Robot (Lost In Space) X Reader Smutfic [18+]

YAKUZA!TOJI X MILF!READER —aka toji on some joe goldberg bullshit

⟢ rating: mdni 18+ stalking, drugs (alcohol, cigs), yuji is yakuza!sukuna x reader child, toji is a freaky frog (lol tysm @buttercupblu143 for that), toji is delulu af, size-kink, milf kink, breeding kink, voyeurism, dilf!toji, obsessive tendencies, heavy manipulation, brooding, yandere fluff. ⟢ episode run time: 𝟒.𝟕𝐤

⟢ episode list: m.list ⟢ subscriber access: please comment on m.list to be tagged, rather than individual episodes as its easier for me to track. ⟢ director's note: i've been working on this fic so long so i'm finally happy to share it with you, hope you enjoy it! disclaimer—this is a plot-driven, eventual smut fic and is told mostly in Toji POV through flashbacks until the end of episode 3. so if you stick with me i promise you a freak nasty pay off in episode 4 💕🤭. the build up and decent into Toji's crazy makes it 100x better, trust~

Cracking his stiffened neck with a pop, Toji lazily exhales a plume of smoke. Absent-mindedly watching as it dissipates up into the amber sky. 

Streaks of molten gold laced with crimson flare in the atmosphere as the sun sinks into the horizon, its reflection shimmering like fire off the distant Tokyo skyscrapers. 

Worthy of being his favorite smoking spot, the idyllic viewpoint of his balcony is breathtakingly peaceful—or it would be, if it didn’t also provide a front-row seat to his next-door neighbors' heated domestic disputes.

“No more lies Ryo! I’m taking Yuji and we’re getting the fuck up outta this place!”

Your voice in particular travels outside loud and clear once it reaches a certain octave, eviscerating any serenity the spot may have offered. It’s almost as if the sky was perfectly mirroring the tumultuous end of a relationship in the violent dusky atmosphere.

Heh.

Well, Toji supposed a few things in life could actually be coincidences. 

He would call it poetic—but nah.

Toji knew fuck all about poetry. 

“Bitch? Oh I’M the crazy bitch?! BET! I’ll show you a fuckin’ crazy ass bitch!”

Toji snorts, pushing back his messy bangs as he blows more clouds into the atmosphere.

“Y’er really sumthin’ else mamas....”

To say Toji is impressed by you is an understatement.

You're confident, not taking shit from nobody—not even your high-ranking yakuza baby daddy.

Toji likes that trait about you—just one of many on the ever-growing list of things about you that have caught his attention over the past few months.

93 days to be exact.

That’s how long it had been since you moved into The Nursery and he first laid eyes on you.

The Nursery—as it is dubbed by those in-the-know, stands as a highrise of luxury condominiums owned by the Yakuza. Located in a luxury suburb of Tokyo, Denenchofu, The Nursery serves as an undercover haven to place the girlfriends, favored mistresses and illegitimate children of relatively high-level yakuza—out of the way.

And with the ease of a fond memory, Toji smirks, remembering the very first day you moved in.

⟡

The unfamiliar keys fumbled in your delicate hand as you had struggled to open the door to your new condo—the condo right next to his own.

Neighbors, eh?

Although Toji couldn’t say he was surprised. He’d gotten a tip he’d be getting a new neighbor but he couldn’t have imagined they’d be someone like you. 

A new mom of about a year—and a foreigner. 

That much he could tell from first glance. 

Your son, whom Toji would later learn was named Yuji, balanced on one hip while your purse and several other bags weighed on the other.

All your frustrations were betrayed in the tone of your voice as you cradled your phone between your ear and shoulder. Whoever was on the other end of the line acted as a sympathetic ear to your exasperation concerning the lack of help moving in. 

You were stressed to say the very least and in clear need of help.

Yet even to a stranger, it wouldn’t take more than a glance to see that Toji wasn’t the type to care about being neighborly—let alone considerate enough to help someone he didn’t know. So when he found himself moving toward you, the warm look of expectancy and familiarity you gave him was surprising.

Before he could even say a word, you turned to him with a bright smile, mouthed a weary yet appreciative ‘Thank you’, and unceremoniously plopped Yuji into his arms.

With one arm freed, you were finally able to open the door to your condo. 

Toji watched as you strolled inside, your bags haphazardly abandoned in the entryway, to survey the luxury condo—all the while still immersed in your phone conversation.

The exchange had left Toji at a loss for words. 

That was not how people typically reacted to him. 

While astute enough to blend in whenever needed, once noticed—a broad muscular man of over six feet, dark features and a deep menacing scar on his lip—to say Toji was merely intimidating would be a vast understatement.

Pocketing the unlit cigarette that had been in his mouth, he wordlessly followed you inside. A rare curiosity overtook him, and he would later be grateful that it had drawn him to you.

Toji’s eyes watched you closely as you moved around the space, but he remained silent, allowing you to conduct your inspection.

Instead, he seized the opportunity to inspect you.

Remaining in the foyer with Yuji, squirming but tucked safely under his arm, Toji’s eyes shamelessly roamed your body. Allowing his gaze to linger on the more curvier parts of you that commanded his attention.

The stretchy black leggings you wore fit on your form like second skin, while the waistband sat low on your hips. The tight material so graciously dug into your curves, showing off the exact shape of your plump backside.

Speaking of—Toji didn’t miss the way your ass nor thighs had jiggled when you swayed your hips, surveying the room.

On future occasions, when Toji had the pleasure of trailing behind you in the hall, he’d have to press his lips into a hard line in order to resist whistling at the sight. 

Toji quickly learned from your constant athleisure attire that you preferred to dress more comfortably.

But comfy didn’t mean frumpy.

On the contrary, from the sleek black italian leather of your Gucci bags and your pristine vintage 5411 sneakers, Toji could tell you were used to having nice things wrapped around your thick serpentine curves. 

But what really consumed Toji’s thoughts as he got to know you better was how, no matter how loose-fitting your tops, tees, and dresses were, they still somehow clung enticingly to the buoyancy of your fucking huge milk swollen tits.

Fuck n' hell—how crazy would it feel if he could just slip his dick between them? 

Toji chuckled to himself. 

He was no minute man but the heavy ripened mounds attached to you would even serve as a challenge for him, he was sure of it.

Licking his lips, Toji reluctantly tore his errant eyes away from your body once you ended your call and turned your attention back to him.

He still couldn’t forget the smile you graced him with upon meeting his gaze. Like a vision, your features sparkled brightly as you openly laughed at the way he was carrying Yuji.

“You might be built like a linebacker, big guy, but he’s a baby—not a football.”

Toji’s pants tighten at your words describing his physique even if they weren’t meant for flattery. 

His assessment of you was compeleted at that moment:

Toji concluded—you were the complete dictionary definition of a MILF in his eyes, and he knew from that very moment—with every fiber in his being—he wanted to fuck you. 

But almost annoyingly, more than that, he couldn’t remember the last time he felt true desire spread anywhere else besides his cock. A strange, almost faint-like feeling constricting his chest simply from the audacity of being in your presence.

“And where’s your boss, huh?” 

You looked skeptical of Toji as you took Yuji back.

The cherry-cheeked boy, thrilled to be in his mama's arms again, giggled and clung to you like a little koala. Toji watched intently, his gaze afix on you as you happily cooed back at Yuji while you gently bounced him.

Toji could have sworn you even had the nerve to bat your long lashes innocently upon glancing back at him for an answer.

It was your was entire aura Toji was utterly captivated by and rendered motionless.

Frozen.

The scene had stirred a feeling he’d thought he’d been numb to since his late wife passed. 

No one else had made him feel that way before or since.

Exactly who in the hell were you?

“Yo! Earth to tough guy! Don’t tell me you’re a mute yakuza?”

The scar on Toji’s mouth twitched. His expression pulling into an amused smirk from your either fearlessness, or just plain cluelessness, in addressing someone of Toji's rank in such a way.

Besides, Toji was a lot of things, sure, but snitch wasn’t one of them.

The mute yakuza you referred to—the ones consequently without tongues—were the only ones he knew of in the organizations.

“Nah, ma I aint.”

Toji dramatically lets his tongue roll out of his mouth for emphasis, taking pleasure in your recoil of him.

His thick appendage flicked salaciously at you and your eyes widened slightly, face warming, before feigning some indignation. 

You’d huffed at him, turning your head away at his display before opting to change the subject, sass still lingering.

“And you're here because…why? Sukuna couldn’t even be assed to make sure his son and baby moms’ moved in safely so he sent you? What?—he’s too busy thuggin’ in the streets?”

From the looks of the pink haired brat with the similar birthmarks under his eyes, it didn’t take much for Toji to deduce that you were put here by Sukuna even before you confirmed it to him. 

Toji had heard a hushed rumor from a while back that Sukuna had a kid with someone outside of the organization.

Tch, Ryomen Sukuna—a relative newcomer for how few years he had been in the organization though he had quickly risen in ranks. 

All due to his ruthlessness and cutthroat nature—taking over a rival organization’s business, which simultaneously gave yours a vast money-laundering front and quelled a long standing turf war in one go. 

Sukuna was a force. 

Dangerous and arrogant to a fault, with a generally unlikeable disposition to top it all off. But his impressive track record earned him the respect he had. 

The smug ornery bastard surely didn’t deserve a walking smokeshow like you. 

But Sukuna had at least done right by you to move you into The Nursery. 

You should be safe here at least—Or you usually would be.

But with the recent assassination of an executive overseas—one of the bosses right-hand men, everyone was on high-alert of potential threats or next targets. 

There was currently no information, nor motive on why this had happened. 

The assumption had been it was an internal coup, a power play—yet anyone with the means or motive had been in Japan at the time—including Sukuna.   

Sukuna had made more than his fair share of enemies during his short-time, even within the organization. It would be no gamble to say the people who wanted after Sukuna wouldn’t hesitate to hurt you or your kid.

Especially those who may have thought he had something to do with this recent upset.

Left to your own devices, you would surely end up dead with the mouth you had on you—but that wasn’t his problem.

Toji smirked. 

“That shitty lil’ rookie ain’t my boss mamas. If anything he’d answer t’me.”

Not exactly a lie—but not quite the truth either. 

As the Yakuza’s most deadly assassin, Toji was given the executive title but had always been a lone wolf in the organization. Toji didn’t necessarily have the direct authority to order Sukuna around, yet given Toji’s standing as an executive, Sukuna still had to show him respect.

Being sold into the organization as a young child to cover his former family’s debts, Toji had more than earned his stripes. Toji was someone, for whom for all intents and purposes, you did not ever want to see—as he would likely be the last person you would ever see should you have the misfortune. 

The rank was given to him more out of fear and reverence for his service to the organization than anything else. 

In contrast, Sukuna dealt in operations, a leader with a growing territory of command along with a unit of kyodai under him. 

Two completely different sectors.

However, Toji doesn’t regret he’d told the little lie as he remembers enjoying the way your face dropped, falling into embarrassment as you began apologizing profusely for the mistake. 

At least you knew better than to sass Sukuna’s superiors, besides, Toji couldn’t really blame you for thinking he was one of Sukuna’s lackeys. 

Toji was still fully suited from just finishing a job. It was rare to see anyone in the classic yakuza attire—a sleek black Hugo Boss suit—who wasn't actively on the clock for the organization. 

When members did visit their family here, they typically wore civilian clothing in order to keep up the clandestine appearances of an ordinary luxury condominium. 

Nevertheless, Toji was one of the few men in the organization who visited The Nursery regularly, rather than casual visits. As a result, it was not unusual for him to arrive dressed in this manner.

With narrowed eyes, Toji's gaze raked over your body again, savoring the way you continued to fluster under his stare. 

He thought he wouldn't mind punishing you for the minor transgression if it meant he could put that sharp tongue of yours to some good use.

A sly grin crossed Toji’s features. 

Towering over you, he savored how small you seemed below him and how tempting you looked, face flushed and tilted up to meet his smolder.

“Tsk, you know yakuza don't take disrespect lightly—so how exactly are you going to make it up t'me then, mamas?”

Toji could tell from the slight crack of amusement in your expression that you didn't miss his innuendo. Not as scandalized as you wanted to appear, you clearly found some humor in his forthrightness—even if you did continuously rebuff him. 

And Toji found he liked that too.

You didn’t take yourself too seriously but you still weren’t an easy girl by any means. 

If Toji were a lesser man, he might have started to drool as the small bow of apology you gave him highlighted the swell of your ample bosom nearly spilled out of your damn shirt, prompting a rough exhale through his nose as Toji tried to restrain himself.

He had forgiven you instantly, of course.

The buoyant visual being payment enough for Toji.

Nonetheless, being the perfect doll you were, you told him that although you didn’t have anything set up to offer him tea, you would bake him something once you were settled. 

Lightening the mood again, Toji chuckled, easing your worries of any lingering offense when he told you his name, mentioned he had a son around the same age, and that he owned the condo next door.

Toji made a mental note of your and Yuji's names as you told him. He took care to repeat your name in particular, letting it slowly roll off his tongue with a hint of mischief.

Your last name was not Sukuna—which pleased him to know that prior intel was wrong.

So you weren’t married to him. 

“Don’t tell me they sent you as the welcome wagon?”

You questioned Toji, interrupting his thoughts.

Toji merely chuckled at your naivety, this was still yakuza territory and the residents here could be treacherous if they found it necessary to be. 

“Heh, not quite. But this will be the warmest welcome you’re gonna get. Consider yourself lucky it was me."

Toji grin widened at your hmphs, and he continued.

"I’d watch your back though, ma. The women here can be just as vicious as their counterparts.”

Toji could tell you were intimidated in the least though, you balanced Yuji on one hip and placed your hand on the other in an obvious display of defiance. 

“I’ll have you know I can take care of myself just fine, tough guy.”

The challenging look you shot at him had pleased Toji.

You had some fight in you—but you had no idea just what you were up against.

Yet just as quickly, Toji’s satisfaction dropped when you followed that statement up with the fact that he should probably leave. 

You mentioned to him you didn’t want any bloodshed—your fears compounded given the current climate of everything—if Sukuna or one of his men showed up and found a strange man in his baby mama’s new condo. 

Toji snorted.

It was true, Sukuna has a wild temper. 

That much was known throughout the organization. 

Pfft, figures an asshole like Sukuna would also be incredibly possessive—but looking at you, who could blame him? 

However, it wasn’t something Toji was concerned with though, even now. 

Toji was one of the few yakuza, even among the executive ranks, who didn’t flinch when they heard Sukuna’s name. Hearing it leave your luscious lips Toji considers it more of a challenge than anything else.

“Bloodshed, eh? Don’t worry ma, I can hold my own.” 

Toji recalled the same tingle reviving in the depths of his chest for the second time as he watched you burst into hearty laughter.

“It’s not you I’m worried about Fushiguro! You think I got the kind of bread to afford a place like this on my own if something happens to Sukuna?”

Shaking his head in amusement, Toji would let you have this round.

“Heh, fair enough, ma—ya can just call me Toji by the way.”

With a playful smile, rolled your eyes at his overt attempt at familiarity, bouncing Yuji once more.

“Goodbye, Fushiguro! I’ll see you around!”

Toji finally allowed you to usher him out into the hallway with a wave as the movers arrived to bring in the rest of your belongings.

Stalling before entering his own unit, Toji listened as you unabashedly gave orders to the movers, taking the unlit cigarette from his pocket and placing it back in his mouth.

Heh, you were bossy too. 

Nevertheless, Toji was left trying to pinpoint exactly what it was beyond him wanting to fuck you that had his adrenaline pumping like crazy.

Or why the intrusive thought popped into his mind to say ‘he’d take care of you’ when you referenced something happening to Sukuna.

He didn’t even fucking know you.

Nevertheless, like a moth to flame from your first encounter, Toji found himself curiously drawn to the warmth and familiarity of your presence. 

The gut urge to look after you—to protect you, bubbling up to the surface.

And being attached like you were to Sukuna, you would need it.

From thereon, Toji would try in vain to shake you from his mind’s eye. That very same night, Toji recalls how he left The Nursery to return back to his Shinjuku penthouse.

Staying there and away from you for a few days. 

Although, he soon learned no matter where he went—thoughts of you followed relentlessly. 

Your alluring charms wove its way into his subconsciousness to taunt him even in sleep. It hadn't even been a week before Toji awoke to soiled, sticky sheets.

It was disgraceful. 

He wasn’t the type to get wet dreams—even back when he was a teenager. 

And seeking out the company of others had failed him too. 

Not even his favorite strippers from the top Minato City clubs he frequented—who were always eager to take him to the back for extra service—could scratch his ever-persisting itch for you. 

No matter how many warm holes he buried himself in, he was still left insatiable and frustrated.

Toji wanted you.

And really, who were you to suddenly insert yourself into his life, infecting him with this affliction for you, but not being his?

Something about you unsettled the indifferent disposition he had resigned himself to. He was no longer able to remain apathetic towards you.

Toji wanted—no, needed—to know more.

To know everything about you.

If only to be able to stop thinking of you, right? 

Toji reasons once learns the truth, exposing to him who the ‘real you’ was, the brain-buzzing visions of you would have stopped plaguing him.

Utilizing his skills as one of the most proficient underworld assassins, Toji had begun discreetly monitoring your comings and goings over the next few weeks. 

When you left for errands. When you checked your mail—what kind of mail you received. Not to mention, figured out a schedule for when that bastard Sukuna would visit you.

Toji figured out what country you came from as well as your hobbies and interests—eagerly soaking up every mundane detail of your life. And contrary to his initial thoughts, each piece of information about you he digested only left him with an unquenchable hunger for more.

Perhaps most importantly, Toji also surmised you were a pretty good cook and homemaker evident by the well-balanced grocery selection you’d purchase. 

Toji's stomach would never fail to grumble upon him smelling the foreign, yet delectable, scents that routinely wafted from under your door and into the hallway most evenings. 

Would you cook like that for him? 

From there the fantasies about seeing you as his wife had come surprisingly easy—something he admittedly did often.

Imagining he’d come home to you, after a kill and dinner would be on the table still warm, though he’d arrive at such late hours. Your kids would already be asleep, and you would be wearing a frilly pink pastel apron—and nothing else.

The more Toji thought of it, the more he craved for that to be his reality.

From that point, Toji found himself giving Megumi’s nanny more and more time off as he’d spent more nights at The Nursery in favor of his much larger Shinjuku bachelor pad.

If only for the slightest glimpses of you.

Toji would eventually come to the conclusion he couldn’t pinpoint a rational reason for continuing to keep tabs on you—except that he simply wanted to. 

So, that’s exactly what he continued to do.

Sure, it wasn’t logical. 

And yet, neither was the growing ache he felt in his chest every time he saw or thought of you. 

Toji's heart feeling simultaneously full and hopelessly barren when it came to you even now.

Toji quickly found that the highlight of his day was catching even a brief glimpse of your warm, gentle eyes and the affection you so openly shared with Yuji. Toji enviously watched the joy you found in your walks together and the way you affectionately cared for and doted on him.

The same affection he still struggles to give his own son.

Not that Toji was ever particularly good at expressing his emotions. 

Call it the nature of the job, but for an assassin, feelings and having something to lose often got you and whatever you held dear killed.

Toji had suppressed his emotions for so long out of necessity, that he didn’t think he was capable of feeling them at all until he had met Megumi’s mother.

Maybe he was growing older and softer, but experiencing the warmth of shared intimacy—even if it was only brief period of time with his late wife—had affected him in ways he wished it hadn’t.

Because all of that was now gone.

And perhaps more ironically, it wasn’t Toji’s violent profession that took his wife away, but illness. Thus, there was no one for him to blame.

No one for him to seek vengeance against but fate itself.

In the wake of her passing, it pained Toji to remember her, so he rid himself of every reminder, including Megumi—who, despite inheriting Toji’s features, had his mother’s gentle spirit.

Choosing to put Megumi in The Nursery was less painful for Toji, who hadn’t spent enough time with his wife to truly become a changed man.

He had only just begun to learn—only caught a glimpse of what a life filled with love could be like.

Love. 

A ridiculous thing, really. 

Since her death, even the word itself had felt like a bitter poison on his tongue.

But could you be the one to change that?

Toji saw in you the same vibrancy and love for life that his late wife had possessed.

And while his infatuation with watching you had grown exponentially over the past few weeks, he was practical enough to wonder if he was simply losing his grip. 

Heh, maybe he’d finally gone off the deep end this time. 

Perhaps it had just been too long since he’d interacted with a woman who had even a hint of a nurturing nature, and he was losing perspective.

The yakuza world didn’t typically attract women like that. 

The Nursery was proof enough—full of kept mistresses and fleeting flings. 

Any beauty these women had couldn’t make up for their shallow dispositions. Spoiled and self-centered, most cared more about the status that came from being associated with high-level Yakuza than about the men they were with. 

The arrangement suited them fine. They were happy to be trophies, to be used, shelved and obedient—whatever it took to maintain their lifestyle.

Toji had his fair share of them, too.

As a high-ranking Yakuza widower with a cute kid, Toji Fushiguro found no shortage of women in The Nursery eager to spread their legs for him.

Most propositioned him outright.

The men, if they suspected anything, weren’t foolish enough to confront Toji. Debatable whether they even cared enough to—these women weren’t their actual wives or legitimate daughters.

That was part of the reason he’d tried warned you about them—but you knew that too well by now, as Toji's cryptic prophecy of the unwelcome behavior had come to pass over the weeks you'd been there.

Seeing fresh blood in the water, the women of The Nursery had made it their mission to belittle you. They’ve assumed you don’t understand the Japanese customs or language well enough, trying to push you around as if you don’t belong. Yet their passive-aggressive isolating tactics failed undermine your confidence, at least from what you would show them. Your sharp retorts often left them stunned and stewing at your complete disregard for their pecking order.

To Toji you possessed a unique strength, and despite their attempts to diminish your spirit, you’ve shown them that you’re not easily intimidated. However, it wasn't fair to you—someone as earnest and good-natured as you should never have been brought here in the first place.

And truthfully, Toji knew Megumi didn’t belong here either, he was legitimate. 

Toji had married Megumi’s mother, she’d been worthy of the title of being a wife—like he had realized you were too.

You deserved to be an actual wife. 

Like Megumi deserved an actual mother.

Like Toji realized he deserved you.

⟡

CRASH— 

Toji snaps back to present reality when the sound of something heavy shattering jolts him from his thoughts. His hand is already on the .45 tucked under his shirt at the small of his back, his assassin instincts kicking in.

Your fights with Sukuna were never quiet to be sure, but they never escalated to the point of anything breaking. 

Yet, showing a rare display of restraint, Toji stops himself.

His errant hand flexes open and closed repeatedly as he suppresses the kill-or-be-killed instincts triggered by the noise.

Focusing in on the light sway of the sheer curtains, a large figure Toji recognizes as Sukuna storms by.

Toji’s stare is so intense it could burn through thick glass and curtains. He would quite literally kill someone just to see through them right now.

Tsk, it makes Toji regret not placing a surveillance camera in your condo.

He would have done it already—upon one of the many times he'd slipped into your apartment over the last few months—if he weren’t almost certain that Sukuna or his shrewd lackey, Uraume, would sniff it out immediately.

No, something like that would be too risky. If ever exposed Toji could lose you for good.

Gripping the railing until his knuckles whitened enough to match your curtains—the thought of not jeopardizing his chances is the only thing that stays his compulsion to leap over onto your balcony and break the sliding door off its tracks completely.

Toji's drive to protect you reaches an all-time high as the unfamiliar feeling of anxiety settles in the back of his throat if something were to happen to you. 

While he clearly holds you in high regard as the mother of his child, Toji knew that even with that respect, Sukuna's tolerance had its limits—and those limits were not easily stretched.

Toji couldn't let anything happen to you due to his own lack of action and yet—

STOP.

Calm down, Fushiguro. 

Toji steadies himself.

Calling upon similar patience he would embody before a kill.

He knows he can’t move rashly, not after all this time—after all he has planned. 

Sukuna would be out of the picture soon. 

Toji would wait. 

Like he’d been waiting. 

It wouldn’t be much longer now.

©𝐛𝐥𝐤𝐤𝐢𝐳𝐳𝐚𝐭 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒. 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐨𝐫 𝐠𝐟𝐱, 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞.

⟢ end credits: how was that so far? like it? please comment, like and reblog and lmk what you think! stick around for more delulu yandere yakuza!toji. episode 2 has 7k already and is practically done. i have to do the edits my beta suggested and then do a final pass through to add in some foreshadowing :) if all goes well (should post on monday or tuesday).

kinktober day one: size kink!

BAGGY PANTS ♡ GETO SUGURU

fem!reader x metalhead!geto suguru

ingredients: geto suguru's baggy pants are more than just a fashion statement

what's it: smut

allergen warning/s: size kink, hair pulling, pleasure sub!reader, oral [m!receiving]

sugar level: 1.5k

regulars: @ventdavi154 @deobiforever @sugusshi @angelshub

parlor's note: you don't have to be a metalhead to be able to self insert, but it is mentioned a couple of times that you two attend metal concerts together. i love this fic, it's really just self indulgence and i hope you guys enjoy it too!

bon appetit!

you've been friends with him since you were a student in high school, being inseparable and attached at the hip. whenever there's a metal band that's going on a world tour and is going to tokyo, he always comes knocking at your dorm's door. quite a number of nights and midnights of your teenage years were spent with him in the moshpit, and patching each other up because someone got too rowdy in said pit.

unfortunately, once you two graduated, due to a shortage of teachers in jujutsu tech tokyo's sister school located in kyoto, you had to transfer, making you and suguru drift apart for some time. of course, you always kept in touch with the man, a month wouldn't pass without either of you shooting the other a message, you'd always greet each other happy birthdays, send each other memes, and on rare occasions, you'd attend concerts together like you used to, but suffice to say, your relationship now is lackluster compared to your relationship then.

a few months ago though, you received an email from principal yaga about coming back to tokyo and being the third year's teacher. he informed you that he has already asked principal gakuganji about the matter and there was another sorcerer who could handle your students in kyoto, making the decision a no brainer.

the offer made your heart skip a beat in all right ways and in just a few more messages, you were unofficially a teacher at tokyo metropolitan jujutsu technical high school and the rest is history.

ever since reconnecting with geto, you've gotten closer and eventually started dating your best friend since high school. there were a few changes about him, but none that you minded. he was taller, broader, hair a few inches longer, and now, he wears it in a half-up hairstyle unlike back then when it was always in a bun. he's more mature now too, wiser, smarter, better at strategizing. finally, back when you were students, a hundred percent of the time, he'd opt to still hear his school uniform when going on outings, except for those concert nights where he'd wear this uniform pants and then the band's merch tee. nowadays, when you'd go on dates, he wears baggy pants, yet the chosen top is still the same -- at this point, you're sure that ninety percent of suguru's closet is just black band shirts, while the remaining one percent is composed of his uniforms.

it fit his whole aesthetic; his chosen outfits. it's all very him, and at first, you thought that was the only reason why he wore the things that he wore.

when did you change your mind? right now, as he stood before you with his pants down for the first time.

it started with him recommending you a song, the summoning by sleep token and at first, you reacted to it the way you do with any good metal music, headbanging and wondering how the band composed such wonderful sounds, but it was five minutes into the song where the mood in the room changed.

suguru's featherlight touches accompanied the sensual instrumentals and the yearning in the vocalists words and voice translated itself into the way you ran your fingers through your boyfriend's hair.

oh, and my love

did i mistake you for a sign from god?

or are you really here to cut me off?

or maybe just to turn me on

'cause these days

i would be lying if i told you that

i didn't wish that i could be your man

or maybe make a good girl bad

i've got a river running right into you

i've got a blood trail, red in the blue

something you say or something you do

the taste of the divine

you've got my body, flesh and bone

the sky above, the earth below

nothing to say and no where to go

a taste of the divine

one thing led to another, and one by one, you were both stripped of your clothing until you were nude, having nothing but the other's body heat to keep each other warm.

geto found his ego skyrocketing at the sight before him, and you found yourself salivating at the sight before you.

suguru's cock was hard, the tip - flushed red from the blood rushing downward - moist with specks of precum. it seemed to be so heavy, the muscle curved down, presumably from the weight. bulging veins decorated the shaft and it was all so pretty, as weird as it sounds to describe your boyfriend's dick with the word. perhaps using big would be more appropriate. after all, the fact that you were intimidated by the size shows in your eyes, looking like a deer in headlights.

"it's okay, baby," geto cooed, breaking you out of your how-am-i-gonna-fit-that-in-my-mouth induced trance. one of his big hands were on the side of your face, his thumb stroking your cheek in comfort. "you can take it inch by inch, kay? you'll be good for me, won't you?"

under his spell, you couldn't do anything but nod. the only thought bouncing around in your head was the want, no, the need to please the adonis of a man in front of you, and as a thank you, he graces you with a soft smile before pulling your pouty lower lip down with the pad of his thumb. your eyes wander over to his other hand, jerking his cock off and pressing the head to your kiss swollen lips.

"fuuuck, there you go, pretty." he moans out as you suck it into your mouth. his precum hits your taste buds and the salt and tang of it almost makes your eyes roll to the back of your head.

encouraged by his hand petting your hair, you fit more of him in your mouth.

you try to make it easier for yourself by relaxing your jaw as he pushes his hips forward slowly, but the ache slowly creeps in. the sides of your mouth starts stinging as he stretches it out and centimeters after, tears are pooling in your eyes. you don't make a sound, though, or make any indication that you wanted to stop.

you wanted to take all of suguru in your mouth, you just wished it wasn't so damn hard.

"hey, hey, baby, don't cry." suguru looked down to sneak a peek at your beautiful flustered face, only to be heartbroken when he met your teary eyed face. he was quick to wipe the falling tears as he feels his heartbeat quicken. still, he can't help but chuckle. "it's not even half way in yet." his hand unexpectedly clutched at your hair when you gasped at his statement. it took everything in him to not immediately thrust his hips into your warm mouth after that.

a shiver went up your spine when he gave you a warning glance and you hoped you were able to communicate your nonverbal apology with your eyes as effectively as he could.

"look," he started to pull away. "w-we can do just the tip first, 'til you get used to it."

he stopped thrusting then, even though it took all of his power to do so. he wanted you to set your own pace, take as much as him as you could, until like said, you get used to it, and he knows you'll get used to it, after all, you're his good girl, always eager to please. if he's being selfish, he'd say it was one of his favorite things about you.

he absolutely adores that determined sparkle in your eyes as you bob your head up and down his shaft. spit's starting to leak from the corners of your mouth and drip down your chin to your tits, but you don't pay it any mind. you have a singleminded ferocity that aims to pleasure suguru, and nothing is going to stop you, not the way the back of your throat aches from being poked roughly each and every time you go back down, not the way your cheeks and your mouth starts aching, and not the way the corners of your lips feel like they're being torn apart. after all, if they do end up getting cut, you know suguru would drive you to the hospital with a fake reason.

no one but you had to know the real reason why geto suguru wears baggy pants.

i get: reblog

you get: a metal band shirt

☺️

SLOW IT DOWNNN MAKE IT BOUNCY !? ☆

gojo, choso, toji, sukuna, geto. riding the jjk men so good that they whine for you

cw. fem! reader, whiney men, unprotected, cowgirl, reverse, car sēx, praise, shotgunning (geto), dirty talk, spanking, biting, breaking the bed, size kink, overstim, choking (toji), wc. 3.6k

an. ateez reference >.~

𐔌 SATORU GOJO.

“oh, someone’s gettin’ ngh, cocky.” he’d groan, semi-sweaty hands glued to both sides of your waist. gojo can’t even try to hold his whines because it’s not even seconds later and his head throws itself back in rapture. with a cute abashed expression spraying over his sour features, he swallows what’s undoubtedly the last few drops of his pride. “f-fuuuck, teasin’ me with these killer hips. ‘s no fair, baby.”

and as he speaks, watching you jerk and grind against him at a much more lively speed—gojo captures a nice chunk of your ass, gifting it an impolite smack. he’s so embarrassed that a hand of his covers his mouth. giggling, you gradually peel his hands away, kissing near the tip of his nose. “awwwh,” you coo in a seductive purr, barreling his fattened length inside of you. “don’t be shy, ‘toru. i wanna see that pretty face.”

“shut uppp,” he whines again, a pout immediately stretching over his sheeny-slick lips. your soft touch alone sends him electric shivers to meander all through him. his dick twitches from the sweet sweet friction before cereluan-pristine eyes of his roll their way back into the very ends of his skull. “ugh, you do it s-so good though. fuck me, f-fuck me please.”

with your arms flinging around his broad pent up shoulders, you lean in to bestrew a few kisses near the corners of his mouth. gojo’s rosé-colored lips tremor in longing for more of you. for more of your touch, more of your taste. the head of his cock pursues to mash against your folds, thwacking and thwacking away. “slower, baby?” you whisper against the very hem of his ear, giving it a little nibble to earn another wailing whimper from him.

“s-slow, yeah,” he holds your hips in place, having a race with his own breath—a mere competition. you’ve got him right where you wanted him. submissive, pinned down, and needy. with a three second clear of his throat, he groans, meeting your gaze once more. “don’t get cocky.. ‘m still the strongest ‘n i can flip you over ‘n h-have my way if—”

he gets cut off by your lips, his muffled moans pour right into your mouth and he purrs once a finger of yours strokes alongside his undercut.

another whine leaves from gojo’s lips the moment your fingers brush against there. his precious undercut. anytime your finger would drag down that part of his hair, he’s already a melting puddle. his face was flushed as you’re rocking back and forth against him. heavy drawing pants sneak out of his lips before he lets off a tremulous whine. “o-oh my god, ‘m gonna cum,” and he knows from the way his tip starts to repeatedly swipes against the insides of your sopping cunt. you’re clinging onto him tightly from the inside—a grip so tight that it makes him bite his lip, begging for more. after a while, leisurely—your lips comes to a slowing slow.“fuck, f-fuck me. ngh, think this pussy’s gonna kill me.”

“you’re so dramatic baby,” you tease, sneaking a wet kiss near the corner of his mouth. “mwah,” and he shivers from your touch. clammy hands of gojo’s grab onto your waist, pulling you further against him before he grunts against your ear. even his whines, they were so cute. he’s never felt more embarrassed. with his head tossing itself back, his eyes widen before he’s dumping a thick load into your needy cunt. “mhm, ‘s good,” you hum, panting yourself before you cup both sides of his face. who was once famously known as the strongest, was now easily able to be mistaken as the weakest . . especially whenever it came to pussy. your pussy. you titter, still feeling him trickle such gummed amounts into you. it’s so sloppy that it sloshes all around your beloved insides. “good boy.”

“f- fuck, say it again,” gojo sheepishly grins, laid back with your waist still in his tight grip. he’s all pussy drunk, the epitome of the word, really. a pout stretches against his lips as he waits for your reply, pretty navy blue irises doe at you before he pants.

“good boy, ‘satoru, my good boy,” you repeat, playfully flicking his chest back so you could go again. “let’s try that again, hm?”

“y- yes baby.”

𐔌 SUGURU GETO.

“s-shit,” geto whews, hurling an arm around the back of his reclined car seat. the mood couldn’t have been more perfect. you were riding him in his car, the view was so pretty. you were so pretty, the way you’re moving all against him—taking his breath away. the woodsy scent of geto’s leather jacket roams through the air as you creep a hand up into his biker white tee. “thaaat’s it, slow baby. slow, fuck me good, yeah?”

geto’s groans only makes your pussy throbs multiple by the second. a plump shaped blunt sticks from the side of his mouth, taking a few milliseconds to recover from his most recent puff. with bloodshot eyes, he can’t help but pull you into a deep kiss, blowing a few gusts of air into your mouth. as it travels, his tongue fervently gyrates against yours before you blow it right back into his. once you swallow, it tastes earthy and citrusy. as it aerates between each mouth, you moan, “s-suguru,” you moan, feeling his fingers prowl its way against your waist to the very undersides of your thighs. you made sure to go slow, slow and steady. geto’s for a sleazy grin, feeling the wetness of your cunt take him with all its might. “gonna cum soon.”

“bet you are,” he whispers, his foot tapping against the carpet floor of the parked vehicle. by the second—geto’s raspy moans start to get more vocal within each jiff that passes. as he’s still buried into your cunt, entangled with every inch of you, your speed arises with its own deliberate quickness. “fuck sweetheart, you’re gonna send me to a hospital with those nasty hips.”

“should i go faster—?” you coo against the shell of his ear, the tip of his cock kissing against your g-spot. it’s a tickling sensation that’s almost enough to make you drool.

geto grunts, his voice becoming a bit more trembly. with the way your body jolts against him in harmony, he’s feeling that familiar primal heat snake its way into the pit of his stomach. “slower, i- i like it when you’re slow for me, gorgeous.” and a hand of his caresses near the juncture of your thighs. you moan from his touch, vast pads of his fingertips ghosting against your skin. a hand of geto’s reaches towards his blunt and he takes another long deep puff. “ugh, ‘m hitting you in that spot. gonna milk me again, sweet thing.”

“don’t miss this time,” you whine against his neck, taking a few seconds to lick against his skin. geto hissed at the brief pang that entraps m his cock from the base down with such bliss. your cunt’s greedy, swallowing it whole with its entire being—never wanting to part. grabbing onto his large pointed shoulders, he’s just making you throb time and time again. a moistened tongue of his licks against his parted lips before he feels a clench. he’s so fucking thick, as you’re barreling his staggering length, repeatedly slamming down against his lap—you feel him starting to judder from underneath you. it comes in waves and he’s about to lose all kinds of composure with your movements. “come on, sugu. cum with me.”

“keep talkin’ to me like that ‘n ‘m gonna propose.” he jibes, though part of you knew your boyfriend was serious. “mhmnn, f-fuck, ‘s good. right there, right fucking there.”

by now, geto’s entire voice wasn’t the same as it was a few minutes ago. he’s whining, sweet cacophonies of “f-fuck me,” and “baby, ‘s good,” continue to spew out of his lips. in the background, obscene pressure continues to arise and alleviate inside of your own tummy—you’re swaying your hips against him at such force that not even gravity could keep up with the pull. the foam of the driver’s seat nearly wears itself thin before you toss your arms around his neck. “i know baby, give it to me. cum with me, sugu.”

“anything for you, sweet girl,” he hiccups, and that’s the last words he remembers murmuring before he shoots satiny ropes of cum into you. your hole flutters and within seconds, you end up finishing right after him. you both moan in unison, yet geto’s louder, he’s whining against your ear. with his head slump back, he’s barely holding onto waist now. geto’s body shakes as he comes undone, filling up your insides with such amounts of viscous seed. he’s panting, heavily. it’s so much that it dribbles from your pussy towards the crevices of your thigh. “s-shiiiiit,” he sibilates in a single breath, flicking his rolled blunt aside. with a low sigh, he leans back against the fleece made seat. “goddamn, baby.”

a smile purses against his lips, a timid one, but still a smile. above his lap, you’re still spasming yourself. you bring your rotating hips to a steady halt before you press a wet kiss against the edge of his wobbly pursed lips. “you okay, sugu—”

“marry me,” he cuts you off, wrapping his beefy arms around you. “i want you.”

𐔌 SUKUNA RYŌMEN.

“tch, you’re such a pain,” he’d murmur at your first request to ride him on his throne. “but fine. get up here, woman. ‘n be quick, got things to do.”

despite his gruff tone and stern exterior, you’d make him chew his words in a way he’d least expect it. as sukuna preps you—getting you nicely soaked and wet, he aligns himself against your slick opening. you glance down at the upward curve of his dick and it was purely appetizing. he was already big regardless, but just fantasizing about taking him in his true form with his two cocks make your mouth start to pool with filthy, syrupy saliva. “f-fuck,” you’d mutter, ogling at the cunning grin of his stretch against his face in your peripherals.

bastard,

there was never a dull moment where sukuna ryōmen was not smug—he loved relishing your cute pornographic expressions. how you’re biting your tongue until it turns into chewing, taking every chance you get to suppress your cute little whines. “mhm, such a good girl. you take it quite well for a brat i must say.”

“shut up.”

“make me..”

two predictable simple words and you in fact do make him shut up — just with your salacious hips alone.

as sukuna’s lazily leaning back against the hardened furniture of his infamous throne—he was cocky, just talking and talking.

as you’re grinding your hips against his lap in a lewdly fashion, you nip a bit near his neck. he scoffs, a hand of his pulling your waist closer towards him. with each vigorous jostle, you’re starting to pick up the pace. he’s stuffed all the way inside, churning your insides up like butter. mixing all around your gripping walls with his fat cock, you moan—feeling the edges of his claws gingerly dig against your skin. your flesh, he’s grabbing a fair piece of your ass before he smacks it. the recoil makes him groan, your hips were a mere enemy, a force to be reckoned with..

“is that a pout?” you brush a thumb against his bottom lip, leaning in to kiss him but he growls. sukuna bares a single dang, and instead of it being intimidating, it’s just cute. ruby flared irises of his stare into you before he’s just lounging back against the chair. “f-fuck, ‘kuna. you don’t have to hide your moans, you know. ‘s just me.”

“shut up, girl.” he snarls, a wave of embarrassment washing over him. as you’re continuing to slowly rut back and forth, he gnaws on his lip like it’s candy. for a second, you watch as his eyes flicker. sukuna’s eyes switch to white and then he whines. it’s so faint that you could barely hear it, but he definitely slips out a whine. in a husky groan, he whines again— this time, it’s more of a sweetened whimper. “f-fuckin’ shit,” and he notices you slow down to openly stare at him. he glares but it doesn’t even last because as you’re keeping the entirety of his pulsing shaft warm within your tender walls, he whines again. “don’t look at me, ugh. i— phew, i need a minute.”

you pause, feeling his dick twitch inside your clenching before you have a teasing smug grin. throwing your arms around his shoulders, you peck a kiss near his cheek before running a finger down his chest, sliding past the fabric of his half-work kimono. “take all the time in the world, old man.”

“w- watch it.”

𐔌 CHOSO KAMO.

“don’t think ‘m gonna last,” choso blurts, starring at your gorgeous reflection through the mirror. you’d mention to him that you wanted to try riding him in reverse. he didn’t mind, he was more excited than anything. anytime you’d recommend a new position to try with choso, his eyes would light up. it was purely adorable—with wheezing breaths, he softly sinks his teeth into the margin of your neck. a lengthy tongue of his runs down your skin before he moans. “ngh, go s-slow like that, baby. ‘m hitting you so deep inside i think.”

and he’s just babbling to you, pathetic candied whimpers going into your neck as he sinks into your pussy raw. the concise stretch that shortly follows has your heart racing—head spinning, mind forevermore in a never ending loop.

“fuck, hold me choso. hold my hips, mhm,” and as your grinding significantly accelerates, you feel the sensation of your chest deflating. choso’s sputtering out cute inaudible whines into your neck as you’re moving your hips quicker. “touch me, good. good boy.”

“your good boy,” he immediately replies, taking a second to slink his quavering, reddened lips against the nape of your neck. each kiss he gives you stacks up before it turns into sweet, desperate sucking. choso moans, savoring the taste of your tender skin as you’re thrashing your hips against his. his throbbing cock consistently curls inside of your walls before he nibbles against your collarbone. “hngh, baby. your hips, you’re slowing down on purpose—aren’t you?”

with an airy giggle, you grab onto his knees for support. “should i slow down for you, ‘cho?”

“n-no, please,” he swallows. instinctively his big, bulky arms wrap around your waist. he’s giving you a gentle firm squeeze like a teddy bear. choso never wants to let you go—not now, not ever. he’s starting to hear the expeditious pumping beats of blood pulse through his ears, metaphorically slurping up your fervor, and he whines again. “f- fuuuck, that spot, gonna drain me. feel it, ‘m gonna cum. can i cum?” and he halts his jittery speech before whimpering against your twitching ears. “please lemme cum. don’t wanna b-be messy without my girl’s permission first.”

a breathy whine of your own leaves from your spit slicked lips before you kiss his cheek. “yes, baby. you can cum. ‘s okay,” and he pouts, a longing expression marinating against his features at your words. oh, if it was anyone who could turn him into a soft sap, it was you. you and your seductive, mouthwatering hips. choso brings his wrist over his face as you’re still maintaining a decent pace. his cock matches your movements in sync, piercing through every orifice to make your thighs tense in desire. nirvana, ecstasy, you feel everything coursing through your veins at once. choso’s cute whimpers were now all muffled from him trying to cover them with the back of his hand.

it was cacophonous—he leans back into a slump as you’re mashing against his body. hot needy bodies press back against each other in harmony, it’s so hypnotic. the insides of your viscous walls were smoldering with heat before he dumps right into you. it’s abrupt, a gasp snakes out from his throat as he’s feeling himself spit out such gobs of cum into you. you’re heavily trembling underneath him. it’s so much that it even costs near your thighs, dribbling down and it feels so sticky. you hum into his neck,

it’s so much—choso’s shaking right with you, strands of blackened hair running down his forehead, nearly occluding his vision as he’d still covering his face. “o-oh shit,” he whimpers, and he swallows, the air suddenly growing mute. he can hear the wet, sopping sounds of your pussy soaking in all of him before our of nowhere—it’s a ear splitting creak. choso’s so out of it that he doesn’t even realize nor acknowledges that the headboard collapses down. your hips were to blame, he doesn’t even flinch—instead, he pulls you into a needy kiss. it’s sloppy, he sucks against your tongue as you’re still keeping his dick warm. it’s twitching, convulsing within your hold. as tongues tango alongside each other, he grabs your hips. pulling away, he huffs. “more,” he pants, and you gasp once you’re suddenly now gently pushed on all fours. your ass gets shoved up by choso and his voice pitches. he’s still whiney, but he moans, prodding his leaky tip against your hole. “love you baby. but i-i’m gonna get you pregnant.”

𐔌 TOJI FUSHIGURO.

“can a little girl like you even handle me?”

famous last words—

it takes you a bit to adjust to toji’s thickset size, but once he’s all the way inside, his jaw tightens. your jaw tightens too. he’s quite the size with a fair amount of girth that it makes you feel a chilling snapping coil within you. you lean into him, smothering a few saturated kisses near his chin, his neck, and most importantly, his scar.

a sly smirk tug its way against his pink lips as he feels you show his slanted scar its deserved uninvited attention all while you’re jerking your hips against him. “you talk too much,” you inhale, the fullness of your lungs merely snatching the wind out of you. he couldn’t deny it though, your rhythm, it was enticing. rough big hands of his grip against your hips and you can see his adam’s apple bob once his head tilts back a bit. while the manly musk of toji’s cologne wafts through your nostrils, your pussy starts to constrict every few thrusts as he’s deep inside. he’s so big, his swollen sack repeatedly jackhammers and pummels against your soddened cunt before he starts to lean back more.

“ya gonna do somethin’ about it or…?” toji sneers at you, lincoln green eyes never taking you seriously. stubby fingers of his dig into your skin, clasping against your hips as you swing back and forth. as you oscillate against him, he’s taken by surprise once you wrap a hand around his throat. “ooh. chokin’ me too? ‘s kinda kinky, baby. got some nerve, heh.”

“shut up, toji.” you moan, and his eyes continue to wander down your body. god, he can’t help but stare a bit. the way your perfect rounded your tits bounce against your chest. just perfect. his hands were all over you. your body even has somewhat of a gleaming glow, simply from the sunlight that ricochets off the window pane right above the two of you. your hips only then started to get increasingly sloppy,

the action itself turns him on. with an eyebrow raise, you lean in to kiss him. he chuckles darkly, allowing you to rummage your tongue against his.

as your warm body continues to collide against his in such a swift way, he groans in your mouth. you decide to be a tease, creeping a hand against his chest to play with his exposed, broad tits nipples. your fingers strum against it as you’re still shoving your tongue down his throat. with his dick still happily tucked inside of your gluey, grippy walls, he suddenly lets off a whine. “m-mhm?” and he pulls away from your mouth, a string of glutinous saliva snatches away from each spit-coated lips before he sighs. “fuckin’ girl. told ya how my n-nipples get me sensitive when you suck on them.”

“cover them up next time, slut,” you tease, bringing your lips to kiss near the bridge of his nose.

toji’s eye twitches—his pecs were all swollen and out on display, you even inch your head down to lick a stripe against his nipples. “mhm,” you’d hum, feeling his entire body shiver from the coldness of your tongue flick around his tenderly sensitive skin. he huskily groans once you position yourself back up, slamming your legs down against his lower crotch area for the nth time.

with how hard your body smacks against his, you’re sticking against toji like glue. adhesive and all, with your arms still flimsy and frail—you start to make your speed quicker. as your hips piston in pleasure, his low pitched moans start to get louder. “ah, f-fuck,” he leans back, spanking the right temples of your ass. over and over and over, his hand swats against your skin repeatedly like a broken record. “fuck me then,” bratty viridiscent pupils meets yours, and his voice was on the verge of being weaker than it already was. with his tone all cutely strained and timid, it was nothing like the usual toji who’s always haughty and cocksure. as his ravened brows curl into a frustrated furrow, he starts to grab your hips to get a more thorough angle inside of your puffy pussy. “wanna put me in my place? fuck me then,” and he whines again once you squeeze his left nipple, kissing the edge of his scar. “hmph. ‘s doesn’t mean anything though. ‘sides, if y’er g-gonna choke me, at least do it harder, h-heh.”

NSFW

Vampire lover that can’t drink your blood without you keeping his cock warm.

He has to be balls deep in your pussy, otherwise he gets all hard and cums in his pants just from one sip of your blood.

It’s just way less messy to already have his cock buried in your cunt, and he doesn’t like to waste his seed. He’s a powerful vampire that needs an heir, that sperm is valuable!!

So every time he needs to feed, he pushes your expensive panties to the side and sits you on his cock, content to cum inside of you.

Phetcharada Pacharee

18+ mdni; gn!reader

toji has an oral fixation.

oh, how he loves having his mouth on you. it's one of his favourite pasttimes; no matter whether it's making out and sucking on your tongue, or trailing his scarred lips over the side of your neck, pressing warm kisses against your jaw and pulse point like it's the only thing he knows. he loves having his mouth on your nipples, too. wrapping his lips around the sensitive bud and watch you arch into him while he plays with the other. he loves littering your chest with hickeys and he loves watching them bloom. his marks on you, from his mouth – it drives him wild. and last but not least – he loves giving you head. slobbering all over you, covering you in his saliva as he tries to devour you whole. feeling you cum on his tongue? absolutely nothing can compare to the sensation of that. nothing.

he loves the way you taste, he loves the way you sound, he loves the way you writhe under his burning touch. you're sweeter than anything else he's ever had and he simply can't get enough of you. he'll have you in every way he can, in every way you'll let him.

toji also loves sucking on your fingers.

of course, he'd be a little (read: very) ashamed to admit that out loud, but that doesn't mean he doesn't like it. there's just something so freeing in the way you let him melt into you, the way you don't tease him for wanting to let go. he wants to feel good, too. he wants to give up the power and just feel.

it is new to him though; you were always the one with his fingers in your mouth, so having the roles reversed, toji does feel a little small. in the best way possible.

having you on top of him, sitting perfectly on his stomach with your one hand firmly on his chest and the other caressing his face, toji can't help but feel himself twitch in his sweats. his mouth salivates at the sight of your cunning little smile and the twinkle in your eyes as you purr about how good he looks under you. he doesn't argue.

the tips of his ears burn and his adam's apple bobs, feeling your fingers tracing over the scar on his lips. his hands hold onto your waist like you're about to take flight, his strong grasp bruising your soft skin, making you let out a quiet moan. toji's hips buck upward and he watches your smile widen.

"open up, baby..."

your voice might also just kill him. it's sultry and still brimming with love, you're gentle and just a tad bit teasing – it's the perfect combination. toji's lips part without an objection, his mossy green eyes glued to yours as they do the same.

you push two fingers in and hum at the overwhelming warmth that envelops them immediately. toji's chest rumbles with a groan of his own at the way you run them over the sharp edges of his canines. leaving yourself a little closer to them, you place a kiss to his cheek while holding your fingers to his tongue, pressing it down as you slide them further into his mouth. toji holds back a gag and lets his eyes fall shut; your scent fills his nostrils and the way you're now nuzzling your face into his is not making any of this any less erotic.

finally toji's lips close properly around your fingers and he feels you smile against his skin. and then he feels your hips grinding ever-so-slightly on his stomach and now he really feels like he's losing his mind. you're all over him, but what gets him the most is that none of this is the usual 'sex stuff'. he's always been open to experimenting, he's willing to try just about anything you'd ever want to with a few eyelash flutters and a few pretty 'please's', but this? this is something else.

for starters, you're both still fully clothed. clad in your most basic pyjama, you're making him more turned on than he's ever been. and he's just so, so used to be the one in control, to be the one on the top – so submitting to you feels foreign, but so fucking good. you're making him discover things about himself that he never could've even dreamt about. him sucking on your fingers while you're humping his abs? oh, you'll kill him one day for sure.

but he's not complaining.

his tongue swivels around your two fingers as he begins to push and pull your hips to help you grind against him. you lick the side of his face, covering him in your saliva before pulling back just a little to look at him. below you, with your fingers in your mouth – he looks fucking extraordinary. you feel over the moon about the fact that he feels comfortable enough with you to let you have your way with him. you're utterly thankful for the glorious sight and you will most certainly reward him for it as well.

there's a soft squelch when toji hollows his cheeks and sucks on your digits. a sickeningly sweet coo spills from your lips and his eyes crack open; your gazes meet and you swear his whole body twitches under you. his hold on you gets tighter, his fingers sinking in deeper and you can't help but wonder how big of a mess he might be making in his sweats.

spit makes his lips glisten under the light emitting from the tv; shadows of the long forgotten movie dance on his skin, the whispers getting muffled by the sounds that he keeps making. he doesn't feel as embarrassed anymore, slowly succumbing to the hazy feeling in his head. he's addicted, he wants more and more and more.

and as if on cue, you force your fingers deeper down his throat once more, eyes set on the way his own roll right back into his head. his head dips forward, sinking into the pillow behind him and giving you the most beautiful view of his blooming neck. you're matching – he marks you up and you do the same. it's love.

pulling your fingers with a 'pop', a whine slips from toji but before he can really complain about it, you press your mouth to his. your lips smack together as you cradle his face with your spit-covered hand, tugging him closer and closer. his big arms wrap around your middle as he pulls you flush to him, moaning into your mouth when you decide to suck on his tongue in turn.

he can taste your desire, the need to make him feel good and to take care of him as you push yourself further into him. toji feels like he's about to explode. he wants to kiss, he wants to feel your fingers again, he wants to make you cum, he wants to make love to you.

hovering just above his face, you bring your hand back to his mouth and grant him his wish. he doesn't need to say it out loud, you know exactly what he wants and what he needs. slipping your index and your middle finger between his lips, you both groan at the feeling.

you give him a smile and butterflies bloom in his belly. you give him a peck while still having your fingers in your mouth and cum seeps through his sweats.

toji fushiguro is a weak, weak man and you have him wrapped around your pretty little fingers.

literally.

Hello! 💕 Can I request semi-public sex with Mohawk Mark? You make him unhinged like he actually is and I love that. (And I know this is very specific but.. can you include the doggy position? I feel like he’d be very into it, and the reader’s ass in general.)

BENT FOR A KING — mohawk! mark grayson x reader

INVINCIBLE MASTERLIST

WARNINGS: smut, semi public sex, swearing, slight degrading, getting caught.

It starts with his hand around your throat.

Not hard. Not yet. Just enough to make you breathe a little differently, feel the weight of who he is. Mohawk Mark—unhinged, dangerous, and untouchable—rules this world with blood-stained hands and a half-smirk that never quite reaches his eyes. You’re lucky he hasn’t crushed you under his boot like the rest of them.

No, he’s chosen you.

And tonight, on the rooftop of a crumbling building overlooking his broken kingdom, you’re reminded exactly what that means.

“Stay quiet,” he murmurs into your ear, voice low and hot. “Or don’t. Either way, I’ll still fuck you like you’re mine.”

His hand slides down the curve of your back, and the moment it reaches the small of your spine, you know exactly what he wants. You always do. He’s a man of habit, of power, and of instinct. His fingers grip the flesh of your hips, tugging you into position, pulling you closer to him as though you’re the only thing that matters in this world—this world he rules with fire and blood.

You can feel his gaze on you even before he speaks, his eyes burning with an intensity that both excites and terrifies you. It’s the way he looks at you—like you’re the most precious thing, but also the most breakable. It’s not just that he wants you—he needs you. The kind of need that consumes everything in its path.

His obsession isn’t just about your body, though that’s a large part of it. He’s consumed by the way you respond to him—how you give in to him, how you arch for him when he demands it, how every inch of your body fits into his hands like it was made just for him. He sees something in you that no one else does—a rawness, a vulnerability, a surrender that he can’t find in anyone else. The power he exudes comes with a deadly confidence, but with you, it’s different. There’s a tenderness hidden beneath that twisted exterior, a need to control, but also to keep you, to protect what’s his.

You drop to your hands and knees, the gravel biting into your skin as you do, the roughness of it grounding you in the reality of your situation. The city sprawls beneath you, its flickering lights barely reaching your high perch, but there’s a strange sense of thrill that makes your heart race. The risk—the fact that someone might look up and see you like this, used, wrecked by him, the king of this crumbled world, it ignites a fire in your chest.

But what feels even more dangerous is how you don’t care. Not even a little bit.

You’re here with him, in the most vulnerable way possible, but it’s an honor. It’s more than just sex, more than just being his favorite. It’s a privilege that you can’t find anywhere else in the world.

There’s no one else who would ever claim you like this—no one else who could. He owns you, yes, but in a way that’s deeper than possession. You are the only one who gets to see the cracks in his armor, the only one who gets to feel the raw, unhinged version of him—the one who could tear down everything for you, or burn it all to the ground if anyone ever tried to touch what’s his. You’re his, and he makes sure everyone knows it.

And there’s a twisted satisfaction in knowing that the world watches him rule with bloodshed and fire, but only you get to experience the darker parts of him—the parts that are soft and broken, the parts that see you not as a trophy, but as the one person who can hold him together when the rest of the world wants to tear him apart.

Being with him isn’t about just giving your body. It’s about surrendering to him completely, trusting that no one else could ever hold the same power over you, the same hold on your heart. When he calls you his, it means something. It means you’re the one person who can shatter him, who can make him feel something real in this warped world. It’s an honor to have that kind of access—to be his addiction, his salvation, and his destruction all in one.

His hands grip you tighter, pulling you toward him, and the thrill of being seen as his breaks through your every thought. You close your eyes for a second, feeling the weight of his presence, the honor of being the one to witness it. You know that, as broken and twisted as he may be, you’re the only one who gets to call him yours.

That’s the honor. And it makes every part of you ache to keep giving more.

Mark pulls your hips back into him, hands rough, greedy. His nails bite into your skin. “Fuck… look at you,” he groans, one hand gripping your ass hard, spreading you open so he can stare. “Made for me.”

You whimper when he slides in—slow just to tease, but you know he doesn’t have patience. Not really. Not when he’s like this.

He slams forward, and your breath escapes in a gasp. His thrusts are brutal, rhythmic, like he’s trying to fuck the shape of his cock into your body, so no one else could ever forget who you belong to.

“Say it,” he growls, fucking into you hard enough that your palms scrape against the gravel. “Say who you’re for.”

“You, Mark—only you,” you gasp out, voice broken and sweet.

He growls like an animal. One hand snakes up to tangle in your hair, yanking your head back so he can lean over your trembling body.

“Damn right. The whole world bows for me. And you—” he punctuates the next thrust with a sharp slap to your ass, making you moan helplessly, “—you bend over for me. Perfect little thing. My perfect fucktoy.”

The way he says it—it doesn’t feel demeaning. Not from him. Not from the man who’s torn empires apart with his bare hands, who’s crushed entire rebellions for daring to even look at you the wrong way.

You know what you are to him. Not just a toy. Not just a body to fuck.

You’re the center of his madness. His favorite obsession. His only softness in a world he rules through fear and fire.

And when he calls you his perfect fucktoy in that low, hungry voice, it doesn’t make you feel small. It makes you feel chosen. Desired so completely that it borders on worship—twisted and dark, but real in a way nothing else in his world is.

He shows it with every punishing snap of his hips. With every brutal thrust that steals your breath and leaves you gasping for more. With the way his hands clutch at you like he’s trying to mold your body to fit him—like no other shape exists but the one you make together.

“You’re mine,” he growls again, more animal than man now. His hips slam into you with a desperate rhythm, frantic and raw. “You don’t breathe without me. You don’t come unless I say.”

Your moans are soft, broken things, muffled by the way your cheek presses against the rooftop, but he hears every single one. Lives for them. You can feel how deep it runs—this need to own you, brand you, bury himself so far inside you that even death wouldn’t tear you apart.

His grip on your waist tightens. One hand drifts back to your ass, squeezing it, spreading you wider like he wants to see the way you swallow him whole. He groans—low, filthy, reverent.

“Look at that,” he murmurs darkly. “Even your body knows you’re mine. Takes me so well.”

You can’t speak. Your voice is lost in the pleasure, in the way his cock keeps hitting that spot over and over, making your toes curl, making your thoughts go white. But you feel it—how much he needs this. Needs you.

And underneath all that violence, all that terrifying strength, there’s something else. A desperation. A fear of losing you.

Because in a world he could destroy in a heartbeat, you’re the only thing that matters enough to keep. And he’s going to fuck that truth into you until it’s carved into your bones

You lose track of time—of everything but the sounds of him. The raw rasp of his breath, deep and grating, almost primal as he fucks you with relentless force. Every exhale he takes is a promise of something darker, something more savage that you need him to give. The rhythm of his hips becomes your only anchor in a world spinning faster and faster, leaving you gasping for something, anything, to hold onto.

The sting of his hands on your skin is electric—each touch searing, a claim. His fingers grip your body like he’s afraid someone might take you from him, like this—this very moment—is something he can’t afford to lose. His nails scrape over your flesh, marking you, and the pain only drives you higher, deepens the hunger coiling inside you. It’s as if your body is made for this, for him, for the way he owns every inch of you with just a touch.

And then there’s the heat building deep in your core, growing impossibly hotter with every thrust, every roll of his hips. It’s frantic, it’s all-consuming, a molten fire flooding through your veins, turning your mind to mush. Your body can’t take it much longer, but you don’t want it to stop. Not now. Not when you feel so alive, so completely his.

Your voice starts to waver, climbing higher and higher, until it’s a desperate cry. It’s not just the pleasure anymore—it’s the way he’s tearing apart everything you’ve ever known about yourself. The way he’s filling you up in every sense of the word. Your voice gets breathless, broken, like you’re drowning in him, in his touch, in the heat he’s flooding you with. And Mark? Mark lives for it.

His grin stretches wider, lips pulling back over clenched teeth. His eyes gleam, almost predatory, like he’s watching you break, like he wants to see you shatter completely under him. It thrills him, that power. That control. And every strained, breathless sound you make only pushes him further, encourages him to go harder, faster. He wants to hear your voice crack, wants to taste every shred of desperation in the air between you.

His hands grip you tighter, pulling you deeper into him as if your body was a tool meant for his pleasure. But you know, deep down, it’s not just about that. He wants you—wants to claim every inch of you, and the dangerous part is that you’re more than willing to let him. Your submission isn’t out of fear, but out of respect. Respect for the man who could crush the world beneath his boot, yet chooses to keep you close, tangled in his every whim.

His voice cuts through the air, dark and rough, just as commanding as his actions. “You like this, don’t you? Knowing that no one else could ever have you the way I do. No one else gets to see you like this. Not like me.” His breath hitches as he thrusts into you, his fingers digging into your hips.

You bite your lip, barely able to suppress the moan that threatens to escape. You can feel the rawness in his voice, the possessiveness, and you can’t help but smile, your body betraying you with its eager response. “Yes, Mark,” you breathe out, voice trembling. “Only you. I’m yours, all yours.”

His growl sends a shiver through your spine. “Damn right you are.” His hand comes down sharply on your ass, the sound of it echoing across the empty rooftop. You gasp, but it’s not from pain—it’s from the satisfaction of knowing that each strike is his mark, his claim.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he mutters, the words nearly lost in the raggedness of his breath. “You arch for me like you were made to. Every part of you… made for me.”

His words are like fire, igniting something deep inside of you. You feel his grip tighten as he begins to push deeper, harder, faster—his rhythm wild, untamed. You can hear his breath grow more frantic, like he’s losing himself in you, like he can’t control the force of his desire.

“You’ve got to be mine, don’t you?” he growls, his voice rough, hungry. “Say it. Tell me you’re mine.”

You arch your back more, meeting his thrusts, every inch of you burning with need. “I’m yours, Mark,” you gasp, your words shaking. “I belong to you. Only you. I’ll always be yours.”

He growls, low and pleased. “Good girl.” The praise is a rare gift from him, and it makes you shiver. His hands move to your hair, tugging it back so he can lean down, his breath hot against your ear. “You’re mine, and no one else gets to have you like I do. Not now, not ever.”

A dark thrill pulses through your veins at the thought. The idea that you’re the only one who gets to feel this—the only one who knows what it’s like to be held by him, controlled by him, taken by him.

His pace doesn’t slow. If anything, it picks up—faster, harder, until the world around you disappears. The only thing that exists is him, the hard press of his body against yours, the raw intensity of his thrusts, the sound of his voice demanding your complete submission.

“Don’t ever forget who you belong to,” he grits out, his hand tightening around your throat again, not enough to choke you, but enough to remind you of his dominance. “I’ll make sure you remember. Every time I fuck you, you’ll remember who owns this body.”

You gasp again, your voice shaking with need. “I’ll always remember, Mark. I belong to you. Only you.”

His lips curl into a dark smile against your skin, and for a moment, his pace falters as if he’s savoring the sound of your words. “That’s right,” he murmurs, his voice thick with satisfaction. “You’re mine. And you’ll never forget it.”

“That’s it,” he murmurs through a wicked grin, his hand clutching your hip, forcing you back against him as he slams into you with unrelenting force. “Let me hear you scream. Let me hear how badly you want me, how fucked up you are for me.”

You can barely form words anymore. You’re so close—so close to the edge, your body trembling with anticipation, but still, there’s something inside you, something twisted and desperate, that wants to drag this moment out. You want him to keep breaking you, keep pushing you, to keep using you until there’s nothing left but his name on your lips and the raw burn of his hands on your skin.

His laugh comes out in short, jagged bursts, almost cruel in its delight as he watches your body tremble, your breath hitching with each deep, punishing thrust. He can feel it, too—that delicious tension, that impending explosion.

“Come on,” he urges, his voice low, almost mocking. “Let go. I’m right here, baby. I’m right fucking here.” And that’s it. That’s all it takes.

The heat inside you bursts wide open. Your body goes rigid, muscles locking as you lose yourself completely in him. The cry that rips from your throat is nothing but a raw, guttural thing—a mix of pleasure and surrender. And Mark, Mark watches you as you fall apart for him, watches as your whole body shakes with the force of it.

And with a final growl, he follows you, burying himself deep, claiming you in every possible way. He finishes with a low, satisfied groan, burying himself deep and holding you there—his hands gripping your hips like he owns every inch of you. And he does.

“Next time,” he whispers, lips brushing your skin, “we’ll do it on the Capitol steps. Let them all see who you belong to.”

And the worst part? You want that too.

You collapse forward, trembling, skin slick with sweat, knees sore from the gravel, but it doesn’t matter. None of it does. Not when he’s still inside you, so deep it feels like he’s fused to your spine. Not when you’re dizzy from the aftershocks, from the way he took you—like he needed it, like he’d fall apart without it.

You feel him exhale behind you, breath ragged, chest heaving against your back as he leans over you. His hands are still on your hips, thumbs rubbing absent, possessive circles into your skin, grounding himself in the feel of you.

“…fuck,” he breathes, more to himself than to you.

There’s something wild in the way he touches you now—softer, almost reverent. His fingers trail along the bruises blooming on your thighs, the prints he left behind, the heat radiating off your skin. He doesn’t apologize. He never would. But there’s a tenderness in the way he shifts, lowering you gently onto your side like you’re something breakable. Something precious.

“You okay?” he asks, voice quieter now but still rough, still his. His mohawk flutters in the wind as he hovers above you, studying your face like he’s looking for cracks, for signs you might slip through his fingers.

You nod, breathless. “I’m yours, remember?”

That gets a smirk out of him—crooked and dark, but it’s the closest thing to peace you’ve ever seen in him. “Damn right you are.”

He lies beside you on the rooftop, pulling you into his chest like a dragon curling around its treasure. The stars blink above the ruined skyline, and for a second, the world is still. He tucks your hair behind your ear, fingers rough and calloused but shockingly gentle.

“I hate this world,” he mutters. “Filthy. Weak. Useless.”

You hum against his chest. “But you like me.”

He pauses. The kind of pause that means he’s battling something inside—something he never lets anyone else see. Then he answers, low and deadly serious:

“I don’t like you. I need you. You keep me from turning this whole fucking planet to ash.”

His fingers trail down your spine, resting low over your ass—his favorite place, the one he claims over and over like it belongs on an altar. “If I lost you… there wouldn’t be a world left.”

You believe him.

You shift closer, tilting your head up. “You’ll never lose me.”

He kisses you then. Not soft. Not sweet. Just real. Teeth and heat and need. The kind of kiss that says: You’re mine. Forever. Even if I have to tear through every universe to keep you.

And you kiss him back, silently telling him what he already knows. You’d let him.

You’re still on the rooftop, curled in his jacket, legs weak and heart slowly returning to a steady rhythm when you hear it— the crunch of boots on gravel below.

You freeze.

Mark doesn’t even flinch. His eyes snap open from where he was lazily nuzzling your shoulder, his body already tense, ready. On edge. “…Hello?” a voice calls from down below. “Is someone—shit. Hello?”

You move toward the edge of the rooftop, careful but curious, peering over with Mark’s massive jacket barely covering your thighs. Below, a young man—probably a patroller or worker—stands in the alley, looking up. His eyes land on you, wide, startled—

And then his gaze lingers. He gasps. “Oh—uh—I-I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to—!” His face goes red as he stammers and immediately looks away, hands raised in apology. “I thought the place was empty!”

You blink at him, unsure whether to laugh or cover yourself more tightly. “It’s okay. Just… don’t look.”

He nods furiously. “Right, yes, of course, I didn’t—I wasn’t—!”

But that was enough. Behind you, you feel it: the air shifts. The weight of fury. The silence before the storm. And then, in a blur of motion, Mark is gone. CRACK—the impact below echoes up like thunder.

You rush to the edge again just in time to see the man slammed into the alley wall, feet off the ground, Mark’s hand tight around his throat. His naked body gleams in the moonlight, but modesty is the last thing on his mind—his rage is all-consuming.

“You looked,” Mark snarls, voice low and lethal. “You looked at her.”

The man chokes, hands clawing at Mark’s wrist. “I—I didn’t mean—”

“She spoke to you. You spoke to her.” Mark’s grip tightens. “That alone’s worth breaking your spine.”

“Mark!” you shout, grabbing the edge of the rooftop. “Stop!”

He doesn’t. “I should fucking kill you,” Mark growls, eyes glowing like a warning. “You think you get to see her? Get to hear her voice?” You leap down, landing hard and stumbling, Mark’s jacket still clutched around you. “Mark, please. Stop.”

He growls, muscles trembling with restraint as he glares at the man, who’s turning pale under his grip. You move in front of him, pressing a hand to his chest. “He didn’t touch me. He didn’t even try anything. He’s just a dumb kid who looked up at the wrong time.”

His jaw is clenched so tight you can see the muscle ticking. You cup his face, forcing him to look at you instead of his prey. “Please, Mark. For me.” He breathes through his nose. Once. Twice. Then he rolls his eyes with a grunt and drops the man, who crumples to the ground, gasping for air.

“You should be dead,” Mark growls at him. “You even dream about her, and I’ll rip out your tongue and force you to swallow it.”

The man whimpers and crawls backward, disappearing into the shadows without another word. Silence returns. You look up at Mark. “You didn’t kill him.” He tilts his head. “Don’t act like that wasn’t impressive restraint.”

You laugh softly, stepping closer. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I am,” he says, dragging you flush against him, voice dark and low. “And you love it.”

His hands settle low on your hips—palming the curve of your ass again, possessive and unrepentant. “Let someone try that again. Next time, I won’t ask for permission.”

You kiss him, rough and quick. “Next time, don’t make a scene while I’m still half-naked.” He grins, wicked and wild. “That’s your fault. Walking around looking like sin in my jacket.”

And before you can argue, he lifts you into his arms like nothing in the world matters but you and takes off into the sky.

MDNI *MINORS DO NOT INTERACT*

choso and riding that man religiously

Imagine him biting his lip, holding back a choked moan as you sink onto him, the pleasure clouding his blown out pupils as he gazes up at you with those dark brown eyes.

Him under you, his abs tensed up as you place a hand over his lower stomach, moving yourself up before slamming back down— the gasp he lets out— imagine the amount of pleasure in his sensitive cock snug in your warm walls, balls deep. He feels like he’s died and gone to heaven. And you’re god.

He pants, huffing, groaning, and he can’t stop making those noises. This is a religious experience for him. The amount of pleasure coursing through his body makes him shake and grunt, his pale skin covered in a sheen of hot sweat, and he can’t help rutting up into you with a look of both pain and pleasure painted on his expression as he cups your face to kiss you, completely enamored by you.

And then he remembers that this is how children are made— he’ll grab your hips and begin bouncing you up and down like a madman— engrossed in the fantasy in his head, of having a child with you. He sees the future: your swollen, pregnant belly with his tender touch, hand atop your bump. And he imagines running in the park with your kid as you watch. He cums so fucking hard, thrusting hard into you before slamming you down with his big, muscled arms, just as he thrusts up— and he empties himself deep into your body, his eyes rolling into his head as he chants your name along with “Yes, yes, my love, mmmfuuu—“

To be continued cause I gtg now

toji and his pregnant wife who is huffy and pouty all day, snapping at him every once in a while before apologizing...just for him to corner you when you're washing dishes, lifting up your shirt, and massaging your heavy and swollen breasts, clicking his tongue when he realizes you're acting out because you feel too full.

"mamas, you know you can ask for help...stop tryna hide from me, your carrying my baby, lemme take care of you," he mumbles into your neck, fingers tweaking your nipples before he squeezes your tits together, humming happily when milk spurts out. "there we go...let yer toj' treat you good, wifey..."