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you hit the floor with a sharp cry, pain lancing through your side and wrist. the scroll clatters beside you. for a moment you lie there, breathlessly. your hand instinctively cradles your belly. the baby moves again. it’s still strong and alive.

relief floods you, but it’s followed quickly by fear.

because your hear them. those heavy footsteps echo down the corridor. too fast and way too purposeful.

the sliding doors slam open with enough force to rattle the entirre frame. sukuna stands there, all four beefy arms tense, crimson eyes blazing with immediate and lethal irritation. the mouth on his abdomen twists into a snarl before the one on his face even opens.

he takes one look at you on the floor, at the displaced cabinet, the way you clutch your wrist and the temperature in the room seems to drop.

“what,” he growls, “is the meaning of this, woman?”

you try to push yourself up. trying to make yourself seem presentable, “it’s nothing, my lord. i only—“

“do not.”

two of his arms move before you can finish. one massive hand catches your shoulder while the other slides beneath your knees. he lifts you as if you weigh nothing before carrying you to the thick futon piled with silks. the third hand hovers over your belly, not quite touching, while the fourth grips your injured wrist with surprising gentleness. though his expression promises murder.

you wince as he probes the swelling. a bruise is seemingly already blooming.

sukuna’s eyes narrow at the bruise on your wrist. something inside him twists, “you fell.”

“well, i reached for a scroll,” you admit quietly as you hold your head down in shame, “didn’t think—“

“yeah. you obviously didn’t think,” his voice is deceptively calm now. the kind of calm that precedes slaughter.

he sets your wrist down and rises to his full imposing height. the black tattoos shift across his skin as his muscles flex, “tsk. y’re crawling about like some reckless servant chasing trinkets, and look where that got ya.”

the air grows thick with that ominous cursed energy you’ve grown used to. outside in the gardens, you hear a distant scream. you swallow thickly. that was an unfortunate soul who was probably been lingering too close at the wrong moment.

sukuna doesn’t even glance toward the sound. his focus remains locked on you.

he kneels again, red eyes boring into yours. one hand cups your chin to tilt your face up, “do you have any idea what i would do to this entire fuckin’ country if you lost that child?”

your heart stutters.

you know he isn’t exaggerating. sukuna’s affection is a double edged blade. it’s obsessive, violent and all-consuming. you have seen villages erased for lesser offenses than inconveniencing his property.

“y-yes, but i’m alright,” you whisper, “the baby kicked just now. it’s still strong and kicking."

as if to prove it, another solid thump presses against your belly. sukuna’s big hand moves immediately, his warm palm spreading over the curve.

for a long moment there’s silence. then he exhales through his nose, a sound closer to a growl.

“you will not leave this chamber without my presence until the birth.” it isn’t a suggestion. “servants will bring you everything. if you desire a scroll, they will fetch it. if you desire the moon itself, they will bleed trying.”

you reach up with your good hand to brush fingers along one of his wrists. you tilt your head as you look up at him, “you’re angry.”

“furious.”

the word drips with venom. yet he lowers himself beside you on the futon, two arms pulling you carefully against his chest while the other two adjust pillows behind your back. the contrast is dizzying. his body radiates power and heat, capable of tearing mountains, but he handles you like a fragile thing.

“i should chain you to this bed,” sukuna mutters, lips brushing your temple, “perhaps then you’d stop testin’ me.”

a small smile tugs at your lips despite the dull ache in your wrist. “you’d miss my stubbornness too much,” you chuckle softly.

the king of curses huffs. the mouth on his stomach licks its lips, tasting the air—probably the lingering trace of your blood from a scraped elbow.

you lean into him and lett the solid bulk of his true form surround you. four arms are useful for this, at least. one idly strokes your hair, another rests over your belly, the third keeps your injured wrist elevated and the fourth simply holds you close.

minutes pass in comfortable silence. his cursed energy fluctuates wildly. you can feel the rage still simmering, but it’s more contained. you can feel it coiling around the room like invisible smoke, ready to lash out at the first person who enters.

a hesitant knock sounds at the door.

“enter,” sukuna barks.

a trembling servant girl slides the door open, carrying a tray of bandages and herbal salve. her eyes widen at the sight of sukuna holding you so intimately. she nearly drops everything.

“give it here,” he snaps while extending one arm without releasing you. the girl approaches on her knees, head bowed low, and places the tray within reach before scrambling back.

sukuna tends to your wrist himself.

his touch is precise, almost clinical, wrapping the linen with surprising care. every so often his gaze flicks to your face to check for discomfort. the fury hasn’t left his eyes, but it has shifted. it’s now directed outward. toward the world that has dared let you fall.

when he finishes, sukuna pulls you closer again. “if this swells worse by morning, i’ll flay the physician who attends you. slowly.”

you chuckle softly as exhaustion creeps in. too much happened in a small amount of time for your heavily pregnant self, “‘kay, noted.”

he stays like that long after your breathing evens out. sukuna rarely sleeps much, but tonight he remains vigilant and his hand never leaves your belly.

. . .

by the next morning, word has spread through the estate like wildfire. no one is to allow you out of the inner chambers without the king of curses’ permission.

extra guards patrol the halls. when a maid brings breakfast, she keeps her eyes on the floor and moves with exaggerated slowness, terrified of triggering his wrath.

you watch sukuna from the futon as he paces, big arms crossed in various combinations. he has already executed one overzealous attendant who suggested you might have ‘overexerted’ yourself earlier in the week. the body has been removed before you woke.

“ryo.. come here,” you call softly, trying carefully to calm that rage by using that nickname you made up for him. instead of the usual politeness.

sukuna pauses. then, with a reluctant grunt, he returns to your side. you take one of his large hands and place it back on your belly.

"feel it. he’s fine. we’re fine.”

sukuna’s expression remains stormy, but the tension in his shoulders eases fractionally, “if anythin’ changes...”

“‘you’ll destroy the world’. . . i know.”

a rare, sharp-toothed smirk tugs at his lips, “good. you’re learning.”

you increase your pace and nearly run after sukuna. you have to lift your kimono a little to make sure you wouldn’t trip over the fabric. it doesn’t seem like you’ll give up any time soon as you follow him with that same content expression on your face.

sukuna can’t believe that a human like you dares to even be in his presence for so long. he didn’t call for you, so why are you adamant on staying with him?

he concludes that something must be up, “what’d you want from me?”

there hangs a silence between you two afterwards. sukuna’s slow yet heavy footsteps reverberate through the hallway, followed by your quick and light ones. you pout as you notice that the king of curses isn’t even sparing you a glance, “nothing at all. i just like to be with you.”

you add the latter as an afterthought. you don’t expect sukuna to react to that, so you continue to trail behind him into the courtyard.

“tch,” you hear him scoff in annoyance. you’re sure he doesn’t mean any actual harm by that, so you don’t take it personally.

sukuna eventually sits down on the engawa, where the servants have placed the comfy zabuton cushions. there’s always one for you as well—right next to sukuna’s. it’s become a habit for the maids to include you in sukuna’s daily routines since you’re always with him.

you eye your own cushion, though don’t make an effort to actually sit down on it. sukuna stares ahead, not bothered to notice you at the moment. you look down at his lap, recalling just how perfectly you can fit on it.

you don’t waste any more time and plop down on his thick thighs, your back against his chest. sukuna’s brow twitches at the sudden contact. his bottom pair of eyes look down at you whilst the upper ones keep looking at the nature in front of you both.

“get off me,” the king of curses commands through a low tone. he doesn’t push you off, however. that alone should tell you enough; he’s tolerating your behaviour as per usual. or perhaps he secretly likes your proximity.

you shall never discover which of the two it actually is.

“nooooooo,” you exaggerate with a whine. you don’t want to. you wrap both of your arms around one of sukuna’s—clinging onto him like your life depends on it. he simply responds by sighing.

you know sukuna’s able to grab you by the collar and force you to sit down on the cushion beside him, but he doesn’t. your heart flutters every time sukuna shows some tolerance to your clingy behavior. it means that maybe—just maybe—he’s opening up to the idea of being more affectionate with you.

“such a fuckin’ brat,” sukuna simply puts one hand on your waist, the others supporting his weight on the engawa. he grumbles, but there are clear signs of him relaxing with you in his presence.

you chuckle at the realisation and swing your legs in excitement. sukuna unexpectedly bites your ear in response to your increased activity on his lap, “stay still or i’ll kick you off.”

you let out a small whimper as you feel his fangs gently sick into your earlobe. you jolt back and rub the skin with your hand, looking up at sukuna with a playful frown before teasing him back. you roll your eyes and answer him with a firm yet mocking, “sir yes, sir!”

sukuna clicks his tongue at your tease. you answer him like he’s some general in the military. that’s not the kind of relationship he has with you—it’s more than that. even though he knows you’re joking, he dislikes it when you call him anything other than ‘my lord’, ‘my king’, or just his name.

he finds great satisfaction in the way you refer to him as such. you’re the only one who can make sukuna grin each time you remind him of his status and the power he has over you.

the power dynamic; it’s addictive.

he needs more of it.

sukuna reaches out to grab your face with one hand, but you’re quick to pull your head back the moment you see that intimidatingly big hand coming down onto your vision. you clear your throat and apologise, “i mean—yes, my lord.”

the king of curses hums in content. that title is exactly what he had been looking for. he retracts his hand and settles it back down on your waist, patting your sides twice to show his satisfaction with your obedience.

you stop squirming around in his lap and simply lay back down in his arms. you close your eyes and nearly fall asleep because of the comfortable atmosphere. the slight breeze against your face is relaxing and perfectly compliments the warmth from sukuna’s body.

what a perfect way to spend your day.

you'd only bow your head at him and apologise if you’ve caused him any possible inconveniences. it annoyed the sorcerer. you weren’t trembling in fear like all the others would—it’s like there was nothing going on in that head of yours. especially when you smile at him. which no one actually dares to do.

sukuna could crush you. with no effort. one big hand would be enough to pick your entire body up, lift you in the air and throw you around like a ragdoll. you don’t seem to fear the possibility of that happening, even when being faced with a pissed off monster.

it’s truly intriguing and amusing. that’s why sukuna keeps you around every day—as a form of entertainment, he calls it. one thing had led to the other and you eventually ended up as one of his concubines. the king of curses himself decided to grant you that promotion.

why? because not only does your fragile body, reserved and polite personality and innocence secretly fascinate him—it also makes him crave you. crave to shatter that naivety of yours. to take that small body of yours and make it feel what it means to be overpowered by a man twice your size.

sukuna does not regret his decision to make you his concubine. the first night you spent together was one of the best nights he ever had. in all his many years of living. not a single woman had ever succeeded in blowing his mind when it came to sex.

it was usually boring and repetitive. he felt nothing for those women he’s had in bed before—it was solely for the fact of satisfying himself. though, that changed on the day you had given him your virginity.

he remembers every detail; from your little noises of both pain and pleasure, your tight and untouched pussy that bled faintly when the fat tip of his lower cock pushed through, your nails that dug into his arms and back, your thighs that he held to your chest, his large hands that could easily wrap around the fat of them, your aching cunt that was left spasming around air as it tried to keep his sticky cum stored in place.

sukuna didn’t think your tears would affect him as much. when he took your virginity and you whimpered in pain —he did feel an almost unnoticeable twinge of guilt. it was strange; he hadn’t felt that emotion before. he had actually stopped and wiped your tears away. roughly whispered some words of encouragement too.

he had never done so before. never.

he had never told anyone how ‘good’ they were for him. how he’d be ‘careful’ to not make it hurt any more. the king of curses recalls vividly how slow he started with you. slow sex. instead of rough like he’s used to.

sukuna wasn’t chasing after his own pleasure in that moment like he’d usually have. his main priority was to make sure the girl below him was comfortable enough to continue. you’re strange. the things you make him do, say and feel are strange. and yet. . .

it was an amazing night. the best. however sukuna was left behind with an insatiable hunger for you. more, more, more. he can’t grasp it yet; why he longs for you. for those feelings he’s suddenly capable of experiencing during intimate moments.

it’s why he calls for you every night. no other concubine was needed after you were made one. the king of curses couldn’t care less about those other women. they are boring to him.

unlike you. the one he’s sure that he won’t ever get bored of.

. . .

“hmh, you can take me so well now,” sukuna breathes out. one of his cocks is inches deep inside you, bulbous tip painfully hitting your cervix. over the past few weeks, your body has learnt to adjust to him, your pussy molded to fit the shape of his dick.

sukuna looks down at you and his cocks twitch with the urge to release already, his heavy balls clenching. your fucked out state is adorable. you seem so vulnerable underneath the big man.

“tsk. what a fragile little thing.”

it almost sounds condescending. degrading. especially with sukuna’s lips curled up into a mean grin, his sharp canines showing. there is a puddle of your cum forming underneath your hips—staining the sheets that the poor servants have to clean by tomorrow morning.

“p-please, fngh, ‘s too big,” you sputter out.

no matter how many times you take sukuna in, your smaller body can’t quite fully accommodate to the girth of him. every time he hits your deepest parts, you let out a painful whimper.

sukuna kisses his teeth, though slows his thrusts a bit. the wet sounds of his cum and yours getting pushed in and out of your cunt with each move is too addicting. what sukuna loves most is the view of the skin of your lower abdomen swelling and stretching each time he pushes forward.

“i thought y’ said you’d take both of my cocks today, yet it seems like you can’t even handle one,” the king of curses sighs whilst belittling you. one set of hands is holding you down by your hips, the other set is fondling your stiff nipples and circling your sensitive clit, “what a pity. a real pity.”

you almost choke on your spit as all your sensitive spots are being fondled. sukuna’s thick fingers leave no place untouched as he increases the tempo again—his cock plunging in and out of your stretched hole. the upper one is twitching, rubbing against your clit and lower abdomen.

sukuna harshly grabs your jaw and makes you look up at him after he hears you apologise for making empty promises. he seems satisfied with you staying so polite. even when he’s practically rearranging your insides. the way you talk through your soft sobs and cries is endearing. it makes him grin wickedly.

“i don’t want to break my favourite little concubine yet, y’ see,” sukuna continues. he lets out a grunt of pleasure when your pussy clenches around his thick cock. no matter how many times he fucks you dumb, you still remain as tight as the first time.

he takes in a deep breath. he’s trying his best not to pound you into the mattress. he’d fold you in half and probably break you like the fragile thing you are. he could snap you like a twig if he wasn’t careful, “. . .but y’re making it very difficult for me.”

you respond by apologising again. oh, how cute it was to see you babble and make up excuses.

sukuna grits his teeth, jaw clenching as he resists the urge to go harder on you. you’re already squirming and moaning loudly just because he’s fucking you hard and deep—bruising your cervix and forcing your walls to open up to him.

“‘m sorry, wanna take both.” you hiccup and sniffle. tears run down your cheeks from overstimulation. it feels so good yet so painful to be taken by the person you admire most. you don’t want to displease him, so you utter those hopeless yet needy sentences again and again.

sukuna stops his movements when you weakly ask him to use both of his cocks on you. he scoffs, not knowing where you gained the confidence from. he pulls out of your dripping cunt, leaving a trail of cum connecting both your genitalia.

“‘wanna take both,’ she says,” sukuna mocks you under his breath. it’s getting worse; he’s nearing the point of no return. especially with your desperate whines that are like music to his ears, “you’ll break, woman.”

two of his hands move to stroke along his lengths, smearing the mixture of body fluids all over them. his eyes glare down at your small form—already fucked out, yet aching to continue. needing the full experience for once.

you always turn from a shy girl to a complete slut whenever he has you in bed. he loves it.

“i want to try at the very least,” you mutter.

it’s true that you’re exhausted. you’re catching your breath now that you got the chance, tired eyes glancing up at sukuna’s enormous stature between your legs, his defined muscles and the tattoos on them glistening under the faint light of the oil lamp.

it gets your pussy throbbing and clamping down around air. you feel a bit light headed and your head lolls back against the pillow, eyes glazed over as you try to seem determined. but your body is tired.

“yeah? how. . . cute,” sukuna grins.

he knows you can’t. not today at least. he doesn’t mind if you aren’t capable of taking him fully, because you’ve already pleased him well enough for now. though, he still can’t help but tease you—make it seem like he’s going to give you what you want, “all right. don’t say i didn’t warn you.”

your eyes widen and your fingers curl around the silky bedsheets beneath you in anticipation. your heart is pounding in your chest as you watch sukuna pump his two cocks a bit faster, squeezing the base a bit, leaking some pre.

it’s all just for show.

“i’m not stopping. even if you scream,” the king of curses warns you with a dangerous glint in his eyes. you gulp at the terrifying aura sukuna is emitting. one of his tips teases your entrance whilst the other probes and circles around your anus.

he threatens you again, testing if you’ll back down, “last chance. i’m not pulling out once i’m in, do y’hear me?”

you keep being stubborn until the very last second. sukuna’s deep voice shaking you to your core is not enough to make you change your mind. you’re so desperate to fulfill his every need and make sure that he’s satisfied.

sukuna is completely amused.

he decides to take it up a notch. he pushes his lower cock against the tight ring of muscles, pressing and nearly allowing the tip to move in. the sudden increase in pressure is torturous. you surely wouldn’t be able to withstand the entire thing.

“w-wait!” you squeal in surprise and pain. the sting you feel makes you snap back into reality. it’s then that you realise that you need more time and experience to take both of sukuna’s dicks.

you squirm your hips away, “can’t. i can’t.. hurts too much.”

sukuna nearly rolls his eyes once you finally give in. he shakes his head with a sigh, feigning disapproval and annoyance. he pulls his entire body away from yours—a ominous shadow casted over his eyes. it makes you believe that he’s pissed off at you; for being unable to please him.

you panic a little. even if you are sure sukuna wouldn’t ever hurt you. you know he favours you over the other concubines. you don’t want to lose that position.

“i’m sorry,” you apologise before he can say anything. he lets out a sharp breath, rough hands back on your body, kneading your flesh gently yet firmly. his eyes take in the view of you trembling.

it’s unreal. you are half his size—completely vulnerable underneath him. he’d normally call people like you weak and useless. wouldn’t feel a thing for them. but your naked body below his is a sight he wishes to see every night.

it turns sukuna on so much. the fact that you are helpless and don’t complain when you’re struggling to take one of his cocks gets him going each time.

“tsk. what’d i tell you?” sukuna grumbles. he slaps his lower cock firmly against your clit. your body responds by closing your thighs together, though he pries them apart again, “stop overestimating yourself, brat.”

he isn’t actually mad. it was expected—of course you can’t take both at once. he hasn’t even prepped your other hole enough. besides, you are clearly still exhausted from the previous rounds. sukuna just likes to. . . test and take advantage of your devotion to him. your obedience and desires to please him.

it’s fascinating to see you squirm and apologise in that whiny voice of yours. it makes him grin from ear to ear. and it keeps things fun.

before you can mutter excuses again, sukuna stops you by leaning in. just when you thought you’d finally get to kiss him, he goes to bite down on your bottom lip. a moan slips out of your mouth which only spurs him on to bite down harder.

you can feel the devilish smirk on sukuna against your lip. his wet tongue cleans up the tiny drop of blood that escaped the wound. he lets out a low hum in approval at the taste. delicious as always.

“now, how should i punish my little concubine for being unable to keep her word?” sukuna whispers in a serious tone.

it sends shivers down your spine, his hot breath traveling from your jaw to your right ear. he slowly licks your earlobe, “what do you say? any ideas?”

the tension in the room is palpable. your heart is stammering in your throat from the proximity between the two of you. you gather the courage to answer as sukuna’s fingers curl around your neck, squeezing your throat as if forcing the answer out of you.

“i-i’ll do anything, sir,” you reply through a shaky breath. the king of curses pulls back after he’s got a response from you. your eyes meet his and that’s when you know that you’ve either greatly pleased him or have given him the chance to go all out on you.

it’s probably both.

“anything, you say?” sukuna repeats slowly. without a warning, he effortlessly flips you over on your stomach, a set of hands pulling your ass up by your hips whilst the other set holds your upper body down on the mattress.

a harsh grip on the back of your head results into you whimpering. your face is mushed into a pillow, almost leaving no place to breathe. your back is placed in the perfect arch with your plump ass facing up. it’s one of sukuna’s favourite positions to do with you—especially because it makes you seem smaller than you already are.

“keheh. i’ll make ya regret saying that,” sukuna snickers. a low, evil and wicked chuckle. that’s enough to make you realise that he’s not going easy on you.

your submission has greatly impressed him and he's taking advantage of it. again.

what would come next could be a reward for that said submission. he’s going to fuck your brains out and make you forget about everything else except for his dick. a night you won’t ever forget as long as you live—that’s a possibility.

or perhaps you’re going to be crying and begging him to go easy on you. a punishment for not being able to keep your promise. that could also happen.

anyway, you’re about to find out which one it is

These were intense times. 

The Michigan Wolverines were right in the midst of the NCAA College Football Playoffs, and it has been weeks of non-stop practice, conditioning, strength training, and late-night film recaps for the team of 100-odd men–all in preparation for a chance at being the nation’s top seed. 

There was much on the line, especially seeing that Senior Quarterback and Captain, Toji Fushiguro, was aiming to secure his spot in the upcoming NFL draft. 

As such, his pre-game ritual (one that he has refined and perfected over the course of four years) was a strict routine backed by, and rooted down in, evidence-based science and partially unbiased statistical analyses. 

It all starts with his protein shake: two whole bananas, one cup of oats, a shit ton of peanut butter, one spoon of raw honey, four scoops of protein powder, and full-fat milk. 

Next, his attire. He needed his signature gray game-day sweats (unwashed for the past 10-games in a row), a muscle tank he’s owned and stretched out since high school, and his most industrial-grade, noise-cancelling headphones. 

As for schedule? He needed thirty minutes of privacy, unrestricted and uninterrupted access to high speed internet, and most importantly of all: he needed to watch at least two of “stargiirl_xx”’s videos prior to heading out onto the turf. 

Give him that, and he was bound to have a fuckin’ phenomenal performance on the field. 

His meaty hand was already squeezing his growing erection through his sweats, the thick outline of his cock visible against the backlight from stargiirl’s newest video loading up on his laptop screen, and his protein shake already half finished by his bedside table. 

He wasn’t just a fan. He was her #1 biggest financer. 

Though she never showed her face, he had come to memorize the curve of stargiirl’s thighs and the moles on her hips over the course of the years. He knew her room layout by heart, and diligently watched the animes that she kept posters of on her walls. 

She was the best of the best. Not showy, not performative, just purely indulging herself. 

And sure, if keeping her active meant donating a sizable portion of his D1 stipend to fund her… pursuits, well, then call him a patron of the arts. 

His dick shamelessly pulsed in his pants as the page finally stopped buffering and the title of the video loaded. 

“Lessons in Vibrations Pt I”. 

Part one?!

He knew almost immediately that tonight’s game would be a fantastic one. 

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

The Wolverines won their first round of the playoffs in a sweeping victory: 41-20. 

And Toji Fushiguro? Well, he was the star of the show, of course. He completed more than 85% of his passes (with six of them leading to touchdowns) and led an 80-yard rush all in a single game. He was on fire: skin buzzing with adrenaline, cool sweat dripping down his face, and his large canines glinting under the fierce stadium lights as the deafening crowds roared his name. 

“To-ji! To-ji! To-ji!”

He felt indomitable, floating on a high all the way from the stadium, to the bus, to the afterparty. 

But in the lecture hall? Well… 

His grades were barely passing for the majority of his classes, and in fact they were quite below when it came to Applied Chemical Kinetics II. 

He was truly a lost cause. 

He had missed countless of Yaga’s lectures throughout the course of the semester, promising himself that he would catch up on the review notes (he didn’t) and trying to watch the recorded lectures on the bus rides to any of the away games (he never). 

So really, it came as no surprise to anyone when he absolutely tanked his midterms those six long weeks ago. 

At the time, he was desperate. Failing class meant getting booted off the team. He needed someone who could easily cover his sorry ass for the rest of the semester, and fast. 

Therefore, the obvious choices for a final project partner were between Ijichi and, well, you. 

And, seeing as Toji Fushiguro had a pair of functioning fuckin’ eyes and a brain that lived partly in his pants, he chose the latter. 

It wasn’t easy persuading you to take him on for the project, which was something he honestly didn’t quite expect (nor was he used to). You were stoic to his ill-attempted flattery and unaffected by his usual charm. Every smile he flashed at you seemed to wither upon arrival, and every playful remark was met with nothing more than an empty stare.

In the end, desperation drove him somewhere pride never would’ve allowed before: straight into his football stipend.

“Listen. I’ll give you $300 if you can help me pass this class.”

It was the Wednesday before the Thanksgiving break, and he remembered how his words rang loud and heavy in the dusty air of the old lecture hall. Everyone had left at this point, the class long-since over.

You had stood before him unmoved, your books hugged to your chest and your normally impassive gaze slowly piquing in interest.

He remembered how you looked up at him through your lashes, and the way you tilted your head almost cutely. “Make it $400,” you said it softly, yet with little hesitation.

He remembered how he felt himself gulp, not from the number, but at the way your eyes were scanning his face like it was the first time you even noticed him. 

His hand had gripped the strap of his backpack just a little tighter. 

Though, you didn’t seem to notice as you continued. “I’ll meet you on Mondays and Thursdays only, I work every other day. And I want half as security in advance.”

You pulled out your phone, swiftly punching in your password before holding it out to him, the contacts app already open on the screen. 

For the first time in all of his college experience, he was genuinely caught off guard.

What the fuck? 

He took your phone. 

“$400?” he repeated, huffing faintly under his breath (was he amused? Annoyed? Aroused? He couldn’t tell at the time, nor does he know now) as he typed in his number. His large hands looked almost comical holding your small device. “You rob everybody like this, or am I just that special?”

He handed your phone back, his calloused fingers gently grazing your warm ones. 

“You’re failing chem,” you replied flatly. “You are not special.”

He hated how his dick twitched at your words.

But most of all, he hated how he didn’t know what to say in response.

He was the star quarterback, captain of the football team, most popular guy on campus and an undeniable chick-magnet, for god’s sake! 

His silence surprised the both of you, and you took it as your queue to leave. “See you later,” you glanced down at your phone, looking at his contact. “Fushiguro.”

You didn’t even know his fuckin’ name?!

And with that, you gently breezed past him, only offering him a small nod as you walked out of the room. The scent of your shampoo faintly caught in his nose as he tried to will his boner to stop growing in his sweats.   

After that, the break passed uneventfully, and by the time campus filled back up again and the chill of early winter settled in, your project was impossible to ignore.

He kept to his word of paying you the $200 in advance.

You kept to yours by meeting him that following Monday. 

The two of you developed a routine during the second half of the semester, meeting in libraries and cafes to review material and project timelines for the final submission. 

And during those couple of hours on the Mondays and Thursdays that he had you, he came to the haunting realization that you were so… chill. 

He was blunt, but you were blunt back. You flicked him when his head got too large, and he flicked you whenever you were too stuck in yours. He shoved you out of your shell at times, while you pulled him back down to Earth. It was rare, and so fuckin’ odd, this kind of dynamic between the two of you, the kind that goes unnoticed until suddenly you realize it’s there.

Soon, he would find himself calling your name from across the quad, and you would nod with what looked like a smile at him when you passed his row in lecture. He gave you tickets to his games (which you would resell for 200% of its value), and put your name on the list for the Kappa parties despite you never showing up. You sent him stupid instagram posts, and brought him homemade coffees whenever the two of you met post-game days. 

And thankfully for Toji, today was one of those days. 

“How’d it go?” Your voice was like honey and wine, low and smooth, as you looked up at him from behind your computer. The light from your screen illuminated halos in your eyes, and the steam from his opened thermos curled languidly in the air between you both. 

You sat across from him in a quiet, off-campus cafe. 

He grinned, smug and wolfish and borderline sleazy, as if he’d been just waiting for you to ask. He leaned back in his chair and stretched his overwhelmingly large, muscular arms over his head. He made a point to subtly flex his biceps while under your scrutiny. His shirt lifted slightly above his abdomen, and you blinked your eyes to focus on the scar on his tanned face, rather than the dark happy trail that ran down, down, down to his…

“Perfect game. You’d know if you actually came ‘round ‘n watched.” He playfully winked, his deep chuckle echoing as you gave him a deadpan stare. 

“I’m quite alright, Fushiguro.” He pouted in mock defeat as you looked back down at your screen. The battery symbol on your laptop flashed red in warning: low power. 

You’d only been there for thirty minutes and you could’ve sworn you charged the damn thing last night. Sure, your outlets were kind of fucked, and sure this was a twelve year old laptop with a battery life the size of a peanut, but surely it wouldn’t give out on you this early in the day?!

You exhaled a long breath. The thought of putting money down for a new computer made your heart physically ache. 

The two of you (mainly you) had just started to make headway with the report (“flow state”, as Toji would call it), and you knew you wouldn’t have a chance to work on the project again until after your Wednesday shift. “You got a charger on you?” 

He scoffed, almost offendedly. “Wanna try askin’ that again sweetheart?” He tsked you lightly. 

You rolled your eyes, a heavy sigh tumbling out of your soft lips. 

“Forget it. I know you don’t,” there was something prickly beneath your uncaring tone, and he curiously paused to examine you. 

He could see the faint circles under your eyes that you tried to cover with concealer, the way your shoulders sagged slightly from the weight of your backpack as you lifted it from the seat beside you, and the brief glimpse of all the mini bookmarks sticking out of your planner as you dropped it inside the bag. 

“I guess we’ll have to call it here then. I’d need to go back to my apartment and grab my charger to do anything else.”

And, perhaps it was because the two of you had formed this unexpected bond over the past several weeks, something deep and quiet and far more important than Toji would ever willingly name, that the weight of being the weakest link finally made Toji Fushiguro feel the heavy hammer of guilt bury deep within his hardened chest. 

A moment passed before he cleared his throat, holding up his hand. 

“Or…” the words were slow to move out of his mouth, embarrassment thickening in his throat. “Why don’t we work there?” You stared at him, almost startled, as if he’d grown another head. His ears warmed under the intensity of your gaze as he continued. “I still got power, I can keep goin’ if you’re down.” 

His triceps flexed as he scratched the back of his neck, tan skin pulling taut as he looked away. 

“It’s a small place,” you warned. 

He shrugged, his voice catching in his throat at the way you were holding his gaze. “I don’t mind. I’d go any place you choose.”

He paused, his eyes widening slightly at the words that tumbled out of his mouth, as if he didn’t realize what he said until after he said them. 

You breathed, and a beat passed before a small, pretty smile pulled across your features – the first he’s ever gotten from you like this. And this time, your tired eyes warmed into something soft, something akin to appreciation, something new.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay, then I’d like that.” You tilted your head slightly, and his heart thumped oddly loud in his muscular chest. “Thank you, Toji.”

For just the briefest of moments, you looked at him as if he had just offered the world. 

All he could do was swallow and nod. 

He didn’t even realize you called him by his first name until you were both out the door. 

The walk to your apartment was comfortably silent. Despite Toji’s taller stature and athletic build, he wordlessly matched your slower pace, walking between you and the road. 

Your apartment was situated right on the outskirts of campus; too close to drive, but too cumbersome to walk. He quietly marveled at your resolution to go in person to class every day, especially when he had difficulty hauling his ass to the lecture hall that was just a block over from frat row. 

The taller man was so lost in his own thoughts that he didn’t even realize how close he was standing to you as you both paused at your front doorstep. His towering frame loomed over you, and he could feel the heat of your body as you dug through your bag, and he could see the goosebumps that rose on your neck when your arm accidentally grazed against his abdomen. 

Your keys softly clinked! together as you unlocked the front door.

And, there was something faintly intimate about being led up the creaky wooden steps to your 3rd floor apartment, your hips gently swaying in his face with each ascent up, and your soft hands lightly tracing the railing in your wake.

He intrusively thought about reaching out to touch your fingers, to run his hand along the curve of your waist–

He coughed lightly.

What was he thinking?

As you opened your apartment’s door, he was immediately hit with the light smell of lemon and jasmine. 

Your place was small but tidy; a one-bedroom attic apartment where the kitchen and living area blurred together, soaking in the same sunlit space. Despite its size, it carried your mark: two types of server aprons hung on the coat rack, a soft crocheted throw blanket you made draped over the worn couch, and a set of reading glasses laying beside a hand-painted mug on your round window table.

It was cute; homely. A small glimpse into your life outside of class.

“You can start getting set up in here, I’ll just grab my charger from my room.” You spoke quietly as you led him to the table. 

You silently turned before he could respond, padding across the old wooden floors to the door that was directly across from where he had set his bag down. 

He had only just started typing his password into his computer when he lazily looked up, his dark eyes catching the movement from your room. 

And, holy shit. 

No. 

There was genuinely no way in hell. 

He was scrambling up out of your wobbly kitchen chair before his mind could even register it. 

His body felt as if it were moving through water, and his brain felt like jam. Was that his own blood roaring past his ears or his soul escaping his body? 

Cool beads of sweat began to form on his neck, tickling at the ends of his dark, grungy hair. He had crossed the width of your apartment in three long strides, until suddenly he was at your doorframe, his large body leaning against it like it was a lifeline, and his scarred mouth parted into the dumbest looking “o”.

His wild eyes scanned your room fervently. The walls, the Cowboy Bebop poster by your bedframe, the pale linen sheets, the empty vase on your bedside table and the stack of yellowing paper backs in the corner of it. 

Everything looked familiar.

Scratch that. Everything looked the same. The same as–

“Can I help you?” 

You were on all fours. All fuckin’ fours. 

You tilted your head up to face him, taking a pause from wiggling the stubborn plug out of the ancient socket underneath your desk.

And… could you? Can you? He was at a genuine loss for words. 

All he could do was stare dumbly, his large fists clenching and unclenching at his sides, and his body emanating a heat that he prayed to god wasn’t visible from where you were.

“Uh. Y-you got a bathroom up here??” 

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

He scoured through every single video and rewatched every single clip that night.

The furniture, the decor, the walls, the window placement: everything was the same.

And so, the verdict was in: you–his quiet, guarded, asocial, and steely chem partner–were none other than stargiirl herself. 

What. The. Fuck. 

It was confusing to wrap his head around, this whole stargiirl-chemgirl business. But would he go as far to say that it wasn’t attractive? That he didn’t pop a boner every time he thought about it? 

No. He couldn’t. He’d never.

Was this divine intervention or his own personal hell? 

He couldn’t tell.

What does this mean? How should he act?  What does he fucking do with this information now?

He rubbed his temples before running a tense hand through his hair. At the same time, a notification popped up on his computer. 

“Check out a new post from stargiirl_xx !”

He could feel the blood in his veins thumping against his skin. 

“Don’t do it. Please don’t fucking do it-” he mumbled. 

He tapped into the link despite himself. 

“Lessons In Vibration Pt II”

He wordlessly clicked the play button on the video. 

For a moment, he thought his screen was buffering. The camera was set up to look out onto your bed, though you were not in frame yet, presumably twiddling with the settings of your camera. 

But when you finally did walk into view, his heart nearly imploded. 

The frame only showed you from the mouth down, your identity mainly concealed. You were bottomless, bare legs walking across the floor as you situated yourself on your bed. The only piece of clothing you did have on was an overlarge sweatshirt, his sweatshirt, one that he, in his panicked daze to get out of your apartment earlier, forgot he had left behind. 

He didn’t dare breathe, nor could he move. His head was craned so close to his computer, as if he wanted to go through the screen itself just to get a better look. 

He noted how his hoodie fell past your ass, large and consuming and honestly? So fuckin’ perfect on you.

You were nearing the end of your normal introduction, and he realized you spoke differently on video, low and confident and sensual and hypnotic.

“I’ve been thinkin’ a lot about my content throughout the years,” your hands started to draaag the bottom of his hoodie up, letting it bunch just slightly above the dip of your waist, enunciating your curves. “-And I’ve realized I’ve never had a partner during any of them.”

The comments on the side bar started to flood through, hundreds of viewers already volunteering themselves to be your +1. 

His jaw ticked, hard.

“I think,” you leaned forward like you were sharing a secret. Toji gripped onto his computer until a faint pop! could be heard of one of the inner screws coming loose. “I think I would like to change that in the future,” and then you smiled, really smiled, a full, playful grin wiping across your features in a way he had never been able to see in person before. 

His dick bobbed in his pants. 

This could not be happening to him right now. 

You continued, “but for now, welcome back to my Lessons in Vibrations series.”

He watched as you started introducing the toys you would be using today, before you slowly began to touch yourself, teasingly showing glimpses of the purple lace panties you had on underneath his hoodie. 

And he couldn’t help it, really. 

Because when you started rubbing your vibrator against your clit, your deft fingers plunging skillfully into your cunt, soft whimpers escaping your lips as your pussy started squelching out a fucking melody – all while wearing his fuckin’ sweatshirt – what the fuck else was he supposed to do?

His sweats were already halfway down his thighs, and his meaty hand greedily pumping his own cock in sync to you fucking yourself on your fingers. 

He watched hungrily as you pushed his sweatshirt up further along your body, exposing your stomach, teasing the view of your bare tits. He bit back a groan at the thought of your scent lingering in the fabric, and prayed to whatever deity above that you wouldn’t wash it out before he got it back. 

Below, your fingers languidly teased the head of your vibrator against your entrance. It was the insertable kind, with a slender tip and curved body, the type that had your hole trying to suck up the device with every rub against your dripping slit. 

He could feel the veins in his cock pulsing hotly in anticipation, pushing up thick pearls of precum out onto his flared tip. 

He wondered what it would be like to slip his shaft against your drenched pussy lips, to massage the underside of his cockhead against the tight ring of your entrance, to feel you squeezing around him, and to hear the sounds you would make just for him. 

He gulped, cool sweat starting to form on his brow. You were beginning to fuck the device into you, pumping the vibrator in and out and in and out. He could see your legs trembling, your juices starting to  uncontrollably splash outside of you, and your pussylips fluttering with every bzzz bzz bzzzzzt of the vibrator fucking and swirling and massaging into your g-spot. 

He was matching your pace, furiously pumping his dick, thinking about how you looked on all fours earlier, thinking about how you smiled when you called him his name, thinking about how you look when you concentrate and the mole above your brow, thinking about the coffee you made for him and the weird shitposts you sent and the way you could look at him like he was nothing, and everything, all at the same time.

And suddenly, he wasn’t climaxing to the stargiirl he had always seen on screen.

It was his tough, quiet, calm chem partner. 

And as he shot hot spurts of thick, ropey cum all the way from his dick to his chin (the most he’s ever released before), he realized only one thing. 

He just finished to the thought of you.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

Toji Fushiguro had a problem. 

No, scratch that. 

He had a fucking crisis. 

It was drill day, and his head was absolutely nowhere near the turf. He fumbled balls, missed targets, and was a full thirty-seconds under his usual sprint times. 

And that was only how one of his practices went this week. 

It had been five whole days since he last saw you. 

Five days of being dogshit at his sport. 

Five days of holing up in his frat, avoiding campus, avoiding class, avoiding your texts, avoiding you.

It’s not like he wanted to do this, but he didn’t know what to do, how to act, or what to even say. 

How could he talk to you casually while knowing he’s given probably a third of his checks to you? How could he be normal in your presence knowing that he’s watched every single one of your streams, and in turn has finished an embarrassing amount of times to each of them?

How could he trust himself when the thought of you alone had his heart pounding so hard his ears hurt? Or how his chest squeezed so tight he almost went to urgent care, just because you texted asking where he’s been and if he was okay? 

How could he face you, knowing that he somehow developed the largest, fattest, most egregious fuckin’ crush on you?!

And, for the record, Toji Fushiguro did not do crushes. He hadn’t necessarily “ran through” the entire roster of available chicks on campus, but he did have an occasional fling, nothing serious, nothing long, nothing that would distract him from football and his dreams.

He was known as the campus heartthrob and heartbreaker. He was Mr. Non-Chalant, Mr. Everybody-Wants-A-Piece-of-Him, and Mr. I-Don’t-Get-Attached all wrapped up in one 6’4, 230 lbs body. 

A crush? That was new, unexplored territory for him. 

He stared down at your last texts to him.

⭐️(Thursday, 12:03pm): i got us a nice spot!! im sitting on 2nd floor @ clark  ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧

Ba-dump!

⭐️(Thursday, 12:18pm): knock knock, is mr. toji theree 

Ba-dump! Ba-dump!

⭐️(Thursday, 12:56pm): hey, is everythin ok? r we still on for today?

Ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump–

⭐️(Saturday, 10:01am): r u alive

It physically sickened him that he couldn’t get his cowardly fingers to just fucking write back. But every time he opened up your text chain, all he could do was stare. 

Which is exactly why he couldn’t see you yet. 

He needed time. 

He needed space. 

He needed to get this shit under control.

Fortunately (or unfortunately) for him, the Kappa Epsilon fraternity was throwing a rager tonight. With the group of men only one week out from the next bracket of playoffs, this would be the last night the football frat would get to drink together for a while if they were to make it to the finals. 

It would be the perfect distraction. 

About an hour or so into the party and he was buzzed. He absolutely demolished that shithead Ryomen in beer pong, crushed a pack of PBRs, and now was cooling off in the kitchen, his body feeling swimmy and light. 

He reached for his phone. Maybe, just maybe, if he looked at your messages again for the umpteenth time today, maybe he would know what to say, maybe he–

“Ah, so you can come out and party but ignore all of my texts?”

His heart did that stupid thing where it pounded so hard against his chest he wondered if his ribs bruised. 

Despite the booming of the bass coming from the room over, and the idle chatter of randoms idling in the kitchen, he could hear the dry, unimpressed, and entirely too familiar voice coming directly from behind him. 

He turned, his eyes lowering to find you, as if it was muscle memory, as if it was his second nature. 

You never showed up to these parties (and trust, he has invited you to them all). Yet here you were, your body leaned up against the kitchen counter, arms crossed over your chest, and your hair falling around your frame. 

He grinned, the buzz in his head making it easy for a stupidly cheeky and wide and boyish smile to plaster onto his face. (a/n: toji has a hung smile. Okay? Okay.). 

“Hey, party animal,” he said, almost dreamily. 

The top you wore clung to you like a second skin, accentuating the swells of your breasts and the dip of your waist: features that you usually hid underneath your normal, bulkier campus-attire. 

He was indecisive, his eyes bouncing between the unreadable look on your face to the sliver of exposed skin right above your miniskirt. 

You looked good, really fuckin’ good. 

Your eyes widened, before your cheeks blushed the prettiest shade of red, your manicured fingers tightening around the plastic solo cup you were holding

Did he say that outloud?!

You straightened, steeling yourself, willing the warmth in your cheeks to go away. “You’ve ignored me for five days, Fushiguro-” your voice was firm and cool, cutting sharply through the noise of the party.

Back to the last name basis. 

You looked away, before adding, “-and you ditched me on Thursday.” You spoke that last part softly, deliberately, a look of sadness flashing briefly in your pretty, doe-like eyes. 

A dull pang rippled through his chest. 

He knew the implications of your words – the two of you never missed a meetup since this whole “deal” started. 

And, like those days in the libraries or cafes where he found himself sitting before you, following your every word and direction, he now found himself moving towards you, a small pout forming on his scarred lips, as his strong arms caged you in until you were wedged between himself and the counter. 

And, you knew he was huge before. 

But now, up close, you realized just how large he was - his broad shoulders obscuring your view, his muscular chest rippling under the tight black shirt he wore, and his huge hands riddled with veins that climbed up, up, up his forearms. 

He was overwhelming and all-consuming, surrounding your senses with the kind of intensity only he alone could pull off. You breathed in, your chest rising, fighting against the cotton of your ill-fitting top. He smelled of fresh pine and warm leather, clean and raw and manly. 

You came here pissed, but now found your resolve completely fogged and muddled. 

He leaned forward, dipping his head low, until his shaggy fringe tickled softly against the shell of your ear. 

You knew he had been drinking, but the question was, did he know what he was doing right now? Was this purposeful? Was this real? You couldn’t quite tell, but the way his breath stuttered as his nose traced light patterns into your neck, the way he was breathing you in, and the way his hands periodically clenched onto the countertop as if to restrain himself, told you he was at least semi aware of what he was doing. 

Your heart was hammering in your chest. The two of you never stood this close before, let alone touched each other. 

You turned your head slightly, trying to put at least some ounce of space between your face and his.

But for him? That just would not do. 

He slowly pulled away from your neck, his nose lightly mapping a path from the base of your neck, across the soft expanse of your cheek, to the tip of your own. Noses brushing, breaths mingling, chests heaving, and hearts pounding as his scarred lips hovered your glossed ones. 

“Why have you been avoiding me?” 

The air between you was warm and thick, charged with something tender and so deeply intimate. 

“Because you scare me,” he mumbled. 

“Oh, really?” Your mouth twitched. 

“Mm.” He nodded once, nose rubbing softly against yours in an eskimo kiss. You could see how his eyes were dark and heavy-lidded, lips dangerously close to pressing against yours.

“‘Think ya cursed me.” His neck flushed red, his low voice was barely above a whisper. 

“I can go-”

“Don’t.”

And then his large hands were latching onto your waist, the heat of his skin searing through the thin material of your skirt. 

“Don’t. Don’tDon’tDon’t.” His brows scrunched together, his face becoming serious. “Don’t go. Don’t leave. Not when you’re here, with me, pretty girl.” 

You breathed, taking your time to steady your voice after hearing the pet name roll off his tongue. “Then what should I do?”

“Stay.”

It was as simple as that, really. 

And then his lips were on yours, warm and soft and commanding. He kissed you like you were sin, drinking you in, savoring you on his tongue, before inevitably, always inevitably, going back for more. He didn’t let you breathe; he wouldn’t. He was greedy and wrong and possessive, claiming your mouth like it was his alone to conquer. Your knees weakened as his tongue massaged against yours addictively, molding against you like you were made for him; like he was made for you. 

Your hands moved before you could think, before you could decide if you were angry with him or if you hungered for him. You found purchase on his broad shoulders, before making your way up, up, up to his neck, one hand running through his dark hair while the other held onto the underside of his strong jaw, thumb gently caressing the scar on the side of his mouth, pulling him in.

He pressed into you further, your ass hitting the lower counter. His body was flush against yours, his chest purposefully rubbing against your tits. 

He could feel your nipples hardening through the flimsy cotton of your top, and he couldn’t stop the sleazy grin that was forming on his face. 

Below, his grip on you was gentle but firm, bringing your body to press and grind against his in an unhurried, languid way, like he had all the time in the world, like all of this was fated from the start. 

And his fingers, oh his fingers, which spanned across your hip, slowly found their way to your ass, gripping and cupping and kneading into the soft, jiggly flesh. 

You could feel something move against your thigh, something sturdy and heavy and completely fucking monstruous. 

“Haah-” you shakily sighed out, breathy and dazed as you looked down to the outline of his bulge. Your eyes widened. 

“I like when you use that smart mouth, y’know,” he was talking against your lips, not able to find it in himself to pull away. His hand slid up the side of your waist, until he stopped right underneath your breast, his thumb rubbing against the underside of where it started to swell. 

His voice dropped an octave lower, whispering to you like it was a secret. “Talk to me. Break this curse. Tell me it’s not just me that feels like this.” 

Please.

His heart was racing. He was stone cold sober. This was it. This was his admission. 

ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump–

You breathed. 

The party raged on in the background, muddled and distant, like his ears were submerged under water–

“It’s not just you, Toji.” 

Your voice was quiet, your cheeks tinted rouge, your pretty eyes looking up at him in earnest. 

And that was all he needed. 

He picked you up like you were nothing (his bench was 350 lbs, squat 600 lbs, and his hip thrusts? don’t even worry ‘bout it), a smug, victorious grin tugging at his scarred lips.

He carried you out of the kitchen, and a steady stream of wolf whistles and howls erupted from his frat brothers and party goers as the two of you made your way across the foyer, up the stairs, and towards a bedroom. His bedroom. 

He carried you inside, keeping the lights off, letting the warm glow of the streetlamp beside his window spill softly across the room. Without a word, he set you down on his large king-sized bed.

The air in his room was tender and still. You could hear the faint bass of the stereo downstairs, vibrating against his wooden floors like a heartbeat. The distant cheers of the crowd down below faded to quiet as he pressed his mouth to your own. 

He leisurely climbed over you, never breaking the kiss, his muscular arms holding his body above your own. 

It didn’t take long for the makeout to turn heated again, teeth clashing against teeth, bodies pressed against each other, rubbing and teasing in a way that had your head spinning.

You put your hands against his chest. 

“Toji-”

“Stay,” he breathed, whispering the words against your lips, like he could read your mind. “-Stay with me tonight,” he pressed his body closer into you, rutting his hips, “and lemme show you the things I’ve been wantin’ to say to you all week.”

You could feel his cock twitch ominously against your bare thigh as you swallowed. 

His lips were swollen and glistening from your mixed salivas, his eyes glazed over, jade irises almost completely black. His grip on your lower body was unrelenting, holding you in place. 

You lightly pushed your hand against his chest, a hesitant look crossing your features.

A beat passed. For a second, he didn’t even realize he stopped breathing. 

“You’ve been drinking,” You paused, your voice coming out small. “What if.. what if you don’t mean this in the morning?” 

And for all your expertise and genius, oh, how completely wrong you could be.

He let out a humorless chuckle, his sharp canines peaking through his lips in the process. 

“Did it sound like I was jokin’, sweetheart?” He shakily exhaled through his nose as he pressed his erection against your clothed cunt, holding himself there, letting you feel the pressure and full weight of what he was packing. “Does it feel like I’m jokin’ ‘bout this?” 

You bit your lip, pussy throbbing, a warm slickness starting to soak through your panties, before messily spreading between your clenched thighs. 

You shook your head. 

“What’d I say about usin’ your words?”

He pulsed his dick, the sensation making your pussy clench. 

Fuckin’ tease. 

“Nngh- no. No it doesn’t feel like you’re joking,” you almost gasp out. 

A satisfied smirk plastered onto his tanned face.

“Good girl.” 

And then he’s moving down the bed, his calloused hands spreading your legs as he pressed wet kisses against the hot skin of your thighs. He was methodical and slow, making his way up your inner thigh, savoring the small sounds that you tried to suppress as he reached the bottom hem of your skirt, his face mere inches away from your sopping pussy, and his breath puffing warm air against your dampened panties . 

“Ohhh jus’ look at ya,” you could tell he had the most shit-eating grin on his face right now, pride swelling in his voice as he carefully dipped a large, rough finger between the seam of the thin purple fabric you adorned. “This all f’me?”

And - Holy shit.

The videos of you didn’t even do this justice. 

Because low and behold, here you were, under his body, and you were so fuckin’ wet. His finger slid against your folds with little resistance, putting just enough pressure that you couldn’t help but moan his name as he rubbed circles against your clit.

And, Toji Fushiguro never claimed to be a patient man. So, it should’ve came as no surprise when he grabbed your hips and used his hulking strength to push your clothed pussy to his scarred lips, his face nuzzled to your cunt, nose pressed firmly to your clit, and his greedy tongue lapping you up through the soiled fabric. 

It was obscene and perverse and dirty and wrong. 

But oh, how he loved it. Loved the heady taste you left on your panties, and the sweet scent of your gushing pussy, and the excess slick on your thighs that made its way onto his rough cheeks. 

He groaned, a low, guttural sound against your skin that made your tummy squeeze into knots. 

“T-Toji, please,” you whined, pressing your greedy cunt into his face, “need your tongue. Need you. Need more.” You could hardly string a true sentence together, and he hadn’t even fucked you proper yet. 

His heart was thunderous against his chest. 

And his dick? 

Hardest it’s ever fuckin’ been in his fuckin’ life.

He was grinding his erection against the mattress as he obliged your wishes.

After all, how could he say no to you? 

He pushed your panties to the side. 

And oh. 

His balls tightened below him, the urge to cum almost threateningly near as he stared at your bare, swollen pussy. 

Holy. Shit.

Everything was soaked and glistening. 

He rubbed one thumb across your puffy skin, his coarse finger getting soaked in the process. 

He leaned in, gingerly licking fat stripes along your folds, lapping you up, drinking you in. He worked thoroughly, gathering you onto his tongue, until the lower part of his face was a mixture of your juices and his drool. 

It was only after he was satisfied with his work did he make his way to your clit, humming and sucking, the wet sounds of his mouth making out with your cunt filling the air of his room. 

The warm pleasure of it all was beginning to pool in your belly, your toes beginning to curl, legs beginning to shake – but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. 

“Toji, I might-” 

He plunged a rough, thick finger inside you, spearing your tight velvet walls apart, all the way up to his knuckle. 

You saw fuckin’ stars.

The sound you made was so erotic, so loud and depraved and raw, that his dick lurched in his pants, warm gooey pre-cum beginning to leak out from his throbbing tip and into his briefs. 

He wanted to hear you again, and again and again and again. 

He wanted videos, home movies, and spotify playlists of the way your pussy was talking to him. 

Emboldened, his tongue was unrelenting on your clit, as one finger became two, and then two became three. 

You mewled as he crooked them up, massaging against that soft, spongey bundle of nerves that had you panting his name out like it was prayer. 

Your ears were ringing, your eyes beginning to get wet with tears. 

Soon, he was fucking you on his fingers proper, setting a debilitating pace as he plunged his digits in and out and in and out. Filling you up, stretching you out, hitting your most sensitive areas. Again, and again, and again.

The pressure in your core was reaching its limits now, and the pleasure from the sheer fullness of your pussy and the sinful patterns of his tongue were beginning to send violent tremors down your legs. 

You were orgasming before you even realized it.

And yet, he was didn’t stop – didn’t even give you time to breathe as he’s diving into your pussy, slurping you up, his large nose rubbing against your over-sensitive clit as he’s fucking his thick tongue and his fingers past the tight ring of your entrance, fucking you, warm and wet, through each of your peaks. 

Your hands held onto his hair like a lifeline, your fleshy thighs locked around his head as if to keep him in place. 

“You taste so good, sweetheart,” he moaned, his eyes glazed over, completely and utterly pussy drunk, as you looked down at him, his mouth still latched onto your cunt. 

You could see your slick dripping down his face, mixing with the light trails of perspiration that sprouted from his temples. 

Your heart squeezed in your chest. 

It was only after the last few waves of your orgasm subsided when you could finally respond. 

“I think,” you gently reached down to run your shaky hand through his scalp, tenderly pushing away the sweaty fringe by his eyes. “I think I can think of something that might taste better.” 

And then you’re pushing him until he’s moving to the top of the bed, his back resting against the headboard as he pulls his black shirt up and over his head, triceps flexing, exposing his muscular pecs, washboard abs, and the light tufts of hair that sprouted on his chest, and got increasingly darker the further down his abs it went. 

You could feel your pussy walls clamp down, warmth pooling in your core again as you reached out instinctively to run your hands along the length of his torso. 

You never thought, in all of your wildest dreams, that this would be happening. Nor could your dreams do justice to the perfect build of the man before you.

“Well look at you, Mr. Fushiguro.” Your soft hands slowly sliding up, up, up against his skin, all the way from where the dark tufts of thick hair started to disappear under his pants, and towards his pecs, feeling the way his traitorous heart stuttered as you called his name. “Aren’t you quite the heartbreaker.”

You held his gaze, the air around you charged with anticipation.

Who would move first?

His breathing was shallow as he stared at you, your cheeks flushed and eyes glazed. Your top was rumpled to hell, exposing the line of your cleavage in a way that had his pants tenting painfully, and your mini skirt was so far scrunched that it looked like a belt around your waist. 

“For others, sure…” He grabbed your hands, pressing them deeper into his skin as he slid them up to cup his face. “But for you?” he was whispering now, his ears growing steadily pinker by the second, “I’m afraid you have me beat.” 

Oh. 

And then you’re leaning in, tenderly pressing your lips to his own, mumbling his name over and over again to stop you from saying those other three little words, before sealing it with your tongue. 

And then he’s pulling you into his lap. 

You could taste yourself in his mouth and on his lips, your nipples tightening as his large hands grabbed handfuls of your ass, spreading your cheeks apart before making them clap together again. 

A muffled groan escaped from the depths of his chest, vibrating against your mouth, as he felt new gushes of your slick begin to dampen the front of his pants.

“Mmmnh- get comfortable, pretty girl.” He slurred out as he pulled at the waistband of your skirt, before letting go, allowing the material to slap against your skin with a light sting. 

“Hmm… only if daddy gets comfortable too.” your eyes were big as you stared at him through your lashes.  

And oh fuck.

Toji had to lean his head back, his skull hitting against the wall with a dull thud! 

The way the words left your mouth had him breathless, brain short-circuiting, and dick throbbing. He needed to recuperate. Calm down.

Breathe in. Exhale. Repeat. 

You smiled slyly, completely aware of how your words affected him, as you pulled your flimsy top off, followed by your bottomwear. Your tits were heavy and full as they were released from the cotton, nipples peaked and stiff. 

You were bare before him, your arms on either side of his hips, squeezing your tits together lightly as you bent low to whisper against his ear. 

“You like when I call you that?” Your voice was sweet as honey as your hands traced the large outline of his dick through his pants, gripping his shaft through the tight material, and feeling the monstrous size of his girth. 

“Careful, sweetheart,” his voice was a mixture of restraint and warning, “don’t start callin’ me that unless y’er tryna see it through.” His neck was visibly tense, and his hands clutched on to the meat of your hips as he stared at you. 

Pretty girl. 

He squeezed tighter.

His pretty girl. 

A moment of silence passed as you considered his words. “And what if I do wanna see it through…?” Your head tilted cutely while your mean hands found their way to his happy trail, running your nails down through the thick tufts of dark hair, dipping juuust below the waistband of his pants, before retreating back up again in slow, agonizing loops. “Show me your worst, daddy.”

And who was he to deny you? 

Before you knew it, he had his pants and briefs shoved down his legs, his massive cock heavily thudding against his washboard abs

Your mouth gaped open.

And ohhh how he relished the dumb look on your lil’ cute face.  

You didn’t even think anyone could be this large. 

Yet here he was, with a dick that looked like it belonged in a porno, pulsing fat and heavy and huge as he leaked pre-cum all over the angry mushroomed head. 

He smirked, cocky as ever, as you subconsciously licked your lips, eyes glazed over, cock drunk just off the look alone.

Your pussy gushed warm, new slick between your legs as you carefully leant down, your hands grabbing around his base, slowly bringing his dick closer to your face.

He could feel the warm puffs of air coming from ur plush lips, his dick twitching like crazy at how close you were to finally, finally getting your mouth on him. 

You pressed a gentle kiss to his leaking slit, before running your lips over the excess pre-cum, painting your lips with the milky substance.

He swallowed hard. His eyes were wild and his breathing ragged.

He groped your tits, rolling your stiff nipples in his calloused fingers, eliciting the sweetest moan from you that reverberated around his dick.

You gave him small kitten licks at first, teasing the idea, before gradually licking thick fat stripes up and down the length of his huge dick. You traced the pulsing veins that climbed up his hot shaft and licked around the sensitive underside of his throbbing cockhead. 

And it was only when his chest was heaving, his impatient hands gripping onto your skull, did you finally, finally begin to throat fuck the shit outta him. 

None of the videos he had watched of you before even came close to the sensation of seeing the bulge forming in your throat from where his cock was buried inside of you, or the way your nose tickled against the tufts of dark hair at the base of his cock. 

You moaned dreamily around him at the feeling of his heavy dick pounding against the back of your throat, filling your mouth and overwhelming your senses. You couldn’t help the tears that threatened to spill from your eyes as you bobbed him in your mouth, hands jerking off what you couldn’t reach, and your thighs rubbing together greedily, craving any ounce of friction against your throbbing pussy.

But before you knew it, he was lifting you off, a light string of saliva following en suit, connecting the two of you together. 

“What’s wrong?” You had a devilish grin on your pretty face. “Scared you're gonna cum too quick?”

A low, humorless chuckle rumbled through his body as one of his hands wrapped around your throat, while the other smacked your ass. 

“Nah,” his canines glinted in the lowlight, a predatorial grin etching into his features. “Just tryna make sure nothin’ gets wasted.” And then he's shifting you up, rubbing his thick cock against your gooey cunt, mixing his thick pre with your juices. 

Your heart fluttered.

His dick was so warm against your skin – so, so much better (and bigger) than the toys you regularly used to get yourself off. 

You’ve had enough. You’ve done your waiting. You needed him inside you. 

You lifted yourself up, your hands bracing themselves on either side of Toji’s broad shoulders. Your pussy was dripping down onto his angry dick as you slowly lowered yourself, hips circling, letting his throbbing head trace your sopping lips. 

He could have almost passed out from the sight alone.

Instead, he panted out a deep breath, his chest tightening as he tried to restrain himself from bucking up into your cunt. 

You paused your hips, lowering yourself again ever so slightly so that his leaking head was now smooching against your gummy entrance, the heat of his cock stirring something warm and familiar in your belly. 

Please, please, please, ple–

And then your pussy is swallowing his head whole. 

“Oh, fuuuck you’re tight mama,” his eyes squeezed shut, fringe sticking to his sweaty forehead as Toji gasped out at the sensation of his thiiick cockhead squeezing past the tight ring of muscles at your entrance. 

Your gummy walls sucked against him from all angles, squishing into his hardness and rubbing deliciously against the sensitive underside of his mushroomed tip. 

And this was just the tip.

He didn’t know if he would make it out of here alive. At least, without getting you pregnant. 

You whimpered, actually fuckin’ whimpered his name as you reached down, touching where he was spearing you apart, your lips drawn thin and tight to accommodate for the sheer size of him. 

“You’re so big Toji,” a tear rolled down your flushed cheek. “Look at how much more I gotta take.” And he did, he really did look. Because you began to let your finger slowly slide from where the two of you were connected, down, down, down to the tufts of hair at the base of his cock.

“Haah- Ya’ think it’ll fit, sweetheart?” He grunted, his lips involuntarily bucking as you pouted cutely at him. 

Something impassable flashed across your feature. “I’ll make it fuckin’ fit.”

And then you’re slamming down onto his dick, and it feels like the literal wind gets knocked out of both of your chests. 

He has never felt something so deliciously tight before.

You have never felt so goddamn filled up before.

You’re clenching around him, velvet walls fluttering and smooching around his raw cock as it pulses heavy and thick with animalistic need. 

It took you several moments to orient yourself, to gather your scrambled senses back together to remember what you were doing, what your goal was, why you were here. 

“I have a secret to tell you.” You stared down at him, an unreadable look passing over your features. 

“O-oh really?” you squeezed your walls around him, catching him off guard.

“I know you watch me touch myself,” you whispered it like it was a secret, sly and just a touch proud.

And of all the things you could’ve said, nothing would have prepared him for that.

His dick bobbed from inside of you. 

“Fushi-daddy420 isn’t the most subtlest of names, no?” you grinned meanly as you watched his jade eyes turn impossibly black as you began to slowly, teasingly, mercifully bounce on his cock. Up and down and up and down. 

“But-?”

He thought you would hate him if you knew. 

He agonized for days for this reaction?!!

“And after you ran out on me after seeing my place?” you were panting, riding him as you talked. “Yea, that kinda solidified it.”

And just when he thinks you’ve found your rhythm and set your pace, you slowly begin to circle your hips, hitting new angles deep inside your guts that have his throbbing tip pressing into the spongy part of your pussy. 

“You don’t -fuhh- don’t hate me?” his mind was swirling, how could he focus when you felt this good?

“Never.” Your hips rolled, and you pressed your tits together, giving him a show.  

And you were doing so well, and felt so good. He pressed a fat thumb against your clit, spelling out his name, as if to claim you, mark you, over and over and over again. 

T-O-J-I !

He throws his head back as he feels you creaming around his cock, while your eyes are rolling into the backs of your head as you feel his thick goopy pre frothing at your entrance, dripping down onto his balls. The pace is getting faster, the air getting hot, and thick beads of sweat are rolling down your back. The obscene sounds of sweaty skin slapping against skin filled the hot, sex-scented air. 

You lean down to kiss him, tongues messily entangling, drool spilling from the sides of your lips as you ride his cock like a fuckin’ animal, ass jiggling from the force of his hips rocking up to meet you, his heavy balls smacking against your pussy like a promise. 

In one swift motion, he’s flipping the two of you over, your back to the bed, his dick never leaving your pussy, as he continues to fuck into you. He has your legs spread wide, your knees to his sides as he buries himself deep within your warmth, the new angle allowing you to feel his fat tip smooching against your cervix.

He’s panting, breath shaky as he slows down, rutting shallowly, not allowing himself to be too far from your gummy insides. “T-tell me where you want it,” his voice came out strained, and you could see where his veins were protruding on his neck. 

Oh. His cum.

His balls were pressed against you, tightening with every passing second. You could feel his dick bobbing against your walls as he was direly trying to stop himself from cumming. 

You smiled, soft and sweet, as you pressed a hand against your lower tummy, feeling the bulge of where he was nestled inside you. 

“Oh, you already know,” and you were batting your pretty lashes up at him, making his heart stutter. “Isn’t that right, daddy?” 

And oh, how his broken mind snapped. 

The next thing you knew, he’s pressing your knees so far up they’re knocking against your tits, his hulking body leaning over and pressing down into you, chest against chest, until you could feel his warm lips sucking bruises by your ear. 

And then he’s draaagging his thick cock through your pussy until only the tip is inside you, before snapping his hips forward, forcing his cock the deepest it could go back inside you, spearing you apart, and setting an absolutely cruel, delicious, depraved pace that has his balls bruising your ass and his cock breeching your womb. 

It goes for what feels like seconds, minutes, hours.

Your legs began to shake at all the sensations, your pussy walls convulsing around him and your ears ringing as you started to see white. 

And he truly couldn’t keep it in any longer. 

Not when you sounded so hot, with your face scrunched up in the prettiest ‘o’ and your nails digging crescents into his back as you called his name, begging for his seed. 

And so he bucked up, his hips flush against yours, locking you into the meanest of mating presses, as his dick lurched, balls scrunching, as he pumped copious amounts of his thick, sticky cum straight into your womb.

And he’s still bucking his hips, through each of your peaks, fucking his cum deep inside you, until your belly was bloated and full of him.

“Thattaa girl,” he pressed a warm kiss to your mouth as he fucked you through the last few peaks of your orgasms, gingerly swiping his thumb across your cheek as if you were something precious. “My girl.”

And later on, as you softly drifted to sleep, with a belly full of his cum and his softening dick still inside you, you could feel his scarred lips pressing light kisses across your face, and the mumblings of something that sounded vaguely too close to “iloveyou” whispered into your warm skin.

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Five weeks passed, and the Michigan Wolverines were in the midst of the NCAA College Football Championships.

After weeks of non-stop practice, conditioning, strength training, and late-night film recaps, the team of 100-odd men were finally going up against their biggest competitor in the nation.

There was much on the line, but thankfully, Senior Quarterback and Captain, Toji Fushiguro, had quite the good luck charm on his side. 

Not only did he pass Kinetics (albeit by the skin of his teeth, thanks to you), but he now had a new, fool-proof pre-game regimen (with an even better success rate!).

He still kept his same protein shake recipe.

He still kept his same choice of attire.

But this time around, he needed at least one hour of your undivided attention, with the provision that his cock be buried so deep and raw inside your trembling cunt that you could feel him in your womb. 

And it was only after intense, depraved, animalistic fucking, with your pussy stuffed full of his gooey cum, and hickies in the shape of a ‘T’ on your neck, could the 6’4 230 lbs man say with absolute certainty, that this championship was in the god damn bag. 

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

The Wolverines won their final round of the playoffs in a sweeping victory: 52-38. 

And the star quarterback of the show could not wait to celebrate with you, his pretty lil’ girlfriend.