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cyber-collector-coffee-blog · 5 months ago

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Chef kiss!! 🩷🩷🩷 I'm going to reread this a thousand times more

What A Woman Wants

PAIRING: dilf!toji fushiguro x rich girl!fem reader

TAGS & WARNINGS: dark content, dubcon, age gap (reader is in college, toji is in his forties), unprotected sex, implied infidelity, slight angst, implied virgin!reader, cherry popping (read: exterminating), manhandling, rough sex, mirror sex, hair pulling, oral sex (f receiving), degradation, choking, spitting, fingering, obscene dirty talk, creampies, dumbification, overstimulation, dacryphilia, marathon sex, size kink, size difference, stomach bulge, cervix mentions, doggy, mating press, missionary, referenced public sex, referenced quickies, referenced phone sex and sexting, smoking, alcohol consumption

WORD COUNT: 15.2k

SUMMARY: You find yourself tangled in an intense affair with the last man you should ever want—Toji Fushiguro, broke, rugged, and utterly irresistible.

Toji Fushiguro—a single dad, financially struggling, with a bare apartment and rugged disposition—seemed to unite some of the worst misfortunes in existence; and had lived nearly 42 years with many things that distressed and vexed him.

His life had been far from ideal, but he tried his best. Well, as good as “best” could be. If it was just him, Toji would’ve just fucked off to some other dump. But he wasn’t. He had Megumi, his only son. A son he was barely a father to, admittedly, but Toji never claimed to be a model parent.

A skill that Toji had picked up from his shitty four decades of living was the ability to read people off the bat. Their body language. Demeanor. Way of speaking. The way they held their gaze. He could tell when a person had never experienced any form of hardship.

You were one such person. Toji could smell it from the moment you emerged behind Megumi’s back, dressed in a pretty white ensemble that no doubt cost one of his paychecks.

You’d shown up to Megumi’s apartment with a practiced ease that screamed entitlement—not the loud, obnoxious kind, but the subtle sort that came from never having to second-guess whether the world would open its doors for you. You carried yourself like someone who’d never been told “no” in a way that actually mattered.

Toji noticed it right away.

It wasn’t just the clothes—though the crisp linen blouse that clung to your figure and understated pearl earrings definitely told a story. It was the way you lingered in the doorway without stepping aside, as if the worn-out carpet and cheap furniture might rub off on you. The slight wrinkle of your nose, almost imperceptible, quickly smoothed over when Megumi introduced you. The polite, pretty smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

Yeah, Toji knew your type.

He leaned back against the raggedy, saggy couch, sprawled out in a way that was equal parts lazy and deliberate. He’d learned a long time ago that people like you hated men like him. Men who didn’t clean up well, who didn’t pretend to be better than what they were. He let his gaze drag over you just long enough to make you shift uncomfortably.

“Didn’t know Megumi had friends like you,” Toji said, voice low and rough around the edges.

You arched a perfectly manicured brow, the polished kind of expression that said you weren’t easily rattled. “Like me?”

“Yeah.” He took his time lighting a cigarette, even though Megumi’s annoyed glare told him not to. He liked pushing buttons, liked seeing how far people could bend before they snapped. “The kind who looks out of place here.”

The corner of your mouth twitched, caught somewhere between irritation and amusement. Your voice remained even as you replied, “And what kind is that?”

Toji smirked, slow and mean, the scar running through the corner of his mouth making it almost look like a sneer. He exhaled smoke in your direction, earning a furrow of your brow. “The kind who thinks this shithole’s beneath her.”

“Dad, could you not?” Megumi groaned, intercepting the exchange.

Toji simply shrugged, lazily letting his gaze trail from his son to you.

You stared at him, your expression controlled. If anything, you looked amused.

The tension sat heavy between you, like a tug-of-war where neither side wanted to flinch first. Toji could see the war in your eyes. The same kind he saw in all the women who thought they were too good for him but still couldn’t stop looking.

Before either of you could push further, Megumi came back into the room, breaking the moment. Toji watched the mask slip back into place as easily as it had fallen. Polished, perfect, untouchable.

“Then, excuse me, Mr. Fushiguro,” you said, smiling politely.

He leaned back against the couch, cigarette dangling from his lips, and let his gaze follow you as you walked behind Megumi in tow. Toji appreciated the view. Prissy as he thought you were, you sure are one pretty woman.

And then you looked back over your shoulder, meeting his gaze with an unreadable expression.

Yeah, this was going to be fun.

You spotted him by accident.

The streets of downtown gleamed under the afternoon sun, polished storefronts and valet stations lining the walkways. The sun almost made the pavement shimmer a blinding white. It was your kind of area. Clean, expensive, and carefully curated to keep out the riffraff. Which is why Toji Fushiguro stuck out like a sore thumb.

He was leaning against the faded green truck parked half on the curb, the black sleeves of his sweater rolled up to his forearms, cigarette dangling between his lips as if he had all the time in the world. The smoke curled around him, blending with the faint scent of engine oil and sweat that seemed to follow him.

You almost didn’t recognize him without that thin black t-shirt clinging to the kind of frame belonging to a man in his forties. But the moment he turned and locked eyes with you, the unmistakable scar on his lips twisting as his lips spread into a lazy smirk, you knew exactly who he was.

“Mr. Fushiguro,” you greeted, lips tightening into a strained smile.

Toji raised an eyebrow. “That’s a new one. Didn’t think you’d bother pretending to be polite.”

You stopped a few feet away, your hand gripping the strap of your leather designer bag from sliding down your shoulder. “I’m polite when I need to be.”

“And this is you needing to be polite?” He blew out a puff of smoke, eyes dragging over you appreciatively like he was appraising something valuable—lingering a moment too long on your legs before flicking back up to meet your stern gaze. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“You’re blocking the valet lane,” you said, voice steady.

Toji glanced at the painted curb, then back at you without moving an inch. “Think they’ll survive.”

“Bold of you to assume they won’t tow that thing.”

His grin widened. “Bold of you to assume I’d care.”

The words might have hit harder if his eyes hadn’t been pinned to you the entire time. Steady, calculating, like he was waiting to see whether you’d crack under the weight of his gaze. But you didn’t. You’d dealt with enough men to know how to handle it.

“Well,” you said lightly, your hands loosening around the strap of your bag, “tell Megumi I said hi.”

“Sure,” he said, but he didn’t make a motion to move, the cigarette burning down between his fingers. “You sticking around?”

The question should’ve sounded casual, but it didn’t. It hung there, thick and heavy.

“Just passing through.”

“Figures.” He exhaled slowly, eyes never leaving yours. “Guess I’ll let you get back to swiping that platinum card of yours.”

The corner of your mouth twitched, but you didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, you smiled sweetly, stepping closer just long enough to brush past him and murmur, “Have a good rest of your day, Mr. Fushiguro.”

He took a long drag of his cigarette, eyes roaming over you in a way that felt deliberate—lingering on the contours of your face, your lips, the slope of your bare shoulders—before flicking back to your face.

“Call me Toji.”

“I’ll stick with Mr. Fushiguro.”

Your smile was as sharp as your words, but he didn’t flinch. If anything, his grin deepened, slow and wolfish. With a polite bow of your pretty head, you walked away with your head high and your heels clicking against the pavement.

You didn’t expect Toji to show up.

It was supposed to be a quiet dinner between friends. Just you and Megumi, grabbing food at a spot you introduced him to right after class. Something close enough to the bus stop so Megumi could catch his bus back to his side of town. But instead, Megumi was already sitting at the table when you arrived, arms crossed, scowling like he’d rather be anywhere else. And sitting across from him—half-sprawled in the booth with an elbow placed on the table—was Toji.

You faltered for a split second before slipping into the seat next to Megumi, carefully ignoring the older man’s amused glance as you set your bag down.

You let your expression do the talking, nudging Megumi’s leg under the table.

“I didn’t know,” Megumi muttered in defeat. “He just showed up.”

Toji’s voice cut in before you could respond, smooth and slow as ever. “Relax. I’m just here for the food.”

“Not sure you can afford it,” you said without looking up.

Megumi snorted. Toji didn’t.

“You worried about my finances, princess?”

You finally looked at him, meeting his dark green eyes across the table. “Just imparting financial literacy. That’s all.”

His lips curled, but before he could fire back, the waiter appeared with menus. You ordered first without even looking at the menu—something seasonal with a bottle of sparkling water—while Toji leaned back when it was his turn.

“Burger,” he said. “Fries. Whatever beer you’ve got on draft.”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. Megumi looked like he wanted to sink into the floor.

Toji didn't care. He let the silence stretch, absently flipping over the silverware while Megumi focused on his phone. And when his gaze eventually slid back to you, it felt deliberate.

“You and Megumi,” he said after a beat. “You two dating or something?”

Megumi groaned, but you were already replying. “No.”

“Sure about that?”

“Certain.”

Toji’s grin was slow, almost predatory. “Good to hear.”

You hated the way your pulse jumped at the implication.

“Dad, don’t start,” Megumi muttered, staring daggers into his father.

“What?” Toji said, feigning innocence. “I’m just curious about who you might or might not be dating.”

“Megumi and I are just friends,” you clarify.

“Smart girl,” Toji said, leaning back again. He cocked his head to the side, lips curling, that scar through his lip embedding itself in your eyes. “You could do better.”

Your nails dug into your palm under the table.

“You’re one to talk,” Megumi snapped suddenly, cutting through the tension. “You show up out of nowhere, act like you give a shit, and then—”

Toji’s expression shifted. Subtle, but sharp enough that Megumi immediately clamped his mouth shut.

“I’m still here, aren’t I?”

“Barely.”

“Better than nothing,” Toji said.

Megumi’s jaw clenched. You’d never seen him this visibly frustrated before. You knew that he had a dubious relationship with his father, but you didn’t realize it was this bad. Usually, Megumi was the definition of even-tempered. Calm and composed. He never let anyone or anything ruffle him. But Toji clearly had a talent for poking at weak spots.

Your gaze flickered between the two of them. The tension was uncomfortable, like being trapped in a room with a lit fuse.

“This is why we don’t talk,” Megumi said suddenly, pushing his chair back with a sharp scrape.

Toji’s brows lifted slightly, as if the outburst amused him. “Because I showed up to hang with my kid?”

“No,” Megumi snapped. “Because you always do this.”

Toji leaned forward, resting his beefy arms on the table. “Do what?” He asked with a cock of his head.

“Show up when it’s convenient. Then disappear just as fast.”

The words hung in the air for a moment before Megumi stood up, grabbing his phone and bag. “I’m out of here.”

You blinked up at him. “Wait—Megumi—”

“I’ll text you later,” he muttered, already halfway to the door. He didn’t even glance at Toji as he left.

The restaurant door closed behind him, leaving an uncomfortable silence in his wake.

“Well,” Toji leaned back again, looking thoroughly unfazed by the whole ordeal. “Guess it’s just us now.”

You set your glass down carefully, staring coldly into his face. “Apparently.”

Toji’s smirk widened. “You don’t have to look so happy about it.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Why are you still here?”

“Free food,” he said easily.

“You said you came here to hang out with Megumi.”

“Same thing. Besides, that brat left already.”

You exhaled sharply, already regretting letting Megumi drag you into this mess. Toji didn’t seem inclined to leave anytime soon, given his lackadaisical manner, and there was something about the way he looked at you—casual, curious—that made it impossible to relax.

“So,” he said after a moment, eyes flicking down to your glass before dragging back up to your face, “how long have you and Megumi been friends?”

You hesitated, not liking the sudden shift in focus. “A while.”

“Close?”

“As close as anyone can be with him.”

Toji snorted at that, and the sound made your jaw tighten. He wasn’t wrong, but something about his attitude made you bristle.

“Don’t act like you know him,” you said sharply.

That seemed to catch him off guard. For a second, his smirk faltered, replaced by something darker. “And you do?”

“Better than you, apparently.”

Toji leaned in slightly, resting his elbows on the table. “That so?”

You didn’t back down, even as his piercing gaze pinned you in place. “Yeah.”

There was a long pause before Toji laughed—a low, rough sound that grated against your nerves. “You’ve got some nerve, princess.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Don’t call me that.”

“Why not?”

“Because you don’t know me.”

His wolfish grin returned, sharp and deliberate. “No,” he said, voice lowering. “But I think I’m starting to.”

Your stomach twisted at the implication. You hated how casual he sounded, like he already had you figured out.

You picked up your drink, taking a long sip and finding refuge in the burn of the fizz to bury the mortification burning through your body.

“So,” Toji said after a moment, breaking the silence again. “What do rich girls talk about over dinner? Stocks? Real estate? Or just all the guys who couldn’t impress you?”

You set your glass down with a soft clink. “I don’t waste my time talking about men.”

Toji whistled. “That so?”

“Most of them are disappointing.”

His brows lifted, and for the first time, he looked like he was actually interested. “Disappointing how?”

You leaned back, crossing your arms as if you were completely unfazed. “Let’s see. No ambition. No sense of direction. No emotional intelligence. No general intelligence. No follow-through. Should I go on?”

The corner of his scarred mouth twitched, and something about it made you feel like you’d walked into a trap.

“Sounds like you’ve got high standards,” he said, voice low and smooth. “But what happens when no one meets them?”

You didn’t answer right away, letting the question hang in the air. Toji didn’t look away. He wasn’t like the other men you’d brushed off before—the ones who shrank under your stare or fumbled over their words, trying to impress you. No, Toji looked at you like he wasn’t the least bit intimidated. If anything, it felt like he was the one sizing you up.

“I don’t settle,” you said finally.

“No?”

“No.”

“That’s cute, princess.”

You ignored him, picking up your drink again and taking another slow sip. But the heat prickling your skin didn’t fade. Not with Toji’s green eyes still on you, sharp and dark, like he was waiting for the exact moment you’d falter.

The food arrived soon after, cutting through the tension for a brief moment. You ate slowly, composed, carefully spearing your salad while Toji tore into his burger like he hadn’t eaten in days.

“So, what is it you do?” you asked eventually, letting the question drip with feigned politeness.

Toji glanced up, mouth still half-full. You tried not to let your expression sour at the sight. “Depends,” he said.

“Depends on what?”

“What pays.”

You raised an eyebrow. “No real job, then?”

“Not one you’d approve of,” he said, leaning back and wiping his mouth with a napkin.

“You don’t strike me as the kind of guy who cares about approval,” you said, tilting your head.

“I don’t,” Toji said. “But you do.”

Your fork paused just above your plate.

“You think so?”

“I know so,” he said, voice low and steady. “Girls like you? Everything’s about appearances. Doesn’t matter what’s underneath, as long as it all looks good on the surface.”

“And what about you?” you countered, your voice sharp. “What’s underneath?”

Toji leaned in slightly, his lips curling. “All you had to do was ask if you wanted to see me naked, princess.”

Your breath hitched before you could stop it, but you covered it up with another sip of your drink. The worst part wasn’t the smugness in his expression, or the blatant flirting and teasing—it was the fact that he was right. Everything about him, from his ragged edges to the dark look in his green eyes, was something you should’ve and usually turned your nose up at. And yet, you couldn’t stop staring.

You set your glass down, fixing him with an unimpressed stare.

“Are you seriously flirting with me?”

Toji shrugged. “It’s whatever you think it is, princess.”

The conversation shifted after that—courtesy of you blatantly ignoring the topic altogether—but the tension never fully faded.

By the time the check came, you were more than ready to leave. Toji leaned back and stretched. The waiter approached the table cautiously, clutching the black leather bill folder like it might detonate in his hands. He glanced between the two of you. First at Toji, whose broad frame and casual slouch made him look wildly out of place at the upscale restaurant, then at you, perfectly composed in your crisp linen top and polished jewelry.

You didn’t miss the flicker of hesitation in the waiter’s eyes. He was clearly trying to piece together the dynamic—father and daughter? Boss and employee? Lovers?—before ultimately deciding he didn’t want to guess wrong.

“Whenever you’re ready,” the waiter said, placing the bill carefully in the middle of the table.

Toji reached for it first, but you were faster, sliding it out from under his fingers before he could even lift the cover.

He raised a brow at you. “What? You think I can’t pay?”

You flipped the folder open without looking at him, not bothering to look at the total.

“No,” you said coolly, already pulling your dark brown leather wallet out of your purse. “I know you won’t.”

Toji grinned wolfishly, leaning back like this whole thing amused him. “Smart girl.”

The waiter lingered awkwardly, pretending to straighten the silverware as you pulled out some crisp bills. The metal cards in your wallet glinted under the soft lighting, unmistakable even to someone like Toji.

“Nice card,” he said, voice dripping with something that could’ve been admiration, or mockery.

“Thanks,” you said, snapping the folder shut and handing it back to the waiter. You smiled warmly at the waiter. “Keep the change.”

The waiter blinked at the implied tip, which was generous enough to make up for the strained atmosphere that had hung over the table all night, before he thanked you and quickly excused himself.

Toji whistled low, watching the waiter walk away, before he dragged his gaze back to you. “Big spender, huh?”

You reached for your purse, unfazed. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Not to you,” he muttered, almost like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

You paused, but only for a moment. “No,” you agreed softly, letting the word linger before you rose from your seat. “Not to me.”

Toji stayed seated, watching as you gathered your things with practiced ease, smoothing down your skirt and adjusting your jewelry.

“Leaving already?” he asked, sounding far too entertained.

You met his eyes, calm and composed despite the tension still lingering in your chest. “The meal’s settled,” you said simply. “What else is there to stick around for?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he let his gaze drag over you, taking in every detail—your immaculate clothes, your careful and upright posture, your perfectly applied lipstick.

Oh, how Toji wanted to smear them.

“Fair point,” he said at last, but there was something in his tone that made it feel less like an agreement and more like a challenge.

The faint thwack of tennis balls echoed across the court as the conversation continued, but you stayed quiet, idly running your fingers through the rim of your racket. Marissa and Chloe were still picking apart the details of dating someone outside their world—outside the carefully curated expectations—and every word struck a chord you didn’t want to acknowledge.

The others were still talking about Chloe’s boyfriend, picking apart his flaws with clinical precision, but you barely heard them anymore. You were too busy dissecting your own ridiculous impulses, the way your body had betrayed you, the way your mind kept circling back to him.

Toji Fushiguro.

You hated even thinking his name, hated how it echoed in your head like a whisper you couldn’t shake. It was absurd. He was absurd. What did he even have to offer besides a handsome face and a body that looked carved out of stone? He didn’t belong anywhere near this world—your world—and he never would.

He wasn’t polished. He wasn’t educated. He wasn’t even financially stable. He was the type of man who looked out of place in restaurants like the one you’d taken him to, and you knew that he hadn’t even cared. Not one bit.

That’s what got under your skin the most.

You’d spent your life perfecting the art of composure, of setting expectations and making sure they were met. Because in your world, expectations mattered. They were everything. But Toji? He didn’t live by expectations. He didn’t even pretend to. He just existed—blunt and crass and unapologetic—and it infuriated you how freeing it seemed.

“He’s sweet,” Chloe repeated defensively, but the words sounded hollow. “He’s just a bit… rough around the edges.”

“Sweet only gets you so far,” Marissa said, adjusting her tennis bracelet. “What happens when you’re hosting a fundraiser or when you’re at dinner with your parents, and he doesn’t even know which fork to use?”

“Exactly.” Julia, who had been scrolling absentmindedly on her phone, finally looked up. “You can’t spend your whole life trying to fix someone. If he’s not polished enough, he never will be.”

Chloe sighed, slumping back into her seat. “It’s not like I’m trying to marry him,” she muttered.

“Yeah, because your mom and dad would never approve,” Marissa said, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. “It’s about being practical, Chloe. If he can’t keep up with you now, he’s not going to suddenly catch up later.”

“It’s not that simple,” Chloe huffed. “He’s not bad, okay? He’s sweet, and he tries, but—”

“But he’s broke,” Marissa finished bluntly.

“Not broke broke. He just doesn’t have family money. He’s still working his way up, and you know how hard it is to find a guy who’s actually attractive and driven.”

“Please.” Marissa snorted. “It’s not that hard. You’re just being sentimental.”

You weren’t paying attention before, but now? Now the words stuck.

You leaned down to retie your shoelace, turning your head sideways to hide the way your jaw tightened.

The hypocrisy of it all gnawed at you.

Because no matter how much you tried to convince yourself otherwise, you knew the truth. If Toji had been rich—if he’d been sitting in that restaurant in a tailored suit instead of an old raggedy sweater—you wouldn’t have cared about his age or his baggage or the fact that he had a grown son your age. You wouldn’t have even blinked.

And the worst part?

You weren’t any better than Chloe.

“He doesn’t have to be rich,” Chloe argued, drawing your attention back to the conversation. “But he should at least aspire to something, right? I can’t keep pretending it doesn’t bother me when he gets uncomfortable when I try to take him somewhere nicer than a steakhouse.”

“It’s a compatibility thing,” Marissa said. “You can’t force someone to fit into this lifestyle. If he’s not comfortable in it now, he never will be.”

Your stomach twisted.

The words rang in your ears, uncomfortably close to the thoughts that had plagued you since that dinner. Since Toji’s sharp smirk and unbothered stare had somehow left you feeling raw and exposed.

“I mean, what’s the point of all of this?” Chloe gestured vaguely around the pristine tennis courts. “What’s the point of working hard and doing well if we’re just going to settle for guys who can’t keep up? It’s exhausting.”

You almost laughed. Exhausting.

Toji wasn’t exhausted. He wasn’t running himself in circles trying to impress anyone. He didn’t even try to fit into places he didn’t belong. And yet, for all his bluntness, for all his rough edges and the casual way he seemed to exist without apology, he’d felt more solid than anyone you’d met in years.

And that terrified you.

“You’re quiet today,” Marissa said suddenly, pulling you back to the present. “Everything okay?”

“Perfectly fine.” You managed a smile, twirling your racket by its grip. “Just thinking.”

“About what?”

“Nothing important.”

You gripped your racket tighter, nails digging into the synthetic leather.

“Are we playing another set or what?” someone asked.

You forced yourself to stand up, to push him out of your head and focus on the game.

But even as you stepped onto the court and adjusted your stance, you knew it wouldn’t last.

The clock on the wall ticked away lazily, the soft hum of your air conditioning the only sound breaking the silence in your lavish apartment. You were sitting at your kitchen island, flicking through some textbooks as you mentally prepared yourself for the hours of work ahead. Megumi had texted earlier, saying he’d drop off the final details for your project—he’d promised to take care of it when you saw him last. But now, sitting in your pristine apartment with a glass of rosé beside you, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.

The soft ping of a text from Megumi interrupted the quiet of your apartment. You glanced down at your phone, fully expecting it to be a message about the project materials. Instead, your eyes widened slightly as you read the sudden shift in plans.

Sorry, there’s an emergency with Kuro so I’m at the vet. I’m sending my dad instead to drop off the stuff you need. Hope that's okay. I’ll catch up with you later.

You exhaled sharply, your fingers momentarily gripping the phone tighter. Toji. The last person you were expecting.

You had half-expected Megumi to be reliable. Sure, his father was... something else, but it wasn’t like he couldn’t follow through. You rubbed your forehead, sighing as you felt the unrelenting weight of the fact that Toji—Megumi’s deadbeat dad, the man with a charm as sharp as his lack of direction in life—was about to show up at your door.

For a moment, you almost texted Megumi back to argue. To suggest he just drop it by tomorrow, that you didn’t need his father showing up like this. But before you could even type out your thoughts, a knock echoed through your apartment.

Your heart skipped a beat—whether from excitement or dread, you couldn't pinpoint. You set your phone down on the countertop, trying to steady your breathing, but your pulse was already racing. You had no business feeling this way. He was an obstacle, a challenge to your composure, but nothing more. This was just another inconvenience, another reminder that you were far above whatever Toji was.

With a reluctant exhale, you made your way to the door, clicking the lock open, and standing there in the frame, Toji’s tall figure filled the doorway. He leaned casually against the frame, holding the folder in his hand, looking every bit the same unbothered, rugged man you’d met before.

You stood there, holding the door open just a little too long as your mind races. Toji’s presence in your apartment felt like a looming storm—heavy, pressing, relentless. Megumi’s absence only amplified the tension, leaving you alone with the one man you know you should not be alone with.

Toji stepped inside, just far enough to clear the doorway, his eyes already scanning the room. His gaze swept over the space with a mixture of appreciation and something darker, something more intense. He’s not just looking at the furniture or the art on the walls. He’s looking at you.

“...Mr. Fushiguro,” you managed.

You closed the door behind him, standing just a little too close, but you can’t exactly tell him to leave. Not when you need the materials, and not when your damn pulse is racing just from being in the same room as him. Your eyes fell to the folder in his hands, trying to distract yourself, trying to stay calm. You don’t want to feel anything.

He gave a small grunt of acknowledgement but didn't immediately hand you the folder. Instead, he set it down on the coffee table, his gaze locking with yours in that way he always does, like he’s studying you.

You felt exposed—your place, your clothes, everything about you right now feels vulnerable. You weren’t expecting this. Toji Fushiguro, your friend’s father, standing in your apartment, staring at you with that heavy, calculating gaze. It’s not the first time he’s looked at you like that, but it’s the first time it’s made you feel this much.

"Nice place," he said, his voice low, his tone appreciative but edged with something more—something that causes your pulse to pick up, just a little. "Definitely fits you. All the right things in all the right places." He’s not talking about the apartment anymore.

You managed a tight smile. "I like to keep it clean." You tried to sound nonchalant, but your hands, now clutched in front of you, betrayed the nervous energy you can’t seem to shake. He’s too close, his presence too powerful.

He stepped closer, examining the space with a casual interest, but it’s all too clear that his eyes are more on you than the apartment. "Yeah. I can see that." His gaze lingered a moment too long before he pulled his focus away to gesture around the room. "All this... it fits you. Perfectly."

You swallowed, your heart picking up its pace. The compliment should feel good, should be flattering. But instead, it twists in your stomach. You don’t need his approval. You don’t need any of this. So why does it make you feel like you’re being torn open, laid bare?

"Thanks," you muttered, the word slipping out easily despite the discomfort tightening in your chest. Toji’s proximity feels suffocating now, his every movement calculated and unnervingly direct.

You glanced down at the folder on the island, the one containing the documents you’d been waiting on, but your mind is somewhere else entirely. His presence overwhelmed you. It was strange how it seemed to fill the room with the kind of pressure that had nothing to do with the space around you.

“And,” you murmured, trying to keep your voice steady as you took the folder from his hand. You can’t help but notice the way his eyes linger on you, that slow scan of his gaze, the way it feels as if he’s undressing you with nothing but a look. “Thanks for bringing this.”

“Don’t mention it, sweetheart.”

Your grip on the folder tightened, but it wasn’t because of the papers inside.

It was him.

Standing there, weight shifted lazily onto one leg, arms crossed over his broad chest like he had all the time in the world. Like he could feel how badly you wanted him gone, but more than that—how badly you wanted him to stay.

He smirked, slow and easy. "You gonna open it, or just stand there clenching it like that?"

You forced a breath through your nose, willing your hands to relax. "I’ll look through it later."

He hummed, unconvinced, stepping closer. "That so?"

You nodded, lips pressing into a thin line as you refused to look up. Because if you did, you’d see the way his dark eyes gleamed with amusement. With certainty.

Toji thrived on this, on the push and pull, on the game you were trying so damn hard not to play.

"You know, you’re real uptight, sweetheart," he murmured, voice dipping just enough to make the hairs on the back of your neck rise. "Always actin’ like you got somethin’ to prove."

Your jaw tensed. "I don’t have to prove anything to you."

That damn smirk deepened.

"Never said you did." His voice was smooth, like velvet laced with something sharp. "Just funny how you keep tellin’ yourself that."

Your fingers curled into your palm, nails pressing into skin. You could feel the heat rising in your chest, something dangerously close to frustration—no, not just frustration.

It was something else you didn’t want to acknowledge.

Because goddamn it, he was right.

Every time Toji was near, it took everything in you not to acknowledge the pull, the way your body betrayed you in his presence. It wasn’t fair. He wasn’t fair.

Toji shifted, and suddenly, he was too close, the scent of him—smoke, leather, and something distinctly masculine—wrapping around you like a noose.

"You always this tense around guys, or is it just me?" His voice was low, teasing, but there was something beneath it. Something pressing.

Your throat felt tight. "Just you."

The words left you before you could stop them.

His smirk vanished, replaced by something heavier, something darker. A beat of silence stretched between you, thick with everything unsaid.

"Yeah?" he murmured.

You swallowed the dryness in your throat.

He didn’t move, but you could feel it—his patience thinning, the careful line he was toeing fraying with every second you stood there, staring up at him like you were waiting for something to happen.

And maybe you were.

Maybe you’d been waiting this whole damn time.

His gaze dipped, lingering on your lips just long enough for your breath to hitch before dragging back up, locking onto yours with an intensity that made your knees weak.

Then—so slight it could’ve been accidental—he reached out, fingertips just barely grazing the back of your wrist.

You should have pulled away.

You didn’t.

The touch was fleeting, gone before you could fully process it, but the damage was done. Your pulse pounded, skin burning where he’d touched you, and Toji knew.

Oh, he fucking knew.

He exhaled a quiet laugh, so low you almost didn’t catch it. "Hate to break it to ya, sweetheart," he murmured, leaning in just enough for his breath to ghost over your cheek, "but I think you like it."

Your stomach dropped.

Because he wasn’t wrong.

And that? That terrified you more than anything.

Your breath came too fast, too shallow.

Toji wasn’t just close—he was looming, his presence swallowing up all the space between you, thick and suffocating. He wasn’t touching you, not really, but it didn’t matter. His heat curled around you, his scent—smoke, steel, something dark—flooding your senses, making it impossible to think.

You needed to stop this. You had to stop this.

"You’re playing a dangerous game," you murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

His lips twitched. Amused. Unbothered. "Ain’t playin’."

God, you were shaking. You gripped the folder tighter, knuckles white, but it was useless. You had nothing. No grounding, no control. Just the unbearable weight of his gaze and the way your body—traitorous, desperate—leaned closer when it should have pulled away.

"This—this is a bad idea," you tried, your voice breaking.

Toji hummed, slow, like he was thinking about it, like it was even a question. "Probably."

Your stomach twisted. "Megumi—"

"—ain’t here," he finished smoothly, cutting you off before you could even try to make that excuse stick.

Your stomach twisted, your resolve slipping like sand through your fingers. "You're his dad."

He tilted his head slightly, gaze heavy-lidded, knowing. "That bother you?"

Yes. No. It should.

Your lips parted, but the words caught in your throat because goddamn it, the way he was looking at you was undoing every carefully built wall you’d spent months constructing.

His hand lifted—slow, deliberate—until his fingertips brushed against your jaw. A barely-there touch, but your whole body reacted, heat blooming under your skin like he’d set you on fire.

"You’re too old for me," you whispered, desperate now, clinging to anything.

Toji huffed a quiet laugh. "That so?" His thumb dragged along the curve of your chin, tilting it up just enough to make you meet his green eyes. "Funny. You don’t feel like you mind."

A shiver ran down your spine. You did mind. You had to mind.

Your breath hitched as he leaned in, close enough that you could see the scar slicing through his lips, close enough that if you so much as swayed, you’d—

"No job," you blurted, grasping at straws now, voice breathless. "You're—you’re broke."

Toji laughed. Laughed. Low and amused, like none of this even fazed him. "That why your heart’s racin’?"

Damn him.

You could hear it—feel it—the thundering pulse in your chest, your body's betrayal laid bare in the space between you.

You had one last defense. One last excuse.

"I—" Your voice wavered. "I don’t want this."

Liar.

Toji’s smirk softened, just barely, but the hunger in his eyes never wavered. His fingers trailed from your jaw to your throat, light, teasing, before settling against the rapid beat of your pulse.

"Lemme hear you say that again."

You opened your mouth—ready, willing yourself to say it—but nothing came out.

Because you couldn’t.

Because it wasn’t true.

And Toji knew it.

Knew it when your breath shuddered, when your lashes fluttered, when your body leaned—just the smallest fraction—toward him instead of away.

His lips barely ghosted over yours, not quite a kiss, but there, teasing, taunting.

"That’s what I thought."

And just like that, the last of your excuses crumbled.

You don’t know how it happens. One moment, you were trying to catch your breath, trying to think—the next, Toji’s crowding you against the counter, his sheer presence suffocating, intoxicating, inevitable.

"Been fightin’ this so hard, huh? Thought you were too good for it?" His voice was nothing but a slow, lazy drawl, but you felt the way his words curl around you, creeping into the deepest, filthiest parts of your mind.

You tried to push at his chest, your palms pressed against the hard muscle—useless. His hand engulfed your wrist with a single squeeze, pinning it beside your head. The other? It slid slowly over your thigh, teasing the hem of your shorts.

"Toji—" your voice was a breathless whisper, but even you don't know if you’re begging him to stop or to keep going.

"Tell me to stop, then." His grip tightened when you squirmed, his thumb pressing just right over your pulse point. "Tell me you don’t want it."

You should. You have to. But your mouth refused to form the words when his fingers dipped lower, grazing the damp fabric of your underwear. A sharp inhale betrayed you, your thighs tensing against his touch.

"Filthy girl," he rasped, the smirk in his voice unmistakable.

With one sharp yank, your shorts are gone, tossed somewhere and forgotten along with the folder Toji had come here to bring. A gasp caught in your throat, embarrassment warring with the unbearable need twisting low in your stomach.

Then—

"Fuck—look at you," Toji groaned, dragging his roughened thumb against your slick folds, heavy and hot. "Gotta stretch you out first, yeah? Can’t even take the tip like this."

The first press of his fingers had you choking on a gasp. Thick, deliberate, his touch was slow as he worked you open, forcing your body to take more, his thumb pressing teasing circles against your puffy clit. You trembled beneath him, whimpering as he curled his fingers inside you, stretching your gummy walls, coaxing out slick with every lazy stroke.

"Mmm, still too tight," he mused, his voice a rough purr against your ear. "Gotta make sure you can handle me, baby. Don’t want you breakin’ on me too fast."

Your body betrayed you, hips rocking into the steady intrusion, your thighs trembling when he scissored his fingers inside you. It’s too much—the sensation, the way he watched you, the way he’s holding back just to make sure you felt every second of this.

“You’re creamin’ all over my fingers, baby,” Toji cooed, fucking in two rough fingers. Your face burned at the sound of squelching. You could hear how wet you were. Could feel it soaking his palm, your ass, and even the kitchen island beneath you. “Do you not touch yourself, hm? Pussy’s so fuckin’ tight.”

You quivered beneath him, thrashing and twisting as his thick fingers fucked into you. You felt tears pricking at your eyes from the sensation. You felt so full. His rough fingertips rubbed against the ribbed walls of your cunt, curling into a spot that rendered you breathless.

Toji relished the sight. “Atta girl,” he rasped, the sound sending heat straight to your pussy. “You can take more f’me, hm?”

Your mind was too cloudy to properly respond, your lips parted in a silent cry, mewls and whimpers escaping your glossy lips.

Toji smiled wolfishly. “‘Course you can, sweetheart.”

Then he pushed a third finger in. Your walls clamped down on him, fluttering like it was panicking from the stretch.

He grunted at that, working his finger in. “So tight. Almost makes me think you’re a fuckin’ virgin.”

Your walls fluttered at that, your body tensing at the words. Toji’s smirk deepened, eyes sharpening as he caught the subtle shift in your reaction. He stilled his movements for just a moment, head tilting slightly as realization dawned on him.

“Oh,” he drawled, voice dropping even lower, thick with something dangerous. “That so, sweetheart?” His fingers flexed inside you, making you jerk. “Fuck, no wonder you’re squeezin’ me like this.” His wolfish grin widened, teeth flashing as he leaned in, voice like a growl against your ear. “Your first time, and it’s gonna be with me? Hah. Ain’t that somethin’?”

Your breath hitched, shame and arousal mixing in a dizzying heat. Toji chuckled darkly, fingers starting to move again, slower, deeper. “Don’t worry, baby,” he murmured, pressing a filthy kiss to your jaw. His scent overwhelms you—cigarettes, musk, and something warm. “I’ll make sure you never forget it.”

You clenched even tighter at that, earning a grunt from Toji who had to work much harder to fuck his fingers into you.

Toji chuckled, voice dripping with amusement. “Oh? That got you clenchin’ up real tight. What is it, baby? The thought of this big cock being your first get you all worked up?” His fingers curled again, stroking that spot inside you deliberately. You choked on a gasp, your hips jerking against the countertop.

His free hand moved to your jaw, gripping it roughly, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Nah, can’t be. Not with a fuckin' pussy like this,” he murmured, his voice dark and amused. “Too fuckin’ sweet. Too fuckin' greedy.” He pried your lips open with his thumb, watching with a glint in his eye as your tongue lolled out on instinct. “See? Good little sluts always open up for me.”

Before you could respond, he spit. The thick warmth of it landed right on your tongue, and you whined, your body betraying you as you swallowed without thinking. He grinned at the sight, fingers still fucking deep inside your cunt.

“That’s it,” he murmured, voice thick with approval. “Knew you’d be fuckin' perfect for me.”

His fingers spread inside you, stretching you even wider, and you gasped, hands flying up to clutch at his wrist. His grin only widened.

“Aww, poor thing,” he mocked, leaning in so his lips brushed against the corner of your mouth. “Can’t take my fingers? Then how the fuck you gonna take my cock?”

You couldn’t answer—all you could do was whimper as he fucked his fingers into you harder, knuckles-deep, the wet sounds of your arousal obscene in the quiet of the kitchen.

“Maybe I should make you beg for it first,” he mused, lips ghosting along your jaw. “Make you admit how bad you want me to split this tight little cunt open.”

His fingers finally withdrew, leaving you empty and aching, but before you could complain, Toji was already lowering himself between your thighs. He lifted one of your legs over his broad shoulder, his hands gripping your thighs tight enough to leave bruises.

“Gotta open you up nice and proper, baby,” he murmured, voice dripping with sin. “Can’t have this tiny fuckin’ hole strugglin’ too much, huh?”

His breath was hot against your drenched folds, his dark eyes locked onto your fluttering cunt. Then, without warning, he spit. The thick glob of saliva landed right on your swollen clit, mixing with your arousal, and you gasped at the sensation.

Toji groaned at the sight. “Fuckin’ messy,” he muttered, using two fingers to spread the slickness over your folds. “Bet you’ve never had anyone eat this pretty pussy, huh?”

You barely had time to shake your head before he dove in. His tongue was hot, rough, and unrelenting as he licked a long, slow stripe up your slit before wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking. Hard.

Your back arched off the counter, a strangled moan ripping from your throat as Toji devoured you like a man starved. His tongue worked you over, hot and wet, flicking and swirling in ways that had your thighs trembling around his head. He didn’t just eat pussy—he dominated it, owned it, made it his.

His fingers pressed back into you, two thick digits stretching you open while his tongue teased your swollen bundle of nerves. He pumped them slowly at first, letting you feel every ridge of his calloused fingertips rubbing against your slick walls.

“Gotta get this tight little hole ready,” he murmured between licks, his breath hot against your soaked folds. “Can’t have you cryin’ when I stuff you full.”

You whimpered, your hands flying to his dark hair, gripping tight as your hips bucked against his mouth.

Toji growled, pleased by your desperation, and shoved his fingers deeper. “That’s it, baby. Fuckin’ take it.”

His tongue never relented, flicking, sucking, teasing, until the pressure inside you coiled unbearably tight. He could feel it, the way your walls squeezed around his fingers, the way your body trembled beneath him.

“Gonna cum for me, huh?” he rasped, his voice vibrating against your clit. “Go on, then. Fuckin’ soak me.”

A few more ruthless strokes of his tongue, and you shattered.

Your orgasm tore through you, your body locking up as waves of pleasure crashed over you. Toji groaned against your pussy, drinking in every drop of slick that gushed out of you, his fingers still working you through it, milking every last bit of your release.

When you finally came down, breathless and trembling, Toji pulled back just enough to admire his work. Your cunt was puffy, glistening, a mess of his spit and your cum.

“Fuck,” he muttered, voice thick with approval. “Now that’s a pretty sight.”

Toji pulled away from your ruined cunt, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his dark eyes full of something primal as he stood to his full height. His cock strained against his sweats, a thick outline pressing against the fabric, and he smirked down at you, chest rising and falling heavily.

“Now,” he drawled, gripping your thighs tighter, his voice a dark promise, “where do you want me to ruin you, baby? Right here on the counter? Bent over that fancy couch of yours?” His smirk deepened as he leaned in, voice dropping to a murmur against your lips. “Or should I stretch you out on that big, empty bed of yours?”

He let the question hang in the air, but the wicked glint in his eyes told you—this wasn’t really your choice.

Toji didn’t wait for an answer. Not that you could give him one—your brain was too fogged with lust, your body too pliant in his grasp. He hauled you up effortlessly, strong arms keeping you locked against him as he carried you through the dimly lit halls of your home. The path to your bedroom felt both too long and too short, every step sending another wave of slick arousal dripping down your thighs.

Your back hit the mattress before you even realized he had thrown you down. The bed dipped under his weight as he crawled over you, eyes dark and hungry as he took in the sight beneath him—your flushed skin, your trembling legs, the way your breath came in short, desperate pants.

“Look at you,” he murmured, running a rough palm up your thigh. “Fuckin’ perfect. Spread out for me like a good little girl.”

His hand gripped the underside of your knee, shoving your legs further apart. The air was thick with the scent of sex, your arousal glistening between your thighs. Toji groaned low in his chest, tapping the heavy weight of his cock against your swollen clit, smearing your slick all over the thick head.

His fingers trailed down your belly, calloused fingertips tracing over your trembling skin before stopping just above your pelvis. "You on the pill, baby?" he asked, voice low, rough—almost like he didn’t really care what the answer was.

You swallowed thickly, nodding. "Y-yeah."

His smirk widened, lazy and dangerous. His palm pressed down against your lower stomach, fingers flexing possessively. "Mm. Not like it would’ve mattered."

Your breath caught in your throat, your stomach tightening at the weight of his words. The realization barely had time to settle before he shifted, spreading your thighs wider, his broad hands gripping the plush of them like he owned every inch.

"Fuck, look at you," he muttered, dragging the fat head of his cock along your slick folds, coating himself in the wetness he had worked you into. "Drippin’ for me like a needy little thing. Bet you’d take it either way, huh?" His tone was mocking, almost pitying. "Doesn’t even matter, baby—I’m gonna fuck you full, gonna stretch this little cunt open till you’re ruined for anyone else."

A pathetic whimper slipped from your lips, and Toji groaned, guiding himself to your entrance, pressing just enough for you to feel the unbearable pressure of his size.

“You ready for me, baby?” His voice was almost mocking, a dark smirk pulling at his lips. He knew the answer. Knew from the way your body trembled, from the way your breath hitched when he pressed the fat head of his cock against your entrance.

Still, he wanted to hear it.

You nodded, gasping as he rubbed slow circles against your clit with his cock. “Y-Yeah.”

“Yeah?” He raised a brow, feigning disinterest. “Dunno, sweetheart. You sure this tiny little pussy can take me?”

You whined, your hips bucking instinctively, desperate for more friction. “Please,” you whimpered, voice barely above a breath.

Toji chuckled darkly. “There’s that pretty beggin’ again.”

He didn’t make you wait any longer.

A sharp gasp left your lips as he pushed in, the thick crown stretching you open in a way his fingers never could. The burn was instant, overwhelming, your walls struggling to take the sheer size of him. Toji groaned, low and guttural, his fingers digging bruises into your thighs as he fought to keep himself from bottoming out too fast.

“Shit,” he ground out, watching the way your tight little hole struggled to take him. “Takin’ me so fuckin’ good, baby.”

Your head tipped back against the pillows, eyes squeezing shut as your walls clenched down on him. It was too much—too big, too thick, too deep already, and he wasn’t even fully inside yet.

“Relax,” he muttered, voice strained with restraint. His thumb found your clit, rubbing slow, taunting circles to ease the tension. “You can take it, sweetheart. You wanted this, didn’t you?”

You nodded frantically, fingers twisting in the sheets as he pushed in another inch. The stretch was unbearable, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, but the pleasure was just as intense. You felt so full, so stuffed, your body struggling to accommodate him.

Toji groaned at the sight of your teary, desperate face. “Fuck, look at you. Cryin’ on my cock already.” He pushed in another inch, watching the way your body trembled beneath him. “You wanted this, baby. So take it.”

And then he slammed the rest of the way in.

"Biiig stretch, sweetheart," he rasped, teasing, savoring the way your walls fluttered in panic. "Deep fuckin’ breaths. This pussy’s gotta learn to take me."

A broken cry tore from your throat, your back arching off the mattress as he bottomed out. The sheer fullness of him sent a shudder through your body, your thighs twitching where they were spread wide. Toji stilled, gritting his teeth at the way your walls spasmed around him, struggling to adjust.

“Fuck, you’re squeezin' me so tight.” His voice was wrecked, a guttural groan rumbling from his chest. “Takin' me so fuckin' deep, baby… Look at you, stretched so pretty around me.”

Your fingers dug into his biceps, nails leaving crescent moons in his skin as you tried to ground yourself. Toji's hand found your jaw, tilting your face up to meet his gaze.

“Breathe,” he rasped, his thumb dragging over your parted lips before pressing down against your tongue. “There you go. Just like that. Lemme in, sweetheart.”

You whimpered around his thumb, dazed, overwhelmed, your mind drowning in the sensation of being so utterly filled. Toji grinned, something dark and satisfied curling in his expression.

“That’s it,” he praised, shifting his hips slightly, letting you feel every inch of him buried inside you. “This pussy was made to take me.”

Then he pulled back, just an inch—before driving his cock back in, harder, deeper.

You choked on a gasp, pleasure ricocheting up your spine as Toji set a brutal rhythm, dragging his length out before slamming it back inside, making sure you felt every ridge, every vein, every inch. Your bed creaked pitifully beneath the force of it, the sound of skin meeting skin obscene in the quiet room.

“So fuckin' good,” Toji groaned, his grip on your thighs tightening. “Makin' a mess all over me, baby. So desperate, so needy for cock.”

Your walls clenched at his words, the filthiness of it only heightening the coil tightening in your stomach. Toji caught it immediately, his grin widening.

“Yeah? You like that? My dirty little girl, gettin' off on being used?”

You couldn’t answer—not when he was fucking you so deep, so hard, the air punched from your lungs with every thrust. All you could do was sob, overwhelmed, delirious with pleasure.

Toji chuckled darkly, leaning in, his breath hot against your ear. “Such a nasty little slut.”

Your stomach twisted, shame and arousal tangling into something unbearable, but Toji didn’t let up.

“What would Megumi think, huh?” he sneered, voice dripping with mockery. “His pretty little friend—so fuckin’ proper, so well-behaved—lettin’ his deadbeat old man fuck her stupid.”

A sob tore from your throat, half-formed, half-pleasure, half-mortification. Toji only laughed, grabbing your jaw and forcing you to look at him.

“That’s right, baby,” he cooed, thrusts growing rougher. “Nothin’ you can say now, huh? Too busy cryin’ on my cock.”

Toji groaned, his pace never faltering. “You’re mine now, sweetheart. Gonna fuck you so full, make sure you never forget who this pussy belongs to.”

His hand slid down between your bodies, pressing against the bulge in your lower stomach, making you feel just how deep he was inside you. “You feel that?” he murmured, voice thick with possession. “That’s me, baby. Right where I fuckin’ belong.”

Your breath hitched, eyes rolling back as his fingers returned to your clit, rubbing in tight, relentless circles. The sensation was too much, your body wound tight, teetering on the edge of something devastating.

“Gonna cum for me?” he taunted, his thrusts turning sharp, bruising. “Gonna cream all over my cock like a needy little thing?”

You sobbed, legs tightening around his waist, nails raking down his back. Toji groaned at the sting, at the way your walls spasmed, clenching down so hard it nearly broke his rhythm.

“Fuck,” he hissed. “That’s it, sweetheart. Give it to me.”

The coil snapped, pleasure washing over you in waves so intense you nearly blacked out. Toji cursed, feeling you tighten around him, his own release barreling down on him as he drove into you with frantic, punishing thrusts.

“Take it,” he gritted out. “Take all of it.”

A final thrust, a guttural groan, and he was spilling inside you, filling you up with everything he had. His body shuddered, muscles taut as he rode out his high, keeping himself buried deep, making sure not a single drop was wasted.

He slumped over you, pressing a lazy, filthy kiss against your temple before pulling back slightly, just enough to meet your dazed, ruined gaze.

“Tappin’ out already, sweetheart?” he murmured, faux sympathy in his husky voice. “I’m not done with you yet.”

Your reflection in the vanity mirror was a mess—teary-eyed, mouth open in gasping moans, body trembling from overstimulation. Toji had you bent over the vanity, his rough hands gripping your hips, keeping you steady as he pounded into you from behind. The mirror shook violently with each thrust, the delicate perfume bottles and makeup brushes rattling dangerously close to toppling over.

“Look at you,” Toji rasped against your ear, one large hand sliding up to fist into your hair and yanking your head back, forcing you to watch yourself. "Letting a man like me use you like a cumdump. What would your parents say?" He punctuated his words with a brutal snap of his hips, knocking the air out of you.

A choked sob left your lips, your body jolting forward from the sheer force of it. Your nails scraped against the wooden surface, legs trembling as Toji groaned behind you, his hands tightening on your hips.

“Fuck, you’re still so goddamn tight,” he growled, pulling back just to slam in again, knocking the breath from your lungs. “Thought I broke you in already, but this pussy’s still clingin’ to me like it doesn’t wanna let go.”

Your mouth opened in a silent cry, the stretch unbearable, the pleasure too intense. Toji’s hands slid up your body, one wrapping around your throat, forcing you to lift your head and look at yourself in the mirror.

“Watch yourself,” he ordered, his grip tightening just enough to make your breath hitch. “Wanna see what a filthy fuckin’ mess you are takin’ my cock.”

Your teary eyes locked onto your reflection—onto the way your body jerked with every punishing thrust, onto the way Toji loomed over you like he owned you, his scarred lips curled into a smug smirk. The sight alone had your walls fluttering around him, clenching tight in helpless desperation.

Toji groaned, his free hand twisting in your hair, yanking your head back further. “Tight little thing,” he muttered, his voice low and dangerous. “You like this, don’t you? Bein’ used like this? Letting a man old enough to be your daddy fuck you stupid?”

You whined, barely able to form a response, your cheek smushed against the cool surface of the vanity. The only sounds leaving your lips were broken moans and gasps as he stretched you out, stuffing you full and hitting deep with every ruthless thrust.

"N-not—" you tried to speak, but Toji’s grip tightened in your hair, tugging you up so your back arched further, making his cock slide even deeper inside you. You sobbed at the sensation, thighs trembling from the overwhelming pleasure.

"Not what, sweetheart?" He mocked, his free hand slipping around to wrap around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your head spin. "Not supposed to let me fuck you like this? Too late for that. Look how fuckin’ messy you are for me."

He leaned in, his lips slanting over yours in a sloppy, desperate kiss, tongue plunging into your mouth and swallowing your gasps whole. He kissed like he fucked—hungry, all-consuming, utterly devastating.

The vanity rocked harder, the mirror shaking so violently you thought it might crack. Toji’s pace was relentless, his grunts and growls mixing with the obscene wet sounds of skin slapping against skin. You could barely keep yourself upright, your arms shaking as you tried to brace against the vanity.

"Fu-fuck, Toji—" you mewled, your entire body burning from overstimulation.

"What, baby? Can’t handle it?" He cooed mockingly, a smirk tugging at his lips as he pulled back slightly, only to slam back in with enough force to make the vanity screech against the hardwood floor. "Don’t tap out yet, princess. I’m not finished with you yet."

He wasn’t lying. His hands roamed over your trembling form, one hand gripping your hip in a bruising hold while the other moved to press firmly between your shoulder blades, forcing you deeper into the vanity. The change in angle had you keening, tears welling up in your eyes, body jolting with each harsh thrust. His fat tip was practically making out with your cervix. He was reaching so deep you swore he would somehow rip into you.

"That’s it, take it," he growled, pressing wet kisses along your spine, only to bite down hard enough to make you yelp. You felt his stubble tickling your skin. "Gonna fuck you so good, you won’t be able to think about anything else."

His fingers found your swollen clit, rubbing tight, merciless circles that had your legs shaking violently. The overstimulation was unbearable, but you couldn't stop yourself from clenching down around him, your body betraying you in its desperate need for more.

Toji chuckled darkly, feeling your gummy walls spasm around him. "Yeah, that’s it, sweetheart. Cream all over my cock. Show me just how much you fuckin’ love it."

You let out a choked sob, your release slamming into you with blinding intensity. Your body seized up, pleasure crashing over you in waves so strong it left you breathless.

“Go on, then,” he murmured, voice dripping with filth. “Cum for me, baby. Make a mess of yourself.”

His words shattered whatever restraint you had left. Your body convulsed, pleasure washing over you in waves so intense you nearly blacked out. Your walls spasmed around him, milking him, dragging him deeper. Toji groaned, his pace turning frantic, bruising, his own release barreling down on him.

“Fuck,” he snarled, snapping his hips forward one last time, burying himself deep. “Take it—take every fuckin’ drop.”

He filled you up, his body shuddering against yours, his breath ragged in your ear. His grip loosened on your throat, his other hand sliding down to rub slow, lazy circles against your overstimulated clit, making you jolt with aftershocks.

Your body barely had a second to recover before Toji was moving again, hands gripping your thighs as he dragged you off the vanity and down onto the cold hardwood floor. The shock of the cold floor jolted your warm body, shining with a thin sheen of sweat. Your legs were jelly, trembling from overstimulation, but he handled you like you were weightless, shoving you onto your back and manhandling you into a deep mating press.

Your knees nearly touched your shoulders, folded up so tight you had no control—no escape. Toji loomed over you, his massive frame caging you in completely, dark eyes hooded with hunger as he took in the sight of you laid out beneath him. His fat cock, still slick from your previous release, slapped against your raw, swollen folds, making you whimper.

Pap. Pap. Pap.

“Not done with you yet, sweetheart,” he murmured, rubbing the thick tip against your overstimulated clit, making your whole body jolt. He smirked at your reaction, pressing in just enough to make you gasp. “You can take more, can’t you? Fucked this little pussy open real nice already.”

You moaned, brain too foggy to form words, only able to squirm under him as he teased you. His hands slid down, gripping the backs of your thighs and spreading you even wider, completely exposing you to him. He groaned at the sight, his cock twitching. “Fuckin’ made for this. Just look at you.”

You tried to babble something—maybe a protest, maybe a plea—but Toji didn’t give you the chance. He pushed in with one brutal thrust, bottoming out instantly, punching the air from your lungs. The stretch was unbearable, white-hot pleasure and pain mixing as your walls spasmed around the thick intrusion.

Toji let out a rough groan, rolling his hips to make you feel every inch of him buried inside. “Biiiig stretch, baby,” he grunted. His large hand pressed down on your belly, right where he was nestled deep, and his smirk widened when he felt the outline of his cock there. “Fuckin’ hell,” he rasped, pressing down harder. “Feel that, baby? You’re so fuckin’ full of me.”

Tears pricked at your eyes, body overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of it all. You nodded weakly, a choked sob escaping as he gave an experimental thrust, grinding deeper, making your vision blur.

“Too much—” you whimpered, nails clawing at his biceps, but Toji only chuckled darkly, leaning down until his lips brushed your ear.

“Too bad,” he murmured. “Takin’ it. Every fuckin’ inch.”

And then he started moving.

His thrusts were deep and brutal, slamming you down into the floor with every snap of his hips. The obscene sounds of skin slapping against skin, the wet squelch of your soaked cunt, and Toji’s rough groans filled the room. Your moans were reduced to broken, breathless cries, your legs twitching from the relentless pace.

“Fuck, look at you,” he groaned, voice thick with lust. “This tiny pussy takin’ me so good—look at the mess you’re makin’.”

You barely registered his words, too lost in the stretch, the overwhelming fullness of him splitting you open. Your nails dug into his arms, desperate for something to ground yourself with, but it was useless—he had you trapped, helpless beneath him.

Then, Toji leaned in, capturing your lips in a filthy, desperate kiss. It was messy, all tongue and teeth, his breath hot and heavy against your mouth. He swallowed your whimpers greedily, sucking on your tongue before pulling back just enough to let a thick strand of spit drip into your mouth.

“Swallow,” he ordered, voice dark and commanding.

You obeyed without thinking, your body too far gone to do anything but submit. He grinned, dragging his thumb down to smear your spit-slick lips before diving back in, devouring you in another feverish kiss.

“Such a good fuckin’ girl,” he gritted out, watching the way your body took him. “Lettin’ me break you in like this. Letting a man old like me fuck you stupid on the floor.” He dragged his tongue along your cheek, tasting the salt of your tears. “Pretty princess was pampered all her life, but all she really needs is some good dicking down, huh?”

You could only nod your head weakly, overwhelmed, overstimulated—completely at his mercy.

Toji growled, his grip tightening on your thighs as he drove into you even harder, grinding so deep you could feel him in your stomach. “Good,” he muttered. “’Cause you’re mine now. Ain’t gonna let anyone else have this pretty fuckin’ pussy.”

Your back arched off the floor as the pleasure built to an unbearable peak, your walls clamping down around him, pulling him deeper. Toji cursed under his breath, his thrusts turning sloppy, erratic.

“Gonna fill you up,” he groaned, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing tight circles to push you over the edge. “Fuckin’ take it, baby. Wanna see you dripping with me.”

A strangled cry ripped from your throat as your orgasm crashed over you, body convulsing under him. Your walls spasmed, milking his cock, and that was all it took. Toji snarled, burying himself to the hilt as he spilled inside you, his body trembling with the force of his release.

For a long moment, all that filled the room was heavy breathing, the both of you panting against each other, bodies slick with sweat. But Toji wasn’t done.

His dark gaze flickered down to where you were still twitching around him, his cum leaking out in thick dribbles. A slow, lazy smirk stretched across his lips as he rolled his hips once more, making you shudder.

Your legs twitched with overstimulation, your mind blank with pleasure as Toji fucked you through every last wave. He leaned back just slightly, admiring the sight beneath him—your thoroughly ruined form, the way your body trembled, the way his come dripped from your swollen, used pussy, smearing along your inner thighs and pooling beneath you on the floor.

“Messy fuckin’ girl,” he muttered, dragging a thick finger through the creamy slick spilling from your cunt. He pushed it back inside, groaning at the way you clenched around the intrusion. “Still takin’ me so good, even like this. Guess I fucked the fight right outta you.”

He leaned down, pressing a slow, filthy kiss against your parted lips, savoring the taste of you, the heat of your breath against his. Then he pulled back, eyes dark and gleaming with satisfaction.

“Hope you didn’t have plans tomorrow, sweetheart.”

“Hello? Earth to dumbass.”

You blinked, abruptly pulled from your haze by the irritated voice across the table. Megumi was staring at you, brow furrowed, fingers drumming against the chipped ceramic of his coffee cup.

“You’ve been spacing out for the past five minutes,” he said flatly, taking a sip of his drink. “What the hell’s up with you lately?”

Your fingers curled around your own cup, but you barely registered the warmth seeping into your palms. Your mind was still stuck in the days before, still reeling from the way Toji had left you a mess—inside and out.

And then, he’d left his number.

You hadn’t even had time to process it before your phone buzzed later that night, his name—well, a name, since he saved himself as just ‘T’—lighting up your screen. Since then, you have been texting. Constantly. Not just late at night, but throughout the day, his presence worming its way into your routine, his words lingering in your head long after you locked your phone.

And fuck, the things he said.

Your thighs pressed together instinctively under the table, breath hitching as you thought about his last text. About how he described exactly what he wanted to do to you next time, about how he made sure you understood just how ruined you already were. How he had you sending him voice messages late at night, muffling your moans into your pillow while he groaned filth into your ear.

It wasn’t just dirty talk, though. Toji had a way of creeping into your head, teasing you about how you were already addicted to him, how he bet you couldn’t go a single day without thinking about how good he felt. And the worst part? He was right.

You had tried to keep the conversations short, to play it cool, but Toji was relentless. Always saying just enough to get under your skin, to have you squirming with frustration or anticipation. Like when he’d sent you a lazy, taunting text that morning:

Bet your legs are still sore, huh?

Good girl. Meant to do that.

Your stomach twisted just remembering it, the phantom ache between your thighs only proving his point. The way he talked to you—like you were already his, like you belonged to him—made your skin burn, made your breath hitch in a way you couldn’t control.

“You’re doing it again.” Megumi’s voice cut through your daze once more, and you nearly jumped. His gaze was sharper now, scrutinizing. “What’s up with you?”

“Nothing,” you said quickly, too quickly. You grabbed your coffee, taking a sip to mask your flustered expression, but the heat did little to hide the flush crawling up your neck.

Megumi didn’t buy it. His eyes narrowed slightly. “Bullshit. You’re never this quiet.”

You swallowed, forcing a casual shrug. “Just tired.”

He frowned, clearly unconvinced. “You sure? Because you’ve been acting weird for days now. Spacing out, jumping at your phone like it’s gonna bite you—”

“I do not—”

“You do.” He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “And now you’re acting all weird and fidgety. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were talking to some guy.”

Your stomach twisted violently, fingers tightening around your cup. Megumi said it like a joke, like the idea of you sneaking around with someone was ridiculous. But if only he knew.

If only he knew that you had let his father, of all people, stretch you open on your own bed. That you had been texting him for days, hanging onto every filthy word, every little reminder of how thoroughly he had wrecked you. That even now, in the middle of a café, you could still feel the ghost of Toji’s hands on your skin, still hear the way he groaned your name in your ear.

You let out a nervous laugh, waving a dismissive hand. “Yeah, right.”

Megumi hummed, eyeing you for a long moment before finally sighing and dropping the subject. “Whatever. Just get your shit together for our group project. I’m going to murder Nobara if she keeps ghosting our group chat.”

You nodded, swallowing hard as you forced yourself to focus on the conversation, but your mind was already wandering again—right back to Toji.

It had become a bad habit.

A filthy, reckless, all-consuming bad habit.

You weren’t sure when it officially started—when the first time bled into the second, then the third, until keeping count felt pointless. Maybe it was when he first showed up outside your place late at night, an amused glint in his eye when you opened the door and let him in without question. Maybe it was when you started to leave it unlocked for him, knowing he’d come anyway.

Now, it was routine. Toji slipped into your sheets, into your body, into your life like he had every right to be there. He didn’t wait for an invitation anymore, just took what he wanted, when he wanted, and you let him—every damn time.

And it was never safe. Never careful. Always on the verge of getting caught.

A quick fuck in a restaurant bathroom between lectures. His large hand stuffed over your mouth, teeth sinking into your shoulder to muffle his own grunts as he forced you to stay quiet.

Bent over the hood of your car in an empty parking garage, the metal cool against your burning skin, his palm flat between your shoulders to keep you in place.

His fingers pressing into you under the table at a restaurant, his breath hot against your ear as he murmured filth, his other hand idly stirring his beer like he wasn’t two knuckles deep inside you.

It didn’t matter where, didn’t matter when. If he wanted you, he took you. And you let him.

You were addicted to the danger of it, to the sick thrill of knowing just how easily you could be found out.

And that was the worst part. Because despite knowing how disastrous it would be if anyone—if Megumi—found out, you still didn’t stop.

It was supposed to be just physical.

A bad decision. A reckless indulgence. Something to get out of your system before you went back to your real life—before you found someone appropriate, someone who made sense.

A mistake, then a bad habit, then something you stopped trying to name because there wasn’t a word for what you and Toji had become. It wasn’t love, wasn’t romance. But it wasn’t just fucking, either.

Somewhere between the nights tangled in his sheets and the stolen moments that left you breathless, the lines had blurred. It wasn’t just about the way he touched you anymore, or the way you fell apart under him. It was the way you felt when he looked at you like he knew you—really knew you. Like he saw past the carefully curated version of yourself that the rest of the world expected.

Toji had a way of dragging the real you to the surface, of unraveling you with nothing but a smirk and a well-placed taunt. He didn’t care about appearances, didn’t give a fuck about the prim and proper image you’d spent your entire life maintaining. With him, you didn’t have to be perfect. You could be messy, needy, selfish. You could whimper and beg and take everything he gave you without worrying about how it looked or what it meant.

And he liked that. He liked knowing he was the only one who got to see you like this. He liked reminding you of it, too, voice rough in your ear as he told you no one else could fuck you like he did, that no one else would ever know you like he did.

The worst part was that he was right.

But it wasn’t just him getting under your skin. You’d learned him, too, in ways you weren’t sure anyone else had. Toji wasn’t the type to open up, wasn’t the type to share unless he had something to gain. But you caught the way his expression softened sometimes, the way he listened when you talked, even if he pretended not to care. Like how he always remembered little details about you, things you hadn’t even realized you mentioned. How he never outright said it, but you could tell when he was listening, when he was paying attention. How he poked fun at the life you led but still entertained it in his own way—swiping a sip of your overpriced coffee just to grimace at the taste, picking at the expensive fabric of your clothes like he couldn’t believe people paid so much for something so impractical. He’d tease you about your rich girl problems, mock you for your spoiled habits, but then he’d fix your necklace when the clasp got caught in your hair, or toss his jacket over your shoulders when he thought you looked cold.

It was a push and pull, a delicate game neither of you acknowledged but played all the same. You weren’t sure when it had started feeling like more than a transaction, when the nights you spent together stopped being about lust and started being about something else entirely. Maybe it was the way he never left right away anymore. Maybe it was the way he pulled you against his chest when it was over, tracing lazy circles into your hip like he didn’t want to let go.

Or maybe it was the way you let him.

The air was thick with the lingering scent of cigarette smoke, the low hum of the city outside filtering through the open window. You sat at the edge of the bed, legs crossed, fingers curled into the plush fabric of the sheets. Toji was leaning back against the headboard, shirtless, sweat still cooling on his skin, lazily dragging from a cigarette. The orange ember flared as he inhaled, casting a fleeting glow over his sharp features.

You should’ve gotten dressed. Should’ve left already. But instead, you were here, tracing the seam of the pillowcase, debating how to say what you’d come here to say.

His eyes flicked to you, amused, like he could already tell something was on your mind. “You’re quiet.”

You hesitated. “I have something to tell you.”

Toji exhaled slowly, watching the smoke curl toward the ceiling. “That so?”

You nodded, swallowing. Your throat felt tight. “I’m getting engaged soon.”

There was a pause. A beat where all you could hear was the faint hum of the city beyond the window.

Then Toji huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Knew it was comin’.”

Your stomach twisted. There was no shock in his voice. No real reaction at all. Just that same damn smirk, lazy and knowing, like he had been waiting for this moment.

He flicked the cigarette into the ashtray, stretching his arms above his head. His muscles flexed, shifting under his scarred skin. “Guess that means our little arrangement’s gotta end, huh?” He was grinning now, but there was something biting underneath it. “Wouldn’t wanna mess up your perfect little life.”

You swallowed, your gaze searching his. Trying to find something beneath that smug exterior. Something real.

But Toji just smirked wider, eyes half-lidded as he raked a slow glance down your bare skin. “What’s the lucky guy like? Bet he’s got a nice suit, fancy-ass watch. S’what your folks always wanted, huh?”

You said nothing.

He tsked, shaking his head. “What a shame.” Then his hand was on your chin, fingers firm, tilting your face up to his. His grip was possessive, almost cruel. “Hope he knows what he’s gettin’. ‘Cause I sure as hell do.”

And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t sweet. It was deep and filthy, like he was branding you—making damn sure you remembered exactly who had you first. His teeth scraped against your lower lip, his tongue claiming your mouth, a cruel mockery of every time he had pulled you under him and ruined you. His grip tightened when you whimpered, and his other hand found your waist, dragging you closer like he didn’t care that you had just told him you belonged to someone else.

Because right now, you still belonged to him.

And he was making sure you never forgot it.

The arrangement dwindled the way all things doomed to end eventually did.

It wasn’t abrupt, wasn’t some dramatic confrontation—it simply faded. A slow decline, a natural withering. The late-night texts became scarce. The stolen moments fewer. The lingering touches reduced to nothing. You got busier, consumed by the responsibilities of graduation, the whirlwind of your engagement, the pressure of stepping into the life that had always been laid out for you.

And Toji let it happen.

He saw it coming. Of course, he did. He always knew this was temporary, a guilty indulgence neither of you should’ve entertained for as long as you did. He didn’t chase, didn’t demand an explanation. His last message had been weeks before the wedding, something teasing, something impersonal—one last echo of the man who had unraveled you so thoroughly.

You hadn’t replied.

The wedding was perfect. A masterpiece of wealth and status, orchestrated down to the finest details. The Italian villa gleamed under the golden afternoon sun, its marble floors reflecting the light of extravagant chandeliers. Crystal glasses chimed in elegant toasts, the air thick with the scent of imported florals, the hum of string instruments weaving seamlessly into murmured conversations.

You were the picture of a bride who had it all. Draped in delicate lace, diamonds glittering at your ears and throat, the weight of expectation settled as effortlessly as the veil cascading down your back. Chloe, Marissa, and Julia—your bridesmaids, your childhood friends, your social equals—stood beside you in gowns carefully chosen to complement your own, their smiles radiant, their laughter effortless.

“Your husband is absolutely smitten,” Chloe teased, adjusting the bracelet on her wrist as she leaned in. “I don’t think he’s taken his eyes off you all evening.”

“He’d be a fool if he did,” Marissa added with a smirk, sipping her champagne. “God, this whole thing looks like something out of a dream. You’ve really outdone yourself.”

Julia sighed wistfully, watching the crowd swirl around the dance floor. “It’s everything we imagined when we were little, isn’t it?”

You smiled—because it was expected, because you knew the right expression, the right words, the right way to nod as if everything was falling into place exactly as it should.

And yet, your mind wandered.

Across the room, Megumi sat among the other honored guests, suited up and polished, the image of the young man he was always meant to be. A quiet presence, sharp-eyed and observant, a reminder of a past that should have been long buried. Your gaze lingered on him too long, searching, tracing the familiar shadows of his father in the angles of his face. The resemblance sent a ripple through you, something unsteady and unshakable.

Toji should not have been in your thoughts today. And yet, he was everywhere. In the phantom sensation of calloused hands gripping your hips, in the echo of a gravelly chuckle against your ear, in the ghost of bruises long faded but never truly gone.

Your husband touched the small of your back, his warmth a contrast to the chill creeping up your spine. “You look beautiful,” he murmured, his voice full of quiet reverence.

You turned to him, offering the practiced softness he deserved. He was good, kind, everything your family had hoped for. Everything you had been raised to want.

So why did you feel like a guest in your own life?

The clinking of glasses signaled another toast, another moment to be captured, another perfect memory being curated for the life you were meant to lead. You lifted your champagne flute, smiled for the cameras, and played your part with practiced grace.

But deep down, you knew.

No matter how beautiful the setting, how flawless the performance, there was a version of you that had been left behind in tangled sheets and rough hands, in whispered taunts and breathless gasps. A version of you that had been ruined long before you ever recited your vows at the altar.

The wedding night only made you remember the gruff man with the scar running through his lip and a pair of poisonous green eyes.

Your new husband held you in his arms, kissed you with a gentleness that should’ve made you feel cherished, safe, loved. He was everything you were supposed to want—handsome, well-mannered, well-bred, the kind of man your parents would be proud of. He looked at you like you were the most precious thing in the world. And yet, you felt nothing.

Not like you did with Toji.

Because with Toji, there had never been any pretending. He had seen you, the real you, in ways no one else ever had. He had stripped you bare—of your clothes, of your composure, of every carefully constructed part of yourself that you wore like armor. And you had let him. You had loved it. Because for once, you weren’t the perfect daughter, the perfect student, the perfect bride-to-be.

You were just his.

And now, lying beside the man you were supposed to spend your life with, you couldn’t stop thinking about the one you had left behind.

The illusion of a picture-perfect marriage was easy to maintain.

You had stepped into the role seamlessly—graceful, poised, the ever-dutiful wife draped in luxury. The townhome was pristine, the social obligations fulfilled without fault, the smiles exchanged between you and your husband warm enough to never invite suspicion.

And yet, beneath the surface, something gnawed at you. A restlessness. A quiet, lingering hunger.

It wasn’t love that was missing; it was something far more visceral, far more ruinous. The kind of fire you had known in secret, in sin, in the hands of a man who had no place in your world but had left his mark so deeply that even months of distance hadn’t erased him.

You weren’t supposed to see him again.

It happened at a gala—a refined, exclusive event, the kind your husband thrived in. Champagne flutes clinked, laughter hummed through the room, and you played your part to perfection, offering effortless smiles, exchanging pleasantries, standing at your husband’s side like a perfectly placed accessory.

And then you saw him.

Toji.

He didn’t belong in a place like this, and yet, there he was—leaning against the bar, broad and imposing in a tailored black suit that fit him too well, the collar slightly loosened as if he refused to be fully tamed. The same lazy smirk, the same sharp green eyes raking over you with a knowing amusement, as if he had been expecting this moment.

He looked the same as he did the last time he held you in his arms all those months ago.

Your breath hitched. Heat coiled low in your stomach, unbidden, unwanted. Your steps slowed to a stop, your left hand clenching around the stem of the perspiring champagne flute.

"Look at you," he drawled, swirling the amber liquid in his glass before setting it down. His eyes dragged to the glittering diamond on your left hand. "All wifed up and still starin' like you want me to bend you over this table."

Your throat went dry.

You should walk away. You should say something dismissive, feign indifference, remind him—and most importantly, yourself—that you had moved on. But the words didn’t come, and Toji stepped closer, his presence cutting through the air like a knife, his scent filling your lungs, something deep and masculine and maddeningly familiar.

Your husband was still in the room, but far enough, engrossed in conversation, unaware. You weren’t in his direct line of sight—only a corner of the grand ballroom, tucked away just enough for shadows to swallow what should never happen.

Toji’s fingers brushed your wrist, barely a touch, and yet your body reacted, betraying you. His hand took your drink from you, setting it down on a nearby end table, his calloused fingers stroking your fingers, the hardness of your wedding ring. His smirk deepened at the way your breath hitched, at the way your lashes fluttered.

"Bet he don’t fuck you the way I did, huh?" His voice was low, rough, dripping with sin. "Bet you still think about it. How I stretched this tight little cunt. How you took it like you were made for me."

A shaky breath escaped you. The world around you blurred, the weight of your choices pressing in from all sides.

You really shouldn’t do this. Shouldn’t even be entertaining those thoughts in your head. But then again, had he really left your head in the first place?

During the nights your husband kissed you, tried to fuck you, you found that there was much left to desire. Sometimes, you had to close your eyes and pretend it was a scarred lip kissing you sloppily, that same embrace that reminded you more of a furnace wrapping around your frame, and a pair of smoldering, dark green eyes boring into your own to even bring you close to cumming.

His knuckles grazed your jaw, thumb dragging along your lower lip, teasing, testing. Your lips parted slightly, betraying you, and Toji hummed, gaze flicking down.

"Still got that pretty little mouth, too," he murmured, voice thick with something darker, heavier. "Miss havin' it all fucked dumb for me."

You swallowed hard, pulse hammering against your ribs.

And then he leaned in, lips barely grazing your ear, his breath warm and deliberate. "Be honest, sweetheart. You miss me?"

Your silence was answer enough.

The fire had never gone out. It had only been waiting to be reignited.

#jjk smut #toji x reader #toji fushiguro #jjk fanfic

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