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𝜗𝜚 you thought toji didn’t want you, but the only reason your husband slept on the couch was to stop himself from giving in . . .
( mdni. cw: arranged marriage!au, hurt/comfort, age gap, size kink, praise kink, oral (f. rec), fingering, creampie )
you didn’t choose him.
and truthfully, neither did he.
your families had known each other for decades— tangled up in promises, contracts, and unpaid debts. it was never about love, or even choice. everything had already been decided long before you were old enough to understand what it meant. you weren’t even given time to mourn the death of your autonomy. no arguments, no bargaining. only your father’s voice, stern and tired, eyes dull with the weight of duty, saying, “he’ll protect you. you’ll be taken care of.”
those were the final words that sealed your fate.
and just like that, you became mrs. fushiguro.
the wedding passed in a haze of stiff silk and tense silence. you wore white, he wore black. no one smiled. at least, not in any way that felt genuine. even the photographer didn’t bother faking it. you recited your vows without ever meeting his eyes— the rings felt heavier than they should’ve. there was no kiss. just the sound of distant applause and the quiet, sinking feeling that nothing about this was truly yours.
toji was a quiet man.
stoic, broad, and nearly impossible to read. he didn’t waste time on small talk, rarely showed emotion. it seemed as though your overall presence didn’t faze him in the slightest, as if he’d already adapted to the idea of living with a stranger. he wasn’t the kind to leave messes or linger in shared spaces. everything about him was precise, detached. not out of cruelty, but habit, like he’d spent his whole life perfecting the art of keeping people out.
you’d heard rumors about him growing up. how he used to be the type of man who never stayed in one place for too long, who didn’t give his name to the women he fucked and never spent the night. toji’s never been a one-woman kind of guy. settling down wasn’t in his vocabulary. and definitely not with someone as young and out-of-place as you.
he was older. rougher. the kind of man who’d seen too much and felt too little. you were the opposite— softer around the edges, not naïve, but still idealistic enough to believe marriage might eventually mean something.
but the truth was, you were strangers playing house.
and he made no effort to pretend otherwise.
he never yelled or raised his voice, but he also never smiled. didn’t ask about your day or crack single joke. the most he ever said to you was the occasional, “you eat yet?” or “lock the doors when i’m out.”
he wasn’t cruel. but he wasn’t kind either. he was just… distant.
and every night, without fail, he took a pillow from your bed and laid it on the couch. like it was some unspoken rule neither of you had agreed to, but followed all the same.
you told yourself it didn’t bother you.
it’s better this way, you thought. less awkward. more space. at least he wasn’t forcing anything on you. at least he wasn’t trying to play pretend.
but it still left a strange hollow in your chest, watching him retreat down the hallway like some unwelcome guest, his broad back disappearing into the dark. it was your house, your marriage, but it didn’t feel like either belonged to you.
you could hear him sometimes through the thin walls— the creak of leather, the shift of his weight on the couch, the low sighs he tried to keep quiet. you’d often wonder, did he ever sleep soundly? did he ever think about coming back to bed? or was this just as unbearable for him as it was for you?
you didn’t know what he saw when he looked at you. just a kid, maybe. just another favor he owed. a girl too young for him. a wife he didn’t ask for.
and yet… there were glimpses. brief ones.
he’d linger in the kitchen after grabbing a drink, eyes flicking to you like he wasn’t ready to leave just yet. his gaze would catch on you when you bend over to grab something. there’d be times where his fingers would brush yours when passing a mug across the table, only to quickly pull away and act like the contact burned him.
but none of it meant anything. not really.
he still felt a million miles away, always avoided your eyes, and spent his nights on the couch.
and every time you lay in bed alone, facing the empty space where your husband should have been… you wondered how long it would be before either of you finally broke the silence.
+
months passed.
coexistence— bland, neutral, suffocating— was the best words you could find for it. two strangers living under the same roof. two shadows moving through the same space.
you learned his footsteps before his voice. heavy boots against the tile, always coming home late, reeking of steel and smoke. the scent of blood sometimes lingered longer than it should’ve. cuts along his knuckles, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a cigarette tucked behind his ear he never once lit indoors.
he never offered answers. and you never asked questions.
your conversations always felt transactional— brief and stripped of anything personal. he moved like a man who’d locked his entire life behind closed doors, speaking only when necessary, silence curling in the spaces between
but sometimes, he surprised you.
like when your cough wouldn’t go away, and he left a steaming cup of tea on your nightstand. no note. just honey, lemon, and a quiet gesture you pretended not to notice. or the time your car wouldn’t start, and by morning it was fixed, keys hung on the hook with a single post-it note: ‘battery’s old. don’t leave the lights on.’ or when you dozed off on the couch and woke up in bed, tucked in gently—your socks gone, your blanket neatly arranged over your shoulders, the air warm from the space heater you hadn’t turned on yourself.
little things. fleeting and wordless. barely there, but enough to leave a mark.
enough to make you wonder.
does he care? or is this just guilt? pity? obligation?
you caught him watching you sometimes, too. not lecherous. not overt. just… lingering. like he couldn’t figure you out. like he was trying to memorize you without getting caught. his eyes would trail over your face like he didn’t quite believe you were real.
but he never touched you.
never kissed you.
never allowed himself get too close.
and maybe it was better that way. maybe it hurt less to imagine he didn’t want you than to accept the possibility that he did, and was just too afraid to act on it.
until one night, everything changed.
it was starting to rain. the steady patter against the window, soothing enough to lull you to sleep with a book on your chest and the bedside lamp still glowing, thunder rolled somewhere in the distance. you curled beneath the blankets alone, as always, half-asleep before the storm even settled.
you didn’t hear him come in.
but you felt it— the sudden shift in the air, the creak of the floorboards, the dip of the mattress under his weight. his warm breath near the nape of your neck.
your heart kicked in your chest.
“…toji?” you whispered, uncertain, afraid to turn around.
a pause stretched long.
“…can’t sleep,” he murmured, voice rough, like it scraped against something inside him just to speak.
your pulse quickened. “you… wanna stay here tonight?”
he hesitated. the air thickened, heavy with tension.
when he finally responded, his voice was low. remorseful.
“should’ve been sleepin’ here from the start.”
you didn’t know what to say. but when you shifted, he took it as an invitation— easing into the sheets behind you, his massive arm hesitating before wrapping around your waist.
his touch was delicate. almost reverent.
you held your breath as his fingers brushed your stomach. then your ribs. then lower.
“you sure?” he whispered, lips grazing your ear.
you didn’t need time to think before you breathed out a barely audible, “yes.”
a pause. then a low groan, rumbling in his chest.
“good,” he growled, voice thick with restraint finally snapping. “been holdin’ back for too fuckin’ long.”
and then he finally kissed you.
it was messy. desperate. months of pent-up frustration crashing all at once. his mouth was warm, his lips greedy, tongue sweeping against yours like he needed to taste every piece of you. every part he’d denied himself.
you whimpered, hands fisting in his hair, and he groaned against your mouth— deep and guttural, as if it physically hurt to hold back.
“fuck, baby… taste so sweet,” he murmured, breath warm on your lips. his hands roamed, rough palms caressing your hips, your thighs, your stomach.
he pulled back just long enough to sit up and yank your nightshirt over your head in one swift motion, tossing it to the floor. you lay bare beneath him, chest rising and falling, lips parted in anticipation— the look in his eyes darkened, heat blooming behind his lashes. his gaze dropped to your underwear, and a crooked smirk curved his mouth.
“always sleepin’ in those little fuckin’ panties,” he muttered, laced with amusement and need. “you do it to tease me?”
“n-no, i—” your throat tightened as he hooked his fingers into the waistband, dragging them down your thighs with excruciating slowness, knuckles brushing your skin.
“you do now,” he said, eyes never leaving you. “so pretty… ‘s all mine, yeah?”
you nodded quickly, heart thudding in your chest. “yours.”
he leaned down, kissed your collarbone, your chest, your waist— leaving no place of you untouched. his stubble scraped your skin, rough enough to make your thighs twitch, your breath hitch. you shivered as he moved lower, lips brushing along your inner thighs until he was nestled between them
“spread those legs, sweet girl,” he rasped. “lemme taste what i’ve been missin’.”
you obeyed instantly, trembling.
and then he was on you.
your cry cracked the silence, body jolting as his tongue met your folds— slow, deliberate, filthy. he devoured you like he was starving, tongue flat and thorough, savoring every bit of you with obscene groans vibrating against your pussy.
“fuck… so wet for me already,” he breathed between licks, voice muffled and wrecked. “this pretty lil’ cunt’s been waitin’, huh?”
“t-toji— ah!”
he moaned in response, sucking your clit into his mouth while two fingers pushed inside— curling just right, filling you so perfectly it made your toes curl. you were already so sensitive, so overwhelmed, but he didn’t slow down, didn’t give you a second to catch your breath.
he kept going, relentless, mouth and hands working in tandem until your thighs shook around his head and your fingers tugged his hair, your orgasm ripping through you in thick waves as you cried out his name.
only when you fell back against the pillows, panting and soaked, did he finally stop.
he sat back on his knees, eyes half-lidded, licking his lips like he couldn’t bear to waste a drop of you. he made quick work of his belt, unbuckling it with one hand while the other gently stroked your thigh, soothing you. his cock was thick, flushed, the tip glistening. heavy in his palm as he stroked himself slow, watching the way your chest rose and fell.
“gonna fuck you slow,” he promised, “but i ain’t gonna be gentle.”
you whimpered. “want you… please, toji.”
he leaned in and kissed you again— deep and messy, still tasting like you— before guiding himself to your entrance and pressing in, steady and thick, easing deeper until your walls stretched to take all of him.
“fuck,” he hissed, jaw clenched. “grippin’ me like a fuckin’ vice…”
he stayed still at first, letting you adjust to his size, forehead pressed to yours, his breath fanning across your lips. then he rolled his hips, slow and deep, dragging every ridge of him along your walls. you were already gasping, body arching into his, overwhelmed by how full he made you feel. your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, grounding yourself against the dizzying pleasure.
and then he started to move— faster, deeper, driving into you with smooth, powerful thrusts. the bed creaked beneath you, the headboard thudded against the wall in rhythm.
“yeah, take it, baby,” he grunted. “takin’ it so good for me.”
his mouth found your neck, then your shoulder, then your lips again— hot and open, tongue sliding against yours between moans. you couldn’t think, couldn’t speak— only hold on and feel. your nails raked down his back as he fucked you harder, each thrust making your breath hitch.
“always thought about this,” he confessed between gritted teeth. “every fuckin’ night on that couch. wanted to come in here… split you open.”
his hand came up to wrap around your throat, not choking, just holding. “look at me.”
your eyes fluttered open, and he looked down at you like he was worshipping you. you were already teary, completely undone, and somehow still falling apart beneath him.
his lips were back on yours, languid, teasing, yet driven by something deeper. like he finally understood what it meant to want.
“mine,” he growled, low and steady. “you hear me?”
“yours,” you whispered back, broken and sure.
he groaned as he came, burying himself as deep as he could go, hips grinding into you while he spilled inside— thick and warm, pulse after pulse. you felt it fill you, every drop, your walls fluttering around him as you whimpered through the overstimulation.
you clung to him like a lifeline, barely able to breathe.
and still, he didn’t move.
he stayed there, chest heaving, one hand cupping your cheek, nose brushing your skin like he couldn’t stop touching you. he kissed your temple, your cheek, your jaw. soft and sweet and quiet.
“shouldn’t’ve waited this long,” he murmured against your skin. “you… you make this place feel like home.”
you blinked up at him, bleary-eyed.
“…i thought you didn’t like me,” you hesitantly confessed.
his brows pulled together. “didn’t like you?”
you nodded. “you always slept on the couch. you never talked to me…”
his expression softened, almost ashamed.
he lets out a shaky breath.
“did it ‘cause i didn’t wanna scare you. didn’t think i deserved to sleep next to you yet.”
your heart clenched so tightly you thought it might break.
“…you do,” you whispered, reaching up to touch his face. “you do now.”
he leaned into your palm.
then kissed you— slow, tender, like he meant every breath of it.
that night, for the first time, you fell asleep in your husband’s arms.
and for once… he didn’t leave.
i don’t think i’m very good at writing angst but i tried 🤧 i rlly hope i executed this well enough bc i never wrote arranged marriage trope before but i feel like this wasn’t that bad idkskdksk
𝜗𝜚 clingy toji doesn’t want you going to work >\\<
you’re supposed to be up by now.
you know that. your alarm went off twenty minutes ago, your phone is buzzing somewhere on the nightstand, and your work bag is still on the kitchen counter next to a half-packed lunch. you’ve already whispered “shit, shit, shit—” into the pillow three times like it’ll do anything to stop the way toji’s hand is gripping your thigh tighter, dragging you back down into the mattress like you don’t have a morning meeting in an hour.
“toji,” you hiss, breathless and squirmy and already a little wrecked, “baby, i’m late.”
“mhm.” his voice is all gravel and heat, low like he hasn’t used it yet today. “so don’t waste time talkin’.”
he’s between your legs, you realize, blinking blearily down at him as your body jolts from the next slow, filthy stroke of his tongue.
you don’t even remember when he got under the sheets. one second he was curled around you, bare chest against your back, nose in your hair, hand tucked between your thighs like he needed to sleep with it there— and the next, he was nosing between your folds, tongue sliding through your pussy like he was starving.
“toji,” you gasp again, voice breaking when he spreads you open with his thumbs and spits right on your clit, “i have to leave—”
“then leave,” he mutters, not even looking up. “door’s right there.”
the bastard knows you can’t. not when he does that— not when he presses two fingers into your cunt and licks slow circles around your clit like he’s mapping it from memory.
“fuck,” you cry out, clutching the sheets. “you’re such a fucking menace—”
“nah,” he grins against your pussy, voice smug and sleepy all at once. “you’re the one tryin’ to leave me like this.”
“like what?”
he groans, slow and low, and grinds his hips into the mattress like he’s aching— cock hard, leaking, untouched. “fuckin’ hard. hungry. needy. i wake up like this and you think you’re just gonna leave me?”
“i have work,” you cry, thighs shaking as he starts fucking you on his fingers faster.
he finally looks up, dark eyes all half-lidded and shameless, hair messy against your thighs. “so quit.”
you nearly sob.
he knows what he’s doing. you’re soaked. twitching. your brain barely works and he hasn’t even fucked you yet. just his mouth. just those thick fingers curling inside you like they know every spot to hit.
you’re right there when he growls, “come on, baby, lemme hear it. give it to me before you run off actin’ like a professional or whatever.”
you moan loud enough the neighbors probably know what kind of professional you are now. you cum hard, legs clamping around his head like a vice, voice breaking on his name.
you’re shaking when he pulls back, licking his lips like he liked that too much, like he might go again. but instead—
“you’re not going,” he mutters, flipping you onto your stomach before you can even think about sitting up.
“toji—”
“nah.” he’s already lining himself up behind you, thick cock rubbing through your soaked folds. “gonna keep you right here. warm. wet. where you belong.”
you can’t even fight it. not when he fucks himself into you with one deep, heavy stroke, bottoming out and staying there like he needs to feel every inch of you all at once.
you sob into the sheets, thighs trembling. “i’m gonna get fired—”
he leans down, breath hot against your neck. “heh. may as well stay then, huh?”
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OH MY GOSH YOU'RE BACK- I'm not gonna request anything I'm just here to ask if you have written Toji x Reader x Shiu stuff before and I just wanted to tell you that I missed seeing your blog like your themes are always so cute 🙏🤧
haii welcome backk >:3 i actually haven’t before, but i most certainly can in the future !! i js feel like i struggle sometimes writing more than one person involved </33 and omg ty bby 🥹💗💗
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you thought it’d be hot to risk getting caught— turns out it’s hotter when he’s trying not to lose his mind . . . mdni 18+
your bedroom door doesn’t even lock.
toji pointed that out the second he pressed you into the mattress.
and you had the audacity to smile up at him and say, “don’t worry. my parents sleep like the dead.”
you both knew that was a fucking lie.
and yet here he is— between your legs, inside you, both hands planted on either side of your head, trying sooo hard to focus, to keep it quiet, try not grunt everytime your pussy squeezes him like it doesn’t wanna let go.
he’s breathing through his nose, jaw tight, eyes flickering between your parted lips and your bouncing tits and the sheer innocence of your childhood bedroom. pink frilly bedsheets, a mountain of stuffed animals, a k-pop poster half-ripped behind his shoulder.
and then—
“mhm,” you whisper dramatically, arching your back, dragging your nails down his arms, “yeah, baby, ruin me~!”
he freezes. literally freezes.
his head drops.
“you’re—” a wheeze leaves his chest as his arms start to shake, “you’re such a little shit.”
“what?” you blink up at him with mock innocence. “was that too loud?”
“you’re doing it on purpose.”
“doing what on purpose?” you fake-gasp. “moaning? oh, daddy, right there—”
he slaps a hand over your mouth so fast you almost bite your tongue laughing.
“shut the fuck up,” he hisses through a grin, “before i actually make you cry.”
you whimper dramatically under his palm, all wide-eyed and needy, and he knows it’s all a game. you like pushing his buttons. testing his control. enjoy the thrill of maybe getting caught. even now, your legs lock tighter around his waist, trying to pull him deeper, shameless and soaked and begging for it with your body even when your mouth’s being punished.
toji leans in, voice low in your ear.
“you’re so lucky i’m already balls deep,” he mutters, thrusting just enough to make you gasp behind his hand, “or i’d flip you over and fuck you with a pillow in your mouth.”
your cunt clenches hard. you squeal into his palm.
his eyes darken.
“…you liked that?”
you nod furiously.
he groans under his breath— “fuckin’ brat.”
but he doesn’t stop.
he rocks into you harder, deeper, hand still covering your mouth, fingers splayed across your cheek as your muffled moans get higher and wetter. everytime the bed creaks, he curses and thrusts slower, rougher, meaner, just to make you squirm.
“gonna make a mess all over these sheets, huh?”
you try to say yesyesyes but all that comes out is a breathless little “mmghhh—!!”
toji smirks.
“what’s wrong? cat got your tongue?”
you glare at him. he thrusts particularly deep.
you go cross-eyed.
“that’s what i thought.”
you’re already so close it’s embarrassing. you didn’t even mean to get this turned on, but there’s something so hot about him trying to stay quiet for once. about the way he keeps biting back his groans. the sweat starting to bead on his temples as he mutters how tight you are, how good you feel, how much he wants to fuck a baby into you right here in your old bedroom.
you bite his palm when you cum.
and he laughs— low, breathless, feral. “ohh, you’re fucked.”
he doesn’t pull out.
he doesn’t stop.
he fucks you right through it— slow and deep and creamy, his dick twitching inside your spent cunt as you whine and twitch and suck him back in like your body wants him glued to you forever.
“better pray they’re not awake,” he grits, “’cause i’m not done.”
you blink up at him, dazed, flushed, lips kiss-swollen under his hand.
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toji gets off on how sweetly you ruin him . . . mdni 18+
you’ve got him right where you want him.
slouched on the bed, muscles slack, head tilted back against the pillows, his face trying to hide how far gone he is— he’s already fuckdrunk just from the sight of your panties wrapped around his cock. he’s breathing through his mouth, chest heaving, one hand clenched in the sheets while the other twitches at his side; he can’t decide whether to stop you or beg for more.
and you? you’re perched between his legs like a sin he forgot to confess, palm working slow and steady over his thick length, the soft cotton of your ruined underwear soaked with precum and spit. it’s filthy. obscene. the fabric’s so wet now it clings to him everytime you twist your wrist, stretched tight over the flushed head, sticky and hot and absolutely drenched.
“fuck- baby, slow down,” he pants, but his hips are already jerking up into your fist.
you smile, lips dragging along the inside of his thigh, all sweet and condescending. “but you’re so pretty like this,” you murmur, watching him twitch in your grip. “’s just a hand, toji. you gonna cum already?”
he groans. loud. jaw clenched. the sound of it punches straight between your legs. he’s trying to keep control, trying to be the big scary man he always is, but he’s falling apart in your hand, and you know it’s driving him fucking insane. he likes being the one in charge. likes throwing you around and manhandling you. but this? this gets him even worse.
because you’re not begging. you’re not whimpering. you’re calm. and that makes him unravel faster than anything else.
“look at you,” you whisper, leaning forward just enough to breathe against the slit leaking onto the fabric, “makin’ a mess all over my panties. gonna ruin ‘em, huh?”
he actually whimpers. like a full, strangled little sound caught between shame and desperation. his head tips forward, eyes blown wide, lips parted. his thighs are tense, trying not to shake. you can feel how hard he’s clenching his stomach to keep from bucking up into you.
“fuck, i’m gonna cum—”
you squeeze him just a little tighter.
“already?”
he nods. embarrassed. almost breathless.
“please, just- just let me,” he grits out, hips twitching.
and the thing that wrecks him the most?
you do.
you don’t edge him. you don’t slow down. you just give him exactly what he wants— your hand wrapping a little faster now, pressure just right, your soaked panties dragging along his sensitive tip while you press a kiss to his hip and say softly, “cum for me, daddy.”
he breaks.
a full-body shudder wracks through him, eyes squeezing shut as his hips snap forward. his cock pulses in your hand, thick and wet and twitching under the fabric, and you feel the way he releases— hot and heavy, spilling into your panties like it’s the first time he’s ever fucking touched. the cotton’s already ruined, but now it’s painted with him, sticky ropes of cum leaking through the weave and smearing across your knuckles as you keep pumping, slow and sweet.
he’s groaning through his teeth, breath ragged, hand fisting in the sheets like he’s trying not to sob.
“that’s it,” you coo, kissing the head through the fabric, lips catching on the mess. “so good for me. such a messy boy, huh?”
toji’s whole body jerks.
and when you pull the panties off him slow, dragging the sticky fabric down his length, showing him the creamy mess he made— his face goes red as a tomato fast. he can’t even look at you. he just turns his head to the side and groans.
“jesus fucking christ…”
you just giggle.
“so dramatic,” you hum, bringing the soaked panties up to his lips, “wanna taste it?”
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