.
“Tell me you want me and no one else,” he’s growling as he stares down at his tip teasing you.
Every time he pushes the tip in, your walls clench, as if you can catch him and pull him deeper. But Toji is showing surprising restraint just to tease you, “Say it. Say you want my dick and no one else's."
“Toji…” you whine, half in frustration, half in agony. Your arousals are mixing together and soaking the desk beneath you. The splat of his tip smacking into your folds makes you shudder.
“Say it– or I’m gonna leave you here, dripping and whining for more.”
“And if you do, I’ll just call for Suguru.”
He stalls for a moment, keeping his tip snug right against your entrance, “Will you now?”
“But will he make you scream like this?” He releases his fist and thrust inside you in one brute motion. Smacking into your cervix and making your entire world spin. Your body curls in ward at the shock wave he just delivered and your mouth falls open, letting out that scream he knew would come out, “Fuck!” You cry out as your hands grip to his shoulders.
He stays seated inside you, letting your walls adjust to the quick stretch they just endured. He’s got the most smug, pompous look on his face as you shatter around him.
“That’s what I thought…” his hands hold onto your hip so deeply, it’s making your muscles ache. “Admit it, no one fucks you like I fuck you, do they?” He pulls his hips back and snaps them back in, another brutal punch to your cervix. Pulling another scream from you.
Unfortunately, he was right– though you’d loathe to admit it to him. If you wanted to be fucked into the mattress so hard that you could barely walk the next day. Or if you wanted to be so thoroughly ringed out that you could barely remember your own name… you’d call for Toji.
If you sought comfort and warmth, you’d call for Suguru. But on those days you’re distraught, boiling over with rage and on the verge of snapping, Toji was your only antidote.
Your stunned cunt flutters from the two shock waves he’s delivered and you’re trembling with anticipation for the next one.
“If you’re gonna be this greedy and take a third, I need to know I’m the only one who gets to have you like this,” he pulls his hips back again, retreating himself until just the tip remains.
“There’s no way Suguru gets these noises out of you, no way he’s seen you cry while still begging for more.”
“Fuck! Why is it always a competition with you?” You drop your hands on the desk, bearing your weight on them. Trying to look annoyed, but you know you look like a mess right now.
“Because it is,” he pries your legs open even wider, making your muscles go taught and tremble, he holds you there, tip still nudging at your soaked folds.
He’s half smirking as he holds you open for him, beginning to fuck his tip back into you. The pleasure from it is agonizing, just enough to stimulate you and make you squirm under his grasp.
You attempt to stifle a whimper that’s forcing its way out of you, “nghhh– ah! Toji, please,” your eyelids are screwed so tight, you see floating stars against the darkness.
Chills scatter under your skin as your nails dig into the polished wood, trying desperately not to give in.
“That’s not gonna cut it, you know what I wanna hear,” he’s rocking his hips forward as he keeps his eyes focused on you, watching you slowly come undone.
“Fuck off,” you hiss, “I’m not–ah– saying it,” it’s getting progressively more difficult to keep up this charade. Not wanting to bend and inflate his ego even more.
At your defiance, he withdraws the little he was giving you and drops your legs on the desk. That sudden loss of him makes your eyes shoot open.
He’s already putting his robes back in place. “You wanna play it like that, so be it,” he says in a huff.
Your hands shoot out and desperately cling to his robe, pulling him back toward you, “Toji, please… I need you,” you’re looking up at him with the most pitiful, pleading eyes. Hoping it’ll get him to crack first.
“I know you do… but do you need me more than him?” He inclines his head in question.
“Yes! Okay? Yes–I need you more than him,” you groan at the reluctant submission you’re finally giving him.
He stares down at you for a moment, letting those words hang in the air between you. A devilish smile creeps up on his lips, “Being good for me now, huh?”
He furiously rips his robes away once again and instantly has his fist around his throbbing cock. Before you can blink, he’s thrusting into you with a force that’s going to shatter your entire being. He holds himself inside you, feeling as your pulsing walls beg for more of him.
And you swear you can feel his dick getting thicker with every throb inside you. He only grants you a few seconds to adjust before he’s full on fucking you. Pulling out half way, before slamming back in, making the sopping connection between you two splat each time he thrusts to the hilt.
“Knew I’d get it outta you… listen to you, already screaming for me, yeah?” And as if to drive his point home, he ruts into your gspot with a mean thrust that makes your legs spasm. Your tight walls are taking a beating and loving every second of it.
He’s actively splitting you open, fucking into you with a force that might stamp the shape of his tip into your cervix.
“Toji!” your voice has become a squeal as you cry out, “So deep… rightthere, keep going.” Your hands find their way to his back and you dig your nails deep into those defined muscles, needing to brand him back in some way.
“There she is… crying out like a bitch in heat,” he grips onto your waist to get more leverage. Your entire body is seized with pleasure each time he thrusts back in.
He’s going so hard, the desk is jolting and ramming up against the wall. The numerous pens and papers scattering from the aggressive movements.
“Hm—love seeing you like this. The most powerful leader in the province… reduced to a crying whore.” He presses his sweaty forehead into yours, pinning you under his gaze.
You could have someone’s tongue for calling you that. But when those words come from his mouth, they only make that fire grow hotter inside you. And he’s not wrong. He is fucking you like a whore. He’s fucking you like he’s the emperor and you’re the concubine. An impossible flip to the power dynamic that has you reeling.
Words fail you, there’s nothing for you to say, other than to cry out and continue digging your nails into his muscles. His cock stretches your walls to their limit with every thrust back inside you, sending an edged pleasure through your entire body.
“Tojiiii…” you whine as you gasp for air, “you fuck me so good– only you… only you can make me feel this good.” Your brain is shot at this point and you’re babbling that praise he wanted from you in the first place.
He grabs your chin, pushing his middle finger and thumb deep into your cheeks, holding you in place as he continues to wreck you. “Was that so hard? That’s all I wanted to hear.”
The smack of his hips meeting yours is dizzying, amplified by the wet, obscene noises your connection is making as well.
And right when you think you’re at the brink of it all, he angles his hips just right. Now thoroughly plunging directly into that spot that makes your stomach tense and your core erupt in flames.
“I-I… Ohfuck, Toji!!” your walls spasms around him, the warning of your impending climax.
He releases your chin to grab hold of your hips again, doubling his efforts to work you to your bitter end. Every rut into that spot makes the world shatter around you.
“Don’t finish– inside,” you pant out. Knowing that if you’re this close, he’s not far behind you.
He squints his eyes in question, “You always let me…”
“Not tonight,” you hold his gaze to show you’re serious, a silent command to not test you.
He laughs darkly to himself, “I see… you’re bringing him back in here after me. Aren’t you?”
You don’t reply, only hold his gaze and let the silence be your answer.
He bites down on his lip, likely holding back a smart ass comment.
“Fine, but if you ever decide to have an heir of your own, I better be the one who puts it in you.” He fists the back of your hair, pulling your neck back and holding you at his mercy.
And you hate the fact that’s the comment to get you to finally fall over the edge. A suffocating swell in your chest steals all the air from your lungs. As your walls clench and spasm erratically.
A growl rumbles in his chest as your climax consumes him as well. Your walls squeezing his climax out of him, but not before you can finish your high.
His thrusts never faltering as he steadily fucks you through it. Your eyes go unfocused as hot tears well up, making it impossible to see through the blur.
You’re screaming incoherent profanities and praise as your brain goes loud and quiet simultaneously. Along with your body that is somehow still tense in all the right places, while going limp in others.
“Too bad this is going to waste,” he hisses as he pulls out, like leaving your warm heat is an offense worse than blasphemy.
He spills all over your trembling thighs, his warm climax meeting your sweaty, feverish skin feels so good. He pumps himself until he’s made his mark all over your thighs, panting as the last pass to his tip squeezes out what is left.
You have to force several hard blinks to clear the tears and blurriness, finally able to see the man who just wrecked you. Your mouth is so dry, you can’t even take a proper swallow from all the panting and heaving you’re doing.
His eyes trail up your body and finally meet yours, “I’ll be surprised if you can walk after this, let alone call for him…” he smirks to himself in that arrogant, self assured way he always does.
He’s already throwing his robes back in place as he lazily wipes his arousal from your thighs.
“I still expect to see you often,” he ties the knot of his robes with a tight cinch, “And if this new one can’t do the job, you know where to find me.”
You’re still panting like a dog, trying to regain control of your senses as he makes his declaration. He chuckles when he sees how wrecked you still are.
He leans in and places a kiss on your forehead, “Goodnight, My Lady,” he pulls away with that smug smirk on his face as he makes his exit.
You’re still there, limp on the desk, thighs trembling and sticky from his arousal as you try to collect your thoughts.
Because after that… maybe you don’t need to call Suguru back in here tonight.
✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝
Master List
Tag list: @girlwithabonerrr @amandaleti @fictionalgirlsaregnarly - comment if you wanna join the tag list :D
This sex scene so fun to write. Oh jealous Toji.... there's something about you.
spoiler - the next part to this is gonna be a threesome and oh babyyyyyyyyy........ i kept getting distracted writing this fic bc i kept getting ideas for the next one.
Your palm presses flat against your stomach—right where he reaches, that deep ache you've been chasing for thirty minutes now. Rain hammers the roof of the car. Windows fogged to milk. The world outside doesn't exist.
Toji's hands span your hips. Just holding.
"You're soaked, baby." His voice, low gravel near your ear. "All over me."
You nod, already lifting, already sinking back down. The drag pulls a whimper from somewhere in your chest. Your thighs burn. You don't care. You've came three times already and you still need more.
His cock glistens every time you rise—cream-slick, obscene. The sight of it makes you clench.
"Look at you," he murmurs. "Still going."
"'m not tired."
"Didn't say you were."
Up. Down. The rhythm is yours—he's letting you take what you need. Your knees dig into the seat on either side of his hips. His thumb traces the crease of your thigh, back and forth, lazy.
"You were like this all day, weren't you?"
You can't answer. Words are getting harder. There's only the wet sound of your bodies, the rain, your own breath catching on each stroke.
"Couldn't sit still at dinner. Kept squirming in your chair." His voice drops. "Knew what you needed."
"Toji—"
"I know, baby."
Your pace falters. Not from exhaustion—from the thing building low in your belly, coiling tighter. Your forehead drops to his shoulder. His scent: cedar, rain-damp collar, sweat. You mouth at the fabric there, tasting salt.
"Ji." It's a warning. A question.
"Yeah?"
"'m gonna—" Your voice breaks. "Can I?"
He tilts your chin up with two fingers. His eyes are dark, half-lidded. Rain-light from the windows moves across his jaw.
"Look at me when you do."
You try. You really do. But when it hits—
Your body seizes. A bowstring snapped. Every muscle locks and releases and locks again, and you're gushing around him, soaking his lap, his seat, the sound of it shockingly wet in the quiet car. Your vision whites. Somewhere far away Toji's saying something—"that's it, baby, let it go"—but you're already gone, already coming apart in pulses that don't stop.
You haven't let go like this in weeks. Maybe longer.
Your hips keep moving. You don't tell them to. They just do.
"Easy," he says. But you're still riding, still chasing, even as the last wave leaves you trembling. "Hey. Hey."
"Don't wanna stop."
He laughs—that low huff of air. "You're insane."
"Please."
"Baby, you can barely—"
"Please, Ji."
His jaw tightens. But he doesn't stop you. His hands slide up your back, under your damp shirt, and he lets you take and take and take.
The next one comes quieter. A slow tide instead of a crash. You bury your face in the curve of his neck and let it roll through you, and this time when your body finally stills, you don't start up again.
You can't.
The rain fills the silence. Soft now, easing.
"Hey." His voice is far away. Wrapped in cotton. "Baby."
You try to answer. Nothing comes.
Your head is heavy on his shoulder. Your legs have stopped working. There's a pleasant numbness spreading from your center outward, claiming each limb one by one. You feel his chest shake—a quiet laugh.
"Fucking hell," he mutters. "Passed out on my dick. That's a first."
The world tips. You're being lifted, repositioned. Cool leather against your back. The absence of him—a hollow ache, immediately missed.
Then something soft between your thighs. Tissues. His hands, rougher than the cloth, moving with a gentleness that doesn't match his size.
"You made a mess, you know that?"
You can't open your eyes. Your mouth might be smiling. You're not sure.
The car door opens. Rain finds your face—cold pinpricks that do nothing to wake you. His arms slide under your knees and shoulders, and then you're airborne, cradled against his chest, rain soaking through your clothes in seconds.
"Unbelievable," he says, but it's warm. Affection wrapped in grievance.
The front seat. He buckles you in. The engine turns over.
You sleep through the drive. Through the garage door grinding open. Through being lifted again, carried through the dark house, laid on cool sheets that smell like both of you.
When you finally stir—minutes or hours later—he's sitting on the edge of the bed, thumb scrolling his phone, one hand resting on your ankle.
"Back with me?"
You make a sound. Not quite a word.
He grins. "Good." Leans over. Presses his mouth to your temple. "Next time you're ovulating, warn a man."
You're already sliding back under. But you catch his smile before the dark takes you.
after rough sex, satoru tenderly (and possessively) treats your sore & irritated body with balm
⟢
you spread your legs for him earlier, so how come it feels more embarrassing now?
"what's wrong? earlier, you were begging for more, now you can't even look at me while im taking care of you?"
nope. you couldn't even bear to look at him with raw vulnerability as he worked you out down there.
satoru was positioned between your thighs, opening your folds with two fingers as he applied the balm with his other hand. his touch was light, almost clinical as it ran over your inner labia. the skin he spent all night ravaging was now getting taken care of.
"it's just skin, baby. there's nothing you haven't already shown me a dozen times tonight."
a low hum escaped his lips as he dipped his thumb in the balm, bringing it back to your vulva as he rubbed it on your swollen clit. the clit he spanked over and over, completely fraying its nerves.
"no..its not—," you choked on your breath, shaking your head. "its not really..just skin.."
when he pulled back your clit hood and used his thumb to apply a gentle, cooling swipe on the direct bud, you realized your weak protests meant nothing. useless whimpers and whines fell on deaf ears.
he stilled his movements for a moment before stroking again.
"i know its not," he whispered, his voice dropping an octave. "that's why you're acting like this, isn't it?"
you didn't have an answer. not when you were completely exposed to him in the most intimate and vulnerable way ever.
both of his elbows kept your thighs open to make sure he could see every part of you, every part of the flesh he had been shown tonight. your clit was an angry red beneath this thumb, still throbbing and twitching from every light touch. your inner labia were completely chafed by the brutal friction of his cock, the skin raw and glistening in the substance of the balm.
a deep sigh escaped him, a small pout tugged on his lips when he realized how rough he may have been. it was a repeated motion—dip his thumb in the balm, apply it on your vulva.
when the pad of his thumb smoothed the crimson part of your inner fold, your thighs trembled and clamped from the touch despite how careful it was.
"nope. absolutely not."
his voice wasn't angry, but it had the same authority he used when around others. before you could full close up, he pushed his elbows deeper on your thighs, applying just enough pressure to keep them wide open.
"don't close up. if i don't fix this now, you're gonna complain tomorrow about how much it stings."
the sight of satoru casually applying vulva balm in the area between your thighs was infinitely more embarrassing than him pounding like a beast inside you.
this was softer, more careful compared to the aggressive sex you had earlier. this wasn't the side of satoru you were usually exposed to, therefore every touch felt like a blow to your ego. not because he was softening up, but because you felt like a baby getting a bandaid on a boo boo.
in this situation, there was no move or retort you could say that could switch the power dynamic.
"remind me why you're doing this again?" your tone was seasoned with a pinch of sassiness beneath the fluster.
satoru looked up at you. he watched the way you rolled your eyes and dreadfully dragging your hands down your face, admiring the sight of you so helpless beneath him.
he couldn't help but let out a genuine chuckle at your usual attitude. "because you're mine..thats why."
his touch became softer, slower, more deliberate as he massaged the balm in, ensuring the substance absorbed in your irritated skin.
"and who else is going to handle you when you get like this? you'd probably try to walk off the soreness and end up face planting in the middle of the hallway." he added, a small smirk tugging on his lips.
"but i'm independent, aren't i? i'm a grown woman and you're treating me like a baby."
the fire in his eyes started to return as you retorted. his thumb moved idly and slowly like all his attention came back to your words.
"sweetheart, you were begging for me to ruin you ten minutes ago. i don't think 'independent' was exactly the word coming out of your mouth when you were wrapped around me."
he opened your folds, checking that he treated all the spots he ruined. then he leaned forward to place a tender kiss on your temple.
"you're a grown woman, yeah," he continued. "but even grown women need someone to clean up the mess they make."
"you're the one who made me a mess. is that my responsibility?"
satoru froze. he watched the way your eyes narrowed when you looked at him, defensive and fierce.
a slow grin spread across across his face.
"fuck, you're good." he breathed out, his voice rough with amusement. "technically.. no. it's not your responsibility to clean up after me. but i'm not asking you to take responsibility, baby. i'm telling you i'm taking it."
the humiliating, ego-bruising balm session finally ended. he crawled forward, draping a heavy arm over your waist as he dropped on the bed next to you.
"that's the difference between us," he murmured. his gaze was noticeably softer, tracing the shape of your lips. "you think this is about who's in charge or who owes what. but when i fuck you, i ruin you. the mess, the soreness, the way you can't even stand tomorrow? thats all mine. and since it's mine, i'm going to be the one to fix it."
right.
the tight knot of embarrassment in your stomach was replaced by the soft flutter of butterflies. despite how obnoxious this man could be, he always had a way to remind you that he wasn't as irresponsible as he displayed.
with you, he had the chance to strip away all the armor he wore to protect the parts of him that stayed reserved strictly for you.
vulnerability was so often viewed as a weakness. but watching him rest his head against your shoulder, you wondered if it was actually the absolute purest way to love someone.
"then have me," you whispered, feeling the heaviness of sleep pull you under. "have all of me."
.
.
.
the dialogue def might be the strongest part of my piece. after multiple daydreaming sessions in my life and creating fake conversations, it led up to this.
im pretty upset about how predictable my sentence structures are. im going to need to read a lot more🥹🥹
𓊆ྀི warnings .ᐟ + word count—5.0K, ORIGINAL!BLACK!FEM!READER! southern domestic vibes!, husband!toji, shyblack!femreader, blackwife!reader, ranchmen!toji, gritty!toji, southerncoded!femreader, southerncoded!toji, aggressive!toji, dominant!toji, gruff!toji, sweet!toji, size kink!, pet names!baby!love!, pussy eating!, face slapping!, 69!, riding!, sex after work!toji, aggressive sex!, dick sucking!, squirting!, creaming, condomless sex, minors aren’t welcome! 𓊇ྀི
メモ。— been in a deep depression + ‘was missin’ my number one, my man, my lover, my only in another lifetime. this was inspired by a lil’ tik tok made by @scrumptious_chowder—i can’t seem to find the specific link for the video i saw, i think she might’ve deleted it? but if you see this, babe. this one’s for you. love your content + all the nasty thoughts in your head. @chrollohearttags ? love you baby. teehee. enjoy.
IT WAS ONE OF THOSE DAYS.
One where talking your husband off the verge of a crash out wasn’t enough—but fucking it out of him made it all complete. Sweeter, somehow.
The evening sun spills honey gold through lace trimmed windows, casting delicate shadows across the yellow bricked backsplash of your kitchen—your sanctuary.
The air smells like yeast and the faint citrus of lemons piled in your farmhouse sink—natural light streaming in soft, golden pools across the Tuscany checkered floors. Your fingers, dusted with flour, press into the supple dough, kneading with practiced rhythm, the marquise cut pale gold band on your left hand catching the warmth with every movement. French tips glint against the raw, pillowy mass, your wedding ring a quiet testament to the life you’ve built here—far from the noise of New Orleans, in a house he built for you with his own calloused hands.
The vintage radio hums low, crackling with updates between New Orleans and Mississippi, the announcer’s voice a distant murmur beneath the rustle of your Persian kitten—Yumi’s—fur as she nudges the radio with her tiny, impatient head. You glance up, dark lashes fluttering, and reach over to twist the volume knob down.
“Too loud, baby?”
Yumi answers by leaping gracefully onto the vintage dining table behind you, stretching her fluffy body into a perfect arch before collapsing into a loaf, her purrs filling the quiet kitchen like a melody.
“…I guess so,” you hum softly.
Your kitchen was made with more love than his proposal, more intention than the ring itself. The single bowl sink overflows with lemons, limes, and a single stray peach, their vibrant colors bleeding into the muted tones of your oasis.
The curtains flutter, carrying the scent of distant rain and turning earth—his scent, soon. The house breathes around you, every nail driven by his hands, every brick laid with the weight of his promise.
“Ain’t gonna let nothin’ touch you ‘cept me.”
You and Yumi share the same untamed spirit—both of you all flickering tails and sharp, watchful eyes.
Your face, sultry as a fox, intense as a panther mid hunt, holds the kind of beauty that makes men pray before they dare to speak to you. Slender eyes, naturally dark waterline like you were born with kohl rimming them, framed by full, wispy lashes that give you an air of mischief—almost wicked, even when your soul is nothing but sugar. Deep pink lips, their edges kissed by a natural brown halo, part just slightly as you exhale, your large, arched brows lifting in amusement at your feline counterpart.
That wild mane of yours—deep copper melting into cinnamon, black balayage curling like tendrils of smoke—is tossed messily over your head, a single stubborn curl swaying against your forehead. A constellation of dark freckles dusts the bridge of your wide nose, the warmth of your ochre complexion glowing beneath the golden kitchen light.
“You’ll look no different in pregnancy," his voice rumbles in your mind, "Glowin’. Red. Fuckin’ perfect.”
You narrow those eyes at Yumi, who chirps at you like she’s got a whole argument prepared.
“Daddy’ll be home soon," you murmur, thumb stroking the edge of your sourdough loaf before setting it aside to rise—“…You think he’ll like dinner?"
The scent of New Orleans hangs heavy in the air—shrimp and andouille sizzling in a spiced roux, red beans simmering with a bay leaf tucked between them, and buttery cornbread waiting to be pulled from the oven. His favorites. The kind of meal that’ll soothe every ache in his body, warm.
Yumi answers by rolling dramatically onto her back, paws curled, tail flicking.
“Yeah—you’re no help."
The soft hum of the radio wraps around you as you lose yourself in the rhythm of cooking again, fingers dancing over ingredients with practiced ease. The music plays just a hair louder now—enough for Yumi to shoot you a withering glare from her perch, her tail flicking in disapproval. You ignore her with a little smile, your voice a gentle murmur as you hum along to the tune, the melody curling around the warm, spice laced air.
Then—the growl.
The deep, guttural rumble of his pickup truck tearing through the gravel drive is a warning, a proclamation—he’s home. Your spine straightens before you even realize it, ears attuned to the familiar sequence of his arrival—the creak of the screen door, the slam, the heavy thud of boots being kicked off near the welcome mat.
Except today—silence.
No boots. No pause. Just the hurried, uneven thud of his footsteps, heavier than usual, more urgent. A shiver races down your spine, instinct flaring before you can even turn—
And then him.
Big. Encompassing. Swallowing you whole.
His heat presses into your back, rough hands gripping your hips like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. You don’t need to look up to know his expression—you feel it. The tension coiled in his muscles, impatient huffs against the curve of your throat.
“You scared me,” you whisper, voice trembling just slightly as your fingers lift, clawing back into the wild strands of his hair—midnight black, nearly blue in the dim light. It’s longer now, unruly, a messy tangle between a wolf cut and a short mullet, the front nearly falling into his eyes. Your nails scratch lightly at his scalp, and he exhales sharply through his nose, his apology a low, graveled grunt against your skin.
“‘Couldn’t get to you fast enough."
You know him.
His anger, his irritation, the frustration clings to him like a second skin. It seeps into you like ink in water, dark and suffocating, a storm barely contained beneath the surface. Your body responds before your mind can catch up—arching back into him, your pulse fluttering beneath his touch.
That’s when your hands shift, turning you just enough in his grasp to catch his gaze—and the moment you do, the world narrows.
Those eyes.
Deep gray, like storm clouds rolling in over the pasture, narrowed and restless beneath the weight of his scowl. His brows—thick, dark, almost severe—are knit together, tension carved into the space between them. At thirty two years old to your twenty nine? The years have only sharpened him, etching his features with an intensity that makes your breath catch. A full blooded Japanese man raised in the heart of the South, he’s a walking contradiction—heritage and home clashing in the best ways.
And today, every inch of him shows it.
Dust clings to him like a second skin, ground into the fabric of his filthy wifebeater, streaked across the navy and black flannel rolled up to his forearms. His tattoos—a sprawling canvas of ink swallowing his egregiously broad frame—peek out from beneath the dirt, the edges of them smudged with the day’s labor.
Head ranchmen. Raising livestock. Wrestling miles of fencing. Hauling hay, operating machinery, fighting with the land and the heat and the men under him who can’t keep up—it’s all written across the stars. His muscles are still coiled tight, his jaw working as if the frustration hasn’t fully left his bones.
And yet, god, he’s yours.
The scent of him—sweat, leather, and something wild washes over you, a pheromone laden reminder of exactly who you belong to.
You reach up, thumb smoothing gently between his furrowed brows.
“You okay?”
He exhales sharply, "M’alright. Always doin’ this, woman. Thinkin’ I’m about to cry."
A laugh bubbles in your chest, but you press closer instead, fingers trailing down to cup his jaw.
“My soul’s with yours," you remind him, tilting your chin up despite the height difference—“I know when you’re sick before you do—"
He grunts at that, but there’s no real irritation behind it. Instead, he ducks his head, nudging his nose against yours in a rare moment of tenderness, the gesture contradicting every rough edge he wears so well.
Toji’s head dips low, those storm gray eyes scanning you with the kind of focus that makes your pulse flutter.
You stand there in white fuzzy socks, swallowed whole by the oversized replica of his flannel—the deep blue of it sharp against your caramel skin, sleeves slipping past your wrists, the hem hanging dangerously high on your thighs.
And as your husband, he knows what’s beneath.
The way your waist cinches in like a damn hourglass, unnaturally narrow compared to the flare of your hips—so wide, so heavy it looks like you’ve carried a child before. The ass that fills his palms perfectly, fat, jiggling with every step. And those tits—full, heavy, sitting high like they belong on a sultry pin up poster. His name—Fushiguro—in tiny cursive beneath the curve of your left breast, a claim he never gets tired of seeing.
Your fingers drag gently through the hair at his nape, nails scratching lightly as you murmur, “Yumi missed you.”
His thumb swipes over your bottom lip, calloused and rough—“‘Momma missed me too?”
You nod, just slightly, tilting your head with those fox eyes of yours—narrowed, knowing, stripping him bare of any lie he could try to spin.
“Tell me what happened at work.”
His brow twitches, “You tellin’ me?”
You don’t argue. Just raise your brows, waiting.
A beat. Then, with a sharp exhale, it spills—
“Men actin’ like goddamn children. Argued with me ‘bout the fence line—then one of ‘em nearly flipped the ATV ‘cause he wasn’t payin’ attention. ‘Whole damn day wasted fixin’ other people’s—” His voice deepens, slipping into sharp edged Japanese, “…Nande kon'na baka-domo to issho ni hatarakanakya naranē nda? Mattaku, kuso jikan'nomudada.”
Why the hell do these idiots work for me? Total waste of fuckin’ time.
You stand on your tiptoes, pressing your thumb between his brows again, smoothing the crease there as you answer him—fluent, just like he taught you.
“Son'nani ikatteiru to, fukeru no ga hayamarimasu yo.”
You’ll age faster being so angry.
He pauses, nostrils flaring—before he lets out a sharp exhale, forehead dropping against yours.
"...Goddamn, woman. ‘Always knowin’ how to shut me up.”
You hum, pressing closer.
“So that’s why you keep me around?”
“Nah. Keep you ‘cause you’re mine.”
You hum, fingertips tracing the corded muscle below his neck, your touch featherlight.
“Did talking about it help?"
His jaw flexes, “You want me to lie?"
“I’d rather you be honest, Fushiguro.”
A rough exhale escapes him, “I’m on the news tomorrow? ‘Know I killed one of those bastards."
You know he doesn’t mean it—but the frustration is real, simmering beneath his skin like an untamed storm. So you tease just a little, trying to loosen the tension coiling in his shoulders—“Fussier than a baby, ‘swear."
That gets you a glare—"Nowhere near a damn child."
You react before he can pull away, fingers tangling in the dark strands of his hair, holding him just firm enough to ground him.
“Hey," you murmur, voice softening, “I was just pokin’, love. Yeah?"
He stares down at you, that perpetual scrawl of his features more habit than anger now. After a beat, he nods.
You press on, voice a gentle lull.
“Rough days are inevitable…but there’s your favorite meal to look forward to. And cuddles from me an’ Yumi."
His expression doesn’t change.
"Or," you offer, tilting your head, “I could rub your ear ‘like you like?”
Something shifts in his gaze then—dark, heavy. He looks at you—really looks. That sweet, sultry face he’s seen crumble beneath him, twist in pleasure, pout in frustration. It all hits him at once, a wave of something possessive and hungry that makes his fingers flex against your waist.
And in response?
“Yeah."
A single word. Deceptively simple.
Because you did rub his ear, sure—but what you didn’t expect?
Was ending up bouncing stupidly on his cock in the process.
Now, here you are—hair a mess of copper, cinnamon, and black curls, wild like a halo around your flushed face, the flannel hanging open, barely clinging to your shoulders. The fabric dips, revealing the sinful swell of your tits, the heavy weight of them barely contained by the parted material. Your fuzzy socks—adorable, ridiculous in contrast to the filth of this moment—curl helplessly into the bedsheets as you struggle to steady yourself.
Your thighs ache, burning from the relentless pace he’s set, but you barely feel it. Not when he’s got his hands wrapped around your waist, his fingers so big they nearly touch when he grips you—effortlessly hauling you up, then slamming you back down, forcing you to take every inch of him.
“F—Fushiguro—!"
You choke on his name as he pulls you all the way up, the slick length of him just about to slip free before he yanks you back down, letting his dick carve straight into your g-spot with every punishing thrust.
And the worst part?
He hasn’t even undressed.
Leaned back against the vintage headboard, still in his dirt-streaked wifebeater—tugged halfway up to reveal the hard planes of his abs, ink-dark tattoos trailing down the cut of his V-line. The roughness of his pubic hair grinds against your clit with every brutal snap of your hips, the friction almost too much, threatening to push you over the edge before he even lets you.
And his face—
Dark brows pulled low, storm gray eyes locked on you with an intensity that borders on cruel. He watches you with that same scowl, like you mean nothing to him in this moment—just a warm, trembling hole for him to use, fucking you with ruthless precision.
He leans back, the muscles in his arms flexing as he lifts you again, dragging you down onto his cock with a sharp snap of his hips.
“C’mon," he growls, voice rough with restraint—“Keep fuckin’ feelin’ me.”
You’re silent—trying to be—but your pussy isn’t.
Loud. Obscene. Creaming around him in thick, slippery pulses, gushing with every brutal snap of his hips. The sound of it—wet, filthy, shameful—fills the space between your ragged breaths. Your lips stay pressed together, but your expression betrays you—eyebrows pinched, a cute little frown twisting your face as pleasure burns through you, sharp and unforgiving.
Discomfort. Overstimulation. The kind of pleasure that hurts, that makes your toes curl and your stomach clench. Because god, the way he stretches you—thick, unrelenting, carving into you like he was made to ruin you.
The worst part? He knows.
Knows that in places where you’re soft, silent, observant—here, like this? You’re a mouthy little thing when he gets you there. Which is exactly why he cocks his hand back, fingers tangling in the back of your flannel, yanking you down harder on his cock before—
SMACK.
The sharp, stinging crack of his palm against your ass echoes through the room, your flesh jiggling from the impact, the heat of it blooming fast.
“Ain't hearin’ shit from you," he growls.
“C’mon. Gimme’ somethin’.”
The rough clap of your thighs against his hips—hard, frantic, skin slapping skin—does something to you. Your eyes flutter shut, your fingers sinking into his forearms, claws digging in as a whiny little cry punches out of you.
It’s a domino effect afterwards. A whimper slips free, trembling, desperate, and then another—another, slurring into heavier, broken whines, like you’re trying to swallow them back every time they threaten to escape. But you can’t. Not when he’s like this—when his thighs are so thick, his grip so bruising, when he makes you fuck him like he hates you.
“There it is,” he grunts, fingers tightening around your waist, hauling you down harder, heavier.
“‘Know my wife more than anyone in this fuckin’ world.”
You're an eye-rolling, pouting, mess.
His mess. Your pussy keeps gushing, clenching forcefully around the thick swell of his cock, kicking off a series of unfinished, half-shattered orgasms that leave you spiraling—dizzy, overwhelmed, ruined.
Tears brim your dark, pretty eyes, lashes sticking together as broken little whimpers spill from your lips.
“I'm—‘M cumming.”
But Toji? He doesn’t stop.
His grip tightens, digging into the softness of your hips as he finds a devastating new rhythm. Slower now, but heavier. Louder. Each deep, punishing thrust drags a wet, filthy sound from where you’re stretched around him, the slap of skin echoing through the room.
And the scent of him—god.
Woodsmoke, leather, the erotic musk of a hard day’s work still clinging to his clothes, swallowing you whole even as he lounges beneath you, lazily using your body to chase his own pleasure.
“Wanted me to feel better, ‘ain’t you?"
His palm lands against your ass again—hard—the sharp crack reverberating through your bones before he spreads you open with that same rough hand, exposing your flushed, dripping cunt as he starts fucking up into you with renewed force.
“Gonna fuck you ‘til every nut makes me less angry," he grunts, fingers biting into your flesh—“Had a hard fuckin’ day, remember?"
You lean forward, sniffling pathetically, nodding in meek submission—like you’ve lost a game you never even meant to play.
“Okay," you squeak, voice surrendering, small.
His teeth flash in a wicked grin.
“Atta fuckin’ girl."
And then he takes—pounding up into you with a brutal pace that has you muffling trembling little moans into the crook of your arm, body jolting with every deep, claiming thrust.
Toji slides his broad palm against the top of your head, fingers threading through your curls as he tilts your face up to meet his heavy-lidded gaze.
“You here with me?"
You nod, and that's all he needs before he tugs you forward by your hair, sealing your mouth with his in a deep, tongue-filled kiss. It's filthy, possessive, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip before he pulls back just as swiftly.
And then—SMACK.
His palm meets your cheek with enough force to make your breath hitch, just sharp enough to snap you back into focus.
“Fill your fuckin' mouth up.”
You sink down instantly, taking him between your lips with breathless little whimpers, your lashes fluttering as you suck him in deep. You pull back just enough to kitten lick along his length, teasing the flushed tip before swirling your tongue around it. Then lower—sucking his heavy balls into your mouth, your fingers lightly jerking the base of him.
It's adorable in the most pathetic way—how easily you obey when you're usually all quiet fire and defiance. But like this? You're truly his.
Toji watches as you work him over—his cock glistening with your spit, your lips stretched around him. Then he takes himself in hand, slapping his length against your flushed cheek, dragging it over your lips with a filthy, wet sound.
“Look at you," he grunts, voice rough with satisfaction.
And he does look—drinking in the sight of your dark, caramel skin flushed raw, your pretty eyes swollen with tears, your lips parted and trembling. It makes him crave more.
“C'mere," he growls suddenly, gripping your waist before flipping you both in one swift motion—your back now pressed to his chest, his thighs bracketing your head as he maneuvers you into a 69.
The second you're settled, he buries his face between your thighs with a groan, his tongue devouring you. You gasp, trying to refocus, wrapping your lips around his cock again—but it's impossible to concentrate when he's sucking on your clit like he's starved, his tongue dragging hot and wet through your folds, slurping obscenely. Your hips jerk, back arching as pleasure zings through you, your forehead dropping against his hip as you whimper around him.
“Focus, baby.”
He mutters this against your cunt—right before his hand comes down on your ass again, the sharp SMACK making you jolt. A broken moan slips past your lips, and then you're bobbing your head faster, hollowing your cheeks as you suck him back into your mouth with desperate, sloppy devotion.
And Toji?
He just feasts—grunting, licking, taking—his fingers digging into your hips as he fucks his tongue inside you, making sure you feel every second of it.
You don’t stand a chance.
The air is thick with the sound of skin on skin, your breath ragged and wet as you lose yourself in the rhythm of him. You move without thought, drunk on the taste of him, the weight of him on your tongue—both palms wrapped tight around the base of his cock, jerking him from root to tip in slow, filthy strokes. Your tits bounce with every movement, swaying heavy and lewd as you work him over in a way that’s downright pornographic, your body moving like it was made just for this.
Toji’s hips twitch, his breath catching when you suddenly take just the head of him into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the swollen tip while your small hands take care of the rest. His head knocks back against the headboard with a low groan, his voice rough, strained, as he mutters something under his breath—half curse, half praise—before his hand comes down again, another sharp SMACK landing on your ass.
“Edge of the bed. Now.”
You crawl there on shaky knees, face pressing into the blankets, ass up—presented, waiting—and before you can even brace yourself, he’s sinking into you, stretching you open in a way that punches a muffled whine from your throat. His fingers tangle in the nape of your hair, tugging just enough to make your back arch as he yanks you back onto him, filling you to the hilt with a single brutal thrust. Your face stays buried in the blankets, lips pouting, muffling little whimpers and breathless complaints—but they’re weak, half-hearted, lost in the haze of pleasure as he starts moving, fucking into you with rough, measured strokes.
“Fussin’ just like Yumi," he growls, voice thick as you tuck your face deeper into the sheets, hiding the way your cheeks burn.
“Tch—feet closer to your chest.”
He rasps this, voice gravel-scraped and impatient. You whimper but obey, knees pressing tight to your body, hips lifted higher—exposed, helpless. Then, in Japanese, sharp and commanding—
“Jibun no handan de ugoite kudasai.”
Move on your own.
And you do.
At first, it's slow—tentative—your hips rocking back and forth in small, uncertain motions, your body arching as you try to find the right angle. The sight of you like this—spread open, trembling, taking him—is obscene. Erotic in the rawest sense.
His fingers snap once, sharply. Another order, another growled phrase—“Head up.”
You just obey, lifting your face from the sheets, breath ragged as you look back over your shoulder at him.
“If you don’t move, I’ll show you how I wanna’ be fucked.”
You pout—lips trembling, eyes wet—but then you start moving again.
Little bounces at first, your ass clapping lightly against his hips—gentle, testing. Then deeper. Faster. More. Until you’re fully fucking yourself on him, your body taking over, driven by instinct, by the need to please. His fingers tighten in your hair, holding you in place as you pant, as you whimper—
“…M’sorry, baby."
It slips out without thought, weak and breathless.
Toji only grunts, “Yeah?”
You don’t even know what you’re apologizing for. But you say it again, lips quivering.
“M’sorry—"
You’re squirting.
A hot, sudden gush, spilling around him without warning, your body convulsing as pleasure rips through you. The words turn into something else—deep, shuddering sobs, your voice breaking as you keep repeating it, "M’sorry, m’sorryyy...”
Your husband? He could care less.
Toji fucks you through it. His grip on your hair tightens, his hips snapping up to meet yours as you sob, as you tremble, as you fall apart.
Because this? This is how he takes his anger out.
The world narrows to nothing but the brutal snap of his hips, the sound of skin meeting skin in sharp, wet slaps. Toji yanks your legs out from under you, planting your feet flat on the floor—forcing your spine into a deep arch, your ass tilted up just right for him to sink into you even deeper, each thrust punching the air from your lungs.
You can’t help the noises that tear out of you—loud, broken, punched out moans that rise higher with every merciless drive of his cock. His fist tightens in your hair so everlasting, wrenching your head back as he growls above you, the sound rough and satisfied—because nothing pleases him more than hearing you unravel, your voice frayed beyond coherency.
Your fingers clutch at the sheets, knuckles white—until he tsks, a single sharp sound of disapproval that has you scrambling to correct yourself before he can fuss. Arms straight back, wrists together, like you know what he wants without him even saying it. His free hand wraps around both your wrists in one brutal grip, pinning them against the small of your back as he drives you into the mattress, fucking you so deep you squeal, high and desperate, your body jerking beneath him.
“Fuckkkk…!”
It’s a shriek, really—raw and guttural, your cunt gushing around him as he pistons in and out, his grunts syncing with your cries in a filthy, primal rhythm. He’s not gentle. Not close. Every snap of his hips is punishing, claiming, his cock dragging against that sweet spot inside you until you’re keening, your thighs shaking, your mind gone beneath the sheer intensity of it.
And then—
His rhythm stutters.
A deep, guttural growl rips from his throat, his fingers tightening hard in your hair as he buries himself to the hilt, spilling inside you in thick, pulsing ropes. Your sounds drown his—whimpers, choked cries, the way your body clenches around him as if trying to milk every last drop.
For a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of heavy breathing—his, yours—both ragged and uneven.
Then he slowly pulls out, leaving you limp beneath him, your lower body trembling, your nerves still alight with aftershocks. Toji catches his breath for a beat—just one—before he leans down over you, his voice rough but soft now, murmured against your ear in Japanese.
“Daijōbudesuka?”
You alright?
His hand cups your throat from behind, tilting your face toward his. And then—kisses. Tiny, chaste pecks against your swollen lips, one after another, as if checking that you’re still with him.
You let out a breathless little giggle, your lashes fluttering.
“Mmm...legs feel numb."
He hums.
“They should.”
The moment his hands twist you around, your breath catches—but it melts into another light giggle as he scoops you up effortlessly, depositing you onto the bed like something precious. The sheets are cool against your overheated skin, a stark contrast to the burning imprint of his body still lingering on yours.
And then he looks at you.
His fingers slide through your hair again, slower this time, almost reverent, before his mouth finds yours in a kiss that’s startlingly gentle. You nudge your nose against his, affectionate, lingering, before you pull back just enough to murmur—
“…‘Gonna have a better day at work tomorrow?"
Sweet. Hopeful.
Toji rumbles, the sound vibrating deep in his chest as he presses a kiss to your forehead—“Already havin’ a better day now."
Your eyes dilate at that, lashes fluttering as you whisper—"Really?"
“Murder’s still in question for ‘them employees, though.”
Your face falls immediately, lips pressing into a pout as you sigh, long suffering. Before you can protest, his palm lands on your thigh—a light, teasing smack—and then he’s pushing off the bed, leaving you sprawled there. You scramble to grab his discarded flannel, draping it over yourself like a makeshift shield before flipping your hair back with an exaggerated huff.
“You’re hardheaded!”
“Got a hard head, baby.”
You suck your teeth.
But then? he reappears in the doorway, Yumi cradled in his big arms.
The whiplash of it nearly gives you an actual headache. One second, he’s got you bent over the bed, fucking you like you owe him money, and the next? He’s holding that Persian kitten like it’s spun glass, cooing at her in a voice three octaves higher than you’ve ever heard come out of his mouth.
You roll your eyes so hard you swear you see your own brain.
“You don’t talk to me like that.”
Toji ignores you, of course. Because why would he ever acknowledge the way your metaphorical tail is swishing back and forth in irritation? He’s too busy booping Yumi’s tiny pink nose, murmuring, “Momma’s the fussy one, isn’t she? Yeah?"
“Boy, please. I don’t win the hot head award. You’re an overachiever for that score."
He just smirks—smirks!—as he sets Yumi down on the bed, watching with that stupid, smug expression as she prances toward the headboard like the little princess she is, tail held high as she lets out a dignified Mrrow.
One second you’re lounging there, all sass and post coital glow—the next, he’s on you, knocking you flat onto your back in the sheets with a oomph that dissolves into breathless giggles as you shove at his chest.
“Go away!"
He doesn’t.
“You know how much I love you?"
You tilt your head, pretending to think.
“Not sure."
The air between you shifts—just for a heartbeat—from playful to something deeper, something heavier. His rough fingers catch yours, and he brings your hand up, pressing a slow, almost reverent kiss to the gold band on your finger. Against the metal, he murmurs something low and raw—something that sounds suspiciously like—“Mines forever."
You sigh, but it's a warm sound, your fingers curling around his, intertwining like they were made to fit there. Playfully, you squeeze.
“Hungry?"
He exhales through his nose, “Been thinkin' about those red beans all day."
You bat your lashes, feigning innocence.
“I wasn't part of the meal plan?"
His thumb drags over your pulse point as he leans in, breath hot against your ear, “You were the meal plan."
Then, just like that, he's hauling you up—one arm under your thighs, the other bracing your back as he tosses you halfway over his shoulder like you weigh nothing. You yelp, but your legs lock around his waist instinctively, arms looping his neck as he starts moving.
“C'mon. I'm starvin'."
You press your lips to his jaw, nipping just to feel him tense—“You're starvin’, and you love me?"
He grunts—but for him? It’s not a denial. It’s yes, a thousand times over.
And just like that, the scene fades—into the quiet hum of domesticity, into love and passion and marriage with all its rough edges and sweet, stolen moments.
toji fushiguro has your body naked in front of the mirror and his warm hands groping your hips. he lets his pinky slide up your puffy, wet slit—just a graze, just over your clit—and he doesn’t let your eyes leave the mirror as he draws back his pinky dripping with your slick.
“go on, princess,” he rasps into your neck. “m’listening.”
but he’s not just listening. your boyfriend is still in his boxers—unfair, really, because you’re clad in nothing & the room is too warm & your thighs are trembling from both the heat and the pressure. he wraps himself around you and slides his hands up to your tits. he gropes your breast once and lets his hands fall away.
your mouth dries. “i can’t.”
but your hips are bucking into him. rolling against his clothed cockhead as your pussy drools from the anticipation. toji laughs, chest warm against your back as he pinches your clit, forcing your hips to stutter & a whine to leave your lips. “y’got a pretty mouth, dollface. wanna hear you use it.”
in the mirror your thighs are still aching, chest heaving, and toji fushiguro has slipped his cock out of his shorts. you’re not sure you heard his waistband snap but his cock is there, flushed and swollen and dripping with precum.
"you see that ?" he murmurs, breath hot against your neck as he pumps himself in his fist all heavy & slow. "see what you do to me, sweetheart? standing there all pretty and wet?”
he lets the soaked head tap against your ass—once, twice—before dragging it lower between your thighs, letting it slip through your slick folds without pushing inside. your pussy flutters at the teasing, & toji watches your chest heave in the mirror through bleary eyes.
"you want this?" he murmurs, cockhead nudging your throbbing folds from behind. "want my cock in this pussy, baby?” he lets his precum smear over the folds. “start talking.”
you swallow, eyes glazed with lust and hips stuttering as you force the courage to speak. “i…i have nice tits.”
“breasts,” toji growls into your neck. “breasts, dollface. say it properly.”
your thighs squeeze. your eyes are teary when you look in the mirror, face flushed, tits heaving. "i have nice breasts."
"mmh," toji slides a palm up your side. he lets his thumb brush against your aching nipple, before twisting and stretching the pebbled peak between his fingers. you arch into him on instinct. "so nice, dollface. and what else? look at this pussy in the mirror, baby. tell me all about it."
his thumb presses into your clit. but then he slides it away.
you moan, loud, slick dripping down your thighs. toji’s cock twitches against your ass, but clearly he’s got the self control of a god.
your lashes are tear rimmed. “i have—i have a pretty pussy!”
“so pretty,” he murmurs, tugging your clit before pressing his thumb against it, rubbing slow circles over the bud. “prettiest pussy i’ve ever fucking seen. so wet and noisy for me. tell me more, sweetheart.”
“my pussy is so tight,” you rasp, breathless and hips twitching as toji rubs his thumb against the sensitive bud. “hnngh—so tight and wet for you, toji.”
"yeah?" he murmurs against your ear. his cock nudges your slick folds, pulsing and throbbing at the entrance. "love this fucking pussy, you know that?"
you can only whimper in response.
"love how puffy it is," he continues, dragging his swollen cockhead up your slit, only to drag it down again. "love how it tries to swallow me. see that, baby? see how it slobbers all over my cock?” he pushes his swollen head in as your cunt flutters around him. “fucking perfect.”
“toji—“ you gasp, “please—“
“please what?” he growls, pushing his hips into you. his thick cock swells between your folds, pulsing and stretching your puffy cunt. “want me to play with this pussy, baby? fuck you so hard your tits bounce in the mirror?”
“mhm—“
“words, sweetheart.”
“want you to fuck me,” you gasp out, hips bucking back to chase his cockhead and push him deeper into your folds. “want you to play with my pussy and fuck me till i’m dripping—“
“fuck,” toji groans, slamming into you, hard. “thaaaat’s my fucking girl. see how easy it is to please me?”
You’ve worn your boyfriend Sukuna to the bone, so your other boyfriend Toji takes over.
warnings. fem!reader/tojikuna, threesome, multiple orgasms, piv, kissing, creampie, overstim, ovulation, switch!toji if you squint, dom!sukuna. nsfw 18+ mdni. mlist
──── ୨୧ ────
The first thing Toji noticed when he stepped through the front door was the heat. A subtle humidity lacing the air like the sweet lingering remnants of perfume. There was your lotion, sweet and familiar, and the smell of fresh sweat, layered with something primal and musky - the smell of sex.
The second thing he noticed was Sukuna, splayed over the couch like he’d just run a marathon. Tank top soaked through and sweatpants riddled with little damp patches, dotted across the fabric like stray petals. Toji’s gaze dipped without bothering to hide the way he was blatantly staring at Sukuna’s chest, at the heaving pecs peeking out from his neckline, eyes tracking the little bead of sweat beginning to trail a hot path down the center.
“What’s your problem?” Came Toji’s eventual greeting as he paused by the door, tearing his eyes away just to sling his gym bag over the hook there before continuing into the room, water bottle clasped in his hand.
Sukuna glared in reply, and if Toji were anyone else he might have actually felt intimidated by the sight. But with the way the other man was panting, pink tufts of hair stuck every which way and slicked with sweat, he didn’t paint a particularly scary image. In fact the only sensation the sight triggered within Toji was a mild amusement, alongside a tiny spark of heat low and betraying in his belly.
“I’ve already had her four times,” Sukuna grunted, “the brats insatiable.”
Toji snorted mid sip of water, eyes leaving the couch to instead peer through the half opened doorway to the bedroom, where he managed to catch only a glimpse of your bare leg through the crack. From the looks of it you were naked - splayed over the sheets, hair probably still a little damp from the shower, skin lacquered with lotion, half washed away with sweat by now.
“What, she ovulating or something?” Toji wondered aloud, lowering the bottle to once again catch Sukuna’s gaze over the metal rim.
The other man crossed his arms unceremoniously across his chest, and Toji watched the tendons jump in the winding muscle of his forearms as he shrugged.
“That or she’s in heat, damn near milked me dry.” He grumbled, brows knitted, working a mean line between them. If you were here you’d reprimand him for such an expression, crawl over the couch and run your thumb between his salmon brows until the lines wore smooth, or until Sukuna grew bored and wrapped a hand around your wrist to flip you onto the cushions instead.
Toji laughed then, the sound rough and graveled like tattered velvet.
“Seriously?” He scoffed, lips spread into a sly grin as he licked stray droplets from them, “had to tap out did ya’ Ryomen?”
Sukuna’s scowl only deepened, soured now with genuine irritation.
“Just be grateful I wore her out for you,” he spat, “and watch your tone, or it’ll be you spread eagle and whining for more cock next, Fushiguro.”
Toji chuckled again as he screwed the lid of his bottle on tight, the motion accented with a metallic ‘squeak!’ before he tossed it toward Sukuna, hard enough that he heard the fleshy impact when the other man’s hand shot out to catch it.
“Yeah yeah,” he mused, moving past the couch to instead push through the bedroom door, which creaked beneath the effort, “drink some fuckin’ water and get outta my way.”
If he were being honest, when he’d left for the gym that morning he’d been hoping for this exact scenario. Toji knew you - or at least your cycle - well enough to know that you’d wake up needy and leaking, and he knew Sukuna well enough to know he wouldn’t be able to resist the sight of you humping his thigh like a dog in heat for very long. So he’d left without a word just as the sun kissed the horizon, and he’d been half hard in his sweats since his second rep just thinking about it.
If the living room was warm, the air within the bedroom was stifling. But it wasn’t the heat or the sticky sweet scent that knocked the air from Toji’s lungs on entry, no. It was the sight of you - limbs splayed over the mattress, hair messed and wild where your head was tucked between the pillows. Your jaw lifted back far enough to expose the long column of your throat, giving Toji a stellar view of the dark sucking marks peppered there, indents of teeth that he was sure would melt into bruises by the evening.
Toji took in the sight indulgently - paused in the doorway, a lone hand already trailing its way down the curve of his stomach, teasing until his fingers curled over the bulge forming there. He squeezed once and shivered, reveling in the immediate relief that sizzled over his body like a splash of ice water.
He could feel the weight of Sukuna’s gaze piercing into the back of his skull like the promise of a snipers sight. He didn’t indulge the urge to peer over his shoulder and meet that heated gaze, instead he let his hand drop to his side and pressed a knee into the mattress.
You didn’t move, didn’t speak or even open your eyes when he crawled over the sheets, crowding your space like a panther sliding atop its snagged prey.
His hand met the curve of your waist, skin soft and warm beneath his palm, layer of sweat sticking you lightly to him. He trailed one hand downward over the curve of your belly, the other grazed feather-soft over the slopes of your breasts, pausing to pinch gently at either nipple, perked and willing in his hands.
“You’re soaked sweetheart,” he mused when his fingers finally dipped between your thighs, which gave way to him easily, spreading to make room for his forearm to slot between. He moved slowly, palming soft and teasing over your mound and listening to you mumble mindlessly below him.
You whined something unintelligible in reply, voice nothing but a high pitched whimper, crackled like shattered glass.
With a chuckle, he leaned down and craned his head until his ear rested level with your mouth.
“What’s that sweetheart?” He questioned, head tilted to listen.
You swallowed, hard and dry, and licked your lips before you spoke again. Another croaked string of words hit his ear, a touch clearer this time. He realized then that you weren’t mumbling gibberish at all, you were begging.
“More, more, need more, please ‘kuna, please jus’ one more…”
Toji chuckled and lifted his head back to study you again - he found your eyes still closed, brows now knitted into an expression that was decidedly desperate.
“Old Ryo’ couldn’t keep up, huh?” He mused, hands lifted from your body to instead press into the mattress either side of your head, leveraging the weight of him as he slotted himself properly between your thighs.
You offered a gentle huff in reply, eyelids feeling much too heavy to bother opening. Your limbs felt numb, tingling with residual little sizzles of pleasure.
“Don’t worry doll, ‘m here now.”
Toji didn’t waste time working you open or teasing you with the brush of his lips or gentle caresses, no. He simply slipped his shirt over his head and tossed it sideways. His thumb hooked over his waistband, tugged down to let his length spring free and slap hard and raw against you.
The sensation was enough to have his lips parting around a shuddered breath. You felt like heaven - like slick molten silk kissing each bumped ridge as he rutted through your swollen folds. You jolted when he shifted, hard inches rubbing over your clit, still singing with over stimulation.
He grinned and lowered a thumb to pet at your entrance, leaking slick and dribbles of what he was sure was Sukuna’s spend. He traced your rim beneath the head of his cock slowly, smearing the milky little pearls gathered there and wondering just how many loads Sukuna had managed to stuff inside you before he’d finally tapped out. The thought made his breath catch, and sent another sizzle of heat straight to his throbbing cock.
“C’mon, look at me now,” Toji cooed, watching the way any semblance of coherency on your face melted away when he finally pressed down, sinking inside with a single dizzying press of his hips - testament to just how soaked and used you really were.
It was enough to make your eyes roll behind your lids, fluttering with the delicious sting of being stretched open again. Toji treated you with shallow little thrusts. The hair at his base tickling your clit, thick veins pulsing against your rubbed raw walls where Sukuna had pounded you until you cried, until you bruised. And yet despite the pain, the ache - that needling little bud of desire still burned just as hotly as when you’d first awoken that day, stoking the fire in your belly and dribbling lava hot between your aching thighs.
“Oh, oh…” you moaned dumbly, lashes twitching as you finally lifted them and tried to blink away the layer of hazy film that had settled there. Your mind felt fuzzy, vacant. Drunk on the sensation of being stuffed utterly full once again.
“There she is,” Toji soothed.
“‘Ji, it’s you…” came your delayed greeting, nothing more than a breathy whine, “need’t cum, need to cum again, please…”
“Again?” Toji echoed in faux surprise, hips slowing to a torturous roll, “that’s a little greedy of you, don’t you think?”
“Incredibly greedy,” a distant voice interrupted, flat and deep and utterly serious.
Toji tilted his head back just enough to catch sight of Sukuna’s broad form filling the doorway, looking more like the hired security than someone who actually lived there. Toji peered through strands of ink black hair at the big hand that was beginning to dip beneath the waistband of Sukuna’s sweats, palming lazily at the considerable bulge there. Sukuna’s gaze was equally heavy and heated, lowered past the curve of Toji’s spine to track the way your hole was stretching around his thickness.
Toji swallowed, took a final glance at the sight of Sukuna beginning to work his length free from his boxers. His eyes stuck on the exposed slip of tan skin where Sukuna had tugged his shirt upward, the spatter of hair dusted there, before he turned his attention back to you.
“Haven’t even asked how my day was yet, and here you are begging me to make this needy pussy cum,” Toji teased, “and after Ryo’ took such good care of you too.”
“Please,” you cried, shaking your head furiously against the damp pillows crumpled either side of you, “please don’t tease me.”
“Aw I’m sorry sweetheart,” Toji cooed, voice dripping thick with mock concern, “you just need it real bad, huh?”
The delicate shallow thrusts he had been nursing you with suddenly shifted, turned to long pulls smacked back inside hard enough that you felt the tip of him kiss somewhere deep and delicate. Each buck had your legs quivering, and a sharp little shock of pain and pleasure in equal measure sizzling over your skin.
You were lucid enough only to know that he was moving, slow methodical thrusts that felt achingly tender. Each twitch of his worked muscle was purposeful, each motion entirely controlled and aimed to break you apart.
“Shh, just feel it. You feel me, right baby? Nice ‘n deep.” The words were sin incarnate, purred right into your ear.
You were nodding before you could think, slurring a string of unintelligible words alongside breathy cries of his name, strung together like a prayer.
“Deep… deeper…”
The scent of him was intoxicating, dizzying. The sharp sting of fresh sweat and his own familiar woody musk was enough to have you lifting your trembling legs just to hook a heel over his hip and tug him closer.
“Finally knocked all the brains outta you, huh?” Toji teased, “That’s alright, don’t need to think. Just keep squeezin’ this pretty little pussy around me, yeah?”
One of your hands fled the sheets to instead grasp at one of Toji’s bare shoulders, fingers digging into the muscle there.
“Kiss me,” you panted, blinking up at him with wide wet eyes, blown black and glossy with need, “oh, hng-… please Toji…”
Toji didn’t bother with a reply, instead he simply dipped his head and captured your lips in a kiss so sudden you barely had the wherewithal to suck in a lungful of air before he was swiping any lingering thoughts away with the hot slide of his tongue.
You melted into the touch, letting the roll of his jaw guide your movements - moaning in surprise when his teeth nipped at your cracked lower lip, your grip on his shoulder tightening when his tongue met yours.
When you finally split apart you were sufficiently softened by the blend of his sweet kisses and the steady rock of his hips, brain humming quietly like the static of a tv set to a dead channel.
“Good?” Toji questioned, head tilting.
You just nodded, struggling to keep you gaze affixed on the inky strands of hair slipping over Toji’s forehead, that was until a sudden blur of colour crept into the edge of your vision.
“Oi, what are you?-…”
You watched, motion a little delayed, as Sukuna’s hand slid across the back of Toji’s neck. Toji’s eyes widened an inch, looking genuinely shocked for just a moment before Sukuna’s grip tightened, firm hand forcing his head upward until they finally met in a rough crashing of lips.
Peering up you simply watched, entranced, at the slide of pink tongue between sticky sweet flutters of your lashes. Eyes caught on the way Toji’s brows lifted and his hips stuttered just a little when Sukuna’s hand tightened into a fist at his nape, strands of silky black hair sticking wayward through his thick fingers.
Toji grunted into the kiss, rougher now - a tumble of teeth and tongue in stark contrast to the slow rhythm of the embrace you had shared. One of Toji’s hands curled over your hip, thumb mindlessly tracing the bone there. The other found Sukuna’s chest, grasping a handful of fabric before he was shoving the other man backwards.
You watched a glittering thread of spit link them for a moment before it split, and you must have clenched at the obscene sight because Toji made a choked sound above you, falling into the sensation a little like he were suddenly made of jelly.
“Fuck sweetheart,” he panted, lips glossed as he dug a fist into the mattress beside your head, “that’s it, just like that.”
His thrusts didn’t slow or soften, but they felt sloppier somehow, and when you blinked upward you realized why. Sukuna had stepped in behind Toji, plump chest pressed to his back, massive hand still curled around his nape, thumb rubbing soothing little shapes there. His head turned inward, lips pressed to the delicate little strip behind Toji’s ear, breathing so close you could see the speckle of goosebumps begin to prickle over Toji’s skin.
“C’mon Fushiguro,” Sukuna purred, quiet enough that you could barely hear the sweet syrupy words, “don’t get soft on me now.”
Dazed, you watched Sukuna raise a spare hand to his lips, thumb pressed against tongue beneath the glint of pearly canines before he reached past Toji’s hips and tucked it between your thighs. You jerked at the sudden contact, the searing heat of his slick thumb, calloused and rough and perfect against your abused clit.
“Bastard…” Toji gritted, breaths coming ragged now, panting between barely masked grunts of pleasure as his head dipped beneath the weight of the palm at his nape. His gaze was glassy, glued to where you were clamping around him, where your slick was painting the dark curls at his belly white.
Sukuna only grinned in reply, and you could hear the lazy glee lacing his tone with his next words, thumb still rolling over your twitching nub as you writhed beneath his touch.
“Go on now,” he rumbled, low and filthy over the shell of Toji’s ear, and you swore you felt Toji twitch in response. “make the pretty girl cum.”
You could feel it, the looming buzz of your orgasm, curling like the crest of a wave, hot and tight in your belly like the slow cinching of a knot.
“Close ‘ji…’m close,” you slurred, “gonna… hn!- ‘m gonna…”
“I’m right here sweetheart,” Toji was groaning now, shivering a little as the hand at his nape tightened once more. His thrusts were wild - wide sloppy pumps driven haphazardly into the slick mess between your thighs. Sukuna’s thumb continued its assault, drawing steady heart shapes over your clit, right above where Toji was busy splitting you open.
“C’mon princess,” Toji pleaded, words accented with a kicking throb that you felt all the way in your gut, “give it to me.”
You let your eyelids fall shut, squeezed tightly against the way your vision was beginning to blur at the edges. Senses dulled, sounds and scents becoming more and more distant with each second of rising pleasure until suddenly the knot snapped, and you were unraveling along with it.
Toji cursed somewhere beyond the numbed blackness of your senses, and alongside it you felt a flood of heat and the familiar twitching pulse of him as he filled you. Firm hands gripped your waist like an anchor, holding you in place as you squirmed against his final stuttered humps, wracked with unending wave after wave of white hot pleasure.
“Shh, that’s it, that’s a good girl…” Toji was cooing into your ear, forehead pressed to the pillow, only hair tickling your cheek.
The words were a salve, a balm smoothed over your mind until all that was left was the honeyed buzz of pleasure.
You sucked in a shaky breath and realized along with it that you were crying, cheeks soaked and salted with fresh tears. You let your limbs fall, limp and exhausted against the sheets. A subtle ache was beginning to settle in your muscles, in your bones, and yet beneath it all you still felt it - that itch deep inside, like an unending, desirous pit.
“More…” you croaked, voice utterly broken despite your pleading.
Toji scoffed somewhere above you - sounding equal parts shocked and proud at your incessant appetite. You heard the distant thump of approaching footfalls, followed by the telltale creak of a knee digging into the mattress before the bed was dipping beneath a considerable weight, and you felt Toji slip out with a slick sucking sound.
“Move Fushiguro, think I just got my second wind.”
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a/n: kinda ahhh drabble while I work on longer fics bc I’m stuck thinking about tojikuna, hope you enjoy anyway <3
You’ve worn your boyfriend Sukuna to the bone, so your other boyfriend Toji takes over.
warnings. fem!reader/tojikuna, threesome, multiple orgasms, piv, kissing, creampie, overstim, ovulation, switch!toji if you squint, dom!sukuna. nsfw 18+ mdni. mlist
──── ୨୧ ────
The first thing Toji noticed when he stepped through the front door was the heat. A subtle humidity lacing the air like the sweet lingering remnants of perfume. There was your lotion, sweet and familiar, and the smell of fresh sweat, layered with something primal and musky - the smell of sex.
The second thing he noticed was Sukuna, splayed over the couch like he’d just run a marathon. Tank top soaked through and sweatpants riddled with little damp patches, dotted across the fabric like stray petals. Toji’s gaze dipped without bothering to hide the way he was blatantly staring at Sukuna’s chest, at the heaving pecs peeking out from his neckline, eyes tracking the little bead of sweat beginning to trail a hot path down the center.
“What’s your problem?” Came Toji’s eventual greeting as he paused by the door, tearing his eyes away just to sling his gym bag over the hook there before continuing into the room, water bottle clasped in his hand.
Sukuna glared in reply, and if Toji were anyone else he might have actually felt intimidated by the sight. But with the way the other man was panting, pink tufts of hair stuck every which way and slicked with sweat, he didn’t paint a particularly scary image. In fact the only sensation the sight triggered within Toji was a mild amusement, alongside a tiny spark of heat low and betraying in his belly.
“I’ve already had her four times,” Sukuna grunted, “the brats insatiable.”
Toji snorted mid sip of water, eyes leaving the couch to instead peer through the half opened doorway to the bedroom, where he managed to catch only a glimpse of your bare leg through the crack. From the looks of it you were naked - splayed over the sheets, hair probably still a little damp from the shower, skin lacquered with lotion, half washed away with sweat by now.
“What, she ovulating or something?” Toji wondered aloud, lowering the bottle to once again catch Sukuna’s gaze over the metal rim.
The other man crossed his arms unceremoniously across his chest, and Toji watched the tendons jump in the winding muscle of his forearms as he shrugged.
“That or she’s in heat, damn near milked me dry.” He grumbled, brows knitted, working a mean line between them. If you were here you’d reprimand him for such an expression, crawl over the couch and run your thumb between his salmon brows until the lines wore smooth, or until Sukuna grew bored and wrapped a hand around your wrist to flip you onto the cushions instead.
Toji laughed then, the sound rough and graveled like tattered velvet.
“Seriously?” He scoffed, lips spread into a sly grin as he licked stray droplets from them, “had to tap out did ya’ Ryomen?”
Sukuna’s scowl only deepened, soured now with genuine irritation.
“Just be grateful I wore her out for you,” he spat, “and watch your tone, or it’ll be you spread eagle and whining for more cock next, Fushiguro.”
Toji chuckled again as he screwed the lid of his bottle on tight, the motion accented with a metallic ‘squeak!’ before he tossed it toward Sukuna, hard enough that he heard the fleshy impact when the other man’s hand shot out to catch it.
“Yeah yeah,” he mused, moving past the couch to instead push through the bedroom door, which creaked beneath the effort, “drink some fuckin’ water and get outta my way.”
If he were being honest, when he’d left for the gym that morning he’d been hoping for this exact scenario. Toji knew you - or at least your cycle - well enough to know that you’d wake up needy and leaking, and he knew Sukuna well enough to know he wouldn’t be able to resist the sight of you humping his thigh like a dog in heat for very long. So he’d left without a word just as the sun kissed the horizon, and he’d been half hard in his sweats since his second rep just thinking about it.
If the living room was warm, the air within the bedroom was stifling. But it wasn’t the heat or the sticky sweet scent that knocked the air from Toji’s lungs on entry, no. It was the sight of you - limbs splayed over the mattress, hair messed and wild where your head was tucked between the pillows. Your jaw lifted back far enough to expose the long column of your throat, giving Toji a stellar view of the dark sucking marks peppered there, indents of teeth that he was sure would melt into bruises by the evening.
Toji took in the sight indulgently - paused in the doorway, a lone hand already trailing its way down the curve of his stomach, teasing until his fingers curled over the bulge forming there. He squeezed once and shivered, reveling in the immediate relief that sizzled over his body like a splash of ice water.
He could feel the weight of Sukuna’s gaze piercing into the back of his skull like the promise of a snipers sight. He didn’t indulge the urge to peer over his shoulder and meet that heated gaze, instead he let his hand drop to his side and pressed a knee into the mattress.
You didn’t move, didn’t speak or even open your eyes when he crawled over the sheets, crowding your space like a panther sliding atop its snagged prey.
His hand met the curve of your waist, skin soft and warm beneath his palm, layer of sweat sticking you lightly to him. He trailed one hand downward over the curve of your belly, the other grazed feather-soft over the slopes of your breasts, pausing to pinch gently at either nipple, perked and willing in his hands.
“You’re soaked sweetheart,” he mused when his fingers finally dipped between your thighs, which gave way to him easily, spreading to make room for his forearm to slot between. He moved slowly, palming soft and teasing over your mound and listening to you mumble mindlessly below him.
You whined something unintelligible in reply, voice nothing but a high pitched whimper, crackled like shattered glass.
With a chuckle, he leaned down and craned his head until his ear rested level with your mouth.
“What’s that sweetheart?” He questioned, head tilted to listen.
You swallowed, hard and dry, and licked your lips before you spoke again. Another croaked string of words hit his ear, a touch clearer this time. He realized then that you weren’t mumbling gibberish at all, you were begging.
“More, more, need more, please ‘kuna, please jus’ one more…”
Toji chuckled and lifted his head back to study you again - he found your eyes still closed, brows now knitted into an expression that was decidedly desperate.
“Old Ryo’ couldn’t keep up, huh?” He mused, hands lifted from your body to instead press into the mattress either side of your head, leveraging the weight of him as he slotted himself properly between your thighs.
You offered a gentle huff in reply, eyelids feeling much too heavy to bother opening. Your limbs felt numb, tingling with residual little sizzles of pleasure.
“Don’t worry doll, ‘m here now.”
Toji didn’t waste time working you open or teasing you with the brush of his lips or gentle caresses, no. He simply slipped his shirt over his head and tossed it sideways. His thumb hooked over his waistband, tugged down to let his length spring free and slap hard and raw against you.
The sensation was enough to have his lips parting around a shuddered breath. You felt like heaven - like slick molten silk kissing each bumped ridge as he rutted through your swollen folds. You jolted when he shifted, hard inches rubbing over your clit, still singing with over stimulation.
He grinned and lowered a thumb to pet at your entrance, leaking slick and dribbles of what he was sure was Sukuna’s spend. He traced your rim beneath the head of his cock slowly, smearing the milky little pearls gathered there and wondering just how many loads Sukuna had managed to stuff inside you before he’d finally tapped out. The thought made his breath catch, and sent another sizzle of heat straight to his throbbing cock.
“C’mon, look at me now,” Toji cooed, watching the way any semblance of coherency on your face melted away when he finally pressed down, sinking inside with a single dizzying press of his hips - testament to just how soaked and used you really were.
It was enough to make your eyes roll behind your lids, fluttering with the delicious sting of being stretched open again. Toji treated you with shallow little thrusts. The hair at his base tickling your clit, thick veins pulsing against your rubbed raw walls where Sukuna had pounded you until you cried, until you bruised. And yet despite the pain, the ache - that needling little bud of desire still burned just as hotly as when you’d first awoken that day, stoking the fire in your belly and dribbling lava hot between your aching thighs.
“Oh, oh…” you moaned dumbly, lashes twitching as you finally lifted them and tried to blink away the layer of hazy film that had settled there. Your mind felt fuzzy, vacant. Drunk on the sensation of being stuffed utterly full once again.
“There she is,” Toji soothed.
“‘Ji, it’s you…” came your delayed greeting, nothing more than a breathy whine, “need’t cum, need to cum again, please…”
“Again?” Toji echoed in faux surprise, hips slowing to a torturous roll, “that’s a little greedy of you, don’t you think?”
“Incredibly greedy,” a distant voice interrupted, flat and deep and utterly serious.
Toji tilted his head back just enough to catch sight of Sukuna’s broad form filling the doorway, looking more like the hired security than someone who actually lived there. Toji peered through strands of ink black hair at the big hand that was beginning to dip beneath the waistband of Sukuna’s sweats, palming lazily at the considerable bulge there. Sukuna’s gaze was equally heavy and heated, lowered past the curve of Toji’s spine to track the way your hole was stretching around his thickness.
Toji swallowed, took a final glance at the sight of Sukuna beginning to work his length free from his boxers. His eyes stuck on the exposed slip of tan skin where Sukuna had tugged his shirt upward, the spatter of hair dusted there, before he turned his attention back to you.
“Haven’t even asked how my day was yet, and here you are begging me to make this needy pussy cum,” Toji teased, “and after Ryo’ took such good care of you too.”
“Please,” you cried, shaking your head furiously against the damp pillows crumpled either side of you, “please don’t tease me.”
“Aw I’m sorry sweetheart,” Toji cooed, voice dripping thick with mock concern, “you just need it real bad, huh?”
The delicate shallow thrusts he had been nursing you with suddenly shifted, turned to long pulls smacked back inside hard enough that you felt the tip of him kiss somewhere deep and delicate. Each buck had your legs quivering, and a sharp little shock of pain and pleasure in equal measure sizzling over your skin.
You were lucid enough only to know that he was moving, slow methodical thrusts that felt achingly tender. Each twitch of his worked muscle was purposeful, each motion entirely controlled and aimed to break you apart.
“Shh, just feel it. You feel me, right baby? Nice ‘n deep.” The words were sin incarnate, purred right into your ear.
You were nodding before you could think, slurring a string of unintelligible words alongside breathy cries of his name, strung together like a prayer.
“Deep… deeper…”
The scent of him was intoxicating, dizzying. The sharp sting of fresh sweat and his own familiar woody musk was enough to have you lifting your trembling legs just to hook a heel over his hip and tug him closer.
“Finally knocked all the brains outta you, huh?” Toji teased, “That’s alright, don’t need to think. Just keep squeezin’ this pretty little pussy around me, yeah?”
One of your hands fled the sheets to instead grasp at one of Toji’s bare shoulders, fingers digging into the muscle there.
“Kiss me,” you panted, blinking up at him with wide wet eyes, blown black and glossy with need, “oh, hng-… please Toji…”
Toji didn’t bother with a reply, instead he simply dipped his head and captured your lips in a kiss so sudden you barely had the wherewithal to suck in a lungful of air before he was swiping any lingering thoughts away with the hot slide of his tongue.
You melted into the touch, letting the roll of his jaw guide your movements - moaning in surprise when his teeth nipped at your cracked lower lip, your grip on his shoulder tightening when his tongue met yours.
When you finally split apart you were sufficiently softened by the blend of his sweet kisses and the steady rock of his hips, brain humming quietly like the static of a tv set to a dead channel.
“Good?” Toji questioned, head tilting.
You just nodded, struggling to keep you gaze affixed on the inky strands of hair slipping over Toji’s forehead, that was until a sudden blur of colour crept into the edge of your vision.
“Oi, what are you?-…”
You watched, motion a little delayed, as Sukuna’s hand slid across the back of Toji’s neck. Toji’s eyes widened an inch, looking genuinely shocked for just a moment before Sukuna’s grip tightened, firm hand forcing his head upward until they finally met in a rough crashing of lips.
Peering up you simply watched, entranced, at the slide of pink tongue between sticky sweet flutters of your lashes. Eyes caught on the way Toji’s brows lifted and his hips stuttered just a little when Sukuna’s hand tightened into a fist at his nape, strands of silky black hair sticking wayward through his thick fingers.
Toji grunted into the kiss, rougher now - a tumble of teeth and tongue in stark contrast to the slow rhythm of the embrace you had shared. One of Toji’s hands curled over your hip, thumb mindlessly tracing the bone there. The other found Sukuna’s chest, grasping a handful of fabric before he was shoving the other man backwards.
You watched a glittering thread of spit link them for a moment before it split, and you must have clenched at the obscene sight because Toji made a choked sound above you, falling into the sensation a little like he were suddenly made of jelly.
“Fuck sweetheart,” he panted, lips glossed as he dug a fist into the mattress beside your head, “that’s it, just like that.”
His thrusts didn’t slow or soften, but they felt sloppier somehow, and when you blinked upward you realized why. Sukuna had stepped in behind Toji, plump chest pressed to his back, massive hand still curled around his nape, thumb rubbing soothing little shapes there. His head turned inward, lips pressed to the delicate little strip behind Toji’s ear, breathing so close you could see the speckle of goosebumps begin to prickle over Toji’s skin.
“C’mon Fushiguro,” Sukuna purred, quiet enough that you could barely hear the sweet syrupy words, “don’t get soft on me now.”
Dazed, you watched Sukuna raise a spare hand to his lips, thumb pressed against tongue beneath the glint of pearly canines before he reached past Toji’s hips and tucked it between your thighs. You jerked at the sudden contact, the searing heat of his slick thumb, calloused and rough and perfect against your abused clit.
“Bastard…” Toji gritted, breaths coming ragged now, panting between barely masked grunts of pleasure as his head dipped beneath the weight of the palm at his nape. His gaze was glassy, glued to where you were clamping around him, where your slick was painting the dark curls at his belly white.
Sukuna only grinned in reply, and you could hear the lazy glee lacing his tone with his next words, thumb still rolling over your twitching nub as you writhed beneath his touch.
“Go on now,” he rumbled, low and filthy over the shell of Toji’s ear, and you swore you felt Toji twitch in response. “make the pretty girl cum.”
You could feel it, the looming buzz of your orgasm, curling like the crest of a wave, hot and tight in your belly like the slow cinching of a knot.
“Close ‘ji…’m close,” you slurred, “gonna… hn!- ‘m gonna…”
“I’m right here sweetheart,” Toji was groaning now, shivering a little as the hand at his nape tightened once more. His thrusts were wild - wide sloppy pumps driven haphazardly into the slick mess between your thighs. Sukuna’s thumb continued its assault, drawing steady heart shapes over your clit, right above where Toji was busy splitting you open.
“C’mon princess,” Toji pleaded, words accented with a kicking throb that you felt all the way in your gut, “give it to me.”
You let your eyelids fall shut, squeezed tightly against the way your vision was beginning to blur at the edges. Senses dulled, sounds and scents becoming more and more distant with each second of rising pleasure until suddenly the knot snapped, and you were unraveling along with it.
Toji cursed somewhere beyond the numbed blackness of your senses, and alongside it you felt a flood of heat and the familiar twitching pulse of him as he filled you. Firm hands gripped your waist like an anchor, holding you in place as you squirmed against his final stuttered humps, wracked with unending wave after wave of white hot pleasure.
“Shh, that’s it, that’s a good girl…” Toji was cooing into your ear, forehead pressed to the pillow, only hair tickling your cheek.
The words were a salve, a balm smoothed over your mind until all that was left was the honeyed buzz of pleasure.
You sucked in a shaky breath and realized along with it that you were crying, cheeks soaked and salted with fresh tears. You let your limbs fall, limp and exhausted against the sheets. A subtle ache was beginning to settle in your muscles, in your bones, and yet beneath it all you still felt it - that itch deep inside, like an unending, desirous pit.
“More…” you croaked, voice utterly broken despite your pleading.
Toji scoffed somewhere above you - sounding equal parts shocked and proud at your incessant appetite. You heard the distant thump of approaching footfalls, followed by the telltale creak of a knee digging into the mattress before the bed was dipping beneath a considerable weight, and you felt Toji slip out with a slick sucking sound.
“Move Fushiguro, think I just got my second wind.”
────────────────
a/n: kinda ahhh drabble while I work on longer fics bc I’m stuck thinking about tojikuna, hope you enjoy anyway <3
