miisbehaved

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. 

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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 later on, 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.

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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. 

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. 

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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 later on, 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.

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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 kept your face blank, eyes lowered like the obedient daughter they expected, while inside your mind screamed.

Later that night, when the household finally fell into drunken slumber and the torches burned low, you moved.

You had planned this in secret for weeks. A plain dark wool cloak stolen from the stables. A small bundle of hard bread, dried cheese, and a waterskin. Soft leather shoes you hoped would last. But the most valuable thing you owned was the wedding gown itself. You had decided to wear the half-finished white dress during your escape — the expensive satin and delicate lace might fetch enough coins in a distant village to buy you passage far away from here. It was risky, but you had nothing else of real value.

You slipped out through the narrow servant’s entrance at the back of the kitchens, the heavy door groaning softly behind you like a warning. The moment your feet touched the cold, dew-soaked grass, terror and fragile hope surged through you in equal measure.

You ran.

The forest swallowed you whole.

Ancient trees loomed like silent judges, their branches clawing at your white gown as if trying to drag you back. The delicate satin — still only half-finished, with pins and loose threads — snagged mercilessly on thorns. You heard fabric tearing again and again: sharp rips that sounded far too loud in the darkness. The long lace veil caught on a low limb and nearly yanked you off your feet; you tore it free with shaking hands, leaving half of it fluttering behind you like a surrendered flag. Mud and wet leaves caked your bare feet. Sharp stones and roots sliced into your soles until every step left bloody prints in the dirt. The cold night air burned your lungs. Sweat soaked your back and chest despite the chill, making the torn gown cling obscenely to your skin. Your legs screamed with exhaustion after only an hour, but fear kept you moving. Behind you, distant shouts echoed through the trees — your father’s guards, torches flickering like angry fireflies. Dogs barked. They were coming.

You pushed harder.

Branches whipped your face, leaving stinging cuts across your cheeks. Your hair fell loose from its elegant pins, wild and tangled. Tears streamed down your face, mixing with blood and dirt. Every shadow looked like a man ready to grab you. Every snap of a twig made your heart seize. You ran until your vision blurred and your chest felt like it would burst. You ran until the shouts grew fainter and the trees finally began to thin.

Hours had passed. The moon hung high and merciless overhead, bathing the world in cold silver light. Your legs trembled violently as you stumbled out of the treeline onto a wide, muddy road. In the distance, warm golden lantern light glowed between clusters of simple wooden buildings. A village.

You nearly collapsed with relief.

The main street was deserted, shutters closed tight against the night. Only one building still showed signs of life. Warm light spilled from its open front door onto the dirt road, carrying with it the thick, metallic scent of fresh blood and raw meat. A weathered wooden sign creaked overhead in the cold breeze:

Fushiguro Meat Co.

You limped toward it, every cut and bruise screaming.

A massive man stood under the wooden awning, illuminated by the lantern light. He was enormous — broad as a barn door, easily over six feet tall, with shoulders and arms so thick with muscle they looked carved from stone. He wore a blood-streaked leather apron tied low on his narrow hips. Beneath it, a simple white tank clung to his sweat-slicked chest, the thin fabric molded to heavy slabs of muscle and dark, scattered scars. His black hair was damp and messy, strands falling across his forehead. A deep, jagged scar twisted the corner of his mouth, giving his face a permanent, dangerous smirk even when he wasn’t smiling.

Thick veins stood out on his forearms as he slowly wiped a long, wicked boning knife clean on the edge of his apron. The blade gleamed.

He looked like violence given human shape — raw, brutal, and utterly terrifying.

You didn’t know his name. You didn’t know anything about him except that he was the only soul still awake, and you were completely out of options.

Your legs gave out the final few steps. You dropped hard to your knees in the cold dirt right in front of him, the torn white satin of your ruined wedding gown pooling around you like spilled milk mixed with blood and mud. Your chest heaved. Fresh tears cut clean tracks down your filthy cheeks.

“Please—” Your voice came out cracked and hoarse, barely more than a whisper. “Hide me. Just for one night. My family… they sold me to Lord Kato to settle their debts. He’s going to break me. Hurt me in ways I can’t even speak of. I’ll do anything you ask — scrub floors until my hands bleed, haul carcasses, sleep in the cold room with the meat, be your servant, your cleaner… anything. Just please… don’t let them take me back.”

You bowed your head, trembling, and clutched desperately at the bloody hem of his apron with both hands, staining your fingers red.

The man stopped moving. He looked down at you slowly, sharp green eyes narrowing as they took in every detail: your torn and filthy wedding dress, the cuts on your face and feet, the desperate tears, the way you knelt before him like a supplicant before a god of slaughter.

He flicked the long knife shut with a loud, metallic click that echoed in the quiet street.

“Not my problem, princess,” he rumbled. His voice was deep, low, and rough — like gravel being dragged across stone. There was no pity in it. “I don’t hide runaways. Go beg somewhere else before you bring trouble to my shop.”

You stayed on your knees, fingers still twisted tight in the bloody hem of his apron. Tears kept falling, mixing with the dirt on your cheeks. “Please… I have nowhere else. They’ll find me by morning. Lord Kato will—”

Footsteps. Soft, quick, coming from the narrow alley beside the butcher shop.

Three women emerged into the lantern light, their shawls pulled tight against the night chill, each carrying a small lantern. They stopped short at the sight of you kneeling in your ruined white gown in front of the massive butcher.

“Gods above,” the tallest one gasped. “Is that a wedding dress? Child, what in the world happened to you?”

The women hurried closer, lanterns swinging. Warm golden light spilled over your torn satin, the mud-caked hem, the blood from his apron smeared across your bodice and hands. One of the younger women pressed a hand to her mouth. “She’s bleeding… and look at her feet!”

You looked down at yourself — the once-beautiful dress now filthy and shredded — then up at the stranger towering over you. His green eyes were narrowed in clear irritation, jaw clenched like he was seconds away from shoving you into the street and bolting the door.

A wild, desperate plan came to your mind.

You pushed yourself up on shaky legs, ignoring the sharp pain in your cut feet. Before he could step away, you grabbed his large, calloused hand with both of yours, clinging desperately. His palm was warm, rough, and still faintly sticky with dried blood.

Turning to the three women with the most exhausted yet radiant smile you could force, you announced clearly:

“This is my husband.”

The words rang in the quiet night air.

The women froze.

You kept going, voice trembling but determined. “We were married in secret this evening. My family didn’t approve — they tried to sell me off to a cruel lord to settle their debts. So I ran away through the forest to reach him. The dress… it got ruined on the way, but I’m here now. I’m exactly where I belong.”

Silence stretched for a heartbeat.

Then the women erupted.

“The butcher got married?!” the tallest one exclaimed, eyes wide. “Toji Fushiguro actually took a wife? I never thought I’d live to see the day!”

One of the younger women clapped her hands together, beaming. “Look at her, even all torn up she’s lovely! Brave thing, running through the woods in the middle of the night just to get to her husband.”

The third woman laughed warmly. “We’ll bring fresh bread and some stew first thing in the morning for you newlyweds. Can’t have Toji’s new wife going hungry on her first day here!”

Toji.

So that was his name. Toji Fushiguro.

You felt the man — Toji — stiffen beside you. His massive hand twitched hard in your grip, muscles flexing like he was fighting the urge to rip free and deny everything. His sharp green eyes burned into the side of your face, dark with fury and silent threat. But the women were watching excitedly. The whole village would know the story by sunrise if he contradicted you now.

You squeezed his hand tighter, nails digging into his skin in a silent, desperate plea. Please. Just play along.

Toji’s scarred jaw flexed. A low, dangerous growl rumbled deep in his chest. For one terrifying second you thought he might expose you.

Then, in the flattest, most reluctant voice you had ever heard, he grunted:

“…Yeah. She’s mine now. Wife.”

The women squealed with delight. They offered more congratulations, promised gifts for the “newlyweds,” and finally bustled away down the dark street, lanterns bobbing and their voices already carrying the juicy news.

The moment their footsteps faded, Toji’s grip turned bruising. He yanked you forward so hard you stumbled against his broad, solid chest, then dragged you roughly through the open door of the butcher shop. The heavy oak door slammed shut behind you with a resounding thud that rattled the walls.

Inside, the air was thick and heavy — cold iron, raw meat, woodsmoke, and the faint metallic tang of fresh blood. A single lantern burned low on the wooden counter, casting long, flickering shadows over heavy chopping blocks, hanging meat hooks, and rows of sharp knives.

Toji spun you around and shoved your back against the closed door. One thick, powerful forearm braced beside your head, completely caging you in. His massive body loomed over yours, heat rolling off him in waves. The scent of blood, sweat, and raw masculinity filled your lungs.

His green eyes were dark with fury… and something much darker, much hungrier.

“What the fuck was that?” he snarled, voice low and lethal. “You just told half the goddamn village you’re my wife. You got any idea what you’ve done, little runaway?”

Your heart slammed against your ribs. You could feel the hard press of his chest against yours, the sheer size of him making you feel tiny and trapped.

“It was the only way,” you whispered, breathing fast. “They would’ve dragged me back to Lord Kato by morning if they knew the truth. Now they think I belong to you. No one will question it. Please… just let me stay the night. I’ll disappear at dawn, I swear it.”

Toji stared down at you for a long, heavy moment. His scarred mouth twisted into a slow, dangerous smirk. His free hand came up and gripped your chin firmly, tilting your face up so you had no choice but to meet his intense green eyes.

“Disappear?” he growled, thumb pressing hard into your jaw. “Too late for that, princess. You just tied yourself to me in front of witnesses.”

He leaned in closer, so close his breath ghosted hot across your lips. His voice dropped even lower, rough and full of promise.

“You owe me now. Big time.”

His gaze dragged slowly down your body — over the torn white lace barely clinging to your curves, the bloodstains, the way your chest heaved with fear and adrenaline. He just held you there, pinned against the door, letting the heavy tension coil tighter and tighter between you.

“Upstairs,” he finally ordered, voice like gravel. “Now. We’re gonna have a long talk about what you just got yourself into.”

Toji didn’t give you time to argue.

His massive hand clamped around your upper arm like a steel band and he hauled you away from the door. You stumbled after him on aching, bleeding feet as he dragged you through the back of the shop. The scent of raw meat grew thicker near the cold room, but he turned toward a narrow wooden staircase tucked behind a heavy curtain.

“Move,” he growled when you hesitated at the bottom step.

You climbed. Each step sent fresh pain shooting up your legs, but you bit your lip and kept going. Toji followed close behind, his heavy boots loud on the old wood, one hand still gripping your arm so you couldn’t possibly run.

The stairs opened directly into a small, sparse apartment above the butcher shop. It was surprisingly clean for a man who spent his days covered in blood. A single main room served as both living space and kitchen — a sturdy wooden table with two chairs, a stone hearth with dying embers, a few shelves holding jars of preserved meat and dried herbs. A narrow hallway led to what you assumed were the bedroom and washroom. Moonlight spilled through two small windows, painting everything in cool silver.

Toji kicked the door at the top of the stairs shut behind him and finally released your arm. You immediately backed up a few steps, the torn hem of your wedding dress whispering across the floorboards.

He folded his thick arms across his broad chest, blood-stained apron still tied around his waist, and stared at you like you were a problem he was deciding how to carve up.

“Start talking,” he said flatly. “And don’t leave anything out. Who the fuck are you, why is a lord hunting you, and why the hell did you decide to drag me into your mess?”

You swallowed hard, still catching your breath. You introduced yourself by name, then continued quietly, “My family is in debt. Deep debt. They sold me to Lord Kato yesterday to settle it. He’s a cruel man. Three wives before me, and none of them lasted long. He told my father in front of me what he plans to do on our wedding night.” Your voice cracked. “I couldn’t stay. I ran in the only thing of value I had — this dress. I thought maybe I could sell it in a village for enough coin to disappear.”

Toji’s green eyes flicked over the ruined white lace clinging to your body — torn, muddy, bloodstained. He let out a low, humorless snort.

“And instead of keeping your mouth shut and hiding somewhere quiet, you decided the best plan was to announce to the biggest gossips in the village that you’re married to the local butcher.” He took one heavy step closer. “You realize what you’ve done?”

You nodded quickly. “They won’t hand me over now. Not if they think I belong to you. The whole village will protect the butcher’s wife… right?”

Toji laughed — a short, dark sound that sent a shiver down your spine.

“Protect?” He shook his head. “You just painted a target on my back too, princess. Lord Kato isn’t the type to let his property run off. When he comes looking — and he will come looking — he’s going to hear all about how the village butcher stole his bride.”

He dragged a large hand down his face, clearly pissed off, but there was something else in his expression now. A glint of dark amusement. Maybe even reluctant interest.

“You’re either the bravest idiot I’ve ever met… or the most cunning.”

You stood there trembling in the middle of his living room, arms wrapped around yourself. The torn bodice of the dress had slipped dangerously low on your shoulders, but you didn’t dare fix it.

“I’ll leave at first light,” you promised again, softer this time. “I won’t cause you any more trouble. Just… let me stay until sunrise. Please, Toji.”

Hearing his name from your lips made his eyes narrow.

“Don’t,” he warned. “You don’t get to say my name like we’re actually married.”

He turned away from you and walked over to the small hearth. He crouched down, added two fresh logs, and stoked the fire back to life with practiced efficiency. The warm orange glow slowly filled the room, chasing away some of the chill.

When he stood again, he looked even bigger in the firelight — shoulders impossibly wide, muscles shifting under the thin tank top, the scar at his mouth pulling as he scowled.

“Sit,” he ordered, nodding toward one of the wooden chairs at the table. “You’re bleeding all over my floor.”

You obeyed, lowering yourself carefully onto the chair. The moment you sat, exhaustion crashed into you like a wave. Your feet throbbed. Every cut and bruise ached. You were filthy, terrified, and running on nothing but fear and adrenaline.

Toji disappeared down the short hallway and returned a minute later with a metal basin, a clean rag, and a small jar. He set the basin on the floor in front of you, then dropped into the chair across the table, watching you with those sharp green eyes.

“Clean your feet,” he said gruffly. “I’m not carrying you around if they get infected.”

You dipped the rag into the water and started wiping away the mud and blood as carefully as you could. The silence stretched between you, thick and heavy. The fire crackled. Outside, the village was completely quiet.

Toji leaned back in his chair, arms crossed again, studying you like livestock.

“You really think this marriage story is gonna hold?” he asked after a long minute. “Village folk love to talk. By noon tomorrow everyone’s gonna want to meet my mysterious bride.”

You kept your eyes on your injured feet. “I just need a day or two to figure out where to go next. I can… I can work. I’m not useless. I can clean, cook, help in the shop—”

Toji’s low chuckle cut you off.

“You? Working in a butcher shop?” He shook his head. “You look like you’ve never touched anything bloodier than a sewing needle in your life.”

He watched you struggle to clean a deep cut on your sole for another moment before he made an irritated sound and leaned forward.

“Give me your foot.”

You hesitated.

“Now,” he growled.

You slowly lifted your leg. Toji took your ankle in his huge, rough hand — surprisingly gentle despite the calluses and dried blood on his fingers. He pulled the basin closer and started cleaning your wounds himself with careful, efficient movements.

The contrast was jarring: this terrifying mountain of a man, covered in someone else’s blood, carefully tending to your torn-up feet.

“You’re staying the night,” he said quietly, not looking up from his work. “Not because I’m kind. Because if I throw you out now, those three hens will ask questions I don’t feel like answering. Tomorrow we figure out what the hell to do with you.”

He finished cleaning one foot and moved to the other. His thumb brushed accidentally over a sensitive spot and you hissed softly.

Toji’s eyes flicked up to your face for a second, something unreadable flashing across his expression.

“After that…” He set your foot down carefully and leaned back again, voice dropping into a low, dangerous rumble. “You’re gonna start paying off the trouble you just caused me.”

He didn’t explain what that meant.

But the way he was looking at you — slow, heavy, possessive — made heat crawl up your neck despite the fear.

Toji held your gaze for another long moment before he finally released your ankle. He pushed the basin aside with his boot and stood, towering over you once more. The firelight danced across the hard lines of his face, catching on the jagged scar at the corner of his mouth.

“Stay there,” he muttered.

He disappeared into the back room again. You heard the sound of water splashing, then heavy footsteps returning. When he came back, he carried a thick wool blanket and a tin cup. He set the cup in front of you — it was filled with cool water — and dropped the blanket over the back of your chair.

“Drink,” he ordered. “You look half-dead.”

You obeyed without thinking, your hands still trembling slightly as you lifted the cup. The water was clean and cold, soothing your raw throat. Toji watched you drink the entire thing, arms crossed, before he spoke again.

You lowered the empty cup. “Thank you… for the water. And for cleaning my feet.”

He made a dismissive sound in the back of his throat, like thanks made him uncomfortable. Then he leaned against the edge of the table, close enough that his thigh nearly brushed your arm.

“You really thought this through?” he asked, voice low. “Running in a fancy white dress, announcing yourself as my wife in front of the nosiest women in the village… What’s your actual plan once the sun comes up?”

You stared down at your bandaged feet. “I didn’t have time for a real plan. I just knew I couldn’t let them marry me off to that monster. I thought if I could get far enough away, maybe sell the dress, I could buy passage on a cart or a boat. Start over somewhere no one knows me.”

Toji exhaled through his nose, almost a laugh but darker. “Selling that dress would’ve gotten you robbed or worse before you even reached the next town. You’re lucky you only made it as far as my doorstep.”

Silence settled again, broken only by the crackling fire. You pulled the blanket tighter around your shoulders, suddenly aware of how exposed you still were — the torn bodice of the wedding gown hanging loosely, the lace ripped in several places, dirt and dried blood streaked across your skin.

Toji’s eyes drifted over you again, slower this time. They lingered on the curve of your shoulder where the dress had slipped, the rise and fall of your chest, the way the white fabric clung to your thighs.

“You look ridiculous,” he said bluntly. “Like a bride who lost a fight with a pack of wolves.”

Despite everything, a tiny, tired smile tugged at your lips. “That’s… not far from the truth.”

He pushed off the table and walked over to a wooden chest in the corner. He rummaged inside and pulled out a large, worn linen shirt — clearly one of his. It looked big enough to reach your knees.

“Here.” He tossed it to you. “Can’t have you walking around my place looking like that. Change. There’s a washroom down the hall if you want to clean up more.”

You clutched the shirt to your chest. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” he warned. “You’re still in my house. Still wearing that damn dress that’s going to bring trouble to my door.”

He turned his back to give you a moment of privacy, busying himself by adding another log to the fire. You quickly stood, wincing at the pain in your feet, and slipped behind the partial wall that separated the washroom. You peeled off the ruined wedding dress with shaking hands, letting the torn fabric pool at your feet. The cool air kissed your bare skin as you pulled Toji’s shirt over your head. It smelled faintly of smoke, soap, and something unmistakably masculine. The hem fell halfway down your thighs.

When you stepped back out, Toji turned around. His eyes darkened the moment they landed on you in his shirt.

“Better,” he grunted, though his voice sounded rougher than before.

He gestured toward the narrow hallway. “Bedroom’s at the end. Only one bed. You take it tonight. I’ll sleep out here.”

You hesitated. “I can sleep on the floor. I’ve already caused enough—”

“Don’t argue,” he cut you off. “My house, my rules. Get some sleep. You look like you’re about to fall over.”

You walked carefully down the short hall, every step still painful. The bedroom was small and simple like the rest of the apartment — a large wooden bed with thick blankets, a single chair, and a window overlooking the dark village street. You climbed onto the bed, pulling the covers over yourself.

Toji appeared in the doorway a minute later, leaning one broad shoulder against the frame. The firelight from the main room silhouetted his massive form.

“Door stays open,” he said. “And don’t even think about sneaking out in the middle of the night. If I have to chase you down, I won’t be in a generous mood.”

You nodded, sinking deeper into the mattress. Exhaustion was pulling at you hard now, but sleep still felt far away with him standing there watching you.

“Toji…” you whispered.

He raised an eyebrow.

“Thank you,” you said again, softer. “For not throwing me out.”

His expression didn’t soften, but something in his eyes shifted. He pushed off the doorframe and turned to leave.

“Get some sleep, runaway,” he muttered. “You’re gonna need it.”

He left the door wide open. You heard him moving around in the main room — the creak of the wooden chair as he sat down, the quiet clink of a cup. The fire continued to crackle.

You lay there in his bed, wrapped in his shirt, the weight of everything that had happened pressing down on you. The fake marriage. The village women who now believed you were his wife. Lord Kato still out there searching. And the terrifying, strangely careful butcher who had just tended to your wounds and given you his bed.

Sleep finally claimed you, but even in your dreams you could still feel the heavy weight of Toji’s gaze on your skin.

You woke to the sound of knocking.

It was loud, cheerful, and relentless — three sharp raps on the shop door downstairs, followed by muffled feminine voices. Sunlight streamed through the small bedroom window, warm and golden. For a brief, disoriented moment you forgot where you were. Then everything crashed back: the forest, the blood-stained butcher, the lie you’d told.

You sat up quickly. Toji’s oversized linen shirt had ridden up your thighs during the night. Your feet still ached, but the bandages held firm. You heard heavy footsteps downstairs, then Toji’s low, irritated growl as he opened the door.

“Morning!” a cheerful woman’s voice called up. “We brought breakfast for the newlyweds! Fresh bread, stew, and honey cakes. Don’t tell us you’re still in bed on your wedding night!”

Another woman giggled. “We’re dying to meet your bride properly!”

Toji’s heavy footsteps came up the stairs. He appeared in the bedroom doorway, looking imposing in the daylight. He wore a clean black tunic stretched tight across his chest, the same blood-stained apron tied around his waist. His hair was messy, jaw set with clear annoyance.

“They’re here,” he said flatly. “Three of them. Loaded with food.”

Your stomach twisted. “What do we do?”

Toji’s green eyes dragged over you — bare legs, wearing nothing but his shirt. Something dark flickered across his face.

“You sold us as newlyweds,” he reminded you, voice low. “So act like it. Smile. Look happy. Keep the story straight.”

He stepped closer and tugged the hem of the shirt down your thighs possessively. “There’s a spare skirt and blouse in the chest. Change. Quickly.”

You moved fast, wincing at the pain in your feet. Toji turned his back while you dressed in the simple dark green skirt and cream blouse. They were a little loose but far more practical.

When you were ready, Toji gave you one last look and jerked his head toward the stairs. “Downstairs. Remember — you’re my wife.”

The three women had already let themselves into the front of the shop. They had laid out a generous spread on the wooden counter: warm bread, a pot of hearty stew, honey cakes, and spiced cider. The moment you appeared behind Toji, their faces lit up.

“Oh, here she is!” the tallest, round-faced woman exclaimed. “Look at you, dear. Much better than last night. I’m Mrs. Sato, by the way! My husband runs the bakery just down the street.” She gestured to the other two. “This is Mira and little Hana.”

The younger women smiled warmly.

“You clean up beautifully,” Mira said. “You already have that newlywed glow!”

You felt heat rise in your cheeks. Toji’s large hand settled heavily on your lower back, warm and claiming.

“Thank you,” you said, offering a shy smile. “You’re all so kind. I’m sorry for how I looked last night… the journey through the forest was harder than I expected.”

Mrs. Sato waved her hand. “No apologies needed! Running away from a bad match to be with the man you love? It’s the most romantic thing to happen in this village in years.”

Toji grunted, his thumb slowly stroking your spine. “Wasn’t exactly planned,” he said dryly. “But here we are.”

The women laughed and chattered while you helped serve the food. They asked how you met, how long you’d been secretly courting, and whether you planned to stay in the village. You answered carefully, sticking close to the story. Toji added short, gruff confirmations, never moving far from your side.

Just as the women were gathering their empty baskets to leave, a loud, sharp knock echoed through the shop.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

This knock was different — heavy, authoritative, and impatient.

Toji’s hand tensed on your back. His expression hardened instantly.

Mrs. Sato glanced toward the door, curious. “Are you expecting more visitors already?”

Toji didn’t answer. He moved toward the door, positioning himself so his broad frame blocked most of the view inside. You stayed behind the counter, heart suddenly hammering.

He opened the door.

Two armed men stood outside, wearing the dark crimson and gold colors of Lord Kato’s household. Swords hung at their hips. Their eyes scanned the interior of the shop coldly.

“We’re searching for a missing girl,” the taller guard announced. “Runaway bride. White wedding dress. She fled the lord’s estate last night. Anyone matching that description come through here?”

The air in the shop grew thick. Mrs. Sato and the other two women turned to look at you with wide eyes, then back at the guards.

Toji’s voice was calm but ice-cold. “No one like that here.”

The second guard tried to peer past him. “Mind if we take a look inside?”

You stayed frozen behind the counter, heart hammering. Before Toji could answer, Mrs. Sato stepped forward with the confidence of someone who had gossiped through every scandal the village had ever seen.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she said brightly, waving a hand. “You boys are wasting your time. That right there is Toji Fushiguro — our butcher for the last fifteen years. We’ve known him since he was a surly teenager dragging whole pigs through these doors!”

Mira immediately jumped in, nodding eagerly. “And he has a wife! They’ve been happily married for two whole years now. We were at their quiet little wedding ourselves. Very romantic.”

Hana clapped her hands together dramatically. “Yes! They’re the sweetest couple. Toji can barely keep his hands off her even when he’s covered in blood. Always canoodling right outside the shop like they’re still courting!”

Mrs. Sato leaned toward the guards like she was sharing precious village lore. “Honestly, if some runaway noble girl in a fancy white dress had shown up here last night, the entire village would’ve known before sunrise. This dear girl has been living above the shop for ages. Helps Toji with the accounts and everything. She’s no fugitive — she’s the butcher’s wife, plain and simple.”

Toji finally moved. He reached back with one thick arm, caught you around the waist, and pulled you forward against his side in one smooth motion. His grip was firm and possessive, his large hand resting heavily on your hip as he held you close.

The guards blinked, clearly thrown by the united front.

The taller one squinted at you. “But the missing girl was wearing a white wedding dress…”

Mira let out a theatrical laugh. “Plenty of white dresses in the world! Our girl here has been wearing plain village clothes for years. Look at her — does she look like some pampered noble who ran away last night?”

Hana nodded vigorously. “Exactly! She even makes the best meat pies in the village. We’d know if she was some lord’s bride.”

The two guards exchanged uncertain glances. Between Toji’s intimidating size, the three women’s absolute certainty, and the perfectly domestic scene in front of them, their suspicion melted away.

The shorter guard cleared his throat. “Seems like a false lead, then. Sorry to bother you folks.”

The taller one gave a reluctant nod. “Apologies for the intrusion. If you hear anything about a girl in a white dress, send word to the lord’s estate.”

Mrs. Sato smiled sweetly. “Of course, dears. Safe travels back!”

The guards turned and walked off down the street without another word.

The moment the door clicked shut, Mrs. Sato burst into laughter and fanned herself. “Well! That was more excitement than we usually get before noon.”

Mira winked at you. “Don’t worry, love. We’ve got your back. No one’s taking the butcher’s wife anywhere.”

Hana grinned. “We’ll spread the word. The whole village will keep an eye out.”

Toji gave them a short, gruff nod. “Appreciate it.”

The women gathered their empty baskets, still buzzing, and finally left with more promises of future visits and gifts.

The shop fell quiet again, morning sunlight streaming peacefully through the windows.

Toji slowly turned to face you. His hand was still on your waist, heavy and warm. For a long moment he just studied you, green eyes dark and intense.

“You’re damn lucky those three are the nosiest women alive,” he muttered. “They just sold that story better than we could’ve.”

He stepped closer, backing you gently against the counter. His voice dropped low, rough around the edges.

“So the whole village’s got our back it seems.” His thumb brushed slowly over your hip bone. “This lie keeps growing. Whole village thinks you’re mine now.”

His gaze dropped to your lips for a heartbeat before returning to your eyes.

“So tell me, runaway… how long do you plan on playing my wife? And how far are you willing to go to make everyone believe it?”

You swallowed, suddenly very aware of how close he was. The counter pressed into your lower back, and Toji’s broad body blocked out most of the morning light. His hand remained heavy on your hip, thumb still tracing slow, absent circles that made your skin prickle beneath the thin blouse.

“I… I don’t know,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t think past getting away from Lord Kato. I just wanted to survive the night.”

Toji hummed, low and thoughtful. He tilted his head slightly, studying your face like he was trying to decide whether you were worth the growing headache you’d brought him.

“Surviving isn’t enough anymore,” he said. “Not after this morning. Those guards will report back. When they don’t find you, Kato will send more men. Maybe even come himself.” His fingers flexed on your hip. “And the whole village now believes you’re mine. If the story breaks, they’ll look like fools. They won’t forgive that easily.”

You met his eyes, heart thudding. “Then what do we do?”

For a moment he didn’t answer. Instead he reached up with his free hand and brushed a stray lock of hair behind your ear, the gesture surprisingly gentle for someone so rough-looking. His calloused fingertips lingered against the side of your neck.

“We lean into it,” he finally said. “Hard. You stay. You act like my wife in public — every smile, every touch, every time someone knocks on that door. No slipping up. No running off when it gets hard.”

He leaned in a fraction closer, voice dropping. “And in private… we figure out the real terms.”

Your breath caught. “Real terms?”

Toji’s scarred mouth curved into a slow, dangerous half-smirk. “You cost me peace and quiet, runaway. You cost me the simple life where nobody bothered me. So you’re going to start paying me back.”

He didn’t elaborate, but the heat in his green eyes made it very clear what kind of payment he had in mind.

“I won’t force you,” he continued, surprising you. “Door’s right there. You can still walk out and take your chances on the road. But if you stay…” His hand slid from your hip to the small of your back, pulling you flush against him. “Then you’re mine until this blows over. Or longer. Depends how good you are at pretending.”

The solid wall of his chest pressed against you, warm and unyielding. You could smell faint traces of smoke, soap, and the metallic hint of blood that never quite left him. Your hands came up instinctively, resting lightly on his abdomen.

“I’m not pretending right now,” you whispered.

Toji’s eyes darkened. For a second you thought he might kiss you — really kiss you — but he held back, letting the tension stretch until it was almost unbearable.

“Good,” he murmured. “Because the village expects a devoted wife. They’ll be watching. Bringing food. Asking questions. Asking when we’re going to have little butchers running around.”

Your face burned. Toji chuckled, deep and rough, clearly enjoying your reaction.

“Don’t worry. We’ll give them a good show.” He finally stepped back, giving you room to breathe again, though his hand lingered on your waist a moment longer. “For now, help me open the shop. Act natural. If anyone else comes asking, you know what to say.”

You nodded, still flushed.

As he turned to start his morning routine — sharpening knives, hanging fresh cuts, preparing the counter — you moved to help where you could. Every time you passed near him, his hand would brush your lower back or arm — small, deliberate touches that looked casual to anyone watching but felt heavy with intent.

By midday, a few villagers had already stopped by “just to say hello” and congratulate the newlyweds. Each time, Toji played his part perfectly — gruff, possessive, pulling you close with an ease that made the performance feel dangerously real.

An older man dropped off a small basket of eggs and clapped Toji on the back. “Didn’t think I’d live to see you settle down, Fushiguro. She must be something special.”

Toji’s arm tightened around your waist as he gave a low grunt. “She is.” His fingers flexed against your side, warm through the fabric of your blouse. You leaned into him instinctively, playing along, and felt the solid wall of muscle beneath his tunic.

A young mother came next with her toddler in tow, offering a jar of preserved berries. She smiled at you brightly. “You two look so good together. How long have you been hiding her from us, Toji?”

“Long enough,” he answered, voice rough but carrying a hint of smugness. He pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to the top of your head right in front of her. The casual affection made your stomach flutter.

By early afternoon the steady trickle of visitors finally slowed. Toji flipped the shop sign to “Closed for the Day” and locked the front door with a heavy click. The sudden silence felt louder than all the chatter combined.

You let out a shaky breath and leaned against the counter, arms wrapped around yourself. “They really believe it. All of them.”

Toji wiped his hands on a rag, watching you from across the room. He tossed the rag aside and stalked toward you, slow and deliberate.

Gods, he was huge.

Up close like this, in the quiet afternoon light, the sheer size of him hit you all over again. Broad shoulders that seemed to stretch the fabric of his black tunic, thick arms corded with muscle from years of hauling heavy carcasses, a powerful chest that rose and fell steadily. The jagged scar at the corner of his mouth only made him more striking — dangerous, rough, and strangely, undeniably attractive. Those sharp green eyes pinned you in place, intimidating as ever, yet there was something magnetic about the way he moved. Like a predator who knew exactly how much power he held and chose not to use it… yet.

He stopped right in front of you, so close you had to tilt your head back to meet his gaze. One large hand came up to cup your chin, thumb brushing along your jaw.

“You’re handling this better than I expected,” he said quietly.

You felt your pulse quicken under his touch. “I feel like I’m going to faint every time someone looks at me.”

His thumb stroked slowly over your skin. “You’re not fainting. You’re standing here in my shop, wearing my clothes, letting me touch you like you belong to me.” His voice dropped lower. “Looks pretty convincing from where I’m standing.”

The air between you thickened. You could smell the faint mix of blood, woodsmoke, and clean sweat that clung to him. His sheer physical presence was overwhelming — the heat rolling off his massive frame, the way his broad chest nearly brushed against you with every breath.

“What happens when the guards come back?” you asked, voice softer than you intended.

Toji’s expression darkened. “Then we give them the same show. Or I handle it my way.” His hand slid from your chin to the back of your neck, fingers threading gently into your hair. “But right now? Shop’s closed. No more visitors. No more pretending for a little while.”

He didn’t move away. Neither did you.

Instead, you found yourself leaning into his touch, exhaustion and adrenaline twisting into something warmer, heavier. Your hands rose to rest on his chest, feeling the hard, solid muscle beneath your palms.

“Toji…” you started, unsure what you even wanted to say.

He cut you off with a low sound. “Careful. You keep saying my name like that and I might start believing this marriage is real myself.”

His grip on the back of your neck tightened just slightly — not painful, but enough to remind you how easily he could pull you in. His green eyes dropped to your mouth, lingering this time, dark with hunger.

“You still haven’t answered my question from earlier,” he murmured. “How far are you willing to go, runaway?”

The shop was quiet except for the distant sounds of village life outside. No one was watching now. It was just the two of you, the weight of the lie, and the growing, electric heat between you.

You wet your lips, heart racing.

“I’m still here,” you whispered. “That should tell you something.”

Toji’s scarred mouth curved into a slow, hungry smirk.

“Yeah,” he said, voice rough. “It does.”

The silence that followed felt heavier than before. The shop was quiet now, the afternoon light cutting sharp lines across the wooden floor and the rows of knives hanging on the wall. Toji didn’t step back. He stayed right there, towering over you, one hand still gripping the back of your neck while the other rested heavy on your hip.

He really was massive up close.

Broad shoulders that strained his tunic, thick arms veined and scarred from years of brutal work, a chest so solid it looked like it could take a hit from a horse and keep going. The scar at the corner of his mouth gave his face a permanent edge, dangerous and rough. Yet there was something about the way he looked at you — intense green eyes, half-lidded, focused — that made your stomach tighten in a way that had nothing to do with fear.

Toji noticed you staring.

“Eyes up here,” he muttered, but the corner of his scarred mouth twitched like he was amused. “You keep looking at me like that and I’m gonna get the wrong idea.”

You swallowed. “I’ve never been this close to someone like you.”

“Someone like me,” he repeated, almost mocking. He leaned in a little more, voice dropping low. “Big, ugly butcher covered in blood half the time?”

You shook your head. “Not ugly.”

The words slipped out before you could stop them. Toji paused, eyes narrowing slightly like he was trying to decide if you were lying. Then he let out a short, rough breath.

His thumb brushed slowly along the side of your neck, calloused and warm. You could feel the strength in his hand, how easily he could tighten his grip if he wanted. The contrast between that raw power and the way he was holding back made the air feel thick.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” he said quietly. His gaze dropped to your mouth for a second before flicking back up. “I’m not a patient man, runaway. And I’m definitely not a gentle one.”

Your hands were still pressed against his chest. Under your palms, his muscles were firm and warm, shifting slightly with each breath. You didn’t pull away.

“I know,” you whispered.

Toji’s jaw flexed. For a moment his control looked strained — shoulders tense, fingers pressing harder into your skin. He leaned down until his face was inches from yours, close enough that you could feel the heat of his breath.

“If you stay,” he said, voice low and deliberate, “this stops being fake whenever I say it does. Behind this door, you won’t be playing a role. You’ll be in my bed. Under me. Taking what I give you.” His thumb dragged across your lower lip. “And you’ll moan my name like you mean it.”

Your breath caught.

Toji held your gaze for another long second, then slowly released you. He stepped back, rolling one shoulder like he needed to shake off the tension. The sudden space felt colder than it should have.

“But not right now,” he added gruffly. “You’re still half-dead on your feet and I’ve got work to finish before the meat spoils.”

He turned toward the back counter and picked up his sharpening stone. The steady scrape of metal filled the shop as he worked on one of his larger knives. You stayed by the front counter, watching the way his back and arms moved — powerful, efficient, every motion reminding you exactly what kind of man had just offered to claim you.

Every so often he glanced over at you, eyes dark and unreadable.

The silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable. It was charged. Heavy with everything neither of you was saying out loud.

After a while, Toji spoke without looking up from his work.

“You hungry?”

You blinked, surprised by the sudden normal question. “A little.”

He jerked his head toward the stairs. “There’s leftover stew from this morning in the pot upstairs. Heat it up if you want. Or stay down here. Doesn’t matter to me.”

You hesitated, then moved to help him organize the counter instead. Every time you passed close by, his arm would brush yours — deliberate, not accidental. Small reminders that the tension hadn’t gone anywhere.

The afternoon stretched on like that. Quiet work. Occasional glances. The weight of his presence never really leaving you.

By the time the sun had fully set and the village outside grew dark and quiet, the tension between you had only thickened. Lanterns flickered in distant windows, but inside the butcher shop everything felt hushed and intimate.

Toji locked the front door with a heavy click and killed most of the lanterns, leaving only a single low one burning near the stairs. The warm glow followed you both upstairs, casting long shadows across the wooden beams.

He grabbed a spare blanket from the chest and headed for the worn couch against the far wall without a word. The piece of furniture looked comically small beneath his massive frame as he tossed the blanket over it. Then he reached back and pulled his tunic off in one smooth motion.

Your mouth went dry.

Firelight danced over his bare back and shoulders — thick slabs of muscle shifting under scarred skin, powerful arms flexing as he folded the tunic. His waist tapered into a sharp V, disappearing beneath the waistband of his trousers. Every inch of him looked hard, battle-worn, and undeniably masculine. The sight made something low in your belly tighten.

You stood frozen in the bedroom doorway.

“Wait,” you said, voice barely louder than a whisper.

Toji glanced over his shoulder, one dark brow raised. The movement made the muscles in his chest and abdomen flex visibly.

You twisted your fingers in the hem of your blouse, cheeks already burning.

“You don’t have to sleep on the couch,” you offered shyly. “The bed is… big enough for both of us. I don’t mind sharing.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Toji slowly turned around to face you fully. The low firelight carved deep shadows across his torso, highlighting every ridge of muscle, every old scar, the faint trail of dark hair disappearing into his trousers. He looked even bigger like this — raw power barely contained, green eyes locked on you with dangerous intensity.

He took one slow step closer, then another.

“Careful what you offer me, runaway,” he said, voice low and gravel-rough. “I’m not the type to hold back.”

You swallowed hard but didn’t back away.

“I just… it doesn’t feel right making you sleep on that tiny thing after everything,” you murmured, eyes flicking involuntarily down his bare chest before snapping back up. “We’re supposed to be married. At least to everyone else.”

Toji stopped just inches away from you. The heat radiating from his body wrapped around you like a cloak. You could smell him — smoke, clean sweat, and that faint metallic trace that always clung to his skin. His sheer size made you feel small and fragile in comparison.

He tilted his head, studying you like prey.

“You offering to share my bed isn’t about being polite,” he murmured. “If I get in that bed with you, I’m not staying on my side. I’ll pull you against me. I’ll have my hands all over that soft little body. And if you keep looking at me with those wide, needy eyes…”

He leaned down, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he spoke.

“I won’t be able to stop myself from spreading those pretty thighs and finding out exactly how wet pretending to be my wife has made you.”

Your breath hitched sharply. Heat flooded your face and pooled between your legs. You pressed your thighs together instinctively, but Toji noticed — of course he did. A dark, satisfied sound rumbled in his chest.

He pulled back just enough to look at your face again, eyes heavy-lidded and hungry.

“I’m not gentle,” he continued, voice dropping even lower. “I fuck hard. I take what I want. And right now, I want to ruin that shy little runaway who dropped to her knees at my door and turned my whole life upside down.”

His hand came up, knuckles lightly dragging down the side of your neck, over your racing pulse, then lower until they brushed the neckline of your blouse. Not quite touching skin, but close enough to make you shiver.

“So think very carefully before you offer again,” he warned. “Because once I’m in that bed, the only pretending left will be how long you can keep quiet while I’m buried inside you.”

The air felt too thick to breathe.

Toji’s scarred mouth curved into a slow, predatory smirk as he watched the effect his words had on you.

“Still want to share a bed with me… wife?”

Toji’s words hung heavy in the air.

You didn’t answer with words.

You looked up at him, heart hammering so hard you could feel it in your throat, and gave a small, shy nod.

That was all it took.

Toji’s control snapped. A low, almost feral sound rumbled in his chest as he moved. In one fluid motion he scooped you up, one thick arm under your knees and the other around your back, lifting you like you weighed nothing. Your breath caught at how easily he carried you — his biceps flexing hard against your body, the heat of his bare chest pressing into your side.

He carried you the few steps to the bed and laid you down on your back with surprising care, but the look in his eyes was anything but gentle. The mattress dipped deeply under his weight as he climbed over you, caging you in completely with his massive frame. His broad shoulders blocked out most of the firelight, leaving you in shadow beneath him.

“You a virgin?” he asked, voice low and rough, green eyes searching yours like he was looking for any hesitation.

You nodded again, cheeks burning with embarrassment.

“Fuck,” he breathed, the word almost reverent. His gaze darkened as it dragged slowly down your body. “Gonna have to take my time with you then. Can’t wreck this tight little virgin cunt on the first thrust.”

He kissed you deeply, tongue claiming your mouth in slow, filthy strokes while his rough hands explored every inch of you. He took his time peeling your clothes off — first tugging your blouse over your head, then sliding your skirt down your legs, and finally hooking his fingers into your soaked panties and dragging them off. When you were completely naked beneath him, he sat back on his heels and just stared, drinking in every inch of your exposed body like a man who’d been starving for weeks.

“So fucking small,” he muttered, almost to himself. His large hands ran up your thighs, thumbs brushing the sensitive skin on the inside, then spread your legs wide open. “Look at this pretty virgin pussy… already glistening and I’ve barely touched you.”

The cool air hit your wet folds and you shivered. Toji’s eyes were locked between your legs, dark and hungry, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

He lowered himself between your spread thighs like a man on a mission. The first slow, hot drag of his tongue from your entrance all the way up to your clit made your entire body jolt. Toji groaned deeply at your taste, the sound vibrating straight through you.

“Sweet as hell,” he rasped, voice thick with lust. “Could eat this pussy for hours.”

Then he devoured you.

His tongue worked in slow, broad strokes, licking every inch of your soaked folds before focusing on your swollen clit. He sucked the sensitive bud into his hot mouth, flicking it rapidly with the tip of his tongue while two thick fingers teased your entrance, circling and pressing but not pushing in yet. When you started whimpering and rolling your hips, he finally pushed one thick finger inside you — careful, but relentless.

“So goddamn tight,” he growled against your pussy, the vibration making your toes curl. “This little hole is gonna fight my cock the whole way in.”

He curled his finger slowly, searching, until he found that spongy spot that made your back arch. He rubbed it firmly while sucking harder on your clit. The wet, obscene sounds of his mouth and fingers filled the quiet bedroom — slick, filthy, and loud. Your thighs started trembling around his head as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in your belly.

“Toji— oh gods—”

He didn’t let up. He ate you out like he was starving for it — messy, hungry, and completely focused on pulling every sound out of you. He added a second finger, stretching you open carefully, scissoring them while his tongue flicked fast and firm over your clit. The pressure built unbearably fast.

Your orgasm crashed over you without warning. Your back arched clean off the bed as you came hard on his face with a broken, sobbing cry of his name. Your walls clamped down around his fingers, pulsing wildly.

Toji licked you through every wave, slow and thorough, drawing out every last tremor until you were twitching and oversensitive, whimpering softly. Only then did he pull back. His chin and lips were shiny with your slick. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes dark and satisfied as he looked up at your flushed, panting face.

Then he shoved his trousers down.

His cock sprang free — thick, heavy, veined, and longer than anything you’d ever imagined. The flushed head was already leaking steadily.

“See this?” he said, stroking himself slowly. “This is gonna stretch you wide open, baby. But I’ll make it fit.”

He climbed back over you, pushing your legs up and folding your knees toward your chest. The position left you completely exposed. He rubbed the fat head of his cock up and down your drenched folds, coating himself in your wetness, teasing your clit with every pass.

“Deep breaths,” he warned. “Gonna go slow.”

He pushed in.

The stretch was intense. You gasped sharply, a high-pitched whimper escaping you as just the thick head popped inside. “Ah—! Toji… it’s so big…”

Toji groaned, jaw clenched tight as he fought the urge to slam forward. “Fuck— so tight,” he hissed. “Relax for me, baby. Let me in.”

You whimpered softly, fingers clutching at his shoulders. “It burns… but— ah— don’t stop…”

He worked himself in inch by slow, careful inch. Every time you tensed, he stopped, leaning down to kiss your neck or suck on your tits until you loosened again. Sweat beaded on his forehead from the restraint.

Halfway in, you let out a shaky moan, eyes fluttering. “Oh gods… I can feel you so deep already…”

Toji looked down at the bulge already forming in your lower belly. “Shit… look at that,” he groaned, pressing a big hand over the swell. “My cock’s barely halfway and I can already see it inside you.”

When he finally bottomed out, hips flush against your ass, you felt so full you could barely breathe. A broken whimper left your lips. “T-Toji… you’re all the way in… I feel so full…”

Toji stayed still, buried to the hilt, letting you adjust while he kissed you slow and deep. “Good girl,” he praised, voice strained. “Taking every inch of my cock on your first time. Such a perfect little wife.”

When your whimpers turned into soft, needy moans, he started moving — slow, deep rolls of his hips at first. The wet drag of his thick cock against your walls made you cry out.

“Feel that?” he growled. “Feel how deep I am? Gonna breed this cunt so full tonight.”

“Ah—! Yes… I feel it,” you moaned, voice trembling. “It’s so deep… Toji—!”

His pace gradually picked up. The bed started creaking rhythmically as he fucked you harder, deeper. Your tits bounced with every thrust. You couldn’t stop the desperate sounds spilling from your mouth.

“Gonna fill you up,” he panted. “Pump this tight womb full of my cum until it takes. Want you walking around the village with my kid growing inside you. Everyone’s gonna know exactly who fucked you first.”

The filthy words sent you spiraling. “Please— Toji— I’m gonna—!” You came hard around his cock, walls fluttering and squeezing him like a vice as you screamed his name, “Toji—! Ahh—!”

Toji snarled and fucked you through it, pace turning brutal. The wet slap of skin on skin echoed loudly.

“Fuck— gonna cum,” he groaned. “Gonna breed you— take it all—”

You whimpered and moaned beneath him, voice hoarse, “Cum inside me… please— fill me up—!”

He slammed in deep one final time and came with a long, guttural moan. Thick, hot ropes of cum flooded your pussy, pulse after heavy pulse. There was so much it leaked out around his cock despite how tightly you were stretched around him. Toji kept grinding deep, pushing every drop into your womb, hand pressing down on the bulge in your belly like he wanted to keep it all inside you.

You let out a soft, overwhelmed whimper at the feeling of being so full of him.

He stayed buried inside you for a long moment, chest heaving against yours, both of you slick with sweat.

Then he leaned down, kissed you slow and possessive, and murmured against your lips:

“This cunt belongs to me.”

Toji stayed inside you for a while longer, gently grinding and kissing your neck, before he finally pulled out with a low groan. A thick trickle of his cum leaked from your abused hole onto the sheets. He looked down at the mess with dark satisfaction, then rolled onto his back and pulled you against his chest.

“Rest now,” he said quietly, voice rough but surprisingly gentle as he wrapped a heavy arm around you. “You’ve had a long day, runaway. Close your eyes.”

He pressed one last kiss to the top of your head, his large hand resting possessively on your lower belly.

“Go to sleep.”

-

You woke up to warmth.

A heavy, solid arm was draped across your waist, pinning you to a broad chest. Toji’s body was curled around yours from behind, one thick thigh wedged between your legs. His breathing was slow and deep, but the moment you shifted even slightly, his grip tightened possessively.

The room was still dim, early morning light just beginning to creep through the small window. Your body ached — a deep, satisfying soreness between your thighs, faint bruises on your hips from his fingers, and the unmistakable sticky warmth of his cum still leaking out of you.

You tried to move again, but Toji’s low, sleepy growl stopped you.

“Stay,” he muttered against the back of your neck, voice rough with sleep. His hand slid down to cup your lower belly, pressing lightly. “Not done holding you yet.”

Heat rushed to your face. You stayed still, letting him pull you tighter against him. His cock — already half-hard again — rested heavy against your ass.

After a few quiet minutes, Toji sighed and finally loosened his grip. He rolled you onto your back so he could look down at you. His hair was messy, eyes still heavy-lidded, but the smirk on his scarred mouth was fully awake.

“Morning,” he said, voice gravelly. His hand stayed on your stomach, thumb stroking slow circles. “How’re you feeling?”

You shifted, wincing a little at the soreness. “Full… and sore,” you admitted softly.

Toji’s smirk widened into something darker, more satisfied. He leaned down and kissed you — slow and lazy at first, then deeper, tongue sliding against yours. When he pulled back, he dragged his hand lower, fingers brushing through the mess between your thighs.

“Still leaking my cum,” he murmured, almost proud. “Good.”

He pushed two thick fingers back inside you, slow and careful, fucking his dried cum deeper. You whimpered, hips twitching.

“Toji—”

“Shh,” he soothed, kissing your temple. “Not fucking you again right now. You’re too sore.” He kept his fingers inside you anyway, lazy and possessive. “Just keeping you full.”

You stayed like that for a while — his fingers buried inside you, his mouth brushing lazy kisses along your neck and shoulder. The morning was quiet except for the occasional creak of the bed and your soft sounds.

Eventually he pulled his fingers out, brought them to his mouth, and licked them clean while watching your face.

“Breakfast,” he said simply. “Then we open the shop.”

He got up first, completely naked and shameless. You couldn’t stop yourself from staring at the powerful lines of his back, the flex of his ass and thighs as he moved. He caught you looking and chuckled.

“Keep staring like that and I will bend you over the table downstairs,” he warned.

You quickly looked away, cheeks burning.

He tossed you one of his clean shirts and a fresh skirt. While you dressed, he pulled on his usual trousers and tank top, tying his blood-stained apron around his waist.

Before you left the bedroom, he caught your wrist and pulled you close one more time. His hand cupped your jaw, thumb brushing your bottom lip.

“Last night wasn’t pretend,” he said quietly, eyes serious. “Not for me. You’re mine. Understand?”

You swallowed and whispered, “I understand.”

He kissed you again — hard, claiming — then rested his forehead against yours for a second.

“Good.”

He led you downstairs, his hand firm on your lower back the entire way.

The village was waking up outside. And for the first time since you’d run away, you didn’t feel like running anymore.

Toji unlocked the front door and flipped the sign while you tied on a clean apron. The morning air carried the smell of fresh bread from Mrs. Sato’s bakery and the distant clang of the blacksmith’s hammer. A few early customers began drifting toward the shop.

The first hour passed in a surprisingly calm rhythm. You helped weigh portions, wrap cuts of meat in clean paper, and hand them over with a shy smile. Toji stayed close the whole time — sometimes reaching past you for a knife, sometimes resting a hand on your waist as he moved behind you. Every touch felt deliberate, like he was marking his territory even when no one was watching.

Then the bell above the door rang again.

A tall, sun-tanned man with kind eyes and an easy, friendly smile stepped inside. He looked to be in his late twenties, with the strong build of someone who spent his days working the fields. He greeted Toji with a familiar nod.

“Morning, Fushiguro. The usual shoulder cut, please.” His gaze shifted to you behind the counter and softened with genuine interest. “You must be the new wife everyone’s been talking about. I’m Haru. I run the big farm past the mill.”

You returned his smile politely. “Nice to meet you, Haru.”

He watched as you carefully wrapped his order, your hands still a little clumsy with the butcher paper. “It’s good to see a new face around here,” he said warmly. “You seem really kind. Gentle. The kind of person who makes a place feel brighter just by being in it.” He rubbed the back of his neck, almost shyly. “If you ever need anything — extra vegetables from the farm, help carrying something heavy, or just someone to talk to when things get quiet — my door’s always open. Wouldn’t want you feeling lonely so soon after moving in.”

You tilted your head, completely oblivious to any hidden meaning, and gave him a grateful smile. “That’s very kind of you. Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Before you could say anything else, the air behind you changed.

Toji’s large hand settled heavily on your hip, fingers digging in with clear possession as he pulled you back firmly against his chest. His other arm slid around your waist, locking you in place.

“She won’t be needing anything,” Toji said, his voice low and dangerously even. “I take care of my wife.”

Haru blinked, the friendly smile faltering as he finally registered the tension rolling off the butcher. “Of course. I was just… being neighborly.”

Toji’s grip on your hip tightened. “Neighborly is saying hello. The rest sounded like something else.”

The silence that followed was thick and uncomfortable. Haru swallowed hard, quickly paid for his meat, and muttered a polite goodbye before leaving without another word. The door swung shut behind him with a soft jingle.

The second he was gone, Toji spun you around and backed you against the counter. His green eyes were dark, jaw clenched tight with barely-contained jealousy. One big hand came up to cup your jaw, thumb pressing lightly against your bottom lip.

“You really didn’t notice?” he muttered, voice rough.

You shook your head, genuinely confused. “He was just being nice…”

Toji let out a short, irritated breath and leaned in closer, forehead almost touching yours. “He wasn’t just being nice. He was testing the waters. Seeing if my wife might be open to something else. Offering you a soft place to land if you ever got tired of me.”

His other hand slid under your skirt, fingers brushing between your thighs and finding you still slick from the night before. You gasped softly as he pushed two thick fingers inside you without warning, curling them slowly.

“Toji—”

“Mine,” he growled quietly against your ear, pumping his fingers in a lazy rhythm. “This pussy is mine. You are mine. I don’t want you smiling so sweetly at other men. Understand?”

You whimpered, clutching his shoulders as pleasure sparked through your still-sensitive body. “I understand…”

He kissed you then — hard, possessive, and hungry — while his fingers continued their slow, deliberate strokes. When he finally pulled back, his eyes were still dark with jealousy.

“Next time someone talks to you like that,” he said, voice low, “you let me handle it.”

He reluctantly withdrew his fingers, straightened your skirt, and stepped back like nothing had happened. But the tension in his shoulders and the dark look in his eyes remained.

“Back to work,” he said gruffly, still clearly worked up.

You nodded, legs shaky, heart racing, and turned back to the counter.

The rest of the morning passed with Toji staying even closer than before — a constant, heavy, possessive presence at your side. Every time another customer entered, his hand found your waist or lower back, silently reminding everyone (and you) exactly who you belonged to.

The rest of the morning dragged on with the same heavy tension.

Every time a male customer stepped through the door, Toji’s demeanor shifted. His hand would find your waist, your hip, or the small of your back — a silent, unmistakable claim. He answered questions in short, clipped tones and watched the men with sharp, warning eyes. You tried to focus on wrapping orders and smiling politely, but the constant possessiveness was becoming impossible to ignore.

By early afternoon, when the shop finally quieted again, you couldn’t hold it in anymore.

You turned to him while he was wiping down the counter.

“Toji,” you said softly, “you’re being too much.”

He paused, setting the rag down slowly. When he looked at you, his green eyes had gone dark.

“Too much?” he repeated, voice low and deceptively calm.

You swallowed but stood your ground. “Yes. The constant touching, the glaring at every man who even looks at me... They’re just customers.”

Toji stared at you for a long, heavy beat. Then he slowly walked around the counter, backing you up until your hips hit the edge. He caged you in with his massive frame, one hand braced beside you on the wood, the other coming up to grip your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes.

“You think I’m being too possessive?” he murmured, thumb brushing your bottom lip. “Tell me something, wife… What kind of husband would I be if I let other men think they can have access to what’s mine?”

His voice was rough, low, and dangerous. “If I smiled and stepped aside while they flirted with you? While they offered you help and soft words like they had any right to you?”

He leaned in closer, breath hot against your ear. “I’d be a fucking joke. A weak man who doesn’t know how to protect what belongs to him. And I’m not weak.”

His free hand slid under your skirt without warning, fingers pushing between your thighs. You were bare underneath. The moment his calloused fingertips brushed your folds, he groaned softly — low and rough — when he found you already wet again.

“Already soaked,” he muttered, voice thick with satisfaction. “Complaining about me being too possessive, but your pussy is dripping the second I touch you.”

“Toji—” you whimpered, hips twitching as two thick fingers pushed inside you in one smooth motion. The stretch made you gasp, your walls still tender and sensitive from the night before.

He curled his fingers slowly, deliberately, stroking that spongy spot deep inside you while his thumb found your swollen clit and rubbed tight, firm circles. His mouth latched onto your neck, sucking hard enough to leave another mark, teeth grazing your skin as he worked you open.

You moaned, loud and broken, clutching desperately at his broad shoulders. Your legs trembled around his wrist as pleasure sparked hot and fast through your body.

“You can tell me I’m too much,” he growled against your throat, biting down lightly before soothing the sting with his tongue. “But we both know the truth. You like it when I act like this. You like knowing no one else can touch you. You like being mine.”

His fingers pumped faster, curling with every thrust, the wet, obscene sounds of your arousal filling the quiet shop. Your hips rolled against his hand instinctively, chasing the pleasure even as your thighs shook.

“Ah— Toji… please—” you moaned, voice cracking. Your head fell back, exposing more of your neck to him. He took full advantage, sucking and biting along your skin while his fingers drove deeper, faster.

You were right there — teetering on the edge, muscles tightening around his thick fingers — when he suddenly pulled his hand away completely.

You let out a desperate, needy whine, hips chasing his fingers uselessly. Your core throbbed, aching and empty.

“Toji…!” you whimpered, voice hoarse and frustrated, eyes glassy with unshed tears of need. “Please— I was so close…”

Toji smirked, dark and satisfied, eyes gleaming with lust as he watched you squirm. He brought his glistening fingers up between you, holding them in front of your face so you could see how wet they were — coated in your slick right up to his knuckles.

“Open,” he ordered, voice low and commanding.

You obeyed instantly, parting your lips. He pushed his fingers into your mouth, letting you taste yourself as you sucked them clean, tongue swirling around them obediently. His green eyes darkened further, pupils blown wide as he watched you.

“Good girl,” he murmured, voice rough with arousal. “Look at you… so fucking eager. Whining because I stopped, sucking my fingers like you’d do anything for my cock right now.”

He pulled his fingers free with a wet pop and leaned in, kissing you deeply, tasting you on your own tongue. When he pulled back, his breath was ragged.

“You can complain about me being possessive all you want,” he said, voice dark and low, “but your body doesn’t lie. This pussy knows exactly who it belongs to.”

He suddenly lifted you onto the counter with ease, as if you weighed nothing. The wood was cool against the backs of your thighs as he shoved your skirt all the way up to your waist in one rough motion, baring your dripping pussy completely. He stepped between your spread thighs, his broad body forcing your legs wider apart until your knees were nearly touching your shoulders.

His hands gripped your hips hard enough to bruise, fingers digging deep into your soft flesh with unmistakable ownership. With his other hand, he freed his cock — thick, heavy, and already throbbing. The veined shaft glistened as he stroked himself once, slowly, eyes locked on your exposed, glistening cunt.

“Since you think I’m too possessive,” he said, voice rough and dangerous, “I’m going to remind you exactly why I am.”

He rubbed the fat, leaking head of his cock up and down your soaked folds, coating every thick inch in your slick. He teased your swollen clit with every slow pass, tapping it lightly until your hips jerked and you let out a needy whimper.

“Toji… please—”

Without another word, he pushed in with one deep, powerful thrust.

You cried out sharply, back arching hard off the counter as the thick head forced its way inside, stretching you wide open. The sudden, overwhelming fullness stole your breath. Toji groaned deeply, burying himself to the hilt in one smooth stroke, his hips flush against your ass.

“Fuck… still so tight,” he growled, voice strained with pleasure. “Even after I filled you last night. This greedy little cunt keeps sucking me in like it doesn’t want to let go.”

He didn’t give you any time to adjust. He started fucking you hard and deep, the heavy wooden counter creaking loudly under the force of every brutal thrust. Your moans echoed shamelessly through the empty shop as he claimed you right there in the middle of the day.

“Mine,” he snarled against your neck, biting down hard enough to leave another dark mark. “Say it.”

“I’m yours— ah— Toji—!” you moaned, voice breaking as your legs wrapped tightly around his waist, heels digging into his lower back.

He fucked you even harder, hips snapping forward with powerful, punishing strokes. The wet slap of skin against skin filled the room, loud and filthy. One of his big hands reached between your bodies, his thumb finding your swollen clit and rubbing fast, tight circles.

“That’s right,” he panted, breath hot against your ear. “My wife. My pussy. No one else gets to look at you the way I do. No one else gets to touch you. No one else even gets to fucking think about you.”

Your moans grew louder and more desperate, your walls fluttering around his thick cock with every deep thrust. The counter shook beneath you. Your tits bounced wildly inside your blouse with the force of his movements.

He suddenly leaned back slightly, gripping your thighs and spreading you even wider as he drove into you. The new angle made him hit even deeper, the bulge in your lower belly becoming visible with every thrust.

“Look at that,” he groaned, eyes fixed on the spot where his cock disappeared inside you. “You’re taking me so fucking deep. This tight cunt was made for my cock.”

You cried out, nails digging into his shoulders as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter inside you. “Toji—! It’s too deep— ahh—!”

“You can take it,” he growled, fucking you harder. “You’re going to take everything I give you.”

Your orgasm crashed over you without warning — fast, violent, and overwhelming. Your walls clenched hard around his cock, fluttering and squeezing as waves of intense pleasure tore through your body. You screamed his name, thighs shaking violently around his waist.

Toji snarled like a beast, his rhythm turning erratic and savage as he fucked you through your climax. He kept pounding into you, chasing his own release, hips slamming against yours with wet, filthy sounds.

But he didn’t cum.

Instead, he suddenly slowed his thrusts, grinding deep and slow, keeping you right on the edge of overstimulation. His breathing was ragged, sweat glistening on his chest and neck.

He leaned down, capturing your mouth in a messy, possessive kiss while still buried deep inside you.

“You’re not done yet,” he murmured against your lips, voice dark and full of promise. “We’re nowhere near finished.”

Before you could catch your breath, Toji pulled out of you with a wet, obscene sound. You whimpered at the sudden emptiness, your pussy clenching around nothing, already missing the thick stretch of him. But he didn’t give you any time to protest.

In one swift, powerful motion, he flipped you over onto your stomach across the counter. Your chest pressed against the cool, smooth surface, your cheek resting on the wood as he yanked your hips back and up, forcing your ass high in the air. Your skirt was still bunched uselessly around your waist, leaving you completely exposed — bent over like a whore in the middle of his shop.

Toji kicked your legs wider apart with his foot, then pressed one large hand firmly between your shoulder blades, pinning you down hard against the counter.

“Fuck, look at you,” he growled, voice thick with raw lust. “Bent over my counter like a proper little wife. Ass up, pussy dripping for me.”

He spread your ass cheeks wide with both hands, exposing your swollen, abused pussy completely. Without any warning, he spat directly onto your folds — a thick, warm glob of saliva landing right on your clit and dripping down. You gasped sharply at the filthy sensation, your hips twitching.

Toji groaned at the sight and used two thick fingers to rub his spit into your pussy, mixing it with your own slick, pushing it inside you. Then he brought his palm down hard on your ass with a loud, resounding smack.

The sharp sting bloomed hot across your skin. You cried out, jolting forward on the counter.

“Stay still,” he ordered, voice rough. He smacked the other cheek even harder, watching the way your flesh jiggled and turned pink under his hand. “This ass is mine too. Every fucking inch of you is mine.”

You moaned helplessly, pushing back against him despite the sting. Toji lined up the thick head of his cock again and thrust back inside you in one brutal, deep stroke.

The new angle made him feel impossibly bigger, reaching even deeper. You moaned loudly, fingers scrambling for purchase on the smooth wooden counter as he immediately started fucking you hard and fast.

The counter creaked loudly under the force of his powerful thrusts. Each snap of his hips drove his thick cock impossibly deep, the wet slap of skin against skin echoing through the empty shop. Toji’s hands gripped your hips in a bruising hold, pulling you back onto his cock with every stroke like he was using you.

“Fuck— this pussy feels even better like this,” he groaned, voice rough and strained. He smacked your ass again, harder this time, watching the way your flesh rippled red under his palm. “So fucking wet. You like being bent over and used like this, don’t you?”

“Yes— ah— Toji—!” you moaned, cheek pressed against the cool counter, eyes fluttering shut. Every brutal thrust made your breasts press harder into the wood, your sensitive nipples dragging against it.

Toji reached forward and fisted a hand in your hair, pulling your head back slightly as he fucked you even harder. His hips slammed against your ass with wet, filthy sounds. He spat on your pussy again, right where his thick cock was stretching you open, and used his thumb to rub the saliva into your swollen clit.

“Such a messy little wife,” he panted, smacking your ass repeatedly between thrusts — sharp, stinging slaps that made you clench tighter around him. “Dripping all over my counter. Taking my cock so deep like you were made for it. Look at this greedy cunt swallowing every inch.”

Your moans turned into broken sobs of pleasure. The combination of his brutal pace, the stinging heat on your ass, and the filthy words pushed you right to the edge again.

Toji leaned over you, his broad chest pressing against your back, his breath hot and ragged against your ear as he kept pounding into you without mercy.

“Tell me who this pussy belongs to,” he growled, smacking your ass one more time, hard enough to make you yelp.

“You—! It belongs to you— Toji—!” you cried out, voice hoarse and desperate.

He snarled in satisfaction and fucked you even harder, the counter shaking beneath you. His hand slipped between your legs again, rubbing your clit fast and rough.

You came with a broken scream, your walls clamping down hard around his thick cock, thighs shaking violently as intense pleasure tore through you.

Toji groaned loudly as your orgasm triggered his own. He slammed in deep one final time and came hard, flooding your pussy with thick, hot spurts of cum. He kept grinding into you slowly, pushing every drop as deep as possible, his hips pressed tight against your reddened ass.

For a long moment, the only sounds in the shop were your heavy breathing and the faint drip of his cum leaking out of you onto the floor.

Toji stayed buried inside you, leaning over your back and kissing the back of your neck possessively.

“Still think I’m being too possessive?” he murmured against your skin, voice dark and satisfied.

You could only whimper in response, too overwhelmed to form words. Your body was trembling, pressed against the counter, pussy still fluttering weakly around his thick cock. Every small shift made you feel the mess he’d left inside you — warm, sticky, and so full it was leaking down your thighs.

Toji let out a low, rumbling sound of approval. He stayed deep for a long moment, grinding slow and lazy, pushing his cum even deeper as if he couldn’t stand the thought of any of it escaping. His large hand smoothed over the reddened skin of your ass where he’d spanked you, almost soothing now, before giving one last firm squeeze.

“Answer me,” he said quietly, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“…No,” you breathed, voice hoarse and shaky. “I don’t.”

He hummed, clearly pleased. He finally pulled out slowly, watching with dark eyes as a thick trail of his cum dripped from your abused hole onto the floor. The sight made him groan softly.

“Fuck, that’s a pretty sight,” he muttered. He used two fingers to push some of the leaking cum back inside you, then straightened your skirt with surprising care.

Toji helped you stand on shaky legs, turning you to face him. He cupped your jaw with one hand, thumb brushing your flushed cheek as he studied your expression — eyes glassy, lips swollen, hair messy.

“You’re going to feel me for the rest of the day,” he said, voice low. “Every step. Every time you move. I want you thinking about who fucked you over this counter.”

He leaned in and kissed you — slower this time, but still deep and possessive. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours for a brief second.

“Clean yourself up a little,” he told you, pressing one last kiss to your temple. “We’ve still got half a day left.”

Toji stepped back, tucking himself away and adjusting his apron like nothing had happened, though the dark, satisfied glint in his eyes remained.

You stood there on unsteady legs, heart still racing, feeling the unmistakable warmth of his cum slowly leaking down your inner thighs.

And somehow, you couldn’t find it in yourself to complain.

a/n: aren't the old hags kinda iconic? lmk what you think and if you'd be interested in a part two! likes and reblogs appreciated!!

massive wreaths hung on doors that screamed holiday cheer in a way that made toji’s stomach turn just a little, houses strung with multicolored lights that blinked like overexcited fireflies, porches groaning under the weight of inflatable santas and reindeer, windows painted with fake snow and real desperation, burying the half of the world under endless white, red and green—toji fushiguro felt none of it. and don’t forget about the kind of cold that seeped into bones and made every breath feel sharp against the lungs, and while the distant town below glittered with manic christmas frenzy.

toji didn’t decorate, didn’t hang a single wreath or light, didn’t even own a tree; christmas had always felt like noise dressed up as joy, and joy was something he’d stopped pretending to want a long time ago. alone in his old farmhouse at the edge of the woods, with no family, no visitors, no warm voices to fill the quiet, he simply didn’t care—solitude suited him better than forced cheer ever could, and the holiday season was just another stretch of long, silent nights he could spend chopping wood, drinking black coffee, and letting the fire die down to embers without anyone to complain about the chill.

he stepped out into the late afternoon gray, shirtless as usual because layers only slowed him down and the cold had stopped bothering him years back, his skin weathered and scarred from a life of labor, broad chest dusted with dark hair that caught stray snowflakes as they drifted down. heavy boots crunched through the deep trail he’d worn from the house to the tree line, dirty jeans riding low on his hips, stained with pitch and sawdust and old blood from nicks he never bothered bandaging properly.

in his right hand he carried the axe, its handle worn smooth from countless swings, the blade freshly sharpened that morning because dull tools were an insult to the work. he moved slow, unhurried, shoulders rolling with each step, breath fogging in steady clouds as he followed the narrow path deeper into the pines, the forest swallowing the faint sounds of civilization until there was only wind through branches and the soft thud of his boots.

the forest enveloped him soon enough, tall pines and oaks standing sentinel, their branches heavy with snow that occasionally dumped a cascade of white flakes as he passed. he wasn’t out here for leisure, no, he needed firewood to keep the small fire in his hearth going through the long nights, just enough to chase away the deepest chill without wasting effort on more than necessary, his muscles flexing under his skin with each step, a testament to the life he’d carved out for himself in this remote corner of the world, far from the bustling cities and their endless noise.

the clearing he favored wasn’t far—just far enough to feel separate from everything. he set a thick fallen log upright, tested its balance with a nudge of his boot, then raised the axe in a lazy arc, muscles coiling under scarred skin before he brought it down with a clean, resounding crack that sent wood chips flying into the snow. again and again, rhythmic, almost meditative, sweat starting to bead along his collarbones despite the freeze, his dark hair sticking to his forehead as he worked. the pile of split firewood grew steadily beside him, each piece stacked with absent precision while his mind drifted nowhere in particular, content in the repetition, the burn in his arms, the bite of cold air on bare skin.

his body moving in a rhythm born of habit—lift, swing, split, repeat—his breaths steady and deep, the physical exertion a welcome distraction from the monotonous drag of winter days, the axe biting into the bark with each strike, chips flying like confetti he had no use for. he paused only to wipe his brow with the back of his hand, his dark hair matted slightly, green eyes scanning the surroundings out of instinct more than curiosity, the forest silent save for the occasional rustle of wind through the needles above.

it was during one of those pauses—axe resting on his shoulder, chest rising and falling slow—that he caught the sound. faint, almost nothing against the wind: a soft, stuttering exhale, maybe a whimper. he didn’t move at first, just tilted his head, green eyes narrowing as he scanned the treeline. nothing at first, then there it was again, closer this time, a subtle rustle from behind a cluster of snow-laden bushes, like branches shifting under weight that wasn’t wind. and his eyes narrowed, catching a glimpse of movement. then he saw them—antlers, pale and branching, branching out like delicate crowns, catching what little light filtered through the clouds, moving just slightly behind a cluster of snow-heavy firs.

toji lowered the axe, letting the head rest in the snow as he walked forward, boots sinking deep, no rush in his stride even as curiosity tugged at him. he pushed through the low branches, needles scraping across his bare shoulders, and stopped short when he saw you.

you were curled tight on the ground, knees drawn to your chest, arms wrapped around yourself as if that could hold the warmth in, completely bare, skin flushed pink from the cold and mottled with cold, lips tinted faint blue and trembling. your deer ears twitched weakly at his approach, flattened against your head, and those antlers rose proud despite your obvious exhaustion, dusted with snow like some forgotten forest ornament. your eyes—large, dark, glassy with cold—lifted to meet his, wide with fear and pain and something desperately human, and toji felt the lazy rhythm of his day stutter, just for a second.

his gaze dropped lower, taking in the details his mind catalogued without permission: the way your body shook in small, uncontrollable waves, goosebumps raised across every inch of exposed skin, nipples drawn tight from the cold, skin flushed from the cold but otherwise smooth and human, no fur to shield you like a true deer might have, just the vulnerable curve of your form huddled in on itself for whatever meager warmth it could muster. the soft curve of your waist disappearing into the snow beneath you. and then he saw the blood—dark streaks frozen against your right thigh, a deep bruise blooming purple and ugly around a gash that looked like it had come from something sharp, maybe a fall against jagged rock or broken branch.

your leg was tucked awkwardly beneath you now as you move from the uncomfortable approach from the unknown man, as if even the slightest shift hurt too much to bear. your deer ears twitched faintly, alert even in your distress, and those antlers—elegant, branching things—framed your face as you lifted your head slightly, your eyes wide and luminous, locking onto his with a mix of wariness and silent plea, the snowflakes dusting your lashes and clinging to your skin, making you look ethereal yet so painfully fragile in the winter's grasp.

toji stopped a few feet away, his posture relaxed, one hand resting on his hip as he took you in, his expression unchanging, that signature scar pulling at the corner of his mouth in what might have been the ghost of a smirk if he bothered to let it form fully. “well, ain’t this a sight,” he drawled, his voice low and lazy, unbothered as if stumbling upon a naked hybrid in the woods was just another quirk of his day, the words rolling out slow like he had all the time in the world. he didn’t rush closer, just stood there, his green eyes tracing the way your body trembled slightly, the goosebumps rising on your skin, and he tilted his head, exhaling a puff of breath that fogged the air between you. “you look like you’re freezin’ your ass off out here. what, get lost chasin’ some holiday spirit or somethin’?”

your ears flicked at the sound of his voice, and you shifted a little, drawing your knees tighter to your chest, but your gaze didn’t waver, those big eyes holding his with an intensity that made something stir in his chest—pity, maybe, or just plain intrigue, he couldn't be sure. the wind picked up then, howling softly through the trees, and a fresh flurry of snow began to fall, dusting your antlers like nature’s own decorations, and toji sighed, rubbing the back of his neck with a calloused hand, his muscles rippling under the motion. “c’mon, don’t just stare at me like i’m the big bad wolf. you gonna tell me what the hell you’re doin’ out here naked as the day you were born, or do i gotta guess?”

you hesitated, your lips parting slightly, chapped from the cold, and when you spoke, your voice was soft, trembling just a bit, “i… i got separated from my herd. the storm came too fast, and i couldn’t find my way back.” your voice was soft, fragile, carrying that faint tremor of someone who’d been alone in the cold too long. your body language screamed vulnerability, the way your shoulders hunched inward, your tail—barely visible in your curled position—flicking nervously against the snow, and toji noticed it all, his eyes sharp despite the lazy drawl in his tone.

he chuckled lowly, not mocking, just a rumble in his chest that carried no real heat, and he crouched down to your level, balancing on his haunches with ease, his jeans straining against his thighs as he rested his elbows on his knees. “separated, huh? figures. winter’s a bitch like that—sneaks up and bites you when you’re not lookin’.” his gaze softened just a fraction, not that he’d admit it, and he glanced around the forest, the trees closing in like silent witnesses, before looking back at you, noting how your antlers caught the light filtering through the branches, almost like they were meant to be adorned with those christmas lights he despised.

“you ain’t got nothin’ on you? no clothes, no nothin’? that’s just askin’ for trouble in this weather.”

you shook your head slowly, your ears drooping a little, and a shiver wracked your frame, drawing his attention to the way your skin pebbled further, your breaths coming in shallow puffs. he nodded once, eyes flicking back to the wound on your leg, then to your face—lips nearly blue now, lashes clumped with ice. “that cut looks nasty. you been out here long?”

you gave the tiniest shake of your head, ears flicking back further, body curling tighter as another shiver wracked you. toji’s jaw worked slowly, like he was chewing on a thought he didn’t much like, then he extended one large hand toward you, palm up, fingers relaxed—not grabbing, just offering, his palm rough and steady. “alright, can’t just leave you here to turn into a popsicle, sweetheart. my place ain’t far—got a fire goin’, maybe some clothes that’d fit ya if i dig around. up to you, though. i ain’t draggin’ nobody.”

the endearment slipped out lazy, almost sarcastic, but his eyes stayed steady on yours, unbothered, patient. you stared at his hand—broad, scarred, warm-looking despite the snowflakes melting on his knuckles—and hesitated, body trembling harder now that hope had crept in. finally, your smaller hand reached out, fingers brushing his, cold as ice, soft against his calloused skin, and you let him pull you up.

as you stood, your body unfolded before him, naked and unashamed in its hybrid beauty, antlers proud atop your head, and toji averted his eyes just enough to give you some semblance of privacy, though he couldn’t ignore the heat that stirred low in his gut, voyeuristic curiosity mingling with something protective. “easy there,” he murmured, shrugging off the invisible weight of the moment as he picked up his axe, slinging it over his shoulder. “trail’s slippery—stick close, yeah?”

the moment weight shifted to your injured leg, pain flared white-hot; a sharp whimper escaped before you could stop it, and your knees buckled completely. toji moved without thinking, catching you against his chest as you sagged, one arm sliding around your bare back, the other under your thighs to lift you fully off the ground. you gasped at the sudden warmth of his body—skin hot from exertion, muscles hard and solid beneath you—and instinctively curled closer, face pressing into the crook of his neck, antlers brushing lightly against his hair.

“easy,” he murmured, voice rumbling against your cheek, low and unhurried even as he adjusted his grip so your injured leg didn’t bump anything. “got you. axe can stay—wood ain’t goin’ anywhere.” he left it leaning against the log without a second glance and started walking, boots carving a deeper path through the snow, your weight nothing in his arms.

the walk back was slow, deliberate, his boots carving a path for you to follow, his bare torso unaffected by the cold that had you shivering beside him. “name’s toji, by the way,” he said after a stretch of silence, his voice casual, like he was commenting on the weather. “and you? or do i just call you deer-girl for the hell of it?” there was a teasing lilt there, sarcastic but gentle, the kind that didn’t sting, just prodded lightly.

“it’s y/n,” you replied, your voice gaining a bit more strength now that you were moving, though your arms wrapped around yourself for warmth, and he noticed, his eyes flicking to the way your body curved, the subtle sway of your hips as you navigated the trail. “y/n, huh? suits ya—simple, no frills.” he glanced sideways at you, a faint smirk tugging at his scar. “so, what’s a hybrid like you doin’ wanderin’ these woods anyway? thought your kind stuck to warmer spots, not freezin’ their tails off in bumfuck nowhere.”

you explained in bits and pieces, your words punctuated by shivers—the herd migrating for winter, the sudden blizzard scattering everyone, how you'd ended up alone and disoriented, no clothes because hybrids like you didn’t need them in the wild, but human skin wasn’t built for this cold. toji listened without interrupting, nodding occasionally, his expression unchanging, but his body language spoke volumes—the way he positioned himself to block the wind from hitting you directly.

every step was deliberate, careful, his body shielding yours from the wind as much as possible, the heat radiating off his bare torso seeping slowly into your frozen skin. you could feel his heartbeat steady against your side, smell the faint scent of pine smoke and sweat and something distinctly male clinging to him. your arms looped tentatively around his neck for balance, fingers brushing the short hairs at his nape, and he didn’t comment, just kept that lazy pace back toward the farmhouse, breath fogging above your head.

“you’re shakein’ pretty hard,” he said after a minute, voice soft against the wind, almost conversational. “we’ll get that leg cleaned up first—looks like it’s been bleedin’ a while. then food, maybe. you eat regular stuff, or…?” he trailed off, glancing down at you with a faint, crooked smirk that pulled at the scar on his lip.

you managed a tiny nod against his shoulder, voice muffled. “regular… mostly.”

“good. got stew on the stove. figured i’d be eatin’ alone again tonight, but plans change.” there was dry humor in his tone, gentle sarcasm that didn’t bite, just floated there like smoke.

the farmhouse came into view sooner than you expected—low roof heavy with snow, a squat, sturdy building, the sun was dipping lower, casting long shadows over the snow. thin trail of smoke curling lazily from the chimney, windows glowing faint orange against the dusk. toji shouldered the door open without setting you down, kicking it shut behind him with his heel, and the sudden wave of warmth hit like a physical thing, drawing a soft, involuntary sigh from your lips. the inside was sparse, lived-in, smelling of woodsmoke and coffee and old leather; no christmas decorations anywhere save for a half-hearted string of lights someone must have left years ago, dangling forgotten over the mantel, but the fire crackled invitingly in the hearth, just a worn couch, a coffee table scarred from years of boots, and the fireplace crackling low.

he carried you straight to the couch, lowering you carefully onto the blankets piled there, making sure your injured leg was elevated on a pillow before straightening up. his hands lingered a second longer on your waist, steadying, then pulled away slow. “go on, warm up. i’ll grab somethin’ for ya to wear—can’t have you prancin’ around like that all night.”

you watched him move—lazy, unhurried strides across the room, muscles shifting under scarred skin as he disappeared down a short hallway. your body still trembled, but the heat was already sinking in, easing the worst of the shivers, and you pulled one of the blankets tighter around yourself, ears twitching toward every sound he made: drawers opening, water running, the soft clink of glass bottles.

when he came back, he had a large flannel shirt draped over one arm and sweatp, and a battered first-aid kit under the other. he dropped onto the couch beside you without ceremony, close enough that his thigh brushed yours, and set the kit on the coffee table. “leg first,” he said, voice low, nodding toward the blanket. “gonna need to see how bad it is.”

you hesitated only a second before easing the blanket aside, exposing the bruised and bloodied thigh. toji’s expression didn’t change—still that lazy half-lidded look—but his hands were careful as he opened the kit, movements practiced and gentle. “this’ll sting,” he warned, voice soft, before pressing a warm, damp cloth to the wound to clean away frozen blood and dirt.

you hissed, body tensing, fingers clutching the blanket, but he murmured, “breathe through it, sweetheart. doin’ good,” his free hand settling lightly on your uninjured thigh, thumb brushing slow circles that somehow grounded you more than the pain sharpened. he worked in silence after that, cleaning, disinfecting, wrapping the gash with steady precision, every touch deliberate but never rushed, his body heat close enough to feel even through the air between you.

when he finished, he sat back slightly, eyes flicking up to meet yours. “not too deep—won’t need stitches if you keep it clean. you’ll keep the leg.” the corner of his mouth lifted, faint sarcasm there, but his gaze lingered on your face, taking in the color slowly returning to your lips, the way your ears had perked forward just a little.

he handed you the flannel next, oversized and soft from countless washes. “throw this on before you turn into a popsicle again. got sweatpants too if you feel like drownin’ in ‘em—your call, but naked’s fine by me either way.”

you slipped the shirt on under the blanket, fabric swallowing you whole, sleeves hanging past your hands, scent of him—woodsmoke and something clean and warm—clinging to the fibers and didn’t bother with the sweatpants. when you emerged, he was watching with that same lazy expression, but his eyes darkened just a fraction as they traced the way the shirt draped over your body, collar slipping off one shoulder, hem brushing mid-thigh.

“looks better on you than it ever did on me,” he drawled, voice low and rough around the edges now, standing to head toward the kitchen. “stew’s still hot. you hungry?”

you nodded, pulling the blanket around your legs again, and he returned minutes later with two bowls, handing you one before settling back beside you—closer this time, thigh pressed fully against yours, like personal space was optional. the silence stretched comfortable, broken only by the crackle of the fire and the occasional clink of spoons, but his presence filled the room, warm and solid and quietly overwhelming.

outside, snow kept falling, soft and endless, erasing the trail he’d left in the woods, sealing the two of you inside this small, undecorated house where christmas didn’t exist—only firelight, stew, and the slow, simmering awareness of bare skin under borrowed flannel, of scarred hands that had carried you home, and green eyes that watched you now with something patient and hungry stirring behind the lazy facade.

the fire crackled low and steady, throwing flickering gold across the worn wooden floorboards that creaked faintly under the shifting weight of the couch, the light dancing over the edges where the two of you sat, thighs still pressed together firmly, like neither of you had found a reason—or wanted—to create even an inch of space after he’d handed you the bowl.

steam curled lazily from the thick stew, rich chunks of potato and carrot and dark venison floating in the gravy—hearty, gamey, the kind of meat he’d likely tracked and dressed himself out in these same woods—carrying that deep, earthy scent through the small room, mingling with the sharp bite of burning pine and the faint, lingering trace of crisp winter cold that still clung to your skin despite the blanket draped over your lap.

you cradled the bowl in both hands, sleeves of his oversized flannel pushed clumsily up to your elbows, the soft worn fabric brushing your forearms as you brought the spoon to your lips in slow, careful bites, letting the heat of the broth slide down your throat and pool warm in your belly, spreading outward like gentle fingers chasing away the last stubborn edges of frost that had burrowed deep during those endless hours alone in the snow.

toji ate the same way he seemed to do everything: unhurried, almost lazy, his broad frame lounged back against the cushions, one thick arm draped along the back of the couch behind your shoulders—not quite touching you, but close enough that the heat radiating from his bare skin warmed the side of your neck and the shell of your ear whenever you turned your head even slightly. his other hand guided the spoon to his mouth in a steady, unconcerned rhythm, jaw working slow and deliberate as he chewed, the faint flex of muscle along his scarred chest visible each time he swallowed, dark hair still a little damp from melted snow at the ends, sticking to the side of his neck.

your gaze stayed fixed on the flames for a long stretch, watching the orange and gold tongues lick up around the logs, the warmth sinking into your cheeks, your chest, the bare skin of your thighs beneath the blanket—and yet another kind of warmth was building low in your belly, slow and insistent, the kind that had nothing to do with the fire or the stew. the cold hadn’t felt so terrible anymore, not with the solid press of his leg against yours, not with the borrowed flannel hanging loose around your body like a claim.

but your heat—it was late, overdue, stirred up by the sudden safety and the overwhelming presence of him—and it crept through you now in quiet, treacherous waves. unconsciously, your thighs brushed together under the blanket, a subtle shift of weight seeking just a whisper of friction against the growing ache, the slickness gathering warm and hidden between your legs. you thought you’d hidden it well, kept your breathing even, face turned toward the fire to mask the flush rising higher on your cheeks.

but toji noticed.

his spoon paused halfway to his mouth for the briefest second, green eyes flicking sideways, catching the small, restless movement of your legs beneath the blanket, the way your hips had tilted just slightly forward before you stilled again. one dark brow lifted slow, lazy, the corner of his scarred mouth twitching in something too subtle to call a full smirk yet, but he said nothing, simply resumed eating as if he hadn’t catalogued every tiny shift of your body in that single glance.

his gaze drifted again—lazy, unapologetic—starting at your profile, lingering on the delicate curve of your antlers catching the firelight, then lower, to the blanket hiding your thighs, and finally to the open front of the flannel you hadn’t bothered to button properly in your exhaustion. the fabric gaped just enough with every breath you took, offering fleeting glimpses of the soft swell of your breasts, your nipples drawn tight and brushing lightly against the worn inside of the shirt with each inhale, the faint friction sending little sparks straight to the heat pooling between your legs.

he took another slow bite, chewed, swallowed, then spoke, voice low and rough around the edges, drawl lazy as ever. “good?” the single word hung there, ambiguous on purpose, his eyes locked on your nipple before on your eyes now, that brow still arched just slightly, the question clearly aimed at more than just the stew.

you blinked, turning your head to meet his gaze, ears twitching forward at the sound of his voice, cheeks warming further under the intensity of those half-lidded green eyes. for a moment you only nodded, small and quick, lashes fluttering as you tried to gather your thoughts through the haze of heat and leftover cold. then words came, soft and a little breathless. “it’s… really good. warm. you cook well.”

toji’s mouth curved then, a slow, crooked smirk that pulled at the scar on his lip, eyes crinkling faintly at the corners with quiet amusement. he let out a low hum, almost a chuckle, deep in his chest. “yeah… i can cook,” he murmured, the words rolling out lazy and satisfied, holding your gaze a second longer before he scooped another spoonful, never looking away as he brought it to his mouth, tongue catching a stray drop at the corner of his lips.

the bowls emptied slowly, the only sounds the soft scrape of spoons and the steady pop of burning wood. when yours was finally empty, you held it in your lap, fingers tracing the rim absently, thighs pressing together again beneath the blanket in another subtle search for relief. toji reached over without a word, large hand closing around the bowl along with his own, fingers brushing yours deliberately as he took them both. he rose in one fluid motion, muscles shifting under scarred skin as he walked toward the kitchen, bare feet silent on the floorboards, back broad and shadowed in the firelight.

he wasn’t gone long—just long enough for you to hear the clink of ceramic in the sink, water running briefly, the low thud of cabinet doors. when he returned, he moved with that same unhurried grace, stopping in front of the fireplace and dropping to one knee, the jeans stretching tight over his thighs as he crouched. he picked up two fresh logs from the small stack beside the hearth, muscles flexing in his arms and back as he placed them carefully atop the glowing embers, sparks fluttering upward like tiny orange fireflies. the new wood caught quickly, flames licking higher, throwing brighter gold across the room and over his skin.

he glanced over his shoulder at you then, one arm resting on his raised knee, the other braced against the stone hearth, that crooked smirk tugging at his mouth again—knowing, teasing, but still gentle around the edges. “hope you the heat,” he drawled, voice low and rough, eyes glinting dark in the renewed firelight as they held yours for a deliberate beat.

the words landed heavy, laced with something that made your breath catch, a broken little hum escaping your throat before you could stop it. your ears flicked back, then forward again, body shifting restlessly on the couch, thighs pressing tighter together beneath the blanket as another wave of slick warmth pulsed through you. you couldn’t quite meet his gaze after that, eyes dropping to your lap, fingers curling into the fabric of the flannel. (done)

toji lingered there a moment longer, watching the flush climb your neck, the way your chest rose and fell a little faster beneath his shirt, before he pushed to his feet with a soft exhale. he turned fully toward you, hands settling loose on his hips, the fire roaring brighter behind him now, casting his bare torso in sharp relief—broad shoulders, scarred chest, the defined lines of his abdomen disappearing beneath the low waistband of his jeans—his silhouette framed in flickering light and shadow, towering but relaxed, utterly unbothered.

his green eyes, almost black in the low light, stayed fixed on you—on the way the flannel slipped further off one shoulder as you shifted, on the small, restless movements you couldn’t quite hide, on the delicate points of your antlers catching the glow like they were made for it. he didn’t say anything more, just stood there, patient and quiet, the crackle of the fire filling the space between you.

and for the first time in years, toji realized he wouldn’t be spending another christmas eve alone in this house—certainly not with the quiet, no one to share the fire or the silence or the long winter night. especially not with a deer hybrid curled on his couch, late into her heat, wearing his shirt like it belonged to her, looking at him with those wide, needy eyes while the snow kept falling soft and endless outside.

his eyes lingered on you for a long, unhurried moment, the firelight casting shifting shadows across the sharp planes of his face, highlighting the scar that tugged at his lip whenever his mouth curved just slightly, before his gaze drifted upward, slow and deliberate, to the delicate branches of your antlers rising from your hair—not too big, not overwhelming like some hybrids he’d glimpsed from afar in the woods, but not small either, perfectly proportioned, elegant curves catching the golden flicker of the flames like they were strung with invisible christmas lights just for him.

they suited you, framed your face in a way that made you look both fragile and wild, and he tilted his head a fraction, green eyes narrowing lazily as he studied them, then let his stare drop back down to meet yours—you’d already been watching him, wide-eyed and flushed, ears angled forward in quiet anticipation, and the corner of his mouth lifted in that familiar crooked smirk.

“those things heavy?” he asked, voice low and drawling, almost bored, like he was commenting on the weather outside instead of the intimate weight of bone and velvet perched atop your head, his tone laced with that gentle sarcasm that never quite stung. he didn’t move yet, just stood there with hands loose on his hips, bare chest rising and falling slow, the heat from the fire at his back making his skin gleam faintly with sweat.

you shifted again beneath the blanket, thighs pressing together tighter as another pulse of warmth throbbed low in your belly, the slickness there impossible to ignore now, making the fabric of his borrowed flannel cling slightly to your skin where it brushed your inner thighs. your ears twitched back and then forward, a soft little flick of nervousness and need, and you managed a small shake of your head, voice coming out breathy, almost a whisper. “not… not really. they’re light. just… sensitive right now.”

he hummed deep in his chest, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated through the small space between you, and you caught the subtle movement of his jaw as he bit the inside of his cheek, eyes darkening further while he watched another shiver ripple through you—not from cold this time, but from the heat that was blooming hotter with every passing second, late-season instincts making your body ache in ways you couldn’t hide. then, without rush, he stepped closer, closing the distance in two lazy strides until he was right in front of the couch, towering but relaxed, and he bent forward slowly, one foot dipping into the cushion beside your hip, the other planted on the floor, caging you in without touching yet.

his face lowered to yours, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath ghosting across your cheeks, smell the faint trace of stew and pine smoke and something deeper, masculine, that made your pulse flutter wildly in your throat. he studied you up close like he had all the time in the world—eyes tracing the faint scatter of freckles across the bridge of your nose, the way your lashes trembled when you blinked, the soft shape of your lips parted just slightly on shallow breaths, and especially the deer features blended so seamlessly into your human face: the delicate twitch of your ears, the subtle velvet texture near the base of your antlers, the wide, luminous eyes that gave away every flicker of need. you couldn’t hold his stare for long; your gaze darted from his eyes to his mouth and back again, ears pinning back briefly before flicking forward, body leaning instinctively into the heat radiating from his bare skin.

his smirk deepened, slow and knowing, scar pulling tight as his lips curved wider, and he lifted one large hand—calloused fingers, warm from the fire—until the tips brushed the base of one antler, feather-light at first, tracing the smooth curve with deliberate care. the contact sent a jolt straight through you, velvet-sensitive skin singing under his touch, and a soft, involuntary moan slipped from your throat, quiet but unmistakable, your hips shifting restlessly beneath the blanket as another rush of slick warmth coated your thighs.

toji’s eyes hooded further, voice dropping to a murmur, rough and lazy, laced with that teasing edge that made your stomach flip. “fuck… so sensitive, huh? little deer gettin’ all worked up from just this?” his thumb stroked higher along the antler, slow circles that made your breath hitch, before his fingers drifted lower, grazing the soft fur at the base, then gently, deliberately, brushing the edge of one twitching ear. the sensation was electric—your ears were always tender during heat, but his touch lit them up like christmas bulbs, and another moan escaped, louder this time, needy, your head tilting into his palm without permission.

he let out a low chuckle, breath warm against your cheek as he leaned closer, nose almost brushing yours. “look at you, moanin’ like a sweet little hybrid in heat… bet those pretty antlers are achin’ for more, aren’t they? all velvet and ready, just beggin’ to be touched while you’re burnin’ up inside.” his words were dirty but spoken soft, lazy praise wrapped in gentleness, like he was simply stating facts about the weather. “never thought i’d have a needy deer on my couch come christmas… but here you are, drippin’ slick under my shirt, ears twitchin’ every time i get close. you want me to keep goin’, sweetheart? want me to pet you properly till you’re shakin’?”

his fingers traced your ear again, tugging lightly at the tip, and you whimpered, thighs clenching hard beneath the blanket, the ache between them throbbing in time with your heartbeat. your hands fisted in the flannel at your lap, knuckles pale, body arching just slightly toward him as if pulled by invisible string, and he watched every tiny reaction with half-lidded eyes, smirk never fading, completely unbothered and in control while the fire crackled louder behind him, snow whispering against the windows, the whole world narrowed to the slow, heated space between your bodies on this quiet, forgotten christmas night.

his hand lingered at the base of your antler, thumb stroking the soft inner fur in slow, lazy circles that made your whole body hum with little electric sparks while the fire snapped and hissed behind him, throwing long shadows that danced across the walls like silent christmas ghosts no one else would ever see. he watched you with that half-lidded stare, green eyes dark and patient, the scar on his lip pulling tighter as his smirk deepened just a fraction. “you late in your heat, aren’t you?” he asked again, voice low and lazy, rolling out like smoke, not pushing, just curious in that unbothered way of his, like the answer wouldn’t change a thing either way.

you couldn’t look at him straight on—your gaze dropped to the strong line of his collarbone, then to the flicker of firelight on his chest, cheeks burning hotter than the flames as another wave of slick pulsed between your thighs, warm and shameful and impossible to hide. your ears twitched hard, forward and back in quick, frantic little flutters that brushed his fingers every time, betraying you completely. a soft, helpless sound caught in your throat, half whimper, half breath, and you pressed your thighs together under the blanket again, hips shifting just slightly on the cushion.

toji hummed, long and low, the sound rumbling deep in his chest as his hand slid from your antler to cup your jaw, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth. “yeah… real late. can feel you shakin’ from it.” his tone stayed gentle, almost amused, sarcasm light as fresh snow. then he tilted his head, eyes dropping to your lap where the blanket hid the restless press of your legs, and his voice dropped rougher. “ever had a human cock inside you before, sweetheart? or do pretty little deer like you only spread for your own kind when the heat hits?”

the question was filthy, blunt, spoken slow and lazy like he was asking about the weather outside, but it punched straight through you—your cunt clenched hard, another thick rush of slick soaking your folds, dripping slow and hot down toward the couch. you couldn’t answer with words; your mouth opened on a silent gasp, ears pinning flat back against your head, body arching forward without permission as your hands clutched at the flannel over your thighs.

he chuckled softly, breath warm against your cheek as he leaned closer, the hand on your jaw sliding down to splay over your throat, feeling the frantic swallow you couldn’t hide. “fuck, you’re gushin’ just thinkin’ about it, huh? can smell how sweet you’re gettin’.” his other hand moved then, lazy and sure, slipping under the edge of the blanket to palm your bare thigh, fingers spreading wide, thumb stroking high on the soft inner skin, inches from where you ached most. “bet those lips are still cold,” he murmured, eyes dropping to your mouth, “been out in the snow too long. lemme fix that.”

he kissed you slow—no rush, no force—just the warm press of his mouth against yours, lips parted so his tongue could slide in lazy and deep, tasting you like he had all christmas night to savor. you moaned into it immediately, soft and needy, hands coming up to grip his bare shoulders, fingers digging into warm muscle as you opened for him. his tongue curled around yours, sucking gently, drawing out every little sound while his hand on your thigh squeezed slow, kneading the flesh, pulling you closer until the blanket fell away completely and you were half-bare in his lap, flannel hanging open.

he pulled back just enough to speak against your wet lips, voice rough and low. “tell me somethin’, darlin’… how do deer like you take it when you’re burnin’ up? out in the woods, ass up against a tree while your buck mounts you fast? or do you like bein’ held down slow, rutted into till you’re cryin’?” his fingers slid higher, brushing the crease where thigh met hip, thumb tracing the slick that had leaked there, gathering it slow like he was curious how wet you could get. “always wondered if hybrid cunt feels different—tighter, hotter, flutterin’ different when you’re in season.”

you whimpered, rocking into his touch without thinking, and he let you, guiding your hips with one big hand until you were climbing fully into his lap, knees sinking into the couch on either side of his thighs, bare cunt pressing down against the hard bulge straining his jeans. the contact drew a broken moan from you both—yours high and desperate, his a low, lazy growl against your neck as he mouthed along your pulse, teeth grazing just enough to make you shiver.

“there you go,” he praised, voice husky, both hands sliding under the flannel to cup your ass, squeezing slow, spreading you open so cool air kissed your soaked folds while you ground down instinctively against him. “straddle me just like that, good girl. look at you—my own little christmas deer, antlers all pretty in the firelight, drippin’ slick all over a human’s lap.” his mouth found yours again, kissing deeper this time, tongue fucking slow into your mouth while his hips rolled up once, lazy, letting you feel every thick inch trapped behind denim.

he kept it slow—hands groping lazy and thorough, one sliding up to palm your breast, thumb circling your nipple till it ached, the other kneading your ass in time with the gentle rock of your hips. every kiss was wet, filthy, unhurried, his tongue sliding against yours while he murmured between them, “bet you’d milk a human cock real sweet… wonder if you’d lock around me like you do your bucks, or if you’d just keep takin’ it, beggin’ for more till the heat breaks.” his words were pure pervert curiosity wrapped in low praising, lazy and teasing, drawing more slick from you until it soaked through his jeans, the dark patch spreading warm beneath you on this quiet, fire-warm christmas night where nothing existed but the slow, burning friction and the taste of him on your tongue.

your hands couldn’t stay still any longer, fingers uncurling from the loose grip around his neck to wander slow and curious down the broad expanse of his bare chest, palms spreading over warm, scarred skin that flexed subtly under your touch, tracing the ridges of old marks and the coarse scatter of dark hair that dusted across his pecs.

your thumbs brushed lazily over his nipples—flat and dark, hardening just slightly at the grazing contact—and you felt the low rumble of his hum vibrate against your lips as he watched you with those heavy-lidded green eyes, unbothered, patient, like he had all christmas night to let you explore.

your gaze drifted lower, following the faint line of hair that started just below his sternum, thickening into that tempting happy trail that disappeared beneath the low waistband of his jeans, and you murmured softly, almost to yourself, “hair…” as your fingertips dipped into the soft, wiry strands, playing with them absently, tugging just enough to feel the texture.

toji hummed again, deeper this time, the sound lazy and approving as his hands stayed loose on your ass, squeezing slow in encouragement. “yeah… hair,” he drawled, voice rough and amused, scar pulling at his lip as his smirk widened. “haven’t shaved down there either, sweetheart. hope you like it bushy both places—makes me wonder if a pretty little deer like you prefers it wild.” his tone was gentle sarcasm, filthy curiosity wrapped in praise, eyes flicking down to watch your fingers toy with his trail before meeting yours again.

you flushed harder, ears twitching back in shy embarrassment even as your body pressed closer, slick cunt grinding slow against the hard line of his cock still trapped in denim. “i… i like it,” you whispered, voice breathy and small, nails scraping lightly through the hair now, following it lower until your fingertips brushed the button of his jeans.

he let out a low chuckle, head tilting as that lazy, dangerous smirk sharpened just a touch—not mean, never mean, just knowing. “good girl.” his hands slid up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts through the open flannel. “you want me to help you with this heat, darlin’? i can start reallll slow… ease you into it.”

you frowned a little, brows drawing together in genuine confusion, hips still rocking instinctively against him as you searched his face. “slow?” you echoed, voice soft, uncertain—because every heat you’d endured before had been frantic, quick mounts in the woods, over almost before the ache had been scratched, no lingering touches, no real release, just instinct and emptiness after.

toji’s eyes darkened at the confusion flickering across your features—wide eyes, twitching ears, the innocent tilt of your head—and something hot and possessive coiled tighter in his gut at the thought of being the first to show you different. he leaned in closer, nose brushing yours, breath warm against your lips. “yeah… slow like this,” he murmured, voice dropping rough and lazy as one big hand pushed the flannel aside completely, baring your tits to the firelight, nipples already tight and begging like itself calling for toji; suck me, suck me, suck me. he didn’t rush—just lowered his mouth slow, lips parting to close around one peak, tongue flicking lazy and wet before he sucked gentle, drawing it deeper into the heat of his mouth.

you gasped sharp, back arching hard as pleasure shot straight to your cunt, fingers flying to tangle in his dark hair, careful of your antlers as they tilted back with your head. “toji—” his name left you on a broken moan, thighs clenching around his hips while he hummed approval around your nipple, sucking slow and thorough, teeth grazing just enough to make you shiver.

his free hand slid lower at the same lazy pace—over the curve of your hip, along the soft skin of your inner thigh, until his fingers finally brushed your soaked folds, parting them gently, gathering the slick that coated everything. “fuck, listen to you,” he murmured against your breast, pulling off with a wet pop to switch to the other nipple, tongue swirling slow circles before sucking again. “so wet already… little pussy weepin’ for attention.” two thick fingers traced your entrance, not pushing in yet, just teasing the rim, spreading your slick up to circle your swollen clit in lazy, feather-light strokes that made your hips jerk but never quite gave enough pressure.

you whimpered, grinding down harder against his hand, chasing more, but he kept the pace maddeningly slow—sucking at your nipple in long, wet pulls, fingers dipping just barely inside you before retreating, thumb brushing your clit in idle circles like he was petting a needy animal. “that’s it,” he praised low, voice muffled against your skin as he laved your breast with his tongue. “take what you need, sweetheart… rock those pretty hips on my fingers. bet no buck ever took his time with you like this, huh? just wanna savor my sweettt christmas deer… make this heat feel real good before i give you anything more.”

every touch was lazy, deliberate, drawing the ache higher without mercy, your slick coating his fingers thicker with every slow circle, dripping down over his wrist while the fire crackled and the snow whispered outside, the whole world reduced to the wet sounds of his mouth on your tits and the filthy, gentle curiosity in his voice as he kept you teetering on the edge without letting you fall.

and the next second, all you feel is how the carpet was rough against your bare back, coarse fibers biting into your skin with every tiny shift of your hips, a harsh contrast to the slick heat building everywhere else, while the fire crackled steady and low behind you, throwing flickering orange light across the room and over your naked body—exposed again, just like when he’d found you curled in the snow, only now flushed hot and trembling for entirely different reasons.

your legs were spread wide, knees bent and fallen open as he pushed it to your chest, thighs quivering as toji knelt between them, broad shoulders forcing you wider, his dark hair tickling the sensitive skin of your inner thighs while his mouth worked slow and thorough on your dripping cunt. he’d taken his time getting you here—lazy kisses turning deeper, hands stripping the flannel away inch by inch until you were bare beneath him, guiding you down onto the rug with that same unbothered strength, murmuring how the fire would keep you warm while he tasted you proper.

now you were a mess—tears streaking hot down your temples into your hair, antlers scraping lightly against the carpet with every arch of your neck, one hand clamped tight around his fingers in a desperate grip while the other tangled in his hair, pulling without meaning to whenever his tongue flicked just right over your swollen clit. soft, broken whimpers spilled from your lips in a constant stream, hips rolling up to meet his mouth even as your thighs shook from the effort of holding still. he ate you like he had nowhere else to be—long, slow licks from your entrance up to your clit, sucking gentle then firm, tongue circling lazy before dipping inside to taste how deep your slick ran, humming low every time your cunt fluttered against his lips.

when he finally pulled back, just enough to breathe, his chin and mouth glistened wet in the firelight, eyes lifting to meet yours with that stupid, lazy grin—scarred lip curled, green eyes dark and half-lidded, utterly pleased with himself. “fuckkkk, sweetheart,” he drawled, voice rough and low, tongue coming out to lick a stray drop of you from the corner of his mouth, “didn’t expect hybrid pussy to taste this sweet—like christmas honey, all warm and ripe just for me. better than any cunt i’ve ever had my mouth on.”

the words hit you hard, filthy and blunt, heat flooding your face even as your cunt clenched around nothing, missing his tongue already. you blinked through the tears, chest heaving, voice small and shaky when you managed, “it’s… it’s good?”

toji chuckled, low and dirty, breath ghosting hot over your soaked folds as he hovered close. “good? darlin’, your little deer cunt’s so fuckin’ delicious i could stay down here till the fire dies out—sweetest present i’ve unwrapped all year.” he pressed a soft, open-mouthed kiss to your clit just to watch you jerk, then reached up with the hand not already laced with yours, gently untangling your fingers from his hair. he guided your trembling hand down, pressing your palm over one breast, curling your fingers so they cupped the soft weight. “ever play with these pretty tits while you’re in heat?” he asked, lazy curiosity thick in his voice, thumb brushing over your knuckles.

you shook your head quick, ears twitching back against the carpet, another tear slipping free as the ache throbbed harder. “no… never,” you whispered, voice cracking on the admission.

he hummed approval, eyes flicking from your face to your hand on your breast. “try it for me, sweetheart. squeeze gentle… yeah, just like that. now roll your nipple between your fingers—slowww, feel how it gets all tight and sensitive.” his mouth lowered again as he spoke, lips sealing soft around your clit, sucking lazy and steady while he watched you obey. your fingers followed his words hesitant at first—pinching lightly, rolling the hard peak, tugging just a little—and the dual sensation punched a loud, broken moan from your throat, back arching off the carpet, thighs clamping around his head.

“there you go,” he praised against your pussy, voice muffled and rough, tongue flicking quick to reward you before he pulled back just enough to speak. “look at you—pinchin’ your own tits while i suck this sweet clit. filthy little deer, learnin’ how good it feels to play with yourself. keep goin’, darlin’… make ‘em ache nice and pretty for me.”

he dove back in fully then, mouth hot and relentless but still slow—long, wet pulls on your clit, tongue lapping broad and lazy through your folds, drinking every fresh gush of slick while your fingers worked your nipple harder under his murmured guidance, pleasure coiling tighter and tighter but never quite snapping, leaving you crying and whimpering and grinding desperately against his face on the rough carpet floor, firelight painting both of you gold on this long, endless christmas night.

the fire had burned lower now, embers glowing deep orange behind you, throwing long, wavering shadows across the rough carpet that scraped your shoulders and back with every helpless arch of your spine, but you barely felt it anymore—every nerve was centered between your thighs where toji’s mouth devoured you like a man breaking a centuries-long fast, like he’d been hibernating in some cold, pussy-starved cave and your slick cunt was the first warm salvation offered to him on this forgotten christmas night.

he groaned deep against your folds, the sound vibrating straight through your clit as his tongue lapped broad and hungry, gathering every drop of your juices mixed with his own spit, swallowing loud enough that you heard it over your own broken whimpers. his big hands pinned your thighs wider, scarred fingers digging gently into the soft flesh to keep you open while he slurped shamelessly, lips sealing around your swollen clit to suck slow and firm, then flick the sensitive bud quick with the tip of his tongue before sucking again, harder, like he couldn’t decide which taste he wanted more.

your body was no longer your own—hips grinding up desperately into his face, chasing the wet heat of his mouth, tears streaking freely down your temples as your moans grew louder, rawer, echoing off the bare wooden walls. “more—please, toji, more,” you gasped out, voice cracking, ears twitching wildly, antlers scraping the carpet as your head thrashed side to side. he obliged instantly, happily, a low, satisfied rumble in his chest as he buried his face deeper, nose nudging your clit while his tongue fucked shallow into your entrance, drinking the fresh flood of slick that poured out at the intrusion, swallowing again and again like your taste was the only thing keeping him alive.

you were close—so close—the coil in your belly wound tighter with every filthy slurp and suck, thighs trembling violently around his head, but he kept you there, never quite pushing you over, just feeding on you until you were sobbing his name.

finally he pulled back with a wet, obscene sound, lips and chin shining slick in the firelight, chest heaving slow as he licked his mouth clean, green eyes dark and feral when they met yours. “fuck, sweetheart,” he rasped, voice rougher than you’d ever heard it, lazy drawl almost gone under the hunger, “could eat this pretty pussy for days and still starve for more.” he rose slowly, deliberately, unfolding his big frame until he towered over you on his feet, one hand dropping to squeeze the thick bulge straining his jeans, palming himself with a low groan as he looked down at your wrecked form—tits heaving, thighs spread wide and glistening, tears on your cheeks, antlers catching the ember glow like some sacred christmas offering.

you pushed up on shaky elbows, unable to look away, biting your lower lip hard enough to leave marks as he reached for his belt. the metal buckle clinked soft and slow—agonizingly slow—each tooth of the leather sliding free sounding louder than the fire in the sudden quiet. he unbuttoned his jeans next, one button, then the zipper dragged down inch by inch, revealing more of that dark, curly bush you’d only glimpsed before, the hair catching the dim light in soft waves, not wild or overgrown, just naturally thick, untamed, framing the base of his cock that was already pressing eagerly against the black fabric of his briefs.

your breath hitched, eyes wide and fixed as he hooked his thumbs into waistband and eased everything lower—just a bit at first, letting the curls spill free, then further, the thick root of his cock coming into view, flushed dark and heavy, veins standing out along the length. he paused there, letting you look, before pulling jeans and briefs down over the hard muscle of his thighs in one slow push. his cock sprang free instantly, slapping up against his abs with a soft thud, long and impossibly thick, the head already flushed deep red and glistening. he wrapped one big hand around it immediately, stroking lazy once, twice, the motion making the dark curls above his dick shift and catch the firelight, not too long, not too short—just dense, natural, perfect.

both of you are bare now, nothing between skin and skin and the crackling heat of the hearth.

toji’s smirk returned, lazy and playful even through the hunger, scar pulling at his lip as he gave himself another slow pump, thumb swiping over the slit to gather the fat bead of precum that welled there. he brought it to his mouth without shame, tongue licking it clean while his eyes stayed locked on yours. “salty,” he murmured, voice low and rough, “wonder if your sweet little deer cunt’ll make me taste sweeter when i finally get inside.”

he tilted his head, stroking himself again, slow and unhurried, letting you see every inch. “so, darlin’… you know if other stupid hybrids pack cocks this big, or you think mine’s small?” the sarcasm was gentle, teasing, eyes glinting with filthy amusement because he knew—he fucking knew—how huge he was, thick enough that your thighs pressed together instinctively even as slick leaked steadily onto the carpet beneath you.

you shook your head quick, ears flicking back then forward, voice barely above a whisper. “n-no… never seen… anything like that.”!

his chuckle was dark, satisfied, hand tightening just a fraction on his shaft. “good answer, sweetheart. keep lookin’ at me like that and this christmas might last all week.” he stepped out of the pooled jeans fully, kicking them aside without care, then dropped back to his knees between your spread thighs, cock heavy and bobbing with the motion, curls brushing his lower abs as he leaned over you again, one hand planted beside your head, the other still lazily stroking himself. “gonna take real good care of this heat,” he promised, voice dropping back to that familiar lazy drawl, “but first… think i need another taste of that honey before i feed you somethin’ thicker.”

he didn’t wait for permission—just lowered his mouth again, slower this time, tongue dragging one long, deliberate stripe up your soaked folds before circling your clit with the flat of it, humming deep at the fresh flood of slick that met him. your back arched off the carpet instantly, a strangled cry tearing free as your hands flew—one to his hair again, the other clutching the rug—while he settled in like a man with all the time in the world, lapping, sucking, swallowing, breaking his fast all over again on the sweetest pussy he’d ever had on christmas night.

those eager minutes stretched into what felt like hours, toji’s mouth relentless on your clit, sucking your soul straight through the swollen bundle of nerves with long, filthy pulls that left you sobbing openly, hips bucking wild against his face, slick pouring out in waves that he swallowed greedily, tongue flicking quick then slow, keeping you teetering on the edge without mercy until your thighs shook so hard they nearly clamped around his head.

when he finally pulled away, it was with a wet, obscene sound, strings of your juices and his spit connecting his lips to your cunt for a second before snapping, and he rose up tall on his knees, chest heaving slow, one hand still wrapped lazy around his thick cock, stroking himself with the same unhurried rhythm while a stray drop of mixed saliva glistened on his chin and fell—slow, deliberate—onto the flushed head of his dick, sliding down the shaft as he spread it with his thumb.

you couldn’t blink, wouldn’t, even though your eyes burned from tears and the heat roaring under your skin, gaze locked on the way his fist moved over that heavy length, curls at the base dark and damp now with everything that had dripped from you. your chest rose and fell fast, antlers scraping the carpet again as you tilted your head back just to breathe, then forward again to watch him, afraid to miss even a second of whatever he’d do next.

toji’s eyes met yours, dark and half-lidded, scar pulling as his mouth curved into that lazy, dangerous grin. “ready for me, sweetheart?” he asked, voice low and rough, almost casual, like he was offering another cup of stew instead of the thick cock in his hand.

you shook your head quick, instinctive, ears flicking back flat against your skull, thighs trembling as another helpless pulse of slick leaked out onto the rug. the word came out small, breathy. “no…”

he chuckled, deep and warm, the sound rolling through his chest as he shifted closer on his knees. “cute,” he murmured, affection and amusement thick in the single word, green eyes glinting in the dying firelight. “real fuckin’ cute, shakin’ your head when your little deer cunt’s cryin’ for it.”

one big hand moved then, sliding under the back of your knee, lifting your leg slow and deliberate until it straightened, then guiding it up and over his broad shoulder, opening you wider, folding you nearly in half beneath him. the stretch burned sweet in your hamstring, cool air kissing your soaked folds as you gasped soft, surprised. “oh…” the sound slipped out like you hadn’t expected the position, hadn’t realized how exposed it would make you feel, cunt spread and fluttering visibly under his gaze.

toji just hummed, unbothered, attention fixed between your legs as he leaned forward slightly, free hand guiding his cock closer. the first slap came sudden—heavy, wet, the thick head smacking directly against your clit with a lewd sound that echoed in the quiet room, sending a sharp jolt of pleasure-pain through you. strings of your slick and his spit stretched between his cock and your pussy, glistening, clinging, before snapping as he drew back for another. your back arched hard off the carpet, a strangled cry tearing free, hips jerking up for more even as tears welled fresh.

“fuck, look how sensitive you are,” he praised, voice rough with want, eyes dark as he watched your cunt clench around nothing. “one little slap and you’re archin’ like that—makes me so goddamn eager to bury myself in this sweet pussy.” he slapped again, slower this time, dragging the weight of his cock through your folds first, coating himself thicker in your juices before tapping your clit sharp enough to make you whimper. “can’t wait to breed you proper, darlin’… fill this ripe little deer cunt till you’re leakin’ me for days. but i promised slow, remember? gotta get you ready first… stretch you out nice before i ruin you for every other buck you ever let near you.”

another slap, then another—lazy rhythm, each one landing wetter, heavier, your slick stringing between his cock and your folds like obscene christmas tinsel, dripping down your ass to pool on the rug. then he changed it—sliding the length of himself through your folds without entering, dragging slow from entrance to clit and back again, bumping the swollen head against your sensitive nub each pass, teasing, edging, torturing you with the promise of being filled while the heat burned hotter in your bones, your lungs, your blood, nesting deep behind your ribs until it felt like the only cure was the thick cock gliding through your wetness but never giving you what you needed.

you whined high and desperate, hips chasing every slide, trying to angle yourself to take him inside, but he held you steady with the leg over his shoulder, grip firm and patient. “toji—please. . .” the plea cracked out of you, raw, tears spilling again as you reached down with trembling fingers, trying to guide him in.

he chuckled low, catching your wrist gentle and pinning it beside your head instead. “not yet, sweetheart. wanna watch you fall apart on just this a little longer… my pretty deer, drippin’ and beggin’ for cock like it’s the only gift you want this year.”

another slow drag through your folds, head nudging your clit hard enough to make you sob, body writhing on the rough carpet while the fire popped and hissed behind you, snow whispering against the windows, the whole world narrowed to the slick, teasing slide of his cock and the lazy, hungry promise in his voice that he’d give you everything—slow, then deep, then ruinous—when he finally decided you were ready.

he stayed there on his knees for what felt like forever, cock dragging slow through your folds again and again, coating himself thicker in your slick until every slide made obscene wet sounds that mingled with the low crackle of the dying fire and your own broken whimpers.

your leg was still hooked high over his shoulder, thigh trembling against his chest, the position keeping you split open and helpless while tears dried salty on your cheeks and fresh ones welled every time the fat head of his cock nudged your clit without mercy.

you were burning alive, heat season roaring through every vein, making your cunt clench desperately around nothing, begging to be filled, bred, soothed, but toji just watched you with that lazy, half-lidded stare, scar pulling at his lip as he teased you to the edge of sanity.

“look at you,” he murmured finally, voice low and rough, almost conversational, as he lined himself up at last, the blunt head pressing gentle against your entrance, parting your folds but not pushing in yet. “pretty little deer cunt flutterin’ like it’s tryin’ to suck me in already. you want this cock bad, don’t you? want it to stuff all that heat right out of you.”

you nodded frantically, ears twitching hard, a choked, “please, toji, pleaseeee,” spilling from your lips as your hips tilted up, trying to take him yourself. he hummed, once again, one big hand splayed over your lower belly to hold you still while the other guided his cock, rubbing the head up and down your slit once, twice, gathering more slick before he finally—finally—pressed forward.

the stretch started slow, agonizingly slow, just the thick tip breaching you, spreading your walls inch by inch as he sank in with deliberate restraint. your breath caught sharp, back arching off the rough carpet, fingers clawing at the fibers while your cunt fluttered and clenched around the intrusion, trying to adjust to the sheer size of him. he was thick, hotter than anything you’d ever felt, and every tiny push forward made you feel impossibly full already, even though he’d barely given you half.

“fuck… that’s it,” he praised, voice dropping rougher, eyes fixed between your legs where his cock disappeared slow into your body. “take me nice and easy, sweetheart. feel how your pretty pussy’s stretchin’ around human cock? never had anything this thick splitting you open before, huh?” he rocked forward another inch, then back, then forward again, shallow little thrusts that fed you more but never rushed, letting you feel every vein, every throb as he worked deeper. “so goddamn tight… like a present i get to unwrap real slow on christmas night.”

you moaned loud, broken, head thrashing side to side, antlers scraping the carpet as your leg over his shoulder tensed, toes curling in the air. the burn was sweet, overwhelming, pleasure and ache blending until you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. your free hand reached down blindly, fingers brushing where you were joined, feeling how stretched you were around him, and he groaned low at the sight.

“touch yourself there if you want,” he murmured, lazy encouragement in his tone as he pushed another slow inch inside, bottoming out halfway and holding still to let you breathe. “feel how i’m openin’ you up… gonna ruin this little deer cunt for any buck that ever tries to mount you again.” he pulled back slow, almost all the way out, then slid in again deeper, a smooth, controlled glide that made your walls flutter wildly around him. “but i promised slow, remember? gonna keep that promise till you’re cryin’ for me to breed you harder.”

he set a rhythm then—lazy, deep strokes, never fast, never rough yet, just feeding you his cock inch by thick inch until your cunt was molded to him, slick dripping down your ass with every withdrawal, coating his balls and the dark curls at his base. his hand on your belly pressed gentle, feeling the bulge of himself inside you, and he hummed approval every time you clenched, every time your breath hitched, every time a fresh tear slipped free.

“good girl,” he rasped, leaning down to mouth at your neck, teeth grazing the sweat-slick skin as he rocked in again, deeper this time, almost all the way. “takin’ me so sweet… my perfect deer, all spread out and stuffed full. you feel that? feel how deep i am already?” another slow thrust, bottoming out at last, his hips flush to yours, curls tickling your clit as he held still, letting you adjust to being completely filled for the first time. your cunt spasmed around him, milking instinctively, and he groaned against your throat. “yeah… just like that. keep squeezin’ me, darlin’. we got all night for me to breed this heat right out of you… nice and slow, till you can’t remember anything but my cock.”

he stayed buried deep for a long, breathless moment, hips flush to yours, cock throbbing hot and heavy inside your clenching walls while the fire popped softly behind you, casting flickering gold over both your sweat-slick bodies tangled on the rough carpet. your leg was still draped over his shoulder, thigh pressed to his chest, opening you so completely that every tiny shift of his hips made you feel impossibly fuller, the thick base of him stretching you wide, dark curls tickling your clit with every shallow breath he took. he didn’t move at first—just held there, green eyes locked on yours, scar pulling as his mouth curved lazy, watching the way fresh tears slipped down your temples and your ears twitched helplessly against the rug.

“feel that, sweetheart?” he murmured, voice low and rough, almost conversational even as his cock pulsed inside you. “human cock all the way in your pretty cunt… stretchin’ you open like you were made for it.” he drew back slow then, agonizingly slow, dragging every thick inch out until only the flushed head remained, your walls fluttering desperately to keep him in, slick dripping down your ass in a steady stream. then he slid forward again—smooth, controlled, bottoming out with a wet sound that made you both groan. “ah—fuck, yeah… just like that. take it nice and easy for me.”

he set the pace deliberate, deep rolling thrusts that never hurried, pulling out almost completely before sinking back in to the hilt, letting you feel every ridge and vein as he fed you his cock again and again. your moans spilled out unbroken now, “toji, ohhh. . . please.” high and needy, back arching off the carpet, fingers clawing at his forearms where they braced beside your head. your free leg wrapped around his hip instinctively, heel digging into the hard muscle of his ass to pull him deeper, antlers scraping the rug as your head tilted back, exposing your throat.

he leaned down, mouth finding your neck, sucking lazy marks into the skin while his hips kept that torturous rhythm. “good girl,” he praised against your pulse, tongue flicking out to taste the salt there. “takin’ me so sweet… my little deer finally gettin’ properly bred. you feel how deep i am? right up against your womb, darlin’. gonna make this heat feel real good.”

the slow drag was exquisite torture—every thrust nudging that spot inside you that made stars burst behind your eyelids, building the pressure higher but never quite enough to tip you over. your cunt clenched rhythmically around him, milking him on every withdrawal, slick coating his balls and the curls at his base until they were soaked. you could hear it—the wet, filthy sounds of your bodies joining, louder than the fire now, louder than your own ragged breathing.

minutes stretched, or maybe hours; time lost meaning under the steady, claiming roll of his hips. but gradually his control frayed—his breaths grew rougher against your neck, hands gripping your thigh and hip tighter, fingers digging into flesh as his thrusts lost their perfect laziness, deepening, lingering a fraction longer at the bottom before pulling back. “fuck,” he rasped, voice cracking just slightly, “you’re squeezin’ me so goddamn tight… can’t—ah—can’t keep goin’ this slow forever, sweetheart.”

you whimpered in response, nails raking down his back, leaving red trails over scarred skin. “toji, more—please, need—”

he pulled back to look at you, eyes dark and wild now, smirk gone, replaced by raw hunger. “yeah? need more?” he thrust in hard once—sharp, sudden, driving the air from your lungs in a broken cry—“like that?” another hard snap of his hips, grinding deep, curls smashing against your clit. “or harder?”

“yes—ahh—harder—” you sobbed, leg tightening over his shoulder, whole body arching to meet him.

that was all it took.

his restraint snapped like a branch under snow—hips pulling back and slamming forward rougher, faster, the gentle rhythm giving way to deep, punishing strokes that jolted your body up the carpet with every thrust. the wet slap of skin on skin filled the room, loud and obscene, his balls smacking against your ass as he fucked into you without mercy now. “fuck—there weeee go,” he growled, voice low and ragged, one hand sliding under your lower back to tilt your hips higher, changing the angle so he hit even deeper. “been tryin’ to be gentle with my sweet little deer, but you take it so fuckin’ good—ah—makes me wanna ruin this pretty cunt.”

your moans turned into screams—“toji—toji, oh god—” high and desperate, tears streaming freely as pleasure coiled white-hot in your belly, every brutal thrust driving you closer to the edge you’d been teetering on all night. your walls fluttered wildly around him, slick gushing with every withdrawal, soaking both of you.

he leaned down again, mouth crashing against yours in a messy, open-mouthed kiss, tongue fucking into you in time with his cock, swallowing every cry. “that’s it,” he rasped between kisses, hips snapping harder, faster, the carpet burning your back as he drove you up it inch by inch. “scream for me, darlin’… let the whole damn forest know a human’s breedin’ his christmas deer proper. gonna fill you so full—ah—fuck—gonna knot this tight little pussy with my cum till you’re drippin’ for days.”

the pace was relentless now—rough, claiming, perfect—his body covering yours completely, sweat dripping from his chest onto your tits as he fucked you like he’d never get enough, like your cunt was the only thing that could soothe the hunger he’d carried too long. and you took it all, legs locked around him, nails scoring his back, antlers scraping wildly, lost in the brutal, beautiful storm of him finally giving you everything you’d burned for on this long, firelit christmas night.

you never knew a human could fuck like this—pounding into you with such raw, unrelenting force that every thrust sent shockwaves rippling through your body, the carpet beneath you scratching rougher against your sweat-slick back as he drove you higher up the rug with each powerful snap of his hips, but still taking his time in a way that stretched the pleasure out like taffy, savoring every clench of your walls around his thick cock, every desperate flutter that begged him to go deeper, harder, unlike the hurried, instinctual ruts you’d endured before, all quick and mechanical like transactions in the wild where the heat was scratched but never truly quenched, leaving you empty and aching afterward.

with toji, it was worlds apart—his cock dragging out slow on the retreat, veins pulsing hot against your sensitive inner walls, only to slam back in with a brutal depth that nudged right up against your cervix, making your belly bulge faintly under the press of his body, and the pleasure swelled so intensely.

so overwhelmingly, that you couldn’t stop the strange, guttural sounds bubbling up from your throat, high-pitched keens that shattered into animalistic whimpers you didn’t recognize as your own. “toji—ahh—fuck, i can’t—nngh. . .” your eyes rolling back deep into your skull until the world blurred into a hazy white void where you swore you could see the sparking edges of your own brain firing off in overload, mixed with exploding stars that danced like christmas lights strung across the night sky, bright and blinding.

it felt good—so fucking good—that even through the tears streaking hot down your cheeks and the burn in your folded limbs, a delirious, lopsided smile tugged at your lips, cheeks flushed and glowing in the dim firelight, your antlers catching the orange flickers as they tilted with every jolt of your head, body surrendering completely to the rhythm he set, thighs quivering around his waist while your tail flicked erratically against the rug.

your hands reached out blindly again, fingers trembling and desperate for more contact, more of his warm, scarred skin to ground you amid the storm of sensation, brushing over his flexing abs, his broad chest, anything to feel the solid heat of him beyond the overwhelming fullness stretching your cunt to its limits.

toji cooed low and teasing above you, the sound vibrating through his chest as it pressed closer to yours, green eyes half-lidded and gleaming with lazy amusement even as his hips never faltered in their rough, claiming pace. “aww, sweetheart, gettin’ all sensitive and sentimental on me now?” he drawled, voice unbothered and rough around the edges, laced with that gentle sarcasm that made your heart stutter even as his cock pistoned deeper, folding you in half more with the weight of his body leaning down.

he pulled his large hand away from where it had been splayed possessively over your stomach, feeling the bulge of himself inside you, and instead captured one of your seeking hands in his, lacing your smaller fingers through his thick ones with a firm squeeze, while your other hand, already near his mouth from your frantic reaching, brushed his scarred lips.

he turned his head slightly, pressing a warm, open-mouthed kiss to your palm, his breath hot and ragged against your skin as he muffled a low groan into it. “fuck, yeah... that’s my good little deer, holdin’ on tight while i stuff this pretty cunt full.” the praise rolled out lazy and filthy, his tongue flicking out to trace the lines of your palm before he sucked gently at the base of your thumb, eyes locked on yours through the haze.

those praises, even drenched in his dirty drawl, twisted something deep inside you—igniting fresh sparks that made your walls clamp down harder around his thrusting cock, slick gushing out in thick waves that coated his balls and the dark curls at his base, turning every rough plunge into a wet, obscene symphony of skin slapping skin, louder than the dying crackle of the fire casting long shadows over your tangled forms.

toji gave your palm more lingering kisses, slow and deliberate, lips dragging soft and wet across the sensitive skin before trailing lower to your wrist, nipping gently at the thin flesh there where your pulse thundered under his mouth, humming approval at the frantic beat as if it were music to him. “so damn responsive,” he murmured against your inner arm, voice muffled but husky, hips snapping forward harder now, the angle making his cock grind deep against that spongy spot inside you that pulled another shattered moan from your lips, “toji—oh. . . deeper, please.” your free hand fisting tighter in his sweat-damp hair, nails scraping his scalp as you tugged, urging him on.

he continued the path without rush, kisses turning to lazy sucks along the curve of your arm, teeth grazing just enough to leave faint red marks blooming on your flushed skin as he reached the bare, sweat-slick slope of your shoulder, nuzzling there briefly before biting down soft and possessive, soothing the sting immediately with his tongue.

“hate christmas, y’know,” he rasped against your collarbone, voice dropping lower as his mouth dipped further, lips brushing the swell of one breast, “all that fake cheer and bullshit lights... but fuck, your sweet deer pussy’s makin’ it enjoyable for once—warm and tight like the best damn present i could unwrap.” the words were pure filth, wrapped in lazy praise that made your toes curl, body arching higher into him as he finally sealed his mouth hot and wet around your nipple, sucking hard with a flick of his tongue that sent lightning straight to your clit.

your eyes squeezed shut tight, lashes clumping with fresh tears of overwhelm, the world narrowing to the brutal snap of his hips driving his cock impossibly deeper, the wet heat of his mouth on your tit, and the solid grip of his hand still laced with yours, grounding you even as pleasure threatened to shatter you completely.

your free hand stayed buried in his hair, fingers tangling and tugging harder every time he thrust in rough, the head of his cock nudging so deep you felt it press against your lower belly from inside, a faint bulge that made your breath hitch. “toji—i feel it—ahh—there, right there.” earning a low, guttural groan from him muffled against your breast as he sucked harder, teeth grazing the peaked nipple before soothing with his tongue.

“yeah? feel me rearrangin’ your guts, darlin’?” he pulled off with a wet pop, eyes flicking up to watch your face contort in bliss, smirk curling lazy even as sweat dripped from his brow. “that's my filthy hybrid—tuggin’ my hair like that baby, milkin’ this cock so good... gonna make me spill every drop in this ripe little cunt, breed you till you’re glowin’ like a damn tree.” his hips pounded faster then, rougher, the praise spilling endless as he chased the edge with you, bodies slick and trembling on the fire-warmed rug, the christmas night stretching infinite in the haze of heat and need.

toji pulled away from your tits with a slow, deliberate drag of his tongue over the swollen nipple, leaving it glistening wet and aching in the cool air that whispered through the room from the snow-sealed windows, his green eyes lifting lazy to meet yours—pure bliss etched across your flushed face, lips parted in that delirious smile, tears clinging to your lashes like dew on pine needles, antlers tilted back against the rug as your body trembled beneath him, every muscle taut and quivering from the relentless pound of his hips.

he held still for a breath, cock buried deep to the hilt, grinding slow against your fluttering walls just to watch the way your expression shattered further, then smirked that crooked, scarred pull of his mouth, voice dropping low and rough even as he rolled his hips once, hard, nudging that bulge in your belly again. “you glad you got separated from the others, sweetheart?” he drawled, unbothered and lazy, thumb brushing over your knuckles in the hand still laced with his, like he was commenting on the weather while his cock throbbed hot inside you.

“cause i’m sure as hell glad i decided to head into those woods earlier—fuck, if i hadn’t, i’d be missin’ out on this sweet cunt for the rest of my life... feels like i’d lose ten years just thinkin’ about it, leavin’ my deer all alone and unfucked.”

you couldn’t even form words—your mouth opened on a helpless whimper, tongue heavy and mind fogged, the pleasure coiling so tight in your belly that all that came out was blabbering nonsense. “toji—ahh, can’t—nngh—close, so close.” body arching high off the rug, thighs clamping around his waist like a vice, slick walls pulsing wildly around his cock as the edge rushed up fast, heat season burning through every nerve until you were nothing but sensation.

tears spilling fresh down your temples, ears twitching back flat against your skull in desperate surrender. the smile on your lips widened, broken and euphoric, as your free hand tugged harder in his hair, nails scraping his scalp, urging him deeper even though he was already splitting you open so completely, the wet slap of his balls against your ass echoing filthy in the firelit room.

he chuckled low, the sound rumbling against your skin as he leaned closer, folding you even tighter beneath him, your leg over his shoulder pressing your knee to your chest, opening you impossibly wider for the brutal thrusts that followed—harder now, rougher, hips slamming forward with a force that jolted your whole body, cock dragging out to the tip before pounding back in, chasing that clench he felt building in your cunt.

“yeah? can’t talk, huh? too busy cummin’ on my cock like a good little deer?” he teased, voice husky and sarcastic-gentle, eyes locked on your rolling ones as he fucked you through it, the pace turning punishing, every thrust grinding his dark curls against your clit, sending sparks exploding behind your eyelids. “come on, baby—let go for me, soak this cock with your cum... fuck, that’s it—ahh—squeeze me just like that."

the coil snapped then—white-hot and shattering—your back bowing off the carpet in a sharp arch, antlers scraping deep grooves into the fibers as a scream tore from your throat, “toji—fuck, fuck, fuckkkk. . . cumming, ahh god—” cunt clamping down like a trap around his pistoning cock, walls spasming wildly, slick gushing out in hot waves that soaked his balls and dripped down onto the rug beneath you, pleasure crashing through your body in endless, trembling pulses that left you sobbing, smiling, shaking as he fucked you harder through it, not slowing, hips slamming rough and deep to prolong every flutter.

your hand in his hair pulled tight, the other squeezing his fingers white-knuckled, body convulsing beneath him as the orgasm ripped you apart, stars bursting brighter behind your closed lids, the heat finally breaking in a flood of bliss that made your toes curl and your tail flick frantic against his thigh.

toji groaned low and ragged, feeling your cunt milk him mercilessly, his own control fraying at the edges as he chased his climax right on the heels of yours—thrusts turning erratic, harder, pounding into your oversensitive walls without mercy, the wet sounds obscene and echoing as slick squelched between your bodies.

“fuck—gonna breed you now, sweetheart,” he rasped, voice breaking rough against your ear as he leaned down fully, crushing you under his weight, mouth brushing your neck in hot, open-mouthed kisses. “hope you’re ready to get knocked up by a human on christmas—gonna fill this ripe deer pussy so full of my cum you’ll be leakin’ for days... ahh—take it, deer, every drop.”

the thought hit you like another wave—pregnant by him, belly swelling with his seed, the image filthy and intoxicating in your heat-addled mind—and your spent cunt clenched tighter around him, gripping his cock like it never wanted to let go, milking him deeper as fresh slick pulsed out. he cursed in bliss, hips stuttering once, twice.

“shit—yeah, you like that? like gettin’ bred by me?” before slamming in one last time, burying deep as he spilled hot and thick inside you, cock throbbing with every heavy spurt, flooding your walls until it leaked out around his base, mixing with your slick in a warm, sticky mess that dripped down your ass. he groaned long and low against your shoulder.

“fuck—yesss—my good little deer, takin’ it all like a christmas miracle,” he groan, hips grinding slow circles to push his cum deeper, riding out the aftershocks while you whimpered beneath him, sensitive and full, body still trembling in the glow of release, the fire crackling softly as the christmas night wrapped around you both in exhausted, sated warmth.

he stayed buried deep inside you for what felt like an eternity after the last thick spurt of his cum flooded your walls, hips grinding slow, lazy circles that pushed his seed deeper, mixing with your slick until it leaked out in warm, sticky rivulets around his base, dripping down your ass to pool on the rug beneath you in a filthy testament to how thoroughly he’d bred you.

his chest heaved against yours, sweat-slick skin sticking and sliding as he caught his breath, forehead pressed to your shoulder, dark hair damp and falling over his scarred face while the fire crackled lower now, embers glowing soft orange across the room, casting long, wavering shadows that danced over your tangled limbs and the faint bulge still visible in your lower belly where he filled you so completely.

your body trembled in the aftershocks, cunt fluttering weakly around his softening cock, milking the last drops from him as oversensitivity made every tiny shift send sparks skittering up your spine, thighs quivering uncontrollably around his waist, leg still hooked loosely over his shoulder even as your muscles screamed from being folded so long.

tears dried sticky on your cheeks, but that delirious smile lingered on your lips, soft and sated, ears twitching faint against the rug, antlers tilted at an exhausted angle while your fingers stayed tangled loosely in his hair, the other hand still laced with his, palms slick with sweat.

toji lifted his head slow, green eyes half-lidded and dark with satisfaction, scar pulling as his mouth curved into that familiar lazy smirk, voice coming out rough and low, unbothered even after everything. “fuck, sweetheart... look at you,” he murmured, thumb brushing slow over your knuckles in the hand he held, hips giving one last shallow grind that pulled a weak whimper from your throat, “nngh—toji.” your walls clenching instinctively around him again.

he hummed approval, leaning down to press a soft, open-mouthed kiss to your swollen lips, tongue flicking lazy to taste the salt of your tears and the lingering sweetness of your moans. “all bred and glowin’ like a proper deer... hate the holiday, y’know—too much fake bullshit and glitter—but damn if your hybrid cunt didn’t just make it my favorite one yet. warm, tight, milkin’ me dry like you were waitin’ your whole heat for a me to stuff you full.”

you could only whimper in response, body too spent for words, a soft, broken “ahh...” slipping out as he shifted slightly, cock still half-hard inside you, stirring the mess he'd made. your free hand slid from his hair to trace lazy down his scarred back, fingers brushing the sweat there, feeling the way his muscles flexed under your touch even in exhaustion.

he chuckled low against your mouth, pulling back just enough to look at you again, eyes tracing the flush on your cheeks, the way your chest rose and fell in shallow pants, nipples still peaked and glistening from his earlier attention. “can’t even talk, huh? too full of my cum to think straight?” his tone was gentle sarcasm, teasing without bite.

he finally eased out slow—agonizingly slow—the thick drag of his cock pulling free with a wet sound that made you both groan, his seed immediately leaking out in thick globs, coating your folds and dripping down to the rug. he watched it with dark fascination, thumb reaching down to swipe through the mess, spreading it lazy over your swollen clit just to feel you jerk weakly, “toji—sensitive. . .” your hips twitching away even as your body arched for more.

“yeah, i know,” he drawled, unbothered, bringing that thumb to his mouth to lick clean, eyes locked on yours as he tasted the mix of you both. “but look at this pretty mess... my deer all bred and leakin’. gonna keep you like this all night, darlin’—plugged full, warm by the fire. maybe round two when you stop shakin’.”