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PAIRING: Sanji/Female Reader. CONTENTS: Non Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, PWP, Oral (f! receiving), Praise Kink, Body Worship, Some Foot Fetish (a little of it, part of the body worship), Creampie, Some blood play, Some Power Play (the reader is a little dominant, but it's nothing too big) WORDCOUNT: 3.9k
Summary:
Ever since you had been intimate together, Sanji had been softer with you.
It was like having a secret language that only you two spoke.
Notes:
This is technically a sequel to this other fic, but you don't need to read it to read this one, you just need to know that sanji and the reader had sex once before!
I love him so much it's crazy... I literally wrote this cause i like to explore this kind of dynamic with him, but also... this is straight up porn lmao
If you have a few bucks to spare, considering buying me a kofi!
You attentively watched Sanji move about the galley as he naturally did every single day. Handing out plates, making sure everyone had their portion for dinner, before even sitting down himself to eat. He settled across from you on the table, and your gaze didn’t drift as his eye met yours. He smiled warmly, knowingly.
Ever since you had been intimate together, Sanji had been softer with you. He had always been nice and attentive, but it was like he had appeased a certain need in him. By all means, he was still overdramatic, professing his adoration for Nami, Robin and you. You figured there was a certain difference only you noticed because it was directed towards you. A slightly bigger portion of food in your plate, a hand on the small of your back when you descended the ship, whispers of ‘are you okay?’ during battles that he wouldn’t let anyone else know.
It wasn’t like you would complain about it; it was nice to be taken care of in such a subtle way by someone who seemed to scatter his affection so freely. It was like having a secret language that only you two spoke.
You returned the smile immediately.
Sanji had satisfied your need for intimacy, but he was also filling other needs when it came to feeling wanted, something that extended outside of the bed (even if technically you two hadn’t shared a bed).
You didn’t want to fuck him so often, somehow that felt like a crossing a fine line that you had created in your mind; but ever since that last time, the urge had steadily grow into something almost all consuming, and you couldn’t wait for the next island for it happen. You needed it now, tonight.
The only way to get some kind of privacy on the Sunny was waiting until midnight. Sanji usually stayed up late, only God knew why. There had been times you wandered in the galley, unable to sleep, only to find him there smoking and drinking tea, and you only smiled fondly as he handed you a cup for yourself.
It wasn’t tea what you were looking for when you walked in the galley later that night, after everyone had gone to bed. Sanji was there, like you knew he’d be, smoking by the table and reading the notebook he kept for his recipes, as you padded across the wooden floor. It was like he was expecting you by the way he smiled, slowly taking you in as you stood next to the table, wearing your sleeping shirt and shorts, feet with only socks to protect them.
“Hello, gorgeous,” He greeted you, putting out his cigarette into an ashtray. “Can’t sleep? Want me to make you something?”
It was moments like those that revealed more of the soft side of him; no loud declarations of love, no theatrics, not even hearts in his eyes. He still smiled affectionately, ready to do whatever whim you had in your mind.
He would get the hearts in his eyes when he saw you naked in a minute.
You pouted, purposely drawing his attention to your lips when you did, and you strode across the room until you were standing right in front of him. Sanji visibly stiffened, breath hitching as he looked up at you.
“I can’t sleep. And I do want something.” You stated, answering his questions, carefully straddling his lap. His one visible eye widened, mouth hanging open as you rested your arms on his shoulders. “I want you to make me come.”
“Now?!”
You sat back on his thighs to look him in the eye, his hands coming up to hold your hips to make sure you didn’t hop off.
“Is there something else you have to do?” Your tone sounded admonishing, and you mentally chastised yourself for acting so demanding. Sanji didn’t seem to mind when his grip on your hips slid up your waist, tightening.
“No, no! I was just-” He heaved a loud sigh, dropping his head forward. “Am I dreaming?”
“No.” You giggled, petting his head and sliding your fingers into his hair.
“Okay, good.”
With a firm tug, you brought his head back up and swiftly connected your lips in a rapturous kiss.
His lips had been on your mind since the first time you kissed him; they were surprisingly soft, a contrast to the taste of his mouth, like smoke and spices. And Sanji was eager, enthusiastic, wrapping his arms around you just in case you decided to reconsider and pull away. You savored each other, tongues intertwining as you tenderly cupped his face.
He only pulled back to trace his lips down your jaw and neck, covering every inch of skin available for him.
“Why did you think you were dreaming?” You asked, humming when he slid his tongue over a spot that made you shiver. You couldn’t help but giggle when he nuzzled there, his stubble creating goosebumps.
“I didn’t even know if what we did that last time was real, it was too good to be true…” His arms around your pressed you even closer as he planted a kiss to your jaw. “I was making sure this wasn’t a dream, just in case.”
Sometimes Sanji was so cute you didn’t know what to do about it, except kiss him until you both were on the verge of death from lack of oxygen. But that would ruin the plans of fucking him that night.
“It’s not a dream.” You reassured him, trailing your nails over the back of his neck to make him feel something real. The shudder that broke through him made you smile.
“How do you want me, my love?”
Sanji’s voice was sultry and silky when he whispered into your ear, like he was pouring your filthiest desires into you but he had only asked a simple question. You’ve never had something like that asked before, and it made heat pool into your abdomen, drenching your panties with your slick.
“Get me on the table.” It sounded more like a question than an order, but Sanji complied without complaining.
Firm hands slid down your thighs, holding you in place as he stood from his seat before carefully hoisting you on the table. You naturally spread your legs, accommodating your body for him to fit where he belonged, pressed up against you with fingers caressing your thighs up to the hem of your shorts.
“You’re so beautiful,” Sanji praised you with a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Been thinking about you for so long.”
“What kind of thoughts?” You asked with a sigh while he peppered your neck with kisses again. While still fully conscious despite the nice warmth of his body so close to yours, you mindfully moved his notebook and the ashtray to the side.
Sanji kissed under your ear before you pulled away, laying back against the table to enjoy the view of his body hovering above yours. His face was flushed (he might be on the verge of a nosebleed), hair only a little out of place from when you ran your fingers through it, eye blown wide with lust as he studied you.
“Baby, tell me what kind of thoughts.” You said firmly, sliding your hand underneath your shirt, slowly pulling it up your body to reveal more skin.
With a sharp intake of breath, Sanji seemed to have come down to Earth as his gaze fixed on your exposed skin. Licking his lips, his hands skimmed up your waist, joining you in your effort to uncover yourself.
“I’ve been thinking about your body, worshiping it, giving you the attention you deserve.” It was your turn for your breath to hitch at his words, squirming when he leaned down to press open-mouthed kisses to your stomach. “I’ve been dying to taste you again. That was a flavor that I would never find anywhere else.”
The lovesick sigh that escaped from Sanji’s mouth against your belly button made you instinctively laugh. He smiled in return against your skin, completely pleased with himself.
“Darling, I want to make you feel so good, please, please, I want to taste you on my tongue again.”
Shit.
You wanted this to be a little quicker, knowing fully well that while a lot of the crew was asleep, not everyone was. You assumed someone (probably Zoro) was on night watch, and Usopp usually stayed up until even later than Sanji doing God knows what. It was a risk to be doing this in the galley, and whatever brain cell you had left after you touched him a few minutes ago was telling you not to drag this out.
But when you felt him kiss the skin just above the waistband of your shorts, running his warm tongue there, you realized you couldn’t say no. You didn’t want to say no to his eagerness, especially when it involved having his head between your legs. No man had ever begged to eat you out before, and Sanji was setting the bar so high if you ever were to have sex with someone else in the future.
“Go on, then.” You replied, trying not to sound breathlessly desperate but failing.
Sanji didn’t comment on it, only grinning roguishly before going back up to plant a brief kiss on your lips, as if he was thanking you. His gaze fell on your chest as he tenderly lifted your shirt enough to expose your tits.
He groaned when he attached his lips to one of your nipples, sucking softly while cupping your other breast. You sighed blissfully, thighs tensing on each side of him as you felt your pussy get even slicker when he ran his tongue over your sensitive skin.
It was brief, but Sanji tried to give equal attention to both of your tits, switching to your other nipple to press a kiss before licking the underside of your breast and sliding downwards. You weren’t sure if his urgency came from the situation you were in (a quickie in the kitchen), or because he was desperate to get between your legs; either way it made your toes curl, anticipating his touch.
With fingers that tremble with excitement, Sanji pulled down your shorts and underwear, discarding it haphazardly on the floor and leaving you completely bare, the bright light of the galley leaving nothing to his imagination. You only felt a slight of self-consciousness, but the sound that came out of his mouth, frenzied and distraught, made you quickly forget whatever worry that plagued your mind.
“Shit.” He groaned against the skin of your thigh, dragging his lips down, closer to where you needed him most. “You’re heavenly, so tempting, I can’t…”
Whatever else he was going to say died on his throat as he fixed his gaze on your pussy, completely hypnotized.
You impatiently wiggled your hips as Sanji pressed kisses, running his tongue down your thigh until he reached the joint to your hip. With a loud gasp, you jerked up, slick dripping from your entrance the more he stared.
“Sanji.”
He shuddered when you called his name, and he pressed closer, tongue darting out to finally taste you. His hot breath washed over you first, and you quivered the moment the tip of his tongue grazed your pussy. You both moaned simultaneously, loud and needy, and it made the knot in your abdomen twist tighter; to know he was thoroughly enjoying the moment enhanced your pleasure.
Tangling your fingers through his hair, pushing it away from his face, you watched Sanji steadily eat you out, both eyes now exposed and studying your reactions. He held tightly onto you, firm hands kneading the fat of your thighs as he buried his face in between them. He was eager and so sweet, dragging his tongue from bottom to top before pressing a kiss to your clit, making your thighs on each side of his face twitch. Your jaw hung open when he repeated the same action, licking a bold stripe across your folds, collecting every drop of your slick.
Sanji groaned, louder than the sounds you were making, the deeper his tongue slid inside you. His nose dug into your clit, making jolts of pleasure pulse through you, ripping sharp moans from your throat. You briefly worried that you were both making too much noise, but it was a thought that left your mind as soon as it emerged. It was difficult to be concerned about anything when Sanji had his warm tongue inside you.
One of your legs fell idly to the side when he moved his hand to gently slip two fingers inside you. It made your body grow hotter when he curled them, his intense, lustful gaze fixed on you to check your reaction. It only took a few experimental touches to make you arch your back, and you tugged at his hair when Sanji pressed his digits to the most sensitive spot at the same time he suckled on your clit.
“Fuck!” You stuttered with a gasp when he repeated the same action. “That feels so good, oh my God, you’re so good…”
He only moaned in agreement, steadily pumping his fingers, happily slurping on your clit, devouring you like a starved man. Your skin was ablaze, delight making you vibrate, the muscles of your thighs tightening around his head, they might trap him there forever. By the gleam in his eyes, he might enjoy the idea.
The tension in your body was increasing, and as much as you loved how talented Sanji was with his mouth, this one time you’d much rather come on his cock. With unsteady fingers, you yanked at his hair, hard enough to make him moan, to pull him off you.
“Sa-Sanji, wait…”
He whimpered when he moved away, stars dancing in his eyes in a dazed stare.
“Am I doing it wrong, my darling?”
“N-No…” You panted, enthralled by his appearance. He looked utterly helpless, high on your taste with your arousal dripping from his chin; you could have reached your orgasm there and then. “C’mere.”
Sanji crawled up, pressing his lips to yours in a messy kiss, making you moan as you tasted yourself in his mouth. You hastily reached for his pants, fondling his erection through the fabric before reaching for the belt. He gasped, hips bucking into your touch. The state you were in didn’t help you in unbuckling his belt, and ultimately his hands joined yours, pulling his pants and underwear down enough to free his cock.
When you wrapped your fingers around it, reveling in its warmth and heaviness, Sanji groaned into the kiss, mouth hanging open when you slowly stroked him. His hips jerked again when you flicked your thumb over the slit, precum leaking from the tip instantly.
“Put it in, please.” You begged, pressing one innocent kiss to his lips. “I want your cock, baby…”
Sanji moaned, and you were positive it was because you called him ‘baby’.
Pulling back with a shudder, he gripped your thigh, thumb caressing the skin there as you let go of his dick. He shifted closer, holding his length in his hand as he positioned himself closer to your entrance.
You watched, amazed and breathless, as Sanji eased himself inside you, cock stretching your pussy to make it fit nicely. He made a noise as if he was being tortured, a shaky sigh escaping his lips once he was fully sheathed, thighs twitching on each side of his body due to the wonderful stretch.
It was as if your entire body was on fire, his cock throbbing inside you making the warmth spread. Your gaze locked on his, both of his eyes visible as his hair stuck to his forehead; his body must have felt just as ablaze as yours, the glint in his pupils revealing so much.
Sanji kept his eyes fixed on yours as he moved his hips, slow and steady. The slide was delicious, wet and hot, making you moan as you held tightly onto the edge of the table. The pace was easy, careful, and it still made you feel overwhelmed.
But you wanted more.
“More.” You breathed, eying him through hooded lids.
His response was a snap of his hips, bucking into yours, a yelp slipping from your lips.
“Yes, princess.” Sanji replied, with a grin that might as well come from the devil himself.
It knocked the wind out of you when he pulled back, cock almost all the way out, before sliding back in, hips slamming into yours. It was the perfect rhythm, with enough force that each time his cock filled you, it reached every little spot that made stars dance behind your eyes. You were rendered speechless, eyes dancing behind your lids.
“You’re so beautiful, so perfect,” Sanji panted, a shaky groan slipping from his lips when you squeezed around him just right. “Making all those gorgeous faces, fuck…”
You’d feel your cheeks on fire if they weren’t already burning. His praises really did something to you, stomach turning as pleasure threatened to burst the more his cock hit inside you.
Sanji was smug and confident in the pleasure he was giving you, yet still entirely devoted to you, hands tenderly caressing every inch of your body. Squeezing your waist and stomach, his fingers slid up your thighs, hoisting your legs on his shoulders. There was urgency in his moves when he reached your ankles, swiftly sliding one of your socks off your foot.
A moan wrecked through him when he kissed the heel of your foot, just as the same time he thrust particularly hard into you. You watched, starry-eyed, as he fulfilled one of his dreams he mentioned earlier.
His cock kept fervently sliding in and out, making your pussy clench around it, closer and closer to the edge, as Sanji pressed kisses to your ankle and heel. He hummed in delight as he ran his tongue over the arch of your foot before pressing an open-mouthed kiss. You moaned, completely dazed by his adoration.
“You’re so pretty, my love,” Sanji groaned, looking you in the eye as he kissed your sole. “I need to make you come, I wanna make you come, please, darling…”
Somehow, he pressed even closer, your legs bending over your chest. You let out a shaky moan, the shift in the angle making him grind against your clit with every thrust. You closed your eyes shut, overwhelmed by all the attention and pleasure he was giving you.
Until you felt something warm spilling on your chest. Through a half-closed gaze, you eyed him only to see blood coming out of his nose and onto your tits and shirt. You huffed out a laugh in between whimpers; it was a surprise he hadn’t had a nosebleed sooner.
Sanji cursed under his breath, moving slightly so he wouldn’t get any more blood on you, until you reached up to him, cradling his face with both of your hands. You brought him closer, licking some of the blood that had dripped onto his lips, and moaning into his mouth.
“Sanji, I-” You gasped when your legs started to shudder and your vision got blurrier. “I’m so- Sanji, Sanji-”
You couldn’t finish any sentence, only repeating his name like a chant, but Sanji understood instantly, groaning against your lips the more you moaned his name.
He pumped his hips once, twice, so strong you thought the table was going to break, and you couldn’t contain it anymore when ecstasy pulsed through you, your body quivering uncontrollably as you came. Your mind turned white and he kissed you firmly, sliding his tongue into your mouth, swallowing all the noises you were making.
When your pussy tightened around his cock, Sanji made a strangled noise, hips momentarily falling out of place. He followed suit and his dick throbbed when he reached his orgasm, spilling warm cum inside you, filling you up. He rode out his peak, shallow thrusts making you whimper, too sensitive from your own release. He kept kissing you as if you were air, like he couldn’t live without you.
Your heart melted when he caressed your face once his hips stilled, fingers pushing away all the hair that was sticking to your skin as his lips roamed yours. You hummed, pleasantly exhausted and warm, lazily returning the kiss as your legs dropped from his shoulders to the side. Your hands slid down his chest, feeling his heartbeat through the fabric of the shirt he was still wearing before running your hands up and down his back soothingly.
Sanji only pulled away when he noticed it was getting harder for the both of you to breathe, yet he still trailed kisses down your neck in between pants.
“That was wonderful.” You purred into his ear, feeling the sharp intake of breath it caused. “You’re always so good to me, Sanji.”
He smiled as he nuzzled your neck, placing a kiss under your ear before pulling away.
“I aim to please, my love.”
You knew he was trying to be completely confident (and he probably felt like it) with the winning grin he was showing you, but the flushed look on his cheeks, the little hearts sparkling in his eyes and the blood that still dripped down his nose made it all too funny to be taken seriously.
“There’s still blood on your face!” You mentioned, trying not to laugh as you reached for his face, wiping it away with your thumb.
“You don’t have to do that-” The words died on his throat when you licked the blood off your finger. “What are you doing to me?”
You giggled when he nuzzled your neck, letting out a long sigh, embracing you tightly.
It was sticky and messy, and Sanji seemed to be concerned that you were uncomfortable after a few seconds (your back was starting to hurt, but you didn’t comment on it), so he pulled away, softening cock slipping out and making you whimper. He stared at you, enthralled by the cum slowly dripping out of your pussy, a scene you found all too endearing even when it wasn’t.
As he tucked himself back into his underwear, you sat up and slid off the table, pulling your shirt down and noticing all the blood stains on it.
“I’m sorry, darling.” Sanji apologized, quickly retrieving your panties and kneeling down to ease them up your legs. “I’ll get you a new one, I promise.”
“It’s okay.”
“I’ll get you anything you want.” He went on, gently sliding the sock he had discarded earlier on your foot before pressing a soft kiss to your knee. “Whatever you want, I’ll do it.”
“You’re so dramatic, honey.” You sighed, trying not to let show how much his words were affecting you.
Sanji showed you a smile so tender it made your stomach twist.
He slid your shorts up your legs and to your waist, hands resting on your hips as he stood up. He was looking at you with such fondness you didn’t know what to do with yourself except kissing him. He met you halfway, lips lovingly pressing to yours as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders.
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"i am disgusting, i am perverted. i am perfect, you have made me that way."
༝ּ ֶָ֢.˖𓍢ִ໋ ⋆˚ʚɞ ― pairing: tamsy caines x f!reader
˖𓍢ִ synopsis: a giver with a scarlet skein of yarn as their vital instrument is trained under a flightless, blonde and blue bird, with golden eyes that glow pale, finding a red string of fate tangle in blue.
˖𓍢ִ tags: MDNI!!, 18+, MANGA SPOILERS, mentor!tamsy, giver!reader, colleagues to lovers, cruel perv!tamsy, possessive!tamsy, themes of fate/red string of fate, blood motifs, tamsy is a freak, reader is a freak, use of nicknames (plot-specific), no use of y/n, mentions of masturbation (m and f), major dom/sub dynamics, dubcon, shibari, sensory depravation, choking, degradation, biting/claiming, dead dove don't eat please and thank u, smut is both romantic and cruel/disgusting soooo idek how to tag it honestly smut warnings under the tag!!
˖𓍢ִ authors note: oh my god this just wrote itself, i meant it when i said every time i close my eyes, i see tamsy lol anyways, i took a lot of liberty regarding how vital instruments work bc i haven't read the manga (sorry), so please forgive any inaccuracies, brain is so full of tamsy, and so empty of thought. wrote the first half of this on my phone, so capitalization is nonexistent, sowwy lolol. thoughts and comments in replies/tags are so welcomed :) <3 enjoy, tamsylings!!!
˖𓍢ִ word count: 13.2k
dividers cred to @pixopix
tamsy art cred to @/kopa on pinterest
˖𓍢ִ tag list: @tacenda-nights @pickledsoda @witchescatcraft
smut warnings: dubcon, bondage/shibari, oral (m receiving), nipple play, major dom/sub dynamics, breath play (borders on asphyxiation), lots of kissing (as usual), clothes ripping, dumbification if u close one eye, tears, tamsy "puppets" reader, sweat licking, i mean really, this is hella nasty (in a good way), upstanding citizen, prone bone, and ofc a delicious creampie<3
. ⋆.ೃ࿐
when you’d first arrived at headquarters, a skein of yarn tightly bound in a ball, ever constricting, you’d clutched your leather satchel to your side, letting your fingers splay across the weathered skin of the leather, carefully feeling the round shape of your yarn. the last skein your mother had spun for you before she passed.
you’d come from a line of artists, painters, authors, performers, and your mother: a textile artist, was the last in that long line. leaving you. leaving you with this treasure you were unsure of what to do with. leaving you with your skein of yarn.
you never forgot how the blinding, scarlet red of the yarn seemed to bleed against your mother’s frail palm, trembling as she held it up to you.
“my dear, for your future.” she’d said, barely audible. you’d nodded, taking the ball of yarn in your hand, shakily, and thanked her softly. what she’d meant, you didn’t know. you never learned a textile art, not like your mother, who had been canvas town’s resident textile maker. no, you’d run around canvas town with the others, throwing empty cans of spray paint at the alley walls, then watched as they flipped and turned above you. twisting and threading through the air as it wove between the paint fumes, the songs sung by those in the apartments above, making knots with the thumping sound of dancing, stomping.
you’d spent your life watching it all, relishing in the ways you could bend an object to interact with the environment. but, years after caring for her frail, dying body, and the yarn with it, you found yourself beside her lifeless body, with scratchy threads of red yarn digging into your palm. you had wished you’d had something to do with it, other than hold it and cry.
it wasn’t until then that the yarn had shifted in your palm. yet, through the tears, the heavy pants of catching your breath, trying even though it’s running ahead of you, just out of reach… you didn’t feel the thread as it slowly twisted in and out of itself. unraveling under the wash of sobbing and unfiltered memory that spilled across the threads, soaking each fiber with images of your mother when she was young, with less wrinkles. your chubby fingers reaching up to her, the feeling of her lips on your forehead, the sound of her voice — pitchy, but earnest — as she sang you to sleep.
your memory of her cast itself into the burning red yarn, tendrils of scarlet fibers suddenly bursting to life, glowing under your grief. and you felt her in it. as sections of thread lifted abstractions into the air, looping and cutting itself into pieces, you gazed through a bright glow that burned like dry ice. seeing now.
the tears dried against your cheeks, a salt spray, as you stared at the yarn. it had curled through the air, quite like the empty spray cans, knotting and twirling and weaving patterns around the silence your mother’s last breath had left. you had inhaled deeply, taking a moment to gather your self, and found that the yarn had begun weaving itself around objects. and not just objects… you. your hands. knotting itself into objects that, when you reached out to grab them, hardened.
it was that ball of yarn that you felt underneath the leather of your bag. that thread that you had learned to spin into weapons against raiders and the trash beasts you came across. it was that scarlet yarn that led you to cleaner headquarters, and in front semiu grier.
she spoke calmly, adjusting a pair of circular frames atop her sharp nose. “this will only take a moment.”
her eyes glowed for a moment, then another, and then it was over.
“you’re a giver?” semiu fixed her glasses, folding her hands neatly on the desk.
“i can be.” your grip tightened over the leather again, the yarn pushing a round shape into your palm. “my instrument… it’s a—“
“a red skein of yarn… yes, i noticed. although, you shouldn’t go telling folks so willingly.” semiu had returned to the lewd magazine laying haphazardly on the desk. she gestured towards a lonely chair with a ripped and filthy cushion. “sit. i’ll send someone to speak to you.”
as soon as you’d sat, semiu began muttering into her choker—it almost sounded like multiple scratchy voices that came squeaking out of the dark, red tube. and then there he was. a tall man, drowning in fabric: beige coat, oversized sleeves that hung like wings, his white button down was crisp, fastened at the neck with a loosely knotted tie. his wild blonde hair stuck out from behind his head, tied back, and a cascading waterfall of hair, rich indigo, was left to hang around his neck. he was picturesque, gazing at you with a heavy stare that landed soft on your cheek, and a flat, resting smile.
“hello.” the man’s voice was rough, but warm. crackling wood in a fireplace. like the last ember of a flame, surviving beneath the wood. “are you ready?”
“yes.” you stood, following the man, who walked slowly and with intention, feeling his downward glances every so often. “where are you… taking me?”
“the boss wants to see you.” he spoke, gentle words tangling in the air, and reaching against your ears. “you’ll be alright.”
he stopped at the end of the hallway, his oversized sleeves waving behind his hidden hands as they gestured towards a rich, hardwood door. “go on.”
– . ⋆.ೃ࿐ –
arkha corvus towered over you, moreso than the soft-spoken blonde and indigo man that led you here, and still stood in the doorframe, lazily gazing at you and the boss.
corvus wasted no time, speaking firmly. “it’s wonderful to meet you. semiu vetted you up front, yes?”
“yes, sir.” your satchel laid heavy against your hip, your fingers gripping the strap, nervously.
“good. then i’d like you to join the cleaners.” his storming, cloud grey eyes looked down on you, lightly twinkling under the amber light of the room. “team eager will be a good fit for you…”
“thank you.” you bowed your head slightly, then met corvus’s eyes as he smiled.
“here,” corvus gently placed his hand on your shoulder, fingers heavy and hot against your shirt, and turned you back towards the blonde and indigo shaded figure that stood like a ghost in the doorway. at the sight of the man’s relaxed figure, corvus laughed to himself, deep and loud. “hah. i’ll turn you loose now. he’ll take good care of you.”
you felt frozen, cold and stiff under the gazes of everything new, and old, and the boss, and the man in the doorway.
“come.” the man in the doorway said, voice low and toasted. “i’ll show you around.”
“thank you.” you staggered forward, the man’s voice breaking the ice that had frozen you in place.
the door closed behind the two of you, and the click of the latch echoed.
“my name is tamsy.” the man tilted his head to observe your endearing, green expression. it was then that you noticed more about him—tamsy: the silver piercing, just under the shadow of his bottom lip, a magnificent scar, weaving itself down his forehead and cheek, the deep, rich indigo of his eyebrows, and the fluttering blonde of his lashes. his being was so… split in color. an angel dripping in the color of deep ocean.
you itched to bury your fingers in the red, scarlet of your vital instrument, but met leather once more the moment you dragged your fingertips near it. you nodded, giving him your name with a shaky sort of reverence that echoed in tamsy’s head, although he’d never show it.
“a lovely name, for a lovely addition to team eager.” tamsy began walking, and you followed. “your vital instrument… may i see it?”
you nodded, feeling a tight knot unravel around your heart at the thought of your jinki. deftly, you slipped your hand into the satchel, closing your hand around the ball of yarn and pulling it out.
tamsy’s silver stare hung on the rich colored thread like a man on a noose. “yarn?”
“my mother spun it before she passed.” you turned the skein over in your hand, letting your eyes run over the fibers, just as they had so many times before.
“may i…?” tamsy held out his large palm. you obliged, carefully placing the skein in his hand. he continued to lead you as he turned the ball of scarlet over in his hands. he pointed out landmarks as you passed them, stopping short of your room, just next door to his.
tamsy smiled softly at the skein, then handed it over to you once more. as your fingers brushed his in the exchange, your eyes glowed, waking the red yarn. the threads spread into the air, tendrils tangling towards tamsy as if they were always meant to reach him. tamsy was frozen, quite like you had been. caught in the stare of you as you witnessed your jinki respond to someone that wasn’t you, for the first time since it’s spinning.
the threads split, and split again, splitting until a blood red waterfall of yarn cascaded between you. your breath quickened. “i-i’m sorry, it’s never… it’s never done this before… i-i’m not sure how to—“
“don’t apologize.” that warm voice sung in your ear. “i use a type of thread too.”
with that, tamsy reached through the yarn waterfall, parting the falls to peak through. through the parting he’d created, you spotted the small smile that tamsy sported. after a moment of hushed breath, your eyes cooled, the glow dulling once more, and your yarn spun itself back together. back into an unassuming skein of yarn in your trembling palm.
tamsy hummed, holding the top of your hand from underneath, and quelling the trembling muscles with just one touch. “i have never seen anything such as that, i must admit… but, tokushin has done strange things from time to time.”
you let your back dip against the concrete, leaning with a sigh as you brought the skein into a closed fist against your chest. “tokushin?”
“mm.” tamsy spoke in a lilting, fireplace-warm melody as he pulled out a distaff, spun in blue thread. “my vital instrument: tokushin.”
“it’s got a name?” for some reason, your fingertips itched to roll across the blue, but stayed clenching your red.
tamsy twisted tokushin in his hand, turning it from side to side. “most cleaners name their vital instrument… what would you name yours?”
his eyes met yours with a sharp stare, then fell away to observe your fingers against the scarlet red of your jinki.
“hmm…” you paused. you’d always noticed the way the yarn wove itself into objects, but you’d never seen the yarn reach towards another soul as it had reached towards tamsy. the red had stretched so pure. stretched so clearly towards tamsy. fate weaver.
as you opened your mouth to answer, tamsy spoke first. “if it were mine, i might name it ‘fate weaver,’ due to it’s… nature to reach, as if fate were leading it.”
“that’s… exactly what i was going to say.” your brows furrowed in confusion, and a smile you couldn’t stop bloomed against your cheeks.
“hm.” tamsy hummed, a matching, kind-looking smile creeping wide on his face. “just as i thought: fate.”
– . ⋆.ೃ࿐ –
from then on, you trained with tamsy, and became familiar with his jinki: tokushin. the way the amber light of the sun dipping low on the horizon cast a gilded, bronze sheen across the handle of the staff. you became familiar with the peach colored glow that emanated from tamsy’s pupils when he demonstrated tokushin’s immense power. as the weeks passed, you realized that you were not certain you’d ever become familiar with tokushin’s power itself. let alone the power of its user. tamsy’s soul echoed like whispers in a cavern, no matter how he felt, but his actions were wild, loud, bordering on primal.
for those first weeks, you merely shadowed him, with fate weaver encased in a leather pouch that hung from your belt. watching closely from the company of supporters as tamsy whipped tokushin around, the threads of blue twilight falling upon a herd of trash beasts like a tsunami, catching their stinking limbs in tokushin’s knots with a sweltering kind of precision that you had not yet mastered with your own vital instrument. you itched to leap into the fight with him, to smother these rotting beasts in fate weaver’s blood red tendrils, but you were instructed to observe only. so you did. glowering at tamsy’s vague silhouette billowing in his body’s wake, hands tight in a fist that kept you sane.
it was only after a month that tamsy allowed you to train with him. early mornings in the yard, the burnt orange of sunrise on the ground inching across the concrete, peeling itself like skin against the great, stone walls of cleaner hq. tamsy was strict during these training sessions, and left you no room for error. if fate weaver spread its thread just a second too slow, tokushin’s rope was twisting around you, leaving welts around your biceps, along your thighs, your stomach. tamsy never looked sympathetic, rather, he gazed at your body, twisted in knots, with a heart-stopping smile that lifted his cheeks, just a hair.
tokushin would tangle and spin itself around you, as if it were mistaking you for a distaff. it was almost as if it wanted to make you a tool for the soft-faced man who smiled at your discomfort. the man who would let tokushin’s thread tighten, and tighten, and tighten, until your eyes glowed. he’d allow tokushin to loosen just enough for your fingers to brush fate weaver’s fibers, sitting at your hip, and let fate weaver’s thread detangle tokushin’s.
tamsy relished in the desperate look that covered your face, just before untangling yourself. relished in the way your eyes rolled back when you landed in a pile of limbs on the ground, finally free from tokushin’s grip. he relished in the way your fingers slid around your throat, coughing in shock. oh, tamsy would relish the look of you under his watchful eye whenever he’d close his eyes. weak, vulnerable, his.
– . ⋆.ೃ࿐ –
you knocked on tamsy’s door, once, late at night. angry and flushed and holding fate weaver tightly in your palm, as if it would scurry down the hall if your fingers loosened. you waited a moment, then knocked again—louder this time.
the questioning sound of his bedframe creaked behind the thin door, followed by muffled, lazy steps that dragged. the door opened halfway, and tamsy stood like a sleeping bird, blonde and indigo hair cascading down his shoulders, long and like luxury. he leaned to his side, laying his head against the doorway.
with a half-lidded pale gaze, he lifted an eyebrow. “is… everything alright?”
his lips were chapped, deep sleep dry, but his cheeks were rosy and flushed, like he’d been nuzzling his pillow.
“i’m… i’m really sorry to wake you. i just… shit. okay, respectfully, how the fuck do you hold people so tightly with tokushin? i try with fate weaver and nothing comes! i can weave a thread close to my arm but as soon as i go to tighten, it all falls away, no bruises, no rope burn, no welts like the ones you give me, it’s ridiculous,” you spoke quickly, frustrated, venting like a dog barking at nothing. “i mean, how am i supposed to be a cleaner with nothing to show? i need… fuck, i don’t know. i don’t know what i need, i’m hopeless, i—“
“come in.” tamsy stepped aside with a sparkle in his eye, opening the door wider, then disappeared into the darkness of his room. you processed slow, slap-happy from the lateness of the night, but the scent of tamsy’s room, spices and honey, the sound of his feet on the ground, all of it. all of him… it left your throat dry and wishing for sleep.
that soft, songbird voice sounded from the dark. “don’t linger, now.”
and then you were in his darkness, stepping through the doorway, pausing in the last lick of light from the hall as it reached into the room.
“close the door, we’ll need the dark.” tamsy’s voice rung in your ear again, this time closer. he was like a phantom in this pitch black box of spices and honey.
his voice melted you into the shadow as you closed the door with a soft click.
“are you ready to begin, my weaver?”
you nodded. you weren’t sure why, it was dark, tamsy couldn’t see. but then, his voice again, somewhere different now.
“do you think i don’t know where you are?”
you whipped your head towards the sound, but sensed nothing but the quiet rustling of fabric, maybe curtains, maybe tamsy. “i suppose you do… i haven’t moved yet.”
silence. darkness. darkness so black, that no matter how you squinted, it never faded to grey. tamsy had brought you into a cloud of thick dark, and you found it hard to breathe.
a lilting hum came from tamsy, somewhere new. somewhere close. “then move.”
“i—“
“go on…” the voice was to your right now, closer still.
then, the sound of wind, followed by tamsy’s long, never-ending slender fingers slipping beneath your jaw from behind, and cradling your head on either side. a confused whimper sat under your breath as you managed an inhale.
as quickly as you’d blinked, you felt breath tickling your ear lobe, hot and sweet.
“move.” tamsy whispered, lips brushing your ear as his hands slipped away, pushing you forward. you stumbled, but didn’t pause to turn, instead stepping to your left.
a sharp pain rang at your hip, and as you hastily felt the area, your fingertips dragged against a small wooden table, corners sharp.
“sh-shit…! fuck, tamsy, how is this supposed to help?”
footsteps echoed behind you, and you whipped around, only to be met with nothing. the same darkness that you still hadn’t acclimated to.
“oh, i’m going to demonstrate, of course.” that lilting, almost teasing voice sung from what you thought might’ve been the corner of the room.
“h-how…? i can’t… i can’t see a thing—“
a barely audible, slithering whisper echoed through the air. you knew it well. knew the sound of tokushin’s rope as it glided, like a bird, through the air. you stepped away from the whispering current that tokushin left.
“precious.” tamsy’s warm voice hadn’t moved this time. “i’ll allow my voice to provide you an anchor in this dark ocean.”
as soon as he’d uttered the last word, you felt a feeling around your ankle: warm syrup slithering up your skin. tokushin. it’s rope spun around your leg, squeezing just enough that you had to gasp, and then stopped abruptly at the top of your thigh, the end of the rope hanging languished against your hip.
the darkness swelled around you, and you pushed through it as if it were something physical, finding that tamsy was not keeping you from moving. tokushin, instead, moved with you. bending and stretching around your muscles.
with a small, pathetic, swallowed sound, you let your fingertips brush across the rope, feeling it twitch under your touch. it was… alive. even through the darkness, you could feel the blue against your nails. could feel the fibers breathing against you. you withdrew your touch, slowly, feeling each heartbeat thump beneath your ribs on its own. you glanced up to where tamsy’s voice had come from before. “tokushin is alive.”
“yes, she is.” his voice like a whisper coming from everywhere at once.
you returned your hand to tokushin’s unyielding grasp, fingers now softly caressing the sleeping end of the rope, right where it lay on your hip. the fibers were altogether too sharp, yet bound by nothing at all, and you felt the threads breathing into you. gently thumbing the rope, a hitched breath echoed from the corner—where tamsy’s voice was anchored.
you paused, the sleeping end of tokushin held softly in your palm. “why do we need the dark?”
tamsy’s hand appeared under your’s, and suddenly he was both behind you, and all you could feel. his touch, his hot breath against your neck, the heat of his chest against your back, the tickle of his hair as it fell across your periphery on either side. when tamsy finally spoke, his voice was slightly ragged, as if he felt each drag of your thumb across tokushin’s skin.
“the light…” he began, breathing in deeply. “it distracts from the soul… shows us everything but what’s inside. what’s… truly breathing. what’s truly alive.”
tamsy’s free hand moved from his side, covering your hand that still held fate weaver tightly. “relax your grip… good… there you go… now give it breath.”
the burn behind your eyes lit your immediate vicinity in a faint glow as fate weaver began to spread itself in the air. the light trickled off the scarlet in drops, as if blood had soaked the fiber, turning the usually commonplace thread into a map of blood vessels, veins that reached out of the light, into the darkness, then looped back to spin around yours and tamsy’s joint hands. fate weaver tightened slightly, then fell limp, like tokushin, in your palm.
you gasped sharply as it fell, the whispering sound of your breath orbiting you and tamsy until it fell away into silence. the feeling of tamsy’s fingers as they threaded through yours cut through the blackness of the room, and he pushed your fingers down, together with his, closing around fate weaver.
“feel what you’ve done.” a rich, low song, sung directly into your ear.
fate weaver’s skin beat in time with your heart, as if it truly had become veins, pumping blood against your’s and tamsy’s skin.
“i… i can feel it…!” you spoke in a hushed voice, terrified that your voice was light if loud enough. “it’s like… like—“
“blood.” tamsy breathed behind your ear, almost sighing. “tokushin breathes… fate weaver bleeds, like a heart.”
a sigh unraveled from beneath your lungs, and with it, fate weaver loosened. a whisper from your lungs. “it’s beautiful.”
tamsy stepped back slightly, allowing tokushin to unravel around you.
you turned, now, to look at tamsy, only catching a glimpse of him as the pale, yellow glow of his gaze faded, and tokushin returned to the small distaff.
you stared, through the dark, just barely making out tamsy’s gentle gaze staring back. his lips parted ever so slightly, seemingly just as breathless as you’d found yourself.
“you… should get some sleep…” tamsy said, tone unwavering, but contradicted by the darkness that had somehow reflected in his eyes.
you nodded, stepping back and around tamsy’s lurking frame. “yes… goodnight.”
“goodnight.”
the golden, almost-green light of the hallway cascaded upon tamsy, as he gazed after your fleeting silhouette, and as you closed the door, you draped him in shadow, becoming an angel enshrouded in pitch black, soul bared.
– . ⋆.ೃ࿐ –
you met again at burnt orange sunrise, finding tamsy, drowning in that birdlike silhouette, seated on the yard’s bench, with his head tilted towards the sky, eyes closed.
as you neared his perch, you bowed your head slightly. “good morning.”
the blonde of his lashes fluttered open as he turned to gaze at your approaching figure. “good morning, my weaver.”
the nickname resounded in your head, as if the sound of those letters on his lips had been bass boosted in your skull.
rattled, you stopped in front of him. his legs were spread lazily, and tamsy looked as if he’d gotten no sleep at all.
“forgive me for last night… i shouldn’t have woken you.” you bowed your head, nervously reverent. was an apology necessary? should you make yourself smaller in order to earn forgiveness?
in your sunken reverence, you missed the glow awaken behind tamsy’s eyes.
“hmm. you’re right.” tamsy’s voice was sardonic, humming in thought. perhaps he had been thinking of this, of what to do to you once he saw you, angry over his lack of sleep. or, he was simply enjoying the morning, but the tone in his voice, and the sly look in his eye hinted otherwise. “i suppose this calls for punishment. no?”
you would’ve responded, if not for tokushin’s threads descending over you like a net. drowning in blue, you lifted your head to meet tamsy’s pale, glowing stare. your eyes wide, pulling at the edge of their limits as you registered your folly: your limbs were tangled, and although tokushin had moved with you the night before, this morning it was as if the rope had atrophied against your struggling body.
tamsy rose, eyes dragging along your pliant frame until they landed on fate weaver, secured so prettily juuuust out of reach. he met your eyes with a smile. “go on… fate weaver will unravel tokushin’s rope. all you have to do is succeed.”
flames of frustration gurgled in your chest, climbing higher and higher the more you struggled. you were tired of this, of feeling entangled and ensnared in tokushin’s never-ending limbs. every morning, the same. every morning, a fight to prove yourself to tamsy and his vacant stare. every morning, trembling, yet unable to look away from that stare. how it picked you apart, how it wove itself around your body, how it glowed brighter the more you struggled. and yet, you still found yourself rising from your bed, and rushing to the yard, giddy to try again. “c-can’t even… get to it, asshole…”
tamsy sighed, walking a circle around your twitching body. “you’re giving up? that quick?”
you twisted your gaze to him, brows furrowed deep into your nose. “of course not.”
you felt your fingers tingling, then going numb as tokushin drew tight loops around each finger, tightening, then loosening. playing with you.
“a giver must be able to summon their vital instrument no matter what.” tamsy approached you, bending down to meet your eyes. “we aren’t always given the freedom to touch… isn’t that right?”
“but i can’t— i… i don’t know how!” you squirmed, a hot tear spilling from the corner of your eye and falling onto tokushin. you squeezed your eyes shut, feeling the frustration well up.
tamsy began to walk away, stepping slowly, humming to himself. he called back to you, a taunting lilt to his tone, gaze forward. “then learn.”
your head fell forward, a growl littering your lungs. angry and exhausted. “i can’t, asshole! isn’t– god, it’s tight… isn’t that your job?!” you groaned, your lungs squeezing from the pressure of tokushin’s cruel grasp on every part of you. “you… you’re supposed to t-teach mm-me how to– ah…! how to get free…!”
as you spoke the last word, your eyes burst into a hot, simmering glow. fate weaver flurried to life, floating in the space between you and tamsy, then began threading in and around tamsy’s knots, loosening the blue to make room for the red.
now, tamsy turned to face you, his lips slick in a crescent. “good girl.”
tamsy gazed at the woven pattern encasing your body, hypnotized by the way the scarlet and indigo spun together, in and out of each other, making space and taking it away. he could barely follow the end of the red as it burrowed around tokushin, until the blue rope fell from you, hanging in midair, draped over fate weaver like curtains. fate weaver was still suspended, but reaching, reaching, reaching towards him. closer, and closer, until it began curling around him.
tamsy allowed the red thread to envelop his chest and waist, knotting itself around him, and dragging him towards you. your eyes still glowed, blinded by the fire and pain of every welt you’d nurse in the evening, every bruise you’d try not to touch, every evidence of him.
fate weaver pulled tamsy, thread writhing against him as if the submission of him was pleasure, until his gentle face reflected against your glow.
“do you like this?” tamsy finally spoke, voice soft, but singing.
his head tilted to the side, lips falling open as fate weaver responded in turn, weaving more tendrils down his body, up his back. a final tendril caressed his ear from behind, then slipped under his bottom lip. he sighed, eyes closed, and shuddering.
tamsy’s voice was low and tender, although his breath shook. “does it feel good to touch? to caress with a limb that isn’t yours?”
finally, you spoke, voice hushed and rough. “yes.”
“yes.” tamsy echoed, leaning his head back as if to savor the taste.
the elastic sound of fate weaver tightening and loosening around tamsy echoed across the yard, ogling the burnt sky, then fell quietly, gracefully in his palm.
with a gentle caress of his thumb, he felt every blood red fiber between the ridges of his fingerprints. you breathed in sharply, eyes blowing wide.
“fate weaver’s skin is your skin, you’ll learn what touches your vital instrument…” tamsy murmured, then squeezed fate weaver just enough that a broken sound spilled from your throat. “…will reflect back in tow.”
tamsy began tangling his fingers in the scarlet, glancing up at you as you squirmed. with each twist of his long, slender fingers, you felt a rush of light running through your body, from different spots.
“ah…! h-how can… hhng… can i f-feel… it…?” you managed to drag your focus from the courses of light that tamsy was puppeting through your veins.
tamsy tugged on fate weaver slightly, stealing a sharp breath from you.
“the soul.” another tug, harder, enough to earn a breathy, floating moan from your chest. the light flew through you, then sent you stumbling forward, cheek flat against tamsy’s chest. he tucked his chin to rest it on your head, chuckling softly.
fate weaver slowly loosened, the glow fading from your eyes, as tamsy’s heartbeat lulled you into a sense of security, the same way one found safety in the dark. his free hand came up to the crown of your head, petting your hair, and pressing your head closer to him. there was that scent again. spices, honey. the loose strands of his hair, tickling your nose. the touch of his hand on your hair, his grasp almost possessive.
“thank you.” you whispered, the sound muffled by his tie.
“don’t thank me.” tamsy’s voice came back from above you, quiet and final. with a swallow, he stepped back, making space between your two breathless bodies. “it was all you, little weaver.”
you felt a red string inside of you, one that pushed against the outskirts of your soul, but you let it sink as the sun finally rose, turning the burning orange of sunrise into a greasy green.
tamsy breathed in sharply, as if snapping back into character. “well, i must attend to some errands before the mission this afternoon.”
“i’ll leave you to it. thank you,” your gaze twinkled in the light. “it was a good punishment.”
tamsy’s eyebrows raised, a dark, perverted shadow falling over his eyes. “was it?”
you nodded, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth.
“you took me well, little weaver.” tamsy’s eyes shimmered, dragging across the lines of your face. he nodded. “until next time.”
and then he was gone, leaving you sweating, breathless, and overwhelmed in an empty yard.
– . ⋆.ೃ࿐ –
when tamsy returned from his errands, you found that he’d recommended you to officially join team eager. he’d stared at you, passing in the hall, your mouth agape, and whispered in that melodic voice. “welcome, little weaver.”
of course, tamsy hadn’t stopped. nor had he mentioned the way he’d spent his morning, after bidding you farewell, as he knew that just a mention of the way his hips had pressed up against his mattress as he buried his face in his pillow would be far too much for you. you with your disgustingly sweet, earnest approach to life. he’d even turned on his loudest music, setting the speaker right between the wall you shared and his bed, in order to drown out his overwhelmed groans, frustratingly pushing his clothed cock against his bed sheets. he rutted like a dog. he felt like a dog. you made him disgusting, turned his thoughts something perverse. how he dreamed of showing you what punishment truly looked like. the ways he wanted to let tokushin tease you, to ruin you. he could barely keep the visions straight. visions of you, completely bare, suspended in front of him like a puppet. your flesh spilling over the tight rope as you begged for his touch, his kiss, even a look. the shape of tokushin’s rope as it slid between your legs, your choked moan, guttural and pathetic. the lewd sound of his thighs slapping against your own as he fucked you so deep that your eyes glowed. the vision of you, lit only by the glow of his own eyes, angelic and falling apart, squirming, tortured by the pleasure of touch, and praise, and tamsy’s firm grasp on your chest, waist, hips, stomach, cheeks, throat. he rutted against his mattress, face smushed against the bed, lips pulling one way, his teeth brushing against the sheet, cumming harder than he’d ever cum before, to the thought of you. only you. always you.
echoes of those visions laced tamsy’s brain like grout between mosaic tiles. you pieced him together, all his jagged edges, still sharp, but not so dangerous with your red thread and sweet whimpers. but, telling you would change it all. what fun is the tension that weighed heavily in the wind, if you knew how he thought of you? those visions… his weaver… maybe his mind played tricks. maybe you were just a green newbie, literally learning the ropes. even so, those visions still echoed in the evening as he strolled into the cleaner’s lounge. some mission had gone well–not as if tamsy cared–and the room reeked of beer and pizza.
he leaned against the wall, just to the left of the door, quietly watching, or rather, searching the throng of people for you. it’d become second nature by now, entering a space at hq and immediately feeling the pull of that damned scarlet yarn. and you... you’d always be there, just on the other end of it.
the lounge could’ve been filled with trash, for all tamsy cared, as long as he found you lying in it, that was all that mattered. and, for all intents and purposes, the room was filled with trash. but, there you were, less alone than usual, small in a conversation circle of supporters–trash–that towered over you, muscles as big as your head. now that he’d caught your image in his sight, he stared. your eyes were wide and sweet, glittering in the yellow, piss-colored glow of the room, and he knew you felt small. maybe you liked it.
tamsy’s chest puffed slightly, his shoulders rolling down and back subconsciously. his eyes landed on your hands. his hands. the hands that were tied against his with red string, fated. his. the soft yellow in his eyes turned sour as he followed your fingers, grasping a muscular forearm belonging to a man who was making you laugh. the soft, sour yellow turned even more rotten, greasy, as his breath began to build up beneath his chest. you weren’t his, not really, but you were. this bumbling man had never heard the half-choked sounds that spilled from the back of your throat when tokushin pulled too hard. he’d never felt fate weaver’s pulse, beating against his skin, hot and heavy. he’d never loved you like tamsy loved you. his thoughts sped across his brain like scalding steam, his face–normally blank–turning inwards, grimacing with every breath you took close to the man. his thoughts were scalding. he was scalding. he had to turn away, he had to distract himself, had to get a grip, or else he’d get one by closing his fist around that meaty throat that you seemed to be staring at so intently. he was so close to the door, close enough. he could slip out, fuck his fist, fuck his mattress. could even steal into your room, shove his face into your pillow and fuck his fist there. if you came back early, maybe you’d be drunk, wouldn’t you? so, it’s unlikely you’d remember… and even so, he had the–
“tamsy!” you appeared in front of him, smile bright, eyes brighter, knocking him from his thoughts.
tamsy’s breath stuttered, uncharacteristically, eyes flitting around the space around your head. anywhere but your eyes. “ah, there she is.”
the chattering room became a sidenote, and you pulled his gaze, meeting his anxious stare. there was only you in front of him. only ever you. tokushin felt heavy on his person, incredibly heavy. he wondered if, perhaps, you held the distaff, would it feel lighter? or would it weigh you down, just as it weighed him down?
“are you alright?” you were closer now. then closer again. almost as if every time tamsy blinked, you inched farther and farther into his space. right where you belonged.
a kind smile grew across tamsy’s cheeks, gaze softening back to that gentle gold you were used to. “i am now. it was awfully lonely in this corner.”
you glanced over your shoulder, back towards the supporters that were ogling you from behind. tamsy saw the pervertedness in their stares. he knew it all too well, he shared the same perverse thoughts. the only difference was that tamsy had claim, and they were fodder. but, you didn’t seem to notice, simply smiling and waving. so friendly. so sweet. all of the traits he’d spent the night dreaming you’d save for him.
you broke his train of thought once more. “you could’ve joined me over there…! didn’t you see me talking–”
“i saw.” tamsy interrupted, speaking short and low. he cleared his throat. “i didn’t want to… intrude.”
you laughed, giggled, even, drunk off of nothing but his presence. that familiar scent, spices and honey. “if i didn’t know better, tamsy, i’d say you wished it was you i had been talking to…!”
the chatter of the room grew loud again, deafening. tamsy frowned, glancing from person to person. couldn’t these stupid jackasses see that you were talking? was it that difficult to be quiet? had they never heard of decorum? nervousness trickled up his spine, pushing a quiet growl out of his throat in response.
the growl slipped past your ears, heat pooling low in your stomach. tamsy was so tidy around you. he never let his guard fall. a silent angel, speaking in proverbs. but, the vibrations of his uncontrolled, under-the-breath growl threw your thoughts into a spin. tamsy. a silent angel. a flightless bird that whispered in your soul when the night was quiet and warm, when your fingers itched to touch. when your skin begged to be touched. it was always his hands that appeared in your mind's eye. a memory of tokushin rubbing your skin raw that made your skin prickle. his voice, whispering about punishment, and breath, and blood, that drew your finger tips down below your waistline. just this afternoon, it was the memory of his unbearably long fingers as they tangled in your thread, tugging unimaginable light through your limbs as if tamsy was stuffed inside you, puppeting you like a doll, that threw you into a blinding fit of bliss, a shocked, broken moan awkwardly splitting the air as thoughts of tamsy floated there with you.
“t-tamsy?” you dared to speak, despite the flurry of desire that had become like a hurricane in your stomach.
tamsy’s eyes squeezed shut, then opened sharply, speaking through gritted teeth. “these damned fools… it’s too loud.”
the room was loud. you’d become accustomed to it in the past hour that you’d socialized, avoiding the yeasty beer and sliding slices of pizza down your throat, but now it had become a roar. you heard through tamsy’s ears–the loudness of the crowd–and felt your lungs fill with the sound. the noise, like the ink-black darkness of tamsy’s room, just the night before, swelled into tangible energy. something you could push through, respite only found within an inch of the flightless bird pressed up against the wall. you reached, fingers outstretched, closer and closer, until you found his hand–hidden underneath his oversized, wing-like sleeves–and folded your hand around the shape of him. the promise of him. you felt him breathe under your grip, and you pulled him closer to the door.
“let’s go.” through the voices, loud as they were, you spoke in a whisper, and tamsy heard. loud and clear.
as you tugged him through the doorway, shoving the double doors closed, the noise fell away into a muffled memory, just out of reach. “that’s better.”
tamsy stood like a statue, staring at you with the weight of a thousand fates, infinite destinies, all of you. you gazed back, his eyes swimming with shadow, and light, and color, and images that you could only assume reflected back in your own eyes.
“...tamsy?” your head tilted to the side, brows knitting close in concern.
tamsy allowed a silence that dragged the length of every hallway in hq before answering, finally. “i’m not quite sure i believed in fate before you arrived here, you know.”
he spoke so casually, so candidly, that you dared not respond. only your lips parted, as if to make space for him.
“but you…” tamsy looked past you for a moment, as if he were conjuring up a memory, right before his eyes. “you have tied me in fate. woven yourself into my soul, and i cannot find it in me to cut you out of it.”
“tamsy…” you began, moving effortlessly into his space, welcomed. he caught your forearm in his grasp, holding you gently.
“i thought it might be a passing feeling. something… something new to attend to my boredom. but, you occupy it all.” you allowed your hand to be guided up, up, up until tamsy held your palm against his cheek. he closed his eyes, basking in you. “you are the make up of my very thoughts. every part of you. every vision of you. underneath me, above me, in front, wrapped in me, in tokushin… fuck… i… am disgusting, because of you. i am perfect, because of you. i am myself, because of you. i cannot find it in me not to lo–”
the doors to the lounge opened, a group of drunk cleaners stumbling out and falling into the hallway. they didn’t notice the heat of the stuffy hall, nor did they struggle to wade through the thick, molasses-like tension that had settled at your knees. when you looked back at tamsy, you found your arms resting at your side, the space between you getting wider once more. he’d already begun walking off, and you let him. your thoughts felt far away, mind full of noise, now. noise… and his words. jumbled up in your brain. beating like fate weaver against skin, pulsing. leading you, almost wandering, but trusting your feet, to your room. to the dark, just next door of his.
your bed smelled like nothing. like emptiness. like a lack of spices. a lack of honey. that scent that followed you like a moth to flame. you fell asleep to the memory of his detail, and dreamed of nothing.
– . ⋆.ೃ࿐ –
you awoke in the pitch black dark of your room, heart beating heavily beneath your chest. you turned towards the small table next to your creaky bed, legs curling into your stomach underneath the covers. fate weaver laid on the weathered, dusty wood, unassuming. just a skein of yarn. your hand reached, closing your fingers around it, letting your fingertips dip between the thread, wound messily in a sphere that fit perfectly in your palm. you thought of nothing, simply clutching it against your chest, and closing your eyes, falling into another bout of sleep, this time not so dreamless.
blurs of blonde, denim blue, burnt sienna skies, a gilded distaff–bare of thread. movement, a figure circling you. the rustling sound of fabric. maybe curtains, maybe tamsy. a slow, agonizingly delicious burn of light, billowing beneath your skin. caresses, tangled. two hands, wrapped in indigo and scarlet, like limbs in a sea of fresh meat. dripping blood in water. lungs, veins. pulling towards each other. closer, closer. inches from touching. a hand. your hand, reaching in front of nothingness. reaching towards something in a cloud of ink-black darkness. a bluebird, laying on the surface of nothingness, with golden eyes. you knew that gaze so well. then darkness again.
you awoke in the harsh, yellow lighting of the hall, the echo of a knock ringing in your ear. had you sleepwalked? you felt a tightness around your chest, fate weaver. it was only then that you noticed the burn behind your eyes, reflecting off of your skin like a mirror, and as soon as you’d noticed, it fell away. fate weaver unraveled, winding itself back up, and dropping in midair.
“is everything alright?”
you looked up hastily, the door–closed just a moment ago–was opened halfway, and tamsy stood in the space revealed, golden light washing over his body. his hair draped down to his waist, the indigo pouring over his shoulder like a waterfall. the light of the hall echoed in his gaze as he looked down at fate weaver in your trembling hands.
“i… i’m so sorry, i woke up and i think…” you glanced away. “i’m not sure. fate weaver was wrapped around me, and my eyes were glowing… like i was pulled here.”
the dark blue of his brows tugged up, his lips parting softly. “hm. i see.”
“it’s never done this before.”
“i’ll say.” tamsy’s voice was still songbird sweet, although a tremble of sleep hung underneath his words.
you released a breathy, awkward laugh, then a resting silence rang softly between you, and tamsy’s gaze hung heavily on your face. you wished he’d stop. somehow, his stare felt tight. constricting. tokushin.
“i’ll go…” you swallowed, throat tight, but you’d barely taken a breath before tamsy’s long fingers had closed around your wrist, and pulled you inside.
the door closed, and you were in this darkness of him again, suffocated by the fragrance of him in the air. a suspended blanket of spices and honey. a suffocation you didn’t mind to choke on. unlike the last time you were in the pitch black dark with him, now you could feel him. his hand had fallen from your wrist already, but you could hear his breath. feel the breeze left in his path as his hair swayed. as if you weren’t blind. as if the dark wasn’t physical. not swelling. not tangible. and then there was tamsy’s voice, unmoving.
“you woke me…” tamsy began. “now, allow me to wake you.”
you looked in the direction of his voice, eyes wide and full of lust-stricken dark. “i… i’m awake–”
“not quite.” he said, and you could almost see the line of his lips as he smiled, softly. “i did not allow you to respond.”
“no, i let you leave.”
“oh, did you?” tamsy’s tone was teasing.
fate weaver pulsed beneath your palm, or was that your own pulse? you ignored the call of it, stepping closer to him now. “i did.”
tamsy’s breath hovered near you now, touching the edges of your own exhales, shaking.
“and why, pray tell,” his voice got quieter. he was moving somewhere else in the room. “did you do that, my weaver?”
you couldn’t answer, only allowing a silence to land for a moment. you moved forward in the quiet, closer to where his melody had disappeared to. “why did you leave?”
“i wouldn’t compete with the rowdiness of fools.” tamsy was quick to respond. almost too quick. “the way i feel for you has no place among the likes of drunkards.”
it was as if you could see every inch of the room. the counter, the table you’d run into the night before, tamsy’s bed, the shape of his blanket, crumpled at the foot of the mattress, the dent in his pillow, the strands of hair that he left in his wake, and tamsy. the shape of him in the darkness, standing against his dresser, his hand resting lazily on his distaff, which lay on its side. the room was still pitch black, you knew that, but every inhale of spices and honey turned the room to dark grey, the furniture and dressings becoming shadowy blobs, ones you could make out.
“and the way i feel for you?” you bit back, finally.
you felt his eyes on you. that heavy stare, tight, constricting.
you continued. “the rowdiness of fools cannot compete. they’re fodder. and you…”
the words trailed off into the air, but tamsy caught them, echoing you, teasing. “i…?”
a moonlit breeze shuddered through the window, stirring the dark. the sound of tamsy’s breath got ever closer. was he moving to you? were you moving to him? you glanced down, as you spoke, watching your feet pad across the concrete, then found his eyes in the greyness and haze, meeting them with a wide, earnest look. “you are everything good.”
your footsteps faded, then slowed, then stopped, barely an inch from his body. tamsy breathed out, his voice carrying an apathetic, resigned song. “i am nothing good. i am anything but.”
“you are a cruel teacher, but a good man.”
tamsy’s palm fell softly against your cheek. he spoke in a whisper... “you are so precious… you know nothing, little weaver… nothing.”
the touch of him felt electric against your skin, and you pressed your cheek into it. allowed this caress, given by a limb that was not yours. a shaky breath fled down your throat. “i know. i’ve felt your soul breathe against my palm. i… don’t care what you’ve done. i care about what you teach me. i– i care about the sound of your voice. i care about the way you look at me. i care about the thought that you are like me.”
tamsy’s fingers grasped your cheek tighter, only just. his eyes were wild, a reckless glow beginning to build from a spark, but he said nothing.
“i am disgusting. i am perverted. i am perfect… you have made me that way.” you repeated his very same words. “do you think i lay in bed after tokushin’s choked me under your commands, your eyes… do you think i don’t envision it? you. fucking me, puppeting me with tokushin wrapped everywhere unholy.”
tamsy’s eyes began lifting out of the darkness, lit by a yellow, hazy glow. a rush of wind whisked past your ear as tokushin transformed, just out of your periphery. you watched, breathing shakily. awaiting the movement that tamsy didn’t give. the glow of his eyes burned through the dark, casting soft light across your features, but he stayed still, bearing deep into your eyes.
you felt stiffer now that you were moonlit by his gaze, even moreso as he finally spoke. “what beautiful visions…”
the breathing whisper of tokushin’s rope now brushed across your back; you shivered, a broken, tiny whimper dribbling out of you. another tendril reached around your back, slipping over your shoulder. it reached across your neck, and returned over your other shoulder, pulling your neck back, taut. you could see him better, now. the glow of his eyes making his profile like a silhouette against candlelight.
the rope tugged against your windpipe, tamsy’s sadistic smile pressing through the light, but you choked out, determined, although your words came out broken and breathless. “your ta-aunts stick to– mm…me like g-lue. and i find my soul be-egging for more. i dream of you t-aunting me while i squirm under-neath you. i want to feel pathetic. i wa– i want to feel small in your shadow.”
tamsy observed you, silently. more lines of rope curled around you, tight against your skin. “hmm. you are quite something when you’re pathetic.”
the corners of your lips lifted into a dazed grin, a delighted, breathless exhale spilling from your lungs, and floating in the air. as quick as it had spilled out of you, though, it had turned into a choked gasp as tokushin’s rope tightened against you again, now a cage. the rope burned across your neck, over each shoulder, across your sternum, between your breasts, across your waist. burned like the glitter in your gaze, building up to a glow.
“i am pathetic, because of you.” you sputtered out, breath shallow.
the room went black, and tamsy became a phantom to you once more. then, the rustling of fabric. tamsy. the echo of his baggy pajama pants flopping onto the concrete, right near your feet. the soft, shifting sound of his top being roughly shoved up over his head. it landed on his bed, you thought. you’d heard the fabric against fabric. every sense studied the bed, until the knock of your knees on the ground shocked you back. you were kneeling in front of him.
“you’ll be good, won’t you?” his voice through the dark, sound singing above you, through the air on either side of you, like wings outspread, about to take flight. you opened your mouth to speak, but found your lips around him. him. hot, and hard. the head of him pushing in, touching your tongue, basking in the way you curled your tongue around him.
“that’s it…” tamsy murmured, tilting his head to the side. “... and do tell me once you begin feeling pathetic.”
slowly, tamsy began to push his length in and out of your lips, relishing in the feeling of your mouth as your lips popped on and off of his head, and with every push back into the salivating heat of your mouth, he pressed farther. farther down your tongue. farther down your throat. each push leaving less and less time to breathe, choking you with your own submission, until finally, you felt the wiry hair at the base of his cock pushing around your nose.
“ahhh…” tamsy tipped his head back, groaning breathily. the light of his eyes fell upon your ragged face as he looked down at your expression, your gaze half-lidded. he smiled, gently cupping your jaw in his palm. every touch felt electric, every sniff of air through the gaps in his flesh as you squirmed against him, electric. the press of his cock, terrifyingly far down your throat, you gagged, feeling bile rise in your chest, but tamsy’s hand slipped into your hair, keeping you right where you were. “no, no. you can take me.”
you grunted, pathetically, nodding with what little range of movement you had within his grasp. tokushin wrapped around your wrists, pulling them behind you, and secured another part of you in his clutch.
tamsy’s breaths had become heavy, and became heavier still when your tongue slipped underneath his length, slipping up the other side. “fuck…” he whispered out, his grip on your hair tightening, then loosening, tightening, then loosening again. “that feels… good… again.”
he pulled you off of his length with a sadistic grin as he watched you sputter and gasp. “again.”
his cock piled down your throat again, earning a choked whimper from you, before it was smothered by the press of tamsy’s head. he pet your hair, sweetly. “good.”
you were pulled off of him again, this time feeling his thumb push your bottom lip down. the pad of his finger pressed against your tongue, and you moaned. mouth open, unabashed, whorelike. your saliva fell from his length, bobbing above you, landing like string across your brow.
then, the sound of tamsy’s body descended through the air to meet your eyes. the push of his thighs against his calves as he squatted down in front of you just a whisper in the quiet.
“what do you say?” tamsy asked, lilting, songlike, but you were frozen by his touch, enraptured in his glow, ensnared by tokushin. muted by him. he removed his thumb from your lip, slapping your cheek gently with his open palm, then pushed his thumb back between your lips. he repeated, “what do you say?”
“mph…i…mphfeel…pa-mph-thetic…” your words came out muffled by flesh. “i– wantmph… phmore…”
“do you now?” tamsy felt the plush of your lips under his thumb, grazing each line and wrinkle. his other hand lifted from tokushin, softly combing through your hair. “...like?”
“ah…!” you grunted through his finger, then whimpered as tamsy slipped it away. “t-touch.”
tokushin squeezed your chest, digging between your breasts. that familiar whisper of rope in the air echoed in your head, then your body became alight with electricity. tokushin’s rope dragged across your thinly covered nipples, drawing a loop around one, tightening, then slipping off. the loss stole your breath, and you gasped. “please…!”
tamsy obliged with a smile, replacing tokushin’s rough skin with his own fingers. you inhaled sharply as he shaped your nipple between the pads of his fingers. but, as soon as you grew accustomed to the gentle touch of him, he pulled away.
“wha–” you couldn’t get the word fully out before tamsy’s fingers returned, but without any of the gentleness he’d just provided. he hummed, gleefully, as he pinched at you, playing. each squeeze left a tingling burn that prickled down your breast, spilling across your skin. each squeeze, twisting left and right, pulling, pushing… it lifted wincing moan after wincing moan from your chest. tamsy was playing you like a musician, studied. learned. then, nothing, for a moment of respite.
tamsy’s fingers grasped at your top, where the rope had already rubbed the fabric raw, gripping and pulling until the first rip tore through the air. you gasped, sharp and shallow.
“you should be naked in front of a man like me.” tamsy muttered, although his eyes were gazing at you with wild abandon, marking the lines of your silhouette against the darkness. he ripped, and ripped, fingers dancing over your body, every inch of your body, tearing until you were wearing nothing. only then did tamsy pause, fingers resting just above your knees. he liked the way your flesh gave way to his push. he liked the way submission to his touch had been coded into your skin. when he finally spoke, tamsy’s voice was breathless. “look at you… my beautiful thing…”
his touch became romantic, hands slipping up your thighs, palm open, committing each curve and line to memory. his forehead met your own with a choked sigh. each heavy breath that pushed from between his lips caressed your skin, and your own breath did the same. caressing, touching with nothing. the glitter burned behind your eyes, brighter and brighter until it split into a glowing gaze. fate weaver lifting from your palm, you barely registered the red thread’s tangling in tokushin, creating a woven cord of thread and wool, rope and string, that spread to each corner of the room. the spread pulled you up slightly, and finally. finally, felt your lips press against his. no tongue, solely mouths in a dance, kissing across his lip, as he kissed along your bottom lip, soft brushes of touch, then firmer, then pressing hard against you, crushing your lips against your teeth.
you opened your mouth for him, and suddenly he was all you could taste. the musk of his cock still floated on your tongue, and was dragged around by the swirl of saliva and leftover precum. desperate, frantic moans cast around your joined heads, flurrying like dust in a beam of light. your skin was on fire. you swore your organs had been lit ablaze too, blood simmering. overwhelming passion. tamsy pulled away, and with it, tokushin and fate weaver’s joint, amalgamation of thread and rope lifted you in the air. he stood with you, the thread and rope tangling down each thigh and arm, past your knees, your elbows, across your calves, until your limbs were pulled out like a star, there for the taking.
tamsy stood before you, panting, lips parted loosely. the beam of your glowing stare shone across tamsy’s lean, but muscular body. the same scar that tore through his face was echoed throughout his torso, scar upon scar, rippling between the soft curves of his abdomen, pulsing against his chest. as he watched your eyes pick him apart, tokushin twisted around fate weaver, sending a hot course of light barreling through you.
“ah…!” you shuddered, your head thrown back. with your gaze off of him, tamsy approached, slipping his hands around your waist, and pulling himself flush with your naked, caged body. tamsy stared through his eyelashes, meeting your gaze as you pulled your head back up.
he didn’t speak, instead, rutting his hips against your stomach, releasing a trembling, held back moan. again. another push of his cock, sliding across your abdomen. then again, faster. the movement felt familiar, like he’d done this before. imagined this. you, tangled and nude and his. tamsy pulled back, abruptly, just enough to make space for tokushin. just tokushin. the indigo rope slid between your thighs, pushing between your folds. the rough fibers dragged across your clit, and, had you been standing, your knees would’ve buckled. tokushin pulled back, dragging through your folds again, then slipped out from your thighs, and floated up to your eye level.
between the pale, peachy light of tamsy’s glowing gaze and your own soft light, the rope glistened in you. your canal clenched around nothing, the image of you stuffed with him blinding in your mind. he moved in again, cock tapping meatily against your abdomen, and wrapped his tongue around the rope’s length, licking you off of it.
tamsy pulled back, a cobweb of saliva pulling between his tongue and tokushin.
you whispered, a small smile shimmering on your cheeks. “you’re disgusting.”
tamsy laughed, softly, his hair cascading around you like a shadow, and tokushin’s shimmering length fell to the ground. your face was encased in the smell of his shampoo, the only thing to see, him.
“you have made me that way.” he sang, as usual, whispered against your lips.
your lips brushed with every word. “i love you.” hushed, muffled by the press of his mouth, moving against yours, taking what you gave him. you fought back. kissed him back.
“i love you.” tamsy muttered, broken, between a touch of your lips. he kissed you again, speaking against your skin once more. “i love you.”
with each kiss, his hips chased upwards against your abdomen, faster and more frantic, then lower. each moan, each desperate, perverted sound that melted between your mouths. gasping as his cock slotted between your legs, a sickeningly effortless push between your cunt, washed in slick and wetness. another rut. another push, head dragging across your clit. then farther again, shaft floating through you, brushing your clit. tamsy swallowed your moan, kissing it down.
another push, and his head squished against your canal’s entrance. a gasp echoed between you, your chest heaving. tamsy’s hand whipped down to wrap around his cock, just like he had for weeks, in his bed, face down into spit-soaked sheets. you felt the round, plush tip move just a centimeter, then more. the first inch of him nestled inside of you with a groan from his throat.
“ohh, that feels nice, no?” tamsy mused, shifting his dazed stare until it fell, focused, on you. the room felt small, but tamsy felt giant. you were so tight around him. so tight. and your skin was hot like coals. you trembled, he loved you when you trembled. pathetic. and you were gasping for air! as if his hands were wrapped around your throat, squeezing the life out of you bit by bit. he felt giddy. he felt on fire. he could’ve burst down your cunt just like this. with you clenching and unclenching around his length, your eyes searching his for answers. why wasn’t he moving?
“t-tamsy…?” you began, but were silenced as he pushed farther in, halfway now. he was somehow thicker as your cunt swallowed him down, bulbous and meaty in ways you hadn’t imagined. the push sent you reeling, tugging against tokushin and fate weaver’s ties. “f-fuck… s’too much…!”
“awww,” tamsy pulled back, your eyelight revealing a teasing pout on his face. “little weaver… it can’t be too much.”
“wh-why…?” your gaze was so sweet, it almost thrilled him to grip your cheeks in one hand. the press of his fingers on either side of your face threw a lavish expression of unsettling lust in a moment.
“why…? well, you haven’t taken all of me yet, my dear.” tamsy reveled in this. so cute, so precious. how your brain protested, but your cunt dripped slick down his balls. how your mouth begged for a sign, any sign, of respite, yet he only had to slide his cock farther, and you’d let him.
he watched as your eyes glowed, shimmered, even. he wasn’t sure you were controlling fate weaver on purpose, he certainly wasn’t controlling tokushin, but your soul ached for more of him, causing a rogue strand of scarlet string to travel through the air, meandering in the dark until it tangled in tamsy’s fingers. he raised an eyebrow. “oh?”
tamsy closed his fingers around the thread, rubbing the fibers between his fingers. you choked, that familiar comet of light soaring through your insides, breaking apart in the atmosphere of your soul, and becoming part of you. pure, ecstatic, opening you just a millimeter, softening you for him.
your eyes squeezed shut, and tamsy sunk deeper, finally bottoming out. the corners of your lips grew wide, your eyebrows knitting together, and a dazed, breathless, open-mouthed moan fell from your lungs. you were writhing against him, mumbling, but your hips pushed closer to his, aching for more. “too much, too much… mmngh…!” you muttered, over and over again. and over and over again, you squirmed against him, gasping and whimpering like an animal as the head of his cock rolled against the entrance to your cervix. as it rolled, pressing against a particularly weak, gummy spot, your head collapsed forward, landing on his shoulder, and tamsy let you. watching. twisting the indulgent thread around his knuckles and relishing in the feeling of your pulse, beating underneath fate weaver’s skin. it was as if he could feel the glowing meteor of pleasure and light that was thrust forth by each twitch of his fingers. he molded your pleasure like clay, reveling in your dumbified, squirmy body.
his hand slipped from your cheeks, but kept the strand of fate weaver within his palm, wrapping both arms beneath your shoulder blades and tugging himself close. it wasn’t close enough. he needed you closer. needed you tighter. needed to be part of you. become you. and have you become him. a husky kind of melody, hushed and like wind, brushed across your ear. tamsy. “see? not too much.”
you whined, breathless, groaning, but he kissed it away. took it from you, saved you from the sound. tokushin and fate weaver tightened around you again, and you whimpered, but tamsy stole that too, this time pulling nearly all the way out of your canal, then barreling back down inside you.
again. eliciting an open-mouthed cry from your lips, as you threw your head back. again, and again, and again, until the dark was saturated in lewd slaps, shaking bodies, groaning and gasping and fucks. every time tamsy leaned in closer to you, his hair fell like a curtain around you, shading you from everything but him. you wouldn’t notice the table. you wouldn’t notice the bed, but you would notice the breath-stealing force of his cock as it pushed in and out, rolling and dragging. eventually you would notice his long fingers, splayed out against the plush of your chest, groping and pulling, thumb ghosting across your nipple, and his lips smirking against your skin as he kissed across what was within his reach. he was playing with you, and you reveled in it just as he did.
each tremor rattling through your bones sent broiling pleasure down to your cunt, spiralling around your clit, pleasure upon pleasure, your hands open in the air, grabbing at nothing, at the dark, then at the woven rope and yarn that held your wrists. your fingers closed around it, squeezing tightly, and you heard tamsy groan, guttural. his hips stuttered, then sped up.
your cries echoed in his ears, rushing around him like the cascading roar of a waterfall, crashing upon rocks. you were everywhere. he could barely breathe; tokushin breathed for him. it was all he could do to not pull away from your skin, from tonguing every blank space he could touch with his lips, tasting the salt, and the sweat, and the sex. coating you in the scent of him. spices and honey, melting between your pores, becoming part of you. tamsy’s noises began mixing with yours, blending like a dissonant chord that pleased a seasoned musician. and you gave yourself to it, eyes glowing brighter, fate weaver tying knots around tamsy, now. rubbing fiber across his chest, brushing against his balls as they slapped lewdly against your ass, squeezing his thighs until he grunted low. fate weaver unraveled him with the same passion that tokushin had unraveled you, and with every touch, every scraping caress of rope, or squeeze of thread, the room grew more alight by the burning glow behind yours and tamsy’s eyes.
a scrape of rope, along with a scrape of his sopping, throbbing cock as it pulled out, then–catching your clit on the way–pushed back in, pressing right up against the same weak spot as before. a squeeze of thread, echoing the tightness of you, clenching around him, taking him so well, offering yourself like an animal bred to please him.
tamsy could barely speak, only grunt and moan, melodies floating around him, but managed to kiss you, then kiss you again, swallowing a mewl and cry that spilled from your throat. he pulled away, admiring the string of spit that connected your lips. he spoke with a shaky, uncertain breath, as if every word were a promise he was scared to keep. “you are woven into my s-soul… yet… i want to drive you to suffering, just like this.”
tamsy pulled his hips back, then thrust forward again. you choked through the gasp that tore out of you. “if i suffer under you, then i– nnmgh… i… am not suffering at all.”
suddenly, tokushin and fate weaver released your limbs from their bindings. weightlessness stirred in your chest as you began to fall back, but tamsy’s arms were wrapped around you, safe. your palms fled to his jaw, cradling him closely as his hands slipped down to your ass. and, as you lifted your legs around him, he gripped your flesh as if it would run away otherwise, holding your hips and pushing them down against him.
“and when i show you true suffering, little weaver?” he panted, but kept his half-lidded eyes locked on you. “then what? will you sing the same tune?”
every bounce left your skin burning and tender, sending a lavish, velvet fire bursting beneath your skin. tamsy glanced down at your half-lidded, blissful expression, sweat beading across his hairline, then dripping down the muddy pink of his scar, just above his brow. you leaned in, dragging your tongue across the sheen of sweat that had built up on his forehead, and he shuddered underneath you.
“you’re disgusting.” tamsy sung, a laugh trapped beneath his words.
you ducked down to drag the tip of your nose beneath his jaw, then pulled your tongue across the hot, flushing flesh, up the narrow plinth of neck, and curled your tongue around his ear lobe. his pace hadn’t faltered, only the rhythm and shapes drawn by his cock inside you had done so, but now he slowed, groaning into your shoulder, biting down on the skin. you moaned low in your chest, but whispered a response in his ear. “you have made me that way.”
your breath brushed across his ear, tickling the sensitive skin, and another groaning whine fell out of his lips, muffled by your shoulder. you had made each other that way. disgusting. perverted. perfect. he turned his head, lips attacking the sweating skin of your neck, kissing, sucking, then a bite. a cold, freezing, piercing burn as his canines pressed down on your skin as he fucked you full of him. up and down his length as he claimed you like an animal. you were his. you were his. you would never forget it. no person on the ground, no sphereite, no piece of the watchmen series, nothing. and, as he pierced through the skin, his fingers curled around fate weaver, still in his hand, and felt the cry of your body convulse into fireworks within his hold.
you hadn’t even cried out in pain, just emitted a moan that seemed to build from your chest, slow and rumbling. you came with tears running down your face, slobbering saliva down his collarbone, messy, sloppy, disgusting, all with tamsy’s melodic voice in your ear.
“my pathetic little thing, f-fuck… so disgusting, ahh… shit…”
his thrusts slowed, and slowed, and slowed until he held you tightly in his arms, waiting as your pleasured, heavy pants became heaving breaths, then simply breaths. you pulled back, agonizingly slow, and his loving gaze cast heavens upon you.
“wh-why did you stop…?” you whined, quiet, soft, and tamsy laughed.
he leaned in, his lips brushing against the corner of your lip. each word tickled against you, flushed and sensitive. “don’t you worry your darling head, my weaver.”
the fog left by his aching cock, still inside of you, blinded your senses to the woosh of air as tamsy walked you to his bed. for all you knew, or cared, you were still floating in his clutches, in the middle of the room. suddenly, though, you were emptied of him, cunt dripping with slick, and twisted in the air, falling face first onto his mattress. your legs hung off the edge of the bed like an image from one of semiu’s magazines, weak and shaking.
“tamsy, wha–” you began, your voice muffled by his sheet, but his knees on either side of your hips interrupted you. his cock slapped between your cheeks, and you could feel precum being smeared across the bruises that his grip had left.
“quiet, now, little bird.” tamsy hummed, taking his fingers and peeling your pussy lips apart. he planted a sweet, stinging slap to your cunt. “you’re going to take my cum now, like a good girl.”
“mm…!” you cried out, close-lipped, into the fabric. “mmhmm!”
the head of his cock drew a line down your ass, and, without hesitating, pushed back inside of you. the weight of him, alone, pressed you down into the mattress, and you felt your lungs tighten, choking.
“t-tamsy…!”
“hmm? can’t hear you!” tamsy’s hand wrapped around the base of your skull, forcing you farther down into the scent of him. his sheets smelled like spices, honey, sweat and cum. as if he reveled in the accumulation of his want, his need. and, as his hips began snapping against your ass, balls slapping against your wet, open cunt, you reveled in it too. you were disgusting. perverted. just as he was.
the angle of his cock, ramming against your cervix, bordered on pain. it bordered on fear, but the fear of nothing was more than any other. he knew your soul, knew the red, bleeding veins that spread in the air when your eyes glowed. and you wanted more. wanted to be closer. maybe, if he shoved his cock just that much farther, he’d fuck right through you, cum so deep, that it’d swirl up through your organs and spill out of your mouth. craved the pain. craved him.
tamsy was silent above you, save for the grunts of effort as he did fuck you deeper. as if he’d heard you, heard your thoughts. as if he knew you, just as you thought he did. his cock throbbed against your canal, stretching you–even now–before slipping his hand around your throat. his hips lunged, back and forth, against your cunt, ablaze, then pulled your head back, turning your chin to kiss you, deep. with a lip-muffled, whimpering, disgusting groan, you felt him inside of you: hot, gushing, and pumping against your cervix. pulse after pulse, cumming deeper and deeper, neverending. as it slowed, the kiss became an open-mouthed mess of tongue and teeth, moans and desperate attempts to catch breath, but refusing to part.
and then, as the kiss slowed too, cock softening inside of you, cum squelching between your folds, tamsy pulled the two of you apart with a gentle gaze. you could see him better now, the very beginnings of burnt-orange sunrise peaking over the horizon, and he was softer than you’d ever known him. the glow from his eyes fading, the glow from your eyes fading.
tamsy braced a hand against the mattress, carefully pulling his soft length from inside of you. the sound of it was lewd and perverted, and, even moreso, was the feeling of his long fingers, stuffing the dripping, creamy drops of cum back into your cunt. you could barely even whimper.
you allowed yourself to be moved, the content hum of tamsy’s soul lulling you into serenity. his arm slipped beneath your knees, the other arm holding your back, and he placed you on the bed–the correct way–gently. sweat shone across your skin, glistening and glittering in the rising sun, the taste of every part of him coating your lips. bliss.
“i love you.” tamsy’s voice was hoarse as he slipped the covers over the two of you, legs tangling like the tired bodies of tokushin and fate weaver that had slithered together at some point in the dark.
you turned into him, tucking your chin in the cradle of his collarbone. a whisper against skin, barely audible through his flesh, and the cascade of messy, blonde and indigo hair that fell around you. “i love you.”
the dream came back to you, now, with your head moving to rest on his chest. the bluebird, laying in the dark. and you reached your hand towards his stomach, where tamsy’s hand lay. your eyelids fluttered, your line of sight blurring between memory and reality. your hand reaching towards blue feathers, your fingers intertwining with his hand, the jagged call of a bluebird, the gentle sigh of a lover. of tamsy.
then sleep. dreaming of nothing, dreaming of everything tamsy could do. to you, to others. you sighed in your dreamless, yet altogether vivid sleep. he was disgusting. perverted.
but so were you. the two of you, souls entwined. and perfect.
i’m lowkey unhappy with the smut in my toji fic, what do we think abt me going in and editing it? it would just be longer, and i’d be adding details within the moments that i didn’t think to add!
𓂃 𓈒𓏸٠࣪⭑ pairing: tamsy caines x f!reader
𓈒𓏸 synopsis: a giver, a scarlet skein of yarn as their vital instrument, is trained under a flightless, blonde and blue bird, with golden eyes that glow pale, finding a red string of fate tangle in blue.
𓈒𓏸 tags: MDNI!!, 18+, sort of canon compliant, MANGA SPOILERS, mentor!tamsy, giver!reader, brief references to manga!tamsy plot points, colleagues to lovers, perv!tamsy, creepy!tamsy, cruel!tamsy, possessive!tamsy, blood motifs, tamsy is a freak, reader is a freak, use of nicknames (plot-specific), no use of y/n, will contain some hella nasty smut<3
𓈒𓏸 authors note: enjoy this excerpt! the rest is coming very soon. i love tamsy, i love tamsy, i love tamsy. i just preordered the new tamsy figurine!! i'm literally so geeked, i've never spent that much on a figure EVER. but for tamsy? anything.
𓈒𓏸 excerpt word count: 108
𓏸 current total word count: 7.5k (and ever increasing)
˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚ּ ֶָ֢.
an excerpt.
"blurs of blonde, denim blue, burnt sienna skies, a gilded distaff–bare of thread. movement, a figure circling you. the rustling sound of fabric. maybe curtains, maybe tamsy. a slow, agonizingly delicious burn of light, billowing beneath your skin. caresses, tangled. two hands, wrapped in indigo and scarlet, like limbs in a sea of fresh meat. dripping blood in water. lungs, veins. pulling towards each other. closer, closer. inches from touching. a hand. your hand, reaching in front of nothingness. reaching towards something in a cloud of ink-black darkness. a bluebird, laying on the surface of nothingness, with golden eyes. you knew that gaze so well. then darkness again."
˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚ּ ֶָ֢.
it’s out!! read it here :)
replies, thoughts and comments in the tags keep me going, so pls share ur feelings w me!! <3 enjoy tamsylings!!
okay 3 hours later and we are at 6.7k (haha) words, and they’re about to get down and so disgustingly dirty! imma hopefully finish it tomorrow, then will be posted as usual! if u wanna be tagged just lemme know in replies or in my ask :))
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i’m lowkey unhappy with the smut in my toji fic, what do we think abt me going in and editing it? it would just be longer, and i’d be adding details within the moments that i didn’t think to add!
𓈒𓏸 synopsis: a disgrace born without cursed energy becomes the other zenin disgrace's servant, and is seen, known, and loved.
𓈒𓏸 tags: MDNI!!, 18+, non-canon compliant, zenin!toji, servant!reader, porn w so much plot, childhood ??s to lovers, heavy mentions/themes of misogyny, toji and reader r lonely, reader is kinda submissive most of the time, toji cries, use of titles (master), use of pet-names, a couple mentions of y/n, so much kissing, romantic ahh smut, toji is a lover, size kink if u close one eye, smut warnings under the tag!!
𓈒𓏸 authors note: ok so idk why this took me so damn long to write but i did it!!! started this in early feb when i took that poll and then literally couldn't finish it until today, soooo yay! i hope u guys enjoy, this is definitely my most plot heavy fic (which isn't really saying much, i just struggle writing plot sometimes), so i hope u guys enjoy. ugh i love toji so much i feel ridiculous. also didn't know how to end this so ig it's open ended. maybe i do a part 2?? idk what about but if y'all want one i'll do one! anywho enjoy and as always please tell me your thoughts :))
𓈒𓏸 word count: 10.4k
𓈒𓏸 tag list: @stoopah
smut warnings: so much kissing, nipple play, fingering, good ol'fashioned romantic missionary, big fat dick!toji, creampie (obvi lmfao), idk the smut is very plot oriented!
The day you were born, it stormed. The end of December, yet it was only the rain that shook the building–instead of the blizzard that the elders had predicted. You often wondered if that was where your cursed energy had gone in the end. If it had unetched itself from your soul in hopes of curling around tree leaves. Perhaps, it’d flown out between your lips as you wailed, gasping for air for the first time, desperate to escape your lungs, fleeing the chimneys and manipulating the wind so it howled alongside your mother as she writhed in pain. Cursing you. Cursing your father. Cursing the wind.
It was over before you’d taken a second breath. Future decided. A disgrace, devoid of cursed energy. Spat on as you grew. Mocked, manhandled, and so desperately alone, that you never caught the whispers of another Zenin. Another disgrace. Born that same night. Toji.
Your mother spoke little to you–Your father even less so. God, you wondered what another life would’ve felt like. Born raw in another clan, would they have forgiven you for the burden of living without cursed energy? Or outcasted you just as harshly? If you were born a boy, what would that have changed? Anything?
You were only ten years old the first time you met Toji. Your answer. He was young, you thought he could’ve been around your age: Dark hair and pointy features that he just couldn’t manage to grow into. An angular stare that seemed pasted over what should’ve been a youthful face. Skin rough, as if his cheeks had been dragged against the concrete and dirt that you knew so well, jaw tense and set, waiting to devour the wrong person who looked at him like the stain he’d been taught he was.
You’d found him sitting silent in a dying garden filled with wilting roses and thorns that hid behind brittle petals. You peaked around the stone wall after hearing quiet muttering and the cold thunk of pebble on stone as he tossed pieces of gravel at the wall. And there he was. Toji’s head shot up, that vicious glare striking across your face like a slap.
“Who are you?” Toji mumbled, wiping the sleeve of his kimono across his snotty nose. He eyed your fingers as they gripped the corner of the wall, knuckles white. Watched as your nervous quiet pounded in his ears. Your eyes widened, gasping like you’d been caught doing something you weren’t supposed to. Toji rolled his eyes, looking down at the stone he held between his fingers, but he didn’t pry.
You were probably just some stupid girl who’d heard the stories: A male Zenin born without cursed energy. The freak no one allowed near their children. He’d have expected as much if he hadn’t glanced up to see you still standing there, head tilted sweetly as you watched him think.
“Cat got your tongue?” Toji murmured softly, eyes half-lidded and tired.
You pulled back an inch, “I– What?”
Toji shook his hair out of his eyes. “You just gonna stand there?”
“Sorry… I just…” You bit the inside of your cheek, fingers wrapping around your forearm nervously as you trailed off. “Just never seen you before…”
Toji’s fierce eyebrows pushed low, his lips scrunching to one side. “Never seen me– Huh?”
“Mmhmm. Who are you? Wh-What’s your name?”
“... Toji.” He said it short, slurring the ‘j’ and letting his tongue trip over it. You watched his fingers curl into the dull fabric of his haori.
“Y/N–” The gravel crunched underneath your feet for just a moment before you were yanked back against an adult’s chest.
“What are you doing near him? Stupid child.”
Toji looked down at your feet as you stumbled backwards and let yourself be dragged away, refusing to watch your face contort and cannibalize itself when you realized who he was–Although, you never did let your expression warp; you were a disgraceful freak, just as Toji was.
They’d told you under their breath who Toji was as you were pushed forward by the nape of your neck. Stumbling into the cursed pit blindly, now knowing you were not the first to be cut by spirits you couldn’t see. Knowing the blood you saw on the ground belonged to a brooding boy that threw pebbles at walls in a garden that wanted to cut him too: Toji.
–
By age thirteen, you were made a servant in one of the Zenin households, governed by muted fingers pointing in one direction or the other, refusing to speak to a lowly servant with not an ounce of cursed energy to prove. The elders pushed sweaty feet in your face, gazing just above your head, waiting for you to wrap their tired arches. To tie the strings of their waraji sandals.
On dark evenings, when the light was low, you’d catch the rich children peeking at you from behind curtains, pointing at the scars you’d racked up over the years. Their snickers would drift through walls, weighing you down. You knew better than to look for their cold eyes that seemed to glow behind their decadent smiles. Knew better than to speak up for yourself. To declare your worth, despite the parts of you that had no merit. And you’d find your bed just a little bit earlier, curling up underneath a thin blanket, and willing yourself to just… sleep. Not dream. Just black out until it began again.
Although, each day would simply bring a new nightmare to life. On one of the early days, your mother had sneered at your defiled face as you were let out of the clutches of the spirits in that damned pit. The elders never allowed the curses to do more than bruise–usually–but, you’d dared to speak back to a higher up that morning when you brought him his breakfast. And now your nose bled, your ankle barely held your weight, and a gash hung parallel to your hairline that you knew no one would care to stitch back together. You’d winced when your mother gripped your chin between her fingers, tilting your head so you were caught right inside her fiercely bitter glare. She’d whispered, voice breaking, “You will keep that maw shut, lest you want more scars. More reasons for a man to discard you like the trash you are. To be quiet is to be a shield that you make.” She’d swallowed, letting go of your chin roughly, and turning away. “Do this family this one favor: Make it so our only curse is a silent disgrace, instead of a servant with a mouth on her, and nothing to show for it.”
If you had wanted to respond, you didn’t. You stood there in the dark, barely breathing. Promising yourself you’d be just that: A silent disgrace. Grasping at the thought of easing the burden of your own self for your mother. And from then on, you were quiet. Stepped softly. Knocked with your fingertips, and slid wooden trays onto tables as if infinity lived between the two surfaces.
And that was how you made yourself known the next time you saw Toji. Your newest job now that Naobito’s disgraced nephew was thirteen: Bringing his midday meal. Gently touching the sliding door to announce your entry into his quarters, before squeezing through the tiny gap Toji’d left for you to enter through.
“What?” He’d muttered, turning his back to you as soon as you’d entered. Figures. It wasn’t as if anyone in this damned clan didn’t make a conceited effort to not meet your eyes..
The tray of food steamed in your hands, aroma melting into the tatami mats and circling Toji.
“Where would you like your meal, Master Toji.” You asked softly, gazing at his heels as they slowed to a stop.
Toji scoffed, “M’not your master.”
You didn’t respond. Because this was your answer. Had you been born a boy, you’d have outranked someone. You’d have been allowed an attitude. Given the chance to feel disdain and show it in your eyes. Your fingertips squeaked against the clean wooden tray, body filling with a frozen ice fire of fear the longer you let the silence linger.
Toji sighed, still facing away because every other pair of eyes squinted in resentment when they drifted over his frame, shoulders dropped and back round from years of carrying a clan’s worth of shame and guilt on young bones; he wouldn’t watch another gaze scrutinize him if he could help it. He was just barely a teenager, but Toji had spent enough time in the cursed pit to make him feel older. The scars across his torso certainly aged him, but it was only him and his cracked mirror that knew where each line lay. Only him and his skin that pulled taut around the soft pink scar tissue that remembered each cut, and from what part of that god forsaken dungeon the pain had come from.
The only scar the rest of the world got to see was the very first one that ever bled. The only scar Toji had ever allowed tears to spill over. At one point, never giving the tightness of his skin around his lips any thought, until suddenly he was. Until suddenly a fearsome line of angry pain had ripped right through the corner of his mouth, and then it was all he could think about. Skin split. Breeze between flesh that hadn’t been there before. How could he never have realized before what it felt like to be untouched? Toji’s hands had shaken desperately as he touched the vicious split, panic filling his body when his fingertips had come back covered in inhumanly bright red blood. That was the day he left his hope in the claws of a curse that for all intents and purposes, didn’t even exist. But, the searing pain that reached far beyond the edges of the tear was proof enough that Toji was an enemy to the rest of the only world he knew, and he left that dark hell hole with a bubbling gurgle of resentment that burned hot beneath his ribs.
Two silent disgraces in a room, and only the subtle whisper of steam from a quickly cooling bowl of miso filled the lingering quiet.
Toji broke it first, loosely gesturing to a table to his left. It was littered with rags that had been unstained a long time ago, but were now tinted an unmistakable pink from years of cleaning his own wounds. The rags lay haphazardly over lazily stacked papers, some filled halfway with messy scribbles. Feelings he’d try to put into words, then give up and pretend he never wrote anything at all. Channeling his anger into his pen as he pressed down onto the pages and blacked it all out. “Whatever. Jus’... Leave it there.”
You exhaled an inch of breath, nodding once as you padded across the floor. The tray slipped against the table with a croak, the edge of it pushing the rags over. The bowl of miso jolted as the tray collided with the dense pile of rags, and you choked back a gasp as the broth splashed out and rained onto the papers strewn around the table.
You stepped towards the table, quickly reaching for one of the stained cloths. Your fingers had barely closed around the rag when Toji’s hand wrapped around your wrist, holding your hand suspended in mid air.
“S’just paper.” Even this young, Toji's voice was gravelly, raspy. “Leave it.”
You looked up at Toji now, and he gazed down at you. You floated along the lines of his face that he was finally starting to grow into: Still too angular and angry for a boy his age, but his simmering green eyes didn’t look out of place anymore. No, they fit underneath his furrowed brow well. All Toji had needed was to let the anger push his frown until it was permanent. You wondered if that piercing stare of his was like an omen. Wondered if the universe gave him those eyes as a prophecy. Forcing anger and pain on him like a promise. Wondered if that look meant he was born to suffer. Or if–in another life–he’d have been born into another clan, with the same eyes… Without the pressure of being a Zenin, or the fear of curses he couldn’t see. Maybe Toji would’ve been given a life where his biggest problem was folks thinking he was angry when he wasn’t. A life where the scar on his lip came from tumbling off of monkey bars. Rambunctious until he was crying as his mother gently dabbed at the cut, shushing him sweetly.
You didn’t frown as you looked at him. Only observed the line on the corner of his lips, and knew–without having to ask–exactly what had happened. Recognized the way Toji’s lips parted when he followed your gaze to the scar.
Toji pulled the cloth from your hand, and let your wrist go, flexing his hand anxiously, and pressing his lips into a flat line. “Cursed spirit from the pit.”
You nodded softly, lips apart and eyes wide. What could you say? He’d looked away the moment he dropped your wrist, and now stood tense–like a statue–with his hand gripping the back of a chair.
“You… Can go.” Toji swallowed thickly, and gestured towards the door.
“Is there anything else you need, Master Toji–”
“No.”
“Understood. If you need anything–”
“And I’m not your master.” Toji sneered at the title, still not bothering to glance your way.
You left as quietly as you’d entered, head bowed as you replayed the way the sunlight had filtered through the open window, spilling across Toji’s skin. He didn’t hear your footsteps, but he heard the sliding door lightly tap shut, and only then did he take a deep breath. You were familiar, only a hint of the you from three years prior left: The way you’d gazed at him and looked. Just looked. A faint memory of a child peeking around a corner before being dragged away plagued his thoughts that evening: You.
–
The rest of the world grew around the two of you, and in turn, so did the two silent disgraces of the Zenin clan. Your silence became unquestionable. Instinctive. So much so, that the elders had to reach for justifications when little things set them off. Like a glance in the wrong direction. A step too close. A smile just a moment late. But, you didn’t spill miso anymore. You cleared tables before placing trays down, and took your shoes off before sweeping. You planned ahead.
Toji planned ahead too. Waking at dawn and disappearing to the training yard, only coming back for his lunch, just in time to see you. He pretended not to care when you were late. Pretended not to care when he was late. When he rushed in, only to see his tray of food already sitting on that same table as the first time you’d brought him lunch. On those days, Toji would exhale slowly as he sat, picking at rice with his chopsticks. He’d close his eyes, swearing the scent of your perfume still wafted in the steam. Maybe it did. Maybe he imagined you. But, you’d always be there the next day: An apparition floating across his room right in front of his eyes.
You still called him ‘Master,’ much to Toji’s chagrin, and a year after that first lunch, you’d knocked on the sliding door later and louder than usual.
He opened the door, looking down at you softly. “Y’alright?”
“M’sorry, Master Toji,” You’d scurried to place the tray on the table, tripping over your feet as you neared the surface, and subsequently falling to the floor. Scrambling to your knees, you sniffed back tears, pinching grains of rice from the ground, and choked back the fear and panic that always lingered but a step away from you.
Toji watched from the doorway, quietly closing the sliding door. You didn’t notice him walk over until he was standing over you, towering like a giant. He was seventeen now, and big. God, and he scared you.
“Shi– I– I’m sorry, Master Toji.” You stopped short of an expletive, the freezing panic filling your head like cement.
Toji squatted, shaking his head with a tired stare, “I told you: M’not your master.”
You didn’t look at him. You couldn’t. You tried to will your hands to stop their incessant trembling as you poked and picked at a stubborn piece of rice. “Shi– I mean, m’sorry, Master Toji… I–”
Toji’s hands were big–like him–and wrapped around your wrists firmly. “Stop.”
Your eyes shot up, finally meeting his eyes. The whites of your eyes were red from crying, dried blood crusting against your browbone. You watched as Toji’s eyes shot from place to place. It wasn’t just your eyes, or the rusty blood on your brow: It was the swollen gash across your hairline that dripped bright red.
“What the hell happened?” Toji left one of your wrists in your lap in favor of gently lifting your chin, turning your face one way, then the other.
You pulled back, looking down and dabbing at the harsh cut with your sleeve. “Nothing. It’s okay.”
“Bullshit. Don’t dirty yer’ sleeve.” Toji pulled your hand away, and grabbed a cloth, dipping it into a cup of water he’d left on the table. “Let me see.”
He didn’t let you agree, just gently grasped your wrists again, and leaned in to begin cleaning the area. “Tell me what happened.”
“I–Ow! I told you, Master Toji.”
“I’m not stupid,” Toji muttered, tilting his head just an inch, and brushing a piece of hair back to get a better look at the wound. “Just…Did someone do this to you?”
You bit the inside of your cheek, inhaling sharply as the wet cloth brushed against the reddened skin. “Not someone.”
Toji stilled, catching your gaze. “Spit it out.”
You’d spent your whole life trying to keep your lack of cursed energy from people. Although it was impossible when others could simply look at you and know what you didn’t have, you’d been successful keeping it from one person: Toji. Because, yes, he was a ‘disgrace’ like you. And, yes, you were lonely. But, it was nice to know that one person didn’t see you the way every other Zenin did. Because, Toji didn’t see you as a disgrace: He saw you as the exception compared to the rest of the world. A Zenin who didn’t look down on him. The only one.
“A curse.” You mumbled, trying desperately to quiet the building anxiety that had begun to bubble in your throat once more. “Tripped over Master Ogi’s feet when I dropped his lunch off, and he threw me into… into the pit.”
“...You?” Toji’s brows furrowed, and he sat back on his heels. “Huh. Well I’ll be damned. Another disgrace.”
The word hurt, but you knew he didn’t mean it to.
“Didn’t have time t-to clean myself up.”
He shook his head with a smirk, shaggy black hair falling just above his long eyelashes. “Nah. S’okay. Ya look badass.”
You pinched your lips together, looking down as an embarrassed blush fluttered across your cheeks.
“Can I help ya clean up?” Toji’s eyes were softer than you’d ever seen them, and as you held his stare, you wondered if they’d ever looked like that.
You nodded, letting him hold your face as he wiped the blood away. Toji looked younger when he focused: His tongue poking between his teeth as he avoided the worst of the wound for your sake, scrunching his lips to one side as he wiped the dried blood from your brow. His eyes were wide and unwittingly innocent as he gently caressed your swollen skin. Even when you were rid of the blood, Toji held your face in his calloused hand as if letting go meant your confession would be null. That when he lost contact, you’d suddenly gain all the cursed energy you’d gone without your entire life. But, then his eyes met yours, and you closed your fingers against his wrist softly.
“Thank you.” You whispered, swallowing as you watched his rationale catch up, and felt him pull away sharply.
“Get outta here.” Toji said, lightheartedly, but there was a tremor to his words. “I’ll clean the rice.”
“I’ll bring you another serving–”
“No.” He said, shortly. “I… I need to be alone.”
So you left him alone, and never mentioned the shaking breath you heard from the hall once the sliding door had closed. Not the next day, not the one after that.
–
Sometime after both of you turned nineteen, one of your morning strolls took you to the training yard. You avoided the area–usually–but, the sunrise had taken you, the corals and pinks swirling in your eyes like a hypnotist’s pocket watch. The footsteps that pattered in the gravel of the yard stopped you in your tracks, and you glanced past the railing of the overpass.
The training yard was all grey and stone, cold and unfeeling. But, the sunrise poked its light over the roofs like a demure wife, shedding a kaleidoscope of dawn across Toji. You inhaled sharply, gaze following his frame as his bare muscles flexed and tightened with each hit. He was quiet, the only hint of him being his inhumanly fast footsteps. God, when had he gotten so fast?
You leaned against the wooden bannister, watching as his wild black hair stuck to his forehead with sweat. Watching as his breathless pants pushed his sculpted chest up and down. Something had shifted in him. The higher ups noticed. The clan members noticed. Even you noticed. He was sharper. Faster. Stronger. And they were scared of him. You could see it in their eyes when he’d walk past. How their gazes would follow behind his heels, making certain he was on his way out, but still never quite looking at him. Perhaps it was bitterness, or maybe jealousy. But, the more Toji became more like the Zenin his clan had hoped he’d be, the less Zenin he became. A freak. Monster. Unnatural.
You looked away—only for a moment—to let someone pass, and when you glanced back, Toji’s back was up against the stone, wiping sweat off of his fists as he stared up at you.
“How’s the show?” Over the years, his voice had become rough, sly, deep, melting into this unwitting, quiet growl that hid behind each sound. One that echoed behind your ears as soon as you left his quarters. Followed you down the hall, and crept around your head when you crawled into bed. He was always there. Toji.
And now he was here, leaning over the railing, thick fingers gripping the tired bannister. Those hazy eyes, half-lidded and wickedly sharp staring you down as you opened your mouth to speak, then closed it again. Um-ing your way to an adequate response, before landing on, “Uh… G-good…”
“Yeah?” The corner of Toji’s lip lifted slightly, smug and teasing. “You don’t sound too sure.”
Your eyes glided up his sweating body, and with every breath you could almost taste the salt and musk that dripped off of his glistening skin. Your gaze landed on his eyes, finally, biting the inside of your cheek to quell the heat gathering underneath your skin, just as a languid drop of sweat fell from his brow. Your heavy stare followed it as it plopped like rain onto his bottom lip. Toji’s tongue crept out from between his lips, like a snake, dragging itself against the curve of his mouth, then pressed his lips together and rubbed. When he released them, his lips were flushed, slightly swollen, and it took everything in you to drag your eyes back up to his.
“I’m sure.” You said, feeling your throat close.
Toji’s eyes remained fixed on you for a moment longer, then another. You swore you could hear the wood splintering between his inhumanly strong grip. Then he sniffed, tilted his head, and smirked. “Good. I like when you watch.”
He didn’t wait for a reaction from you, instead, poking his tongue against the inside of his cheek, and turning to leave.
Toji’s footsteps echoed on the gravel now, like he wanted you to hear him. Like he wanted your senses blown out with nothing but the sound of him, the sight of him, the smell of him.
“I’ll watch you more often, then!” You called after him, eyes wide and almost begging.
That made Toji laugh. He turned back to flash a dark, veiled grin at you. “Hah. You better. Be good now, ‘kay?”
You nodded, and watched him return to the training ground, just as it started to storm.
–
Toji had mentioned a heavenly restriction one day after he’d trained. He hadn’t been sure about anything until then, you noticed. And since then, Toji had become unequivocally bold. If he was hated before, he was now feared. As were you by proxy. He spoke of leaving the clan more now when you were there. Even asked you to sit and eat with him when you brought him his lunch.
The first time he asked, you’d stuttered, “Wh– I… Master Toji, I’m not sure…”
“What’re they gonna do?” Toji rolled his eyes, the corner of his mouth lifting into a sly little smirk. “Throw me into the pit? Hah.”
He laughed to himself frequently now, as well. Like the cruelty he endured didn’t rule his life. Even when the mischievous smirk Toji had adopted stayed plastered across his face, the laughs never made it to his eyes. Never made it past the corners of his lips. Not past that scar. You noticed–of course you did—but he pretended you didn’t. Pretended you were just a servant that brought him lunch. Well, he tried. You were a servant who brought him lunch, and you held no cursed energy. You were his servant who brought him lunch, and you didn’t sneer on sight. You were his, and you weren’t scared of him. Not really.
But the higher ups were. And the irony of constant degradation his whole life that had suddenly warped into terror and cowering behind members of the Hei…It was the closest he ever got to revenge. That, and you.
You’d paused, eyes flitting across his lazy frame, then nodded. “Where should I sit, Master Toji?”
“Yer’ something else. M’not your master.” He rolled his eyes. “Been telling you for years.”
“Yeah, but–” You began, but Toji waved you off.
“C’mere.” He smirked with a twinkle in his eye, nodding you to where he was kneeling on a cushion. “Sit next t’me.”
The smaller cushion sat directly next to his, almost touching Toji’s pillow, and when you carefully moved it over, Toji tutted and moved it right back. “What, ya scared of me now?”
“Mm, no…” You knelt down, annoyingly aware of the way his haori felt against your kimono. He waited patiently as you smoothed out your skirt–although Toji's version of ‘waiting patiently’ was following your every movement with the intensity of a hunter. You ignored him. “Just didn’t want to…impose.”
Toji scoffed with a smile, looking out the window in front of you. “My favorite little disgrace? Hah. My lady, you could never impose.”
“My lady?” You repeated, leaning back ever so slightly.
Toji’s chin bobbed, his eyes closed and lips pressed into a calm smile as he took a sip of tea. “Yep.”
“I’m not–”
He glanced at you, barely turning his head. “Don’t ya call me master?”
You shook your head, “Y-yes… But—”
“Right. You know they only made you a servant cuz yer’ a woman.” Toji shrugged, reaching down to split his serving of rice into two. “And–I guess–because I’m part of the royal family.”
The sound of chopsticks against ceramic filled a short silence before Toji passed the bowl to you. “Thank you, Master–”
“Call me that again, and yer’ gonna wish you were in the pit.” Toji didn’t even look up as he said it, but a shiver flew down your spine.
“But, you… you just said…You’re a member of the royal family, so to speak.”
Now, Toji turned to look at you. “Can’t I just be ‘Toji’ with you?”
His eyes were softening now as the cicadas outside began to sing, and you caught his rarely gentle gaze in your own stare.
You heard him swallow, then whisper, “Please.”
His shuddering breath broke the word in two. His eyes flicked from spot to spot on your face, taking you in. You wondered if he was saying goodbye, in his head. Wondered how long he had been waiting to really ask. A genuine request from a lonely, tired boy, rather than the usually playful scolds that you brushed off. You hadn’t seen it before Toji allowed it, but you did now. Because he was letting you in now. His eyebrows turned up, biting the inside of his cheek. The way his inhales were shaky and coarse, like he had been holding back vomit. The magical sparkle of emerald in his eye reflected it all, if you looked hard enough. And you always did.
“I…” You swallowed thickly, curling your fingers into the skirt of your kimono. “Okay. Toji.”
He snorted through his nose—partly in relief, you thought—and the corners of his lips peaked into your periphery. “There ya go. Was it so hard?”
You were quiet for a moment. “Yes.”
“You love to whisper.” Toji mumbled, beginning to shovel rice through his scarred lips.
A nod. A quiet wooden clack of your chopsticks as you picked at the bowl of rice.
“Heh.”
“What?”
“Yer’ just funny.” He shook his head, turning towards you and propping his foot up. “Known you our whole life an’ you still act like the submissive little girl they dragged away back in that garden.”
You turned to look at him sharply, “you still remember that?”
“Course I do.” Toji’s cold eyes dug into your skin like the crushed ice you’d dig out from the freezer when it was mid day, hot summer, sweltering. The boiling sun would melt the jagged ice against your skin and it would burn like hot steam. His gaze burnt cold, just like that. “Ya didn’t look at me like the rest of ‘em did.”
He paused, looking past you briefly, then continued. “I appreciated that.”
You took another bite, and nodded, before swallowing quietly. “You looked… Sad.”
“Hah.” Toji threw his head back with a soft smile that oozed bitter nostalgia. “I was.”
“Mm.” You averted your eyes, then felt a rush of meek courage trickle into your chest. “M’sorry they dragged me away that day.”
“Pshh,” Toji elbowed you softly. “Don’t be. You wouldn’t’ve wanted to hang with me anyway.”
“Why’s that?” You looked up at him, angling yourself just inches closer, so your knees pressed together.
His Adam's apple bobbed as his gaze shifted downwards, but you missed it in your own bleary state of nervousness. He licked his lips, then glanced back up. “I was a little ass.”
Toji’s gaze held you strong, almost unblinking.
“You… Still are.” You said shyly, a hesitant smirk creeping against your cheeks for the first time. Toji let the silence slip around the two of you. Wanted to let the quiet linger just in case your heartbeat was loud enough to pound in his ears. It was.
Heart beat pounding, and yet it wasn’t the thumping drum beneath your ribs that exposed you. He could smell your fear. Did you go too far? Did you overstep? It melted off you the way it melted off a sorcerer when they realized they’d made a fatal mistake. Dripping and pooling around them, flooding Toji’s senses. They’d catch Toji’s eyes, frozen, just like you were looking at him at this moment.
Poor baby. Toji thought. Although, less in a piteous way, and more in a way in which you plagued his days. An incessant idea that bugged him every day, spinning around his brain. When he went to sleep, you were there. What did you look like sleeping? Which side of your body did you curl up on? Toji wanted to know. God, he wanted to know. Wanted to let his fingertips skim the expanse of your skin, tuck strands of hair behind your ear when they inevitably draped across your cheek. Would the morning light trickle across your features—leaving you with a painting of golden sunrise and shadow—or would it illuminate you like the angel you were? Would your hair glow? Would the light reflect like warm honey?
“I—I’m sorry—“
“Don’t be.” Toji bit the inside of his cheek, then glanced back at you with a small smile. “I am an ass.”
You laughed, and, oh. Toji could’ve sung an aria. Heart floating into his throat. He had to physically stop himself from grinning wide and unabashed.
“But,” Toji held your eyes with a smile, and focused a kind of seriousness that left your lips parted in breathless wonder. Right into your soul. “I’m only an ass to the monkeys that look at you and me like we’re the dog shit they wipe off their shoes.”
“Toji…” A whisper.
His palm gently landed just above your knee, eyes still on your face. Watching you as each muscle in your face flinched into different shapes. Surprise, a touch of fear. Let his own eyes soften when yours did. Because god forbid Toji let you feel alone in a feeling he caused. He felt it too. Needed you to know. At least through his eyes.
Toji squeezed your knee gently, tensing as you shakily put your hand on his. His thumb slipped out from beneath your palm, only to brush the side of your finger. The wind brushed through the window, whistling the aria Toji could’ve sung. And then it was gone. Toji slipped his hand out from your trembling touch with a grunt. “It’s nothin’.”
Your hand floated in the air where he’d slipped away, then slowly replaced the space that Toji had taken up. “Well… Thank you.”
He glanced at you, eyebrow raised. “For…?”
You sighed, looking at the maple tree whose leaves tickled the windowframe. “Forgive me—in advance—for my forwardness… But, you, Toji, have… Well, you’ve changed everything.”
“Ah?”
“Master Ogi no longer treats me as he used to. He’s scared of you.”
Toji could only look at you with a clenched jaw.
So you continued, breath stuttering. “You’ve made your… care… for me… public knowledge. You… You openly accept me in a clan where I am anything but acknowledged. I’m sorry, I’m not good with words, and you… are a man I never expected to know.”
And there went the wind again. Rushing around wherever yours and Toji’s breath didn’t reach. Carrying the sound of cicadas and their throat song.
“Can’t help it.” He looked up at the ceiling. “I like ya.”
“I like you too, Toji.” You said, keeping a special eye on the way his eyes fluttered closed as his name left your lips.
A brief moment of cicada’s aria, and then Toji spoke again.
“Come back tonight.” He didn’t look at you, heart beating too fast in the midst of his reckless invitation. “Will ya—“
It was your turn to rest your palm on his knee. Gently leaning forward, suddenly so much closer than you’d expected. “I will.”
Had he moved? Had he felt your touch and leaned in, instinctively? You were face to face, just close enough that his breath lightly touched your nose.
Without a word, Toji reached for your face, carefully holding either side of your jaw in his giant hand. His calloused thumb brushed your skin ever so slightly—the closest he’d ever been. How could he even be any closer? Everything but the ‘now’ felt impossible. Fiction. Just a song someone might sing, written in the dead of night. A harmony that hasn’t been written.
“Y/N!” A call came from behind Toji’s sliding door, and then Toji’s hand was gone. Gone as quick as you had risen from your seat, bowed and slipped out of his room. Like a ghost.
—
That evening, Toji threw himself into his training. Slashing dummy after dummy. Imagining Ogi’s face. Naoya’s smug little grin. Wiping it with his blade and imagining the blood dripping down the silver with lust in his bright green stare.
Toji felt your own gaze before you even noticed you were staring. Leaned over a waist-level stone wall, eyes licking across his bare torso. Sweat glistening gold as the sunset draped across him. Your eyes trained on his furrowed brow, and scarred sneer. He swung his sword with deft accuracy, knowing you were there. Tore the dummy to pieces in ways you’d never seen him do, knowing you were there. It was all for you, this sunset sweat was for you. Every swing. Every growl a thought of the craving for you. All for you.
By the time Toji allowed a glance in your direction—the show he’d put on for you finally over as he panted against a wooden beam—you were lost in the hypnotizing twilight that had descended on his figure, now leaving him cascaded, draped in a haunting blue glow. His eyes found yours, smirking to himself as the vision of you finally looked back at him.
“How was the show?” He called, slipping his linen top over his frame.
Your lips parted, the corners of your mouth poking up. “Impressive, as always.”
Toji smiled, walking over slowly. “You spyin’ on me?”
“Just…” You swallowed with a gentle expression, then a deep breath. “…Watching the show.”
That earned a raise of his eyebrows, and a slow rake up your leaning figure as he approached you. “Yeah?”
“Mm… Yeah.” You whispered quietly, breathless now that Toji was close enough to notice all the ways you couldn’t hide your nerves.
His scarred lip pulled to the side in a devious little grin. “Ya still gonna come an’ eat with me later?”
“If you’ll have me…” A flush bloomed across your cheeks slowly. “Will the elders approve of me skipping dinner duty?”
Toji rolled his green eyes, brushing his messy black hair out of his face. “They can kiss my sorry ass.”
The periwinkle twilight had sunk into a dark navy now, and it glittered in his gaze as he paused, then winked. “C’mon. I’ll walk ya back to the main building.”
The walk was quiet, the muffled sound of gravel under anxious footsteps echoing around you. The sound only changed when you stepped inside the building and you parted ways hesitantly and with a lingering gaze.
—
The evening spun by, and then you were at his door again, holding a wooden tray in softly shaky hands, two dinners. For two lonely disgraces.
You barely had to knock before Toji was letting you through, his knuckles white as he gripped the doorway. It all felt tense and tight as he walked you to the short table.
“How was your evening?” Toji said, voice low, but light. The sound of his pitch just the same as it always had been: Raspy, lilting, floating above his words like wind throwing rocks.
“Good.” You sat, kneeling as you placed the trays down. “Looking forward to eating…Toji.”
“Yeah.” Toji towered over you, watching you fidget with a fond gaze. “Me too.”
After a moment of wordlessness, with only the rustling of the trees outside his window whispering the words neither of you were speaking aloud, you looked up at Toji, voice earnest. “Please…sit with me.”
Toji’s lips parted slightly, then allowed himself a silent nod. He sat with a grunt, the tension in his body melting off of him the closer he got to you. He could smell you. Of course, he could smell you. You were just inches away from him, and looking at him so sweetly. So kindly. Somehow, the whispering, shaking of the leaves outside, and the languid feeling of your eyes on him had rendered him silent. Nervous. Distrustful of his own voice, as one wrong word might scare off the beautiful bird in front of him. Hesitant to move an inch, lest he send you flying to the branches that shook against the window.
You broke the silence, brows pinched together into a gentle frown. “You’re quiet… Are you alright?”
“Ah…” Toji nodded quickly, handing you a pair of chopsticks and shoveling a mouthful of rice into his mouth. “Mmphyes.”
You met his unabashedly nervous gaze for a moment, before shaking your head, and picking up your own chopsticks. You raised a bite to your lips, then paused. “Thank you, for inviting me to eat again.”
Toji glanced at you sharply, mischief and a suddenly unsettling glow of his own shyness shuddering in his eyes. “Well, I… Uh… I figured if I had ya to myself…”
“To yourself?” You repeated, feeling the breath leave your body with every word. “Don’t you have me to yourself… everyday?”
“Not like this, I don't.” He let his head fall back slightly, squeezing his eyes shut to will his nerves to fall away–if not completely, then just enough that he could breathe without wondering if you were listening. “Nah. Tonight, I…I just get you. Not the version of you that’s scared of curses ya can’t see–”
“Toji…”
“Let me finish,” Instead of falling away, it seemed as if Toji’s nerves had twisted themselves into a wild amalgamate of fear and desperate, biting need. He caught your knee as you turned away slightly, chin sinking low against your neck, as if you were running from his stare. “I just… want to know you.”
You tensed under his touch, the scent of his soap lingering from his bath. A whisper, “I want to know you, Toji.”
He was silent, then the corners of his mouth lifted softly. “So… know me.”
“How?”
A pause. Then Toji swallowed hard, as if to shove his urges back down to his stomach where they slept. “However you want.”
You glared at him, a smile poking desperately against your cheeks as they flushed nervously. “I’ve never… known… someone before. Any… Um… Ideas?”
“...Heh.” Toji chuckled, then turned his head to face front once more, picking up his chopsticks and picking at the food. “Lots.”
“Oh?” You picked at your own food, stomach consumed with Toji, Toji, Toji rather than a lick of hunger. It wasn’t rice you craved. Or protein. You couldn’t look at him, else you knew he’d see the starving spark of need that flickered in your eyes, the same spark Toji never hid from you.
“Mmhmm.” Toji spoke with his mouth full, smirking quietly. Sometimes it felt as if he could hear your thoughts when you were quiet. Intuition, or context clues, or soulmates. Whatever it was, Toji loved you, and you loved him. Quietly.
After another moment filled with the scrape of Toji’s wooden chopsticks on clay bowls, and yours barely skirting the quickly cooling bowl of rice, Toji put his chopsticks down and turned to face you. “Not hungry?”
You met his lidded gaze with parted lips. “Ah… I… How did you kn-know?”
Your heart beat heavy behind your ribcage as the ridiculous excuse of a response hung in the air. You followed Toji’s eyes to look at the food left in your bowl, then back at you.
“Well, forgetting the fact that you’ve barely touched yer food…” Toji breathed you in deeply, before smiling a half-smirk, half-grin. With a tilt of his head, Toji’s long, shaggy dark hair sprawled across his eyes, framing the darkening, glassy jade of his stare, and it was only the feeling of his large palm gently pressed against your sternum that shocked you back to reality. “The fact that I can hear yer’ heart beating like a monkey in a cage from all the way over here… Yer’ body is so… loud.”
His long, thick fingers draped across your collarbone, his mouth inevitably sneaking closer in order to feel your hot skin, the rhythm of your heart beating vibrations through his palm… It was deafening, and overwhelming, and heavy, and louder than the rustling of the trees, and quieter than the tiniest breath, all at the same time.
“Toji…” Your heart beat quicker, heavier.
“Ya know… You’ve always been so sweet to me–my whole life–and you think, hah.” He paused, shaking his head with a smile that crept like vines up his cheeks. “Do you think I don’t look at you when you leave? Watch… god, watch the way you look at me like you wanna climb me?”
“I—“ Your eyes grew round with a sharp gasp.
“Nah, don’t hide it.” Now, Toji looked over, eyes flitting down the outline of your face, following your neck, mapping where your body began to curve and angle itself towards him. His gaze was grueling, dark, memorizing you so when he blinked, he could imagine you without even trying. You’d already be there, in his mind's eye, smiling. He smirked, “Wouldn’t mind if ya did.”
You swallowed so hard it just about echoed in Toji’s ears. “If I did…?”
“Climb me.” His voice was a special kind of low. One you hadn’t heard before. It was scratchy like stubble against smooth skin. Like grass on a sundress in the heat of summer. The room felt hot as if it were midday. Skin crawling, pushing you centimeter by centimeter. Closer and closer, til his palm was forced to slip up your collarbone. You inhaled a trembling sip of air as his hand gently held the column of your neck, then continued to cradle your jaw. “I’d let ya.”
“You’d let me.” You repeated, faces close enough now that every word left a puff of air on Toji’s lips. You watched, pulse creeping up your neck, as he closed his eyes and nodded.
“I’d let ya.” Toji’s eyes blazed green when he opened them, meeting your eyes with barely withheld, crippling fire.
You wanted to turn away, to tuck your chin and hide your face before the blush turned you red, but Toji held your jaw fast. You swallowed with a hesitant gulp, and a tiny inhale that was filled with nothing but him. “You’re observant.” You said, softly, almost to yourself.
“Mm.” He pressed his lips together, nodding, and let his thumb brush across the corner of your lip. The heated flush of your cheeks simmered underneath his touch, sending the same flush across his. “You ever observed how I look at you?”
A pause. “I… I’m not sure…”
“You’d be pretty blind.” Toji muttered, exhaling shortly. A silence slipped between the two of you once more. Silence was so common between you, and it was never truly quiet when it was left behind by your words, or his. The silences between you and Toji were simply the melody to the cicadas singing in the hot, humid air, or the whispers in between rustling maple leaves. This silence, though, was quiet. Tension so thick in the air, that it blinded the senses. You breathed, you were sure you were breathing, and you could make out the feeling of his own breath on yours, but you couldn’t be sure. You were scared to be sure of any of it at all. Of course you’d seen how hot his gaze was when you entered a room. It was impossible not to feel that dark, pressing stare at sunrise, when you’d stop to watch him train. But, now, in front of Toji–or, rather, inches from Toji… He asked for certainty, begged, even, and the words to assure didn’t come. Tangling together in your head like links in an iron chain that bound you where you were.
“You can’t see the way I look at you?” Toji’s brows pinched into a soft frown. “Do I have to be more obvious?”
Your lips parted, but Toji continued before you could speak, his voice trembling now. “Shit, I can be more obvious. Do I need to kiss ya? Tell ya how much I look forward to yer’ smell… jus’ floatin’ down the hallway?”
His other hand lifted to cradle the other side of your face, squishing your cheeks just enough to make you gasp. “I will. I’ll do it. God. I’d do anythin’ just to make it so you never have to know the feeling of blood on yer’ brow ever again. You’d never… fuck… Never know the pit again. I’d make ‘em pay for it… for it all.”
Toji was rambling now, but it barely registered, as tears began to stumble down his cheeks like rain on a dusty hill. You reached up with both palms, cradling his face in your hands, catching each tear with your thumb.
“If I asked you to kiss me… Would you?” You met his glassy, emerald stare, an earnest sort of determination spilling from your gaze in a way he’d never seen before.
Toji’s lips parted, then twitched slightly as a tear fell onto his bottom lip. No longer did Toji smell of salt and musk, like the last time. No, Toji smelled of soap, and cologne applied hastily and in the wrong way. He smelled like the roses that should’ve been blooming the day you met him in the garden. He smelled like him. Without thinking, you leaned forward, pressing your lips exactly where the tear had fallen, and kissed him.
A broken sound echoed in the back of Toji’s throat as your lips met, then swiftly broke away, panting. Toji’s arms fell away, as did your’s, and you were left staring. He considered allowing a silence to fall again. To relish in the knowledge that he made you feel this wild, uncontrolled, unabashed, and unequivocally loved. But, as he gazed upon your soft, nervous expression, it took everything in him not to wrap his arms around you and kiss you until you were pushing him away to breathe. Before he could decide one way or the other, though, you spoke. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t right… I–”
“Oh, fuck you.” Toji shook his head, encircling your waist with his arms and lifting you like it was nothing. He stood–you, clasped to his chest–and walked you over to the midsized bed, tucked against the wall. With your legs dangling, Toji slipped one hand to the back of your head, and kissed you with an unexpected tenderness. Kissed you with soft lips, unbitten and smooth, save for the fleshy scar on the corner of his mouth. Your hands slipped up his neck in response, threading through his still-damp hair, and kissing him so soft that you sighed a blissful sound into his mouth.
Then the bed was underneath you, his blanket bunching up against your skin as Toji laid you down and clambered over you. He pulled back once you were settled, gazing down at you. His beautiful bird. Your hair fell over your face haphazardly, cheeks flushed, and your lips looked as if you’d just dipped them in pepper juice. You were smiling, too. That smile. Toji smiled back, soft. Gentle. As if he didn’t tower over you. As if he couldn’t kill you. He’d never smile like that with anyone else. He reserved it for you.
“Toji…” You whispered, reaching up to find purchase on his muscled shoulders.
He leaned down, placing his elbows on either side of your head, effectively caging you in like the magnificent bird he saw in you. But, you didn’t feel like a bird. You felt hot, and desperate, like a flame spreading in a bush, dancing from branch to branch, begging to consume–or be consumed.
“Yeah…?” Toji teased, voice lilting and rough. “And what could you possibly want?”
You bit the inside of your cheek, then let your head fall back, eyes squeezing shut with a whine. “You know. Please.”
“And what if I don’t?” Toji smirked, looking down past his nose at your pouting face. “Wouldn’t wanna cross a line… pretty thing.”
“I… fuck…” You mumbled under your breath, lessons in etiquette from your mother crumbling with every move Toji made. By now his strong, thick thigh had slotted riiiight between your knees, you could feel each muscle when he flexed them. “Cross it. I-I don’t care!”
Toji raised an eyebrow, smiling wildly. “Oh…?”
You pressed your lips together, a creeping, whining groan rumbling quietly underneath your breath. “I want you. I…”
“...You…?” Toji repeated, smile falling into an earnest expression that begged you to say something unspoken.
“...I love you.” You turned your face away from him, skin crawling with nerves that crunched and emptied out your chest to sink into.
“Yeah.” Toji spoke low, rough. “Thought so.”
He angled your face back to the center, then lowered himself down slightly. Toji’s words were tangled too. Wrapped around his brain so tightly, it was all he could do not to devour you. So pliant, so darling beneath him. He didn’t trust himself to speak. Although, he wasn’t so hesitant in fear that you’d startle and run. No. He didn’t trust himself to open his mouth, lest he tell you how badly he wanted to fuck you until you cried, lest he tell you how he had to fist his cock like a madman after every. Single. Visit. Just to put the image of you, filled with him, out of his mind.
So instead, with one long finger, he brushed the hair from your eyes, tucking it behind your ear. He handled you with such care, that when he did close the distance between you, you hadn’t expected the hungry, desperate, biting kiss that Toji began ravaging you with. But, you mirrored him. You moved with him. Lips on lips. Crashing in and out like angry waves that missed the shore. Tongue licking tongue, catching teeth, nipping and sucking like the other would pull away, or disappear. Lewd moans spilled from both of you, mixing like the cicada songs you’d gotten to know so well. Your hands eventually dragged from his shoulders, to his chest, then down, and down again until they wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer and closer. His under-the-breath fucks and growls as you moved against him guided you closer, angling your hip against his. Feeling him. Two voices. One song.
Breathless, he pulled back with a desperate groan, pulling his shirt up over his head. Toji’s muscles rippled in the cool moonlight that cascaded through the window. His plush, glistening lips caught the soft moonlight as he spoke. “I love you, s’hard to put into words.”
“I know.” You whispered, eyes languidly pulling across his breathtaking silhouette. He looked like an angel, softly surrounded by the quiet glow of the moon’s diffused reflections. His moon-angel silhouette then lowered closer to you again, and kissed you slow. Agonizingly slow. Slow enough that his hands could creep up from your hip, slide across your waist, and slip just underneath the hem of your top.
Tentatively, his fingertips grazed a nipple. Once, then, after feeling your back arch into his touch, another time, but with just that much more pressure. You moaned into his mouth, your brows knitted together in a pleasure you didn’t know much of. That was all it took for Toji to pull away, then rip your top right down the middle.
“I’ll get you another one.” Toji muttered just before leaning down and capturing your sensitive chest in his mouth. His tongue was soft against your skin, sucking you softly between his lips, just until he heard a broken, choked moan spill from your lips. “Atta girl.”
Your vision blurred, squirming underneath him, even as he pulled away slightly, Toji left suckling, purple bruises in a haphazard line across your chest as he moved to the other side. He wrapped his lips around you once more, and your hands flew to his shaggy hair, burying your fingers in its depths.
“Sh-Shit…I… Nmnmph…!” You whimpered, gasping as Toji slipped one hand down your stomach, underneath the waistband of your bottoms, and tentatively let his fingertips brush across your hot, needing cunt.
“Yer’… So wet… Hah.” Toji smirked against your skin, looking up at you through his lashes. “All for me?”
“Mm!” You nodded, brows pulled together as his fingers began to touch. Gliding down between your cunt like he’d been there before, gently grazing your clit between two knuckles, and smirking when you inhaled a shuddering gulp of air. Every touch felt white hot, every lick of tongue against your sensitive nipple, all of him. All of him suddenly everywhere, as his finger ventured farther down, slipping into your canal with barely any resistance. Every nerve stood on end, singing warm and loud with each firm, but gentle, stroke of his fingers.
As he felt your cunt stretch around your fingers, he slipped another finger in, and you swore you felt the corner of his mouth lifting into a sly smirk at the sound of the shocked moan that was thrown from your throat.
“Mmph, yer louder than I imagined.” Toji peaked up above your chest, fondly gazing at your face, which had contorted itself in pleasure. “C’mere.”
You let out a half-grunt, half-moan as you craned your neck closer to his mouth, finding yourself captured in a heavy, whimpering kiss. Whether the whimper was yours or his was unclear, as each sound made became the same in between the two of you. He swallowed your sweet whimpers with every caressing push and pull of his fingers. In and out of your sweating cunt. In and out. And in and out. Until all that frigid, white heat from before began to tumble around, beneath your stomach, building like snow in a blizzard, culminating into this unknowing, unwitting fire that grew and grew until it released around his thick fingers, your body trembling so uncontrolled in his hold, your brain went fuzzy and blank. Toji kissed you through it, shuddering with each tremor that brushed against his clothed bulge.
“That’s it. Good, that’s it, my girl. My pretty girl. So good. F-Fuck…” Toji rambled against your lips, generous praises that sent ripples of fresh fire through your veins. As the tremors subsided, he slowly pulled his fingers from your cunt, parting from your lips, and presenting them between the two of you with a parted, breathless expression. With your eyes wide, pupils blown out, you met his shining fingers, dripping with you, and suckled the glistening skin, taking his fingers fully between your lips. He held your gaze with shaking breath, taking in the lewd sight of his servant licking his hands clean of her own cum.
“I…I need t’fuck you.” Toji’s eyes took you in like he’d die without you. “Can I fuck you?”
You could barely speak, mouth full of his fingers, but you nodded. “Mmph… Mmhmm… Mm!”
You gasped as he removed his fingers, pulling back on his knees to push his pants down to his pool below him, then leaned forward to help you pull your bottoms off. You lay naked and glowing underneath him, almost eclipsed by his tower-like shadow.
“T-Toji…” You mumbled up at him, staring like he was an angel come to save you. His cock hung heavy underneath his abdomen, leaking precum like a dripping faucet.
“I’ll go slow, ‘kay?” Toji leaned down, approaching to kiss you, but your fingers threaded through his hair, causing him to pause.
“Okay… I just…” You swallowed, inhaling deeply. Your brows were knitted together in a loveborn pout. “I love you.”
Toji. Moon-angel Toji. You’d never seen him smile so soft. Like a caress upon the air. Eyes so gentle. Like the brush of wind upon long grass. His voice broke as he spoke. “I love you.”
He kissed you so deep, then pulled away to arrange himself at your still sopping cunt. As Toji pushed in, ever-so-slightly, he glanced up to catch your blissed out expression, corners of your lips reaching towards your ears, eyes half-lidded and rolled back. He grinned, smug, and pushed farther, and farther. The stretch felt like every pain you’d felt had a purpose. Like the blood on your brow the day he touched your face so delicately was the same touching Toji followed as he finger fucked you to unimaginable bliss.
As you felt him finally bottom out, tip pressed up against your cervix, you gasped. So full. Of Toji. Of love. Of the knowledge that Toji saw you. That he loved you. You swore his eyes didn’t leave your face, other than when he leaned in to kiss you, fiercely.
“F-Fuck. So t-tight…I…God damn.” Toji muttered, pulling away from your lips, and moaning pathetically as he began moving inside of you.
Each thrust of his cock knocked the breath from your chest, and Toji caught each one. All the moaning, the muffled whimpers, covered by pressed-together lips and messy kisses… You’d both exhausted them now, left only with the silent pants from both of your parted lips, the lewd sound of skin slapping against sweating skin, and the occasional groan, or whine, from either of you. You didn’t need to say anything, only to look at the other with a wildly desperate expression, and Toji knew. Knew you. And you knew him. That cicada song that you both sung in silence and breath, it echoed between each pap, pap, pap. Filled you both with the hot summer sun, flame creeping down your abdomen, twirling like a firework, then with a breathless, almost silent moan, breaking free and bursting wildly around his slick length, thick and throbbing in you as Toji fucked you through another orgasm.
“So-So pretty…Shit…M’gonna…” The sound of his low, raspy voice cracked as his pace grew messy, hurried, and inconsistent, until finally, he spilled deep inside of you. Toji stilled, and you moved your hips along his length, relishing in every desperate throb of his cock as he continued to cum. “H-holy shit… Hah. Never c-cum this much in my– God damn. In my life.”
You laughed softly. An aria. And Toji grinned down at you. “I like knowing you.”
Gaze softening, you smiled gently, and spoke with a whisper. “I love you.”
Toji let his fingers trace the outline of your face softly, then, as he reached your chin, met your gaze again. “My beautiful bird. I love you.”
feat quarterback!toji x camgirl chem partner!reader
summary: Toji Fushiguro considers himself a very generous man, especially after using part of his D1 quarterback paycheck towards his favorite camgirl. If anything, he's a patron of the arts: dedicated, curious, and always ready for the next big thing. So when he finds out his quiet little chem partner has the same bedroom as his idol? Well... color him intrigued.
content: MDNI 18+ ONLY, fem!reader, camgirl!reader, chem partner!reader, quarterback!toji, fratboy!toji fanboy!toji, jjk college au, no use of “y/n”, porn with a ridiculous amount of plot, vibrators, oral sex (m!receiving, f!receiving), piv sex, squirting, dumbification, toji has a biiiiig dick, daddy kink, size kink, breeding, etc.
word count: 10.1k (i don't play abt this man)
author's note: all credits of the above pictures go to their creators. The left-most picture is from thatsallitchief on X or tiktok. If anyone knows the artist of the right-most picture let me know so I can tag them!
toji's pre-game playlist: gemstone - don toliver, homecoming - lil uzi vert, don't kill the party - ty dolla $ign, love me - lil wayne, you - don toliver, nightcrawler - travis scott
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.
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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.
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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.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
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.
SYNOPSIS — Helping the quiet TA, who shrinks himself down to avoid taking too much space, come out of his shell. You’re slowly understanding why he thrives in an environment where he’s told what to do — and he shows you why he’s hesitant to be in charge.
TAGS — MDNI (18 + only) nsfw. work contains explicit sexual themes and content. piv. Gentle Giant!Choso, Dork!choso, overly freaked out!reader. Nerd!choso, SIZE KINK, sub to top(M), Switchy. rough. making out. couch sex. lifting. mutual masturbation. Changing positions. Missiònary. excessive use of sexual innuendos, dacryphilla, inconsistent writing (?). Choso will do anything you ask. PWP. Teasing, Degradation (both). pet names. crack.fluff. reader is nice to him obv. but freaked out.
WC: 14k — art by k4eny on twt
a/n: Hello blog, IM VERY HAPPY W THIS ONE and i promise to not leave u high and dry! this is highly inspired by an augustinthewinter audio (im a #freak) — Also what if I release my drabbles HEH
75%
The score read on your last mock test for your Historiography class. Your worst subject for the semester by far. Next week was going to be your midterm. Now, since your professor, Mr. Gojo, knows his students a little too well, he facilitated a surprise mock text to see how much you all understood the lessons.
A chorus of curses and groans start filling up the classroom with each student receiving their results as they’re handed out.
“…Now I can assure you, if you guys are worried about scoring higher than each other, it won’t matter because theoretically almost all of you failed.”
Another set of groans and a little bit of laughter comes from the class. You’re back to looking down on your paper, flipping through the pages to check every question and each correction out of habit, noting down what you have to improve on. Then you stumble upon the last page with the words;
Feel free to ask for help :) You smile, knowing exactly who wrote this without them being in the room. You look up to double check and you’re right, it was just your prof still going on about Khaldun or something — you tune him out to make way for the giddy feeling rushing through your stomach.
Usually you’d hate for people to offer help when you’re forced to do something you were unprepared for, taking the sentiment as a passive aggressive version of getting called incompetent but this time, you ponder while rereading the sweet little note in green ink— of course he used green ink to avoid students from being discouraged — and it's one of those times your stupidity has done you some good.
It’s an hour and a half later when class ends, people filing up to leave the doors of the lecture hall when a voice calls out to you.
You smile at your professor, a little strained, but it’s okay, you tell yourself, you expected it. You walk up to him, bag on your shoulder, unzipped because you rushed down. You’re still smiling when you’re there, already preparing for what he has to say.
The smile falls and you sigh, “I know that look.”
He’s standing with his arms crossed, dark shades balanced on his straight nose, looking down at you with nothing short of paternal disappointment. “Yes, and you shouldn’t be too familiar with it either. Seventy-five? really? I thought we were talking recommendation letters last week, turns out you’re barely passing my class?”
You swallow back, not really knowing what to do so you kinda just stand there awkwardly, waiting for him to air out his worries. “I know it's like, a little weird to put this much pressure on you but c’mon kid, you’re looking at being the next assistant after Choso to help your resumé right?”
You nod, still not saying anything, but you can’t deny how you perk up when you heard his name.
Your professor pauses briefly mid rant after spotting how you only met his eyes when he mentioned his current TA’s name, a light bulb flickers on in his head.
He squints, “You’ve been familiar with each other, correct?”
“Yes, sir.” You’re quick to reply, stopping yourself from physically gulping out of nervousness.
“He been showing you the ropes bit by bit?” he mutters, uncrossing his arms and leaning over the desk.
“Bit by bit, yes.” You echo, unable to reply without being scared of saying the wrong thing to tick him off.
“And…” He feigned thinking about it, fidgeting with he pen in his hand and tapping the butt end of it on a thick stack of paper. “…He’s also helping with lessons to keep your grades up?”
You say nothing, keeping your mouth flat and shut. You peer up at him, and shake your head slowly, “No sir.”
He tsks, standing up to his full height. “It’s not necessary but you’re aware there’s an average for you to keep up just to become a TA right? We wouldn’t want students biting off more than they could chew.”
You nod once more, though this time, a lot more fervently. “I—yes, sorry. I’ll-“
“Get to it, yeah.” He finished for you, tucking his hands in the pockets of his slacks. He waits for you to move, watching how you’re still standing there and waiting for him to also tell you to move. You’re so alike, he thinks.
He nods upwards, dismissing you. You thank him while you’re already turned your back, eagerly making your way to your next mission.
Gojo watches the door swing inwards from the impact of your departure, a smile in his tone when he mutters to no one, “That’ll give her some motivation.”
You’re rushing to your next class now, given the fifteen minute grace period you were granted had now been shaved down to ten, no thanks to your professor, forcing you to take two steps at a time when making your way to the other side of the building.
You’re looking down at your phone, deleting and retyping a message in your instagram dms. It’s when you pass the stairway that an unexpected force uncontrollably comes on to you. You thud against it, breathe caught, hand tightly clutching at your phone. You stumble on your steps, holding onto the closest thing you feel for. You don’t fall, you don’t even come close to the ground, but your knees certainly felt like they couldn’t carry you.
Because here you stood against a very worried, very tightly holding you, Choso Kamo. Your mind blanks, your class just a few doors away, forgotten. Unintentionally, a small smile spreads on your face.
“Hey, I was—“ He laughs nervously, “I was looking for you.” His hands wrap around your nearly limp arms, almost covering the expanse of it, yet held at a respectable position.
“You okay?” He tilts his head down to meet your eyes, a look of concern etching back on his terribly handsome face, he swallows thickly and you watch his adam’s apple bob decorating his thick neck.
He takes a second to peer back at the stairs, then back to you before he realizes how his grip still clutched on you. “I’m sorry.” He pulls his hands down at his sides, unsure of what to do with them. “I was about to-“
“-Me too actually.” Cutting him off, you couldn’t help but smile even wider, uncaring if you looked too excited. You raised your phone, “Was about to send a dm but I got class in like,” You flip the screen to face you, “two minutes.” A pinch of apprehension makes its way to you but you push it back.
His eyes widen behind his rectangular frames, lenses making them appear bigger than they actually are.
“Really? Shit, “ He cursed, regretful, “I don’t have class anymore so I could just wait out—”
“Sit in with me?” It comes out of you before you could stop it. “—or not.” You quickly add, retreating. “I could just go and email you.”
“No—I mean, Of course. Yes. Me, I’ll go.” He smiled with a toothy grin, ignoring how you said email instead of your socials in hopes you won’t bring up how he stuttered over his words. You’re caught off guard and before you know it, he’s already making his way to the door without even being sure which class it was.
He’s reaching for the handle when you stop him, “Oh, next door, please.” He nods bashfully, adjusting the strap of his comically small backpack on himself and apologizes under his breath. He follows you inside, you push, prying the door open. His palm flat against the wood, effortlessly holding it for you both.
Luckily your professor hadn’t been in class yet, so you weren’t spotted as the only late comer (technically no, with company, you weren’t.) The class was sparsely filled as it was only part of your minor and this schedule wasn’t as popular, so you could basically sit anywhere. You scan over the room, and you spot some seats at the very front. You’re about to take a step forward when you realize you’re being a little rude.
“Where d’ya wanna sit?” You ask, head tilted up with a smile. You try to ignore the gleefulness that comes with the idea you’re gonna be seated next to him. Again, you push this feeling down, knowing it’s completely unprofessional and straight up childish. Though conversely, what you feel for him is not in the slightest, childish.
“Back, definitely.” He answers a little too fast, blinking to check with you. “If you want.” He adds.
He’s so polite, you could just die.
You find comfortable seating by the right side of the class, second to last row and close to the back per request. This classroom was a little smaller, so distance from the whiteboard wasn’t really an issue.
You’re listening to your elderly professor repeat instructions about a future assignment and knowing he’s just going to be posting the guidelines, you just tune him out again, distracted. You have to learn to stop doing that.
But you’re shamelessly peeking at the side, Choso’s writing something down, you watch his face as he continues without a care in the world, back hunched down to get closer to the papers maybe, tongue poking the inside of his cheek in focus. You look down at what he’s writing when he flips the sheet over, the sound of the paper is quiet amongst the loud hum of the air conditioner.
He’s checking something, a test again? You wonder if yours is there. Something catches your eye, he’s even writing down notes in the side for each correction. Maybe he’s also writing notes of encouragement for others. You don’t wanna wanna act all sensitive but something in your chest dampens. A lick of disappointment knowing you weren’t just given a little extra effort.
You shift in your seat, suddenly aware that you completely distracted yourself again and let your overactive imagination take over. You bite your cheek, brushing off the disappointment and sit properly on your seat. It moves the entire table though, you moved a little too roughly. Choso backs up in his chair, the commotion throwing off your professor in his fruitless discussion.
You gasp before immediately turning to check on your hard of hearing professor. He mumbles some incoherent complaint but you don’t wait to think and just apologize, “Sorry,” and it’s hopefully enough to divert the attention from you both.
Choso grunts, “No—sorry, my chair was too loud.” He pulls the long, shared desk back with one pull of his hand, before hunching to go back to work. There’s already a furrow in your brows at the apology, and you’re staring at the side of his face, his hand behind his full, overgrown hair, expression mirroring your own except towards his papers.
You adjust back, only this time you’re a bit farther, scared he’ll probably sense you’re being a little invasive. So you keep your eyes up at the projected screen and let the silence pass, the light sound of the ballpoint scratching paper on the smooth surface of the table and your teacher murmuring mix behind the stupid thoughts interfering and prodding at your composure.
You made this unnecessarily awkward, eyes looking back down on the paper without trying. You’re still kinda curious what he’s writing down. He’s writing down notes to the side, red pen and all— red pen and all?
You do a double take, your uncontrollable, imposing, borderline deluded thoughts returning back to their place in your hopeless brain. Did he use a red pen for everyone or green? He used green earlier, definitely. What the hell? Why does it matter?
“Can I help you?” The inner monologue in your head ceases at the question. You glance up at him, a crooked smile on his face, dimple gracing his features. He waits for you to say something, you process how it's a little close to a tease. You’re unable to say something and end up nodding.
He smiles, achingly sweet and sincere, still waiting for a response. You blank out, unable to think of a proper fake answer in time.
A last flick of your gaze at the paper outs your thoughts, he looks down at them. “If you’re looking for any of your own, this isn’t your section’s.” He assures, trying to fill in the silence you were so talented in bringing out in your conversations.
You giggle out of pure giddiness, unable to hold it in as you act like a school girl and not a college student. It’s probably so strange to him that you’re acting this way — internally reprimanding yourself is your only avenue for self control at these moments. You hope he doesn’t think the same way. “No um, you’re so focused on writing nice notes for everyone and marking every point.“
He smiles wider, eyes turning into pretty crescents. He shakes his head once, sitting back on his chair, and finally not slouching. Your stomach flips noting how he occupies more than half the seat. He scratches his neck, eyes flicking back at the papers for a moment before meeting yours, then averting again.
“I don’t think…” He leaned over to read the name on the paper, “…Inumaki, T. thinks my detailed corrections, or rather critiques are very nice, nor the rest of section Z26.” he mumbled the last part, adjusting the collar of his pull over.
“critiques?” You inquire, unconsciously leaning to his side of the desk, closer so you could read them too. Choso hopes you can’t feel the warmth on his cheeks radiating right now.
He nods his head a little too quickly, despite not being able to see him from where you were. He’s dizzy with the scent of your floral shampoo under his nose, heady and pulling. “Yes, just to help with,” he falters again, your bare arm brushing against his own, clothed one when you point at a certain part of the paper while reading, knees hitting under the table when you’re closely looking down on the sheet. “With the, the uh, future tests yeah-”
Choso watches your lips move but he doesn’t hear what comes out. Right now, he’s pushing away such un-utterable, uncalled for thoughts when his view is your head over what would be is his lap, only being separated by this rickety table. It only gets worse when you shift your eyes at him, wide and up at his tired onyx ones, only now his are a little wider too, something past friendly reflecting in your before averting back down the white sheet.
You’re still reading the paper, taking in the info for each question. “Oh,”
He snaps out of his daze, immediately taking notice of your blank tone. “What’s wrong?”
You’re processing the words on the essay type test he’s checking and you realize you’ve never seen this kind of test before. “Y’know, now that I’m reading this, I don’t think we’ve answered this activity yet.” A beat, and Choso flips the paper down.
“Right, that’s probably not good,“ He places a spread out hand over the papers, sheets mix on top of each other, disheveled and disorganized, one nearly falling off the narrow table.
You’re already laughing, “You’re so clumsy,” your hand stopping one of them from flying out of place.
“No, you probably shouldn’t look at that too-“
“Relax, I don’t have the photographic memory to copy each answer. As much as I wish I did.” You mumble the last part, tucking the papers into an organized pile, facing outwards. “See? No cheating for me.”
Choso fights the smirk that inches his way under the skin of his cheeks, nodding to you. “I appreciate your integrity.” You return the look on his face except with the stack in your grasp right now, it reflects its white canvas like a soft light on your skin, a sweet warmth overcomes him. “I never told you why I was looking for you.”
You place the sheets separate from his pile of unfinished work. Pursing your lips, you make a noise of acknowledgment. “Oh, I was thinking the same thing. I didn’t know how to approach you ‘cause it was kinda embarrassing.”
“Embarrassing how?”
For a while, you contemplate how to make yourself sound less pathetic, trying to amp up how to sound flirtier without breaching whatever boundary of the title you held to him. You wanted to play safe, for now.
“Like to ask for help, I bet it's as funny as someone asking a stupid question since you probably didn’t have to do any of that when you were in my year.” You don’t have to confirm with him whether or not it’s true, Choso’s going straight to a master’s after graduating this year. You’ve been hyping yourself up to ask him out for a while, knowing that he’ll most likely drift from you as a friend with the work that comes with finishing one.
You truly weren’t looking for any kind of college relationship or even a fling, knowing such places bring unnatural levels of attraction to people who lack self identity, and if you’re being honest, college made you question that part of yourself when you first began.
Ergo, you focused on yourself for your first year to second. Now, you’re in your third year’s second semester and people are thinking about their thesis and fellowships. And here you were only starting to make career moves for your future in your third year.
But you digress, circling back to how all that led you to meet Choso. Someone you’ve made acquaintances with last year during an exhibit at the school’s anthropology museum. Yes, you had an anthropology museum — Jjk technical college was not cheap.
His hair was a tad shorter back then, guiding a bunch of first years through the new exhibit, excitedly discussing some bones and energy. The glint in his eyes was bright and he was wholly unfiltered, charmingly gauche. You had tried to pose a question at the time, wanting to entertain him out of definitely just pure curiosity for Bioarcheology, but second guessed yourself and never approached him again.
Until, it was that same year you found out he had been the TA for the professor you were aiming for next year (as a second year college student), and you found out he was resigning as the teacher’s assistant from a friend of a friend, and how Gojo had been already looking for a new one early on because Choso was that competent.
You want to say that maybe you joined just because professor Gojo was someone you highly look up to in the field of history research and will grant you a killer recommendation for a future career — which you know he will— there’s an underlying feeling where you also can’t deny that the idea of how it brings you closer to Choso made the position all the more appealing.
So this year, when Gojo read your CV and decided to accept you out of the many (3 applicants, one was an irregular student, the other a nepo baby), and encouraged Choso to start training you by now, it was like fate realigned itself to bring you closer to him.
Sort of.
Now he was in front of you- beside you, and casually replying with, “ I don’t mind spending my free time with you—tutoring and stuff.” He offers, completely unaware how he gets your stomachs in knots and your heart feels like it's trying to rip out of your ribcage.
“Really?” You ask too eagerly, he nods for extra reassurance. “It’s just, Historiography just isn’t something I’m good at but I’m also I find it interesting but it’s also really hard but— I also want this.” You size him up, towards his side of the table. “Y’know, this.”
He‘s about to point at himself, before looking at the papers and something clicks in place. “Checking papers on top of your thesis, dropping them off at Gojo’s office at 8 am, and getting death stares when I come across his students?”
You nod, almost even more eager, “Absolutely.”
“You’re perfect then.” He says, no hesitation whatsoever. You were eating it up and he was completely unaware. You giggle, heat rushing to your face.
You almost forgot how talking came easy with Choso. It was refreshing to meet someone you could hold a conversation with without feeling like you had to perform all the time, or wonder what to amp up or tone down. He had his intimidating moments at first, like being overqualified for a TA and the unmistakable height, or when you’re overthinking how to impress him and you don’t truly act yourself — but those impressions crumble effortlessly when you recognize him for his sincerity and obsession with the academe.
Choso can’t help but let a chuckle bubble in his throat, smooth and rich like a creamy cup of strong coffee. He’s analyzing your face, the apples of your cheeks are out with how wide you smile, he made you smile like that. The fact sits comfortably in his chest. He’s staring at your lips, maybe he can get away with it as him just looking down to your height, the few times he feels his own acted as an advantage for him.
“…any reason you use green?… Choso?” He blinks, and he’s back in the classroom and you’re now holding your own head with your palm, waiting for him to answer.
The back of his neck is hot with the thought you could probably notice him zoning out. “I like,” he searches your eyes, hesitating, and then, “I like green, so.” He nods, trying to rationalize his plain answer to himself.
You’re squinting, “Cool,” nothing behind your tone, just the air that still manages to sit awkwardly between you two, suddenly the old scribbles in the storage part of the desk was so interesting—
“And it's good for not like…” He swallows back his nerves, heart pounding in his ears. “I didn’t wanna discourage students.”
The admittance runs like oil down your back and you feel like you’ve hit him dead center in what you wanted to hear. “Right,” You look around, a false pretense of thinking in your expression, “So… why the red?” You ask curiously, pen in your hand scratching off the old paint under the desk in anticipation.
He paused like a deer caught in headlights, licking the dryness of his lips. Staring down the sheet of paper, yes it’s red indeed, he thinks. His lips part, you watch the smooth, glossy sheen of it move against the light. “I guess I have a favorite class.” He coughs, feigning the ease he was currently lacking with each word he carefully chose to speak.
Despite the urge to egg him on, you leave it at that, your bravery for the day already expended. You know if you continued you might say something a little irrational, and you’re also afraid to jump his bones too quickly. Though you’re pretty sure he could still hold you up if you tried.
Class ends anti-climactically, your professor waving your class off with a less than interested parting. You’re out of the classroom, Choso following behind when, “So, when do you wanna start? I’m free after class tomorrow and it’s the weekend. I don’t mind staying longer.”
You’re following his pace as you walk through the hallways of your building, aiming for the exit but you’re thinking about what happens after. You’re not fully sure where you’ll end up once you part. Do you just go? He stayed with you the entire boring class, (obviously the only reason why you want to stay longer and none other in particular) surely there must be something you have to do in return.
You’re nearing the exit and you can’t help but feel like you’re letting something slip if you go past the doors without making your thoughts known, “I have this thing with my best friend tomorrow, this is not a very good look for me— I promised I’d do this qualitative interview and—“
He’s quick to reply, “Oh yeah, I totally understand—“
Shit, okay you were not seizing the moment correctly. “You should come with me.” You turn over to him, unable to stop yourself.
Choso all but freezes, “What?”
Okay, no going back now, smacking your lips together before going for the kill. “—With me. Yeah, we could hang out and,” Could you still back out? No.
“Just, maybe study after? like we could study like… for the,” So much for not wanting to jump his bones, “…whole night.” You can’t look at him any longer, eyes scanning back the outside that now surrounds you. The noises of campus and the lamp posts are bright, projecting a warm white over you. But all this is not enough to comfort you from the trepidation finally shaking your brain.
You watch as Choso’s pale cheeks start to tinge into a flushy pink, eyebrows raising behind his glasses.
“Oh, okay, yes. Okay!” He nods taughtly, though willing.
You pause, “Okay?” trying to check if he’s serious.
“Sure.” You’re both standing opposite his body, shocked with what you’re hearing from the other as much as you were shocked from the words leaving yourselves.
A beat passes, leaves rustle, and amidst that you’re silently hoping it won't matter how you didn’t think this through fully. “Five o’clock sound good?”
***
It was a steady, calm-ish afternoon, your best friend Miwa was sat in front of you, laptops laid out on the table. She’s writing down notes and closing up her recording software and you’ve been fixing up your hair, clothes, and picking lint off it. You find a loose thread on your shirt when, “Hey,” You look up, alert. Miwa’s squinting at you, blue hair cast in a warm yellow from the mid-afternoon sun. “You good?”
You’re finger quits picking at yourself, “What? Yeah,” eyes flitting back to the pesky string sticking out of the hem of your top.
There’s a hum coming from in front of you, “You sure? You’ve been so fidgety this entire time.”
“I am not fidgety.” You say, fidgeting. A sigh comes out of you, and you lean back on your chair, hands coming on top of the arm rests. “You really okay with me bringing Choso?”
At this, Miwa’s lips curl into a smirk. “I knew it.”
Your eyes flick over to the side in thought, then back at her sly expression. “What do you know?”
She’s sitting up from her hunched posture over her laptop, and drinking from her cup of her almost lukewarm coffee, shrugging with her eyes still locked on yours.
Your thumbs come up from the arm rests, “What is it?”
She clears her throat, placing the mug on a coaster. She looks back up, a smirk still planted on her face. “Just that I didn’t know that he was your crush,” she expects you to reply, but you’re still waiting for her to elaborate. “Y’know, Choso.”
“I don’t have a crush on him!”
She squints, “Okay so we’re lying today.”
“It’s merely admiration— and some attraction at most.”
“That’s literally what a crush is based on.”
You’re blinking at her, feeling caught. You bite your tongue, knowing that your best friend out of anyone should be able to catch you in a lie. Or even a truth you lie to yourself about. You speak up, “Well?”
“Y’know I love you.” She starts.
“Oh no.” Dread seeps into your stomach, and you know if she starts somewhere along the lines of sugar coating, the following was about to be some bland truth coated around maybe an even bitter core inside.
“I like Choso! He’s been your friend for a while and I’ve never talked to him but he sounds really devoted to his work, maybe goodlooking, he’s smart, and he’s nice—“
“What would Muta think…?”
She chuckles, softening at the thought of her own boyfriend. “No, I just wanted to keep an eye out for you too when I say this.” She pauses, trying to find a way to word this as pleasantly as possible. “Cause you know how girls talk…”
You latch onto that last part, stomach churning in suspense. “Not really, I don’t.”
She stops herself from cackling at your nervous expression, “I just heard he’s always…nice.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Like too nice? I guess…it’s really hard to explain babe,“ She cuts herself off, sensing your growing apprehension. She observed how your hands are rubbing on the expanse of your cup, and bringing it to your lips to avoid saying something. She quiets down her tone, now kinda shy about mentioning it. She leans a bit towards you, “Like… in bed, y’know?”
You sputter in your mug, feeling unwelcome liquid scratch your throat. Miwa’s eyes widen when she watches you cough, eyes turning watery. “Ooh gag reflex, that’s not coming in handy.“
“Fucking shut up-“ You’re coughing still and she’s laughing uncontrollably now. “—I did not expect that.”
She’s wiping the corner of her corneas with a finger, “I—I’m sorry I just had to bring it up.”
You’re more composed now, eyes looking up at the clock, it’s ten minutes to five, and you’re trying to relax.
You don’t exchange looks with Miwa until a short moment passes for you to think.
“So have you thought about what it would be like?” You’re back to meeting her eyes, a silent exchange between you both. Miwa smiles at you, lowering her voice and putting a finger up to her ear like an agent, “Then I’m glad to relay information.” She’s giggling when you throw a tissue at her.
You’re already standing out of your seat and making your way to sit beside her. She motions her hand for you to come nearer, both turning your heads when the door chime rings and someone enters, calming down when it’s just some delivery person. You relax, side eyeing her.
Miwa inches closer, “Okay so I’m friends with this senior from my org and she had a friend who was seeing Choso, sort of? Anyways I mentioned once that you were replacing him and that you’re a little into him, sorry.” You’re beckoning her to continue, not caring much for the last part and nodding along.
“Anyways, it was like a one night stand thing and — don’t get me wrong I’m not trying to spread rumors or judge,” Another pause, and you’re already on the edge of your seat.
“Well? Go on,” You pull her in, arms tangled and clutching her, knee jittering.
“I heard he was kinda scared in bed? Like maybe he has a phobia or something.” Your knee stops, and you’re now confused, “It’s just kinda odd ‘cause the guys like a unit, right?” a crease forms between your brows. “Maybe he’s like… a power bottom?” she whispered, tone serious.
You’re nodding, taking in the information with actual consideration. “Possibly,” You’re fully facing her now, “Y’know…he is a TA.”
It’s Miwa’s turn to be confused, struggling to find the correlation. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
You fight the expression trying to pull on your lips, you nibble on the skin then let go, “I’d say he’s good at being told what to do.”
Miwa’s eyes widened, before adding, “Tell me when you find out.” A second where you’re both quiet and then you’re being shook by the shoulders, both of you squealing and chortling in your corner. It would be no surprise if you’ve caught the attention of other customers with your commotion.
She quits with the shaking, now smoothing over the fabric over your shoulders for messing up your top. “So what are you gonna do about it?”
You can’t help but entertain your imagination, “I mean I think I’m too conscious to be playing around too much.” Your friend nods along, supportive. Past these exciting thoughts, it was all a front for the feelings you struggled to word out, “I really like him, Miwa.”
She parts her lips but as if on cue, another chime from the door rings once more. He stood by the entrance for a brief moment, barely scanning the vicinity when he locked eyes on you, a cheeky grin lighting up his face.
***
“—I think they never made any real contact.”
“No, that’s definitely up for debate.”
Miwa watches your back and forth, pen in hand. Choso decided to be part of her research sample as well, given that he’s already here, he should make use of his time. And he didn’t mind, he liked helping out.
If only he could actually speak and answer the questions without you guys debating every time one of you made an opinion on something vaguely related to Miwa’s research topic. At first it was good, your opinions can be added too but now she’s running out of space in her storage with how long this unintentional joint interview was going.
“Okay guys, the interview questions are about historical revisionism. While I do see the correlation, how did we end up in Egypt and…?”
“Ancient Mesopotamia.” Both of you say, completing her sentence.
“I can elaborate.” Choso suggests, clearly unable to read between the lines of Miwa’s inquiry.
She stretches in her seat, her legs feeling cramped up with the lack of movement all this time. “Y’know what, I’ll hold you two to that. But first, let’s take a break!” It’s not even a minute until she’s out of both your and Choso’s sights, on the way to the restroom, pen and recorder left on the table.
“Y’know, I don’t think she likes me that much. I also think she’s too nice to tell me that.” You’re in the middle of cracking your neck until you’re moving your attention to him.
“Don’t worry too much about it, I think she just isn’t up for hearing any more strong opinions on exported textiles.”
“That’s if they were truly exported—“ You shove his arm, and he’s laughing at your face, not even moved from the push. He’s pretending to rubbing his bicep in feigned hurt, lifting his arm in the process, almost flexing. You try to ignore how they felt so hard under your fingertips. You check him out unintentionally, taking notice of how the hem of his layered shirt hangs enough to show the lower part of his stomach. Out of respect, you look the other way.
You swallow thickly, ears hot. “I think I’ll get another snack. Want anything to eat?” You’re already standing up and off the chair, limbs wobbly from the long period of time you spent sitting on the deep arm chair.
There’s a sudden burst of noise coming from the entrance of the café, very loud and boisterous. You can’t help but let your jittery self get distracted, there stood an entire group of men, looking like they just got off practice. You’re wondering why one of them looks vaguely familiar, but there’s a body blocking your view out of nowhere with what you realize is Choso’s chest.
There’s an odd, slightly frantic look in his eyes you haven’t seen on someone as easygoing as him. “Um, how about I go with you?”
You’re looking up at him, a little skeptical on why the sudden change of tone, but agree anyways.
You’re in the short line along the display and point out pastries that you could try when a voice calls out to the person beside you. “Cho!”
It’s easier for you to check where it’s coming from as Choso was in front of said voice. You recognize the pink hair from the group coming in earlier. He’s about 2 inches away from being as tall as Choso, hair damp like he just came from a shower, and a sports bag was strapped across him.
A pat on his shoulder signals your dark haired companion to turn, seeing a sight he’d been trying to avoid earlier. Of course he had to be the one ordering for his group.
“Hey man,” Choso greets, strained, a guard visibly coming up around him.
“What’s up, you don’t say hi to family anymore?” The sentiment, although on paper sounded sweet, in reality was like a taunt. Something you don’t wanna dissect to avoid reading into it too much. “Who’s this?”
You peer over at both of them, their attention now on you. Still unable to read the room, you focus on Choso to see how he wants this to play out. He steps in for you, “You know her, I mentioned the TA thing like a while back. She’s a friend, though she is replacing me.”
He gestures to the pinkette’s side, introducing him.
“My brother by the way. Same year though.”
Sukuna nods at that and smiles, canines showing. He reaches out with his hand, and you meet it halfway. “Ryomen Sukuna.” Huh, he’s not a Kamo.
“Pleasure,” You’re squinting your eyes, there’s something a little unsettling about him that you can’t place, but you’re not trying to jump into that.
“I didn’t know Choso had any siblings — ones on campus, no less.”
You let go of his large, callous hands, moving an inch closer to the cashier when the customer before you has their turn to order. “Have 2 terms to catch up with and I don’t really see this one around either ‘cause I did training camp in Barcelona last semester.”
You nod in acknowledgement. Silently, you’re comparing them, unknowingly looking back and forth between him and Choso a little too obviously.
“We don’t look related do we?”
Before you could defend yourself, a dry chuckle beats you to it. “We get that a lot.” He squeezed where his hand was planted on Choso, who visibly tenses. “Different mom, same dad. He doesn’t take after him though, if you’re worried—“
“Alright, I don’t think she wants to know about that.”
“Speak for yourself,” You laugh nervously, trying to ease the tension you could feel multiplying tenfold. He pats Choso’s shoulder before bringing his hand down to the side, not before looking at the side of his brother's face as he semi-whispered, “At least one of you doesn't have their panties in a twist.”
“I would if I were wearing mine.” A very long, awkward silence overcomes all three of you. That is until a nearly genuine smile breaks out of Sukuna’s angular features.
“Ha, what the fuck,” He mutters in amusement, “You’re both weird, that’s cute.” A dry chuckle eases the anxiousness you were struggling to place the source of. Though at the cost of your own dignity.
The line to the cashier moves, it’s yours and Choso’s turn now. He’s first to leave his brother’s side, not even bidding him a glance as he moves past you. “Nice meeting you,” you voice out, still on edge, Sukuna just nods in acknowledgement.
***
It’s around 6:40pm when Choso walks you to your apartment outside of campus. There’s a slight tension in the air that you’re struggling to bring up, it’s been there for the remainder of your meet up, not having said a word since you’ve left the café. You’ve been trying to make a move and talk to him but he’s had his eyes on the ground this entire time, rarely up, and definitely never on you.
He was about to walk in the pedestrian lane when you tug on his backpack. He’s caught in the pull, looking up to the red walking signal reflecting on the road. He walks back to stand next to you, still not saying a word. “What’re you thinking so hard on?”
For a moment he turned his head to you, a little too quick to not look like he wasn’t anticipating you to bring it up yourself. He looks ahead once more when you’re walking now. “I’m sorry about earlier.”
You start to feel a little guilty for not clarifying sooner, wondering if this entire time he thought he should’ve apologized for something he couldn’t control.
“It’s alright, it wasn’t unpleasant for me.”
He almost laughs at that, “Right, and I was jumping for joy.”
The air shifts, it’s not so tense anymore, just between that and uncertainty directed at something else entirely. “I felt really dumb earlier.” He adds, looking back down on the pavement. “I couldn’t say anything to make him leave us alone.”
You’re a few blocks nearby to your place, walking a little ahead of him so he could follow you now.
“Again, it wasn’t that bad. You don’t have to apologize.” Once more, silence fills the space between you both and it feels like you’re unable to remove this weight you feel affecting your interaction.
Now you’re both looking at your feet as you wait for cars to pass the street you’re crossing and for the timer to finally get to zero. Your foot is stepping over a dry leaf to fill in the lack of communication, the sound crunching in the quiet in a loud, distant manner.
“I just kinda get made fun of for acting like this—weak.” You crane your neck up to meet his eyes, and you’re right to think he’s still looking down. “It’s just annoying how even until now it’s expected of me to bite back on others ‘cause I look like I should.”
There’s a furrow in his brows, and he’s tightly clutching on the strap of his bag. “Like I’ve accepted that, sort of. I’m already conscious of it— but maybe people like to pick on me when it's obvious I’m not gonna do anything.”
You’re making another turn together, he’s leading with the path he’s familiar with and you follow, his words don’t falter. “Maybe ‘cause it makes them feel less small or some shit — I don’t know.”
After processing the words that left him, it brought you back to your conversation with Miwa. How you laughed about his past history with women and how you basically gossiped about his insecurities. Guilt swirls in your stomach, realizing this might just be a little worse than you treated it to be. You keep quiet, deep in your own thoughts, letting him say what he needs to.
“And of course my own brother is like that too.” He rants, tracing back to the behavior he displayed earlier. “He’s my brother and I love him, yes. But frat guys could be such dicks, y’know? I was like his first practice hazing dummy lite…in a way.”
You nod, acknowledging him. “Right, right.” You’re turning to the street ahead of yours, just about a block away now.
“It’s hard to not let those insecurities take over.” He groans, “I spent so much of my life trying to make my best first impressions, and I feel like it backfires on me with the wrong people—I hate that.” He’s scratching the back of his head. “Sometimes I just wish I looked normal. That way I wouldn’t literally feel like the elephant in the room.”
At that, you turn almost as if you’d heard the worst take in your life, brows scrunching. “Normal?”
He shakes his head, “Yes, normal. Like I can wear normal shoes and sit on couches normally.”
“I like that you’re not.” You say, insensitively. “I mean you’re not not normal. But I like…it.” You slow down, trying to backtrack on what you just let slip.
He’s blinking down on you, a look of surprise etched on his slowly flushing face. “…Why?”
Your breath is caught in your throat, not knowing how else to explain it. No going back. Remember?
“I feel safe, even if you don’t…bite back. And on top of that you’re kind. I think that matters a lot.”
Choso stares at you like you just grew a tree on your head, but in truth, he’s just trying to tone down his elation. “Really?” He asks dumbly, already cursing himself in his head for looking like he wants to hear you call him that again. Safe.
You dip your head, agreeing once more. “I’m a girl so I may be a little biased but if I were also a little taller, I wouldn’t have to deal with some idiot guys trying something on me, and I could also defend myself easier.”
“Oh yeah—Yes, that's totally different from my problems.” He clarified, trying to catch himself from sounding ungrateful. You watch the way his expressions shifts from blank to stressed and bite back a smile. “There’s obviously people with worse problems than being bigger than a doorway.” He’s looking down and pushing his glasses up, almost ashamed.
You turn to the road leading up to your street, your apartment just at the end of it. “Is that like 6’3 or…”
“Huh?” He meets your inquisitive eyes, “Uh, just a little more.” He replied, shying away from your stare. You’re thinking about all the objects that could possibly match up to Choso’s figure.
“Those chillers they got in 7’11?”
“Hm, nope. Like 2 inches more, maybe.”
Your stomach does a flip you had to ignore, “You’re lying. Six foot six?”
“Without shoes, yes.” He nodded, met with you side-eyeing him. “Well you’re free to go with me to my annual checkups and see.” He defends, a smile finally appearing on his face at your skepticism.
You squint, stopping yourself from looking too excited with the many, unbecoming thoughts storming your brain. “I’ll hold onto that.”
Shortly after, you find yourself standing in front of the building to your apartment. “I’m sorry about dumping all that on you, It was a lot.” He looks around before letting out a barely there sigh, “I’ll get going now—“
“Are you forgetting?” You look back and Choso’s standing stiffly, feet planted on the ground. “We’re…studying, remember?”
Choso’s throat bobs at your sly tone, convincing himself there is nothing behind it. “You did a lot today I just thought we were tired—“
“We don’t have to study then.” You’re looking around and thinking to yourself before landing back on his face, “I mean you came all the way here, you could come up and have some tea?”
The notion has his chest puffing out to regulate the way his heart started beating like its pounding from behind his sternum. He doesn’t say anything, his eyebrows raise behind his glasses, his usually sleepy eyes now wide. He nodded and let out a strained, “Okay.”
***
The door to your apartment swings open with a loud creak. The lights switch on, a warm white cascades from the ceilings.
Your keys make a clinking noise against the ceramic jewelry tray you leave on the dresser by the entrance. The door is wide open, you feel Choso trailing behind a couple steps away.
He’s standing kinda stiffly, “Do I take my shoes off or—“
You’re shaking your head, stepping aside to let him in. “My neighbors are kinda sticklers for people who leave their shoes outside in the halls.” He walks past the doorway, head craned down. It’s supposed to look like he was trying to avoid getting hit by the frame of it, though he’s only finding a way to hide his face naturally.
He picked his head up when he heard clanking from the kitchen which meant that you were inside. “I hope you’re not allergic to pollen? I like to put honey in mine.” You ask, your voice still clear as the space isn’t big at all, but in his head it’s distant. He’s trying to calm himself down, taking in your apartment.
It’s small, kitchen tight and you’ve no space for a table. You use the counter as one, your bed, desk, and sofa all in the same space. However, the lack of furniture made it wide, the “living room” taking the least space with just a little coffee table and the tv on the floor as the only decor.
“You didn’t say anything so I didn’t add any honey.” He finds himself turning on his feet when he’s met by your figure, coming from the kitchen with two— red and yellow —mugs. You hand him the yellow one, he takes it with a ‘thanks’. You make a move to sit on the couch, trying to get cozy. Choso’s still standing, sipping on his cup awkwardly.
“You can sit if you want.” Choso’s eyes flick over to you. You realize he had shed his bag on the entrance, still it looks like something is weighing on him.
“I’m okay, I might launch you out of it—“
“Sit with me.” You pat the spot beside you on the couch, your fawn-like eyes up at him.
It turns his legs into jelly. Thoroughly convinced, he sits beside you, trying to be as careful as he can so the side of the couch doesn’t sink to his weight too much.
He winced at the audible sound of the springs under the cushions, “Sorry.”
Quietly, you assess him. How stiffly he sat, how much of the seat he took up despite keeping himself at the edge of it. If he sat back, would his knee brush against yours? Though you feel a little bad for taking advantage of his reactiveness towards you. However, something deep inside you is undeniably excited with the thought.
On the other hand, Choso feels like he’s watching himself act in third person, deliberating what part of his body he should move next to not look too obnoxious or stiff. He doesn’t know if he should just let the silence pass till he runs out of tea, or maybe till it turns lukewarm. You shift in your seat, he feels your gaze heavy on him. You don’t say anything, you just stare at the side of his face. His throat bobs.
He looks over to you for a split second and meets your eyes, you raise your brows at him, a smirk growing on your sweet face.
An anxious laugh bubbles from his throat, the tips of his ears tinging red. “I think you’re aware of how you’re making me nervous.”
You couldn’t stop the way the smirk spreads into a wide smile. “I was thinking of how to get you to talk, is all.” You tilt your head to the side, checking out how the light from your room lamp makes his jaw seem sharper. His hair nearly fell on his shoulders, built and perched with his elbows on his knees, posture a little hunched, but he still sat taller than you. Nothing short of tempting in your eyes.
He follows your gaze, “What?”
“You’re also thinking of something.”
His brows pinch, he hates how good you are at prodding at him when he clearly doesn’t know what to say. “I’m always thinking.”
You nod, “And still, you haven’t said anything since we went up.”
Choso pauses his already stiff self. You place your mug down, crossing your legs on the couch. He brings his attention back to you but you’re already intently looking at him. He flinches back.
Sighing, “What do you think I’m thinking about?” You purse your lips, shrugging at his question. He shakes his head, a smile fighting its way on his face.
“Then I’m happy you only brought me here to drink some tea.” A roll of his eyes comes out of sarcasm, reaching for his own mug on the table, stretching his arm out.
He’s about to pull his hand back when your smaller one lands on top of his. The contact would have made him drop the glass into little pieces if it weren’t for the coffee table underneath. He lets down the cup, missing the coaster you laid out.
“That’s my mug….” You point at the red cup in his grasp, yours. You let the words linger like the pads of your fingers on the back of his hand, “Hm, you’re really warm.”
He blinks, unable to ground himself back to reality because maybe, maybe you’re trying to make a move on him. He’s unable to look into your eyes,
“Uh,” He falters, the warmth on his cheeks multiply and spread out when you inch closer, the warmth of your own body makes him feel like he’s overheating.
“How else could I get you to go up with me?” You say, goading another reaction out of him.
“I-I mean you could just ask and…I wouldn’t say no,“ You’re closer to his face now—too close. But you’re still not looking at eye level — not close enough.
“I think I’ve done a lot just to be around you, Cho.” He almost melts at how the stupid nickname his brother calls him sounded so good coming from your honeyed lips. Choso gulps, audible and embarrassing in the silence of your apartment.
He started off this conversation on the edge of the couch, somehow it feels like you’ve backed him into it.
“Y’know, the TA stuff, asking to study—do we look like we’re studying now?” Your arm skates over his hand, up his arm, the touch leaving goosebumps in their wake.
You watch how his jaw all but clenches at the feeling, a newfound confidence makes you unbelievably giddy, driving you to push more. “But I wanna know for me,”
He feels like he’s running out of breath before he could utter a word when your palm lands up on his hard chest, feeling for the erratic thumping of his heartbeat underneath the fabric of his shirt.
Your head is craned up, lashes bat at him, “What are you willing to do?”
He’s looking deeply into your eyes, searching for the answer to your question, not realizing how his neck is craning down at your height in return. Several beats pass — he feels a tug on his shirt and then he’s closing the distance between your lips.
He whines on the soft, wet skin, sucking gently, eyes falling shut. His hand finds your cheek, the other reaching for your side when you tangle your arms around his neck. The pace is hungry yet fervent, tugging and melting against the other. You pull away slowly, lips parting from each other wetly. You’re smacking your own lips before smiling up at Choso, giggling.
His eyes are hazy, glasses crooked out of place. His hands are covering your back and smoothing over your clothes, “I can do anything— whatever you want.”
If you weren’t already grinning wide enough, now you’re fully Cheshire-like. Pushing yourself closer towards him, “Anything?” He nods eagerly, you’re pulling him in, hungry.
His hand is on the back of your neck now, holding. There’s something about his touch that feels like it’s keeping you together without feeling too possessive. Caring with a dash of hesitance. One you’re looking to break through tonight.
Your lips travel down his neck, leaving hot, lingering kisses along his throat. “Oh, mmh-“ He bites his lip immediately after nearly letting out the low noise from chest, eyes shutting when you find the particularly sensitive spot on his neck. You feel his fingers dig rougher on your hips, you’re on your knees now, determined to cover every inch of him in your touch. Your weight falls on him when he tugs you, the hands planted on his shoulders squeeze out of instinct.
“You good? I-I didn’t mean to, ah—“ He tried to move his head away from your persistent lips, but a shiver that runs through him stops his actions. You’re sucking on his skin, humming proudly, undettered from your little slip. His hands brush down your sides, they plant themselves lower on your waist.
You plant kisses all the way back to his chin then meet his lips again. You’re eye level, a sinister glint in your eyes. You stick your tongue out, half lidded gaze and staring right at him — brushing the wet, pink muscle along Choso’s bottom lip, teasing. Heat rushes on his face, blood rushes on his crotch. You’re killing him.
You suck on the pink flesh, tugging then letting go, he’s pulling you in closer by the back of your neck. He wants you on him, mind unable to decide how — just everywhere is fine. You drop your palm down between your bodies and on the garter of Choso’s sweats, feeling for the hardness underneath.
He hissed as your fingers brushed what would be his shaft, “Um, sorry, can we make out a little I think…” He holds your head closer to his face, breaths mingling as you catch them. “I’ll get less hard— nervous, I think. Sorry,” You hummed in agreement before landing back on the flushed skin of his mouth, quieting him down with your lips.
You giggle against him, chasing as he squirms, palms settling on his shoulders. You pull off him with a peck, feet planting back on the carpeted floors. Choso now sat far into the couch, slacked with legs spread. His mouth parts as you start undressing, stripping off into your underwear.
He sizes you up and down, taking in your soft, bare skin, your strapless bra and cotton panties under the warm lights of your apartment. It elicits a heavy throb under his pants. Choso’s breathing feels uneven and the air grows thinner when you settle back on the couch, only now between his spread out legs.
You’re steadying yourself, his hands find a place on your warm, now bare skin. You smooth over the wide expanse of his chest, then land on his neck, even warmer than you. “This okay?” You ask, to which he only replies with a nod.
You’re about to lean into him when he reaches for his glasses, but you stop him before he tries to pry the piece of metal off. “They stay on.”
His breath catches in his throat, stomach dipping. A part of him he’s not quite sure whether he wanted to acknowledge, liked when you tell him what to do.
He lets his hand fall, you adjust the rims on the bridge of his nose. “You’re so pretty.” You’re holding his face with both hands, tilting it upwards to you. A lopsided grin appears on his face at the comment, eyes shying away and down from your face and to the body on him.
“Thanks- Thank you,” He replied poorly. His palm skated from your waist and to your back, laying above the clip of your bra. His lips are caught between his teeth as he takes in the feel of your skin against him, he looks up. “You’re awfully pretty as well.”
He was never good at expressing himself,only with what he was sure of. But this was new, you pushing, him taking, it was all new. But he meant every word he said to you. He leaned in to catch your lips against his. Fuck, if only you could tell how much he meant it.
He’s slotting his tongue in between your parted mouth, leaning further in and you’re falling back, but he’s catching you — keeping you to him. You work together smoothly, as smooth as silks rubbing against each other. You clutch on to him tightly as if he’ll slip if you don’t. You taste like jasmine tea and he’s wondering if the sweet taste is from the honey or just you. He’s holding you by the neck and pushing your back into him.
You finally move to settle on his lap, the kiss unwavering so you’re first to pull away, “Choso—“ He catches the sound of his name in your mouth, chasing, taking, and taking. There isn’t any place on your body that isn’t covered by him, your arms, your back, your legs in between his that caged you. You moan at the thought against his greedy tongue, entirely consumed. But you’re impatient and already wet, the fabric of your panties has been riding up for the last 10 minutes. So you squeeze his arms weakly, but it’s enough for him to let air flow between you.
“Shit, Sorry—” He’s frantic and searching your eyes, but he’s met with your hazed out ones and your swollen, drooly lips. He wiped the corner of it, chest heaving. “I need to— you’re driving me insane,” He chuckles, deep and uncertain with how true the fact felt. He’s brushing your hair back gently, “I’m sorry,” he lets go of you as you’re pulling away.
You’re upright now, letting your feet back down. You’re bending over to his lap, palms resting on his spread out limbs, “You need to make it up to me,” You’re once again reaching for his sweats, the imprint of his shaft taking form at the side. He gently lays his hand on your wrist.
“Are you sure?” His eyes are wide, pupils dilated, the frames of his glasses are now on the tip of his nose bridge. But there’s a wave of genuine uncertainty blanketing his expression.
You’re blinking up at him, “Why wouldn’t I be?”
It’s a tangled knot in his chest, one bundled in embarrassing moments and unsuccessful hook-ups. He stuttered over his words,
“Just that before I’ve-“ he pondered if he should risk you laughing at him, but you’re expectantly looking into his eyes, and your hands are already on his lap, a little more and you’d be right where he’s aching for you. “I’m scared of making it…unpleasant?”
His hand rubs up and down your arms, you’re tuning him out and thinking of how you should go about sitting on him. He continued to ramble on, “Um, like I’ve been told it was…“
“Too big?” You ask, attention now on him. Externally you’re collected, stating it like a remark. But internally you know it’s a fact. You feel a little bad thinking about it but now you’re piecing together your earlier conversation on what Miwa’s friend’s friend might’ve been complaining about.
Choso all but nods, eyes scanning your room as if that would keep yours away from him. “I could just help you, y’know. We don’t have to—“
You’re turning over and maneuvering his hand out of his lap, sitting on his thigh. For a moment, you’re a little hesitant, hovering. “I mean I’d like it if we did, but I’m also…” His words trail off, holding your hip and securing you on his lap, unbothered as your weight settles on one thigh. He clears his throat, “I’m okay with, um, anything.”
You’re leaning into him, on your side, hand trailing underneath the hem of his shirt, grazing his clenched abdomen. He jolts, causing you to jump in your seat. Your eyes widen for a moment before relaxing, hand skating lower under the garter of his sweats with a simpering grin on your face. You’re kissing his cheek, gentle and slow as your hand palms over his hard, covered cock.
He’s watching your move under the fabric of his gray sweats, feeling your smaller fingers squeezing and rubbing the base of it. It hurts, he thinks. In a way that something stings and feels good at the same time. You’re squeezing at his tip when he throws his head back on the couch, groaning loudly. You take the opportunity to mouth on his neck again.
“Can you please— Can I please take it off?” He asks politely, but the grip on your hip feels anything but. You hum, still licking at the expanse of his neck.
You’re pulling his pants down with his help—mostly him just taking it off himself, desperate and aching. He’s bare from the waist down now when you settle back on his thigh, sweats and boxers discarded on the floor.
You’re now shamelessly gawking at his erection bouncing against stomach, slapping against it. The warmth of your hand catches him off guard, finally making contact skin to skin. You tug on the shaft, immediately taking notice of how your fingers struggle to close around it and were squeezing on accident.
“F—oh, god. ” He rests his head on your shoulder, sweat building on his forehead. You start moving your hand up and down, already slippery from how he’d been oozing in his boxers the entire time. He’s quiet behind you, save for the heavy breathing on your skin. You go faster. “Your hand’s so tight,” it comes out in a whimper. A wet, mouthing sensation can be felt on your shoulder, he’s biting your skin to muffle himself. But It doesn’t work, his throat lets loose with each reaction.
His eyes roll up from your shoulder when he feels you lean forwards and away from his chest, cock twitching when a wet glob of spit drips on him from your tongue.
You’re both watching your hand work up and down, bringing both onto the shaft, he’s cursing as you go faster.
You’re throwing your other leg over his thigh, straddling him in reverse, before resting back on him. Choso's hands come up to hold you under your knees, keeping your legs apart. He watched as the movement stretched the fabric, pussy still clad in underwear, drenched and barely covering it. But he can’t help but peek lower, your hands exclusively paying attention to his erection.
You joke, “It’s like I'm jerking myself off.”
A deep chuckle rumbles from his chest, the vibrations thrum against your back and you turn them into moans as you suddenly go faster. “Sucks though, I can’t feel it.”
You’re unable to see his expression behind you, but you can hear how his moans are muffled between his teeth, “You’re s-so eager.”
You reveled at how shaky he’d sounded. “One of us has to be.”
And then a strange noise akin to the tearing of fibers can be heard from below. You gasp as it happens in front of you, hands slowing its ministrations. You realize you’re watching him rip your underwear, exposing your wet, shiny pussy. “Hey—“
He’s adjusting himself from under you, bringing his other hand under your thigh, your legs tugged higher as he starts rubbing right on your clit.
He’s rough and accurate on where he wants to touch you, deliberate in his movements. He’s quick but he isn’t rushing either, his only motive was to get you to falter in his stead as you were doing just the same.
Your voice shrinks into breathy pants, the slick sound from your poor clit syncing in with each, “Ah, ah, Cho—“
“You’re making me so, so hard, baby—” You’re both an obscene sight to behold, playing with each other, spread out, grunting or whimpering. Both sloppily still trying to let your lips tangle with each other despite the inconvenient position. Both a mess, your tits spilling out of your bra, and his glasses all fogged up.
You grind into him, “Feels so good,” rubbing your juices on the cock you’re jerking with now one hand, coating his chubby length. Your body felt like it was on overdrive, moving your hips up and down as you clenched on nothing, gushing freely.
You’re biting your lip as your hips grow erratic, brows pinching and your abdomen clenches on itself. “I-I’m close.”
Choso lets a groan escape,“Fuck, really?” realizing he’s making you come first. It’s a miracle he’s held off this long, he wonders if he’ll hold up if you let him inside. The thought makes him move your hips on his cock, assisting you as you use him to get yourself off.
He doesn’t know if he’s breathing so hard because he’s getting tired or because he knows getting your clit rubbed nudges you a little closer to the edge when you start to get louder. He breathes against your ear, “Come on me, please.” He’s mumbling now, less at you and more to himself. “I wanna see you cum on me, please, please—”
Your legs begin to shake in his hold, fighting to shut close but the grip under your knees forces you to come with your legs spread wide, pussy making a show of spasming against Choso’s cock, voice breaking as you whimper. “That’s it baby, that’s it,”
Choso is completely enamored, the sounds of your high pitched whines in the air was like music to him, the way you writhe against his body was this entrapping dance. He couldn’t keep his eyes off you.
He notes how you were still in your bra, he whispers something about it, but you’re just nodding your head with your eyes shut, riding it out. Then he’s unclipping the strap with one hand, the fabric falling off and releasing your perfect tits.
You then relax your back to him, twitching still. But then he’s thrusting his erect cock up between your folds, the stimulation starting to make you wetter again, your breath can only catch up so fast. You’re attempting to lift your hips with a squirm.”Gi-give me a sec—”
Choso quickly lets your legs fall to the side and pauses, sitting up and moving your head to face him. “Shit- we can stop here,” he assured, breathy and worried. “I didn’t mean to, I was just looking at you. You looked-” So fucked out, “I’m sorry.“
“Sh-shut up,” You look away and Choso stiffens under you. Was he too rough? Before he could even utter another apology, you spoke, “I’m fine, I just need to— breathe.“
He watches you quiet down from underneath you, he’s rubbing your thighs comfortingly. “I am sorry,” The silence lingers, only getting tenser with each beat that passes.
And then you start chuckling — at nothing in particular. Your breathing slows down, and you look back to check on him. He looked so worried, brows pinched and his lip jutted out. A lazy smile breaks into your features, leaning down to catch him in a chaste kiss so he wouldn't see the expression on your face. “I liked it, okay?”
His breath hitched in his throat when you spoke against his lips, “Yeah?”
You’re nodding, smile now exposed. You kiss him again, powerless against his sweet lips. He relaxes, hand coming up to the back of your head. “I wanna-“ A kiss, “Fuck you now,” A slower kiss, “Please.”
He’s backing up to read your face, reassessing. Within the silence, something passes between you two. Amidst the air that smells of sex and vaguely of tea, there’s this mix of warmth and uncertainty—and whether or not to dive in it — that lingers in between.
He’s nervous under your gaze, once again, looking for a way out of your eyes that traps him so effectively like no other. He’s looking down at his still, very much, erect self. “I don’t have a condom.”
You’re thinking to yourself before you reach for the side table of your couch, scrambling for a box you kept there in case.
Choso’s scrambling to rip the plastic off before fishing for one packet. “I’m not really sure if it would fit so, maybe just try it,” You remark as you’re being maneuvered out of his lap and on the side of the couch. He fumbled with the rubber a couple times, pulling it down before it snapped a little too tightly on his girth. He tugs it down on him until a tear starts spreading on the side of the translucent material.
“I’m sor—“ He hissed as it snapped against his skin, “See I can’t even fucking…I don’t think this is quite right—” He’s cursing to himself, obviously a little sexually frustrated. For someone his size he still managed to look somewhat like a defeated puppy.
You’re tugging the broken thing off, relief blooming in his chest but it’s short lived as he’s reminded of how he might not even have sex with you anymore. “But no, we really don’t have to.” He says, discouraged.
“You can fuck me raw, I’m on the pill.” He internally groaned, pulled back out of his head. You just had a way with your words.
He does a complete 180, eyes widening, shifting from beaten to optimistic. He reminds himself to curb his excitement though, slowing down. “You can be on top—set the pace?” You’re already moving to sit on his lap.
He’s nodding his head at you, and finally rips his shirt off himself, now completely naked. You’re staring down at him, licking your lips at the sight of his milky skin and toned chest. He pulls you out of your thoughts, voice small and distant.
“I’ll pull out, yeah?” He’s swallowed back thickly, more of reminding himself to do that. “Just be slow okay? I didn’t prepare you that wel—um,"
His voice trails off when you’re already lining yourself up with his reddened tip. “A little at a time—Oh,” You’re already sinking down, unrepressed.
The stretch is long and constant, to the point it feels like you’re rethinking how fast you jumped on this, except you remember you’re already lowering yourself very carefully.
Your jaw hangs open in a silent scream when you get past the head, sinking lower, your walls throb against his member. You’re bracing yourself with a palm, Choso’s chest is covered in sweat and heaving. “You’re so—‘s really tight, oh fuck you’re so warm,” He whined out, unable to complete a sentence.
He’s leaving a trail of hot, open mouthed kisses on your neck and then back on your lips to keep your mewls at bay. You’re kissing back, he’s only half way in when you start moving. Choso’s breaths turn ragged against yours, pulling you closer to him. You catch your breath, “It’s stretching me out so much, Choo-” You whine, slowly rolling your hips.
He’s squeezing your waist before trailing his hands down your ass, “You’re doing good, you’re doing really good.”
He’s looking down at your progress, struggling to tell where you ended and he begun, now nearer to the base of his cock. He throbs inside you. “Fuck, a-are you okay?” He’s looking back up at your face, taking in your lips, bitten and swollen under your teeth.
He lets out a shaky whimper, “You’re taking so much.” His eyes finding their way back to your hole swallowing him. “So good, baby.”
You tuck your feet over his thighs for leverage, pulling off his cock slowly then sinking back down, and back up. You repeat the motions, torturously slow, your slick creating this lewd noise from each rock of your hips as you go deeper. Choso’s hands are on your thighs, weighing you down but he’s really holding back from actively pushing — still you’re sinking, taking more.
You start to bounce, struggling to hold yourself up with your palm on his chest, the slight sting of the stretch dulling out to a deep pressure. It’s a lot easier now, you go even faster with the help of your growing arousal slicking up his cock. Every touch you leave on each other now feels highly sensitive, your tits pressed against Choso’s hard chest, his hands squeezing on your ass for dear life. You’re left unable to keep up conversations or teases to each other now, heads completely in a different space. You're left babbling incoherencies as your tingling nerves derail your focus, the only thing clear was to go after what felt good.
But you falter, your knees slowing as they start to ache but you push yourself further, desperate, taking even more of Choso’s length. You find yourself losing balance and lean over, panting. You lift your hips, then let your ass fall back into his lap, a strained mewl leaving your throat, “I-I need help. I need you, Cho—need you t’a fuck my pussy,”
He groans out at how high your voice got, fresh from its suppressed whines. “Okay I’ll help,” He’s quick with his hands, holding you by the globes of your ass, and pulls you up. He bites back a noise, hearing and feeling your tight pussy gush and clamp on him as he lifts until it’s just the tip. “s’ okay if I thrust a little?” He whispers against your ear, growing desperate as his cock pulses in anticipation. You nod fervently in his neck, arms circled around him. “Okay baby, I’m gonna. I’m gonna help this pussy- fuckkk”
It’s noisier now, from your skin, sticky and slapping against each other, to your gasps turning into moans against each other’s open mouths. Choso’s now taking all the work, lifting your ass and bringing it down to meet his aching cock even faster than you could have. He starts meeting your pussy half way, thrusting up wards and it knocks the wind out of you.
Moans spill out of you with each thrust up, breaking and then bursting out of you. You’re clinging to him, bodies impossibly close, skin rubbed up against skin. “You’re so fucking loud, honey—do you like it?” His groans turn into grunts with how he’s physically exerting his body, on a mission to see you break apart on top of him.
You reply with a noise of acknowledgment, barely audible amongst the slapping and heavy breathing. You’re body feels hot all over, from inside and out. He’s deep enough inside you in places you didn’t even know was possible to go that far in, and the best worst part is you haven’t even reached the base of him yet. A new objective makes itself known in the part of your brain that still functioned, a dimly flickering idea.
“Ch-choso can you, ngh—“ You’re bringing your face out of his neck to face him, but he’s still busying himself with his thrusts, “I want you deeper, c-could you do that f’me?”
He’s letting out a high pitched whine he when lets you down, about to throw his head back when you catch his lips in yours, tugging on his hair and pulling roughly. “You’re stronger than me Cho, c’mon. Make me cum on your big cock—“
He groans, planting his feet on the ground, before you know it you’re up in the air, now standing. You cut yourself off with a moan, both of you do —sighing out when he lifts your ass up before dropping you on his painfully hard cock. “You’re so filthy when you talk, y’know that?”
It feels like he's all the way to your lungs when he finally bottoms out in you, which would make sense since it feels like you aren’t breathing anymore. You cry out once more, wiling your eyes and muffling the noises in his neck, biting down. “Are you crying?” He asks, concern prodding between his excitement, but the thought manages to make it’s way to his cock, fucking you on him rhytmically slow and deep. You let out a choked sob, “Fuck you’re crying—not even going that fast.”
“Then g-go faster,” You managed to voice out between moans, your hips wiggling in his grasp. He groans in response, kneading your ass to stop you from getting ahead of him.
“You tell me if it’s too much- just, you have to tell me a-alright?” You’re clenching on him, still trying to bounce. “Shit, Okay.”
The slower sounds of your skin slapping each other turn into rapid, sharp sounds. Choso grunting from each thrust, now fully unrepressed. In seconds, the image you’ve crafted of him as this shy, hesitant boy, crumbles. You’re fully moaning out now, his cock nudging deeper and repeatedly in that spot that triggers your insides. “I’m so full, fuck-“
He’s hiccuping his moans out, turning into whimpers as he pumps you up and down even faster, his nails digging into the meat of your ass. “You’re taking me so good baby,” He’s thrusting up when he lets you fall on his cock midway, his muscles forgetting to strain. “Fuck, take it, take it—“
He dives in against your lips, tongue invading your whimpering mouth. You try your best to kiss back, eyes nearly closing while he’s drowning you in him. You’re clenching on his cock a lot tighter now, his balls drenched in your arousal, slapping against your other hole from the impact of his motions.
“I think I—I’m gonna cum-“ You pull away from Choso who lets out a breathy moan, licking your lips to chase yours. You’re falling limp against him, hips rendered useless when he’s already fucking you on a pace outside of your own stamina.
Your insides are pulsing around his member, your moans growing even louder. Choso’s deep enough into you when he feels his cock twitch, “I need to pull out—“ You’re immediately protesting, letting out noises of disapproval. “No, no baby I’m gonna cum if you—“
“I don’t care.“ Fuck. Choso holds himself back, his pre-cum oozing out makes your sopping hole even more slippery at the thought of filling you up to the brim. He’s thinking of ways to keep himself from cumming right this very second when you’re already so fucked out and desperate, high up in your own head.
His dick twitches again and he’s biting his lip, slowing his carry on your body til you’re stopping altogether. Before you could say anything else, he’s pulling out and placing you on the couch, lying down. You’re complaining, spreading your legs as much as the cushions on your side could let you.
Choso’s holding his cock, squeezing at the base to calm himself down but he opens his eyes to your gaping, hungry hole, presented to him like an offer, “C-cum inside me, Cho,”
His resolve breaks within a blink of an eye, already laying above you and wrapping your legs around his waist. You feel like crying out of joy when he finally makes his way inside, thrusting slowly and hissing from how tight you still are. “I need to be on top of you, I need to—“ He mumbled, eyes already hazed out and clambering for satiation.
He topples over you as he finds his balance, now setting a newer pace from earlier, caging you with his body while his thrusts grow even faster.
The sensation is much more different now, a stretch added with the forces of his thrusts now fully landing on you.
He’s watching every twist of your face and moan spill out. Scanning your body downwards while he lays a palm on your lower abdomen, “If I cum inside you’re gonna bulge right h-here, d’ ya want that?”
You’re squealing against him when he presses down, his cock nudging where he’s digging his fingers from the outside. Your walls flutter against his member, sucking him in and pulsing wetly. Choso’s grunting against you, hips growing faster as he watches your eyes get even more hazy and your face twisted.
Your eyes are rolling back when he starts rubbing on your clit, already impatient with wanting to feel your pussy tighten impossibly around him.
He’s whispering incoherencies to you, face on your neck when he pulls back his hips and pushes back in deeply as he continues rubbing you.
You cry out, shuddering against Choso as the coil in you snaps, holding onto his wrist as your legs secured against his ribs.
He lets out a shaky moan, pumping faster when he chases his orgasm while you ride yours out on him, bodies grinding up against each other intimately.
A curse lets you know that he’s finally reached his climax, thrusts growing slow and deep while pumping you full of his sticky cum. Your eyes are glossed over, your throat sore from your own voice when he’s riding out his high, panting and leaving kisses all over your face.
Your chests are pumping against each other, both catching your breaths. Your hand finds its way to his face, turning it so he could look back at you. His cheeks are red and his glasses were no longer on him, probably losing them from how much you’d been switching positions.
You’re brushing his hair from his face, tucking a long strand onto his ear. Your body still feels like it’s on fire but it doesn’t compare to how even after all that, his stare on you still makes your heart skip a beat. You let out a breath, gathering yourself.
“What do you think?” His eyes scans over your face, “Better than coming up to study?”
Choso shifts on his elbows as he’s laying on top of you.“Yeah that was…” He takes a moment to think of a better way to describe it, a smile spreading on his face. “Really good.” He settles with honesty instead.
He’s thumbing over your shoulder, a hundred thoughts trying to materialize themselves in his still mushed up brain. “I’ve never done it like that, before I mean.“
He’s looking up to meet your eyes, and you’ve got a glow emitting from you, drawing him in. He hesitates for a moment but then, “And you? How’d you feel?”
You huff out a soft chuckle, realizing how ironic this all was. How you’ve still managed to not destroy the awkwardness that came with affections even when you’ve skipped over to, well sex. Choso waits for your answer, something swirls tight in his chest, uneasy but still patient.
You’re brushing back the hair on his scalp, taking in how much less guarded he looks without glasses. “Yeah, I feel…safe.”
He smiles, that knot in his chest untangling. To no surprise, he finds the thread it’s bundled from may be connected to you. “Yeah?”
psychiatrist!geto is better to fantasize about than your selfish boyfriend | 18+
cw: mdni, porn with plot, mentions of masturbation, sly suguru, bro is NOT a good psychiatrist lmfao, shy reader at first, office sex, unprotected sex, cheating oops, 3.1k words, art by chuucho95 on x <3
Doctor Geto Suguru is the same age as you.
Yet the wall behind him is mounted with accolades that rivals veterans in his field.
The rain blurs the lights of the city into watercolor smears against the windows of the doctor's office. Inside, the room is silent, scented with sandalwood and the crisp smell of old books.
Psychiatrist visits inspire thoughts of padded rooms and grippy socks but you're not here due to a sickness of the mind and rather one of the body. One you're certain is going to migrate to your mind if it's not handled now.
See, you can't come. It's been an issue for a while now that's bothered you and you're tired of faking them with your boyfriend. You've decided to come here and see if it's owing to stress.
You lay on the leather chaise, the cool material grounding you as you recounted another week of feeling like a ghost in your own relationship. Another week of your boyfriend’s heavy, selfish touch that left you feeling used rather than wanted.
Dr. Geto sits in his chair, a notebook resting on his thigh, slender fingers curled around his fountain pen as he hums, scribbling down notes with intent nods as you speak.
His long, raven hair gathered loosely at the nape of his neck, trailing over the shoulder of his charcoal suit. He's a man of serpentine beauty—fluid, graceful, and deceptively large, his muscular frame filling the tailored fabric in a way that feels both protective and overwhelming. A few strands frame a face that is unnervingly kind.
“The guilt you feel regarding your own body, it’s a symptom of the neglect you’ve endured,” he says, his voice a low, soothing baritone. “You deserve to reclaim your pleasure.”
While his words aren't inherently lewd or explicit, you still squirm in your seat, unaccustomed to discussing such intimate topics with a man let alone a stranger. However, you're trying to get to the bottom of your rocky relationship with sex and how to resolve the unease you feel so this will have to do.
“How do I do that?”
“You have to touch yourself.”
Rearing back, you swear the corner of his mouth twitches in amusement at your appalled reaction. “I beg your pardon? Doctor, I can't do that. It's inappropriate.”
“Not here, Miss,” he clarifies and your face warms from jumping to conclusions. “Just from how you're reacting, I can deduce that you haven't indulged in self pleasure before. You don't know what you enjoy and have no autonomy over your body. Hence, you need to experiment and try out new things to figure out what pleases you and what does not.”
Nodding slowly, your hands twist the hem of your skirt as you absorb his words. The idea of masturbation feels shameful. You're not particularly religious but after growing up in a household where it was seen as a sin to be lustful, you still harbor such thoughts in your subconscious.
Lifting your shy gaze, you're stripped bare by his amethyst eyes scanning over your face, mentally jotting down every microexpression of discomfort that flickers across it.
Setting his notebook aside, the gentle smile he graces you with has your stomach flipping. It's startling how just that gesture has you relaxing, his presence easy to melt into, loosening your tongue.
“As your doctor, I want what's best for you,” he utters your name in that rich, mellow voice of his akin to a wife calling her husband and you perk up. “Please tell me if I'm overstepping your boundaries. I do not mean to be anything other than strictly professional.”
“Oh, no, no. You're fine. I was just taken aback is all,” you assure him with a shake of your head and an earnest smile.
Relief loosens the tension in his shoulders, his eyes softening. “Good, now shall we begin?”
“Yes, please,” that polite word has his irises swirling but you chalk it up to a trick of the light.
“Alright. Are you okay with following my instructions? There's this genre of audio erotica called guided masturbation which I recommend you look into but for professional purposes, I just want to ease you into it so you're not lost when you try it out, okay?”
Swallowing, you nod, shifting to get comfortable as you're laying on the plush couch. “Okay.”
“I want you to close your eyes and imagine your boyfriend touching you. You're in control, he's listening to you and eager to know what pleases you. Tell him how to touch you.”
Brows twitching, you want to tell him that this seems like an exercise for fitting for sex therapy but he'd already told you in your last session that he creates these activities based on the specific needs of his patients according to his observations and what he deems necessary.
“Where would you like him to start?” he asks in a quiet voice that wavers like you're suspended in a body of water, waves lapping at your bobbing body. “Your lips? Your neck? Your chest?”
Hand rising, you brush your fingers over your lips, eyes fluttering shut as they tingle. “My lips.”
“How do they feel against his ones?”
“Soft like petals.”
“How do you want him to kiss you?”
Tongue peeking out, you tentatively lick the pad of your finger, tasting salt. “With…tongue. I've never done that before. He's always refused.”
And perhaps that is why your brain cannot conjure the image of him kissing you. You've always had a vivid imagination but now his silhouette is distorted like the still surface of water disturbed by pebbles dropped into it.
“Does it feel good?”
“This is hard,” you admit, embarrassed.
“How so?”
“I can't picture him doing this.”
The psychiatrist goes silent for a few moments, the faint sound of traffic and the ticking of the clock on the wall all that fills your ears, amplified by your lack of sight.
“No worries, you can picture someone else. A teenage crush, maybe a celebrity you like. Many people fancy imagining their favourite characters too,” he offers simply.
Lips thinning, the daydream you're in darkens, slowly seeping away and your disappointment creeps in. “I can't. Maybe we should try another time—”
“If it’s too difficult to focus on him, imagine me.”
Scandalised by the suggestion, your eyes fly open, head whipping to the side to look at him, your imagination shattering like stained glass hit by a brick.
“Excuse me? That's hardly appropriate.”
“Am I a worse candidate than your boyfriend?” he questions and your eyes widen at the teasing lilt in his voice.
“Um, no. I just find it odd. Don't you?”
A smirk curls at the corner of his mouth. “I can assure you that I've had patients who've tried much worse than just picturing me in their fantasies, Miss.”
Heat licks at your cheeks. “Ah, okay.”
“You have my consent. Ready to continue?” he cocks his head and asks, sleek hair cascading down his shoulder like spilled ink.
Assuming your position again, you sigh, eyes sliding shut. “Yes.”
“Imagine my hands. Where do you want them while we're kissing?”
With your eyes closed, you followed his forbidden directive. Your hands slid over your ribs, trembling.
“Here,” you murmur, squeezing at your plush waist and skating palms up to the curve of your breasts that tighten. “And here.”
“Okay, let's start slow. We want to build up the tension, drag it out. There's no finish line to race to. Just feel.”
Obliging, you run your hands up and down your sides from your hips to your waist, groping and caressing. They're not your delicate fingers but his thick, long ones digging into your flesh over your clothes, grabbing greedy handfuls of you.
“Does that feel good? My hands gripping at you, feeling you up in fistfuls?”
The question trickles into your ears, your pulse melting into hot syrup that pools in your stomach and dips between your legs. An airy, needy sigh passes your lips.
“Great,” you breathe a dreamy sound, thighs rubbing together, skirt bunching up and you can feel the phantom of his deft fingers hooking into the hem to hike it up.
“Very good,” he praises, voice light and sweet like he's proud of you for being an active participant in this exercise. “Now on to your neck. My lips are grazing your skin there, what do you want from me?”
“Bite it,” you blurt instantly, brows knotting as your neck warms with the ghost of his teeth sinking into it, your pulse racing against the enamel as he sucks a flowering hickey into the blank canvas of your skin, hot, needling desire swirls in the pit of your stomach and sizzles against your clit.
The dream morphs into something lucid, him hovering over you, caging you with those bulky limbs, mouth latched onto your neck as your nails drag down the cotton of his shirt that's taut against his meaty pecs, the muscles flexing beneath your palms. The zwip, zwip, zwip of your clawing against the fabric, laddering it with how desperately you're scratching.
His gentle scent of lilies and something woodsy, the tan terrain of his skin, the dips and ridges of his sculpted form, sweat beading his skin, a devouring hunger in his eyes that scares you and arouses you at the same time because it's so visceral and yet he's holding himself back, willing to kneel at your feet and worship you.
You don't see your boyfriend’s indifferent face; you see Geto's broad shoulders and his dark, predatory gaze softened by that clinical smile as he tells you how good you're doing for him, kissing down your neck and unbuttoning your blouse, calling out your name as you moan in response.
“Miss [Name].”
No, that's actually him talking to you right now. A big, warm hand clasps your wrist and tugs, your eyes blinking open, vision blurred and slowly clearing as you look at him.
Tie askew, his hair is not as neat as it was before you shut your eyes and his cheeks are slightly red as he peers at you.
“Sorry for touching you without your permission but you were getting carried away there,” he apologises, glancing down at your chest and away.
Glancing down, you gasp as he lets go of your wrist as you see the lace of your bra on display. You'd been undoing the buttons of your blouse, skirt ridden up so far that one move would have your panties flashing him too.
Mortified, you spring up and he hands you the blanket beside him which you gratefully accept and cover yourself with. “I am so sorry. I didn't realise—”
“It's okay, just tell me that your imagination will work perfectly when you're exploring it yourself somewhere private,” he interjects with a reassuring smile, clearing his throat.
Clapping, he stands. “Well then, this session is over. We made good progress, I think. Get home safe,” he greets you with a nod, exiting to room to give you privacy to gather yourself.
The fantasy was a revelation. It makes the drive back to your apartment bearable; it makes the shower sessions a sanctuary where you’d slip your hand between your thighs and whisper your psychiatrist's name into the steam.
After all, there's no harm in practicing. It's make believe, it's not like you're cheating on your boyfriend. Everything is alright.
It's liberating, really. The realisation that you're not a broken woman. That you're not undesirable. Touching yourself becomes a self love ritual.
The shame that usually curdles in your stomach evaporates, replaced by a searing, liquid heat.
Weeks pass. Your boyfriend is the last thing on your mind. When he fucks you, his movements are still clumsy and selfish, but you simply close your eyes and summon Dr. Geto, hand slipping between your thighs to rub your clit and make yourself come.
You're glowing, revitalized, and Geto watches it all from behind his mahogany desk, taking meticulous notes on your psyche—and your scent.
For months, he had been the architect of your recovery. After your boyfriend had spent years treating your body like an inconvenient vessel for his own release, Geto had taught you that your pleasure was a sovereign right.
During your final session, the air in the room changed—charged, heavy with the scent of his expensive cologne and the sudden, sharp intent in his eyes.
“I’ve been observing your progress,” Geto muses, standing up. He moves with the grace of a panther on the prowl, stopping beside the chaise. “You’re smiling more. You’re distancing yourself from the man who doesn't deserve you. But there is a final stage to this therapy—one that addresses the psychosomatic tension you’re still carrying.”
The man reaches down, his large, warm hand cupping your cheek. The touch is electric. “Sit up.”
You obey, heart hammering against your ribs.
He clears the papers from his heavy mahogany desk with a single, slow sweep of his arm. “Your boyfriend treats sex as a conquest. I treat it as a necessity. Bend over, please.”
Fantasy is about to become reality.
Moments later, you're gripping the edge of the polished mahogany, the grain cool against your palms, as Geto comes up behind you. He takes his time as he lifts your skirt, his fingers tracing the line of your spine with agonizing slowness.
“This is the session I've been waiting for,” he whispers against the shell of your ear, his breath hot.
Skirt rolled up to your waist, he bares your ass to him and peels away your soaked panties, picking them up and inhaling your musky sweet scent deeply. It's dizzying, so addictive. He balls up the flimsy cloth and stuffs it into his pocket.
When he eases in, it isn't the clumsy, impatient shove you are used to. It's a slow, deliberate push. He's massive, a solid weight that filled the void your boyfriend had left behind. You let out a shattered cry, your forehead pressing into the desk.
“That's it, you're doing so well,” he growls, his hands catching your hips, his thumbs digging into your hipbones to hold you steady. One hand slides to your belly, pressing down on the bulge there as you whimper. “Feel me here? Feel how perfectly you fit against me."
The drag of his cock inside you is all-consuming. Every time he drives forward, his heavy weight presses you down into the desk, the glossy wood and the heat of his body creating a sensory overload. Each vein and ridge rubs back and forth inside you, tickling all those sweet spots inside you that have your head swimming, drool dribbling from your parted lips and moans spilling from you that you barely recognize.
"Your body isn't a burden," he whispers, his voice thickening as the friction built toward a fever pitch. "It is a temple, and I am its most dedicated servant. Tell me... does your boyfriend ever make you feel this seen?"
"No," you breathe sharply, vision dimming with heat. You're jelly, your senses dissolving into the scent of his cologne and soap.
"Then let him go," he grits, his grip tightening until his knuckles were white. "Forget his name."
Who?
He leans down, biting the sensitive skin where your shoulder meet your neck, his long hair falling like a curtain around you both. As he hits your deepest point, over and over, you feel the last remnants of your old life shatter.
"This is the only medicine you need," he hums, his voice breaking. "And I'll be sure to provide it whenever you want it."
You could feel the power in his thighs, the strength of his chest against your back as he presses his lips into the softness of your neck, cock sinking into you deeper and deeper with each smooth roll of his hips, the desperate drag of his body against yours nearly molding you two together as his cock carves a home for itself in your snug cunt.
“Fuck, do you know how good you feel? Sucking me in so greedily, fitting me like a glove. Your boyfriend barely left a mark,” he seethes, biting down on your shoulder as his lazy, savoring thrusts descend into something feral and harsh, grunts thrumming though your skin as the desk creaks and whines with you.
“Ah, Geto—”
“Suguru, baby. I'm your Suguru,” he mumbles in a drunken slur against the side of your face, lips smushed to your wet cheek, licking up the tears of pure bliss and relief that streak down your face.
“Suguru,” you gasp out and a long, drawn-out groan rumbles out of him, his abdomen bunching against your lower back as his hips smack against your plush ass, the flesh rippling.
“I’ve spent months learning every fracture in your psyche,” he rasps, his pace quickening, the sound of sweat-slick skin slapping skin echoing in the quiet office. “I know exactly where you’re broken. And I know exactly how to fill those spaces.”
He reaches around, his large fingers finding your aching clit, circling with a clinical precision that sends sparks crackling through your vision. You are far gone, your mind turning to white noise as he buries himself to the hilt, over and over.
Cupping your jaw, he turns your face so he can get a good look at you, half-lidded eyes dark and glistening with elation as he takes in your messy hair, smudged eyeliner, tears dotting your lashes and parted lips.
Ducking down, he licks a hot, wet stripe up your chin, slurping the drool there, tongue delving into your mouth and kissing you sloppy like you had fantasized about for months, hip thrusts stuttering from how sweet and buttery you taste.
“You’ve never looked better," he moans into your mouth, his voice thick with a dark, satisfied pride as he feels your pussy clench around him in a violent, weeping orgasm, drinking down your whimpers. “This is the only medicine you need from now on. I'll give it to you every time, yeah?”
“Yeah,” you mewl, incapable of saying anymore as you struggle to kiss him, legs quivering and cunt convulsing, drawing his orgasm forward, thick, creamy cum splattering inside your squelching walls.
You lay slump against the mahogany, breathless and gold-spun with afterglow. Suguru doesn't pull away immediately, buried deep within you, his arms wrapped around your waist, holding you together.
"Much better," he sighs, pressing a tender kiss to your shoulder, his kind smile returning to his face even as his eyes remained dark with a predatory satisfaction. "I think we’ve made excellent progress today."
Smiling deliriously, you're spent and shimmering, a patient finally cured by the most radical of treatments.
note: i doubt i did that blurb justice huhu but i wanted to write suguru
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Pairing: Vinsmoke Sanji x Fem!Reader [No use of y/n]
Summary: Frustrated with your own traitorous body, you seek out the only person you trust to help you come back to yourself. Sanji lays you down and gives you the gentle reverence you deserve- and the release that you need. A moment that will live only as a dream between you.
Soft Sanji is so in love with you. And you don't even know it.
CW: Slight Angst, Soft lovemaking, Sanji is in love with you, Oral (F Rec), Fingering (F Rec), French
Word Count: 2.8k
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It feels like hours that you’ve been laying there on your bed, knees spread and fingers working at your aching core. Your poor body is exhausted from the abuse you’ve been putting her through, but you’re so desperate for release. For days, you’ve had this craving and no matter what you do, you just can’t satisfy it. You weren’t even sure why, it wasn’t ever a problem you had before. But now, it seems you’ve been cursed. You can nearly make it, so close to tipping over the edge, only to stumble and fall short.
It’s so endlessly frustrating. Real tears roll down your cheeks with another failed attempt. Your body is exhausted and there’s a soreness between your legs where you’ve been so carelessly working yourself- all to no avail.
You stand up, nightgown sliding back down over your knees as you pace around your room, trying to will some of this pent up energy away. You can't keep going like this. You can't sleep and you’ve barely eaten. Both of which Sanji has started nagging you about-
Sanji.
Maybe… Maybe…
You slap your hands to your face and shake your head, growling in frustration. No. No. That is a line you can’t cross. Sanji is your friend and your crew and there was no way that could possibly end well. That’s if he didn’t flat out refuse you and you lived in complete shame for the rest of your days.
Sanji had always been a flirt. But that was just who he was. He was like that with every woman he’d ever met. While you know his charms come from a good place, you're certain the advances he sometimes makes aren't serious. That's just who he is, that's how he expresses himself. What sort of friend would you be to try and use it against him?
But, then again… Sanji does seem experienced. Or, at least, knowledgeable. Maybe you can just ask him for advice. It would be embarrassing as hell, but you’re confident he would at least try to offer some ideas. Or reassurance if he couldn’t. And absolutely, you are confident he can keep it a secret. He would do that for you. You are close enough to ask this of him.
With a deep breath and before you can think better of it you slip out of your room. Bare feet pad down the hall and when you reach his door, you think you should have grabbed a robe. But if you went back now, you would lock yourself in and not come back out.
Your hand hovers in front of his door, heart pounding, gnawing your lip with nervous frustration. This is a bad idea. You should go back to your room. You should-
You knock. You body betrays you by acting before you could stop it. You hold your breath, listening. You think maybe he didn’t hear it, maybe you could still escape.
There’s a shuffling behind the door and you’re frozen when it opens just a crack. Sanji’s face is drawn into an annoyed scowl, hair disheveled hanging over his forehead. He’s shirtless and his sleep pants hang loose, untied, and barely staying on his hips.
Sanji blinks, focus sharpening through the haze of sleep as he realizes he’s not dreaming and it’s not Luffy at his door begging for something to eat.
You stand there before him like a vision. Long silk of your gown draped down your body, hair unbound around your shoulders. Your hand still hovers in the air in front of you from where you had knocked on his door and his heart flips, his brain trying to process it.
But, then he notices your eyes. Wide and red with tracks down your flushed cheeks. You had been crying.
Sanji’s face softens, “ma chérie…?” His voice is deep with sleep and concern as he blinks at you.
Your lip trembles, “Sanji…”
And he’s awake, opening the door wider for you to come inside. You wrap your arms around yourself as you move past him, and he softly closes the door behind you. You stand there fidgeting in the middle of his room. “What’s wrong?” his words are gentle, but his voice is still gravelly from sleep.
“I’m sorry… I know it’s late…”
“I don’t care about that. You can come to me anytime,” he steps forward, getting nervous that something was wrong. “What’s happened, sweetheart?”
You suck in a shuttering breath and there are fresh tears pricking at your eyes. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me…”
“What do you mean?” He steps closer.
“I… I just… I don’t feel right.”
He holds his hand out, but you tighten your hold around yourself and don’t take it, “let me take you to Chopper.”
You shake your head, “no. That’s not… it’s…” you take a deep breath and Sanji sees how you’re trying hard to steady yourself.
His hand touches your arm, “hey. It’s okay,” he guides you to the bed, “here, sit down.” You let him lead you there. His bed is still warm. Sanji kneels in front of you. “Tell me what’s the matter.”
He looks up at you, patiently waiting for you to be ready to open up to him. You can’t hold his gaze for long before your eyes drop and your fingers tangle together in your lap. “I… I haven’t been feeling good, lately…”
“I know,” he admits. Of course he knows. He’s always paying attention to you. He knows you’re not eating as much as you should be. He knows the dark circles under your eyes mean you’re not sleeping. He knows something has been bothering you, he just hasn’t figured out what.
“I wanted… I thought… maybe, you could help. Maybe you would know… what to do.”
“I’ll do anything I can for you,” he reassures. “Anything. Just tell me.” Sanji’s heart was breaking watching you, so clearly distraught, and there was no part of him that would hesitate to do anything to make you smile again.
“I can’t… I’ve been trying, but I can’t… my body just won’t…” Tears spill over and he reaches up to brush them away with his thumb, brow furrowing as he tries to piece together what you’re telling him. “I can’t…” you press your thighs together and something clicks in Sanji’s brain.
“Princess…” he ventures gently, thumb stroking your cheek. “Do you mean you can’t cum?” You take in a shuddering breath, and nod, closing your eyes. It’s embarrassing to hear him say it so plainly, but at the same time it’s such a relief that he understands what you’re trying to tell him- without forcing you to keep stumbling through an explanation.
Sanji’s heart thumps in his chest. Of all the things he expected, that had not been on the list. He swallows, voice thick, “do you want me-“
“No,” you stop him, fingers wrapping around his arm. His heart drops at how quickly you reject him, but he tries not to show it. “I mean- it’s not-“ you stutter, trying to find your words. “That’s not why I came,” you shake your head, “I wouldn’t ask that of you-“
“You can ask anything of me,” his fingers interlace with yours and there’s not a single lie in his brilliant blue eyes.
“I thought, you may have some advice. Maybe you would know what to do…” You look down with a shrug as little as your voice, “you know, since you’re… you…”
“I might… But,” he pulls your hand closer to his chest, “ma chérie, look at me.” His voice is so gentle you don’t even hesitate to look at him. He brings the back of your hand to his lips and presses it with a tender kiss. He keeps it there near his lips as he asks, “do you want me to help you?”
You know he’s not talking about giving you advice. You had so many reasons as to why he couldn’t. But in the the way he holds you, the way he looks at you- you can’t remember what they are.
But Sanji sees the hesitance in your eyes. He’s pretty sure he understands what your reservations are. “It doesn’t have to be anything else,” he places another kiss to the back of your hand and there’s an unsettling weight in your heart. He smiles at you softly, “it can just be a dream.”
“A dream…” you muse. As you feel yourself falling into the ocean of his eyes, you don’t know how he could be anything but.
You nod your answer and Sanji puts your arms around his neck, pulling you up into his arms as he goes to his knees on the bed. He lays you down softly onto his pillows that smell so wonderfully like him. You settle into the warmth of his bed, nestled in the shape he’d left behind.
Sanji looks divine atop you. His toned body beautifully accentuated by the muscles of his form. His hair falls over his face as he looks down at you with nothing but delicate adoration. It’s an expression that’s mirrored in your own face. Sanji’s heart beats with the way you look at him. So open, so vulnerable- and completely trusting. You have placed something so extraordinary- so fragile- into his hands and he vows to die before he breaks it.
He leans forward, placing a kiss to your forehead. Letting his love settle there, his unspoken feelings. Sealed there with his promise. He longed to kiss you more, to pour his reverence into you- but that was not what you needed right now. That was not what you were ready for. So he leaves it all there, pressed between your eyes.
Then he crawls down your body to settle between your legs. He holds your gaze as he places a kiss to your inner thigh and you give him a little moan, hand reaching towards him. He entwines your fingers together, “just relax, mon amour.” Another kiss, a little higher this time- his free hand slowly sliding the silk up your legs. “Let your Prince take care of you.”
The silk of your gown whispers against your skin as Sanji pushes it up to settle around your waist. You fingers tighten in his, heart pounding as you’re suddenly bared before him. “So beautiful…” he muses, placing warm kisses to your thighs. Lips trailing higher and higher.
Your body jolts as Sanji glides a finger through your center. He gives a purpose to each nimble digit, exploring your body for the first time. Your eyes have fluttered closed but Sanji watches your face, memorizing every twitch of your brow, every quiver of your lips, every dart of your tongue. He notes how your body responds to his ministrations- teaching himself the map of your pleasure.
He can tell how you’d tried to bring your own release. How you must have furiously worked your body, trying to force it to come. He will not force it. He will not drag it from you or work you hard the way he knows he could. Not this night.
Sanji’s lips are chaste as he presses them to your clit. Your hand not twined with his, settles atop his head, fingers gliding through his soft hair. He continues to kiss the most sensitive bud of your body and your arousal begins to flower. His movements are persistent, but tender. Every touch of his lips soothing the sore ache of your overwrought body.
Sanji feels you relax, allowing yourself to slip into the comfortable weight of your desire. There’s a delicate flutter in your lower region as it begins to embrace the feeling. Warmth flows from your body, and Sanji allows himself the taste of it. His tongue slides into you and your back arches, fingers petting the crown of his head.
He runs the flat of his tongue back up to your clit, letting it drag long and slow, before circling the point of his tongue around it. His free hand slides forward and you feel the tip of his finger start to prod at your entry and you groan as your body squeezes in anticipation of his arrival.
Sanji presses his finger into you slowly, letting you feel every bit of him. His fingers are so much longer than yours, gliding in, in, in… until you feel the bump of his knuckle. He reaches so much more than you ever could alone, touching parts of your body that had been far too long neglected. He curls his finger, and your hips roll as he touches that sweeter, deeper, spot inside.
He starts to drag his finger through your body, back and forth and steady, keeping his finger curved to rub over your spot with every pass. His mouth hasn’t stopped caressing your clit, tongue still spelling out the words of his reverence against you.
There’s another squeeze of your body around his fingers and on his next drag, he pulls back to the tip- another finger coming up to join it. You gasp, fingers tightening in his hair as both begin to slide into you. “Sanji~” you moan and you feel him sigh deeply against your core, a soft hum of appreciation vibrating his lips around you.
He continues to make love to you, patient and deliberate and it feels so delicious- so wonderful- you wish it would never end. But that warmth you’ve been longing for begins to swell with a pressure of promise.
Sanji knows you’re approaching that which you’ve been so desperate for. But, he’s in no hurry to push you through it. He keeps his pace steady and lets the feeling build. Sanji doesn’t rush you, doesn’t demand or ravish. He romances you to the edge of your want, steadfast in his devotion to your pleasure.
Your breaths pick up, your hand pulls against his and he lets you use him for the purchase you need, his strength as resolute as his passion. Your fingers tighten in his hair as your body comes off the bed. Sanji’s name is a prayer on your lips as you finally - finally- let go.
The orgasm Sanji brings forth is made for him. Slow, powerful, and resolute. It rocks through you with an embrace of delectations. Sanji stays the course, keeping you on the ride of your passage for as long as your body will allow. It’s a bliss that could extend into forever before you begin to fall featherlight back into the present.
Sanji rewards your body with more kisses as you still. You whimper when he removes his fingers and sits back, looking down at your satisficed body. He places a kiss to your conjoined hands before gently settling it atop your stomach. “Wait here, mon amour.” You nod, but you couldn’t have moved even if you wanted to. Your body was too heavy and your eyes fluttered closed.
Sanji was kneeling before you again and there was a warm drag between your legs as he began to wash your body. You hummed at the pleasant feeling and you think he’s saying something to you, but you’re not sure what. Your only response is another pass of his name from your lips before you sink completely into content.
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As Sanji finishes drying you off, he knows you’ve already fallen asleep. You look so peaceful- so beautiful- there in his bed, spread out in his sheets. He reaches out to softly brush the hair from your face. All he longed for now was to lay down next to you and fold your body into his.
But that was more than he had been permitted. You had entrusted him with the task of your care for only one purpose and he wasn’t going to push the boundary of the faith you’d placed in his hands.
So even though every fractal of his soul screamed at him in protest, he scooped you up and carried you back down the hall to your room. He lay your angelic body onto the bed and tucked you in safe and sound. A small whimper fell from you as he pulled his hands away and Sanji’s heart cracked. The very idea of leaving you there alone after what you had just shared pooled in the corners of his eyes.
But what you just shared was a dream. It will stay that way until you decided otherwise- if you ever decided otherwise.
Of all the dreams Sanji ever had of you, none of them would ever compare to this one.
He leans down to place one last kiss to your brow. Lips trembling with the possibility it may truly be the last. “J’ai tant rêvé de toi,” he whispers into the kiss, praying it reaches your heart.
Before he turns and walks away from his sweetest dream of all.
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Translations:
“J’ai tant rêvé de toi,” = I have dreamed of you so much.
using the replica dildo your nsfw content mutual!gojo satoru gifted you on stream. part one + inspo ask
ever since you’ve received that stupid gift from satoru, he hasn’t left you alone. constantly asking if the quality of silicone was that of a good quality. and asking if it felt like the real thing — a subtle hint of ‘did it feel like my dick?’.
but the truth is, you haven’t used it — you couldn’t even fathom the thought of how something so big could possibly fit inside of you.
“sooo… how’d it feel, hmm?!” satoru says over the phone, and you could practically hear the smile he’s biting back as your eyes flicker over to the hyper-realistic dildo.
it’s almost scary how similar the replica is to the videos of himself on twitter. the texture of the silicone is soft to touch, representing a faux skin. even the girth of the toy is surrealistic — the way your able to curl your hands around it, and squeeze it as the skin around it wrinkles in just the way satoru’s does when he’s fisting his dick on live.
“i already told you, toru.” you pan your attention back to the conversation. “i will not be putting that monstrous thing inside of me.” you reach a hand towards your phone, watching satoru’s lips curl downwards into that signature pout of his.
“monstrous?! you’re so mean.” he sighs, “thought you wanted a gift straight from japan, something you could even put to good use.” you watch his lips follow his words as he rambles on. his gorgeous, feathered eyelashes batting with each blink he takes, and the way his bottom lip is glossed over with a coat of his saliva.
satoru’s beauty always made you question how such a pretty face could be carrying something so, deadly within their pants. and you’d be lying to yourself if you said the thought of using the dildo never cross your mind at least thrice.
“not monstrous in a bad way, just you know…” you add to satoru’s mini yap-session. “this thing is way bigger than it looks on camera. if i put this inside of me, i’d probably die.” you say in an a way that left you speechless which earned a chuckle out of satoru.
“you’re not gonna die, we have infinite compatibility.” he grins, revealing the dimple at the corner of his mouth. “compatibility, or not it’s still gonna hurt like hell.” you reply, though there’s a little pause.
just a beat of silence before satoru responds. “should i fly over there and just give you the real thing instead?”
his tone is playful, but there’s a linger that makes it feel heavier than it should have. the kinda feeling that makes your stomach fill with warmth. “w— what, toru?! stay where you are!” you stutter out, a little flustered because he’s stupidly persistent and annoyingly bold.
—
and now you can’t help but wonder — what if satoru had flown to your city. what if your first taste of satoru’s dick didn’t have to be the replica he sent, but the real him… wondering just how warm your bodies would feel against each other. how, if it was too much, would he praise you through it? or would he accidentally bottom-out inside you?
a connection shared between you two in which a piece of silicone could never replicate.
so maybe that explains why you’re active at such an abnormal time — logged into your onlyfans during past hours, disregarding the posting schedule you had planned for unreleased content as you hit the ‘go live now’ button.
you rarely go live after midnight. and the one thing you didn’t expect was for your subscribers to be so active after midnight as the view count doubled, and tripled over the span of minutes.
though this wasn’t an ordinary live — no, this one was different. your setup was slightly ajar, as if you were in some sort of rush. you didn’t even use your camera display, instead you used some cheap tripod you found lying around your room and connected your phone to it.
the quality of your phone in dim lighting wasn’t the best, but at least your body’s still clear enough on the camera. you’re in nothing, but a thin-cottoned tank top and panties. your back against the mattress, thighs parted with your knees tucked towards your chest and the tripod is held between your thighs. exposing the damp spot of fabric practically molded onto the mounds of your lips.
it was honestly pathetic how wet you could get from just a few thoughts of delusion. inappropriately thinking of all the ways you’d take satoru at any time, and place. how knowingly he’d come running like a dog if you’d just say the word.
but you don’t have to say the words — not when satoru’s almost instantly pressing on the onlyfans notification with your username titled in bold.
“freakenuinelyy/n is now live!”
his screen being met with your body on full display during his lecture. he isn’t even in a moral environment to be watching something, so explicit as he makes his way to the nearest bathroom in the building.
and as unusual as it is for you to go live during the middle of the day in satoru’s timezone — he’s never missed a stream of you a day in his life.
satoru watches you through his screen. watching the way you tease yourself through those dangerously thin panties, as your fingers rub over your clothed clit. he loved hearing the soft moans escape from your lips whenever you’d touch yourself, it made the blood flow straight to his dick immediately.
you were like an addictive drug to him as he fumbled around to get himself free from out of his pants. mumbling under his breath once he began stroking himself to you, imagining just how perfectly you’d take him. how fucking beautiful you’d look underneath him while being stretch out by his dick.
he’d watch you tug your panties to the side, pupils blown as he focus on how soaked you were. like you’ve been edging yourself all day just to find relief at the end. satoru groaned at the sight of your hole clenching around nothing, practically begging to be stuffed as he squeezes his cock harder with a pleasurable wince.
your fingers graze over your clit, dipping down to where you’re soaked before gliding your index and middle finger through your slit with a moan as you bit down on your lip. that’s satoru’s favourite part because whenever your fingers dip down and disappear into that tiny hole, he can’t help but replace your fingers with the image of his cock sliding in.
he watches as he fists himself, biting back noises before realizing that your fingers never once dipped inside your pussy. instead you’re reaching for lube, and drizzling it messily over yourself as it drips down the inside of your thighs down the crevices of other areas.
a part of him is hoping that you reach for the gift he sent you, and not some other random subscriber’s gift. satoru wrapped his fingers around the base of his shaft, practically strangling it as he pauses his movements in anticipation. feeling the circulation slowly cut off, making him more sensitive as he watches you pull a dildo into the frame.
his dildo. the dildo he shamelessly begged you to use even though you’ve repeatedly told him no. “well, fuck me…” satoru let out a breathlessly chuckle, and threw his head back against the wall behind him as his dick involuntarily twitched in his hand.
this reality felt a little different than how he’d imagined it. his jaw tightened as he watched you glide the silicone between your folds, watching the way your slick coated the length, and how’d he wished it were him.
the size difference drove him absolutely insane, he even started to understand why you thought it wouldn’t fit as his eyes drifted towards the comments.
@torusthroatgoat: no fucking way that things gonna fit
@iswalakum: i’ve never seen dildo look THAT realistic before
@oggoonetter: wait … why’s that dildo look so familiar ??
@dilftojiidk: if you can take that like a champ, let me gift you something even better
@463352cs: is that theblueeyedgoat’s dick ???
satoru closes the comment tab while groaning, before he’s getting numerous notifications from twitter of people tagging him under your page.
“@theblueeyedgoat, @freakenuinelyy/n is using a dildo that looks similar to your dick?!?!!”.
the parasocial subscribers are going crazy. but nothing’s crazier than the jealous pit lodged at the bottom of satoru’s stomach. the way he watches you dip the head of dildo near your entrance, and hears the way you whine at the first attempt to push it in? he’s losing it.
satoru didn’t expect to feel a sense of inferiority… no, he thought watching you struggle to take his dick would be the best thing life had to offer, but that was completely wrong. he’d made the the biggest mistake of his life. and now he’s stuck paying the price — watching you gain pleasure from something that he should’ve tasted for himself.
the camera is shaking as you’re pushing the tip of the dildo against your entrance, struggling to fit the silicone inside. it’s too big, and you can already feel the stretching burn every time you push it deeper.
you’re cursing under your breath, small whimpers falling from your lips as you go for another attempt. this time more assertive than last as you gnaw at your bottom lip, feeling the slow, aching burn stretch you open as the head finally disappears inside of you.
there’s a strained lump in your throat that makes you swallow down hard because there’s no way you’re taking satoru’s ‘dick’ right now, in-front of thousands of people. and within those thousands of people there’s a certain someone watching… locked in a campus bathroom stall with his pants dropped to his ankles and a hand desperately fisting at his cock.
he’s watching you fuck yourself with the dildo he made you — the dildo he replicated just for you and yet he’s gritting his teeth, and tightening his jaw out of pure jealousy.
the way you’re so visibly tight around the silicone. how your breathing staggers each time you push and pull another inch of the toy in and out of you. even how you’re able to accommodate the size of something that looked physically impossible to handle.
it should’ve been satoru inching his way into you — he should’ve been the one splitting you open on his cock. you were supposed to be the one clawing your nails into the flesh of his back, while he felt you struggle to take him as he cooed you through the pain of it all.
or… that’s what he thinks should’ve happened instead of gifting you that stupid, fucking dildo he’s basically been cucking himself with as he watched the way your hole devoured the silicone repeatedly through the screen. thinking about how warm, and tight your insides would be while milking his dick for all he’s worth before he’s shooting a heavy load into the palm of his hand with a desperate groan escaping his throat.
satoru watches as you’re still rearranging your insides on screen while he’s still pulsing out ropes of cum, before he’s opening the chat box again. this time tapping his fingers against his screen.
“theblueeyedgoat has tipped $2000.”
and there’s a message sent along with the donation.
“you’re taking me so good princess. think ya’ can handle the real thing too?”
lowkenuinely tagging the ppl who wanted a part two, hope you enjoy !! ᰔ : @therealkenzieeee , @m1lfl0verrr , @oidloid , @novxccaine , @meennish , @miacutiepatootie , @gojomio , @luvxpink , @eyekoniccs , @grandqueen1533 , @itsthegrabber , @lumiq-q ,
