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'O-

oh.

' His gruff baritone echoes out a slight crack -

a crack.

Toji Fushiguro

never

lets his voice shake, he

never

stutters. You gaze over your clammy shoulder in confusion as the knobbly shape of his Adam 's apple bobs dryly, 'It '

broke.

'

Honestly, with Toji 's sheer barreling size, how could that flimsy lil ' rubber

not

have broken?

Callused fingertips dig ravenously upon either side of your hips, you 're feeling the ends of his curly happy trail scratch your back as he motions to pull

out '

'Oh my god, doll.

Doll.

' Right before scorching panted gasps hit the middle of your spine and he 's moving his sculpted v-line to

rut- animalistically.