Kaori

you loved every aspect of it, when he would be fucking so deep, the low drag of his dick pulling out from inside you till just his tip remained and he slammed back inside of you.

it was mesmerizing how heavy he was everywhere. how he didn’t need to do much barely lifting a finger or flexing a muscle to move you in any position he wanted.

but it was perfect watching him in missionary his long, bulky figure sweaty above you, his arms anchored at the sides of your head.

steady for him and a reminder for you of how fucking strong he was. how he could hold you in a armlock and fuck you how he wanted.

or he could bend you over anywhere, anyhow and take you cause you were his.

you’d imagine that’s your favorite position anything that demonstrated his otherworldly strength. the slight cut off of your airflow turning your moans get lighter and breathy while he fucked you on his lap.

or maybe a full nelson, feeling the stretch of your legs as sukuna forced you past what you thought your limit was, feeling the burn as he huffed only focusing on cumming and not the desperate squirm of your body with the new found angle.

but no.

your favorite position was missionary, missionary since you can wrap your legs around the sturdy expanse of his waist as he pressed back inside of you.

your arms could wrap, and scratch around his back and pull his large frame over to give you another kiss.

but your favorite part was when you’d press your hand firmly in the middle of his large back, catching him off guard and pressing all 280 pounds of muscle in top of you until you felt your chest constrict.

some might assume you’re a masochist, torturing yourself like this, feeling your body fight underneath your boyfriends as you chased your orgasm.

or maybe feeling the dark tingle in your lower abdomen as he nipped at your neck, eyes slightly wider than usual watching you heave below him but not wanting to stop.

and how hard it was you came when he finally accepted his fate and lessened the weight in his arms to lie fully on you, hearing the breathless gasp escape out your mouth while you scratch and cum helplessly under him.

but even regular life wasn’t much better.

sukuna could chalk it up to a kink, a sick desire you had or a underlying urge to be close to him.

but he couldn’t understand this.

on the train you’d always push to get on the crowded one, even with another a few minutes begin.

insisting that you stood at the door and he covered you, and every single time without fail he crushes you.

his hard body swinging from the influx of people or the harsh curve of the train, pressing you further and further to the door. and it’s not like you would move away, or that you could.

but he would observe your gleaming eyes, the tight hold you’d have on his dress shirt and the bite of your lips as you finally took a deep shaky breath when he would finally get to back an inch away.

though he was also concerned when it was time to sleep.

“c’monnnn kuna” you’d whine spread like a starfish out on your bed while he you watched your shirtless boyfriend at the end of the bed.

whose arms were folded, his eyebrows scrunched as he watched you almost scared.

“this is concerning even for you.”

“please baby, i’m always on top of you anyways.”

“no.”

“no?”

“no.”

yet and still he found himself, not even ten minutes later, laid out on top of you his heavy chest crushing yours again as you hummed underneath him pleased.

“there is no way you’re comfortable under there”, his muffled voice answered as you basically purred, rubbing his back.

“very.”

“and no way you can breathe.”

“gotten used to it.”

you’re unreal. but still he couldn’t be too bothered watching your light breathes when he turned with his bed head and see the small smile splayed out in your face.

and you?

this wouldn’t the last time you’d want sukuna’s full weight.

he stumbles out of the locker room, a towel slung low on his hips, his skin still flushed and steaming. he pulls on a t-shirt and a pair of loose sweats in a daze.

you’re the only thing his lust-filled brain can think of. he’s certain he’ll die if he doesn’t get to you, now. he needs you like he needs air to breathe. like he needs nitroglycerin in his palms. the thought of your face, your voice, your body on his is the sole thing keeping black spots from swarming his vision.

everyone who works at his agency knows that katsuki never leaves work early. he’s always the first to arrive and the very last to leave. he’s the one who stays late to pore over incident reports until his eyes burn. he’s the one who turns the lights off and locks all the doors behind him. but tonight he’s out of the building before the sun has even fully set.

not trusting himself to drive in this state, he hails a cab. the decision to not get behind the wheel is one of the few clear-headed ones he’s made since this whole ordeal started. his hands are shaking too much, and he knows that he’d wrap his porsche around a lamppost before he could even make it past three blocks.

he slumps into the back seat, the cheap leather sticking to his sweat-damp skin, and groans out your address. the driver glances at him in the rearview mirror, his eyes widening at the sight of great explosion murder god: dynamight ™ looking like he’s about to spontaneously combust in the backseat of his car.

on a regular day, katsuki would tell him to mind his damn business and fucking drive. but he currently doesn’t even have the energy to scowl at the old man.

after what feels like eternity, the cab screeches to a halt in front of your building. he doesn’t even wait for the car to stop completely before he tosses a handful of yen bills at the driver and stumbles out onto the sidewalk.

he practically sprints into your building. he’s too impatient to wait for the elevator. he takes the stairs instead, taking them two, sometimes three at a time, he nearly collapses once, catching himself at the very last second.

he can barely stand by the time he finally reaches your door. he’s so close to exploding right here in the hallway and you haven’t even touched him yet. he somehow musters up the energy to fish the spare key you’d forced on him months ago out of his pocket. his hands are shaking so badly, it takes him three tries before the tumblers click.

he limps into your apartment and kicks the door shut behind him. every single one of his nerve endings is on fire as he leans against the door for a second. his head thudding against the cool wood. he can feel a bead of sweat trickle down his temple, follow the line of his jaw, and drip onto his t-shirt. this is pathetic. he’s pathetic. he just wants to crawl into a hole and die. or fuck you until he can’t remember his own name. he’d prefer the latter. he’s so hard it hurts.

“kats ?” he forces his eyes open, vision swimming before it focuses on you. you’re standing in the entranceway to the living room, wearing one of his old t-shirts and little else. he wants to rip that shirt off and see what’s underneath, to map every inch of your skin with his hands, his mouth, until you’re gasping his name.

you take in the sweat plastering his hair to his forehead, the deep, feverish flush on his cheeks, and instinctively step closer. you reach up, your cool palm pressing against his burning cheek, and he almost sobs with relief. he leans into your touch like a starved man, a low moan rumbling in his chest. he could stand here all day and just let you touch him.

( he could probably cum in his pants, just from this, like a fucking loser. god, he wants you so bad. he wants your hands all over him. he wants his hands all over you. he needs to feel you. )

you lean in and press a soft kiss to his trembling lips. it’s supposed to be a sweet, simple greeting, but for him it’s feels like a match to gasoline. he fists his hands in the material of your shirt and pulls you closer. he can feel your body tense ever so slightly against his

“how was work ?” you ask, a little breathless when you finally manage to pull back just enough to look at him. 

“fuckin’ terrible,” he manages to grind out. his voice is so tight and strained. he barely recognizes himself. he’s embarrassed. so fucking embarrassed. part of him doesn’t want to tell you. he could just make something up. say he’s tired. say anything but the truth. but the thought of deceiving you, even to save his pride, is unbearable. he rests his forehead against yours, eyes fluttering shut as he mumbles, “got hit,” the words practically scrape his throat raw. “with a quirk.”

“what kind of quirk ?” you ask softly. your hand coming up to rest gently on his bicep. he swallows, his adam’s apple bobbing violently. he feels the heat in his cheeks deepen, a fresh wave of shame washing over him. he has to say it. he has to force the pathetic words out.

“some . . . aphrodisiac bullshit.” he looks away, unable to meet your gaze, “i blasted the punk the hell up right after but it was already too late. it’s. . . fuck, it’s bad.” he swallows hard, “it’s . . really fucking bad.”

a smile slowly spreads across your face. you can’t help but laugh. never in a million years did you think you’d live to see the day katsuki bakugou needed your help.

“you’re laughing ?!” he chokes out. he’s just confessed to being hit by a lust quirk. this is the most humble he’s ever been. stripped of all his pride, reduced to a nothing but a desperate, needy mess in front of the one person he wants to see him as strong.

he’s never been this vulnerable, this submissive, in his damn life. and you’re fucking laughing ? he wants to be angry. he wants to push you away and reclaim some semblance of his dignity. but he can’t. all he can do is stand there and tremble as your thumb brushes over his bottom lip.

“sorry, sorry, it’s not funny,” you murmur, though the smile playing on your lips says you believe otherwise. “how are we supposed to deal with it ?” you’ve got to be messing with him. he’s in utter disbelief. does he really have to spell it out ? after he’s already humiliated himself this much ?

“obviously i need to. . .” he trails off, his face flushing an even deeper shade of red. he can’t bring himself to say the words. they’re too crude, too pathetic.

“you need to what, kats ?” you’re determined to make the most of the rare, once-in-a-lifetime chance to see your explosive, always-in-control pro hero boyfriend completely at your mercy. 

“you know what. . ” he grits out, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.

“i don’t” you frown, your eyes wide with mock innocence. “you’re gonna have to use your words, kats. tell me exactly what you need from me.”

he lets out a frustrated growl, his head falling back against the door with a soft thud. “why are you doing this to me . . ?” 

“because you’re adorable like this,” you coo, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, feeling the tremor that racks his entire body. “it’s a side of you i don’t get to see nearly enough.”

you pull back just enough to look him in the eye, your expression softening slightly, though the teasing glint remains. “and because i need to make sure you’re not just asking because of the quirk. i need to know that you actually want me.”

( you might as well have asked him if grass is green )

“of course i do,”  he chokes out, “how could you even. . . it’s always you. it’s only ever been you. even when my brain is fucking scrambled, it’s still just you.”

“okay,” you whisper, your hand sliding from his jaw down to his chest, right over his racing heart. you take his hand, fingers lacing through his, and lead him towards your bedroom. he follows you like a lost puppy, eyes fixed on the sway of your hips as you walk.

he’s on you before you can even shut the door. his hands grabbing your hips, pulling you into a hungry kiss that’s all teeth and tongue and pent-up frustration.

your legs wrap around his waist as he lifts you effortlessly. he stumbles the few steps to the edge of the bed, sitting down with a soft thud so you’re straddling his lap.

he can feel how warm you are through his pants. this is hell. this is heaven. he’s gonna die. he’s positive he’s actually going to die if you don’t move. the pressure of your weight against his aching cock draws a sharp inhale from between his teeth. you lean down, your lips finding his again in a kiss that’s anything but chaste. 

you start to move, rolling your hips slowly, grinding your core against the hard, thick length straining in his sweats. a high-pitched whimper falls from his lips. a sound so foreign to his ears it takes him a second to realize it came from him.

( what. the. fuck. he doesn’t whimper. he doesn’t fall apart like this. he’s the one who makes you fall apart. )

he hates this. he hates the sound of his own voice. but he can’t help it. he needs more. he needs to feel you. his hands fly to your hips, thick fingers digging into your flesh with bruising force. 

“katsuki,” you whisper against his lips. your tongue darts out to taste the salty sweat on his skin. he groans, his head falling back against your ruffled sheets as his hips buck up to meet yours.

he’s burning up, his skin radiating a concerning amount of heat. you can feel it through your clothes, through his. you trail your lips down the length of his neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses to his pulse. 

“are you sure you’re okay ?” you look down at him,face contorted with concern “maybe we should go to the hospital, get you checked out. . .” 

he stares at you, his crimson eyes wide with disbelief. you’ve got to be fucking kidding him. here you are, asking him about his health while your chest is in his face and you’re straddling his lap. you’re gonna be the death of him. he swears to god. but what a way to go.

“the hospital ? i’d rather die than let another soul see me like this.” he snarls, though it lacks its usual bite, sounding more like a plea. “and i’ll blow you up if you even think about telling anyone this happened to me.”

“don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me ,” you murmur, leaning down to press a soft, teasing kiss to his jaw.

your fingers find the hem of his t-shirt, the fabric damp with his sweat. you peel it up slowly, revealing the hard, defined lines of his abs. his stomach clenches under your touch, the muscles jumping as your fingertips graze his skin.

he lets you undress him like a doll. you drag the shirt over his head, tossing it carelessly aside. his chest heaves as your hands return to his body, tracing faint scars, the ridges of his abs, the sharp v-line that dips down into his sweats.

katsuki’s trembling as you hook your fingers into the waistband of his sweats, breath hitching as his cock springs free, slapping against his stomach with a wet smack. it’s flushed a deep, agitated red. his tip already beading with an obscene amount of precum that drips down onto his skin.

katsuki’s not one to feel self conscious, his confidence is as much a part of him as his quirk, but right now, under your gaze, he feels too exposed. he can’t meet your eyes. his gaze is fixed somewhere over your shoulder, his jaw clenched tight, a muscle ticking in his cheek. he’s completely at your mercy, and you haven’t even touched him properly yet.

you reach out, your fingers tracing the v-line of his hips, your touch light and teasing. he shudders violently, his hips bucking up, seeking more of your touch.

“please,” he whimpers “quit teasin’ me” please. please please please. he’ll beg. he’ll get on his knees and beg. he’ll say please. he’ll say anything you want. he needs to cum. it hurts so bad. he’s gonna die. he’s gonna die if you don’t let him cum.

“but it’s so much fun,” you murmur as your fingers trail lower, brushing against the base of his cock. he lets out a strangled moan as you wrap your hand around him, your palm cool against his burning flesh.

you start to stroke him, slow and teasing, your thumb swirling around his head and spreading the slick fluid down his length. he can already feel his orgasm building, a tight, hot coil in his stomach, but you won’t let him have it. you keep him teetering over the edge until tears are brimming his waterline.

“please,” he begs, throwing an arm over his face, hiding his shame as he pleads with you. “please, baby, let me cum. i’ll do – fuuuck – anything, please.”

“look at me,” you say firmly. he’ll look. he’ll do whatever you want. just don’t leave him like this. this pathetic. this weak. he peeks at you from under his arm, crimson eyes sparkling with unshed tears. you’ve never seen him looks so fragile, so broken. the mere sight of him makes your heart ache, you can’t deny him any longer.

you shift, kneeling between his spread thighs. leaning down and wrapping your lips around the his tip. it’s a shock to his system. he cries out as you take him deeper, flushed tip hitting the roof of your mouth. 

“shit . . . baby, please,” he chokes out, his voice a ragged, breathless mess. “i can’t. . . i’m gonna. . .” the afflicting aphrodisiac quirk amplifies every sensation. fuck. fuck fuck fuck. he’s trying to stay quiet, he really is. he’s biting down on his knuckles so hard he can almost taste blood, trying to muffle the obscene sounds falling from his lips, but it’s no use. every drag of your lips, every swirl of your tongue, pulls desperate whimpers and choked groans out of him

your tongue flattens against the underside of his cock as you hollow your cheeks, sucking him off so hard it makes him see stars. you can feel him trembling, his thighs tensing under your hands as you take him even deeper and you know he’s not going to last much longer. you hum around him, the muscles in your throat constricting around his tip. and that’s all it takes to push him over the edge.

his body arches off the bed as he spills sticky ropes down your throat. you’re milking every last drop, until he’s a limp, trembling mess beneath you. you’re surprised by how sweet he tastes, like salted caramel, so much sweeter than usual.

“feeling better ?” you rasp as you pull back slowly, a string of saliva and cum connecting your lips to his flushed cock.

he’s completely wrecked, his chest heaving, his eyes squeezed shut, his face glistening cherry red. he’s never cum this hard in his life. he can barely breathe. his limbs feel like lead, his mind’s blissed-out and hazy. for a few precious seconds, he thinks it’s over. he thinks it’s worn off.

then he looks down and his heart sinks. his cock is still painfully hard. it hasn’t gone down at all. if anything, he’s somehow harder than he was before. he’s beyond horrified. he’s just had the most mind-blowing orgasm of his life, and it did nothing. the shitty quirk is still burning him alive, and he’s starting to think he might be stuck like this forever. 

“feels worse” his crimson eyes are filled with a mix of fear and desperation. “it’s . . fuck. . it hurts more now”

he needs more. he’s too ashamed to ask, too proud to beg you again. his pride has already taken too many beatings it may never recover from tonight. but his eyes are pleading with you as you clamber to your feet. he don’t say another word. you don’t need him to. you already know what he wants. you know katsuki like the back of your hand.

without breaking eye contact, you slowly strip off the shirt of his you were wearing, then your underwear, letting them fall to the floor. his breath hitches as his eyes trail over your naked body. he reaches for you, large hands gripping your hips and pulling you between his spread legs.  

you rest your hands on his shoulders as you straddle him again, your knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his bare thighs. his hands slide from your hips to grip your ass, pulling you even closer, grinding you against him slowly.

it feels so good. too good. and then he realizes why it does. he’s completely bare. it’s so rare for him to fuck you raw, a line he almost never crosses, and the fact that he almost did, that he was so lost to the quirk he forgot, terrifies him.

“no, fuck, we can’t. not without a c-condom” his voice straining as he reaches for his sweats. his hands shake as he yanks his wallet from the cotton pocket, nearly dropping it in his haste. he flips it open, lithe fingers fumbling through the slots, but there’s nothing there. 

he’s always so responsible, so prepared. a wave of despair washes over him, so strong it’s ridiculous. he was too out of it to check before he came here, too desperate to even think about stopping at a convenience store, and now . . . he checks again, more slowly this time, as if a shiny foil wrapper might magically appear. nothing.

a few hot tears spill over, tracing paths down his flushed cheeks, and it infuriates him. why the hell is he so damn sensitive ? he knows it’s the quirk fucking with his brain, his emotions, but it doesn’t make it feel any less real.

he tosses his wallet and sweats back onto the floor and rakes a hand through his blond hair, “i don’t . . . i don’t have one.”

he’s out. he’s fucking out. he’s always so prepared. he’s always so fucking responsible. and now, when he needs it most. he’s failed you. he’s failed himself. 

you’re kissing his tears away, your lips soft against his damp skin. “it’s okay kats” you soothe, cupping his cheek and smoothing your thumb over the jagged scar adorning it. “. . i’m on the pill, remember ?”

his crimson eyes, wide and vulnerable, search yours for any hint of hesitation, any sign that you’re just saying this to placate him. he finds none. he leans into your touch, his body trembling violently as he wraps his arms around you, pulling you flush against him.

“are you sure ?” he chokes out, his voice muffled by your skin. he’s not asking about the pill. he knows you’re just as responsible as he is. he’s asking if you’re sure you want this, sure you want him bare, with nothing between you when he’s this much of a mess.

“i’m positive,” you whisper, capturing his lips in a kiss that ebbs all his qualms away. his hands are everywhere, roaming your back, gripping your thighs, pulling you impossibly closer until there’s not a sliver of space between you.

you position yourself over him, crying out as the blunt head of his cock presses against your entrance. you sink down, taking him inch by inch. you’re so tight. so wet. and you’re taking him so well. all of him. bare. 

“baby,” he whimpers, his eyes squeezed shut. “move. please. you gotta move.”

you shift your hips in a sensual rhythm that has him seeing stars. his hands are gripping your hips so tight you’re sure there’ll be bruises tomorrow, but you don’t care.

“don’t stop,” he chants the phrase like a mantra. “don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop.” like it’s the only thing he knows how to say. every drag of your walls against his cock is both a blessing and a curse.

for a few precious seconds, he just holds you, his face buried in the crook of your shoulder as you ride him, trying to anchor himself to this moment.

but the lust quirk doesn’t care about moments. it only cares about the ache, the burning, relentless need for more. his hips begin to move on their own accord, a slow, shallow roll that’s more instinct than conscious thought. another whimper tears from his throat as he feels your slick walls grip him like they never want to let him go, “can’t. . . i can’t stay still,” he gasps

he drives up into you frantically. the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room, mingling with his harsh pants and your breathy moans.

he’s completely consumed by the quirk and the mind-blowing pleasure of being inside you. his crimson eyes are half-lidded, tears of pure sensation and frustration leaking from the corners, but he doesn’t stop. he can’t.

“shit, look at you,” he chokes out, his voice cracking as he forces his wide eyes open to watch you. the sight of you bouncing on his cock, your head thrown back in pleasure, your skin rippling with each brutal snap of his hips, is almost enough to make him cum again. “so fuckin’ pretty. . . takin’ me so well.”

his calloused thumb finds your clit, rubbing tight, frantic circles over the sensitive nub. overcome by the need to make you cum. maybe, just maybe, your orgasm will trigger his own. maybe, just maybe, the feeling of you clenching around him will extinguish the fire burning him alive.

“c’mon,” he pants, his hips pistoning up into you, the wet, obscene sounds of your cunt sucking him in reverberating in the room. he can feel you tightening around him, your walls fluttering and clenching as your own release builds. it spurs him on, his thrusts become even more erratic, more desperate. “that’s it,” he groans, his forehead pressed against yours, his breath hot and ragged. “gonna cum ? gonna make a mess all over me ?”

before either of you can fully process it, he rolls, taking you with him. the world flips, and suddenly your back is pressed against the mattress, the cool sheets a stark contrast to the feverish heat of his body blanketing yours.

he settles heavily between your thighs, his weight pinning you down, his forearms bracketing your head as he looms over you. his pupils are blown so wide you can barely see the crimson of his irises, just a thin ring of red surrounding pools of pitch black. all traces of his earlier submission are gone.

he doesn’t give you a moment to adjust, immediately picking up a brutal, punishing pace. his hips snap against yours, the sound of skin against skin louder and more intense than it was before. the thick head of his cock repeatedly kisses the spot inside you that makes your vision turn white. 

his scarred hand slides down your body until his thumb finds your clit again. his movements frantic as he rubs tight circles over the sensitive bundle of nerves. the dual stimulation of his cock hammering into you and his thumb working your clit sends shockwaves through your entire nervous system.

“mghh katsuki,” you’re screaming and moaning his name so loud, you know your neighbors are going to complain again. but you’re well past the point of caring. and katsuki’s never given a single fuck about your neighbors; he’d burn the whole building down if it meant he could finally feel you cum around him. tears are falling from his eyes again, tracing paths down his face as he completely loses himself in you.

“yeahhh, that’s it,” he cries. his thumb on your clit presses down harder, hips slamming into yours with renewed vigor. your headboard smacks against the wall with the force of his thrusts. “c’mon, baby, please . . . cum for me. i know you’re close. . . i can feel it”

he can feel your whole body tensing, your back arching off the bed as you teeter right on the edge. your cunt is clamping down on him like a vice, rhythmic pulses that make his own vision swim.

“fuck, you’re squeezing me so tight,” he groans. he can’t . . . he can’t stop. he doesn’t want to stop. he could stay like this forever, buried inside you, feeling you cum on his cock over and over again.

“one more” he’s panting against your neck, his voice wrecked. “jus’ one more, baby, i swear i can feel it wearing off.” his hips have a mind of their own now, inching impossibly closer to yours.  you’re so overstimulated you can barely think, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes as your body convulses with yet another wave of pleasure. your cunt is spasming around him again, and again, and again.

“s’too much,” you whine, “kats, it’s too much.”

“i know, baby, i’m so sorry . . .” he murmurs against your skin, “swear i’m gonna pay that extra a visit and send him straight to hell for doing this to me.”

a breathy giggle escapes your lips despite the overwhelming pleasure coursing through you. “that’s not – hah – very heroic of you,”

he lets out a shaky breath, his rhythm never faltering. “‘m not sure i can even consider myself a hero anymore after this,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper as he presses his forehead against yours.

his thumb finds your clit again, circling the swollen bundle of nerves, sending both of you spiraling toward another peak again. he’s well past the point of shooting blanks now, his body completely wrung out, nothing left to give. his hips are faltering, movements growing sloppier. he’s barely propped up on his elbows, arms shaking violently with the strain of keeping his weight off you.

you’ve lost count of how many times you’ve both cum. you’re so blissed out, your mind floating somewhere far above the soaked sheets, nails digging crescents into his shoulders, as he falls apart for the last time.

for a moment, you both just lay there, breathing in the thick, humid air. there’s so much of him leaking from your folds, coating your inner thighs and soaking the already ruined sheets beneath you.

he can no longer ignore the mess he’s made of you when he musters up the strength to pull out. he makes a muffled, embarrassed sound against your skin, his face burning hot. “m’sorry. . . fuck, it’s everywhere.”

“it’s fine, katsuki,” you murmur, running a hand through his sweat-damp hair, the blond strands clinging to your fingers. 

he lifts his head just enough to look at you, crimson eyes heavy-lidded and hazy. he glances down, his gaze tracing the mess on the sheets before flicking back to your face. “we can’t fuckin’ sleep in this,” 

he pushes himself up with a groan, arms trembling so badly he almost collapses back onto you. he manages to roll to the side, landing with a thump on the mattress. the sudden loss of his body heat makes you shiver. he just lies there for a second, staring at the ceiling before forcing himself into a sitting position.

his vision swims as he inches towards the edge of your bed. he rises to his feet and his legs nearly gives out. but he’s still standing. you can see the fine tremors running through his thighs, the strain in his back as he straightens up with a pained grunt. 

he turns back to you, his face half-shadowed in the dim light. his hair is a sweaty, tangled mess, sticking up in every direction, and his eyes are barely open.

“c’mon,” he says, holding out a hand to you, “we’ve gotta shower. and then i’ll make you some dinner”

lust can weaken most men, can make them forget how to breathe, how to speak. but no shitty quirk can ever make katsuki forget his love for you. it’s in his bones, in his veins, in every fiber of his being. that’s why he’s pushing through the pain, why he’s offering you dinner and a warm shower – despite your feeble protests – instead of collapsing back into bed. even when his body is failing him, his heart is right there with you.

Ass or Tits?

Toji's gonna pick ass. Every. Damn. Time. Is it even really a debate at this point? The man loves a good ass. First time he saw you in those tight jeans wrapping around your hips and your curves everytime you took a step. He knew you were meant to be his.

Its not like he tried to hide it, mind you. Anyone with 2 eyes could see the ways his gaze would wander towards your lower half. You could feel his wandering stare every time you walked into a room. It's why you start swaying your hips and a little more. Bending over a little extra to pick up whatever pen you dropped this time. A part of you knows it creepy of him to watch. And yet another part of you hopes he is.

When you 2 are just lounging at home, hes grabbing that shit whenever he can. Squeezing and massaging whenever he has the chance. Swatting your hand away with a grunt whenever you tried to stop him.

"M' not gonna do anything else ma. 5 more minutes."

Of course thats a another lie. As his hands travel futher up your body, bruising your waist as he slowly sends kisses up your neck.

Mid fuck. He's spanking your ass just for fun. Says he likes watching it go red as you ride his dick. Mumbling something about being tired as he lifts your hips to more his rhythm.

Your not gonna sleep tonight.

Giving or receiving?

Now as much as he loves watching you ride his cock till morning. Babbling about how much you can't take it. And you need a break. And all that other nonsense Toji doesn't really pay attention to.

He prefers being in control. Deciding how much pleasure hes gonna make you take a he eats you out like a starved man.

Watching you unravel beneath him as he places his fingers on your clit. Tounge lapping up your juices as you cry out his name.

When he feels you inching away from his mouth you best believe he's dragging you right back. Landing a firm *slap!* on your pussy as a warning.

"Try that dumb shit again and see what happens."

Didn't shave?

Toji's a grown ass man, he doesn't care how tick that bush is. He'll fucking braid it if it means he gets to eat you out same day same time.

Sometimes he prefers when you don't shave. He kinda likes the feeling of it across his face. He's a freak. But you know this, so just enjoy the ride.

Its not like he's ever gonna shave. That's why to much hassle. So why should you? Besides. He's not a very patient man. So you telling his you can't fuck because you haven't shaved. Isn't an option.

Hell, if your down periods aren't really a big deal to him either. Just say the word and he'll have you spread eagle, dick practically bruising your cervix. All you have is some towel and a dream. Best believe Toji's not gonna turn his favourite girl down for anything. And he's not talking about you.

You wanna turn the lights off cause your shy? No way. How else is he gonna see his dick poking out your stomach? Drool hanging from the side of your jaw.

Your embarrassment is almost his favourite part.

Teasing. God, he's such an Ass.

Because Toji doesn't tease. He bullies.

We already know this man doesn't have a single patient bone in his body. So why should he hold back because you decided to be a brat today? Shamelessly flirting with that waiter who clearly gave you an up-down when you two first walked in the restaurant. Smiling like an idiot as he hands you both the menus.

Of course. Just bwfore you both went out. Toji was being an idiot and created another argument. You were mad he had been coming home late. And he then proceeded to tell you to "chill the fuck out."

So now you're both in a mood. Unable to cancel the dinner because Toji is a cheapskate and this was all reserved with a heafty deposit. You're mad and therefore won't talk to him, and he's upset you won't talk to him! The mood was already soured before Toji caught you smilling so damn sweetly at the boy. Fluttering your eyelashes and laughing at whatever dumb joke he had to say about the menu.

It wasnt funny. You know it. Toji knows it! So why the fuck are you laughing and giving this extra attention he should he getting!?

To bad for you. Toji is a man of few words and fucks to give. Hes groping you the whole time you say your order under the table. Letting a when the kid finally asked if you were okay as you let out a breathy yes.

When you both got home, you tried to mout off, but he pinned you down the moment you took you shoes off. Head first om the couch with your ass up.

Hes spanking it red while shoving his big ass dick in there like theres no tomorrow. Balls slapping your asshole as he sneakily slides his thumb in there. Applying more pressure when he feels you get closer.

Though your shaky breaths he catches some parts of what you try to say. And ignores the rest. Something Something please. Something Something sorry. Yadayadayda.

Maybe next next time you'll think twice before tryna make him jealous. He's not gonna stop until you squirt on his face atleast 5 times, begging for his cock like the needy brat he knows you are.

Dates.

Toji not gonna do that shit. He's not even the romantic type. Your the first real relationship hes had that he didn't wanna ditch as soon as it got too serious. Planning dates. Remembering anniversaries. He's not your guy. Hell, the man doesn't even pay you rent.

When you guys do go out. He's glued to your side. Holding your waist as you walk. Putting his hand in your back pocket, no matter how many times you tell him off. Wiping his thumb on your mouth to lick off whatever food you hadn't got in your mouth.

His dick is pretty much all hes good for. Need someone to fuck you all night long? Make you forget whatever shitty ex your crying about this time and ride that dick till sunrise. Afterwards he'll run you a bath, add some of those bath bombs he knows you like and massage your scalp while you relax.

He needs his girl in tiptop shape after all.

Your stuck with him till one of you croak. And it damn sure ain't gonna be him.

© All works made by @spicebombb. Do not reproduce or translate to any platform, or feed to any AI platform/create them into bots without my permission. Warning. You will get hexed.

His hips jerk forward once, involuntary, before he locks them in place like he’s punishing himself. Your hand wraps around the base and you give one slow, deliberate stroke upward, thumb dragging over the slick head on the way back down. His abs clench so hard the lines carve deeper into his stomach but he still doesn’t speak. Just keeps staring at that fucking blank TV.

You lean in closer, “Still nothing?” you murmur. “That’s fine. Your cock’s doing all the talking for you anyway.” You drag your tongue flat along the underside in one long, wet stripe. You take the head into your mouth and suck hard. Let your tongue swirl slow circles around the slit, tasting the salt of him. The veins in his forearms bulge as his fists tighten on his own biceps, arms still crossed like he’s physically holding himself back from touching you.

You pull off to look up at him doe-eyed. You lick your lips, let a thin string of spit connect you to the glistening head. “Still not gonna talk to me?” you ask sweetly. “Mmkayy, stay mad.” You pop your lips back around him.

Drool runs down your chin, soaking his balls. You’re making the grossest, prettiest sounds as you let him fuck your mouth. His hand shoots to the back of your head, fingers knotting in your hair as he pushes you down. “You think I’m mad because some fucker bought you a drink?”

He leans down until his mouth is a breath from yours. “I’m mad because you smiled at him.” he says thrusting into your mouth, “And I’m madder,” he growls, “because I wanted to break his fucking jaw for it. And I didn’t. Because I was trying to be good. For you.”

His grip tightens in your hair shoving you back down until your nose is pressed flush against his pelvis, throat stretched around him, eyes watering instantly. You gag, but he doesn’t let up. He holds you there letting you feel the full, heavy weight of him, “Make it good,” he mutters, “Show me how sorry you are.”

Oh and you do. You relax your throat as best you can, let him use it as spit drips in thick ropes down your chin. He groans, “Fuck—there. Just like that.” You double down. Letting him hear how wet it is, hands slide up his thighs, then cupping his balls and rolling them gently. He comes hard, flooding your throat until you have to swallow fast to keep up. He groans, hips jerking while you milk him with slow, gentle sucks until he’s twitching from overstimulation. Only then does he finally let you pull off.

You collapse forward, forehead resting against his thigh, panting, lips numb, your chin slick and throat very raw as he exhales roughly. “Get up here.”

You crawl into his lap on shaky legs. He pulls you close as his arms wrapping around you as his mouth finds your ear. “Next time,” he murmurs, “you shut it down before I even have to see it. Or I won’t be this nice about making you make it up to me.”

You nod against his neck, still catching your breath as he kisses the side of your head, “Good girl.”

your middle finger sliding down to circle your entrance, then back up to your clit. "mmnh..." your hips buck against your own hand. "faster, baby."

you speed up. the wet sounds fill the room, your head falls back against his shoulder, and you feel his breath against your ear. "now two fingers inside, good girl. fill that pretty pussy for me." you slide them in, and the stretch makes you gasp. your walls clench around your own fingers, but it's not enough. it's never enough. you can feel how tight you are, how desperate. "that's it. fuck yourself on your fingers. imagine it's my cock, baby. imagine it's me splitting you open." "ah— ah— hnnggh! professor—" "look at you," he murmurs. "so desperate. such a good student, fucking herself on her own fingers. you'd take my cock just like that, wouldn't you? all desperate and whimpering." "yes! yes!" you're fucking yourself faster now, your hips lifting to meet your own hand. "that's my good girl, play with your clit now. use your thumb. circle it." your thumb finds your clit, and the it makes you cry out. you're so sensitive, so swollen, every touch sending sparks through your body.

"ah—hah! professor! i'm— i'm close—" "good. cum for me, baby. cum on your fingers like the good pretty girl you are." but something stops you, you're right there, teetering on the edge. your fingers pump desperately, your thumb rubs frantically, but you just can't. "i— i can't— nnghhh! " your voice breaks. "i can't without you, professor. please. please, i need your fingers. i need you."

his grip on your legs tightens so hard it might bruise. you can feel how hard he is against your lower back, his cock pressing into your spine. "if i touch you, baby, it's no longer for education. do you understand that? if i put my fingers inside this tight little pussy, it's because i want to. not because i'm teaching you. do you really want that?" "yes," you sob. "yes, i want that. i don't care. please! i don't care about the lesson... hah! i just want you—"

"say it again." "i want you to touch me. i want your fingers inside me. please, professor, please— i need you—" "that's all i needed to hear, babygirl." his fingers slide into you over yours. two of them — thick, massive. he pushes past your fingers, deeper, and the stretch is blinding. you scream, but his other hand clamps over your mouth, muffling it.

"shh, shh," he breathes in your ear, but he doesn't stop. his fingers move inside you with yours, fucking you open. "take it. take it all, baby." "mmmnnnghh! hir— nnnghh!" "that's it. feel how thick i am? feel how your pussy stretches around me? this is what you've been begging for, good girl." his fingers are so much bigger than yours. they fill you completely, pressing against your walls, curling exactly where you need them. and then his thumb finds your clit, presses down, circles. "fuck— ah!.. haaah— professor!"

your legs kick, but he holds them wide, keeps you open, keeps you taking it. you're sobbing against his hand, drool running down your chin, completely destroyed. "that's it. that's my good girl. you're going to cum on my fingers now. you're going to soak my hand, baby. say thank you." "th— thank you—" "louder." "thank you, sir!—"

your orgasm rips through you, your back arches, your head falls back against his shoulder, and you cum hard, your walls clenching around his fingers, your own fingers, everything. your vision whites out. a long, guttural moan tears from your throat as he works you through it, his thumb still circling your clit, his fingers still pumping, never stopping.

"fuck," he mutters, watching you fall apart. "that's it. that's it. good fucking girl. look at you cumming all over my hand. such a pretty sight." when you finally come down, you're shaking. your hand falls away, when he slowly withdraws his fingers, shiny with your cum, and brings them to his mouth. he sucks them clean, one by one, eyes never leaving yours. the sight makes your pussy clench again. "you're a fast learner, babygirl."

⋆ LESSON 2: LET HIM DROWN IN YOU!

his desk is cold against your bare ass. he's cleared it — pushed aside stacks of papers, a laptop, a mug of pens, some students' project folders — and lifted you onto it like you weigh nothing. your legs are spread wide, your heels resting on the edge, your pussy fully exposed and dripping, the papers beneath you are getting wet, but neither of you gives a single fuck.

"you asked me how this would help you learn," he says, his hands gripping your thighs, spreading you even wider. "the truth is, baby, it doesn't." you blink. "what?" "i just want to eat this pretty pussy. i've been thinking about it since the first time you sat on my lap. that sweet little cunt grinding on my thigh. i need to taste it."

"then—" "you need to know what a good eating out feels like. so you know what to expect." he grins against your inner thigh. "but mostly because i can't stop thinking about your taste." and then his mouth is on you. he doesn't start slow. he dives in, tongue flat against your entire pussy, licking from your entrance to your clit in one long, wet stroke. you cry out, your hands flying to his hair. "ah! fuckfuckk! professor!"

"mmmnh— fuck—" he hums against you, and the vibration makes your hips buck. his tongue circles your clit, flicks it, sucks it into his mouth. he pulls back just enough to spit on your pussy — a wet, obscene glob that slides down your folds — and then he's back, spreading it with his tongue, mixing his spit with your wetness.

"that's it. taste so fucking good, baby. sweet, wet and perfect. this is what a good pussy tastes like. remember that." "nnngh!— ah— hnnggh—hiro—" his fingers spread your folds open, and he dives deeper, his tongue pushing inside you. you feel it fucking you, curling, tasting your walls, and you're already so close, your thighs trembling around his head. "cum for me, baby," he says against your clit. "first one. give it to me." "i— i—" "cum. now."

his tongue flicks your clit fast, hard, and you cum with a scream, your back arching off the desk. he doesn't stop. he licks through it, groaning against your sensitive pussy drinking everything you give him. "mmmngh— yes. there we go, good girl. that's one."

your legs are shaking, you think it's over. well, it's not. he goes back in, sucking your clit between his lips, rubbing it with the flat of his tongue. his fingers slide inside you, curling, hitting that spot that makes you see stars. "i can't! — another one— it's too haah! much—" "you can, pretty girl and you will. look at this pussy. she's not done yet."

his mouth descends again, and this time he's rougher. he presses his face hard into your pussy, his nose grinding against your clit, his tongue fucking you deep. he talks to it, low and breathless, his lips brushing against your folds. "such a pretty pussy. so wet for me, baby. you love this, don't you? having your professor on his knees eating you out in his office while others' works get ruined under your wet ass. you love it."

"yes! i love it! oh my go—i love it! professor—" "tell my pussy you love it." "i love it! i love my pussy— i love your mouth on it—" "then cum again, good girl." he pinches your clit between his teeth — just enough pressure, and the second orgasm rips through you. your legs clamp around his head, but he doesn't move. he stays buried in your cunt, lapping at you, groaning against you. "mmmngh. mmnh—" until you're twitching and oversensitive, sobbing from the intensity.

when you finally go limp, he looks up at you. his face is destroyed — wet, shiny, your cum dripping from his chin, his lips, his nose, his eyebrows. he doesn't wipe it off. "one more, baby."

⋆ LESSON 3: GET ABSOLUTELY POUNDED BY HIS BIG COCK

he points to his desk — the lower one, where his teaching assistant usually sits, covered in student papers. "on all fours." you don't hesitate. your palms hit the wood, your spine arches, your ass pushes back toward him, grinding in the air. you're wearing a dress tonight — short, thin, no panties, and you know he can see everything. your pussy is already dripping, your arousal slicking your thighs.

"look at you," he breathes. "soaking wet and i haven't even touched you yet." "please," you whimper. "please, professor, i can't wait anymore! i need you—" "you'll wait until i say you're ready, good girl." he drops to his knees behind you. his hands spread your cheeks apart, and you feel his breath on your cunt, hot and damp. "i've already made you cum twice tonight, remember? on my tongue, on my fingers. so this won't hurt, baby. i made sure you're ready."

"yes— yes—" but his mouth isn't finished. he leans in, licks a long stripe up your slit, and you moan, your arms nearly buckling. "for luck." "professor— i can't! mmnh! i've already—" "shut up and take it." his tongue slides inside you just to try it again. "good girl," he says, standing up. "now you're ready."

he unbuckles his belt, the sound of the metal jingling makes your pussy clench. his trousers drop just enough to free his cock — thick, hard, leaking, the head glistening with pre-cum. he strokes himself, and you watch him over your shoulder, drooling, your mouth open.

"tell me what you want, baby." "i want your cock, professor. please. inside me." "how badly, pretty girl?" "so badly i can't think. i can't breathe. please— i've been so good— i've learned everything— please just fuck me—" he steps forward. the head of his cock presses against your entrance, and you push back, trying to take him, but he holds your hips still.

"slow, baby or it'll hurt. i'm big and you're tight. breathe." "nnnngh... please—" he pushes in, just the head. you scream, but it's late, the building is empty, no one can hear you. he's so big — bigger than you imagined, bigger than his fingers, and the stretch is blinding, burning, perfect.

"breathe, baby. breathe for me." you gasp and he pushes deeper. "ah! mmnghh!!— fuck! professor!" "that's it. taking it. taking all of this cock. such a good fucking girl." he slides in to the hilt, and you feel like you're being ripped apart. his balls press against your clit, and he's so deep inside you that your walls clench around him, trying to adjust to his size.

"look at you," he groans. "taking my whole cock. this tight little pussy was made for me, babygirl." "move— please— move—" and he does. at first he's gentle — slow, deep thrusts that let you feel every inch. his hands grip your hips, guiding you, teaching you. you can feel every ridge of his cock, every vein.

"rock back into me, baby. meet my thrusts. that's it. feel how good it is when you move together." "harder, please! haah! harder!" "yeah? you want me to fuck this sweet pussy proper?" "yes, please!" he slams into you. hard. the desk screeches against the floor. papers scatter. a lamp wobbles and falls. "fuckkkfuck! hiromi!" "that's it— that's my good little slut— take this cock."

his hips pound into you, his balls slapping against your clit. he reaches around, fingers finding your clit, rubbing tight circles. your legs give out, but he holds you up, one arm around your waist, still fucking you, never stopping. "i'm gonna! gonna cum nngh! wanna—" "not yet."

he pulls you up against his chest. his cock stays buried in you, and now he's fucking you from behind, upright, one hand on your hip, one hand on your throat, squeezing just slightly. "you feel that? that's what a real cock feels like, baby. that's what you've been begging for all these weeks." "yes yes! mmmhnah! thank you, thank you professor!" "thank me by cumming. cum on my cock. soak it."

he slams into you, and his fingers work your clit, your head falls back against his shoulder, making you cum with a scream that echoes through the empty building — "ahhh— fuckkk, yesyes, so good! "fuccck, yes— cum for me— cum on my cock." your walls clench around him, and he groans. "nnnnggh— fuckkk— baby mmmnhh— gonna cum, where do you want it?"

"i'm on the pill," you gasp. "cum inside me, professor. please. please, i want to feel it." "yeah? you want me to fill this tight little pussy? you want to walk around campus tomorrow feeling my cum dripping out of you, baby?" "yes! haahhh! pleasepleaseplease!" "gonna! i'm gonna— fuck—"

he slams into you one last time. his cock pulses, and you feel it — hot, thick, flooding you. he groans your name and you feel him twitch inside you as he fills you, his cum spilling deep into your cunt. "fucckkk that's my baby, mmhnh... sweetest pussy, all mine." when he's done, he doesn't pull out. he stays inside you, his forehead resting on your shoulder, both of you breathing hard, sweat-slicked and shaking. lessons completed.

professor higuruma isn’t paid enough for this.

that’s what he concludes as he fails the nth essay of the night. it’s 9:15 pm & he’s in the discomfort of his home, back bent over his desk & blue light glasses perched low on the hook of his nose.

one more paper to grade before he goes to bed tonight. that’s what he tells himself, at least.

and behold, the paper is yours! law professor higuruma hiromi knows he should save himself the trouble & give you a big fat F. girls like you are only good at picking slutty skirts & bending over just far enough that he can get the perfect view of your ass mid-lecture. not writing reports or drafting thesis statements.

but law demands fairness, so higuruma opens the document anyways.

LAWP-302 — THE BURDEN OF PROOF : PROXIMATE CAUSE IN PERSONAL INJURY CASES.

beyond the title, the document is completely empty.

hiromi higuruma counts himself lucky. empty doc means earlier bedtime. so before closing his laptop & putting his things away, he reopens your assignment thread to send a new email:

———-

Subject: RE: RE: LAWP-302 RESEARCH PAPER

From: [L/N], [Y/N]

To: Higuruma, Hiromi

helloooo professor here’s my research paper!!! finally on time for once :p if u don’t mind could u call me a good girl for my efforts??

xoxo,

[Y/N] 💘💓

————-

hiromi winces. he’d already had the misfortune of reading your email before, but accidentally skimming it a second time makes his stomach curl with disgust. he purses his lip, nose scrunched, glasses slipping down his cheek as he steadies the keyboard.

———-

Subject: RE: LAWP-302 RESEARCH PAPER

From: Higuruma, Hiromi

To: [L/N], [Y/N]

Y/N,

Your submitted assignment was completely empty. Lucky for you, there is still a day to the deadline. Complete the paper and resubmit as soon as possible.

Also, you are a student of a prestigious law school. It is expected your assignments are completed in due time, and I will not “praise” you for your “efforts.” They are expected, and asking me to call you a ‘good girl’ is extremely inappropriate. Not that you seem to care about what’s inappropriate and what’s not.

I’ve also told you to stop emailing me with such casual language. Signing your name with heart emojis is extremely informal and inappropriate. I can only issue so many warnings. May God’s plan for your life be bigger than your breasts, else I can assure that you will never make it.

Higuruma Hiromi

———-

hiromi sighs, body limp & bone heavy. perhaps the late-night frustration has gotten to him—he knows he should delete the last part, but his thumb slips (or not?) & he sends it anyways.

he’s about to close his laptop when an email notification pings. he makes the mistake of refreshing his page, & unfortunately the email comes from you.

———-

Subject: RE: RE: LAWP-302 RESEARCH PAPER

From: [L/N], [Y/N]

To: Higuruma, Hiromi

Professor 😟,

whatttt are u doing awake at this time. not that i’m complaining!! if you’re emailing me this late because you’ve FINALLY decided you’re interested in me & my big breasts (i’m so glad you noticed their size! the fenugreek must be working 😇), you can message me at 42-42-564 <3333

alsoooo my bad i think i sent the wrong draft </3. the actual paper is attached below!!

night night prof 🌙💤

[Y/N] 😇☺️ (no heart emojis this time bcoz im a good girl :)

——-

law professor higuruma hiromi doesn’t get paid enough for this.

that’s what he tells himself for the third time today. he chooses not to respond to your email, instead opening up the file to get things over with. it’s nearly midnight now & the chill of his office is unforgiving, but with red nose & freezing fingertips hiromi opens up the doc regardless.

⋆˚࿔ 𝑟𝑖𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 ℎ𝑜𝑡 𝑙𝑎𝑤 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑓𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑜𝑟'𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑠𝑒.ᐟ mdni. 18+

what ?

at this point, higuruma hiromi should shut his laptop & retreat to bed. this is clearly not your research paper, & whatever you write in your free time is none of his business.

but his name in the first paragraph catches his eye.

“hahh—hiromi,” you whine, a mess of shaky thighs & flushed cheeks. “can’t do it—need your help, please”

higuruma only grips your hips harder, big hands bruising at your thighs. he wastes no time lapping at the juices that spill from your achey cunt, giving your pussy a wet lick before his head tilts back so his nose digs right into your puffy clit. above him you’re half dressed & fucked dumb, mouth hung open & boobs spilling from your bra cup. you’re writhing on his nose, but hiromi doesn’t fucking care.

“you asked for this, no?” his voice is hungry, guttural. “ride, baby.”

what the fuck?

now, professor higuruma should definitely stop reading. he can already feel heat crawling up his throat & itching at his ears. he should step back. mark the document as "Inappropriate Content" & forward it to the disciplinary board. say a prayer & repent, if you will.

instead, his eyes snag the last sentence of the page.

hiromi pulls back, breathless & sticky with your slick, to look at the mess he’s made of his favorite student.

”good girl,’ he murmurs, “look how much you’ve leaked for your professor.”

he slams his laptop shut.

and his heart hammers with a rhythm that has nothing to do with justice. he knows monday will come, & so will your slutty skirts, half buttoned tops, shaky thighs—

he’ll have to see you in his office again. & he knows—with a sorry sense of dread—that it won’t be to fail you.

3. HRSS 3O1 : GET ‘EM BANNED !

monday comes & so does your slutty skirt.

it’s 5PM midsummer & the office air is sticky with heat. a fan hangs heavy in the center, creaky & aching, just loud enough to mask how hard hiromi’s shoe taps against the wooden floor.

in front of him you’re bright smile & pink nose & lace bra peeking from your button-up. hiromi doesn’t let his eyes dip. he doesn’t know how you’re beaming—perhaps it wasn’t clear he’d called you into his office for literal sexual harassment.

“professor,” you coo. “is this about my email on friday? you’re taking up that offer about my breasts?”

two desks to the left, history professor nanami kento clears his throat. on the opposite side is professor giyu tomioka who isn’t paid enough for this & just fucking leaves.

higuruma clears his throat, skin itchy. “i have no idea what you’re talking about, y/n. mind your mouth while in my presence.”

“did you read the smut fic i wrote about you?”

nanami exits the office.

hiromi drags his palm over his face; tired, weary, utterly embarrassed. in all his years of teaching never had he encountered a student as shameless & perverted as you, & even now he’s pretty sure you’re turned on by his exasperation as well because your skirt crinkles from your thighs squeezing beneath his desk. god.

& perhaps hiromi is equally perverted; because some sick, twisted part of him, the part that likes watching you bend over for him to see your panties dig into your pussy, or the part that likes stroking his dick to the memory of you palming your pebbled nipples that one day of class—doesn’t hate it. & he really should. & he really ought to teach you a lesson for fucking with his head & riling him up the way you do.

“professorr,” you sing-song, patting your chest shamelessly. “my breasts? you wanted to take up my offer, right?”

“enough.”

his voice bangs like gavel, and the sound shocks you—he knows because you’re looking up at him now with flushed cheeks & glossy eyes. like you’d never expected him to actually get mad.

and to make things worse, your thighs are squeezing like you like it.

and in that moment, hiromi decides he will take you up on that offer. he’s towering now, jaw tight, palms firm on the mahogany table.

“strip.”

and you waste no time, honestly. hiromi can tell you’re excited, even though you bite your cheek like you’re trying not to show it. your fingers are clumsy against your button-up, pathetic & half-shaky, and hiromi wastes no time before leaning over & snapping your shirt open himself. you let out a squeak as he unclasps your bra. cute.

but he doesn’t lower himself to your perky nipples—nope. higuruma hiromi would rather die than give you exactly what you want. he grabs you by the hair & forces you over his desk instead.

“professor—“

“quiet.”

but girls like you are stubborn as fuck & whine against him anyways. higuruma decides he has no time for that—his palm shifts from your hip to your mouth, keeping you shut & steady against him as he fiddles with his belt. god, you’re already writhing against him, ass rubbing against his already hardened cock. & hiromi doesn’t groan—he’d rather die than give you the satisfaction—so he bites his lip & ignores the taste of blood in his mouth instead.

“f-fuck…”

hiromi takes his sweet time. only his boxers separate you now, clothed dick dragging up your cunt. and he goes slow, painfully slow, like he’s punishing you for all the times you got him rock hard mid lecture & he had to jerk himself off with only the image of your panties digging into your folds or your perky nipples glistening in the fluorescent light.

you’re moaning against his palm now, voice a muffled, damp mess. your hips jerking against his cock make his thighs twitch. god, he’s wanted this so long.

and he finally decides to give it to you.

his dick practically springs from his boxers, heavy & thick & dripping with precum. fuck, he’s aching, practically twitching to get inside you. fuck fuck fuck.

“inside—“ you groan into his hand. “please,”

he’s barely done anything & you’re already a whiny mess! god, what a pervert you are. and hiromi would be a liar if he said he didn’t like it. his palms grip you roughly, lining you up & pressing into your back so you lean far enough to give him the perfect view of your ass.

hiromi doesn’t let you slip your skirt & panties off beforehand because he likes the idea of your skirt fluttering around each time he digs inside you. who says he can’t be a pervert, too?

and he does exactly that, bony fingers sliding your panties over your cunt. & you’re already soaked, wet & sticky so when he slips his fingers aside they’re already dripping with slick.

hiromi doesn’t give you time to adjust.

you don’t deserve it, so he simply doesn’t give it to you. he slides himself in, teeth gritting as your pussy flutters & grips him much tighter than he expected. truth be told, he hadn’t expected your aching cunt to give him such a hard time. dumb sluts like you came easy & pre-stretched, right ?

& he’s half-right, because your folds adjust to him. eventually. just when he lets his palm shift from your hip to your breast to grope them roughly & caress your nipples with his fingers. & god you squeeze with every rub, & you feel so fucking good & hiromi’s not sure how he didn’t give into your pretty pussy much sooner.

well he’s here now, & he wastes no time ramming into you. he digs in deep, hands working your perky nipples as he thrusts into your aching cunt. & he can barely muffle your moans now & he should be concerned about someone walking in but how can he when your whiny moans all go straight to his dick?

& because hiromi’s not easily satisfied, his right hand leaves your lips & sinks to your thighs instead. & god you’re so wet, & he only dips his hand to finger your swollen nub but you’re already a sloppy mess on his palm & fuck he loves it. loves how your ass twitches & hips jerk as his fingers graze your clit, fast & rough, like girls like you don’t deserve warm pace & gentleness.

“hah—ah…hiromi!”

you squeeze him tight, walls pulsing & hips stuttering against him. he thumbs your sensitive clit even harder through your high, thumb digging as you spasm & twitch against him, palms still heavy on your perky nipples. & only when you relax against him, pussy still fluttering, does he slip out his cock to cum on your ass with heavy pants & a breathy “fuck.”

girls like you don’t deserve aftercare or ‘are you okay?’ so hiromi doesn’t give it to you. he’s already buckled belt & smoothed out hair in his seat, watching with lazy eyes as you struggle to shift your skirt over your ass.

you’re still buttoning your shirt when you beam,

“see, prof? that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

except it was, & the post-nut clarity hits him like a bullet. fuck. he should’ve never let a perverted thing like you get under his skin.

hiromi breathes, pulls a drawer from his desk. “i have something for you.”

“another round ??”

higuruma hiromi laughs.

“even better.”

HARASSMENT 1O1, end.

These were intense times. 

The Michigan Wolverines were right in the midst of the NCAA College Football Playoffs, and it has been weeks of non-stop practice, conditioning, strength training, and late-night film recaps for the team of 100-odd men–all in preparation for a chance at being the nation’s top seed. 

There was much on the line, especially seeing that Senior Quarterback and Captain, Toji Fushiguro, was aiming to secure his spot in the upcoming NFL draft. 

As such, his pre-game ritual (one that he has refined and perfected over the course of four years) was a strict routine backed by, and rooted down in, evidence-based science and partially unbiased statistical analyses. 

It all starts with his protein shake: two whole bananas, one cup of oats, a shit ton of peanut butter, one spoon of raw honey, four scoops of protein powder, and full-fat milk. 

Next, his attire. He needed his signature gray game-day sweats (unwashed for the past 10-games in a row), a muscle tank he’s owned and stretched out since high school, and his most industrial-grade, noise-cancelling headphones. 

As for schedule? He needed thirty minutes of privacy, unrestricted and uninterrupted access to high speed internet, and most importantly of all: he needed to watch at least two of “stargiirl_xx”’s videos prior to heading out onto the turf. 

Give him that, and he was bound to have a fuckin’ phenomenal performance on the field. 

His meaty hand was already squeezing his growing erection through his sweats, the thick outline of his cock visible against the backlight from stargiirl’s newest video loading up on his laptop screen, and his protein shake already half finished by his bedside table. 

He wasn’t just a fan. He was her #1 biggest financer. 

Though she never showed her face, he had come to memorize the curve of stargiirl’s thighs and the moles on her hips over the course of the years. He knew her room layout by heart, and diligently watched the animes that she kept posters of on her walls. 

She was the best of the best. Not showy, not performative, just purely indulging herself. 

And sure, if keeping her active meant donating a sizable portion of his D1 stipend to fund her… pursuits, well, then call him a patron of the arts. 

His dick shamelessly pulsed in his pants as the page finally stopped buffering and the title of the video loaded. 

“Lessons in Vibrations Pt I”. 

Part one?!

He knew almost immediately that tonight’s game would be a fantastic one. 

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

The Wolverines won their first round of the playoffs in a sweeping victory: 41-20. 

And Toji Fushiguro? Well, he was the star of the show, of course. He completed more than 85% of his passes (with six of them leading to touchdowns) and led an 80-yard rush all in a single game. He was on fire: skin buzzing with adrenaline, cool sweat dripping down his face, and his large canines glinting under the fierce stadium lights as the deafening crowds roared his name. 

“To-ji! To-ji! To-ji!”

He felt indomitable, floating on a high all the way from the stadium, to the bus, to the afterparty. 

But in the lecture hall? Well… 

His grades were barely passing for the majority of his classes, and in fact they were quite below when it came to Applied Chemical Kinetics II. 

He was truly a lost cause. 

He had missed countless of Yaga’s lectures throughout the course of the semester, promising himself that he would catch up on the review notes (he didn’t) and trying to watch the recorded lectures on the bus rides to any of the away games (he never). 

So really, it came as no surprise to anyone when he absolutely tanked his midterms those six long weeks ago. 

At the time, he was desperate. Failing class meant getting booted off the team. He needed someone who could easily cover his sorry ass for the rest of the semester, and fast. 

Therefore, the obvious choices for a final project partner were between Ijichi and, well, you. 

And, seeing as Toji Fushiguro had a pair of functioning fuckin’ eyes and a brain that lived partly in his pants, he chose the latter. 

It wasn’t easy persuading you to take him on for the project, which was something he honestly didn’t quite expect (nor was he used to). You were stoic to his ill-attempted flattery and unaffected by his usual charm. Every smile he flashed at you seemed to wither upon arrival, and every playful remark was met with nothing more than an empty stare.

In the end, desperation drove him somewhere pride never would’ve allowed before: straight into his football stipend.

“Listen. I’ll give you $300 if you can help me pass this class.”

It was the Wednesday before the Thanksgiving break, and he remembered how his words rang loud and heavy in the dusty air of the old lecture hall. Everyone had left at this point, the class long-since over.

You had stood before him unmoved, your books hugged to your chest and your normally impassive gaze slowly piquing in interest.

He remembered how you looked up at him through your lashes, and the way you tilted your head almost cutely. “Make it $400,” you said it softly, yet with little hesitation.

He remembered how he felt himself gulp, not from the number, but at the way your eyes were scanning his face like it was the first time you even noticed him. 

His hand had gripped the strap of his backpack just a little tighter. 

Though, you didn’t seem to notice as you continued. “I’ll meet you on Mondays and Thursdays only, I work every other day. And I want half as security in advance.”

You pulled out your phone, swiftly punching in your password before holding it out to him, the contacts app already open on the screen. 

For the first time in all of his college experience, he was genuinely caught off guard.

What the fuck? 

He took your phone. 

“$400?” he repeated, huffing faintly under his breath (was he amused? Annoyed? Aroused? He couldn’t tell at the time, nor does he know now) as he typed in his number. His large hands looked almost comical holding your small device. “You rob everybody like this, or am I just that special?”

He handed your phone back, his calloused fingers gently grazing your warm ones. 

“You’re failing chem,” you replied flatly. “You are not special.”

He hated how his dick twitched at your words.

But most of all, he hated how he didn’t know what to say in response.

He was the star quarterback, captain of the football team, most popular guy on campus and an undeniable chick-magnet, for god’s sake! 

His silence surprised the both of you, and you took it as your queue to leave. “See you later,” you glanced down at your phone, looking at his contact. “Fushiguro.”

You didn’t even know his fuckin’ name?!

And with that, you gently breezed past him, only offering him a small nod as you walked out of the room. The scent of your shampoo faintly caught in his nose as he tried to will his boner to stop growing in his sweats.   

After that, the break passed uneventfully, and by the time campus filled back up again and the chill of early winter settled in, your project was impossible to ignore.

He kept to his word of paying you the $200 in advance.

You kept to yours by meeting him that following Monday. 

The two of you developed a routine during the second half of the semester, meeting in libraries and cafes to review material and project timelines for the final submission. 

And during those couple of hours on the Mondays and Thursdays that he had you, he came to the haunting realization that you were so… chill. 

He was blunt, but you were blunt back. You flicked him when his head got too large, and he flicked you whenever you were too stuck in yours. He shoved you out of your shell at times, while you pulled him back down to Earth. It was rare, and so fuckin’ odd, this kind of dynamic between the two of you, the kind that goes unnoticed until suddenly you realize it’s there.

Soon, he would find himself calling your name from across the quad, and you would nod with what looked like a smile at him when you passed his row in lecture. He gave you tickets to his games (which you would resell for 200% of its value), and put your name on the list for the Kappa parties despite you never showing up. You sent him stupid instagram posts, and brought him homemade coffees whenever the two of you met post-game days. 

And thankfully for Toji, today was one of those days. 

“How’d it go?” Your voice was like honey and wine, low and smooth, as you looked up at him from behind your computer. The light from your screen illuminated halos in your eyes, and the steam from his opened thermos curled languidly in the air between you both. 

You sat across from him in a quiet, off-campus cafe. 

He grinned, smug and wolfish and borderline sleazy, as if he’d been just waiting for you to ask. He leaned back in his chair and stretched his overwhelmingly large, muscular arms over his head. He made a point to subtly flex his biceps while under your scrutiny. His shirt lifted slightly above his abdomen, and you blinked your eyes to focus on the scar on his tanned face, rather than the dark happy trail that ran down, down, down to his…

“Perfect game. You’d know if you actually came ‘round ‘n watched.” He playfully winked, his deep chuckle echoing as you gave him a deadpan stare. 

“I’m quite alright, Fushiguro.” He pouted in mock defeat as you looked back down at your screen. The battery symbol on your laptop flashed red in warning: low power. 

You’d only been there for thirty minutes and you could’ve sworn you charged the damn thing last night. Sure, your outlets were kind of fucked, and sure this was a twelve year old laptop with a battery life the size of a peanut, but surely it wouldn’t give out on you this early in the day?!

You exhaled a long breath. The thought of putting money down for a new computer made your heart physically ache. 

The two of you (mainly you) had just started to make headway with the report (“flow state”, as Toji would call it), and you knew you wouldn’t have a chance to work on the project again until after your Wednesday shift. “You got a charger on you?” 

He scoffed, almost offendedly. “Wanna try askin’ that again sweetheart?” He tsked you lightly. 

You rolled your eyes, a heavy sigh tumbling out of your soft lips. 

“Forget it. I know you don’t,” there was something prickly beneath your uncaring tone, and he curiously paused to examine you. 

He could see the faint circles under your eyes that you tried to cover with concealer, the way your shoulders sagged slightly from the weight of your backpack as you lifted it from the seat beside you, and the brief glimpse of all the mini bookmarks sticking out of your planner as you dropped it inside the bag. 

“I guess we’ll have to call it here then. I’d need to go back to my apartment and grab my charger to do anything else.”

And, perhaps it was because the two of you had formed this unexpected bond over the past several weeks, something deep and quiet and far more important than Toji would ever willingly name, that the weight of being the weakest link finally made Toji Fushiguro feel the heavy hammer of guilt bury deep within his hardened chest. 

A moment passed before he cleared his throat, holding up his hand. 

“Or…” the words were slow to move out of his mouth, embarrassment thickening in his throat. “Why don’t we work there?” You stared at him, almost startled, as if he’d grown another head. His ears warmed under the intensity of your gaze as he continued. “I still got power, I can keep goin’ if you’re down.” 

His triceps flexed as he scratched the back of his neck, tan skin pulling taut as he looked away. 

“It’s a small place,” you warned. 

He shrugged, his voice catching in his throat at the way you were holding his gaze. “I don’t mind. I’d go any place you choose.”

He paused, his eyes widening slightly at the words that tumbled out of his mouth, as if he didn’t realize what he said until after he said them. 

You breathed, and a beat passed before a small, pretty smile pulled across your features – the first he’s ever gotten from you like this. And this time, your tired eyes warmed into something soft, something akin to appreciation, something new.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay, then I’d like that.” You tilted your head slightly, and his heart thumped oddly loud in his muscular chest. “Thank you, Toji.”

For just the briefest of moments, you looked at him as if he had just offered the world. 

All he could do was swallow and nod. 

He didn’t even realize you called him by his first name until you were both out the door. 

The walk to your apartment was comfortably silent. Despite Toji’s taller stature and athletic build, he wordlessly matched your slower pace, walking between you and the road. 

Your apartment was situated right on the outskirts of campus; too close to drive, but too cumbersome to walk. He quietly marveled at your resolution to go in person to class every day, especially when he had difficulty hauling his ass to the lecture hall that was just a block over from frat row. 

The taller man was so lost in his own thoughts that he didn’t even realize how close he was standing to you as you both paused at your front doorstep. His towering frame loomed over you, and he could feel the heat of your body as you dug through your bag, and he could see the goosebumps that rose on your neck when your arm accidentally grazed against his abdomen. 

Your keys softly clinked! together as you unlocked the front door.

And, there was something faintly intimate about being led up the creaky wooden steps to your 3rd floor apartment, your hips gently swaying in his face with each ascent up, and your soft hands lightly tracing the railing in your wake.

He intrusively thought about reaching out to touch your fingers, to run his hand along the curve of your waist–

He coughed lightly.

What was he thinking?

As you opened your apartment’s door, he was immediately hit with the light smell of lemon and jasmine. 

Your place was small but tidy; a one-bedroom attic apartment where the kitchen and living area blurred together, soaking in the same sunlit space. Despite its size, it carried your mark: two types of server aprons hung on the coat rack, a soft crocheted throw blanket you made draped over the worn couch, and a set of reading glasses laying beside a hand-painted mug on your round window table.

It was cute; homely. A small glimpse into your life outside of class.

“You can start getting set up in here, I’ll just grab my charger from my room.” You spoke quietly as you led him to the table. 

You silently turned before he could respond, padding across the old wooden floors to the door that was directly across from where he had set his bag down. 

He had only just started typing his password into his computer when he lazily looked up, his dark eyes catching the movement from your room. 

And, holy shit. 

No. 

There was genuinely no way in hell. 

He was scrambling up out of your wobbly kitchen chair before his mind could even register it. 

His body felt as if it were moving through water, and his brain felt like jam. Was that his own blood roaring past his ears or his soul escaping his body? 

Cool beads of sweat began to form on his neck, tickling at the ends of his dark, grungy hair. He had crossed the width of your apartment in three long strides, until suddenly he was at your doorframe, his large body leaning against it like it was a lifeline, and his scarred mouth parted into the dumbest looking “o”.

His wild eyes scanned your room fervently. The walls, the Cowboy Bebop poster by your bedframe, the pale linen sheets, the empty vase on your bedside table and the stack of yellowing paper backs in the corner of it. 

Everything looked familiar.

Scratch that. Everything looked the same. The same as–

“Can I help you?” 

You were on all fours. All fuckin’ fours. 

You tilted your head up to face him, taking a pause from wiggling the stubborn plug out of the ancient socket underneath your desk.

And… could you? Can you? He was at a genuine loss for words. 

All he could do was stare dumbly, his large fists clenching and unclenching at his sides, and his body emanating a heat that he prayed to god wasn’t visible from where you were.

“Uh. Y-you got a bathroom up here??” 

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

He scoured through every single video and rewatched every single clip that night.

The furniture, the decor, the walls, the window placement: everything was the same.

And so, the verdict was in: you–his quiet, guarded, asocial, and steely chem partner–were none other than stargiirl herself. 

What. The. Fuck. 

It was confusing to wrap his head around, this whole stargiirl-chemgirl business. But would he go as far to say that it wasn’t attractive? That he didn’t pop a boner every time he thought about it? 

No. He couldn’t. He’d never.

Was this divine intervention or his own personal hell? 

He couldn’t tell.

What does this mean? How should he act?  What does he fucking do with this information now?

He rubbed his temples before running a tense hand through his hair. At the same time, a notification popped up on his computer. 

“Check out a new post from stargiirl_xx !”

He could feel the blood in his veins thumping against his skin. 

“Don’t do it. Please don’t fucking do it-” he mumbled. 

He tapped into the link despite himself. 

“Lessons In Vibration Pt II”

He wordlessly clicked the play button on the video. 

For a moment, he thought his screen was buffering. The camera was set up to look out onto your bed, though you were not in frame yet, presumably twiddling with the settings of your camera. 

But when you finally did walk into view, his heart nearly imploded. 

The frame only showed you from the mouth down, your identity mainly concealed. You were bottomless, bare legs walking across the floor as you situated yourself on your bed. The only piece of clothing you did have on was an overlarge sweatshirt, his sweatshirt, one that he, in his panicked daze to get out of your apartment earlier, forgot he had left behind. 

He didn’t dare breathe, nor could he move. His head was craned so close to his computer, as if he wanted to go through the screen itself just to get a better look. 

He noted how his hoodie fell past your ass, large and consuming and honestly? So fuckin’ perfect on you.

You were nearing the end of your normal introduction, and he realized you spoke differently on video, low and confident and sensual and hypnotic.

“I’ve been thinkin’ a lot about my content throughout the years,” your hands started to draaag the bottom of his hoodie up, letting it bunch just slightly above the dip of your waist, enunciating your curves. “-And I’ve realized I’ve never had a partner during any of them.”

The comments on the side bar started to flood through, hundreds of viewers already volunteering themselves to be your +1. 

His jaw ticked, hard.

“I think,” you leaned forward like you were sharing a secret. Toji gripped onto his computer until a faint pop! could be heard of one of the inner screws coming loose. “I think I would like to change that in the future,” and then you smiled, really smiled, a full, playful grin wiping across your features in a way he had never been able to see in person before. 

His dick bobbed in his pants. 

This could not be happening to him right now. 

You continued, “but for now, welcome back to my Lessons in Vibrations series.”

He watched as you started introducing the toys you would be using today, before you slowly began to touch yourself, teasingly showing glimpses of the purple lace panties you had on underneath his hoodie. 

And he couldn’t help it, really. 

Because when you started rubbing your vibrator against your clit, your deft fingers plunging skillfully into your cunt, soft whimpers escaping your lips as your pussy started squelching out a fucking melody – all while wearing his fuckin’ sweatshirt – what the fuck else was he supposed to do?

His sweats were already halfway down his thighs, and his meaty hand greedily pumping his own cock in sync to you fucking yourself on your fingers. 

He watched hungrily as you pushed his sweatshirt up further along your body, exposing your stomach, teasing the view of your bare tits. He bit back a groan at the thought of your scent lingering in the fabric, and prayed to whatever deity above that you wouldn’t wash it out before he got it back. 

Below, your fingers languidly teased the head of your vibrator against your entrance. It was the insertable kind, with a slender tip and curved body, the type that had your hole trying to suck up the device with every rub against your dripping slit. 

He could feel the veins in his cock pulsing hotly in anticipation, pushing up thick pearls of precum out onto his flared tip. 

He wondered what it would be like to slip his shaft against your drenched pussy lips, to massage the underside of his cockhead against the tight ring of your entrance, to feel you squeezing around him, and to hear the sounds you would make just for him. 

He gulped, cool sweat starting to form on his brow. You were beginning to fuck the device into you, pumping the vibrator in and out and in and out. He could see your legs trembling, your juices starting to  uncontrollably splash outside of you, and your pussylips fluttering with every bzzz bzz bzzzzzt of the vibrator fucking and swirling and massaging into your g-spot. 

He was matching your pace, furiously pumping his dick, thinking about how you looked on all fours earlier, thinking about how you smiled when you called him his name, thinking about how you look when you concentrate and the mole above your brow, thinking about the coffee you made for him and the weird shitposts you sent and the way you could look at him like he was nothing, and everything, all at the same time.

And suddenly, he wasn’t climaxing to the stargiirl he had always seen on screen.

It was his tough, quiet, calm chem partner. 

And as he shot hot spurts of thick, ropey cum all the way from his dick to his chin (the most he’s ever released before), he realized only one thing. 

He just finished to the thought of you.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

Toji Fushiguro had a problem. 

No, scratch that. 

He had a fucking crisis. 

It was drill day, and his head was absolutely nowhere near the turf. He fumbled balls, missed targets, and was a full thirty-seconds under his usual sprint times. 

And that was only how one of his practices went this week. 

It had been five whole days since he last saw you. 

Five days of being dogshit at his sport. 

Five days of holing up in his frat, avoiding campus, avoiding class, avoiding your texts, avoiding you.

It’s not like he wanted to do this, but he didn’t know what to do, how to act, or what to even say. 

How could he talk to you casually while knowing he’s given probably a third of his checks to you? How could he be normal in your presence knowing that he’s watched every single one of your streams, and in turn has finished an embarrassing amount of times to each of them?

How could he trust himself when the thought of you alone had his heart pounding so hard his ears hurt? Or how his chest squeezed so tight he almost went to urgent care, just because you texted asking where he’s been and if he was okay? 

How could he face you, knowing that he somehow developed the largest, fattest, most egregious fuckin’ crush on you?!

And, for the record, Toji Fushiguro did not do crushes. He hadn’t necessarily “ran through” the entire roster of available chicks on campus, but he did have an occasional fling, nothing serious, nothing long, nothing that would distract him from football and his dreams.

He was known as the campus heartthrob and heartbreaker. He was Mr. Non-Chalant, Mr. Everybody-Wants-A-Piece-of-Him, and Mr. I-Don’t-Get-Attached all wrapped up in one 6’4, 230 lbs body. 

A crush? That was new, unexplored territory for him. 

He stared down at your last texts to him.

⭐️(Thursday, 12:03pm): i got us a nice spot!! im sitting on 2nd floor @ clark  ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧

Ba-dump!

⭐️(Thursday, 12:18pm): knock knock, is mr. toji theree 

Ba-dump! Ba-dump!

⭐️(Thursday, 12:56pm): hey, is everythin ok? r we still on for today?

Ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump–

⭐️(Saturday, 10:01am): r u alive

It physically sickened him that he couldn’t get his cowardly fingers to just fucking write back. But every time he opened up your text chain, all he could do was stare. 

Which is exactly why he couldn’t see you yet. 

He needed time. 

He needed space. 

He needed to get this shit under control.

Fortunately (or unfortunately) for him, the Kappa Epsilon fraternity was throwing a rager tonight. With the group of men only one week out from the next bracket of playoffs, this would be the last night the football frat would get to drink together for a while if they were to make it to the finals. 

It would be the perfect distraction. 

About an hour or so into the party and he was buzzed. He absolutely demolished that shithead Ryomen in beer pong, crushed a pack of PBRs, and now was cooling off in the kitchen, his body feeling swimmy and light. 

He reached for his phone. Maybe, just maybe, if he looked at your messages again for the umpteenth time today, maybe he would know what to say, maybe he–

“Ah, so you can come out and party but ignore all of my texts?”

His heart did that stupid thing where it pounded so hard against his chest he wondered if his ribs bruised. 

Despite the booming of the bass coming from the room over, and the idle chatter of randoms idling in the kitchen, he could hear the dry, unimpressed, and entirely too familiar voice coming directly from behind him. 

He turned, his eyes lowering to find you, as if it was muscle memory, as if it was his second nature. 

You never showed up to these parties (and trust, he has invited you to them all). Yet here you were, your body leaned up against the kitchen counter, arms crossed over your chest, and your hair falling around your frame. 

He grinned, the buzz in his head making it easy for a stupidly cheeky and wide and boyish smile to plaster onto his face. (a/n: toji has a hung smile. Okay? Okay.). 

“Hey, party animal,” he said, almost dreamily. 

The top you wore clung to you like a second skin, accentuating the swells of your breasts and the dip of your waist: features that you usually hid underneath your normal, bulkier campus-attire. 

He was indecisive, his eyes bouncing between the unreadable look on your face to the sliver of exposed skin right above your miniskirt. 

You looked good, really fuckin’ good. 

Your eyes widened, before your cheeks blushed the prettiest shade of red, your manicured fingers tightening around the plastic solo cup you were holding

Did he say that outloud?!

You straightened, steeling yourself, willing the warmth in your cheeks to go away. “You’ve ignored me for five days, Fushiguro-” your voice was firm and cool, cutting sharply through the noise of the party.

Back to the last name basis. 

You looked away, before adding, “-and you ditched me on Thursday.” You spoke that last part softly, deliberately, a look of sadness flashing briefly in your pretty, doe-like eyes. 

A dull pang rippled through his chest. 

He knew the implications of your words – the two of you never missed a meetup since this whole “deal” started. 

And, like those days in the libraries or cafes where he found himself sitting before you, following your every word and direction, he now found himself moving towards you, a small pout forming on his scarred lips, as his strong arms caged you in until you were wedged between himself and the counter. 

And, you knew he was huge before. 

But now, up close, you realized just how large he was - his broad shoulders obscuring your view, his muscular chest rippling under the tight black shirt he wore, and his huge hands riddled with veins that climbed up, up, up his forearms. 

He was overwhelming and all-consuming, surrounding your senses with the kind of intensity only he alone could pull off. You breathed in, your chest rising, fighting against the cotton of your ill-fitting top. He smelled of fresh pine and warm leather, clean and raw and manly. 

You came here pissed, but now found your resolve completely fogged and muddled. 

He leaned forward, dipping his head low, until his shaggy fringe tickled softly against the shell of your ear. 

You knew he had been drinking, but the question was, did he know what he was doing right now? Was this purposeful? Was this real? You couldn’t quite tell, but the way his breath stuttered as his nose traced light patterns into your neck, the way he was breathing you in, and the way his hands periodically clenched onto the countertop as if to restrain himself, told you he was at least semi aware of what he was doing. 

Your heart was hammering in your chest. The two of you never stood this close before, let alone touched each other. 

You turned your head slightly, trying to put at least some ounce of space between your face and his.

But for him? That just would not do. 

He slowly pulled away from your neck, his nose lightly mapping a path from the base of your neck, across the soft expanse of your cheek, to the tip of your own. Noses brushing, breaths mingling, chests heaving, and hearts pounding as his scarred lips hovered your glossed ones. 

“Why have you been avoiding me?” 

The air between you was warm and thick, charged with something tender and so deeply intimate. 

“Because you scare me,” he mumbled. 

“Oh, really?” Your mouth twitched. 

“Mm.” He nodded once, nose rubbing softly against yours in an eskimo kiss. You could see how his eyes were dark and heavy-lidded, lips dangerously close to pressing against yours.

“‘Think ya cursed me.” His neck flushed red, his low voice was barely above a whisper. 

“I can go-”

“Don’t.”

And then his large hands were latching onto your waist, the heat of his skin searing through the thin material of your skirt. 

“Don’t. Don’tDon’tDon’t.” His brows scrunched together, his face becoming serious. “Don’t go. Don’t leave. Not when you’re here, with me, pretty girl.” 

You breathed, taking your time to steady your voice after hearing the pet name roll off his tongue. “Then what should I do?”

“Stay.”

It was as simple as that, really. 

And then his lips were on yours, warm and soft and commanding. He kissed you like you were sin, drinking you in, savoring you on his tongue, before inevitably, always inevitably, going back for more. He didn’t let you breathe; he wouldn’t. He was greedy and wrong and possessive, claiming your mouth like it was his alone to conquer. Your knees weakened as his tongue massaged against yours addictively, molding against you like you were made for him; like he was made for you. 

Your hands moved before you could think, before you could decide if you were angry with him or if you hungered for him. You found purchase on his broad shoulders, before making your way up, up, up to his neck, one hand running through his dark hair while the other held onto the underside of his strong jaw, thumb gently caressing the scar on the side of his mouth, pulling him in.

He pressed into you further, your ass hitting the lower counter. His body was flush against yours, his chest purposefully rubbing against your tits. 

He could feel your nipples hardening through the flimsy cotton of your top, and he couldn’t stop the sleazy grin that was forming on his face. 

Below, his grip on you was gentle but firm, bringing your body to press and grind against his in an unhurried, languid way, like he had all the time in the world, like all of this was fated from the start. 

And his fingers, oh his fingers, which spanned across your hip, slowly found their way to your ass, gripping and cupping and kneading into the soft, jiggly flesh. 

You could feel something move against your thigh, something sturdy and heavy and completely fucking monstruous. 

“Haah-” you shakily sighed out, breathy and dazed as you looked down to the outline of his bulge. Your eyes widened. 

“I like when you use that smart mouth, y’know,” he was talking against your lips, not able to find it in himself to pull away. His hand slid up the side of your waist, until he stopped right underneath your breast, his thumb rubbing against the underside of where it started to swell. 

His voice dropped an octave lower, whispering to you like it was a secret. “Talk to me. Break this curse. Tell me it’s not just me that feels like this.” 

Please.

His heart was racing. He was stone cold sober. This was it. This was his admission. 

ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump–

You breathed. 

The party raged on in the background, muddled and distant, like his ears were submerged under water–

“It’s not just you, Toji.” 

Your voice was quiet, your cheeks tinted rouge, your pretty eyes looking up at him in earnest. 

And that was all he needed. 

He picked you up like you were nothing (his bench was 350 lbs, squat 600 lbs, and his hip thrusts? don’t even worry ‘bout it), a smug, victorious grin tugging at his scarred lips.

He carried you out of the kitchen, and a steady stream of wolf whistles and howls erupted from his frat brothers and party goers as the two of you made your way across the foyer, up the stairs, and towards a bedroom. His bedroom. 

He carried you inside, keeping the lights off, letting the warm glow of the streetlamp beside his window spill softly across the room. Without a word, he set you down on his large king-sized bed.

The air in his room was tender and still. You could hear the faint bass of the stereo downstairs, vibrating against his wooden floors like a heartbeat. The distant cheers of the crowd down below faded to quiet as he pressed his mouth to your own. 

He leisurely climbed over you, never breaking the kiss, his muscular arms holding his body above your own. 

It didn’t take long for the makeout to turn heated again, teeth clashing against teeth, bodies pressed against each other, rubbing and teasing in a way that had your head spinning.

You put your hands against his chest. 

“Toji-”

“Stay,” he breathed, whispering the words against your lips, like he could read your mind. “-Stay with me tonight,” he pressed his body closer into you, rutting his hips, “and lemme show you the things I’ve been wantin’ to say to you all week.”

You could feel his cock twitch ominously against your bare thigh as you swallowed. 

His lips were swollen and glistening from your mixed salivas, his eyes glazed over, jade irises almost completely black. His grip on your lower body was unrelenting, holding you in place. 

You lightly pushed your hand against his chest, a hesitant look crossing your features.

A beat passed. For a second, he didn’t even realize he stopped breathing. 

“You’ve been drinking,” You paused, your voice coming out small. “What if.. what if you don’t mean this in the morning?” 

And for all your expertise and genius, oh, how completely wrong you could be.

He let out a humorless chuckle, his sharp canines peaking through his lips in the process. 

“Did it sound like I was jokin’, sweetheart?” He shakily exhaled through his nose as he pressed his erection against your clothed cunt, holding himself there, letting you feel the pressure and full weight of what he was packing. “Does it feel like I’m jokin’ ‘bout this?” 

You bit your lip, pussy throbbing, a warm slickness starting to soak through your panties, before messily spreading between your clenched thighs. 

You shook your head. 

“What’d I say about usin’ your words?”

He pulsed his dick, the sensation making your pussy clench. 

Fuckin’ tease. 

“Nngh- no. No it doesn’t feel like you’re joking,” you almost gasp out. 

A satisfied smirk plastered onto his tanned face.

“Good girl.” 

And then he’s moving down the bed, his calloused hands spreading your legs as he pressed wet kisses against the hot skin of your thighs. He was methodical and slow, making his way up your inner thigh, savoring the small sounds that you tried to suppress as he reached the bottom hem of your skirt, his face mere inches away from your sopping pussy, and his breath puffing warm air against your dampened panties . 

“Ohhh jus’ look at ya,” you could tell he had the most shit-eating grin on his face right now, pride swelling in his voice as he carefully dipped a large, rough finger between the seam of the thin purple fabric you adorned. “This all f’me?”

And - Holy shit.

The videos of you didn’t even do this justice. 

Because low and behold, here you were, under his body, and you were so fuckin’ wet. His finger slid against your folds with little resistance, putting just enough pressure that you couldn’t help but moan his name as he rubbed circles against your clit.

And, Toji Fushiguro never claimed to be a patient man. So, it should’ve came as no surprise when he grabbed your hips and used his hulking strength to push your clothed pussy to his scarred lips, his face nuzzled to your cunt, nose pressed firmly to your clit, and his greedy tongue lapping you up through the soiled fabric. 

It was obscene and perverse and dirty and wrong. 

But oh, how he loved it. Loved the heady taste you left on your panties, and the sweet scent of your gushing pussy, and the excess slick on your thighs that made its way onto his rough cheeks. 

He groaned, a low, guttural sound against your skin that made your tummy squeeze into knots. 

“T-Toji, please,” you whined, pressing your greedy cunt into his face, “need your tongue. Need you. Need more.” You could hardly string a true sentence together, and he hadn’t even fucked you proper yet. 

His heart was thunderous against his chest. 

And his dick? 

Hardest it’s ever fuckin’ been in his fuckin’ life.

He was grinding his erection against the mattress as he obliged your wishes.

After all, how could he say no to you? 

He pushed your panties to the side. 

And oh. 

His balls tightened below him, the urge to cum almost threateningly near as he stared at your bare, swollen pussy. 

Holy. Shit.

Everything was soaked and glistening. 

He rubbed one thumb across your puffy skin, his coarse finger getting soaked in the process. 

He leaned in, gingerly licking fat stripes along your folds, lapping you up, drinking you in. He worked thoroughly, gathering you onto his tongue, until the lower part of his face was a mixture of your juices and his drool. 

It was only after he was satisfied with his work did he make his way to your clit, humming and sucking, the wet sounds of his mouth making out with your cunt filling the air of his room. 

The warm pleasure of it all was beginning to pool in your belly, your toes beginning to curl, legs beginning to shake – but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. 

“Toji, I might-” 

He plunged a rough, thick finger inside you, spearing your tight velvet walls apart, all the way up to his knuckle. 

You saw fuckin’ stars.

The sound you made was so erotic, so loud and depraved and raw, that his dick lurched in his pants, warm gooey pre-cum beginning to leak out from his throbbing tip and into his briefs. 

He wanted to hear you again, and again and again and again. 

He wanted videos, home movies, and spotify playlists of the way your pussy was talking to him. 

Emboldened, his tongue was unrelenting on your clit, as one finger became two, and then two became three. 

You mewled as he crooked them up, massaging against that soft, spongey bundle of nerves that had you panting his name out like it was prayer. 

Your ears were ringing, your eyes beginning to get wet with tears. 

Soon, he was fucking you on his fingers proper, setting a debilitating pace as he plunged his digits in and out and in and out. Filling you up, stretching you out, hitting your most sensitive areas. Again, and again, and again.

The pressure in your core was reaching its limits now, and the pleasure from the sheer fullness of your pussy and the sinful patterns of his tongue were beginning to send violent tremors down your legs. 

You were orgasming before you even realized it.

And yet, he was didn’t stop – didn’t even give you time to breathe as he’s diving into your pussy, slurping you up, his large nose rubbing against your over-sensitive clit as he’s fucking his thick tongue and his fingers past the tight ring of your entrance, fucking you, warm and wet, through each of your peaks. 

Your hands held onto his hair like a lifeline, your fleshy thighs locked around his head as if to keep him in place. 

“You taste so good, sweetheart,” he moaned, his eyes glazed over, completely and utterly pussy drunk, as you looked down at him, his mouth still latched onto your cunt. 

You could see your slick dripping down his face, mixing with the light trails of perspiration that sprouted from his temples. 

Your heart squeezed in your chest. 

It was only after the last few waves of your orgasm subsided when you could finally respond. 

“I think,” you gently reached down to run your shaky hand through his scalp, tenderly pushing away the sweaty fringe by his eyes. “I think I can think of something that might taste better.” 

And then you’re pushing him until he’s moving to the top of the bed, his back resting against the headboard as he pulls his black shirt up and over his head, triceps flexing, exposing his muscular pecs, washboard abs, and the light tufts of hair that sprouted on his chest, and got increasingly darker the further down his abs it went. 

You could feel your pussy walls clamp down, warmth pooling in your core again as you reached out instinctively to run your hands along the length of his torso. 

You never thought, in all of your wildest dreams, that this would be happening. Nor could your dreams do justice to the perfect build of the man before you.

“Well look at you, Mr. Fushiguro.” Your soft hands slowly sliding up, up, up against his skin, all the way from where the dark tufts of thick hair started to disappear under his pants, and towards his pecs, feeling the way his traitorous heart stuttered as you called his name. “Aren’t you quite the heartbreaker.”

You held his gaze, the air around you charged with anticipation.

Who would move first?

His breathing was shallow as he stared at you, your cheeks flushed and eyes glazed. Your top was rumpled to hell, exposing the line of your cleavage in a way that had his pants tenting painfully, and your mini skirt was so far scrunched that it looked like a belt around your waist. 

“For others, sure…” He grabbed your hands, pressing them deeper into his skin as he slid them up to cup his face. “But for you?” he was whispering now, his ears growing steadily pinker by the second, “I’m afraid you have me beat.” 

Oh. 

And then you’re leaning in, tenderly pressing your lips to his own, mumbling his name over and over again to stop you from saying those other three little words, before sealing it with your tongue. 

And then he’s pulling you into his lap. 

You could taste yourself in his mouth and on his lips, your nipples tightening as his large hands grabbed handfuls of your ass, spreading your cheeks apart before making them clap together again. 

A muffled groan escaped from the depths of his chest, vibrating against your mouth, as he felt new gushes of your slick begin to dampen the front of his pants.

“Mmmnh- get comfortable, pretty girl.” He slurred out as he pulled at the waistband of your skirt, before letting go, allowing the material to slap against your skin with a light sting. 

“Hmm… only if daddy gets comfortable too.” your eyes were big as you stared at him through your lashes.  

And oh fuck.

Toji had to lean his head back, his skull hitting against the wall with a dull thud! 

The way the words left your mouth had him breathless, brain short-circuiting, and dick throbbing. He needed to recuperate. Calm down.

Breathe in. Exhale. Repeat. 

You smiled slyly, completely aware of how your words affected him, as you pulled your flimsy top off, followed by your bottomwear. Your tits were heavy and full as they were released from the cotton, nipples peaked and stiff. 

You were bare before him, your arms on either side of his hips, squeezing your tits together lightly as you bent low to whisper against his ear. 

“You like when I call you that?” Your voice was sweet as honey as your hands traced the large outline of his dick through his pants, gripping his shaft through the tight material, and feeling the monstrous size of his girth. 

“Careful, sweetheart,” his voice was a mixture of restraint and warning, “don’t start callin’ me that unless y’er tryna see it through.” His neck was visibly tense, and his hands clutched on to the meat of your hips as he stared at you. 

Pretty girl. 

He squeezed tighter.

His pretty girl. 

A moment of silence passed as you considered his words. “And what if I do wanna see it through…?” Your head tilted cutely while your mean hands found their way to his happy trail, running your nails down through the thick tufts of dark hair, dipping juuust below the waistband of his pants, before retreating back up again in slow, agonizing loops. “Show me your worst, daddy.”

And who was he to deny you? 

Before you knew it, he had his pants and briefs shoved down his legs, his massive cock heavily thudding against his washboard abs

Your mouth gaped open.

And ohhh how he relished the dumb look on your lil’ cute face.  

You didn’t even think anyone could be this large. 

Yet here he was, with a dick that looked like it belonged in a porno, pulsing fat and heavy and huge as he leaked pre-cum all over the angry mushroomed head. 

He smirked, cocky as ever, as you subconsciously licked your lips, eyes glazed over, cock drunk just off the look alone.

Your pussy gushed warm, new slick between your legs as you carefully leant down, your hands grabbing around his base, slowly bringing his dick closer to your face.

He could feel the warm puffs of air coming from ur plush lips, his dick twitching like crazy at how close you were to finally, finally getting your mouth on him. 

You pressed a gentle kiss to his leaking slit, before running your lips over the excess pre-cum, painting your lips with the milky substance.

He swallowed hard. His eyes were wild and his breathing ragged.

He groped your tits, rolling your stiff nipples in his calloused fingers, eliciting the sweetest moan from you that reverberated around his dick.

You gave him small kitten licks at first, teasing the idea, before gradually licking thick fat stripes up and down the length of his huge dick. You traced the pulsing veins that climbed up his hot shaft and licked around the sensitive underside of his throbbing cockhead. 

And it was only when his chest was heaving, his impatient hands gripping onto your skull, did you finally, finally begin to throat fuck the shit outta him. 

None of the videos he had watched of you before even came close to the sensation of seeing the bulge forming in your throat from where his cock was buried inside of you, or the way your nose tickled against the tufts of dark hair at the base of his cock. 

You moaned dreamily around him at the feeling of his heavy dick pounding against the back of your throat, filling your mouth and overwhelming your senses. You couldn’t help the tears that threatened to spill from your eyes as you bobbed him in your mouth, hands jerking off what you couldn’t reach, and your thighs rubbing together greedily, craving any ounce of friction against your throbbing pussy.

But before you knew it, he was lifting you off, a light string of saliva following en suit, connecting the two of you together. 

“What’s wrong?” You had a devilish grin on your pretty face. “Scared you're gonna cum too quick?”

A low, humorless chuckle rumbled through his body as one of his hands wrapped around your throat, while the other smacked your ass. 

“Nah,” his canines glinted in the lowlight, a predatorial grin etching into his features. “Just tryna make sure nothin’ gets wasted.” And then he's shifting you up, rubbing his thick cock against your gooey cunt, mixing his thick pre with your juices. 

Your heart fluttered.

His dick was so warm against your skin – so, so much better (and bigger) than the toys you regularly used to get yourself off. 

You’ve had enough. You’ve done your waiting. You needed him inside you. 

You lifted yourself up, your hands bracing themselves on either side of Toji’s broad shoulders. Your pussy was dripping down onto his angry dick as you slowly lowered yourself, hips circling, letting his throbbing head trace your sopping lips. 

He could have almost passed out from the sight alone.

Instead, he panted out a deep breath, his chest tightening as he tried to restrain himself from bucking up into your cunt. 

You paused your hips, lowering yourself again ever so slightly so that his leaking head was now smooching against your gummy entrance, the heat of his cock stirring something warm and familiar in your belly. 

Please, please, please, ple–

And then your pussy is swallowing his head whole. 

“Oh, fuuuck you’re tight mama,” his eyes squeezed shut, fringe sticking to his sweaty forehead as Toji gasped out at the sensation of his thiiick cockhead squeezing past the tight ring of muscles at your entrance. 

Your gummy walls sucked against him from all angles, squishing into his hardness and rubbing deliciously against the sensitive underside of his mushroomed tip. 

And this was just the tip.

He didn’t know if he would make it out of here alive. At least, without getting you pregnant. 

You whimpered, actually fuckin’ whimpered his name as you reached down, touching where he was spearing you apart, your lips drawn thin and tight to accommodate for the sheer size of him. 

“You’re so big Toji,” a tear rolled down your flushed cheek. “Look at how much more I gotta take.” And he did, he really did look. Because you began to let your finger slowly slide from where the two of you were connected, down, down, down to the tufts of hair at the base of his cock.

“Haah- Ya’ think it’ll fit, sweetheart?” He grunted, his lips involuntarily bucking as you pouted cutely at him. 

Something impassable flashed across your feature. “I’ll make it fuckin’ fit.”

And then you’re slamming down onto his dick, and it feels like the literal wind gets knocked out of both of your chests. 

He has never felt something so deliciously tight before.

You have never felt so goddamn filled up before.

You’re clenching around him, velvet walls fluttering and smooching around his raw cock as it pulses heavy and thick with animalistic need. 

It took you several moments to orient yourself, to gather your scrambled senses back together to remember what you were doing, what your goal was, why you were here. 

“I have a secret to tell you.” You stared down at him, an unreadable look passing over your features. 

“O-oh really?” you squeezed your walls around him, catching him off guard.

“I know you watch me touch myself,” you whispered it like it was a secret, sly and just a touch proud.

And of all the things you could’ve said, nothing would have prepared him for that.

His dick bobbed from inside of you. 

“Fushi-daddy420 isn’t the most subtlest of names, no?” you grinned meanly as you watched his jade eyes turn impossibly black as you began to slowly, teasingly, mercifully bounce on his cock. Up and down and up and down. 

“But-?”

He thought you would hate him if you knew. 

He agonized for days for this reaction?!!

“And after you ran out on me after seeing my place?” you were panting, riding him as you talked. “Yea, that kinda solidified it.”

And just when he thinks you’ve found your rhythm and set your pace, you slowly begin to circle your hips, hitting new angles deep inside your guts that have his throbbing tip pressing into the spongy part of your pussy. 

“You don’t -fuhh- don’t hate me?” his mind was swirling, how could he focus when you felt this good?

“Never.” Your hips rolled, and you pressed your tits together, giving him a show.  

And you were doing so well, and felt so good. He pressed a fat thumb against your clit, spelling out his name, as if to claim you, mark you, over and over and over again. 

T-O-J-I !

He throws his head back as he feels you creaming around his cock, while your eyes are rolling into the backs of your head as you feel his thick goopy pre frothing at your entrance, dripping down onto his balls. The pace is getting faster, the air getting hot, and thick beads of sweat are rolling down your back. The obscene sounds of sweaty skin slapping against skin filled the hot, sex-scented air. 

You lean down to kiss him, tongues messily entangling, drool spilling from the sides of your lips as you ride his cock like a fuckin’ animal, ass jiggling from the force of his hips rocking up to meet you, his heavy balls smacking against your pussy like a promise. 

In one swift motion, he’s flipping the two of you over, your back to the bed, his dick never leaving your pussy, as he continues to fuck into you. He has your legs spread wide, your knees to his sides as he buries himself deep within your warmth, the new angle allowing you to feel his fat tip smooching against your cervix.

He’s panting, breath shaky as he slows down, rutting shallowly, not allowing himself to be too far from your gummy insides. “T-tell me where you want it,” his voice came out strained, and you could see where his veins were protruding on his neck. 

Oh. His cum.

His balls were pressed against you, tightening with every passing second. You could feel his dick bobbing against your walls as he was direly trying to stop himself from cumming. 

You smiled, soft and sweet, as you pressed a hand against your lower tummy, feeling the bulge of where he was nestled inside you. 

“Oh, you already know,” and you were batting your pretty lashes up at him, making his heart stutter. “Isn’t that right, daddy?” 

And oh, how his broken mind snapped. 

The next thing you knew, he’s pressing your knees so far up they’re knocking against your tits, his hulking body leaning over and pressing down into you, chest against chest, until you could feel his warm lips sucking bruises by your ear. 

And then he’s draaagging his thick cock through your pussy until only the tip is inside you, before snapping his hips forward, forcing his cock the deepest it could go back inside you, spearing you apart, and setting an absolutely cruel, delicious, depraved pace that has his balls bruising your ass and his cock breeching your womb. 

It goes for what feels like seconds, minutes, hours.

Your legs began to shake at all the sensations, your pussy walls convulsing around him and your ears ringing as you started to see white. 

And he truly couldn’t keep it in any longer. 

Not when you sounded so hot, with your face scrunched up in the prettiest ‘o’ and your nails digging crescents into his back as you called his name, begging for his seed. 

And so he bucked up, his hips flush against yours, locking you into the meanest of mating presses, as his dick lurched, balls scrunching, as he pumped copious amounts of his thick, sticky cum straight into your womb.

And he’s still bucking his hips, through each of your peaks, fucking his cum deep inside you, until your belly was bloated and full of him.

“Thattaa girl,” he pressed a warm kiss to your mouth as he fucked you through the last few peaks of your orgasms, gingerly swiping his thumb across your cheek as if you were something precious. “My girl.”

And as you softly drifted to sleep, with a belly full of his cum and his softening dick still inside you, you could feel his scarred lips pressing light kisses across your face, and the mumblings of something that sounded vaguely too close to “iloveyou” whispered into your warm skin.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

Five weeks passed, and the Michigan Wolverines were in the midst of the NCAA College Football Championships.

After weeks of non-stop practice, conditioning, strength training, and late-night film recaps, the team of 100-odd men were finally going up against their biggest competitor in the nation.

There was much on the line, but thankfully, Senior Quarterback and Captain, Toji Fushiguro, had quite the good luck charm on his side. 

Not only did he pass Kinetics (albeit by the skin of his teeth, thanks to you), but he now had a new, fool-proof pre-game regimen (with an even better success rate!).

He still kept his same protein shake recipe.

He still kept his same choice of attire.

But this time around, he needed at least one hour of your undivided attention, with the provision that his cock be buried so deep and raw inside your trembling cunt that you could feel him in your womb. 

And it was only after intense, depraved, animalistic fucking, with your pussy stuffed full of his gooey cum, and hickies in the shape of a ‘T’ on your neck, could the 6’4 230 lbs man say with absolute certainty, that this championship was in the god damn bag. 

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

The Wolverines won their final round of the playoffs in a sweeping victory: 52-38. 

And the star quarterback of the show could not wait to celebrate with you, his pretty lil’ girlfriend. 

you cross your arms tighter, “you were supposed to bring him back at seven.” 

“it’s seven thirty.” he says. 

“exactly.”

toji looks exhausted in that infuriatingly unreadable way of his—hair messy, clothes wrinkled, eyes shadowed like he hasn’t slept properly in days. there’s a tiny dinosaur sticker stuck to the sleeve next to his wrist. 

probably gumi’s.

“you could’ve called.” you say. 

toji shrugs one shoulder carefully so he doesn’t wake him. “phone died.” 

“convenient.” 

there’s a long pause before you decide to speak. “did he eat dinner?” 

“yes.”

“what did he eat?” you lean against the door frame. 

toji glances down at megumi automatically, expression shifting by instinct alone. softer. “he wouldn’t touch the vegetables. had noodles instead, then he stole half my fries.” 

“that’s only because you let him.” 

“he looked at me, what can i say?” 

you roll your eyes despite yourself. “he’s three, toji. that’s all he has to do.” 

“works every time.” 

you can’t help the way your mouth twitches, just faintly. but toji notices.. he always does.

“give him here,” you murmur.

toji doesn’t move right away, just shifts his weight to his to his other foot and clandestinely sniffs megumi’s hair.

it’s not that he’s refusing, it just always takes a second too long when it comes to handing your son over, for the both of you.

he shifts the boy slightly in his arms, careful in a way that doesn’t match the rest of him. 

“you sure?” he asks.

it’s almost mocking on the surface, almost.  but there’s something quieter underneath it, as if he’s not actually challenging you—just confirming.

“unless you plan on standing in my doorway all night,” you say, already holding your hands out. 

that does it for him. 

toji steps forward and transfers megumi into your arms with surprising care. the boy barely stirs, only tucking his face deeper into your shoulder as soon as he recognizes the shift in warmth. 

his grip on toji’s sweatshirt loosens, then, at the last second, his fingers snag the fabric again like he’s changed his mind.

toji pauses. “…he’s got a stealthy grip,” he mutters.

“i see that.”

you gently work megumi’s fingers free one by one, careful not to wake him. when you finally succeed, his hand flops against your chest and stays there, warm and heavy.

toji flexes his empty hand like he’s not sure what to do with it now.

“goodnight, ji.”

he freezes for a moment, just staring directly at you with the same eyes you were so used to seeing at the very crack of dawn. every day.

he just backs out of the apartment, turning when he’s half way through the door. “g’night” he mumbles under his breath.

toji walks out of the complex with heavy, tired footsteps that sound louder than they should in the quiet. you ease the door shut behind him; it clicks softer than usual. then you shift your weight and cross the living room, moving toward the floor to ceiling windows that overlook the space outside. from there, you get a clear view of where toji is heading.

he’s just going to his car, then straight home. it’s what you tell yourself—but there’s also no doubt in your mind that he could be seeing other women.  

you sigh heavily, eyes drifting to megumi in your arms. just the mere sight of your son lifts your heavy spirits. 

you take him to your bedroom and place him carefully on the bed. megumi makes the smallest sound when you lower him onto the mattress. A sleepy little huff through parted lips, brow pinching for half a second before relaxing again. 

“there you go,” you whisper instinctively, smoothing the dark hair off his forehead.

he smells like outside air, baby shampoo, and faintly of grease from fast food fries. very on brand for time spent with toji.

you tug his tiny sneakers off first and line them neatly by the bed. one of his socks is halfway folded around his ankle, the knees of his little pants are dusty. 

boys 

your fingers pause when you notice the tiny plastic dinosaur still shoved into his jacket pocket. 

you pull it free carefully, green.. missing one eye, megumi’s favorite toy lately. 

the corner of your mouth softens, then your eyes drift to the window without meaning to. the parking lot below is still visible between the slats of the blinds. 

toji’s car hasn’t moved. you stare for a second, then two more. 

megumi shifts behind you, turning onto his side with a sleepy mumble, and your force yourself away from the window long enough to pull the blanket over him properly. 

maybe he’s checking something on his phone.. 

maybe he’s fallen asleep,

or maybe -

your jaw tightens slightly, you walk back toward the window anyway. the car is still there, engine off, dark inside. 

something unsettled curls low in your stomach before annoyance quickly smothers it. 

you slip your feet back into your house shoes and quietly leave the bedroom, shutting the door behind you. the apartment is dim except for the kitchen light you forgot to turn off earlier. 

by the time you make it downstairs, irritation has already rebuilt itself nicely. 

the night air hits cool against your skin as you step outside the complex. toji’s car windows are fogged faintly at the corners. 

you march over and rap your knuckles sharply against the driver’s side glass. 

a beat later, there’s movement inside. toji startles awake instantly.

he blinks once, processing, then rolls down the window slowly. “hey..” he says, voice rough with sleep. 

you stare at him; his seat is pushed back farther than usual. one arm still rests over his stomach. there’s a crumpled kids napkin stuck to his shoulder. 

“you fell asleep.” 

he rubs a hand over his face. “no shit..”

you roll your eyes because of course you do. who is he talking to? “you were gonna sleep in the parking lot?”

“to be fair,” he mutters, looking you up and down.. “wasn’t really planned..”

“you should’ve gone home.” you lie. 

there’s a pause, then, he says, quieter this time, “yeah.” 

your irritation flickers strangely at the rims. 

up close, he looks worse than before. exhaustion sits heavy beneath his eyes now that he’s not actively holding himself upright through it. his hair is flattened awkwardly on one side from the headrest.

there’s a long silence before you speak again. “when’s the last time you slept properly?” 

toji gives you that one look that that immediately answers the question. 

you exhale through your nose, “not good.” 

“well i’m alive aren’t i?” 

“barely.”

his mouth twitches faintly at that, too tired for a real one. 

you cross your arms tighter against the cold. “you can’t drive like this.” 

“i’ve driven worse.” 

“that’s not comforting, toji.” 

somewhere nearby, a gate rattles softly in the wind. then toji leans his head back against the seat and shuts his eyes for just a second too long. 

that decides it. “come upstairs.” 

his eyes open again immediately. “what?”

“you heard me.” 

“you don’t have to do that.” 

“i know.” 

he studies you carefully, like he’s trying to figure out if this is a trap. 

“you can sleep on the couch.” you add flatly. “don’t make it weird.”

a quiet scoff leaves him “wasn’t planning to.” 

“good.” 

neither of you moves. then, eventually, toji sighs low under his breath and reaches for the keys. 

“kay.” he murmurs.

the apartment is quiet again by the time midnight settles in.

the kind of quiet that makes every little sound feel louder than it is—the hum of the refrigerator, the echoing squeak of the smoke detectors, the soft rustle of sheets every time megumi moves in your bed.

toji is asleep on the couch. at least, you think he might be.

you tried not to look at him when you handed him the spare blanket earlier. tried not to notice the way his eyes followed you around the kitchen while you filled a glass of water for him. tried not to notice the way he fit back into this apartment despite everything.

as if he’d never left at all.

you’re halfway asleep yourself when thirst finally drags you out of bed.

the apartment floor is cool against your feet as you shuffle toward the kitchen. the hallway light is off, leaving only the dim glow over the stove illuminating the room.

and there he is.

of course, toji stands shirtless by the sink, one hand braced against the counter while he drinks straight from a glass. his sweatpants hang low on his hips, dark hair messy from the little sleep he got when he’d just arrived.

you stop short. he glances over.

neither of you says anything until- “you own shirts,” you mutter.

“ta sleep? not really.”

your eyes betray you for exactly one second before flicking away from his chest.

toji obviously notices. the corner of his mouth pulls slightly as he sets the glass down. “thought you were asleep.”

“so did i.” you move around him toward the cabinet, deliberately leaving space between your bodies. the apartment suddenly feels much smaller than it did an hour ago.

you grab a cup, but toji won’t move out of the way.

“you’re crowding the sink.” you say categorically.

“you came to my sink.”

“it’s my apartment.”

“mm.”

the sound vibrates low in his throat, lazy and amused. so annoying.

you fill your cup anyway, hyperaware of him standing beside you. heat rolls off his skin in waves, warm and familiar enough to make your chest tighten unexpectedly.

you hate that you still remember things like this. the shape of him in low light, the scar near his shoulder,

…the way he always smells faintly like clean soap and cigarettes no matter how hard he tries to cover one with the other.

“you’re staring.” toji says quietly.

you grip tightens around the cup. “you wish”

“hm.”

you finally look at him then, mostly because you’re irritated enough to. he’s already looking directly at you.

sleep softened him a little, took the sharpness out of his posture. but his eyes are still heavy in that same unreadable way that always makes you feel like he knows more than he says.

the tension shifts subtly but immediately

toji’s gaze drops briefly to your mouth before returning to your eyes. your stomach flips hard enough to annoy you.

“don’t.” you say softly.

“didn’t say anythin.”

“you don’t have to.”

neither of you move as the silence drags on, the air feeling thick suddenly. your gaze drops to the floor, your mind flooding with thoughts of when weekends meant everything to all three of you—you, toji, and megumi.

times when weekends were more than curt, deadpan conversations and custody exchanges..

back when weekends meant staying up too late with laughter echoing through the apartment, some animated movie forgotten in the background as megumi drifted off halfway through your marathons—leaving you and toji slipping away together in hushed, stolen moments.

your thoughts unravel before they can go any further as from down the hallway, a tiny, sleepy voice sounds; “mama?”

you step back immediately like someone snapped a wire between you. toji looks away first this time.

“i got him,” he says, already pushing off the counter.

“toji-”

but he’s already moving down the hallway barefoot and half asleep, snatching lazily at the back of his neck as he disappears toward your bedroom.

and against your better judgment, you listen.

a few seconds later you hear megumi’s tiny relieved whine followed by toji’s low, gravelly murmur.

“yeah, yeah.. m’here.”

you linger in the kitchen longer than you intend to. your water has gone untouched in your hands, condensation dampening your fingers while the sound of megumi’s sleepy babbling drifts faintly down the hallway.

toji answers him in low hums instead of actual words.

‘mm.’

‘really..”

‘did she?’

the familiar cadence of his voice pulls at something deep in your chest before you can stop it.

you tell yourself you’re only checking to make sure megumi settles back down. that’s all.

the bedroom door is cracked open slightly when you reach it. warm lamp light splits through the gap in a thin stripe across the floor.

you peek inside quietly

and your heart betrays you instantly.

megumi is sprawled across the middle of the bed sideways, blanket kicked completely off his legs. toji’s laying beside him on top of the comforter, one arm tucked behind his head while the other rests over megumi’s tiny stomach to keep him from rolling off the mattress.

megumi’s poking aggressively at toji’s cheek.

“an’ then mama said no more candy.” he explains very seriously.

“cruel,” toji murmurs.

megumi nods solemnly. “very cruel.”

“oh, to survive such hardship at your age.” toji sighs dramatically.

a sleepy giggle bubbles out of megumi.

your chest aches. toji looks different like this. not sharp edged or guarded. just tired and warm and soft around megumi in a way barely anyone ever gets to see.

megumi continues rambling without pause, words slurring together from exhaustion.

“and at school yesterday ‘michi spilled glue an’ mrs. tanama said bad choices an’ then…” he yawns so hard his whole face squishes “mama makes the dinosaur voices wrong.”

toji’s eyebrow lifts. “she does? do tell.”

you narrow your eyes from the doorway automatically.

megumi nods with the seriousness of a tiny judge. “t-rex not sound like that.”

“huh.” toji huffs at his son’s broken way of speech, adjusting his position in bed so that he can finally sleep.. 

you should walk away now, but instead you lean slightly against the doorway. “oh, and you’re apparently a dinosaur expert now?”

megumi’s sleepy face lights up immediately. “mama!” 

before you can react, he’s pushing himself upright on wobbling little arms. then he points decisively at the empty space beside toji. 

“get in, mommy.”

you blink. “gumi-”

“family cuddle.” 

the words hit the room softly. toji goes still for just a second. 

megumi, oblivious, pats the mattress harder. “come on!”

you cross your arms automatically. “you should be sleeping.” 

“you too.” megumi counters instantly. 

who taught him to clock you like that? 

toji snorts quietly under his breath, so you shoot him a look that says ‘don’t encourage him.’

megumi is still waiting expectantly, eyes barely open now but stubborn enough to hold out forever if necessary.

you hesitate, again.

maybe that hesitation is your first mistake because megumi is not happy. his tiny mouth turns downward. “mama..”

toji exhales softly through his nose, eyes fixed on the ceiling now like he’s deliberately staying out of it.

but then, he speaks quietly. “he won’t sleep if he thinks you’re leaving”

your eyes flicker towards him and his expression stays unreadable. 

coward.

you sigh heavily like this is a massive inconvenience to you personally. “fine. move over.” 

megumi cheers weakly like he just won the lottery and needs to be quiet. 

toji shifts without complaint, moving closer to the edge of the bed. the mattress dips under your weight as you climb in carefully beside megumi, keeping what you tell yourself is a reasonable amount of distance between you and toji.

megumi destroys that plan promptly. 

the second you settle, he flips dramatically across both of you like a tiny exhausted bridge. 

one hand lands on your shoulder, the other grabs a fistful of toji’s hair. “there.” he murmurs proudly.

toji looks over megumi’s messy hair toward you. 

“this is your fault.” you whisper. 

“mhmm.” he sounds too tired to argue properly.

megumi squirms happily between you both for another minute, all soft kneading hands and loud giggles as both of his parents’ warmth engulfs him. 

he mumbles half finished stories that slowly stop making sense. “an’ then dinosaur got school too momma..”

“yeah?” toji murmurs, eyes closed. 

“mmhm…” his words get slower and softer until they finally dissolve into sleepy breathing. 

megumi’s cheek is smushed against your shoulder now, one tiny foot thrown over toji’s arm.

you stare up at the ceiling while toji still faces megumi. the room feels unbearably warm. 

“he missed you this weekend.” toji mutters. 

your throat tightens a little so you glance over. toji’s still looking at your son when he says it. 

“kept askin’ when you’d come home.” 

home.. not your apartment or daddy’s place. but just home. you swallow carefully. “he likes being with you. it’s all he can talk about for days after the weekends.” 

he finally looks at you, quiet. “yeah.” he says softly. 

there’s something dangerously gentle in his face now. sleep worn and open in a way you haven’t seen in a long time. 

it makes your chest hurt. megumi shifts between you both with a tiny sleepy sigh. 

toji looks down automatically and smooths a hand through his son’s hair. 

before you can stop yourself, your eyes soften too. toji notices, of course he does, he always does. 

the next morning starts slowly. warm sunlight slips through the blinds in pale stripes, catching lint and dust in the air while megumi sleeps face down between you and toji like he personally fought a war overnight.

one of his legs is still thrown over toji, this time on his stomach. 

toji’s awake first, you notice because every time you open your eyes, he’s already looking at you. not even subtly. 

“creepy,” you mumble sleepily.

“morning to you too.”

megumi snores softly into your pillow. you push yourself upright carefully, stretching your arms over your head before remembering exactly who’s still laying beside you. 

toji watches the realization hit your face and his mouth twitches. 

“don’t even start.”

“i wasn’t gonna say anything.” he protests. 

“you keep thinking out loud! without even saying anything.” you yell-whisper.

“probably”

you roll your eyes and start climbing out of bed. “you’re staying today.”

that catches his attention at once. “to babysit?” 

you pause halfway to the door. “you say that as if he isn’t your child.”

“only to survive this attitude.” 

“hm.” 

he props himself up on one elbow now, dark hair slicking down in every direction. “where’re you going?” 

his biceps flex slightly in his current position, eyes focused completely on you. 

you busy yourself fixing the blanket around megumi. “out.”

“with?”

“someone.” toji goes quiet, not dramatically or angrily, just still.

you can feel his eyes on your back when you turn away. “you got a date?” 

you shrug your shoulder casually, too casually. “second one.” 

“with the same guy?” he asks, body tensing further because second sounds worse somehow.

“yes, toji.”

he lays back against the headboard slowly. “second,” he repeats, “must be serious. huh?”

“it’s not a crime.” 

“didn’t say that it was.”

“have you been seeing anyone?” 

toji scratches lazily at his jaw and says, “yeah. of course.” 

your stomach twists despite yourself. “oh.” you hate how small it sounds. 

his eyes stay on you carefully now, watching every little reaction like he’s trying not to and failing anyway. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“nothing.” you smooth megumi’s hair back a little too precisely. “you’re allowed to.”

“yeah, who said i wasn’t?” toji’s gaze narrows slightly. “you askin’ because you care or because you’re nosy?”

morning light makes him softer around the edges again, sleep still heavy in his face, megumi’s leg resting across his stomach like your son claimed him sometime during the night and never let go.

there’s a faded crease on his cheek from the pillow. you remember waking up next to that face for years.

that’s the problem.

“i was making conversation,” you say coolly.

“bullshit.”

“watch your language in front of him.” 

“he’s knocked out anyway.” he murmurs, but complies. 

“she worked at the gym.” he says finally. 

you blink. “hm?”

“the woman.” his tone stays causal, but barely. “you asked if i was seeing anyone.” 

you immediately regret asking. “worked,” you repeat lightly, because apparently your mouth enjoys self sabotage. 

his eyes flick toward yours. “don’t start with that.”

you stay quiet and move around the room now, digging in your closet in search of a dress. you pull a pretty red one, slightly revealing—nothing too much, but nothing too little. 

“i just need you to stay here a little longer tonight.”

“how long?”

“not sure yet.” 

“mm.” 

you risk glancing over finally. his expression gives you absolutely nothing which annoys you more than if he looked irritated.  

“you don’t have to sound so excited for me.” you joke, but only silence follows. 

toji stares at you before scoffing slightly. “i’m just thinking.” 

“about?” 

he just stares at you. you know he’s not gonna answer.. so you head for the doorway before he can say anything. 

“d’you like him?” 

“that’s kind of the point of dates,” you answer after a second, aiming for lightness and missing by a mile.

toji exhales once through his nose. “didn’t answer the question.”

you glance back then.

he’s still half buried in your bed, hair a mess, one massive hand absently resting over megumi’s leg where it’s thrown across his stomach. morning sunlight cuts across his face in warm stripes, catching the tiredness still lingering beneath his eyes.

you look away first. “he’s nice. easy to be around”

toji was all late night whispered arguments in the kitchen, hidden emotions, tense car rides at two am, and wet, breathed apologies in your neck. he was anything but easy. 

and yet there was still warmth buried under all that steel. 

whether it be a hand resting at the small of your back in crowded rooms, his jacket dropped over your shoulder before you could even say you were cold..

he’s quiet for a second, just watching you too closely. “sounds boring.”

your eyes roll before you can stop them. 

“maybe he is nice, if he’s letting you go on a date wearing that.” 

your jaw drops slightly before you catch it. “it’s not even that bad. i’ve worn several dresses just like this one.” 

“trust me, i know.” he murmurs before reverting his gaze to megumi. 

an awkward silence presses into the room, the only sound being megumi’s soft breathing and your quiet hands rummaging through your makeup bag, pulling the products you need from it and walking to the bathroom with your dress and towel in hand. 

“i’ll stay then. don’t be out too long, woman.” he adds a pinch of humor, it falls flat. 

“don’t wait up.” you tease back despite yourself, shutting the bathroom door just to stare at your reflection in the mirror. 

you twist the shower handle harder than needed, steam beginning to curl upward almost instantly. the apartment plumbing groans softly in protest somewhere in the walls while you set your things down along the counter.

you busy yourself quickly, peeling off your clothes and stepping beneath the hot water before your brain can continue being annoying about it. 

warmth rushes over your skin immediately, easing some of the tension sitting stubbornly between your shoulders.

the bathroom feels warm, and by the time you get out of the shower, the mirror is fogged completely. 

you wrap your towel around yourself and wipe a clear streak through the steam with the side of your hand. your reflection stares back immediately, hair damp, cheeks warmer than they should be, focus annoyingly divided.

you lean closer to apply skincare mechanically, then makeup, forcing your focus elsewhere.

concealer, mascara, dark soft blush. you even add a touch of eyeshadow, eyeliner too, matching the slightly dark undertones of your dress. 

you look stunning, you are stunning. 

you slip out of the bathroom slowly, hands braced against the door, guiding it shut. megumi is awake now, sitting cross legged over toji’s abdomen. 

the sound of the bathroom door clicking shut shifts both of their attention towards you. megumi’s face lights up with a smile the minute he sees you. 

“mama beautiful!” he giggles, bouncing slightly on toji’s abs, he stands suddenly and rushes to the edge of the bed, you step forward instinctively to catch him before he falls.

“thank you my love” you coo, kissing his little chubby cheeks. 

“mama where’r you goin’?” 

“mommy’s going out with a friend, gumi.” you smile, bouncing him in your arms slightly but playfully. megumi wraps his arms around your neck and kisses your cheeks now, mimicking what you’d done before. 

toji watched with angering soft eyes, scratching his abs absently, pants tighter in the way that only tells you he’s been staring at your dress. 

you avert your gaze to megumi as he plays with your hair. “mommy?” he whispers, loud. 

“yes, baby?” you whisper back. 

“daddy is looking so much at you mama”

a laugh bubbles out of you before you can stop it, toji stands briskly, moving to take megumi from your arms. 

“alright, that’s enough. you need to get ready for your extra day with daddy.” he tickles megumi’s side softly and holds him in his forearm. 

his eyes skim your chest one more time before he takes gumi to your bathroom and preps their toothbrushes. 

you can’t help the smile that keeps forming, you grab your purse and make a stop for the salon before your date. 

the smell reaches you before you walk in—acetone, hairspray, the soft steam of a hot comb, and nail polish. 

a few minutes later, you’re seated at one of the manicure stations with your hands soaking in warm water while the nail tech eyes your dress approvingly.

“ooo,” she grins knowingly, “you got a date tonight?”

your mouth twitches. “something like that.”

mmhm,” she hums in the universal tone of women who absolutely do not believe vague answers. “what color we thinking?”

you glance down at the rows of polish bottles lined up beneath the counter. reds, pinks, glossy nudes, glittery champagne.

your eyes settle on a deep wine-red polish with a subtle shimmer under the light.

“that one.”

“pretty,” she says immediately. “dangerous color.”

you snort softly. “is it?”

“oh definitely. sweetheart, men lose all sense over dark red nails.”

the irony nearly makes you laugh out loud.

because somewhere back at your apartment is a six foot something problem with dark hair and tired eyes who’d stared at your dress this morning like it personally offended him.

───

the date starts fine, perfect, even. food comes fast and delicious, your date is polite, well dressed—funny enough to keep conversations going without effort. 

the restaurant is nice too. soft lighting, expensive wine tiny portions pretending to be art. for the first hour, you almost relax. 

somehow the conversation shifts, harmlessly so, that’s just how it starts. family, past relationships, marriage.  

your fingers tighten instinctively around the stem of your glass. the last thing you are ashamed of is having a son. megumi is your favorite person, your reason to slip out of bed in the morning.

the same way toji once was. 

but going on dates and trying to be with different people, that’s where it becomes a problem. single mothers will never be seen for the work the put into raising their children independently

you decide honesty is better now than later or never. “i was married before,” you admit carefully. “i have a son.” 

the man pauses, not long but long enough. “oh,” he says. and immediately, something changes, you know that tone. you’ve learned to recognize it instantly. 

‘oh’ can mean a hundred things… but this one means disappointment. 

“he’s young?” he asks. 

“four.” 

your date nods, slowly leaning back in his chair. “that’s… a lot.” 

your chest cools slightly. “he’s worth everything. i love him very deeply.” 

“sure” he says quickly. “i just mean, personally i don’t think i could date someone with that much baggage.” 

the word slips out from his mouth too easily. baggage. you just stare at him and he keeps going anyway. 

“especially with the divorce thing too.” 

your fingers twitch around the glass, fighting to not slap this man across the face. 

“divorce says a lot about women.” he says casually. “no offense.” 

you swallow hard. “i don’t think it’s that simple. it can say a lot about men as well.” 

“maybe not,” he shrugs. “but i think children deserve stable homes, two parents together. you know? people give up too easily now.” 

something sharp twists low in your chest, suddenly you feel exhausted. the restaurant noise blurs around you. the man keeps talking, you’ve already stopped listening. 

by the time you get home, your makeup feels wrong and heavy on your skin. your heels ache, your chest aches even worse.

 the apartment is quiet when you step inside, dark except for the hallway light. megumi’s already asleep, next to toji, who’s still awake on the couch. of course he is. 

he’s sitting in gray sweatpants and a black shirt this time, one arm stretched across the back cushions while muted tv light flickers across his face.

a half eaten bowl of popcorn sits abandoned between them both, his eyes lift immediately when the door opens. 

the second he sees you, his posture changes, subtly, sharply… you look away before he can ask anything. “i’m home,” you murmur uselessly. 

then you head straight for your room, fast. you barely get the door shut before your throat tightens painfully. god. you feel stupid, humiliated. 

your fingers fumble clumsily at the zipper of your dress, it catches halfway down your back. 

“are you—“ your hands shake harder. the stupid zipper won’t move. 

a knock sounds gently against the bedroom door, you freeze. “..yeah?” 

the door opens slowly, toji steps inside quietly. one look at your face and his expression darkens immediately. not angry at you, never that. just angry. 

you turn away quickly. “i’m fine.” 

“mm.” his voice stays low. “dress says otherwise.” 

you huff out something halfway between a laugh and a broken breath. the zipper catches again. 

toji watches silently for a second before stepping closer. “lemme help.” 

your hands fall away automatically, he moves behind you carefully. warm fingers brush the bare skin of your back as he finds the zipper. 

the contact alone nearly undoes you. toji pauses slightly, probably feeling you tense. then, slower this time, gentler, he eases the zipper down inch by inch until the tightness around your ribs finally loosens. 

the dress slips slightly loose on your shoulders, neither of you speaks. toji’s hands rest briefly near your waist. “what happened?” he asks quietly. 

you stare at your reflection in the mirror in front of you. “at dinner i told him i was divorced. and a mother.” 

toji’s jaw tightens immediately. “and?” 

“and apparently that makes me damaged goods.” 

the words sound uglier out loud, toji goes very still behind you. “he said that?” 

“basically .” 

silence follows for a brief moment until toji speaks again. “he’s stupid.” 

your eyes burn instantly. “i try so hard to balance both my own life and megumi’s. i just wanted something good.” 

“you don’t have to do that anymore, i mean it.” his voice is rougher now, certain. 

you finally turn slightly toward him. “toji, he looked at me as if-” your throat tightens again. “as if having megumi ruined me somehow.”

toji takes personal offense to that. his eyes widening slightly before calming down again. “he’s a fucking idiot.” he says flatly. 

you shake your head quickly, embarrassed by the tears threatening now. “i shouldn’t even care.”

“but you do.”

you look down “…mhm.”

the room goes quiet, and toji reaches up slowly. his knuckles brush beneath your eye before a tear can fall properly.

the touch is impossibly gentle. “listen to me,” he murmurs.

your breath catches. 

“there’s nothing wrong with you.” his thumb brushes your cheek softly. “y’hear me?”

your heart hammers against your ribs violently because you believe him. that’s the problem, toji’s eyes drop briefly to your mouth.

then back up again, you should step away.

instead you whisper, “toji…”

he exhales slowly through his nose like he’s holding himself back by force. he can’t take it… the way you’re looking at him, basically naked with just a loose dress on—warmth spread across your face in different hues.. he pulls you against him, eyes locked on your lips. “tell me no.” 

that’s the second problem, you could never say no to toji. so your fingers curl lightly into the front of his shirt instead. and that’s all it takes. 

he kisses you carefully at first. then your hand tightens against his chest and something in him snaps softly loose.

his mouth moves against yours deeper this time, warm and familiar enough to make your knees weaken instantly.

you remember this. the way he kisses like he’s starving. like he’s trying not to be.

one of his hands slides carefully to your waist while the other cups your jaw gently, thumb brushing your cheek again.

you kiss him back harder before you can think better of it.

a quiet sound leaves his throat, your forehead bumps his when you finally pull apart for air, both of you breathing unevenly.

toji keeps his eyes closed for one second longer than necessary, the opens them slowly. he’s still close enough that his breath warms your lips.

he turns you around carefully, kissing your shoulders and urging you onto the bed, he sits beside you, his mouth finding yours again slower this time as if he’s relearning something he thought he lost.

your fingers slide into his hair instinctively, damp strands catching between them as he shifts closer on the bed. the mattress dips under his weight, one of his hands braces beside your hip while the other remains against your leg, steady and warm.

the room feels impossibly quiet around you both.

toji kisses the corner of your mouth once, then your jaw, “you smell nice,” he says against your cheek.

you let out the smallest laugh. “thank you. i think it was the salon. smelt like lavender lotion.” 

“still counts.”

his hand slides slightly higher along your thigh before stopping deliberately, giving you every chance to pull away if you want to.

your forehead falls briefly against his shoulder, exhaustion finally catching up to you now that someone else is holding the weight for a second.

toji goes still immediately.

the teasing disappears from him like a switch flipped. his hand smooths once up your back.

“tired?” he asks quietly.

“mhm..” 

“you should’ve called me.”

your eyes close briefly. “ji…”

“i mean it.” his voice stays low and even. “woulda picked you up.”

you pull back just enough to look at him, and his expression softens in that dangerous way again—open, sleepy, honest around the edges.

his hand slides carefully to your waist and he gently guides you forward until you’re laying across the mattress properly.

“c’mere.”

“toji-”

“relax,” he says quietly, already tugging the comforter out from underneath you both. “you look like you’re gonna pass out sitting up.”

you narrow your eyes suspiciously, but let him maneuver you anyway.

he turns you carefully onto your hands and knees only long enough to pull the tangled blanket smooth beneath you, large hands steady at your hips so you don’t lose balance.

when he’s done moving to the closet and placing one of megumi’s useless baby blankets in there, he turns to see you still in that distracting position, voluptuous lips glossy and swollen, hair ruffled from his hands being tangled in them earlier… 

body rocking back and forth slightly, just craving his attention. he groans softly, moving too quick, shoving your dress off eagerly.

he tosses your dress aside fully, cupping your ass cheeks where they’re presented to him on the bed, round and fat. slowly, he traces his callused thumb along your skin, making you shiver.

his shirt is pulled off, revealing a collection of faded scars that always seemed to catch your attention.

you press back into his hand, needing toji’s rough attention as your breath catches.

toji smirks, leaning close to bite a trembling patch above your hip.

he spreads them, breath hitching sharp, shoving your panties aside to spit a nasty, clear string right between your cheeks, watching it drip down as his other hand tightens possessively around your waist.

you whimper when he slides his thumb lower, toying with your slick as his grip grows firmer.

“toji—“ you whine, back arching further as he leans forward, lips brushing your spine while his hot breath sends sharp tingles across your sensitized skin.

“good girl, arching so good f’me…” he slaps one cheek sharply, nails digging into the plump fat.

you jolt under the sting, a ragged moan slipping out, but his hand doesn’t falter as he nudges your legs wider.

he flips you suddenly, large hands cupping your breasts with fervor, his knee pushes between your legs and spreads them wide, creating a space for him to lean over you.

he unclips then tugs your bra off and takes one nipple between both his thumb and index fingers, lips sealing around the other.

he wastes no time, sucking firm and twisting, pressure that sends heat straight between your thighs, making your hips arch instinctively.

he grunts low when your fingers curl in his hair, his own hand flying down to your soaked panties.

he slides his fingers under the thin fabric, teasing your entrance with slow, deliberate strokes as his mouth keeps working your nipple.

you writhe beneath him, small pants escaping your airway. “please toji!”

your words are cut off by his own lips, tongue fighting its way into your mouth. “shh, you want our son to hear you?”

you shake your head frantically, fingers curling into his shoulders—manicured nails shaping round crescents where they squeeze.

“then be quiet f’me, hm?” toji circles your clit in firm, tight circles. a sudden gasp escapes your throat, earning you a sharp slap to your fat, dripping cunt.

you whimper quietly now, dragging your words and slapping lightly at his flexed shoulders. “jiiii!—ah!”

“you want this dick?” he spits, “talk to me, baby.” his voice softens slightly, two fingers sliding into you smooth and immediately gathering your slick.

“mmmm! mhmmm— i want it toji… i want it so bad! please.”

“let me feel this sweet pussy first, mkay?” he curls his fingers in search for your sweet spot.

the minute your fingers tighten around his shoulders and you catch your lips in between your teeth, he pumps his fingers without stop, your legs suddenly feeling weightless and feet hovering off the bed.

your back arches beautifully, pulling a deep groan out of toji, his other hand flies back to your nipple.

he can feel you—and hear you—losing your mind on his fingers, incoherent babbles and weak hands telling what your mouth can’t see to form.

his fingers halt cruelly when he feels your legs trembling, spongy walls fluttering around him, pulling his fingers out and licking them clean of your juices.

you whine louder, unable to keep yourself together, your thighs slide against one another, craving any kind of friction.

he palms himself, watching you squirm and beg for.. anything.

you hook your fingers around his waistband, tugging it weakly. he looks down at your hand and then down at your face..

“please, ji.. please, baby?”

he tugs his sweat pants off briskly, cock bouncing out thick and hard, pulsing with need. he spreads your fat labia, teasing your entrance with his chubby tip.

“fuck, i missed this pussy.”

he pins your wrists above your head with one hand, looking down at your face.

“look at my while i fuck you.”

you comply because of course you do, who doesn’t wanna look at toji’s face when he’s reveling in pleasure?

he lines up with your entrance, watching you whimper under his dark eyes, “mmmm!” you whine, hips bucking desperate.

he thrusts into you roughly, filling you completely. “f-fuuuck, i forgot how tight you are.” he starts moving at a punishing pace, other hand squeezing your breast.

”ngh! oh my— ah! tojiii!”

the noises he manages to pull out of you are nasty. you can feel every inch of him stretching your tight walls, he smirks at your moans, grabbing your chin and gently making you face him again, a contradiction to his usual rough treatment.

he thrusts harder, aiming for your sweet spot before suddenly folding you in half, knees against your chest in a gratifying mating press.

you gasp, eyes widening for a fraction of a second, pussy sucking him in every time he angles himself right where you need him.

“this is perfect for breeding you again. i’m gonna stuff this pussy til’ it takes.” he snaps his hips forward with each word, balls slapping against your ass, the sounds echoing in the hot, sex smelling room.

“ima— mmm’gonna fill you up until you’re pregnant with my child again. you’ll be so round and full with my seed.” he pounds into you mercilessly, determined to make good on his promise.

your moans echo in the room, desperate. your eyes roll back slightly at the intensity of his pleasure.

the sounds of skin slapping against skin fill the room, mixed with his deep grunts.

he swallows your whimpers in a deep kiss, hips driving into you. his hips stutter as he feels his orgasm approaching. “m’close.. gonna fill your womb”

his words are what really make you lose it, whole body trembling around his heavy cock, pussy pulsing and gripping his veiny dick.

he watches your bouncing tits. “so beautiful, even better when they’re full of milk.” his hands squeeze them again, remembering the last time you breastfed.

“you’re such a good mother. so nurturing, i wan’ see you like that again.”

his thrusts become erratic, cock twitching inside you. your moans are loud, raspy and desperate at this point.

your juices keep dripping out of you and drenching his abs and pelvis, but he won’t stop until he fills you with everything he’s got.

with one last deep thrust, tip kissing your cervix, he releases ropes of thick cum with a guttural moan, releasing all his seed into you.

“take it, take every drop.” he whispers breathlessly.

you nod, it’s all you can manage, completely fucked out and exhausted under your ex husband.

he stays connected, ensuring nothing leaks out. he collapses on top of you, his cock softening but staying inside.

“you’ll give me another son, right?”

“i’ve always wanted a daughter.” you whisper, fingers twisting his hair.

he brushes yours with his thick fingers, thumb sliding against your cheek gently. “mm, maybe.”

he pulls out carefully, one hand cupping your mound to keep his come inside you.

you whimper at the sensitivity and sudden pressure that comes upon you.

“you’re never gonna see another man again, hm?”

“no… i only want you. only love you.”

“good girl… i love you.” he kisses your temple carefully, hands forgetting everything but your tired body.

he holds you against him, breathing slower as your heartbeat steadies, warmth spreading between both of you as exhaustion settles in.

night wraps gently around the two of you, the silence filling the room. suddenly, the baby monitor on the nightstand crackles, breaking the peaceful haze.

you both freeze, listening as a small, urgent cry rises from the monitor. he sits up groggily, grabbing his boxers before heading down the hall to the living room.

you slip into your nightgown and clean what you can from the bed, adjusting the comforter over the bedsheets and grabbing a few more blankets, you tie your hair up in a loose pony tail, waiting for toji to come back, with gumi.

a few seconds later, he returns holding a swaddled megumi, who’s blinking wide eyed under the lamplight.

“mommy!” he exclames, tears drying as he’s held close by his father.

megumi slowly settles in toji’s arms, his small fingers still gripping his father’s bare shoulder before loosening bit by bit. his breathing is uneven at first, then starts to calm as the warmth sinks in

you sit beside them and brush megumi’s hair back. “it’s okay. you’re safe now,” you whisper softly

he blinks up at you for a moment, still half-asleep, then leans fully into toji’s chest again, cheek pressed against skin as his body relaxes

toji glances at you, wordlessly offering megumi to your arms as if inviting you to soothe him.

“come here, gummy.” you whisper, holding him against you and rubbing his ribs soft.

toji wraps both arms around your waist, head snaking over your shoulder and pecking your temple, then megumi’s.

you are settled into bed a few seconds later, megumi asleep between you and toji, toji’s eyes never leave your face.

you slowly realize that this is exactly what you’ve needed. toji’s hand finds yours beneath the blanket, squeezing tenderly as if anchoring you both.

all you need is your little family right here in this moment, safe beneath the dim lamplight, together again.

idk baby megumi loves dinosaurs and his mom

toji would never be like this im straight fantasizing but that’s the point i hope you like it

art on pinterest