Youre Such A Nice Guy, A Nice Guy

You’re such a nice guy, a nice guy

synopsis: Toji is just being a nice guy. Helping a girl out in her time of need while you’re at home not knowing where he’s at and what he’s doing. Let him show you just how sorry he is.

pairing: Toxic!Toji x Bratty afab!Black reader

content: 18+ mdni. pwp, Toxic relationship, little angst, petty black fem reader, mean Toji, assumed cheating (Toji is an asshole but he's a loyal asshole), use of the n-word like twice, implied multiple o’s, brat taming, cunnilingus, spanking, cerv*x touching, overstim, dumbifaction, manhandling, hair pulling, full Nelson hold, backshots, c.pie (wrap it before you tap it bby) beta read. Pet names( baby, babe, sweetheart, Princess.)

Wc: 2.7k

a/n: This is my first smut ever and thanks to @peachy-dove for encouraging me and for beta reading! And shout to @rlvsmegumi for humbling my obsession for this creature of a man because insulting him was definitely a challenge before coming to her for help😭. Banner and boarders made by yours truly. Annnd on that note please enjoy 🥹💗

support & mdni

NSFW content under cut. Again minors gtfo.

It’s 2 am when your sleep is disturbed by multiple messages from your friends sending you photos of Toji and some girl around his arm leaving the club together. “What the actual fuck is this?!” You immediately sit up, feelings of anxiety and anger flooding your nervous system as you scroll through your contacts to call Toji debating if you were going to cuss him out or play dumb to figure out where the fuck he’s at. Honestly probably the latter with the amount of fury boiling in your veins.

The never-ending ringback tone plays in your ear as you’re, once again, sent to his voicemail. You opted for calling him a fourth time whilst you decide to spam his phone with text messages, but the usual blue turn green along with a reply message stating:

Msg 2110 - The customer you are trying to text is temporarily out of service.

“This fuckin—“ you let out an irritated groan, because of course this nigga’s phone service is off! And somehow he miraculously healed from the “pink eye” he supposedly had 7 hours prior when you last spoke to him too right? Since he’s out at some fucking club!

It’s going on 3 am when your rage turns into anguish as you call his phone for the nth time. You left voicemails ranging from calm, cool, collected, and concerned girlfriend to cussing him out saying, “Oh you no good community dick ass is out tryna fuck another bitch? You're fucking appalling Toji! Keep ya’ stank ass breath and dirty ass dick away from me. Go choke on a fucking Pepsi for all I care you fuckin’ dick!” You toss the covers off your body as you get up to turn the bedroom light on and began taking every article of clothing Toji has left in your apartment. Wanting to rid your life of anything of him completely, and as you're in the middle of your mental debate between throwing his shit in the dumpster or burning it, a loud banging at your door interrupts you. Reaching for the bat in your closet, you proceed towards your front door cautiously, as you stand on your tippy toes to peek through the peephole. It's covered by the person on the other side.

Attempting to use your deepest man-like voice you call out “Who is it?” “Baby open the door it’s me.” Rolling your eyes at the sound of Toji’s now sickening nickname for you, you let out an exasperated sigh. “One ‘m not your baby and two I dunno anybody named ‘me’. Get the fuck away from my door Toji.” “Y/N let me in so we can talk I just got your messages, you’re overreacting.” Gripping the bat in hand tighter as you open the door furiously.

“Oh, I’m overreacting Toji! Are you fucking serious? You get caught lying and cheating, but I’m over-fucking-reacting!?” you shout not caring about how early in the morning it is. This asshole came all the way here and the first thing he says is you’re overreacting? “Christ y/n, quit shoutin’ before you wake the whole damn neighborhood.” Toji proceed to walk inside your apartment as if it was another regular Tuesday. Grudgingly you step aside as he walks in “What happened? She kicked you out so you decided to come here?” You express as you slam the door turning toward him.

If this was a regular Tuesday, a lot less talking would have been done if he hadn’t fucked up so tremendously.

He scoffs as he continues to your living room, manspreading comfortably on the couch “I ain’t do nothin’ with her babe, I was just bein’ a good samaritan that’s it.” Your eyes hardened feeling infuriated by his words, you stomp towards him. “A good Samaritan Toji. Seriously? That's the best excuse you can come up with for lying about having pink eye, getting caught leaving the club with another girl, and having the audacity to come here like you did nothing wrong. Did you hit your head on the way outta her place or are you just that fucking stupid?” Toji rolls his neck as he sighs nonchalantly, “Look I ain’t do nothin’. I was out drinking with some friends and I got a bit wasted. After that, this girl bought me a drink, so I decided to talk to her. She was very nice and friendly but she had no place to sleep for the night. I thought giving her the key to my hotel room, I was just doing her a favor, you know? But I promise you nothing happened between us... I was just tryna be nice.”

You step in front of him, pushing the knob of your baseball bat into his broad chest, as you chuckle dryly. “You…being nice? Are you being serious right now?? You’re an idiot, you know that? You’re telling me that you were just trying to help out a complete stranger and outta the kindness of your heart. You just gave her your room? An-and for what? For her to have a place to stay for the night or so she’d end up repay you in another way? An-and what about you lyin’ to me huh? What happened to the ‘bad case of pink eye’?”

He kisses his teeth and pushes the bat away from his chest as he smirk at you leaning in closer. “Was just dry eye babe, my bad for gettin’ the two confused.” You push the bat back to his chest pushing him back against the couch, you grit through your teeth, “You're just a lying bastard. This whole time we've been together, every time you went out with your friends, I never even questioned it because I trusted you. Now, I catch you lying and you get caught red-handed by my girlfriends. And you know what's worse? You think I'm dumb enough to believe your stupid ass explanations. Well, I'm not! I deserve better than this. I deserve someone better than a lying ass, cheating piece of...”

Toji grabs the bat out of your hand standing over you feeling fed up with your bratty attitude as he speaks intermediately low, “I ain’t cheat on you, so cut that shit out or imma do it for you. Now you know better than to go around makin’ empty threats like that…” He smirks and caresses your hip teasingly, “Just lemme show you just how loyal I am baby.” Your eye slightly twitches as you look up at him and cross your arms over your chest. “Screw you Toji. You fuck up and you think sex is gonna make things alll better?”

“Yeah, I do.” Toji pulls you in by your waist as he leans down looking smirking smugly, “Are you saying no to me? Really?” Toji brings a hand to your neck caressing your chin with his thumb, “I know you don’t mean it, but if you’re a woman of your word…” He leans down and whispers in your ear. “Tell me no.” You squeeze your thighs together as you try to fight your crumbling resolve, and in a weak attempt of resisting you place your hand on his chest. He chuckles and speaks huskily, “Can you resist me? Can you do it?”

Inhaling sharply you turn your head away from his touch and grumble, “Fuck you Toji… You’re drunk.” Toji flashes a devilish grin as he pulls you in close by your neck, placing a small kiss on your jaw before sliding his hand to the nape of your neck. “An you’re cute when you’re mad. Actin’ out just to get some attention, it’s cute really.” He kisses your neck, letting his tongue glide along the side slowly before biting it. Stifling a moan you try pushing away from his large figure refusing to lose so easily.

The brat in you taking things to the deep end, you look up at him smirking smugly as you say, “If I wanted some attention I’d be out helping some random nigga find his way back to my place, and give him a place to sleep for the night. Y’know, just be a Good Samaritan like that.” Toji’s eyes darken and his grip around your waist tightens. “Still bein’ a brat huh? Well since I’m being so generous, let me help you find your way back to your place.” Your smile drops as the realization of how badly you just royally fucked up sets in and all you can utter is a small, “Oh shit.”

Toji swiftly picks you up tossing you over his shoulder like you’re a sack of potatoes carrying you to your bedroom. You gasp at the sudden movement you pound your fist against his muscular back, “Fuck Toji put me down, I was just joking shit!” He smacks your ass at your tantrum as your only warning, but as he approaches the disarray of your bedroom with his scattering belongings on the floor he chuckles dryly. “Well with all my shit on the floor, think you were pretty serious ‘bout that ‘lil joke.” Your very well-thought-out plan of begging for mercy goes straight out the window as he tosses you onto the bed, you let out a soft whimper once to lock eyes with his and he gives you a look only predators give their prey right before they devour them. “Nothin’ smart to say now, sweetheart?” With no turning back you decide to see how far you can push him, “Oh I have plenty to say, but I don’t think a poor creature like yourself would be able to comprehend...”

The sun kisses the horizon as Toji is slurping up your juices like it’s his last meal, his tongue flexing tight persistent circles on your swollen clit, your moans growing heavier whilst he brings you closer and closer to yet another orgasm he’s so generously given you. You grip his raven hair as you practically ride and push his face away reaching your third overwhelming orgasm of the day. “Fuuck! fucking waait T~” Toji groans deeply against your dripping cunt the vibrations send shivers up your back, and he flattens his tongue as he messily licks up your sticky release. Toji kisses up your thigh leaving soft love bites as he pulls away to stand up to remove his tight boxers that are restraining his hardened cock. “I think I’ve made you wait long enough for ya punishment, yeah?” You pant heavily as your back-to-back euphoric highs fog your brain. “T ‘m sorry… I- I learned my lesson.” As he pulls his boxers down freeing his twitching cock he shows you fake sympathy, “Aww my baby is sorry now? Tsk tsk tsk that could have probably worked earlier y’know instead of you being a fuckin’ brat.”

He grabs your ankles pulling you closer to the edge of the bed and manhandles you onto your tummy, gripping your ass whilst positioning you into a deep arch putting your glistening swollen cunt on display. Tapping his fat tip against your sensitive cunt, you jerk at the sensation moaning out soft pleas “Toji… Baby ‘m sorry okay? I didn’t me—..” He bottoms you out in one go without giving time to adjust to his massive size you moan out into the sheets as he thrusts hard and deep into your tight cunt. You moan out louder looking over your shoulder to see Toji playing and squeezing your plump ass, “Toji please pleaasee I-I I didn’t mean it!” he smirks down at you as he holds down your head to keep you from running from his thick cock hitting your sweet spot over and over. “Didn’t mean what huh? When you said I was fucking appalling? Oh fuuck— or when you said you were gonna let someone else fuck what’s mine huh? Or when you said that my dick was for everybody hmm? Which is it y/n.”

You can barely comprehend what he’s saying let alone hear his deep voice over your loud moans and the increasingly loud paps filling the room, and your fourth orgasm approaching fast. “Yes! Yes! Ah, fuuuck– ah T r-right there right there pleease!” Toji’s cock kissing your sweet spot with each of his brutal thrusts comes to a halt, and he pulls out chuckling at your cries. “Brats don’t get to make demands. Don’t mistake my generosity for forgiveness.” He teases you by rubbing his tip against your throbbing cunt, and watches you wiggle your ass trying to entice him, panting and begging as tears fall from your eyes.

“Please please pleease Toji! Please please fuck me.” Watching you cry for his cock causes something to snap inside of him… He grabs your arms locking them behind your back with one hand as he aligns his hardened cock with your swollen needy cunt, screaming as he slams his thick cock deep inside your walls. Toji covers your mouth thrusting deeper than before with an animalistic-like pace, he's practically fucking you onto his cock. “Thought I already told ya’ to quit that shoutin’ shit y/n. You wanted this shit, right? So fuckin’ take it.” You begin to drool and mumble incoherently against his hand, Toji tsk as he takes his hand away wiping your drool in your hair, pulling you up by your protective style against his chest whilst he continues to bully his slick-covered cock against your creamy walls. “Hmm? What was that? Got something to say, sweetheart?” Panting heavily you speak sultrily, “T-too m-much! Mmmm, please T! I-it’s too much! S-slow d-doown~” Toji groans as your cunt tightens and flutters around him and he lets go of your arms to reach down to your puffy clit, rubbing tight circles as he brings you undeniable pleasure.

“Why should I hmm? Did you slow down to fuckin’ think about what you said?” “T!! Waaaait ‘m sorry!” You shut your eyes tightly tears running down your face as your peek builds back up again faster and faster, you reach your hand back against his lower abdomen in a weak attempt to slow down his pace, crying as you moan out strenuously “Tojiii! I-I— oh fuuck please waait wait wa—” before you can plea anymore all it takes is a few more thrusts and you’re trembling uncontrollably as your release is gushing all over his lower abdomen and down the side of your covers onto the floor. Toji groans deeply and his begins to falter as he watches you squirt all over his cock. “Shiiiit Princess you like that? Fuckin’ take this shit.” He locks his arms under yours, putting you in a full nelson hold pounding into you poor cunt unforgivably as he chases his release. All thoughts and sounds leave you speechless as your tongue kills out and you drool down your chin whilst he fucks you through another unexpected high to reach his and the lewd expression on your face only drives him insane, “Fuucking good girl— oh fuck Princess.” His brows furrow while a small ‘o’ forms on his lip as watching you fucked out on his cock sends him over the edge. He groans out as he stuffs your cunt full of his thick cum, “Oh shiit y/n, fucking take that shit.” You babble and whine out in response unable to form coherent sentences “So full T— stuffed soo stuffed.”

Once he catches his breath he slowly lays you back down on the bed and pulls out causing you to hiss and whine at the lost contact. “Tojiii, put it baack.” He chuckles as he kisses your head and smacks your ass once he pulls away, “Shh, you’re tapped out. You can get some more later if you behave.” he walks to the bathroom to grab a wet rag and a towel for the bed, he comes back to clean you up, moving you over to the other side of the bed then places the towel under the large wet spot. He climbs into the bed laying you on his broad chest. After a short comfortable silence you pout softly and mumbles, “ ‘m sorry Toji.” You hear a deep rumble in your ear and Toji gently lifts your chin as he smiles smugly. “Aw sweetheart I don't want an apology,” He gently caresses your cheek as you smile sweetly at him.

“But what I do want is for you to go clean that fuckin’ mess you made with my shit.”

Well damn.

A/n: well I’m gonna turn my notifications off now byeeeeee

Thinking about big dick Toji

Warnings: Masturbation mentioned, unprotected sex (Don’t be dumb..Wrap it up), Breeding kink,pet names (Daddy, Mommy,baby,Slut) and more. F!reader x Dilf!Toji

Toji always keeps his words just like he keeps his dick inside you. Both of y’all ended up in the bedroom, sex in the air, moan-whimpers and groans filling up the room trying not to be loud and wake megumi up. Toji dick going in and out your sticky walls his tip kissing your cervix. Your moans is music to his ears, he love the way you try not to moan but end up moaning. Toji going deeper and deeper wile one hand on your hip and the other one on your head forcing your head down in the pillow. It wasn’t working as much, Toji can still hear your little moans. “Omg… Toji mmhm right there baby..Don’t stop” your words dragging sounding like mumbling. That was a sign for toji to go faster “You don’t want daddy to stop do ya slut??Tell me you my slutty whore!! Let me ah-shit..Let me hear ya baby” those words sinking in “I’m your … your slutty whore daddy, ohh m’gonna cum daddy..gonna cum” your words kinda stumble but it got across.The only thing that matters is Toji not pulling out “How would you like walking around with my fucking baby in that round belly of yours huh? You want me to cum in this pretty tight pussy?You want that mommy?ohhh shit..” his groans so fucking attractive you can hear it all day. “Yess Daddy please cum in me daddy, i-I want your your babies Zaddy pleaaasssseee Ahh so good daddy” The moment you thought about what you said at that moment of toji milking you up, you never regretted.

But its a month later and your in the bathroom taking a pregnancy test wile toji looking at you crying wile he has that stupid grin.

the intruder (m)

pairing fushiguro toji + fem!reader

synopsis

a home invasion befalls your lonely penthouse just days after your husband goes on work retreat, and it turns out he’s indebted to a lot of dangerous people.

but for a certain intruder, money isn’t the only thing on his mind.  

content warnings explicit content, infidelity, threats of blood and violence, dubious consent, unprotected sex, size kink, use of handcuffs, brat-taming, pet-names, oral (m receiving), fingering, orgasm denial, nonconsensual recording, riding, cervix-bumping, praise + degradation, squirting, hair-pulling, breeding kink (sort of), choking, toji is masked the entire time but loves to put on a show,

word count 7,500+

read on ao3

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT

Several built-in security cams, a motion-detected entrance, and a generously paid night-team.

In all honesty, this must’ve been a set-up.

Perhaps, a tasteless prank. How six masked intruders managed to break into your penthouse just a few days after your now-estranged husband left for a retreat is beyond you. All of these security inspections to ensure that your penthouse was impenetrable, and yet, above twenty-seven floors, befell a home invasion.

The penthouse was dim-lit, muted by the cityscape and exposed on slender, double-paned windows. In a private residential building, designed for the vieux-riche and white-collared, there was no room for the ordinary. 

One of the masked intruders noisily whistles, swivelling his large frame as he gawks at the interior. “Impressive.”

“You can stare later,” another says, dropping his duffle bag onto your modular sofa, “hurry up and take what you can.”

Reeling from your sudden wake, forcibly handcuffed to a radiator pipe. It had only been a few hours before you were abruptly forced from your bed, held at gunpoint to keep quiet, and lured into the living room to watch your home be ransacked to skint. Carelessly—along with their heavy bags, filled to the brim—they pace around with a gun you’re convinced couldn’t be loaded.

If it weren’t for your composure, you’d be dead already.

“All this space,” a disillusioned voice scorns from another room, unseen. “For what? Three people?”

“Two, asshole.” You mutter under your breath.

“You got a smart mouth, lady,” the brawny man—jade eyes discerned from the dark-grey ski mask covering the rest of his face, kneels down in front of you. (You definitely whispered it, and he definitely wasn’t close enough to hear that). “Do I need to shut you up as well?”

It's demeaning. With a tight lip, wavered to the tremor of having your life under threat, you turn away to avoid his stern gaze. Turned to your chef, teary-eyed and pale-stricken, muffled by a roughly knotted tie found in your husband’s drawers. Made an example of, gagged like her so that you were forced to keep quiet on your accord. It didn’t stop her, worsening the situation with every stifled wail, earning an empty threat from every passing intruder.

For the sake of not having another gun pressed against your temple, you simply watch. Observe.

Sheathed in puffer jackets and black ski-masks, they had been hard to distinguish from one another.

Except one.

One of them had the audacity of disregarding a jacket, wearing a simple black, tight-fitted t-shirt that defined every ridge and curve of his upper frame. He didn’t even bother wearing gloves. The way he simply tampered with the emergency line and security cams made you think he’d been here before, familiar. And if that were the case, then you were in trouble.

Guilty, very guilty of noticing how his bulky arms would tense with every movement. Flexed under every packed bag or veined by alabaster protrusions; a pitiful thing to notice while he carried your belongings. His voice sunk twenty-feet down your spine as if you were made of bottomless chasms—another reason why you’d be able to differentiate him from the rest.

It didn’t matter. He carried a poise that told you this wasn’t his first time; overly confident and tactful.

And this reckoning was coming.

Your husband was a conglomerate who attempted to juggle risky affairs with his company matters, leaving at odd hours and returning with rum-iced breath and a sunken gaze. A driving force behind the rift in your marriage, consumed with an undying urge to flood his bank accounts with more money, gluttonous. This was something you should’ve seen coming, but he had abandoned you at a shadily specific time; a work retreat he’d call it, important matters to be handled in Hokkaido with an urgency that left you no choice but to let him leave.

You nearly doze off, worn-out from the constant manhandling before one of the intruders’ pace towards you. He kneels down, pats your cheek with the muzzle of his gun. “Hey,” he exhales, vexed. “Where’s the rest of the money?”

​​You jadedly sigh, overrun with the same questions that all boil down to one inadequate answer: “I don’t know.” He exhales even louder, clasping the gun tighter. “How many times do I have to tell you? I don’t know.”

You do, kind of. It’s a teeny lie because while trust did go both ways in a four-year marriage, there had been little disclosure around his work between the two of you. As newly-weds, he swore to confide in you but since moving into this penthouse, he had completely left you in the dark; distance grew, and the double-glazed windows grew longer and there was a void to this place that had an odd semblance to your love life.

You knew that he had a hidden room, a vault, somewhere in his library, but that’s how far it went. Company files (and filthy secrets), heaps of cash, prized possessions, family heirlooms and a few weapons to spare—all for him to touch, and for you to bear the consequences of.

But when you think you’ve convinced the brutish man, he suddenly presses a gun to your chef’s head, who wails through the gag shoved into her mouth like a leaking pipe. “I’ll give you another chance to tell me something I want to hear, and if you don’t, I’ll blow her brains out.”

Untold confessions burn into bile. “I don’t know.”

He heaves through the mask. “I’ll count to three then,” he grits his teeth, presses it forcefully to her temple as she continues to shriek. “One,” he begins while your resolve slowly breaks down, “two,” the trigger squeaks under his thumb, “t—”

“—it’s in the library, I think. But I don’t know where—”

“Behind the bookshelf, huh?”

A familiar voice says from the distance, earning a burst of mirth from the group of masked men as a loud creak resounds the penthouse; your eyes flutter closed in a strange feeling of relief and discontent, slumping against the radiator when they leave to join him in the library. As a ruffle ensues over there, you’re forsaken to observe your chef’s unkempt state, whom you nearly killed because of your misplaced loyalty.

The guilt chews at your own resolve, unable to find the words to console her or aid your own discomfort. Before you can even think to do so, he walks in—saunters with a smugness that forces you to bite back a curse, and a brimmed duffle bag. He drops it before walking towards you, crouching down once again to meet your surly gaze, teary and loathing. He spends a fleeting moment observing your twisted expression, clearly reeling from the very real threat of gunpoint. And he’s relishing it.

He's eerily quiet, calm. Somehow, it’s worse than the other man’s fiery temperament.

“You got what you wanted, you can take it and leave.” You utter with a weak lilt.

“I don’t think I have,” he retorts casually, his head cocked to the side. The glimmer in his eye changes like a heavy tide on a full moon, eventually settling on an impish gaze that bursts with inspiration. “Now, why is the lovely wife here when she should be with her husband?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“How do ya expect to live with an attitude like that?” he asks, clearly unaffected by your hostility. If it were anyone else, they’d put a bullet in your head already.

“Next time? With a gun.” 

He chortles through the mask, and you can even hear a wicked smirk brush against the fabric. “What makes you think there’s a next time?” he chides, picks up a piece of fluff from your cheek, and you nearly flinch. “Maybe I’d be doing your husband a favour then. What do you think, lady?”

He turns to your chef, still cowering in her spot, momentarily pauses her snivelling to register his question. The masked man tuts, roughly yanking the gag from her mouth, doused in spit and snot. She takes the release as a false invitation to blubber pleas, it goes on and on and on, which he lets happen until he’s had his fill—he’s a psycho. 

“Hey,” he respires, “shut up.”

She promptly closes her mouth.

“She a good wife?” he asks, nudging his head towards you like he’s indulging in weekly gossip, pinning the poor lady’s frame down with his gaze. Your chef can only deduct from what she sees, and she has seen… a lot; enough to gauge that there was nothing respectable about the truth.

“Good wife—no, not really. They—uh, they fight a lot.” She mutters.

“Ouch,” he scratches the skin behind his ear, turning to you. “No wonder he left such a pretty thing behind.”

You’re rendered wordless, a heat cloyed in your gut.

“How about this,” he says, fiddling with your handcuffs. When his fingers brush against your skin, it sends a evanescing shudder through your body—it’s cold. “How about you help me send your husband a little message?”

“But—” you sputter, beat. “—but don’t you have what you need?”

“Nah,” he says, unshackling you from the pipes and firmly grabbing your upper arm to haul you up. He’s far stronger, manhandles you through the hallways as though you’re lightweight—you must be—for arms that bulky, he’d be able to lift a car. “Not quite satisfied yet, princess.”

“Where are you taking me?” you exclaim as obscurity swallows you whole, separated from the commotion in the living room.

But you’re stumbling into your bedroom; torso lurched onto the chair he rolls from your desk, the windows draped in velvet curtains, but there’s subdued moonglow seeping through and it pales his exposed skin. He handcuffs you once more, behind the backrest of your chair this time, demanding a camera from one of the other intruders.

The brawny man pulls you to centre stage, in front of him, and mutters with a caustic swing. “Don’t be scared.”

It’s not reassuring at the slightest—it’s not meant to be. You thrash against the handcuffs, watching in confusion as one of his hot-headed subordinates return with a thick-lensed camera and tripod. He makes note of the ring-light at your desk and pulls it over to him as well. Your efforts are to no avail, slumped in a satin blue nightgown that creases just above your knees.

“If you’re going to kill me,” you sigh, admitting defeat. “At least make it quick.”

It is difficult to read him when he’s hiding behind a mask, but his calmness resides in his mannerisms. He gives no allusion that he wants to kill you, but that’s worse—his temperament is completely unreadable, and there’s nothing you can do but try to draw an actual answer from him. “Kill you? What kind of message would that send?”

Maybe you’re digging your own grave instead. “That—that you leave no witnesses?”

He chortles at your response, stretching his limbs once he’s done adjusting the camera. His burly arms extend above his head and his shirt fleetingly lifts to reveal his terribly toned abdomen, freckled with swirling hairs around his belly button and a thick mound of it just peeking above the hem of his boxers. You no longer try to make sense of what that sated pull in your gut means, (whatever it is, it’s bad-mannered).

“Careful now, you’ll make it sound like a good idea.”

“Then what? What do you want with me?” you push, frustrated.

He evades your question once again, clearly not up for any transparency and instead, he turns on the camera; a red flicker that beeps just below the large lenses, then he abruptly switches on the ring-light, adjusted to the brightest level and you quickly turn away, flinching.

“State your name.” He simply orders.

“What?” you ask, barely able to see him past the glaring light.

“State your name, and don’t make me repeat myself.”

Hesitantly, you drone each syllable of your name. Your eyes drift idly to the carpet, to whatever can hold your attention, anything is better than the beam of light sharply meeting your retina.

“Look at me,” he focuses your attention onto him, where he stands a little closer, slightly shadowing the shaft of light behind him and when you meet his gaze, intimidated by his large stature, you’re taken aback. “Say it again.”

You state it clearly this time, with a sourness—a harsh bite to each word that doesn’t go unnoticed by him, but he’s somewhat satisfied, nodding in approval. “Good girl.”

The sudden term sends another awkward twinge to your gut (or, to the part of you that throbs mindlessly, without will, just want). You ignore it, watching fretfully as he picks up a few papers the other guy dropped onto your bed earlier.

“You can read a script, right?” he neatly folds the papers together. “I want you, princess, to tell your husband what’ll happen if he doesn’t bring the rest of my money by the end of this month.”

“Hm?”

He stands by the camera once again and hangs the first page beside his face. It’s written in a very large font, as though it was intended for a reader unable to see from this distance, or they were merely in a rush. Impatient, he sighs. “Speak up.”

“They—they’ll tell everyone about the operations behind his company,” you murmur, trying to digest the information written on the piece of paper. Reality thickens, and everything you suspected your husband to be involved in now holds substance to it. “What operations?”

“Recite this.” He says, displaying the second page.

“Oh my g—”

“Hey, recite it.”

You recite it—word for word—every single shady job that transpires beneath the company’s general operations and it leads to an obvious conclusion; he moves drugs. Whoever these guys are, they’re shady and fucked-up, but they’re borne by your husband’s misdemeanours. He had clearly crossed them, and now he had left you to suffer the consequences.

“Suppose it’s better that it comes from his own wife, right?” he says, putting the papers away. “You see,” he directly says to you, instead of the camera, “if he fails, I’ll come back to finish the job, and this video—all those documents, they go live, understood?” 

Indignation rattles your chest, and you’re not sure who you’re mad at, the perpetrators or the intended target who abandoned you. “So, what? You’re all drug dealers, then? Fuck you. You couldn’t threaten him yours—mph!”

He grabs your chin, stifling the rest of your tirade—it boils at the tip of your tongue, and he touches it, sliding a thumb across your bottom lip. “That mouth of yours,” he murmurs, squinting down at your resentful gaze, jaw clenched, and chest heaved, “—don’t think a gag is going to fix that attitude.”

“Then why don’t you just kill me?”

“I could,” he mulls with a shrug, pressing down on the tongue that craves a good finish, between the teeth that itches to bite it. There’s an eyelash just above your cheek, and he slowly picks it off. It’s a thick tension you could slice with a butcher’s knife, one apparent beneath the ongoing silence while he ponders on his next motives. “Or I could put that mouth to better use.”

Your face twists in puzzlement, unable to take in the turn of events when he’s suddenly uncuffing you, just to cuff you again once you’ve stood up.

He turns to the masked man at the door, who has been idly standing there for a while, awaiting his next instructions. “Load up the van.”

Eventually (and soundlessly) he walks away, nearly intrigued if not for the brawny man’s firm instructions, leaving the both of you alone to the stillness. When you’re dragged to the end of the bed, he sits and pulls you towards him—flailing and protests falling short when he swiftly bends you over his lap—one hand pushing your lower back down, the other lifting your nightgown up.

Your torso stretches against his thighs. “What—what are you—oh!”

A shrill smack suddenly booms, then follows a stinging sensation that settles on your ass cheeks.

You heavily exhale, mind reeling from the echoes of a slap.

And it dawns on you, a cloak of realisation: he just slapped your ass.

Sheer shock and indignation, it churns, disoriented by the brute force of his hand meeting your skin. Your squirming intensifies. “What the fuck?” you exclaim.

“Watch your mouth,” he simply warns, slapping your ass once more; this one is a more cruel, and the burn sticks around for a few more seconds before he lands another one for sport. Every slap is paired with a strained wince, but when he kneads that sore spot, that throbbing pull returns—tenfold—it’s turning you on. “From now on, you’re gonna be on your best behaviour.”

He's mocking you, resorting to childish chastises to make the humiliation of it all sink a little deeper.

He doesn’t care about your attitude.

“Huh? No—”

Another one, it’s now less of a prickle and more of a dull pain, uncomfortable. “What was that?”

“But—”

And another.

All of your protests are countered by an unkind blow, intensified with every swoop, and you try, with the utmost effort, to hold in your whimpers but it gets jolted out of you. You’re being scolded, and all you can do is take it. If that isn’t enough to make you reel in mortification—the pool of slick building up between your legs—might stop your heart completely. Ruination overwhelms your imagination, and before it gets too far, you obey, hoping he’ll stop before he notices. “Okay, fine. Fine—I’ll behave, okay? Can you let me go now?”

“See how easy that was?” he leers, coyly playing with the lace of your panties, cerulean lace to match the deep blue of your nightgown, and he admires the dedication to craft. It’s a satisfying match. The end of his strikes leave a daunting hush to fill, but as you try to dismiss the ache that cries for his attention, he pries your thighs apart, tightly locked, and slides his palm down your clothed slit. It’s damp.

You try to jump forward. “Don’t you fucking dare—!”

He vigorously smacks your ass to cut your words down, letting it get trapped in a hoarse gasp that thrums against the back of your throat. His palm sinks between your thighs, wrist trapped in between, presses the fabric into your sodden cunt. “It’s wet. What’s goin’ on here?”

“Don’t,” he presses the flat pane of his fingers to your clit, “—wait.” 

“Now why would I do that?” he sneers, lifting the fabric, pulling upwards until it sinks between your soaked slit like a thong and tugs purposefully to make sure it presses firmly against your swollen nub. A low chuckle rumbles inside of his chest when your head flops against the side of his thigh, earning throaty gasps that almost resemble frenzied hiccups when he manoeuvres the fabric to just barely scratch the surface.

He’s tugging, and tugging, until your cunt squeezes for more, and he can see the soft lustre of slick—it’s as clear as day.

He continues to display his amusement in soft chortles; torment was his pastime, and he’s enjoying this, whittling you down into nothing but a toy to be played with. Just as you think it’s enough, he smacks your ass once again, hard and fast, an abnormal speed that almost diverts your attention from the prompt pull of your underwear, until he’s dragging it down to your ankles. Your cries of shock—chagrined—ends with another callous strike to your ass.

Two, thick fingers sink down to trap your clit between its slenderness, motioned up and down to stimulate it. “Fuckin’ soaked. Who got you like this?”

Oh, he knows.

This asshole knows (or, he really is oblivious to his own allure—the latter seems impossible).

“I’ll remember your voice,” you shakily threaten—hard not to, his cadence carried a slow twang to it, a level of poise that couldn’t be found in any of the intruders. Perhaps, just aged a little more than the rest, fine wine. It’s difficult to focus on that now when his fingers are squeezing your nub, scissoring, then the flat pane of his digits rub circles around it, causing your legs to flail about in the air, crook upwards, toes curling until it tenses, “—I’ll send you straight to pri—ah!”

He's established a pattern now, cutting your curses and threats short with a harsh blow to your ass, yet overwhelming your senses with the unrelenting motions against your clit. “Don’t get mad at me, princess. With a poor attitude like that, this is just a slap on the wrist.”

“Yeah? How do you think I should—fu—should talk to someone who’s threatening me with a gun? Stealing all my—my—”

“Steal what?” he follows, languidly drawing circles to worsen that ache.

You can’t answer, slacked against his body, cursing under your breath.

“Talk like ya want to live,” he chuckles, answering your question, indulging in how your weak cries erupt whenever he reverts your attention back to him with a cruel smack. “You’re enjoyin’ this a little too much, don’t ya think?”

It’s too much.

A mend of guilt and lust cloyed in your gut builds up, until a mirage is formed before your ears, crafted by budding tears. It’s as though he knows your body; what strings to pull, when to stop, when to start again, prolong your suffering and intensify your desperation. Even as you try to bite down on your whining, soft squelches resound the room when he picks up the pace, applying pressure and rubbing your swollen nub feverishly.

Then he slows down, presses down even harder, and watches you squirm in his lap.

And repeat.

“Let me go,” you shudder, jutting your hips into his thigh. Nothing about your actions can make sense of your tearful pleas. “Let me go! Just take the money and oh g—”

He takes your objection as a sign of wanting more, slowly nudging two of his thick, sticky fingers into your cunt, welcomed with heat, slicked walls that clenches fitfully around him. He stretches his fingers to shape your walls, twists and curls them. “I don’t think you want that.”

You soak his fingers knuckle-deep, feeding his huge ego with noises you fail to keep trapped beneath your tongue. He lets you slack against his lap, works at your pussy with the utmost intensity, motioning them back and forth, returning with a flood of slick. You’re numbed, chest tightened, and your focus is only brought back when he slaps your ass, demanding your attention once more.

Murmurs under his breath, uncaring to whether you can hear, and watches his fingers sink further inside. “Fuck, that’s tight.”

You say whatever comes to mind, incoherent and senseless. “F—f—shit—asshole!”

“What a mouth you got,” he tuts, momentarily tending to your aching nub before crooking his fingers further inside; exploring, caving to the senseless contractions and bumps into every corner he can brush. “What did I say?”

“I’m s—sorry,” you whimper when he intentionally misses the mark. He hums in approval, running the one hand that isn’t defiling you along your back, slinking around your nape to hold your head up, so you can catch him in your peripheral vision—he wants to watch. You can feel his eyes burn into the side of your head, gaze drifting to every contortion on your face, then he curls his fingers just right. Right where you want it; that spot that encourages black splotches to corner your blurry eyesight, moans unfiltered and far too sickly sweet for his own palate.

“Did I move too fast, doll?” he mocks, immediately pulling away.

“No. No, don’t do that.”

“Yeah? Want me to keep rubbin’ right here?” he pretends to be unaware, or so blatant that he wants you to know that it’s just a façade to get you to be more vocal, to beg, returning to that sensitive spot. “This it? That feel good?”

You can only muster an incoherent sound, something of a hum and a cry, nodding fretfully as your cheeks begin to soak your tears.

He watches in awe as you convulse in his lap, sliding his hand further down your neck to keeps you upright. “You want it, don’t ya? Say the word, and I might consider it.”

“I can’t—”

“Ya can’t what? Come?” he taunts, as though he didn’t spend his time torturing you, now relentlessly pushing you to a violent climax. “It’s obvious y'r piece of shit husband doesn’t know how to touch you properly, so it’s up to you, princess.”

“F—fuck. Yes, okay—okay. Please.” You say the word, through gritted teeth, shuddering when he refuses to rest.

Your clenched jaw slacks when he abruptly curls his fingers again, brushing your sweet spot with precision; back arches uncomfortably with your restrictive handcuffs and his hand wrapped around your neck, it moves away to knead at your ass again, to watch the slick run down your thighs—to his lap, and your head flops. Splatters of tears fall to the fuzzy carpet, disappearing in fields of wool. “This tight cunt is drippin’ all over my fingers. You get fucked by intruders often?”

“Shut—shut up,” you whimper, eyes squinting shut as he tugs at that sated pull, the heat in your abdomen spreads. “Just like that—oh my g—”

“Naughty, naughty wife,” he emphasises the word to make you remember where you are, your reality that’ll eventually sink in when he’s done with you. But something hard prods your lower abdomen, and it grows. “Should save us some time and fuck this pussy right now.”

You clamp down on his fingers, refrain from vocally letting him know that you’ll completely break if he doesn’t.

“Oh? Ya want that?”

His fingers fasten, clapping against the plush of your ass, earning louder squelches and wanton moans. Contact connected by strings of slick, and it’s vulgar. You almost forget that there’s still a bunch of intruders in your home, and your chef—

“Oh f—I’m close—oh sir, I’m so cl—”

“Sir? Yeah?” he relishes in the way you formally address him—a sign of respect for a man who doesn’t deserve it. “This pretty pussy really wants someone like me to fuck it?”

“Hm, please. Please.” You shamefully whimper, succumbing to your urges.

But he’s unkind, doesn’t intend on serving your needs right now, and pulls away, ends with a strike louder and harder than all the ones before, distracting you from the hollowness that resides within you. “Too bad. You don’t fuckin’ deserve it.”

He pulls you up using your handcuffs, suddenly hurling you onto the bed to confront the burly man holding a voracious gaze, pins you down with it, both of his arms entrapping you in his shadow.

“Like I said, put that mouth to work,” he echoes as you sink under his weight, the bed unfamiliar but so forgiving to this foreign presence, “…and maybe, just maybe, I’ll consider it.”

Intensely, you reciprocate his ravenous stare.

Your disdain for the intruder returns, it’s coupled with lust this time. “Yes, sir.”

It’s laced in ridicule, and he can tell, scoffing before he yanks you forward, causing you to fall to your knees with a quick thud. His bulge meets you at eye-level, earning a budding eagerness that settles in your gut. He’s slow, unzipping his pants in a pace that has your fingertips clawing at the handcuffs, drawing blood.

When he pulls his briefs down, your jaw slackens, back straightens—it rises, thickens, and his size is monstrous.

You must be losing your mind. “What? Ya like what you see?”

Absolute girth that leads to a rose-burn tip, and it oozes, unpigmented veins that protrude on either side, earns a soft lustre when he thumbs his cockhead, rubs it all over. It’s not enough, so he spits on his hand, swivels around his fat cock to your own dismay; his bulbous tip to the mound of hair that settles above his fisted grip, it sucks you into a hypnotic trance that you can’t get out of.

He holds it, heavy in his hand, and presses the other to your head. “Don’t have all night,” he slurs, directs it to your parted mouth, and it puckers around his leaking tip, following his stare once you’ve wrapped wholly around it. It’s a slight burn to the inner corner of your mouth, but your tongue glides over the thick shaft, carefully whelming his cock. “Just like that, good girl.”

A guttural moan barely draws from his mouth when you hollow your cheeks, half-way there, sucking and bobbing to submerge his cock in the warmth of yours. His neck strains beneath the hem of his mask, jaw clenched, and his hold tightens until your roots begin to tear.

“That mouth can’t take anymore, huh?” he scoffs, forcing you further down his cock. He’s unforgiving, barging past your gritting throat to sink as deep as he can, and he does, clogging your senses with his musk and sheer girth, he begins his merciless thrusts. “Such a slut, letting the big bad guy fuck your throat? How do ya think your husband’s gonna feel when he finds out?”

You scowl at him, wondering if this trespasser had any grit in making your life any more difficult (but you couldn’t test that). You can’t focus beyond his unrelenting thrusts, relaxing your jaw to give him a better opening, slobber slipping down your chin. It’s messy—meeting a mound of hair with every thrust—gargling under the concoction of fluids puddled in your throat. You slicked his cock just right.

But your cunt throbs at the sight of his jade eyes, dazed, squinting as his abdomen flexes, hips stuttering.

You can sense a manic grin behind his mask. His tone is thicker. “What? Do ya think I’m bluffin'?”

His control mildly cracks, desperation seeping through gritted teeth, grinding into the heat of your mouth; it’s a gradual shift to such a cruel pace, holding your head still when his tip settles in your throat, hindering your breath for a few seconds, and returns to drag it along your tongue. He doesn’t even let you hack, cough or catch a meaningful breath, and chases a marble euphoria.

He chuckles through his mask. “Poor wife’s too desperate to get fucked to realise the camera's still on?”

There it is.

The bluff that simply doesn’t exist, because a man of this poise, could never bluff—he delivers.

His grip on your hand loosens, letting you messily bob your head, still dying to satisfy him despite your grasp on the situation. His other hand spins the camera around, directing your attention to the red glimmer in the corner, (it’s still on, if you couldn’t tell). “See your wife, asshole? Ya heard everythin’, right?”

Handcuffed, mouth stuffed full, and the ache between your thighs overwhelm your hindered senses—unsure whether you should be livid that he set up like this or letting him do so in spite of your estranged husband. He huffs in disbelief when you lick a long strip along his length, sucking on his cockhead and nudging the tip of your tongue into his slit, earning a strained hiss.

Strings of snot and saliva connect your cheeks to him, it’s all so wet, coupled with your tears and his persistence.

He thrusts his hips forward, taking back control. “A tight cunt, and a mouth like this, I’d start cherishin’ her,” he breathily mutters, your gurgles are savoured, chased after, and he’s insistent on making it hurt, until it’s permanent, that feeling of his cock shaping your throat. His head lolls back, and you notice the beads of sweat gleaming on his neck. “F—fuck.”

His hips stutter, and he directs all of his attention to you, placing both of his hands on your marbleized cheeks, angling his torso upright to get a clear, self-indulgent look at your face; upturned eyebrows, hollowed cheeks, and webbed eyelashes, like dewdrops. He’s slow with it, observing the way your glazed lips wrap perfectly around his cock—the way he melts into your mouth, sweltering.

It does feed your ego. Even though you’re unable to see his expressions through his mask, he makes no effort to hide it; carnal panting that bleeds through his disguise, eyes squeezing shut and head falling back with every suck. He lowers the camera. “Wanna watch me cum down your wife’s throat?”

You moan at the thought, and he could read you. It’s the rush of it all, (and now you think, surely, the rest of the penthouse couldn’t hear this). It’ll tear through him soon enough—a gale of white.

“Fuckin’ slut. She wants it.” He grunts through his mask, still talking to the camera, and it’s obvious, he clearly had something to prove. He releases you before he breaks. “Nah, I got somethin’ better.”

He gives you a moment to respite, hacking from the pulsation at the back of your throat. Pulls you up by your arms, heaves you towards the bed again, adjusting you on all fours so that your soaked cunt is in clear sight, for him and the camera. “Wait—wait, the camera—”

Interrupts your stammering with a slap to your tender ass, kneading it just to indulge in the slick that makes a mess of you, all the way down to your inner thighs. “I’ll fuck you dumb. Tell me how much you want it.”

“Please.” You beg, muffled by your duvet.

“Don’t think you want it enough,” he tuts, the bed dips beneath him and he positions himself behind you. “A mouth that loose never knows how to beg. Try again. Loud and clear.”

His thick tip rubs along your slit. You’re already humiliated by the situation, and the camera beeps to make you aware, the brunt of your dilemma lied with your stubbornness. You lift your head from the duvet, and grit through your teeth. “Can you please just fuck me. Hard—fuck me hard, please. I want it so bad.”

“Better.” He nods. “Ya hear that?” he speaks to the camera—reminding you that this is for your husband; your submission and this vulgar display of betrayal. Whoever this is, behind that mask, has you, wholly and completely. He lightly smacks your ass in approval, looms over you to conceal the lewd sight of your cunt leaking for him, slapping his cockhead against your swollen clit.

You want to run, in spite of your loose tongue, an intense burn rendering you feeble when he slowly sinks in, stifled grunts seeping through his mask. It bleeds through. Instead, you clamp down, and he pulls you back with a bruising force to nudge most of his girth inside, keeps muttering under his breath: “f—so tight, so fuckin’ tight.”

He's barely bottomless, yet you already feel so full. He hooks his grip onto you, and pounces.

“Ugh—!”

Skin-to-skin contact, connected by twines of your slick, and lecherous moans reverberate the bedroom, and you probably envision it sounding much worse recorded (or, maybe he intended on it looking like a homemade porno involving some heavy “roleplaying”), sinking into the duvet as if it were a cocoon. Fucks you just as you want it. It becomes much more difficult to let the undoubted sin settle in at this point. Every argument against getting fucked by this masked intruder glares red until it doesn’t, because he’s already fucked every coherent thought out of you.

Not when it feels this good. Not when that cloyed heat is ready to spread; coating his cock in so much slick that obscene squelches flatten against your bodies. Wanton moans that’ll plague your husband for weeks, months, maybe even years if this video gets out—a wretched memento in the form of a videotape, for the deserter; it isn’t him that’s fucking you this good.

These isn’t fake—it’s real.

To your discontent, your nightgown clings to your perspiring skin, all sticky and sweltering, as if you’re made of marble, and the both of you are still clothed in some way. The desire to see him nude grows by the minute; how sheen might cover his undulating chest, how his bare bulky arms would flex as he bounces you on his cock—

“You up?” he says, interrupting your indecent train of thoughts. “Don’t tell me you’re already givin’ out on me?”

“No, no—fuck, just feels so good,” you blubber, fighting through the heaviness of your eyelids. He hums in response, playing with the metal cuffs, before his movements start to hit a little harder; a small thud eliciting as he meets your ass, speeding up his thrusts. “Faster—just like that, ugh!”

“Yeah?” he chortles, slipping out to place you sideways, so this way, your eyes that teem with desperation meet the galling red, it flickers with your fluttering eyelids. He hooks one of your legs over his shoulder, and rams into your sopping cunt. “Let em’ know how good I’m fuckin’ you.”

“M’ so good,” drool trickles down the side of your mouth, barely comprehending his request as his cock drills into your cunt, unrelenting. It doesn’t help that he’s hitting the right spot, grinding into it, filling you to the brim and paying close attention to every pathetic whine that escapes you. “Harder—sir, please, fuck me harder.”

“Harder?” He repeats, shortly slips out once again and slaps his tip against your engorged clit. “Poor wife doesn’t get fucked the way she wants? Made her all desperate. C’mere.”

He sits up to haul you up onto his lap, into another position, but still in perfect view for the camera, with your legs pried apart by his burly thighs and your back pressed against his front. Bearing your sights to the red light that remains on; he’s aligning his cock with your cunt once more, heavy panting seeping through his mask, and it warms your neck.

You hastily sink down on his cock once more, trembling as his hands knead at your waist, wordlessly coaxing you through his girth. The restraints make it difficult for you to keep balanced, but his arms circle around your abdomen, trapping you in the heat of his embrace. You’re submerged in it, grinding hastily once he nearly bottoms out.

“Pretty fuckin’ nightgown, hm?” he observes the flimsy material, resting his chin on your shoulder as the straps slip off, “…bet it’s expensive,” he goes on, traces the hem with his finger, and it feels familiar, “...might have to take this with me too.”

Your head droops back onto his shoulder, hoping that he’ll just rip off that mask and blemish your skin with salivated marks, but alas, he focuses on your nightgown. Dazed, your soft grinding sparks another return of that heat, scorching, but you’re completely unprepared for when he pulls your nightgown down from the neckline, a strident rip following his forceful tug.

His hands instantly draw to your breasts, tugging and pinching at your aching nipples while you jump on his thick cock, feet flattered against the bed. Your bounces are sporadic, followed by eager grinding; it’s staggered, and sloppy, unable to balance yourself with your hands constrained like this. Your blurry gaze avoids the camera as you chase your orgasm, recoiling when you unintentionally slip further down, feeling a sudden intrusion, a burning kiss to the rim of your cervix. 

He groans loudly when you do so, firmly grips your hips to force you down his entire shaft, and it’s mind-numbing.

“Oh—fuck! Too deep.” You whine, sensing his carnal desire sink in, and it does. He lifts your legs up by your knees, slowly thrusting his hips upwards as your wetness sloshes around his cock.

“You can take it. You want it harder, right?” he breathlessly utters (just like you asked). He pays no mind to your apprehension—a mend of pain and pleasure spreading like wildfire, and he’s sadistic, completely bottoms out and picks up a merciless pace.

His balls slap against your sodden cheeks, being held in a near full-nelson, hands snaked beneath your knees to hook around your neck, and breasts bouncing with every thrust. It doesn’t go unnoticed. It’s ear-splitting; the only sounds that boom through your residence are your undisputed pornographic moans, his laboured panting and the noisy clapping of his skin meeting yours. But you’re too fucked out to care, feeling your climax rise and rise until it sits in your gut in one hysterical coil, just eager to burst.

An undoubted fact; it's terrible that a trespasser is fucking you this good, and it should anger you, but it only intensifies your desire—it’s unconventional, and downright bad, and you succumb to his thick cock. He removes his hands from your head, fingers suddenly reach out for your clit, as though he can read you, rubbing relentlessly as you tremble around him. “I'm cumming—!”

“Yeah?” He breathily whispers against your ear, “…cum all over my cock. Make sure you scream loud and clear for me, hm?”

“Ugh—! Sir!”

Gushing all over his cock, splashes of slick spurting off his rapid fingertips and his pounding, you convulse against his brute force. Your teary eyes peer down at the mess, sheer horror contorting your face, but he continues to fuck it out of you—picks up the pace, in awe of you squirting all over him. “F—, you’re makin’ such a mess. Don’t fuckin’ stop—keep cummin’ for me.”

It pours all over him, onto your thighs, his thighs, your stomach and your carpet. He doesn’t stop thrusting, pressing his fingers onto your oversensitive clit with even more force. Clear slick, light and thin, irregularly spurts out of you, and your thighs close around his remorseless motions, far too sensitive to go on. You only manage to trap his arm between your thighs, encouraging the hasty taps he places on your swollen nub.

He pulls his arm from you, momentarily digging through his pants that rest just above his knees.

“Bet ya dying for someone to fill you right up,” he hoarsely growls, following a sudden click. He uncuffs you, and your arms loosen, muscles still tense when the handcuffs get thrown across the bed. There’s a gnawing hope that he might use this chance to embrace you, but instead, his thrusts speed up again, the warmth of his chest waning as he lies down, hammering into your cunt with the utmost desire. It’s animalistic. “Take it.”

Your hands immediately reach for his thighs, gripping tightly as your cunt milks him dry. “Slow down.”

“You wanted this, doll,” he spits, pulling you down against his chest so that your head slumps over his shoulder once again. He bends his knees upwards, lifting his hips to glide his cock between your walls, meeting a delicious crush. His arms wrap around your waist and neck, and he carelessly squeezes. “Should’ve known you were a slut, fit into you perfectly. Fuck.”

“Let—let me see you,” you beg, succumbing to his merciless thrusts. “Please.”

“Uh, uh, not tonight, baby,” he coolly responds, hips stuttering. His balls slap against your ass, chasing the most insanely, lewd sounds of your cum coating his cock. He’s so close, frenzied, stuttering . “F—fuck, gonna fill this sweet cunt up. Make it all mine.”

You fondle your breasts. “Make it all yours.”

Holding your legs up, he pushes his cock further in, spurting his cum inside of you in one prolonged moment. His balls tighten and a rush of heat sprays your insides and it’s never been this filling. You clench around him, feeling your arousal swell into another rush of heat but he slows down, making sure it stays inside, eases your need to go again.

His cock slowly slips out, and clear white oozes out of your cunt shortly after, with staggered, lazy breathing circling this thick stillness. You fail to remove yourself from his embrace, all alarms in your mind (strangely resembling your security alarms that woke you up at this odd hour) blaring loudly as reality settles in.

Did an intruder seriously just give you the best fuck of your life?

On camera?

He carefully places you next to him, clearly not as exhausted as you are as he gets off the bed, adjusting his clothes and walks up to the camera. He briefly turns back to you; satisfied to find you drained and smeared with cum and sweat before he turns off the camera, following a chesty chuckle that’ll probably plague your filthy dreams. Riddled with guilt and fatigue, your lidded eyes submit to its heaviness.

“Your fingerprints…—they’re all over the place.” You tiredly mutter. You don’t why you’re even concerned, and before you try to find him, he’s already hovering over you.

For some reason, you crave more.

“He won’t do anything,” he chuckles, grabbing your chin, swiping a thumb across your glossy lips. “Because he knows exactly what’ll happen if he does, and you know what,” he leans further to whisper at your ear, and the next few words make your heart lurch to your throat once again. his fingers trail downwards, slowly rubbing your sensitive nub, coating itself in your slick once again. You flinch. “If he does end up seein’ this part of the video, he’ll know exactly who just fucked his wife.”

Silence overtakes you, trying to register the meaning of his words as he slowly saunters out of your room.

“Nice place by the way.”

author's note this is a reupload [and rewritten and made longer because my writing is always changing]. hope u enjoyed! i still love masked toji <3

SONGS THEY MAKE LOVE TO YOU TO | JJK EDITION

SATORU GOJO - GET IT BY DANIEL CAESAR & KALI UCHIS

And when we're making love, uh

Your cries, they can be heard from far and wide

It's only the two of us

Everything need between those thighs.

Satoru always chooses something of r&b and smooth soul. Soft and rhythmic melodies that change one after another set the pace of the precise moves of his hips, making you squirm under his big body, reaching your peak for the nth time a night. If he's in a particularly good mood, he may hum some lines from songs without taking his magnetic eyes off your doe and watery ones, ignoring the way sweet little pleads escape your plump lips. Don't worry he'll make sure you understand that everything he needs is indeed between your thighs, while you're tugging on his white locks.

SUGURU GETO - FREE ANIMAL BY FOREIGN AIR

Free animal, free animal

My heart beats in patters to the broken sound

Free animal, free animal

You're the only one that can calm me down.

Suguru sees music as an integral part of the art of lovemaking, he puts on a record to set the mood of the night. Sprawled out on the big bed, he likes to watch you slowly shed your clothes, swaying your hips in time with the music. Suguru will make sure that the soft vibrations spreading throughout you are not only from the beat of the songs, but from his masterful tongue that's dancing all over your naked body. Geto slowly grazes the curves of your hips with his fingertips, slowly moving to the small of your back, causing it to arch further. And maybe in moments like this he does turn into an animal, cause the pace of his thrusts is purely animalistic.

KENTO NANAMI - 808 HEARTBEAT BY HUNTAR

You fall deep, made time fly

You sound sweet like a lullaby

So I take control

Love lifts us up where we belong

I hear you sing it like its our song.

The best song that he has ever heard is your moans that's for sure. Thus Kento doesn't really need any music to get in the mood or listen to during the process, cause he doesn't want to hear anything but sweet babbles and shameless moans escaping your parted lips. BUT he definitely can use it during the foreplay. Yet the moment you're pressed against his strong body with your arms tied above your head, your shaky breathes and quiet whimpers are the only music to his ears. He'll be gentle if you want him to but he'll always take control, making you reach the highest note as you come undone right before his eyes.

TOJI FUSHIGURO - KEEP IT DOWN BY MIGRANT MOTEL

I got you stuck in my teeth

I'll show you what to believe

Tracing my face with your nails

I’ll let you know when to breathe.

With his huge hand around your throat it's hard to concentrate on anything rather than the way his hips move with an unprecedented speed and very much in time with the music playing in the background. Toji at first wasn't impressed with the idea of turning on some songs while making love but now his face tells you otherwise. He seems to genuinely enjoy it, pounding into you from behind and making a little concert of his own with precise smacks on your ass. He'll ask you to pick some songs next time, too.

RYOMEN SUKUNA - LURK BY THE NEIGHBORHOOD

I fuck 'cause I need to, I fuck when I want

I'll fuck you in love, even though it is not

I'll fucking digest you one kiss at a time

You wish I was yours and I hope that you're mine.

He doesn't really care about musical accompaniment when it comes to sex. But something in him clicks the moment he hears that song playing in the background while you quietly go about your business. He doesn't hesitate for a second, pressing you against the wall with all his weight, his huge figure looming over you and smirking contentedly, creating a trap you can't escape from. Sukuna begins to gently run his hands all over your body, letting you relax slightly under his soft touch as the next moment his teeth are on your neck, abusing the soft skin, leaving bright red reminders of this night on his way. Your nails leaving crescent marks on his back. Now you know what to put on if you want him to go absolutely feral.

If you need any help just let me know

Guys I'mma come clean

I have no idea how to write smut 😭

I tried one time but everyone made fun of me for it and I just like gave up 🥲

And after that I just don't know how to write it and I find it really difficult

And I feel if I write it for Jack everyone is going to hate it or make fun of it and I'm going to cry and become depressed and delete my whole account and you guys will never see me again

I was actually hoping and praying that no one would tell me to write smut but of course someone did and when I got that request I literally didn't know how to feel about it but I couldn't just say no because it was sound rude

I could try to write it but I can guarantee you guys that you guys are not going to like it at all

And now I'm going to cry bc of this

Toji would definitely baby trap the person he’s obsessed with. Not just because he’ll equate baby with them staying and loving him; but also because he needs a place to stay sometimes and better place to eat and sleep than at your baby mama’s? Sure he poked holes in the condom but he also got the good cup o ramen during pregnancy cravings

Yandere Toji Fushiguro babytrapping reader

Yes but it all fun and games until baby mama starts stressing tf out. She gotta do a job, pay bills, feed not 1 but 2 babies (yes, Toji, I'm talking about you.) Not to mention, her hormones are all out of place, morning sickness and her body is going through some permanent changes. And what's Toji doing? He leaves after having breakfast, saying that he gonna try to find some job and he'll be back before dinner. In reality, he's out either doing bounty hunting or working as a hitman. He thought living with you was good because it gave him a cover, and he thought you were doing pretty good for yourself.

That is until he walked in on you, tied to a chair as two men held you hostage. Toji will never forget the image of you looking completely petrified, tears and sweat covering you, and the gun aimed at your baby bump.

"Y/n." Toji looked at you, ever so calm. "Look at me, it's gonna be okay. I'm not gonna let them hurt you, so take deep breaths with me, okay? 1, 2-" and with that, Toji threw knifes at their heads, killing the men instantly. "-3." He said softly, walking over to you and bending down to untie you.

You looked at him in fear and shock at what you had just witnessed. But Toji just rubbed your wrists gently.

"I'll explain everything. But first, let's get some food in you, hm?" He said, kissing your cheek before pulling you out of your apartment, discreetly sending a text to someone to "clean" your place.

Ever since that night, Toji has been a completely different person to you. Once he told you who he was and what he did for a living, and explained in detail why you can't leave him for some time because he has a lot of enemies, he had you move to his place.

His place? A whole ass lavish penthouse. He told you that he's gonna take care of you from now on, and he really did mean that.

But you didn't know that it meant throwing your old life away forever. He made you quit your job, never leave his house without him, and then told you "you should stop using your phone and laptop so much. The radiations aren't good for the baby." He confiscated all of your electronic devices, so pretty much all contact to the outside world was cut. He did give you a special phone that had his number in it only, for emergencies- which really turned out to be either Toji video calling you to see you and the baby bump, or you calling him to complain about being all out of cup ramen.

Despite him being a literal assassin, he still kept his cool, suave, laid back behaviour with you. He joked around, cooked cup ramen in the best way that you never could, massaged your feet and helped you to bathe, you still couldn't agree on raising your child around a killer.

Then again, it's not like you could run away from him. Like, you can't outrun him bu waddling around at turtle speed. Even if you could, he has cameras around the house and locks on the doors. And even if you did get out of the house, it's not like he wouldn't be able to find you within the next hour or so. All that would lead to is Toji carrying you back to the house and giving you a stern talking to as he forced water and prenatal vitamins down your throat. This is the only time he's mean though, calls you "stupid for endangering our child because you don't understand that it's safer for you both inside!" as he dips your swollen feet in warm water.

And coupled with your pregnancy hormones and his manipulation skills, it isn't long before you're sobbing and apologising because you think nobody will ever love and care about you as much as he does. So now, Toji has to give you cuddles and affection to reassure you he won't leave you.

Toji won't leave you, not when he has already bought a new home with rooms for you, your baby and all of your future kids (he wants 4 more).

Yeah... you're trapped in ways you don't even know.