it's bulking season for toji which means that he's getting bigger and softer around the edges. his usually refined muscles are now smoothed over, pudgier and larger in size. now, he's a hulking mass of strength - a big, burly man.
he thinks that it's sweet of you, his next-door neighbor, to remember that he had planned on bulking this month. he thinks that it's even nicer of you to knock on his door with a big dish of barbecue stuffed potatoes and the sweetest smile on your face. he leans against the door frame, towering over you with his arms crossed over his chest, and he gives you an amused smile.
"this is for you." you mumble sheepishly. "you mentioned that you were bulking and well i- uh...i didn't want these leftovers to go to waste so," you lift the dish up to him, hoping that he accepts it, "this is for you." you repeat, praying that he doesn't sense your nervousness.
you must be made of apples and honey, toji thinks. seeped in warmth and dipped in sunshine. you’re far too sweet for an old thing like him - though it’s a damn good thing that he had a sweet tooth.
"thanks, bub," he chuckles, taking the dish from you with a languid smile, “you didn’t have to.”
with the dish in his hands still hot, as if fresh out of the oven, he had an inkling feeling that it wasn’t just “leftovers”. he leans back against his door and opens it further, the gesture a tiny invitation.
“eat with me?” he asks casually, surprising even himself by the question. “we could have dinner together? maybe a couple drinks? dessert, if you wan’?”
he nearly dies at how cute you look all flustered at his asking. you nod almost too excitedly. there’s something so utterly wolfish about the man in front of you. he's scruffier than usual, his hair a little longer than you remember, a stubble peppering his smoothed-out jaw. and now, with his added bulk, he absolutely dwarfs you. you’ve always found him attractive, how could you not? on hot summer days, he's a sight for sore eyes as he wakes up early to mow his lawn - and yours - sweat sheening his skin. he’s a sweet-talker, a charmer—pretty, handsome, and every other similar adjective. and god, he’s nice to you. he did all the heavy lifting when you first moved into the house next door, charms you whenever he can, offers to help around the house, and now he’s inviting you to dinner—just you and him. why would you refuse?
“yeah, i’d like that.” you smile up at him.
“yeah?” he’s already thinking about all the ways the night could unfold, hoping it ends with you finally in his bed.
visions of you bent over every furniture, in different positions, calling out his name in that sweet little voice of yours cloud his thoughts. he thinks about finally getting his hands on you, gripping the plush of your hips, squishing your cushiony thighs, pawing at your soft tummy, and pressing down on your lower abdomen with his palm when he fucks his cock inside you. it has him salivating.
a feeling much stronger than hunger starts to burn inside him, and he’s starting to think that he’s found the perfect sweet thing for his bulk. if you’ll let him, he thinks that maybe you’ll be the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted.
he hides all of these thoughts behind a warm, seemingly innocent smile.
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