peachy keen
character: todoroki touya genre: smut warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, pseudo-cest (adoptive siblings), implied size difference, fem!reader, noncon, dacryphilia, touya is mean and abusive, dry humping (frottage), a hint of degradation, semi-public, toxic power dynamics words: 3.2k
notes: this was originally a warm up exercise that just grew out of control, based on the time i nearly strained my back trying to grab a piece of fruit from the back of the trunk lmao. please heed the warnings and stay safe! the noncon is pretty explicit in this one.
“God, I knew I shouldn’t have listened to you,” you’re grumbling as you reach into the trunk, body half-buried in the depths of Touya’s stupid Audi, fingers stretched out and straining to grasp at the back. “The peaches are all over the place!”
“Christ, it’s not a big deal,” Touya huffs, rolling his eyes. “They’re just pieces of fucking fruit.”
“It is a big deal, actually. These are going to be all bruised now, and they cost a fortune! Mom’s gonna kill me.”
A cute little grunt sounds at the back of your throat as you endeavour to reach further, the tips of your fingers just barely brushing the fuzzy skin of the peach, the action causing the hem of your skirt to ride up higher.
“Ugh—Touya, can you help me instead of just standing around?”
“God,” he’s groaning, and you can hear his boots on the cobblestone getting louder, heavy heels colliding confidently with the ground. “You are such a fucking brat.”
“Oh, shut up, just—”
Your voice dies in your throat as a sudden weight blankets your body, crushing the air from your lungs, Touya’s chest pressed flush against your back, his lips now at your ear.
“Touya!” you squeal, immediately squirming beneath his body. “Get off of me!”
“What’s the matter?” he asks, a mocking pout in his voice, the question humid against your flesh. “I’m helping you, like you asked me to.”
“I wanted you to reach in next to me, not smush me and reach over top of me! Get—Off!”
The muscles in your arms ache as you try to shove back against him, using all your might, but he doesn’t fucking budge, dead weight laying on your spine.
“Is this the way you treat your big brother when he’s trying to do something kind for you?”
His voice is infuriatingly calm, his question a sort of musing, as if he’s pondering a philosophical inquiry instead of being fucking annoying.
It is a stark contrast to your voice, which is already breathless and rough around the edges, ragged from all of your thrashing.
“Yeah, yeah, keep struggling, feels kinda good.”
You’re about to ask him what the fuck he’s talking about, elbows still locked and bent at 90 degrees, when you feel it—something swollen and hard, prodding against your bum in shallow, rhythmic motions.
Blood turns to ice in your veins, body gone rigid and still as panic pierces through your chest, spiked and sudden, shocking your heart into a faster gallop. Breath stalls in your throat as ice encases your brain, numbing your thoughts.
“T-Touya-nii…” Oh, so small, so soft, so scared.
Fear sits thick in your throat, making your voice sound weird to your ears, odd, off, not your own—hollow, yet mangled.
“Mm?”
“Stop it.”
“Stop what?”
“You—You know what.”
“What?” he presses, derisive and condescending. “You too baby to even fucking say it?”
And despite his harsh words, spit from his tongue drenched in disgust, his lips are gentle—too gentle as they trail along the line of your jaw, stringing a garland of messy, half-formed kisses.
“Or are you afraid to say it because you like it?” His head knocks against yours, temples bumping together. “Go on. Say stop humping me, Touya-nii.”
“I don’t fucking like it,” you say instead, a spark of your trademark fire reigniting in your chest. “Fucking get off of me.”
“Oh, I’m gonna get off all right,” he snorts, and you roll your eyes. “The question is whether you want to get off with me.”
“The answer is no.”
“You sure about that?” His hips roll forward with conviction, slow and hard. “It’s always no at the start, isn’t it? But that doesn’t mean you don’t like it.”
“Touya,” you whimper, the name nothing more than a pitiful whisper, trembling on your tongue. “Please, stop.”
“Aw, begging already?”
Dirty hands slither up your bare thighs, easily slipping beneath the pleated fabric of your skirt to curl around your hips, blunt nails biting into your flesh and keeping you pinned to the car. His movements grow a little more conspicuous, a conscious and concentrated rutting into your ass as slim fingers dip beneath the waistband of your undies, playing with the elastic.
Your eyes squeeze shut against the familiar sting of tears—you will not cry, you will not cry, you will not cry—jaw clenching as saliva begins to well up in your throat, dense and burning.
“Niichan…”
And you hate how fucking weak your voice sounds, the term of endearment a pathetic last ditch effort to halt this situation, a flash of anger searing through your chest.
“Niichan’s here,” he mumbles distractedly, leaning back enough to kick at your inner ankles, steel toes sending bolts of pain shooting up your calves. “Niichan wants to feel your bare cunt on his hard cock.”
You jerk wildly, trying your best to raise your torso, to push back against him and escape, but the large hand splayed wide on the small of your back stops you, pinioning you to the car once again.
A shiver crawls up your spine as rough fingers tug at your panties, pulling them to the side and exposing your most vulnerable parts. Touya grunts as he shifts behind you, repositioning himself and slotting his cock up against your slit, knees forcing your thighs open even wider.
You’re still struggling, the muscles in your legs tensed and flexing as you attempt to use the ground as leverage, pitiful little sounds of effort falling from your lips.
“Fuck,” he breathes as he blankets you yet again, hips already starting to rock, working up a steady pace. “Can’t you just be good for me? For once?”
The denim of his jeans is grating against your sensitive skin, each drag of his clothed cock leaving behind sharp little tingles snuggling into your flesh.
“No,” you growl out through gritted teeth, lids still glued shut, keeping the tears brimming in your eyes smothered. “I fucking hate you.”
You fucking hate him, but your body is already starting to relax without your permission, mollified by the familiarity his own body brings—family.
“You hate me, yeah? And how about if I touch you here, huh?” his hand worms its way between the trunk floor and your body, two callused fingers finding your puffy clit. “Do you still hate me? Still want me to stop then?”
Yes, yes! Please, stop, yes!
Yes is what you want to say, what you should be saying, head nodding viciously, but your tongue refuses to form the word, thick pools of saliva collecting in the divots of your mouth as a shameful sob claws at your chest, breath stuttering with a hiccup.
Everything burns, the blood surging through your veins spiked with humiliation, prickles erupting across your flesh as you buck involuntarily, body responding to him instinctively, instantly.
“Go on,” he breathes, and you can feel the smile in the hot breath beading along your neck. “Tell me.”
His fingers roll over your clit in slow circular motions—unhurried, savouring—and your back curves, hips pressing into his sinful touch.
“Tell me,” he demands again. “Because it doesn’t fucking feel like you want me to stop.”
Tears scald your cheeks as they finally break past your scrunched lash line, flowing down your face in hot, wide streams, nose twitching with a sniffle as your head shakes.
“No?” he gasps, pulling back ever so slightly, as if to fully look at your profile, to absorb the whole picture. “No, you don’t want me to stop? Or no, you won’t tell me?”
You still can’t speak, tongue useless and slimy in your mouth, head merely continuing to shake in sloppy motions as another rush of tears clouds your vision, vile mortification sinking in your chest.
Wrong, wrong, wrong, you are both so fucking wrong, homegrown into one crooked, twisted, withering being, teeming with parasites that have left permanent festering wounds, too deep to ever be healed.
“Does it even matter?” Touya muses to himself, nosing along the shell of your ear. “No says enough, doesn’t it, no matter which question it answers.”
The last of your resistance deflates, a silent agreement, body gone limp and molding to his own, putty in his scarred hands.
The chuckle that wafts across your skin is dark, deep and rumbling against your back, and your head drops to the carpeted floor of the trunk, defeated. Salty tears run down your face in gleaming little trails and Touya coos, tongue unravelling from his mouth to lick a fat stripe up your cheek, sopping up tears with his flesh and replacing them with cooling spit.
The fingers shoved between your thighs start to accelerate in their movements—a reward of sorts, for finally cooperating—Touya’s gyrating speeding up to perfectly match their pace.
“There you go,” he pants out. “Just give in. It feels so good, doesn’t it?”
The sob that rattles your ribs in response is nothing short of vicious, strings of spit coughed out in shimmering little webs along the trunk floor. Touya’s still cooing and hushing, nuzzling his face into your own in a crude form of comfort, a crude sort of caress.
You’re weeping out his name in a steady string of garbled letters—a chant, a prayer, a curse, only interrupted by the hiccuped sounds he manages to pull from you as those hardened fingertips swipe over your now slick clit, your nails scrabbling against the carpet, searching for purchase.
His free hand reaches up to overlay your own, threading your fingers together, caging it in his grasp. It provides an anchor, though—something for you to grip as you’re forced to climb to ecstasy, another small semblance of sick comfort; familiar, predictable, yours.
“M’here, m’here, c’mon, let me play with you,” the words are mumbled against your face, lips dragging them across the curve of your cheek in a vulgar imitation of a kiss.
Your legs automatically obey his request, spreading wider as your ass pushes back into his thrusts, a petulant whine sounding in your throat at your own dismal inability to control your body.
“Still don’t want it?”
Your head nods, then shakes, then nods again, and Touya flicks your clit with a tut of his tongue.
“I dunno,” he hums thoughtfully, two fingers swiping along your slit, slow and deliberate. “Your pussy says something else.”
Fucking traitorous bitch.
“She likes you better than I do,” you say, and although it’s supposed to be a complaint, spit with disgust from a screwed up face, it comes out as a lie, small and whimpered and full of shame.
“I’m alright with that.”
His fingers trail back up your cunt, petting your clit almost gently, almost lovingly, as if he cherishes and appreciates such a treasure, and your pelvis rolls toward his touch, hungry, craving more.
He resumes his steady rhythm then, and you stay in line with him, hips rocking back and forth as you attempt to hump his fingertips, each graze sending another spark of pleasure zipping through your gut.
“That’s it, baby, yeah, yeah, yeah, fuck back on me,” he gasps out, forehead pressed tightly to the back of your skull. “Keep goin’, just like that.”
The intoxicating encouragement—so coveted, so controlled—only works to drive you further, movements speeding up in an ambitious effort to earn more praise from him, every gyration of your hips further eroding the resolve you were so desperately clinging to, revealing something sick and snivelling hiding at it’s core.
“God,” he inhales a hiss through his teeth, leaning away again to watch how you hump back against him, ass rotating in tight, fast circles, yearning cock slipping between your cheeks.
His free hand pushes the hem of your skirt up further, forcing it to pool around your waist and fully exposing your bare ass to him. Blunt nails sink into your plush flesh, snapping tiny tangles of blood vessels beneath their grip as Touya grabs a healthy palmful of your ass, squeezing until you yelp.
“I love it when you wear such slutty little outfits—it makes it so much easier for me.”
A sharp slap sounds, adding insult to injury as blood begins to flood the surrounding tissues, a biting sting radiating from the site.
“They are just for me, right?” And you swear you can detect a hint of genuine jealousy in his voice, caustic and possessive. “Not for Shouto or Daddy?”
“Yes, Touya-nii,” you sigh out, your actions slowing to something intentional, purposeful and hard as you grind into his cock, accentuating your answer. “They’re only for you, always for you.”
“Good,” he says, body draping over yours again, lips suddenly at your ear. “Because this pussy is mine.”
The growl of ownership vibrates against your back, shivery dread climbing the notches of your spine, your head beginning to nod instinctively.
“Mine, and no one else’s, you hear me? If I find out another Todoroki cock has been anywhere near my cunt I will cut that cock off, I swear to Christ.”
His voice is cold, firm, a fucking oath—a dangerous promise. There isn’t a single doubt in your mind that he means every word of what he just said.
Yes, Touya-nii, yes, Touya-nii, yes, Touya-nii!
The agreement spills from your mouth as your hips speed up again, back arching into a perfect curve to reveal more of your cunt to him, pelvis twisted at an unnatural angle.
It pulls a moan from his throat as the head of his cock begins to catch on your needy little hole, pulsing around nothing, begging to suck him in, to be stuffed full.
“H-Ah, fuck, fuck.”
The denim of his jeans no longer hurts, the fabric turned slick and soaked with your arousal, making each glide of your pussy smooth, effortless.
“Y’feel how wet you are for me, baby? Feel how much you love my cock?”
The whine you let out is pathetic, another bout of humiliation flushing through your veins, sending pins searing through your blood.
The muscles in your legs are beginning to tremble, fatigued from being on your tiptoes for so long, pushing up even further in a futile attempt to give him more of your cunt, calves taut and firm.
You can feel it beginning to form in your gut, a tense, concentrated ball of fire furling in on itself tighter and tighter with each stroke of Touya’s fingers over your swollen clit, alternating between quick figure-eights and rapid, pulsing waves.
But you’re getting too goddamn loud, fucking damn it—much too loud for Touya’s liking, choked little noises of pleasure tangled with pain reverberating off the cement walls of the garage, amplified as they bounce back at you.
“Shut up,” Touya growls, the fingers of his free hand reaching easily for the peach that started this whole fucking mess and jamming it into your open mouth as a makeshift gag. “You tryna get me into fucking trouble?”
No, no, no, your head is shaking fervently, fruit beginning to slip from between your teeth.
“Then keep this here,” his palm shoves the peach further into your mouth, fuzzy skin scraped by your incisors as they dig into the sweet flesh, “and shut the fuck up.”
You’re trying! you want to wail, the sentiment reduced to a high pitched whine, a fresh torrent of tears flooding your eyes. You’re trying, but it feels too good, it’s too much, you’re too close!
The rocking of your hips has turned ruthless, muscles in your lower back cramping from being scrunched in such a position, and you hump back toward Touya with a certain voraciousness, almost as if you’re trying to fuck him through his jeans.
It tugs another one of those coveted broken moans from his throat—so delicious, so gorgeous, and you wish you could see him, sapphire rolling back in his head, angular jaw on perfect display, prominent Adams apple bobbing with his shattered little sounds, all coming together to form a masterpiece of pure pleasure.
“C’mon, c’mon,” he gasps out, voice strained. “I want you to cum from your big brother playing with your clit. Come on, sweetheart, I know—I know you can do it.”
A shudder ripples through your flesh, disgust and desire, and his fingers speed up, rubbing over your clit in fast motions, that ball of fire coiling more, and more, and more until finally it bursts, sending a cascade of wet heat gushing to the apex of your thighs.
Your whole body tenses beneath him, cunt squeezing violently around nothing, so much that it hurts, and you weep out some mangled version of his name, smothered by the fruit.
“That’s it, that’s it, make a mess on niichan’s pants, you little sl-slut,” he’s nearly whining, his movements growing vigorous as he chases his own high, both hands curling tightly around your hips and forcing you to stay still, to take everything he’s giving, keeping his cock slotted flush and hard against your cunt in an effort to feel it convulsing on him.
A cry hitches in your throat as his grip strengthens, sticky fingertips burrowing into soft flesh as his hips roll once, twice, three times before he’s filling his jeans with hot, thick cum, the hands on your body roughly compelling you to rut against him through his orgasm.
And, God, it’s so fucking hot, his thick cock throbbing almost viciously into your grinding ass as he floods his pants with cream, a curse shattering on his tongue and a tremor coursing through his form.
You’re still whimpering into the fruit stuffed between your teeth when Touya collapses on top of you, chest heaving, his scalding breaths dewy against your skin.
Touya? Is that you?
It’s softened by layers of drywall, but it’s still loud enough to send jolts of shock buzzing through your veins, Touya’s body jerking up immediately.
“Yeah, mom,” he calls back, voice slightly hoarser than usual. “Just got home.”
Make sure you don’t leave the produce out on the counter again, or it will spoil!
“Yeah,” he shouts, exasperated, and you can practically hear him rolling his eyes. “Will do!”
He waits for a couple more moments, the sound of harsh, uneven panting the only noise echoing around you, your ears ringing as they strain to listen—for more instructions, for footsteps, for a doorknob turning.
But mom has gone back to whatever it was she was doing, the state of the groceries already forgotten, and then Touya’s leaning over you again, his face so close that his forehead nearly bumps against your own.
“Look at me,” he growls, a hand expertly knotting itself in the hair at the back of your head and yanking, ensuring your gaze stays trained on him. “You say a fucking word about this to Daddy and I swear to God, I’ll make sure you never step foot in this house again, you hear me?”
Your head is nodding before he’s even finished speaking, a fresh pair of crystalline drops blooming at the corners of your eyes, nose twitching with a sniffle. A dirty hand pulls the peach from your mouth, the ache in your jaw suddenly becoming apparent, the hinge stiff and sore as your mouth begins to close.
Touya glances at the fruit in his palm, now bearing deep little indents strung in two crescents, and smirks to himself, deliberately ripping out a chunk of sweet flesh from where your teeth had been buried.
Peach juice dribbles down his chin, sapphire eyes sparkling as he watches you.
“Good girl.”












