Cunning Nagito Is Best Nagito In My Opinion. I Dont Mind Him Being Whiny But I Prefer Him To Be Devious

Cunning Nagito is best Nagito in my opinion. I don’t mind him being whiny but I prefer him to be devious like this

₊˚ᜊ₍ᐢ. ̞.ᐢ₎ᜊ˚₊ Devil’s Playmate ✦.˚ ; • . ★⋆’. °࿐࿔

✧Rating: Smut (exhibitionism + tons of dirty talk + face sitting + Fem/Afab!Reader)

✧Characters: Nagito

✧Word Count: 4.3k

✧Summary: It all starts with you accepting an innocent cup of hibiscus tea from your lovely but troublesome servant Nagito, the same kind of tea you’re given every morning. As you continue about your day with him at your side, you begin to feel a bit off. This weird feeling has driven itself under the expanse of your delicate skin, leaving it heated and flustered. But a lady like you had no time to entertain silly urges like lust. Little did you know the faithful servant you always keep by your side is growing more and more concerned for you. Don’t be surprised if he decides to take matters into his own hands to relieve that desire burning oh so painfully between your thighs. As you fall into his carefully laid out trap, you realize just who’s the servant after all.

It all began on a quite unremarkable morning. You rest comfortably upon your plush velvet armchair while reading a book dressed in a faded red cover. You flip through a few of the aged manila pages before snapping the book shut, unamused at the little waiting game you’ve been forced to participate in.

“He’s late,” you remark out loud.

It was ten minutes past the eleventh hour, and he was yet to arrive with your cup of hibiscus tea, with exactly two cubes of sugar. He’s always been quite punctual. “How strange,” You make a note to speak with him about this sudden shift in behavior the moment you next see him. And as if on cue, a very hurried flurry of fuzzy white hair hurls its way into your parlor, gasping heavily.

“My mistress, my deepest apologies for my tardiness-“

“Speaking before being spoken to? Who might be because you’re clearly not my precious lapdog,” you inspect your groomed nails and flick your wrist, as if flinging a dagger right next to his head to put him in his place. He shivers at the silent threat and gets onto his knees.

“I suppose I’ve had worse servants,” she sighs and gently picks up the tempered glass teacup he set down on your side table, “But you still have quite a bit to learn.”

He offers a short nod and keeps his head low. Maybe he’s finally got his head in straight.

“Now speak, explain your attendance,” you motion for him to sit up. He does so and smiles gently at you, as if pleased just to be spoken to.

“A million apologies would not be enough to make up for my lateness, my mistress, I know. I am more than ashamed of myself. The reasoning is I unfortunately misplaced one of the key ingredients for your morning tea and spent a good deal of time retracing my steps,” he recounts.

You spare him a curt glance as you take the first sip of your tea. The flavor is just as fragrant and rich as ever with a tinge of something sweet. Did he add something to your tea without consulting you first?

“And what might this ever so important secret ingredient be?” You raise a curious eyebrow, making him sweat nervously.

“T-there’s no need to worry; it was just a mere drop of honey, my mistress. I noticed your slight distaste for the new blend of tea I’ve been brewing for you so I decided to add some sweetest. The only problem was after unpacking the new bottles yesterday, I happened to misplace them. How unfortunate…” he sighed in regret.

“I think I understand now. I’ll let it slide this time but remember to be more punctual,” you add as you continue helping yourself to your tea and your book. You would have resorted to a harsher punishment if he was anyone else but you understand these little slip ups are all caused by his curse of a luck cycle. No use punishing something out of his control. You wave him off with your foot, too consumed in your own affairs. After kneeling one more time, gently grasping your clothed foot to kiss the top, he rises and exits the room. A small amused grin is hidden behind the crimson cover of your book.

Once your morning tea has run dry, it’s time for the next objective in your long schedule: A brisk walk through the gardens to inspect the landscaper’s work, followed closely by an important meeting with an esteemed author looking to sell their rare collection of discontinued books. Then the annual check in with the servants of the house to make sure everything is in order. After that is a well deserved ride around town on horseback. Lastly, to finish off your day you have a few letters to pen before dusk. Quite a busy day you have ahead of you, but you won’t be doing this alone. As you depart your study, Nagito, your servant from before, appears at your side.

“How are you feeling after your tea break, my mistress?” He inquired with a gentle smile.

“Delightful, as usual,” you nod, not sparing him a glance.

“That’s wonderful to hear, my lady. If there’s anything you’d like to ask of me, please, I’m yours to command,” he urges.

“Nothing I can think of. Won’t you join me on my daily walk out in the gardens?” You offer.

His eyes sparkle with enthusiasm, “O-Of course, I’d be honored! How lucky am I… to go from a tardy mess to a- oh, forgive my mindless rambles, my mistress,” he chuckles apologetically and shuts his mouth tight. You two make your way out the back of the mansion and enter the lush gardens. Workers can be seen throughout the sprawling green fields preening the hedges, watering flowers, and plucking weeds. Truly a sight behind. You reside yourself strolling through the winding paths of ivy and petals, each one more radiant than the last. As your fingertips trace over the delicate buds, you feel a subtle heat spanning over your cheeks. The sensation is strange but not enough to raise any concern.

“My lady, you’re looking a bit red. May I offer this parasol as shade?” Nagito opens the parasol and holds it above your head, blocking you from the harsh rays of the sun.

“Thank you kindly,” you softly smile at him before continuing your walk. As you examine the flora, the heat of before persists. It starts to make you feel slightly dizzy, but a lady must continue her task no matter the circumstance. Your wandering eyes lock onto your servant. He’s dressed in a loose fitting, rufflely white shirt with tight black slacks, a few silver rings adorn his fingers. They are actually his prized possessions he was gifted by you on his birthday, resulting in a hurricane of thank you’s and tears. He looked rather dashing, even if the outfit was rather simple. D-did you just…? You purse your lips and snap your attention away and back to the matter at hand. A lady of your high class shouldn’t be checking out her servant in such a unbefitting way. What has gotten into you?

“My lady, are you alright? You look a touch bothered by something. Can I be of assistance?” Nagito asks compassionately with an innocent tone.

“It’s nothing, I just feel a bit off today,” you brush off the question and make your way inside with your servant following closely behind.

“A bit off? Could you elaborate a little more, my lady?” He pushes, cocking his head to the side in a curious manner. Your dart around the hallway, noticing a few maids dusting the tables and fixing the curtains. A more secluded space would be best.

As if reading your thought process word for word, he carefully leads you to one of the spare rooms reserved for guests. You gasp as he hooks a finger under your chin to examine your rosy cheeks, the proximity making this unknown heat under your skin flare up.

“Oh my… my lady, you don’t seem well. Did you have a fever? But you haven't shown any other symptoms… oh, I’ve got it! It’s most likely a sunburn from over exposure to the sun? Forgive me for not fetching a parasol sooner, my mistress. Don’t worry, I’ll make it up to you by alleviating any ailments you might be having. Please, rest on the bed while I gather some medicine for you, my mistress,” he bows before making a quick exit. You humor him by taking a seat at the edge of the neatly tucked bed. The gall he has to give you orders… As you wait patiently for his return, the heat from before spreads under your skin, focusing its assault on the plush region between your thighs. In no way is this some silly sunburn; It felt as though your lower area had been ignited with the fires of lust by Eros himself. Whoever was playing this cruel joke on you clearly doesn’t know who they're messing with.

“I’ve returned, my mistress! I’m sorry to make you wait for so long, I have bad news. The author is already here waiting for you in the meeting room on floor three,” he races to your side and returns to his knees as an apology. How greatly unfortunate… Maybe your servant’s poor luck was contagious.

“Fine then. Let us go; we can’t leave him waiting,” you rise swiftly to your feet and make your way to the stairs. No matter how badly her body craves attention, a true lady must always put aside her own needs to attend to her duties.

“M-my lady, you don’t look well, maybe we should-“ he tries to reach for your hand only for it to be swatted away.

“Someone clearly has problems holding their tongue. Maybe I should rip it out so it won’t give you any problems speaking out of turn again. Would you like that?” You warn with a scathing glower.

“N-no, my lady! I would like to keep my tongue i-if that’s an option,” he chuckles nervously, shuffling behind you.

“Then know your place,” you brush him off and enter the room in front of you where the author is waiting patiently. You take a seat in front of him and cross your legs and Nagito kneels down next to you by your feet. As you and the author are discussing the book series you plan on buying from them, your legs shift around uncomfortably from the aching feeling under your dress. You notice his eyes peeking down at your shifting legs every so often before immediately glancing to the floor. He was always so very caring but now was really not the time for his inappropriate stares. Even the slightest attention to your lower area made the process of hiding it more difficult than it needed to be. When the author turned around to unpack the books in his briefcase, your servant placed a gentle hand on your thigh, looking up at you with sweet puppy dog eyes like he’s pleading for something. If it’s what you think it to be he’d be in for a thorough punishment later.

“Please tell me what’s wrong, mistress…” he whispered to you, his hand stroking down the thigh. You flicked away his wandering hand and focused back on the array of books strewn out on the table. You picked up the first book of the series and began flipping through it. The text was neatly printed, its pages pearly white and free of aging. It was in excellent condition, considering it’s a much older series. As you neared the middle, a strange tickling sensation kept up your thigh from under your fluffy dress. You bite your lip and ignore it, not wanting to make a fool of yourself in front of someone you’re trying to make a deal with.

“I think I know what’s wrong, my lady… your body is all wound up….” His airy voice drifts out from under the tablecloth, “Don’t worry… a good servant always attends to the needs of his lady~”

Just as you’re about to yank him out from under the table, his delicate fingertips trace the area next to your lacy panties.

“Uh… if everything is alright, miss? You look a bit bewildered,” the author asks.

You clear your throat, “Forgive my rudeness, but there’s an important matter I must attend to this very second. It won’t take long, please wait for my return,” you give a short curtsy to the author and step away from the table, yanking your naughty servant out from under the table and pulling him roughly out of the room. You can only imagine the horror on that poor author's face. After a speedy jaunt to your bedroom, she pushes him onto the bed and curses his name.

“The damned whore, how dare you try something like that not only in front of such a famous author but also without permission. I should have you exiled from the mansion, if not the whole nation for that! What do you have to say for yourself?” You snarl, towering over him with a violent aura.

“My lady, please forgive my inappropriate actions, all I wish to do is to serve you,” he soothes, laying on his back and pulling you closer to him by the hips, “try as you might to hide your needs but you should know you can’t keep a secret from me~”

You try to step back from his menacing words, “what do you mean by that?”

“Would you please allow me the privilege to show you?~” he coos to you after pulling you back and onto his thighs. You groan as your clothes sex accidentally swipes over his sturdy thigh, covering your embarrassed blush with the back of your hand.

“Oh? My lady, if you’re trying to seem like you’re an abstaining, pure soul, forgive me for this, but you’re not doing that great of a job,” he smirks up at you. This devil of a man under you is clearly getting a rise from tempting your body's cravings.

“I told you, it’s nothing, now release me so I can go back t-hnngg~” an uncontrollable moan escapes your lips as he drags your hips up his body, grinding your sex over his stomach and up to his chest. The relief of touch on the throbbing location felt like pure bliss but you knew he was just messing with you. You wouldn’t dare give him the honor of another pleasured groan so you force yourself to look away.

“Are you absolutely sure you don’t have any urges a servant like me could take care of? Not a single ache, bruise, or itch?~ If I’m allowed to gloat just a bit, I’m veerryy good at relieving urges~” He purred softly, pressing your plush thighs against either side of his head, your twitching sex hovering over his panting mouth. His eyes were glazed over with desire like he’s in a trance, his mouth streaming with drool, face covered in a deep blush. He looked like even more of a mess than you did.

“N-no, not in the slightest,” you stammer out.

“Are you sure?~ well, then… I don’t think you’d mind if I… just give this spot down here a check, just in case~” he bites his lip as he pulls your panties to the side, strings of drooling desire clinging to the thin fabric. He audibly moans at the sight, licking his lips.

“Oh my…. My mistress, it seems like I’ve found the source of the problem… your poor sex is crying out for some attention. Did something happen to make you so unbelievably turned on? Does it hurt… my lady?~” he murmurs to you, tracing a finger over your swollen bud. Even though the touch was faint and barely there, it still had your cunt clenching around nothing, an unsightly and almost inhuman amount of slick pooling onto his chin.

“Y-you… if my mind wasn’t so… cloudy, I’d knock some sense into you. B… but… yes, I guess… it does hurt a bit,” you hesitatingly admit, being met with a delighted moan.

“Just as I thought. There’s no need to fret, my mistress. Your servant is here to make all your problems go away…~ All this pussy needs is some good service and you’ll feel better in no time,” he chuckles with a friendly smile, a pure contrast to the sinful looks he was giving your cunt only a few seconds ago.

“You dare speak in such a vulgar way to me?!” You snarl down at him.

“Come on… I know your womanhood is craving something…” he teases, swiping his index finger along your labia.

“M-my ‘womanhood’ has no such cravings. Seize this nonsense of I-I’ll.. ah…” you let out another groan as he rubs over your puckering entrance. You honestly didn’t know if you wanted to yank him by the hair so smash his lewd mouth against your pussy or fling him straight into the dungeon and leave his incubus nature to rot there alone.

“Oh but mistress, you can deny it all you want, but your body only speaks the truth. I can tell how badly it wants my fingers stretching it out… or better yet, why not just let it sit right here on my face. You don’t even have to worry if I can breathe or not~ I won’t complain,” he grins and inches your body closer. It’s taking all your strength to hold your body up and away from the temptation nudged right between your trembling thighs.

“Just a little bit further~ the longer you try to hold yourself back, the longer you’ll be leaving the author waiting. You wouldn’t want him to come looking for you just to see you riding your poor servant's mouth like some sort of prostitute~” he teases, stroking your inner thighs some more. He wasn’t entirely wrong. Against every thought in your mind, you lower yourself fully onto his awaiting tongue.

“Tha-Ahh!~ that’s it~ there you go, mistress~ now just use my mouth in any way you want. Use me as the slutty toy I am, my horny mistress~” his voice cracks from the pure levels of pleasure racing through his body right now, digging his nails into your thighs as your body slowly begins to rock against his mouth. And damn, was he good with his mouth. You’ve never felt anything quite as pleasurable as the feeling of his tongue lapping up the slick pouring from your entrance, teasing the rim before shoving its length inside. His nose perfectly rubs against your sensitive clit, making your whole entire body shake. Your back aches as a needy moan rips from your throat, humping against his tongue like this is your first time experiencing real pleasure. You felt like nothing more than a common whore dressed in the diamonds and gowns of a privileged lady. Nagito had that effect on you.

“Why… aghhh.. how… Hahh Ahh… how am I… this turned on?” You stammer out between broken moans and grunts.

“Just a little trick I have up my sleeve~ or… more like it your tea~ heheh, but there’s need to dwell on it, just focus on using me for your pleasure~ The true role… of a servant~” he babbles to himself as the tip of his tongue nudges your g spot.

A loud moan erupts from your throat, “Hahh- Aghh!! Oh.. oh my… d.. damn you…”

“Oh?~ did my dirty touch hit a sensitive spot? What would happen if I did it again, I wonder?” He smirks up at you before thrusting his wet muscle against the sponges spot inside your walls that had you grasping his hair for dear life.

“Agh… you… damned mutt…” You continue linking together a string of curses and degrading words as you feel a worrisome sensation straining against your cunt. The more his tongue pounds into your sex, the stronger this sensation gets.

“Come on, mistress… just a little bit longer… the release you’ve been longing for for so long is almost ready to burst~” he giggles in delightful anticipation.

“I hate you so much…” she groans, knowing this whole entire problem is definitely his doing. The servant before you, the one slurping up your pussy like it’s his last fucking meal, has always such a tease. Images of all the explicit situations he’s gotten you into before flood your mind as you prepare for your final release. You hated how he tempts you into such lustful acts with knowing damn well his lower position of power in regards to you but every time he found his way in between your legs, it always made you remember the kind of servant he is. He’s not a butler, secretary, assistant, or any only formal word in the book. He was a toy, your toy to use for your pleasure, as he calls it. But it always feels like it’s the other way around. As his hot tongue fucks in and out of your tight pussy, you both can tell how close to the edge you are.

“Please my mistress, please grace my tongue with the delicious taste of your cum~” he begs in garbled words, babbling nonsense like he’s lost his mind; like he’s high off the taste of your sweet nectar.

“Aghhhh.. Hahhh.. ha- ah! O-okay… fine. But just… j-just one. Only once, got it?” You shoot him a glare.

“Yes my lady, only one~ only one, that’s all~ hehe… hahah… ahhahaaa~” his sinister cackles leave you questioning if he really means it. The quivering on your pussy gets stronger and stronger as it threatens to release sprays of steamy cum into the needy expanse of his mouth. His eyes roll back into a beautiful sight of depravity as your cum spills onto his mouth, painting his lips, nose, and entire face in a layer of thick liquid. The sight is downright appalling, enough to make anyone grimace.

You quickly recover from the euphoric blast of an orgasm he just gave you and tries to lift off his tongue, “I think I've had enough of thi- huh?”

Nagito’s face, more specifically his eyes, swirl like two dark pools of inescapable lust, dragging you in. He forces your body firmly on his tongue and continues to eat you out, “My apologies, but I think I’ve missed a spot… just one more orgasm should clear it right up~”

“Oh no, don’t you even thi- Aghh, t-think about it, you better stop or… or… nghhh hah~” your voice trembles with rage as you try to pry your shaking body off his slutty mouth.

“Please my mistress, just one more~ I can’t be a good servant unless I thoroughly relieve every desire your body clings onto. This won’t take long, I promise~” the mischievous expression on his face clearly states otherwise but the dreadfully good drag of his tongue along your cunt, giving your clit a couple playful sucks as if you're throwing any other needs out the window. The only thoughts you’re thinking right now is riding his face until he eventually lets you go.

“There you go… just like that~ use me… use me for your pleasure~ that's all I want, all I could ever want. I exist only to bring you a countless amount of orgasms~ my only use is being your sex toy~ so please, use me however you see fit! Just as long as you keep smothering me with that beautiful, beautiful pussy~” he coos almost like he’s talking to your sex itself. His tongue leaves you lost in the sea of desire, making you feel so good you wouldn’t be surprised if every servant in the mansion could hear your cries of bliss.

“What a naughty mistress… I bet everyone can hear you, clear as day. You like that though, don’t you? I think you do… you like the idea of the people who wait on your every need hearing you cry out another servant’s name… the prim and proper lady they serve turned into a whore all because of my pathetic excuse of a tongue. Maybe… maybe they’re getting horny… you like that thought?” His words and pure filth but you just can’t stop letting them consume you.

“Uhuh.. yes… oh… ohhh god yess~” you tilt her head back and release a moan.

“You like the thought of all your servants unable to control themselves while listening to you moan above me? I wonder what they could be doing… maybe they’re all touching themselves… they know they shouldn’t but they just can’t help it. They're just too horny to control themselves~ Just like you, mistress,” he snickers devilishly. All this arousal, all this teasing was really starting to get to you. Drool and tears made your makeup melt off your face, staining your angelic satin dress. If you weren’t so fucked out you’d totally punish him for a lifetime for everything he’s done: Dirtying your dress, interrupting your meeting with an important person, touching you multiple times without permission, disobeying commands… but you won’t again think of his tongue. His skilled, hot tongue rubbing against every spot in your pussy that had you on the verge of cumming was practically your weakness. He knew this fact all too well.

“Does my mistress have a secret kinky side?~ Could you be just as sinful as me?~ then come on, my lady… let us be consumed in desires together… don’t stop cumming till I suffocate against your pussy… and even then, just keep using my body. Aghh yess… to be used by you… it’s my only desire… I’ll please you… I’ll please you for days if you’d like… so please…. Give me an order~ P-please, oh please my mistress, order me!~” he cries out in desperation, his hips jumping in the air for any slight bit of friction his tight slacks can’t offer him.

“An order… I… aghhh… I order you t-to keep going… and don’t stop t-till… you fulfill your role as… my sex slave,” you finally manage out, greeted with an immediate guttural moan.

“Y-yesss oh gods yess I will, I- Ahh, I will, I will I will! For you I’ll be the best sex slave e-ever~ I’ll please you, I please you, I swear! I’ll make you cum… I’ll make you lose your mind… just watch me… watch me work my magic on your gorgeously horny body…~” he babbles between slurps and moans as his tongue shoves itself deeper into your gooey pussy. In that moment you finally realized the truth. You’re not the true mistress who uses your little slutty toy for your own pleasure, you’re the slutty toy he uses for his own pleasure. But there’s nothing that can be done to change it besides applying more and more weight to his hungry mouth. He chuckled maddenly to himself…

All according to plan~

Reblog + Comment + Like if you enjoyed and like to see more Danganronpa or Nagito specific content!~

(Sorry for that break, I needed a moment’s peace to realize why I’m writing in the first place. I’m back in action so don’t worry! Aaaaaand I’ll immediately go back to hibernation from binge writing this in only a few hours. Stay turned for my next post, love you guys!!~)

(Tags!~ 🏷️)

@nambii @carticarti

Oh my heart… fuck him… but I want hims….🥺

𝐌𝐲 𝐁𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝

Toji Fushiguro

[Chapter 1] Passionfruit

Story Masterlist

Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x f!Reader

Chapter Warnings: MDNI, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Oral Sex (f. receiving), Vaginal Sex, Breeding Kink, Praising, Mentions of Cheating, Creampie, Sad Sex(womp womp)

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi

Getting married to Toji was the worst decision that you’ve ever made. You love him more than anything, yet he’s been the worst husband that you could’ve asked for. Your wedding day was the happiest day of your life, yet since that day, you haven’t been happy. You try to be shocked but since the beginning of your relationship, Toji told you that he wouldn’t be a great husband. 

You had dumb hopes, of course, that you could turn him into the perfect husband– Not necessarily perfect but at least a good one. You should’ve backed out on your plans the first month of your relationship, when you caught him in bed with another woman. But you were so into Toji back then that you managed to move past it, luckily, the incident never occurred again, and of course, he made it up to you. 

But Toji was never a great boyfriend though. He did the bare minimum every time, and you praised him for it. You don’t recall him even telling you that he loves you until your wedding day. To this day you don’t know why you stuck with him when the universe sent you a clear sign the first month of your relationship. You were still young, and even if you broke up with him you would have accomplished your five year plan in time.

You met Toji when you were twenty two and he was thirty four. He had a nine-year-old son and your first thought was no, you didn’t want to be a stepmother at such a young age. You just hooked up with him a couple times, and eventually you caught feelings. It was nothing too passionate, but you liked him enough to start a relationship with him, and to stay when he betrayed you early on.

By twenty four, you got engaged. You surprisingly didn’t have to ask him, he did it himself with no issue. He heard about your five year plan, married by twenty five, and he knew a wedding or at least the type you wanted, took at least a year to plan. Within a year, you were married.

You were getting cold feet on your wedding day, coming to the realization that Toji had never told you that he loved you. While he wasn’t a man that expressed his emotions, he surely would’ve told you that he loved you at least once, right? Toji heard you were getting cold feet, and he was at your door thirty minutes before the ceremony started.

“Isn’t this bad luck?” You asked him, unsure of what he was doing at your door. You didn’t really couldn’t stomach having a conversation with him. Toji looked as handsome as ever, it was the first time you’d ever seen him so dressed up. He shrugged.

“Heard that you were having second thoughts.” Toji began, and you crossed your arms. You couldn’t even look him in the eye. He cleared his throat before asking, “Care to explain?”

“Do you even love me, Toji? We’ve been in a relationship for three years, and you haven’t even told me that you love me. I do love you, Toji, but I don’t want to get married to someone who doesn’t love me.” You told him, and his brows raised. He took slow breaths, and you were on the verge of tears. You stumbled over your words as you continued, “Just please be honest with me, Toji. I can move on and start over, even if it’s hard at first.”

He took a couple steps toward you before his hands cupped your face. His lips met yours in a short but sweet kiss. He smiled at you before telling you, “Have I really not told you how much I love you?”

His words made you continue with the marriage, bringing you a sense of comfort and safety in your relationship. You weren’t so hesitant about being married, and the first month of your marriage you were genuinely happy– Until you weren’t.

Being a stepmother wasn’t hard. Megumi was a sweet child, only twelve when you got married to his father, but old enough to make his own decisions and to know right from wrong. You didn’t have to teach him anything, in fact, Toji asked you to stay out of that aspect of Megumi’s life. Unless Megumi did something that was clearly wrong, he didn’t want you to discipline his son. However, you never had any issues with Megumi.

You only ever had issues with Toji. The honeymoon stage is supposed to last longer than a month, but within a month Toji was dismissive of you. He was cold towards you, he didn’t bother communicating any issues. It felt like Toji was just using you to come home to a clean house, a cooked meal, and for sex. You tried to fix it many times, but he never bothered to change.

You weren’t treated like his wife. He couldn’t care about your interests, blamed any of the issues of your relationship on you, and what you found the worst, constantly compared you to his late wife. You were worried about that before you got married, and you expressed your concerns to him; sometimes it felt like he did it on purpose.

You had this concern that you never felt in your relationship, even after the incident of your first month together. He was cheating on you– He had to be. He came home late, and didn’t pay any attention to you. But you were proven wrong after you followed him around and he was just working. Simply working. He didn’t even look at another woman… It relieved you, and once again filled you with this sense of comfort in your marriage.

You were fine until he nearly forgot your twenty-sixth birthday, he only remembered at night, and your heart broke. But he was so loving towards you after he remembered, for a week, he treated you like his wife but things quickly went back to normal.

Dismissive, cold, reserved. 

But you still dealt with it because you loved him. Even when you constantly argued and he blamed every issue of your marriage on you. You were growing tired of it, and each time that he brought up her name, you threatened to leave. He didn’t take you seriously though. And you weren’t serious until your twenty-seventh birthday, when he completely forgot to congratulate you again. But this time it completely slipped. He came home late that night, but you didn’t get to see him because you had cried yourself to sleep.

You were the wife that he wanted for some time– Quiet. You didn’t bother talking about his day, asking if he liked dinner, if you were going to do anything special for the weekend (you never did but you always asked), you didn’t ask Megumi anything either. You mentally checked out of the relationship. Until you realized that you can’t live like this forever, just emotionally isolated while you played housewife. And now you’re sitting on the couch of your apartment, waiting for your husband to come home.

Your heart is almost beating out of your chest, your hands shaky and getting worse with each second that passes. He’ll get home at any minute now, and it’ll all be over. He won’t argue your request, Toji isn’t one to argue much. You’re usually the one that starts the arguments to actually communicate with him, but you won’t be arguing with him tonight.

“Why are you still awake?” Toji’s voice spooks you, you were so lost in your own thoughts of what will come next that you completely missed the sound of the front door opening. Toji furrows his eyebrow as he looks down at you. You blink slowly before shrugging, the same response he would’ve given you. You stand up, pointing to the coffee table where the divorce papers lay.

“I want a divorce.” You’re brief. Before you can see his reaction, you take off your engagement and wedding ring, setting them down on the coffee table beside the divorce papers. You go back to your bedroom, leaving him in the living room to process the news. You doubt he cares too much. 

“Are you sure you want this? A divorce?” He ends up following after you which surprises you. You get in bed, throwing the blanket over you. You don’t pay much attention to him before you respond,

“Yes. It’s what we both want.” You answer. He shakes his head. 

“It’s what you want because I don’t want a divorce.” He responds, and you raise your brows. You shake your head disapprovingly.

“Right… You’re right. Because with me you have a live-in maid.” You point out, your voice calm as ever. Toji blinks slowly, tilting his head to the side before he opens his mouth.

“Don’t I pay the bills?” He argues, making you get out of the bed. You can’t stay calm at this moment, even if you try.

“And you hold it over my head every damn day. I don’t even get an allowance to buy myself some clothes because all the money you have left over, you throw away gambling!” You raise your voice at him, so much pent-up anger slowly unleashing. “And I wouldn’t care too much about that if you gave me the place as your wife– You treat me as if I were your fucking servant.”

“What the hell? Since when do you care about that?” Toji asks, and you freeze in your spot. You end up laughing in disbelief because you can’t believe your own husband is saying that. He’s supposed to know you better than anyone. Yet he doesn’t seem to know you at all.

“Since always! I want to be loved, Toji, how do you not know that?” You sound defeated, and he’s stepping closer to you. You’re nearly crying, realizing how you’ve wasted your time. The man that stands in front of you doesn’t love you, he’s only with you because– You don’t even know why he’s with you. “What kind of wife doesn’t want to be loved?”

He cups your face, his thumb caressing your cheek. You’re getting lost in his eyes, and you have to force yourself to look away because it never ends well when you look into his eyes. You’re so fucking weak for him. You never thought you could love someone as much as you love Toji; at first you definitely didn’t think it’d be such a strong emotion since you didn’t care much for him at first but when you fell, you fell hard. You truly believe that the man that stands in front of you is the love of your life, yet you’re leaving him because you doubt that you’ll be able to be happy by his side.

It’s the worst kind of love. The one that makes you unhappy because you yearn for it to be reciprocated.

“Then let me love you, baby.” Toji says, his lips moving down to meet yours. You’re taken back, and even though you want to pull away you also want to stay like this forever. Instead of pushing him away, your hands meet behind his neck and pull him closer to you.

His tongue swipes on your lips before you part them to let his tongue meet yours. His hands move down your body, his fingertips like fire, arousing every inch of your body as they move down your skin. You should pull away since a strong sentiment takes over as you realize that this is the only way Toji knows how to love you, and you hate it. But you’ve melted into the kiss and you can’t pull away now.

Toji’s lifting up your nightgown, and the back of your mind is telling you to stop. You’re not listening though. You only ever pull away– You don’t pull away, Toji does. He kisses down your neck before focusing on that sweet spot on your neck that makes your knees weak. 

His finger hooks under your panties, and he begins to play with the waistband before he pushes them down to the floor. When he stops kissing your neck, his fingers go to the hem of your nightgown and he lifts it up. When he takes off your nightgown, he picks you up to put you down on the bed. His hands cup your face and he gently kisses your lips, and while he looks down at you, you’re thinking that maybe– No, no, nonononono you can’t be so weak. What are you even doing under him?

Just as you’re about to get up, his lips go on yours again. He caresses your cheek, “I really love you. So much.”

His lips kiss you again and then they move down. He kisses every inch of your body, “You’re so beautiful.”

“So fucking perfect.”

“You’re my perfect wife.” He praises you with each kiss to your body, and you can’t deny how you’re like putty under his touch. Toji seems to realize the grasp he has on you, that’s why he’s kissing every inch of your body so you won’t leave him. Toji isn’t always so loving with you as he is right at this moment. He presses one final kiss on your lower abdomen before he goes to your face. He kisses your lips again, “I love you so much.”

Your hands go to Toji’s tie, and you loosen it up. Toji takes it completely off and your fingers begin to unbutton his shirt. Toji takes off his shirt completely, tossing it aside. Your hands go up his torso, and you’re almost in disbelief that Toji manages to keep his build even after getting an office job. He kisses your lips one more time before kissing down your body once again, each kiss making your body crave for more. This time he gets lower than your lower abdomen.

Toji kisses your folds before his tongue runs through them. His tongue begins to flick your clit and your bottom lip is quivering before a soft moan finally leaves your lips. Toji’s tongue is slow but slowly picks up speed.

There’s nothing Toji loves more than the taste of you on his tongue, yet he rarely does it. It’s a treat for both you and him. He’s doing it to get you to stop, hoping that his tongue giving you pleasure is enough to stop the insanity that you want to ensue. 

Your voice is soft as you let your moans into the air. It doesn’t take long for pleasure to consume your mind since Toji knows how to use his tongue. He knows your body too well, and you know you’ll grow to hate it when you’re away from him, but right at this moment you love it more than anything.

His tongue moves down to your entrances, and he teases it. A low moan leaves your lips when his tongue enters your cunt, while his thumb begins to play with your clit. Your back is arching while your bite down on your lip. He’s making you feel so fucking good, but you have to be quiet. Megumi’s room might be on the other side of the apartment but you don’t wanna risk him listening to any of this.

Toji’s tongue moves in and out your cunt a couple of times before it goes back to your clit. You’ve always loved how Toji is always so determined to get you to come, even when you weren’t dating and you were just his hookup. This is one of those times that he won’t stop until you’ve climaxed.

He gets his index and middle finger wet enough before he pushes them inside you, causing your eyes to roll to the back of your head. He curves his fingers so they brush right against that sweet spot that’s enough to drive you wild. You fucking hate it so much– Not in the moment, in the moment you’re loving it; you absolutely hate it because you know it’ll make it hard to leave. But sex is not the only factor in a marriage. 

“Toji–” You moan. Your orgasm begins to approach, and it feels harder to hold back the noises that threaten to leave your lips. Your hands grip onto the bed sheets as your climax nears. Toji does such a great job, and if he wasn’t so focused on your cunt, he’d be praising you because you feel so nice around his finger and taste so good on his tongue. “Oh, fuck– I’m gonna…”

You stumble over your words until you finally reach your high, and God, the sound you make is like music to Toji’s ears. And while usually clarity hits you when you hit your orgasm, it doesn’t this time. He takes his fingers out of your cunt yet he continues flicking your clit until he’s had enough. When he’s finished, he kisses your clit and detaches himself from your cunt.

Toji stands up and unbuttons his pants. He pushes them down with his briefs. His arm goes under your back and he brings your back up, kissing your lips ever so lovingly, which is rare from Toji. Your legs wrap behind his back. One hand holds your back, forcing you to sit up, while the other strokes his cock a couple of times before he runs the tip through your folds.

“I love you so much, I really do.” Toji kisses the tip of your nose as his cock stretches you out. He’s making eye contact with you as his cock bottoms out, and you feel the tears that well your eyes. You wish it was of pleasure– While it does feel great, your tears are filled with sadness. Maybe he does love you.

A tear falls from your eye, streaming down your cheek and Toji doesn’t waste a second before he wipes it away. He kisses your lips and he begins to move, letting go of your back so you’re able to lay back down. “Will you stay with me, please? I need you.”

No, no he doesn’t. He doesn’t need you. He just doesn’t want to be alone. A need is something you need to live, and he clearly doesn’t need you. You bite down on your lip, looking away from Toji because just looking at him makes you want to burst into tears. 

“Please look at me.” Toji says, his hand going to your chin and moving your head so your eyes fall on him. He’s so… Perfect. Toji might have many imperfections, but in your eyes he’s perfect. That’s why you’ve stayed for so long. You will never find someone as perfect as he is. You try to focus on what’s happening to you physically, his cock filling you up and hitting every right spot, but it’s hard when so many emotions run through you at the same time. “Do you love me too?”

“I love you, Toji.” The words slip past your lips. You watch as he smiles, and you avert your gaze elsewhere. You don’t like giving him the satisfaction of knowing that, even when he deeply knows it. 

“I love you more than you know, baby.” Toji tells you, his hand going down your body to play with your clit. You try to ignore it, letting the feeling of pleasure take over, but your other emotions are too overwhelming. So many emotions flow through you.

Tears keep streaming down your eyes as Toji reminds you that he loves you so much. His hands land on your hips. His hands feel so gentle on your body. “Please stay with me.”

Toji is usually much rougher during sex, but this time he's gentler with you. It still feels so fucking good. You bite down your lip, feeling as your second orgasm of the night approaches. Your walls begin to squeeze around him, and Toji begins to curse under his breath. He fucking loves this, fuck fuck fuck fuck, he could stay buried inside of you forever.

“Will you stay with me, baby? Do I need to trap you?” He says, and what he’s saying is so wrong but it just sounds so fucking hot. It arouses you even more. “Do I need to knock you up?”

“Fuck–” You’re so close to finishing and his words are certainly helping. His cock just hits every right spot and he plays with your clit perfectly. You have to put your hand over your mouth when you reach your climax, not being able to contain the sounds but at least your hand muffles them. 

“I’m gonna fuck a baby into you. I need you by my side, baby.” Toji continues, his thrusts slowly becoming sloppy. His nails unwillingly dig into your flesh. “Gonna make you a mommy, fuck–”

Toji throws his head back, shutting his eyes. He groans when he finally finishes, filling you up with his cum. He stays buried inside of you until he makes sure every drop of his cum is inside of you. He finally pulls out after a minute.

Toji lays down beside you, an exasperated breath leaving his lips. He tries to bring you closer to him, for you to lay your head on his chest how you usually do. He doesn’t usually like it, normally he pushes you off saying he has work early the next morning before he turns on his side. But not this time, he’s the one that tries to bring you closer, and Toji feels a sense of relief when you do.

You hear his heartbeat as it settles, and it brings you so much peace. His hand lovingly strokes your arm, an action that Toji only ever does when he’s making up for something. He places a kiss on your forehead before he mutters, “I love you.”

No kiss or caress can change your mind though. You’ve made your decision. He’s so loving now but within a week he’ll go back to being the same cold Toji. Toji doesn’t know though, and he thinks you’re all good when your hand fondles his chest. His lips then peck yours.

“Are we good now?” Toji asks. He doesn’t want you to leave, and while he might not show it, he does love you. Toji would not sit on his ass for nearly twelve hours a day, five days weekly, for anyone else but you. Plumbing was paying more than enough for him and Megumi, but it wasn’t going to be enough for you.

Toji changed jobs for you, wanting to give you a lavish lifestyle. He bought you a somewhat expensive ring, gave you a proper wedding, and now you’re living in an apartment that he wouldn’t have been able to afford in his previous job. Sure, he does have somewhat of an addiction and he doesn’t give you money to buy whatever you want, but you’re a housewife, you don’t get to buy whatever you want. At least that’s what he believes. Toji has done so much for you, and it pains to see that his efforts go underappreciated.

“We are.” You answer his question. You peck his lips again. He’s smiling at you but you can’t bring yourself to smile at him. “But we’re still getting a divorce.”

“What?” His eyes widen when those words leave your lips. Your head remains on his chest, your hand still running on his chest. You’re ever so calm listening to his heartbeat.

“Toji, if this is the only way that you can show me you love me then I don’t want that.” You tell him. You’re ever so calm, you have come to accept that your marriage is ending. You did think you’d be more of a mess while telling him this, but the tears from before are more than enough. “You’re better off with someone else.”

“But I want to be with you. You’re the woman I love.” He says, and it causes you to laugh. 

“You just like having sex with me.” You argue, even though you know that he does love you. But you want to leave. You have to because by his side you won’t be happy.

“I told you I wanted to have a baby with you, that’s no small deal.” He brings up.

“Just a spur of the moment thing. If I thought you were serious, I would’ve pushed you off.” You tell him, getting up from the bed and walking to the bathroom to clean yourself off. Toji watches you from the bed, watching as his cum drips out of you. He’d find the scene hot and pull you back into the bed if it weren’t for the fact that–

His hand go over his face, a sigh leaving his lips, “She fucking wants a divorce.”

H-he so mean but like the masochistic  whore in me still wants him🥺

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

100% I highkey wanna let Toji mess up my life like this~

˗ˏˋ꒰ 🍒꒱ park fling

TOJI x f.reader

Overview; Toji met you at the park and just had to take you back to his car to show you a good time

Content; smut, dilf + tattooed Toji

Warnings; 🔞 mdni, smut, implied milk dad behavior (poor Megumi sorry m'boy)

Kinks; public sex (park), light breeding kink, hookup sex, implied age gap (20s ~ 30s), taking off condom, creampie, car sex, dirty talk, a brief use of pns 'daddy' and 'good girl'

A/N; srry just eyerolling for toji so bad lately thought i'd squeeze out some more yummy content 💕

He was just someone you met at the park one day. All you knew about him was that he had a son and previously they were on a picnic together, catching up on life like they so rarely do.

It was the holidays. An especially bright sun cursed the summer sky, you constantly kept your hand held to the crown of your head to shade your squinting eyes from the harsh sun rays.

That tall, brooding man crossed your line of sight and immediately snapped up your attention. The way his tight black T-shirt defined his muscular physique made you clench your thighs together tightly. And when he spoke to you? You batted your eyes like crazy and gave him a cheeky, horny smile.

His greasy black hair reminded you of the bad boys you used to crush on back in high school. His bold tattoos were just the cherry on top. Speaking of cherries... he was clearly very interested in yours. "Wanna go someplace quieter?" he asked.

That deep, rolling voice of his went straight to the center of your brain, reverberated in your chest and travelled down south between your thighs, which he knew you were rubbing together because of him. He was sorely aware of the effect he had on girls like you.

After sending his son off down the block to the store for some lame, made-up excuse, Toji took you to his black, pretty Porsche and eagerly squeezed himself inside your needy, wet pussy as you sat pretty on his lap in the driver's seat. He angled your body so that he could get as deep as possible, and you happily let his calloused hands explore your body.

He let out handsome, deep groans while his nasty cock squeezed in and out of your pussyhole. The way he meanly rolled his hips up and roughly squeezed the crease of your hips made you feel like you were his toy — his newfound favorite, his pretty little fleshlight. Those snake green eyes narrowed in pleasure, cockhead skillfully bullying against your G-spot each time he plunged inside.

The condom bothered the two of you so much that you told him to just get rid of it already, so he peeled it off his cock. Sinking inside you raw sent him straight to heaven. And you? You could barely keep a coherent thought in your head. You could feel the texture of his cock, each kink and curve, and the angry veins that decorated his shaft.

He fucked you so good that you just threw your head back in bliss and voiced every bad girl desire in it.

" 'm gonna cum!" you cried, clawing at his meaty biceps. The pleasure was so good you rolled your eyes back and made a face like a pornstar, it made Toji chuckle.

"Cummin' f'me?"

"Mhm! 'm gonna cum, 'm gonna — ahhh, cumminggg!" you squealed, feeling your hole tighten up so much that you really felt the shape of his cock. It had a curve to it that just absolutely drove your pussy nuts.

"Aw, look at you." Toji cooed against your face, admiring your slutty expression as you orgasmed. "Daddy's gonna cum too, 'wanna take it inside like a good girl? Get that pretty pussy knocked up? Hm?"

You nodded and replied with such a frantic "Yes! Yes please! Knock me up!" that he chuckled. It felt so good to cum knowing that you wanted to get knocked up by him; this total stranger who you let rail you in his car even though you talked to him for only two hours, this daddy who already had a son. But hell, he didn't mind having another kid if it came from someone as cute as you.

He barely managed to get any words out before he came. "Ah — fuuuck, 'take it, take it all." he growled lowly in your ear. You felt him throbbing and pulsing, broad chest heaving; for a moment it felt like he was never gonna catch his breath again.

Stilling with an erotic groan, he kept a firm hold on your hips as if he was gonna go in for another round because, truthfully, it just felt too good to throw in the towel yet. Creamy white liquid dribbled out of your little loosened up hole.

Meanwhile, his son returned to find his dad not where he left him, so he scratched the back of his head and rung up his dad's phone. "Dad, where you at? Just up and fucking vanished again?" he sighed sarcastically.

Toji slipped himself out of you with a little pop sound. "Stay put, I'm coming back." he told Megumi.

Aw, he must have really cared about his son, because he drove back to the park to meet him. Of course, not without hastily stuffing another creampie up inside your hole and putting his number in your contacts.

Aw this hit me with the lonely feels but I love that Toji came and made it all a bit better

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐀𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝟑𝟖𝟏

Toji Fushiguro

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[Chapter 11] New Year's Eve

Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x f!Reader

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi

Spending a week alone is not something that you usually mind, but this time you actually feel sad as you spend the time alone. When you start to forget about your loneliness, you look at the charm bracelet that Toji gave you– And when it’s not that, it’s the stuffed bear that’s in your room. You just wish that you could spend time with them, especially this time of the year. You try not to sit in your room and dwell, but it feels impossible.

Everyone around you has someone else, and it’s a reminder of how lonely you are now. For the first time, you don’t have Kento with you, even if last year he was sick. Sadly you can’t escape going out because you still have to work. You luckily have some days off, but you still don’t escape going outside. You try your best to avoid going out.

You only go out when you absolutely need to, at least for the first five days that they’re gone. When the peak of the holidays passes, you go out without a problem. 

You’re out for dinner, getting something hot to warm you up. Since you’re not taking care of little Megumi, you find yourself with a lot of free time, and now you have no idea what to do with it. You try to recall what you did before taking care of Megumi, but it’s hard. Even during the week that you weren’t talking to Toji, you had no idea what to do.

So you’re taking advantage of this rare opportunity and going out to eat. You have a couple of drinks, order food until you’re stuffed, and when you’re all done, you pay and walk out of the restaurant. But life is never so simple. 

You walk past someone that you can’t easily ignore– Having white hair at such a young age isn’t exactly too common. What’s weirder about him, is that it’s his natural hair color. You try to walk past him as if you don’t know him, but he notices you and he grabs your arm, stopping you from walking further. He says your name and you’re forced to look back at him.

“Can I help you, sir?” You ask, hoping that he’ll drop whatever he has to say if you treat him like a complete stranger. Satoru isn’t one that drops a subject so easily, and he wants to talk to you, so he’s not going away until he talks to you.

“Are you leaving already?” He responds with a question that has an obvious answer since you were talking in opposite directions. You don’t say anything since the answer is pretty clear, and when you stare at each other for a minute, a sigh leaves his lips, “Can we talk?”

“Is there something more to talk about?” You reply, and he furrows his brows. Before he can mutter a word, you speak again, “I’m sorry, Gojo. I’m just really confused as to what you’re doing here. You live nearly an hour away, and you can certainly afford to eat at much nicer places… What the hell are you doing here?” 

“Can’t I get food here?” He’s defensive. You shake your head, and your fingers manage to take off each individual finger that holds your arm until you’re finally free from his grasp.

“Not when you live so far away. Have a good night, Gojo, I hope to never bump into you again.” You walk away, and you know it’d take a minute or two before he chases after you, so you sprint away, until you know that you’re out of sight. 

Luckily that’s the only time that you bump into Satoru during your time alone. And as much as you’d pay attention to him, the only man that you’re currently thinking of is Toji. Toji is slowly consuming your mind, and you hate to admit that you love it. Thinking about Toji brings a smile to your face, and you almost feel guilty because your husband hasn’t been dead for a year. But you can’t dwell on Kento forever.

Maybe you are moving on a little bit too fast, but you’re not putting everything on hold for a year. You’re starting to forget the fact that you didn’t want a relationship because as you think about Toji, the thing you want the most is a relationship. Your opinion has certainly changed.

There’s a knock on your door near noon, and since it’s New Year’s Eve, you have nowhere to go. You went to sleep pretty late the previous night, staying up to binge watch a TV show. You don’t even realize how late it is, walking straight to the door after being awakened by the knocking. When you open it, the biggest smile comes to your face.

“Megumi!” You exclaim, looking down at the little boy who holds a bouquet of flowers that’s almost bigger than him. You take it from his hands, and toss it on the kitchen counter before picking Megumi up from the floor. You kiss his cheek, and ruffle his hair, “How are you, baby? How was it?”

“It was good!” He responds. Your eyes then shift from Megumi to Toji. He’s awkwardly standing, his hands in his pockets, and it causes your face to get warm. He’s looking so fucking cute. Cute isn’t the word that describes Toji very well, but it’s the only word that runs through your mind.

“Please come in, I’m going to change real quick.” You say with a smile on your face. You put Megumi on the ground and run to get some clothes before locking yourself in the bathroom.

Megumi begins to walk around the apartment, and when he spots the giant bear in the corner of the room, he runs to it to hug it. Toji watches and furrows his brows, “What are you doing?”

“It’s soft.” The little boy says, putting his head on the bear. Toji’s smiling as he watches the kid, and he really is her son. Toji would’ve never done this as a child, or maybe he would’ve if he had different parents. He really can’t say.

“It’s nice to see you two again, didn’t expect you to be back so soon.” You tell them as you walk out of the bathroom. You find Megumi with his arms wrapped around your stuffed animal which causes you to chuckle. You really can’t tear your eyes away from the adorable sight.

“Uh… I have to go back to work.” Toji answers, and you furrow your brows.

“Your night job?” You ask him, and Toji nods his head. You tilt your head before asking, “Which is…?”

There’s no response. In fact, he tries to change the subject, “Megumi, stop hugging the bear.”

“But it’s soft.” Megumi argues, and even though Toji wants to laugh, he doesn’t want to focus to shift back to your question. Megumi ends up pulling away and then looking at his father. The bear reminds him of his birthday, and Megumi curiously asks, “When’s my birthday again?”

“Oh, it’s very far away, Megumi. Don’t even start thinking about it.” Toji answers, and the boy pouts his lips. You smile and walk over to him, ruffling his hair which further messes it up. Toji chuckles before commenting, “You love messing up his hair.”

“It’s always a little messy. Isn’t that right, sea urchin?” You watch as Megumi furrows his brows, unsure of what you mean. You then look at Toji and you ask, “When’s your birthday?”

“My birthday?” Toji seems a bit taken back by the question. He bites down on his lips before clearing his throat and answering, “Today.”

“Is it really?” You ask with a laugh, you’re almost one hundred percent sure that he’s messing with you. He scratches his neck before he nods in response causing your eyes to widen. “Toji! You should’ve said something!”

“What for?” Toji responds, and you walk over to him to hug him. He isn’t too sure how to react when he feels your arms wrap around him, but he eventually gives in and hugs you back. “I didn’t have to say anything.”

“Yes you did! We have to celebrate!” You respond, pulling away from the hug and you notice how his cheeks grow pink. You two stare at one another for a moment before you say, “Happy birthday, Toji.”

“Happy– I mean, thank you.” He answers. God, he fucking hates this. He feels as if he’s stuck in a trance, unable to look away. Toji felt like this once in his life before and he fucking hates this feeling. He’s a tough man– He has to repeat it in his head over and over again. He’s not a puny little bitch that blushes and stutters when a pretty woman wishes him a happy birthday.

“Happy birthday, daddy!” Megumi breaks him out, wrapping his arms around his dad’s leg. He wants to be included in a hug, he doesn’t care too much about his father’s birthday. Toji picks up Megumi from the floor and kisses his cheek.

“Thank you, sea urchin.” Toji says, looking back at you. “You’re right, he does look like a sea urchin.”

“Should we do something to celebrate?” You bat your eyelashes at him, giving him a sweet smile; one that makes him weak in the knees. 

“I have to work tonight… Actually, could you babysit tonight?” Toji questions, and while you gruff and puff about it because he ignored your question, you end up humming in response. It’s his birthday so you’ll be as nice as you possibly can be. Maybe tomorrow when he repeats the same question, you’ll be able to be more mad at him. “You’re the best.”

“I know I am.” You respond. Your eyes then fall to the flowers that he bought for you. Your lips go up to his cheek and you sweetly tell him, “Thank you for the flowers, Toji.”

“I picked them!” Megumi claims, and you laugh. You also kiss Megumi’s cheek.

“Thank you for the flowers, Megumi.”

“Are you sleepy, Megumi?” You ask, and even though he’s falling asleep, he shakes his head. Toji went off to work, and since you didn’t have many plans, you’re now on your bed, watching New Year’s TV with Megumi, who sits on the floor. The entire day was spent by Toji unpacking and trying to do chores while Megumi did– Whatever the hell Megumi wanted to do. You tried to help out but Megumi insisted that you had nothing to do, so you didn’t. 

“Not sleepy.” He assures you, even though his head is falling. You yawn, sleepy just like him. If it weren’t for the fact that Megumi insists on staying awake, you’d shut off the TV and go to sleep. Even though you woke up late, you’re more tired than ever. 

You wonder when Toji’s going to get here. The cat is out of the bag and he’s admitted that he isn’t fixing cars up so late (which doesn’t really surprise you if you’re being honest). You try to figure out what his job is but it’s certainly hard to figure out since there’s a vast sea of options. Maybe he did lie to you and he’s going on dates, but you try to remain hopeful that Toji is honest with you. You also don’t like to admit the fact that the thought of Toji going on dates sends you over the edge.

While thinking about Toji you hear a light thud sound, and you look down to find Megumi’s head on the floor. You laugh, hearing the light snoring from the kid. You pick him up from the floor and put him on your bed, throwing a blanket over him. You take his previous spot, allowing him to take up the whole entire bed. Your eyelids feel heavy, and you feel as if the same thing that happened to Megumi, will happen to you. At the very least, you want to be awake when Toji gets back. 

You’re not even old but you feel ancient because staying up till midnight is one of the hardest tasks you’ve done in a while. It feels absurd knowing that the previous night you stayed up without a problem. Maybe there’s just something in the air tonight– Maybe you’ve been thinking too much about Toji and he’s been using up all your energy. You won’t know, you just know that your eyes are shutting.

Until there’s a knock on your door that makes you shoot your eyes open. You stand up and rush to open the door. You see Toji, and this time he didn’t try to change out of his clothes like he usually does. Maybe he’s a waiter or something of that sort and he’s ashamed. 

“He’s asleep.” You tell him, and he walks inside to pick up Megumi and take him back to his apartment. “How was work?”

“Exhausting.” He answers, and he keeps it brief. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t want to wake up the sleeping child, or he simply isn’t in the mood to talk. You don’t mind, after all, you’re sleepy. Toji walks out the door without muttering a single word, and you can’t lie and say that you weren’t offended by it. You shut the door and walk back to your bed, and just as you’re about to lay down, there’s a knock on the door again.

You open it to find Toji again. You stare at each other for a moment, and maybe it’s just your tired eyes deceiving you, but he appears to be trembling. His hands finally cup your face, his eyes looking deeply into yours for a moment, and it causes your heart to skip a beat. His face inches closer, and when his lips are mere centimeters away from yours, he mutters, “I’ve been kicking myself for not spending the night with you and my son.”

“You don’t have to worry about that. We can celebrate tomorrow.” His cold lips finally land on yours. Your lips warm him up, and he can’t seem to pull away. He wants to deepen the kiss, to go one step further but he’s too tired. Maybe he’d just like to cuddle but he can’t do that either. You close your eyes, fully surrendering to the kiss, your hands meeting behind his neck and pulling his head to you. 

You swear you hear fireworks– Which knocks you back into reality. Toji ends up pulling away, and when your lips are parted, you peck him again. You smile at Toji, “Happy new year.”

“Happy new year.” He responds. Your whole body is hot which is odd considering the extreme coldness of the outside. He lets go of you, and while he wants to go in, he holds himself back.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Toji.” You tell him, and he mindlessly nods. You expect him to walk away but instead he awkwardly stands there. You wave at him as you shut the door.

There’s a big smile on your face as you walk back to your bed, and it makes you realize you really like Toji.

Lowkey me kinda sad but I’d do anything to make my boy happy

(SMUT/NSFW +18 - minors DNI!)

Depressed Geto who invites his gf over just so he can drown his sadness away eating her pussy for hours. He cuddles you naked all day, not wanting to ever leave the intoxicting warmth your body provides him with. He dresses you in his much larger hoodies only so that he can comfortably grab a handful of your ass whenever he feels down.

He randomly pulls your thong to the side and slides a thick finger into your soft mound, adding another one just as he shushes your whines with a big hand covering your mouth, telling you that he's still going to push a couple other fingers in till he feels satisfied enough.

He's so needy all the time, grabs your hand and pulls you into the shower cause he says it feel so damn lonely to be there on his own. He holds you from behind the whole time as the hot water sprays down your joined bodies. The steamy fog envelops your lungs with his palms fondling your breasts and caressing the fat of your stomach. His deep voice resonates through your chest, begging you not to leave and never to let him go, telling you how much his body craves yours and how empty he feels when he's not inside you.

He fucks you for long night hours in front of his bedroom mirror, telling you how much he loves this sight and how well it makes him forget his crippling pain. He wants this sight to last forever, tells you to moan harder and and not give a fck about anybody. Cry out his name for the whole world to hear cause his heart cheers up whenever your screams get louder, and your orgasms get messier.

He takes your hand in his and gently places it on his groing bulge, puppy-like eyes almost begging you to stroke him till he cums loads all over you. You can't help but free his blushy tip from underneath his sweatpants, gently taking his half-hard length and stroking it up and down, then sliding his sweatshirt over his head so you can suckle on his heaving chest, nice and slow.

His pelvis fucks into your small fist as 'aggh babe..fuck' and 'good fucking girl' leave his mouth, big hand ruffeled into your hair, giding your head however it satisfies his hunger.

Depressed Geto who couldn't have gotten through all that pain he had to endure if you weren't there to feed his body and give a new birth to his soul.