misty illusion ❤︎

you met kenji fushiguro on a work trip in osaka six months ago.

he was forty-seven, broad-shouldered in a way that came from years of carrying responsibility rather than gym time, with faint lines around his eyes and a calm, steady voice that made people listen without him raising it. his wife had died when toji was ten. cancer, quick and ugly. he had raised the boy alone after that, or tried to. by the time you met him he was successful in his field, some kind of logistics and import business that kept him traveling and quietly lonely in a way successful men often are. he did not talk about his son much at first. when he did, it was with a tired kind of love mixed with frustration, like he did not know how to reach the angry twenty-year-old who still lived in his house.

you were thirty-seven, single for a while, tired of starting over. kenji made you feel chosen. he asked real questions, remembered small details, touched the small of your back when you walked through crowded stations like he was already thinking of you as his. the chemistry was easy. too easy, maybe. he proposed after three months. you said yes because it felt like safety, like someone finally putting you first. you did not know then how much space his grief still took up, or how that grief had shaped the way he treated his son.

the wedding was small. you moved into the fushiguro house two weeks later.

it was a clean, modern house in a quiet tokyo suburb. two stories, big kitchen, a yard toji never used. but it still carried traces of the woman who had lived there before you. a few framed photos kenji had not taken down. a scarf still hanging on the back of a chair in the living room.

you told yourself it was fine. you were not here to erase anyone.

toji was waiting in the doorway the day you arrived with your suitcases.

twenty years old. taller than his father already, broader through the shoulders, black hair messy like he had run his hands through it too many times. there was a thin scar cutting through his upper lip on the right side. his eyes were dark and flat when they landed on you.

“this is her?” he asked his father, voice low.

kenji sighed. “toji. be polite.”

toji did not look at his father again. he looked at you like you were something that had crawled into his house and did not belong.

“you’re not staying,” he said simply. “whatever you think this is, it’s not. my mom’s things are still here. you’re not taking her place.”

you opened your mouth, but kenji stepped in gently. “enough. she’s my wife now. you’ll show her respect.”

toji laughed once, short and cold, then turned and went upstairs without another word.

that was the beginning.

kenji tried. he really did. he took you out to nice dinners, bought you small things, a new coat, a necklace you did not need but wore anyway because it made him smile. at night he was attentive in bed, older and patient, the kind of lover who asked what you liked and remembered it. you felt wanted and safe.

but toji made sure you never forgot you were an intruder.

he refused to eat anything you cooked. the first time you made dinner, simple grilled fish and rice because you were nervous, he came downstairs, looked at the table, and pushed the plate away without sitting.

“i don’t eat food from whores who move into other people’s houses,” he said, loud enough for kenji to hear from the living room.

kenji scolded him later. toji did not apologize. he just started skipping dinner altogether, coming home late or not at all. when he was home he called you names under his breath whenever his father was not in the room. slut. gold digger. shallow bitch. you’ll never be my mom. you tried to ignore it. some days you answered back. most days you just felt the guilt settle heavier in your chest.

you were not trying to replace his mother. but the house made you feel like a replacement anyway. kenji still had her favorite mug in the cabinet. sometimes you caught him looking at nothing, his face soft with old grief, and you wondered if he was seeing her instead of you. you never asked. you just tried to be good.

and then you started noticing toji in ways you should not have.

it was little things at first. the way he moved through the house was different from kenji. kenji was a little slower with age. toji was all sharp edges and restless energy. when he came out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist you saw the cut of his hips, the hard line of muscle across his stomach that his father did not have anymore. his voice was lower than kenji’s when he was angry, rougher, like it scraped on the way out. his hands were bigger, calloused in places that suggested he did more than sit behind a desk. when he argued with you he stood too close, and you caught yourself noticing the scar on his lip, the way it pulled when he sneered, how young he still looked under all that anger.

you hated yourself for every comparison.

kenji touched you like a man who had learned patience. toji looked at you like he wanted to break something. the difference sat in your stomach and made you feel sick and warm at the same time. you told yourself it was just observation, that you were living in the same house. it did not mean anything.

but it started meaning something anyway.

toji’s stares got longer. during arguments his eyes would drag down your body before he caught himself and looked away, angrier than before. he started finding reasons to be in the same room as you even when he clearly did not want to be. the insults changed. still cruel, still calling you whore and slut, but there was something else under them now, like he was trying to remind himself as much as you.

you felt it too. you hated it. you were thirty-seven. he was twenty. he was your husband’s son. this was wrong in every direction.

one night it boiled over.

kenji was working late. you were in the kitchen cleaning up after a dinner you had eaten alone. toji came in from wherever he had been, sweaty, shirt sticking to his chest, eyes already hard when he saw you.

“still playing house?” he asked.

you did not look at him. “i’m just cleaning, toji.”

“you don’t have to. nobody asked you to be here.”

you turned then. something in you was tired. “i know you hate me. i’m not trying to be your mother. i never was. but i’m not leaving your father, so you’re going to have to find a way to live with it.”

he stepped closer. you could smell the sweat and whatever cologne he used. his eyes dropped to your mouth, then lower, then back up.

“you think i don’t see the way you look at me sometimes?” he said, voice low. “you’re not as good at hiding it as you think, you know that? thirty-seven years old and staring at your stepson like you’re fucking starving.”

your face burned. “enough!”

“shut up.” he leaned in, not touching you but close enough that you felt the heat off his body. “you’re pathetic. my dad’s out there working and you’re in here getting wet over someone young enough to be your—”

he stopped himself. turned around. walked out without finishing the sentence.

you stood in the kitchen shaking.

that night kenji came home late and tired. he kissed you, asked how your day was, made love to you the way he always did, gentle. you held him after. but your mind kept flashing to toji in the kitchen, the way his voice had dropped, the way he had looked at your mouth like he wanted to ruin it.

you felt disgusting.

toji did not come out of his room for the rest of the night.

he laid on his bed with the lights off, staring at the ceiling, cock hard and aching against his stomach. he hated you. hated the way you looked at him sometimes when you thought he was not paying attention. hated that his father had brought you here and made everything worse. hated that you were only seventeen years older than him and still managed to make him feel like a fucking kid with a crush he did not want.

he tried to jerk off to something else. anything else. it did not work. his brain kept giving him flashes of you, your mouth, the curve of your hips when you bent over, the way your voice shook when you finally snapped back at him tonight. he came once, angry and fast, but it was not enough. he fell asleep still half-hard and frustrated.

and then the dream took him.

in the dream you were in his room. the door was closed. you were wearing one of those soft shirts you sometimes wore around the house, no bra underneath, nipples visible through the fabric. you looked at him like you knew exactly what he was and did not care.

“toji,” you said, voice low and steady, “i know you hate me. but you don’t have to.”

he tried to tell you to get out. the words did not come. you stepped closer, touched his chest, and his body betrayed him completely. your hands were warm. older. you pushed him back onto the bed and climbed over him, straddling his hips like you belonged there.

“let me take care of you,” the dream version of you whispered. “you’ve been so angry. so tense. let mommy help.”

he should have shoved you off. instead he grabbed your hips and yanked you down onto his cock, groaning when you took him all the way. you rode him slow at first, then harder, your tits bouncing in that thin shirt, your voice in his ear telling him he was good, he was perfect. he fucked up into you like he wanted to punish you for existing and thank you for it at the same time. the word slipped out of him without permission.

“mommy…”

you smiled in the dream, soft and filthy. “that’s it, baby. say it again.”

he came so hard it felt like his spine was breaking, pulsing deep inside you while you held his face and told him it was okay, you had him.

and then toji woke up with a choked gasp, chest heaving, cum still cooling in sticky ropes across his stomach and chest. the dream clung to him like sweat. your voice in his ear. the word mommy coming out of his own mouth. the way dream-you had smiled when he said it.

he shot out of bed like the sheets were burning him.

the bathroom door slammed behind him. he did not even bother turning on the light. he twisted the shower knob all the way to cold and stepped under the spray still in his boxers, letting the freezing water hit his face and chest. it did not help. the disgust sat thick in his throat anyway. he slammed his fist into the tile wall once, twice, three times, hard enough that the skin split across his knuckles. blood mixed with the cold water running down his wrist.

“fuck,” he muttered, voice raw. “fuck. fuck. fuck.”

he stayed under the water until his teeth chattered, until the mess on his skin was gone and the only thing left was the dull throb in his hand and the shame sitting heavy behind his ribs. when he finally stepped out he did not bother drying off properly. he yanked on the first clothes he found, an old faded black t-shirt that clung to his still-damp chest and a pair of black pants. his hair dripped onto his shoulders. his knuckles were red and angry, split open and already starting to swell. he did not care. he just needed to get out of this house.

maybe he would find some girl from the usual spot.

he left the bathroom door open and headed for the stairs, moving fast, jaw locked tight.

you were already in the kitchen.

it was sunday morning, quiet except for the low hum of the fridge. kenji was still upstairs getting ready for an early meeting. you were wearing shorts and a thin tank top, hair a little messy from sleep, moving around the kitchen wiping down the counters. you turned when you heard footsteps.

your eyes went wide the second you saw him.

“goodness, toji—!” the words came out before you could stop them. “are you okay? what happened to your hand? let me—”

you stepped forward without thinking, reaching for him. he was so much bigger up close. twenty years old and already towering over you, shoulders broad enough to block the light from the window. your fingers brushed his wrist as you tried to take his injured hand.

he reacted before he could think.

the back of his hand caught you across the cheek and sent you stumbling. you hit the floor hard, a small whimper slipping out of you on impact. the tile was cold against your bare legs.

toji stood frozen above you, chest rising and falling too fast. the anger on his face cracked open for just a moment, guilt, followed by something else. regret. confusion. the aftertaste of the dream still sitting behind his eyes. he had not meant to hit you that hard. he had not meant to hit you at all.

“how many times,” he said, voice low and rough, “do i have to tell you to stop playing house?”

you swallowed hard, pride burning in your throat, and pushed yourself back up to your feet. your cheek stung. you did not touch it. instead you reached out again, grabbed his injured hand with both of yours and yanked it toward you, forcing him to look down at you.

“i don’t care if you’re going to keep blaming me for everything,” you said, voice steady even though your heart was hammering. “at least let me clean this up before your father sees it.”

toji’s fist clenched under your grip, but he did not pull away. you did not back down either. you just held on, looking up at him, and murmured, “you’re really stubborn.”

something in his jaw twitched. after a long second he let you pull him toward the kitchen table. he sat down heavily in one of the chairs, legs spread, watching you with dark, skeptical eyes as you moved around gathering the small first-aid kit from under the sink.

you set everything on the table, alcohol, cotton pads, bandages, and took his hand again. his fingers were thick and calloused, much larger than yours. you opened them gently, one by one, and the difference in size was obvious. your hands looked small against his. you could feel him noticing it.

when you poured the alcohol onto a cotton pad and pressed it to the split skin he jerked and let out a sharp groan.

“you bitch! that fucking hurts—”

you did not flinch. you pressed harder, cleaning the blood away with steady strokes even as he winced and cursed under his breath. the alcohol burned. he tried to pull his hand back but you held on.

“you will not speak to me like that,” you said quietly.

toji stared at you, breathing through his nose, eyes narrowed. for a moment it looked like he might snap again. then the fight drained out of him all at once.

“fine,” he muttered, looking away. “stop. geez.”

you kept cleaning. slower now. careful. the only sound in the kitchen was his breathing and the soft drag of cotton over broken skin.

upstairs, you could hear kenji’s footsteps starting down the hall.

you finished tying off the bandage. toji still did not get up. he stayed sitting at the kitchen table, staring at his wrapped hand like he was trying to figure out how he ended up letting you touch him at all.

you were still leaning over him, close enough that your thin tank top shifted with the movement. the neckline dipped low. your cleavage was clearly visible as you reached for the alcohol bottle to put it away. toji’s eyes dropped straight to it and stayed there a second too long.

you caught him staring.

instead of pulling back right away, you stayed where you were for a beat, then deliberately leaned in a little more as you grabbed the small trash bin from under the sink. your chest moved closer to his face. toji swallowed hard, throat bobbing visibly. you saw the way his jaw tightened after.

something in the air felt different this morning. he was still angry, still radiating that restless energy, but there was something raw underneath it after he had hit you and then let you clean him up. you were tired of the constant war. tired of walking on eggshells in your own house.

so you reached up without thinking too hard about it and ran your fingers gently through his damp hair, rubbing softly at the back of his neck like you were trying to soothe him.

toji went rigid.

he swatted your hand away fast, the bandaged one coming up on instinct.

you glared at him.

then you did it again anyway, slower, more deliberate this time, sliding your fingers back into his hair and rubbing the same spot like you refused to let him push the moment away.

“you’re so much calmer like this,” you said quietly, voice low so it would not carry upstairs. “you’re good when you’re not fighting everything. you don’t have to be angry all the time, toji.”

the words hit him like a physical blow.

toji’s eyes snapped up to yours, wide and dark. something inside him cracked open violently. the dream was still too fresh, the way dream-you had touched him, the way you had called him baby, the word mommy that had torn out of his own throat while he came harder than he ever had in his life. and now here you were in real life, leaning over him in that thin tank top, petting his hair.

his cock twitched hard in his pants before he could stop it.

shame and rage and something much more dangerous flooded through him at once. he jerked back so violently the chair scraped loud against the floor.

“don’t,” he rasped, voice hoarse and unsteady. “don’t fucking touch me like that again.”

you did not apologize. you looked at him, hand still half-raised, breathing a little faster than before.

toji stood up fast, chest rising and falling like he had been running. he could not look at you. the front of his pants was tight and he prayed you would not notice. he grabbed his keys with his good hand and headed straight for the front door without another word, moving like he was trying to outrun his own skin.

the door slammed behind him.

you stayed by the table, fingers still tingling from the feel of his hair. your cheek still stung where he had hit you earlier. and low in your stomach, something warm and guilty had started to curl that you had no business feeling.

kenji’s cheerful voice called down from the stairs a moment later.

“morning, sweetheart. you seen toji?”

you swallowed and forced your voice steady.

“he just left.”

you did not tell him about the blood on his son’s knuckles.

three days later it started on a thursday night.

toji got sick. badly. kenji was away again on another trip, so the house stayed quiet. at first toji tried to power through it like always, leaving the house even while his fever climbed. but by the second night he could barely stand straight. you found him in the living room past midnight, slumped on the couch, skin burning hot and damp with sweat.

“toji,” you said softly, “you’re really not okay.”

“i’m fine,” he rasped, trying to sit up and failing. “just… leave me alone.”

you did not.

you brought water, medicine, and a cold cloth. he fought you on every single thing. told you to fuck off. told you he did not need your help. told you to stop acting like you were his mother. but his body betrayed him. he was too weak to actually stop you when you pressed the cloth to his neck or made him drink.

by the third day, the fight had drained out of him.

he was too exhausted. the fever kept coming back stronger. he let you help him to his room. let you change his sheets when he soaked through them. let you wipe down his chest and back with a cool towel when he could not do it himself. he still glared sometimes. still muttered insults under his breath. but the bite was gone.

that night kenji called. when you told him toji was sick, he just said, “he’s a grown man. he’ll be fine.” toji stared at the ceiling the whole time you were on the phone.

around 2 a.m. his fever spiked again.

you went into his room with more medicine and a fresh cloth. he was lying on top of the covers in nothing but loose black shorts, skin flushed and shining, hair stuck to his forehead. when you sat on the edge of the bed and touched his forehead, he did not push your hand away. he just closed his eyes.

“you’re burning up,” you murmured.

he stayed quiet.

you helped him take the medicine, then gently wiped his face and neck. after a while, when you tried to pull your hand back, his fingers weakly caught your wrist.

“…wait,” he said, voice small and rough.

you stayed.

you kept running the cool cloth over his skin. at some point his breathing changed. he turned his face toward your hand, almost nuzzling it. then, slowly, he shifted closer and pressed his forehead against your stomach. it was clumsy. desperate.

“why didn’t he check on me?” he muttered against your shirt. “out of everyone… why does it have to be you?”

your hand hesitated above his hair.

he kept going, voice low and bitter. “he always says the same shit. ‘man up. men don’t show weakness.’ like that’s supposed to make me stronger. like that’s why mom died, to prepare me for how fucked up life is.”

your fingers finally slid into his hair. he let out a shaky breath the second you touched him.

for a while, that was all it was. you sitting on his bed while he hid his face against your stomach, your hand slowly stroking his hair. the fever made everything feel heavy and unreal.

then he moved. his hand came up and rested on your thigh, then slid higher, pushing the fabric of your dress up. he pressed his face more firmly between your breasts and breathed in deep.

“you smell good…” he whispered. “like her.”

your eyes widened. “toji… it’s just the fever. you’re not thinking straight.”

he shook his head and wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer with what little strength he had.

“if it was just the fever, then why did you take care of me these past few days while my own father couldn’t even be bothered to ask how i was?”

you did not have an answer.

he stayed there, face buried in your chest, one hand slowly rubbing your hip like he needed the contact to stay grounded. his voice came out even quieter.

“i’ve never been happy since she died. not once. and i don’t want to turn into him.”

your hand kept moving through his hair. he melted into it, eyes closed, lips brushing the top of your breast without meaning to.

then, after a long silence, he asked the question that made your chest tighten.

“…are you gonna leave me too?”

you swallowed hard.

“no,” you whispered. “i’m not going anywhere.”

you stayed like that for a while, your hand still moving gently through his hair while he kept his face pressed between your breasts. his breathing was hot against your skin. every so often his arms would tighten around your waist like he was making sure you were still there.

then you felt it.

he was hard against your thigh. not fully, but enough that you could feel the heat of him through his thin shorts. he shifted slightly, almost unconsciously, and the movement dragged him against you. a quiet, shaky breath left his mouth.

he did not pull away.

instead, he nuzzled deeper into your chest, lips brushing the top of your breast as he spoke, voice low and rough from the fever.

“…can i stay like this?”

you did not answer with words. your hand just kept stroking his hair, slower now. he took that as permission.

his hand on your hip moved. it slid under the hem of your dress, fingers warm and a little clumsy as they touched bare skin. he seemed almost dazed, like he was moving on instinct more than anything else. his palm rested on your thigh for a moment before he slowly pushed your dress higher.

toji lifted his head just enough to look at you. his eyes were glassy from the fever, but there was something else in them now, something raw and desperate. he leaned in and pressed his forehead to yours, breathing uneven.

“i don’t wanna think anymore,” he whispered. “just… let me.”

his lips found yours before you could answer. the kiss was slow and messy, and a little uncoordinated because of how weak he was. but there was nothing angry in it this time. just need.

you kissed him back.

that was all it took for whatever was left of his restraint to slip.

he moved on top of you carefully, like even that took effort. his body was hot from the fever, skin damp as he settled between your legs. he did not rush to take your clothes off. he just pushed your dress up around your waist and tugged his own shorts down enough to free himself. when he finally pushed inside you, it was slow and shaky, a broken sound catching in his throat.

he did not fuck you hard.

he could not.

instead he moved in these small, deep rolls of his hips, staying as close to you as possible. his face dropped back to your chest, mouth open against your skin as he breathed you in. one of his arms wrapped tightly around your waist while the other hand gripped your thigh, keeping you open for him.

every few thrusts his rhythm would falter and he would let out this quiet, needy sound against your breast.

“mommy…” it slipped out without him meaning to, voice hoarse and small. “fuck… mommy—”

you felt the way his whole body reacted when he said it. like the word itself gave him permission to fall apart. his hips pressed deeper, slower, like he was trying to disappear inside you. his face stayed buried against your chest, lips brushing your skin with every shaky breath.

you did not correct him.

instead your hand slid back into his hair, holding him there while your other arm wrapped around his shoulders. you held him close as he moved inside you, weak and desperate and completely surrendered.

“i’ve got you,” you whispered against his hair. “you’re okay.”

toji made a broken noise and pushed in deeper, clinging to you like you were the only solid thing left. his voice was muffled against your skin when he spoke again.

“don’t let go… please. just… don’t let go.”

you did not.

you kept one hand in his hair and the other on his back, stroking slowly while he fucked you in these slow, needy movements. every time he started to speed up, his body would give out and he would fall back into that same desperate, grinding pace. like he needed the closeness more than the release.

when he finally came, it was with a quiet, wrecked sound against your chest, hips stuttering as he held onto you like he was afraid you would vanish. he did not pull out right away. he stayed buried inside you, breathing hard, face still hidden between your breasts.

his body was still trembling from the fever, from the orgasm, from everything he had been holding in for years.

you did not move either.

you just kept stroking his hair and holding him close while his breathing slowly evened out.

after a long minute, his voice came out small and hoarse against your skin.

“…don’t tell him.”

you knew he meant his father.

days later, toji was back to normal.

actually, he seemed even stronger than before. the fever had finally broken and whatever wall he had been keeping up around you had cracked wide open. he ate everything you cooked now. no more pushing plates away. no more calling it “shallow bitch food.” he would sit at the table, quiet but no longer hostile, and finish whatever you put in front of him. sometimes he would even mutter a low “thanks” under his breath when kenji was not around.

and when kenji was not home, the two of you did not bother hiding anymore.

he called you mommy in that low, rough voice while he fucked you. sometimes he would press his face into your neck and mumble “your boy” like it was the only thing he wanted to be. you just held him closer and let it happen.

this morning, kenji was still upstairs getting ready for work.

you were in the kitchen making breakfast, slicing apples for the table, wearing a simple dress that hit mid-thigh. toji had come up behind you without a word. one hand slid around your waist while the other pushed your dress up. he was already hard. he tugged his sweatpants down just enough, lined himself up, and pushed inside you in one slow thrust.

you gasped softly, gripping the edge of the counter.

“toji— your dad’s still upstairs—”

“i know,” he muttered against your neck, voice low and lazy. he started moving, fucking you in slow, deep strokes while you tried to keep cutting the apples. every time he bottomed out he let out a quiet groan, kissing the side of your cheek like he did not have a care in the world. “just keep cutting, mommy… i’ll be quick.”

you bit your lip hard, trying not to make any sound. his hands gripped your hips under your dress, pulling you back onto him with every thrust. he was being cocky about it, kissing your cheek, your jaw, even nipping at your ear while he fucked you right there in the kitchen.

then you both heard it.

footsteps on the stairs.

toji cursed under his breath and pulled out fast, yanking his sweatpants up. you quickly fixed your dress and smoothed your hair, heart pounding. he stepped away and leaned against the counter a few feet from you, putting on his usual grumpy face like nothing had happened.

kenji walked into the kitchen a moment later, already dressed for work, looking tired and irritated like he always did in the mornings.

“morning,” he grumbled.

toji barely glanced at him. “morning.”

you kept your voice steady. “morning. breakfast is almost ready.”

kenji grunted in response and walked past you toward the dining table, already pulling out his phone. his back was turned.

the second kenji sat down with his back to the kitchen, toji moved.

he dropped to his knees behind you without a word. before you could react, he was under your dress, hands pushing your thighs apart. you felt his mouth on you immediately, hot, wet, and hungry. he licked a slow stripe up your pussy and you nearly dropped the knife.

your grip tightened around the handle until your knuckles turned white.

toji did not care that his father was sitting ten feet away. he buried his face between your legs like he was starving, tongue working over your clit while two of his fingers slid inside you. you could hear how wet you were. every time his tongue flicked just right, your knees threatened to buckle.

you kept slicing the apples, trying to keep your breathing even. your hand was shaking. every few seconds a tiny, helpless sound would try to escape your throat and you had to swallow it down.

kenji’s voice came from the dining room.

“you two been getting along better lately?”

toji did not even pause. his tongue kept circling your clit while his fingers curled inside you, fucking you slowly under your dress. you could feel him smirking against your pussy.

you forced your voice to stay steady.

“yeah,” you said, slicing another apple. your thighs were trembling. “we’re… getting there.”

toji sucked on your clit a little harder in response, like he was rewarding you for lying so well. you had to bite the inside of your cheek to stop the moan that wanted to come out.

kenji hummed, already distracted by whatever he was reading on his phone.

toji kept going.

But tonight, you drank a bit with your family, and you were tipsy. Toji wasn't better, and as you all went to sleep in your separate rooms -him staying in the guest bedroom- Toji couldn't help but think of you. He wanted to break you so bad, he wanted to taint you. He was sure your moans sounded heavenly, and he had enough of restraining myself.

Sadly for him though, he couldn't fall asleep. Maybe it was due to the excess of alcohol he consumed, maybe it was because his cock was already painfully hard with you on his mind. But Toji decided on going downstairs, having no other choice than drinking cold water, it would surely help him.

The fridge left a small greenish light in the dark kitchen, and as Toji picked the bottle up, he heard some noises coming from the stairs.

"Toji…? I thought everyone was asleep?"

Here you were, in all your glory, your pyjamas on. Toji learned to stop cursing himself from his nasty thoughts, and so, he let his eyes wander on your form, not feeling an ounce of shame by doing so.

"What are you doing here, dove?"

"I couldn't sleep, my head was all fuzzy. My body hurts too. What about you?"

"Same thing pretty." Oh to be the one stealing your virginity. He wanted you so bad, it was sickening.

"Do you want any help with your cramps? I could give you a massage."

Your pureness was plastered on your face as you didn't even notice the innuendo behind Toji's offer. Anyone else would have guessed what he was up to, but you were still virgin and untouched, and Toji knew he would love breaking you.

You accepted his invitation and sat with him on the couch, showing him your back as his big hands settled on your shoulders.

"Hm. You're so fucking tensed. Anything on your mind?"

"I don't- I don't know, maybe." Approaching his mouth to your ear, Toji breathed a few times close to you, loving the way you shivered as his warm breath tickled your nape.

"Tell me." Toji let himself fall into a sort of slumber as you told him about your course and the boring details. Truth was, he just wanted to make you moan his name.

"If you're that stressed, I have the perfect way to make you relax."

You stopped what you were saying as his hands became more daring and fell on your waist.

"Wh-what? But-"

"Do you… trust me?" It was a whisper, and it made you almost gasp. You didn't know what Toji meant by that. You had no idea why he was being so sweet all of a sudden, and you couldn't see his hidden intentions. Because you were too good to realise people were actually perverts. You genuinely thought Toji cared about you, and as you nodded slowly, answering silently his question, you felt his hands joining your front, cupping your breasts over the material of your sweatshirt.

"What are you doing??" As you tried to take his hands off your chest, Toji pressed himself against your back, chuckling in your ear.

"Shh doll. Didn't I tell you I would distract you from your current problems hm?" His mouth found your neck and as his teeth attacked the skin, you widened your eyes, not really comprehending what was happening. It was wrong, you knew it was. But on the other hand, you trusted Toji. He wouldn't take things too far, right?

"Such a good girl for me. Makes me wanna destroy you."

"T-toji… it's wrong and-"

"Relax. Lemme take care of you, yeah? You told me you trusted me. I'm sure no one will be able to help you better than I will."

You started to think he was right. Maybe Toji was right, and maybe he was the most capable of helping you right now. Your head hung low as his hands slipped underneath your shirt and pinched your nipples, making you arch your back, your movements restricted due to his huge body behind you and his arms caging you against him.

Toji was a lot of things, but he wasn't soft. Didn't matter if he was interested in the pussy he was chasing, it didn't matter if the girl was a virgin, he liked it rough.

As he pushed you face first in the pillows of the couch, he lifted your hips up with his big hands, moving them to your ass before slapping it a few times, making you yelp in the pillow, surprised by the aggression.

"Don't want to wake your parents up, right? They would be stunned to see your pretty innocent face getting fucked by someone like me, yeah?"

A whimper escaped your mouth as he laughed darkly, taking your shorts off in a swift motion. He let out a groan seeing your glistening cunt, and it felt too tight in his joggers. Palming himself through the material of his pants as his other hand found your pussy, Toji smirked knowingly. Here you were, under him, pussy visible and ready to get fucked. How many times did he dream of it? How many times did he fuck his fist thinking it was you instead?

Too many times to count.

Now that you were at his mercy, Toji didn't think of letting you go. The process of breaking you wouldn't be an affair of tonight only no, it would last in time.

And as he freed his cock, the big veiny length slapped against his stomach. You turned your head at the same time, and you suddenly felt like leaving. Toji was big. It would be impossible to take him in, and you were scared.

"I don't think we should do that. You're too big and I'm-"

"It will fit. No worries doll." As soon as he finished his words, Toji inserted two thick fingers simultaneously in your tight cunt, making you choke on your breath, your nails digging in the material of the couch.

It was already almost too much for you, but it didn't hurt as much as you think it would. No, it actually felt good. The way he was curling his fingers, his other hand stroking his hard cock, made you see stars. Tears were almost escaping your eyes as you buried your face in the pillow once again, but your hips started moving by themselves, trying to meet his hand halfway. Soon enough however his digits hit your sweet spot and Toji abused it over and over again, only satisfied when you became a squirming mess under him. Eyes glassy, mouth parted and chest moving rapidly due to your erratic breath, you felt exhausted.

Until feeling something way bigger poking at your entrance. Swallowing thickly, you lifted your head up, noticing Toji's eyes already on you.

"My turn now, right?" And as he pushed himself inside you, you found yourself incapable of speaking anymore. A silent scream left your throat as your hands flew to his shoulders now that you were under him, facing him. Tears that didn't want to fall previously finally escaped your eyes but Toji was quick to wipe them away as he thrusted himself deeper inside you.

"God. So fucking tight. So fucking warm and good for daddy huh?"

Oh you looked good like that. Broken and lost. Your eyes lost their focus a while ago but Toji found a steady rhythm, loving the sound of his heavy balls slapping against your ass.

"Not so talkative anymore eh? Am I that big?"

You cried and cried, too drowned in pleasure. Wrapping your arms around his shoulders bringing him close to you, before whimpering his name in his ear.

"So-good. You're so big." You could already feel your second orgasm approaching as his tip brushed your cervix, and Toji knew it. But he wanted to see you unravel, he wanted to see how pretty you would look all corrupted. Because he finally stole what was the most innocent thing you owned.

Quickening his pace while groaning shamelessly, he brought his fingers to your clit, rubbing it fast. "C'mon on. Cum for me, cum for daddy."

You were losing yourself in the feeling of his fat cock stretching your insides, but the worst was knowing that your step-uncle stole your virginity. It was humiliating yet so thrilling. However, your thoughts got cut short when a particular thrust of his hips hit once again your g-spot, making your legs shake uncontrollably around his huge figure.

"Cummin-" His fingers were shoved deep inside your mouth to muffle your loud screams as Toji fucked you through your orgasm, joining you not too long after and filling you up with his thick cum.

And as you felt ashamed, body naked under him and trying to hide, in a state of strange unconsciousness, you heard him laugh before speaking.

Honestly, you have not stopped thinking about how good your father made you feel that one chance encounter. You tried to emulate the feelings, the sensations, everything, with your boyfriend, but he just doesn’t— can’t do it. Even with the toys you have on hand do little to relieve you of your frustration. And the post-orgasm clarity only serves to remind you sadly of the stark difference between self-gratification and the real thing. 

So, you avoid your dad like a plague. After all, every time you see him, your mind only goes to filthy, disgusting thoughts. 

But of course, that saying has some truth in it, doesn't it? About the heart growing fonder with absence. 

Especially when you come home late to a note with your father’s messy scrawl on your pillow.

Princess. You’re mad at me. But I don’t know why. Help this old man understand. Daddy misses his little girl. Dinner tomorrow at your favourite restaurant?

Feeling a pang of guilt strike you in your chest, you think that maybe you had been too tough on him. You had always been his little girl before whatever transpired between the two of you. And he didn’t even know it was you. 

Even though it is late, you pad quietly down the hallway after getting washed up, heading towards your parents’ room. You know that your parents sleep separately sometimes, and you wonder briefly if tonight is one of those nights. But you pass by the guest rooms and see that one of them has its door closed, and you’re slightly relieved knowing that you’ll only be met with your father when you get to your parents’ room, yet also a little nervous being in the same enclosed space alone with him. Despite the conflicting emotions stirring inside of you, your feet don’t stop moving and before you know it, you’re standing before the master bedroom. 

It is already three in the morning, and you don’t bother to knock before twisting the handle, simply opening the door to complete pitch darkness.

You shut the door quietly and navigate your way to the bed with muscle memory. You don’t say anything when you climb into bed, more because your heart is stuck in your throat than anything else, namely nervousness and just a tad bit of excitement. 

Your father doesn’t even rouse awake when you get under the covers and take up the spot where your mother used to sleep. He’s always been a heavy sleeper.

Lying on your side, you face the sleeping form of the man before you, just a silhouette in the night. Shifting closer to try to see him better, you hold your breath when you feel the warmth his body exudes. You inhale the earthy scent that has been his signature since you were a child and immediately feel yourself relaxing. You shut your eyes and tuck yourself into a ball close to him, thinking of what you’ll say to him in the morning until sleep takes you in under. 

Your brow twitches at the low groan behind you. There is some movement before you feel warmth enveloping your body from behind, a strong arm around your waist. Sleep is making your brain foggy, every sensation on your body feeling almost like an out-of-body experience. 

“Decided to come back to bed, hmm?” comes a low, gravelly hum. 

You really should try to wake up and move away from the very man haunting your every waking moment. But when he curls into you and tucks your head under his chin, his presence so comforting and warm, you simply let yourself drift off to sleep once again. 

You wake up to a tight grip on your hip and something warm and hard between your thighs. As you stir awake, eyes trying to refocus in the dark, you realise belatedly that your thighs are wet and sticky. 

“Fuck, baby,” your father’s voice behind you is between a whisper and a groan. 

The bed creaks slightly with every movement of his hips as he rubs his length against your soaking lips, your inner thighs tightening slightly, making him hiss under his breath. 

The weight of this situation finally falls over you and you start to panic, your heart pounding in your chest, rapid heartbeat in your ears. This was not how you envisioned this night to go. In fact, you had expected sleeping through the night uneventfully until the next morning to speak with your father. 

You squirm, trying to get away from this hot and sticky mess, but that only riles the man up more as he tightens his hold on your hip and angles his hips so that his swollen cockhead hits your clit with every thrust. 

“Stop moving,” your dad hisses, hand slipping down to adjust the crotch of your panties to the side again. The noise of his cock being coated with your juices is so loud and disgusting that he smacks your ass cheek, squeezing and kneading the flesh as he wonders, “Are you on your period? You’re never this wet, babe.”

You whine at his assumption. Yet despite the nagging guilt that screams at you to stop this, you find yourself arching your back, pressing your ass to his hips even more. 

Toji lets out a shaky breath. He really hopes his wife doesn’t stop him when he moves to hold himself up on his elbow, hovering over your body to press his lips on yours. You haven’t shared a kiss with him in a while, and even when you do, it’s always his initiative. 

In the darkness, his lips first land on your eyebrow. Slowly, he finds his way down your face, kissing your eyelash, your cheek, the corner of your mouth, and finally your lips. You let out a mewl against his lips and instinctively move your hand down to find his. 

Toji spreads his fingers, letting you entwine yours with his before he tightens and curls them. All this time, he doesn’t stop kissing you, doesn’t stop slotting his cock between your thighs. 

“Wanna fuck you, baby,” he grunts against your lips, his breath hot and sinful. 

And with that, he takes his hand away from yours, slipping it under the inside of your thigh, lifting it to spread your legs. Your heart is pounding hard against your chest, anxious and ridden with guilt as you purse your lips to stay quiet. You let your father put his foot on the crotch of your panties and push your bottoms off your legs. He tilts his hips to drag his cockhead lightly along your slit, and when he hears a ragged breath tearing through your lips, he pats the inside of your thigh gently. 

“Hold your leg up for me,” he murmurs. 

You do, and he finally lets go. 

You should really say something but the need and desire to feel what you felt that first night your father mistook you for your mom is all it takes for you to bite down that guilt and shame. 

Especially when Toji grabs hold of his hard shaft, fitting his tip between your flaps, positioning himself at your tight hole. 

Toji shuts his eyes in bliss, hearing you moan so lewdly and breathily as he breaches your entrance, feeling your warmth enveloping his cockhead tightly. He is slow as he sheathes his entire length inside of you, wanting to savour your fluttering walls, enjoying the way you squirm and mewl at the stretch. 

When Toji finally bottoms himself inside of you, staying still for a moment to let your squelching pussy adjust to his size, he tilts his head toward you and groans, “Kiss me, baby.”

You don’t hesitate to turn your head and meet your father’s lips with yours. At once, Toji brings his hand up to cup your chin possessively, his grip gentle but firm as he swipes his tongue along the seam of your lips. Your mouth parts to let out a moan and he doesn’t waste time in slipping his tongue into your wet cavern. 

He swallows a long moan from you when he pulls out slowly, leaving just his swollen tip inside of you, before he slides back in. Still not breaking the heated kiss, Toji’s tongue laps at yours, sliding along the back of your teeth, his lips massaging yours passionately. His hips don’t break stride either as he continues sliding his cock between your tight walls, his thrusts slowly gaining momentum.

The room is filled with the wet slicking noises of your father’s cock entering in and out of you, the sticky slapping of his hips against your ass, and the light smacking of your lips on each other’s. 

And when your dad glides his hand down from your chin to wrap around your throat, his fingers squeezing lightly as if to gauge your reactions, you moan vulgarly into his lips, eyes rolling to the back of your head. 

Toji increases the pressure on his fingers. 

Your brain feels like it has turned to mush, the cottony darkness pressing in on all sides of your mind. He groans into the kiss that is slowly turning sloppy when he feels you clamping down on his cock, your gummy walls sucking him in. 

And the moment he releases the grip on your throat and oxygen rushes back into your system, at the same time making your thighs tighten and hips roll forward as you clench unyieldingly around his thick meat, Toji growls loudly into your parted lips, overridden by so much pleasure that your jaw is slack and incapable of kissing him back. 

Toji has never seen his wife react to sex like this before, and it’s refreshing and hot. 

Not wanting to ruin the moment, he quickly pushes aside the question of what made you change, particularly toward him and his sexual approaches. 

Toji’s thrusts gain more speed, greedily slamming his cock so hard into you that your moans are heady and breathless, wanting to feel more of your compressed walls. You’re both just exchanging breaths now, panting into each other’s mouths. 

“Fuck,” he curses, feeling his cock twitch inside of you. 

Quickly stopping his movements, Toji slides out of you abruptly and you let out a whine at the loss of his dominating size in your aching hole. 

But then panic rises up in your chest when your father throws the blanket off your bodies, his motions desperate and brisk like he is in a rush for time. 

Toji climbs over you as he pushes your legs apart, already kneeling between your thighs in a second. He slaps his cock on your soaked pussy, inhaling a sharp intake of breath at the whine you let out. He doesn’t waste any more time as he slides his tip down to your fluttering entrance and penetrates you again in one swift thrust. 

Your father grips your hips tightly when you lift them, arching your back against the bed, the both of you moaning loudly into the night. And before you’re even ready, he starts fucking you with an intensity and eagerness that makes you completely forget about your boyfriend’s poor excuse for making love. 

You unthinkingly reach your hand down to grab hold of his fingers squeezing your waist and Toji groans. He immediately leans down to hover over you, his other hand bracing against the mattress on the side of your head to support his weight, his lips already on yours, swallowing your moans. 

You don’t think when you slide your free hand around his nape, pulling him closer, hungrily kissing him back. Your legs move to circle around his waist, locking him in a missionary position. 

Toji kisses you back with the same intensity without losing momentum in his fucking. In fact, his thrusts are harder now, faster. The sound of his cock slipping in and out of you is music to his ears. And the way your pussy is pulsing around him is enough to send him to overdrive. 

He doesn’t break the kiss when he lets go of your hip, allowing your now vacant hand to claw at the side of his chest. You’re completely fucked out, lost in the pleasure of your father’s cock fucking you, the overbearing weight he has over your body, the messy kiss you’re engaged in, that you don’t realise that he has reached his hand out to the reading light. 

Toji is so fucking close and he just wants to see your pleasured face as he fucks you, sure that just the sight of you enjoying his pounding would hurl him straight into his orgasm. 

Your brow furrows when you sense a dim brightness from the corner of your closed lids. Before your languid brain can even keep up with what’s happening, your body completely overtaken by pleasure, your father’s lips are off yours and your hold around his neck breaks. 

Toji’s breaths are underlined with low grunts, his cock swelling and quivering in your tightening pussy, his hips still relentless as he keeps fucking you. 

And when his eyes have accustomed to the faint light illuminating the pitch darkness and he sees his daughter laying beneath him, brows furrowed as your eyes flutter open, your pink swollen lips parted to let out the prettiest of moans, Toji thought that he would have stopped. 

He should have. 

Especially when he watches you belatedly realise what is happening, your eyes rounding when you finally meet his, pupils trembling slightly, your entire body gone still. 

He feels something stir in his chest and in his lower stomach when your cunt clench around him tightly, like a warning, or maybe a reminder that he is still fucking his daughter. 

Your skin prickles with heat, your chest tight. All it took was just that one second of eye contact. 

And now your father can’t stop staring at you. 

And you realise that he hasn’t stopped fucking you. 

Your walls pulse around his meat at that realisation, a squeeze of guilt. Maybe even of hope. 

Toji doesn’t stop. 

He lets out a low groan, his hands flying to your waist to grip onto you like you were leaving, his hips slamming against yours, cock pistoning in and out of you like a desperate man looking for release.

“Fuck, I’m going to cum, Princess,” he growls, face contorted into a sort of snarl. 

His gaze is dark and intense as he eyes the way your face crumples into a look of pleasure and shame, exactly mirroring his own emotions. But his grasp on your waist tightens and he chases his climax as he moves your body in tandem to his fucking, pounding your body back into his hips. 

You can’t think anymore. 

You can’t feel the guilt or shame anymore. 

Your eyes roll to the back of your head in pleasure, your back bowing backwards as you make an arch in the air. 

“Shit, baby,” Toji curses. 

He slides a hand down to your red bundle of nerves and gives it a rub with the pad of his thumb. 

“Daddy,” you choke out a gasp as your body twitches and your thighs tighten. 

Finally hearing your sweet voice spurs Toji on to play with your clit, his focus entirely set on not cumming despite your quivering cunt wrapped around his cock. And the moment he sees you flailing and thrashing before him, feeling your walls tightening like they’re trying to push him out, hearing how breathless and whiny and cute your mewls are, he lets go of that restraint. 

His breaths come out in low grunts as he fucks you harder in pursuit of his climax, your twitching walls clenching and unclenching around his cock like you’re trying frantically to milk him.

“Fuck!”

With a loud groan, Toji pulls out of you, his hand already wrapped tightly around his sopping wet cock, almost violently pumping his shaft as he presses his thick mushroom head to your glistening pussy. 

Beyond the tunnel vision of your own orgasm, you try to focus on your father’s moans as he cums, painting your womanhood and stomach with white liquid, coating your skin with his seeds. 

Toji’s orgasm almost takes as long as his daughter’s as he empties his load on your pussy. Panting, he sits back on his heels, lazily stroking himself, letting the last of his seeds drip down his slit and down his cock. 

He watches the last spasm wrack your body as you lay before him, chest rising and falling below your shirt, trying to catch your breath. 

The air in the room gradually becomes heavy with unspoken words and conflicting emotions now that the post-coital clarity is setting in. Toji watches your body grow still, like the way you used to in your younger days when you knew a scolding was coming your way. He lets out a long sigh. 

You flinch slightly at the gentle but calloused caress on your inner thigh. 

“Look at me.”

Swallowing, you very reluctantly meet your father’s gaze. 

“Why are you here?” he murmurs, not unkindly. 

It is his warmth and gentleness that makes tears unceremoniously form on your lashline and slip down your cheeks, startling him into a frown. But he doesn’t say anything, simply lets you grapple with your own emotions and words. 

Finally, you say between sobs, “I’m s-sorry, Daddy. I sh-should have said something. Should h-have stopped you. B-but—”

“Baby,” he cuts you off sternly, a firm hand on your thigh.

This only makes you cry even harder. 

Toji lets out a long exhale through his nose before moving, crawling on the bed to settle down next to you. He sits up against the headboard, a hand stroking your hair, waiting for you to calm down. 

He thinks he understands what you’re feeling. And to be honest, it isn’t like he doesn’t share the same sentiments. If anything, he probably feels them more. 

“Did I hurt you?” Toji whispers. 

Your chest heaves as you draw in a stuttering breath. You shake your head. Toji brings his hand to wipe your tears with the back of his fingers. 

“Did you feel like you couldn’t stop me?” 

You swallow the thick lump of tears in your throat as you look up at him, finding him staring straight ahead in the dark room. You blink your tears away, really trying to focus on the look on his face. 

Though you can only see his profile, you realise that your father is haunted by his own internal thoughts and emotions. It is not just you feeling the way you do. 

“No, Daddy.”

Your trembling voice makes Toji turn to face you. His eyes trace your features, taking in your watery eyes, red nose, puffy lips. You look so pretty despite the tears. 

“I—” You gulp and whisper, “I liked it. And I wanted it.”

That makes Toji frown. “You wanted it?” he repeats, almost incredulously. 

Steeling yourself, you nod your head, just a minuscule action. You start, “Th-that time in the hotel room…”

It takes Toji a few seconds to put two and two together. And when he does, he pulls his hand away from your face like he’s been burnt. A tear slides down your cheek at his reaction. 

“That was you?” he breathes. You bite your bottom lip from trembling as you nod, your cheeks now wetter than before. “Why didn’t you say something?”

When you don’t reply, whether out of guilt or a loss for words, your father feels his stomach dropping. He looks away from you for a long moment, takes a moment to breathe, and finally moves. 

You watch him get up wordlessly to take some tissues and come back to wipe the mess on your womanhood, the whole time focused on the task at hand, not once looking at you. 

And when you’re clean, he doesn’t meet your gaze when he says, “It’s late. Go back to your room.”

“Daddy—”

His eyes flit to yours and your words get stuck in your throat at the look in them. 

“Please, Princess.”

This time, it is Toji avoiding you. 

You try to reach out to him. To apologise, to make things right, something. 

But he won’t let you. 

Because when he feels your presence coming down the stairs to join your parents for a meal, he cooks up an excuse that he has to leave to make a call. Or when you leave the house just as he has parked his car on the porch, he stays in the vehicle a little longer, pretending to be busy reading an important email until you’ve left and locked the gate behind you. 

Toji doesn’t know why he does these things he does. 

Maybe it’s the guilt of cheating on this loveless marriage he has with his wife. Maybe it’s the anger he feels at himself for realising he enjoyed the two times he fucked his own daughter. Or maybe it’s the disappointment from finding out that you lied to him. 

Well, it’s not lying if you didn’t say anything. 

But still, that doesn’t make it right. 

Whatever it is, Toji is frustrated. At himself, for not understanding his own thoughts. At you, for hiding the truth from him. 

But mostly at himself. 

Especially when he sees you shrinking back again, finally coming to terms that your relationship with him has probably been estranged, broken. 

You don’t try to join in on any family meals anymore, always coming up with excuses not to. You come home late into the night when you would never bump into your dad, if you ever come home at all. 

Despite living in the same house, Toji doesn’t see you anymore. 

He thinks that maybe this is for the better. 

He doesn’t feel bad when he’s around his wife. And he doesn’t feel that pang of emotions hitting him in his chest when he sees you. 

That is until he comes home early from a dinner one weekend and passes by your room, footsteps halting when he hears quiet noises from behind the door. His entire body freezes, his breathing paused, ears perked to pick up on the muffled sounds coming from your room. 

He can make out your sighs and moans which he has come to be familiar with, no matter how muted they are now through the door. And beyond that, he hears a low, droning voice. A man’s voice. 

While brooding over his own thoughts, he had completely forgotten that you have a boyfriend. 

He doesn’t realise his hands have balled into fists. 

And when he hears the faint sound of hips slapping against hips, his jaw clenches and his chest burns. 

He doesn’t say or do anything but when he walks away from your room, he makes sure his footsteps are heavy and loud. He even opens and shuts the door to his room noisily. 

The fire in his chest flares even more at the sight of his bed. 

The bed where he had you a few weeks ago, moaning and whimpering like a cute little thing for him. 

The bed where he last saw you, the last interaction you had, no matter how intimate. 

Toji stews in his anger for a long time. 

That is until he hears the hasty, faraway sound of a door opening and closing and a rush of feet down the stairs. 

His lips curl slightly and that fire in his chest is instantly put out, only to be replaced by pride. 

He should be the only man of the house.

The only man who gets to hear those cute sounds you make, see the pretty expressions you make on your face, feel the warmth of your body. 

Toji isn’t sure what time you came home. He tried to wait up. But his age caught up to him and he had fallen asleep before he could even help it. 

It is almost already five in the morning when he awakes, the sky outside still dark. 

Toji gets down from his bed. Leaving the room quietly, he passes the guest room that his wife prefers sleeping in, the guilt he used to feel no longer wrapping its strong grip around his chest. 

He pads down the hallway and stops outside his daughter’s room. He hesitates only for a moment before opening the door, adjusting his eyes to take in the sleeping form of you curled up in bed. 

He doesn’t stall this time when he enters and shuts the door quietly behind him. Toji goes over to you, gently lifting your blanket and immediately slipping into your bed behind you. 

You don’t stir. Not even when he scoots closer and wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you into his body. 

The tension in his body melts away, and he finds that the mix of emotions he used to grapple with has been defeated. Instead, he only feels a sense of contentment, of desire, of yearning. 

You moan at the feathery touch of lips on your neck and shoulder, slowly waking up from your slumber. You blink sleepily, noticing that it is still dark, only realising belatedly that there is a large presence behind you, holding you close. You’re suddenly acutely aware of who it is, if not for his familiar earthy scent. 

“Daddy?” you croak out.

The man behind you hums, moving to kiss the shell of your ear now. “Was that your boyfriend this afternoon?” Your entire body goes still and warm. Your father slides his hand down to caress the side of your hip. “That Soturo guy?”

“Satoru,” you correct breathlessly, still unmoving. 

“Hm.” You gasp when he curls his fingers to leave a scratch up the side of your thigh. “Was he any good?”

Your mind is a mess right now. But you manage to sputter, “Aren’t you still mad at me?”

Toji moves behind you to hold himself up on an elbow, hovering over the side of your face, pressing his lips to your cheeks. “Kind of. But for a different reason now.”

You turn your head slightly even though you know you can’t see him. “What?” you breathe. 

You hold your breath as your father shifts, moving behind you until the reading light next to your bed illuminates your room dully. You’re squinting at the ceiling, trying to refocus your eyes, when your father’s handsome face appears before you, towering over you, his scarred lips in a thin line. 

“Does Satoro make you happy?” he murmurs. Mind reeling at whether this is a trick question, you don’t answer. “Does he fuck you better than Daddy?”

You gulp. “Daddy, I—”

“Answer me.”

Under his hard gaze, you immediately shake your head. Toji hums, satisfied at your answer. 

“But you bring him to my home and let him fuck you in this bed?”

“Daddy—” 

You gasp when a palm strikes your cheek. Not too hard, but firm enough to shut you up and wake you up from the state of sleepiness you were in. 

“Do you prefer your boyfriend’s dick over Daddy’s?” Before you even open your mouth, Toji lands another slap on your cheek. “Huh, Princess? Answer me.”

“N-No,” you whisper, thighs pressing together unknowingly. 

Noticing that minor movement below him, Toji slides his knee up to press his thigh to your ass, making your breath hitch when he rubs your womanhood against his leg. 

“Hm. But you invited him over when you thought I wasn’t home. Made me hear what he was doing to you.”

It is by instinct when you push your ass out to grind on his thigh. Feeling slightly accused, you say, “You were mad at me. You were avoiding me.”

Your father clicks his tongue and you already have your eyes shut when he slaps you again. He lets out a laugh through his nose. 

“Baby girl learns fast,” he comments dryly. When he sees you opening your eyes again, he gives you one more slap to your cheek, causing you to whine and squeeze your lids close tightly. “Me being mad at you doesn’t mean you can bring home some stupid boy and let them fuck you under the roof I paid for. Does it?” 

You shake your head meekly, which makes the corners of Toji’s lips curl up slightly. You flinch when his hand reaches out to your face, but he only strokes your warm cheek tenderly. 

“Lie on your back, Princess,” he whispers. Eagerly, you do as you’re told, heart racing at what might unfold between the two of you. He pulls his leg back to give you space. “Spread your legs.”

Once you’ve done so, Toji brings his hand down, giving you a light slap between your legs. You yelp softly. 

As you stare up into your father’s dark eyes, his hand finds its way under the waistband of your shorts and into your panties, his middle finger easily finding your slit that is leaking slightly with arousal. He hums, sliding his finger along your folds, spreading your slick. 

“Daddy,” you whine, rocking your hips slightly to feel more friction. You give him a pitiful look. “I really am sorry for not telling you the first time. Or the second time.”

Toji takes in the small pout you wear as he licks his lips. He keeps playing with your folds, feeling your arousal build with just his finger touching you. “It’s alright, baby,” he finally says in a whisper, like he is resigned to the fact. “I only wish you told me sooner. Then we could play like this more.” 

You let out a long moan when your father prods his finger at your entrance and slips his thick digit between your gummy walls coated in slick. He is slow as he slides his middle finger in and out of you, his hand cupping your pussy. 

With every stroke against your wall, Toji presses an open-mouthed kiss to your face, dragging his lips across your skin until he reaches your lips, finally swallowing your moan as he kisses you. Your heart jumps in your chest as your hands snake around his neck, embracing him. 

He hums into your mouth, at the same time sinking another finger into your pussy, revelling in the way you tighten around them like you’re denying him entrance though your hips are bucking, trying to bury him inside of you. Toji curls his digits before pulling them out and entering again. 

He eats up your whines as he quickens the pace, allowing you to rock your hips, fucking back on his fingers, his tongue sensually dancing with yours.

Before long, he has you moaning and mewling — needier and realer than what he heard this afternoon, he notes. He continues licking and twirling his tongue around yours even as you unravel around him, thighs shaking, body quivering as your orgasm overwhelms your body. 

You’re still in a daze when your father leans back and removes his fingers from your crotch, already tugging on the waistband of your pants. 

“Take everything off, Princess.”

You have never been more eager to do so. As he sits up to watch you, Toji pulls down his shorts to free his cock, idly stroking his erection, letting it grow in his hand. 

You’re beautiful — your body, your curves, everything. 

The way the fat of your breasts jiggle when you pull off your top. The soft flesh of your stomach. The lines your thigh muscles make when you lift your hips to shrug your pants off. 

Toji can barely stop himself from crawling over you, but he manages to wait until you’re finally laying before him naked in all your glory. You rest your hands on his chest, letting them slide down his torso as he towers over you. 

“What about you, Daddy?” 

Toji stares down at your lashes fluttering at him curiously. He shakes his head, leaning in to kiss your forehead. “Mommy can’t see the both of us naked in bed, baby.”

You roll your eyes. “Mommy shouldn’t even see me naked in bed with you, then.”

A corner of his lips quirk. You’ve always been a smart girl. But he still rewards you with a slap to your face, making you gasp in surprise. 

“Punishment for talking back to me,” he mutters, though he is already lowering his hips, letting his hard rod bump against your inner thigh. 

You pout at your father, who only leans in to kiss your cheek. No words are exchanged as he positions himself between your lips, swiping his cockhead up and down to coat it with your arousal. He keeps his eyes on you when he eventually slots himself into your cunt, watching the way your brows fold closer, eyes glossy, bottom lip between your teeth. 

He lets out a groan as he bottoms out inside of you, feeling the way your pussy squeezes around him trying to adjust to his size. Toji stays still, giving you time to breathe as he drops kisses on the side of your face, down the column of your neck, making you tilt your head to give him more access. 

A trail of kisses lead down to your chest until he is face-to-face with your breasts. As he takes a nipple in his mouth, his hips start moving at a slow but steady pace and you let out a loud sigh, your hand moving to the back of his head, fingers buried in his soft hair. 

With his tongue flicking at your pert nipple, his teeth slightly grazing your sensitive skin, you moan, “Daddy.”

Toji releases your tit with a pop, glancing up at you through his lashes. “Hm?”

You flicker your eyes down to watch him staring at you, tongue out, twirling and playing with your bud. He grins when he feels your walls clench tightly around him. 

“Harder,” you whine. 

He clicks his tongue and uses his hand to slap at your other breast. “So impatient, my little girl,” he scolds. 

But your father listens anyway. 

Toji gives your nipple a kiss before sitting up on his heels, his hands skimming down the sides of your body. When he reaches your lower region, he lifts your legs, putting his palms on the back of your thighs, pushing them up and widening them, your feet in the air. Toji rolls his hips slowly, observing the way your face contorts with pleasure. The cute sounds you make, though, break his restraint. 

He picks up the pace and goes faster and harder, just as you asked. He curses under his breath. You always squeeze him so tight and get so wet every time he slams his cock back into you. 

He thought he could have lasted longer today, wanting to punish you for what you did with your boyfriend this afternoon. But the moment he hears you breathing out his name, something in his snaps. 

You gasp when he lets go of your legs and falls forward, almost on top of you if not for his hands planted on the headboard of your bed. That gasp turns into a whimpering moan when you feel how deep he is in this change of position, your legs spread wide open with his body, his cock entirely buried in your tight snatch, cockhead pushing against your cervix and igniting that knot in your stomach. 

“Say that again,” he pants. 

When you stay silent, pussy still fluttering around his cock, lips parted stupidly, lids hooded, Toji lands another heavy slap on your cheek, waking you up from your pleasure with a jolt. 

“Say my name again,” he repeats in a growl. 

You slide your hands under his shirt, touching his abs, fingernails clawing at his chest as you go higher. “Toji,” you purr. “Gonna fuck me like you mean it, hmm, Toji?”

“Fuck.” 

Toji doesn’t start off slow this time. He pounds into you like an animal, your bed creaking noisily with every thrust he makes. You let out such a pornographic moan that he grunts and moves to brace his hands next to your face, lowering his head to take your lips in his to shut you up. 

Your hips are moving in sync with his as you fuck yourself back on his cock, the squelching sound of your pussy taking him in and the slapping noise of your ass against his hips loud and dirty.

“Mm, I’m gonna cum, baby,” your father mutters against your lips. 

“Inside, Toji,” you breathe. 

“Dirty little girl.”

Your jaw goes slack when he brings his hand down to rub harshly on your clit, your hips stuttering and your pussy clamping down on his cock. The way Toji sticks his tongue into your mouth and twirls his tongue around its inside is so filthy, but so hot. And paired with his low moans, the pounding of his cock in your pussy, the massaging of your clit, your orgasm hits you with a blazing hot white flush. 

“Shit, baby. I’m gonna cum in you. Daddy’s gonna cum in you, baby,” Toji moans, his hips slapping against yours loud as he rams into your throbbing pussy in one deep thrust to the hilt. “Mm, fuck! Princess.”

You feel his warm seeds spraying deep inside of you with every pulse of his cock. Toji’s breathing is irregular, his eyes shut in bliss, his forehead resting on yours. You let him empty himself in your womb as his hips make lazy strokes, riding out the last of his orgasm. 

When the peak of his pleasure has waned, Toji flutters his eyes open and catches his daughter staring up at him. He lets out a breath through his nose and closes his lids again, letting the reality of the situation finally sink in. 

He had been expecting some sort of remorse for fucking his own daughter, or maybe even self-contempt for wanting and enjoying this. 

Instead, all he feels is weight lifting off his chest and shoulders. 

He inhales deeply and presses a kiss to your hairline before unplugging your pulsating hole, rolling onto the bed next to you.

Toji feels you turning to him as he catches his breath. He glances at you and you lick your lips nervously. 

“Gonna ask me to get out of my room this time?”

“Tch,” he scoffs, rolling his eyes. Ignoring your little jab, Toji tucks himself back into his shorts as he wonders, “You on the pill?”

You flip to your side to face him better. “Mmhmm.”

He hums. The silence between you stretches until he finally tilts his head in your direction. He eyes you carefully. 

“He nice to you?” 

“Who? Satoru?” He doesn’t answer, just stays staring at you. Your head bobs slowly. “Mm, yeah. He’s a nice guy. You met him before, Daddy.”

Toji turns to face the ceiling again as he mumbles, “Don’t remember.”

You grumble and hit his chest. You’ve brought Satoru home for dinner several times, not to mention his attendance at family gatherings. He has definitely met and seen him before. Your father continues feigning ignorance, so you let out an annoyed huff and rotate your body so you’re facing away from him. 

It is quiet for a while. Then the flicker of a switch cuts through the silence of the night and your room is plunged into darkness once more, though the sky outside is beginning to turn blue as dawn breaks. You hold your breath listening to the sheets ruffle behind you. Your skin prickles at the comforting warmth that embraces you from behind. 

Toji slides his calloused palm down your arm until he reaches the back of your hand, his fingers slipping between yours, curling around the crevices. Naturally, you do the same. He pulls your entwined hands closer to your body. 

“Does he make you happy?” your father whispers into your hair, like he is afraid to hear the answer. 

“Hmm…” You’re not sure how to respond. So you think it is better to be honest. “We’ve talked about marriage. We’re pretty compatible.”

Toji waits. When you don’t continue, he supplies, “But…?”

A smile plays on your lips. Because how did he know there was a ‘but’?

“He cannot satisfy me in bed.”

There is a beat of silence before your father’s chest rumbles behind you as he laughs. You whine and struggle to move away from his hold but he keeps you close, his arms tight around you. 

“Of course not,” Toji agrees. You let out an annoyed huff. Another pause. Then, “Your mother doesn’t— won’t satisfy me in bed either.” 

You keep quiet, unsure what to say. You had already guessed it since the first time. 

“Daddy’s little princess can, though,” he murmurs, dropping a kiss to your crown. 

You squeeze his fingers slightly. “Yeah,” you whisper. “I’ve been thinking a lot about you since the first time.”

“Did you?” Toji teases, laughing when you let out another whine. He gathers you impossibly closer toward him, tucking your head under his chin. “Good to hear that you’ll always be a Daddy’s girl.” He curls his legs behind yours, pressing against the back of your thighs as he folds his body around yours. “You should invite Sotaro for dinner tomorrow. Let me meet him.”

“It’s Satoru. And you have met him,” you groan. “Also, why do you even want to meet him again?” Especially after what we’ve done tonight, is what you want to add but don’t. 

You feel him shrug his broad shoulders behind you. “Maybe show you the difference between a dumb boy who can’t even please his girlfriend in bed, and a man who will always put his daughter’s needs before his.”

Your heart flutters at his words, though you don’t say anything in reply. So Toji caresses the heel of your palm with his thumb as murmurs, “We’ll go to your favourite restaurant. Even buy you a nice dress and heels. So you can look pretty for Daddy when I look at you across the table.”

Your heart feels like it has drummed its way up your throat as blood flows up your face. You continue staying quiet and unmoving, uncertain of what to say, or do.  

But when your father prompts you for a reply, you swallow down the heart flutters rising from your stomach.

“Hm? Okay?”  

You nod your head wordlessly and press your back closer to his strong chest.

<< Part 1 🔞 || Part 3 🔞, Part 4 🔞 >>

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Tags: @ghostlyshieldmimic @jilliannelovesdazai @sirencall16 @hxrryst @namikawa @smokeandsilhouettes

mean bf!toji likes dragging the heavy, blunt tip of his cock up and down your wet slit, teasing you ruthlessly until you're begging him to just put it in. instead of giving in, he’ll slap his wet tip against your clit over and over, mocking the needy little noises you make and telling you that you haven't earned it yet.

mean bf!toji just laughs when you try to complain that he’s being too rough or too mean. he won't slow down; instead, his chest rumbles against your back as he grips your hips harder, driving into you with even less mercy just to prove that he rules the bed.

mean bf!toji loves leaving you completely ruined and breathless. he likes looking down at the mess he made of you—smudged makeup, tangled hair, and thighs shaking uncontrollably—while he casually rolls off to grab a drink, completely unfazed while you can barely move.

mean bf!toji will pull your hair back with just enough force to make your eyes water, forcing you to look directly at him while he pounds into you. he hates when you try to hide your face in the pillows or close your eyes; he wants to see every single expression of pleasure and overload on your face.

mean bf!toji uses verbal degradation as a tool to keep you completely flustered. he’ll call you a "good little slut," mock how loud you're breathing, or ask you why you're crying over a little bit of fun, his voice deep, raspy, and completely devoid of the warmth he usually speaks to you with.

mean bf!toji will deliberately overstimulate you, rubbing his thumb harshly against your clit while hammering into you, and when you start to sob because it's too much, he’ll just kiss you hard to muffle your screams and keep going right through your orgasm.

"dad! dad, daddy!"

with no time to hesitate, toji rushes inside your room (which you conveniently forgot to lock) and is blinded by your naked body.

he thought you were in danger :(

because the music was playing loudly, you didn't even notice he came into your room :( you still had your blindfold on and your dildo perfectly sliding in and out of you while you rubbed your clit with your other hand.

"yes, daddy harder!" your thumb hit a button to make your dildo vibrate even faster inside you.

toji should've left. the second he saw you naked and weren't actually calling for him, he should have bolted. but the sight of you, all naked and pretty, pussy slick and wet (for him?) was beautiful. he instantly got hard.

the right and moral thing to do would be to leave, go back to ANY other room and forget this ever happened.

but toji isn't a moral man. he literally kills people for money for a living. what's the matter with jerking off to his pretty little stepdaughter?

with that debate settled, toji pulls out his hardening length out of his pants. he hovers at the edge of your bed, loving this show you're putting on for him.

"more daddy! more, more, more," you softly moaned to yourself, picking up the pace thrusting your dildo inside you.

toji spit in his hand and gripped his cock, matching your pace. you steadily went faster and faster, continuing to voice the cutest moans toji has ever heard.

it wasn't until you both started to get close that you said something that surprised you both.

"t-toji!" you shouted. your stepdad groaned at the sound of his name on your lips. at first he thought your 'daddy' nickname could've been fantasizing anyone, now he was certain you were thinking about him.

it didn't take much longer for you both to reach your peaks.

your legs tremble, imagining the monster that would be your step dad's cock inside of you instead of your toy. you turn up the dildo's vibration even more and not even ten seconds later, you're cumming all over it. :( "toojiiiiii!"

much to your surprise, the sight of you cumming is just what toji needed to finish. toji throws his head back when you moan his name again, fisting his cock rapidly at the sight of you. with a few violent pumps, he gets his euphoric release, sending his cum straight towards you! "fffuck," he groans.

it happened all so fast — like one of his assassin missions. one moment, your masterbating with your music blasting and your blindfold on, the next your chest is being sprayed with scalding hot cum.

it was like a fucking shower. rope after rope of hot cum suddenly sprayed you like a rogue out of control garden hose.

you tore your blindfold off and came face to dick with your stepdad.

your mouth was so dry from your earlier singing and moans that you couldn't scream. you just sit there horrified in shock, staring at your stepdad.

"don't act like you didn't want this," toji casually shrugs. "i heard you calling my name babygirl." you want to pull the covers over you to die from embarrassment. "next time you need your car fixed, i think you know how you can repay me."

with that, toji pulls his pants and boxers back on and heads toward the shower.

you're still sitting on your bed, in utter disbelief at what just happened. maybe you should leave your door unlocked more often?

masterlist

a/n: uhh sorry this was late. im trying to write more when i get motivation but it's been hard lately :(

You doubt that you’d ever be lucky enough to find a husband that understood you beyond political obligation. Someone who could look at you and see a person beneath the golden tiara, who could brush the weight of the world off your shoulders if not halve the burden and carry some themselves.

Were you even capable of love yourself?

Sure, you loved your family. All seven brothers and six sisters, a strict mother and absent father, even your uncle in a neighboring country. Each had carved a little piece of your heart and made themselves a home, even when you hardly got to visit theirs.

But what about someone else? Someone with flaws you weren’t accustomed to?

What if they had habits that clashed with yours? Would you be able to look past their flaws and still appreciate the person they were beneath?

What if you weren’t good enough for them?

“You should dance at least once tonight, dear,” your mother murmurs, gaze still pointed forward upon her subjects, never once glancing back towards you. Her attendant steps forward at the beckon of her fingers, procuring a dance card she’d already filled with names to give you. “Given as it is your debut too, it is only customary.”

Your fingers curl, then ease. Accepting the card with a dip of your chin, flickering over the names of men you’d seen referenced far too many times in the yellowed papers that arrived at breakfast tea. 

Rakes. Hellraisers.

Men whose morals were as loose as their tongues.

Sure, there were a few prominent, respected men who had blotted their names in the thin lines, but none would ever have caught your eye if you hadn’t been pointed towards them. You wouldn’t say you had high standards, but, well… what was the Crown worth if even the muddiest of bloods was able to stake a claim?

Your ideal type was far from picky, you’d say. Someone who dressed nicely. Someone who didn’t bow to you simply because of your title, but because they worshipped you as their wife first and foremost. Someone whose smile was hard to earn and equally worthwhile, who could banter and conversate with ease.

Someone who didn’t diminish you to the gold and maroon stamp at the base of your letters.

Yet another hope that would only end in disappointment.

You finally move, legs faintly aching from standing still for so long. A few eyes flicker towards you, only to turn away when you don't return the attention. Instead passing the dance card to your own attendant, accepting the assistance down the dais steps.

Placing your palm in the first palm extended to you, just for the sake of pleasing someone else. Putting on a smile like a well-worn mask and meeting the eyes of a man who would be forgotten come morning.

.

.

.

If you thought your legs were sore before, the burn was far more noticeable now. The air stuffy after some time dancing, a faint sheen of exertion gathering at the base of your back and cooling the skin uncomfortably where your dress and corset rubbed.

“I’d like to step out for a moment,” you tell your mother, scanning the profile of her face for an emotion you’d know she’d never show in public. When she merely offers a nod, you turn away. 

As always, your shadow fills with attendants– one chaperone and three royal guards in tow, their steps just a few paces back to give the illusion of space as you pass through one of the glass and wood thresholds towards the gardens.

Rather than linger on the balcony, you descend the four stone steps with practiced grace, fingers bunching the skirts of your gown to keep the material from gaining grass stains or tearing on the pebble pathway. Following the stars above without a true destination in mind.

The greedy gulps you take of the night air soothe the burn in your chest. Perhaps the first dance you had entered with some level of attentiveness, but that had quickly soiled upon the breach of children as the first topic.

Really, was common conversation so far-fetched these days?

Not one single man had caught your attention. Too talkative, too boastful, too brash. Those with calluses on their palms had equally roughened civilities, the softer-handed gentleman of the ton too caught up with the talk of business to notice the uninterested glaze that filmed over your eyes.

The sound of lower-toned voices chatting, however, manages to catch your attention. Dipping through a few hedges, you conceal yourself in the shadowed alcove, peering through a gap in the branches of a flowery bush.

Catching the conversation mid-way through, peeking at the figures of two men as they passed a match between them to light their respective vices. You supposed your luck was always stellar in the way you always managed to overhear a topic when it revolved you.

“...I suppose you missed Lord Nagino stumble over his leathers,” one man chuckles, the cherry flame lighting his pipe illuminating his face just enough to recognize him. Shiu Kong, recently raised in the instep to Viscount by his earnings and company. A man most believed either ran the gambling marts or had his hands in other fields of quick coin-collecting schemes. 

“The poor princess must’ve had her skirts stepped on a dozen times.”

“Mmh,” the other man hums. He raises his cigar, rubbing the filter against a scar cutting the corner of his lips, then presses it in. The conversation lulls for a second as he takes a drag, voice rougher than before when he speaks again. “Poor bastard. Every man with a mind already knows the princess is spoken for.”

Shiu turns his head towards the other, thick brow raising. Then the grin forms, playful in the way wolves toss a carcass between each other when their bellies are already full. 

“Oh? And who, pray tell, is the suitor calling for her?”

You shift behind the bush, waving off your chaperone as she nears curiosly. Leaning closer in, studying the form that was just barely turned from you so that only the cut of his jaw and the bulk of his shoulder were plainly seen, interested in their discussion.

“Certainly not I,” the second man drawls. A low laugh rumbles from him. The knot in your belly tangles, unsure whether the weight in your chest was caused by offense or confusion.

Why would you care? It was one less man to turn away, to pick apart and study. Yet it was interesting all the same— a man that didn’t care for your Crown was exactly what you’d always dreamed of, so why did it feel so… wrong?

The second man turns, and you finally get a glimpse of him. All rugged charm mentioned more times in the crisp pale gossip papers than you could count on both hands, jade eyes narrowed in amusement. Handsome, sure, but unobtainable by his own standards.

The famed rake of the ton, Viscount Toji Zen’in.

“The queen’ll have her pick of the litter by the week’s end, mark my words,” Toji continues. Twin streams of smoke push from his nostrils, coiling and thinning to nothing in the cool air. “But the princess… I’d wager she’ll send half these peacocks running before she ever lets one close enough to offer for her.”

Shiu chuckles. “You sound almost admiring, friend.”

“Admiring?” Toji echoes dryly. “I’m merely observing. The girl could command an army with a single look— you saw the dull stare she levels to anyone uninteresting. Marriage to her would be less a union and more a campaign.”

The scarred corner of his lips lift, almost sleazy. “I prefer my battles on horseback, thank you.”

It takes everything in you to catch the scoff before it leaves your throat. Leaning further into the leaves, you hardly care for the sight you must be creating— a royal half-bent over in the garden foliage, blatantly eavesdropping without shame. 

“Still, a man is left to wonder whether there’s a fire capable of burning through the coals,” Shiu shrugs. He flicks his pipe against his knuckles, smearing the heel of his leathers against the ash that falls in the grass. 

Toji merely snorts.

“Wonder all you like, but keep your distance unless you fancy becoming the next spectacle in the gossip papers,” Toji pulls the cigar from his lips, stubbing it into a nearby tray. “The princess may be a prize, but that trophy is best admired from afar. Would hate to see you leg-shackled to the wrong bride, Kong, even if she could fund a dozen clubs.”

At that, your hands bunch into fists. Back straightening and stiffening, you puff yourself up. Leg-shackled? Reduced to a mere trophy? You, a royal of impeccable breeding and social standing, labelled as a damned warzone of a woman?

Ignoring the startled look of your chaperone, you hustle to round the bushes. Propriety be damned, you’d have him flogged or stripped of his title or something just to appease the gnawing pit in your belly. 

What did he know of you to form such a loose-witten opinion? He certainly hadn’t seen the hobbies of which you excel, nor the interests you partake in. His opinion shouldn’t even matter—

But it does.

The righteous fury burns straight into hurt, pressing on the bruises your own insecurities made until they ached again. All the times you questioned what people really thought of you, all the moments you’d scoured the papers for an opinion of you that didn’t begin with pleasantries or fluffing, just for the hope someone would be honest with you.

It all fueled the core of your self-doubt.

Even with the Crown upon your head, you still weren’t worth the fight.

As you round the bend, you halt. Neither man in view, either having walked back inside or travelled to a different part of the gardens. None but your chaperone and guards to see the way that your pride crumbled just a little as the needling thought took root in your mind.

Am I good enough?