#he’s the worst and i love him | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

soleilnomoon · 2 years

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5k words, fem reader, nsfw, 18+ mdni, angst & smut wrapped into a cute present; cw - blood, some knife play, there's a gun somewhere, death it's rly not bad but who knows; toji is a bastard and y/n continues to make wild choices; gojo makes an appearance! if u pretend, u might find smth close to fluff. maybe.

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tucked away from the throes of pesky traffic, stands an old, run down building. it’s slated to be demolished, but for some reason the city continues to stall. on the lowest level, in the basement floor, one fushiguro toji sits atop a dingy, white plastic chair, scrolling through various messages in his cell phone. off to the side is an old radio that remains plugged in the blood-stained wall, the heavy bass of the music pumping out of the small speakers is loud enough to drown out the pitiful noises his esteemed guest keeps making—his duress evident in the way his drool dampens the rag that toji stuffed into his mouth earlier.

seemingly in a trance, toji hums along to the music, twirling a sharp knife in his hand, eyes landing on a particular text that he reads not once, nor twice, but four times over.

he sucks his teeth, and languidly glances over at the man who is barely alive; a man who is also probably pleading for toji to end his miserable life as quickly as he can. it’s hard to tell when a bloody rag muffles his words; and, while toji would never consider himself sympathetic, he’s quite annoyed that the man hasn’t given him much of a fight. even after toji went through the trouble of tying him up, even after he yanked his fingernails off, even after he knocked a few of his teeth out, even after he shot both of his legs—and still, toji graciously let him sit on a chair, because he’s not the savage that people claim he is.

it’s a courtesy he didn’t have to offer, but he does like to make sure his guests are taken care of.

toji rereads the text again, lips pressed together in a straight line, and contemplates the message before he stands up suddenly, his vigor renewed.

“it’s your lucky fuckin’ day, know that?” his voice booms around the room, the dim light barely giving him enough vision to see what he’s doing—but that’s why they call him a professional, isn’t it? a master at navigating through any element that’s thrown at him. toji’s laughter brings a sudden chill to the man, making him whimper even more the closer toji gets to him. “don’t make that face,” toji says gently, using the flat blade of the knife to tap his guest’s cheek. “i don’t care about whatever sob story you’re tryin’ to sell me.”

and it’s true, he doesn’t.

“i’d love to stay and play, but duty calls,” he leans closer, voice lowering, that stoic, frightening demeanor making its way back into him again, “by the way, your wife did call your phone. i told her you were still in a meeting, hope that was okay.” toji’s grin unnerves the bound man so much that he can’t help but cry out and struggle against the rope bindings, tears in his eyes—a futile last ditch effort to survive. it’d be commendable if there wasn’t a time-constraint. and, unfortunately, toji isn’t in the business of letting his prey get away like that.

it takes one swing for him to slit the man’s throat, the blood just as uninteresting as the man that it’s spilling from. toji shoots him in the middle of his forehead for an added measure—he’s learned the hard way that some people just don’t know how to stay dead.

his phone rings as he finishes cleaning his tools; his annoyance evident when he picks up on the last ring.

“what do you want?” he doesn’t have time for idle chit-chat; he has things to do, places to be, business affairs to take care of. “hell no, i’m not cleaning any of this shit. i did what i was paid to do.” he surveys the room, dark green eyes landing on the splatters of blood, the man’s teeth that toji flung at him postmortem, the various chemicals toji used to keep him barely conscious. “send someone else, i’m leaving.” he hangs up without much fuss and collects the rest of his belongings, not bothering to look back at the mangled corpse he leaves behind.

since he’s used to this line of work, toji keeps himself relatively hidden—people get a little weird when they see him walk around casually with someone else’s blood on him, so he’s learned to acclimate for the sake of keeping a low profile. thankfully he parked in a secluded area; less people he has to worry about. not that it matters, anyway.

you don’t bother checking your phone, because your mind is still stuck on the fact that you had sex with gojo—and managed to prove toji right without him knowing. you’re pissed about everything, and even though gojo tries to bribe you with food in order to cheer you up, you’re barely eating.

a loud bang on the front door startles you, but gojo just grins. “right on time,” he says cheerfully, before adding, “guess that means playtime is over for us, butterfly.” his words confuse you, but you choose not to question it—telling yourself that the less you know, the better it’ll be. gojo opens the door fairly quickly and his chipper demeanor keeps up, even as toji pushes his way past him into the apartment.

you choke on your toast the moment you see his broad shoulders, disheveled black hair, and the look he gives you should make you terrified. but you’re not.

“the fuck do you think you’re doin’ here, huh?”

his question is the most absurd thing you’ve heard all week. how the hell is he going to question you? you’re an adult just like him, and can do as you please. “you don’t own me, we’ve had this conversation before,” you say aloofly, pushing away from the kitchen island and collecting your things.

“like i told you earlier,” gojo chimes in, clapping a hand on toji’s shoulder, actively annoying the latter with his proximity, “i was keeping an eye on y/n for you.” he’s full of shit and knows it, but toji doesn’t care about any of that.

“don’t make me repeat myself,” toji says as calmly as he can, while also actively ignoring gojo’s presence.

“take your own advice for once, fushiguro,” you say bitterly, storming past him and gojo, slamming the front door behind you. you’re so mad you can hardly think straight. the nerve of toji showing up here after you spent the night in tears over him, drinking, and fucking the last person you wanted to fuck — although, that’s not exactly true, now, is it? — like everything is your fault and not his.

you’ll take responsibility for putting too much pressure on toji to commit, you’ll take responsibility for bothering him incessantly for validation, but you refuse to be a doormat to his bullshit any longer. despite all of that, you still make your way down to toji’s car; it’s unlocked and still on — he must’ve known it wouldn’t have taken much convincing on his part for you to get into the car with him, which only pisses you off even more.

why is he able to treat you that way and still make you want him just as much as you did before? he must’ve hypnotized you at some point or another, because none of it makes sense.

toji casts a sidelong glance gojo’s way, eyeing the sorcerer critically, his irritation rising. gojo’s texts were bait, he knows that and willingly took it. why? he has no idea. but the moment he saw the picture, all he saw was red.

“the first,” he says to the white-haired man, surveying the living room, taking note of the familiar pair of panties that was tossed haphazardly onto the coffee table — by gojo, most likely, he knows you’re not the type — before continuing, “and last fucking time.” it’s all he says and gojo puts his hands up, chuckling lightly, as if he has no idea of what toji’s talking about.

by the time he makes it to his car, he sees you sitting with your feet propped up on the dashboard, crossed at the ankles. the sight annoys him, because he actually likes seeing you in his car, likes how comfortable you are around him, and likes that you don’t seem to have an attachment to gojo in the way that he originally thought.

not that it makes things any better.

“feet off the dash.”

his voice stirs a desire within you that you helplessly try to stamp out by reminding yourself of all the bullshit toji’s put you through over the past few months. you have yourself to blame, really, but you don’t want to take accountability just yet. it’s more fun pointing fingers at the man beside you instead.

“don’t tell me what to you,” you say casually, glancing down at your nails as he backs his car out of the driveway and speeds off. “you’re not my boyfriend,” your tone is every bit as bitter as it is childish, “nor are you my dad, so shut up.” it’s not smart of you to mouth off at the same man that laughed as he fucked you stupid, but with toji you always find yourself in this exact situation. every single time.

your words only make him laugh, his chuckles bringing a warmth to your chest and face; you ignore both, opting to look out the window instead. “you’re taking me home, right?” because you have absolutely no intention of going back to his place. not anytime soon, anyway.

his silence is unnerving, so you try again. and again. and again.

“toji, damn it, are you even listening to me?” you’ve long fixed yourself so you’re sitting properly in the passenger’s seat, but toji keeps quiet, his eyes drifting over towards you every now and then, that smug look carved deeply into his eyes, making you want to shout — but you refrain. you know if you lose your cool entirely, it means he’s won.

you refuse to let him win.

“where are we going, if you’re not taking me home.” is this the moment he finally makes good on his promise? is he taking you somewhere hidden, where no one will hear you scream, where they won’t find a body or any sort of evidence? a series of chilling, morbid thoughts pile into your mind one after the other; the way you shift in your seat makes him laugh again. it’s priceless, the way you’re so nervous, the way you think you have him figured out. it’s also terribly cute, and that thought is dangerous enough to make him almost hit the car in front of him.

thankfully, he swerves out of the way just in time, earning a sharp glare from you, but he ignores that too.

“i hope you’re feeding me,” you say with a sigh, fussing with your hair, hoping the scent of gojo’s soap doesn’t linger for much longer. before you know it, he’s pulled into the parking lot of an impressive hotel somewhere downtown in the city. you know his ass can’t really afford to stay here, so you narrow your eyes at him and then look back at the hotel. “why are we here?” you know better than to voice the rest of your opinion; you’re not cruel, and you don’t have it in you to ever belittle anyone for their financial situation, and while toji is certainly an asshole — a proud one too — you can’t bring yourself to try hurting his feelings like that.

not when there are other ways.

although, can a man like that really get his feelings hurt? you might not ever know at the rate you’re going; his pace is inconsistent and he drives you to do ridiculous and reckless things, like seek out comfort from gojo, for example.

“the last job i took paid well, so,” he nods his head towards the building before grabbing his duffle bag and exiting the car. you scramble after him, not wanting to be left behind, not really having much on you besides your purse and cell phone.

it’s then that you notice, with the sun shining high above you, the dark stains on his shirt; even though he’s always in dark clothing, it’s noticeable up close. you wrinkle your nose at that and inch away, much to his amusement. pretty pitiful behavior he’s exhibiting, if anyone asked him.

“so you couldn’t, like, shower before coming to kidnap me?” you don’t mean anything by it; you take notice of bit of blood on the side of his neck, and you swallow hard, wondering whose it is — his or someone else’s.

“s’not mine,” he says, as if reading your mind, “don’t worry about me so much.” if you weren’t in public, you’d slap him for his impudence.

it seems toji’s frequented this hotel before, because they don’t bat an eyelash at his appearance, they simply hand him a key and he strides off to the elevator. you struggle to keep up with him, say as much, which only makes him laugh again — he’s always fucking laughing — annoying you endlessly.

once inside the room, you’re immediately floored. the spacious suite — excuse you, the luxuriously spacious suite, that is — is pristine, heavenly, and possibly a dream. you look at him questioningly, knowing he didn’t get this for your sake, but for his. not that you blame him; if you had the money, you’d randomly splurge like this too.

“are you finally going to talk to me properly, or what?” you place a hand on your hip, his eyes take you in, before he lifts a shoulder up in a lazy attempt at a shrug.

“i need a shower.” it’s all he says as he starts stripping in front of you, tossing his clothes behind him, padding barefoot to the bathroom. you watch a little too hard, you realize, so you busy yourself with investigating the room. you know this is probably a one or two night deal for him, but you suppose you can enjoy it while you’re here; there’s no need to continue picking petty fights with him, when you’re in a place like this, is there?

toji, meanwhile, allows the water to pelt his skin, the heat scalding but refreshing. he scrubs off the grime of the day, wanting to rid himself of the bullshit he endured earlier; somehow his rage never subsides. if anything, it just keeps building. the sight of you sitting so comfortably with gojo made him think irrational, impossible things. he’s not a fool, he knows what happened, more or less; gojo’s texts and smug face only confirmed it. he doesn’t really blame you, but he feels like it.

one thing about gambling, is the stakes are always addicting, and right now, the stakes are incredibly high. it’s the thrill of the risk that has him finally step out of the shower, the steam thick enough to choke someone; he dries himself off with a large, fluffy towel, before wrapping it around his waist, stepping out of the bathroom and feeling like a brand new person.

you’ve ordered room service without his permission and drink champagne straight from the bottle, ignoring his pointed looks, sitting comfortably on the plush sofa as if you have every right to be there.

your nonchalance pisses him off somehow, so he grabs the duffle bag and places his gun and a knife — the type one goes camping with — onto the small circular table, unceremoniously dropping his bag onto the floor right after.

you watch, stupidly, blinking slowly as you try to understand. “what’s that for?” you look up at him, eyes widened, fear trickling through you, making your throat constrict in a way that makes it nearly impossible to speak.

toji motions at the weapons on the table, “pick one.”

again, you find yourself blinking, your hands clutching the champagne bottle tightly. this has to be a joke, right? a sick, sick joke, where toji teases you mercilessly and eventually fucks you. you’re sure it has to be. but when he doesn’t say anything, when his eyes turn hard as he tilts his head to watch the way you’re refusing to do as he says.

“why?” you squeak, not wanting to play whatever game he’s started, “what are you going to do to me?” you’ve never considered yourself the valiant type, so this is an instance where your body tells you to run, run, run. somehow you remain seated; somehow a part of you demands to know his reasoning; somehow you regain a bit of control over yourself.

the longer you take, the more pissed he gets, so he says nothing, his green eyes lingering on you, reminding you of a feral animal that’s waiting for its prey to make the first move.

you sit up a little straighter, voice raising as you start to shout. “toji!”

he tells himself it’ll be worth it in the end, if you could only fucking listen. “...i said choose.” his voice, like his presence, is commanding — low, but dangerous, a dark edge lacing his words without even trying.

still, you won’t let him have his way that easily. you’re your own person, you should be allowed to ask questions and be treated as such. “not until you tell me what you’ll do to me—”

toji grabs the gun and slams it on the table, the sound loud enough to make you jump — as if the gun was angry too — the bottle of champagne still caught between your trembling hands, miraculously.

“i won’t fucking say it again, y/n.”

that makes you nervously blurt out, “the k-knife.”

for some reason, he’s disappointed — at what, he’s not entirely sure, but he knows disappointment — has known it all his life, and promptly decides that that’s what this empty feeling is.

“good choice.”

your curiosity be damned, you should’ve thought this through. toji carries you over to the bedroom, much to your feigned displeasure; he also brings both weapons and when you try asking him about it, he simply tosses you onto the large bed and watches as you bounce around. he places the gun on the table off to the side, his gaze halting your movements completely. something compels you to take your clothes off; maybe it’s from the way this whole thing started off, or maybe it’s from the way he’s looking at you. whatever it is, your clothes are off.

because you’re so compliant, he flashes you a sly grin, his strides bring him to you swiftly; he twirls the knife around his fingers before spreading your legs apart. your heart beats loud enough that you’re sure he can hear it too. a normal person would simply leave, would never look his way again, but he told you last time, didn’t he? you’re not a saint; not even close. with a soft sigh, you watch him intently as he runs the flat side of the blade against your inner thigh. the metal is cool against your skin, making you inhale sharply; you bite down on your lip hard enough to make you wince, your pussy is in a world of its own right now.

while you know there’s something so incredibly fucked up about all of this, you also know that you like the sensual way he’s dragging the blade against your skin, and while he doesn’t mean to, he accidentally cuts you. before you open your mouth to tell him off, he’s already bent forward and licks the blood off. it’s only a tiny bit, but the contact forces a shudder to pass through you, your nipples hardening without remorse.

it’s absolutely absurd that you’re into this, but you can’t help it. you know, you know — it is what it is.

he spins the knife so that he can place the handle in your hand. you clutch it instinctively, which makes the corners of his lips curl upward. “fuck yourself with it.” he says suddenly, his towel finally slipping from his body and landing somewhere near your shirt. “i know you want to.” if you had just a bit more sense, you’d have resisted falling into his trap; but you don’t, you’re more foolish than you realize.

your legs shake, not out of fear, but anticipation and with your feet planted on top of the bed, you bring the tip of the round handle to your slit, breath still as you drag it in between your folds, arousal staining it immediately. you should be ashamed, you should dislike the way he’s watching you, and you should hate the way you want him so badly — but you don’t. it’s hopeless, so you stop fighting; the world you’ve found yourself in is illogical and irresistible, you hope you can survive long enough.

toji didn’t think you’d let him take it this far; if he were a decent man he’d be a bit more forgiving. but he’s not; he won’t pretend to be otherwise. but it would really suck if you hurt yourself in the process, so he yanks the knife out of your hand and ends up cutting himself. he’s so desensitized to pain, he doesn’t feel or notice it. you’re horrified at his callous behavior, and watch as the knife tumbles onto the floor. without considering the consequences, you hop off of the bed and sprint to grab the gun. you’ve never shot one before, but you’re sure you can manage.

not that you want to hurt him, but he’s being ridiculous now, and you’re still annoyed at him about a lot of things. the toxicity between you two should be enough to turn you off, but it doesn’t; which is why you hesitate. toji pushes you onto the bed again, eyes wild as you point the gun at his chest. “now that’s what i’m talkin’ about.” he moves closer, the metal touching his skin, making you worried that you’ll actually do damage if you’re not careful.

you just wanted him to see that he’s not the only one that’s capable of inducing fear; you wanted him on edge, just like you, but it backfires. it always does.

“don’t tell me, you’re not gonna follow through?” he actually looks disappointed, his thick, dark brows knitted closely together as he looks down at you. he rubs the tip of his hardened cock against your pussy, dragging it slowly along the slit before dipping it in between your folds. you still can’t find the words you want to say; your mouth parts, but all that comes out is a soft whimper that you’re too invested to feel any shame over.

toji presses his tongue against the inside of his cheek, tsking audibly at your audacity; he slips the thick head of his cock inside of your tight hole, bringing out a shameless moan from deep inside of you, your hands shaking, your desire so tangible that it’s making you dizzy. still, toji insists on being the absolute worst, and keeps running his stupid mouth. “if you wanna kill someone, then you have to mean it.” he cages his thick arms around you, crowding the small bit of space between you. “i can give you some pointers, if you like.”

you’re so aroused and irritated that you don’t think as you speak. “go to hell.” and while you’d meant to say it with venom, you don’t — because he chooses that exact moment to bury the rest of his cock into your pussy, hips pressed firmly against yours. you wrap your legs around him to hold him still, needing a moment to adjust because he forgets how monstrous he is all the fucking time. again, he awards you that kindness, since he knows you’ll be begging him soon enough.

if he hadn’t seen it happen so many times, he wouldn’t be half as bold. toji, amused by your insistence on defying him again and again, leans closer, hips knocking roughly against yours. “been there, baby girl,” he says darkly, tongue darting out and licking his lips at the sight of your pussy soaked around him, “didn’t like it, so i came back to life.” he’s so full of shit, and you can’t stand him, but you forget all of that. all you can focus on is the rough way he’s fucking you, like he’s harshly reminding you of his previous assertion — that he’d ruin you for anyone else after him.

“took the bullets out, earlier,” he admits cheekily, a fierce look flashing behind your eyes as you chuck the gun off to the side.

“fuck you, i literally cannot stand y—”

he snaps his hips against yours, angling them so he can fuck you deeply. “shut up and stop lying.” he says this knowing damn well how hypocritical he’s being; but that’s not the point, is it? he doesn’t think so, anyway.

you wish you could continue, but you can’t; your pussy covets the thickness of his cock more than you care to admit. if he ever knew, he’d never live it down. but, the thing is, he already knows — it’s why he does what he does, why he knows he has a slight edge over you for the time being. because if you found out how deeply embedded you are within him, he’d have to go into witness protection. it’s that serious.

grabbing onto your thighs, toji leans forward, dropping playful, sloppy kisses onto your lips, which only makes you clench around him. is it affection or arousal? you don’t actually know, but you do know that toji never has to do much to get you like this. it’s a fucking problem. you moan his name loudly, against your better judgment, and he kisses you greedily, swallowing the rest of your moans as his cock slams into you harder.

if you ever have a bad day, you’ll just recall this moment; you can hardly breathe, the heat from his body melted all of your resolve, and it’s when his cock hits that spot that you scream, hips bucking up against his frantically, your breath coming out in soft pants as he continues to fuck you senseless. your orgasm has you mumbling nonsense, earning a mocking laugh from him. your arousal drips down your thighs and onto his skin. he likes that your pussy is a small form of paradise for him; your plush, tight walls squeezing around him, in a way that made him absolutely feral. he nips your neck, right below your ear, drags his tongue down the length of it, your mind spinning as your pussy aches in a way that has you calling out his name until your throat is hoarse.

an odd fury pulses through him and he bites your shoulder, earning a pinch from you on his side. “toji, fuck that hurt.” not terribly, but it was shocking, and if his cock wasn’t burrowing into you like that and making you delirious, you’d be more firm — but right now, you’re just trying to chase that high for as long as you can. as an apology — or what he considers an apology — toji pulls you onto his lap, your breasts pressed against his chest, skin rubbing together with each brutal thrust of his hips. you press needy kisses along his jaw, clenching your pussy around him reflexively, his large hands holding onto you as he rolls his hips. when you fall apart, when you cry out — hating how much you like the lewd squelching from your salacious cunt — an orgasm tears through him at the same time.

the way he moans your name makes you want to stay like this forever; if you could bottle it up, you’d carry it around with you everywhere. you know it’s not love, but the infatuation is steadily taking over your life. you might need to reconsider a few things one of these days. but as his sloppy thrusting slows down, as his cum spills out of you, you can only think about how you’re always taken to new heights every time he fucks you. what is it about him that keeps you coming back? outside of the attraction, outside of his sculpted body, are you really depraved enough to want whatever semblance of affection he can give you?

the answer eludes you, heart beating pitifully, the sounds reverberating in your chest loud enough to remind you that you’re foolish as hell. toji knows that you’re doing all of this song and dance because he won’t validate the relationship officially. if he wasn’t already too enamored with you right now, he’d roll his eyes at that.

but, did he really want the likes of gojo — or worse nanami, geto — or anyone else having access to you the way he does? the answer hit him so clearly in the face that he cursed under his breath, making you look at him strangely. he pulls out of you so he can think straight; toji’s 94% sure that your pussy hypnotizes him each and every time. you’re inclined to entertain that idea if it means he’ll stop stomping over your feelings.

“if i say yes,” he says carefully, rolling onto his side, hoping the distance will keep him clear-headed, “will you shut up about all of that?” he didn’t need to explain because you know exactly what he’s talking about.

“no guarantees,” you say lightly, crawling over and tossing your curvy leg around his hip. he stares sharply, but you roll your eyes at his theatrics. “i’m kidding, god.” your lips brush against his gently and you leave behind a tender kiss. normally, he’d find a reason to get out of bed, to ghost you for weeks, but he can’t find that reason now. he slips his tongue into your mouth, kissing you slowly, reminding you just how dangerous he is. you already forgot why you were annoyed to begin with, and he’s mostly forgiven your transgressions. you know you should be more than elated, but a voice in the back of your mind spews a nasty, contrary opinion on the matter. you snuff it out, ignore the words completely, and smile instead.

you refuse to fuck anything up with your over-thinking, you’d finally achieved your goal and don’t want to give up your prize anytime soon.

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