Archive of Our Own

Megumi wasn't necessarily on board for tonight's activities. 

You could tell from the terse expression on his face when Yuji and company arrived at the Fushiguro home, poorly concealed bags of liquor carried in their arms (you'd ask where they got it, but you had a feeling a certain white-haired man was to blame), proclaiming that tonight’s the first night of ‘party-week’ (a term coined by Nobara); Megumi was less than enthused. 

"You can't just show up here like this, especially with—wait!" Cut short when Yuji, blank-faced as though simply not comprehending, dipped underneath Megumi's outstretched arm and into the house, Megumi pivoted on a heel and followed him. 

"Itadori!" He seethed through grit teeth. “You really think my dad would be okay with letting a bunch of drunk teenagers wreck his house? Yuji!” 

Silently watching him go, an amused smile on your lips, you thought: yeah, he probably would be okay with it. Mister Fushiguro, for the handful of times you’d spoken to him, seemed the furthest from strict you could imagine.

Nobara pranced into the house with a giddy smile on her lips, leading the rest of the pack. “Why don’t you tell your boyfriend to let loose a little, huh? Here—” She stopped in front of you, plucked out a bottle of unnaturally blue liquor from the paper bag cradled in her arm, and extended it like an offering. “We all know he’s a wuss when it comes to the hard stuff. I’m told this is easy to drink, s’posed to be sweet.” 

Quirking your head curiously, you took the bottle by the neck and turned it over to read the label. “Gee, I wonder which menace to society was giving liquor recommendations to eighteen year old’s.” 

When Nobara dipped in, a secretive smirk stretched across her mouth and the bite of alcohol already on her breath, she whispered, “The same one who bought it....It was Gojo-sensei, but don’t tell anyone, mkay?” 

“She won’t have anyone left to tell, Kugisaki. You’re doing all the work for her.” Maki lobbed out casually as she walked into the house, confidence weaved into her stride. 

Nobara whapped a hand over her chest, feigning aghast but trailing behind Maki like a puppy regardless. “Not true!” 

The last in the group was Toge, ambling inside with his hands stuffed into his pockets. Somewhere further into the house you can hear Yuji hollering, “What do you mean you guys don’t drink soda? What’re we supposed to mix this with?!” 

“Hi Toge.” You chirped. 

“Kelp.”  

Peeking outside, searching for any stragglers, you stepped back and asked, “no panda?” 

Toge shrugged his shoulders, “salmon.” 

You nodded, “yeah, that makes sense.”

The thing about Megumi is his initial reluctance; he’s always been the kind of guy who needs a bit of a push. It just so happens that the proverbial push of tonight is four shots of raspberry flavored vodka, chased down with pulp-free orange juice (it was all there was). 

Another one of Megumi’s lesser known quirks is that alcohol brings out his dormant, competitive side, so it really isn’t that big of a surprise when Yuji and Megumi drown themselves in enough liquor to sedate a horse, subsequently passing out as the party continued without them. 

You’ll readily admit that there’s something really hot about Megumi being competitive; the zeal in his glassy eyes as he lobbed out taunting remarks at Yuji, the brazen attitude that eked it’s way into him as the night continued, resulting in his arm around your waist, his mouth on your throat. 

A spark of desire was lit in your stomach tonight, but now, at one in the morning, Megumi is far too inebriated to satisfy any of your cravings. 

“Gumi.” You whisper, gently shaking his shoulder as he snores with his head on the kitchen table. Yuji is passed out adjacent to him, and the way their snores build over one another, it’s as though they’re competitive even in their sleep. 

“Gumi, baby...wake up.” He doesn’t wake up; he gives a cute little scrunch of his nose and a grumble, shifting and turning his head away from you. 

With a little huff, you peer down at your boyfriend with a look equal parts annoyed and endeared. They’d really gotten carried away, the throng of empty liquor bottles scattered across the table looking more damning than it should be. 

You wonder, if mister Fushiguro walked in right now, what would he think? The rest of the group had left not too long ago, piling themselves into an Uber like a pack of belligerent clowns in a car, leaving Megumi, Yuji, and yourself in the aftermath. From a newcomers perspective, it doesn’t look too great...even the devil-may-care father of your boyfriend might be irked by the mess his house has become. 

Sighing, you proceed to start cleaning up, weaving around the two drunks and picking up the mess that’s accumulated around them. You don’t bother trying to be quiet, letting the glass bottles clink nosily as you toss them in the trash bag in your hand. As you reach out and pluck the bottle of blue alcohol off the table, a sliver of liquor swirls around the bottom, enticing. 

You’d refrained from drinking too much (someone has to be responsible, right?), a couple of light wine-coolers throughout the night to leave you in a pleasant, aware haze, but now there’s no one left to babysit; no one but yourself. 

Setting the bag down, you uncap the bottle and swirl it around, peering down into it to be hit with a waft of condensed sweetness. With a scrunch of your nose, you take a swift inhale before bringing the bottle to your lips, knocking it back to down the remaining liquor. Nobara is right; it’s so sweet that the sharp bite of alcohol doesn’t even faze you. 

A drawled whistle cuts through the silence, jolting you and snapping your attention to the archway between the kitchen and living room. Mister Fushiguro is leaned up against it with his arms crossed over his broad chest, the picture of casual as his emerald eyes take in the catastrophe before him. 

“Looks like I missed the party, huh?” 

Stuttering, quickly shoving the now empty bottle into the trash bag before wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, you say, “M-Mister Fushiguro! We were just...I was just—”

“Save it, doll. I’m not mad—hell, I’d prefer you kids drink here than someplace you’d get into trouble.” He brushes your explanation off as he pushes off the frame, sauntering into the kitchen with a smirk tugging on his scarred lips. “I am a little disappointed, though.” 

You swallow nervously, feeling too much like you’ve been caught with your hand in the cookie jar (Toji using the term ‘kids’ really reinforces the feeling). As he approaches you, you’re hyperaware of the taut, tense aura he brings in with him—or, maybe you’re just conjuring that yourself; the haze in your head making it easy to transfix on the way his black shirt hugs his massive torso, flush against his defined musculature in a way that leaves little to the imagination. 

“They get this wasted after a few shots of that frilly shit?” He muses, poking Megumi’s head once in a way that makes you tense. “Bunch’a lightweights.” 

Reaching out, you brush your fingers through Megumi’s hair. “They um...no, they got carried away, wanted to out do each other. I was just cleaning up the mess.” 

He raises his brows, strikes his tongue against his teeth in faux revelation. You don’t fail to notice the way his eyes dart down, then up, catching yours in a locked gaze. 

“Either you’ve got a helluva tolerance, or you’re always the responsible one. I’m gonna go with my gut and say it’s the latter.” 

A flourish of heat blooms on the apples of your cheeks, “well...someone has to make sure they don’t accidently burn the house down.” Absently, you twirl a strand of Megumi’s dark hair around your finger; he shifts and hums in his sleep. “These guys can get a little ahead of themselves, sometimes.” 

Toji notices the way you cling to Megumi like an anchor, the way your body shifts to a subconscious guard, how your pretty, doe-eyed gaze flits to look at him through the fan of your lashes. It isn’t hard to get a read on you; the quiet, bashful type—it’s almost always the quiet ones that’re harboring something dark, something he’s always had a talent for dredging up, and knowing what he does about you should only make it that much easier. 

“Lemme get this straight—you spent your night babysitting a bunch of punks, and they had the courtesy of leaving you with a swig of...what was that, fucking raspberry vodka?” He scrunches his nose in distaste; it reminds you of the face Megumi made when he downed his first shot. “How’s about a taste of the good shit?” 

How his mouth splits into a toothy, sharp grin makes you acutely aware of the moment; it’s just you and mister Fushiguro right now, and he’s offering you...what? Hard liquor? To drink with just him? Although the intense glint in his eyes forces you to spot the double entendre in his words—force might be a bit of a stretch, surly he didn’t mean it like that...right?

“Um...I’m not sure, mister Fushiguro.” The way he’s looking at you makes you feel scrutinized, entirely seen. Against your will, you feel that spark reignite inside you. It’s makes your stomach swoop nervously, guiltily. 

“Call me Toji. None of that ‘mister Fushiguro’ shit. Makes me feel old.” He grumbles, “besides—I think you deserve something for being such a good girl, takin’ care of these guys.” 

Reaching out, he ruffles Megumi’s hair, lets his hand brush against yours that draws back instinctively; but you’re hung up on him calling you a good girl, the shameful way it travels down your spine, settling hotly between your thighs. 

You’re horrible—thinking of your boyfriends dad like said boyfriend isn’t currently passed out right in front of you, but you’d be lying if you deny having done it before. Now, though, you’re less inclined to reject those thoughts, the haze of alcohol in your system dulling your conscious. You’ve always found him attractive, but you’ve been careful not to let that interest of yours slip, to keep it your close to chest, dirty little secret. 

Still, you’re undeniably piqued by his offer, intrigue has you toeing the line between yes and no, right and wrong. The man exudes danger, something dark and ruinous; it’s blatantly clear that Toji Fushiguro is not a man to trifle with, and maybe it’s precisely that precariousness that draws you into him, like a moth to flame. 

“C’mon, sweetheart. Treat yourself a little bit.” He goads you, like a devil on your shoulder—your metaphorical angel passed out at the kitchen table. 

“W-What did you have in mind?” The words leave you before you have a chance to think on them. 

How mister Fushi—Toji, how Toji grins at you shoots a tangible shiver down your spine. 

“Somethin’ stronger, doll.” 

Stronger being the bottle of Jack Daniels stored in the cabinet above the fridge: you watch as Toji stretches himself out to grab it, the rivers of muscle in his back rolling underneath his skin tight shirt. Holding it in his hands like a prize, he turns to you and flashes you another grin. 

“What say you and I have a party of our own, yeah?” 

Oh, this is a bad idea...this is a horrible, terrible, no good idea...

But you can’t ignore the excited rush you feel, sitting in the living room with Toji, head steadily clouding into a ditzy haze as he passes you the bottle of Jack. It makes you feel special; being zeroed in by his intense gaze, placed under the magnification of his attention in a way Megumi never seems capable of. For all of your boyfriends aloof, distant disposition, Toji is his counterpart: he hasn’t taken his eyes off you since he got here. 

He’d forgone the shot-glasses in favor of shooting straight from the bottle, and you blame your increasingly intoxicated mind for how allured you are to drink after him—how you can feel the warmth of his mouth left on the rim when you bring it up to your own, poking your tongue out and gliding it along the circumference like you’ll catch the taste of him. 

The liquor sears down your throat like a burning stone each time, settling hotly in your stomach, blooming into a full body swelter that makes sweat slick the back of your neck, behind your knees, the palms of your hands. Although to be honest, the nervousness rooted to your bones may very well play a part in that, too. 

“You’re throwin’ it back like a pro.” Toji compliments you, weaves something flirty in his tone that makes your skin stipple with pleasant goosebumps. Has he always sounded like that? Voice all gravel, rough like sandpaper against your nerves. “Looks to me like you’ve been missin’ out, sweetheart.” 

Your heart leaps at that, hand trembling just slightly as you go to pass the bottle back to Toji. His long, thick fingers brush against yours in the process.

Wiping your mouth, you stutter a lame attempt at a joke, “guess I was thirstier than I thought.” 

Toji’s responding laugh seems too hearty for what, even in your drunken-stupor, you know is a stupid joke. Still though, it makes your stomach flutter—having someone like Toji laugh at your jokes is almost empowering in a way, so you let yourself laugh alongside him. But then you feel a massive, weighted palm against your knee, and your thoughts stop cold in their tracks. 

“Maybe you just don’t know what you want.” It’s somehow deeper than before, riding the cusp of a growl, making the small hairs on the back of your neck raise.

More troubling than that, it makes your neglected cunt tighten around nothing, and you know you should be ashamed of yourself, abhorrent at the way your body reacts to him, but you’re too distracted with the way his thumb draws circles against your bare skin, how his hand dwarfs your knee, how your skirt seems suddenly, scandalously short. 

Toji, for all his impressive perceptiveness, notices the way your walls crumble; sees how the alcohol in your veins steadily corrodes those quaint morals of yours to reveal the hunger beneath—hunger he’s seen you look at him with before. It’s cute, really; you’ve got a little (huge) crush on your boyfriend’s dad, and you thought he wouldn’t notice when your gaze lingered a bit too long in his direction, when you dallied in the same room as him for a few moments after Megumi’s already left, finding stupid little excuses to talk to him.

Toji is well aware he isn’t a good man. Life’s easier, more fun, when you abandon the ball and chain of morals and self-righteous bullshit in favor of doing whatever the fuck you want—tonight’s vice of choice just so happens to be his son’s meek, pliable, pretty little girlfriend. 

He’s more than eager to show you just how liberating selfishness can be. 

“Tell me somethin’, doll—“ he dares to lean in closer, bets that you’ll stay exactly where you are, like a lamb caught in the lions hungry gaze. “There somethin’ you want, but are too afraid to chase?” 

You swallow thickly, frozen in place as he comes close enough you can feel his breath on your face. “I-I don’t know—” 

“Sure you do. Use that pretty head of yours and think about it, hm?” Reaching up, he taps the bottle rim against your head gently, making you flinch (fucking adorable, he thinks), “maybe it’s a someone, and you’re too much of a people-pleaser to go for it. Here, lemme make it a bit easier for you—Megumi satisfying you enough?” 

Your eyes widen, a wild heat flushing your face as Toji revels in your reaction with a wolfish, cocky grin. 

“M-Mister Fushi—”

“Toji, doll. Should get used to sayin’ my name.” He corrects you with a drop in his expression, languidly taking a swig of Jack like he didn’t just say what he did. “You think I’m blind?” 

Anxiety twists in your guts, wrings your stomach like a rag. You know where he’s going with this, know that you’ve been had, and however mortifying that is, the pulse of your heartbeat rings loudest between your trembling thighs. 

Your tongue feels heavy, useless; your mouth opening and closing softly, plush lips parting in a way that makes Toji’s cock stir in his pants. He’s thinking about how good those lips will look stretched around his girth, how you’ll choke and drool on him because he knows damn well you’ve never taken anyone as big as him.  

“You want somethin’ stronger, sweetheart? I’ll tell you right now: nothin’ compares to me, sure as shit not him.” It’s almost a seethe, something wicked underlying his tone. “I think you’ve been missin’ out on a lot more than you think.” 

Your heart pounds behind your sternum, reverberates through you with a dizzying concoction of excitement and fear, threatening to burst right through your chest. You’re thinking about the hot desire that’s been nestled in your groin the entire night, your boyfriend, passed out drunk and unable to satisfy you, the answer to your debauched turmoil sitting right in front of you, offering you something you’ve been itching for, for ages. 

You’re horrible. 

“Maybe you’re right.” You exhale shakily, will some semblance of bravery as you coyly look at him from beneath your lashes. The corner of Toji’s mouth quirks up in a crooked smirk. It’s a look that says ‘keep talking’, and you hate yourself for falling into it the way you do. “Maybe...I’ve wanted something for a long time, but just...haven’t found the bravery to say so.” 

Toji hums thoughtfully, “Maybe you need a little bit of liquid courage.” He sounds almost sincere, coaxing you to look at him straight on. 

What happens next is the catalyst. 

He tips the bottle back, gives you a front row seat to the long, thick column of his throat. Coming back down with a wicked sharpness in his gaze, he does not falter to cup the back of your head and pull you against him, confidence sewed into every coiled muscle of his body. 

You go rigid at his touch, stiffly follow his guiding hand to meet him in a tight-lipped kiss. Closing one’s eyes is common courtesy, but neither you nor Toji do so: you, because you cannot believe you’re kissing Megumi’s dad. Him: ostensibly to gaze at you through the slits of his lidded eyes. 

There’s too much going on in your head to think straight, flung into a wall of fear, lust and guilt and everything in-between at super-sonic speeds, and it all comes to a screeching halt when Toji curls his fingers into your hair, gives a neat tug that makes you yelp, and then he parts his lips. 

The whiskey trickles into your open mouth, burns like liquid fire as it pools on your taste-buds, and it takes everything in you to not choke on the bite of it. Barely managing to swallow it down as Toji continues, licking behind your teeth, drawing his tongue against the line of yours, he hums deep enough it rattles your intoxicated brain.

Your hands, which had since grasped onto the hem of your shirt, dart up like they’ve got minds of their own, finding the broad shelf of his shoulders in a desperate grip as he continues tasting you. 

There’s a carnal type of hunger in the way he kisses, and it’s so starkly different from Megumi, so...good. 

You can’t help it, you draw back just enough to catch your breath, sigh his name with a lilt of light-headed passion. “Toji...” It’s like that one kiss was more potent than any of the drinks you’ve had tonight, laced with flagrant desire that’s quickly consuming you. “Toji, please...” 

With a smirk still painted on his lips, he dips in and nuzzles his face beneath the cusp of your jaw, forcing your head further back with another tug on your hair. It makes you whine, curve your spine to put a pretty little divot in your lower back that Toji eagerly presses his other hand into—you didn’t even notice him put the bottle down. 

“That’s right, doll...tell me how you’ve been thinkin’ of this for fucking years.” Grazing the sharp edges of his teeth against the soft palette of your throat, threatening in a way that makes you inherently nervous, he growls, “tell me what you want.” 

Toji’s barely even touched you, and you’re already soft, malleable putty in his hands. He was right, getting you to this point was a piece of fucking cake, and although there’s a tinge of disappointment at the loss of a challenge, he’s wagering you’ll make up for it in other ways—it’s always the quiet ones, he thinks, smirking against your throat. 

“You want me to fuck you stupid, little girl?” Bringing his mouth up, breathing hotly against your ear, he deftly glides his hand down your lower back, slips it beneath the hem of your skirt to firmly squeeze the plush globe of your ass. 

The way you dig your fingers into his shoulder and mewl is so goddamn endearing to him; you really are just a coy, naïve little thing, and he’s itching with the thought of breaking you apart, reducing you to a needy little slut, begging for him to fuck you senseless—

All in good time, he reminds himself. 

“C’mon, sweetheart. Use your words.” He draws back, keeps you tethered in place with his hand buried in your hair. “I'll fuck you right, baby—won't be able to walk straight. That somethin' you want?"

Toji isn't above taking what he wants, when he wants, but right now, with the way you dazedly gaze at him through glassy, wet eyes, all he wants is to hear you say it.

And you: you're on the knife's edge, teetering with a single strand of cognizance keeping you from falling right over the edge—it severs when you feel his long fingers slip between the cleft of your ass, taking this moment from zero to a hundred with a single touch, teasing against the part of you that's remained untouched by anyone.

A strange hiccup of a gasp bursts from your lips, your body lurching forward into him while your hips roll back, chasing that foreign, enticing pressure. "Y-Yes! T-Toji, please..."

"Shit, darling—you're a bit of a wildcard, huh?" pulling on your hair so that he can look down on you, "does Megumi know you like having your tight little ass played with?"

Shaking your head, embarrassment splayed across your face, you whimper, “N-No...I’ve never...we’ve never...” Trailing off, your mind goes blank because Toji is currently rubbing tight spirals around the puckered hole, adding enough pressure to make your entire body tense up. 

Your admission lights something malicious inside him; a deep-rooted type of possession that settles itself hot and heavy in his groin. “Maybe if you’re a good girl, we can see just how much you’ll like it, yeah?” 

Your flustered shake evolves to an eager nod, the effects of the alcohol hitting you with stacked potency; your head feels like it’s been filled with helium, the blood in your veins replaced with white-hot desire, inhibition draining from you as the seconds pass. 

Toji’s deep voice calls you back, makes you realize that you’ve been whining and rolling your hips against his hand without even thinking about it. 

He looks at you with a deviant type of mirth, “you wanna be my good girl?” The pet name shoots straight through you, reminds you of the aching throb of your cunt. 

“Y-Yes sir.” You blurt out, no time to be mortified by the title as Toji’s grin splits his face. 

“On your knees, sweetheart. Show me how bad you want it.” 

And you do—you slink off the sofa with all the grace of an intoxicated slut, crawl your way to the space Toji’s opened up between his legs, ignoring the dizzying sensation of the room spinning around you. 

Looking up at him makes you feel tiny, sat on your haunches between his splayed knees, stabbing a visceral realization into your head because from here, you can see the massive bulge stretching out the loose-fitting fabric of his pants. Somewhere distant, you’re ashamed of the way your mouth waters, the way your hands breach the space between you to glide up his thighs, how the shake that resided in your wrists seems to steady out when Toji shifts in a way that allows you to slip your fingers under the hem. 

The taut skin of his abdomen is warm as your knuckles drag against him, pulling the obstructing fabric down just enough for his cock to spring forward—and fuck, what a fucking cock it is. Thick and long, veined and ruddy at the tip, the worriment that he genuinely will not fit, or at the very least, break you apart, paints itself across your face with wide-eyed concern. 

Toji never get’s tired of seeing that expression, the sense of self-satisfaction that comes with it, and seeing it on your face is something he isn’t ashamed to admit, he’s thought of before. 

“Don’t back out on me now, darlin’...” He teases, reveling in the nervous swallow of your throat, “Open your mouth for me.” Fisting the base of his thick length, he reaches out with his other hand, tangles it into the hair on the crown of your head.

His rough guidance is exactly what you need, just the right push to make you lean forward, part your lips and stick your tongue out for good measure. Judging from the deep, throaty chuckle Toji gives, it’s appreciated. 

“Atta girl...” He exhales, tapping the bulbous head of his cock against your tongue to make you flinch. “You’re gonna be takin’ it all, soon, don’t you worry about that.” 

Without warning, he pushes on your head to thrust into your mouth, too much to start; the bitter taste of his precum seeps onto your tongue as you innately gag. Digging your fingers into the solid muscle of his thighs, you squirm and arch your back outwards, but his hand remains rooted in your hair. 

It’s hard to breathe, hard to fight the instinctual spasm your throat gives as he starts forcing a shallow bob to your head, fucking himself into your mouth. 

You feel like you’ve been reduced to something baser, Toji’s steel grip hammering you into a lust-fogged haze—a particularly deep thrust sends him past your limit, hits the back of your throat and you gag nosily around him, drool leaking out of your mouth, tears beading in your eyes.

You want to pull away, want to catch the precious concept of air, but Toji’s responding groan echoes through you, reverberates in a corresponding throb of your pussy, a hot gush of arousal that flings you further into the void. 

“Ah—fuck, yeah...that’s it.” Toji grunts, and you drink up the noise greedily, working past his guidance into an eager, sloppy bounce of your head. 

Humming in response, you look up the plane of his heaving, defined torso to catch his verdant gaze. Your lips sting from being stretched around him, jaw aches from being held open, throat sore from the head of his cock battering against it, but fuck if the look on his face isn’t the most potent motivation you’ve ever had—mister Fushiguro’s cock is in your mouth, and he’s gazing down at you like you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. 

“Damn, sweetheart...fuckin’ look at you—” He grits out, pulling on your hair hard enough to make you pop off his slick cock, mouth dropped open as you gasp for air.  

Spit webs between your lips, face all tear-streaked and red. Toji brings his other hand into play, gingerly swiping his thumb across your tumescent lower lip, sliding it into your mouth to press down on your tongue harshly. It makes you squirm, flinch at the pressure, and then he grins, feral. 

“You really are just an eager little slut, ain’t ya?” 

The desperate mewl you give is fucking precious, has Toji pushing harder on your tongue until your mouth is gaped. Then, he leans forward and spits right on your tongue. Your eyes widen with shock; you can’t believe he just did that...and you can’t believe the way your cunt throbs in response. 

“Drink up, little slut.” He sneers. 

As though he wasn’t degrading you enough, he forces you to keep your mouth open as you swallow, the taste a heady combination of his precum and sharp traces of whiskey.

Toji’s eyes are glimmering with something malicious as he watches you struggle. He had a pretty good feeling you’d turn out to be a kinky little thing, but the way you keep your borderline delirious gaze on him, like you’re searching for his validation, far exceeds his expectations. He’s not the kind of man to keep his toys around after they’d been used (especially when they’re borrowed toys), but Toji can’t help but want to steal you away, break you apart, ruin you. 

Besides, you’ll be hanging around whether he wants you to, or not—that is, if you can live with yourself after fucking your boyfriends dad. 

“C’mon up here, doll...let me see you—bet you’re fuckin’ drippin’ wet.” He laces a saccharine sweetness to his tone, beckons you to his lap as he leans back and wraps a hand around his cock, languidly stroking himself. “You’re probably dyin’, aren’t you?” 

You move like a girl possessed; eagerly climbing your way onto him to straddle his thighs. You’ve been wanting to feel him against you since that first sip of whiskey, vying to have the hard, chiseled muscles of his body dig into yours. 

Absently, you rock your hips forward just enough that you rub against the shaft of him through your panties, hands quickly searching for something to cling to—you find his hair, the silky softness of it threading through your fingers with ease. 

“Talk to me, doll—takes two to fuck.” He purrs, unceremoniously shoving a hand between your bodies, pressing two thick fingers against the drenched fabric over your pussy. “Fuck, I was right, you’re soaked. You want me that bad, huh? Want me to fucking ruin you, baby?” 

You gasp, bucking against him, chasing the pressure of his fingertips. “T...Toji—I want...mmm—want it!” Your forehead drops to his shoulder, skin so hot you think you’ll die if he doesn’t do something soon. “Please, please, pl—”

Rough enough you can feel the stitching of your panties tear, Toji yanks aside the fabric and pushes two fingers into you. He doesn’t do it slow, he doesn’t ease you into it, he sinks them to the third knuckle in one swift movement that has your body arch, your head rocketing off his shoulder to let out a strangled moan. 

And it’s from there that your lost gaze wanders into the kitchen. 

As Toji’s thick, long fingers pump in and out of your slick, tight channel, you see Megumi still passed out at the kitchen table, Yuji still adjacent to him, and you’re suddenly hyper-aware of how loud your moans are, how they carry through the stillness of the house with vivid clarity. 

Slapping a hand over your mouth, you screw your eyes shut, drool against your palm at the way Toji’s hooking his fingers, dragging them harshly against the soft, sensitive patch of your g-spot.

Toji thinks it’s fucking priceless. “What’s the matter? Worried Megumi’ll wake up—see you fucking yourself on my hand?” 

He’s not wrong, you’re one of those things: pushing down on those dexterous digits like your life depends on it, rocking your hips just the right way for him to abuse that electric patch of nerves, but it’s how your slick walls clamp down on him that gives you away completely. 

Toji chuckles darkly, “Oh, you like that huh? You’re just a cheatin’, filthy little whore who gets off on this shit—” 

“Mmmm—f-fuck!” You cry out through your fingers, dig your nails into your cheeks as your first orgasm of the night rips itself through your body. 

Toji doesn’t let up, he doubles down; picking up a brutal speed as his thumb slips between your plush lower lips, hones in on the swollen bud of your clit. Your legs are trembling, struggling to hold yourself up as your cunt gushes, trickling your arousal down the insides of your thighs to wet the front of his pants.

The sound of it is deafening: an obscene squelch each time he thrusts them back into you, embarrassment thrown out the proverbial window of your mind because all you can think about is the ecstasy you’re writhing in—”O-Oh, ‘m gonna—” 

“That’s it doll, cum again,” he growls, “get yourself all nice and wet for my cock.” 

Toji doesn’t even care that you’re pulling his hair hard enough to rip it from the root, he’s too busy gorging himself on the way your tight, pretty little cunt squeezes his fingers, how damn good it’ll feel when he finally spears you with his cock, how your cute face will look all twisted up when he does it. 

From the sounds you’re making, he thinks you might just fucking scream, so takes it upon himself to shut you up. 

His other hand, which had made itself a home by digging into the crescent of your hip, flies up and grabs a handful of your hair, twisting it around his fist to use as a rein. You slap your own hand against his chest, brace yourself as he yanks you into a kiss that’s all teeth and tongue. 

He’s right, you do scream. 

You cum so hard it floods you, pours from you with a force that makes you twitch and shudder. Residual whimpers rattle in the space of your mouths, and Toji laps them up with a couple sensual strokes of his tongue before drawing back to peer between your bodies. 

“Would’ya look at that—” He drawls, slipping his fingers out of you with a wet pop, “you fucking squirted all over me, sweetheart.” 

You’re at a loss for words. You’ve never done that before, the intensity of it taking so much out of you, you think you might pass out. But Toji has other things in mind, made clear as he hikes your skirt into a puddle around your waist, shoves your shirt up and over the swell of your breasts before tugging you close enough that his painfully hard cock presses flush against your belly. 

“N-No...no more...” You whine, dropping your head to his shoulder once more, you glance downwards and watch the way he measures up against you; the ruddy, pre-slicked head of his cock reaching past your navel. 

“You begged so good for me before, doll,” he teases as he pulls down on the band of your bra, your breasts spilling out of the top. Taking a nipple between his fingers, he gives it a squeeze and a twist, making you keen and arch into him. “thought you wanted to be my good girl, hm?” 

“T-Too much, it’s too m-much...” You can’t think straight, can’t register the way he guides your hips just right, letting the head of his cock catch on your pulsing, tight hole. “T-Toji, I c-can’t—haah—” The words leave you with an airy squeal as he pushes on the crux of your hip and thigh, easing you down onto him. 

Oh fuck. You’re tighter than he expected, all that work he put into loosening you up only made your pussy a tight, slick, drooling tunnel that wraps itself around him, sucks him in. He’d planned on playing nice when it came to this part, he knows he’s big enough that pleasure can quickly shift to pain if he isn’t careful, but the way your cunt stretches around him leaves no room for gentle. 

Fuck it. 

Toji grits his teeth, throws a hand over the back of your head to keep your mouth muffled against his shoulder as he bucks his hips up and shoves yours down, all in one swift movement. The sudden, overwhelming fullness of him punches the air right from your lungs, makes your toes curl and eyes sting—it hurts, it hurts so fucking much, but the way Toji smooths his hand from your hair down your trembling back somehow makes it worth it. 

“Goddamn, sweetheart—you’re takin’ me so fuckin’ well.” His hand skims lower, over the roundness of your ass, “how’s it feel, bein’ fucked by a real man?” His words nestle themselves in your chest, makes you ache with guilt, but it’s not nearly enough to yank you out of the stupor you’re in. 

“B-Big, you’re so f-fucking big, Toji,” you gasp out, forcing yourself to rock your hips, alleviate the aching pressure in your guts. The way his cock rubs up against your walls, every inch searing with friction, renders you dumb. “Feels s-so good, so d-deep!” 

How you’re already fucking yourself on him is all the go-ahead Toji needs. 

“Since you’re so damn eager...” He snarls, stretches his fingers down to your ass to revisit his earlier promise, “It’d be cruel of me not to give you what you want, ain’t that right, princess?” 

Bracing your lower back in the cage of his forearm, keeping your body close, he shifts and bucks his hips up, driving his cock impossibly deep. Crying out against the side of his neck, you scramble for stability with one hand curled over the back of the couch, the other clinging to his hair. 

He doesn’t take it easy on you, and as your lust-mottled gaze peers absently over his shoulder to fixate on Megumi’s slouched over form, a particularly harsh thrust pushing the head of his cock against your cervix like a battering ram, you feel like the jolt of raw pain that shoots up your spine is well deserved. 

“Oh my g-god—“ you hiss helplessly when he does it again, blindly follow the way he pulls on your hair, angling your head in a way that forces your attention from the kitchen, to the connection of your bodies. 

Toji’s forehead is pressed against yours, his breath hot and damp against your mouth, “look’it the way your pussy takes me, fuckin’ made for this.” His voice is pitched low, rumbling in his chest as he jackhammers up into your cunt. 

The sight of his thick cock disappearing into your slick, pulling out to the tip with a ring of your creamy arousal near the base of him before slamming back in makes you dizzier than ever, like you can’t comprehend how he’s even fucking you so deep. It’s mesmerizing, hypnotizing you as you moan and gasp in the shared space between you. 

Toji wouldn’t ever admit it, but he’s feeling a bit overwhelmed himself; you’re better than he expected, taking him in like you were just waiting for him to stick his dick in you, your cunt squeezing him in all the right places, moulding itself to the shape of him. 

“F-Fuck.” He huffs violently, pushes the fingers hovering over your ass against you, caressing the virgin hole in a smooth, circular motion that makes your hips stutter in their downward stroke. 

“T-Toji!” You gasp too loud, the sound slicing through the repetitious smack of skin and breathy, muted moans. You don’t care anymore; you can’t find the means to care, not when you’re barely keeping your head above the surface, quickly drowning in the pleasure. “Please, fuck, p-please—” 

You’re not even sure what you’re begging for anymore. Luckily for you, Toji does. He pulls his hand away from your ass, quickly bringing it to your mouth while maintaining his steadfast pace, bouncing you on top of him with the force of it. 

“Get ‘em nice and wet, baby,” the breathlessness in his voice makes a fresh wave of goosebumps prickle your skin as you eagerly take his fingers in.

Swirling your tongue around the tips, Toji gives a jeering, rugged chuckle and pushes them further, presses down on the middle of your tongue until a string of drool slips from your mouth. 

“Shit, you’re such a good fuckin’ slut.” Pulling them out, a gossamer thread of saliva breaks and drips to your shirt, landing partially on the exposed mounds of your breasts. “I think you deserve to cum again, sweetheart,” he says, shifting as he goes to toy with your ass again.

He doesn’t tease this time, doesn’t have the patience for it—his gut is tensed rock hard, cock throbbing and balls drawn up tight. He’s so fucking close, and if you were anyone else he wouldn’t give a fuck less if you came or not, but you’re not just some throwaway fuck. You’re Megumi’s little girlfriend, and he’s a man determined to ruin you for anyone else, including him. 

He pushes his middle finger against the tight ring of muscle, keeps going even when your body tenses and your voice streamlines into a high, strangled whine. 

“Oh fuck—fuck, fuck—nnnghh!” Cursing your way through the uncomfortable intrusion, your face twisted with pain and pleasure, he sinks the finger down to the knuckle, starts pumping it in and out of you without missing a beat. 

Toji keeps your head pressed against his even as you try and arch away from him, drinking in the look on your face (pretty damn close to what he imagined), as he gives a leading little tug with the finger buried in your ass. 

It has the desired effect. 

Your mouth drops, lids fluttering like you’ve taken a shot of dopamine straight to the brain, fucked stupid. Toji’s grin is all things wicked, sharp and tight as he grinds his teeth together, holds out long enough to back the undulation of his hips with everything he’s got left. 

“Gonna—fuck—gonna cum in that tight little pussy, gonna fill you up and you’re gonna fuckin’ take it—shit—“ He’s growling, face so close to your own that you can see the terrifying zeal in his hooded, verdant eyes. 

It feels otherworldly, inhuman, too much. Your blood is singing in your veins, your abused cunt throbbing and spasming around him as it hits you like a freight. Toji, surprisingly, offers a modicum of help when he smashes his mouth against yours, muffling the screech that tears through your throat. 

Your vision gets muddy, blackened and distant as euphoria pulses through you, ties itself into a coiled, potent knot before snapping entirely. You think you might’ve squirted again, a white-hot heat pooling between your thighs, Toji’s ragged, violent groans heard someplace distant as he bucks up into you ruthlessly, painting your walls with with his thick release. 

The sensation of it makes you whine, shiver and drop against him, limp and completely wrung out, unable to do anything but take the ache of him pumping himself inside you, choppy thrusts of his hips that whittle down to a singular, final push. Your fingers twitch against his shoulders, feeling his cum leaking out of you, the wet mess of your cunt pressed flushed against him. 

When he slips his finger out of you, it’s with a carelessness that makes you flinch. “Fuck, sweetheart...was expectin’ you to be wild, but damn.” There’s a taunting sharpness to his tone, “he really doesn’t know what he’s got, does he?” 

The high’s fading, dissipating from your blood like steam, leaving his words to sink into your chest like a knife. The heat of his body suddenly feels sweltering, the weight of his arms wrapping around your waist oppressing. 

But then he gives a little tug on the tips of your hair, coaxes you to look at him, and the glimmer of something more in his eyes (approval, sentimentality—is he even capable of those things?), makes you feel more seen than you’ve ever felt before. 

Beyond Toji’s sharpened smirk and piercing eyes, Megumi still sleeps at the table. 

You’re horrible.