Jinn

nerd!gojo who binges porn almost every night imagining it’s you riding him until he cries. he cums so hard to the thought of your voice moaning his name that he has to muffle himself with a pillow.

nerd!gojo who definitely pulled strings to get into the same project group as you. thought he’d finally get to talk to you outside of class. instead you show up once, scroll on your phone for ten minutes, don’t even look at him, then bounce. he sits there with pouty face, telling himself it’s fine.

nerd!gojo who realizes pretty fast that you’re galaxies out of his league. you’re always surrounded by hot guys, pretty people, the kind who get invited to parties he’d never step foot in. he realizes you’d rather eat glass than breathe the same air as him. accepts it. cries about it in the shower anyway.

nerd!gojo who’s been pathetically, hopelessly in love with you for over two years now. you don’t even know his name half the time unless someone literally points him out. meanwhile you’re hopping from dick to dick like it’s a sport and he’s just the background character jerking off to the thought of being one of them.

nerd!gojo who almost has a heart attack when you actually walk up to him after class and ask if he’s free to “tutor” you. his brain short-circuits. he stammers, blushes red, blurts out some cheesy line so you won't think he's boring.

nerd!gojo whose heart jackhammers so hard he thinks it’s gonna crack a rib when you suggest grabbing food first. he can’t sit still in the cafe as he keeps fidgeting, leg bouncing, palms sweaty, because every time you lean forward your tits press together and he has to grip the table to keep from whimpering.

nerd!gojo who’s so painfully dumb about you that when you get to his house he genuinely thinks you’re there to study. pulls out textbooks, notes, starts explaining like his life depends on it. doesn’t clock the way you’re staring at his mouth, his hands, his lap—too busy trying not to cum in his pants from your perfume alone.

nerd!gojo who finally starts to catch on when you ask him to “demonstrate” male anatomy with “practical examples.” his face goes scarlet, cock throbbing so hard it hurts, but he’s still half-convinced this is some prank until you drag the zipper of your top down and your tits nearly spill out right in front of his face.

nerd!gojo who nearly blacks out when you spread your slick folds right in front of him like it’s a goddamn porn tutorial, legs wide on his bed, asking “will this help?” while your pussy glistens like sin. his hand’s already shaking on his cock, fighting not to bust right then.

nerd!gojo who’s trying so fucking hard not to cum early, biting his lip bloody, eyes glued to your dripping cunt like it’s the only thing keeping him alive because he can't believe you're in his room and on his bed.

nerd!gojo who loses the battle anyway, jerks himself fast and desperate, cumming all over his knuckles like a pathetic loser while whining your name under his breath, cheeks burning red because he can’t even last looking at you.

nerd!gojo who genuinely thinks he’s about to die when you climb on top, grab his still-leaking cock, and rub the swollen head through your folds, teasing him with filthy whispers before sinking down slow and tight.

nerd!gojo who cums embarrassingly fast seconds after he’s buried inside you, thick ropes flooding your pussy, hips jerking, eyes rolling back because holy fuck it’s better than every porn clip he’s ever jerked to.

nerd!gojo whose face completely changes after that second load—puppy eyes gone dark and hungry. he flips you onto your back, folds you into a perfect mating press sinking his dick into your wet heat.

nerd!gojo who finally unleashes years of pent-up obsession, fucking into you like he’s trying to carve his name inside your cunt. every thrust slams deep, cum from before squelching out around his cock, and he keeps filling you with his cum again and again until you’re overflowing.

nerd!gojo who gets rock-hard for the fourth time that night because he literally can’t get enough—cock twitching back to life while he’s still buried in you, mumbling “just one more, please” like a man possessed.

nerd!gojo who treats your body like a porn buffet, trying every position he’s ever jerked off to, eyes wide and frantic, chasing which one makes you scream his name loudest.

nerd!gojo who fucks you straight through the night until your vision blurs and your legs give out, passing out mid-thrust on his ruined sheets while he’s still whimpering into your neck.

nerd!gojo who’s a total little shit even in his sleep as he curls around you like a koala, latches his mouth onto your tit, and suckles softly while he drifts off, arms locked around your waist like he’s scared you’ll vanish.

nerd!gojo who wakes up panicked and almost cries when he finds the bed empty. spends ten minutes convinced the whole night was a fever dream, his dick still half-hard from the memory.

nerd!gojo who drags himself to class heartbroken, eyes red and puffy, until he spots you in your usual seat. lights up like the sun for half a second—then crashes when you don’t even glance his way.

nerd!gojo who nearly dies of happiness when you slip that tiny note onto his desk: “6 PM. Your place.” heart hammering so loud he’s sure everyone can hear it, already kicking his feet under the desk.

nerd!gojo who waits like an overexcited puppy, door open before you even knock, blushing and stammering while he sets out trays of cinnamon rolls, pastries, hot chocolate, all his favorite sweets like he’s trying to bribe you to stay.

nerd!gojo who gets a little sad but instantly horny when you cut through the sweetness and say “no wasting time,” pulling him on top of you and kissing up his neck like you own him.

nerd!gojo who swears your tits are the best thing he’s ever seen in his life as he slides his leaking cock between them, groaning like he’s dying while you tease his slit with kitten licks until he cums hard all over your chest, painting you like a canvas.

nerd!gojo who loses his fucking mind after that—fucks you like the world’s ending, flipping you through every porn position he’s ever bookmarked: missionary, doggy, mating press, face-down ass-up, spooning so he can whisper filthy praises in your ear.

nerd!gojo who’s a sneaky, greedy little shit—fucks you senseless until you black out on his sheets, then quietly snaps pics while you’re passed out, his mouth latched on your tit, his cheek smushed against your pussy, his cock nestled between your tits still leaking. saves every single one to his secret folder, heart racing because he knows you’d literally murder him if you ever found out.

nerd!gojo who’s been floating on cloud nine lately because you show up at his place every single day now. his cock, his puppy eyes, his desperate moans must be that fucking good, because you keep coming back like you’re addicted too.

nerd!gojo who’s fine, almost, with being your secret dick appointment as long as he gets to be with you. but he still craves more, so he tries to suck a dark hickey on your neck where everyone can see. but it backfires when you snap and threaten to ghost him for good if he pulls that shit again. he pouts like a kicked puppy for hours, his heart stinging.

nerd!gojo who completely loses it the first day you don’t show up. paces his room like a caged animal, shivering, stomach in knots, texting you paragraphs, calling until it goes straight to voicemail. anxiety chews him alive—did something happen? did you finally get sick of him? is this it?

nerd!gojo who spends the whole night curled in bed, eyes red, whispering “please come back” to the empty pillow that still smells like you, terrified you’ve abandoned him for good.

nerd!gojo who drags himself to class the next day hoping to see you, lights up when he spots your seat—then crashes when it’s empty again. days drag on like this. he finally breaks, corners your friends after lecture even though he knows you’d hate it, voice cracking as he asks “have you seen y/n?”

nerd!gojo who cries himself to sleep every night now, scrolling through those secret photos of you passed out on his bed—soft, vulnerable, his. the only proof you were ever real. studies forgotten, hobbies dead, just him and his broken heart and your ghost in his sheets.

nerd!gojo who almost stops breathing when you finally walk into class after days of nothing. he bolts up, runs to you like a moth to flame, only to get hit with your coldest tone—“what do you want, Gojo?”—like he’s a stranger. like the nights you screamed his name never happened.

nerd!gojo who sits through the rest of lecture suffocating, overhearing your friends chatter about a party tonight, about some guy you used to fuck who’s gonna be there, how you “always had a thing for him.” jealousy and sadness twist in his gut until he can’t take it—storms out, chair screeching, eyes damp.

nerd!gojo who disappears after that. goes straight home, collapses on his bed, cries until his throat’s raw and his eyes are swollen shut, heart bleeding out because he finally lost the one thing that made him feel alive.

nerd!gojo who has zero pride left when it comes to you—misses you so bad it’s physical pain. tracks down the party address like a desperate stalker, shows up shaking, just to see you, to beg, to breathe the same air.

nerd!gojo whose entire world rips in half when he peeks through the cracked door and sees you pressed against the wall, some guy’s mouth on yours, hands everywhere. he stands there frozen, tears streaming, watching like the pathetic fucking loser he’s always been afraid he is.

read the full fic here

“Oh, oh—try that mango one. mango makes everything better,” Gojo says, tugging lightly at your sleeve. “like, imagine it melting on your cunt while someone’s fingering you. so hot.”

You suck in a breath, eyes going wide. “t-toru!”

He just chuckles, shameless and unbothered, then leans down to whisper near your ear, “or do you prefer chocolate? because, bunny dipped in chocolate is a combo I’d pay for.”

You try not to combust on the spot. Nanami exhales deeply. “stop talking.”

Just then, a voice calls out from across the street, smooth and playful. “kento~!” Nanami turns, brows furrowed. Gojo does too.

And then her voice registers. You look just in time to see her. Tall, elegant, maybe in her early thirties, blonde waves swept back in a high twist, a sharp black blazer hugging her curves. Red lipstick. High heels. A smile that could kill.

Gojo whistles low. “damn. older women are always a blessing for my pretty eyes…”

You go quiet. Nanami's expression softens the second recognition hits. He smiles back, actually smiles and lifts a hand in greeting.

“Sweetheart,” he says gently to you, touching your shoulder. “pick something you like, hmm? I’ll be back in a minute.”

Your lips part to reply, but he's already walking across the street, not even waiting for it. Your heart sinks a little. Just a little.

Gojo keeps talking, mostly to himself. “you think she spanks men for fun? she gives off that boss lady vibe. shit, I’d let her tell me to sit, and I’d bark. proudly.”

You blink at him, mouth twitching, but your eyes keep slipping across the road. Nanami’s posture is relaxed, he’s not usually like that. The two of them talk, and she laughs, her hand brushing his forearm.

“Maybe I should get the vanilla,” you murmur, too soft.

"Mhmm you sure you're a vanilla girl?" Gojo smirks. He picks up a sample spoon, dips it into the pistachio, licks it once, then makes a face. “nah. that’s a bad head flavor. you want something creamy. like hazelnut. Or caramel. something that melts easy. so when it drips on your cunt, I can just lick…” he mimics licking it off his wrist.

You squeak, tugging at his shirt. “satoru… there are kids here…”

“These are life lessons,” he retorts with a wink.

Your attention drifts back across the road. Nanami’s laughing now. You pout slightly, eyes burning even though you tell yourself it’s nothing. Just an old friend. An ex, maybe. He’d never said. He wasn’t the type to hide things, but still… When they hug, something inside you twists. And then he’s coming back, straightening his sleeves, walking towards you.

“Have you picked?” he asks, voice smooth, eyes on you. You nod, pointing weakly to the blueberry cheesecake. Gojo hums something under his breath. You catch the words “lick” and “cream” but don’t want to ask. Nanami pays after a battle with Gojo.

You’re too quiet now, licking the corner of your spoon as you three begin walking home. Gojo talks enough for all three of you, arm slung lazily around your shoulders. You keep sneaking glances at Nanami, trying not to think of her laugh. The way he smiled at her. And beside you, Gojo’s fingers tap-tap along your shoulder, his voice low and smug.

The walk back home is filled with low chatter, Gojo is talking a mile a minute about some theory that somehow ties back to boobs and ice cream, but you don’t catch most of it. You’re quiet. Too quiet. Your fingers curl tighter around the paper cup in your hands, the ice cream inside mostly melted now. It tastes sweet on your tongue, but your expression doesn't match. You’re trying not to pout. Really, you are. But every time the image of that woman hugging Nanami flashes behind your eyes, something in your chest just drops. Gojo glances down at you as you trail beside him, head a little low.

“Hey, bunny,” he nudges you gently with his elbow. “you okay?”

You nod quickly.

“…didn’t like the ice cream, huh?”

You blink up at him. “no, it’s not that.”

“You’re pouting,” he says in your ear.

“I’m not,” you whisper back, even though you definitely are. Nanami slows his steps until he’s walking on your other side, eyes narrowing as he watches you. You don't meet his gaze.

“You cold?” he asks, already unzipping his coat.

You shake your head, but your voice betrays you. “I’m fine.”

He doesn’t listen, wrapping his coat over your shoulders anyway, hands lingering on your arms for a second longer than needed. The warmth makes you sink into the fabric without thinking.

“Thank you…” you murmur.

“You're quiet,” he says under his breath, like he’s filing that thought away.

When you reach the apartment, the door creaks open to the familiar scent of home. The living room is dim. Toji’s passed out on the couch, one arm draped over his face, mouth open slightly. Geto’s door is shut, faint music playing behind it. You toe off your shoes quietly, still wrapped in Nanami’s coat.

Gojo, of course, doesn’t know how to be quiet. The moment you try to step into your room, he squeezes in right behind you. “hey, hey—don’t shut me out. I missed you.”

“I was with you this morning, though,” you whisper, glancing at Nanami over your shoulder.

Gojo grins. “yeah, when you were bouncing on my cock and making the prettiest little sobs I’ve ever heard. doesn’t count as ‘quality time’.”

Your face turns crimson. “satoruu!!!”

He steps closer, arms ready to wrap around you, when Nanami grabs the back of his collar and yanks him out of your doorway like a misbehaving mutt.

Gojo stumbles back into the hallway. “HEY! RUDE.” Nanami slips inside your room and closes the door behind him firmly.

Gojo starts a full-blown tantrum outside. “you two are selfish! I offer free love and look what I get! used and thrown away like fuckin' trash—”

“Gojo, bed. now.” Nanami snaps.

Gojo groans. “ughhhh. fiiine. just so you know, this is why I’m emotionally distant with men.” You hear him muttering something about being “underappreciated” as he stomps off to his room.

The door clicks softly behind him. Now it’s quiet. Nanami exhales, hands loosening as he approaches you. His eyes are softer now, searching your face. “did you enjoy the ice cream?”

You hesitate, then nod.

He steps closer. “you sure you’re alright… from last night?”

You glance down at your legs, where his grip had bloomed purple over your skin. You nod again, more firm this time. “I’m okay,” you whisper.

He cups your face gently and kisses you deep, warm, lips pressing slow like he means it. You lean into him without thinking, letting his hand slide to your back. When he pulls away, his voice is low. “alright, sweetheart. get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning.”

He starts toward the door. Your heart panics, speaking before you think, with trembling voice. “..uhmm… nanami?”

He pauses, hand on the knob, looking over his shoulder. “yeah, baby?”

You shuffle in place, wringing your fingers. “I… uhh… can… can we… I-I wanna…”

His brows lift slightly as he turns to face you fully. “hmm?”

Your throat goes dry. “I wanna… do it.”

His expression shifts, amusement curving his lips, but his voice stays warm. “Oh?” he hums, stepping toward you again. “are you saying you want me to fuck you, dear?”

You nod once, face burning. He tilts your chin up with two fingers. “who am I to say no to that?”

He kisses you again, deeper, his tongue slow and thorough like he’s savoring the shape of your mouth. Then, he lifts you gently and lays you across your bed. His hands unbutton your top carefully like he’s unwrapping something rare.

“Such a shy little thing…” he murmurs, dragging his fingers down your chest. “but look at you asking for my cock. you must’ve missed it, hmm?”

You whimper softly. “… yeah.”

He smiles. “then I’ll give it to you. nice and slow.”

The room fills with soft gasps and the shuffle of fabric. Nanami’s mouth maps every inch of your skin, tongue warm, lips dragging over your neck, collarbone, breasts, thighs. He kisses every bruise he left before.

“Sorry,” he whispers each time. “you were too good… couldn’t help myself.”

He doesn’t fuck you. Not yet. First, he worships you. Hands firm on your thighs, spreading you, he licks your cunt like a man starved, slow and precise, tongue swirling around your clit, letting your moans get louder and messier until you’re writhing and clinging to the sheets. Only then does he finally slide into you inch by slow inch, watching your face the whole time.

“You always take me so well,” he breathes, groaning against your neck. “so tight like your pussy doesn’t wanna let me go.”

You’re gasping, arms around his shoulders, every stroke making your mind blur. His hips move slow and deep, kissing the ache in your belly. His hand sneaks between your legs to rub you just right, making you cry out.

“Shh, shh… I got you,” he whispers. “you’re doing so good, baby.”

By the end, your skin is slick with sweat, your thighs trembling, every nerve burning in the best way. He stays buried inside you as you both pant for air, foreheads pressed together. Then, he pulls out and gathers you close, arms snug around your waist. You’re tucked in his chest, your leg thrown over his, fingers tracing small circles on his ribs.

“…Nanamin, can I… ask you something?”

His voice was still thick with post-orgasm bliss, low and soft against your temple. "oh? what is it, dear? need something? water?"

You shook your head slowly, cheek still pressed to his chest where you could hear the steady beat of his heart. "... do you like my hair?"

He blinked, pulling back slightly to look down at you, brows slightly furrowed. "huh? yeah, baby—of course I do. your hair's just as pretty as you. why ask me that all of a sudden?"

You avoided his eyes, fiddling with a strand of your hair nervously. "nothing, just..." you mumbled, "I was wondering if I should colour it."

Nanami hummed and brought a hand to your head, threading his fingers through your hair and tugging you closer until your chest brushed against his. "hmm? why, baby? I mean, if you want to, of course. what colour do you have in mind, hmm?" he asked, voice turning warm again as he tilted his head and nuzzled into your chest. He licked over your nipple suddenly, making you jerk slightly.

"Ahhh! nghh... uhmm... do you think I’d look prettier in blonde?"

He paused to press a kiss against your tit, then glanced up. "blonde? hmm. well, I think black suits your eyes more, makes you look soft and sweet."

Another slow lick over your nipple. "but yeah, you’d still be pretty in blonde. you’d look pretty with anything."

You blinked down at him. "Ohh... hmm... okay..."

He raised an eyebrow, then chuckled softly. "why sweetheart? did gojo ask you to colour your hair?"

You quickly shook your head, lips pressing together. Nanami smirked and leaned up to kiss your lips, a slow, lingering kiss that soothed your nerves. You gently pulled away, slipping from the bed, naked still, as your eyes caught sight of his coat on the table. You padded over, slipped it over your shoulders, and hugged the fabric close. Nanami sat up on the bed, admiring the view with a soft groan.

"Nanamin… do I look good in this?"

His eyes dragged over you hungry and admiring, as he huffed a little laugh. "In a blazer? course, yeah. you look like a boss lady who’s about to ruin a man’s life."

You blushed a little, biting your lip. "s-so… does this style suit me more?"

He narrowed his eyes, sensing the undertone in your voice. "you look good in everything, baby. no matter what you wear."

You hesitated, then mumbled, "but... do you like this type of dress more than… my usual?"

Nanami stood, walking over to you completely naked, still semi-hard and completely unbothered by it. He wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you in. "I didn’t say that," he kissed your forehead. "I said you always look pretty. whatever you wear."

You stared up at him with wide eyes before dragging him back to bed and slowly sitting on his lap, facing him skin to skin now, his cock twitching against your thigh. You curled your arms around his neck.

"Can I ask you something again?" you asked quietly. He smirked, brushing his thumb along your jaw.

"Oh? you sure have a lot of questions tonight. come on, ask me."

"Who… was that woman?"

You tried to sound casual, keeping your tone soft, neutral. But he picked up on it right away. Nanami blinked, then gave a small exhale. "an ex-colleague. we worked together for about five years."

"Were you close with her?"

"Not really. just professional stuff. I saw her today after more than a year."

Your fingers fidgeted with the hem of the coat. "are you going to see her again?"

Nanami tilted his head slightly. "she did mention grabbing a coffee sometime to catch up. why, dear?"

You looked away. "no… nothing..."

He went quiet for a moment. The silence hung in the air before you whispered again. "..umm... nanamin?"

"Yes, love?"

You took a shaky breath. "do you like... women your age more?"

He blinked, brows furrowing, before his face broke into an incredulous little chuckle. "Ohh... so this is what it’s about, huh?"

"Wh-what—" you quickly shook your head, eyes wide and cheeks burning.

"Jealous, dear?"

"I’m not—jealous! why would I be—"

"Mmmhm." he leaned in, kissing your pout. "my pretty little girl’s all possessive for me, huh?"

You looked away again. He cradled your face with one hand and murmured, "she’s just an old friend, baby. married. has kids. even if she wasn’t—it wouldn’t matter." He pulled your face back to his. "I have you. yeah?"

You looked into his eyes, soft and hopeful. "promise?" He smiled and then bit down on your nipple without warning. "ah! nanamin!"

"Promise." He grinned, lips tugging at your sensitive flesh before letting go with a wet pop. "jealousy looks real good on you, baby..." He moved to your other nipple and sucked hard, swirling his tongue. "...but you’d look even better bouncing on my cock again, wouldn’t you?"

You slapped a hand over his mouth, cheeks flushed. "don’t say that!"

He laughed against your skin, licking your palm teasingly before pulling your hand down and murmuring, "c’mon... just one more round, yeah? wanna fill you up, make sure you know who you belong to."

His hands slid down to your ass, squeezing tight. "you’re not leaving this bed till I’ve fucked that jealousy right out of you, baby."

Your breath caught in your throat as he lifted you effortlessly, lining you up on his cock again and then he paused, smirking, "still wanna question me, sweetheart? or are you ready to get fucked dumb again?"

Since then, you avoid him as much as possible. You eat at different times, use the other staircase, and pretend he doesn’t exist when he walks by in sweatpants and zero shame.

It’s a delicate system. You stay out of each other’s way, and the house stays quiet.

Until tonight.

The others went out—your mom and her husband doing whatever rich people do when they say “business dinner.” The staff had gone home hours ago. House was dead silent, except for the hum of the AC and the faint noise of the TV upstairs.

You were sprawled on the couch, watching some random show, too lazy to go to your room. The glow from the screen flickered over the glass railing, throwing light on the expensive decor you still weren’t used to.

You weren’t thinking about him. You never try to think about him. He just shows up in your head like a song you hate but know every word to.

The guy’s too pretty for his own good. Snowy silk hair, those ridiculous blue eyes, the kind of confidence that makes you want to throw a punch. Still, you’ve caught yourself looking far more times than you’ll admit, but you always end up annoyed after. All that beauty wasted on a prick like him. Some people win the genetic lottery and still manage to act like jerks.

What a fuckin' shame.

The soft glow of the TV blurred at the edges as your eyes grew heavier and heavier. Couch was warm, the blanket softer than it looked, and before you realized, your phone slipped from your hand, screen dimming out. You were out cold.

And down the hall, Gojo’s door creaked open.

He stepped out, jacket slung over one shoulder, keys in hand, probably heading out to do whatever rich, bored boys do on a friday night.

He was halfway down the hallway when he saw you, making him stop dead in his tracks. He hadn’t expected you to be here.

You were sprawled on the leather couch, head tilted back, mouth slightly open. One arm dangled off the edge, fingers brushing the floor. The neck of your tshirt had ridden down, twisted just enough to bare your left breast completely. The nipple was stiff in the AC’s chill, the curve heavy and full against your ribcage.

He’d never seen you like this. Vulnerable and exposed, not the annoying girl he looked down for invading his space. His gaze locked on the swell of flesh, the way it spilled slightly under your arm.

He knew they were big, couldn’t miss it with those tight tops you wore, parading around him—but seeing it like this, offered up for him? His cock throbbed hard against his zipper, a hot, insistent ache. He took a step closer, the carpet muffling his movements.

Such a fuckin’ whore, aren’t you? the audacity of yours to be in his house, spread out on his couch, tits out like a desperate slut, hoping his pretty hands would end up all over you. Isn't that right?

As if he’d ever touch something as lowly as you.

His fngers twitched at his sides. He’d come over meaning to yank that shirt back up, hide the tempting swell of your tit before it drove him insane. But the hand had a mind of its own. It drifted forward instead, palm hovering just above your bare skin, close enough to feel the warmth rising off you.

Your chest rose and fell in soft, steady breaths, that pretty nipple tightening even more under the cool air.

Just gonna cover this bitch up, he told himself.

Bullshit. His little friend down there told another story. It was strained hard against his slacks, thick and throbbing, calling him a liar with every pulse.

His thumb brushed the soft underside first, feather-light and testing. It was warm. So fucking soft it made his mouth water. He swallowed thickly, the other hand gripping the armrest for control. Then he gave in, palming the full heavy weight of your tit, fingers spreading wide to claim it. A gentle squeeze made the soft flesh spill between them as his thumb dragged slow, deliberate circles around that stiff peak, teasing it harder.

A low groan escaped him when you shifted slightly in sleep, arching your back just enough to push your tit deeper into his hand.

He groaned low and pinched the nipple between thumb and forefinger, rolling it. It pebbled tighter, and he felt his own pulse hammering in his throat. He massaged it slowly, feeling the bud stiffen impossibly harder under his fingers.

He wanted to pull back, needed to, but the urge to feel more, taste it, was a fever in his blood. His eyes darted to the hallway, empty and silent. Swallowing hard, he sank to his knees beside the couch, the leather creaking softly under his shifting weight.

Just a taste, he bargained with the throbbing ache in his gut. He leaned in and dragged his tongue in one long, sloppy wet stripe from the soft underside of your tit all the way up to that stiff nipple. A deep, guttural moan tore from his throat at the taste of your warm skin. Then his mouth closed over it, sucking your nipple deep between his lips. Flicking the hard bud fast and filthy with his tongue, sucking hard enough to pull your soft flesh into the wet heat of his mouth. He released it with a wet pop, strings of spit connecting his lips to your swollen bud, only to latch back on even harder, nursing it like he was trying to milk you.

His free hand yanked the neck of your t-shirt down roughly, fully exposing your other breast. Both of your fat tits were out now— soft and glistening with his spit.

The sight punched the air from his lungs. His free hand slid across your stomach as he reached your other breast. Grabbing it softly, fingers spreading wide to cradle the heavy weight, trying not to wake you, trying to pretend this wasn’t happening. He massaged both tits now, kneading them like dough, pulling and squeezing until your nipples were puffy, swollen nubs.

He wanted to stop. Should stop, but his hips ground against the couch edge, cock making a sticky mess in his pants.

He couldn’t fight it anymore. With a rough yank, he ripped his slacks open and shoved them down his thighs, letting his fat cock spring free, drooling sticky strings of pre-cum from the slit like it was already begging to breed something. He wrapped his big hand around the shaft, groaning deep as he squeezed it hard enough to make the veins bulge.

He started pumping it fast, thumb smearing the leaking mess all over the fat head with every brutal upward stroke. At the same time he dove back down, sucking your nipple back into his greedy mouth.

Wet, obscene sounds filled the silent room— the slick of his fist flying over his dick mixed with his hungry breaths. He nursed your tit, hard wet pulls that made the soft flesh bounce in his grip, spit running down the curve of it.

But it still wasn’t enough for the greedy bastard. Mind kept flashing to your untouched cunt, probably leaking under those tiny shorts. Just the thought made his heavy balls draw up tight, forcing another thick pulse of pre to spill over his knuckles. It had his fingers dug into your tit too hard, leaving angry red marks.

He froze, breath catching. "Shit. Did I wake her?"

But you shifted, twisting away and burying your face into the couch cushions. Your back arched so prettily as you pulled from him.

His mouth lost your nipple with a wet pop, and a frustrated growl rumbled deep in his chest. Eyes dragging down the delicious dip of your waist, straight to those shorts that were doing a piss-poor job of hiding what belonged to him.

Round, perky ass— plump, and practically begging to be spread open and used. The fabric stretched taut over each cheeks, outlining their fullness while you lay on your side, a gift he was dying to unwrap.

Fuck... all this time?

There had been an ass like this right under his roof, sitting within arm’s reach every single day, and he’d never bothered to use it? How the hell had he been this goddamn ignorant?

His cock jumped eagerly as he kept stroking. He needed those shorts gone. Needed to see that bare cunt right fucking now.

He leaned in close, fingers hooking into the waistband of your cotton shorts, tugging them down slow, watching the fabric peel off your hips and bunch at your knees, revealing twin globes of perfect flesh.

Shit... this was what he’d been ignoring all this time? the arrogant prick in him wanted to laugh at how blind he’d been. He needed to ruin it. Needed to cover those plump cheeks in thick ropes of his cum until it dripped down your skin.

His thumbs dug deep into the soft flesh, spreading your ass wide open. There she was— a pretty cunt, puffy and shiny with slick and the little hole clenching around nothing.

“Look at that,” he muttered, letting out a low whistle. His index finger slid through your soaked folds, dragging all that warm slick up to your clit before he started rubbing it in rough, slow circles. You whimpered softly, hips shifting and pushing back against his hand like your greedy pussy already knew it was him.

He kept rubbing your pussy with slow strokes, slick coating his fingertip as it slid effortlessly over the mess. He could feel every pulse and throb, your cunt practically sucking at the air. He bit his lip bloody holding back from shoving his dick into that tight hole right fucking now. Wanting to fuck you stupid, to feel the gummy walls choke him, the thought of it nearly buckled his knees. With a groan, he pulled his finger back, thick string of slick connecting to your pussy for a second before snapping.

Without hesitation, he shoved them into his mouth, sucking hard. The taste exploded on his tongue and his eyes rolled back in pure ecstasy.

At that hell of a moment all he wanted was to be balls deep in that fuck hole, slide in and out until it milked him dry. But the clock was ticking. He had somewhere he needs to be. Jaw clenched, he grabbed his aching dick, pumping it roughly in his fist, finally aiming it between your thighs.

The swollen head dragged through your soaked folds, smearing your slick over his throbbing tip. He bit back a moan, teeth grinding as he rubbed himself against your pussy, everything too much.

Heaven wasn’t some distant dream—it was right here, between your thighs, in your leaking cunt. Gojo was already at his fucking limit, cock sliding through your soaked folds once, twice—and the swollen head caught on your clit on the third thrust, rubbing hard against that swollen bud.

That was it.

Three slides of his cock on your folds and it was endgame for the mighty Satoru gojo. He covered his own mouth as his hips jerked forward uncontrollably. Thick, hot ropes of cum exploded from his cock, splattering across your bare cunt in thick, white stripes. It pulsed out of him in violent spurts, painting your glistening flesh with sticky streaks.

Satoru’s sat on his knees, chest heaving, eyes dark and smug, and yeah… he knows exactly what the fuck just happened.

Does he feel even a hint of guilt?

Hell no. Not even a shred. And why would he? The bastard loved every second of it. He even had the audacity to pull back your shorts like he was done using your hole, not even giving a damn what you’d think when you woke up.

That’s the fun part—letting you wake up, piecing it all together, maybe stumbling into him later, cheeks flushed, begging for it and even if you didn't, it doesn't matter cause he takes what he wants anyways.

And let’s be real… how could you even say no to that face? That cocky, impossible, infuriatingly perfect face? You can’t.

Nobody says no to Gojo Satoru. And he knows it.

Since then, you avoid him as much as possible. You eat at different times, use the other staircase, and pretend he doesn’t exist when he walks by in sweatpants and zero shame.

It’s a delicate system. You stay out of each other’s way, and the house stays quiet.

Until tonight.

The others went out—your mom and her husband doing whatever rich people do when they say “business dinner.” The staff had gone home hours ago. House was dead silent, except for the hum of the AC and the faint noise of the TV upstairs.

You were sprawled on the couch, watching some random show, too lazy to go to your room. The glow from the screen flickered over the glass railing, throwing light on the expensive decor you still weren’t used to.

You weren’t thinking about him. You never try to think about him. He just shows up in your head like a song you hate but know every word to.

The guy’s too pretty for his own good. Snowy silk hair, those ridiculous blue eyes, the kind of confidence that makes you want to throw a punch. Still, you’ve caught yourself looking far more times than you’ll admit, but you always end up annoyed after. All that beauty wasted on a prick like him. Some people win the genetic lottery and still manage to act like jerks.

What a fuckin' shame.

The soft glow of the TV blurred at the edges as your eyes grew heavier and heavier. Couch was warm, the blanket softer than it looked, and before you realized, your phone slipped from your hand, screen dimming out. You were out cold.

And down the hall, Gojo’s door creaked open.

He stepped out, jacket slung over one shoulder, keys in hand, probably heading out to do whatever rich, bored boys do on a friday night.

He was halfway down the hallway when he saw you, making him stop dead in his tracks. He hadn’t expected you to be here.

You were sprawled on the leather couch, head tilted back, mouth slightly open. One arm dangled off the edge, fingers brushing the floor. The neck of your tshirt had ridden down, twisted just enough to bare your left breast completely. The nipple was stiff in the AC’s chill, the curve heavy and full against your ribcage.

He’d never seen you like this. Vulnerable and exposed, not the annoying girl he looked down for invading his space. His gaze locked on the swell of flesh, the way it spilled slightly under your arm.

He knew they were big, couldn’t miss it with those tight tops you wore, parading around him—but seeing it like this, offered up for him? His cock throbbed hard against his zipper, a hot, insistent ache. He took a step closer, the carpet muffling his movements.

Such a fuckin’ whore, aren’t you? the audacity of yours to be in his house, spread out on his couch, tits out like a desperate slut, hoping his pretty hands would end up all over you. Isn't that right?

As if he’d ever touch something as lowly as you.

His fngers twitched at his sides. He’d come over meaning to yank that shirt back up, hide the tempting swell of your tit before it drove him insane. But the hand had a mind of its own. It drifted forward instead, palm hovering just above your bare skin, close enough to feel the warmth rising off you.

Your chest rose and fell in soft, steady breaths, that pretty nipple tightening even more under the cool air.

Just gonna cover this bitch up, he told himself.

Bullshit. His little friend down there told another story. It was strained hard against his slacks, thick and throbbing, calling him a liar with every pulse.

His thumb brushed the soft underside first, feather-light and testing. It was warm. So fucking soft it made his mouth water. He swallowed thickly, the other hand gripping the armrest for control. Then he gave in, palming the full heavy weight of your tit, fingers spreading wide to claim it. A gentle squeeze made the soft flesh spill between them as his thumb dragged slow, deliberate circles around that stiff peak, teasing it harder.

A low groan escaped him when you shifted slightly in sleep, arching your back just enough to push your tit deeper into his hand.

He groaned low and pinched the nipple between thumb and forefinger, rolling it. It pebbled tighter, and he felt his own pulse hammering in his throat. He massaged it slowly, feeling the bud stiffen impossibly harder under his fingers.

He wanted to pull back, needed to, but the urge to feel more, taste it, was a fever in his blood. His eyes darted to the hallway, empty and silent. Swallowing hard, he sank to his knees beside the couch, the leather creaking softly under his shifting weight.

Just a taste, he bargained with the throbbing ache in his gut. He leaned in and dragged his tongue in one long, sloppy wet stripe from the soft underside of your tit all the way up to that stiff nipple. A deep, guttural moan tore from his throat at the taste of your warm skin. Then his mouth closed over it, sucking your nipple deep between his lips. Flicking the hard bud fast and filthy with his tongue, sucking hard enough to pull your soft flesh into the wet heat of his mouth. He released it with a wet pop, strings of spit connecting his lips to your swollen bud, only to latch back on even harder, nursing it like he was trying to milk you.

His free hand yanked the neck of your t-shirt down roughly, fully exposing your other breast. Both of your fat tits were out now— soft and glistening with his spit.

The sight punched the air from his lungs. His free hand slid across your stomach as he reached your other breast. Grabbing it softly, fingers spreading wide to cradle the heavy weight, trying not to wake you, trying to pretend this wasn’t happening. He massaged both tits now, kneading them like dough, pulling and squeezing until your nipples were puffy, swollen nubs.

He wanted to stop. Should stop, but his hips ground against the couch edge, cock making a sticky mess in his pants.

He couldn’t fight it anymore. With a rough yank, he ripped his slacks open and shoved them down his thighs, letting his fat cock spring free, drooling sticky strings of pre-cum from the slit like it was already begging to breed something. He wrapped his big hand around the shaft, groaning deep as he squeezed it hard enough to make the veins bulge.

He started pumping it fast, thumb smearing the leaking mess all over the fat head with every brutal upward stroke. At the same time he dove back down, sucking your nipple back into his greedy mouth.

Wet, obscene sounds filled the silent room— the slick of his fist flying over his dick mixed with his hungry breaths. He nursed your tit, hard wet pulls that made the soft flesh bounce in his grip, spit running down the curve of it.

But it still wasn’t enough for the greedy bastard. Mind kept flashing to your untouched cunt, probably leaking under those tiny shorts. Just the thought made his heavy balls draw up tight, forcing another thick pulse of pre to spill over his knuckles. It had his fingers dug into your tit too hard, leaving angry red marks.

He froze, breath catching. "Shit. Did I wake her?"

But you shifted, twisting away and burying your face into the couch cushions. Your back arched so prettily as you pulled from him.

His mouth lost your nipple with a wet pop, and a frustrated growl rumbled deep in his chest. Eyes dragging down the delicious dip of your waist, straight to those shorts that were doing a piss-poor job of hiding what belonged to him.

Round, perky ass— plump, and practically begging to be spread open and used. The fabric stretched taut over each cheeks, outlining their fullness while you lay on your side, a gift he was dying to unwrap.

Fuck... all this time?

There had been an ass like this right under his roof, sitting within arm’s reach every single day, and he’d never bothered to use it? How the hell had he been this goddamn ignorant?

His cock jumped eagerly as he kept stroking. He needed those shorts gone. Needed to see that bare cunt right fucking now.

He leaned in close, fingers hooking into the waistband of your cotton shorts, tugging them down slow, watching the fabric peel off your hips and bunch at your knees, revealing twin globes of perfect flesh.

Shit... this was what he’d been ignoring all this time? the arrogant prick in him wanted to laugh at how blind he’d been. He needed to ruin it. Needed to cover those plump cheeks in thick ropes of his cum until it dripped down your skin.

His thumbs dug deep into the soft flesh, spreading your ass wide open. There she was— a pretty cunt, puffy and shiny with slick and the little hole clenching around nothing.

“Look at that,” he muttered, letting out a low whistle. His index finger slid through your soaked folds, dragging all that warm slick up to your clit before he started rubbing it in rough, slow circles. You whimpered softly, hips shifting and pushing back against his hand like your greedy pussy already knew it was him.

He kept rubbing your pussy with slow strokes, slick coating his fingertip as it slid effortlessly over the mess. He could feel every pulse and throb, your cunt practically sucking at the air. He bit his lip bloody holding back from shoving his dick into that tight hole right fucking now. Wanting to fuck you stupid, to feel the gummy walls choke him, the thought of it nearly buckled his knees. With a groan, he pulled his finger back, thick string of slick connecting to your pussy for a second before snapping.

Without hesitation, he shoved them into his mouth, sucking hard. The taste exploded on his tongue and his eyes rolled back in pure ecstasy.

At that hell of a moment all he wanted was to be balls deep in that fuck hole, slide in and out until it milked him dry. But the clock was ticking. He had somewhere he needs to be. Jaw clenched, he grabbed his aching dick, pumping it roughly in his fist, finally aiming it between your thighs.

The swollen head dragged through your soaked folds, smearing your slick over his throbbing tip. He bit back a moan, teeth grinding as he rubbed himself against your pussy, everything too much.

Heaven wasn’t some distant dream—it was right here, between your thighs, in your leaking cunt. Gojo was already at his fucking limit, cock sliding through your soaked folds once, twice—and the swollen head caught on your clit on the third thrust, rubbing hard against that swollen bud.

That was it.

Three slides of his cock on your folds and it was endgame for the mighty Satoru gojo. He covered his own mouth as his hips jerked forward uncontrollably. Thick, hot ropes of cum exploded from his cock, splattering across your bare cunt in thick, white stripes. It pulsed out of him in violent spurts, painting your glistening flesh with sticky streaks.

Satoru’s sat on his knees, chest heaving, eyes dark and smug, and yeah… he knows exactly what the fuck just happened.

Does he feel even a hint of guilt?

Hell no. Not even a shred. And why would he? The bastard loved every second of it. He even had the audacity to pull back your shorts like he was done using your hole, not even giving a damn what you’d think when you woke up.

That’s the fun part—letting you wake up, piecing it all together, maybe stumbling into him later, cheeks flushed, begging for it and even if you didn't, it doesn't matter cause he takes what he wants anyways.

And let’s be real… how could you even say no to that face? That cocky, impossible, infuriatingly perfect face? You can’t.

Nobody says no to Gojo Satoru. And he knows it.

He squinted at you, smirking as if sizing you up for a fight he already knew he’d win. "You’re the brat, then?" he asked, voice dripping with amusement and something rougher underneath it.

You narrowed your eyes, sitting up straighter. "Excuse me?"

"I said," he drawled, throwing his jacket onto a chair like he couldn’t give a shit about the million-dollar decor, "you’re the little princess I’m supposed to babysit."

You scoffed, tossing your phone down. "I'm nineteen, asshole. Not five."

He just chuckled, deep and lazy, like you amused him way more than you should. "Could’ve fooled me," he said, eyes raking over your shorty shorts and tight tank top without shame. "Walkin' around dressed like that... no fuckin' wonder your old man’s losin' sleep."

Your cheeks heated instantly, but you refused to let him see it. "You're disgusting," you hissed.

Toji grinned wider, teeth sharp. "Mmhmm. And you’re spoiled."

You stood up, walking towards him with that signature strut — the one that made the staff scatter when you were in a mood. He didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink.

God, he was infuriating.

"You work for me now, y'know," you said sweetly, batting your lashes. "Which means you listen to me."

He raised a brow, clearly unimpressed. "Nah, Princess. I listen to your daddy's orders. Big difference."

You glared at him. "You're gonna regret underestimating me."

"Already doin' that," he said, ruffling your hair roughly like you were a kid.

You shrieked, smacking his hand away. "Don't touch me, you fucker!"

He just laughed, full-bellied and so goddamn smug, crossing his arms over his massive chest. "You’re gonna be a real fuckin' joy, huh?"

**********

The coming days were hell — for you.

Everywhere you went, Toji was there.

Shopping? He leaned against the dressing room wall, arms crossed, making comments every time you tried on something tight. Café date with friends? He sat at the next table, sipping coffee like a bored dad while your friends whispered about his muscles. Spa day? Cinema night? Fucking brunch? He was there. Always.

And no matter how much you whined, stomped, sweet-talked, or snapped, Toji didn’t budge. He wasn't like the staff who melted at your bratty little tantrums. He enjoyed watching you get all worked up.

"You’re like a damn kitten, y'know that?" Toji said one day as you shoved shopping bags into his arms.

"Better than being a brainless meathead!" you shot back instantly.

He just gave you a slow, dangerous smile. "Brainless, huh? You’re real brave talkin' like that... while hidin' behind Daddy’s money."

You gasped, scandalized. "You— you—!"

"You," he mimicked in a high-pitched whine, teasing you like you were five.

You were seething, cheeks hot with fury. But fuck if your heart wasn’t racing for a different reason.

That night, you lay in bed, tossing and turning, the image of Toji's lazy smirk burned behind your eyelids.

God, you hated him. God, you hated how he made your thighs press together under the sheets. God, you hated that he treated you like some bratty kid who needed to be handled.

Handled. The word made you squirm.

You huffed, burying your face into the pillow. "Fucking asshole."

From the other side of the door, you could hear his heavy boots pacing the hallway — guarding you. Always. Watching. Even when you didn't ask for it. Even when you didn’t know you needed it.

**********

The next morning was no better. You burst into the dining room, still in your silk pajamas, finding him at the table, eating "your" breakfast like he lived here.

"Hey!" you snapped. "That's not for you!"

Toji licked jam off his thumb, lazy and unbothered. "Tell your old man to fire me, Princess. Otherwise? Suck it up."

You stomped your foot. "I hate you."

He smirked. "Yeah? You sure bark real pretty for someone so tough."

You blinked. "What?!"

He winked at you and stood, stretching his thick arms overhead, muscles rippling under his black t-shirt. "Keep barkin', baby," he said, walking past you, ruffling your hair again just to piss you off. "One day you’re gonna find out what happens to mouthy little brats who poke the bear."

Your heart stopped. He said it so low. So dark. So full of promise. You hated how it made your stomach flip. You hated how you wanted to find out exactly what he meant.

You were so over it.

So over Toji's shadow dogging your every damn step like you were some helpless little princess in a tower. Because today was supposed to be a chill day — brunch with your friends, a little shopping, maybe a mani-pedi if you felt like it. Not a "let's bring the grumpy, musclehead bodyguard to ruin the mood" kind of day.

You peeked out from your bathroom, watching Toji lean against the front doorway, thumbing lazily through his phone. He didn't even need to look at you to know you were up to something.

"'Bout time you stopped starin'," he muttered without lifting his gaze.

You rolled your eyes so hard they hurt. "You're so full of yourself."

"You’re so fuckin' obvious," he countered, finally glancing up at you, and goddamn, the way his dark green eyes raked over your outfit was criminal. Tight jeans, little cropped top, platform shoes — you looked like trouble, and you knew it.

"Where you think you’re goin' dressed like that, Princess?" he asked, pocketing his phone.

"Out." You tossed your hair dramatically. "You don't need to know where."

"Funny," he said, pushing off the wall, towering over you effortlessly. "Pretty sure that's exactly my fuckin' job."

You jutted your chin out, standing your ground even though your heart raced stupidly. "I’m an adult. I don’t need permission," you sniffed, swiping your bag off the table.

Toji snorted. "Yeah? Tell that to your daddy when he finds out you got yourself snatched up ‘cause you’re too dumb to think straight."

You gasped, genuinely offended. "I am not dumb!"

He leaned down real close, smirking when you instinctively backed into the wall. His voice dropped, rough and low. "Then don’t act like it, sweetheart."

Your skin prickled under his gaze. God, you hated him. God, you hated how he made you feel small without even touching you. God, you hated how you kinda... liked it.

You pushed past him with a huff, heart hammering.

Of course, Toji tailed you and your friends like a looming, silent demon the entire afternoon. You tried ignoring him, giggling with your girlfriends, posing for selfies, pretending you weren’t hyper-aware of his heavy stare every second. But the itch under your skin only grew.

So, when your bestie whispered about a new underground bar nearby, very much not somewhere a "good girl" should go, an idea sparked.

You could ditch him. Just for a little while. He couldn't control you forever. Right?

"Bathroom break," you chirped, slinking off from the crowded café.

Toji didn’t even glance up from his black coffee.

"Boys' bathroom's that way, brat."

"Har-har," you mocked under your breath, flipping him off as you walked towards the back hall. Except you didn’t head for the bathrooms. You slipped out the side door, heart pounding, texting your friends to meet you at the bar.

Freedom tasted so sweet.

Or at least, it did for about twenty minutes. You barely had time to order a drink when a heavy hand clamped around your arm, dragging you off your barstool. You yelped, whipping around, only to crash right into Toji's chest. His jaw was clenched so tight you thought it might snap.

"What the fuck do you think you're doin', Princess?" he growled low enough only you could hear.

You squirmed, trying to shake him off. "Let go! I’m not a fuckin kid!"

He dragged you out of the bar effortlessly, like you weighed nothing. You kicked at his shins, punched his arm, huffed and cussed, but he didn’t even flinch. When he finally stopped, slamming you gently but firmly against a shadowed alley wall, you were panting with fury.

"You coulda gotten hurt, y'know that?" he hissed, towering over you, fists clenched.

"Ugh, why do you even care?!" you snapped. "You don't own me!"

He leaned down until your noses nearly brushed, his voice a dangerous rumble. "No. But your old man paid me a shitload to keep you breathin'. And brat, if you keep pullin' stunts like this..." His eyes darkened. "One day I might not fuckin' save you."

You froze. Your chest heaved with emotion, rage, humiliation, something hotter under the surface you didn’t dare name. He stared down at you, breathing hard, muscles tensed like he was barely restraining himself.

You lifted your chin, defiant even with your heart hammering in your throat. "Maybe I don't want to be saved," you whispered.

The look he gave you?

Like a wolf staring down a very stupid little rabbit. A muscle ticked in his jaw. His hand twitched at his side, like he was debating grabbing you again. But instead, Toji backed off slowly, running a hand through his messy dark hair.

"You're a fuckin' menace," he muttered.

You smirked. "Takes one to know one."

He huffed a short, humorless laugh. "Keep runnin' that mouth, Princess. Sooner or later you’re gonna find yourself bent over my knee," he said darkly, voice rough with warning.

You bit your lip, and this time you weren’t sure if it was to hide a smirk or a shiver. Challenge danced in your eyes.

"Promises, promises," you sang, flouncing past him.

You felt his stare burning holes in the back of your head as you sauntered back to the car. And you couldn’t help but grin to yourself. You were so gonna get under his skin.

**********

The next few days became a game. A stupid, dangerous game, but it was too much fun watching Toji's patience chip away, little by little.

It started small. Shorter skirts. Lower tops. Clingier dresses. You'd "accidentally" drop things in front of him, bending way too slow to pick them up. You'd lean over during car rides, pretending to search for something, knowing full well he got a faceful of your cleavage.

Every single time, Toji grumbled under his breath, muttering things like "Little fuckin' tease," or "You're gonna be the death of me, brat," but he never cracked.

He was always professional. Always holding the line....Until you pushed a little harder.

It happened at the mall.

You dragged him into a boutique under the guise of shopping for a "family dinner outfit." Toji slouched outside the fitting room, arms crossed, grumbling while you pranced around inside, trying on every inappropriate thing you could find.

"How's this one?" you asked sweetly, pulling the curtain back.

Toji glanced up, then froze. The dress was... barely a dress. It clung to every curve indecently, the neckline plunging low enough you might as well have been naked.

You twirled innocently. "Too much?"

Toji's jaw flexed. Hard. "Get your ass back in there," he growled.

You blinked, feigning hurt. "But I thought you were supposed to be protecting me, Toji," you pouted. "Shouldn’t you wanna keep me close like this?"

He leveled you with a stare so dark it made your thighs clench. "I ain't protectin' you from the world, brat," he said roughly. "I'm protectin' the world from you."

Your cheeks burned deliciously. God, he made you ache. Still, you weren't done. You stepped closer, the silky hem of your dress riding high.

"You’re no fun," you said, brushing past him to grab another hanger.

His fingers shot out, grabbing your wrist. Your breath hitched. He yanked you closer with no effort at all, his body radiating heat.

"You keep playin'," he muttered low, eyes flickering over your face, your lips, your heaving chest, "one day you ain't gonna like how I end it, sweetheart."

A shiver skated down your spine. For a long, heated moment, neither of you moved. Then Toji let you go with a grunt, stepping back like you burned him.

"Five minutes. Then we’re outta here."

You smirked. Challenge accepted.

Later that night, you pushed even further.

You sat curled up on the couch in the mansion’s sprawling living room, pretending to scroll your phone. Toji leaned against the opposite wall, arms crossed, watching you like he always did — impassive, silent. You looked up at him slowly, biting your lip.

"You’re so boring," you sighed dramatically. "Always standing there. Always frowning."

He raised a brow lazily. "You tryin' to hurt my feelings, brat?"

You shrugged. "Just saying. If you're gonna stalk me 24/7, you could at least be entertaining about it."

"You want entertainment?" he drawled, straightening off the wall.

Your heart skipped. He stalked toward you, slow and deliberate, every inch of him screaming danger. You tried to play it cool — tossing your phone aside and crossing your legs neatly. But when he loomed over you, you tilted your head up, your cocky mask slipping just a little.

"Got a lotta nerve talkin' shit to the guy who's keepin' you alive, Princess," he murmured, voice dripping with mockery.

You fluttered your lashes innocently. "Oh, I’m sorry. Am I being mean to my big strong bodyguard?"

He snorted.

"One day you're gonna wish you’d kept that mouth shut."

You beamed. "Not today."

Without warning, Toji dropped down onto the couch beside you, his thigh bumping yours, and you froze. The heat pouring off him was unbearable. His scent — sweat, soap, leather — wrapped around you like a noose. Your stomach twisted deliciously.

"Scared, brat?" he teased, voice a low rumble.

You forced yourself to scoff. "As if."

But when he smirked, like he could smell your arousal your cheeks burned hotter. "Could'a fooled me," he murmured, leaning back, arms spread lazily across the couch behind you.

Your heart pounded. You knew you should stop. You knew this was playing with fire. But you couldn’t help it. Slowly, teasingly, you shifted closer, letting your thigh brush his, pretending it was "accidental." You didn’t miss the way his jaw clenched.

Good. You wanted to break him. You wanted to see what would happen when Toji finally stopped holding back. And judging by the dark look in his eyes?

You were getting closer.

**********

The afternoon was dragging lazily.

You lounged on the couch in the living room, one leg draped over the armrest, flipping through your phone, bored out of your mind. Your earbuds were in, but no music played, you were too lazy to press play again. Mostly, you were stewing in your own annoyance.

Toji sat nearby, polishing a knife like the walking danger sign he was. His muscle shirt clung to his broad chest, veins visible as he slid the blade across the cloth in slow, measured movements. He glanced up every so often, like he was checking to make sure you hadn’t started setting the house on fire out of boredom. Typical.

The house was too quiet, the kind of quiet that made you feel like a guest instead of someone who lived here. The maids moved like ghosts, the guards outside paced like machines, and every tick of the antique clock on the wall grated on your nerves.

“This place is a goddamn prison,” you muttered, not expecting a response.

“Could be worse,” Toji said lazily without looking up. “Could be a real prison.”

You scoffed, shooting him a glare. “Wow. Inspirational. Thanks.”

He smirked slightly but didn’t respond. That was also typical. Tease you just enough to get under your skin, then retreat like it didn’t matter. You went back to scrolling your phone, about to text your friend about sneaking out later, when the front doors slammed open.

The heavy thud of expensive shoes echoed down the marble floors like thunder. You sat upright, startled, frown deepening as your father stormed in, his assistant trailing behind, already looking stressed.

He looked furious. Sharp. All business. A storm in an expensive suit.

“The hell?” you whispered.

Your dad never came home during the day. Not unless something was wrong. And definitely not looking like that, tired, tense, irritated in that cold, dangerous way that usually made grown men flinch.

He didn’t even glance at you. Just marched to the armchair opposite you and dropped into it like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. His assistant shut the doors behind him quietly

"Everyone out," your father barked.

The staff scrambled. Only four of you remained. You. Your dad. His assistant. And Toji, who looked completely unfazed, still spinning his knife like he was in the middle of a Sunday hobby. Your father looked at Toji first.

“There’s been movement,” he said grimly. “They’re getting bolder. We had a firefight two nights ago. The docks. They got close.”

Toji nodded once, all business. “Casualties?”

“Two on our side. Five on theirs. But they got a message through.”

You watched the exchange with a mix of confusion and disinterest. “Message? What, like handwritten or one of those dramatic riddles?”

Both men ignored you.

“Intel says they’re probing weak spots. If they can’t get me …” His eyes cut to you like a blade.

You blinked. “Wait—what?”

“That’s why,” your dad said, “from now on, no more going out at night. Even with Toji.”

You sat up. “Excuse me?!”

“No parties. No late dinners. No stupid midnight drives.”

“Stupid?!” you exploded, launching off the couch. “So now I’m just a stupid little kid who can’t leave the house without permission?”

“Don’t twist my words—”

“Oh, sorry, Dad, I must’ve misheard between all the dictatorship!”

Toji made a low sound like a chuckle, earning a death glare from your father.

“You’ll stay in,” he repeated. “No discussion.”

“No discussion?!” you yelled, fists clenched. “You’re not even here half the time, and now you suddenly care? Just ‘cause you got problems at work doesn’t mean I have to suffer!”

Your dad’s jaw clenched. “This isn’t suffering—”

“Yes, it is! I’ve done nothing! I’ve been good! I stayed out of your business, kept to myself, didn’t even sneak anyone in—”

“Jesus,” Toji muttered, rubbing a hand down his face. “You’re making it worse.”

You whipped your head toward him. “You shut up! You’re supposed to be on my side! You're the damn bodyguard!”

He raised his brows. “Bodyguard, yeah. Babysitter? No.”

You glared at him. “I am not a baby!”

“No, you're an ungrateful brat,” your father snapped. That did it. Your breath caught in your throat.

“I hate you,” you whispered.

Silence fell like a thunderclap. Your dad’s expression didn’t change, but something flickered in his eyes. He leaned forward, voice low but razor sharp.

“Do you think I enjoy this?” he hissed. “You think I want to lock you up like some goddamn bird in a cage?”

You opened your mouth to reply, but he cut you off.

“I’m not doing this to hurt you. I’m doing it because you’re my daughter, and people would kill to get to me through you. They’ll drag you away in the dark and send me your fingers.”

You flinched.

“I’ve spent my life building walls so nothing touches you. I hired Toji because he’s the only man I trust with your life. And you think this is me being cruel?” His voice cracked, just slightly.

You stared, throat dry, anger faltering as guilt bubbled up. But your pride was louder. “Still doesn’t mean you get to control every second of my life,” you whispered stubbornly.

That’s when the slap of his palm hitting the table made you jump. “Enough!”

You flinched again, arms curling around yourself.

“I don’t want to hear another word,” he snapped. “You’re staying in. Toji’s in charge. You argue again, I’ll remove your damn phone and laptop.”

You stared, stunned, eyes burning. He’d never yelled like that. Never threatened consequences. You didn’t know how to react.

He sighed, rubbing his temples. “There’s gifts upstairs. Go look.” Then, he turned to Toji. “Keep her in line.”

Toji nodded silently. And just like that, your father walked out, leaving behind silence and a bitter taste in your mouth.

You didn’t speak. You sat there, arms limp, staring at the space he’d occupied. Toji didn’t say anything at first either. Just leaned back, stretching like a cat, knife finally gone from his hands.

“Damn,” he muttered. “Didn’t know the old man had that in him.”

You said nothing.

“Hey,” he added after a beat. “You okay?”

You didn’t answer.

“...Brat?”

Still silent.

His smirk slowly faded as he studied your expression. You weren’t fuming or scheming like usual. You looked… wounded.

“Shit,” he muttered. “He really hit a nerve, huh?”

You swallowed hard, blinking rapidly, still not looking at him. He stood up slowly. “Alright. Gonna give you space, princess.” And then he left.

The weight of the house settled around you, silent and cold. You swallowed thickly, blinking fast to stop the burn in your eyes. Without much thought, you dragged yourself upstairs to your room.

The moment you pushed open the door, you froze. Piles of gifts boxes were stacked everywhere, luxury brands, glittering jewelry boxes, clothes and designer bags. All gifts from your father. Guilt twisted deep in your gut.

He wasn't trying to hurt you. He was trying to keep you safe. You bit your lip hard, sinking onto the edge of your bed, surrounded by the ridiculous, expensive proof of how much he loved you.

Still... It didn't stop the ache in your chest.

**********

It was dark by the time you stirred. You hadn’t moved from the bed, cheek mashed into a silk pillow, limbs limp. You didn’t cry. Not really. But your throat felt raw like you wanted to. Then the door creaked.

And in came Toji, holding a tray of your favorite food. He walked in like it was no big deal, but his eyes flicked over your form like he was checking for cracks.

"...Eat, brat."

You blinked up at him, stunned. “You brought me food?”

He grunted. “Chef wouldn’t shut up, so I kicked him out and made this.”

You stared at the grilled cheese, the fries, the soda. Your favorite comfort food. You sat up slowly.

“You didn't have to,” you murmured.

Toji sat on the edge of your bed with a grunt. “Didn’t wanna hear you sobbing through the walls.”

You snorted despite yourself.

“There she is,” he muttered, smirking faintly.

You picked at a fry. “Thanks.”

He leaned back, arms stretched behind him. “You know he didn’t mean to hurt you, right?”

You shrugged.

“He’s scared,” Toji added. “Doesn’t know how to say it. So he yells. Gives orders. Buys shit.”

Your chest ached. “I just hate feeling... trapped.”

“Yeah,” Toji said quietly. “But being trapped and being protected ain't the same thing. Sometimes they just... look similar.”

You were quiet for a long moment. Then: “You’re good at this.”

Toji looked at you.

You clarified, “The talking thing. I thought you’d be worse.”

He chuckled. “Don’t get used to it.”

You smiled faintly. “You’re still an asshole.”

He grinned. “And you’re still a brat.”

You leaned your head against his shoulder. He didn’t pull away. Just sat there beside you, solid and warm, quiet in the way that said he wasn’t going anywhere.

“…Wanna watch something dumb later?” you asked.

He tilted his head. “What kind of dumb?”

“Reality TV dumb.”

Toji groaned. “God. Fine. But I’m picking the snacks.”

You smiled into his arm. For now, the ache in your chest faded just a little. For a moment, you didn’t feel trapped.

You just felt... warm. Safe. Wanted.

Toji stood up then, ruffling your hair roughly like you were some scrappy little kid.

"Get some sleep, brat," he muttered. Then he paused at the door, glancing back over his shoulder. "‘Cause tomorrow," he said with a wicked glint in his eye, "I’m dragging your spoiled ass to training."

You groaned dramatically. "Nooo— Tojiiiiii—!"

"Sorry, daddy's orders." He just laughed, a deep, rich sound, and disappeared down the hall, leaving you grinning like an idiot into your pillow.

Maybe being stuck here... Maybe being stuck with him... Wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

to be continued in the next chapter

Your dad perked up, grinning like a kid. “That’s him!”

You stayed where you were, half-watching some rerun on TV, half-daydreaming, listening to the door swing open.

“Toji, you bastard!” your dad’s voice boomed with laughter. “You made it through the rain.”

And then he walked in.

You glanced up casually and froze for a moment. He wasn’t how you remembered at all. The man in the doorway looked like he belonged on a billboard for a gym or something. His black shirt clung to him like a second skin, rain still dripping off his hair. Grey sweats hung low on his hips. His smile was lazy, but not arrogant. He had a calmness to him—solid, grounded. You didn’t stare long. Just a blink, maybe two. Then you looked away, back at the TV, pretending you didn’t notice anything weird. You didn’t know why your throat felt tight.

“This is her?” he asked your dad. His voice hadn’t changed. Deep. Low. Rough around the edges.

“Yep. She was only around ten the last time you saw her.”

“Damn. She’s all grown up now.” His tone was casual. Not weird. Just… surprised.

You smiled awkwardly when he said hi, gave a little wave. You didn’t know what to say. He seemed nice. Polite. Probably just being friendly. Maybe he was staring a little, but maybe not. You were probably imagining it.

Later, at dinner, he sat across from you at the table. Not next to you, not too close. Just across. Your dad was doing most of the talking anyway, filling the room with stories and laughter.

Toji listened. Quiet. Smiling sometimes. He only asked you a few questions—how was college, what did you like to study. You answered, soft and brief, eyes mostly on your plate.

You didn’t notice the way his eyes drifted to the curve of your throat when you swallowed. You didn’t catch the way his fingers lingered near yours when he passed the salt. You didn’t hear how his voice dipped just a little lower when he spoke to you, quieter than how he spoke to your dad.

Because in your mind, he was just… Toji. Your dad’s friend. A nice man who used to bring you candy. Maybe a little intense, but he hadn’t said anything weird. So you didn’t think much of it when he said, “You’re really sweet, you know that?”

You just blinked and smiled, bashfully. “Um… thanks?”

Your dad was already halfway through his third beer, slurring slightly. Toji glanced at him once, then back at you, and just smiled again. You thought it was just a nice night. You had no idea.

**********

It was one of those slow Saturdays. The kind that feels stuck in syrup—cloudy skies, lazy breeze coming in through half-open windows, and your dad snoring on the recliner like he was being paid for it. Toji had been around since afternoon, lounging around the house like he belonged there, like he'd never left in the first place.

Your dad had pulled out his usual stash—whiskey he “only drinks with close ones,” which you knew just meant anyone willing to stay and listen to him ramble. Toji played along like always—quiet, attentive, letting your dad do most of the talking, just adding in a word or two when he had to. The two of them had been laughing and pouring drinks for hours.

Now your dad was passed out on the couch, one arm hanging off the side, the glass still half full on the coffee table. You stood in the kitchen, rinsing out your own cup, keeping your head low. You weren’t really in the mood to talk.

But Toji didn’t leave. He sat at the dining table, one elbow resting lazily against it, nursing his drink. You felt him watching you—again. Not intensely. Not weird. Just... steady.

“You alright?” he asked, voice low. You didn’t answer right away. The faucet ran too loud. You turned it off slowly, drying your hands on a towel, then leaned your hip against the counter.

“Yeah. Just… tired.”

He hummed, like he didn’t believe it but wasn’t going to push too hard. The kind of sound people make when they’ve been around enough messes to recognize one when they see it.

“You don’t talk much,” he said after a pause, lifting the glass to his lips. “You used to talk a lot when you were little.”

You looked at him then. He wasn’t teasing. Just observing. Like he actually remembered.

“I guess I had more to say back then,” you murmured.

Toji raised an eyebrow, just slightly. “Or more people who listened.”

That one hit a little too close, and for some reason, it loosened something in your chest. You sighed, walking over slowly and pulling out the chair opposite him. You didn’t sit like you normally would—not with that bounce or energy. You just lowered yourself quietly, fingers curled in your lap, shoulders drawn a little tight. He poured you a drink without asking. Just a little bit. Just enough to warm your throat. You didn’t normally drink, but tonight your chest felt too full. You accepted it wordlessly.

“You look like you’ve been crying,” he said after a few minutes. You didn’t look at him. You just nodded, swallowing down the sting behind your eyes again.

“Boy trouble?” he asked.

You huffed a laugh, short and bitter. “That obvious?”

“To someone who’s been through enough of it, yeah.”

There was no pressure in his voice. No smugness. No curiosity for the drama. Just… space. A gentle offer to unload if you needed it. And you did.

So you talked. Not all at once. Not dramatic. Just the bare bones of it—how he’d cheated. How you found out. How he didn’t even bother denying it, like he’d been waiting to be caught. How it made you feel stupid. Replaceable. Like something that could be tossed and picked back up if he ever got bored.

Toji didn’t interrupt. He just listened, his eyes on you, his drink untouched. That stillness in him made you feel safe somehow. Like he wasn't there to fix anything—just to witness it.

“That’s messed up,” he said quietly when you stopped talking.

“Yeah.”

“You didn’t deserve that.”

You looked up at him then. He wasn’t looking away. He was serious. And warm. And weirdly kind, in that quiet, heavy way men like him sometimes are when they aren’t performing for anyone. His voice was lower now, softer, like he didn’t want to scare you off.

“You’re too soft for people like that,” he added, eyes dragging across your face slowly. “Too trusting.”

You looked down at your glass, cheeks heating for no reason you could name. “Maybe I’m just dumb.”

“No,” he said, not even hesitating. “You’re just young. You’ll figure it out.”

The words shouldn’t have hit as hard as they did, but they did. You swallowed around the lump in your throat.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you whispered. “I just… keep thinking if I was prettier, or better, or—”

“Don’t do that,” he cut in, voice low and firm. “It’s not you. It’s him.”

You looked at him again. His expression hadn’t changed. But there was something different in his eyes now. Something deeper. Something you didn’t understand.

“You’re more than enough,” he said. “More than you even realize.”

Silence sat thick between you for a moment. Not awkward. Just... charged. You didn’t know why your chest felt like it was tightening. Why his words made your throat close up. Maybe it was the way he said it—like he wasn’t just talking about your ex. Like he was seeing something in you that you hadn’t even noticed yourself.

You blinked hard, looking away. “Thanks.”

He stood slowly, pushing his chair back with a low scrape. You thought he might walk away. But instead, he moved to the kitchen and grabbed a glass of water, then walked over to you and gently set it in front of you.

“Drink this,” he said, voice back to that calm, grounding tone. “And go get some rest.”

You nodded, fingers curling around the cool glass.

As he turned to walk out of the room, he paused for a beat, his back half-turned.

“You ever need to talk again,” he said, not looking at you, “don’t wait for your dad to invite me over.”

And then he left. Quiet as rain.

**********

Few days later.

Your dad had called earlier that day, voice crackling through bad reception. Some last-minute crisis at work meant he had to stay overnight on-site. He sounded more annoyed about the inconvenience than worried about leaving you alone.

“I asked Toji to swing by. Just in case,” he said. “He’ll stay the night. Don’t give him trouble.”

You blinked. “He’s staying?”

“Yeah. He said it’s no problem. I owe him anyway.”

You wanted to ask why it had to be him, but the call cut before you could say much more.

Evening rolled in like a quiet tide. The house felt strangely still, like it knew something was different. You weren’t nervous—just... hyper-aware. You’d been feeling that a lot lately. Ever since that night you talked to Toji in the kitchen. Something had shifted. You didn’t know what exactly, only that you caught yourself thinking about that conversation more than you meant to.

About the way his voice dipped. The way he looked at you like he was figuring something out. The way he said, 'You’re more than enough.'

You hadn’t seen him since then. But you felt it in your chest the moment the doorbell rang. You opened it to find him there, holding a duffel bag in one hand, a grocery bag in the other.

“Your dad told me you probably hadn’t eaten,” he said, stepping inside like it was his house too. You moved out of his way, unsure how to respond. He looked like he always did—black fitted tee, low-hanging joggers, that clean, strong scent that always clung to his skin. But there was something else now. A kind of weight in the air you couldn’t name.

You followed him into the kitchen, where he unpacked the bag—rice, some pre-cooked chicken, a bottle of cola.

“I don’t cook fancy,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. “But I figured hot food’s better than junk.”

You nodded and murmured a soft “Thanks,” watching his shoulders move under that shirt as he turned back to the stove. You stood nearby, fidgeting with the hem of your hoodie, uncertain what to do with yourself. It wasn’t uncomfortable. Just… thick. Like the quiet between you had its own heartbeat.

“You always get this quiet when you're alone with someone?” he asked, teasing just enough to make you blush.

You looked up, startled. “No— I mean, I don’t know. I just don’t know what to say.”

“Then don’t say anything,” he said, stirring the pan. “Just sit. You don’t have to talk.”

You did as he said, sliding into a chair. You watched him cook. It shouldn’t have felt intimate—but it did. He didn’t say much more. Just made sure your plate was full. Made sure you ate. Made sure you drank enough water. Like he wasn’t just here to keep you company—he was here for you.

After dinner, you ended up on the couch, scrolling absently through your phone. Toji sat nearby with a beer, flipping through TV channels without settling on anything. You weren’t really watching. Neither was he. The space between you felt warmer now. Still quiet. But not stiff.

“You good?” he asked again, just like the other night. You nodded. But your face gave you away.

“Still thinking about him?”

You hesitated. “Not really. I think I’m just... thinking.”

He leaned back, arm stretched across the top of the couch, eyes on the ceiling. “Thinking’s good. But sometimes it just makes you tired.”

You nodded again, pulling your knees up to your chest, the oversized hoodie swallowing your frame.

“C’mere,” he said, motioning gently with a flick of his fingers.

You blinked, confused. “What?”

“You look cold. C’mere.”

You hesitated—because something fluttered deep in your chest. Not fear. Just nerves. Confusion. But you obeyed without thinking too hard. You always did with him. You slid closer, slowly. And when your shoulder brushed his chest, he eased an arm around you, careful, unhurried, like he was taming something fragile.

“There,” he murmured, the heat of him soaking into your skin. “That better?”

You nodded, cheek brushing the fabric stretched over his chest. His heartbeat was steady. Slow. Yours was not. You didn’t speak. You didn’t have to. The quiet stretched long, the weight of him warm around you. Gentle. Protective. His thumb moved once, barely grazing your shoulder, the touch so light it could’ve been imagined.

You didn’t notice the way his eyes lingered. How they traced the slope of your jaw, the way your lashes fluttered when you breathed out. You didn’t catch the way his hand flexed once, slow and restrained, before settling again. You just sat there, soft and warm in his hold, thinking maybe—just maybe—this was what safety felt like.

**********

The night deepened.

The kind of quiet that settled between you and Toji wasn’t empty—it was thick, like velvet. Soft but heavy. You could hear the hum of the fridge, the patter of soft rain against the window, and his slow, calm breaths beside you. He hadn’t moved in a while. His arm still lay around your shoulder, heavy but comforting. His fingers occasionally drummed gently against your upper arm—small, thoughtless movements. At least, that’s what you thought.

You were curled into him more than before, drawn to the warmth without realizing how much. Your knees tucked under you, your side pressed against his, your cheek resting lightly against his chest. The TV played some late-night crime show no one was watching.

You were still thinking about your ex. Still chewing on old wounds.

“You shouldn’t let someone like him get in your head,” Toji said, his voice low, almost like he was talking to himself. “He didn’t know what he had.”

You made a small sound, not sure how to answer. “He said I was too much. Too clingy. Too emotional.”

“That’s not a flaw,” he murmured. “You feel things deeply. That’s rare.”

His hand moved then—not down, not anything obvious. Just from your shoulder to your upper back, slow and firm, almost like a massage. Still something you could pass off as harmless.

“You care too much about what boys your age think,” he continued. “They don’t know what to do with a woman like you.”

Your lips parted slightly at his words. Woman. You didn’t know why that word sounded different coming from him. You felt it somewhere low in your stomach. But you didn’t speak. You didn’t even move. His hand had reached the middle of your back now, resting there with quiet weight.

“Guys like that… they don’t deserve softness,” he said. “They waste it.”

There was a beat of silence. You still didn’t move. And then he said it, barely a whisper: “I wouldn’t have.”

Your breath caught. You didn’t even fully understand what he meant, but it sounded... important. Different. His voice was lower now, closer to your ear. You didn’t realize he’d leaned in.

“Toji—” you said softly, your heart starting to thump. He hummed like he didn’t hear it—or maybe like he was giving you space to stop him if you wanted. Then his fingers moved again. A little lower this time. Slow enough to make you second guess if it really went as far as you thought. Just the small of your back. Still not wrong. Still not inappropriate. But just barely. You felt warm. Too warm. Your cheeks flushed. Your chest tight.

“I’m gonna tell you something,” he said, eyes still watching the flickering TV screen. “And you don’t need to say anything back.”

You nodded, eyes wide. Confused. Curious.

“I noticed,” he said. “The way you look when you’re thinking too hard. When you chew your lip and stare off into nowhere. The way your voice gets small when you talk about someone hurting you.”

You swallowed, heart hammering.

“I noticed how soft you are,” he added, voice even lower now. “And how easy it would be to ruin that.”

Your breath hitched. He leaned closer, nose brushing the top of your head. Not a kiss. But too close. Too much. And still somehow not enough.

“But I won’t,” he said, as if reading your silence. “Not unless you ask me to.”

And then—he pulled away. Just enough. His arm still around you. But no more words. No more boldness.

He left you there, heart pounding, brain reeling, breath shallow, wondering what the hell just happened.

You didn’t say anything. Not because you didn’t want to—because you didn’t know what to say. The moment sat heavy in your chest, thick and trembling. It hadn’t felt like danger. Not really. But it also hadn’t felt like safety anymore.

It felt like something entirely new. Something you didn’t have words for.

Toji didn’t move. His arm stayed where it was—loose, relaxed like he hadn’t just whispered things no man had ever said to you before. Like he hadn’t just told you, in a voice deeper than sin, that he’d noticed you. That he’d thought about you in ways that no one ever had. Certainly not someone like him.

You shifted slightly, instinctively—just enough that your thigh pressed a little closer to his. Not a bold move. Not intentional. Just... your body needing something, and your brain too slow to understand what.

He didn’t speak. But you felt his head tilt slightly. Like he’d felt it. Like he noticed that, too.

You fumbled for words. “I—I don’t know what you mean,” you said, voice barely more than a whisper. “About... ruining.”

His fingers twitched against your lower back. Not moving lower. Not pulling you closer. Just a small pulse of tension—controlled, held back. He leaned in again, slower this time. You felt his breath against your temple.

“You don’t have to know,” he said. “That’s the thing about being soft, baby. You don’t need to understand everything. You just feel it.”

That made your stomach twist. Not in fear. In something darker. Deeper. Something that made your knees pull tighter under you and your arms wrap around yourself, like they could contain it.

“I didn’t mean—” you started.

But he cut you off. Not unkindly. Just gently.

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” His hand pressed just slightly—just enough for you to feel his warmth right through the shirt. “You never do.”

You turned your head toward him before you could stop yourself, your eyes wide and searching. And you caught him looking at you with that same intensity. Not smiling. Just... watching. Like you were something he didn’t want to break, but couldn’t stop reaching for.

“I…” You swallowed. “I don’t know what to do.”

His expression softened. “That’s alright. You don’t need to do anything.”

He moved then—slowly, deliberately—lifting one hand to your face, the back of his fingers brushing the line of your jaw.

“Just let me look at you.”

The words punched all the air out of your lungs. No one had ever said it like that. Like they meant it. Like you were art. Like you were made to be looked at. To be studied. To be touched like glass. Your eyes flicked down, suddenly self-conscious. But his hand tilted your chin back up.

“Don’t hide,” he said, voice rougher now. “Not from me.”

And then he did something that made your heart trip. He leaned in and pressed a kiss—not to your lips. But just beside them. Your cheek. Close enough to make your skin light on fire. Just enough to test the waters. Just enough to mark the line.

It wasn’t a friendly kiss. It wasn’t innocent. But it wasn’t demanding, either. It was a promise. And a warning.

He pulled back, finally, standing from the couch in one smooth motion, like the weight of it all didn’t sit on his shoulders. Like he hadn’t just lit a fire under your skin.

“I’ll take the guest room,” he said simply, like nothing happened at all.

You just sat there, stunned, trembling a little, heart racing against your ribs like a warning bell. And you stayed like that for a long time—your skin still buzzing where his mouth had touched, your mind too soft to hold onto anything except the sound of his voice, still echoing.

"You never do anything wrong."

to be continued in the next chapter