—not proofread, heavy daddy kink
the apartment is quiet except for the low hum of the refrigerator and the distant sounds of the city filtering through the windows. you're curled up on the couch, phone in hand, scrolling through nothing in particular. your jaw is set, your body language closed off. you're not just sitting here—you're pointedly sitting here, making sure toji knows exactly how pissed off you are.
he stood you up. again.
you'd gotten dressed up for once, traded your usual comfortable fit for something that hugged your curves, did your hair, put on makeup. you'd waited at that restaurant for forty-five minutes like a damn fool before his text came through: got held up at the shop. can't make it.
no apology. no explanation. just that.
so now you're giving him what he deserves: absolutely nothing. not a word, not a glance, not a single acknowledgment of his existence. let him see how it feels to be ignored.
the front door opens with a heavy click, and you don't look up. you hear his boots on the floor, the familiar sound of him dropping his keys on the small table by the entrance. the scent hits you next—motor oil, metal, sweat, that distinctly masculine smell of a man who's spent all day working with his hands. usually, it does something to you. usually, you'd be up and greeting him, asking about his day.
not tonight.
"Y/N."
his voice is low, that lazy drawl that normally makes your stomach flip. you keep your eyes on your phone, thumb scrolling with deliberate casualness.
you hear him move closer, his footsteps slow and measured. he’s standing at the edge of the living room now, and you can feel his eyes on you. the black fitted shirt he wears is probably stained with grease, stretched across his broad shoulders and chest. those worn grey sweatpants hanging low on his hips. the scar on his lip probably pulled tight as he frowns.
you don't look. you won't look.
"i know you hear me, girl."
your jaw tightens, but you don't respond. your heart is hammering, but you keep your face neutral, your posture relaxed. you're not giving him the satisfaction.
there's a long pause. you can practically feel his irritation building, mixing with something else—something darker and more dangerous. toji doesn't like being ignored. he doesn't like when you pull away from him, when you assert your independence in ways that challenge his control.
"so that's how it's gonna be?" his voice is closer now. he's moved into the living room, and from your peripheral vision, you can see him standing there, arms crossed over his chest. "you gonna sit there and act like i don't exist?"
you scroll past another post, your expression carefully blank.
"Y/N." there's a warning in his tone now, that edge that says his patience is wearing thin. "look at me."
you don't.
"fuckin' stubborn," he mutters, and you hear him move. the couch dips as he sits down next to you, close enough that his thigh presses against yours. the heat of him, the smell of him, it's overwhelming. your body wants to respond, wants to lean into him like it always does, but you force yourself to stay rigid.
"baby." his voice drops lower, almost coaxing. “come on now. don't be like this."
you turn slightly away from him, angling your body to put more distance between you. it's a small movement, but it speaks volumes.
you hear him exhale, a long breath that sounds almost amused. "aight. i see."
before you can process what's happening, his hand is on your phone, plucking it from your grip with easy strength. you make a sound of protest, reaching for it, but he tosses it onto the coffee table, well out of reach.
"toji—"
"oh, so you can talk." the corner of his mouth quirks up, that scar pulling with the movement. his dark eyes are fixed on you, intense and unyielding. "thought maybe you'd gone mute."
"give me my phone back." your voice is cold, clipped.
"nah. don't think i will." he shifts, turning to face you more fully. his arm stretches along the back of the couch, caging you in. "think we need to have a conversation."
"i don't want to talk to you."
"that right?" he's studying you, taking in your tight expression, the way you're holding yourself away from him. "you mad about last night."
it’s not a question. of course he knows. you don't bother confirming it.
"had a job run long," he says, his tone matter-of-fact. "couldn't leave it half-done."
"you could've called earlier. you could've—" you stop yourself, pressing your lips together. you're not doing this. you’re not going to beg for basic consideration.
"could've what?" he leans in slightly, his voice dropping. "could've dropped everything because you wanted to go out? you know how i am, Y/N. work comes first."
"and i come last, apparently."
something flashes in his eyes—irritation mixed with something else. "don't be dramatic. you know that ain't true."
"do i?" you finally turn to look at him fully, letting him see the hurt beneath the anger. "because from where i'm sitting, it seems like i’m pretty low on your priority list."
his jaw tightens. "watch it."
"or what?" the words come out sharper than you intended, your stubbornness rising to meet his dominance. "you’ll ignore me some more? stand me up again?"
"Y/N." there's a warning in the way he says your name, low and dangerous.
"i’m done with this conversation." you move to stand up, to escape the suffocating proximity of him, but his hand shoots out, gripping your thigh and holding you in place.
"didn't say you could leave."
"let go of me, toji."
"no." his grip tightens, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thigh through your sweatpants. "you're gonna sit here and listen."
"i don't want to—"
"don't care what you want right now." his other hand comes up to your jaw, turning your face toward him with firm pressure. "you're gonna stop this bratty shit and talk to me like an adult."
you try to jerk away from his grip, but he holds firm. "i’m not being bratty. i’m being reasonable. you stood me up, toji. you didn't even apologize."
"you want an apology?" his thumb strokes along your jawline, a gesture that would be tender if not for the steel in his grip. "fine. i'm sorry i missed dinner. but you know how it is. you know what my work is like."
"that's not—" you're frustrated now, the words tumbling out. "it's not about the dinner. it's about the fact that you didn't even seem to care. you sent a text like it was nothing, like i was nothing."
his eyes narrow. "you think you're nothin' to me?"
"i think you take me for granted."
for a moment, he's silent, studying you with that intense gaze that seems to see right through you. then, slowly, his hand slides from your jaw down to your throat, not squeezing, just resting there—a reminder of his presence, his power.
"that what you think?" his voice is soft now, almost dangerous in its quietness. "think i don't appreciate you?"
your breath catches.
"think i don't notice when you get all pretty for me? when you cook my favorite meals, keep this place clean even though i tell you not to?" his thumb strokes along your pulse point, feeling the rapid beat of your heart. "think i don't know exactly what i got?"
"then act like it," you whisper, hating how your voice wavers.
"i do act like it. i take care of you, don't i? keep a roof over your head, make sure you're safe, make sure you're satisfied." his hand slides lower, from your throat to your collarbone, then down to rest on your chest, right above your heart. "just 'cause i missed one dinner doesn't mean i don't value you."
"it wasn't just one—"
"but you're right." he cuts you off, and there's something in his expression now, something almost predatory. "i should've called earlier. should've made more of an effort." his hand moves lower, skimming over your breast through your tight shirt, and you inhale sharply. "so let me make it up to you."
"that's not—" your protest dies as his hand continues its path downward, over your stomach, to the waistband of your sweatpants. "toji, no. I'm still mad at you."
"i know you are." his fingers slip beneath the elastic, and you grab his wrist, trying to stop him. "but your body's tellin' me somethin' different."
"i said no." you try to sound firm, but your voice comes out breathy.
"you sure about that?" he leans in, his lips brushing against your ear. "cause you're shakin', baby. and not from anger."
"i don't want—"
"liar." his hand pushes past your resistance, sliding into your sweatpants, then beneath your panties. when his fingers make contact with your cunt, you both know the truth. you’re wet. not just a little—you're soaked. "fuck, Y/N. this what 'i don't want' feels like?"
shame and arousal war within you as his fingers explore, sliding through your slickness with practiced ease. you try to close your legs, but his other hand grips your thigh, forcing them apart.
"toji, stop—"
"thought you were ignorin' me." his voice is mocking now, amused. “thought you were so mad you couldn't even look at me. but here you are, pussy drippin' all over my fingers."
"shut up." you're still gripping his wrist, but you're not pulling anymore. you can't. your body has betrayed you completely.
"make me." he finds your clit, circling it with rough fingers, and you gasp. "that’s what i thought. all that attitude, all that silent treatment, and the moment i touch you, you fold."
"i hate you." the words come out as a moan as he increases the pressure, rubbing your clit in firm circles.
"no, you don't." he bites your earlobe, hard enough to sting. "you love this. love when daddy puts you in your place."
the word sends a jolt through you—part embarrassment, part arousal. your hips buck involuntarily as he slides two fingers inside you, stretching you, filling you.
“fuck you.”
"that's the plan, baby." he starts pumping his fingers, slow and deep, his thumb still working your clit. "but first, i’m gonna make you come on my hand. gonna make you scream for me while you're supposed to be givin' me the silent treatment."
you bite your lip, trying to hold back the sounds threatening to escape, but it's useless. he knows your body too well, knows exactly where to touch, how much pressure to apply. his fingers curl inside you, hitting that spot that makes your vision blur, and you can't stop the whimper that escapes.
"there it is." his voice is dark with satisfaction. "there's my girl. knew you couldn't stay quiet."
"toji—" it's half protest, half plea.
"what happened to that attitude, huh?" he's pumping faster now, his fingers making obscene wet sounds as they work in and out of you. "where's all that anger? that stubbornness?"
you can't answer. can't think. your hands have moved from his wrist to his shoulders, gripping him for support as pleasure builds in your core. your hips are moving now, grinding against his hand, chasing the release he's dangling in front of you.
"look at you, fuckin' yourself on my fingers." he sounds almost lazy, like this is easy for him, like he's not affected at all. "so desperate. so needy. and you were tryin' to ignore me."
"please—" the word slips out before you can stop it.
"please what?" his thumb presses hard against your clit, and you cry out. "say it properly. ask daddy nicely."
your face burns with humiliation and need. "toji—"
his fingers slow to an agonizing crawl. "that ain't what i told you to call me."
"i can't—"
"yes, you can." he brings you right to the edge and then backs off, and you whine in frustration. "say it, or i stop right now and leave you like this."
"you wouldn't.”
"try me." his voice is steel. "you wanna be a brat, you can finish yourself off. but if you want me to make you come, you're gonna use your manners and call me what i told you to."
you’re trembling, desperate, your body screaming for release. your pride wars with your need, but need wins. it always does with him.
"please," you gasp out, the word barely a whisper. "please, daddy—"
"can't hear you, baby." he’s mocking you now, enjoying your surrender. "speak up."
"please, daddy!" the words come out louder, desperate. "please don't stop."
"there we go." the satisfaction in his voice is palpable. "atta girl. that's so much better, ain't it? now tell daddy you're sorry for ignorin' him."
"i’m sorry." your voice breaks. "im sorry for ignoring you, daddy."
"good fuckin' girl." he rewards you by resuming his movements, faster now, harder, his fingers curling to hit that perfect spot with every thrust. "now come for daddy. come all over my fingers like the good girl you are."
it doesn't take long. the combination of his fingers inside you, his thumb on your clit, his voice in your ear—it's too much. your orgasm crashes over you like a wave, stealing your breath, making your body convulse. you cry out, loud and unrestrained, your nails digging into his shoulders as pleasure overwhelms you.
"that's it," he murmurs, working you through it. "that's my girl. so fuckin' pretty when you come."
you're still shaking, still coming down from the high, when he withdraws his fingers. you watch through heavy-lidded eyes as he brings them to his mouth, sucking them clean with a satisfied hum.
"delicious," he says, his eyes locked on yours. "but we ain't done yet."
before you can process his words, he's moving. his hands grip your hips, and he flips you over with easy strength, positioning you on your hands and knees on the couch. your sweatpants and panties are yanked down to your thighs, exposing you to the cool air of the apartment.
"toji, wait—"
"nah. you've made me wait long enough." you hear the rustle of fabric as he pushes his sweatpants down. "been thinkin' about this all day. thinkin' about comin' home and buryin' myself in this pussy. then you wanna give me attitude?"
you feel the head of his cock pressing against your entrance, and despite the orgasm you just had, your body responds immediately, clenching with anticipation.
"you're gonna take all of me," he says, his voice rough. "gonna take every inch and thank me for it."
he pushes in without warning, one hard thrust that seats him fully inside you. you cry out at the stretch, the fullness, the slight burn of being taken so quickly. he's big—thick and long—and even wet as you are, it's almost too much.
"fuck," he groans, his fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise. "tight as always. this pussy was made for me, wasn't it?"
you can't answer. can barely breathe. he's so deep, filling you completely, and when he pulls back and thrusts in again, you see stars.
"answer me." he punctuates the command with another hard thrust. "who does this pussy belong to?"
"you!" The word is torn from you. "it belongs to you!"
"that ain't what i wanna hear." he slows his pace deliberately, making you whimper. "try again. who do you belong to?"
your face burns, but your body is screaming for him to move faster, harder. "daddy," you gasp out. "i belong to daddy."
"there's my good fuckin' girl." the satisfaction in his voice is palpable, and he rewards you by setting a brutal pace, fucking into you with deep, powerful strokes that rock your entire body. the couch creaks beneath you, and you have to brace yourself against the armrest to keep from being pushed forward. "this is mine. you're mine. don't care how mad you get, that don't change."
each thrust drives the point home, literally and figuratively. you're moaning now, unable to hold back the sounds as he takes you roughly, possessively. your fingers grip the couch cushions, your back arching to take him deeper.
"that's it," he growls. "take it. take all of daddy's cock."
his hand comes down on your ass, a sharp slap that makes you yelp. the sting blooms into heat, adding to the overwhelming sensations.
"you look so good like this," he continues, his voice strained now, losing some of that lazy control. "all spread out for me, takin' my cock like you were made for it. and you were gonna ignore me? gonna act like you don't need daddy to fuck you like this?"
"i—ah—i do need it," you admit, shame and arousal mixing into something intoxicating. "need you, daddy."
"i know you do, baby." his hand slides up your spine, then fists in your hair—he grips it firmly, pulling your head back. "i know you need daddy to fuck you like this. need me to remind you who you belong to."
the new angle has him hitting even deeper, and you feel another orgasm building, impossibly soon after the first. your walls clench around him, and he groans.
"fuck, you're close again already, ain't you?" he sounds smug, satisfied. "greedy little thing. one ain't enough?"
"please—" you're begging now, all pretense of resistance gone. "please, daddy, i need—"
"what do you need? say it properly."
"need you to make me come!" the words spill out desperately. "need daddy to make me come again!"
"that's better." he releases your hair, and both hands grip your hips again, holding you steady as he pounds into you. "who makes you feel this good, huh? who's the only one who can fuck you like this?"
"you do!" you're sobbing now, overwhelmed by sensation. "daddy does! only daddy!"
"damn right." his thrusts become even harder, more possessive. "this body is mine. this pussy is mine. you're mine. say it."
"i’m yours, daddy!" you're so close, teetering on the edge. "i'm all yours!"
"then come for daddy." it's a command, delivered in that authoritative tone that goes straight to your core. "come on my cock right now."
your body obeys before your mind can catch up. your second orgasm hits you like a freight train, stronger than the first, making your arms give out. you collapse forward onto the couch, your face pressed into the cushions as you scream your release, his name—his title—falling from your lips like a prayer. "daddy, daddy, daddy—"
your cunt clenches rhythmically around him, trying to pull him deeper, and you hear him curse.
"fuck, that's it, milk daddy's cock—" his rhythm falters, becoming erratic. "such a good girl for me. gonna fill you up, baby. gonna pump you full of daddy's cum."
he thrusts deep one last time and holds there, and you feel him pulsing inside you, filling you with his release. his grip on your hips is almost painful, holding you in place as he empties himself into you with a low groan.
for a long moment, neither of you moves. you're both breathing hard, your bodies slick with sweat. you can feel him softening inside you, feel the mixture of your releases starting to leak out.
slowly, carefully, he pulls out. you whimper at the loss, feeling suddenly empty. he tucks himself back into his sweatpants, then gently pulls your panties and sweatpants back up, his touch surprisingly tender after the roughness of moments before.
"come here." his voice is softer now, that lazy drawl back in full force.
you don't have the energy to resist. he helps you turn over, then pulls you into his lap, cradling you against his chest. you can hear his heartbeat, still elevated, gradually slowing. his hand strokes your back in soothing circles.
"you good?" he asks after a moment.
you nod against his chest, not trusting your voice yet.
"look at me, baby."
reluctantly, you lift your head. his dark eyes are softer now, some of that intensity faded into satisfaction and something that might be affection.
"i am sorry," he says, and this time it sounds genuine. "about last night. should've handled it better."
you study his face, looking for sincerity, and find it in the slight downturn of his scarred mouth, the way he's looking at you.
"okay," you whisper.
"but don't pull that ignorin' shit again." the warning is back in his voice, though it's tempered with amusement. "you got somethin' to say to me, you say it. don't make me drag it out of you."
"you're one to talk about communication," you point out, some of your spirit returning.
his mouth quirks up. "fair enough. we'll both work on it."
it’s probably the closest thing to a compromise you'll get from him, and honestly, after what just happened, you're too wrung out to push for more.
"you're still an asshole," you mutter, but there's no heat in it.
"yeah, but i'm your asshole." he presses a kiss to your forehead, surprisingly gentle. "and you're my stubborn, beautiful girl who drives me fuckin' crazy."
despite everything, you feel a smile tugging at your lips. "you drive me crazy too."
"i know." he sounds entirely too pleased with himself. "but you love it."
you do. god help you, you do.
you settle back against his chest, letting the steady rhythm of his heartbeat soothe you. his hand continues its path up and down your back, and you feel the tension that's been coiled in your body for the past day finally start to release.
"next time," you say quietly, "just call me earlier. that's all i ask."
"i can do that." his arms tighten around you slightly. "and next time you're pissed at me, use your words instead of givin' me the silent treatment. deal?"
“deal”
you sit there together in the quiet apartment, the city sounds filtering in through the windows, the smell of motor oil and sex and home surrounding you. it's not perfect—nothing with toji ever is. he's too dominating, too set in his ways, and you're too stubborn, too independent. you clash and fight and drive each other crazy.
but moments like this, when the fighting is done and it's just the two of you, when his rough hands are gentle and his gruff voice is soft—these moments make it worth it.
