The Fact That She Was Being Emotionally Manipulated And She Knewww Damn All The Stuff He Was Saying Sounded

The fact that she was being emotionally manipulated and she knewww😭😭😭 Damn all the stuff he was saying sounded sweet tho. Now I wondering if she’s planning to keep him around like a pet or somethin

Sex with a Ghost (TojixFem!Reader)

Chapter 2: Evening Newscast

Chapter 1 | Story Masterlist | Masterlist | Requests | AO3

A/N: Took ages to write, but it's here!

Tags: MDNI, Student!Reader, Ghost!Toji, Age Gap(reader 18/Toji early 30s), Oral sex (m.receiving), Manipulation, Loss of Virginity, Corruption Kink, Praise, Degradation, Spanking, Pet Names (princess, baby, does whore count?), Cowgirl, Toji being more of a mean dom this time around, this fic has so much filth idk if I'm leaving anything out.

Word Count: 6.8k of almost pure smut.

The first time your cursed technique manifested was at the tender age of eight, when your paternal grandmother passed away. It happened so unexpectedly fast that the thought didn’t settle until you saw her body being transferred in a bamboo box to the cremation chamber, the last bits of her scattering far into the Pacific Ocean on another impromptu family excursion to Hokkaido.

You remembered your brother, four, at the time, asking your detached father where granny went, his mind too juvenile to process or comprehend the concept of death, and your father’s stern reply as the sand comfortably sank below your feet: “To a better place.”

Back then, you didn’t challenge the existence of such a place. All you wanted to know was its location, because if somewhere better than where you lived existed, who wouldn’t choose to go there instead?

The answer itself came exactly 49 days after her passing, on a night when a crack in your hard exterior let the tears gush out like an endless torrent of sorrow, plangent cries spilling into the shabby teddy bear you claimed you had outgrown. Life seems so ridiculously easy when you are eight, that you keep trying to outrun it without accounting for the inescapable boss at the end of the game until it’s too late to go back to your previous save.

At least that’s what happens in your brother’s video games. You were no nerd.

Although, what you indeed were was a deeply hurt child who begged to apologize for errors not quite crucial, such as that one time you refused to give your grandma a kiss or last Christmas when you called her boring straight to her face. And her eyes—her beautiful violet eyes that you didn’t get to inherit looked back at you with adoration you didn’t deserve—adoration that haunted you even in your childhood bedroom’s windowless confinement.

Adoring, bright, and lively. More lively than they’d been during the entire final year of her life. Attached to the wrinkly apparition with the paper-thinned skin and the rosy nightgown—the very same nightgown the neighbors had found her in, ambient white noise at the end of her tightly gripped remote control—as it escaped from the bubbles of your eyelids and materialized next to your bedpost.

Her smile was gentle, and her scent was the same comforting mix of spring lilacs and freshly baked cookies. And if the notion of her turning into a ghost to haunt you for whatever sins you didn’t repent wasn’t debunked by those exclusive-to-the-living luxuries, finding solace in her snug embrace settled it.

You asked her, back then, where it was that the dead went. And she answered, No further than where the foam washes the shore.

It wasn’t until you were fourteen of age that the same topic was brought up in a most unexpected way; the boy with the unruly white hair and the grin that never ceased to beam brightly as the sun on his lips telling you there was nowhere for the dead to go.

He didn’t try to sugarcoat it with the likes of “they’re always in our hearts” or use a metaphor as complex as the one your grandma did. Instead, he spoke of curses and sorcerers—of an invisible line of energy that flowed in your body and the powerful techniques it fueled.

He explained the differences between ghosts and shikigami, the first of which appeared unregulated on their own, and the second of which depended on the raw energy input of your technique. He offered you a spot at an institution meant to curb your curiosity and further your potential, but more than that, he convinced you you were special.

Perhaps the reason why you despised Gojo Satoru with every fiber of your being and the reason why, after that fateful encounter, you kept running to him for answers were one and the same. Because you were a fool big enough to trust him.

And old habits are notoriously hard to kill.

“If it isn’t my favorite student!” Gojo exclaimed as he spotted you marching across the acres of pine trees, your steps slowing down once you noticed a child in his presence.

The kid seemed no older than ten years old, with tousled black spikes prodding out of every node on his head. An unamused look pooled in his emerald eyes, draining them into a pair of perfect slits as he slid behind Gojo’s back, discreetly meddling with the environment of trees and pebbles until he was completely out of sight.

“Meg—” The continuation of his name faded into a threadbare sigh, frayed from usage. You wondered what they were to each other.

“Rushing into puberty, I see,” Gojo mumbled, his attention eventually shifting to you. An icky smile spread to his lips, curling and curving with each word that followed. “How may I help?”

You arched a brow, your arms defiantly closing over your chest. “What makes you think I’m here to ask for help?”

Your mind was still on that boy, searching for an inkling of his presence, partly because you didn’t want others listening in and partly because you hoped your presence hadn’t intimidated him into running away. Although, being in Gojo’s company, you doubted anything could scare the poor thing out of his wits.

Snapping you out of your thoughts, “You have the kinda face that says ‘Help me, sensei. You’re my only hope!’ all over it.”

The motion of his fingers clasping around each other in a praying motion irked you more than his outdated reference and the high-pitched impression of your voice combined. He noticed that, similarly to how he’d also noticed the purple trace peaking from your uniform’s collar the moment you set foot on campus, but he didn’t comment on either. Instead, he leaned against the tree closest to him, his stance mirroring yours.

“So how did it go with Mr. Zen’in?”

A broken transmission of sinful moans intercepted your senses on demand, with the chilling sensation of a stranger’s tongue entrapped between your legs feeling a bit more tangible than just another fever dream—his taste too heady and vivid to dismiss as mere imagination.

“Fine,” you lied.

“Fine?” he repeated.

“Fine,” you insisted.

“Just fine?” he pressed.

“Just fine,” you confirmed, inevitably hissing at him.

Was it too late to ask for a change of mentor?

“So, who’s the kid?” You pointed away from the topic in the direction the kid had run off to. Smart boy.

“That’d be Megumi,” Gojo said. “He’ll be joining us in a few years.”

“Is he…?”

He nodded, confirming the first of your suspicions. Come to think of it, he—Megumi—looked awfully similar to the few Zen’ins you had the displeasure of meeting and, oddly, most similar to your one pleasurable acquaintance. They had the same eyes. Same stubborn scowl, too.

“He’ll soon be one of the leading forces in the Jujutsu world,” Gojo continued. Not under your guidance, he won’t. “Why not stay around till then? Watch your kouhai-to-be thrive?”

“The role of an upperclassman doesn’t suit me. Besides, I can’t wait until I’m out of this place.”

The blindfold he donned concealed about half of his reaction, though his frown revealed plenty. You found it hard to believe that parting with one of his biggest haters filled him with such profound sorrow, but then again, Gojo Satoru was a species of his own. In any case, you preferred his amiable look to this—whatever that was—and changed the subject yet again, paving the path toward the answers you truly sought.

“You wouldn’t happen to know if any Zen’ins kicked the bucket recently?” Your eyes scanned both heaven and earth nervously. “Any Zen’ins with a scar on the lower part of their face, let’s say?” You let linger.

“…Why are you asking?” A hint of suggestion grazed his question, his eyes surely glinting with mischief.

You stumbled over your own words, struggling to come up with an answer that didn’t involve sharing the finer details of the unnamed man’s biceps snaring around your body while his tongue ran laps around your pussy, drooling over you as if you were a chew toy.

No, you’d much rather Gojo found out that for a brief regrettable moment when you were fifteen, you may or may not have crushed on him rather than allow him a glimpse into your blossoming sex life.

And so, brute force was all that was left.

You padded toward him and shaped a rough circle with your index and thumb, the former losing momentum the closer you got to flicking his covered forehead.

“How many times are you gonna try that?” A shit-eating grin betrayed his amusement. “You know it won’t land.”

“I don’t want to make it land,” you retorted. “I just want you to feel my hostility.”

“I feel it plenty just by looking at you,” Gojo chuckled, repelling you without lifting a single finger.

Your frustration boiled into a low grunt as you slapped the air between you, mumbling incoherent slurs with your back eventually turning on him. This was pointless. You were better off asking Miss Ieri or that new Nanami guy; they’d be more helpful than this piece of—

“Zen’in Toji.”

As if the name wasn’t enough to make you freeze in your tracks, the hand that fiddled with your shirt’s collar had your feet rooting into the soil.

Maybe if you stayed still enough, you could eventually turn into a tree.

You braced yourself for the earful of the century and glanced over your shoulder, expecting the first round of reprimands to be fired any minute now, but nothing came out of his mouth. At least now, while your eyes scanned his bared pearly whites for hints of gunpowder.

“I know you won’t listen to your favorite teacher, but” How many times do I need to tell you that you aren’t? “don’t go around summoning dangerous men.

“Please.”

You returned home to four sets of untouched slippers and a sticky note hanging from the fridge, your mother’s handwriting informing you the three of them, squirt included, had gone off camping in Okinawa and wouldn’t be back till Monday.

Oh, and that they’d left some more of that lasagna in the fridge in case you felt hungry—a single portion to last you the three days of their absence. Even a pet would be pushed to starvation with that little food, and as expected, there was no pizza money in the key bowl by the counter either.

Great!

Leaving tomorrow’s worries to tomorrow you, you slumped down on the couch with the cold tupperware in hand. You flipped through the channels and settled for the evening newscast. Arsonists, murderers, and tax evaders—one more despicable than the other—yet you felt inclined to smile. If it weren’t for their generous contribution to society, half of the news staff—including both the anchorwoman and her fancy Dior suit—would end up on the street.

Perhaps that was the punchline. The same society that condemned dangerous men needed them to do dangerous things so a minority could be paid for pointing out their errors. Similarly, the value of Jujutsu sorcerers was dependent on horrible things happening, and in a curse-free society, even someone like Gojo would be useless.

You wondered if Toji had ever made it to the headlines or if, like you, he was merely an observer of the world’s fatalities. You knew he lied. He was neither the Ten Shadows user nor did he die over a hundred years ago, and as wretched as Gojo was, he didn’t dub people dangerous for no reason. Come to think of it, you’d never heard of him using that term before. He was too conceited for that.

Then there was Toji’s reaction when you mentioned your teacher, both instances pointing in the same direction; they knew each other. Well enough for each to be a controversial topic to the other, and poorly enough to guarantee no warm sentiments remained.

Judging from Toji’s outfit and Gojo’s current age, Toji’s time of death was estimated sometime during the previous decade—and that was about all the information you had on him. A dangerous impostor from the Zen’in clan with a knack for sweet-talking his way into your panties.

And maybe that should have deterred you from bringing out the crystal sphere, but it didn’t. You were most curious about the man’s identity, and as exalted as Gojo was, he didn’t have a pussy of his own. He didn’t know of the gates Toji opened for you with his tongue, and certainly wouldn’t understand if you tried to explain. You were putting both your career as a sorcerer and your relationship with him in line for dick.

You placed the ball on the coffee table and recited the incantation, revving up the sphere with cursed energy until the familiar silhouette of tight black and loose white appeared between the couch and the screen, looking as brilliant and pissed as ever. So very pissed that you could sense the fury in his eyes while staring at his feet, nearly wishing you’d listened to Gojo.

“Hey, Toj—”

“Some nerve you have.” The man’s gruff voice denied your squeaky calling of his name. “Did ya good and then ya threw me out—really?”

“I can explain—”

“Explain?” Toji laughed, and it felt like nails on a chalkboard. “Explain what, hm? You think I’m your personal fucktoy? That I’ve got nothin’ better to do than get this pussy off?”

“No, I—”

“Nah, you listen, kid.” He spoke the word with utter ridicule. “Been in this shit world longer than ya and got your type down pat. All prim and proper with your little Bambi eyes and pouty lips; all ‘yes, sir’ and ‘no sir’ until you get what you want, then off to the next available dick you go—ain’t that right?”

It’s not.

You stuck your bottom lip out in complaint, your forehead begging to unite with your knees as you coiled into yourself, sinking deeper into the cushions, and Toji—he wouldn’t let you catch a break, wandering around the shrinking space while he spat his accusations, his stride eventually bringing him to stand in front of you, a proper executioner with a sharpened cleaver aimed at your neck.

“Thought I asked ya a question, didn’t I?”

You nodded where he could only see your shoulders move, lacking the strength to lift the weight of his contemptuous glare. You heard him sigh and witnessed him crouching, his fists caging you between the couch and his bulging arms—his warm breath inching closer, an indisputable evidence of life.

“Don’t let it go to that pretty little head of yours, but—” His forefinger tapped against your skull, the rasp of his voice mellowing into velvet. “I’m dead without you. Can’t even jerk it to my special girl from the other side.”

You finally peered at him, plump lips parting in awe at how easily he’d switched his approach. A man who’d stop at nothing to get inside your panties—who was willing to adopt a more amiable persona if that meant fooling you. The kind of man who believed ends justified means and was shameless about it, not caring whether his veneer crinkled around the edges or his wolfish smile reeked of deceit.

A dangerous man; sounds about right.

You planted your feet back on the floor and drew out your pout. People use each other all the time. “You really think I’m special?”

His brows knitted at the sudden change in your disposition, a curious smirk stretching his scar as he cupped your cheek. “Wouldn’t be ‘ere if it weren’t for you, sweetheart.”

A person’s worth is defined by their usage. “Am I special even though I’m always left behind? Even if I have no cursed technique to fight with—even when I’ll never be as valuable as Gojo Satoru?”

A fat drop of water gathered in your eye, picked up by Toji’s thumb before it had the chance to escalate into a downpour. So let me be useful to you.

“Gojo Satoru was born with every blessing in the world. Strip those off, and he ain’t no more than a privileged nobody, while you,” he stroked the apple of your cheek tenderly, the green in his eyes faltering behind soft-worn eyelids, “you worked hard to get where you are, didn’t ya?”

Let me be special.

You nuzzled his palm, a feeble nod to his query. You had tried so hard to keep up, and yet you felt you had no rightful claim to your efforts. When your classmates put a bit more soul into it, they advanced. When you busted your gut waving swords and three-part staffs around—even during lunch breaks—you simply retained. You were a weak sorcerer, but even this stage of weakness had taken your all.

“Not as if anyone gives a shit.” Toji dropped his hand to your shoulder, his intentions no good as he rubbed his way to your chest. “Gojo or Zen’in—they are both shit names.” His fingers worked on unbuttoning your uniform’s sleeveless top, discomfort contorting his expression while he fumbled with the golden buttons.

“Lemme fill you in on a little something. A name means nothing without strength, but strength means nothing without a name. The Jujutsu world won’t respect ya unless you possess both, and the world ain’t gonna thank ya for your service either way.”

“Then why did you say I was special?”

He smiled at your question, and for a second, you eluded yourself into thinking it was genuine. “Because you’re special to me.”

Your shirt came off, and his voice was silenced as he dipped forward, the tip of his tongue finding your mouth before his lips. You blinked slowly, while he pulled your breasts outside their confinement, your bra’s underwire poking at your ribs. He smiled again before he dragged his lips across your neck and collarbones, renewing each and every one of the marks he’d planted on your body the previous night, and with his doing that, your guilt was too renewed.

Your memory trailed back to Gojo and how he’d helped cover them up—the final please of his fueling you with so much anger that overpowered any pleasure Toji offered. He had no right to act like a guardian when it was because of him that you’d lost all respect for yourself. You once thought you were special because he told you so. You were brought into this world because of him, and like a flower that was plucked out and placed in a pot of different soil, you were doomed to wither.

It was all his fault—a series of wrongs that Toji’s touch meant to right.

The television droned on about stock rates behind Toji’s broad shoulders, his mouth skipping to your nipples. His tongue lapped at what his teeth bit, suckling hard on them as if they were the sweetest lollipops. He was much rougher than he was the first time, not caring that your whines were almost of pain rather than bliss.

You brought a hand down his choppy hair, and he glanced up, jade eyes boring into yours while his mouth parted to reveal his tongue swirling around your nipple.

“You don’t have to try with me.” Toji mumbled, his warm lips spreading pretty lies from one stiffened peak to the other. “No need to pretend a damn thing when your tits are so perfect.” He spoke with absolute certainty—a mere fact his teeth attested to, sharp canines bruising your plushy skin while the grip around his hair turned into a hesitant yank.

His large palm—bearing the scars and tribulations of his old life—clamped around your breast, squeezing it closer to the other until his face was buried in the middle, lulled-out tongue licking up a strip.

“Can squeeze such a nice little hole out of ‘em. Have my cum runnin all the way down ‘ere,” he paused short of your navel, his lips parting from your tummy with a gentle kiss. “Or be sloppy and—heh—spray it all over. ‘s all up to you, baby.”

If there was a time for you to say you had no preference because you couldn’t weigh either choice, that would’ve been it. But doing so meant calling out your bluff, and you didn’t want his praises to stop. You wanted them to keep coming and for him to keep showering you with his affection until you believed them to be true.

Toji got back on his feet, your eyes leveling with the prominent bulge in his pants, and you got an idea. Notably, not the brightest idea in the book, but one that easily roused his interest as your hands reached out to his hips, fiddling with the loose ends of his belt. You had never seen a dick up close, but you were about to have one in your mouth. You were going to prove you were worthy of his attention.

Your eyes shone brightly as you gave his clothed length a bold stroke. “I wanna see it.”

His head cocked to the side while he considered your request, holding off his reply until you were tugging at his belt. “What happened to your precious school project, hm? Don’t care if ya fail anymore?”

“I wanna try it,” you insisted.

He fought back a smirk from rising to his lips, wetting his slanted scar instead. “After what you did, you think I should let ya have my cock? You think you deserve it?”

You nodded, pathetically rubbing your cheek against his crotch with your mouth popping wide open and your flattened tongue tracing the hard outline from the base to where his pants grew baggier. You heard him kiss his teeth, a low chuckle escaping him. “You’re a real nasty brat, aren’t ya? You’d do anything to be my whore?”

Holding onto his hips, you followed the same route and gazed up at him. “I want more than that.”

“Oh?” Toji chuckled again, utterly amused by your conviction.

“I want to please you.” You ran both hands up and down his sculpted thighs. “I want to do well for you; I—” you trailed off, shameless in your admission. “I don’t want to give up.”

“That right?” A thin eyebrow questioned. “You wanna be my good girl?” The term aroused you more than it should’ve, with fire pooling low in your abdomen as greed. More. Give me more. “Then better give it your best.”

He stood proudly as you managed to undo his belt and pull down his pants along with his underwear, expectant of your reaction. Your first impression was about as good as your last. It was big—words you didn’t refrain from expressing with a soft gasp rounding your lips.

Granted, you had no means of comparison, yet you doubted he was by any means average. Long, girthy, and veiny, with a slight curve to it that didn’t make things any better for the knot in your throat.

“Scared already?” Toji asked in a mocking tone. “Don’t tell me you were all talk.”

Your hands moved shakily as you measured his length with your fists, mildly wondering how you could possibly fit him in your mouth when your fingers barely connected around the thick base of his shaft. Too big, you mused.

You started pumping him at a languid pace, gaining confidence the more you acquainted yourself with the feeling of having something warm and heavy pulsate in your grip. You weren’t sure how much pressure to apply or at what speed you ought to stroke, yet judging from the way his abs clenched under his compression shirt, you were getting the hang of it—that was until he shook your hands off and took over.

“Let’s put that little mouth to good use, mm?”

Toji tapped his cock head against your lips, prompting you to open wide for him. You did as you were told, welcoming the swollen mushroomy tip into the warm cavern of your mouth, a salty tang immediately flooding your taste buds. He tasted unlike anything you’d had before. Intense, but not quite overbearing.

“C’mon, princess. Relax your jaw a bit—know you can.” Toji slowly prodded his cock further in, his next instruction being to hollow your cheeks once you’d taken about half of him inside.

You swore you couldn’t fit in the rest; it was impossible. You thought your throat had capped, yet as he swayed his hips back and forth, you felt him gradually slide in deeper, filling every gap possible to the point where your tongue was lodged between your teeth and the thick underside of his cock.

Your vision of Toji grew misty, the profanities that evaded him urging you to follow his lead into bobbing your head at the pace he showed you. Nice and slow. Up and down. Atta girl. So good that his fingers gathered on your scalp to form a makeshift ponytail he kept as leverage. So good that he didn’t hesitate to call you a good girl—his good girl—over and over again, continuously praising every aspect of your body.

Especially your mouth.

“Such a good little mouth,” said Toji, his voice lax even as he fisted your hair into moving faster. “Temptin’ me to fuck it like I wanna fuck that sloppy pussy.”

You were pretty sure your gag reflex had lost its function all the while Toji stuffed his cock down your throat, the air in your lungs filtered by the few unruly dark hairs that led to the happy trail of his stomach.

You had to remind yourself to breathe through your nose, as you slid a flat palm inside his shirt, feeling out the steeled abs that shamed each and every sorcerer you happened to know. Basic workout routines were part of your training, but his body was in a different league.

Plain immaculate.

He caught onto what you were trying to do and lifted his shirt for you, his sneer shattered by the delicate vibrations of your throat on his cock until he, too, was inclined to moan, flinging his head back.

“You’ll make me lose my fucking mind, little girl.” Toji panted, struggling to keep his eyes open.

You hummed happily while your palms splayed further up his body, feeling him throb against your tongue. His breathing began to stutter and he went back to thrusting in your mouth, pressure building in the back of your throat as you choked on his fat cock head, tears openly streaming from your blown out eyes.

“Gonna teach ya to be the best, angel.” Toji grunted, your slobbering sounds complementing the natural gruffness of his voice. “You’ll—fuck, you’ll be the best for me, right, baby? Lemme make a—hah—mess out of all your holes, hm?”

Your nod barely registered over the raspy moan Toji let out when he emptied his load down your throat, ropes of sticky cum stringing your jaw together with his cock as he pulled out. You almost fell off the couch and onto his thigh, the limitations of your body finally catching up to you.

Sucking dick ought to be recognized as an Olympic sport, because this was harder than every unorthodox exercise Gojo put you through combined. Muscles you didn’t know existed felt sore, your slack jaw convincing you it’d never close again, until Toji shoved his thumb between your lips and you willingly cleaned up the last bits of cum.

Maybe this was your true calling. Maybe sucking dick was all you were good at.

The man drew back his finger and plopped down on the couch beside you, manspreading a seat on his lap—one he offered to you with a pat of his hand. He misinterpreted your stalling and asked if you were scared of “Mommy and Daddy” walking in on their daughter bouncing on his dick. That was about the last thing on your mind. What bothered you was the fact that he was still hard as a rock and the possibility of your pussy being split in half before your lie was even exposed.

“Aren’t you supposed to—you know—wait, before…?”

Toji followed your glance low over his body. “Ah, this?” he grinned confidently. Perhaps he’d been asked about it before; you wouldn’t know.

Unashamed, he gave his cock a number of long strokes, his thumb swiping over the slit. It looked far more proportional in his hand than it did in yours. “Ever heard of heavenly restriction?”

The trade-off on a person’s cursed energy in exchange for various limitations or improvements on their body. You’d read that passage in one of the books Gojo offloaded on your back the second you enrolled in Jujutsu Tech. It was one of the many questions you carried to this day, with him brushing it off as an insignificant detail.

“That ass-hat really doesn’t teach ya shit.” Toji rolled his eyes, and you couldn’t agree more. “Don’t mull it over. Just means my body comes with certain features. Extra stamina, bonus strength, and speed.” He smirked. “I could fuck ya all the way to the next week.”

A visible gulp parted from your throat, somehow believing the absurdity of his statement. You wondered what the actual trade-off was. Using his abilities only to fuck around just didn’t seem right. That itself birthed more questions, such as what did he do for a living or how did he do with exorcising curses—was that Megumi kid his?

Toji tapped again on his lap, and that was your last chance to catch the train. You’d come too far to chicken out.

You climbed onto his thighs, your hands grabbing the backrest and your knees planted on both sides of his. He gave a tiny smile before letting his hands roam behind your back, his palms spreading your legs apart. You were still in your skirt and tights. If you were to do this, he’d have to remove both—

A faint gasp escaped your lips as he thumbed a hole between your thighs and drew it out across your ass. You glanced over your shoulder to where your skirt was hiked over your hips; his palms the ones to dress your cheeks instead. He kneaded them roughly, play dough for his fingers, as he forced your entire body to roll against the stiff cock that lay between his stomach and your mound, marveling at the surprised whine his slapping them coaxed.

“Wear tights again, and they won’t be the only ones to rip.”

“These were new!” You protested. “So were the panties from yesterday…”

Your complaints were hushed with two fingers shoved between your nether lips, thighs clenching as he teasingly drove them in and out of your slick. “Leaking this much just from sucking my dick?” He asked once you’d gone back to facing him, following his hand to where it lathered up his cock with your wetness.

“You like being told you’re special; I’ll make ya feel really special.” He forced your hips to grind against him, his cock cupping your entire pussy. “Don’t really let others do that or—ya know.” He shrugged. “But you’re an exception. I need you to fuck yourself dumb on my cock. Think you can do that?”

He didn’t give you enough time to consider alternatives as his mouth crashed on yours, stealing the oxygen along with the sense from your brain with just his tongue. Every filthy kiss he delivered made your heart pound harder in your chest, and when you tried to so much as raise an objection, he kissed you again, whispering sweetly against your lips about how he felt your cunt drool all over him and how if you behaved, he’d eat you out later. In fact, he promised that he would.

You can do this—more than can, you will do this.

Wrapping a small hand around his shaft, you directed the tip toward your tight entrance—perhaps the last time you described it as such—and gently pushed it in. Even when you were drenched, fitting more than the head was a challenge—something he defied the next minute when he clasped your wrists behind your back and held your hip in place for him to thrust up.

A shrill scream bounced across the room’s four walls before it could be swallowed by Toji, his lips seeking to distract you from the pain. He wasn’t more than halfway in, yet the sting was so unbearable that your eyes remained squinting well after he’d kissed the tears off your cheeks.

“Aw, princess lied about being a virgin?” He cooed with fake sympathy, glancing at the ring of faded red that’d formed around his cock, trickling down his balls with the rest of your juices. Damn it!

His comment irked you enough to talk back to him. “And you’ve been so full of shit, yet you don’t see me making it into a big deal, Toji.”

The expressions on his face flickered faster than the channels on your television did—surprise in the way his green eyes widened; annoyance in how his nose scrunched up; and whatever sinister emotion his lopsided smile represented.

“You kept quiet so I’d fuck you?” Toji questioned, and coming from his lips, it sounded so humiliating that you wanted to run away.

You didn’t know what you were thinking. Perhaps that was the issue—you weren’t thinking at all, or else you’d broken the link and gone bawling under the covers of your bed. You felt so shameful rocking your hips forward, while he didn’t feel any shame slapping your ass again, knowing the sound would be louder than the one before.

“T-Toji!” You shrieked, involuntarily sinking lower over his cock.

“Let’s keep score, shall we?” He sneered, the recoil from your ass being spanked sending you to drop against his chest.

He’d let go of your hands; his attention exclusively turned to painting your walls white and your cheeks red as he picked up a mean pace, pounding you from below. You always thought sex would feel good, yet the pleasure he offered was heavily doused in pain, and you didn’t know what to feel anymore. You knew you preferred the softness of his tongue, yet your sobs begged to differ, shifting to full-scale moans you could no longer contain.

“Actin’ all prude when you’re nothing but a hungry cockslut—that’s one strike.” Toji landed another hefty thwack, not minding that it caused your fingernails to dig sharply into his chest.

“Leaving me to hang just because daddy came home—that’s another.” You bit into his shoulder when his balls joined in the action, slamming hard against your butt.

“Being that other brat’s fucking student,” he raised his hand without fulfilling the threat, instead opting to straighten you over his dick.

You were heaving for air, carrying an ugly wince from all the tension he’d subjected you to. His eyes momentarily softened, and he sighed to himself, removing the sticky-with-spit strands of hair from your mouth and then bringing both palms to caress the outlines of your curves.

“Guess that ain’t your fault.” Toji whispered.

You wouldn’t be receiving any apologies from him. That much he made obvious, but when his thumb found your clit and began circling around the little bundle of nerves, you could tell that was his own wretched way of making amends.

“No matter what you try, you’re never gonna reach that asshole.” His thrusting had come to a standstill while he zeroed in on your eyes. “You’re so pathetically weak that you’ll always be looked down on by others.” Your tears almost resumed, and you almost attempted a punch to his face when he scooped up your face in his fingers. “But ya shouldn’t take shit from any damn sorcerer—ya hear me?”

It scared you how he knew exactly what to say to bend you to his will, using even sincerity against you. He was a bastard—no better than Gojo was—and you hated that such a guy was taking your virginity in the same way you hated yourself for leaning down to kiss him, suddenly feeling so incredible that you matched the luscious rocking of his hips with sways of your own.

“Wasn’t lying when I said you’d make the best fuck,” Toji smiled and just like that, you forgave everything.

Your hands met behind his neck while his one arm snared around your waist, the fingers of the other rubbing your clit even after you whined for him to stop.

“Too much?” He’d slyly picked up a faster pace, fucking up into you until your walls rapidly tightened around him like a vice he defied, the tip of his cock coming dangerously close to kissing your cervix with every thrust. “C’mon, ya know my name now. Be a good girl and moan f’me.”

“‘s too good, T-Toji—ah!” Your cries of his name turned incoherent over the spasms of your pussy, as he ripped a shuttering orgasm from your body, much stronger and more violent than anything you’d ever experienced.

“Fucking shit, baby.” Toji grunted, nearly losing his composure as he frantically shoved your hips together, pounding you as if he wanted to break you in half.

Your eyes were crossed, your forehead drooped against his shoulder where you could only answer him with broken ah-ah-ah’s and long-drawn yes’ in a never-ending high, uncertain whether the aftershocks were a result of your first climax or quakes of their own.

“Gonna fill that tight pussy right up.” He slapped your ass, and you whimpered, soaking up pleasure from the pain like a sponge.

Everything he gave was yours to take, and while you’d previously taken offense at his words, it was exactly what you wanted—for him to be your personal fucktoy and you his. School didn’t matter. Grades didn’t matter. Gojo—he didn’t matter at all.

“Gonna pump ya full ‘f my cum and send ya to that shithead.” His veiny cock started to twitch, his breath uneven and his hips gaining momentum over the last few thrusts that drove him over the edge. “My cute little cumslut; signed, sealed, delivered. All ya hafta do is just fucking—uh, take it, Y/N.”

Your name spilled from his mouth in abundance, as generously as his warm cum spilled into your pussy, the creamy mix of your fluids streaming from the point where your bodies connected down to the turquoise couch covers. He came buckets, and you unwittingly milked every last drop, your walls fluttering around him right until he pulled out.

“Not bad.” He patted down your back.

Enough willpower returned for you to sit up on his lap, your knees jiggling like two big lumps of jelly. Walking would result in dropping, yet when he hoisted you in his arms and shoved you to the next pillow, you realized a fate worse than death by falling existed: the combination of coarse fabric and a sore ass.

You discreetly flipped on your stomach, pretending to check out Toji as he tied his pants in place and paraded straight to the fridge. He scratched the back of his head and looked around the drawers, coming to the same conclusion you did about an hour ago. He mumbled something under his breath and returned with two beer cans from your father’s stash.

You thanked him as if he were the owner of the house and you his guest, when in reality, you didn’t even like beer. He didn’t seem to like it either, judging from the way he cringed at the first sip. He dropped the can on the table and picked up your leftovers instead, content with munching on your half-finished lasagna while he zapped through the channels for something more entertaining than the weather forecast.

The awkwardness of having sex for the first time started to creep up on you. Was this what people normally did? Acted as if nothing happened and went along with the rest of their day, not minding that their seed was still oozing from the person whose brains they’d fucked out?

You decided not to ask; you didn’t want to be called butthurt, even though you literally were. You grabbed a bunch of tissues from the table to clean up some of the mess, your frustration boiling over when Toji had the nerve to chuckle at a crude joke from the sitcom he was watching.

“Who is Megumi?”

tags will be in reblog, comment if you wanna be added to the next part!

Aww…. Megumi stole my heart in this one💕 Lil kids can be so sweet when they wanna be.

Also things are getting interesting poor Toji

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐀𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝟑𝟖𝟏

Toji Fushiguro

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[Chapter 13] Back to the Beginning

Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x f!Reader

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“I’m an escort.” Toji says which leaves you wide-eyed. You aren’t sure how to react, other than simply staring at the man. You’re dumbfounded. Dumbfounded even sounds like an understatement. Your mouth is parted, and you’re simply shocked to even hear that. Maybe you should’ve suspected that, but you didn’t. “I’m not dating anyone.”

“Yeah um…” You really aren’t sure how else to respond. You still feel hurt mainly because he hid this from you. You’re gathering your thoughts, and you think about talking this out with him but you aren’t sure if he’ll accept the offer to talk right at this moment; you’re afraid to ask. 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” He asks, his hand still on the door. You bite down on your tongue, holding back on making a snarky remark due to the words he used not even five minutes ago. You clear your throat, tilting your head to the side,

“Is that any of my business?” You respond as you move to the side to let him in. It’s too cold outside for him to explain something that seems like a mouthful to explain. He walks inside and you shut the door. You watch him take a seat. “Don’t waste time, Toji. I’m tired.”

“Right…” He looks at the ground in shame. You’re not in the mood to comfort him, and you certainly aren’t going to tell him that him being an escort is no big deal. “Momoko and I aren’t dating. She just… Pretends like we are to her friends and her coworkers and parents– Just everyone around her. I look… Presentable enough and I guess she likes that I don’t really try to engage with them.”

“Okay…” Your brain isn’t coming up with the right words to say. “So how far–”

“Just going to events. Doesn’t get past flirting and occasional pecks on the lips.” He answers, and while it’s not as horrible as you thought, your stomach still churns. You don’t like what you’re hearing– But it’s fine, you’re not dating Toji or anything. He’s just your neighbor who you’ve gotten extremely friendly with. You take a deep breath and slowly nod your head. “What’s up?”

“Why didn’t you tell me this? Why are you doing all of this?” Questions flood your head. You aren’t really sure what you’re expecting to hear, but you hope that it’ll put you at ease.

“I didn’t want to scare you away… It’s not something that I’m exactly proud of.” He tells you, fidgeting his hands, not really having the courage to look at you. Toji isn’t a man that’s ashamed of anything but for some reason as he stands before you, he finds himself extremely embarrassed that he’s doing all of this. “I… Just want to save up a lot of money and buy Megumi a proper house, where he has his own room and can go outside and play in his own yard. Fixing cars is not enough with all my expenses.”

“I– I don’t know what to say, Toji.” You’re simply shocked. Maybe you should’ve expected it, but you were hoping he was a waiter or something along those lines. Not an escort. “I guess… You have to do whatever you have to do.”

“So what do you think?” He asks when you sit in complete silence for a minute, although it feels like it’s an eternity. He finally looks at you, watching as you stare down at your thighs. You really don’t know what to say, it’s not something light.

“You should’ve told me sooner.” You have no other words. Maybe if you found out sooner than you would’ve taken the news better. It’s not that you’re upset but… This is all so confusing for you. “I guess there isn’t that much trust between us and… It’s not something that you’re exactly proud of.”

“I mean, do you look at me differently now?” He questions, and you do. But mainly because he tried to hide it. He just makes it seem like he’s actually sleeping with them and– God, the idea of him sleeping with other women makes you upset.

“Did you… Fuck any of them?” You ask, and he quickly shakes his head. That makes you feel a lot better, but you still feel pretty weird. “I guess, I do. I just thought you would’ve told me. Considering that I almost consider you a boyfriend.”

“I guess sometimes things aren’t how we want.” He responds. You sigh, and he stands up from the bed, beginning to walk towards the door. His hand lands on the doorknob, and he turns to look at you. You stare at each other for a moment before he speaks up, “I hope things don’t change between us.”

“I hope so too.” You muster to say. He opens the door and exits, making you lay down on your bed. You don’t want things to change, Toji has been making you feel so good.

But you know things will change. There’s no way they can remain the same after finding out the truth.

It’s not because he’s an escort– Well not entirely. You feel weird knowing that Toji’s been hiding this from you. The idea of Toji kissing other women for the sole purpose of money makes you sick. You doubt that you’ll be sleeping tonight.

You’re more concerned about what he’s doing, rather than questioning who sent you the photos. Who knows about you and Toji? You have an answer, but you don’t really care to think about it. Your main concern right now is your relationship with Toji, a man who you thought you had a possible romantic relationship with.

You want to say that things remain unchanged, but they aren’t. You’re awkward around Toji, the same way he’s awkward around you. The only reason you interact now it’s because of Megumi, and it makes you feel upset because you were sure a relationship was developing. 

Slowly your walls were coming down and you’d allow yourself to be with the man that you were starting to like more than a friend. Sadly, things didn’t turn out the way you were hoping. 

You try not to dwell on it, maybe you’re just not meant to be with each other. It’s fine though, your hopes weren’t up too much. You won’t deny how weird this whole arrangement is. You feel like you’re trying to coparent Megumi even though he’s not your son. At least now Toji is paying you some money, even if it isn’t a lot. 

You want to act like everything is okay, but for some reason you find yourself upset when he’s working late nights, and your mind wonders just exactly what he’s doing. At least it doesn’t get past kissing; at least that’s what he told you. You aren’t quite sure if you can believe Toji’s word. 

The first week of February strikes you, and you’re shocked to realize just how fast time is going. It’s been over a month since you’ve had your conversation with Toji, over a month since he last kissed you. You don’t miss it, at least that’s what you tell yourself.

You don’t like Toji all that much either way. That sentiment slowly fades away. A little too slow for your liking, but regardless, it’s leaving. 

As Valentine’s day approaches, you find yourself a bit saddened though since you were expecting to have a Valentine’s this year. First it was Kento, your late husband, since you expected him to last longer. That hope clearly vanished, but as you got closer to Toji, maybe he could be your Valentine.

The most unexpected thing though is when you’re in your apartment taking care of Megumi. He has a little backpack– Which isn’t exactly so little. It reaches past his knees and he has to be careful with it. You have no idea why Toji got that backpack for him since it’s plain black and boring, not to even mention twice. He’s looking for something there.

“What are you looking for, GumiGumi?” You ask him, crouching down to help the little boy that looks determined to find something. He finally pulls out a wrinkled piece of baby that’s folded in half. It’s a card, and it’s filled with attempted shapes. You squint your eyes, trying to make out what it is. “What is that, honey?”

“Would you be my valentine?” He asks, as he extends his arm to you. You feel your heart soften, your bottom lip sticking out as you put your hand over your heart. He’s simply the cutest. You always knew you wanted kids but this just confirms it even more. You hug him.

“Of course, baby.” You respond. You kiss his temple, a big smile on your face when you look at him. Maybe you won’t be so lonely this Valentine’s day, you still have Megumi who is almost like your son. Knowing Toji, he’ll be busy. “Do you want to do something special? Maybe go to the movie theater or get something to eat?”

“Can we get ice cream?” He asks, a spark in his eyes as he mentions the cold treat. You end up nodding in response, causing the biggest smile to come to his face. Then he asks, “Can daddy come with us?”

“If he’s available, yes, baby.” You answer. When you fully stand up, you put the card down on the counter and you ask him, “Do you want anything specific to eat, Megumi?”

“No.” He shakes his head. You walk over to the fridge to look at what ingredients you have that can make a quick and easy meal. You’re not really in a cooking mood. 

You hear your phone ring, and you furrow your brows. You grab it to see an unknown number calling. You’re about to hang up the call since lately a lot of weird numbers have been calling you. Something urges you to pick it up, and when you do, you almost regret it. You heard your name, and you aren’t sure whether you should confirm or deny.

“This is her.” You end up confirming it. Your eyes widen when you hear it’s from the hospital, and you feel your heart drop. You remember a similar call years ago, and it ended up in you losing so much. “Who is in the hospital?”

Your eyes immediately dart to the little boy who opens his notebook to scribble with his crayons. God you hope it’s not– “Toji Fushiguro? I’ll be on my way.”

What type of shit do I need to do to get punished like this in real life because I WILL DO IT

grapevine (m)

pairing fushiguro toji / fem!reader

synopsis

after the return of his boss’ daughter, fushiguro toji gets caught up in a grapevine because of his mysterious past. (or so, it turns out, you just have a twisted way of trying to get his attention).

content warnings bodyguard!toji, rich girl!reader; age gap (reader is in early to mid 20's, toji in early 40's), unrequited pining, blackmail, dubious consent (reader is tipsy), unprotected sex, brat-taming, pussy-slapping [with belt], themes of bdsm: machoism, bondage, oral (f + m receiving), fingering, degradation + praise, orgasm denial, exhibitionism (phone call + car sex), dacryphilia, creampie, cervix-bumping, hair-pulling, squirting, multiple positions

word count 19,600+

author's note this is mostly just filth. i tried to proofread as much as i can but i think i shrunk my brain rereading this. enjoy, and let me know what u think!!!

read on ao3

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT

Inside the Yamanote Line, where the rich indulge in their own perverse games; personal marionettes and leech-infested cesspits, Toji gets his first normal job.

He drives around his own car, travels in and out private residential areas where opulent expats and old-money families sit in twelve-bedroom mansions. Puts on his suit and returns from his own normality where hanging clothes outside of his home to dry isn’t considered a social death sentence and greets his—as painful as it is said—boss, CEO and patriarch, situated at the core of one of the richest neighbourhoods in Tokyo: Denenchofu.

Though, he can’t complain.

It’s a clean slate; a chance to recklessly spend his money without wondering if his next shady job will cover his losses. It bills through his bank account at the end of the month, uninterrupted, and with no regard for the intensity of his role. Toji could be operating through an unexpected assassination attempt or lounging around at a boat race for a week straight—it doesn’t matter.

And for the sake of not losing his sanity, he makes them fend for his attention, for protection, for mercy (or, anything that requires just a fraction of his time), and laughably, they still beg. Plead. On their knees with their clammy hands clasped together, nonsensically mewling for less and more. Dump racks of money on the table, promote him to higher ranks until bodyguards varying from two months to ten years are deemed his subordinates. Offered hundreds of millions of yen to protect one of the richest conglomerates in Japan.

After only six months of service.

He wouldn’t necessarily call his past deeds and unearthly skill a quote-on-quote ‘cheat code’ (though many would grumble such a thing while avoiding a one-to-one with him) but it wasn’t difficult obtaining this role.

All it took was one major threat and a man particularly well-versed in assassination attempts.

After five years now, all that’s left is whether his boss is worthy of it. He doesn’t usually consider it, but when he’s face-to-face with the devil in mind, it becomes difficult to ignore.

“She came back two hours ago?” his boss exclaims behind him, staring through the rear-view mirror, relying entirely on the earpiece wedged in Toji’s ear.

“That’s what they’re saying,” he replies, passive to the lights flashing around his car. “Made a scene in Ginza, refused to get into the car for nearly an hour.”

His nonchalance conceals the gravity of the situation, but it doesn’t lessen the effect it has on his boss. “Hell,” he exhales, pinching his nose. “What now?”

Toji never liked to solely rely on word of mouth, but when he’s overhearing late-night discussions, the last thing he expects is to hear is the whispers of dangerous liaisons becoming muddled up with the childish endeavours of a young woman.

When he first arrived, he heard enough about the notorious daughter who had just returned from studying overseas; heard you squeezed luxury stores dry, walked around with a flock of needy nepotist babies, paraded your lavish taste with a good-for-nothing attitude.

The older man doesn’t consider himself a ‘nice guy’, but he gets his respect, and doesn't outrightly demand it because he doesn’t need to.

Until you.

He supposed you weren’t entirely made of malice and diamonds when he first saw you, catching a flash of disbelief when you stormed out of your father’s office, slamming your heels with such conviction that it could’ve split the floor open.

Then you regained your composure, with a stone-cold glare he’d learn to adore cracking open like an empty skull and spat your next words with a saccharine sting that intended to hurt, and stick.

“I wonder what infamous gang he pulled you from?” you leered, picked him apart like skin, to uncover rotten flesh, just as you do to every new hire. Scowled at the poor bodyguards responsible for taking you home and raised your chin to appear taller than the burly man, but he’s far mightier than anyone you’ve ever seen. “Let’s see if you already know your way back to the estate. Take me home.”

Toji lets out a dazed scoff, only escapes through his nose and walks right past you to return to his previous position, next to your father.

He notices it; that look, one he’d become accustomed to as well, one he receives when he blatantly ignores your demand and it’s priceless.

And when he spits his next words—there’s no sickly-sweet lilt to cushion the fall of your ego, it’s layered with disgust, fucking poison. Barely puts any effort into his enunciation and still, it offends you all the same, just before he slams the door on your face: “Fuckin’ brat.”

No one had ever spoken to you like that before.

It was a rush of anger, tumbling and turning around in your bed to digest the callous words spat at you with no caution, and then confusion, and steadily, that insatiable anger turned into something else—still full of ill-intent, but not violent, lecherous. It became addictive, unfamiliar and you wore those feelings like an old coat, heavy on your shoulders, and priceless.

Now, there was need for attention and an undying desperation for him to give it all, undivided. The glitz and glamour could never satiate your thirst for thrill, and without him to give into your efforts, it’s all so boring.

Especially, as you find yourself stuck in your third dinner party this week. Growing pains, still cocooned by your father, and it keeps you here, trapped between proposals by unabashed mothers and their bachelor sons; offers varying from studying sessions to family heirlooms. There’s no telling if your father enjoys getting a rise out of you, knowing how much you hate these things but he’s pampered you just as much as he did frustrate you, and if there is one thing you can’t complain about—it’s the indulgence.

Currently surrounded by an overwhelming number of guests, chattering and drinking, while a quartet plays in the corner—a familiar voice is raised above it all.

“This party is a drag,” Yuki groans, tittering beneath her fur tippet for most of the night. It brings a slight ease to your discomfort. “But I did notice a certain eligible bachelor eying you earlier.”

“Hm,” you mumble, uninterested, already aware of his staring. “He’s cute.”

“His father owns a biotech company here in Tokyo. Has a PHD in Biomed, a pro snowboarder—” she adds on, fawning over the marble pillar with a melodramatic bravado.

Your eyes blandly dart across the sea of familiar faces, until it fleetingly lands on your father, who seems to be surrounded by similar aged men, and their sons, those blatantly bred from viuex riche. You turn to the bachelor—prying eyes and only standing just a few inches taller than your father—who smiles coyly at you.

Though, your attention is quickly drawn in by the man behind him.

In an ideal world, where you’re actually satisfied by the luxuries of life, you’d pursue at least one of the suitors your father has proposed to you. But sadly, that isn’t the case. Yuki notices the way your attention fades, eventually following your gaze.

The reason behind your abstinence to the rich dating world.

You know now, like tooth and nail, how to string people along, and have bodyguards and chaperones alike wrapped around your finger. Using them to get around authority with saccharine secrets. 

Not a ringleader per se, of the grapevine that has twined the upper side in a cesspool of drama, but an avid contributor. Never the subject, but it remains hungry, and someone has to feed it. As twisted as it is, it’s the only kind of fun that eases your boredom. Ears everywhere, and a mouth that doesn’t quite know when to stop. 

Yuki has warned you that it might get you in trouble one day. But what could a sweet girl like you do to pay for the sick lies you’ve spread?

Besides, secrets in your world are bound to be spread—you’d rather it come gift-wrapped.

It’s all been so easy.

Until him.

“That bodyguard could not care less about you.”

Her candid statement rips you from your trance. “Do you have to be so blunt?”

“If it makes you wake up from this dream,” she exhales, pouting. “I get it, being used to getting everything you want and then one day, you just don’t. But normal people move on,” the red wine drips onto the floor as she parades her hands around carelessly, “it’s been five years. He’s just not into you.”

Her honesty leaves a sour taste in your mouth but given your wicked behaviour in the name of getting his attention—it’s well-deserved. “Well, none of us here are normal.”

“True,” she agrees, “I don’t think he is here. He carries a holier-than-thou attitude and for what? He comes out of nowhere, refuses to tell anyone about himself and suddenly, he’s your father’s right hand?”

Both of your gazes fixate on the stoical man. He’s either blatantly ignoring you or pretending not to notice. “With no credentials, he’s strangely good at what he does. It doesn’t help that he’s an asshole too.”

“Some of the most unattainable men want you, and you’re fawning over an ex-conman who might just be plotting to steal your money.” She prattles, traipsing to the poseur tables just a few inches away from you. She loosely, and loudly, calls him a conman—a word painstakingly resurfacing lately as questions about his background become the topic of interest again.

It's affecting your father’s credibility.

Many still try to hire him, but your father refuses to let him go, practically strung to his hip like a child. It wouldn’t be favourable to you if he left early either.

Though, lately, your father has been putting up a political front. Collaborating with ministers in the running, and there’s no benefit to having someone with no resume by his side. Despite being the only one to effectively protect him, it doesn’t look good on paper. A man with minimal background checks done on him. So, with nothing to find, there is nothing to trust.

“You don’t know that.”

“Weren’t you the one who spread that?” She ripostes in disbelief.

“Yes,” you say, “but he doesn’t know that. I was just mad that he called me a brat.”

“You liked it, and now he has you wrapped around his finger.” Yuki teases. “I’d fuck him too—he’s just a little on the older side.”

“That’s never stopped you.”

“Because I like the filthy rich ones,” she rebuttals smartly, lifting her glass at you as a small gotcha moment. “They pamper you with gifts right after.”

“Gross.” You crinkle your nose. “Besides, I’ll be the one to break him.”

She snorts. “How about you find a way out of this party, and make your one hundredth attempt then?”

“No,” you interject, passing her a judgemental look. “At least be discreet about it. You’re two warnings away from being sent abroad.”

“I’m old enough to bypass their threats now. I think it’s rehab but they’re too proud for that.”

Yuki is an old friend, one with a unanimous desire for parties and problematic escapades. Not your only friend, but the only one that doesn’t feel like she’s clinging onto your money. Lingers on rumours the same way you do, manipulates the weekly gossip in her own favour just as you do. If there’s someone you can unmask around—it’s her.

Though, her party habits are a little—

“We need to get shitfaced.” She proposes.

“Maybe.” You grumble unenthusiastically, sharing no desire to get blathered by drunk idiots. But you’re bored. It’s no fun if you’re bored.

“It’ll be better than staring at him for the rest of the night.”

“Screw you,” you respite light-heartedly, snatching the glass from her hand, guzzling the glass half-empty. “I’ve been very subtle about it.”

That’s a lie. With the way he has completely deemed your entire existence as a nuisance, he feels way beyond your league. You’re the only one chasing this—it’s frustrating, belittling.

“Sure. Get out of here and meet me in Roppongi at eleven, okay?”

Your legs involuntarily move, as though they have a mind of its own, eager to reach its desired destination and conveniently, that lies right in front of him. He blankly stares ahead, herculean and mighty, with his hands behind his back. Deliberately, he doesn’t bother acknowledging you, stationed where his job entails him—as close to your father as he can be.

The only bodyguard deemed worthy of accompanying him at all times, seamlessly going from a random hire to … this.

Unreachable?

Mr Fushiguro.

It took you three months to even learn his name. “Mr Fushiguro. Could you take me home?”

“Got your own bodyguard for that.” He gruffly utters, refusing to share your gaze. It’s irritating, but exciting and makes all of your salacious thoughts unravel, open gates of desire to flood every part of your body, to move for him.

The best of the best. Rude. Aloof. Older. Much older.

You do a poor job of hiding your interest though; the deliberate flutter of your eyelashes or the sudden chest pop—you definitely forgot to clip all of your buttons. You look down. Oh. Definitely. But Mr Fushiguro has never spared you any attention. The back-and-forth between the two of you makes all of the games you play with others far less satisfying.

“I’m sure he wouldn’t like you refusing to get his daughter home safely,” you draw each word with a soppy lilt as though it would make any difference. “Hm?”

That smug look on your face—it’s nearly instinctive—gets wiped off the moment his verdant, murky eyes dart downwards, towards you, at you. He doesn’t dare to conceal his amusement, even if he’s not as expressive as you.

Stills for a moment, as if he’s deep in thought. “Shinji,” he mutters through his earpiece, still staring down with that stupid arrogant look. “Miss L/N would like to go home.”

“I said—”

“He’ll be coming to escort you home,” he interjects. “Safe journey.”

Defeatedly, you turn to Shinji, standing with the same posture but lacking the grace to pull it off. You quickly scowl at the man who’d rather lay waste than pay attention to you before saying your goodbyes, coming up with a poor excuse of how you might be catching a flu, and leaving—not without his name ringing in your head.

It isn’t only Toji’s skill or authority that makes him stand out to you—it was his zero-tolerance policy towards your antics.

You’re not used to chasing. It feels icky. Toji is a challenge—one that has you on the threshold of defeat but it’s never just that; he doesn’t even see you as someone he could possibly respect, looking down on you as though you’re undeserving, treating you as if you’re nothing but a fly on the wall.

It goes without saying; you’re undeniably infatuated. Pitifully so. No matter how many times you try to distract yourself, it never works.

Spontaneous one-night stands are futile, not even momentarily worth it. Yet, you still pursue them, hoping you’ll find something or someone that might cure you from this obsession.

Just before midnight, Shinji decides to take a smoke break after dropping you off to the estate, and the rest of the guards stationed throughout the house are too preoccupied with their own conversations, some involved in an enticing game of Shogi in the courtyard. Even though you’ve been caught a few times, your methods of sneaking out have been awfully innovative for them to keep up.

And this time, out of sheer spite, you walk out through the front door.

At around 12:30am, Toji is disturbed, called to the office after spending his entire evening at a poker table.

It’s 12:32am, and Shinji reports that you’re missing again.

“Six—six bodyguards!”

“Sir—”

“One. Just one person. My daughter. She’s not a fucking assassin,” he spits at the bodyguards sharing the blame for your absence, and they sit in a row, kneeled with their eyes facing the floor. Toji stands beside him, and his lip twitches. “Over and over again, I have the same problem. What are we going to do, huh? If you can’t keep her in one place, then how are you going to find her?”

“We’ll scout the area of Roppongi and Ginza—”

“Scout. For what? To lose her again? She could’ve been kidnapped, or on her way to leave the city,” he laments, slouched over his desk. Toji impassively watches, but he’s seething inside—not for him, but for how persistent you are. Don’t you rest? “Fushiguro. These are your best men?”

“I’ve been finding myself short lately.”

Four bodyguards have gone in the last three months, for unexplained reasons, and it’s affecting his progress. “I know. You’d think if everyone was like you, I wouldn’t be in this predicament, right?”

Toji doesn’t respond.

“You,” he points to the one on the left, “are you telling me you didn’t see her leave?”

“I—I did, but—”

“And?” he slams his hands, and his glass half-empty with hard liquor rattles. 

“She threatened to tell my wife about my gambling,” the bodyguard starts blathering, loud and sputtered, leaning further down in shame. Toji nearly scoffs in amusement, unsurprised that you resorted to such measures again. It’s not the first, nor the last. “It’s not an excuse. I’m sorry! I won’t let her slip again.”

“Get out. Find her now.” They scurry out. The thwarting silence settles in when the door shuts, but it doesn’t last for very long. “About the bodyguards.”

He interrupts. “I know.”

“Fushiguro,” he sighs, massaging his temple. “These things that I’m hearing again. I don’t understand.”

“People will always talk.” He reassures, not in a way that implies desperation, but indifference. “About me and you.” 

“What are they saying now?”

Toji respites, noticing the curiosity contorting his wizened features. Bingo. “Politics are calling you corrupt, the other side,” he pauses for a moment, gauging whether he’s saying too much but it’s never too much. Toji has gotten away with too much now. He’s too valuable. “Soft. You can’t trust ‘em.”

The old man hunches over the desk with his head in his hands, defeated by the rebuttal. “I’m aware I have rivals, but what business do they have with you?”

Oh, it’s none of them.

Toji has every idea of who it might be.

“Once again, you’re the topic of discussion,” he disdains, unfastening his cuffs. “It’s taking a bad hit on my reputation. Before I could handle it, but the campaigns—the media—”

“I know.”

“Do you have any idea of who might be talking?”

Toji nearly smiles to himself. “I have a few in mind.”

“Find them, shut them up however you want,” he utters tiredly—there it is—the green light. “Whoever they are, they clearly don’t know who they’re messing with.”

He smirks. “No, they don’t.”

Yuki was made of bad ideas and valour. One could not exist without the other.

As reckless as it was to drag you to another underground party where pretentious rich kids and resentful heirs run their noses along a line of alabaster white and drown themselves in alcohol—it seemed to scratch that itch of yours. Finding yourself stuck in a stuffy club beneath an art studio, under a kaleidoscope of colours; it’s poetically fit for someone acting out in spite of their parent’s suffocating idea of protection. 

Particular, but fitting.

Truth to be told, you’re not a huge fan of these parties. It’s too hot, too loud, far too fusty to handle the smell of odour and a concoction of cologne, and it only takes you an hour before you’re sick of the whole charade. It’s all a charade. The prim, the poise, the display—all fake. People who refuse to engage with the ‘ordinary’ and go even lower. It’s 1:23am, and there was no sign of any bodyguard. Hm.

“Can you at least pretend to have some fun?”

“It’s loud,” you yell over the music, plopping onto the semi-rounded couch. It’s overcrowded with what you call Yuki’s flock.

“S’rry,” she slurs, taking your arm between hers. “Did anyone follow you?”

“Not that I’m aware of,” you shrug. “I made sure to look back this time.”

“Good, because you’re going home with someone tonight, and it better not be your damn bodyguard.”

You snort. “I hope not.”

“Want another drink?” Yuki offers, barely noticing the girl clinging to her shoulder, gesturing with the click of her fingers for someone to bring drinks to her table. Rounds and rounds appear, shots on shots taken, burning down your throat with a kick. It doesn’t make you hazy—not in the way you want it too, though the side of your head thumps loudly, sluing towards a very agonising headache.

Your gaze travels across the club, watching a throng of bodies rub against each other, all sorts of lips moving inconspicuously while their eyes tell all. You came here for a distraction, not to wallow away in your own thoughts; so you put a face to those eyes that you’ve been ignoring this entire night, leaning against the corner of the club wall, smirking arrogantly once you return his attention. 

“Over there,” Yuki points out, nudging your shoulder with her own. “Go on.”

You find yourself meshing with the bodies on the dancefloor, sauntering towards the man who disconnects himself from the wall with eagerness. “Hey.”

“Hi.”

“Do you want to…”

Before he finishes his sentence, you notice something off, you can sense it—to the right, just before the staircase leading up to the entrance.

“Fuck,” you exhale, looking behind you, to Yuki, fretfully. She notices the sudden appearance of your bodyguard, Shinji, with wide eyes. “How the hell did you find me here?”

You did blackmail one of the guards to let you walk out through the front door, but you didn’t think he’d crack this early.

“We have to leave, ma’am.”

“No,” you disdain, crossing your arms. “Can’t I just have a bit of fun?”

“Your father wants you home now. We’re getting closer with the campaign, we need to—”

You interject. “I’m really starting to think this whole campaign is just an excuse to keep me at home. He can come get me himself, or even better, get Mr Fushiguro. Maybe I’ll reconsider then.”

Even as he regains his composure, the panic still manages to seep through. Partygoers have been dancing for hours, yet their perspiration doesn’t amount to the level of sweat seeping from his hairline.

“Ma’am.”

“C—can you stop calling me that?” you blubber, sensing the anchoring weight of several eyes on you. People, including Yuki and her artsy group of friends, begin to watch the commotion, awkwardly sipping their drinks as your temper rises. The music becomes clearer. “Listen, I can take care of myself—”

“It’s for your—”

“—my protection, I know.” You utter dejectedly. “Fine, fine. Ten more minutes?”

​​Within the next ten minutes, he loses sight of you.

It’s ridiculous.

How you can move from one place to another without being detected—it’s even more derisive to know that they’ve been trained to make sure it doesn’t happen.

Hidden in one of the cubicles of a rancid bathroom, the same man who had desperation etched across his face and hoped to garner your attention with a stare, has his face buried in your neck. Smells of hours of smoke inhalation infused with spilled beer, and sweat. It’s dense, and unflattering. His words are slurred beneath your ear, whispering incoherent adulation while his hands grab at you.

He’s a decent kisser, doesn’t shove his tongue too far down your throat and offers to keep his (and your—) clothes on for the sake of hygiene. It’s nearly enough. Nearly enough to distract you from him, nearly enough to put some worth into this night and your disobedience. You refused to let him speak, unwilling to learn of him because it’s easier to project onto a blank canvas.

Your eyes are closed, pretending that it’s him. The stranger is nicely built—not much compared to the burly frame you’d much rather hold onto, far from brute, but again, it’s enough. For someone with a ‘high-and-mighty’ attitude, one convinced that the upper class revolves around a singular person; this is … low. Letting someone like him consume your mind, one of a pestering locust swarm.

Pretending that it’s his large hands holding your waist, his lips plastered across your neck, his scent—

“Do you want to come back to mine?”

Your eyes slowly peel open, fluttering at the stranger. “Sure. Do you have a car?”

“I—I was hoping your bodyguard might—”

“I could convince him,” you idly sigh, softly nudging him off of you. When your bodyguard finds you again, you’re hauling the drunken man to the entrance. “Think you could drop me off at his house?”

His eyes widened. “I can’t do that.”

“Yes, you can,” you persist, cornering him with your gaze. You can see his self-control breaking. You pout. “Just for a few hours.”

“I—okay, the car is outside.”

You still for a moment, mildly surprised that he agreed so quickly. Hm. Turning to the stranger with a conceited smirk, you gesture for him to follow. “Let’s go.”

He appears unnerved, rid of the usual, stoic composure that every bodyguard is trained to have. But right now, he just looks stiff? Perhaps, you’re too tipsy to give him the usual earful for sticking to your hip all day, or maybe it’s because you’re used to some sort of resistance.

He agreed far too quickly, and while you are satisfied, you’re suspicious.

Briskly, you walk up the stairs, somewhat relieved that you can take a breath of fresh air. The crisp of cold air finally hits you, wafting over prickly goosebumps and your thinly veiled dress. His vehicle is parked adjacent to the pavement across from you—though, it’s longer, cleaner, and the windows are tinted?

“Did you get a new car?”

“Something like that.” He mumbles, clearing his throat, leading you to the car.  

You’re far too tipsy to be wary of him, dragging the man behind you, so you can tend to unfinished business inside. When you enter, a strong scent of cedarwood permeates the inside of the car, balsamic undertones and it’s rich in cologne; it overrides your intuition. It’s familiar. Memorised. It could just be the alcohol clouding your sense of clarity—

Your eyes droopily turn towards the front seat, expecting your bodyguard to prepare for departure.

But there he is, in the driver’s seat, one hand on the wheel and the other hovering over the tunnel console. Your whereabouts become clearer, but you’ve only ever been inside of this car when you’re accompanying your father. The dangling charm below the rear-view mirror, the scent, the smooth leather cushioning your lousy fall.

For a split second, his eyes meet yours, but his cruel gaze settles on the man next to you.

“Mr Fushiguro—”

“Get out of the car.” He orders, staring at the drunken man through the rear-view mirror. You’re overheating; embarrassed of being seen like this, dishevelled and far from poised. You’re not one to care about what anyone inside of your father’s circle thinks of you, or how they see you.

But this isn’t about the consequences, nor is he just anyone.

Mullered, he hesitates, barely understanding the gravity of Toji’s demand. He’s barely sitting up straight, slouched over the leather, tautly turning to you for confirmation. Toji heavily sighs at the long pause.

Clicks his tongue in pique, “I’ll give you three seconds to get out of this car,” he utters painfully slowly, as he pulls out a gun from the cabinet. “Three… two…”

He doesn’t hesitate, with wide eyes, scrambling out of the car before you can even register the situation, falling over the pavement. Your eyes meet Shinji, who still displays that look of unease before he slams the door shut.

The window from his side is slightly open. “Take the night off, Shinji. I’ll take care of it from here.”

A sudden click resounds the car. In a surge of panic, you turn towards the car door, frantically tugging at the handle—it’s locked.

You exhale through your nose. “Open the door.”

“Didn’t mean to interrupt your night,” he says, slipping the gun back into the cabinet. “Did you have fun?”

“I said open the door.”

“Put your seatbelt on,” he merely orders, starting the car. You don’t listen, zealously tugging at the door handle. The aversion to being alone with him somehow rekindles the same feeling you got when he called you a spoiled brat—indignity.

To think you spent years trying to get him to even look at you, let alone give you a ride alone, but this exchange just leaves a bad taste in your mouth, and he’s eerily calm. You could jerk the hinges off with how hard you’re pulling, but he’s not reacting. He’s never cared about your waywardness. Of all nights. Why now?

He had a priority, which isn’t you.

You eventually let your hands fall to your lap, huffing in defeat. Eventually, the nightlife blurs into luminous streaks of bright lights, blurred silhouettes, and a quieter ambience. All you can hear are cars driving by, and a heartbeat. Yours.

“Why are you here?” You ask, expecting no answer in return—it’s nearly rhetorical with the way he stares ahead, tapping his index on the wheel, the other hand still resting over the console tunnel.

A scoff escapes your mouth, arms crossed against your chest to return the inanity of his silent protest. You are a little too casual about this; if it were any other bodyguard, you’d have clawed their eyes out by now, yet your fire is being subdued by his entire being. Entirely. Purposely slow.

Did he expect such a reaction? Did he expect you to jump at him and fight to be let out of the car? Did he know? Your heart races rapidly, vying between asking more and letting your eyes do all of the talking.

But the silence is torturous. He’s never driven you home alone. You’ve done far worse than this to earn his attention.

The continuous tapping on the steering wheel resounds the car—eyes ahead. Your father must be aware of your whereabouts then. That’s the only possible explanation: “Did my father send you?”

No answer.

In a fleeting moment, unexpectedly, you catch his gaze in the rear-view mirror, but yours is defeated by the intensity of it.

The rest of the car ride ensues in silence.

For the next twenty minutes, you make no efforts to disrupt the silence, but then flickers of muted white brightly blink beside his hand as messages pile on top of each other.

“Is that my phone?” you ask, mortified, rummaging through your purse when you realise that it’s not in there. Did you drop it? Fuck. Shinji must’ve slipped it through the window. You lean forward to grab your phone, but Toji is faster, swiftly taking it and dropping into his glove compartment. “What are you doing?”

“Sit back,” he says, denying you a glance. It’s like you’re not even there. “We’re almost there.”

“Where?”

Once again, he doesn’t answer.

You move back, dejected. It eats at you. The possibility of what could happen tonight, though, if he intends on driving you home, then it’d just involve an earful from your father and his smug expression. But the landscape beyond these tinted windows becomes desolate; flat lands that stretch beyond the motorway, the mountains in the distance drawing closer. Thirty minutes pass again, and now, you’re concerned.

It’s only a thirty-minute drive from your home, but it’s been fifty.

The car eventually slows down, and he orders. “Get out.”

You cock your head to the side, eyebrows scrunched together. “Excuse me?”

There’s a whelm of hush in the vehicle, a deep sigh flowing through his nostrils, flared and pinched. Toji doesn’t like repeating himself, a peeve he’d made apparent on many occasions, exiting the car with a loud slam. It rattles the seat beneath you, inviting a gust of wind to brush against your naked skin. You rub your arms—it’s chilly, but there is nothing more uninviting than a lack of clarity, as to why you’re here, with him, and he refuses to give it.

His silhouette stalks around the car, until eventually, he stands before your car door, gliding it open with minimal effort. 

In any other circumstance (or, one that doesn’t involve a kidnapping, tipsiness, and high winds), your eyes would linger on the evocative sight of his crotch meeting you at eye-level, slowly gaze up with a gleam visibly up to no good and bat your eyelashes.

Instead, your chest undulates wildly, crisp air thrums against your throat, and no insolent remark, nothing to combat his intensity. You’d curse whoever brought him to you. The only one who can do it, so effortlessly, wilt you into rot—just like that.

Toji rests his arms against the roof of the car and leans down, relaxed. “Get,” he words out clearly, sardonic, as though you’re made of air and nothing else, “out of the car.”

“It’s cold,” you sulk, unable to muster up the deliberate coyness that tailed him along for all these years. There’s a bounce in your tone, but he can see right through you, unamused, refusing to play into your antics. So, you admit defeat. “Fine.”

He leaves a small space for you to clumsily walk out, stumbling over the cobblestone strewn with large rocks and litter. From here, indigo stretches across Tokyo’s skyline with a heavy draft, a winter’s solstice. When your spatial awareness finally sinks in, you notice an object in his hand, the location, the chary nature of all of this.

It’s difficult to not find it suspicious when he has driven you here, instead of home, with no word from your father, ignoring you for the full duration of the car ride, until you’re standing on a derelict hillside overlooking the metropolitan.

It's laughable. It must’ve been convenient to give him the power to do this. Your father was a careful person, making sure to investigate anyone who dares to enter his inner circle, albeit that’s a perk of being an extremely influential man.

Yet, Toji remains a mystery. Where did he come from? No one dares to answer that question. No one can. Even as you asked around; those he trained with, drank with, gambled with, and your father, nothing was of substance.

Perhaps that’s what bothered you about him.

He’s supposed to be invisible, nothing.

Should be, at least.

“Is there a reason why you drove me out to the middle of nowhere?”

“I’ve lost four bodyguards in three months,” he simply discloses, undoing his cuffs. The wuthering height of this cliff ruffles the neat strands of his hair, blowing softly across his forehead. “Want to explain why?”

You shrug. So caught up in your ego, unwilling to take blame for the resignation of several bodyguards. It’s not really your fault. If they couldn’t handle a slight attitude [overbearing, demanding, blackmailing…], then how on earth could they be entrusted with protecting someone’s life, especially yours? “I don’t know. You and I both know they usually come and go.”

“No,” he reputes, “that’s not it.”

“Why does it matter? It’s not like my father can’t hire more,” you dismiss, salvaging what’s left of your poise. “Is that really why we’re out here?”

He dodges the latter question. “Training them costs time and money.”

“His money,” you retort, noticing his lip twitch in frustration. Then while it dawns on you, that you’ve never seen him upset, or irate. He plays the cord, twirled between his thumb and index. “Sorry if that bothers you, but I have nothing to do with that.”

A phantom smile appears on his face; one that should be there, glides over the green in his eyes but never really shows on his lips. It’s unsettling, given the unusual circumstance—at the hillside kissing the borders of the city, where vehicles barely pass by at this time.

Anything can happen.

He could do anything.

You’re still reeling from the alcohol in your system, trying to digest that this is the first moment you’ve had Mr Fushiguro all to yourself, and you’re not even sure if you have him at all.

He has a slight stubble that he doesn’t bother shaving properly. It’s still there. You even remember when you first saw him without that blazer, the soft undershirt filmy and nicely ironed, noticing the near-perfect curve of his back and wide shoulders. And that scar, just etched across the left side of his mouth. It’s all that is, a scar, but it darkened over the years, and it’s usually a mark of a past no longer spoken about.

You want to know all about it.

Raised in a prim and proper fashion, you’ve always been concerned with perfection.

Yet he’s far from it, at least, from the arcane archetype of what the rich define as perfect. He’s undeniably flawed. He doesn’t kneel to an unspoken hierarchy, doesn’t pertain to the clean-shaven look that most rich idiots subject themselves to at the end of every week, keeps his business to himself, and never on display, keeps them guessing.

This time, he offers a little more clarity.

It’s eerily quiet, but he drops a few octaves you’re not sure even existed. “It has everything to do with you.”

​​“Wait—” Nothing is adding up. “So, we’re not here because I snuck out?”

He scoffs, “I couldn’t care less about where you are or who you’re fucking.” Ouch.

“So, I’m here with you, and he doesn’t know,” you say plainly, as though you needed to say it out loud for it to sink in. He brought you out here on his own accord. “Why am I here?”

 “You’re here because,” he treads carefully towards you, indifferent to the way your face contorts in bewilderment, “it’s time we finally settle a few things.”

“What are you accusing me of?” You ask, defensive. “Take me home, Mr Fushiguro.”

You sound shaky and unsure. He’s expressive, clearly grated by your presence alone, so you’d rather be alone where you have some level of control—your bedroom, a wide dressing room in a luxury store, or even a parking lot might ease your apprehension. Starkly different from all of those times you’ve asked him to take you home, demanding, but this was fragile.

His chin raised, eyes observing you with zeal. You could shrivel into a ball. “I will,” he nods, shuffling his blazer off, hanging it over his arm, and opens the door to the passenger sheet. He throws it inside, falsely alluding to the idea that you can go inside, and he slams it shut before you can take a single step. You jolt in surprise. “But not until I get what I want.”

Toji keeps skirting around what should be obvious, but nothing is clear to you right now. “What the hell do you want?”

He almost laughs, traps a breathless laugh between his teeth. The silence ensues. It’s a different silence—one that you’re quite familiar with when it’s done on purpose. And all you can do is admire him.

He really is attractive—beneath all of that coldness and dishevel, he’s so hot. (Has he ever fucked on the job? What’s his type?) Your eyes continue to trail downwards, analysing every vein and blemish on his skin. He does have a lot of tiny moles. His arms can barely fit into that button-up, on the verge of tearing against every little tensed move. It hugs his chest so tightly.

“Drop the act,” he says bluntly, and his gaze flickers from your face to your chest. He’s not even hiding it. “Think I don’t notice the way you look at me?”

Your face contorts in a peculiar show of surprise—mirth, indignation, then, disbelief. Sure, you were shameless enough to make your devious attempts cater to him alone, but anyone could be convinced that it was just a rotten attribute of yours to make him mad. So, what’s his point? He’s never pointed it out before. He’s never cared, until now apparently. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“No?” he prods, stretching the cord for its durability. He takes a few steps forward and earns a few steps back. “Then tell me what you tell them about me.”

The wind rustles loudly, speaking for you.

“You tell them I’m a fraud, don’t ya? A crook—no, a conman, is it?” he goes on, cornering you against the car. “They believe it too,” he says in disbelief, somewhat amused at the fact, “those guys who can’t even watch a brat for a few fucking hours. Those rich assholes begging for my protection, they despise me. But you,” he tuts, shaking his head, placing a hand just beside your head. “Not you. Nothin’ for the dirty conman.”

Hearing those rumours come from his mouth, so loosely tangled in a grapevine designed for your entertainment, and it sounds strange, distasteful. Had he known all along? Those rumours were first spilled in a fit of rage, but for him, they had manifested into a reputation, an image, something nearly irredeemable.

Soon enough, your anger also turned into an infatuation, calculated, solely in search for his attention.

But you’re not sure if this is what you wanted.

You first sought the attention of your father’s peers, seeding the doubt of Toji’s credibility in their heads. While it did affect your father’s ability to hire safely and professionally, it wasn’t enough to affect his reputation at first. Who knows what dodgy shit he and his friends are involved in? They were in no position to judge. Though, their wives—they had their own little circles, they were tattlers for sure, not on purpose, but if they were going to have dinner, and book-clubs, and discuss arranged marriages and the suburb’s latest gossip, then it was bound to slip in.

Five years later, and your father has now inserted himself in the political space—completely and fully. His face plastered all over the media to support a promising minister’s campaign invites a swarm of tabloids. Tabloids that pick people apart, from limb to limb, to their first Freudian slip to a major scandal buried beneath the earth. Picked apart because the media wants clean. Squeaky clean. Your father’s far from that, one foot out of the door, the other in. Serving whatever interests him. All stains uncovered. As demeaning as it might sound, Toji was one of them. One he refused to get rid of, one he wore like a badge.

So, it resurfaces, keeps doing so, like a chronic zit, and it won’t go away. CEO of a respected media conglomerate, emerging as a political typhoon, and a bodyguard, rumoured to be a conman, hired without a resume. It wasn’t supposed to spiral like this, or at least, you weren’t supposed to care that it did.

But you can’t see the anger behind his eyes, it’s unreadable, and all you want to do is to kiss him.

“Are you admitting that you’re a conman?”

“No,” he whispers, alluring. “I’m admittin’ that I know my boss’ daughter has a thing for a dirty men.”

You can read something now. He wants something, and it opens a door. “Not all dirty men. Just the ones who think they’re better than me.”

Lips upturned into a smirk; he invites you in: go on.

In an outpour of desire, swelled and pent-up for nearly five years, and the last twenty minutes of trying to figure out why Mr Fushiguro drove you out here, dissipates into the chilly air, pushing you to chase a goal that’s had you tiptoed on the cusp of satisfaction for far too long. Your hands slide across his nape to bring him down to you—heels off the ground, torso stretched, so you can put those tantalising memories to rest.

Then he grabs your hands and moves his head back.

“No, no,” he chides lightly, luring you in for the sake of getting that reaction, spins you around with so little of his nonstandard might. He uses the grip he has on your wrists to press you against the car—his mouth trails along the curve of your ear, providing a draft of warmth compared to the blustery weather. “Did you think it’d be that easy?”

The sullen brown of the trees around you become more apparent now, looming in its own intensity while the wind becomes harsher.

“You’ve always been curious, haven’t ya?” he murmurs, locking his hands around your wrists, bringing each hand to your lower back. “How the hell does a man like me end up with someone like you?”

You can hear his strong aversion to this work; drawing you back to this unusual reality, the sensation of nylon slithering around your wrists and he’s quick and firm, letting the cold zip tie overlap his iron-clad grip on your wrists. That tantalising shiver, from a simple touch so adorned that it caused you to border delusion, completely disappears and the knot tightens.

“What are you doing?” you exhale, puffs of frosty air following.

He chides. “What’s it look like? I’m finally giving you the attention you want.”

Talk to them.

Shut them up however you want.

Every obstacle Toji has had to hurdle over has either been met with a shiny two-point pistol, a cursed sword with arcane origins, or a turned cheek (and maybe a splash of blood money on the side, which he’s had no problem with spilling). Running your mouth could only irritate him for so long but seeing as it nearly cost him his precious job, he couldn’t ignore it for much longer.

These grapevines the upper class are unbelievably obsessed with, littered all over his reputation and it all pertains to you. Someone desperate enough to use rumours to garner his costly attention, convinced that he’d eventually give in and beg for those lies to put to rest—on his knees and hands tied.

Alas, Toji doesn’t beg. Nor does he try to be nice.

As though you’ve just awoken from a trance, you begin to struggle against the constraints, flustered when his broad frame keeps you from moving anywhere but into him.

“See,” he presses himself into you, indulging in those quiet whines of disbelief. “I’m curious about you too. How does a brat like you get rid of my men so easily?”

“Keep assuming, Fushiguro. It’ll get you nowhere.” You retort.

“You don’t think so?”

Abruptly, he pulls away, hauling you to the bonnet of his car. He pushes you against the surface with a quiet thud, effortlessly, using his thighs to keep your legs from kicking at him—a sight to behold, to see you whittled down into someone small.

He might be caught up in his own inner monologue, but your mouth is moving; curses and demands falling so bitterly from your tongue, yet it’s quiet. Not necessarily practised, but he’s always thought what he’d say if he ever had the chance to get you like this, below him, submitted to his mercy, a satisfying end to your senseless games.

It’s not a good idea; messing with his boss’ daughter like this, seeing you like this, wishing terrible things, lewd and impulsive. He’s envisioned this, in passing thought, whenever he’d watch your mouth move; insolent gossip flowing to the ears of other rich assholes, demanding another drink, talking down on his men, complaining, flirting, swearing, the smearing of cream on your finger, and you’d lick it, suck, and have the audacity to look him in the eye while doing so, then those thoughts would arise once more.

He wouldn’t let it linger for more than a minute, but it’s more than enough. Your attention needs feeding, and he was more than willing to do it. Just not in the way you hoped he would.

So desperate to find out who he is.

If you did, you’d run the other way. You can’t even handle the inhibited part of him, this clean state—

“I’ll show you who I really am, how about that?” he says, looming over you like a raincloud. It threatens to pour. “But I’m warning ya, you’re not going to like what you find.”

“Just wait until he hears about this. You’re fucking done.” You spit. His warnings can barely aid your ego.

Toji could laugh, but he really does like you like this. “Really? After all that waiting,” he leers, leaning closer, until his next words are mouthed against your ear. It tickles, sends a shiver down your back, and earns a strained croak. “You have me right where you want me, don’t ya?”

Your eyes close, a cynical response to the fact that he’s right.

He keeps pushing and pulling.

“Bask in it for now,” he continues, a breeze against your bare skin, and you don't notice how loud it is until you’ve been ridden speechless. His last gift of transparency for you, offered in a spine-chilling whisper against your ear, “because I don’t fuck spoiled brats.”

A small smile pricks the curve of your ear, fingers trail the side of your thighs, exposed from the way your dress skirts upwards.

You shudder when his large hand slides beneath the hem of your dress. “What—”

“But if you beg nicely,” he says, using his other hand to maintain a vice-grip around your neck, keeping you face down on his car. “If you want this,” he presses into you—

“Fushiguro.”

He reprises. “You’ll beg for it, and maybe, just maybe, I’ll reconsider.”

“We’re in public.” You remark worriedly, tuning into the sounds of incoming cars. It shouldn’t bother you—you’ve done worse—but there is something off about this entire exchange, nothing is in your favour. This isn’t a reward for your wily efforts.

“For a tough girl like you, I’m sure this is nothin’, right?” he mutters with a rich twang, letting the words coil in your stomach. “Aren’t you tired of this act? Not enough to distract you from me, is it?”

“That’s not—oh—” you squirm when he scoots your dress up, until it’s crumpled around your waist, exposing black lace that does an awful job of hiding anything, sunk between your cheeks. His first instinct drives him to snap the lace back, to test its sturdiness, wondering if he can just tear it off. And he pulls.

You writhe whenever he moves the material around, tugs at it, lands a soft slap to your ass cheek; your heels barely hovering over the cobblestone as your knees crook, then slump in response.

A weak gasp escapes you when his fingers suddenly brush against the fabric. A nasty craving urging him to push it to the side and sink his fingers in, but that’d be too generous. Far too giving.

Toji doesn’t give; the strings of a crude marionette are now in his hands, always been his to play with, but his pants already feel tighter, constrained.

You can barely utter a word, clearly anticipating the moment he decides to put an end to this agonising tease, fearing that your words will put him off. The mere touch of his fingers playing with your underwear almost feels serene because he’s slow, careful, scarily tactful as a predator should be before they strike. Observes the way you take your lower lip between your teeth, giddy when you hear him unbuckle his pants.

Then with a harsh tug, your panties drop to your ankles, earning a waft of a cold air against your slit. “Think that drunk idiot would’ve made you cum tonight?”

“I don’t know,” you retort shakily, “you pointed a gun at him before he had the chance—”

He cuts you off with a strike to your ass. It’s humorous because he knows, and you know that it’s not true. Projecting your vulgar fantasies onto faceless men who you can’t even remember, can barely put their dick in where it matters, pretending those dramatised moans belong to—

It’s a fruitless attempt, yet you try, again and again. Act out. Train your silver tongue. Try to garner his attention somehow. But this is not what you intended for you and him.

To be strung out in the open like this, to be put on trial no less.

Toji tugs your underwear past your heels, stuffs them in his pocket, and pries your cheeks apart, observing the slick that shines against subdued moonglow.

“What a mess.” He tuts, inaudible when it’s overcome by the sudden beeping in his ear.

“Is that on? Can they hear us?” you ask, alarmed. The idea of them perversely listening to you being disciplined like this, when they’d want nothing more than to have you punished for all of your antics—it’s humiliating. “Turn it off.”

Toji turned it off the moment he got out of the car.

“No,” he simply spurns, thumbing the skin just a few inches away from your sodden slit, gently bumping against your clit with soft infolds. He leans down again, following your grimace with joy, inhibited moans that threaten to spill out—he’s never been so animated. “How’s this, hm? This everythin’ you want?”

He places one of your legs onto the bonnet to give him clearer access, running his hand along your thigh to keep you in place.

“Not quite,” you smartly respond, still heaving from his ministrations. He’s not even doing anything, yet you already look like you’re breaking apart.

“Yeah? What else?”

“Your fingers—”

“My fingers? Where do you want it?”

“You know where, asshole,” you spit through gritted teeth, wriggling under your constraints. You don’t know what you want—fighting through the zip tie, asking him to touch you—it’s confusing.

“Say it.”

“My cunt.” You respite crudely.

“I don’t know,” he sighs wilfully, relishing in the way your face contorts in annoyance. “Temptin’ but,” he tilts his head, “think I missed the part where you begged for it.”

That’s a foreign concept. You shake your head, clenching under every circular motion he presses into your skin.

“No?”

“No.” You manage to sputter, stalwart.

“Alright then,” he exhales, earning a guttural moan when he suddenly trails a thick finger down your slit, spreads your lips apart to watch your slick leak out, and he’s finally dipping his toes into cold waters. But he’s already hearing the way it smacks softly against his ministrations, those wanton moans he never thought he’d be reckless enough to hear, notices the way your eyes are rolling white from a simple swipe across your clit, toes curling into your heels.

Toji doesn’t intend on giving at all; prefers the illusion of it, pushing you to the brink and taking it away from you just as quickly.

So, he draws a long string of spit to his fingers, two of them, lets the rest drip loosely over your ass, and presses them to your clit. Oh. It’s quiet, the only sounds reverberating the open space are your soft moans, those delicate squelches, the cranking of the car when you push yourself into him; it’s oddly warm. He’s never seen you this quiet, and if you are, you’re plotting—cynical and judgemental, but this time, your eyes are fluttering closed in fulfilment, lips parted.

So, he sinks his fingers in, crooks them, buries them deep inside with no warning, reeling when you squeeze around them. Toji observes you carefully, those reactions you attempt to disguise because he knows you don’t trust him. He’s never taken the time to read your features properly; learn your patterns, remember them, noticing every speck and freckle, the soft curve of your eyebrows, the ‘o’ shape your mouth is making, it’s without ridicule.

Maybe, he’s too preoccupied with the sheer wetness coating his fingers, navigating through his own urge to bury his cock inside of you, coat it in all of your slick until he’s spraying your spongy walls in generous amounts of his load. He imbues that urge into his thrusts, motioning his fingers back and forth with such vigour that it shakes his car, creaking noisily. The vulgar wet smacking of his fingers connecting with your cunt overpowering the soft winds, yet it’s not enough to conceal the loud moans he rips from your chest.

But you’re so tight, and he really might hurt you if he falls into his own impulses quickly. It’ll wrap nicely around his girth, surely fuck all of that terrible tendency to run your mouth, until you can only murmur his name with little coherence.

Maybe a third finger might do the trick.

Though, you’re enjoying this so much. The fact that he’s even touching you is bringing all of your wildest fantasies to the surface—he’s done a wonderful job of convincing you that he’d never touch you.

“Did you really think I’d just give it to you?”

Barely coherent and aware of your surroundings, you can’t hear the belt slide off the car, a cold leather suddenly sliding across your slit when his fingers leave your cunt hollow. “The fuck—”

“Watch your mouth,” he utters, tired of the obscenities leaving your mouth so loosely, at him. (That’s that complex. They hate him, you don’t. They respect him, you, however, don’t). “C’mon, tell me how bad ya want it.”

“Fuck you,” you spit, still dazed from his ministrations.

Then he smiles. Mockingly. A sinister smile that can only adorn a monster staring down at their victim.

It all happens so quickly—the flat surface of his leather belt makes sharp contact with your swollen clit, ripping a shrill gasp from you, hurdling through stages of adrenaline and disbelief when the sting finally sinks in. “Ow!” you yell, flailing against his hold.

You jolt into the bonnet, reeling from the discomfort. You almost regret looking back, recoiling into the same shell he put you in when you first met him—greeted with such intensity that it might burn you alive. The verdancy in his eyes says it all, even if he refuses to crack a smirk. “Did that hurt?”

His thumb caresses your tender clit, his other hand holding your thigh with a tantalising stroke. It’s soft. Somewhat balanced against the callousness of the object in his hand. Then he strikes again and cements you to the car. Any attempt at wringing from his grip is fought to no avail, accompanied by little bursts of anger. His tender rubbing does nothing to aid the stinging sensation.

Yet, the coil in your gut grows. It’s frustrating. The swelling of tears becomes more apparent the more he strikes your cunt, profusely sending titillating sensations throughout your body as he focuses entirely on your clit. He doesn’t even ask again. He doesn’t need to. Toji can see your resolve break in your eyes, the desperate moans eliciting all croaked and weak.

It’s almost pitiful.

“Fuck, fuck. Stop,” you beg curtly, heaving so loudly. “Stop.”

“Why should I?”

“Because I’ll ruin you. My father owns you.” You sniffle, reduced to a blubbering mess.

“Yeah? By the sound of it,” he runs the glistening belt along your slit, now sticky and wet. “I owned you from the moment you saw me, right?”

You exhale loudly, mired by a scoff, unable to retort.

“Look at me.”

You cower, scowling in frustration, attempting to turn away from him proves futile when he’s forcing you onto the car face-down, but trying to ignore his words does even worse. Toji tuts gently, letting go of your aching thigh and for a moment, allows you to move it down. He turns you until your back lays on the car, giving a clearer vision on the distress on your face.

Legs spread apart, sodden cunt glistening. A sight to behold. Nipples perked beneath your flimsy dress that remains bundled around your waist, skin slowly succumbing to perspiration as he tests your endurance. You’re looking at him with those eyes, but they’re worn down—floundered, struggling to compete with the trial he’s putting you through.

Mirrored with a sadistic smile that’ll finally shed you of every presumption and expectation you have of him, if he hasn’t done so already.

“This,” he utters under his breath—it's so quiet than any whisper could be heard from miles away, and he trails the belt flatly across your slit, smearing your thighs in slick, “is mine, and I haven’t even fucked it.”

The promise of yet lies wistful in his throat, but he could never let you hear that.

Not when this is working in his favour.

“Hurry up and do it,” you demand. Still. Even if there are tears threatening to spill, your voice still holds the volition to demand. Please? He hears it pop softly in your mouth, but you don’t say it out loud.

Maybe he imagined it.

“What was that?”

“I said fucking do it.” Wrong answer.

He slaps the belt onto your clit once more, earning a strained gasp that falls short when he soothes the strike with a tender thumb twist. “So demanding,” he tuts, sees the defeat bleed through your moans—fumbling between the expected strike and tantalising rubs. You’re not exactly hiding it. This angle is definitely better. “Like I said, not until you give me what I want.”

“Then?” you heave, eyebrows faintly curved into a wistful sign of hope.

“I don’t know,” he sighs, tutting playfully while he softly pries your lips apart—a ooze of more slick running down. “I don’t think you can handle it.”

Pleas bloom in desperation, slowly accustomed to the precise strokes he lands on your clit—with his thumb, then the flat surface of his belt, then his thumb again, then the belt—relentlessly, feverish when he’s chasing a cacophony of sounds.

A splash of slick, obscene squelches buried beneath his circular motions—it’s ruthless. Nearly selfish. Ravenous while he stares down at you, enjoys the clear line he’s drawn between his actions; sinking his fingers into his cunt with no warning, twisting them between your sporadic clenching. Sticky warmth coating his fingers over and over again, until they cover his knuckles completely. Recklessly drawing you closer to an orgasm so far-fetched, tying that knot inside of your gut, letting your back arch against his car.

He sees the strain in your movement, struggling to level your breathing, burning blue while the moon bounces off of you entirely. Tears slipping down the corner of your eyes, squeezing shut with every whimper, fully and fluidly. But you’re so loud. It’s all he can hear in a city that refuses to be quiet. Sudden and frantic, as if it hurts to release.

Didn’t he intend for this to shut you up?

It nearly sounds as though you’re enjoying it.

Maybe he’s just feeling masochistic.

Pulling your bottom lip between your teeth, barely able to read his movements as he switches from finger-fucking your cunt to giving your clit a piercing slap. There’s no time to process any of it.

It’s pitiful. Heels digging so far into the surface of his car that it engraves white, messy marks—a poor testament to his own mission. “So tight. They really don’t fuck you right, do they?”

Jaw clenched, chest undulating, you stifle your own response.

“No wonder you’re such a fuckin’ brat,” he spits with vigour, slapping your cunt with his hand alone, rubbing your slick around until those vulgar sounds become far too familiar, too little rewarding. “You need someone to stretch you out just right.”

“You’re such an asshole—oh,” you heave, putty when a third digit joins his relentless ministrations, earning a searing burst of discomfort and pleasure. Your pathetic pleas for more—or less—he can’t tell, becomes louder whenever he rubs your sensitive spot, pushing deeper and deeper until your knees are completely crooked ninety degrees, the edge of your heels planted at the pane of his wide shoulders. “Just like that, ughh!”

The itch of wanting to hold him compels you—tugging at the cord around your wrists, hoping to loosen it. Searingly bursting through your heart while he pulls you closer to an orgasm. He’s relentless, holding one of your legs to keep them from flailing about, the other insistent on making sure you keep doing so.

Completely unravelled, blubbering all sorts of incoherent nonsense that you forget all of your efforts to hide your imminent orgasm. “Oh fuck, fuck, fuck, I’m cu—”

“Yeah?” he urges with a delirious grin, insistently rubbing against your clit. He’s doing a good job of convincing you that he’ll let you.

“Toji,” you gasp loudly. He almost lets a rogue groan leave him when your walls contract tightly around his thick fingers, soft and sodden, smacking so loudly against him. He’s excited. Wants to replace these nimble motions with something much more girthier, something that’ll really shut you up. “Oh my g—”

If only he could take a picture.

That look on your face when he retreats, slowly slipping his fingers out and barely escaping the iron-clad shutting of your thighs to keep him there.

“Fuck, fuck. Why’d you stop?” you spit vehemently, wriggling against the car—the cord doing a disservice to your tantrum.

“Beg for it.” He says, nonchalant.

“Fuck you. Let me go now—!”

“Shut up,” he exhales once again, suddenly muffling your screams and profanities with your own crumpled panties. It only angers you further, eyes nearly protruding from your sockets. “If you don’t want to back down, I’ll just have to try again.”

He pries your legs apart again, running his fingers along your slit, watching your chest heave in unrivalled anger. As you simmer from your tantrum, he earns a sharp gasp that restarts it when he slaps your cunt again.

Then he kneels down, doesn’t let the fine material of his suit touch the ground, and licks a long strip along your slit, ending with a delicious curl around your sore clit, twirling the wet muscle slowly as your stifled moans bleed through your panties.

If he insists on making you the bane of his existence, he surely enjoys punishing you for it. Though, this doesn’t feel like a punishment. At least, when he’s greedily lapping at your clit, circling his slick-coated lips around the nub until your heels are digging at the pane of his shoulders once again.

He loves it. That discomfort inflicted by the sharpness of your heels. It’s definitive. The further you curl into his non-embrace, the more he brings you closer to the illusion. And you fall for it every time.

Forces your thighs further apart, and you try to clench harder, but you’ve succumbed to his stronger grip, submitted to tortuous wet loops around your clit, wandering down your slit—sinking further and further in, wriggling the wet muscle until he’s fully submerged in your cunt. Nose-dived into you, a skilled swipe of his thumb landing on your clit to seal the deal. You can’t even utter a single word, wailing the city down until the cars can no longer offer its own automatic ambience.

Before you could count the number of vehicles that might’ve passed by before, but now—who knows how many have peered beyond the tinted windows; wondering what on earth could be happening? It’s difficult to look down when your weight doesn’t support it, anchored by the cord and the unreasonable position you’ve been put in. Yet, you’re trying. Trying to get good look at Toji devouring you from the waist down. Hoping you can get it framed somehow.

Your endless fantasies couldn’t leave up to this. If he wasn’t going to let you have it, then the least he could do was let you look. You bite down on your panties, hoping your words seep through. Don’t stop—ugh!

His eyebrows raise in response, clearly amused by the way you’ve been whittled down to only a few words and phrases. Don’t stop. Murmured and shouted through your panties, as though it’s only the language you know. Oh, the sound of desperation. Keep going. And he’s dogged. Flatly laying his tongue over your clit, spreading your lips apart to invite his thick fingers inside once more—dealt more than they can handle.

But he’s nudging through your contractions, humming lazily as he laps at your wetness; suctions of slobber that make this all the messier. You can see it leave his mouth. It’s filthy. Tantalising. Bearing that knot in your gut with a fruitful twist, and it doesn’t end there, persistently growing as he rubs against that sweet spot, again and again. He’s humming through his own enjoyment, some of it intentional, eliciting deep vibrations through your body; the rest subconsciously, as though he’s indulging in it before he has to stop.

The wicked glint in his eye, none of it contested by the lustful gaze shared between the two of you. It’s irritating. He’s timing it. Pushing all of those buttons that exist in your rattling frame, until you’re convulsing. Strident groans elicited by your heels still kneading the car, now there’s for sure a few deep dents, (he’ll definitely have to get it fixed before his next ride), and the poorly withheld moans coming from the both of you.

You, a little louder, in fact much louder than the older man submerged in your cunt, unable to hold it in.

You’re trying to hide it. Before he—

It crawls out of your throat like a bubbling saucer, spilling through your stuffed panties, restrained yet full of fervour. He looks delectable. Makes you feel as though you are from the way he mouths at your cunt, flicking his tongue over your clit to watch you squirm even harder, lets a rogue fang barely scrape the poor nub, sinking his fingers further and further inside, making you feel so full. If this is how his fingers feel, then—

“You really don’t learn, do ya?” he tuts, removing his mouth from you—revealing a slicked mess that takes over the lower half of his face, from his sharp nose to the dip between his collarbones.

You can only reply with muffled curses, merged into mangled pleas and demands. Blinking rapidly through uncontrollable tears. He can’t decipher any of it to an exact meaning, but it’s not difficult to understand. Not when his fingers are still deep inside of you, curling and twisting against that sweet spot, slipping a thumb to your clit, rubbing.

“Look at me,” he urges, following your head turns, slapping your cheek lightly. “C’mon, I won’t bite.”

He’s a liar. Your mind suddenly traces back to the day he blatantly rejected your not-so-subtle advances; a dinner party, one that entailed an informal get-together between conglomerates and their kids.

(Again, you had a little too much to drink, putty, observant while he shared stern orders to a few bodyguards at the mansion’s entrance.

Something about detecting uninvited guests? You were too busy eyeing him to gauge what he was saying, up and down, fixated with his back turned—the other bodyguards subtly noticing.

“Do ya understand?” he confirms, scouring between the three in front of him. They’re stoic, slightly scared nonetheless, nodding. “Get out of here.”

They scurry away to their stations.

Standing by the pillar, sipping your glass of champagne while he gives into your demanding presence, finally turning around to face you. “What?”

“You’re good at your job.” You utter, hoisting yourself off the pillar, swaying towards him. “A little too good, maybe. It’s okay to let loose once in a while.”

“I don’t drink.” He retorts, taking a jab at your current state. The dinner party started 25 minutes ago, and you were already tipsy.

That piques your interest. “At all?”

He doesn’t bother responding, or looking at you, walking to the double doors leading to the dinner hall. You follow him. “Sober up before you walk in again. Don’t embarrass yourself.”

“Why don’t you help me sober up then?” you utter, clinging to his side. “Since we’re here.”

“You wouldn’t want that,” he slowly mutters, as though he was laughing to himself, swinging the doors open. “Trust me.”)

Maybe you should’ve listened.

Maybe you should’ve turned the other way.

That way, you wouldn’t be subjected to this game. It was cunning, a warning he made sure you’d take with a pinch of salt, because he now has you at the brink of starvation, parched and completely brittle; pleading for some kind of quenching.

He has your hips raising and does nothing to stop it, follows your erratic movements, lets you move him to the flow of your own orgasm. Toji can see the slick run down your cheeks—a damn mess it is, nearly pained at the sight of his fingers buried inside of your cunt, squelching through his incessant thrusts. Don’t, is what he’d hear clearly if he didn’t stuff your mouth full, yet he replies, mocking. “Don’t what?”

It twists and turns—that fire within you, setting you alight until everything you feel is absolute. Don’t stop!

It’s travelling to the pits of you, eventually spilling all of his thick fingers, maybe his car, maybe he’s pushed you too far; maybe he’ll make a right mess before he can—

Hollowness follows.

A wide-eyed face meeting glistening fingers, subdued by moonlight. He fights the temptation to suck on it, wiping the slick across his shirt. Fuck you! Fuck! It’s nearly laughable—those noisy insults bleeding through the fabric, how frustrated you are and he’s simply unfazed. Asshole! He doesn’t want to, but he’s far from done, peeling the panties from your mouth, and accepting the subsequent clarity of your curses.

“Just let me cum,” you plead (barely, somehow, your begging still sounds like a demand) and it falls on deaf ears, deliberately. “I’m not playing this game.”

“Do you think you deserve it? Think you earned it?” he asks sternly, placing a hand just beside your head to lean closer. His eyes are cold—careless to the trepidation strewn across your face.

“I’ll behave, asshole. I’ll be nice. I won’t talk. How’s that sound, hm?” You somewhat lean in.

“Nice,” he repeats with indignation, stunned by your choice of words. “You’re gonna need to do better than that.”

He pulls you from your arms, hauling your entire weight to the ground with an unkind thud.

“So, I’ll ask you again,” he licks his lips. “How badly do you want it?”

You gnaw at your lip—desperately—is what you’d like to say, but your pride has chewed at your resolve, spitting you out into this unfathomable state of weakness. The cobblestone jaggedly scrapes against your knees while you adjust, constraints far too tight to let you wriggle around properly, and his shadow, looming and overbearing, offers no reconciliation for your discomfort.

Instead, his large hand nestles in your hair, yanking your head backwards, until it’s forcing your gaze to meet his.

The ache overbearingly grows between your thighs—throbbing, panging desperately for some relief. A knowing look, subtly hinting at what’s to come, and your mouth waters, waiting to be satiated. “How bad?”

When he asks, it’s surprisingly composed, not demanding, as though he doesn’t need words to understand that he’s won—that you’re not willing to fight him. How can you? Mascara smudged below your eyes, lips bruised from your constant gnawing, nose wet from your blubbering; there’s no use in putting up a front. You can see the delight etched across his face.

You’re too stubborn to voice it, returning his gaze with a stone-cold glare. Though, there’s an obvious curve beneath his pants—risen and hard.

His chest undulates beneath his white t-shirt, three buttons down from the collar, a soft lustre glistening across his skin. You could drool at the sight, amid all of this frustration—he’s delectable. It’s a little impulsive, but with your arms tied and your stubbornness tying your tongue, you’d rather show him. You lean into him, pressing an open-mouthed kiss against his bulge, the only barrier being his pants, and he watches intently. He doesn’t react too abruptly, as if he expected you to do something so reckless. Instead, you fixate on the way his jaw clenches.

You lay a flat tongue over the fabric, maintaining eye-contact, so you don’t miss a single, fickle reaction. It’s shameless, slow—as though he didn’t force you to commit to his twisted game, completely decadent. You almost nab the zip, threatening to pull it down, but he quickly pulls your hair back.

Then he says, hushed. “I said say it.”

You give in. “Really bad,” you murmur, overcome with desire.

“What was that?” he responds, unzipping his pants. Enchantment twists your features; that terrible glint that flashes across your eyes whenever you stumble across a new designer dress, or when you’re gifted an expensive pearl necklace, like that one on your neck. You can only imagine what he’ll finally reveal—his length, his thickness—it must mirror his size in some way, right? Maybe how scruffy or kept up it might be? If it’ll fit right in your mouth, if he’ll deem you good enough to finally fuck you properly. “I’ll keep us both here all night, princess.”

Toji doesn’t abide to the same level of anticipation on your face, though he’s not so enthusiastic about revealing the pre-cum oozing out of his tip. When he does finally unzip, revealing his navy boxers, the damp spot doesn’t go unnoticed. Satisfaction bites at you, but his size doesn’t give you enough time to comprehend that.

He's huge. “I’ll give you a show, how about that? Maybe you’ll speak up then.”

He hauls you from the ground, a brief solace to your grazed knees before he’s taking you to your car door. He’s unkind with his gestures but makes sure you don’t bump your head when you crawl inside, unable to leverage your hands. The vehicle has sizable leg space—it’s no ridiculously long limousine, but it’s enough for him to keep you not too far, not too close either, where you’re slumped over the seat, and him, comfortably settled in front of you.

Thick thighs spread across the seat, with the soft tweak of the watch on his wrist, he notices the time. He tenderly massages his problem, letting your eyes trail downwards again in sheer curiosity—lust—it’s unfathomable, how desperate you are to show him. You prepare to say something smart, rude, aggravated by the way he’d take his time to show you.

But then he makes a move.

Train of thought completely crashed, unable to recall if you’ve fucked anyone with a girth this thick, tufts of hair getting bushier as he slowly pushes his boxers down—clearly in no rush to fuck your throat. You’re impatient, chewing your bottom lip when the thought gnaws at you, and then it springs out of his boxers. A heavy girth raised at you, monstrously long too, two veins protruding on each side, sticky white glistening on his tip.

Fuck.

Fuck.

“Hey,” he interrupts, forcing you to look up at him rather than to ogle at his cock. There’s no way that can fit in your mouth, let alone— “Couldn’t hear you right the first time.”

Spitefully, you chide, hoping it bruises his ego. “I said I want it really bad, Mr Fushiguro. Now, why don’t we stop playing this stupid game and get to it?” See, you’ve bruised enough egos to know it works—they’re all the same, always wanting to prove something, to heal their friable vanity.

But he’s not convinced, he’s amused. “Is that right?”

He runs a hand through his hair, spitting on his other, rubbing concoctions of spit and pre-cum around his cock. You watch in anticipation, hungry, and he’s unwilling to pull you closer. You momentarily think about how humiliating it would be to force yourself to your knees, just for him to reject your offer, so you watch, let the tantalising sight worsen that ache between your thighs.

You can’t believe the sight, watching Toji fist his cock, intentionally, right in front of you, with no shame.

He fucks more pre-cum to emit from his tip, rubs it all over, earning soft fapping noise that reverberates the car. To think this is happening in this car—

“Is this what you think about when you’re fucking them?” there’s a hoarseness to his voice, it’s rough and low.

You swallow, wriggling into a more comfortable position. “I can help you.”

“Oh, I know,” he leers, unbuttoning his shirt, slowly revealing his bare chest. You must be dreaming. “Just don’t think you’re ready to take it.”

You push. “I can.”

He squeezes, twists, fisting up and down his wet cock. “C’mere then,” he orders. “Show me.”

You don’t hesitate to sprawl to your knees, earning a soft laugh that skulks out of his throat, strained. “Can you untie me?”

“No,” he quickly culls. “Now, suck.”

You glower, before your tongue extends out to give the underside of his cock an unhurried lick, barely earning the illusion of a groan, but his fingers are tightening against the tiny strands of your hair, jaw clenched.

Glossy lips puckered around his thick tip, sucking diligently before you attempt to swoop down. “That’s right, put that pretty mouth to work.”

Though, you’re only able to just take less than half of him, so you move up, sloshing your tongue around his cock until it’s doused in your saliva. The task of only using your mouth is strenuous, hands tightening into fists, and his are both clasped over your head now.

The need to prove yourself does momentarily wash over you, but he’s too big to soothe your ego. You lower further down, eliciting soft gagging noises when he suddenly nudges himself to the back of your throat. Faintness nearly overtakes you—the girth of his cock uncomfortably stretching your mouth.

Though, your eyes flutter at him, intently taking his expressions; the way his lips tighten, nostrils flare as he tries to level his breathing, eyebrows furrowed tightly in concentration. His tip continues to bump against your throat, hammering (ever so slightly) as his hips raise, and his hands push you further down. “C’mon, girl, why don’t you take all of it?”

He senses your struggle, but with little to no sympathy, tightening in his hold around your hair before he motions his hips up and down, letting the car creak under his movements. A stifled moan escapes you, thrums against the back of your throat and pulses around his cock, pushing him to chase your throat, unrelenting.

Hands unable to grip anything in support, hollowing your cheeks and focusing all of your vigour into breathing your nose while he practically chokes you.

“All that talk, and you can’t even prove it. You want everything,” he utters coarsely, wiping a hand across his forehead. “Gotta do much better than that.”

He ends his demand with a deep thrust, shoving more of his girth into your throat, relishing in your responses that somewhat vacillate between a whimper and choking. When he lets go, to let you catch a single breath, he wonders if you’re made of spite rather than matter because you’re unwavering. He doesn’t even know if this is purely out of his own self-indulgence, or if this is some sick, twisted way of actually teaching you a lesson; it seems like he needs to take it up a notch.

But in the time he gives you to take a breath, you utter something that really irks him.

“Is that all you got?” you mutter with a runny nose, despite the streaks of mascara, and the pool of saliva smeared across your chin. 

He merely smiles, cutting your breath short as he shoves his cock back into your mouth. “Maybe your mouth is good for somethin’.”

Your fingers tighten around the zip tie, fighting through attempts to ignore the throbbing sensation between your legs. Goes as deep as he can, letting it drum beneath your humming that keeps you from gagging over his cock. You’re breaking. He can tell. Your words meant nothing, catching every whimper you try to swallow back down.

One last shove causes you to meet the trail of hair above, taking in his musk before he manoeuvres your head upwards—back down, upwards, back down—until your throat is battered, bruised, completely filled by his thickness. “Fuck, that’s right.”

You sniffle loudly as he fucks your throat, it’s far too audible, putting so much strain on breathing through your nose that you don’t realise his intentions. His fingers slowly glide across your cheek, to the dampness around your eyelids, until he’s wiping a single tear away. Perspiration taking a hold of both of you.

“Poor you,” he leers. “Too much?”

The car fumes under the heat of your bodies, the smell of sex beginning to linger, creaking so loudly that anyone would be able to tell what’s going on. It’s gentle, that single swipe, then he gets desperate.

He keeps your head down, settles in your throat while he hinders your breathing. For a fleeting second your eyes widen, squeeze shut, entirely set alight by his action. Despite how strenuous this is, you’re engrossed. His gaze, ravenous, stays fixated on you—eyebrows knitted together in concentration, sharp jaw clenched as he tries to withhold his own reactions. His hair begins to stick to his forehead in tiny strands, following a gentle lustre that seeps through his skin.

He lets go, pulls you up as though you were drowning underwater.

“You look better like this,” he utters breathlessly, “mouth stuffed full. Not runnin’ around trying to get me fired.”

“Yeah,” you sniffle.

“Yeah? Can’t even talk properly,” he says in awe, pushing you back down to let you swallow him down. “Haven’t even fucked you stupid yet.”

You moan loudly around his cock, urged.

“Y’r just a desperate little whore, aren’t ya?” He chuckles.

To hear him go on a tangent about your behaviour only turns you on, pushes you to do better. The taste, smell, and sound of him keeps you in a trance, motored to keep going until he unravels in your mouth. Toji doesn’t let you register the change of pace, the neediness behind his motions—his abdomen flexing while a coil tightens within him. There’s more force in his movement; thrusts become volatile, his thick tip battering your throat, uses both hands to motion your head up and down. He knows you can do better.

If he just unties you—he knows you can do much better. But this is a pretty sight, watching you fall apart, so eager to take what you can’t, to please him. But he can’t handle it either, dragging his fat cock along your tongue, fingers tightening around your hair strands when you suck eagerly, gagging when he doesn’t give you much of a choice. It’s disappearing between your glossy lips, slobber spilling out.

“Ya wanted to be treated like a slut,” he gruffly mutters, “s’this what you wanted?”

Toji knows you can’t reply but slaps your cheek to retain your depleted attention; lidded eyes, webbed by your tears, fluttering as he grinds into your mouth, with no clemency. Then he pulls you away, his deep breathing competes with your soft hacking.

“You can’t even take all of me,” he sighs, grabbing your chin, and leers with his mean gaze, at the mess he’s made of you—a concoction of slobber smeared all over your chin to your chest, your makeup ruined, parched onto your skin. “Waited all these years just to give up on me?”

Your throat hurts; an answer elicits croaked. “Untie me, and I’ll show you I can.”

He grins manically. “Nah. Y’r all talk and no bite.” The unkind man pulls you up, lets your legs settle beside his, and stretches to lower you further down. With apprehension, you stare down at his cock, tightly fisted in his grip. “I’m gonna have to make it fit, won’t I?”

“Make it fit,” you echo, “please.”

“If ya want it that bad,” he shakes his head, grabs a fistful of your ass to press you into him, and it’s sticky, rubs against your slit, a mere nudge of his cockhead inching closer to your entrance earns a curse, and a sharp gasp from you. “Sit on it.”

Any sort of wittiness passes by your thought process, broken down into what he’s deemed your real nature; downright needy for real attention.

“Toji,” you almost wail, shuddering when his fat tip finally slips in, only gets wider, and you’re barely adjusting to his girth before he moves you up and down. This is real. He’s really inside of you right now. Brought you to many near orgasms that you’d lost count and took them just the same.

You should be crying in relief, that it’s over, that you finally have him right where you wanted but he’s torn you apart before you can even relish that—it’s everything you’ve dreamed of, and everything you aren’t in the slightest prepared for. “Ah, fuck, you’re too b—”

“No, no,” he disapproves, strikes your ass, slowly letting the sensation settle as your cunt squeezes at his tip. Just waiting to give it to you. “What? What’s the problem?” he slaps again, a little header, causing your head to fall onto his shoulder. “Too much already? Come on, ya got your cake. Eat it.”

When you lean upwards, you throw him a mean look, withering under his stare, and slowly and carefully, you lower yourself on his cock. With your arms still tied, it’s difficult to find any kind of stability, relying on his firm hold to help you sink down on his thick cock. Halfway through, and your thighs begin trembling, unable to fathom the sheer girth stretching your cunt apart. Toji waits for the right moment, kneading your ass to (barely) aid you in this moment, watching intently as his cock disappears between your folds.

He’s quiet. It’s eerily quiet. Perhaps, you’re too invested in not getting injured that you don’t notice. It doesn’t sink in that you’re situated on the side of a cliff, that no one but Toji was aware of your whereabouts.

When you finally take most of him, humiliated by the sheer tremble of your thighs, you move back up.

You shake at the slight curve of his cock hitting the depths of you, but it just doesn’t quite hit the right spot yet. It’s frustrating, eliciting the quiver beneath your lip as you don’t fail to show how annoyed you’re getting—practically moving you to tears of frustration. It’s humiliating to let him watch you work so hard to no avail. His hands barely keep a hold on your hips, only there just in case you lose your balance.

“I can't do it.” You spit through your blubbers.

“Hey,” he pats your cheek, gesturing you to look back up at him. “No excuses.”

“Untie me, please. I’ll be good, I promise.”

“No,” he declines once again, deadpan. “You have to work for it, princess.”

You huff, rolling your hips, barely at the apex of how far he’ll go with this. It wraps nicely around him, and chest to chest, drawing yourself closer to let his entire being consume you. Toji notices, slacks against the seat, lets his arms rest over it, enjoys the spectacle of you struggling. Then his head lolls back, lips parted to exhume the loveliest sounds, shed of any ridicule. It encourages you to grind faster, harder, but your bounces are still stuttered, attempted with long pauses—a cramp in your thigh building up.

His neck glistens with sweat, and you bite the urge to lick it, but that impulse is exactly what it is, rash, reckless, birthed by the neediest parts of you, and you attempt it; a long strip along his sternum, to his chin, which earns a throaty groan from him. In turn, it forces you to arch into him, it bends his thick cock deeper into you. But when he looks down at you, you’re so close, trying to do the obvious, and it’s pathetic.

Your lips try to chase his, but he pulls you back. “Kiss me, Fushiguro.”

“Kiss that dirty mouth?” he sighs, running a thumb across your lips. “You still have filth in there. Best get it out first.”

“Hm?”

His dick twitches. “Did you,” he says slowly, belittling, “start that rumour?”

“Will you kiss me if I say yes?”

He doesn’t answer, slips his thumb inside, and you suck on it. “Tell me.”

You’re still bouncing on his cock, struggling. “Yes. I did.”

“Good girl,” his upper half leans forward, and now his nose brushes against yours. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Then he thrusts, pulls your hips down to meet him halfway—

“Mphm—” your surprise is muffled by his mouth, ripping a sharp gasp that he swallows with his tongue, kissing so hard that your faces nearly mesh into one another. He slaps your ass with every deep thrust, kneading the skin, grinding into every crevice of your sopping cunt. It’s deeper. Far deeper, and the car bounces, groans beneath the sounds of his cock getting wetter.

Every stuttered bounce on his cock ends with an obscene squelch, your trembling thighs getting shoved apart by his own, to give him more leeway into your cunt. He drives himself deeper and deeper as his thick thighs move further apart, breathless chuckles rumble beneath his chest, searching for that sweet spot he purposefully misses. When he finds it again, it’s another few inches he thrusts into, entirely reckless, and you’re nearly toppling backwards.

“Oh my—right there,” you chant, clamping down on his dick. “Right—fuck—don’t stop.”

“You’ll be good, and stop, won’t ya?”

“I won’t talk, I’ll stop—”

Everything is burning. Your skin. Your heart. The cloyed heat is just twisting inside of you, and he’s doing the most to intensify it. You can’t hold it in—those wanton moans, those pitiful pleas for mercy—it’s laughable. He fiddles with your pearl necklace, swipes a thumb over every single pearl, gives off the impression that he’ll rip it off, until he focuses his attention to your dress. “We should get this off.”

“Need to—” you plead, still desperately grinding into him, “—need to untie me first.”

“Hm,” he mulls it over, slides the thin hems down your arms. So, then he does, finally, undoes the cord, and lets it slide off your indented skin, and you sigh in relief, immediately gripping onto his shoulders to support your bounces. He lifts your dress up from the bottom, and you raise your arms to let him remove it. “Aren’t you pretty?”

“Think so?” you ask, churned by the sudden compliment.

There’s a sluggish smile on your face vying towards a grin, and if you weren’t so caught up in the pleasure, you’d notice how it ticks him off. “What are you smiling about?”

He flattens your bodies together, to the seat, on your back, and then leans back to unbutton his shirt. You anticipate it, gnawing at your lip when he finally removes his button-up, revealing his bare, burly frame. Scars etched across his skin. Your hand immediately reaches out to him, trailing over every ridge and curve.

“What if I said it wasn’t a rumour then?” he leers, locks a grip around your neck. You lock your gaze, try to read it, but there’s a puddle between your thighs and there’s no telling if he’s lying or not. Do you want it to be true? “Just how much,” he says, “do you want to know?”

“Everything.”

A brute. That’s what he is. Toji doesn’t play nice, and he’s fine with torturing you for longer, but his sticky tip bumps against your clit and you’re so dainty now, no longer full of bite. It almost feels excessive to let himself let go like this. “Do ya really wanna know how many I’ve killed? Hunted? Do you have any idea what kind of men exist outside of your bubble?”

“I know now,” you murmur, gnawing at your lip.

“Yeah? Found your type?” he leers, patting your cheek. “You like brutes, princess?”

You’re flustered, for the first time, visibly so, avoiding a gaze that makes a joke of you. No affliction made him second-guess his own choices and morals, a stubborn trait of a hitman, seasoned with age and experience.

But even as the truth wanes, every passing gaze seems to have one thing in common: his anatomy. Neck, shoulders, biceps, waist, thighs—even as his hands clench and unclench around yours.

You don’t have a type.

You just want him.

“Not brutes.”

He brushes it off, demanding your attention. Befitting for that inner dilemma he’s set alight, craving such a thing for someone who rotates the simple nihilist means of satisfaction around—the torn shell of a bullet, poker tables and a cold shot. “Why don’t you look at me when you’re talkin?”

You listen, finally peeling your attention off anything but his eyes, and reciprocate this gaze.

“What is it then? Rich? Pretty? Good, kind men?” he goes on, lists qualities that barely satiate your needs. Not when you’re this greedy. Given everything, primed to want everything more, clad to riches from head to toe—the unravelled man hangs just above that. There is no running from this. “You don’t like dirty, do ya? Killers like me… we’re scum.”

He hovers as close as he needs to be, until his musk exudes so clearly now.

He’s cracked you.

“Nah, that’s not it,” he continues, licking his lips, putting a callous hand over your head. “Tell me. Loud and clear. How badly do you want to fuck a dirty man like me?”

You can’t respond.

“Spit it out,” he hoarsely whispers, caging you in a tight space—if he pushes you any further, he might suffocate you. “God knows that mouth of yours has done worse.”

Then you respond. It comes out so weakly, openly, ripped from the fragments of your shame. There’s no use in lying anymore. No use in suppressing your honesty. He had opened a door, and you were more than willing to walk through it—all in.

“So bad. So so bad,” you utter, honest and desperate. “I’ve wanted this for years.”

“Yeah?” he prods, caressing your cheek.

Fingers nearly wringed from your slick—pruned and cold against your skin. It’s not endearing in the slightest. It’s not supposed to be. Toji was provoking you through your own quandary. Keeping your head from turning away in shame. He wanted to see you curl in disgrace.

He wanted an unabashed answer, naked and proud, and he got it so easily. You nod eagerly. “Good girl,” he nods, “now, turn around for me.”

You turn around, reeling in your own humiliation, but then he slips inside, so easily, no more teasing.

“Your pussy’s just swallowin’ me whole,” he groans, watches your slick coat his cock. “S’all mine.”

“All yours,” you echo, whimper, arched into him. “Fuck me hard, please.”

“Tryin’ to get me in trouble,” he shakes his head, withholding his urge to sink all of him into you. With a bruising force, he pulls your hips towards him, grinds his cock into your sweet spot, and lets you violently tremble into him. “Shouldn’t be messin’ with brats like ya.”

“It worked, didn’t it?” you say, dizzy. “Do you like brats?”

He sinks his hand into your hair, peeved, forces you up before he nudges the rest of his girthy cock inside; rips a croaky whine from you, resembles a loud cry, and he kisses the tip of your cervix. You can feel his chest rumble in laughter, connecting his hips to your ass with a loud slap, slick making a mess of you both.

It's so filling, enduring, and your hands are trying to find stable ground. It’s a dull pain, but the discomfort blooms into pleasure; your limbs are shaking, trembling from the get-go, and your chest tightens. “There ya go.”

You’ve never dealt with a cock this big, a true mark of his size. It shuts you up, and now your moans are louder, nearly unflattering with how surprised you are by his fullness, and it almost overshadows the vibrations emitting from the front seat.

It’s his phone, and it’s ringing.

He sighs and picks it up, and addresses your—

“Sir,” he says plainly, slowing down. Fear rattles you, smacking a hand over your mouth when he continues to nudge into your sweet spot. “I have her right here.”

He’s so nonchalant, as if he isn’t determined to defile his boss’ daughter for his own gain—finds pleasure in your distress.

“Found her at an underground club in Roppongi,” he says, amused by your attempts of silencing yourself; panicked. “She’s giving me the silent treatment. Don’t think you’ll get much out of her right now.”

He lies so easily, without hesitation, no shred of guilt, and it makes you think: he’s just like you.

“She’s unharmed,” he mutters, and knows, not entirely. “I’ll bring her home soon.”

There’s a long pause after he hangs up, and he suddenly pries your hand from your mouth. Your eyes widen at the brute man, and he raises his eyebrows with expectation. You’re sweaty, all teary-eyed and bruised, aching with a thick cock still wedged inside of you, fitted perfectly. 

You gasp loudly when Toji suddenly picks up the pace. “Are you crazy?”

“Insane,” he mutters, pressing your head to the seat, shoves a thumb into your mouth. “Brats like you drive me fucking insane.”

The car violently creaks under such volatile thrusts, so intensely that it might just topple over the side of this cliff, and it keeps racing, that sweetly rotten heart of yours, thumping hard while he fucks the coherence out of you. Every urge to tell him to go harder and faster is muffled by his thumb, to control whatever the hell is happening right now.

Alas, nothing is in your control anymore.

It never was.

“This—is—what ya—fuck—wanted right?”

Every deep thrust swooshes in a puddle of slick, fighting through an onslaught of wanton moans and skin-to-skin contact. It is. Oh, how badly you want to chant it, to admit that this is everything you’ve dreaming about, but Toji has calculated sapped all of the fight out of you—all of that overindulgence and mischief that you wanted to bestow on him once you got the chance; to punish him for making you wait this long.

But alas, he has you right where he wants you; every single thought you’ve piled up for years sitting in some abyss in your mind while you’re putty in his arms—surely, not to embrace you—but to keep you running from this, from him, that sated pull that’ll burst soon enough. Truly. An unruly thumb in your mouth to keep your moans from spilling out too loosely, not to stifle you completely (no, he needs that satisfaction), but to hear those whiny moans seep out despite his efforts, to hear how pathetic you are when the candy finally pops in your mouth.

For all the smart words that come out of your mouth, his desire to seal it shut grows large—this is much better—drool slowly puddling his leather seat, almost dripping off the smooth slope before he covers your mouth with his palm. He presses it to your nose shortly after, stiffening your breath and when he leans down, the curvaceous bend of his dick presses further into you, earning a pitchy squeal that barely escapes his smother.

“Ya know,” he grunts, letting his chest flatten against the sweat on your back. “For someone who wants a lot, ya sure don’t know how to handle it.”

“C—can! I can—mphm!”

He smothers your retorts, releasing a low chuckle that rumbles against you. Even as you try to show a hint of verve, it doesn’t save you from the discomfiture of needing his approval. “Why are you crying then?”

His thumb slips out, smearing a coat of saliva across your chin. The sudden sound of wheels turning on concrete alerts you, momentarily flashed by dazzling rear lights once the car stops nearby. Toji doesn’t appear remotely troubled by this. “Toji—”

“Hey,” he grabs your chin. “Hands on the window.”

He slaps your ass to prop you up, but you’re weak, barely able to carry your own weight after he’s exhausted you. Though, you don’t want this to end—not for a couple of irrelevant strangers. Slowly, you push yourself, spreading your palms wide against the window, evaporated and tinted, but the ongoings of a group of rowdy college students can still be seen. The noise slowly quietens down, and they’re getting curious. It’s slippery, it keeps slipping down, falling to the leather seat but when Toji harshly smacks his hips into you—there is no choice but to hold on.

Toji grunts. “Good—good girl, keep still for me.”

It keeps getting better, wetter, and the sudden chatter of college students now drowns in your awareness. You’re clawing at the window to keep yourself at bay, clear streaks smudged messily across the surface, but he doesn’t falter, dragging his cock along your wet walls with such precision that you can’t keep up. His hand slides across the sweat of your back, finally setting on your roots and pulls.

“That’s it,” he groans, “want ya to scream loud for me. Let em’ know who’s fucking you like this.”

“T—Toji! Ughh—”

“That’s my girl,” he approves, slaps your ass, and it forms a knot in your chest. If you weren’t so consumed by his cock, you’d fawn at his way of claiming you—it’d ring in your head like a recital, on and on, and it will, once the high settles. “Louder.”

You become louder, compelled to please him, but it’s difficult to process; that imminent orgasm that’s been continuously ripped from you for nearly an hour, twisting and turning in your abdomen, hot and sated. It’s so damn hot, and you’re all sticky, and he’s so deep. His cock buried so far into your cunt, fucking through all of the obscene squelches and erratic squeezes, and the louder you get, the faster he goes, gripping your hips so tightly that you’re convinced his fingernails have broken skin.

Toji isn’t playing a trick on you this time.

He isn’t quitting.

Fuck, fuck, fuck—

The car might actually just tip over, nearly humiliating with how loudly it’s creaking, bouncing off the ground. “F—fuck—slow down!”

“But you’ve been beggin’ all night for this?” he sneers, momentarily slipping out to turn you on your back. You might just implode from the sight of him alone; black hair strands stuck to his forehead, sleeked chest, a manic grin plastered on his face while he watches you swallow him whole. “This is it, baby. I’ll give it you.”

When he slams back in, letting the sounds of skin slapping reverberate his car—it sucks the breath out of you, a punch to the gut, cutting your moans in short curses and staggered breaths.

He doesn’t slow down, doesn’t give into the mercy you so obviously don’t deserve, continues to batter your sweet spot with careless, yet precise strides. “I’m going to c—cum—”

“Hold it.”

“I can’t—”

“You’re gonna hold it for me,” he says, spreads his hand across your abdomen and presses down; makes it hurt, harder for you to hold it in, feel the fullness of his cock nestled so deep inside of you. “Until I say you can let go.”

The heat spreads, but you’re unable to contain it when his other hand slips across your neck and squeezes. You clamp down on him just the same, milking him closer to his own climax, but he doesn’t waver. Your wanton moans only get louder, if it’s that even possible and it’s hushed by his large hand, skilfully applying, and taking away pressure from your neck.

You can barely breathe in his car, consumed by the heat of your bodies, the unrelenting pressure of his thrusts—the way he just doesn’t stop. Not the way he did for the past hour. It hurts; thighs trembling frantically against his waist while your orgasm comes a second away from washing over you.

“So close, so close—so—” it leaves your mouth like a chant, as though you’re begging for him to let you have this. Just this once. He presses down on your abdomen once more, shoving two fingers into your mouth to suppress your moans.

“Not yet,” he commands, only slowing down for a mere second, grinding so carefully into your cunt before he picks up the pace once more. You can’t. He keeps adding force, testing all of your senses, and your tears just keep spilling. You suck desperately at his fingers, the ones that remained pruned by your slick, cheeks hollowing around them as he presses them to the back of your throat. “So fuckin’ needy.”

You almost choke on them when his thumb swipes across your clit. It’s too much. White presides over your eyes, rolling when the coil continues to twist. You can barely see anything, only the odd few lights downcast by the tinted car window, a blurry figure belonging to Toji looming over you.

“Alright baby, it’s all yours now,” his words die in a trail of breathless groans, following deep, frantic thrusts that bring an incursion of stifled wails from your chest. Your thighs immediately lock around him, toes curling until those small bones cramp from how hard you fold them into your skin—until it fucking aches. “That’s right, give it to me.”

The way his fat cock disappears between your folds, returning with newfound strings of slick and spit, thrusting into your cunt shaped just for him. Your hands scramble for a firm surface, placing one on the car door above your head to avoid getting a concussion from how effortlessly he moves your entire body; the other slides across his hand, gripping tightly over the wrist that rests above your chest.

You can’t get enough, letting the sensation wash over you—far too lightheaded to even register the force that’s beckoning you completely numb. “Oh fuck—”

Your orgasm racks over you, headlong, succumbing your body to violent spasms, barely keep your legs up from under his grip, letting them kick and tense everywhere while he unrelentingly fucks the orgasm over you. “Your pussy was made for me. Look at the mess you’re makin’.”

Your fingernails claw at whatever surface you can find, blubbering all sorts of obscenities. He isn’t letting up.

“Such a good fuckin’ girl—keep goin’, I want all of it.”

You’re forcibly greeted by an emptiness amidst this climax wracking through your frame, but when his fingers slide across your clit, he manoeuvres them in an unruly fashion; side to side, messy circular motions, a few slaps to make it hurt just a little more, until your slick is spraying all over him, and the leather. Jets out on his command, unwilling. “Oh my g—”

He's leaking like crazy watching you like this, concealing your rattling frame while horror overtakes your features. A sadistic smile stretches that scar on his lip, steadfast to making sure you don’t stop, until those violent shudders completely paralyse you. It’s going everywhere. All over his abdomen, inner thighs, your body, and it even forms a thin puddle over the leather.

“Fuck—Toji—stop—that’s enough—please!”

“But you’re doin’ so well? Just give me a little more,” he chides, pinching your clit for the petty sake of ripping any and every whimper from your prickly throat. The sounds of squelches splashing carelessly around you—it’s mortifying—imploding from a long night of being denied, it’s never happened like this before; you’ve never lost control like this before. “There it is.”

It feels like an eternity before the high settles down, but just before it does, he slips right back in; presses against the sweet spot, as deep as he can go, relishing that warmth that clamps down on his aching cock. You beg. “Cum inside of me. Please.”

“Yeah? Fill the pussy up just right?” he tuts, leans down to watch you nod feverishly, even if you’re too overstimulated to take him again. It’s another bad idea, but Toji is too committed to watching his cum leak out of your cunt to demur over it, and he folds your knees until they’re brushing against your ears; a clear view of your glistening cunt squeezed between your thighs and slams his hips against yours with a bruising force. “This pretty cunt wants it all, hm?”

His panting falls heavy over your face, and he’s slowly unravelling, it’s almost primal; using you to chase his own gratification. For the first time tonight, you catch a glimmer of what he is without a shred of composure.

“Yes, yes, yes.” You beg, gnawing at your lip, swollen and lush while he gives you an uncouth view of your cunt sucking his cock in. You’re just saying anything—a broken record, a shell of whatever you were before this night began, and he’s so close to filling your pussy with a warmth unknown to you; his, and it’s impulsive, reckless. He’s also whispering sweet nothings, never overlooking the reminder that he’ll fill you up all nice, make sure you keep it in until he deems it right to let you go.

It's sloppy and wet, hands flattened beside your head as he slams his hips in, hard and stuttered. You can see his abdomen flex, tighten as he sputters his moans and he’s slowing down, still slamming hard before a rush of white heat suddenly spreads inside of you. He makes sure to drive his hips as far as he can, ensures that you can feel every spurt in your cunt, and you do. It’s so filling, ample in ways you’ve never imagined.

Curses spout from his mouth like a brand-new language, all of it lying flat in the silence when he gradually falls from the peak, grinding a ring of thick white around his cock into your cunt. “Fuck.”

There are no words. “Woah.”

Toji slowly slips out with a lewd pop, spreads your lips apart with his fingers to watch his cum leak out. He silently pulls out a cloth from his tunnel console, wipes your inner thighs and stomach, whatever mess he can find, and you observe.

“Thanks.”

He focuses his gaze onto you, deep in thought before slinging the cloth away. “Get dressed. I need to get this car cleaned.”

He’s evasive, avoids the small talk you try to start from the simple parting of your lips, and plops on the seat with a deep breath. You both use the silence to catch your breath. You stiffly sling the dress over your arms, still twitching when you sit up, and you focus on your attention on your underwear. “Where’s my—”

“This thing?” he peels your underwear from the pocket of his pants, all crumpled and damp.

Toji leans forward, alluding to another kiss you seem to already miss, depraved of such a simple thing that has made you crazy, and you prepare for it—eyes fluttering closed, a heavy breath. It never comes.

He hoists his arm over your shoulder to reach for his shirt, but he doesn’t regain the space, uttering his next words with a phantom kiss. “I’ll keep these. Just in case you need a reminder.”

And so it turns out, you’re quite forgetful. 

There’s a shift in the air.

It’s thorny and stuffy, and it fills the silence at your dinners, at your parties, and inside this car; the memories are surging in, and it’s overwhelming. It’s been a while since that night happened. Weeks. It feels like years. Albeit the campaign was a success. “Something has changed.”

You turn to your father, distracted. “Hm?”

He’s keen on knowing, sluing his entire body towards you. “I’m glad that conversation changed something, but you’re quieter than usual.”

It’s because he’s here.

In this car, in the front seat, staring ahead as if you hadn’t committed the most vulgar act, as if it didn’t transpire inside of this vehicle.

Something has changed.

Between the two of you, it’s unsure who has become the plaything, but random calls to your bedroom and his car have turned into a regular occurrence since that night.

It shouldn’t have; the callous bodyguard insisted that it would be the first and the last, but even after such an insincere promise, he quickly found himself threadbare and spread across the edge of your bed with your head between his thighs, or during his lunch break, with his hands beneath your underwear in his car, just outside of the estate.

It's all so bad, but the calculated man was truly insatiable, and you’ve learned to love it—not that it was difficult to, since you had been trying to reach out to that part of him for years. Now, that you have him in your grasp, you’re determined to never let him go.

You laze. “I’ve been thinking, that’s all.”

“You can talk to me about anything, sweetheart.”

“Of course,” you nod, eventually setting your sights to the estate; its packed, guests pouring in and gilded lights flashing brilliantly. “Should we go?”

Toji is ready to escort the both of you into the estate, but when his hand suddenly spreads across your lower back, you shudder. He mocks your feigned answer. “What are ya thinkin’ about?”

“About how good you look in this suit?”

“Watch it.” He mutters impishly, standing at the entrance while your father quickly leaves to engage in conversations with his friendly rivals.

“You should watch it too, Fushiguro.” He squints down at you with a growing smirk. “Don’t you know I have a habit of talking?”

“Yeah,” he opens the door for you, and the chatter rises to a crescendo. “And I know how to shut it up.”

author's note i'm not even joking the smut part took up most of the word count so i will hold myslf accountable for being h0rny af even though i wanted to delete this from the get-go. okay anyway ples let me know what you think (and i'm sorry if the app crashed on you) <3

Never again she says, that’s code for let’s do it all the time

watching porn w stsg ? it starts out talking shit about the script and the shitty acting, mocking the obviously fake and obnoxious moans — then, it just so happens that the three of you come across a decent, good even, amateur threesome :OOO

DOUBLE STUFFED: OREO STYLE st + sg

SUMMARY: adult films are always so boring and overly dramatic. eye roll after eye roll when the woman “climaxes.” yet what happens when all three of you grow curious?

CONTENT: fem! reader x gojo & getō, brat! reader, college! au, degradation, praise, threesum, you get double stuffed literally, f! & m! receiving, spanking, overstim, manhandling, size kink, unprotected, pwp + crack, breath play, nipple play, hair pulling, geto eats it from the back, you squirt, rev cowgirl (pet names: princess, pretty girl, baby)

WORD COUNT: 4.6k

NOTE: apology fic for killing off gojo last week lol. first time writin a 3sum, i triedd 💔. 4 my luvs @ramonathinks @satoruhour @hyuntaru @neptunes1nterweb @takst4z

“. . ohfuckkkkfuckyesyesyes'mcummingyesyesyesyes . . ”

“. . ehhh—” Gojo grumbles, sitting beside you and geto, your laptop placed on top of the small glass table, sounds of dramatic moans and sheer skin slapping leaving the volume parts of your device as all three of you watch. “this isn‘t even accurate,” Gojo yawns— lifting his feet and resting it against the edge of the table. “plus, that guy isn‘t even inside, they’re clearly faking it—!”

“Shut up, Satoru, it‘s getting good,” you mumbled, blindly putting a hand over your roommate‘s mouth, attempting to shush him and his white eyebrows furrow—

Geto chuckles, glancing at you with his bulky arms crossed, a slight smile forming on his pink lips.

“Of course you‘d be enjoying this,” Geto hums, his long ravened hair just drooping over his shoulders, wearing nothing but casual black shorts and a university hoodie— colors of pure dark purple and grey.

“Can‘t say I’m surprised.” He coos.

You playfully nudged him, raising your brows, and he had a near smug grin on his lips. Geto always loved to tease you— despite you three only being roommates for just a few weeks, you‘ve all been friends for quite some years, so it just made sense to live together, share a dorm in all.

“. . . What’s that supposed to mean?” You glared, and his gaze lingers at you for a split second before Gojo dramatically coughed— interrupting the two of you.

“Can you guys like stop flirting for one second, please? I‘m seriously about to throw up,” Gojo grumbles, his bottom lip tucking out— he was like a baby. You giggled, averting your eyes back towards the screen— Geto rolls his eyes at his melodramatic of a best friend, a quiet playful hum leaving his lips. “Thank you.” He crosses his arms.

As the script plays out on the screen, you rested your head against Gojo— he didn’t mind exactly, he was drinking some sort of drink in a red plastic cup, it smelled astonishingly sweet, syrupy-like in more ways than one.

“daddydaddydaddy—so close— too big! ngh!f—fuckharder.”

“oh yeahhhh mhm— baby— take it— so tight— hnghhhh.”

“You know what I don’t get?” Gojo speaks, sheer annoyance in his tone— you and Geto both groaned at the same time, he never knew when to just shut up. All Gojo did was just talk talk talk. There‘s silence but Gojo puffs out a breath before humming.

“Okay, sure! I‘ll tell you,” he mumbled, sitting up, your head landing against his lap and you grunt. “I don‘t get the whole oh daddyyyy kink. Like yeah, I get it‘s a popular kink and all but it’s such a turnoff when she says it like every second.”

You rolled your eyes, sitting up from his lap. “It‘s called acting, Satoru. It’s supposed to be dramatic.”

“He‘s too dumb enough to understand, I’m afraid.” Geto snickers, grinning at Gojo.

“You two are assholes,” Gojo furrows his eyebrows, offended and it was honestly kind of cute. “And you,” he scoffs, “Don‘t act like you wouldn’t moan exactly how that girl is doing. I bet your moans are even more dramatic.”

You suddenly grow hot at the thought, staring right into his bright oceanic-like eyes, raising your brows that nearly came together. “Pft. What? What does that even mean? You wish you could hear my moans. I bet you moan more than me, little girl.”

“. . . Little girl?” Gojo spat in disgust and repeated your mocking words.

“You two are so annoying,” Geto sighs with a chuckle, leaning up towards your macbook— scrolling towards another video to watch near the recommended section.

Various three-second clips of the video played, and Geto skimmed through each one before he finds a certain one titled: BUSTY COLLEGE SLUT GETS PLOWED BY TWO MEN! NOT CLICKBAIT! SERIOUSLY. WATCH NOW FOR A GOOD FUCK.

“. . . Ooh. This looks good.” He utters in a soft purr.

The two of you eventually stop bickering, and focus your eyes towards the screen once more, Geto clicks the PLAY option, and the website‘s intro play, the iconic drums before showing the browser‘s infamous pink logo, kazuhub.com.

Once it plays, it starts off slow, not particularly a plot this time— thankfully. It gets straight to it. The girl is pretty, with long dark black hair, a few tattoos printed on her body, and a nice plump chubby figure too. She had hips for days, and curves in all the right places.

The guys were attractive as well, both tall and broad— and within seconds, she was already getting fucked into the mattress by the both of them.

“good girl, doin' so good for us baby.”

“look at her, just taking us both so good. mhm—fuck 'm getting close— shit . . ”

Finally after dozens of dramatic, fake and obnoxious adult films— this one feels real.

Strictly amateur.

The girl surprisingly didn‘t moan as much, her voice was pitched just a bit, raspy— and she had nipple piercings, playing with her tits as the video time skipped, and now, she rode one guy— while making out with the other, it was sloppy, and sooner than you knew it, you started to feel yourself throb.

Right between your legs, all you wore was a hoodie— one of Gojo‘s actually, you told him you were cold and he let you borrow it . . . Although, you were wearing nothing but pretty black panties underneath.

Surely they wouldn’t notice to see you playing with yourself, right?

You laid back against the sofa, spreading your legs ever so slightly, bringing a hand down towards between your thighs to spread yourself open, prodding a middle finger against your silky entrance. You were already soaked, drenched even— you had no idea, this entire time there was such a mess right between your legs.

The more the video played, constant mhmmm’s and ahhhh’s, the more aroused you grew.

A tiny soft breath leaves your lips as you start to sink a finger inside of your sweet cunt, biting down on your lip as your two roommates sat beside you. But of course, it had to be ruined by no one other than Gojo. He just so happened to spill his drink, and once he reached down to grab his cup— he saw you, fingering yourself, trying hard to suppress your moans.

“Are you.. playin' with yourself?” Gojo mutters, eyes widening before growing slightly amused, a smile forming on his lips— soft dimples forming near the very crevices of his mouth. Smug bastard.

“W-What? No, I‘m not..” You trailed off, just to see Geto staring at you now as well, cockily clicking his tongue and shaking his head. “What . . ? You don‘t have to believe me.”

“Roomie, your finger‘s still inside your pussy, that’s all the proof we need,” Geto chuckles, leaning up close to the both of you.

Gojo stares at you with a teasing smile, grabbing your wrist and seeing how slick-drenched your fingers are before he mumbles, “Hey, wanna fuck?”

You suddenly grow shy—? Attempting to speak but nothing came out. It‘s like that for a few seconds before you utter in a cute voice. “Like.. a threesome with . . all three of us?”

“Yeah, Y/N, that‘s… literally what he‘s saying.” Geto deadpans and you giggle— and you roll your eyes at his constant teasing.

“Whatever Suguru..” you grumbled, still slightly embarrassed from being caught of pleasuring yourself.

Clearing your throat, you paused the video before shrugging. “And yeah, sure,” and then you stared at both of them— before randomly, your eyes trailed down to Gojo‘s lap. The way he sat, it was so slutty, manspread, wearing just a white tank top with loose fitted shorts, nearly baggy— and you could just about make out his bulge.

“It’s all yours,” Gojo mutters cockily, catching you gawk at his bulge.

You grew embarrassed before glancing away, crawling towards him on the sofa, before you suddenly leaned in to kiss him— you didn‘t know why, but you did. Gojo was taken a back, a tiny surprised mpfh leaving his lips as his rough hands gripped your waist, feeling you get on his lap, your tongue softly brushing against his— he tastes so good, he groaned, feeling you softly bite against his lips—

Gojo smells your sweet alluring scent of perfume, it drives him crazy— you drive him crazy, he‘s bricked hard though, you grinding against his lap, his bulge, while your glossed lips press against his makes him grunt in a needy manner.

He wants you.

“You’re gettin' Satoru turned on, princess,” Geto slyly says, and you moan— feeling Geto get beside you, planting soft kisses everywhere near your upper arm, sliding his own hands down your waist, down your thighs— before it slid up your university hoodie, his hand, going between your legs, and he feels how wet you were, your panties were already moved to the side from you just playing with yourself, and a smile forms on his lip. “You were wearing only panties underneath? Never knew our roomie was such a dirty girl.”

You break away from Gojo, moaning once Geto makes you bend over with such a perfect arch—your face near Gojo‘s lap, and your hands rummage through his shorts, untying them before eagerly reaching for his boxers, only before slowly springing out his thick cock—

You licked your lips, staring at your roommates length. He stood tall, the base was narrow— fat head, tip was swollen a bit, bright pinkish red, with a slight curve, pre-cum already leaking down, you softly moved your tongue against it, licking it clean, and Gojo grunts— staring down at you. He intakes a breath; watching your tongue go down toward his base—

Licking upwards of his length slowly, feeling his veins collide against your tongue— you moan, feeling Geto pull your panties down from behind you, and he leans down— and you whine, feeling him give you a mean spank as your ass stuck out, starting to stroke Gojo. Geto squeezes your ass, staring at it, before you go down on Gojo eagerly, staring to take him into your mouth— cheeks slightly hollowing as you went up and down, he was so big— his girth, huge, Gojo was so eager, he just couldn’t help but thrust into your mouth a bit as he sat back against the sofa— hearing you gulp and nearly gag, strands of spit leaving your mouth as he’s hitting the back of your mouth.

“F-Fuck, your throat—” Gojo grunts, his abs flexing and clenching from underneath his shirt.

Geto pulls your ass up close to him as you‘re occupied sucking off his best friend, and you moan— feeling a sudden wetness go against your folds, Geto spat on your cunt, before rubbing a thumb against your folds, only to then press his lips against it— sucking firmly and you whined, trying to focus on Gojo‘s hardened dick in your mouth.

You made Gojo feel so warm— your mouth was just sloppy, swiftly using a hand of yours to match your mouth movements, turning your wrist a bit against his length in a repetitive motion— and Gojo‘s just losing it, huffing out short breaths, a hand firmly grips on the top of your head, watching you bobble up and down before groaning. “F-Fuck, jus’ like that, so pretty with your mouth all . . f—full . . ”

Geto moves his tongue against your pussy, slowly lapping it up at first— eating you from the back, and you whimper, pretty nails digging into Gojo‘s beefy thighs that flexed and tensed within each time your head moved up and down his shaft. The ravened haired grunts, nose deep now, you shiver once you feel his tongue glide against your labia, your legs twitch—

Speaking of twitching, you felt a vein near Gojo‘s shaft, he was pulsating all in your mouth. He‘s always fantasized about this exact scenario happening, actually. As Geto‘s nose swipes and swipes against your cunt as he’s eating you out, he was so messy— lapping up your folds, he‘s absolutely slurping right through you, two rough hands spreading your ass a part just a bit, occasionally spanking your ass— making you whimper as you kept sucking Gojo off, your tongue making contact against his sensitive fat frenulum— earning a deep low grunt from him.

“. . . Damnnn . . . girl,” he groans, his voice growing slightly deeper than how it‘s usually a bit high and playful. And Gojo can‘t help but start to shove your head down just a bit further— he loves hearing you gag, the way his plump tip just taps and taps against the very back of his throat— it drives him mad. He craved it so much so that his right leg started to bounce tremendously.

“Arch that back more f'me, pretty girl,” Geto hums, nibbling against your clit and you whimper loudly — feeling him spank your ass again. This time, a bit harder, the sting— it‘s so rough, it makes you throb more and more— you couldn‘t decide which felt better, your mouth being stuffed full or Geto being completely between your legs, lapping up your sweet cunt like a starved dog.

Gojo‘s jaw clenched as he‘s staring down at you, softly using your head to shove you down more, each time low moans leave his mouth, you‘re making him feel every last bit of his nerves— your tongue flicks against the very ridge of his dick, near the very underside of his fat tip and he’s super sensitive there.

“F-Fuckkkk,” he breathes out, nostrils slightly flaring, his voice starting to shake a bit— Gojo was coming close, and you were aware based on his body language. “M' gonna cum soon, princess. Gonna make me cum with that—” and he pauses, thrusting his hips softly into your mouth, watching some strands of saliva pour out near the sides of your mouth, nails piercing into his thighs.

“—Sloppy— fuckin' mouth . . . ” Gojo enunciated between thrusts, hearing you gag, muffled moans escaping your lips as Geto was making you come close too— your legs shook and shook— before you came right on Geto‘s tongue, the tension that built up inside of you like blocks came crashing down instantly— back was arched, toes were upmost curled.

You whimpered— eyes rolling back as Gojo‘s dick remained inside of you, twitching by the second. Geto kisses all over your clit, near the inner part of your thighs before he licks you clean— his tongue slowly lapping up your sweet slick, his lips that were shiny perfectly coated his mouth, so lewd, strings of his own spit and your mess continued to depart each time he broke his lips away, breaking back finally to rub a thumb against your cunt, blowing against your pussy and your eyes roll way back again— he was such a tease.

Gojo pants— his grip near the crown of your head quite firm and he grunts. “. . . Shitshitshit, ‘m gonna give ya a mouthful, Y/n. You want that? Can you be good and swallow nicely f'me?”

You nod eagerly, the only words leaving your lips was, “mhm-hm,” fat tears sticking to your lashes, you looked so pretty— Geto couldn‘t help but caress your ass as he waited for Gojo to finish— his rough hands grips your ass, feeling all over it as your body grinds a bit as Gojo‘s sprawled out on the couch manspread, hearing the occasional pop and spurt sounds your mouth made from sucking his tip.

“Good— fuck, good . . . girl, so damn nasty f'me,” he mumbles, cupping your face, making you stare at him, your back is just arching, Geto smacking your ass only made you moan more muffled moans before Gojo releases a thick hefty load into your tongue. He grunts, shooting inside the very back of your mouth— your eyes slightly squeeze shut from the bitter yet somewhat sweet flavor, and your cheeks are all plump, full of his seed.

“Swallow and show us your tongue, roomie.” Geto hums, watching Gojo take hold of his length, you stare at it leaving your lips with a tiny pout, plump, soft, sheeny lips before swallowing— Gojo rubs his reddened tip against your lips, letting off a soft sigh once you stuck out your tongue for your roommates to see.

Geto grunts, getting hard from seeing you in such a lewd state— pretty pink tongue all out, eyes slightly half-lidded, still wearing your uni hoodie with no panties underneath.

“That’s a good girl,” Geto purrs, lifting you up from your knees, and he pats his lap— spreading his legs, “Now come here, baby.”

You do— sitting back against the couch before both of them lifted up your dark purple colored uni hoodie, and they saw how you had no bra underneath either, Geto snickers and Gojo scoffs, leaning up close to you before they each started to flick their tongue against your perky hardened nipples.

“F-Fuck,” you gasped with a mere whimper, glancing down at them both, chewing softly on your lip, holding both of them by their necks with your hands as they sucked and licked against your chest— you whined, Gojo being more of a menace, softly nibbling on your left nipple with the top part of his teeth.

Geto on the right, you could softly feel his teeth graze against your sensitive skin and you whimpered, feeling your poor self start to clench and throb between your legs.

“Mhm—” Gojo mumbles, them both sucking against your breasts, teasing your hard nipples with their tongue— warm breath fans over your body and you squirm a bit, feeling yourself wanting more and more. You moaned, feeling Geto grip your chin to face him, and he pulls you into a deep, sloppy kiss— rough hand cupping your chin, your tongue swiped against his, closing your eyes, and you could taste yourself on his tongue— from when he was eating you out earlier.

Gojo still had his mouth attached to your nipples before he breaks away, a slight pout on his face.

“Geto, quit hoggin' her,” Gojo frowns, dragging you towards him— he lays down back first against the sofa, making you climb on his lap. “F-Fuck, I can‘t wait anymore.”

“Calm down, Satoru, we‘re sharing, remember?” Geto chuckles, and you‘re hovering over Gojo‘s leaking tip. Your back is against his chest, and Geto‘s standing up, and you watch him finally remove his shorts— your eyes stare at his bulge, black boxers, once he stripped his boxers off, he was as just as big as Gojo— so pretty, well trimmed, as well as a few specks of black raven hair near his base, and Geto unlike Gojo had a noticeable upward curve— his length showing, his inches were staggeringly intimidating for one.

You panted, reaching down to rub circles against your folds, nearly salivating at the thought of both of your roommates shoved inside your tight cunt. “I’m gonna take you both?”

“Yeah,” Gojo mutters behind your ear, bringing his hands up to your waist in a cocky tone. “Getting shy now?”

“No.” You grumbled, staring at Geto— he gave himself a few pumps into his hand before you watched Gojo start to lift you up— aligning yourself with his leaky tip. You moaned, the head of his dick just barely prodding at your slippery entrance.

“. . . Fuck— I‘m still sensitive t-though,” you huffed out, gazing at Geto and he smiles, knowing he was primarily the reason why from eating you out.

Geto hums, leaning in to give you another kiss before breaking away, you moan— feeling him rub his tip against your slit. “Aww, 'm sorry, pretty girl. You tasted really good, couldn‘t help but go all out.”

Gojo lets off a shaky breath, and you feel him start to slowly sink inside your cunt— you moan, gripping onto his thighs, and you constantly felt yourself throbbing— the stretch, it was just purely mind-boggling. “Fuck— me . . . this slutty pussy needs to be stretched by us so badddd—” Gojo mutters, softly panting and that‘s when Geto slips himself inside from the front as well.

“Mhm—” You whined, still pressed against Gojo‘s back, feeling them both slide themselves inside of you— so thick, it has your mouth watering, your pussy was just so— wet, squelching after each continuous second of the minute, your head goes back against Gojo‘s neck and you chew down on your lip, the stimulation just burying deep inside of you— as well as both of their lengthy shafts.

“You okay? This feel alright?” Geto hums, stroking your chin. “You’re taking us so well before we start, pretty girl.”

You nod— a tiny babbling moan leaving your lips. “Yeah, I‘m good— f-fuckkk, you guys are stretching me out—”

Gojo nibbles against your ear as you‘re in the reverse cowgirl position— taking both of them, and he smells so good, his strong cologne scent practically clouded up your mind and making you dizzy. “That‘s the point, silly girl,” Gojo mutters, and you gasp— feeling him lift up your left leg just a bit— Geto starts to thrust himself into you and you moan, bouncing on Gojo‘s lap while watching full in front of you of Geto driving his hips— he‘s got a nice slow starting pace, and you whimper, feeling Gojo‘s free hand start to play with your nipples, swirling his thumb against it before giving it a big squeeze.

You whined, “. . . T-Touch me more, Satoru—”

“Say pretty please,” Gojo utters, in a more rasped tone, holding up your right left thigh as Geto drilled into you— your mouth slightly opened, not even minutes later you were already fucked dumb, completely stupid. Geto‘s cock was so thick— you felt the curve expand within your walls and it was so good, enough to have your mouth watering, it was delicious— extremely so.

You whimpered. “P-Pretty please,”

“Without stuttering.” Gojo cackles, and you moan, eyebrows slightly furrowing once his hand reaches down towards your clit to spank it a few times— while you‘re taking both of them at the same time, you were practically just a doll by this point, being bounced around Gojo‘s lap— Geto‘s driving his hips into you at full speed, you couldn’t think straight— at all.

You moaned a long moan, Gojo still spanking your pussy as you‘re being double stuffed to the absolute peak, reaching down to wrap your shaky hands around his wrist as he‘s playing with between your legs— he‘s so mean, smacking your pretty folds, it’s so wet, it had his hand covered in your slick and he found it so hot, rubbing circles against you and you’re whining— babbling even, you couldn’t shut up, you were such a mess and incredibly noisy.

“Pretty please Satoru, touch me more,” you spoke in a soft voice— every now and then you‘d clench against them and they’d both produce off low moans and grunts, your cunt was just so addictive to them, they couldn‘t get enough.

“Satoru, don‘t be too mean. She’s doin' her best,” and he hums, speaking in a rough racing breath, pant after pant— his jaw tightens a bit. “Right, pretty girl?”

“Y-Yeah, Suguru,” You moaned— and Geto‘s mean strokes against your core shook you in all the right ways— you whined, feeling so stretched, the way his hips struck against you— with such intent to make you dumber than you already were, your eyes started to roll back— babbling cute moans. You focused your attention towards Gojo again, back laid against him, still gripping his waist before huffing out tiny short breaths. “Play with me, Satoruuu— please, touch me—”

Gojo grunts— being balls deep inside you as well before muttering, reaching a hand down towards your cunt. “. . . Okayyyy, fine,” and you moan, your legs starting to twitch from the stimulation— rubbing a rough hand of his against your pussy, it‘s so wet, the noise it makes is so lewd, just spitting things out it seems— and you whine, lips parting, eyebrows furrowing and you’re coming close again— so were they, yet you felt different. Gojo spanking and spanking your pussy while simultaneously rubbing circles against your folds didn‘t exactly help things. “Ooooh. You‘re so— wet. Gonna squirt for me, baby? That‘s why you wanted me to touch you so bad, huh? So I could spank this sloppy pussy and make you all filthy for me on my lap . . ?”

“. . . N—No,” you hissed softly, before feeling Geto‘s hand wrap around your neck softly, a firm yet good grip, and you stare up at him and he‘s got a soft yet smug grin on his lips. “S-Suguruuuu choke me harder.”

“You like it rough, yeah?” Geto grunts, and he does, you moaned, Gojo‘s still playing with your soaked pussy and you feel a coil snap within your tummy— you gasp, spasming everywhere before you squirt vigorously, all over Gojo‘s lap— your legs were sprawled open and you were so vocal, probably the best orgasm you had in a long time.

You shake— trembling, feeling Geto‘s hips slow down before he groans, and within seconds later, he grabs onto your thigh— strings of his thick velvety ropes of seed spurting inside of you, slowly but surely— it was so . . . sticky, if you didn‘t feel full— you sure did now.

“. . . F-Fuckkk,” you sniffled— watching Geto pull out, glancing down at your sloppy cunt dripping with his seed, he came in you so much— it left a trail down your thighs, you bit your lip, just imaging how much he pumped into you just now, it made your mouth water.

“Good fuckin' girl,” Geto praises in a low husky tone, leaning in to give you a kiss— and right when you were about to kiss back, Gojo moans loudly— well, it‘s more of a scream, really, a girly scream.

Suddenly, the filthy salacious mood was ruined by no one other than Gojo. Geto stares at him with a scrunched-up face and suddenly, you’re pushed off— he‘s sliding out of you and you land flat onto the cushion with a soft oof sound.

“. . Ow? Satoru, what the fuck?” You grumbled, sitting up to stare at him.

“Crampcrampcramp—holy shit— I think you broke my fucking—” he stammers, and his eyebrows come together— his face is flustered, tips of his ears feeling hot and he‘s genuinely curled up into a ball now— a long “fuuuuuuuuuck.” leaving his lips.

Geto huffs out a grunt. “. . . Drama queen.”

You look down at Gojo in pure “pain,” poking his side before mumbling, preventing yourself from trying to crack a smile. “Are you- okay, Sato—”

“No—I‘m not fucking okay! I think you broke my dick!” He says all in one breath, his tone offended as he stares up at you— hugging his knees. “This is what I get for— fucking with you two. I . . I need to go to the hospital— I think I need to see a whatever-you-call-it that— that fixes these type of things.”

“Satoru, it’s just a cramp, you’ll be fine.” Geto sighs, bringing a hand to his face.

Gojo groans in pain. “. . F-Fuck I don‘t think I can walk now—,” and then he glares at you, spotting the smug grin on your face. “This is your fault,” and you realize Gojo’s staring at your pussy instead of your face as he spoke. You roll your eyes, crawling on top of his lap, giving him a kiss on the cheek and his face burns up before he starts whining a bit, catching his breath— feeling you slide a hand up his abs, just to tease. “You . . You guys are the worst . . n-never again—”

@omgeto made me post this 😞

Oh my goddddd a ✨part 2✨pls pls PLS tag me for that I’ll drop everything immediately when it pops up.

⬆️me isolating when the story pops up

‘𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞’

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: monster fucking; werewolf!toji, light size kink, biting, knotting (twice), breeding, belly bulging from the cum, re-mating (already together but toji likes to bite), possessive!sweet but mean!toji, encouragement/teasing/taunting/praise, light mind break/dumbification, light pussy slapping, pain kink, mostly from toji biting, little bit of blood, toji licks up that blood, Toji’s in a rut, a lotta manhandling, mating press, eating some of his cum out of your pussy, toji is straight nasty and thirsty for you but so soft at the same time, aftercare, kissing, daddy/mama/sweetheart/princess etc..., some aftercare,

𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐡: 2.1k - 7 minutes

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧: were toji breeds wife? 🥵

Gliding his puffy knot out with a gentle tug, his warm cum trails after his cockhead. “‘M still hard, wanna make you a mama. It's all I can think about.” Toji spreads your puffy lips, thick cum dripping from your sloppy, sore cunt.

Toji stuffs his tongue into your cum filled cunt. Loudly groaning, dragging the sharp tips of his claws along the curve of your hips. Digging his nails and thick fingers into your hips' squishy crease.

You whine from the sweet sting of pain, your sensitive cunt clenching. Tugging Toji's soft dark hair. “Can't cum anymore!” Toji growls, slapping your ass, instinctively jerking your hips back. Crying, "Daddy!" Pain erupts in your left hip, his nails digging in deeper. Thin rivulets of blood trickle from the wounds.

Dragging his tongue out, kissing your lips. "You think I can't get your sloppy cunt to cum on my cock? That's cute.” Licking up some of the blood on your hip. “Poor mama, so sore, bloody, and sensitive, belly swelling up with my cum." Smacking your cum soaked cunt, whining from the sweet pain. Gliding his fingers in, spreading them apart, watching your hole stretch.

Pushing on your stomach, pumping his finger into your messy cunt. Thick, white cum gushes out. "I'm going to make your belly swell with my cum again." In his rut, his balls make more cum, but this is something else.

Trailing sloppy, loud kisses away to your squishy thigh. "Can't stop thinkin' about ya with that baby." Gently rubbing your g spot. "You've been dropping hints, sending me into a rut. Making my cock ache and my balls too full of cum. Needa fuck ya into a milf." Spreading his fingers apart, gliding them out.

Pressing his fingers together, smearing his cum on your lips. You suck on his fingers, swirling your tongue, a tangy flavor of mixed cum coating your tongue. Toji lines his thick head up, rolling his hips forward.

Whimpering, your cunt squelching, back arching, toes curing, and thighs trembling. Your cunt is too sore, too sensitive. "Needa make sure you're stuffed, make your tits drip with milk." Gliding his fingers out of your mouth, grabbing your neck.

Toji pins you to the bed, hunching over, biting around your nipple. An intense tingling warmth spreads from your chest. His venom overrides how painful having fangs puncturing deeply into your breast should be.

Heat pools between your legs, and a lustful haze numbs your mind, consuming you. Slowly retracting his fangs, lapping up your blood, kissing the wounds. Grabbing the backs of your knees, pin you in a mating press. "Look at that, I'm so worked up I'm making venom." Biting your neck, careful not to sink his teeth in too deep.

Scratching Toji's nail backside, he ruts his hips faster. Whining, your sore, cum stuffed cunt quivering. You're getting off on how primal the way your muscular husband is restraining, fucking, and breeding you.

Letting you go, licking up your neck, groaning roughly. Your body bounces with each rough thrust. Fucking you like he hates you. "I love ya mama, love your gorgeous fuckin' smile, the way ya look after me and cream on my cock." Kissing your bloody neck.

Your sensitive cunt squelches, his balls slapping your ass. You mewl, "Love how you're all mine, your cocky smirk, I love how soft you've become for me." Pulling Toji's hair, clenching your dripping wet cunt. It's beautiful watching his massive body trembling because of your cunt.

"I think you make me hard mama, love seeing you jiggle, watching your eyes roll back when I fuck ya good." Gliding your fingertips along his cheek to his lips. Swiping your thumb along his bottom lip.

Crooning, "Cum in me Toji wanna make you my baby daddy." Trailing kisses along his chiseled jaw, roughly biting his neck. Whining when Toji digs his claws into your thighs, retracting his claws when blood trickles. Lightly dragging his nails toward your cock stuffed pussy.

He grunts, "I'm all fuckin' yours! So tight mama, so fuckin' wet n' tight!" His venom dulls your pain, increasing your sensitivity. Acutely feeling the slope of his cock head down to the soft ridge.

Every puffy vein is thicker in his rut since he cums so much more. The gradual thickening of his cock spitting you wider makes your toes curl. His knot swelling, tugging on your cunt, getting harder to glide out.

Squeezing your hips, lifting you off the bed, pumping his hips faster. The headboard thumping the wall; the bed scrapping the floor. His strength forces his thick knot into your hot, sloppy wet, tight cunt.

Curling your toes, your eyes rolling back. "That's it, good girl, cum on your cock. Lemme feel your sweet pussy clench my cock tighter till it's too much!" Your gush when his knot tugs on your cunt. Your slick drips onto his balls, and down your cheeks, soaking the sheets between.

His veins pulsing, cock twitching, cum spurts, thick and warm. "I love seeing you swell with my cum." Wrapping his arm around your waist, lifting the rest of your body off the bed. Holding you close, he shifts on the bed, sitting down with you in his lap.

Gliding his hand down, sinking his fingers into your squishy hip's crease. Massaging his fingers into you. Arranging the pillows quickly with the other hand, leaning back. His knot is too thick to glide out, trapping his cum inside. The soft pressure of his warm and thick cum is comforting.

"I love being so full." Scattering kisses on his thick pecs, splaying your fingers on his hard abs. Grinding your hips, rubbing your clit on his navel, he whines. His hard cock shifts inside you, rubbing your soft, wet cunt. Just barely rubbing your sweet spot.

You croon, "Wanna make you a daddy." Toji cups your breasts, stoking your soft puffy nipple. Clenching your cunt, groaning, gliding your hand up to his pecs, over his broad shoulders. Gliding your fingers into his dark hair, pulling him in for a kiss.

Parting your lips for his tongue, keeping your hips grinding steady. Fueled by Toji's venom coursing through your veins, made only during a rut to ensure their mated partner could keep up. You can't think of anything else beyond milking his cock.

Moaning, your tongue following along with his. Toji pinches, pulling your nipple till you whine into the slow, deep passionate kiss. Lifting your hip. Barely gliding part of his knot out, sinking your hips down. Getting a little more of his shrinking knot to slide out. Breaking the kiss, mewling, "Does daddy need to stuff mama's cunt again?"

Gliding your sloppy cunt along Toji's big, throbbing cock. His thick cum trickling out of your cunt, soaking his balls, and the bed. He groans, "Such a waste, all that cum trickin' out." Toji grabs your neck to slam you down onto the bed. Gliding his cock out, grabbing both hips. Flipping you over, pulling your hips in the air.

Slapping your cunt, "Need to fill ya back up, break your sweet cunt and make sure you can’t walk." Lining his cock up, pulling your hips back. Filling and stretching your drenched cunt in one harsh thrust. Propping one leg up, grabbing your head, pinning it down into the pillows.

Toji leans over you, putting his heavyweight into the thrusts. Grunting, "Fuckin' take my cock, good fuckin' slut." The bed shifts, scraping the floor. His heavy balls slapping your clit. Your cunt squelching louder than his groans and your muffled moans.

Slapping your ass roughly, carefully digging in his nails. Thin rivulets of blood trickle down your cheek, following the trail with his finger. Slipping into his mouth, groaning at the taste, "You smell so damn sweet!" More thick cum trickles down your thigh. You're craving more, to have his knot plugging another thick load.

He groans, "Your cunt, blood, soft squishy body, and every little whine are keeping my cock hard." Angling his thrust, rubbing your sweet spot, hitting your cervix. Curling your toes, your eyes stinging with tears, yanking your hips away.

Toji croons, "Trying to run away?" Tightly grabbing your neck, the sudden restriction makes your cunt clench Toji's thick cock.

Lifting you up by your neck and hip, getting off the bed. Holding you with ease, his cock buried in you. Stopping in front of the vanity mirror, "You can watch yourself get fucked without being able to do a single thing, but let me fuck ya stupid." Your body is tingling from the lack of air.

Between the lack of air and venom coursing through your body, there isn't even a thought detected of cumming. All you can do is feel his thick cock filling you up. Admiring the beautiful woman in the mirror getting split wide open by her handsome husband.

Her plush wet lips for a pale, veiny thick cock. Loosening his grasp, "Tell me how good I'm makin' my pussy feel." You try to steady your breath, unable to process his words. breath, "Am I that good that your cock-drunk and dumb already?" Rubbing your clit, making your cunt clench his cock harder.

"Shit that's too tight mama. But unnnnn ahhh mmmm you feeeels so goooood." Temporarily leaning back his head, loudly groan. The raspy needy sound getting you off, your cunt spasming around him. "Fuck!" Toji's legs tremble, and he stumbles back, sitting on the edge of the bed.

Bouncing you on his cock, planting his feet, steadying himself thrusting up. Making you meet his thrusts. "Whatareya doin'tomemama!" His words slur together, yanking your head to the side. Hunching over gently sinking his fangs in, marking you as his.

Any supernatural creature would be able to sense the mating, singing to back off. At least they had trouble with someone else. To any human, it's a scarring mark of four puncture wounds you wouldn't explain.

Toji's knot swells catching on your cunt, "I'm so close, gonna stuff ya full. Beg for at least, use the last brain cell my beautiful baby has left. Use it to beg for my cum like a cock drunk slut." You can't you're too far gone.

Lost in the bliss of getting fucked, only able to moan, "Daddy!" A couple more pumps and Toji wraps his arm around your waist. His knot merely tugging on your cunt, unwilling to easily slip out.

Groaning his cock twitching, thick cum spurting filling and stretching your cunt. Your thighs trembling and toes curling, it feels too good to be cummed in. Roughly breathing, leaning back with you resting on his chest.

Toji takes a moment to gather himself. Massaging your stomach, his hand drifting down your navel and back up towards your breasts. His cock softens, his knot swollen, plugging his cum inside.

Closing your eyes, smiling, resting your head on his chest. Toji groans, "That's it mama, fuck you feel so damn good. Gonna have to stuff you again in a few hours. You mind if I wake you up?" During his week-long rut he could never go long without burying himself into your cunt. Leaving you pleasantly sore and still feeling his cock hours after when he comes back for more.

When you don't answer Toji chuckles, "Damn mama, take your time Daddy's got you." He needs fresh raw meat to tear into, the surrounding woods of your cabin are perfect hunting grounds.

His cock softens, his knot gradually de-swelling. His cum trickles out, "I'll clean up for I go, don't even think about bitchin' about it later. You better thank me for being so nice, knowing most ." You're too full to hold it without the full size of his knot.

Gathering your sense of self and thought, "You're cleaning 'cause you know I can't walk." Gliding you off his cock, his thick cum gushes out like your squirting. Biting into your lip.

Your cunt has been ruined by Tojis's too-fat cock, the sweet swelling of his knot, and how much he cums during a rut.

Toji groans, "Gonna make ya swell with more than cum. You're gonna be the prettiest mama." Kissing the top of your head, standing up. Cradling you in a princess carry towards the bathroom.

Placing you down on the toilet, "If ya can't walk, good I'll come back for ya." Taking care of business and not bothering to trust your wobbly legs. Listening to the blankets rustle in the bedroom.

"I don't wanna wait too long! I want to hold you close." Toji comes back with your phone. Scrolling away the minutes trickle by of him putting the bed together with fresh sheets.

Picking you up, setting you on the counter, propping your feet up on the counter. Grabbing a rag, getting it wet, wiping your inner thighs. "I got your favorite stuffed animals on the bed. I'll stay until you fall asleep" He kisses your cheek, wiping the cloth between your lips slowly.

“I love you daddy.” Smiling up at him, admiring the his handsome face. The sweet feeling of getting cared for, after getting ferally fucked has you on cloud nine.

Toji grabs the disinfectant, pouring some on the rag. Lowering your legs, gently dabbing clean the small marks on your left hip. Rubbing your clit, the pleasure distracting you from the stinging of the disinfectant.

“I love you too mama.” Kissing you sweetly, parting his lips with yours. Letting you lips your tongue past, following your lead. Groaning into the kiss, stroking your clit softly.

tagging: @butterflieskeepcominback @bvblackarmy @linadiablo @hinata7346 @aechmea01 @movlul @namjoons-t1ddies @valentxi @erp1007 @shussshs @deft0n3sss @ryutotsukai0824 @saintydainty @insomniac-h3art @lov3rbody

4k event

oreo creampie’s m.list

Oh my heavens (A place I will not going to since I read these lovely fics all the time) werewolf Toji is way way way too much for me. I’ll have his kids (puppies?) any day~~

⬆️This right would be my life afterwards btw cuz ion believe he’d give impregnate you with one damn kid with that performance frfr

‘𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞’

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: monster fucking; werewolf!toji, light size kink, biting, knotting (twice), breeding, belly bulging from the cum, re-mating (already together but toji likes to bite), possessive!sweet but mean!toji, encouragement/teasing/taunting/praise, light mind break/dumbification, light pussy slapping, pain kink, mostly from toji biting, little bit of blood, toji licks up that blood, Toji’s in a rut, a lotta manhandling, mating press, eating some of his cum out of your pussy, toji is straight nasty and thirsty for you but so soft at the same time, aftercare, kissing, daddy/mama/sweetheart/princess etc..., some aftercare,

𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐡: 2.1k - 7 minutes

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧: were toji breeds wife? 🥵

Gliding his puffy knot out with a gentle tug, his warm cum trails after his cockhead. “‘M still hard, wanna make you a mama. It's all I can think about.” Toji spreads your puffy lips, thick cum dripping from your sloppy, sore cunt.

Toji stuffs his tongue into your cum filled cunt. Loudly groaning, dragging the sharp tips of his claws along the curve of your hips. Digging his nails and thick fingers into your hips' squishy crease.

You whine from the sweet sting of pain, your sensitive cunt clenching. Tugging Toji's soft dark hair. “Can't cum anymore!” Toji growls, slapping your ass, instinctively jerking your hips back. Crying, "Daddy!" Pain erupts in your left hip, his nails digging in deeper. Thin rivulets of blood trickle from the wounds.

Dragging his tongue out, kissing your lips. "You think I can't get your sloppy cunt to cum on my cock? That's cute.” Licking up some of the blood on your hip. “Poor mama, so sore, bloody, and sensitive, belly swelling up with my cum." Smacking your cum soaked cunt, whining from the sweet pain. Gliding his fingers in, spreading them apart, watching your hole stretch.

Pushing on your stomach, pumping his finger into your messy cunt. Thick, white cum gushes out. "I'm going to make your belly swell with my cum again." In his rut, his balls make more cum, but this is something else.

Trailing sloppy, loud kisses away to your squishy thigh. "Can't stop thinkin' about ya with that baby." Gently rubbing your g spot. "You've been dropping hints, sending me into a rut. Making my cock ache and my balls too full of cum. Needa fuck ya into a milf." Spreading his fingers apart, gliding them out.

Pressing his fingers together, smearing his cum on your lips. You suck on his fingers, swirling your tongue, a tangy flavor of mixed cum coating your tongue. Toji lines his thick head up, rolling his hips forward.

Whimpering, your cunt squelching, back arching, toes curing, and thighs trembling. Your cunt is too sore, too sensitive. "Needa make sure you're stuffed, make your tits drip with milk." Gliding his fingers out of your mouth, grabbing your neck.

Toji pins you to the bed, hunching over, biting around your nipple. An intense tingling warmth spreads from your chest. His venom overrides how painful having fangs puncturing deeply into your breast should be.

Heat pools between your legs, and a lustful haze numbs your mind, consuming you. Slowly retracting his fangs, lapping up your blood, kissing the wounds. Grabbing the backs of your knees, pin you in a mating press. "Look at that, I'm so worked up I'm making venom." Biting your neck, careful not to sink his teeth in too deep.

Scratching Toji's nail backside, he ruts his hips faster. Whining, your sore, cum stuffed cunt quivering. You're getting off on how primal the way your muscular husband is restraining, fucking, and breeding you.

Letting you go, licking up your neck, groaning roughly. Your body bounces with each rough thrust. Fucking you like he hates you. "I love ya mama, love your gorgeous fuckin' smile, the way ya look after me and cream on my cock." Kissing your bloody neck.

Your sensitive cunt squelches, his balls slapping your ass. You mewl, "Love how you're all mine, your cocky smirk, I love how soft you've become for me." Pulling Toji's hair, clenching your dripping wet cunt. It's beautiful watching his massive body trembling because of your cunt.

"I think you make me hard mama, love seeing you jiggle, watching your eyes roll back when I fuck ya good." Gliding your fingertips along his cheek to his lips. Swiping your thumb along his bottom lip.

Crooning, "Cum in me Toji wanna make you my baby daddy." Trailing kisses along his chiseled jaw, roughly biting his neck. Whining when Toji digs his claws into your thighs, retracting his claws when blood trickles. Lightly dragging his nails toward your cock stuffed pussy.

He grunts, "I'm all fuckin' yours! So tight mama, so fuckin' wet n' tight!" His venom dulls your pain, increasing your sensitivity. Acutely feeling the slope of his cock head down to the soft ridge.

Every puffy vein is thicker in his rut since he cums so much more. The gradual thickening of his cock spitting you wider makes your toes curl. His knot swelling, tugging on your cunt, getting harder to glide out.

Squeezing your hips, lifting you off the bed, pumping his hips faster. The headboard thumping the wall; the bed scrapping the floor. His strength forces his thick knot into your hot, sloppy wet, tight cunt.

Curling your toes, your eyes rolling back. "That's it, good girl, cum on your cock. Lemme feel your sweet pussy clench my cock tighter till it's too much!" Your gush when his knot tugs on your cunt. Your slick drips onto his balls, and down your cheeks, soaking the sheets between.

His veins pulsing, cock twitching, cum spurts, thick and warm. "I love seeing you swell with my cum." Wrapping his arm around your waist, lifting the rest of your body off the bed. Holding you close, he shifts on the bed, sitting down with you in his lap.

Gliding his hand down, sinking his fingers into your squishy hip's crease. Massaging his fingers into you. Arranging the pillows quickly with the other hand, leaning back. His knot is too thick to glide out, trapping his cum inside. The soft pressure of his warm and thick cum is comforting.

"I love being so full." Scattering kisses on his thick pecs, splaying your fingers on his hard abs. Grinding your hips, rubbing your clit on his navel, he whines. His hard cock shifts inside you, rubbing your soft, wet cunt. Just barely rubbing your sweet spot.

You croon, "Wanna make you a daddy." Toji cups your breasts, stoking your soft puffy nipple. Clenching your cunt, groaning, gliding your hand up to his pecs, over his broad shoulders. Gliding your fingers into his dark hair, pulling him in for a kiss.

Parting your lips for his tongue, keeping your hips grinding steady. Fueled by Toji's venom coursing through your veins, made only during a rut to ensure their mated partner could keep up. You can't think of anything else beyond milking his cock.

Moaning, your tongue following along with his. Toji pinches, pulling your nipple till you whine into the slow, deep passionate kiss. Lifting your hip. Barely gliding part of his knot out, sinking your hips down. Getting a little more of his shrinking knot to slide out. Breaking the kiss, mewling, "Does daddy need to stuff mama's cunt again?"

Gliding your sloppy cunt along Toji's big, throbbing cock. His thick cum trickling out of your cunt, soaking his balls, and the bed. He groans, "Such a waste, all that cum trickin' out." Toji grabs your neck to slam you down onto the bed. Gliding his cock out, grabbing both hips. Flipping you over, pulling your hips in the air.

Slapping your cunt, "Need to fill ya back up, break your sweet cunt and make sure you can’t walk." Lining his cock up, pulling your hips back. Filling and stretching your drenched cunt in one harsh thrust. Propping one leg up, grabbing your head, pinning it down into the pillows.

Toji leans over you, putting his heavyweight into the thrusts. Grunting, "Fuckin' take my cock, good fuckin' slut." The bed shifts, scraping the floor. His heavy balls slapping your clit. Your cunt squelching louder than his groans and your muffled moans.

Slapping your ass roughly, carefully digging in his nails. Thin rivulets of blood trickle down your cheek, following the trail with his finger. Slipping into his mouth, groaning at the taste, "You smell so damn sweet!" More thick cum trickles down your thigh. You're craving more, to have his knot plugging another thick load.

He groans, "Your cunt, blood, soft squishy body, and every little whine are keeping my cock hard." Angling his thrust, rubbing your sweet spot, hitting your cervix. Curling your toes, your eyes stinging with tears, yanking your hips away.

Toji croons, "Trying to run away?" Tightly grabbing your neck, the sudden restriction makes your cunt clench Toji's thick cock.

Lifting you up by your neck and hip, getting off the bed. Holding you with ease, his cock buried in you. Stopping in front of the vanity mirror, "You can watch yourself get fucked without being able to do a single thing, but let me fuck ya stupid." Your body is tingling from the lack of air.

Between the lack of air and venom coursing through your body, there isn't even a thought detected of cumming. All you can do is feel his thick cock filling you up. Admiring the beautiful woman in the mirror getting split wide open by her handsome husband.

Her plush wet lips for a pale, veiny thick cock. Loosening his grasp, "Tell me how good I'm makin' my pussy feel." You try to steady your breath, unable to process his words. breath, "Am I that good that your cock-drunk and dumb already?" Rubbing your clit, making your cunt clench his cock harder.

"Shit that's too tight mama. But unnnnn ahhh mmmm you feeeels so goooood." Temporarily leaning back his head, loudly groan. The raspy needy sound getting you off, your cunt spasming around him. "Fuck!" Toji's legs tremble, and he stumbles back, sitting on the edge of the bed.

Bouncing you on his cock, planting his feet, steadying himself thrusting up. Making you meet his thrusts. "Whatareya doin'tomemama!" His words slur together, yanking your head to the side. Hunching over gently sinking his fangs in, marking you as his.

Any supernatural creature would be able to sense the mating, singing to back off. At least they had trouble with someone else. To any human, it's a scarring mark of four puncture wounds you wouldn't explain.

Toji's knot swells catching on your cunt, "I'm so close, gonna stuff ya full. Beg for at least, use the last brain cell my beautiful baby has left. Use it to beg for my cum like a cock drunk slut." You can't you're too far gone.

Lost in the bliss of getting fucked, only able to moan, "Daddy!" A couple more pumps and Toji wraps his arm around your waist. His knot merely tugging on your cunt, unwilling to easily slip out.

Groaning his cock twitching, thick cum spurting filling and stretching your cunt. Your thighs trembling and toes curling, it feels too good to be cummed in. Roughly breathing, leaning back with you resting on his chest.

Toji takes a moment to gather himself. Massaging your stomach, his hand drifting down your navel and back up towards your breasts. His cock softens, his knot swollen, plugging his cum inside.

Closing your eyes, smiling, resting your head on his chest. Toji groans, "That's it mama, fuck you feel so damn good. Gonna have to stuff you again in a few hours. You mind if I wake you up?" During his week-long rut he could never go long without burying himself into your cunt. Leaving you pleasantly sore and still feeling his cock hours after when he comes back for more.

When you don't answer Toji chuckles, "Damn mama, take your time Daddy's got you." He needs fresh raw meat to tear into, the surrounding woods of your cabin are perfect hunting grounds.

His cock softens, his knot gradually de-swelling. His cum trickles out, "I'll clean up for I go, don't even think about bitchin' about it later. You better thank me for being so nice, knowing most ." You're too full to hold it without the full size of his knot.

Gathering your sense of self and thought, "You're cleaning 'cause you know I can't walk." Gliding you off his cock, his thick cum gushes out like your squirting. Biting into your lip.

Your cunt has been ruined by Tojis's too-fat cock, the sweet swelling of his knot, and how much he cums during a rut.

Toji groans, "Gonna make ya swell with more than cum. You're gonna be the prettiest mama." Kissing the top of your head, standing up. Cradling you in a princess carry towards the bathroom.

Placing you down on the toilet, "If ya can't walk, good I'll come back for ya." Taking care of business and not bothering to trust your wobbly legs. Listening to the blankets rustle in the bedroom.

"I don't wanna wait too long! I want to hold you close." Toji comes back with your phone. Scrolling away the minutes trickle by of him putting the bed together with fresh sheets.

Picking you up, setting you on the counter, propping your feet up on the counter. Grabbing a rag, getting it wet, wiping your inner thighs. "I got your favorite stuffed animals on the bed. I'll stay until you fall asleep" He kisses your cheek, wiping the cloth between your lips slowly.

“I love you daddy.” Smiling up at him, admiring the his handsome face. The sweet feeling of getting cared for, after getting ferally fucked has you on cloud nine.

Toji grabs the disinfectant, pouring some on the rag. Lowering your legs, gently dabbing clean the small marks on your left hip. Rubbing your clit, the pleasure distracting you from the stinging of the disinfectant.

“I love you too mama.” Kissing you sweetly, parting his lips with yours. Letting you lips your tongue past, following your lead. Groaning into the kiss, stroking your clit softly.

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