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pupcuck · 3 months

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STRICTLY BUSINESS !

ft. leon s. kennedy x fem!reader

tags. a lot of misogyny, sexual harassment, p in v, leon is a creep omg, dubious consent but she agrees ultimately 😭

note. HAII can’t bother to change my dividers despite the theme change .. not edited so please ignore mistakes! og re4 leon btw .. no other leon.. :3 honestly I will probably write a longer fic like this bc.. I didn’t make it fleshed out enough 😭 rbs and feedback so appreciated :3

tumblr has started to remove fics that for example use tw non-con and any nsfw tags in general from the tags. for this reason, as i’d like my fic to appear in the tags, please understand that this fic contains dark content under the cut. reading this comes at your own risk.

Tuesday October 21st, 2004

“You’re kidding me, what a treat,” Leon Special Agent Kennedy still gets frisked when he steps foot into the BSAA headquarters. He’s done more for America than Washington ever did, and that guy’s on the dollar bill. You’d think that after rumours spread of you being bent over in the Oval Office, being the main suspect in a presidential affair, they’d give you more credit. “This is my favourite part.” He says, straight-faced.

“Kennedy,” Redfield’s smile is seething, more constipated than it is friendly, like the mere sight of Leon brings him immense pain. “Hands against the wall.”

“You want me to bend over too?” He asks, very seriously, because Leon is a good boy and he’ll do as he’s told. “I can bend over.”

“Think you’ve done enough of that.” Chris sees Leon as an invasive species of sorts. A snail that gets into the cabbage patch.

“You’re no fun.”

Chris calls out a name he hasn’t heard before, small hands land on his waist. It can’t be Redfield ‘cause his palms easily dwarf Leon’s waist, could wrap around it if they stretched far enough. He glances over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of whoever has the honour of feeling him up.

“Eyes forward,” A less bullish voice commands, “Um, please, sir.” This is a girl, not a woman, but a girl. Women are his favourite, but he can make do with a girl if she’s cute enough.

“Must be my lucky day,” Leon hums in delight as you pat him down, “Oooh, are we doing a cavity search?”

“Well…” You pause, hands lingering over his calf, “I’m not really sure.”

“No.” Redfield grunts in his primitive way.

“No, no cavity search,” You confirm, “I’m… sorry.” You tell him, and you really should be, Leon loves having his cavity searched. Oral, anal, if he had a vaginal cavity he’s sure he would have fun with that too.

“You can go lower, sweetheart,” Leon bites his tongue when you ghost over his belt loops, “Grab my balls while you’re at it, I don’t mind.”

“Knock it off, Kennedy.” His first real warning, ‘cause Chris speaks in his Captain voice not in ape sounds.

“I’m kidding, you can take it easy, big guy.” His mind wanders as you touch him up, getting to his chest in which you find a flask tucked into the inside pocket of his jacket, it’s confiscated promptly.

“Are you stupid?” Hunnigan asks, as his handler or glorified babysitter, she must accompany him to every teensy, little task. Her question is rhetorical, obviously.

“She’s just so sweet to me, I call her Honeygan.” Leon tells no one in particular.

“No you do not, Leon.” She says, cerebral and unfrisked, which begs the question of why only he gets borderline harassed on BSAA grounds. Not that he’s complaining.

“Hi there, cutie,” He doesn’t smile often for ladies, they like the whole brooding thing he’s got going on, but he really can’t hold it back. All teeth and everything. “What’s a pretty thing like you doing here? Did you get lost, need help finding your mommy?”

“Kennedy,” Second warning, it goes unheard, or unprocessed, or rather Leon does not give a single shit.

“How old are you, sweetheart?” He puts his hands on his knees, like he’s crouched down talking to a toddler. “You look like a baby.”

“Twenty-one, sir.” Of course you are, lamb-faced and bright-eyed. That’s far too little. Then again, old enough to drink, old enough to suck dick. If a girl can knock back a shot, she’s likely to swallow - not spit.

“Oh, and do your Skechers light up, sweetheart?” You should be at home, burping a Baby Alive doll, pottering around an all-pink, plastic kitchenette. Doing things that girls do.

“What…?” You glance over at Chris cluelessly.

With this, he’s guided very forcefully by the scruff of his neck, his popped collar, to where the meeting is taking place. Chambers is there, and she’s grown within the last few years. She stretches back in her seat, her tiny tits jut out when her back bows. She hasn’t grown in that sense. You stand guard at the door in tactical gear, it’s like putting a spiked collar on a puppy and passing it off as a guard dog. He’d once thought of the BSAA to be pragmatic, they talk rationally while STRATCOM talk a lot of fancy shit in their Italian wool suits, but to put a young girl in charge of such a strenuous task? Leon takes it all back. They’re a bunch of brutes, hunched over sucking the meat from animal bones, girl bones even.

“Focus.” Valentine, bold and busty, sits beside him “She’s twenty-one.” Back off, is what she means. They’ve had brief encounters, but she’s a woman of few words, her sneer keeps him away as it does most men. She could use some dick.

Leon is well aware of your age considering you told him an hour or so prior. Like he said before, he likes women, not girls, but you’re certainly cute enough. “I know, too young.”

“She’s capable,” Jill shrugs, “Real brave kid,” This is the problem, it’s not bravery, it’s stupidity and Leon of all people knows the difference. Jill stands up when the meeting comes to its end, she’s the first to leave, pats your head on the way out.

The room clears out, you stand still and upright as he approaches. “After you, sir.”

“That’s not how it works,” Leon chides, “Ladies first, sweetheart.”

“After you, sir, I insist,” You’re getting impatient, antsy, “And please don’t call me that.”

“What would you prefer? Babe, baby, honey, babycakes, sweetpea,” All the classics, “Sugartits?”

“With all due respect, sir, fuck you.” You look at him with such discontent it makes him hard.

“Girls shouldn’t talk like that.” Leon stumbles slightly as you barge past him and exit. He finds it funny, he cracks another smile, shame no one’s here to see it, it’s quite beautiful really. His eyes follow the movement of your hips, the swell of your ass that’s hidden beneath those bulky cargos as you stomp off into the distance.

Monday November 1st, 2004

It sits on your desk like a harbinger of doom. A threat that signifies the end of the world, which is everyday in your field. This is the end of your life. No one else’s. This ostentatious display of affection is where it all starts.

“Nice flowers,” Piers comments, and it’s a totally innocent remark, because initially you had thought the exact same thing. How thoughtful, right? Flowers, tons of them, in all shades. You’re not a flowers kinda girl, but you’re not rude, you appreciate the gesture. That’s just how you’ve been raised, the vase mom bought you hasn’t been put to good use either.

You made the mistake of reading the card attached. In barely legible handwriting, all the swoops and loops throw you off, is that an E or a 3, it’s scrawled in leaky black ink that smears easily, crumpled it up the moment you saw who signed it off.

From his cokewhore nose to his insoles, you have no intentions of liaising with Agent Kennedy, much less going on a date with him. He might be charming from afar, but the moment he opens his mouth— oh, how you wish you could sever his tongue and put it in a jar. Might even go the extra mile to pickle it and feed it to him.

The note gets tossed in the trash, you attempt to dispose of the flowers the same way, stuffing them down into the bin beneath your desk. An incinerator would be preferred, but this will do for now. You’re shaking as you rid of them, rolling back your shoulders to relax, you can’t get him off of you. The scent of his biting cologne is in the back of your throat. It stings. He hasn’t done anything as of now, there’s just something about Leon that makes you uneasy.

Thursday November 4th, 2004

Stupid girl. You’re a stupid girl for thinking it was ever over, men like him persist until they wear you down, grind your bones into dust. Today it’s a box of decadent chocolates, you have to admit, they look good. Wasting food makes your gut ache with guilt so you place them on a table in the staff room.

“That’s not very nice, Godiva’s expensive.” Tight-lipped and repulsive, Agent Kennedy stands in the doorway. Why he’s here? You have no clue.

“Sir,” You fix your posture reflexively, “I appreciate it, I’m just not… a fan.”

“You don’t have to lie to me, sweetheart.” Leon cocks his head to the side, the lack of mirth in his tone is chilling. “I waited for you on Monday.”

“I never accepted, sir.” You tell him, “I’m flattered, but I didn’t have time.” And you never will have time for a man like him.

“You didn’t show, I looked like an idiot, that sweater makes you look kinda big by the way,” He says breezily, slips it in seamlessly with his complaint.

You don’t register it, blinking at him dumbly. “I hardly think this is appropriate.”

“Sweetheart,” Leon cups your cheeks, his fingertips are icy on your burning skin, “I don’t go on a lot of dates, so you should count yourself lucky.”

“Sir, what're you doing here?” You question, trying so badly to bypass the system failure that’s taking place in your frazzled brain.

“I have some business, but that’s none of your business is it, cutie?” He taps your nose, “I think you’re too little to get it anyway. Y’know, you take orders well, I thought you’d be a good girl.”

“I’m not a dog,” You scowl.

“Smile, sweetheart, shouldn’t pull faces like that.” Leon pats your cheek, then he turns on his heels and leaves as quickly as he came.

Friday November 5th, 2004

Agent Kennedy is on the premises again, this leads to you ducking into doorways, turning sharp corners into endless corridors— Anything to escape his gaze unscathed. Unfortunately, running has never been your strong suit, it requires some agility, you’re a no-nonsense kind of girl, face the issue head on with your bare hands. You’re capable. So capable. You’re strong, and you have a gun. When your fists fail you, your gun sits cold on your hip. Not that shooting Leon S. Kennedy would ever be a good look in someone’s dossier, but it provides you with some relief.

“There you are,” Quiet, he emerges from the shadows like he materialised right then and there, Agent Kennedy is stealthy, you suppose, “I missed you,” He’s hot on your heels, the bitterness of his scent begins to cloud your mind, “You look good from back here, should wear a skirt more often.”

Don’t speak. Don’t speak. Don’t speak. As much as you’d love to give him a piece of your mind, you fear he’d take it in stride, entertained by your outburst. Leon feeds on attention. He follows you for the entirety of your journey to the ladies room. “Sweetheart, speak to me.”

You’re a fool for thinking he has the decency to wait outside, let you do your business, and then once you return he can begin sweet-talking in your ear once more. Of course, Leon shoulders the door when it shuts on him, he jams his leg in the cubicle door when you try to lock him out. Too slow.

“Did you want to watch me piss, sir?” You ask, putting on your bravest face, as if your heart isn’t about to fall out of your ass and land on the floor with a wet smack. He scares you more than any virus-addled nutcase ever has.

“No,” Leon frowns, and it’s the first time he hasn’t had a witty remark, “Do you think I want to see that shit?” Oh, that offended him.

“I’m sorry for assuming, sir, but it’s just that you are,” You make a mild gesture at the toilet, “In the women’s restroom.”

“I know,” He’s still frowning, and you don’t like it. “I need something from you, babe.” Babe. Holy Mother of God, that’s worse than sweetheart, it sounds infinitely more sleazy.

“What can I do for you, sir? You got a kink?” Once more, you point to the toilet, the scumbag bites the inside of his cheek. His tongue wets his bottom lip as he hunkers down to press his pointy nose to yours. You hear him sniff around in the crook of your neck, like he’s chasing white lines without a straw.

You’re brave. You’re capable, so capable, Miss Valentine has told you the same. What would she do? What would she do? Quick-thinking, improvising, it’s not your thing— Your fingers itch to take out your gun and press it to his temple. Your own temple at this point.

Leon isn’t stupid, he takes your hand, brushing your knuckles with his lips, then he forces you to face the wall. “Hands on the wall, babe, it’s my turn.”

“Sir,” The argument dies as quickly as it comes to mind, fizzling out on your tongue.

“I won’t hurt you, babe, I know you’re little.” He almost coos, fingers tracing over your shoulder blades, then your spine, then his thumbs slot into your back dimples. “I don’t know what you’re doing here, it doesn’t look right, holding guns and shit— You’re too pretty for that, I bet it hurts your arms, don’t it? Oh, you poor thing. I really care about these things, I’m a feminist, sweetheart.”

No. No, you’re strong, you’re well trained— You’re the best Captain Redfield has to offer. “Mr. Kennedy, please, I’m sorry about the date.” There’s a warmth that presses to your back, “It was an honest mistake—“ His dick, he’s got his fucking pig dick on your back. “Get off of me.” Yes, you’re trained in combat, but against him, admittedly you have nothing on him. And it pisses you off more than his dick does.

“Cool it, babe,” Leon takes your wrists in his hand, keeping them behind your back, you hear him spit on his cock from above. The shlick, shlick, shlick of his wet dick being pumped has the acid in your stomach reacting badly with your lunch. “You’re hot, you ever think of going into porn?” Agent Kennedy is whiny during sex it seems, his voice gets airy, you take some amusement in that. As much amusement as you can in this type of scenario.

“I think you’re disgusting, sir,” Wetness splatters over the back of your sleeveless turtleneck, it soaks into the fabric. Leon kisses the nape of your neck, he tucks his cock away, wipes the sweat from his brow and leaves like he was never there in the first place.

The panic sets in a good five minutes later. He’s made you dirty, in a frenzy, you tear off your shirt in the public restroom, dunking it under the sink to wash it clean. A few ladies filter in and out, ask if you’re okay when they see you in your bra, scrubbing like a mad woman.

You smile your best smile, it’s your worst smile. The hand dryer does little to help you out, even when you wring and ring the fabric into the sink basin, all excess water and cum running down the drain, it’s weak. It’s hard to care in this state, hands trembling as you put it back on, the wetness only reminds you of him, it’s black so unless someone has the pleasure of bumping up against you - it’s likely no one will notice.

Visiting HR is new to you, the elevator dings and you step out onto a floor that’s entirely alien. With a foggy mind it’s harder to navigate the rooms, the people, the desks. A pretty lady leads you to the right place, an even prettier lady sits behind a desk. Her face is weathered, slightly mean, but she’s kind when she smiles.

“I’d like to report… I’d like to report,” Your hands are braced flat on the desk, slumped forward, “To report… I want to…”

Her smile is kinder this time, laced with sympathy, “Take your time, sweetheart,” No, don’t call me that, she takes note of how you bristle, “Take a seat and calm down, alright?”

“No,” You shake your head, insistent on getting it out here and now, “Special Agent Kennedy, Leon Kennedy, Leon Scott Kennedy, I want to report him for… I want to report him for— “

“Sweetie,” The lady, sympathetic once more, takes your hand, “I’m afraid I can’t do anything about that.”

“What? Why? You don’t understand, he—“

“Agent Kennedy, he doesn’t work here, he’s not in our database, and taking it up with STRATCOM, well, that’s a whole ‘nother issue.”

“Right,” How stupid can you be? Stupid fucking asshole. It isn’t even a loophole, it’s just totally legal, you can’t do anything. “Right, of course, I’m sorry for wasting your time.”

“Babe, there you are,” Leon revels in your jumpiness, it’s cute. Girls are cuter when they’re shy, when they need a big, strong man to keep ‘em safe. Stoicism doesn’t suit you, anxiety does, it makes your eyes glimmer in the same way Botticelli angels do, your lashes have no end to them. “I missed you.”

“Aren’t you busy saving the world and all, sir?” Still feisty, if it were up to Leon, he’d fuck you silly. Get it all out of you.

“You’re funny,” He says dryly, lips forming a line, “How about that date?”

Rather than exasperation like he had expected, there’s astoundment. “Are you… Are you serious?”

“Duh,” Leon nods, “I thought about it, cutie, I’m happy to give you a second chance.”

“Jesus Christ, you’re fucking— Do you seriously think I would ever say yes to you?” Your brows furrow, they need a clean up, nothing some tweezers can’t fix, he’d have to sort out those forehead wrinkles too, you’re much too young for that.

“Nobody says no to me,” Leon responds with ease, “I don’t know why you wouldn’t, sweetheart, I really thought we had something.” His lips twitch, it’s painfully easy to rile you up. The temper is funny short-term, but long-term not quite as much.

“We,” You point at him, then at yourself, “We have nothing, sir, and if you touch me again, I swear on my life I’ll—“

“What will you do, sweetheart? Cry to your mommy about it?” He edges closer to you, till your sides are warm in his hands, “Little girls shouldn’t talk big, you don’t get to call the shots.”

“I’m not, I’m not a little girl, but you’re a fucking creep, and I will tell Captain Redfield, I will tell him.” And he’ll deal with you, Leon guesses. Stupid little girl, as if Mr. President would let a prick from the BSAA land a hit on his most prized possession, other than First Daughter Ashley Graham.

“See, baby? You can’t handle anything on your own, you’re too little.” He smiles, if your balled up fists say anything, it’s obnoxiously smug, “Oh, are you getting angry at me, baby? That’s no good, why don’t you smile for me?” Leon uses his thumbs to forcefully stretch your cheeks upwards, “C’mon, babe, smile for me.”

“Get off of me,” You twist out of his grip, pumps click-clacking as you desperately try to escape him, but it’s clear you’re new to them, getting the heel caught in each crack— Leon could do better.

“They make your legs look great,” He whistles, never less than a step behind, “Think you should wear ‘em everyday, field work ain’t all that, y’know? I could get you a job over in my building, filing and shit, could wear a skirt everyday.”

“Sir, do you ever shut up?” Comes your shaky yet clipped reply.

“I got plenty more where that came from, babe,” Leon says shamelessly, “Let me take you home, sweetheart, I’ll show you a good time.”

You shiver at the mere thought, shoulders lifting to your ears as you shake yourself off. Leon grabs you from behind once more, this time he’s got a handful of your tits. Without that bulletproof vest, you’ve got a great figure, shit made you square. This pencil skirt and turtleneck combo is flattering, and Leon has to admit, he’s always had a thing for office wear.

To your credit, you put up a good fight, a few more years of training and you would knock Leon flat onto his ass. That’s why he’s gotta save you while he can, girls shouldn’t get to that point. Especially not ones like you. “I’ll leave you alone, sweetheart, if you just give it to me once.” His lies are convincing, he takes your silence as consideration to his offer.

“Once,” You repeat, “Just once?”

“Just once.”

“I’ll bite it off.” You claim.

“Sure you will, babe.” Leon snickers, and because he’s Special Agent Kennedy, he gets his way. Through determination, blood, sweat, tears and a load of cum.

“Keep those on,” He tells you, nodding his head towards your heels as the two of you enter his apartment. “Take that off, and the skirt too.” Leon instructs, and you do as he says, “Good girl.”

He gives you a once over. Not bad. There’s always tweaks that could be made, while all women are beautiful to him, it comes natural to most, they could still be better. Perkier tits, shapely legs, nicer ass— Y’know, you could work on it.

“C’mere, cutie,” Leon pats his lap, begrudgingly you oblige, the mattress sinks with your combined weight. He snaps your bra strap, it pings back on your supple skin, then he reaches back to unhook it. Yeah, Leon can do it one go, you might not look impressed, but he knows you are deep down. “Look at that.” These tits, they have no room on the battlefield, seriously. He squeezes them, the fat spills past his fingers, the BSAA can’t be risking such valuable assets.

He can’t pinpoint your exact feelings, there’s irritation on your face, but when he lays you down, spreads you open, there’s a wet patch on your panties that’s telling of your true nature as a girl. It’s just primal instinct, right? Getting wet when there’s a handsome man groping you. “Aw, I told you we’d have fun, baby.” Leon takes your limp legs, tossing them over his shoulders, he slips your panties off, disappointment floods his system when he sees you’re not shaven bare. He’ll have to skip giving head then. Which is a shame, ‘cause most times it’s fun to see girls squirm on his tongue.

The pad of his thumb meets your clit, he dips downwards past your folds to gather some slick, smears it back over your bud. Part of him wants a taste, his fingers aren’t enough, Leon wants it straight from the source itself. Though it’s totally against his code of conduct, his tongue laves over your spread pussy once. He doesn’t let himself get carried away.

Instead, Leon opens you up around his fingers, scissors them into your tight hole to stretch you out. He keeps his thumb rubbing over your clit, he’s good at multitasking, and it’s the only thing that gets you whimpering, though most of it is muffled into your fist. He deems you wet enough, or he’s just very impatient, and it’s definitely the latter, Leon can admit it.

“You ready, babe?” Leon asks, but he doesn’t wait for an answer as he slides into you, to the hilt, and raw. You let out a shuddering gasp as his cock knocks the fleshy opening of your cervix.

Then, you have the gall to ask, “Is it in yet, sir?” Despite the fact that you’re still trembling, shaken up by the sheer size of him. Leon can be humble, he knows it’s not that big, but for inexperienced little things like you it must be a real challenge. You take to it well, after the first few thrusts, the discomfort seems to fade, and your back arches against your will. A real cockslut born and bred.

He fills you up, fucks you like he wants to tear a hole through you, “You need to shut your mouth sometimes, sweetheart. I don’t know who raised you, but girls shouldn’t talk back like that.” Leon grips your jaw tight, forces it open so he can spit down your throat, much to his dismay you send the ball of spit hurtling back towards his face. He closes his eyes, hips stilling within you, then he brings his palm down on your cheek. It’s encouragement to behave.

You’re stunned, yelping sharply as he hits you once more, grinding deep into your wet cunt, the squelch gives you away. The way you’re sucking him in, like you’re a glutton for dick, how your hip bones smack into his each time you raise ‘em up— it's so clear you’re enjoying it. You like this, you like him, just needed a man to show you, to put you in your place.

Leon’s kind enough to keep pressing down on your bud, when he pulls out, your pussy clenched tight around the fat head of his cock, it begs him so sweetly to fill you up once more. He bottoms out, you jolt, legs slipping from his shoulders and wrapping around his waist. It’s then he’s reminded of your heels, they dig into his back, and your little hands come to rest on his ass to force him deeper and deeper, which Leon isn’t all that fond of, but you’re an unruly girl.

“Look how bad you want it.” Leon licks into your mouth, sucks on your tongue, “I knew it, baby, I knew you wanted it.” He drives his hips into you with such force, pussy gushing around him, your release trickles out of you with each thrust. “Messy girl.” He taunts, abdomen wet and his cock wetter.

You’re hit with aftershocks as he continues to pump into your sensitive pussy, clit twitching, he has enough sense to pull out. Leon isn’t an idiot. His cock rests heavy on your stomach, he urges you to take it in your hand, and you do. His hand wraps around yours, helps you jerk him off like you should’ve been glad to do in the restrooms earlier. “That’s it, you’re getting good at it, baby, you’re learning.” Leon’s load is sticky, shooting ropes of pearly white over your fingers, dripping down your wrist.

“Sir, this is it now, isn’t it?” You get down to business fast, acting like your pussy wasn’t springing a leak on his cock, “You’ll leave me alone now? If you don’t, I really will tell him, I will do something about it I swear on my fucking life.”

He says yes, but Leon is already thinking of what to send you next week. On Monday it might be a teddy bear, the ones that hold stuffed hearts in their stuffed arms. Tuesday, another bouquet, or a dress, a tight one that brings out your eyes. Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, he has plenty of time to chase you again.

#leon s kennedy x you #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy imagine #leon s kennedy smut #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #resident evil x reader #resident evil smut

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ohnococo · 24 days

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How To Fight | MMA Fighter!Toji x Physical Therapist!Reader

You love your job as a Physical Therapist, and would rather avoid any complications. Unfortunately MMA Fighter Toji Fushiguro has taken a liking to you. Despite your better judgement, you've taken a liking to him too.

✧ wc: 6.3k

✧ notes: A song fic taking place in the MMA AU. The song lyrics referenced are from How To Fight by Eartheater

✧ warnings: eventual angst, mma!au, no curse au, widowed Toji, divorced Toji, single dad Toji, fem bodied reader, pronouns used (she/her), pet names (sweetheart), flirting, unwanted advances, pussy referred to as 'she', physical therapist reader, recurring injury, injury recovery, vaginal sex, cumshot

i've tasted metals of my own blood, and learned to like it

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this.”

It was against everything you stood for to be happy to see a client again, given your line of work, but Toji was different. Against your better judgement, he had somehow managed to work his way into your mind, burrowing past that steely wall of professionalism you kept up at all times with those in your care. You were determined to never let him know that, though.

“Well, Toji, I would prefer it if you didn’t keep getting yourself injured.”

He breezes right past that. “Just let me take you out, it’ll be a lot nicer than pushing me around and cracking my joints.”

It was a simplification bordering on misunderstanding your work, as if you were some chiropractor, but you know he’s only saying it to get you shoving him around with that tinge of annoyance he feeds right into your veins. You try not to give in, because you’re always trying not to give in to Toji, really. Then he’s resisting, just enough to make you really have to work to guide him in the stretch you want him to do, and he’s managed to get you right where he wants you yet again. You tug at his hips, guiding him into movements he should be familiar with by now.

“Just let me do my job.”

You had no intention of accepting his advances, whether they were in the form of invitations to dinner, sparkling bedroom eyes, or flirtatious comments that would have had you kicking anyone else right out of your office. Not Toji, though. With him, you just find yourself slowly allowing him to speak to you more and more familiarly.

The corner of his mouth lifts smugly just as he’s turning away, taking his gaze off of you directly to watch you in the mirror along the wall next to the mat you were standing on. He allows you to move him for a moment, only offering light resistance now, as if you could truly make him do anything he didn’t want to, then continues the twisting motion on his own. You watch his body carefully, avoiding eye contact because you already know those green eyes are fixed on your face, trying to coax you into giving him the smallest inch to turn into a mile.

“If you want your hands on me you don’t gotta use your job as an excuse.”

You ignore him outright, drowning out any potentially untoward thoughts with a strengthened focus on your work. As always, it works, and you note on your assessment forms that his hip mobility was normal. You knew it would be, that Toji knew how to throw his punches properly, but you’re always thorough with your checklist whether it was for the reasons Toji accused you of or not.

“Stand against the wall.”

He lets out a whistle, hands up as he does, “Gonna frisk me?”

“I’m gonna refer you to Yaga so you can get wrung out like a wet rag if you don’t do what I tell you.”

“Ooh, that doesn’t sound too bad, actually.”

“Toji.”

He chuckles as he settles into the position he already knows you want him in, doing lunges with the wall as a marker for how deep to press forward as you watch his ankle and knee movements.

“All good there.” You tap his back, nodding as you make your notes while he stands in wait.

“Okay, upper body.”

You know this is where he’ll need the work, as usual, and you’re quick to go through your checks with the right shoulder, moving onto his problem area. You already knew from his post-fight medical, but are happy to find, as you watch his movements as he lifts and rotates his arm, that it’s no more serious than the last time.

“Left shoulder…” you say aloud as you note it.

He looks annoyed, at himself rather than at you, “Always is.”

It makes you feel bad for him, in a way. He wasn’t really reckless in the ring. He knew his body too well and was too calculated with how he approached his fights. Unfortunately, it was simply a recurring injury, as shoulder issues often were. Something that was always going to pop back up sooner or later, but with the way Toji took so many fights even as he neared his forties it seemed to be “sooner” more and more often.

As you rotate his arm, feeling where he tenses and softening your movements, you share a little of your optimism with him - couched in realism, of course.

“Don’t look so sad. It’s similar to the last one, so it shouldn’t be too long before we have you out there in the ring living your best life.”

He laughs at that, sounding a little dryer than his usual flirty chuckle, “I’m not living my best life in there.”

You glance up at him while you continue your assessment, brows raising in muted interest before he continues.

“Put it this way, I like it because I like the money. I don’t love fighting.” He thinks on it a little more before adding, “I do love finishing fights, though.”

To you, there was little difference between those two things, but then you weren’t the one doing the fighting so you accept his feelings on the matter. “That’s fair. I think it’s kind of rare to really love your job.”

As you firmly grasp his bicep, lifting his arm outwards, he flexes for just a moment, grin returning to its usual wolfish state, “Bet you love your job though. Groping men all day.”

You release his arm, letting it fall for only a moment, but catching it as soon as he winces, “I’d love it a lot more if you let me do it without those kinds of comments.”

“Ehh,” he tilts his head, brows raising in disbelief at your continued assertions that you didn’t get any sort of satisfaction out of this (and you didn’t… until him). “I think you get something out of them.”

You ignore him again, returning to your desk to note your recommendations. “Four to six weeks of sessions, as usual.” You look up at him then, indirectly threatening him to behave, “Four will probably do though.”

It shouldn’t have been a threat, getting him back up to snuff as efficiently as possible, but it had become one by now with Toji. It was a joke, of course. Toji would feign being hurt by the thought of it, but was always happy to be able to accept his next fight as soon as possible.

But sometimes it didn’t feel like a joke. Sometimes you did want a little more time basking in his flirtations. Toji Fushiguro had unfortunately grown on you and it often left you feeling ashamed. His reputation precedes him. He’d even been married when he first came into your office, and here you were worrying about missing those butterflies in your stomach at his little reminders that he is completely fixated on you.

When you find yourself smiling a little too widely at him, or even thinking about him outside of your sessions, you have to remind yourself that there was nothing actually there. It was just what he was like with anyone that caught his eye, even if it was only ever you he was assigned to once you’d started working there.

The why of it all wasn’t a mystery in the beginning. He was a relentless flirt that, based on how cagey some of your coworkers were about hearing he would be in your care, had apparently enjoyed his time with many of them before you. You didn’t mess around about your job, though. You loved your work, and you loved the convenience of this position, so you’d decided that you absolutely would not be added to his list of conquests.

At first keeping that professional level of disinterest was easy. It had seemed so obvious that he’d move on and request another PT work with him after the first of his recurring injuries led to several sessions worth of you rejecting his advances. That wasn’t the case, though. Maybe that was exactly why he kept coming to you and only you. The challenge.

And it was a challenge, for the both of you. You were intent on giving him nothing, and he was intent at making that as hard as possible for you without even really trying. By the third time he’s booked in for several sessions with you for post-fight recovery, you find yourself actually letting your guard down around him, if only a little. You might have even missed him.

i've gone under the knife of love, dissected every vein and vessel

Another week, another therapy session, another attempt to keep your composure, even with how relentless Toji is.

“How long are you gonna keep making me ask before you let me take you to dinner?”

You shoot him a look. The answer should be never, followed by asserting quite bluntly that you don’t sleep with clients, since he wasn’t exactly being subtle. That’s what the answer used to be, at least. It’s not quite that direct now, though. “How long are you going to keep getting yourself injured and winding up here?”

He puts his hand to his heart, feigning pain, “Listen, if I didn’t have a bum shoulder I wouldn’t get to come and be your favourite client.”

“I wouldn’t say favourite.”

He lifts his head from your massage table, flashing you a winning smile and the closest to puppy dog eyes a man like Toji could muster. “Cutest?”

“I wouldn’t say that either.”

He closes his eyes, relaxing onto your table as you move and massage his shoulder firmly, “Whatever you say, sweetheart…”

Toji really did enjoy testing you. Especially with his favourite little pet name for you. Sweetheart. ’Even though you’re not too sweet to me’ he’d said with a little pout, entirely undercut by his hungry eyes. You used to shoot him looks that could have killed a man on the spot in some other universe. Now you don’t look at him at all when he says it, it feels too risky. It feels like something in your eyes will give you away.

You throw out another of the many threats Toji knows are baseless by now, said as many times and with as little conviction as most of your defences against him. “You’re lucky I don’t kick you out.”

He peeks at you through barely opened eyes, as you stretch his arm outward, “That's what I’m saying, you’ve got a soft spot for me.”

That’s your final signal to put your proverbial work hat on a little more snugly as you push down, and he taps his fingers against you, indicating his limit for this particular stretch. He understands you’re truly done with the conversation as you pat his side and step back.

“Alright, time for strengthening exercises.”

This was the part he always got bored with. You weren’t touching him now, not after the first time to demonstrate what you wanted from him. You weren’t naive enough to believe him when he kept feigning a need for more hands-on guidance as he goes through the recommended motions. A man doesn’t get to the point of looking like Toji without knowing how to lift weights - especially not the small ones you had him on just to slowly get his strength back in his shoulder.

Even then, lying on the floor, raising a little 5 pound weight with his healing arm while you stand above him watching closely, he’s still ready to run his mouth.

“I like this.”

“It feels alright?”

“The weight is fine, but I like having you standing over me like that.”

You give him nothing, pursing your lips as you put the tip of your shoes between his arm and the ground, “Keep your arm up, don’t bring it down too far.”

Ignoring his comments is the best you can do sometimes. Even if it gets harder with every session as you start to actually look forward to it deep down. Even if it becomes your only defence until you’re spending a good chunk of these sessions in a near haze, trying to force as much emotional distance as possible once his flirting starts up.

His comments were uncalled for, and so was the way it made you feel. You were far from the type to be desperate for the attention of a man like him, and the way your body responded to him only pissed you off the more it excited you. All you can do, or all you’re willing to do, is shut it down, and remember that you have a job to do.

—

After three more sessions of this you’ve convinced yourself that you’re more than ready to discharge him and hopefully enjoy a peaceful several months without the risk of seeing his face again. The fact that it never used to take convincing to enjoy having the walking talking complication out of your life is something you aren’t willing to address.

“You’re gonna miss me, aren’t you?”

“Don’t start, Toji.”

You know you can’t really tell him what to do, unfortunately.

“You don’t have to if you-“

“That’s right, I don’t have to miss you, and I won’t. Hopefully you don’t go getting yourself injured again so you can come and bother me more.”

Your tone has him sucking in air through his teeth and grimacing a little.

“I don’t exactly like getting injured.” He looks away as he speaks and it’s strange not having his eyes on you like you were some sort of prey to be carefully observed. “I couldn’t even help my son move into his dorm. Cage fighter dad that can’t even lift a fucking box. It pisses me off.”

He shrugs, eyes back on you, lit up anew, “But at least I get to see your pretty face, huh?”

As much as you don’t enjoy Toji’s comments, you like these little glimpses of something else even less. Because he does talk to you. About his day, about little things that pop in his head when he’s bored of flirting for seconds at a time. And it makes it much harder not to get a little too attached when he isn’t just being a simple womaniser.

It sometimes makes you feel like Toji thinks you’re some sort of therapist - when he’s not relentlessly trying to get you into his bed. And you know that’s what all of his flirting is, of course.

Because his reputation precedes him. Yes, he’ll take someone out. Yes, they’ll have a good time. Yes, they’ll fuck. Except in your case you aren’t a part time receptionist or ring girl that might be able to avoid awkward situations with him during the nothing that comes after all of that. And you aren’t willing to mess up the good thing you have with your job, even though some of your coworkers seemed to be.

What wasn't mentioned to you as part of his reputation, was the little breadcrumbs of who he was beneath the charm and muscle. It’s known he was a prodigy in his sport. It’s known he retired young to be a family man. And it’s known he came back, 5 years later, newly widowed.

He doesn’t talk about his first wife much, because why would he? Any brief mentions of her are with an undying warmth and love that undercuts his reputation as a heartbreaker. She’s special. The mother of his child, his first love. The former is stated, the latter is obvious. Nothing short of that would melt that hardened mask of indifference.

His second wife, he doesn’t speak about at all. You only know of her because he mentions a step-daughter, and because when he’d flirted with you from the very first time he’d entered your care your eyes had locked onto the ring on his finger with contempt for how little it apparently meant. By the time you see him next, nearly half a year and another injury later, he isn’t wearing the ring anymore.

Something in you feels flattered when you ask Toji about how his son was finding college in front of a coworker who had been here much longer than you, and they’re shocked as they say they didn’t know he had kids. Then, you’re left even more annoyed at him for giving you more complications to maintaining a necessary level of professional distance in your job.

Small talk shouldn’t feel so heavy.

Helping people recover shouldn’t make you have to deal with these thoughts.

i know how to fight, how to fuck, how to die, how to resurrect my pride

When you give in, it’s in the worst way. He doesn’t even take you to dinner, you don’t give him a chance to. It’s his fourth time in your care, this time for an ankle injury. Something basic, something much more simple to deal with than his recurring problem. Something that will get him out of your hair in no time.

He isn’t simple to deal with though, telling you about the dogs his son adopted, how he never really got how people got so attached to animals growing up, but now he gets it. He’s got you comfortable, not even thinking about how your guard is down, nor about how you even smile at him as he shows you a picture of his son, buried under two masses of fluff and begrudgingly smiling at the camera.

“God, Toji, you really just have a little twin there, don’t you?”

He laughs, looking at the picture of his son, before setting his phone aside on the mat. “Nah, there’s a lot of his mom in there.”

You smile, patting his shoulder in a rare touch outside of professional reasons, “That’s nice.”

He lies back on the mat, out of your reach, “You’re nice, for once.”

You get back to work, wrapping your hands around his ankle and bending his foot slowly. “I’m nice to people who aren’t constantly trying to get into my pants.”

“Hey, who said I was trying to do that? I’m just trying to take you out.” He sits up and leans onto his elbows, “but if that’s the kind of thing you’re interested in…”

“I’m interested in doing my job. I don’t mind talking to you when you relax with the inappropriate comments.”

“I’ve gotta prove myself to you before you’ll let me take you out, got it.”

“Is that what I said, Toji?”

Toji shrugs, fully relaxing back onto his elbows, and you pull on his foot gently. “That’s what I heard.”

You shoot him a look that you hope can put fear into the heart of even him. Instead, it only seems to inspire other emotions as he forms his scarred lips into a pout that misses the mark of garnering pity for his plight as a man rejected yet again, though you’re certain Toji knows exactly what he’s doing when he makes faces like that. Even with his lips puckered and sticking out slightly, even with his brows fashioned into a worried frown, his eyes telegraph exactly what he’s thinking about.

It crumbles your resolve, leaving you looking away first as you let out a sigh you hope comes across as frustration instead of weakness. You readjust your position squatting down next to him on the mat, trying to get a feel for the flexibility of his ankle before you start guiding him through putting some of his weight onto it as he straightens the other leg and lifts his hips off the mat before settling back down.

He’s quiet then, for much longer than you were used to, and you take the silence as an opportunity to work in peace as you rotate his foot again. When you look back up at him it has your heart beating a little faster than it should be. His teeth press lightly at his lower lip, his eyelids are only half open, and his brow quirks as if just your look had the same effect as having said something dirty.

“What is it now?”

You expect him to make some comment about your hands on his body, how they were lingering even now. He makes you wait for it though, tilting his head from one side to the other as he looks you up and down, smiling like he has a secret he’s debating keeping.

Another sigh falls from your lips, filled with actual frustration this time, and when he sits up it feels like he’s towering over you in a way you simply could not overcome, despite being able to easily stand and remove yourself from the pull of his gaze. The way he peers at you, even more intense than usual, has the back of your neck tingling and you’re forced to swallow hard even with the fear that something as simple as that would give you away.

His gaze softens, dipping back into something cooler, as if he’s backing away from an animal signalling that an approach would not be treated kindly. He takes a deep breath, and you don’t even notice you’re following suit until you both exhale at the same time.

It’s as if he’s settling whatever that moment was with just a look, deciding not to make the final jump to cross that imaginary line, and it puts you at ease enough that his words are like a punch to the gut.

“You’re pretending you don’t like it, but your neck is doing that thing.”

“What? What are you talking about?” You’re blowing it, far too defensive even though you truly aren’t actually sure what he means.

“Here.” He brings a hand to your neck, tracing a finger down the length of it, stopping just above your collarbones. “You always tense riiiiight there.”

He pulls his hand back, settling it on his thigh, and you let out the breath you’d been holding from the moment his hands were coming towards you. It makes you realise you’d been so focused on controlling everything you did or said that you’d been clenching yourself like a fist every time his words, or actions, left you melting inside. It also makes you realise that was the first time he’d put his hands on you in a way entirely unrelated to your work since he shook your hand the day you’d met.

You’re horrified at having been found out. You’re even more horrified as you realise you hadn’t really been hiding anything anyway. It’s left you with no clue how to respond, and you suddenly feel so aware of your every movement, unable to decipher how to behave when your little act had been so, so obvious to him from the start.

“Look, if you really want me to stop, I’ll st-“ he pauses, looking up as he thinks, scrunching his nose and tilting his head as if he’s weighing options. “Well, I’ll try to stop. I can’t make any promises…”

He’s pausing again, thinking again, looking you up and down as he licks his lips, before he crosses his legs, pulling his ankle out of your grasp and resting his elbows on his thighs as he leans forward. It forces you to react, as if on instinct, and lean back off of your feet to seat yourself with knees raised and acting as a final barrier between the two of you. He lets you keep that distance you’d gained, but brings a hand to hover over your knee so closely that you’re not sure if he’s touched you yet or if it’s just the heat radiating off of him setting your nerves on fire.

You can’t even bring your eyes away from his to check, and realise that you wouldn’t exactly want to move further away whether his touch was real or imagined. His gaze has you locked in place just as much as your own head as you find yourself thoroughly buried in your own pit of uncertainty as everything moves too fast for your mind to catch up.

“You don’t want me to stop though, do you sweetheart?”

His eyes, the heat of him, his low words digging through that pit in your stomach to reach for your core, it all has you feeling too lightheaded to be able to think at all. You can barely even feel yourself shaking your head, body much more honest than you had been willing to be all this time.

“Thought so.”

He leans in, brushing his nose back and forth against yours, smiling with the cute gesture, then that grin spreads wider as you tilt your head, your eyes fluttering closed as you wait for him to just kiss you. He doesn’t, waiting long enough that you’re forced to open your eyes and confront the sight of that hungry face yet again, and this time his gaze has you outright clenching.

“Big girls don’t get what they want by acting all shy, do they?”

It’s too much, you feel humiliated, you feel sick, you feel like you’ll pass out if he keeps working you up without even putting his hands on you properly.

“Kiss me. If you wanna.”

You don’t know who you are, needing to be told what to do like this. You question who you are again, as you follow orders in a way you never would have before you’d been called out like this and press your lips to his, letting out a breath that’s shaky enough to have you revealing just how desperate you were. When you start to wonder who you are for the third time, for kissing a client, at work no less, you drown out that thought by parting your lips against his.

He responds with softly parted lips of his own, wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you into him as he slots his mouth against yours. You wait for his tongue, flitting the tip of yours against his lower lip, and when it does not come you’re clinging to his shirt, bunching it at his shoulders. You’re forced to hold onto those broad shoulders properly when he lies back and his hands on your waist bring you with him to settle you on top of him - wordlessly reiterating that you would need to pull yourself together and set the pace here.

It’s your final push, as you straddle him with hands braced against his chest and slide your tongue into his mouth. Feeling the body you’d had your hands on far too many times, this time beneath you and with your ability to lie to yourself about the effect it has on you stripped away, has you salivating. You set all shame aside for this moment as you grind down against him, indulging in the feel of his stiffening cock beneath layers of thin fabric.

That tense feeling threatens to return, prickling at the back of your neck as he laughs into your mouth, sliding his tongue against yours and guiding your movements against him with strong hands on your hips. It’s gone again as he lifts his hips gently, using your weight against you as you only press harder onto him. You squeeze at his pecs, groaning into his mouth as you finally goad him into kissing you back with the same intensity you were now pouring into him, and it’s as delightfully invasive as you’d tried your hardest not to imagine it would be time and time again. It sends a tremble through your thighs, the wetness pooling in your panties all too obvious to you as all of your hidden desperation pulses through you straight from your pussy.

You forget yourself while kissing him like this, unaware of how long you’ve been on top of him, unaware of how you were moaning outright with just the friction between you, unaware of anything but feeling and tasting and touching as much of Toji as you could.

He’s aware though, aware of everything just as he always has been. How your thighs squeeze at his hips, the way your moans start sounding more like breathy little whines, how your tongue stops moving for seconds at a time against his. And it’s all he needs to keep this momentum going so quickly that everything but the two of you is an unintelligible blur.

“You gonna cum just like this?”

You don’t really want to answer it, and the look you give him as you try to keep him kissing you rather than talking has him chuckling, light and breathy against your skin.

“Sweetheart… if you’d just let me take you out from the beginning you wouldn’t be so pent up and begging for it…”

It takes more concentration than you have available to you right now to steady your voice. “I’m not begging.”

He takes in your face, biting at his lower lip as he slides two fingers into your mouth. He wiggles them around, sliding over your tongue, practically fucking your mouth with those thick fingers, knuckles catching at your tightened lips. “You aren’t…”

His fingers leave your mouth just as you were starting to actually enjoy the intrusion, and he slips his hands into your leggings, past your panties, stopping you from pressing down against his clothed cock like you had been as he circles your entrance slowly, “but she is.”

Then, his hand is gone, resecured on your hips, steadying your movements. “But you’re the boss here, not her. So if you don’t want it…”

“Come on, Toji.” You’re chastising him, even if you’re in no position to do so with your thighs tensing and your hips begging to keep moving against him.

He clicks his tongue against his teeth, “Like I said, you’re the boss. So I don’t move without orders.”

And he doesn’t. He doesn’t keep kissing you, even when you press your lips against his again, sighing out your frustration against his soft smile. He doesn’t release your hips to let you keep stoking your fire on his body. He doesn’t do anything but look up at you with a hungry glint in his eye, enjoying every moment it takes you to push your pride aside to ask him for exactly what you’ve wanted longer than you can admit to yourself.

“I want to cum.”

“Just you? Not a very good boss, huh…”

You groan, frustration with him reaching a fever pitch, “I want you to fuck me.”

He closes his eyes, smiling wide and letting your words wash over him. It’s music to his ears, and when he looks back up at you his pupils are blown and you know he’s done holding back. “All you had to do was ask, sweetheart.”

His arm is around your waist then, keeping you steady as rolls you over, settling himself between your thighs and you’re now looking up at him. You feel the tensing of his body, and come back to yourself enough to give him a concerned look.

He catches it, pressing a hand to your cheek and rubbing his thumb over your lips in an attempt to soothe those worries.

“Shh, don’t worry, I’ll be careful.” He shifts so he’s not putting weight onto his ankle, pulling at your shoes until they’re sliding off and hitting the ground. You lift your hips as you work your own leggings and underwear down, straightening your legs for him to remove them for you before he’s spreading you wide with hands on your inner thighs. He slides a hand towards your pussy, rubbing his thumb through your wetness and sucking air through his teeth at the way it slips around with ease.

“You really were gonna cum like that, weren’t you?”

You run your hands over your face, unwilling to endure any more teasing, “Just fuck me, Toji.”

He whistles, releasing your thighs and tugging the waistband of his shorts down just enough to release his cock, and you look up to his face, refusing to give him a reaction until he’s sliding inside you just as you’ve asked. He braces himself on one of his elbows, leaning over you and letting his cock hang heavily against your stomach. His hair tickles at your face as he kisses you again before requesting a final affirmation before following the orders you’d given.

“Want me to go slow?”

He really does wear your patience thin, enough that you answer without thinking, “No.”

“Okay…” he sounds doubtful, but continues on as he grips himself at the base and rubs the head of his cock through your wetness.

You squeeze at his sides, prompting him to look at you instead of at his own cock below. “Do not cum inside me.”

It’s stern enough to make Toji laugh, your voice sounding much more like your usual self for just a moment. “Don’t worry, I don’t want any more responsibilities.”

You don’t know if you trust Toji, but right now you don’t exactly trust yourself either. Especially not when having this man you’d spent ages closing yourself off to split you open on his cock in one merciless push has you wincing and taking it like it was exactly what you deserved for being so weak to him.

Toji pauses, balls deep, eyes clouded as he looks down at you. “I asked if you wanted me to go slow.”

It’s said with a hint of pity and a look that says ’you did this to yourself’, though he does stay still, kissing you again and removing your need to try and collect your thoughts enough to reassert that you knew your body, not him.

He doesn’t hold back for long though, and once you’re sighing into his mouth again, your tongue’s movements sloppy and unfocused, he starts moving his hips slowly. He starts with shallow thrusts, hips barely leaving yours. Then, as your body relaxes and your pussy accommodates him with a telltale squelch, he pulls out further, fucking you harder. Once your thighs are gripping at his hips he sits up, gathering more momentum in his thrusts at the slight change of angle.

He presses his hand to your abdomen, thumb making out a steady pace on your clit as his hips make angled thrusts that have his cock working at you with purpose. The moan it draws from you is punctuated with your eyes rolling, trying desperately to refocus on the face of the man above you. He bites at his lip, nodding and groaning at the feel of you tightening as he finds the movements that have your hands trying to grip at something below, but only meeting the dull squeak of your fingertips sliding against the mat. He leans back, reaching up to grab at the back of the collar of his shirt and tug it over his head, tossing it aside. He grasps both of your wrists firmly, pulling your hands up to rest against his stomach as he looks down at you with a challenge in his eyes.

“C’mon, touch me.” He smiles, wide and wicked, “Like you’ve always wanted to.”

You do just that, running your hands over his abs, grazing your thumb over his belly button, tracing your fingers along the prominent vein on his abdomen that leads down below to where the two of you are connected. Then, your hands travel back upwards, gripping at his pecs. His hand returns to press at you, thumb back to playing with your swollen clit, and having that touch back so suddenly has you squeezing Toji’s pecs hard, drawing a moan from him.

“There you go.” It adds even more enthusiasm to his thrusts, speed picking up as he leans over you, propping himself up on one hand as he digs deep to have you squeezing him again.

This time your touch is intentional as you squeeze at the flesh, a slight give present before you reach hardened muscle, and when you graze your nails over his nipples he’s shivering above you, bucking into you harder. The way he rubs at your clit is almost mechanical in its precise speed and pacing, a steady climb punctuated by those thrusts that stroke your insides in a way that makes your body tingle and your toes curl.

“That easy, huh?”

The audacity helps you lock eyes on him, if only for a moment, and while his smug smile builds a small fury at the back of your mind, your receive vindication in the flutter of his lashes and slight twitch of his upper lip as he tries to ignore the call of his tightening balls. It gives you what you need to dig deep, rocking your hips up into his thrusts, unearthing the orgasm just below the surface for the both of you.

You find yours first, putting your trust in Toji as you let go and bounce into him as it rips through you white hot and powerful enough to have you curling in on yourself, head buried against Toji’s chest and legs clamping him until his hips are pressed to yours. He pushes past even the strength of your legs and pulsing pussy, thrusting until you release him, lying back, and your head has barely hit the mat below before he’s pulling out.

“Fuck…” it’s hissed out as he sits up and jerks at his cock roughly, head falling back while his hips buck up and into his fist. His cum spatters down, first landing on your shirt until you tug it up, hopeless as the task was with your clothes already ruined, and take the rest of it onto your bare stomach.

He’s left panting, you’re left panting. He looks like he’s won at something, you feel like you’ve lost.

#reminder minors and ageless blogs get blocked #my writing #mma!au #mma!toji #mma fighter!toji #toji x reader #toji x y/n #toji x you #toji fushiguro x y/n #toji fushiguro x you #toji fushiguro x reader #x reader #self insert

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tai-janai · 2 months

Text

ok so apparently all the voices have a little ability ? of some sort that comes from different forms of trauma responses and the sake of safety so im going to list what i think they are. im open to discussion

tldr: they all are their own form of trauma response

with the obvious:

The Voice of the Paranoid with reign over the system. It goes with the fact that someone with anxiety has more stress responses than the average person, he knows how to keep the heart from exploding. His response is pretty clear, the nightmare is very clearly traumatizing. His focus works on survival from the inside.

The Voice of the Hunted has his animalistic instinct and heightened senses. I stand by the fact that he could hold his own better than any other voice in a battle to the death. Though he may not outsmart an enemy, his focus works to keep the system safe.

The Voice of the Hero is, in a way, inconsistent. I think his ability has to do with adaptability. I also have this minor headcanon that he isn't quite the same as the other voices, since he's always kind of there. He can reach the Quiet even when others cannot. His interactions with and reactions to the princess depend on the player more than any other thing. His focus is less of a Hero, and more of an ally.

The Voice of the Broken is fear in a way Paranoid is not. His fear makes him small, but more powerful. In the instance of "Fight or Flight," his response is "Fawn," as in he will use his power to give in to the fear. His will and fear are very powerful compared to the others, being able to control the Quiet's actions without much effort. In a way, his focus is making himself powerless.

The Voice of the Cold is pretty infamous for being as unfeeling as possible. I believe this is not just his little emo persona, I think his focus has shifted in a way that he has become unfeeling (usually as a result of turning off after being stuck in Nothing for "eternity"). His focus is a straightforward lack of empathy as a response to the trauma of nothingness and murder.

The Voice of the Opportunist is like the Hero with adaptability, but that is not his focus. He works with self-interest in mind. He is focused on self-improvement, with the self becoming the best and most powerful. When others backstab, and when you, yourself are a backstabber, it is often that one learns from this to get a vantage point. He is very clever to the best situation and outcome, not caring how he gets there. His focus is the self's best interest.

The Voice of the Stubborn is a very angry little guy. Fight or Flight, his choice is pretty obvious. In the route of the Adversary, of which he is the foil, his response is to become the enemy. He has to fight her, until it becomes a game where "nobody can get hurt." He, like Paranoid, can keep the body from stopping. Remind you of anyone named Frisk Undertale? His focus comes down to denial and determination. He won't let himself be the victim.

The Voice of the Skeptic is, of course, constantly questioning. Once bitten, twice shy, as we all know. The lies , this time from the Narrator, are definitely stress-inducing, and coming from someone that preaches trust, it is not so easy to replenish the guy's trust in anything. His views can venture beyond what is available; he is the first to think outside of the box. It comes down to the focus of self-preservation, the opposition to the Opportunist's focus of self-interest.

The Voice of the Contrarian is similar, but it can be argued that he isn't exactly a trauma response. He is just a reaction to the self. There is a disorder (i cant remember the name) where its just constant denial and contradiction, and that feels more like him than anything. But we all know Conty. It's very clear his focus is Brewing Chaos. His affect can literally alter reality as the reality is being perceived.

The Voice of the Smitten is ... a little bit sad. I'm sure we all know about stockholm syndrome, but in a lot of instances, Smitten will trauma bond with the princess. It's as if she can do no wrong, right? even when she kills you? Multiple times? And will again? ? ? The sheer denial and willingness to be hurt is, yes, another trauma response, wanting the person you love to be perfect, and hoping that they are. His focus is effort; trying his best to love and be loved. Often in vain. It is arguable that his affect effects reality more than any other Voice.

Last but not least, The Voice of the Cheated. Thought of as weak, but could have been more if he was "treated fairly." Anyone who feels as though they have been treated unfairly in the past knows the desire to have things be fair. In the route of the Razor, he also has an incredible resolve and determination. His stubbornness comes from a need to "settle the score." He can unify, and eventually "empty the cup," as in letting go of his vengeance. All of the voices do not bother him. If anything, he is glad that everyone can have their effect, and he hopes his efforts will be enough. His focus is equality, and unity.

#stp #slay the princess #character study #?????#thats a lot of words #pick your favorite #the voices #stp voices #the long quiet #i have a lot of feelings #traumatized birds #all of them but the contrarian #i think hes just a freak

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sweetmariihs2 · 7 months

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✨️My Undertale Headcanons✨️

When they came out of the underground, most/all of the characters live next to eachother like a neighborhood. Mettaton has a big mansion and it's a little far from the rest of them, but it's still close enough to be part of it. He helped to afford a new "Blook Acres" for his cousins, Dummy, Napstablook and Mad Mew Mew (Shyren and her sister live next to them). Sans and Papyrus made their home exactly how it was when they were in the underground. Toriel, Frisk, Asgore and Flowey's house are right next to theirs. Alphys and Undyne live together and it's right next to Sans and Papyrus' house. Muffet and the other spiders have a Bakery and Grillby has a bar/restaurant.

Some of the monsters stayed in the underground. It's very silent there now that almost everyone is gone, that's one of the reasons why some monsters stayed — because of the silence. It's a bit depressing sometimes thinking about how that place is now so empty when there were so much people and happiness everywhere. Now it's just the snow and empty houses in Snowdin, waterfalls and water drops in Waterfall, and the sound of lava and the core in Hotland. MTT's resort is also closed. Monster's history is still preserved there, so some humans go to the underground to learn about history.

Mettaton loves chick flicks and that's how his love for the humans started. He found some of them at the dump, they came from different decades and not all of his collection is about romance, he once found DVDs about talk shows and quiz shows, also black n white movies from the golden age of hollywood. He didn't know the name of most of the actors or where those movies came from, except that they came from the surface. He knew at that moment that he wanted to be like them. He also found some CD's and even not knowing them so well, he absolutely loves pop singers like Lady Gaga, Beyoncé. He just never had enough information to know about their other albums or their personal lives. That was too far from his reality. Now that all the monsters are outside, he really wants do befriend them and it's a big fan of Rupaul's Drag Race. He would love to be on that show. Mettaton now has a lot of human fans now too. He loves to post things on social media, having thousands of followers in each one of them. He also has two or more shows in a human TV channel, maybe even his own MTT channel.

Mad Mew Mew ABSOLUTELY LOVES Babymetal. The RAGE mixed to that japanese kind of cuteness. IT'S PERFECT!!! Her favorite song is Doki Doki Morning (She likes meowing during the "mew mew mew" part and when the metal finnaly strikes it's just RAGEEEEE but then the song is cute again and she's all "mew mew mew :33333"). She listens to Babymetal alongside Alphys and Frisk. Now she's an otaku too just because of Alphys. They are friends. Mew Mew still has a little crush on Undyne, but it's not like she wants to date her anymore.

Alphys dances to Babymetal alongside Frisk and Mew Mew. They live in good terms and Alphys let them have the doll because she's more happy with it than Alphys was for just having that doll. She has a little crush on Mad Mew Mew by the way, because it's a living version of her anime waifu. They became good friends and Alphys watched Mew Mew Kissy Cutie with her so that she could understand the lore, because of her Mad Mew Mew is now also otaku. Alphys loves Saylor Moon, Pretty Cure franchise, Candy Love and other kinds of anime. She likes to read yaoi and yuri sometimes.

Papyrus turned out to be a big fan of Iron Maiden. Sans sometimes listen to their songs with him and both skip the songs that talk more about violence because Papyrus don't like it much. What is funny to Sans is that Papyrus' timbre perfectly matches the musical notes of the band's vocalists (especially Bruce Dickinson, who, let's face it, is everyone's favorite) and because of this it is more comfortable and free for him to sing all the notes. His favorite song is CLEARLY Alexander The Great, for obvious reasons. Sans' and Papyrus' favorite album is Somewhere in Time. Sans relates a little to the lyrics of "Deja Vu", but Papyrus likes the band a lot more than him. Undyne likes Iron Maiden too and sometimes sings them on karaoke with Papyrus, both acting and making heroic poses while they sing. Flowey enjoys it too but his kind of metal is a little heavier.

So cute

Sans reminds me of Porco Rosso. It's not a headcanon I just wanted to tell you guys. Their personality is very similar and that's how I see Sans' character.

Sans likes to listen to Iron Maiden with Papyrus but also enjoy some calmer songs. I'm not sure who is his favorite artist, but I think that he would listen a little bit to Lana Del Rey. Especially her latest albums. He really likes the instrumental ending in "If You Lie Down With Me". He knows that some people consider her too "girly" for him to listen, but he really doesn't mind, it's good music after all. He likes calm songs with good instrumental and good lyrics.

Flowey starts living with the other monsters too, like in the "flower pot au". Most of his 'friends' know that he's prince Asriel, but he asked them to call him Flowey, even Toriel and Asgore. When worried, sad or having a deep conversation, sometimes Toriel or Asgore call him "Asriel", mostly Toriel. This makes him very emotional. He's also learning how to develop emotions again and it's being hard. Flowey discovered that listening to metal can calm his nerves, letting it all out. It's very funny to watch a little flower headbanging to a death metal song. He also enjoys singing guttural and he feels better after doing it so. It's like he can express his angry side without harming anyone in the process (Frisk is teaching him how to do it).

Asgore and Toriel are getting well together. They are becoming friends again, even flirting sometimes. Both of them talked about how they felt after those events in the underground and explained their point of view, finally ending that stupid distance. Asgore feels guilty for what he did, and Toriel understands that he had to do it because he thought it was the only option. They've been recovering from the greif of their children and everything seems to be better now. Being eachother's bestfriend again really helps a lot dealing with the guilt. They understand that they had to go and it wasn't their fault.

Frisk is a big AURORA fan due to her pacifist songs. They feel like her songs give them the energy to keep being a good person, caring for other people and helping the world. Papyrus enjoys some of her songs too because Frisk explained to him what the lyrics meant. Frisk tells Flowey that "Churchyard" makes them think of him (he understands why but gets grumpy because of it)(and it also makes them think of Sans, but they never told him because these are memories from other save). Some of their favorite songs are Animal, A Different Kind Of Human, Apple Tree, All Is Soft Inside, Soft Universe, It Happened Quiet. Toriel pretends that doesn't relate to the lyrics of Midas Touch to avoid explanation (she heard Frisk listening to it one time and paid attention to the lyrics, so that's how that happened).

Asgore and Toriel enjoy some calmer songs too. Sans is one of Toriel's best friends, and one day he came to their house and Toriel asked him to put any song he likes. He choosed "Let The Light In", which is another one from Lana that he listens to, and that's how Toriel started listening to her too. Again, only her latest albums (they feel that her older albums are too sad). Because of them Asgore also started to listen to her songs. They like to make "tea parties" for their friends while Toriel brings her butterscotch pie and Asgore makes the tea, hearing those songs playing in the background. It brings such a cozy feeling.

And then the karaoke moment starts and Papyrus and Undyne are screaming on the microphone. Mettaton likes to sing too (sometimes with Shyren), Napstablook controls the audio. Asgore tries, but he knows he's not the best at singing. Mad Mew Mew wants to sing Babymetal, Alphys really wants to sing with her but she's too embarassed to do it so Undyne helps sometimes and encourages her. Frisk dances with them because they're not really into singing. Sans is too lazy to sing and he says that he's not the best at it.

I wanna add more headcanons to this list. Gonna keep updating when thinking about new ones!

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