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luvsupa · 2 months ago

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fuckin problems. .° ༘🎧⋆🖇₊ toji fushiguro.

sum. toji’s prepping for a fight night match and his trainer was adamant that women would be a distraction. when he sees you in the gym late one night, obviously all of that changes.

wc. 4.8k

tags. boxer!tojixcollege student!reader, (it isn’t mentioned in the fic.) toji and reader are mid-twenties, reader is fem and black. modern au, unprotected, pússy eating, shower sèx, toji’s a bit of a hoe, dacryphilia, praise kink (lots of pet names!!) set in a gym, some workout terms used.

an. i’m back . . . did you guys miss me? 🥹 i worked really hard on this. i hope you enjoy it.

i love bad bitches, that’s my fuckin problem . . . and yeah, i like to fuck, i got a fuckin’ problem.

loud music blaring through his black airpod maxes drowns out the harsh clang of the weighted barbell making contact with sleek, black hardwood beneath him. chest heaving, toji wipes his sweaty forehead with the hem of his compression shirt. he’d just finished his last set of heavy romanian deadlifts, the last exercise of five—and he doesn’t know if it was through discipline or pure willpower. he’s internally cursing his trainer. he’s a boxer, not training to be a part of the fucking avengers.

and with being a professional boxer, being physically fit comes with the territory. toji knows that. it was recommended he switch from his last gym to this one. virtually unknown and far from paparazzi and groupies. lowkey. he can deal with that. this new regimen his mentor had implemented, though? it would be his undoing.

aside from working out six days a week with a new grueling routine, there were now rules toji had to abide by—upon breaking them, he’d be ineligible for the upcoming heavyweight championship match in a few weeks. there were only four temptations he was to avoid: liquor, greasy food, staying up late . . . and this last one toji dreads, no women. no sexual intercourse of any kind.

that was a fucking problem.

no conceited shit, toji knows he is attractive. he’s built. tall, tatted from the neck down with sculpted abs that could’ve been crafted by god himself. he can’t even go to the grocery store without being approached by women. and whether these women were drawn to his fame or brawn, toji didn’t care either way—what sane man would turn down pussy without any attachments?

halle berry, hallelujah. holla back, ima do ya, beast!

taking a seat on the rubber bench behind him, toji stares at his reflection in the mirror. dim hex lights that hang from above cast dark shadows over his bulky figure, highlighting the definition in his biceps and glinting micro cuban link dangling from his neck. veined, inked hands reach for the nike water bottle on the floor, tipping his head back as he shoots a stream of cold water into his open mouth. as much as he hates this new routine, he’d be lying if he said the results weren’t rewarding.

toji has no intentions of abstaining from sex completely. sure he could do a few days, he wasn’t an addict . . . but two weeks? fuck no. there’s too many beautiful women out here that deserve his dick and undivided attention . . . and when his tired eyes land on you, setting up on a smith machine across the room in this navy matching set that molds on your body like a second skin? toji’s never been more sure that he’d break a rule in his life. not like he’s ever been much of a rule follower anyway.

he watches you, shamelessly. upon doing so, he realizes this wasn’t the first time he’s seen you. you always stick to the smith machines and free weights right next to them, minding your business in your own little world. he doesn’t think you’ve spared him a glance since he’s joined. with interest now piqued, steel eyes observe you mid-workout with newfound curiosity.

you’re pretty. glossed lips pouted in exertion, sweat glistening on exposed skin like diamonds. chocolate brown eyes glued to your reflection. the navy blue crop top and legging set compliments your brown skin, accentuating the curves toji can tell you’ve worked hard for. he almost catches himself drooling . . . but the longer toji watches through your set of squats, there’s something glaring at him that he can’t quite ignore.

your form is fucking terrible.

maybe it’s fatigue or the weight being too heavy for you to handle—but years of training makes it easy for him to spot the mistakes being made. rounded shoulders, anterior tilt, and poor foot placement. your back will be sore as fuck once you’re finished, he’s sure of it . . .

. . . it’d be wrong to not help fix your problem, right?

locking the bar into the safety hook, you plop yourself down onto the nearest bench, completely out of breath. this workout had you fighting for your life. it’s been a while since you’ve been to the gym, but damn, you didn’t realize you fell off this badly.

this is why you always come to this gym late at night: free to make a fool of yourself without having to worry about stares from nosy strangers. motivation’s been low but with discipline, you’ve made so much progress towards your body goals—you can’t tap out now.

you look down at your apple watch. 1:35 am. if you lock in for this last set, you can pack up and be out of here by 2. leaning forward, you tighten the laces of your grey new balances. cockiness by rihanna blaring in your ears, you nod your head along to the beat, mentally psyching yourself up to push through this shit. you almost don’t notice the person standing in front of you, their black nikes in your peripheral vision.

almost.

what the fuck? you straighten up, blood rushing to your ears from the quick movement. angling your beats off your ear, the words come out before you get a good look at this person who decided to rudely disturb you, “can i help you?”

the person, a man, chuckles in response. “nah . . . i was thinking maybe i could help you, though.”

oh? you have to crane your neck to really see him, he towers over you. shit, you don’t think it’d make a difference if you were standing. grey sweatpants hang low on his hips, sharp v-line peeking over black calvin klein. he’s got a white towel slung over broad shoulders, contrasting the vibrant hues of ink on his neck. he looks . . . familiar. his cool steel eyes and scarred lip are ringing bells in your head but he looks so fucking good, you aren’t really thinking about a damn thing.

he doesn’t wait for your answer, noting the way you’re ogling him. “i’m toji and you are . . . ?”

yes, toji. you remember who he is now. your best friend had shown you a reel of him boxing just the other day. you didn’t know much about boxing but toji is finer in person. finer than the pictures you’d seen when scrolling on his instagram. (how was that even possible?)

shit, you’re staring hard as fuck. “( 🫶🏾 ).” you say with a sheepish smile. he returns it with one of his own. you extend your hand for him to shake, “i know you, i’ve seen you before.”

“beautiful name for a beautiful girl,” he muses, lifting your hand into his much bigger one, kissing the back of it. you roll your eyes. the compliment was corny, predictable even . . . so why does it have your heart beating in your chest and between your thighs?

“you said you’ve seen me before. you don’t look like much of a boxing fan . . .” he probes with a brow raised. he isn’t surprised when you shake your head no, nothing about you gives avid sports watcher. he doesn’t press on it, opting to get straight to the point. “mhm. i don’t want this to sound weird but i was watching when you were doing squats and i noticed that your form could use some . . . work.”

damn, was it that obvious?

heat prickles up your neck, flushing your face in embarrassment. you can’t believe he saw you … had he been watching the whole time? you’re mortified at the possibility. you attempt to hide your face in your hands but it does little to ease the self-consciousness twisting your insides. with your words muffled, the only thing toji can make out is you muttering i feel so stupid.

“hey, hey. don’t say that. you’re not stupid.”

he crouches down, his touch gentle as he coaxes your hands away from your face and into his again. you’re avoiding his gaze, thick brows furrowed and glossy lips pouted. so cute. “it happens to the best of us, don’t overthink it.” he stands to his full height, tugging you up with him. “i can help you correct it and you’ll never have to worry about fucking up again . . . sound good, doll?”

his reassurance makes your heart flutter. he seems genuine so why would you decline his offer? just like that, any lingering feelings of embarrassment are gone. you give a quick nod, biting back a smile. “mhm, sounds good.”

he leads you over to the smith machine, bright pink neck pad on the bar a clear indicator it was the one you’d been using. you bend below it, eyes following his form in the mirror as he swaps out current weight plates with lighter ones, you presume. it’s hard not to watch him. veins bulge through the colored ink on his forearms, beefy muscles flexing with each plate he lifts. he has this aura about him . . . masculine. mysterious. it turns you on. everything about this man makes you horny and you just met him.

his eyes catch yours in the mirror, smirking at the way you quickly avert them. “is it okay if i . . . ?” he stands directly behind you, thick fingers hovering over your hips. you nod consent, breath hitching at the way they shape on your curves. you swear you feel them through your leggings. (or maybe that’s just what you want to happen instead.)

he’s keeping a respectable distance between your bodies but he’s close enough that the scent of his expensive cologne lingers in the air. it’s making you dizzy. he leans down, lips brushing your earlobe as he directs you. “tilt your hips forward, baby.” his thumbs lightly press on your lower back for emphasis. he hums in approval when it feels right. “that should help your back . . . and feet should be parallel, doll. you’ve got em too far.”

after a few more adjustments, he does a onceover, taking in your form. you don’t miss the way his eyes linger on your ass longer than they should. not that you minded. you fight the urge to bite the tip of your acrylic. you know you’ve gotten thick, he can barely handle it!

“mhm, you’re ready.” he says, lifting the bar off the safety hook and lowering it onto your shoulders. you wrap your fingers around the cool steel, preparing yourself for what’s to come. “you’re gonna push this set to failure for me, baby.”

“what?” you weren’t prepared for that. does this man want you to die? you’ve been through enough tonight. you shake your head with your face scrunched up in disapproval, “i can’t do that shit—“

“you can.” he reiterates, cutting your train of thought short. his hands gently rub up your hips, settling at your waist. “you can and you will.” the dominant edge in his voice makes the hairs on your nape stand on end, next words caught in your throat as your eyes meet again in the mirror.

his glare is smoldering, dark with such raw intensity that you can feel the lust exuding off him. god, it’s intimidating. he’s intimidating but you can’t look away, your own arousal pooling in your panties. he commands your attention without saying a single word. it’d be embarrassing if you weren’t utterly and completely enamored with this man. you’re ready to fold and let him have his way with you.

he maintains that eye contact as he leans down, tilting his head to ensure his words meet your ears. his voice drops to a husky whisper, raspy with a hunger that threatens to consume him. “i got somethin’ for you when you’re done. so be a good girl and finish up for me, hm?”

goosebumps raise on your soft skin like wildfire, audibly swallowing once his words completely settle in. “oh . . . o-okay.”

you’re not sure if that was a threat or a promise. either way, the implications of what he said sent a shock of nervous excitement coursing through your body. it serves as the motivation you need to push you through the rest of your workout, and there’s one thought plaguing your mind while you’re doing it:

what exactly is he going to do to you?

ㅤ♡ྀི ₊

toji knows eating it from the back in the gym shower when he just met you less than two hours ago is crazy. does he give a fuck? absolutely not.

you’re pressed up against the shower wall and toji’s kneeling behind you, his big hands trailing up the back of your thighs. you thought the warm stream of water on your skin would ease the anxiety bubbling in your belly. but it only serves to heighten your sensitivity even more—each graze of toji’s fingertips sends spikes of heat up your spine, breath hitching the closer he gets to your most sensitive parts. the steam envelopes the two of you in the small space, and it’s like it clouds your vision and common sense.

“toji, c’mon—need you, hurry up.” you whine, looking back at him over your shoulder with needy eyes, impatience growing by the minute. it’s obvious he’s dragging this out to tease you and you’re over it. you need his mouth—his tongue— on you now.

toji chuckles; the desperation in your voice makes his dick pulse against his thigh. unbeknownst to you, the feeling is mutual and he’s about to show you how real it is. “i told you i got you, didn’t i? just relax baby, lemme take care of you.”

he spreads your asscheeks with his palms, using his thumbs to part your lower lips at the same time. your pussy is so pretty, gleaming with slick, swollen clit peeking out your folds. he groans low in his throat as your hole clenches around nothing, the urge to devour you whole overwhelming him. usually, he wouldn’t eat a stranger out, but something tells him it’d be a disservice to himself to fuck without tasting you first.

fuck it. he leans in, plump lips latching onto your lower ones before dipping his tongue into your hole, lapping up all your juices that have accumulated there. he’s so into it, he doesn’t even fight the moan that slips out when your pussy is sweeter than he thought it’d be. and you’re gasping at the vibrations that ripple through your body like shockwaves, your hand reaching behind to grab onto his damp locks. the tugs on his scalp urge him on, and he lays his tongue flat, dragging up your slit until he reaches your clit, sealing his mouth around the bud.

your jaw goes slack, unable to contain the whimpers and moans that fall out your mouth as your hips jerk back onto his tongue, your hand buried in his hair, pulling him deeper into your cunt. “ahhn toji, oh f-fuck, feel s’goodd.”

“mhm, pussy tastes so good, baby. ride my fuckin face, c’mon—” his words are muffled within your heat, but you get the idea when his strong arms wrap around your thighs, ensuring you won’t slide on the slippery tile beneath you. water cascades off the curve of your back as you arch up into his mouth, using the grip you have on his locks and your other hand bracing the wall to fuck his face with precision.

instead of keeping his head still, toji moves in tandem with your hips—up and down, side to side, licking and slurping anywhere his tongue can reach. he’s eating you like a man starved, sucking your pussy into his mouth greedily, nose bumping your perineum as he fucks you with his tongue, meeting each grind of your hips halfway like he’s fucking you for real. moving both hands to cup and smack on the globes of your ass, he pulls and tugs on your throbbing clit with his lips, producing sounds so sloppy and nasty, louder than the water rushing between your bodies—and your cries reach beautiful crescendos that have his ears ringing delightfully and dick throbbing, painfully hard and oozing precum on his toned stomach.

(the thought of dropping a hand between his legs doesn’t even cross his mind, not when he’s so focused on making you cum.)

all that’s coming out your mouth are praises, curses and his name. “t-toji, toji! baby, oooh shit. don’t stop, don’t stop!” you can barely think, let alone breathe—he’s taking your soul, and you can’t keep up, legs trembling and stomach caving in as you succumb to the pleasure overloading your body, “m’closee, gonna cum!”

toji keeps his movements consistent, staying right where you need him, tongue heavy and long on your aching cunt. his voice is hoarse as he encourages what’s to come, rough and demanding, “yeeeah, gimme that shit, mama. cum for me.”

his words are the final thread that makes you snap. that invisible knot in your stomach unravels and you’re cumming hard, his lower face drenched as you bless him with your essence. toji works you through your orgasm, not stopping until you weakly attempt to push his head away, body shuddering in the blissful aftershocks. begrudgingly, toji parts from your pussy, dick jumping as he watches the mix of his saliva and your own cum drooling out of you before standing up, turning all his attention to your slumped form.

you’re a mess, the prettiest mess toji thinks he’s ever seen—his arm slung around your waist is the only thing keeping you upright. disheveled curls stick to your hot skin, chest heaving as you struggle to catch your breath, head lolling back onto his broad shoulder. he has to laugh. you’re so fucked out and he hasn’t even fucked you yet.

“already tired, mama? m’just gettin’ started.” he murmurs teasingly, licking a stripe of the column of your neck. he leaves wet, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, stopping the moment his lips hover over yours, contemplating what he should do—he really wants to kiss you. and he can tell by that doe-eyed look you’re giving him that you want to kiss him, too. so you make the decision for him, curling a hand into his hair and tugging him down so your lips can meet his halfway in a passionate kiss.

you moan into his mouth as he slips his fat tongue in yours, water beating on his back as he bends down to deepen the kiss. tasting yourself on his tongue feels so sinful, but you can’t get enough of it—clinging onto him to ensure your lips stay connected. his hands grip at your ass roughly, and you gasp when you feel his dick prodding between your thighs, hips rolling as he slides his length against your cunt, polishing it with all the juices there.

“so fuckin’ wet for me,” he mumbles against your lips, separating them with a lewd schlick. he wraps his fist around the base of his cock, tapping his swollen tip on your clit, bottom lip caged under his teeth as he watches you twitch and whine from his teasing, a hot rush of blood shooting straight to his dick. he knows your pussy will feel as heavenly as you taste—he’s itching to be proven right. “gonna be a good girl and take all this dick?”

his question is rhetorical—because he knows you will—but you answer it anyway, nodding as you look up to him with lidded, lust-filled eyes, hips arching back with desire, “mhm, i will. give it to me, toji.”

he feels his balls tighten at your erotic profession. damn, he thinks as he tilts his head to the ceiling. when you talk like that, how could he not fold? who would he be to deny you of what you need?

. . . he’s so cooked. he’s certain that out of all the woman he’s fucked in his life, he doesn’t think he’s wanted of them half as bad as he wants you right now.

with his free hand on your hip, he eases himself into your cunt, the both of you letting out sighs of pleasure as your folds latch onto his length immediately, sucking him in—greedy for every inch he’s gifting you. he has to take deep, slow breathes once he finally bottoms out—you feel so fucking good and he hasn’t even started moving yet.

his hand around your waist slides upward, cupping around the fullness of your breast, rolling a pert nipple between index and thumb fingers. he seals his mouth over yours again, nibbling and biting at your kiss-bitten lips. you’re melting into his touch, you’re so gone—you don’t even realize that he’s distracting you until he draws his hips back, pulling out until only his fat tip is left inside to drill his dick right back in, balls slapping against your throbbing clit from the sudden movement.

it catches you completely off guard, nearly choking on your spit as his pace picks up. your lips separate from his abruptly, saliva stretching between your mouths as your head tilts back, crying out, “t-tojiii, ohmygod!“

the pace he sets isn’t too fast nor too slow—but the force of his thrusts are enough to have your whole body jolting each time his hips connect with the swell of your ass. you’re clawing at his forearm, searching for something to ground you as he handles you like a doll. your mind is going hazy, and the sound of your asscheeks clapping on his pelvis intensifies your lust-induced trance tenfold.

“shit girl,” toji grunts through gritted teeth. he’s looking down, damp bangs clinging to his forehead as he watches where your bodies connect—his dick is glossy with your essence. your lips drag and clamp down on his shaft tightly with every grind of his hips, forming a ring of cream around his base. it’s hard to focus with the squelching of your pussy ringing in his ears, and combined with your moans echoing on the walls like a broken symphony, toji feels his restraint slipping too. his jaw slackens, allowing all his expletives and praise to flow freely, “fuck back on me, baby—mmm, just like that—feels so fuckin’ good.”

“you’re so b-big,” you whine pathetically, stuttering when his cock nudges that sweet spot along your gummy walls. your thighs tremble and burn with exertion as you obey, meeting his powerful thrusts in earnest. he’s too big, too thick—too much. the weight of his dick stretches your puffy lips to their capacity, bullying in deeper and deeper every time your pussy clenches in protest. so deep, you think you feel him in your stomach. too much, too much!

you grip his arm tighter, acrylic scraping veins as a broken cry rips from your mouth. god, your own voice doesn’t even sound like it belongs to you anymore, “nghh, too much! i c-can’t, i can’t!”

toji laughs. a deep, sexy sound that only amplifies the white heat searing through your bloodstream. you can’t see him, but you know he’s got that disgustingly handsome smirk on his scarred lips. you yelp when he lands a heavy hand on your ass, soothing the blow with his palm. “you can’t? but you’re takin’ it. i’m watchin you take it, just like you said you would. good girl, good fuckin’ girl.”

his nasty words are punctuated with every thrust, sending waves of euphoria right to the pit of your belly. you feel a familiar pressure building there, a tight knot forming that has every nerve in your body going haywire. you feel delirious, completely weak in this man’s hold as he’s fucking you dumb. it’s as if toji can sense what’s coming because his arm is on your waist again, tugging you back onto his chest—but this time, his other hand snakes over your throat and squeezes, momentarily cutting your access to oxygen and reality, drawing your head back to meet his piercing steel eyes.

oh god. he has to stop himself from pumping you full of nut as he studies the dazed, fucked-out expression contorting your pretty features. it fucks with his train of thought, sends all the nerves in his brain into overdrive. he’s losing the last semblance of control he’d been desperately trying to hold onto, all thanks to you. or maybe, he was never really in control in the first place. maybe it doesn’t even matter as long as—

“gonna cum for me again? gonna cum all on this dick, baby?” he’s slurring over his words, keeping that firm pressure on your throat to elicit what he wants to hear. your chest caves in, little hiccups caught in the back of your throat, fighting for the air needed to speak.

“yesss,” you hiss, struggling to maintain eye contact with him as he pounds into your g-spot, over and over and over with no intentions of relenting. you’re seeing white. “s’close, s’closee. please please please—nghh yes, right there!“

“where? right here?“

he snaps his hips forward mercilessly, groaning carnally at the way your velvety walls lock down on his dick with pure desperation—for your release or his? toji’s not sure, nor does he care; all he knows is he’s falling in love with your pussy and how good it feels on his cock, his own orgasm approaching fast. “fuuuck, squeezing me so tight. ugh—tryna milk me, pretty girl? want me to fill you up? talk to me.”

“yes, yes, ooohh shiittt.” your high-pitched cries and gasps of ecstasy echo off the tile walls, fat tears brimming at your lashline. toji’s assault on your poor pussy is brutal and unrelenting, he won’t let up—and the moment his swollen tip grazes a sweet spot, deeper than he’s ever reached before? that tight knot in your belly forcibly unravels and explodes, your release gushing out of you before you can properly announce the flood incoming, “nghhh ah, m’cumming!”

“m-mhm, let it go baby, lemme feel it.”

with a shrill cry of his name, you do as told and cum hard. entire body quivering, shaking like a leaf, eyes scrolling back into the depths of your skull with tears streaking down your cheeks. you can feel your soul transcending onto another spiritual plane as the flow between your legs just won’t stop, and toji’s drowning in it—the tight contraction of your sopping walls and creamy squirt flowing out your cunt like a waterfall, pushing him out and sucking him in at the same time—it’s a battle that he’s bound to lose.

he doesn’t bother fighting it.

his thrusts come to an abrupt halt and with heavy, panting breaths, he’s cumming right with you—body shuddering as he paints every inch of your pussy with his nut, plugging his dick in deep to keep his seed from spilling out, though it seeps from the corners of your sore lips, a combination of both of your cum trailing down your trembling thighs in a nasty, sticky trail. it’s vulgar, obscene and he’s a whore, a true slut. of course it makes his softening dick twitch inside you at the sight. you whine in overstimulation, pushing at his chest for reprieve and he pulls out slow, compensating for the soreness he knows is imminent.

the small space is silent besides the sounds of rushing water and heavy breathing. coming down from that glorious high, post-nut clarity begins settling in and toji finds that it doesn’t push him to clean up and disappear, forget you, find another body to replace yours like it usually would.

no, it makes him want to . . . stay?

he’s been around the world, had women in positions you couldn’t even imagine and it’s never been a problem for him to move onto the next, no feelings or strings attached that’s just how he operates. so what makes you different? what is this weird feeling festering in his fucking chest? and why are you looking at him like you could be thinking the same exact thing?

he doesn’t even remember when you turned around or why your hands are caressing his face so gently, but he’s watching your plump lips move and he’s not hearing a word you’re saying.

“toji? you okay?”

he never thought he’d ever want to be tied down but how could he let you slip out his grasp? he’s ready to do the unthinkable, fuck what his coaches and pr team says. when toji has his eyes on something he wants, he gets it. it’s his world and he’s willing to give you a glimpse of what it’s like to be a part of that.

“if i told you i wanted to fly you out to vegas for fight night in a week, would you come?”

your eyes grow to the size of saucers, brows raising so high they almost disappear into your hairline. is he being serious?

“don’t play with me, toji. that’s not funny.”

he cocks his head to the side, thick brows furrowed. “why would i be playing? you think i do shit like this often?”

you suck your teeth. “of course you do, i know you got hoes, boy. i hope you don’t think i’m not tryna be a part of your little harem—“

you squeal as he swats your ass, holding your cheeks in his palms to pull you close. he lets your hoe accusations slide for now, but he’s waiting for your answer. “stop stalling. answer the question, girl.”

a free trip to vegas doesn’t sound too bad. you’re not too sure of what toji’s intentions are, but with the way he’s looking at you right now, biting his lips like he’s nervous about what you’ll say next? you don’t think you’ll have anything to worry about.

you wrap your arms around his shoulders, a wide smile etched on your lips. “of course i’ll come.”

@screampied @sunasbon @sugultt @preciousamethyst

steal my work and you die.

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