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lilac-5ky · 9 months

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Sex with a Ghost (TojixFem!Reader)

Chapter 2: Evening Newscast

Chapter 1 | Story Masterlist | Masterlist | Requests | AO3

A/N: Took ages to write, but it's here!

Tags: MDNI, Student!Reader, Ghost!Toji, Age Gap(reader 18/Toji early 30s), Oral sex (m.receiving), Manipulation, Loss of Virginity, Corruption Kink, Praise, Degradation, Spanking, Pet Names (princess, baby, does whore count?), Cowgirl, Toji being more of a mean dom this time around, this fic has so much filth idk if I'm leaving anything out.

Word Count: 6.8k of almost pure smut.

The first time your cursed technique manifested was at the tender age of eight, when your paternal grandmother passed away. It happened so unexpectedly fast that the thought didn’t settle until you saw her body being transferred in a bamboo box to the cremation chamber, the last bits of her scattering far into the Pacific Ocean on another impromptu family excursion to Hokkaido.

You remembered your brother, four, at the time, asking your detached father where granny went, his mind too juvenile to process or comprehend the concept of death, and your father’s stern reply as the sand comfortably sank below your feet: “To a better place.”

Back then, you didn’t challenge the existence of such a place. All you wanted to know was its location, because if somewhere better than where you lived existed, who wouldn’t choose to go there instead?

The answer itself came exactly 49 days after her passing, on a night when a crack in your hard exterior let the tears gush out like an endless torrent of sorrow, plangent cries spilling into the shabby teddy bear you claimed you had outgrown. Life seems so ridiculously easy when you are eight, that you keep trying to outrun it without accounting for the inescapable boss at the end of the game until it’s too late to go back to your previous save.

At least that’s what happens in your brother’s video games. You were no nerd.

Although, what you indeed were was a deeply hurt child who begged to apologize for errors not quite crucial, such as that one time you refused to give your grandma a kiss or last Christmas when you called her boring straight to her face. And her eyes—her beautiful violet eyes that you didn’t get to inherit looked back at you with adoration you didn’t deserve—adoration that haunted you even in your childhood bedroom’s windowless confinement.

Adoring, bright, and lively. More lively than they’d been during the entire final year of her life. Attached to the wrinkly apparition with the paper-thinned skin and the rosy nightgown—the very same nightgown the neighbors had found her in, ambient white noise at the end of her tightly gripped remote control—as it escaped from the bubbles of your eyelids and materialized next to your bedpost.

Her smile was gentle, and her scent was the same comforting mix of spring lilacs and freshly baked cookies. And if the notion of her turning into a ghost to haunt you for whatever sins you didn’t repent wasn’t debunked by those exclusive-to-the-living luxuries, finding solace in her snug embrace settled it.

You asked her, back then, where it was that the dead went. And she answered, No further than where the foam washes the shore.

It wasn’t until you were fourteen of age that the same topic was brought up in a most unexpected way; the boy with the unruly white hair and the grin that never ceased to beam brightly as the sun on his lips telling you there was nowhere for the dead to go.

He didn’t try to sugarcoat it with the likes of “they’re always in our hearts” or use a metaphor as complex as the one your grandma did. Instead, he spoke of curses and sorcerers—of an invisible line of energy that flowed in your body and the powerful techniques it fueled.

He explained the differences between ghosts and shikigami, the first of which appeared unregulated on their own, and the second of which depended on the raw energy input of your technique. He offered you a spot at an institution meant to curb your curiosity and further your potential, but more than that, he convinced you you were special.

Perhaps the reason why you despised Gojo Satoru with every fiber of your being and the reason why, after that fateful encounter, you kept running to him for answers were one and the same. Because you were a fool big enough to trust him.

And old habits are notoriously hard to kill.

“If it isn’t my favorite student!” Gojo exclaimed as he spotted you marching across the acres of pine trees, your steps slowing down once you noticed a child in his presence.

The kid seemed no older than ten years old, with tousled black spikes prodding out of every node on his head. An unamused look pooled in his emerald eyes, draining them into a pair of perfect slits as he slid behind Gojo’s back, discreetly meddling with the environment of trees and pebbles until he was completely out of sight.

“Meg—” The continuation of his name faded into a threadbare sigh, frayed from usage. You wondered what they were to each other.

“Rushing into puberty, I see,” Gojo mumbled, his attention eventually shifting to you. An icky smile spread to his lips, curling and curving with each word that followed. “How may I help?”

You arched a brow, your arms defiantly closing over your chest. “What makes you think I’m here to ask for help?”

Your mind was still on that boy, searching for an inkling of his presence, partly because you didn’t want others listening in and partly because you hoped your presence hadn’t intimidated him into running away. Although, being in Gojo’s company, you doubted anything could scare the poor thing out of his wits.

Snapping you out of your thoughts, “You have the kinda face that says ‘Help me, sensei. You’re my only hope!’ all over it.”

The motion of his fingers clasping around each other in a praying motion irked you more than his outdated reference and the high-pitched impression of your voice combined. He noticed that, similarly to how he’d also noticed the purple trace peaking from your uniform’s collar the moment you set foot on campus, but he didn’t comment on either. Instead, he leaned against the tree closest to him, his stance mirroring yours.

“So how did it go with Mr. Zen’in?”

A broken transmission of sinful moans intercepted your senses on demand, with the chilling sensation of a stranger’s tongue entrapped between your legs feeling a bit more tangible than just another fever dream—his taste too heady and vivid to dismiss as mere imagination.

“Fine,” you lied.

“Fine?” he repeated.

“Fine,” you insisted.

“Just fine?” he pressed.

“Just fine,” you confirmed, inevitably hissing at him.

Was it too late to ask for a change of mentor?

“So, who’s the kid?” You pointed away from the topic in the direction the kid had run off to. Smart boy.

“That’d be Megumi,” Gojo said. “He’ll be joining us in a few years.”

“Is he…?”

He nodded, confirming the first of your suspicions. Come to think of it, he—Megumi—looked awfully similar to the few Zen’ins you had the displeasure of meeting and, oddly, most similar to your one pleasurable acquaintance. They had the same eyes. Same stubborn scowl, too.

“He’ll soon be one of the leading forces in the Jujutsu world,” Gojo continued. Not under your guidance, he won’t. “Why not stay around till then? Watch your kouhai-to-be thrive?”

“The role of an upperclassman doesn’t suit me. Besides, I can’t wait until I’m out of this place.”

The blindfold he donned concealed about half of his reaction, though his frown revealed plenty. You found it hard to believe that parting with one of his biggest haters filled him with such profound sorrow, but then again, Gojo Satoru was a species of his own. In any case, you preferred his amiable look to this—whatever that was—and changed the subject yet again, paving the path toward the answers you truly sought.

“You wouldn’t happen to know if any Zen’ins kicked the bucket recently?” Your eyes scanned both heaven and earth nervously. “Any Zen’ins with a scar on the lower part of their face, let’s say?” You let linger.

“…Why are you asking?” A hint of suggestion grazed his question, his eyes surely glinting with mischief.

You stumbled over your own words, struggling to come up with an answer that didn’t involve sharing the finer details of the unnamed man’s biceps snaring around your body while his tongue ran laps around your pussy, drooling over you as if you were a chew toy.

No, you’d much rather Gojo found out that for a brief regrettable moment when you were fifteen, you may or may not have crushed on him rather than allow him a glimpse into your blossoming sex life.

And so, brute force was all that was left.

You padded toward him and shaped a rough circle with your index and thumb, the former losing momentum the closer you got to flicking his covered forehead.

“How many times are you gonna try that?” A shit-eating grin betrayed his amusement. “You know it won’t land.”

“I don’t want to make it land,” you retorted. “I just want you to feel my hostility.”

“I feel it plenty just by looking at you,” Gojo chuckled, repelling you without lifting a single finger.

Your frustration boiled into a low grunt as you slapped the air between you, mumbling incoherent slurs with your back eventually turning on him. This was pointless. You were better off asking Miss Ieri or that new Nanami guy; they’d be more helpful than this piece of—

“Zen’in Toji.”

As if the name wasn’t enough to make you freeze in your tracks, the hand that fiddled with your shirt’s collar had your feet rooting into the soil.

Maybe if you stayed still enough, you could eventually turn into a tree.

You braced yourself for the earful of the century and glanced over your shoulder, expecting the first round of reprimands to be fired any minute now, but nothing came out of his mouth. At least now, while your eyes scanned his bared pearly whites for hints of gunpowder.

“I know you won’t listen to your favorite teacher, but” How many times do I need to tell you that you aren’t? “don’t go around summoning dangerous men.

“Please.”

You returned home to four sets of untouched slippers and a sticky note hanging from the fridge, your mother’s handwriting informing you the three of them, squirt included, had gone off camping in Okinawa and wouldn’t be back till Monday.

Oh, and that they’d left some more of that lasagna in the fridge in case you felt hungry—a single portion to last you the three days of their absence. Even a pet would be pushed to starvation with that little food, and as expected, there was no pizza money in the key bowl by the counter either.

Great!

Leaving tomorrow’s worries to tomorrow you, you slumped down on the couch with the cold tupperware in hand. You flipped through the channels and settled for the evening newscast. Arsonists, murderers, and tax evaders—one more despicable than the other—yet you felt inclined to smile. If it weren’t for their generous contribution to society, half of the news staff—including both the anchorwoman and her fancy Dior suit—would end up on the street.

Perhaps that was the punchline. The same society that condemned dangerous men needed them to do dangerous things so a minority could be paid for pointing out their errors. Similarly, the value of Jujutsu sorcerers was dependent on horrible things happening, and in a curse-free society, even someone like Gojo would be useless.

You wondered if Toji had ever made it to the headlines or if, like you, he was merely an observer of the world’s fatalities. You knew he lied. He was neither the Ten Shadows user nor did he die over a hundred years ago, and as wretched as Gojo was, he didn’t dub people dangerous for no reason. Come to think of it, you’d never heard of him using that term before. He was too conceited for that.

Then there was Toji’s reaction when you mentioned your teacher, both instances pointing in the same direction; they knew each other. Well enough for each to be a controversial topic to the other, and poorly enough to guarantee no warm sentiments remained.

Judging from Toji’s outfit and Gojo’s current age, Toji’s time of death was estimated sometime during the previous decade—and that was about all the information you had on him. A dangerous impostor from the Zen’in clan with a knack for sweet-talking his way into your panties.

And maybe that should have deterred you from bringing out the crystal sphere, but it didn’t. You were most curious about the man’s identity, and as exalted as Gojo was, he didn’t have a pussy of his own. He didn’t know of the gates Toji opened for you with his tongue, and certainly wouldn’t understand if you tried to explain. You were putting both your career as a sorcerer and your relationship with him in line for dick.

You placed the ball on the coffee table and recited the incantation, revving up the sphere with cursed energy until the familiar silhouette of tight black and loose white appeared between the couch and the screen, looking as brilliant and pissed as ever. So very pissed that you could sense the fury in his eyes while staring at his feet, nearly wishing you’d listened to Gojo.

“Hey, Toj—”

“Some nerve you have.” The man’s gruff voice denied your squeaky calling of his name. “Did ya good and then ya threw me out—really?”

“I can explain—”

“Explain?” Toji laughed, and it felt like nails on a chalkboard. “Explain what, hm? You think I’m your personal fucktoy? That I’ve got nothin’ better to do than get this pussy off?”

“No, I—”

“Nah, you listen, kid.” He spoke the word with utter ridicule. “Been in this shit world longer than ya and got your type down pat. All prim and proper with your little Bambi eyes and pouty lips; all ‘yes, sir’ and ‘no sir’ until you get what you want, then off to the next available dick you go—ain’t that right?”

It’s not.

You stuck your bottom lip out in complaint, your forehead begging to unite with your knees as you coiled into yourself, sinking deeper into the cushions, and Toji—he wouldn’t let you catch a break, wandering around the shrinking space while he spat his accusations, his stride eventually bringing him to stand in front of you, a proper executioner with a sharpened cleaver aimed at your neck.

“Thought I asked ya a question, didn’t I?”

You nodded where he could only see your shoulders move, lacking the strength to lift the weight of his contemptuous glare. You heard him sigh and witnessed him crouching, his fists caging you between the couch and his bulging arms—his warm breath inching closer, an indisputable evidence of life.

“Don’t let it go to that pretty little head of yours, but—” His forefinger tapped against your skull, the rasp of his voice mellowing into velvet. “I’m dead without you. Can’t even jerk it to my special girl from the other side.”

You finally peered at him, plump lips parting in awe at how easily he’d switched his approach. A man who’d stop at nothing to get inside your panties—who was willing to adopt a more amiable persona if that meant fooling you. The kind of man who believed ends justified means and was shameless about it, not caring whether his veneer crinkled around the edges or his wolfish smile reeked of deceit.

A dangerous man; sounds about right.

You planted your feet back on the floor and drew out your pout. People use each other all the time. “You really think I’m special?”

His brows knitted at the sudden change in your disposition, a curious smirk stretching his scar as he cupped your cheek. “Wouldn’t be ‘ere if it weren’t for you, sweetheart.”

A person’s worth is defined by their usage. “Am I special even though I’m always left behind? Even if I have no cursed technique to fight with—even when I’ll never be as valuable as Gojo Satoru?”

A fat drop of water gathered in your eye, picked up by Toji’s thumb before it had the chance to escalate into a downpour. So let me be useful to you.

“Gojo Satoru was born with every blessing in the world. Strip those off, and he ain’t no more than a privileged nobody, while you,” he stroked the apple of your cheek tenderly, the green in his eyes faltering behind soft-worn eyelids, “you worked hard to get where you are, didn’t ya?”

Let me be special.

You nuzzled his palm, a feeble nod to his query. You had tried so hard to keep up, and yet you felt you had no rightful claim to your efforts. When your classmates put a bit more soul into it, they advanced. When you busted your gut waving swords and three-part staffs around—even during lunch breaks—you simply retained. You were a weak sorcerer, but even this stage of weakness had taken your all.

“Not as if anyone gives a shit.” Toji dropped his hand to your shoulder, his intentions no good as he rubbed his way to your chest. “Gojo or Zen’in—they are both shit names.” His fingers worked on unbuttoning your uniform’s sleeveless top, discomfort contorting his expression while he fumbled with the golden buttons.

“Lemme fill you in on a little something. A name means nothing without strength, but strength means nothing without a name. The Jujutsu world won’t respect ya unless you possess both, and the world ain’t gonna thank ya for your service either way.”

“Then why did you say I was special?”

He smiled at your question, and for a second, you eluded yourself into thinking it was genuine. “Because you’re special to me.”

Your shirt came off, and his voice was silenced as he dipped forward, the tip of his tongue finding your mouth before his lips. You blinked slowly, while he pulled your breasts outside their confinement, your bra’s underwire poking at your ribs. He smiled again before he dragged his lips across your neck and collarbones, renewing each and every one of the marks he’d planted on your body the previous night, and with his doing that, your guilt was too renewed.

Your memory trailed back to Gojo and how he’d helped cover them up—the final please of his fueling you with so much anger that overpowered any pleasure Toji offered. He had no right to act like a guardian when it was because of him that you’d lost all respect for yourself. You once thought you were special because he told you so. You were brought into this world because of him, and like a flower that was plucked out and placed in a pot of different soil, you were doomed to wither.

It was all his fault—a series of wrongs that Toji’s touch meant to right.

The television droned on about stock rates behind Toji’s broad shoulders, his mouth skipping to your nipples. His tongue lapped at what his teeth bit, suckling hard on them as if they were the sweetest lollipops. He was much rougher than he was the first time, not caring that your whines were almost of pain rather than bliss.

You brought a hand down his choppy hair, and he glanced up, jade eyes boring into yours while his mouth parted to reveal his tongue swirling around your nipple.

“You don’t have to try with me.” Toji mumbled, his warm lips spreading pretty lies from one stiffened peak to the other. “No need to pretend a damn thing when your tits are so perfect.” He spoke with absolute certainty—a mere fact his teeth attested to, sharp canines bruising your plushy skin while the grip around his hair turned into a hesitant yank.

His large palm—bearing the scars and tribulations of his old life—clamped around your breast, squeezing it closer to the other until his face was buried in the middle, lulled-out tongue licking up a strip.

“Can squeeze such a nice little hole out of ‘em. Have my cum runnin all the way down ‘ere,” he paused short of your navel, his lips parting from your tummy with a gentle kiss. “Or be sloppy and—heh—spray it all over. ‘s all up to you, baby.”

If there was a time for you to say you had no preference because you couldn’t weigh either choice, that would’ve been it. But doing so meant calling out your bluff, and you didn’t want his praises to stop. You wanted them to keep coming and for him to keep showering you with his affection until you believed them to be true.

Toji got back on his feet, your eyes leveling with the prominent bulge in his pants, and you got an idea. Notably, not the brightest idea in the book, but one that easily roused his interest as your hands reached out to his hips, fiddling with the loose ends of his belt. You had never seen a dick up close, but you were about to have one in your mouth. You were going to prove you were worthy of his attention.

Your eyes shone brightly as you gave his clothed length a bold stroke. “I wanna see it.”

His head cocked to the side while he considered your request, holding off his reply until you were tugging at his belt. “What happened to your precious school project, hm? Don’t care if ya fail anymore?”

“I wanna try it,” you insisted.

He fought back a smirk from rising to his lips, wetting his slanted scar instead. “After what you did, you think I should let ya have my cock? You think you deserve it?”

You nodded, pathetically rubbing your cheek against his crotch with your mouth popping wide open and your flattened tongue tracing the hard outline from the base to where his pants grew baggier. You heard him kiss his teeth, a low chuckle escaping him. “You’re a real nasty brat, aren’t ya? You’d do anything to be my whore?”

Holding onto his hips, you followed the same route and gazed up at him. “I want more than that.”

“Oh?” Toji chuckled again, utterly amused by your conviction.

“I want to please you.” You ran both hands up and down his sculpted thighs. “I want to do well for you; I—” you trailed off, shameless in your admission. “I don’t want to give up.”

“That right?” A thin eyebrow questioned. “You wanna be my good girl?” The term aroused you more than it should’ve, with fire pooling low in your abdomen as greed. More. Give me more. “Then better give it your best.”

He stood proudly as you managed to undo his belt and pull down his pants along with his underwear, expectant of your reaction. Your first impression was about as good as your last. It was big—words you didn’t refrain from expressing with a soft gasp rounding your lips.

Granted, you had no means of comparison, yet you doubted he was by any means average. Long, girthy, and veiny, with a slight curve to it that didn’t make things any better for the knot in your throat.

“Scared already?” Toji asked in a mocking tone. “Don’t tell me you were all talk.”

Your hands moved shakily as you measured his length with your fists, mildly wondering how you could possibly fit him in your mouth when your fingers barely connected around the thick base of his shaft. Too big, you mused.

You started pumping him at a languid pace, gaining confidence the more you acquainted yourself with the feeling of having something warm and heavy pulsate in your grip. You weren’t sure how much pressure to apply or at what speed you ought to stroke, yet judging from the way his abs clenched under his compression shirt, you were getting the hang of it—that was until he shook your hands off and took over.

“Let’s put that little mouth to good use, mm?”

Toji tapped his cock head against your lips, prompting you to open wide for him. You did as you were told, welcoming the swollen mushroomy tip into the warm cavern of your mouth, a salty tang immediately flooding your taste buds. He tasted unlike anything you’d had before. Intense, but not quite overbearing.

“C’mon, princess. Relax your jaw a bit—know you can.” Toji slowly prodded his cock further in, his next instruction being to hollow your cheeks once you’d taken about half of him inside.

You swore you couldn’t fit in the rest; it was impossible. You thought your throat had capped, yet as he swayed his hips back and forth, you felt him gradually slide in deeper, filling every gap possible to the point where your tongue was lodged between your teeth and the thick underside of his cock.

Your vision of Toji grew misty, the profanities that evaded him urging you to follow his lead into bobbing your head at the pace he showed you. Nice and slow. Up and down. Atta girl. So good that his fingers gathered on your scalp to form a makeshift ponytail he kept as leverage. So good that he didn’t hesitate to call you a good girl—his good girl—over and over again, continuously praising every aspect of your body.

Especially your mouth.

“Such a good little mouth,” said Toji, his voice lax even as he fisted your hair into moving faster. “Temptin’ me to fuck it like I wanna fuck that sloppy pussy.”

You were pretty sure your gag reflex had lost its function all the while Toji stuffed his cock down your throat, the air in your lungs filtered by the few unruly dark hairs that led to the happy trail of his stomach.

You had to remind yourself to breathe through your nose, as you slid a flat palm inside his shirt, feeling out the steeled abs that shamed each and every sorcerer you happened to know. Basic workout routines were part of your training, but his body was in a different league.

Plain immaculate.

He caught onto what you were trying to do and lifted his shirt for you, his sneer shattered by the delicate vibrations of your throat on his cock until he, too, was inclined to moan, flinging his head back.

“You’ll make me lose my fucking mind, little girl.” Toji panted, struggling to keep his eyes open.

You hummed happily while your palms splayed further up his body, feeling him throb against your tongue. His breathing began to stutter and he went back to thrusting in your mouth, pressure building in the back of your throat as you choked on his fat cock head, tears openly streaming from your blown out eyes.

“Gonna teach ya to be the best, angel.” Toji grunted, your slobbering sounds complementing the natural gruffness of his voice. “You’ll—fuck, you’ll be the best for me, right, baby? Lemme make a—hah—mess out of all your holes, hm?”

Your nod barely registered over the raspy moan Toji let out when he emptied his load down your throat, ropes of sticky cum stringing your jaw together with his cock as he pulled out. You almost fell off the couch and onto his thigh, the limitations of your body finally catching up to you.

Sucking dick ought to be recognized as an Olympic sport, because this was harder than every unorthodox exercise Gojo put you through combined. Muscles you didn’t know existed felt sore, your slack jaw convincing you it’d never close again, until Toji shoved his thumb between your lips and you willingly cleaned up the last bits of cum.

Maybe this was your true calling. Maybe sucking dick was all you were good at.

The man drew back his finger and plopped down on the couch beside you, manspreading a seat on his lap—one he offered to you with a pat of his hand. He misinterpreted your stalling and asked if you were scared of “Mommy and Daddy” walking in on their daughter bouncing on his dick. That was about the last thing on your mind. What bothered you was the fact that he was still hard as a rock and the possibility of your pussy being split in half before your lie was even exposed.

“Aren’t you supposed to—you know—wait, before…?”

Toji followed your glance low over his body. “Ah, this?” he grinned confidently. Perhaps he’d been asked about it before; you wouldn’t know.

Unashamed, he gave his cock a number of long strokes, his thumb swiping over the slit. It looked far more proportional in his hand than it did in yours. “Ever heard of heavenly restriction?”

The trade-off on a person’s cursed energy in exchange for various limitations or improvements on their body. You’d read that passage in one of the books Gojo offloaded on your back the second you enrolled in Jujutsu Tech. It was one of the many questions you carried to this day, with him brushing it off as an insignificant detail.

“That ass-hat really doesn’t teach ya shit.” Toji rolled his eyes, and you couldn’t agree more. “Don’t mull it over. Just means my body comes with certain features. Extra stamina, bonus strength, and speed.” He smirked. “I could fuck ya all the way to the next week.”

A visible gulp parted from your throat, somehow believing the absurdity of his statement. You wondered what the actual trade-off was. Using his abilities only to fuck around just didn’t seem right. That itself birthed more questions, such as what did he do for a living or how did he do with exorcising curses—was that Megumi kid his?

Toji tapped again on his lap, and that was your last chance to catch the train. You’d come too far to chicken out.

You climbed onto his thighs, your hands grabbing the backrest and your knees planted on both sides of his. He gave a tiny smile before letting his hands roam behind your back, his palms spreading your legs apart. You were still in your skirt and tights. If you were to do this, he’d have to remove both—

A faint gasp escaped your lips as he thumbed a hole between your thighs and drew it out across your ass. You glanced over your shoulder to where your skirt was hiked over your hips; his palms the ones to dress your cheeks instead. He kneaded them roughly, play dough for his fingers, as he forced your entire body to roll against the stiff cock that lay between his stomach and your mound, marveling at the surprised whine his slapping them coaxed.

“Wear tights again, and they won’t be the only ones to rip.”

“These were new!” You protested. “So were the panties from yesterday…”

Your complaints were hushed with two fingers shoved between your nether lips, thighs clenching as he teasingly drove them in and out of your slick. “Leaking this much just from sucking my dick?” He asked once you’d gone back to facing him, following his hand to where it lathered up his cock with your wetness.

“You like being told you’re special; I’ll make ya feel really special.” He forced your hips to grind against him, his cock cupping your entire pussy. “Don’t really let others do that or—ya know.” He shrugged. “But you’re an exception. I need you to fuck yourself dumb on my cock. Think you can do that?”

He didn’t give you enough time to consider alternatives as his mouth crashed on yours, stealing the oxygen along with the sense from your brain with just his tongue. Every filthy kiss he delivered made your heart pound harder in your chest, and when you tried to so much as raise an objection, he kissed you again, whispering sweetly against your lips about how he felt your cunt drool all over him and how if you behaved, he’d eat you out later. In fact, he promised that he would.

You can do this—more than can, you will do this.

Wrapping a small hand around his shaft, you directed the tip toward your tight entrance—perhaps the last time you described it as such—and gently pushed it in. Even when you were drenched, fitting more than the head was a challenge—something he defied the next minute when he clasped your wrists behind your back and held your hip in place for him to thrust up.

A shrill scream bounced across the room’s four walls before it could be swallowed by Toji, his lips seeking to distract you from the pain. He wasn’t more than halfway in, yet the sting was so unbearable that your eyes remained squinting well after he’d kissed the tears off your cheeks.

“Aw, princess lied about being a virgin?” He cooed with fake sympathy, glancing at the ring of faded red that’d formed around his cock, trickling down his balls with the rest of your juices. Damn it!

His comment irked you enough to talk back to him. “And you’ve been so full of shit, yet you don’t see me making it into a big deal, Toji.”

The expressions on his face flickered faster than the channels on your television did—surprise in the way his green eyes widened; annoyance in how his nose scrunched up; and whatever sinister emotion his lopsided smile represented.

“You kept quiet so I’d fuck you?” Toji questioned, and coming from his lips, it sounded so humiliating that you wanted to run away.

You didn’t know what you were thinking. Perhaps that was the issue—you weren’t thinking at all, or else you’d broken the link and gone bawling under the covers of your bed. You felt so shameful rocking your hips forward, while he didn’t feel any shame slapping your ass again, knowing the sound would be louder than the one before.

“T-Toji!” You shrieked, involuntarily sinking lower over his cock.

“Let’s keep score, shall we?” He sneered, the recoil from your ass being spanked sending you to drop against his chest.

He’d let go of your hands; his attention exclusively turned to painting your walls white and your cheeks red as he picked up a mean pace, pounding you from below. You always thought sex would feel good, yet the pleasure he offered was heavily doused in pain, and you didn’t know what to feel anymore. You knew you preferred the softness of his tongue, yet your sobs begged to differ, shifting to full-scale moans you could no longer contain.

“Actin’ all prude when you’re nothing but a hungry cockslut—that’s one strike.” Toji landed another hefty thwack, not minding that it caused your fingernails to dig sharply into his chest.

“Leaving me to hang just because daddy came home—that’s another.” You bit into his shoulder when his balls joined in the action, slamming hard against your butt.

“Being that other brat’s fucking student,” he raised his hand without fulfilling the threat, instead opting to straighten you over his dick.

You were heaving for air, carrying an ugly wince from all the tension he’d subjected you to. His eyes momentarily softened, and he sighed to himself, removing the sticky-with-spit strands of hair from your mouth and then bringing both palms to caress the outlines of your curves.

“Guess that ain’t your fault.” Toji whispered.

You wouldn’t be receiving any apologies from him. That much he made obvious, but when his thumb found your clit and began circling around the little bundle of nerves, you could tell that was his own wretched way of making amends.

“No matter what you try, you’re never gonna reach that asshole.” His thrusting had come to a standstill while he zeroed in on your eyes. “You’re so pathetically weak that you’ll always be looked down on by others.” Your tears almost resumed, and you almost attempted a punch to his face when he scooped up your face in his fingers. “But ya shouldn’t take shit from any damn sorcerer—ya hear me?”

It scared you how he knew exactly what to say to bend you to his will, using even sincerity against you. He was a bastard—no better than Gojo was—and you hated that such a guy was taking your virginity in the same way you hated yourself for leaning down to kiss him, suddenly feeling so incredible that you matched the luscious rocking of his hips with sways of your own.

“Wasn’t lying when I said you’d make the best fuck,” Toji smiled and just like that, you forgave everything.

Your hands met behind his neck while his one arm snared around your waist, the fingers of the other rubbing your clit even after you whined for him to stop.

“Too much?” He’d slyly picked up a faster pace, fucking up into you until your walls rapidly tightened around him like a vice he defied, the tip of his cock coming dangerously close to kissing your cervix with every thrust. “C’mon, ya know my name now. Be a good girl and moan f’me.”

“‘s too good, T-Toji—ah!” Your cries of his name turned incoherent over the spasms of your pussy, as he ripped a shuttering orgasm from your body, much stronger and more violent than anything you’d ever experienced.

“Fucking shit, baby.” Toji grunted, nearly losing his composure as he frantically shoved your hips together, pounding you as if he wanted to break you in half.

Your eyes were crossed, your forehead drooped against his shoulder where you could only answer him with broken ah-ah-ah’s and long-drawn yes’ in a never-ending high, uncertain whether the aftershocks were a result of your first climax or quakes of their own.

“Gonna fill that tight pussy right up.” He slapped your ass, and you whimpered, soaking up pleasure from the pain like a sponge.

Everything he gave was yours to take, and while you’d previously taken offense at his words, it was exactly what you wanted—for him to be your personal fucktoy and you his. School didn’t matter. Grades didn’t matter. Gojo—he didn’t matter at all.

“Gonna pump ya full ‘f my cum and send ya to that shithead.” His veiny cock started to twitch, his breath uneven and his hips gaining momentum over the last few thrusts that drove him over the edge. “My cute little cumslut; signed, sealed, delivered. All ya hafta do is just fucking—uh, take it, Y/N.”

Your name spilled from his mouth in abundance, as generously as his warm cum spilled into your pussy, the creamy mix of your fluids streaming from the point where your bodies connected down to the turquoise couch covers. He came buckets, and you unwittingly milked every last drop, your walls fluttering around him right until he pulled out.

“Not bad.” He patted down your back.

Enough willpower returned for you to sit up on his lap, your knees jiggling like two big lumps of jelly. Walking would result in dropping, yet when he hoisted you in his arms and shoved you to the next pillow, you realized a fate worse than death by falling existed: the combination of coarse fabric and a sore ass.

You discreetly flipped on your stomach, pretending to check out Toji as he tied his pants in place and paraded straight to the fridge. He scratched the back of his head and looked around the drawers, coming to the same conclusion you did about an hour ago. He mumbled something under his breath and returned with two beer cans from your father’s stash.

You thanked him as if he were the owner of the house and you his guest, when in reality, you didn’t even like beer. He didn’t seem to like it either, judging from the way he cringed at the first sip. He dropped the can on the table and picked up your leftovers instead, content with munching on your half-finished lasagna while he zapped through the channels for something more entertaining than the weather forecast.

The awkwardness of having sex for the first time started to creep up on you. Was this what people normally did? Acted as if nothing happened and went along with the rest of their day, not minding that their seed was still oozing from the person whose brains they’d fucked out?

You decided not to ask; you didn’t want to be called butthurt, even though you literally were. You grabbed a bunch of tissues from the table to clean up some of the mess, your frustration boiling over when Toji had the nerve to chuckle at a crude joke from the sitcom he was watching.

“Who is Megumi?”

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