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indefinite-space · 1 year ago

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Teach My Mouth a Lesson(2)

Toji x fem!reader

Synopsis: You caught your friend's sleazy dad touching himself. And he asked you to join, will you?

Content: age gap (reader is mid 20s, toji is late 40s), self pleasure (toji and reader), teasing, he's still kinda mean, slight fingering, grinding, toji plays with your pussy, pussy inspection (sorta?)

Wc: 1.3k

Part one

“Ya just gonna watch or are you gonna join me?”

Silence filled the air as you stood there, frozen in your spot. His hand still stroked up and down his drooling length, his head craned over the back of the couch. Staring at you. Eyes traveling up and down your body, the low groan in the back of his throat snapped you out of it.

“You're disgusting,” was all you could say, breathlessly. Toji chuckled, deep, “Says the one watching her friend's dad stroke his dick.” Heat filled your face as you tried to pry your eyes away. It was more difficult than you wanted it to be. “W-Well maybe you shouldn't do it out in the open.” Your fist balled up at your sides, failing at sounding angry. Tsk. “S'my house, I'll touch my cock where I please.” God, his mouth was filthy. A slow smirk spread onto his face, “So? Ya gonna join?” You didn't know why but you couldn't make your mouth tell him to fuck off. Storm upstairs and climb back underneath your friend’s covers.

“No,” you said. Trying to sound as definitive as you could. Why was it so hard? “No?” He repeated your answer back, tongue gliding over his permanently chapped lips. “S'a-shame, woulda loved to fuck that pretty little cunt.” Leaving you with your mouth open, he turned back around. Spitting another generous glob of spit into his hand, rubbing it up and down his thickness.

What was wrong with him? You'd never…your pussy throbbed, throwing whatever you were gonna say in your head out the window. You needed to go upstairs, leave this awkward situation. With all the strength you could muster, you pulled your glued feet from the ground and turned; heading to the bathroom–wait what? No no, you should be going upstairs, to go to sleep. To forget this ever happened. So why were you in the bathroom, back pressed against the door as your hands slid down the front of your shorts. Your other hand covering your mouth as you played with yourself. The muffled sound of his groans coming from the living room, going straight to your core. How had you gotten so wet just by merely listening? Briefly watching?

It didn't make any sense, more than it made for you to come so fast. Finger sliding over your wet clit, swollen with arousal. Making a mess of your panties and shorts, your pathetic whines muffled against your hand. Your chest heaved, your fingers glistening with your arousal as you slipped them from your shorts. What were you doing?

Quickly, you washed your hands and bolted out of the bathroom. Missing the wide smirk on Toji's face as he watched you. He had heard everything, even though you'd muffled yourself.

When morning came, it took you roughly thirty seconds to slowly blink your eyes open. And it took you forty five to remember what happened last night. Heat immediately flooded your cheeks as you covered your face.

“Nice dream?” Came your friends teasing tone, poking you in the side. You shook your head, “more like a nightmare.” Your friend's brows rose, “Yeah? Well, it must've been hot then. Your face is all red.” She teased you again, poking once more at your sides before turning her attention back to her phone. “Whatever,” you mumbled, pulling the blanket closer to your face. “Breakfast should be downstairs,” she mentioned offhand as her fingers typed against the screen. Your stomach growled, signaling breakfast would probably be a good idea. “Are you coming?” She waved her hand, “I'll be down in a second.” Great.

With a heavy sigh, you pulled yourself out of bed.

Please don't be there. Please don't be there. Please don't-, “Mornin’ princess,” fuck. So much for wishful thinking. Just don't look at him, it was simple. Don't even respond. You kept your head down, hands searching for the counter. A deep chuckle came from your right. “Yer tryin real hard aren't ya? What, royalty can't make eye contact now?” He was goading you, you knew this, yet your eyes snapped upwards–meeting his. Meeting a smirk, fuck. “That didn't take long,” he gave an absent scratch to his stomach before pushing a plate your way. He said nothing else, waiting for you to take the plate. Which, regrettably, you did. Your stomach would've growled in protest if you didn't.

You took a seat at the bar, pulling the plate to you. And as soon as you placed a piece of food in your mouth, “Did ya enjoy yer little show last night?” Immediately your fork dropped, clanking against the plate.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” you don't know why you were pretending it didn't happen. He had caught you, saw you. Had even asked you to join. You pressed your thighs together. “Playing coy are we?” He gave a wide toothed grin, stroking his chin. “So ya mean, that wasn't you in the bathroom touching yo-” his words were cut off. By your hand. When did you move? You could feel his smile widen behind your palm, his hand gripped your wrist. “Rude little thing aren't ya? Cutting me off in the middle of my sentence.” He tugged you closer, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “Allow me to continue; was that you touching yourself in the bathroom?” He knew the answer. It didn't take much brain power to know the answer was yes but playing with you was just so damn fun.

“...no,” you managed to choke out, his proximity making your head spin. Tsk. “Ya sure? If you don't answer correctly, m'gonna have to check myself.” What did that even mean? Still, holding your ground for some unknown reason, you said no again.

He hummed, twisting you around until your front was pressed flush against the counter. His body pressed up against you, you could feel it, the hard outline of his dick. Pressed against your ass. “Now let's see..” he trailed off, slipping his hand around your waist, stopping at the band of your shorts. “If it was you, yer cute little pussy should still be sensitive. Wet. What do ya think?” He didn't give you time to answer, slipping his thick fingers underneath your shorts, teasing your pussy through your panties. He hummed, “Look here, s'all wet down here.” His voice was heavy against your ear, hot breath making your hair stand on end.

“And if I slip my fingers under like this-” his thick digits slid underneath the thin material of your panties. A low groan escaped his mouth, directly into your ear. He pressed even closer to you, “So wet f'me, it is for me right?” His heavy breath against your neck, his fingers sliding in between your folds made your brain mushy. To the point you found yourself nodding, your ass pressing back against his crotch, making him grunt. “Needy aren't we?” Toji chuckled, continuing to play with your pussy. Spreading your juices all over, dipping the tip inside every now and then.

“Got such a tight cunt, wan me to stretch it open with my big dick?”

Your eyes rolled back, grinding your ass against him. He was getting you so worked up. “Yes..” you found yourself saying, breathless. “Yeah? Need to-”

The sound of feet descending the stairs made you both move quickly away from each other. You sat in your seat, he took to leaning against the counter. Giving a tentative lick to his fingers, eyes on you, before his daughter came into the kitchen. “You weren't giving her any trouble were you?” She eyed him, taking a seat next to you.

“Never.” He gave you a knowing look before pushing his daughter's plate over.

A/N: Sorry for teasing you all again hehe

Taglist: @slvtmeout

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indefinite-space · 1 year ago

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I DID I SO DID ANY CRUMB OF DAN HENG IS YUMMY AND AND

IM WEAK FOR HIM AAAAAA THANK YOU FOR THIS IM FED

HAHAHAHAHA YOU CAPTURED MY BRAT SO WELL 😌

I don’t know if this has already been done or not but could I have Dan Heng and smut prompt #4 for your special event? Female reader bc I'm unoriginal 😌

"If you try wearing that out, I'm ripping it off you."

Content: implied sexual situation, possessiveness, clothes tearing, mdni

Wc: 200+

You knew you were testing limits, wearing this dress. But it was so cute! And what better way to swoon over your boyfriend than to wear a nice revealing dress. Well, if it was any other man besides yours. He was quite…overprotective and possessive of you. Usually, he'd never tell you what to wear, on the assumption you knew what to wear.

You were his. Why should anyone else see how absolutely radiant your body was?

And usually, you agreed. You didn't see the need to show off what you had. Who would it even be for? Certainly not yourself. But today was different, for some unknown reason you wanted a reaction out of him. His usual calm demeanor, unless you were being threatened–you wanted to break that. So you threw on this dress before coming downstairs, where he was waiting for you.

He didn't say anything at first, eyes scanning over you before meeting your eyes. “Take that off.” Is all he said. That was quick, but you weren't gonna let the fun end so quickly.

“No, I'm wearing this.” You saw his hand twitch, slowly walking towards you. “Take this off, before I rip it off you.” His voice was deep, almost seething.

You could tell he was serious but…you wanted to push it a little further. So you crossed your arms, “You can't tell me what to do.”

And it happened so quickly, how your dress was ripped from your body. Your front pressed against a wall, his large hands roaming over your ass. “What was that?” A shiver ran down your spine. It was safe to say,

You didn't go out that night.

A/n: hope you enjoy bestie♡

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indefinite-space · 1 year ago

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Collars They'd Have You Wear

Don't ask me why but here you go. Hope you imagine them pushing you on your knees. Fingers fastening these pretty collars around your neck.

Mdni. Sexual themes. 18+. Fem!reader coded (for Choso).

Gojo

☆Pretty. Possessive. Jingles when he fucks you.☆

Getou

☆Simple. Heart for his love. Tugs on it when he fucks you.☆

Nanami

☆Practical. Comfortable. Holds the leash while you suck him off under the desk.☆

Choso

☆Cute. Possessive. Key to your heart and pussy.☆

Toji

☆Simple. Uncomfortable. Cold. Loves how you shiver when the metal touches your skin.☆

A/N: don't ask me what this is, bc even I don't know.

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indefinite-space · 1 year ago

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You're his favorite show.

Choso is obsessed with watching you cum, going broke just to do it.

Divider: @rookthornesartistry

Content: fem!reader, reader is a camgirl, self pleasure (reader, choso), growing parasocial behavior (choso), he loves you, can you love him back?, pretties (nickname for readers watchers)

Wc: 1.3k

Choso wouldn't say he had a problem. Not entirely. So what if his bank account was currently showing pretty red numbers? A little “-” before his balance. You were worth it. He'd just pick up extra shifts, work overtime, anything for the chance to see your pretty pussy on his screen. Mm, just the thought had his dick straining against his pants but he needed to keep it under control. The last thing he needed was to get fired for sporting a boner.

His phone vibrated in his pocket, a short numbing sensation signaling it was a notification. The people around him would've been concerned with how quickly he yanked his phone out; if they weren't so absorbed in their own phones. But he doubted it was for the same reasons.

‘Hey pretties! Liveshow will be a little later today than usual but don't worry. I'll reward you extra special for being so patient with me. Hugs and kisses♡’

Fuck. He didn't blame you, you couldn't help it but he needed to get rid of the erection you just gave him with words alone. Written ones. Excusing himself, he made his way to the employee bathroom. Quick to lock the door before he shoved his pants down his legs, his underwear following with it. His tip, already leaking and red, slapped against his clothed tummy. Hopefully no one would notice that little spot. And he quickly worked at his phone, pulling up the video you'd sent him. The one he paid for. Two minutes of you playing with yourself as you moaned his name. He'd missed rent that week but fuck, this was better. Choso spit into his hand, stroking up his length as he fully covered it. “Choso…” Your voice moaned on the screen, pretty little fingers dancing along your clit. As the other held a decent sized faux cock to your lips, licking the tip before slowly feeding it into your mouth.

“Fuck..” he breathed harshly through his nose. The sound of slick skin filling the room, mixing in with your almost muted pretty moans. Imagining, quite vividly, that it was his dick disappearing behind those pretty, red stained lips. God, he wished it was. Badly. And when you moaned his name again, muffled from your mouth being stuffed full of cock, he came quite hard. Painting his hand white, while some of it leaked onto the floor. Shit. He'd have to clean that up.

A thin layer of sweat covered his face as he pressed pause on your video. And he just stared at it. Your body paused in pleasure, mouth stretched, pussy glistening. If only he could see your face. He gave a sigh as he looked at the half-formed mask you always wore. Only your mouth and eyes could be seen, which granted was still perfect but…he wanted all of you. Every inch.

One day, he swore to himself.

His house was quiet, dark when he came home. He immediately shrugged off his jacket and shoes, making his way to his bedroom. Choso knew you said you'd be late but this was routine. And maybe, just maybe, you'd notice how early he showed up to watch you.

He shrugged off his pants, leaving his boxers on as he pulled out his laptop. Setting it nicely on a pillow beside him, his finger moving swiftly across the track pad. Navigating his way to your site, clicking on the big heart. Bolded words, ‘Liveshow’ written next to it. He frowned, it seems like he wasn't the first. Hundreds of people had already shown up before him. It's okay though. No one loves you like he does. He wet his chapped lips, quickly checking his bank account to make sure he got paid and smiled widely when he saw he did. Minutes passed before the black screen flickered, now showing you.

His heart skipped, his dick already giving an interested twitch. It's like he couldn't help but get hard when he saw you.

“Hey pretties,” you cooed. Eyes glancing down, more than likely reading the chat. He sucked his lip between his teeth, using one hand to type in chat. ‘You look so pretty tonight’, amongst the sea of ‘show me your tits’ and ‘I wanna fuck your pussy.’ Don't get him wrong, he thought those things too but he loved you. And wanted to show you as such. Maybe you'd grow to love him too. “Aww, thank you, princ3charming.” You blew him a kiss, his fingers itched to catch it but he wasn't that far gone. Yet.

“Alright~ I think I've made you all wait long enough.” Your slender fingers roamed up your tummy, gently caressing your clothed breasts. “Shall we get started? And don't worry, I didn't forget about spoiling you for waiting so patiently. But after the show hm?” He nodded like you could see him, spitting into his palm as he languidly stroked his cock. Watching you undress yourself, perfect tits bouncing as you freed them. What he would give to suckle on them, massage them in his hands. “Fuck,” he whispered, watching you scoot your chair back. Resting your legs on the arm of your chair, lifting your skirt only to find you had nothing underneath. He licked his lips. Wanting to taste. Needing to. With his free hand, he quickly typed the command to send little purple hearts. They flooded the screen when he hit send. Along with many others, his hope for you to thank him again dwindled. “Mm, you all being good boys and girls, touching yourself?” You cooed.

“Yes…yes…” choso panted, fisting his cock a little quicker now. Sending another wave of hearts your way.

“Aw, I bet you are..”your pretty lips let out a moan, your finger swirling around your clit. “Touching yourself so good for me.” Fuck. His head fell back as he listened to the squelching of your pussy. How warm was it? How hard would you clench around him if he fucked himself into you? Your beautiful tits smushed against his face, lathered in his spit because he simply couldn't stop licking and kissing them. Fuck he was close. And it didn't help that your moans were getting louder, mixing with the squeaking of your chair. “Gonna make a mess for me pretties? I'm sure gonna make a mess for you,” the sound of your voice sent him over the edge. Spurts of his cum painting his tummy white as he fucked up into his fist. Dick twitching as a layer of sweat, just like earlier, covered his skin.

He tuned in just in time to hear your pretty whines. Your fingers fucking in and out of your hole, making a mess as you squirted all over the chair.

More hearts flooded the screen as he stared at your beautiful, blissed out face. The part he could see anyway. Adding his own into the mix as well. ‘Thank you.’ He typed, hoping you'd see it. That you knew how grateful he was for you to let him see your pussy.

With a harsh intake of breath, you sat up fully. Looking through the messages before looking back into the camera. “We'll have some more fun in just a moment. While I recharge, I'll tell you what special gift you all are getting for being so patient.” He pulled himself closer to the screen, hanging onto every word. “During this next little…show, whoever sends the most hearts, wins a special one on one private video session with me.” His heart skipped a beat. Private? Alone? With you? “Ideally, I'd love to do this with all of you but..” a subtle pout of your lips made his dick harden again. “I simply don't have enough stamina for that.” You giggled.

He licked his lips. Choso was definitely going to miss rent this month.

A/N: this was supposed to be a one-shot but now I'm thinking, a part 2? Maybe?♡

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indefinite-space · 1 year ago

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You're his favorite show.

Choso is obsessed with watching you cum, going broke just to do it.

Divider: @rookthornesartistry

Content: fem!reader, reader is a camgirl, self pleasure (reader, choso), growing parasocial behavior (choso), he loves you, can you love him back?, pretties (nickname for readers watchers)

Wc: 1.3k

‘Hey pretties! Liveshow will be a little later today than usual but don't worry. I'll reward you extra special for being so patient with me. Hugs and kisses♡’

One day, he swore to himself.

His heart skipped, his dick already giving an interested twitch. It's like he couldn't help but get hard when he saw you.

“Yes…yes…” choso panted, fisting his cock a little quicker now. Sending another wave of hearts your way.

He tuned in just in time to hear your pretty whines. Your fingers fucking in and out of your hole, making a mess as you squirted all over the chair.

He licked his lips. Choso was definitely going to miss rent this month.

A/N: this was supposed to be a one-shot but now I'm thinking, a part 2? Maybe?♡

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indefinite-space · 1 year ago

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indefinite-space · 1 year ago

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AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

This is so fucking hot 😭😭😭

I’m about to lose my damned mind, let me at him *foams* I loved that so much

GONNA--

I Didn't Mean..

♡♡-Request: Continuation of Dan Heng w/ milf reader only; spicier.

Who requested: @indefinite-space

Content: milf!reader, fem!reader, slight age game (obvs; Dan heng is in his 20s, reader is 35), pussy eating, cuming untouched, nipple play

He was fucked. Truly and utterly fucked. Why were you tempting him like this? He was trying to be good! Watching your precious babies,cooing and feeding them. Staying later when you asked him to, so why were you being so mean? Wearing outfits like that. Shirts that barely covered your tits and skirts that showed the curve of your ass-fuck. Do you know how many nights he went home and jacked off to the thought of you? It was cruel!

And today was the last straw.

He wasn't even sure why he was here. The twins were down for a nap, the monitor hooked to his pocket. But you? You weren't at work. Or the gym. Or anywhere but the pool in your backyard. A pretty bikini, barely holding your tits inside the fabric. The straps of your bikini bottom dug into the plush of your hips-God he was fucked. But who was he to judge a mother who needed a break?

"Dan Heng," you called to him sweetly.

He gulped, opening the sliding doors, making his way over. "Yes, Ma'am.." you sighed, shaking your head. "How many times do I have to tell you? You don't need to call me that. Have a seat." Your soft hands patted a vacant spot next to you, on the same chair you were lounging on. Dan Heng could feel his dick stir in his pants but willed it to behave. He took a seat, his knee brushing against your warm thigh. You peeked at him from beneath your sunglasses before humming. "I'm impressed."

"By what?" He asked cautiously. "How easily you're denying my attempts at seducing you."

His eyes widened, quickly turning towards you. And you merely gave him a shrug. "You're hot, good with the kids. What more could I ask for?" "But I'm-"

"In your 20s and I'm some ugly 35 year old?" You raised an eyebrow, smiling when he shook his head no. "I don't think you're old.."he said softly, his hand inching a little closer to you. You simply hummed, pushing your glasses back up your nose. "I don't know if I believe you, you're gonna have to show me." And you went back to sunbathing, head resting against the pillow behind your head. Did you really…? He looked around, unclipping the monitor from his pocket, setting it off to the side. His hands softly rubbing against your bare thighs, you were softer than he pictured. Then he moved, settling himself in between your thighs. Still massaging as he subtly pushed them open, revealing your clothed pussy. He licked his lips.

Dan Heng looked at you again before leaning down, pressing his face to your bikini bottoms. Tentatively, he licked the fabric, groaning when he felt your clit through it. You simply hummed, hand now resting in his hair. "Go on " you urged. And it was all he needed.

He slipped your bottoms to the side, sliding his hot tongue between your folds. Gathering your arousal, swirling around your clit before dipping his tongue inside. Hands pressed to your thighs as he kept them open, subtly grinding his front against the surface of the lounge chair. He groaned into your heat, nose brushing against your clit as he devoured your pussy. Lapping, his body shifting as he felt hot pleasure spring from the stimulation to his cock. God, you tasted so good. "You seem to be enjoying yourself," you murmured, slightly breathless. He only groaned in response, moving his hands from your thighs to your top. Untying the string and letting your breasts free. He cupped them, his face still buried between your thighs, grinding his crotch against the chair.

"Ah-" you hissed, your nipples sensitive. "Fuck," you swore.

God, you sounded pretty and it felt so good, you tasted so good, fuckfuckfuckfuck-his eyes widened as he pulled away. Red dusting his cheeks as he quickly tried to hide the front of his shorts, but you caught his hands in time. Raising an eyebrow, "You came?" This was so embarrassing, he thought.

You hummed, "You really did show me."

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indefinite-space · 1 year ago

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I Didn't Mean..

♡♡-Request: Continuation of Dan Heng w/ milf reader only; spicier.

Who requested: @indefinite-space

Content: milf!reader, fem!reader, slight age game (obvs; Dan heng is in his 20s, reader is 35), pussy eating, cuming untouched, nipple play

And today was the last straw.

"Dan Heng," you called to him sweetly.

"By what?" He asked cautiously. "How easily you're denying my attempts at seducing you."

His eyes widened, quickly turning towards you. And you merely gave him a shrug. "You're hot, good with the kids. What more could I ask for?" "But I'm-"

"Ah-" you hissed, your nipples sensitive. "Fuck," you swore.

You hummed, "You really did show me."

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indefinite-space · 1 year ago

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JJK MEN AS YOUR PERSONAL TRAINER. | TOJI FUSHIGURO, GOJO SATORU, CHOSO KAMO, SUGURU GETO.

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — synopsis. having private sessions with the men prove to be an experience. what type of trainer are each of them?

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — cw. smut, edging, degradation, praise, dry humping, fellatio, switch!choso, overstimulation, emo boy!choso, cervix fucking, unprotected sex, they are all whores. mdni <3

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — word count. 3.1k

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — dolled up! oh em gee ?? headcanon format ? yup! i originally wrote this as a little joke since i started pilates but then my mind wandered and it wasn’t a joke anymore. other than that, ino was supposed to be on the list but he couldn’t make it :( something about being busy .. regardless, comment / reblog if u like ! it would make my day, thank u ♡

TOJI — THE CORRUPT TRAINER.

there must’ve been a clear distinction as to why your trainer only allowed sessions from 9pm up until midnight, but your desperation when it came to relentlessly searching for a personal trainer didn’t leave enough room in your mind to think deeper about the true nature of its shadiness. all you needed was a spotter, and toji’s services claimed to provide just that.

and what happens when you combine height, a monsterous build, superhuman stamina, and a handsome face? well, you get toji fushiguro in all his abhorrent glory.

his chiseled body virtually doubled your frame with biceps the size of your head, shoulders wide enough to emphasize the narrowness of his waist, and veins crawling up his limbs even when the muscles weren’t flexed. a mean looking man with a scar over his mouth like some battered veteran. whatever he got into during the day was truly nothing you’d want to take part in.

inviting him over to your home gym was one thing, but it was looking to be another when his “help” took the form of sensuality; his large hands running along the back of your thighs when he’d seemingly fold you over with your legs on either side of your head for warm-up stretches, or even the occasional groping of your ass when it came down to squats, he was barely doing his job, what you paid a hefty price for, and yet you loved every bit of it.

“c’mon, you can take more of it, cant’cha?” toji’s gruff voice goads, watching the way your tiny cunt struggles with swallowing the head of his wrist-thick, bulbous cock. you were put in the awkward position of doggy, yet another one of his sessions derailed and he deemed this new workout could help you build up some much needed endurance. you were going to need it if you planned on keeping him around.

it surely seems that way when you’re practically running from the pleasure he pistons into you, thick cock kissing your cervix with each skillful, angled thrust of his. large hands were wrapped around your waist, keeping you in place for him — because if there was one thing your personal trainer was strict about, it was form. and your form was beyond perfect.

“‘s just too good.” you mindlessly whined, attempting your hardest to grip onto the thin cushion of the yoga mat beneath you. toji lets out a deep scoff at your vocables, driving his hips against your ass once more, this time a bit sharper with a hint of fervor as its aftertaste. “and you’ve been training with me for how long now?” his question came out in a mocking tone as his lips stretched wide in a crooked smile, that of a statement rather than a query.

“t-two weeks .. fuck.” you respond, mind going hazy from the gaining intensity of his potent movements. the feeling was all too much, it came as no surprise when pleasure began to surge from your spine to coil at your core, building up that high you've been chasing for the past hour, that grumpy ol’ toji continued to rip away from you.

pressing a heavy hand to the small of your back, he arches you forward, groaning at the sight of how swiftly you position yourself for him, your face pushed against the mat.

maybe his training has paid off. . “two weeks and you’re still struggling to take my cock?” he pulled your hips back against his, leaving you defenseless in the ministrations. “guess i need to train this pretty little hole of yours more often.”

with the end of his sentence, he snakes his thick arm around your waist, the pad of his thumb finding your achy, puffy clit, rubbing the nub in tight, harsh circles. if your moans weren’t already loud enough, you were sure the whole town could hear you by now, crying out his name like no tomorrow while your legs trembled with your impending orgasm. “‘m cumming! so hard!” you cry, drooling into the mat as he fucks you through your orgasm.

it wasn’t until soon after that he finally reached his high, sending hot and sticky ropes of cum into your womb. not once had a session with toji ended with him shooting his cum in a more responsible way, with a rubber. it was clear to you since the very first time you allowed his fantasies to come to fruition — toji didn’t believe in condoms.

your body went lax as soon as he pulled out, and he tucked his cock back into his pants, hovering over your sad frame with an amused smirk on his scarred lips.

“good session. i expect $800 wired to my account by the mornin’.”

GOJO — THE ENABLING TRAINER.

when you first showed up to the private room of your local gym in search of your assigned instructor for the night a.k.a “the strongest,” you were expecting some big burly man with a cocky attitude — someone you didn’t particularly get along with. but much to your surprise, instead, he was handsome; fluffy white strands of hair that strayed upwards and a million dollar smile with just the charisma, the charm to back it up.

gojo stood over 6 feet tall, and although he was on the lankier side, there was no denying the lean muscles that peeked through his skintight black top. he smiled, throwing a loose cloth over his broad shoulders.

“you ready to get started?”

your eyes greedily took him in, scanning over the finer details of his gorgeous build. it wasn’t until about thirty seconds of daydreaming about what he’d look like unclothed that you finally gave him a response in the form of a nod and hum.

of course satoru wasn’t an idiot, he could tell from how dazed you were during the first few minutes of instruction that you were focused on something else, not that he minds though, it’s truly an honor that a girl as pretty as you is capable of fawning over him, just as many others do.

after having to shake your thoughts whenever it came to watching him take a large swig from his water, droplets of the liquid streaming down his chin to graze his prominent adam's apple, or the soft appraises he’d coo when you finally got the hang of his workouts, it was the end of yet another vigorous session with him, sweat dripping from your chin down to your chest that was scantily clad in a baby pink sports bra. you held on taut to your water bottle as satoru carried conversation with you.

“you improved so much in just an hour. i’m proud.”

his praises barely reached your ears before you looked at him with adoration glossed over those pretty eyes — there was something about him that you just couldn’t get over, but you knew you needed him badly. you dabbed perspiration from your forehead with a matching pink towel, soft smile forming on your doll-like features.

“thank you,”

he nods his head slightly before starting, “you seemed a bit distracted today, though. something on your mind?” his query pulled you from your gojo-induced hypnosis, causing you to blink away the embarrassment pooling up within you. were you truly that obvious?

“hm? there’s nothing, i’m fine,” your reply came out low and sheepish while your eyes struggled to find anywhere else to settle besides those bright baby blues. he took it upon himself to inch closer to you, studying your features until you gasped softly once your back hit the wall. “nothing?” he asks for confirmation, and you affirm. “nothing.”

“all you gotta do is use your words if you need me.”

gojo’s hands found their way at your thighs, creeping them upwards underneath the thin spandex of your shorts. his touch felt hot against your skin, each brush of his fingertips along the expanse of your inner thigh causing shivers to trickle down your spine while he watched with mirth at your pitiful attempt to keep your whines at bay.

“i think .. i think i need you.”

with that, satoru smirked and lifted your leg up just enough so that it fell over his arm. his lips met yours with a salacious that only the whorest of whores could possess, skilled tongue angling its way inside your mouth to gently clash with yours in the sweetest harmony that had you buckling underneath the frame of his body.

it must’ve been a spur of the moment when you found yourself rutting your hips up in search for satoru’s, a pitchy moan sounded into the kiss when he matches your ministrations, grinding his sweatpant clad and half-hard, leaking length into the seat of your shorts; creating the most delicious sensation as the tip nudged against your clit.

his free hand took purchase at your cheek, his thumb rubbing ever so gently against the heated skin while his movements increased in greediness. your mind’s too hazy to make out anything besides the pleasure and build up of your orgasm — so much so, that it pulled you back to reality as soon as it hit, your sloppy kisses coating gojo’s soft lips in a thin sheen and the seat of your shorts sopping wet from the release of your high.

yet, gojo kept at it until he too came to a falter, cumming an ample amount in his sweats while groaning deep into your mouth. he separated from the kiss for just a split second before he took it upon him to goad,

“we can add 30 more minutes and i’ll give you more than just a taste.”

CHOSO — THE INTIMIDATING TRAINER.

a pierced tongue, some tattoos running along both veined arms, and a deep, monotonous voice were a recipe for your timidness when it came to the kamo, who you’d invited over for your very first home training session. it didn’t help that he was on the quieter side, responding to whatever small talk you’d make with one or two words while his intense eyes would follow every move you’d make as he’d help with your form.

he truly wasn’t a bad guy, or so you thought. even now, during your session with him, his praises were appropriate, he wasn’t too handsy nor did he seem to have any ill intent; being with him felt surprisingly comfortable and refreshing just as the crisp, cold water you two were currently drinking, made fresh from your refrigerator’s tap.

“was it too intense?” he’d asked in regard to the exercises you had just completed. intense was an understatement, you didn’t know how you could move your body in such ways that you did, which wouldn’t have been possible without his expertise. choso set the chilled glass of water down onto your coffee table, feeling coy from sitting on your couch, something he’d never done even with his regulars, and in response, you shook your head at the query, settling yourself by his side.

there was truly no denying how absolutely stunning you were, like some angelic being brought to him from the heavens up above in the form of the sweetest thing he’s ever met. he was afraid that if he blinked too hard, you’d vanish.

the more his eyes focused on your lips when you talked, how you’d massage the sore muscles of your thighs and even let out cute whines because of the fact, the more he found it harder to contain his thoughts, rapidfire in his mind. those perverted thoughts that only some horny teenager could have, not a well off adult like him.

yet, it wasn’t enough to stop him from getting hard in his sweats, a dark grey patch spreading at the crotch, what he’d hoped you’d mistake as spilt water.

“shit,” with that of a husky sigh, he ran his hand over his face, tinges of pink battering the tattooed scar across his nose and cheeks. “i’m sorry.”

oblivious to his situation, you were quick to express your inquiry. “sorry about wh- oh.” the head of his cock practically peeked through the barrier of the hem of his sweats while he made a futile effort to cover himself with one of your pillows once you had realized.

he looked cute like that, embarrassed by something so natural that it even spurred on your arousal, the thought of him getting worked up over you doing virtually nothing. “i-it’s okay.. i can help you if you want.” you offer, moving your position to sit between his thighs.

violet hued eyes widened from your newfound boldness, the clearing of his throat being the only true source of sound he could make in that moment.

“nah, nah. it’s-“ before he could inch out the words, you were drawing featherlight circles at his tip over the fabric, causing his breath to hitch and resolve to falter.

choso wasn’t someone who’d allow himself to be in such a pathetic situation, yet the thought of you carrying out his perfect porn plot fantasy was all he needed for that internal morality to fly straight out the window.

you chuckled at the way he hiked himself up when you finally took him from his bottoms and into your hot, wet mouth. just the sight of his cock disappearing past soft, glossy pink lips has his temperature rising, feeling as though he could pass out.

it’s hazy for him — your hand at the base, the rhythmic bobbing of your head slowly while gradually picking up speed. he never would’ve thought the job he took on for extra cash to fund his college textbooks would end up with someone as gorgeous as you giving him a chance. every pump of your hand around what couldn’t fit into your mouth had him groaning, bucking his hips up as gently as he could without battering the back of your throat.

though, he wouldn’t mind if he did.

staving off a gag, you ultimately increased your pace, determined to get him off while your other hand fondled his plump balls.

from the faint touches alone, he could feel his high approaching, embarrassingly quicker than usual. yet, he couldn’t help it when you started to grow sloppy, a mix of spit and precum dribbling down his shaft.

“w-wait, fuck.. ‘m gonna.”

it took no time for him to shoot his seed into your awaiting throat, his head thrown back against the headrest while he bucked his hips to jettison every last drop. you swallowed all he had to offer before pulling away, watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest.

maybe he wasn’t as intimidating after all.

GETO — THE CHARMING TRAINER.

you were his favorite. you had to be. even in the long line of women waiting to have their own turn with him, you were always a top contender. he had always made time for you, and you alone.

geto’s popularity made perfect sense in your mind. he was tall, handsome with narrow features and dragon tattoos strung along both arms, a man ahead of his time. not to mention, his docile, gentle demeanor. he was charming as all get out and you were beyond aware of your superstar status of being the only one he wanted.

“are we actually going to get some training done or is there something else you want to do?” he straps his fingerless gloves around his palm, tank top tight around his torso, carving out each and every trace of his abs while looking over you, a pleasant smile quirked at his lips.

you felt sheepish under his sharp gaze, a feeling that comes all too natural with expert trainer, suguru geto. “i’m fine with whatever you have in mind, sugu.”

if you didn’t know any better, you’d swore you saw his cheeks dust in the lightest shade of pink at the endearing nickname. you were cute, too fucking cute and perhaps, that was the reason he kept you around.

“i’m thinking we test that stamina ‘nd see if you can hold up riding me?” he hooks his finger under your chin, tilting your head up just slightly. “no help, all on your own.” in all honesty, you could definitely take up his challenge. how hard could it be to take some dick?

or so you thought.

“fuck, sugu! ‘s too much!”

you wouldn’t want to be caught dead in the miserable state that you were in but it ultimately did seem as though geto’s lessons had gotten you nowhere. the tip of his cock wasn’t even an inch past your cunt while you rested your hands on his broad shoulders, pathetically trying to take what was the easiest part.

he smirked at you, resting his hands behind his head. “i’m not helping, princess. i meant it.”

you continued to try and sink yourself down onto his unreasonably thick cock, a soft crack of a whine tumbling past parted lips when your pussy engulfed another half inch of him. “but-“

“if i have to help you, we’re not finishing until you’re a mess.” he grits, not harsh enough to come off as daunting but stern enough to warn you. yet, the warning fell to deaf ears when you began to whorishly beg pleas of “help me, sugu. help me.”

from that, he let out a low groan, his hands on your waist sinking you all the way down to the base before he gained stability, flattening his feet onto the floor and fucking his cock into your fluttering cunt.

with the way he moves, you were almost positive you had the wind knocked out of you from those first few thrusts alone. soft babbles resonated throughout the room while you clung to his body like it’d comfort you in the hell that was his potent ministrations.

you felt far more sensitive than you ever felt, white hot pleasure coiling within you in no time, your pussy tightening around his shaft in such a suffocating way, geto felt as though he couldn’t breathe either. “s-so tight, princess. i know you wanna cum, cum for me, baby.” he goads through a strained voice, his thumb now working between your folds to find purchase at your clit, rubbing the puffy nub in moderate circles.

“if you do t-that, i might—“

and before you knew it, you were gushing around his pretty cock, face twisted in the prettiest picture of pleasure. the aftershocks of your orgasm were way more intense as you were fucked to overstimulation, a sly grin on his lips.

“told you we weren’t stopping, darling.”

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indefinite-space · 1 year ago

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"Let Me Taste Your Tongue."

Synopsis: Getting high w/ Getou in his car gets a little...steamy.

Content: fem!reader, weed, car sex, unprotected sex, p in v, bj (getou receiving), kissing, praise, pet names (baby, princess for reader)

Wc: 1.2k

Clouds of smoke fill the car as Getou pulls the blunt from his lips, passing it to you. Getting high was something you did often but not often enough for it to be an issue. His head rested against the headrest, his long hair flowing over his shoulders. Eyes tinted red as the smoke worked its way through his body. The speakers thumped loudly, playing songs you'd both picked out. To set the mood. He hummed, hands resting on his thighs.

Getou watched as you placed it between your lips, sucking in generously. He thought you looked so pretty in this state.

"You're staring," you said softly. Eyes drifting over to the man who didn't flinch at your words. "Can you blame me?" He gave a rebuttal, eyes falling on your lips before gazing a little lower. You simply shook your head, taking another hit. "You always get like this when you're high." He shrugged, moving his eyes back up to yours. "You like it." Making you choke out a laugh, passing him the blunt back. You didn't answer him though and he didn't expect you to.

Getou placed it between his lips, eyes closing as he sucked.

Now you watched him, his pretty lips wrapped where yours had prior. The way his hair framed his face, the shiny piercing in his bottom lip. His eyes slowly opened, turning slowly to peer into yours. The music was muddied as the both of you simply became absorbed in the other. The air was thick; from the smoke or sexual tension you weren't sure, but it was a delicious type of suffocation. You sucked in a breath when he pulled the blunt from his lips, leaning towards you. It always ended like this but this time, it felt…more charged than usual.

His lips met yours, passing the smoke into your mouth. You groaned as his tongue entered, sliding along yours. His hands left his thighs, cupping your cheeks as he kissed you. Yours slid to where his hands were, resting on his thighs. Hot tongues melded with each other, twisting and wrestling as you felt yourself get worked up. And judging by the low groans in his throat, he was too.

You pulled away, heavy breathing as your eyes were misted over. A string of saliva connected your lips together.

A glance down at his lap told you, he really had enjoyed it. More than usual. Or maybe you just paid attention this time. He noticed you looking, his eyes held heat as he waited to see what you'd do. And it was simply unspoken when you leaned back a bit so you could rest on your knees, placing your face in his lap. Getou reclined, hands absently brushing through your hair as he watched you. Your heart beat mixed with the loud thumping of the music as you slid him out of his sweats. The tip brushed against your lips as soon as he was free, making you giggle.

"Hope that laugh isn't because I'm small," he quipped. Your eyes slowly blink up at him. "You're anything but small," you said softly as you took the tip in his mouth. Getou hissed as he tightened his grip in your hair a bit.

"Is that so? Guess I should praise you if you take me all then." He breathed out.

You could feel his thighs tense when you suckled on the tip. Tasting the slightly salty sticky substance that clung to your tongue. Then you inched down, taking more of him into your mouth. "Fuck," you heard him curse, sending a wave of butterflies in your lower tummy. You wanted to hear him say that again, so you kept going. Relaxing your throat, choking slightly as you almost made it all the way down. "Fuck, baby-" He swore, applying pressure to your head, pushing you further down his length. Your mind grew hazy-a combination of arousal and the weed, you took him all the way. Nose brushing against the trimmed black tufts of hair, your throat contracting made him hiss. "You actually did it….s'good girl." He slurred out, seemingly drunk on the pleasure he received from your hot mouth.

Getou let you adjust, pulling off to go back down again. Sucking him expertly, taking him so easily; it was no wonder he didn't last long. Tapping on your shoulder, announcing he was due to cum any second. You popped off, replacing your mouth with your hand, stroking him until you felt him twitch. His head was thrown back as he thrusted up into your fist, releasing his seed all over your face and your hands.

With a shaky breath, he grabbed a few tissues from his glove compartment. Wiping the remnants of his arousal, tossing it to the side.

"C'mere," he reclined his seat, pushing it back so the steering wheel wouldn't dig into your back.

You obeyed easily, panties soaked from the kiss and sucking him off. He helped you climb into his lap, attaching his lips to yours messily, nibbling on your bottom lip. His hands slid under your skirt, massaging your ass, helping you grind against his spent dick. It twitched, slowly coming back to life. "Think you can ride me Princess?" He murmured against your lips, kissing the corner. You nodded your head, not trusting your voice. Getou hummed, sliding your panties to the side, playing with your pussy first. "You're wet…so fucking wet, just from sucking me off?"

When you nodded, you felt his dick twitch. "Don't worry, I'll take care of you."

He slipped his long digits inside you, working you open until you were ready to take him. Then he tapped the head of his cock against your entrance, sliding it in between your glistening folds before pushing inside. Immediately, he kissed you again. Groaning low into your mouth as he felt you slide down his length, enveloping his cock. Like earlier, he gave you time to adjust. Panting heavily against your lips as he felt you flutter around him, doing your best to stretch and accommodate his girth.

"Doing good…you can do it," he praised, helping raise your hips to push you back down. Thighs wrapped around him as you bounced slowly at first picking up pace the needier you got.

"That's it Princess, taking this cock so well-fuck." His brows furrowed as he watched your breasts bounce, your face clouded with pleasure. The smoke still lingered in the car, filling your lungs. Soon the windows became fogged with your shared breaths, skin hot and sticky from sweat. Your thighs burned from the cramped space and your tummy clenched as you felt your oncoming orgasm. "Close.." you managed to choke out, leaning forward to rest your face on his shoulder. His grip tightened, now meeting you thrust for thrust.

Your arms tightened around him, the band in your tummy snapping as you came all over his shaft. Your walls clenching around him so tight it forced him into another orgasm, leaving him to whimper softly against your shoulder. His teeth lightly dig into your skin to keep from being too loud.

With your legs–and body, feeling like jelly, you rest against him. Feeling him soften inside you.

"Told you, you liked it." He chuckled out.

"Shut up."

A/N: Very self-indulgent after listening to Chase Atlantic. Enjoy♡

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indefinite-space · 1 year ago

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Lavender

rock candy, daydreams, chapstick, ribbons in hair, crayons, flower fields, sleepovers. your essence is lavender: you are devoted and dependent, desiring approval. you are a bleeding heart; your passion is giving to others, but you also need for them to see you. you create little homes with others wherever you can. you are the giver. you are the needing. you find kinship in like-minded individuals of orchid, amethyst, rose, and lilac, who share your fear of being alone. you are also drawn to the staunch souls pearl and ashen, who will help you grow and realize just how much is inside of you. however, you may struggle to get along with the diligent personalities of honeysuckle and peach who don't always know how to let you help.

Tags: Anyone can do this (I have no friends /j)

yall pls take this what color is your aura quiz

terracotta

canyons, woven rugs, bandanas, pottery pieces, matchsticks, cattails, broken nails. your essence is terracotta: you are a building storm, autonomous and resolute. you build your walls strong; no one can see your vulnerabilities, not when you keep them within your rich internal life. you are disciplined and devoted to your friends, but rarely show them weakness in return. you are the guardian. you are the wolfdog. you find kinship in like-minded individuals of tawny, garnet, red, and brown, who share your strong resolve. you are also drawn to the open-minded souls mauve and honey, who will help you grow and show you that it is alright to be emotionally attached. however, you may struggle to get along with the withdrawn personalities of jade and chiffon who are self-doubting.

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indefinite-space · 1 year ago

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Give of Yourself (fox!Tartaglia/f!Reader)

check out the full version of the header art by @lemonemlyn!

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AO3 LINK

fox!Tartaglia/f!Reader 6,989 Words - NSFW (mating bites, knotting, breeding, mild dirty talk, reader is referred to a handful of times as "pretty")

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The first time you meet him is in the depths of the woods, the snow up to your knees as you hunch over your traps and deftly retrieve what’s going to be your dinner for the next few days.

At first you don’t even hear him. He doesn’t make a sound until he’s within arm’s reach, his boot crunching against the snow in a movement that you now know was intentional. After some time, you’d realize he’d never let you hear him there if he didn’t explicitly want you to know. The sound makes you drop the limp hare in the snow, the ones slung over your shoulder falling as well with the speed that you draw your weapon.

But it’s unnecessary. At the time, you’d assumed him unarmed, so your guard lowered slightly. He simply had a smile on his face and both hands raised in surrender, and a polite question on his lips. “Could I share your dinner this evening?”

Simple, polite, and almost forgotten when you catch sight of the soft auburn-colored appendage swishing behind him, the long triangles perched atop his head.

Tartaglia, he told you his name was, at least for the moment. When you inquire a little further, he just says that different situations require different names, but all of them are inherently correct. So, Tartaglia is his name, and he isn’t offended in the slightest when you ask if he’s a fox envoy from Inazuma.

“I’m Snezhnayan, like you. How could that be what I am?” Tartaglia carries your hares over his shoulder, following along in your footsteps in the snow but somehow looming over from behind you. It’s a bit unsettling, but he’s been nothing but cordial during this short interaction, so you chalk it up to your own uneasiness of people.

“I am no fox envoy,” Tartaglia says with finality. “But I am a Fox.”

“What’s the difference?” You ask as your cabin comes into view. A small, one-roomed thing with sturdy stone walls and a thatched roof just installed this last summer.

Tartaglia laughs a little, following your lead in stomping the packed-in snow from the bottoms of your boots. You rest them by the door when you enter your home, swapping for shoes that are softer, more comfortable. There are none for him, but he doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, the cold doesn’t bother him at all.

“Fox envoys are fox envoys, and a Fox is a Fox. You’re thinking too hard about it.” Tartaglia says this as if he were explaining that the sky is blue, and snow is cold, and there’s one extra hare strung on your line than what you remember lifting from your traps. You eye it curiously, but say nothing of the strange gift.

Taking them from him to begin preparing, you ask, “Well, are foxes some divine being? Are you immortal?”

“Foxes are Foxes, and I live as long as a Fox usually does.” Tartaglia watches patiently as you work, not offering to help, but you wouldn’t have accepted it anyway. He’s a guest, and you’d rather he just answer your questions. It’s been far too long since you’ve spoken with another person since the snows kept you in place for the season.

One rabbit is finished as you mull over his answers. Then, with more questions, you speak. “You’re not very good at answering questions, you know.”

“You’re just not asking the right questions.” While you work, he wanders your home, looking over your shelves and belongings, but never touching. Occasionally, his fingers will flex in his gloves like he’d love to pick up a trinket or book, but he’s remarkably respectful. “Try again.”

You hum, setting aside more bits and pieces of your prey, some to eat and some to preserve. “How long do foxes live?”

“As long as they like.”

“And how long do you like, since you’re a fox?”

A smile spreads on his face over his shoulder, and you try not to return it too widely at the prospect of playing this little game with him. Each question he answers dutifully, and you try your best to wheedle him into a corner where you can get the results you want. With careful maneuvering, by the time you’ve started roasting the rabbit and the fat is dripping and hissing in the fire, you’ve learned a handful of things about your guest.

Tartaglia is a Fox. Not a fox, but a Fox. There’s a distinction in how he says it, one that you eventually pick up on. Where he comes from are the forests around Morepesok, the ones you also call home, and he’s only now shown his face because he was bored. When you ask if Foxes can even get bored, he laughs as if it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard.

Tartaglia tells you he likes you, and asks if it would be out of line to return and pass the time in your presence. You say yes, of course, because you’ve never met a Fox before and he seems like a rather charming kind.

The next time you see him, he’s across the river as you squat near the edge and check your cages. They’re all empty, meaning you’ll be eating salt-cured hare again tonight. As you look up, he’s already made it to your side without a sound. It’s not nearly as unsettling as you expected.

“Rabbit again, it seems,” you gripe, getting to your feet and dusting the snow from your pants. Tartaglia doesn’t seem terribly put off, instead giving you a shrug. His tail sweeps lazily from side to side, the tip leaving a single large crescent in the snow behind him. Clutched in his hand are the back legs of another hare, fresh enough that you won’t need to subsist off salted and dried meat for dinner.

On the way back to your cabin, you pose more questions for him. “Do you have human ears, too?”

“Why would I?” And you glance up as he follows along next to you. There are no human ears beneath the ginger locks of his hair. Just the two soft appendages at the top that swivel as if he were listening to everything around the two of you. “I’m not human, what use would I have for human ears?”

“Are Fox ears better? Why would humans need human ears, then?”

“Because humans are humans.” Tartaglia says simply, stepping over a log across the path and holding out a hand for you to brace on to follow after him. He does it naturally, as if it were second-nature to assist you with something so trivial. He doesn’t let your hand go until you’re safely on the other side.

“And Foxes are Foxes?” You ask, and his mouth curls in a little smile, like he’s proud of you for such a thing.

“Now you’re getting it!”

The third time he appears before you is a week after the second. It would be a lie to say you don’t recognize him immediately. The shade of his fur is the same as always, though it covers the slim and lithe body of a fox - a Fox, he would correct you - and you would recognize the shade of his eyes everywhere.

Snow reflects so much light, yet none of it seems to catch in his gaze.

Tartaglia follows after you, unperturbed by the fish hanging off your line as you carry it back home. Without asking, you know he plans to stay for dinner, and it’s a surprisingly quiet evening as he curls up on the warmed stones of your fireplace and pointedly remains underfoot as you try to cook. Even a nudge with your toes doesn’t move him, and you have to step over and around Tartaglia to ensure the fish is ready to eat.

“Can you change back?” You ask, sitting on the floor next to him. There’s a plate nearby with his food, but he hasn’t touched it yet. Instead he sprawls on his back with his stomach being warmed by the fire. It takes all your willpower not to reach out and pet him.

He might find it undignified, but he doesn’t seem particularly worried about being dignified. Only that you understand that he’s a Fox, not a fox.

Tartaglia tilts his head to look at you, and somehow you know he’s saying yes. So, you continue with, “Will you? I like how you look normally.”

He doesn’t respond. In fact, his eyes simply close and he looks impossibly smug as he waits for you to take your own utensils to be cleaned before he wolfs down his food. With an annoyed sound when you return, you take his empty plate to clean that, too. In the beginning, you wondered if he did these things on purpose. Now you know for certain that he does.

Tartaglia appears to you as himself only a few days later.

“Is this more to your liking?” Tartaglia gives you cheek with a little smile, ducking his head beneath the top of the door frame as he enters your home without knocking. You can’t bring yourself to mind much at all - he is always welcome.

Glancing up from the clothes you’re mending, you look him up and down pointedly before nodding once. “Yes, I prefer this much more.”

“I thought you’d prefer the other. I’ve been told I make a very handsome Fox.”

“By whom?” You ask, scrunching your nose at him. “Other foxes? They’re biased.”

“And so are you,” Tartaglia points out, moving to sit down on the same stones he’d sprawled across only a few nights before. “This form is more human, so you would prefer it. Both are correct.”

“Like your names,” you agree, and he gives you that little smile that makes your stomach twist uncomfortably. Even so, you undeniably enjoy seeing it.

On his next visit, Tartaglia brings you a gift.

It’s a little thing, just barely fitting into the palm of your hand. It’s a small dome made of metal, the golden latticework interspersed with little squares of blue and red. Upon opening it, you find that it’s a music box, one that plays a tune you’ve never heard before, yet makes you nostalgic. Almost instinctively, you want to hum it, and Tartaglia hums with you as if guiding you along the notes.

The music box becomes your most prized possession. There’s little use for pretty trinkets this far out in the wilderness, yet every night before you sleep, you wind it up and drift off to the sound. When he sees it displayed on your mantle, Tartaglia seems to beam with an unknown, positive emotion.

It is not the only gift he brings, but it is your favorite.

Once, after dinner and before you turned in for the evening, Tartaglia gets to his feet and holds a hand out for you, ears forward and alert, tail moving with lazy interest. “Play it again and dance with me?”

Your movements are clumsy, but like he guided you with the music, he nudges you along with the dance. Tartaglia’s dexterity keeps you from stepping on his toes, but you learn soon enough how to match his steps to the music. He does not let you falter.

At your waist his hand curls, the other lacing with your fingers, and you can’t help but notice how impossibly warm he is. Like a furnace pressed to your front, you feel as if you’re burning alive as he hums to the music with half-lidded eyes and looks down at you with that same unfamiliar expression.

From this close, he smells like snow and the sun and pine needles. As if he’d dashed through the underbrush and picked up the scent of the forests around you. It’s almost enough to make you melt into him, his very presence becoming familiar and adored. You wonder if perhaps it’s in his nature to make himself endearing, to worm his way into your life and make space so easily.

It’s not as if you’ve made it difficult.

Winter turns to Spring, and Spring creeps close enough to Summer that the snow begins to melt and you feel more comfortable making trips into the village. On your first, Tartaglia muses upon the idea of going with you, but then backs out after a moment of consideration.

“Foxes aren’t welcome. Not in Morepesok,” Tartaglia explains, and you can’t help but be a little put-off after having hoped he would spend the day with you in the village.

But you understand. It’s an insulated town, and the unknown and unusual are frightening to them. Perhaps that’s why he never showed up to you until now? It’s hard to get an answer out of him pertaining to his reasoning, not with how expertly he’s able to weave your questions into something confusing and nonsensical.

Without his company, you see no reason to linger long. Once, you might have spent hours in the village socializing, getting used to the feeling of people. But this last Winter has been filled neatly with Tartaglia’s presence, and you haven’t felt lonely - not once.

With that in mind, you gather up all your gratitude and return to your home with a pull-cart of supplies and a single frivolity on top. Tartaglia is waiting for you, and he hasn’t bothered to hide the way he’s paced circles around your cabin, prints of boots and paws that intertwine with one another.

When you present him with your gift, he holds the stuffed toy in his hands, turning it this way and that. “More trinkets for your shelves?” Tartaglia asks, and you can’t help but laugh at him the same way he laughs at you. Only when it leaves your chest do you realize it’s laced with fondness.

“No, it’s for you. A gift. I’m sorry it isn’t fancy, my kind of life doesn’t leave much room for that.”

Tartaglia is silent for a long, long time.

After he’s taken his gift and disappeared on you for nearly a week, he returns once more when you’re settled into the snow next to a hole cut through the ice, bundled up in your furs with a fishing pole poised and waiting for a bite. Initially, you expect him to take a space across from you, but then you’re startled when he reaches down to pluck the pole from your hands and jam the handle into the snow.

Before you can protest, worried that you’ll miss a bite, his hands now reach for your cloak to untuck it from around you. You’re left bereft and cold, an argument poised on your lips about how you don’t have natural immunity like he seems to have.

Ultimately, you’re silenced by the way he sidles up behind you, bracketing your body with his legs, the heat rolling off him seeping immediately through your layers. Your forgotten cloak sits in the snow as furs of russet and auburn settle around the two of you comfortably. All thoughts of fishing for your dinner are lost as a dreamy sort of haze settles over you.

“Isn’t this better?” Tartaglia sounds a bit smug as he speaks over your shoulder, his cheek brushing against your temple. “The fur of a Fox is much warmer than anything else.”

“These are yours?” You ask, your hand tentatively running along the softness, strands plush against your fingers.

Something rumbles behind you, right up against your spine, beneath Tartaglia’s sternum. “Yes, and now they’re yours. You’ll keep them safe for me, won’t you?”

Of course, you will. You’ve never held on to something this sumptuous in your life. Absently you continue stroking them, the rumbling at your back lulling you into a trance the likes of which you’ve never felt before. It’s so enthralling that you don’t notice the tip of your fishing pole nudging, or the way he reaches out to pick the rod up and pull in your catch.

Once the fish is writhing on the surface do you snap back to reality and set to work killing it and stringing it up to take home with you. Tartaglia resets your line, then those long arms wind around your middle to pull you back into the warmth of his furs. The cycle repeats, you’ve never felt this secure in your life. Having to pull away to return once the sun starts to sink feels like the greatest torture.

Tartaglia leaves the furs with you, reminding you of your promise to keep them safe and to wear them when you’re in the trees. You do not see him in the form of a fox again.

At night, you find yourself inexplicably drawn to sleeping with them, keeping the thickness wrapped around you snug enough that your blankets are unnecessary now. Inadvertently, Tartaglia keeps you warm as you’re encompassed in the scent and heat of him. You’re not quite sure how he’d react if he knew that you were so taken with this, with him.

Secretly, you hope he’d give you that sweet smile that crinkles the corner of his eyes, and gather you up into his arms so you’d never be cold again. Having his fur is as close as you think you’ll get.

One morning, you sleep in late. Your food stores are plentiful with the comparatively warmer months, there’s enough wood chopped, you have only small chores to do that won’t take much time at all. So, you roll over on your side and snuggle into Tartaglia’s furs with a pleased little smile and a dreamy sigh. Somehow, they still smell like him, even after a handful of weeks.

The bed dips, first at your back, then at your front, and as you turn your head to look upward, you see Tartaglia hovering over you, looking curiously at your sleepy expression. Only his quiet breaths and yours fill the silence, the fire having long burnt out through the evening and morning. The dull blue of his eyes travels from your face to the warmth you’re wrapped in, something shifting, turning a little darker.

Against your cheeks, you can feel his breath shake as he exhales, then inhales, then says, “You accept, then?”

You’re not sure what he’s referring to, but you’re sleepy enough that you simply smile and nod. In truth, there aren’t many things that you wouldn’t do if he asked it of you. So accepting something blindly isn’t so frightening when it comes to Tartaglia.

“Wonderful,” Tartaglia murmurs, leaning closer, lips brushing against your cheek and nearly searing your skin. “You look so perfect like this, pretty Mate.”

Mate. The word makes your eyes crack open again, staring over his shoulder at the ceiling as his lips press more firmly against your cheek with purpose. Pine and snow fill your lungs as you inhale, then let it all go. You’ve realized with Tartaglia that perhaps questioning everything is the incorrect route.

If you watch with patience, you’ll learn what you want to know.

Shifting his weight to prop on one hand, his knee pressed into the bed near your lower back, Tartaglia’s other hand lifts to curl around the edge of the furs, pulling it down to get a better look at your face. “You don’t even know what you did. Do you?”

It’s not something he needs an answer to. You’re well aware that he knows you’re confused, yet still trusting all the same. Being cradled in the most precious part of his being feels as if it empties you of thought and refills you with affection that overflows. Tartaglia smiles, your heart flutters.

“Every step was perfect,” he muses, letting go of the furs to cup your cheek, thumb smoothing beneath your eye in a soft arch. Over his shoulder, the gentle sway of his tail catches your eye, back and forth like a metronome that soothes you. “You let me in your den. You accepted the prey I brought you.”

Lips brush against your cheek once more, his hand on the opposite keeping you steady as he speaks his words into you. “You expressed approval of my appearance. The music box was a courting gift; you accepted that. We danced and played together. You returned with a gift of your own.”

Letting go of your cheek, his fingers reach down to tug at the furs a little more, showing more of your face, your neck, your shoulders. Steadily he tugs it free until he can slip beneath it with you, sharing the warmth of his body until you feel smothered and safe.

“I gave you my form - my fur. It’s the way of Mates, you know. The exchange of what makes us who we are.” The curl of his body slots behind your own, pulling you back against his chest until every inch of you is tight against him, no space left for anything more than complete understanding.

A thought tickles at his previous words, and your voice feels weak and jumbled as you murmur, “I have nothing to give you in return.”

“I know. It doesn’t make our bond worth any less,” Tartaglia answers, face nuzzling into your neck, the feel of something sharp over where your pulse pounds the strongest. “You’ll give me yourself. I’ll mark you, and you’ll be mine, and that’ll be enough.”

Again, the drag of sharpness that could only be his teeth. Sharp pointed canines that you’ve seen enough to no longer be completely intrigued by. The slide of his hands around your waist as he squeezes you tight, one palm pressed to your stomach. “And I will be yours. I’ll care for you, protect you. Keep you safe and happy and full of my kits.”

Your thoughts feel muddled, but they’re still your own. No matter how comfortable you feel, how pliant you are beneath his hands, the words still bring you pause. Of course being his Mate would entail that, it should have been obvious when he first mentioned it. And yet, it doesn’t scare you as much as it might have before.

You fully expect him to do something. Anything. For him to bite you, or paw at you, or do anything except what he does now. Tartaglia’s body cradles yours and his hand strokes over your stomach and he inhales deeply at your neck as if he can’t bother breathing if it isn’t laced with your scent.

The movements almost lull you back to sleep. Your eyes have trouble staying open, and the strange weightlessness of unconsciousness makes your sink further into him. As a last resort, because you cannot simply let things lie, you ask, “Won’t you do it?”

“No,” he answers simply, not elaborating until you’re starting to prickle with impatience. For once, he has mercy on you. “You haven’t given me yourself, yet.”

“How?” Your question is only met with the slow spread of a smile against your shoulder. You think you might know.

Tartaglia’s grip falters a little, allowing him to move his hands to your hips to nudge you onto your stomach. With careful hands, he coaxes you to lift them, higher and higher until you’re propped on your knees, chest to the furs you’ve gathered subconsciously to cushion yourself for what you must intrinsically know is coming.

Those hands on your body squeeze, fingers pressing into your skin as if to test the give, and he hums appreciatively. “Good for grabbing, like I suspected.”

Tartaglia has seen you in many states. Bundled up in all your layers, only your eyes peeking over the edge of your scarf. In warm, casual clothing as you cook dinner. In your bedclothes when you’ve just woken and he politely demands breakfast. But there have been very few instances where he’s touched you.

A hand in yours as he helps you over fallen trees or across ice that the wind has blown mirror-smooth. The brushing of fingers as he passes you whatever prey he’s offering on a given day, the memories heavier now that you know what his intent has always been. His chest pressed to your back as he wrapped you in his furs - himself - for the first time.

But this is different. This squeezing and pawing at your hips, your thighs, your backside… There is no innocence about this. Tartaglia appraises you with purpose now, as if he were taking stock of a deeply sought after prize, something hard won and treasured. If he hadn’t so openly said it, you’d know just by the way he appreciates your form that you are very much his.

And he is yours, and you want to see him while he explores you. Wiggling a bit, you tell him so, and his hand slides up your spine to push between your shoulder blades, a firm denial. Mercifully, he clarifies enough that you relax into it. “Not this time. Humans have their preferences for mating, and I’ll go along with those happily. I see the merit in it. But if I’m going to take you as mine, we’ll do it my way.”

Like an animal, you want to murmur, but you know it wouldn’t be quite right. Tartaglia is not just some animal, but you’ve always been aware of something beneath the surface that speaks of a more primal way of doing things. Natural would be the word he likely used, but no matter how you add it up, the sum remains the same.

You don’t struggle against the press of his hand, and he squeezes your hip once more in approval. Sliding back down your spine, he nudges your lower back into a deeper arch before those long fingers hook into your pants and underwear. “Nothing would make me happier than to give you everything you want. As often as you want, in as many different positions. After you give yourself to me like this.”

“Yes,” you hiss, almost impatient with the methodical way he’s picking you apart, thrumming at your nerves while barely doing anything at all. It’s the implications that your mind is supplying in the spaces between, and you know he’s doing it on purpose.

The frigid air meets your backside, your thighs, the wetness of your cunt as he tugs your clothes down enough to bunch around your knees. It’s all he needs right now, and you’re just glad he isn’t wasting time by trying to reveal more of you. Those same hands touch your skin now, squeezing in all the same places, his palms burning hot against you. A pathetic little sound falls from your lips, and he freezes.

You can feel him smiling.

As his fingers spread you open, you don’t have the wherewithal to even be embarrassed at the vulnerability of it all. Tartaglia looks at you shamelessly, a little rumble leaving his chest as he thumbs over your clit with little warning. Your hips jolt, only for a moment, and then you’re pushing yourself back against his circling finger for more.

It feels as if you’re demanding it from him, but also that you’re offering yourself as some sort of… toy for him to play with. The mere suggestion of it has you reeling; that you would willingly put yourself in his hands for his amusement. But that’s what all this is for, isn’t it? You can’t help asking that of yourself, knowing that it’s the truth.

Tartaglia wants you to give yourself to him in the only way you really can. An even trade for the offering that still wraps around you now. The exchange for having him at your side always, giving you all those things he promised. Protection, happiness, safety… The feeling of his cock nudging against you, hot and weighty, the chill of something smearing across your skin.

“Look at you, all ready for me,” Tartaglia breathes, nails scraping against your skin as he pushes closer, nestling against your cunt until his tip brushes your clit, his pulse thrumming against you just as surely as yours races against him. “Knew you’d be perfect. I knew it. I watched you, you know.”

And that makes you stiffen. You’d suspected, of course, but-

“Ever since you came here–” two years ago– “I watched, I waited. The forests are wild, uncontrollable, imperfect. But you’re… different.”

Tartaglia rocks against you, a minute sliding of his cock against your oversensitive cunt. He lets you feel every inch of him before ever giving you a taste. “Humans are delicate. Fragile, really. Wrapped up in your layers, I thought you looked cute. But every day that passed, I grew more sure that you’d look even more divine with my furs wrapped around you…”

And he leans down, pressing his lips to your neck, just over your pulse once more. You can feel the heaviness of his breath as he murmurs, “And how you’d look with my mark right here.”

Goosebumps prickle along your skin at the open threat of his teeth pressing into your skin. Not hard, never breaking, but little indents left as he pulls away, surely. Perhaps it’s your own mind tricking you, addled with both desire and the man above you, but you have a distinct need to have those marks on you permanently.

So, you bite down on your lip and whine a little plea, unsure of what you’re really asking for, only knowing that you want it desperately. More than you’ve ever wanted anything. The entirety of your life feels like it’s been boiled down to this single moment, the pinprick in time where it’s just you and the Fox above you, behind you, surrounding you completely.

Tartaglia withdraws, just enough to give you the full drag of him against your folds before the head pushes against your entrance. Never before have you taken someone with such little resistance, but never before has anyone worked you into such a state with so little effort. Tartaglia has barely touched you beyond squeezes and gropes for his own gratification, yet you can feel a rivulet of your own arousal roll down the inside of your thigh.

And you can hear the squelch of his entry, your cunt being pushed open to make way for him to seat fully inside you. Your mouth falls open in a silent sound as Tartaglia eases you open in one smooth move, the sharp angle of his hip bones pressing into your backside. The pressure only increases when he leans over you again, one hand braced on the bed, the other smoothing over your stomach, fingers pressing in just beneath your belly button.

“Right here. Can you feel me?” Tartaglia’s voice is almost a purr as he coaxes you into responding with a nudge of his hips forward. Your mouth shuts with a click of your teeth, face twisting in pleasure as you’re swept up in the sensation of having him inside, of nearly being rearranged to make room for him to take you.

Each move is torturously slow, and you’re reminded of his words, of the implication. You moved into this cottage two years before he approached you, and it’s been half a year since then. Two and a half years of persistence points to a lifetime of patience. Because of his nature, you assumed he’d take you quick and harsh.

And yet he pulls out and pushes in at an agonizing pace, your mind latching on to the sensation of being filled and emptied. Tartaglia fucks you like he has all the time in the world to do so, like he wants to spend that time memorizing every trembling inch of your pussy before marking it as his own. Like… he wants to torture you for not letting him do this sooner.

You would have let him. Gods, the first time he smiled at you - for real, not the wide and false thing he defaults to - you would have graciously done anything he asked. Including this frustrating slow paced fuck. Or is it mating? You’re not sure, and you don’t really have the faculties to ask such a question in the precise way required to get a real answer.

Fisting the sheets, you push back against him as he pulls out, trying to get at least one sharp thrust in to satiate yourself. Tartaglia doesn’t stop you, doesn't prevent you from doing it, but only once. Only when you rock forward and off does he stop you with a hand on your backside, palm pushing into the flesh and fingers squeezing in quiet warning.

Next time, you recall him saying. This one is for him, for his enjoyment. You don’t move, sucking in a shaking breath to fill your lungs, and his grip lessens to pat your ass in encouragement. “Smart; you remembered. Just relax. Just feel. Can you do that for me, just a little longer?”

You make a sound of agreement, but he doesn’t accept it as readily as you thought. Another tap to your backside, a little bit harder this time. Perhaps his patience isn’t as infinite as you thought. “Say it out loud. Say that you’re happy staying right here, feeling my cock.”

Tartaglia doesn’t sink back into you. Your entrance is stretched wide around his tip, your cunt clenching around nothing and begging for him to give you anything at all. Weary with your own desperation, you cave for him. “I-I’m happy just feeling your cock–”

“Your Mate’s cock,” he amends his original request, nudging forward, giving you a little as compensation so far.

You want more, even if he buries inside and never moves again. “I’m happy staying here and feeling my M-Mate’s cock.”

Something that felt so frustrating before now feels euphoric as he slides all the way in once more, nudging against places inside that you’re not sure have ever been touched like this. All it took was a moment of realignment to take you from annoyance to appreciation for the slow, slow roll of his hips.

This is fine. This is enough. If you close your eyes and focus only on that slow dragging, on bearing down and tightening around him further, then you find yourself inching closer and closer to the release you need. A little groan of surprise leaves him as you do this, then a little chuckle as he quickly realizes what you’re trying to do.

You expect him to tease you, to demand that you hold off and you’re not allowed to finish while he does this. It would be cruel, but you’d do it, only because he’d made so many pretty promises about what comes next. And yet, he slides a hand around you, breath hot against your ear. His fingers find your clit again as his cock goes still inside. “Since you’ve been so good…”

Tartaglia doesn’t move himself an inch as he plays with your clit, stroking it between two fingers, drawing circles with the pad of his middle digit, pressing hard to give you a little jolt of pain before soothing it away with soft touches. You’re not certain what it is he’s getting out of this until you tense particularly hard and his cock twitches inside you.

The closer you get to orgasm, the more you tense and flex around him. Tartaglia doesn’t need to fuck you to get his own pleasure, you realize, and that only spirals you higher toward the very apex of it all.

Through the haze you feel his mouth on your neck, sucking against the little marks he’d left not so long ago. The pressure will leave bruises, and you almost think that’s the extent of it. A mark that will be left to show he’d been here with you, that you were his until it faded and he’d surely put another in its place.

Tilting your head, you give him all the access he’d like. You’d be proud to leave whatever mark he gives, even though you’re isolated enough out here that you’ll likely not see another person until it starts to fade. But you’ll see it, you’ll feel it. Just as surely as you feel him throbbing in your cunt, as surely as his teeth dragging along your skin before sinking in.

As surely as the pain of his bite mixes with the exquisite agony of your drawn out release, the two striking at the same time and mingling so thoroughly that there’s no hope of pulling one from the other. They’re the same thing now, both overwhelming and leaving you just as delirious as you’d been when he arrived.

Something else burns at you, too. Between your mind reeling and your muscles tensing as if you’d experienced electro directly from the source, you realize he’s moving now. Quick, shallow, sharp little thrusts, something pushing at you that you don’t recognize. If you weren’t so thoroughly ruined, you’d panic, but instead you sprawl beneath him and let his hands hold your hips to keep you from going completely boneless.

The bluntness pushes you open, slowly but surely with each thrust until the stretch making you nearly squeal as he forces it inside. Only when you accept it does he finally dig his nails in and mouth against your neck, moaning against your skin with each shot of his release. Involuntarily, his hips jerk forward as the waves roll over him, his body pushing yours into the bed as he loses his strength to keep you aloft for his use.

Your neck stings, your pulse runs hardest in your cunt that’s stuffed full of his cock. Mindlessly, your fingers reach for the red fur sprawled around the two of you, pulling it closer. Its owner is at your back, but you have a single-minded need to be completely wrapped up by him. Everything feels muddled, as if you’d had a bit too much firewater to drink and were in the throes of your cups.

Tartaglia’s tongue rolls against the stinging marks, and you wonder if he’s tasting your blood or if he’d even gone that deep. It felt that way, as if he’d pierced you clean through. Perhaps his mark will last far longer than you expected.

A sharp hiss leaves you as you shimmy a bit to get more comfortable, and his length doesn’t dislodge from you. In fact, you feel as if he’s locked inside, something keeping you from pulling free. Another shift, a whimper as you realize that’s exactly what’s happened, and he finds quiet glee in your confusion.

“Did you think I was lying? I told you that I would breed you, Mate.” His hand sprawls over your stomach, possessive as if something were already growing there. “Hush now, my knot will go down soon and you can ask all your questions.”

“Can’t I ask them now?” You ask, annoyed at how thick your voice feels from exhaustion. Against your neck he nuzzles, lips brushing over the tender spot where he’d bitten you. Verbally, he doesn’t answer, but you suspect that he’d just reiterate his desire for you to wait.

And so, you relax beneath him, letting his weight settle over you comfortably. The furs tickle against your nose as you inhale their scent, as potent as the moment he’d first wrapped them around you. A thought meanders through your mind about what you might smell like to him, and whether he pines for it in the same way that you do.

Tartaglia doesn’t seem the pining type. At least, that’s what you thought before all of… this. Apparently, he’d been doing so for quite some time, far before you even had laid eyes on him.

With a little roll, he pulls you to lay on your side, his body spooned against your back once more, just as before, the thickness of his tail curled over your hip. The movement slips him free of you, and you don’t quite have words to articulate the disappointment that settles in your chest from the loss. You feel unlike yourself, but somehow more in-tune with who you are, as well.

Sensing your confusion, Tartaglia answers questions that you hadn’t had time to formulate. You’re his Mate, he tells you. He’s put his mark on your neck permanently, claiming you for himself in the eyes of all others. When your fingers raise to your neck to feel, he brushes your hand away. “Don’t touch it, you’ll irritate it more.”

“I just want to feel it-”

“There’s nothing to feel. It’s the shape of my teeth, and it’ll scar over,” he chides you, squeezing your hand. “Just trust me when I say that it suits you.”

You suppose you’ll be the judge of that later. In the meantime, you sigh a bit petulantly and relax in his hold, trying not to drift off to sleep. To combat yourself, you needle him further. “Why didn’t you say anything before? About your… feelings.”

“I have been.” Tartaglia almost sounds affronted, like you’ve put this entire thing up to be judged for validity. “We went through every step of the mating process. It’s not my fault you didn’t ask about any of it.”

“How was I supposed to know!”

“By asking,” Tartaglia answers simply, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. You want to spin around and smack him, your hand pushing against the bed to give you leverage to do just that, but he cuts you off at the pass by wrapping those furs around you so tightly that you’re certain you’ll turn into a Fox yourself.

And then he laughs at you, light and weightless, rasping a bit at the edges in a way his polite ones never do. If not from his smile, then just by the angle of his ears, Tartaglia is happy. As happy as you’ve ever seen him. You’ll be annoyed with him later, you think, when you’ve had your fill of his elated expression and grow tired of seeing him so jovial.

That moment doesn’t come.

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indefinite-space · 1 year ago

Text

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

i have never wanted toji more than i want him right now T-T

screaming crying shaking throwing up tysm for this gem

ps. howling rn kicking my feet i can't wait for part two hehehehe

Teach My Mouth a Lesson

Toji x fem!reader

Synopsis: You've caught the interest of your friend's sleazy dad. And he's caught yours.

Content: age gap (reader is mid 20s, toji is late 40s), self pleasure(toji), he's kinda mean, voyeuristic scene (reader watches toji)

Wc: 1.5k

A cold iced coffee sat nestled in your hand, pulling it to your lips as you listened to your best friend complain. About her father no less. It was usually the same. "He only calls after I beg him to." And, "Can you believe he missed my birthday again?" You didn't really have room to comment, not having the best relationship with your own father. Plus it wasn't really new information, he was barely in her life as it was. "Doesn't he usually miss your birthday?" You commented and she only pouted. "I thought it'd be different this time." With a sigh, she fiddles with her drink before her eyes widen. "Let's go shopping!"

"Again?" You shook your head, bringing the cold, foamy liquid to your lips. It's not like you really had a say, her hands already wrapping around your arm as she tugged you, almost making you drop your coffee.

You spent the day in store after store, watching as she tried half the clothes on and only buying a handful. You got some cute things too but ultimately were a little more frugal with your money than she was. She was always spending whatever she made as soon as her paycheck was deposited. By the time you'd finished, the sun was setting and she was dragging you, yet again, to a bar. It's not that you were opposed to drinking, it just didn't take much to make you tipsy let alone full-on drunk. Which is exactly what happened.

Both your friend and you, hailing a cab as your combined giggles filled the chilly air. She managed to clumsily tell the driver her address before you two sang, off key, some random song that happened to be stuck in your head.

The cab came to an abrupt stop, the driver giving a glare to both of you before she randomly threw a few twenties at him as you fumbled out of the car. Giggling and bumping into each other as she barely managed to get her keys, it took four tries before she finally slotted it inside the lock. "Shhhh," she giggled. "I don't know if-hicc-my Dad's home." Your alcohol filled brain scoffed at the carefulness. "What's he gonna do?" You giggled, and she joined before she excused herself to the bathroom. You rested yourself against the kitchen counter, head hanging backwards as you watched the ceiling spin.

"The fuck are you?"

A deep voice swarmed into your ears, making you jump as you leaned your head forward. A tall, beefy man stood in front of you. Jet black hair that went in all sorts of directions. But that's not what you noticed first, no. He was shirtless. Thick muscles lined his torso, arms, and chest. Fuck, he was built. He snapped in front of your face, "Hello? Ya deaf? Who the fuck are you?" You swallowed the lump that'd formed in your throat as you tried to talk. Failing miserably. Your brain couldn't even process that this was more than likely your friend's dad. "The girl who lives here…her friend."

"That so?" He clicked his tongue as he ran a hand down his stubbled chin. "Told her not to bring loud ass troublemakers in here."

"Excuse me?" You answered, annoyance making its way into your voice. Standing now, your hands balled at your sides, trying your best to be intimidating. Kind of hard when the man you're trying to scare has at least a whole foot, maybe more, on you. "My house, my rules. Got a problem?" He sneered, looking down his nose at you. In your inebriated state, it only made you more annoyed. "Yeah actually. You can't talk to me like that. You don't know me." He scoffed, "Scuse me Princess, didn't mean to insult the invisible crown you put on that pretty little head of yours."

Your eyes widened, stomach filling with a warmth as it proceeded to do somersaults. What the fuck? Your body was betraying you but you weren't about to let this dick know that.

"Whatever," you responded back, crossing your arms. A smirk played its way onto his lips. You didn't like the look of that. "She come home with ya?" He walked into the kitchen, switching on the light and illuminating the area. Now you could truly see every dip and curve, bump of his muscle. Fuck, who sculpted him? The clink of a beer bottle being pulled from the fridge pulled you from your daze. "Bathroom. She's in the bathroom." He hummed, tipping his head back as he popped the lid off with his hand. His throat bobbed, a few drops of the liquor ran down his chin. But he made no attempts to wipe it off.

"Ya sure you're her friend? Feel like I woulda remembered a laugh that obnoxious."

And there he went again, he truly was as much of an asshole as your friend said. "Like you'd know, you're barely home. A real deadbeat." You crossed your arms, a sick angry feeling filling your gut. He didn't say anything, the silence was deafening until you heard heavy footsteps. Toji moved through the kitchen and stopped just in front of you. His fingers grasp your chin, causing you to gasp as you look up at him like a deer in headlights. "Got a mouth on ya.." His rough thumb pressed against your bottom lip. "Someone should fix that."

A loud crash sounded from the bathroom and he pulled away. "I swear to God, if she broke her fucking neck." Toji sighed, craning his neck to get a better look at the bathroom door. Which in turn, gave you a better look at him. Heat was radiating off his skin, his enormous pecs were practically the only thing in your line of vision. Soon the bathroom door slammed open and you hadn't noticed till now, but he'd moved back to behind the counter. "Shit," your friend giggled. "Hope that didn't wake up my-" She paused, eyes slowly blinking as she assessed the situation. "Dad!" She screamed, rushing over to wrap her arms around his neck. "Can't believe you forgot my birthday," she pouted. Leaving her father to roll his eyes, pushing her off him. "Ya get enough during the year, you don't need a celebration." Your friend only pouted more as she crossed her arms. "S'not fair." Her bottom lip wobbled but Toji didn't buy any of it. "Not gonna work," he replied, taking another generous swig of his alcohol.

"Ugh, asshole." She turned on her feet, heading up the stairs. He shook his head, "Bitch." And he only received a finger in response. What a strange dynamic.

"Ya gonna go with her or stare holes into me for the rest of the night?"

You blinked, eyes coming back into focus. "Like I'd stare at you." You tried your best to sound annoyed, ignoring the lingering heat you felt in your stomach. Had he really grazed your lip with his thumb like that? The feeling was still there. He only hummed, dragging his eyes up and down your body. "Just fucking keep it down ya?" Toji finished off his beer before crushing it, tossing it into the trash and headed back upstairs. And you finally felt yourself breathe for the first time.

'What the fuck?'

You thought, trying to shake it out of your mind as you went upstairs too. Giving about a minute or two after her dad had left, you trudged up the stairs. Any alcohol that was in your system had subsided, leaving you a fuzzy mess. And you couldn't help but sigh when you entered your friend's room, where you found her passed out, face down in the bed. With heavy limbs, you pulled yourself to her bed and laid down. Tugging some of the blankets before falling asleep.

It was roughly 2am when you woke up, the heavy weight of your friend's leg on your stomach had triggered the urge to go to the bathroom.

With a huff, you moved her off and walked out of the room. Eyes halfway closed as you walked to the bathroom. Doing your business with a yawn, sight and hearing both a little muffled and blurry from just waking up. After finishing up, you open the door only for you to pause. Low grunts and moans made their way into your ears. Curiosity burned and you softly shut the door, tiptoeing towards where the noise was coming from; the living room.

Holy fuck.

You quickly covered your mouth to prevent your thoughts from escaping your mouth. There, on the couch, was Toji. Hand slicked with spit as he stroked up and down his thick cock. God, it was huge. How did he even walk around with that thing? You wondered. You couldn't tear your eyes away. His rough thumb pressed against his slit, smearing the beads of pre that formed there around the tip. Long, thick, veins ran up the length, pulsing each time he ran his hand over them. You should stop watching. This was private…and he was an asshole! You reminded yourself. But your pussy had other ideas. Already, you could feel yourself get wet watching as the scene unfolded.

His head rested on the back of the couch. Teeth sunk into his bottom lip as he fucked his fist. You pressed your thighs together, easing the growing ache.

"Ya just gonna watch, or are you gonna join me?"

A/N: There will be a part 2, promise♡

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