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It’s 2026. Stop letting politicians of any party convince you that we cannot protect human rights. It’s a matter of leadership and courage. If they don’t have it, vote them out of office.

ICE just raided an apartment building in Chicago while the 95% Black residents were asleep.

ICE zip tied the children, forced them out of the building while they were completely undressed, and detained them for hours.

Pure Nazi behavior.

ua.gov.pl

best friend’s dad! toji x roomate! reader

↳ ❝ [megumi is in his third year of college and has a new roomate! toji decides to help his son settle into his new home but can’t help the desire to settle into bed with his son’s bold roomate. ] ¡! ❞

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Toji Fushiguro stood at the center of the living room, arms crossed, brow raised, lips tugged down in mild irritation as he glanced around the new apartment. It was clean enough, open concept, lots of windows—though he didn’t trust half the locks. He’d already made a mental list of upgrades.

But that checklist flies out the window the moment he hears your voice behind him.

“Oh, damn.”

A light, teasing tone, like you didn’t mean to say it out loud. “You must be Megumi’s dad? He wasn’t lying—you’re fine as hell.”

Toji’s head turns sharply, and there you are.

Tiny shorts. A little top that had no business being so fitted. Hoops in your ears and a lazy, knowing smirk on your glossy lips. You have a tote bag slung over your shoulder and a box balanced in one arm, but your eyes are all on him.

And Megumi? Totally unfazed. “Don’t flirt with my dad.”

You just laugh. “I’m not flirting. I’m just saying thank you to your gene pool.”

Toji swallows thickly. Fuck.

“Roommate?” he asks, gruff. His voice drops a little too deep, reflexive. He tries to rein it back in, ignoring the way your eyes flick over his broad chest and thick forearms exposed under his tight black tee.

“That’s me,” you hum, offering your hand. “We’re gonna get real close this year. I can already tell.”

You hold the handshake a second too long. You press your fingers against his palm like you know exactly what you’re doing. And Toji, damn him, just watches you—eyes narrowing slightly, jaw twitching.

“Uh huh,” he grunts, forcing himself to pull away. “Well… try not to get too close. Kid’s gotta study.”

You tilt your head, pretending to pout. “Mmm. I’ll be good. Unless you come around more often. Then all bets are off.”

Megumi groans from behind you. “Can you not?”

Toji lets out a short laugh through his nose. “You’re bold, aren’t you?”

“Just honest. You work out, right? I mean… look at your arms.”

You bite your lip. Brazen.

Toji clears his throat. His skin prickles. “That so.”

“Yeah. And your voice? Real daddy-coded.”

Megumi literally throws a dish towel at your head. “I’m moving out. I’m done.”

You laugh and dodge it. “Kidding!”

Toji knows better. He knows not to feed into it. He’s not gonna embarrass his son. He’s not going to flirt with some pretty young thing who clearly enjoys pushing buttons.

But when you walk past him, brushing way too close and tossing over your shoulder, “See you soon, Toji,”—like you’re already on a first-name basis—he doesn’t look away.

In fact, he lets his eyes linger.

And he hates that you catch him doing it.

Toji’s on the floor under the kitchen sink, sleeves rolled up and tool bag beside him. He’s fixing the garbage disposal like he’s getting paid for it, low grunts escaping his throat every time he shifts his position. The hem of his shirt has ridden up, flashing cut obliques and thick ridges of muscle as he reaches deeper into the pipes.

You’re sitting on the counter, sipping iced coffee, feet kicking softly while you watch him—unapologetically.

“You ever not look hot?” you tease, swirling the straw between your fingers. “Or do you just wake up like this and decide to be a menace to women everywhere?”

Toji grunts. “You’re supposed to be helping your roommate.”

“I am,” you say sweetly. “Moral support.”

You hop down from the counter and crouch beside him—way too close. Your bare thigh brushes against his arm.

Toji stiffens.

You tilt your head, eyes flicking to the small glisten of sweat on his temple. “You hot?”

“I’m fine,” he mutters, still working. “Just a tight fit under here.”

“Mhm. Must be hard moving around with all that muscle,” you murmur, your hand resting lightly on his abdomen—just above the waistband of his gray sweats. You trail your fingers along one defined ridge, slow and deliberate. “These feel unreal.”

Toji’s body tenses like a live wire. “Don’t.”

You smirk. “Don’t what?”

“Touch me like that.”

You blink, all faux innocence. “Didn’t realize I was touching you like anything.”

He pulls himself out from under the sink, brushing past you to stand. He grabs the wrench off the counter, trying not to look irritated—or turned on. “Where’s Megumi?”

“Still at Home Depot. Said they didn’t have the light fixtures you wanted.”

You wait until his back is turned before stepping up behind him, slipping your fingers into the open pocket of his sweatpants.

He turns fast, his voice low. “What are you doing?”

You press a folded piece of paper deeper into the fabric and give him the boldest smile yet. “In case you ever wanna hang out… without the plumbing and the witnesses.”

Toji exhales through his nose, jaw clenching hard as he looks down at you—really looks at you this time. Your lip gloss. Your lashes. The confidence in your smirk like you know he’s tempted.

And he is.

But he doesn’t reach for you.

Just shakes his head once and mumbles, “You’re trouble.”

You step back, giving him space like you didn’t just graze your fingers along his V-line five seconds ago.

“I’m also free most nights,” you sing quietly, turning on your heel and walking down the hall.

Toji watches you go, eyes low and dark, the slip of paper warm in his pocket like it’s daring him to use it.

He knows he shouldn’t.

But god help him… he might.

Later that night, Toji’s in nothing but a pair of loose black sweats, sprawled on his leather couch, TV on but forgotten. The lights are low, city lights bleeding through the floor-to-ceiling windows behind him.

And your number’s still sitting on the coffee table.

He hadn’t meant to keep it. Hell, he told himself he’d toss it the moment he got home. But instead of trashing it, he unfolded it slowly, stared at your handwriting—curvy and confident, like your mouth—and kept it.

He hated how curious he was.

He hated how your voice echoed in his head when it got too quiet: “You ever not look hot?” “These feel unreal.” “I’m also free most nights.”

The way you touched him so casually. Like you knew exactly how far you could push it before he’d snap.

Like you wanted him to snap.

Toji ran a hand down his face and grunted low.

He shouldn’t. You were his son’s roommate.

But you weren’t some clueless little girl. You were smart, cocky, self-assured. And clearly grown enough to know what you wanted. And worse—so good at making him think about it.

Toji stared at the phone in his hand.

Maybe she won’t even respond.

Maybe she gave him that number just to mess with him.

He cracked his neck, rolled his shoulders, then finally let out a sigh and tapped your contact in.

This is Megumi’s dad.

You left something in my pocket earlier.

Not even ten seconds later, three typing dots appeared.

I was wondering when you’d use it.

You forget something else too? Like the way my hand felt on your abs?

Toji exhaled slowly through his nose, his grip tightening slightly on the phone.

You talk like that to all the dads, or am I special?

Another reply, quick and shameless:

Just the hot ones.

You coming back to fix anything else soon?

…Or should I break something to give you an excuse?

Toji chuckled under his breath.

She’s dangerous.

And he was already in deep.

His next message came slower, but deliberate.

You keep touching me like that, you’re the one that’s gonna break.

You sure you’re ready for that?

You left him on read for exactly 30 seconds.

Try me.

Toji leaned his head back against the couch, tongue in cheek, heart thumping a little harder than he liked to admit.

You were bored. Megumi was still out—something about a study group that would “probably turn into a late-night ramen run.”

You’re in bed, leg half-draped over your comforter, phone in hand. Scrolling Instagram. Your gloss is worn off, your pajama top is thin, and your shorts are barely hanging on. You switch apps, click open your texts, and your finger just so happens to land on Toji’s name.

The last message still lingers on screen:

You keep touching me like that, you’re the one that’s gonna break.

You smile.

And your thumb “accidentally” hits call.

Shit. You don’t hang up. He answers on the third ring.

His voice is rough, low, like you woke him—but he doesn’t sound mad.

“Didn’t expect you to actually call.”

You stretch a little, curling onto your side. “Mmm. Me either.”

Toji pauses. “You drunk?”

“No. Just bored. Couldn’t sleep.”

Another pause. Then a shift in his voice—cool, but sharp. “You call all your son’s friends’ dads when you’re bored?”

You giggle. “Only the hot, emotionally unavailable ones.”

“…Right.”

You can hear the smirk in his voice now.

You roll onto your back, staring at the ceiling. “What are you doing right now?”

“To be honest?” he says. “Just got out the shower. Watching some old fight clips. Thinking about that little stunt you pulled earlier.”

You hum. “Which one? Me touching your abs? Or slipping my number in your pants?”

“Both.”

You bite your lip, your voice dipping soft. “I meant it, you know. About hanging out.”

“I know you did.”

Silence stretches—thick with heat.

Then he says it.

“Come over.”

Your heart jumps.

“You serious?”

“Dead serious,” he murmurs. “You’re not gonna sleep anyway. I’m up. You’re obviously thinking about me.”

You grin. “Maybe.”

“You got five seconds to say no.”

You stay quiet.

“…Three.”

You throw off your blanket, already reaching for your keys.

“I’m on my way.”

The elevator dings at the top floor, smooth and silent. You step out into the dimly lit hallway, heart beating fast but steady.

Once you’re in front of his door, you knock once.

The door swings open almost instantly.

Toji stands there—

low-slung black sweats hanging dangerously on his hips, nothing on top.

His hair’s damp from the shower, pushed back casually, and his body…

God.

Thick, veined arms. Chiseled chest. Deep abs cut with sharp ridges. A scar on his lower abdomen you want to trace with your tongue.

His eyes drag over you—slow, unapologetic. Linger at the tops of your thighs, then at the peek of cleavage showing under the top.

He doesn’t smile.

He just rasps, “Get in.”

You step inside without a word, and the door shuts behind you with a heavy click.

Silence.

Thick, electric.

You turn to face him, lips parting—about to make a joke, maybe something flirty again—but you don’t get the chance.

One step, one motion, and you’re backed into the wall—his massive hand braced beside your head, the other gripping your hip tight, like he’s been dying to finally touch you.

His voice is low, gravelly. “You really showed up in these fuckin’ shorts?”

You blink up at him, all heat and nerves and thrill. “Thought you liked them.”

He scoffs, chest rising. “I like a lotta things I shouldn’t.”

You lift your hand, fingers trailing up his abs slowly. “Then don’t be shy, Toji.”

He leans in and devours you.

Mouth rough on yours, one hand gripping your jaw, the other sliding down to grab your thigh and hook it around his waist. You moan into his mouth as your back hits the wall harder, his hips pinning you there. His tongue drags deep, claiming, his breath hot against your lips.

“You’ve been driving me fuckin’ crazy,” he growls, lips moving to your neck. “Walking around the apartment all innocent. Looking at me like you want me to fuck you stupid.”

You gasp, fingers digging into his shoulders. “Maybe I do.”

He pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes—dark, dangerous, hungry.

“Say the word, baby. And I’ll give you everything you’ve been begging for with those fuckin’ eyes.”

You smile, biting your lip as you slide both arms around his neck and whisper:

“Then shut up and take me to your bedroom.”

He doesn’t take you to the bedroom right away.

Not because he doesn’t want to—but because the second you say those words, he loses the last thread of restraint. His hand wraps under your thigh tighter, the other bunching the back of your top in his fist as he lifts you effortlessly off the ground. Your legs wrap around his waist as he pins you to the wall again—grinding, deep and slow.

“You wanna get fucked like a brat, huh?” he growls, his mouth at your jaw, teeth dragging. “You wanna tease me for weeks and then come here dressed like this?”

You gasp, hands fisting his hair. “Yes.”

That’s all he needs.

He carries you across the dark apartment, mouth hot on your neck, teeth grazing your shoulder as he walks you down the hallway. Every step, he grinds your hips together, letting you feel what you’ve been doing to him all this time.

By the time he kicks the bedroom door open and drops you onto the mattress, your whole body is already throbbing.

Toji stands at the edge of the bed, looking down at you like a man starved.

“Take that shit off.”

You obey slowly, your bare chest beneath—no bra, nipples peeking through the thin fabric of your tank. His jaw ticks, eyes locked on you as you lift it over your head and toss it aside.

He doesn’t move yet.

Just watches you.

“You wear these little fuckin’ shorts around my son like you don’t know what you’re doing.”

Your lip twitches. “Maybe I did it for you.”

He steps between your legs and drags the shorts down—rough, like he’s tearing them off. His hands roam up your thighs, spreading them apart, dragging his fingers over your panties, your slick already soaking through.

Toji leans down slowly. Breath warm against your core.

“I should’ve fucked you the second you put your hands on me,” he growls.

Then he dives in.

His tongue licks a flat, heavy stripe over your soaked panties before dragging them aside, and he starts to eat like he’s making up for all the weeks he held back.

It’s filthy. Loud. Wet.

His tongue plunges deep, nose pressed to your clit as he devours you, your hips grinding into his face. His hands pin your thighs down, fingers digging into your skin as he groans into your pussy like it’s the best meal he’s ever had.

You cry out, hands tangled in his hair. “T-Toji—fuck—”

“You like that?” he growls into your folds. “You like Daddy’s mouth on you?”

You whimper, back arching. “Yes, yes—please—”

He pulls away, face glistening, pupils blown wide.

Then he rips his sweats down and finally lets you see what you’ve been teasing. He’s thick, veined, huge—and already leaking for you. He strokes himself slowly, watching your eyes widen.

“Been thinkin’ about your tight little cunt since the second you walked into that apartment.”

He grabs your waist, flips you easily onto your stomach, and drags your hips back until your ass is pressed against his thighs.

No more games.

He slides in slow, stretching you open until you’re gasping—one inch at a time, your walls clenching tight.

“Fuck. You’re even tighter than I imagined,” he groans, voice ragged. “You wanna be a tease? Act like a brat?”

He slams into you suddenly, hips snapping forward.

“You’re gonna take all of it now.”

You cry out into the sheets as he sets a brutal pace—deep, punishing, hips smacking your ass with every thrust. His hand fists in your hair, yanking your head back so he can hear every moan you try to muffle.

“You wanna keep actin’ grown,” he pants in your ear, “then take this cock like a grown fuckin’ woman.”

Your legs shake. Your eyes roll back. He fucks you through the mattress, using you, body slamming into yours until the only sound in the room is skin on skin and your broken moans.

Then he flips you again—presses your knees to your chest and pounds into you from above. Your tits bounce with every thrust, and he watches with dark, wild eyes, hand pressing into your stomach to feel how deep he is.

“You feel that?” he growls. “That’s me. All the way inside. Right where you wanted me.”

Your orgasm hits hard—violent, your whole body trembling as he fucks you through it.

And he doesn’t stop.

Not until he’s buried deep, hips stuttering, groaning low in your ear as he fills you up with a long, guttural moan.

When it’s over, your body’s limp, used, shaking.

He leans down, breathing hard, mouth pressed to your ear.

“Next time you touch my abs,” he rasps, “you better be ready to ride me too.”

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