My Diary

she/her - Black I write for the black girls who are often left out

[cupidstrace]

22 October 〃 GLUTTONY

── 〃 𖤍 KINKTOBER '25 .

Cunnilingus with Toji

Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x Reader Content Warnings: MDNI 18+, whippedji, pussydrunkji, downbadji, cunnilingus, munchji, fingering, fingerji (..?), feralji, overstim

Toji suspects he has hit ovulation. Or something awfully close to it.

He wakes up with a semi, grumpy and incredibly annoyed at the sun for existing. And fine, sure, the sun’s not exactly a new development – but this feels worse. Different. Like his blood’s grown teeth and it’s humming and oh, he smells something good wafting from the kitchen.

He blames the gym on his way downstairs. Grumbling something about the pre-workout, the lack of cooldown. Whatever. Then blames the weather and his cheap laundry detergent and the neighbor’s stupid windchimes (which sound like shit, mind you. noises with the bearability level of a lactose intolerant in denial shitting all over a toilet bowl).

But then he sees you plating a pancake, and every excuse he’s been building since sunrise crumbles.

He stops at the foot of the staircase. Stares.

Not in the “wow, she’s pretty” kind of way – you are, of course. That’s a given. That’s just gravity, at this point.

No. This feels biological. Like something in him decided to clock in, and his emotions are finally functioning right again, and god save him, he needs to fuck you so bad it hurts.

He scratches the back of his neck, trying to pass off the static beneath his skin as underlying irritation.

Except irritation doesn’t make him feel like this.

Doesn’t make his palms itch, or his throat go dry, or his brain go blessedly, horrifyingly, blank when you turn to him with a smile. Your pretty lips move, and you’re saying something – maybe a good morning, maybe a question about syrup. He blinks, sluggish. Too slow to catch the words.

“Yeah,” he nods, playing off whatever this feeling is with a lazy grin.

“Yeah what?”

“Yeah.. baby?”

He has no idea what he’s saying.

Toji can handle this. Whatever it is – hormones, low blood sugar, divine punishment – he’s gone through worse. He’s fine. He’ll be fine.

So he sits down across from you like a functioning human being, fork in one hand, knife in the other. Pretending that the sight of you leaning over to take the syrup and pour it for him doesn’t make his pulse thunder in his ears.

You’re the problem.

No.

No, he’s the problem, and everything you’re doing is only making his problem worse. The clink of cutlery against your plate and the lazy curl of steam from the pancakes you made for him and the way you tilt your head when you smile up, at him.

It’s domestic.

Harmless.

Lethal.

He cuts into his pancake, if only to have something to do with his hands. Salivating.

For what, he’s not sure.

Toji wonders, briefly, if he’s always been this much of a fucking idiot.

This is breakfast. Not a mating ritual. But his body doesn’t seem to agree – blood still humming, heat crawling up his spine, energy sifting and curling with weight in his stomach.

And so, in a moment of poor motor coordination, his knife slips.

Clatters to the floor.

“Nice one,” you tease, about to rise to help.

He cuts you off with a halfhearted glare and crouches before you can move. “I’ve got it.”

Except he really, really doesn’t.

Because when his fingers close over the handle of the butter knife and he raises his head, he’s eye level with your pretty pussy. Clothed in cotton, covered by nothing else but your panties, his shirt rising up on your body. Exposing your thighs.

“Toji? Did you– oh–”

And without really processing it, his hands come up around your hips. Pulling you to the edge of your seat.

Is he delusional, or does your cunt smell like syrup?

Maybe he is ovulating.

Maybe you are.

He’d like it if you were.

His fingers hook in your panties and drag them to the side. He presses a gentle kiss to your inner thigh. Smiles all wide-eyed when he sees your cunt clench involuntarily.

You frown, trying to look below the table – to no avail, as he’s directly beneath it.

“Toji, what’re you doing?”

“Eating breakfast.”

His tone comes out matter-of-fact. Like it’s his god given right to get his syrup straight from the source. And when you open your mouth to retort, you’re cut off by a whine – because without warning, his mouth is on you. Tongue dragging flat and slow along your folds, parting them with a deliberate kind of pressure. Flicking up to circle your clit before dipping back down. You gasp, fingers gripping the edge of the table, thighs trembling on either side of his head – and he just smiles cruelly against your cunt.

“Sweet,” he murmurs. Vibration humming straight through you, nose nuzzling against your clit. Inhaling deeply. “Fuck, so sweet.”

His tongue swirls messy, spreading out your slick. And you try to shift, or to push him away with a foot to his chest – only for him to prop your legs up over his shoulders for better leverage. Thumbs digging into the plush of your upper thighs to keep you spread wide. Another long lick, this one direct to your clit before dipping lower, and you feel the tip of his tongue probing. Pushing inside just enough to tease before shying away.

“At least eat your pancakes first,” you scold. Half-hearted. Body betraying you as your pussy clenches around nothing.

He chuckles against you, the sound muffled. Wet.

“Nah. I’m good here.”

Then he’s back at it, tongue thrusting back in. Deeper. Fucking into you with shallow, insistent strokes, while his thumb finds your clit. The table above creaks faintly as you lean forward, biting your lip to stifle a moan.

He’s relentless. Obsessed with every inch, everything about you – the way your walls flutter, the slick sounds filling the space. His hands slide further up, big palms resting warm against your inner thighs as he spreads you wider. Exposing your cunt fully to his mouth. He flattens his tongue again, lapping from below and then up to your clit in a single broad stroke, collecting every drop like it’s the sweetest nectar.

And then, hoarse and ragged, his voice breaks through the haze.

“Why the hell’re you so sweet?”

He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t pull away. Murmurs it right against your folds, mumbling things without thought.

“Like honey. Driiiipping. My pretty pussy.. gotta clean you up, huh?”

His words send a fresh wave of arousal flooding out, and he groans in approval. Lips closing around your clit.

Two of his fingers join in. Digging into your cunt with an obscene squelch – sliding into your soaked entrance with ease.

He doesn’t just push them in.

He does it achingly slow, pads of his fingers rough against your walls. Exploring and bullying in and stretching you out until he’s knuckle deep inside and you’re pulsing around him.

He crooks them without a second thought.

Not for your pleasure, but to hit that spot that has your clit pressing further into his mouth – a spot that makes your eyes roll back with a cry.

Toji knows where you’re sensitive. All the spots inside you that have you melting into his hold. And he uses the curl of his fingers to scrape and press right against them, relentless. At the same time, his tongue swirls around your clit, sucking with a greedy, rhythmic pace.

Your breath breaks into a whimper. Lost in the fervid, focused attention of his mouth, and the brutal thrusts of his fingers.

He pistons them in deep. Almost to the hilt. Before dragging them out all slow and agonizing, letting your gushing cunt milk every inch of the retreat.

You shiver, back arching into the touch. “You– oh, fuck.. cumming, cumming–”

“Attagirl.”

The vibrations zip right from his tongue to your clit. He scissors his fingers out, laughing when you tremble – back arching as the world dissolves into ringing white noise.

Your cunt spasms around him, clenching and contracting and desperately clinging to the sensation as your high washes over you. Pulling the digits in deeper, even as he holds them steady.

A long, shaky sigh escapes you, 

and for some reason, Toji can’t stop.

It’s not like he doesn’t hear your cries, or notice the way your pussy flutters helplessly and milks him in – he just doesn’t want to let go. You’re sweet, so sweet, and he’s still hungry. Still searching for more.

So he goes back for seconds.

His tongue flattens, working against your clit to draw out every last shudder and whimper. Fingers flexing deep inside to stretch you out. He pumps them slow, curling them right against that sensitive spot once more – then faster when your walls clench tight, gripping his knuckles. Twists his wrist. Finds an easier angle and starts pumping, faster, until you’re gripping onto the arms of the chair for dear life, head thrown back with an incoherent whine. Downright filthy sounds fill the dining room – slick coating his hand, dripping down his chin.

God. He’s greedy.

And you’re so good for him.

He doesn’t ease up, even as your thighs clamp around his head, bucking involuntarily into his mouth. Just groans low, dragging his tongue down your cunt to meet the base of his fingers, nestled inside you.

Your own fingers tangle in his dark hair, pulling – and he groans again, more guttural than before. The sound reverberating through your syrupy cunt.

“Please,” you gasp, voice cracking, “Toji, m’gonna–”

“–you’re sweet.”

Toji’s not listening.

He can’t even hear you. Mumbling into your cunt, drunk on the taste.

“My pretty, pretty girl.” His tongue slurs the words out, gaze half-lidded and focused nowhere in particular. “Taste so good. Gimme more. More. More.”

His tongue pushes in alongside his fingers. Digits crooking downward so he can taste up, swirling around to gather your slick. Your legs tremble, toes curling – and the overstimulation borders on pain. The good kind. The ache that twists into pleasure, sharp and unrelenting and inescapable in Toji’s hold. He laps at you, swallowing – nose bumping your clit with every eager movement.

And just as your body gives out and you slip into another orgasm, his lips close in a cruel suction around your clit once more. Tongue swirling as the waves crash over you, your pussy spasming wildly around his lengthy fingers – soaking, rivulets dripping obscene down his wrist.

He drinks you in without complaint, letting you ride it out on his face. Lips curved in a wide, wild grin. Keeping his fingers buried deep, thrusting through your high and prolonging the feeling until you’re sobbing his name.

When your climax fades, Toji withdraws his fingers slowly. Pupils blasted as he watches the way your hole clenches around nothing, as if begging to be filled again.

He brings those slick digits to his mouth and sucks them clean with deliberate slowness, watching the way your puffy pussy begs for more.

“Fuck, you taste like heaven,” he whispers. Hoarse.

He leans back in and laps through your sticky folds one last time – one last taste.

Then he reaches down, fingers closing around the handle of the knife lying beneath your seat. Holds it up. A mockery of a domestic moment.

“Told you I got it,” Toji rasps. Rising and throwing the knife onto the table with a clatter.

Before you can process anything at all, he’s standing. Licking his glistening bottom lip, then a long stripe from his wrist – where your slick has dripped down – before hauling you forward by your hips. Right out of the chair.

You let out a surprised yelp as he sits down and lands you hard atop his lap. His big hands bracketing your hips to grind your bare cunt down against his length, pressing against you through his boxers.

The fabric’s rough and hot against your already sensitive clit, friction sending a jolt through your entire body. Your slick soaks right through to his cock, and he rocks his hips. A slow, deliberate grind, smearing your warmth along his pulsing length.

You let out a stunned little noise, and Toji laughs. Head dipping down to kiss up your neck almost obsessively.

His hands leave your hips. Slip beneath your shirt, up, until they’re palming your breasts with rough enthusiasm. Thumbs grazing your hard nipples, circling before flicking. Playing.

“Look at the mess you made, baby.”

His voice is a demeaning coo in your ear. But he’s satisfied, with you in his arms. Soaked and somehow just as gorgeous as always. If not more so,

“S’sticky now,” Toji grins. “Gotta take you upstairs and clean you up the right way.”

His hands slip back down around your waist, muscles flexing as his hips roll against you one more time. Before he lifts you up.

The pancakes sit on the table as you’re lugged upstairs. A sad little afterthought.

[beyondsuki]

Okay boom. Sorry about the wait…life has been, well, life. So I have a longgg King of the North! Satoru Gojo x Black servant! reader that I’ve been working on for a while. It shows the power imbalance between the two of them and addresses racial issues but it’s a slow burn and it’s about that deep undying love that I always love reading about. It’s definitely a star crossed lovers story and the vibe is very game of thrones and every other period piece I’ve read/watched.

Do we want it?

[otakufilms]

‧₊˚﹒♡﹗₊˚⊹❀𝓸𝓽𝓪𝓴𝓾𝓯𝓲𝓵𝓶𝓼 𝓷𝓸𝔀 𝓼𝓱𝓸𝔀𝓲𝓷𝓰…‧₊˚﹒♡﹗₊˚⊹❀

sonder. suguru.

𓊆ྀི warnings .ᐟ + word count— 11.4K, original!blackfemreader, domestic!countrylifecoded, fiancè!suguru, mechanic!suguru, southerncoded!suguru, southernfiancè!femreader, aggressive!suguru, sweet!suguru, dominant!suguru, fingering, clit rubbing, pet names! dirty talk!, aggressive pet names!, titty sucking, squirting, creaming, condomless sex, pussy eating, slightly submissive suguru, dick sucking, overstimulation, talks of religion and marriage, minors are not welcome! 𓊇ྀི

メモ。— i know y’all missed sweet baby suguru, i know i have. this is my favorite fic i’ve ever written for him. not too much to say—heavy talks of religion comin’ from a christian girly; so this was definitely personal for me. love you guys.

YOUR LEFT PALM STAINED WITH INK, BLEMISHED AS YOU FINISHED OFF THE FINAL SENTENCE IN YOUR JOURNAL. You had a lot on your mind at this moment, hoping that gathering your words on paper would help for a future conversation—one that you knew you’d disagree with your fiancè about. 

You enjoyed the early morning of Sundays. It felt like the opportunity to clean your slate of everything that happened a month prior, forgiving yourself of all the mistakes you made, hoping blessings would come in return. But nothing felt more rewarding than the love you received when meeting him.

Maybe it was his looks—dark, long midnight hair that fell past his shoulders, wafting with the scent of his cologne that was a mixture of patchouli and tobacco. The fullness of his eyebrows that furrowed in a natural glare, piercing within his left side glinting each time he frowned. Big, broad body that was inked up like a flash sheet at a tattoo shop, just coaxing you in.

But no, it was more than that. It was the cadence of his deep voice, the puff of smoke that released his full lips with every cigarette he smoked, the way his large palms raked through his hair when he was frustrated—the way he peppered you in affection despite his attitude, the way he fucked you despite his attitude, the way he loved you despite his attitude, the way he protected you despite his attitude—He was yours, as you were his. 

Of course you had to marry him. 

But with every love, came a price. A sacrifice. One thing you knew about your fiancé, as much as he worshipped the ground you walked on? He always told you where you were wrong. 

Back to the point of enjoying Sundays, you’d read a new scripture from your Bible, closing it with a soft hum as you finished. Your eyes flickered to the door leading downstairs—his territory, never yours. The industrial architecture of your condo was built by the hands of your fiancè, who’d structured the second level to be the house itself—sleek black interior, soft dim bulbs hanging from the ceiling to give a more vintage feel. He’d known your wants of a home that looked as if you lived in New York, as you were settled within the city of New Orleans. 

A garage. Your fiancè spent most of his time down there—customizing, repairing, or maintaining vehicles brought to him as downtown's most known mechanic. You were used to the rumble of alternative metal music trembling the walls upstairs, and oftentimes you could endure it—but at this moment? Not so much. 

Maybe you wanted to butter him up as well.

The wine red slip dress you wear flows on your body perfectly, the bounce of your ass peeking from the bottom as you stand within the kitchen—your curls clasped onto a dark cherry claw clip, Vera Wang glasses tilting at the bridge of your freckled nose. 

Your palm wraps along the knob of the garage door, a whoosh of motor oil consuming your nose as you pad your feet down each step—and there he was. 

My Own Summer, by DEFTONES echoed within the walls of the halfway opened garage, the sun of the morning attempting to peek in from under. His back was facing you, tattoos sunken into his entire upper body—black ink traced beneath the white wife beater he wears, having a bit of oil smudged across the material. His arms flexed as he kneeled further into the hood of a Ford F250, hair draped in a messy tie at the back of his head.

That’s when your soft voice carries beneath the music, “Workin’ hard?” 

He didn’t even flinch—he could always tell when you were near.

“‘Truck is old as hell,” he grunts, “My customers expectin’ a miracle.” 

His fingers tugged at the bolts within the truck’s hood, the low murmur of a cigarette hung between his lips as he spoke to you.

You hum, “You’ve always been good with your hands—I’m sure you can work somethin’ out.”

A puff of smoke, and then, a chuckle. 

“Babydoll,” he husks, “Always the optimistic one.” 

Hazel irises flick up, taking his hands away from the hood.

“You hate comin’ down here. You’ alright?”

“Just missed you.”

He was a silent killer, undressing you with his vision in milliseconds. They traced everywhere—the dark tresses of your curls, your heart shaped lips, snubbed nose and deep brown freckles on your caramel face—your nipples mirror your complexion through the thin cotton material of your slip, curved figure full as if you’d given birth.

He could damn near smell it on you, that you wanted something. 

“‘Missed me, huh?” his voice lowering, “You sure?”

Your glasses slide a bit lower on your nose, an annoying habit as you push them up—you ask in the most innocent way, “Want some company?”

“C’mere.”

You make your way over to him, giggling softly as he instantly cuffs you by the fat of your ass. Your arms wrap along his neck, his large frame looming as he has to lower himself a bit to your comfort. 

Your nose scrunches at the smoke that hazes against your face, “You have to do that this early in the morning?”

He smirks down at your little scrunch. That only makes him pull you closer, hands squeezing your flesh through the slip, the other pulling his cigarette for another puff.

“Open.” 

Your mouth immediately obeyed, parting your lips for him. He flicks his ashy cigarette between finger and thumb, blowing a thick plume of smoke at you—the puff of sharp smoke billows into your mouth, long lashes fluttering against your cheeks in return.

You take the bud from him, pressing it between your lips as you inhale, sticking the cigarette between your pointer and middle finger as you blow, “You need to quit.” 

“‘Gives me a big knoggin’,” he exhales, “You gon’ smoke it, or keep talkin’ shit?”

A roll to your eyes comes at that. You place it back between his lips, tightening your arms around his neck as you question, “Did you sleep well?”

“Slept just fine, darlin’,” he pauses, taking another puff, “You?”

“Like a baby,” you hum, mouth inches away from his—you inhale the scent of his cologne, exhaling as you say, “Come upstairs. I made breakfast.”

“Oh?” he cocks an eyebrow, “You made breakfast?” 

He’s already pulling you away from the truck, keeping arm secured around your waist as his free hand shuts off the music from the speakers. 

“Didn’t burn anythin’, did you?”

“I poisoned it.”

He could feel your body going to pull away, but a grunt has him tighten his arm around you, making you grin as you try to hide your amusement.

“Where’re you goin’?” 

He spanks your ass, “What happened to breakfast, huh? Not gonna’ feed a growin’ man?”

“Be nice, Suguru,” you pout, “I’m sensitive.”

“You’re a brat is what you are,” he counters, clutching your chin.

When he sees the genuine frown on your lips, he dips his mouth down—his hair nearly brushed against the cheeks of your face as he murmurs, “I’m sorry.” 

His grip then softens on your jaw, “Didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, doll,” he assures, “I promise.” 

It was rare to get an apology out of him. Not like this, at least. You figured, maybe he really was in a good mood.

“‘S okay—I love you, bunny.” 

You called him by a nickname that wasn’t his favorite, something you found yourself saying as he showed his sweet side. But of course, your tongue laps out for a kiss that might’ve overshadowed that.

A mixture of a groan and huff follows as one hand tangled into your dark tendrils, holding you still as he slotted his mouth against yours in return. He loved you right back.

Suguru carried you up the stairs as he closed the door with his foot, attempting to persuade you into taking a shower with him before he ate breakfast. He promised kisses, and much more, but you were too into journaling to accept such an exciting offer. So, he promised to see you after.

You’d made him French toast sprinkled in sugar powder, scrambled eggs and bacon alongside a cup of coffee. When you hear the hefty thump of his returning steps, his long hair was now damp from washing it, grey tee snug on his muscular upper body, enhancing the ink on his ivory complexion—your left hand continuously scribbled off, full lips twisting a straw in between as you drank your morning matcha. 

“You’re too good to me, you know that?”

You hear that grunt before you feel it, a soft hum sounding from your nose as you feel his arms wrap along your hips from behind. The scent of his cologne masks your senses as he buries his face within your neck, smelling the vanilla oil you dabbed along it.

“I’m still gon’ be good after I tell you there was no pancake batter?”

You lean into him, continuously writing within your journal, “You forgot to pick some up last night.” 

“You forgot to remind me.”

His nose nuzzled into the space of your neck, inhaling the rice milk scented soap, a deep sense of satisfaction settling within his chest.

“What’re you writin’?” he murmured, attempting to peek at the open journal.

“You know my rule—no peeking,” You reach forward, tugging a newspaper behind yourself, “Go eat.”

“Yes ma’am,” he grumbles, pressing one final kiss to the side of your neck, before begrudgingly pulling away. 

Suguru’s broad shoulders stretched against the fabric of his shirt, emphasizing the strength beneath—He wore it like a second skin, his physique evident through every stitch—The dark material hugged tight around his muscular frame, matching sweatpants giving no modesty as you could easily find the weight ot his dick between his spread legs. The chair groaned under his body, his imposing presence making it seem almost miniature in comparison. 

Even when he was eating, he was loud, taking huge bites out of the French toast, bacon crunching between his teeth before he washed it down with a swig of coffee. The newspaper you offered to him was already sprawled open, fingers flipping through the pages as he ate.

“Cat stuck in a tree?” You tease, taking another sip of your matcha, “What’s in the news today?”

“Funny,” he sarcastically drawls, completely engrossed in the section he reads, “Shootin’,” he then mumbled, “Down by the Garden District. Three dead, one injured.” 

He pauses, expression sobering.

“They were kids, Baby. Not even twenty yet.”

“Jesus,” you sigh, “By the Garden District? You sure?”

“I’m sure,” he confirms, “It was a drive-by, happened around two in the mornin’. Probably some college kids fuckin’ around.”

“How’s your parents’ market doing Uptown?” You question, your voice carrying more concern, “Any trouble around there?”

“Uptown’s fine,” he assures, his tone firm as he shakes his head, “They’re always busy. Nothin’ too bad happens in the gentrified areas, you know that.”

You have the urge to feel his touch at your anxiety—you’re walking over to where he sits, wrapping your arms along his shoulders from behind—your palm slides across his hair, “I’m not so sure—somewhere like the Garden District having crime? It’s gettin’ scary being here.”

The second you made contact, he was leaning back into your front, allowing you to run your fingers through his hair.

“It’s always been scary,” he points out. 

Suguru’s free hand settles along your forearm, anchoring you close against his back. His thumb rubbed a soothing circle against your skin as he continued eating. 

“That’s why we live in Lakeview—I got you, remember? You’re safe, stop worryin’.”

This seemed like a good transition into what you really wanted to say. 

You peck the side of his face as you lean forward, right against his ear as you hum, “‘Wasn’t really worried about me.”

You give it a second of silence, “I spoke to my parents today.”

“You should talk to them. It’s First Sunday.” 

Okay, here was the thing. Your parents lived about twenty minutes away from you—but it’s not like they knew that. You’d run away from a pious environment years ago like a thief in the night, going a long time without talking to your family. Despite the resentment you held, Suguru’s Japanese background made him an extremely prideful man—keeping a bond with your family was important regardless of the issues you had with them, he said. 

Your voice draws a bit of irritation, “I’m shocked you’re pining for them, considering they don’t know you.”

“You chose to hide me from your family. Not the other way around.”

You frown, “I have my reasons, Suguru. You know that.”

“What’s the excuse? You haven’t even told them we’re about to get married, ‘cause what? The shit isn’t happenin’ in some church with a pastor?” 

Yup, there it was.

Growing up in a religious home the way you did was overbearing, overwhelming, and closed you off to the life you could’ve had as a young adult. It created a resentment of others not like you, with your parents, with God, and kept you entirely shelled up until your late twenties. 

Eventually you found your way back to the Bible, meeting Suguru not too long after, who was nothing like you—being an Asian man growing up in Louisiana, his parents were different from the traditional culture they provided back home. With that insouciant upbringing, your fiancé was in fact atheist, and had no belief of a man up above. 

It caused a lot of disagreements between you two when it came to certain topics—but you were always understanding of each other in the end, and he always appreciated your prayer over him, no matter what he felt about it. 

But this wasn’t about how you felt—your domineering parents were the concern when it came to you being married, and although you did a good job of keeping your life private—this time, you wanted them to be included. Their blessing, essentially. 

But that didn’t come too easy when you had a man that didn’t think God was in between your relationship, or parents that seemed to think otherwise.

Your arms slide from his chest, “I’m gonna go finish writing in the room.”

“So you’re mad now?”

You’re nearly halfway down the hall as you hear him call, “You walkin’ away from me?” 

That had you turn around, “Why are you tryna’ make me do this? You want me to be good with my parents, but you refuse to not bring up the fact that you’re atheist, knowing they’re gonna have a problem with that!”

“I don’t need your parents' approval. I wouldn’t give a fuck whether they accepted me or not,” he reminds you, “This marriage is between you and me—but I know how you feel about keepin’ this from them.”

You frown, “And that’s not what you’re seeming to understand, Getou. They’re not gonna accept this at all if they hear something like that.”

“So I’m Getou now?” 

He was exhausted with this ongoing argument, the same one you’ve both had numerous times over. The subject was a delicate balancing act, teetering on the edge of the emotional. No matter how many times you tried to find a resolution, it always ended up in a heated discussion.

“You think I don’t know my own parents?” 

“Baby—for so long, all you’ve ever wanted to do is mend shit with them.” 

“It’s not just about me, Suguru!” you exclaim, cutting him off, “This affects us both—“ 

“I don’t need no blessin’. I’d kill for you, die for you. None of that has changed since the day we met.”

Your jaw clenches at his words.

You sigh, “All I’m asking is that you not bring all that up to them, Suguru. Why do you have to be so prideful?”

“Prideful?”

His jaw was now clenching in return. 

“The shit is called honesty—Somethin’ you’ve already failed to do by keepin’ this from them. Me bein’ atheist' ain’t gonna be the first topic of conversation.”

“It’s prideful when you have to rub it in somebody’s face,” you cross your arms over your chest, “What would you get out of that argument?”

“You think I’m tryna’ go there intentionally startin’ an argument? That’s what you think?”

Your shoulders slouch,  “I didn’t say that, Suguru.”

The way you soften your tone had him releasing the built up tension in his own jaw, hazel irises following your form. He huffs, standing from the chair to cross his arms over his chest as well. 

“Let’s talk, baby. I’m not tryna’ argue,” his voice is just above a murmur—softer.

“I’m saying—“

You halt, your fingers fidgeting against your forearms. His eyebrow piercing shifts, sculpted face watching you, anticipating the rest of your sentence.

“My parents are strict. You know that. I’m trying to learn to forgive them and myself for the distance we have, and upsetting them isn’t gonna help the situation. I respect your morals, you know that. But they won’t. And the one thing I want is for them to love you just as much as I do.”

He couldn’t stay away from you any longer, taking a step closer. 

“…They don’t gotta’ love me,” he finally murmurs, “You do. That’s all I need. I’m not tryna’ cause trouble between you and your parents, baby—I’d never do that. But I’m a grown ass man, and I’m not gonna’ put up a front for anybody.” 

This wasn’t necessarily the answer you wanted—but one thing about your fiancé, he loved you more than the world, and he loved himself enough to be true to his word. 

Your arms wrap around his hips, burying yourself within his chest as you exhale, “You’re warm.”

“Warm?” he repeats, a chuckle escaping him as his arms wrap tight around your shoulders, “You’re always cold.” 

You give yourself a moment of silence, just being with him. 

“They wanna meet you.” 

“When?” 

“…Tonight?”

Suguru’s body tenses.

“They said First Sunday would be a good time to bless our relationship, pray over new beginnings, stuff like that—I told them okay,” you rush by your own words, as if you didn’t know what his reaction would be. 

And in return, your fiancé said—

“Shit.”

A couple of hours had gone by, and you were now sitting at the edge of the bed, watching Suguru swim through his articles of clothing as you tried to find something—presentable.

You shook your head, “Absolutely nothing short sleeved. You look like you’re in the Yakuza.” 

He had been attempting to pull on a white tee, which you immediately tugged off his arms, tossing the material aside, “Next.”

“You sayin’ I don’t look presentable?” 

“I’m saying I need you to look less like a bad boy,” you mutter, swimming your arms through his clothes on the floor—you stop, “How about a V—neck sweater, yeah? Does that say sweet boy?” 

“I could still fuck you in a V—neck.”

You glare, “Are you trying to help? Or just be a smart ass?”

“Help.”

The best thing you could find was a long sleeve black tee, a sigh pulling at your lips as you question, “Got any slacks?”

“Did you forget everythin’ ‘bout me? Slacks? Don’t make me scream.” 

“Suguru,” you whine, “Please just help me.”

The sound of your whine has him suck his teeth, pushing himself off the wall to begin rummaging through the clothing piled along the floor. 

He crouched down to where the pants were, pulling out a pair of dark jeans as he tossed them on the bed, “That’s all I got, baby.”

The outfit you had to settle on was a long sleeve that unfortunately clung to his muscular build, equally dark jeans, boots and a belt along his waist. 

Suguru stood below the ventilation in your bathroom as he lit a cigarette, leaning his head back as you attempted to brush his hair up into a more neat bun. When your eyes flicker to him in the mirror, the sight of smoke exhaling from his full lips, his Adam’s apple throbbing beneath the tattoos on his neck—you nearly facepalm yourself, murmuring, “This is hopeless.”

“Why are we even dressin’ nice? We’re sittin’ at the dinner table—or would you just be happier if I got naked?”

“I’m ignoring you,” you deadpan, “Just go sit on the bed while I get ready. Can you do that? And not make fun of me?”

“Gotta’ give me a kiss, bunny.”

He called you that in return when you were the opposite of sweet. 

“And then you’ll leave me alone?”

“Promise.” 

A palm comes to grab your chin, thumb gently grazing along your bottom lip as he plants his mouth against yours, “You’re cute.”

“I bet I’ll be adorable once I put my foot up your ass.”

The unfortunate issue was that you also didn’t have the best clothes to see your parents. So you settled for a black halter top secured by one shoulder, strings tying the material to your elongated waist similar to a corset, jeans molding your full hips, heels on your French tipped toes to pull the look together. You decided not to go heavy on the makeup today, your freckles sprucing heavily upon your nose—curls spiraling around your face, enhancing the natural flush of your caramel cheeks. 

You did a spin within the mirror as you called out, “Baby? You like it?”

His eyes were already locked onto you the second you emerged from the bathroom, scanning over your curves clad in the form fitting material. A slight nod of his head comes in response, hands buried deep within his pockets, “You look good, pretty girl."

“Aww—you’re so sweet today, bunny,” you pout, hearing his grunt as you plop down onto his lap. 

You hold his cheeks within your palms, “Today’s gonna be a good day, right?”

“Best day of my life.”

“Mhmm—And you’ll be good today?” You kneel your forehead against his, “‘Cause you love me?”

“You know I’m always good,” he murmured against your lips, a smirk at his mouth, “You doubtin’ me?” 

“Maybe a little.” 

“Yeah, okay.”

The Garden District was one of the most picturesque areas in all of New Orleans, situated in the heart of the city. Known for its nineteenth century architecture, the neighborhood is filled with the smell of freshly cut flowers and the sight of grand gardens—hence the name. The houses were known for being beautiful, almost like works of art themselves. 

Your fiancè leaned back against the seat of his black Subaru, twisting the wheel effortlessly as his GPS took him in the direction of a gated house—no, a mansion. 

“Damn,” Suguru murmurs, eyes peering up as he pulls in the circular driveway of the home, the outside of the house looking like something out of a movie. The mansion was made of bricks and granite, surrounded by massive oak trees sitting on a perfectly manicured lawn.

You sigh to yourself, “The fortunes of being a well known pastor.”

“You sure he isn’t a drug lord and just kept it from you?”

“Suguru.” 

“Damn, tough crowd.”

An older woman wearing a lemon patterned dress exits the house, hands clapping together when she sees the two of you stepping out the car. 

“You made it!” 

The woman’s voice was laced with a distinct creole accent.

You shriek, wrapping your arms around the neck of your family’s housekeeper—Hazel, who’d been in the house as long as you’d been born.

“I’ve missed you,” you sigh, squeezing her tighter, “And your delicious cooking.”

“I’ve missed you too, baby,” she returns the hug with a laugh, clucking as her hands rest against your shoulders, “Have you been treating yourself? You look wonderful,” she playfully taps the fullness of your hips, laughing once more.

The elder woman’s gaze shifted to your fiancé, dark brown eyes trailing over his built figure, “And you’re the young man who’s stolen my sweet babydoll away, ain’t you?” 

Despite being a towering figure looming over the smaller women, a boyish grin spread along his face, gauges within his ears swinging as he extended a large palm for her to take, “Pleasure to meet you, ma’am.” 

Hazel nearly yanks him down as she takes his face within her palms, squeezing his cheeks, “Mwen pa t 'konnen ou te renmen gason Japonè—“

“Pa gen kreyòl devan lòt moun ki pa ka konprann li,” your face flushes as you rush through the creole dropping from your own lips, “Please, Hazel.”

She clicks her tongue, crossing her arms over her chest, “You’re big, huh?”

“Guilty,” he answers, a slight smirk upon his face, “Always makin’ sure to eat all the food your babydoll cooks.”  

She merely huffed at the smugness of his tone, “Cocky, too.”

You roll your eyes, “How are you doing, Hazel?”

“I’m exhausted, honey girl, but I can’t complain, y’know?”

She sighs nonetheless, walking back towards the front door, “C’mon—let’s get you inside. Your parents are dyin’ to see you!”

A nervous knot formed within your stomach as you followed close behind Hazel, Suguru’s footsteps heavy as he walked beside you. You hadn’t seen your parents in years. 

They could be the same. 

But they could be completely different—

No. 

You had to remain optimistic. 

Your palm felt shaky beneath your fiancés, eyes peering at the golden trimmed ceiling—you felt a small tug as he pulled you closer to him, “You good?” 

“Yeah,” your voice is soft, pressing your palm into his chest, “Just a little nervous.”

The inside was something out of an interior design magazine; white painted walls to offset the various floral rugs spread along the hardwood floors, framed family photos, and a tabletop filled with fresh cut roses. 

“You got nothin’ to worry about, babydoll. Just breathe, a’right?”

“You’ll love me? Even if this is the worst experience ever?” You question, your finger rubbing at the gauge of his ear, pushing the tendrils of fallen hair from his jaw.

“You think you got’ enough reasons for me not to?” 

You sigh, giving a weak laugh.

“You’re a dork.” 

“Cheri?”

That name—one you were called all the time as a child. 

Your eyes flick over, and that’s when you see them—your parents. 

Your father stands over six feet—a height you hadn’t adorned, soft brown waves dusted with strands of silver and a well kept beard, a slight paunch to his stomach. He’s dressed in casual beige slacks and a button up, a Rolex watch along his wrist. 

Your mother is inches shorter in height, wearing a floral patterned dress under a cardigan. She’s adorned with a tennis bracelet and pearl earrings, bob curled perfectly above her shoulders. 

Your mother, ever the sunshine, gives you a warm smile as she steps forward, “Baby—look at you,” she croons, cupping your cheek within her hand, “You’re as lovely as ever.” 

“Momma.”

You don’t know why you feel tears within your eyes, but you instantly bury yourself into the brace of your mother, your body shaking as you tremble, “Hi.” 

Your mother’s arms wrapped around you tightly, hushing a soothing noise to calm your tears, "Shhh—ma chiot, you’re okay.”

“I’ve missed you so much,” you murmur to her, “I love you so much.”

She presses her hands against the sides of your face, her thumb swiping away the tears that streamed down your freckled cheeks, “I love you too, cheri,” she gives you a reassuring smile, “It’s been too long—“

“S’bout time you come home.”

You stiffen. Your eyes slowly pull away from your mother, finding your father’s displeased ones.

Your mother takes your hand in hers, “Ignore him—how about you introduce me to this handsome man of yours?” 

You briefly swipe the tears from your face—Your free hand takes hold of Suguru’s, “Momma, this is my fiancé—Suguru Getou.”

“Your what?” 

A loud swallow came from your throat as you gulped, “Yeah, we’re getting married in September—how about we talk about this at the dinner table, yeah?” 

Your father’s mouth opened to speak, but was shut off by your mother’s hand covering his palm—she gave you a slight nod, lips pressed together in a tight smile. 

“Right,” she manages, “Dinner.”

Here was the thing. Suguru was a man that didn’t say too much—he just observed—like now. Your father hadn’t acknowledged him, greeted him, even asked for a handshake. Suguru could tell that he was a man full of pride, and having his daughter come in with news as big as marriage? Probably wasn’t off to a good impression. But that didn’t irritate Suguru any less. 

Your mother and father sat next to one another as you and Suguru sat across the dining table—It began awkwardly, nothing but the noise of silverware scraping against the plates as Caesar salad was the appetizer. 

You couldn’t bear to have this entire dinner be silent and uncomfortable. 

So you push, “What’s Hazel cooking tonight?”

“Gumbo.”

That was the only word that came from your father, and you found no interest in trying to add anything else. Though, you could feel the agitation rolling off of your fiancé without having to look.

“Your father helped Hazel in the kitchen a bit,” your mother smiles, attempting to keep the conversation going by any means necessary—she was trying. 

Hazel thankfully waltzed into the room, the rich scent of gumbo wafting in the air with its warm aroma—A smile adorned her lips as she approached the table, beginning to fill each bowl with the soup. 

“Mmm,” Hazel lets out a hum of contentment, “That smells good, doesn’t it?” 

Your mother couldn’t help but agree, “It does, Hazel.”

She then adds on, “Your father did a sermon in Houston not too long ago, babydoll.”

You raise your eyebrows, “Really? How was that?”

“Fine,” is the word you received from your father. 

Fine. 

“Just fine?” 

You see your mother make a face—one that you usually gave your fiancé at times, almost like a warning. 

“It went well,” he then murmured, picking up the glass of his wine to take a sip, “It was for a big family’s church. They’re a generous group.”

“Right,” you hum softly—at this point, you’re not even sure what to say. So you end up circling back to the first topic of conversation, “Suguru is really good at making Gumbo too, Dad. His parents own a Market in Uptown—right, baby?”

The moment you mention Suguru, your father’s eyes flick over to his form, observing him from head to toe. 

Nothing. 

Somehow, your fiancè seemed relaxed. His expression was calm, a forced grin upon his face as he nodded, “I’m pretty good in the kitchen, yeah.” 

“Sounds like you’re feeding my cheri well,” your mother smiles, “Is she feeding you the same?”

He nods once more, hand tightening on your thigh for a short moment, “More than well, ma’am. She’s real good to me—probably tryna’ fatten me up.” 

You giggle, lightly swatting his chest in return. You say, “I’m not—“

“So you work in a market?” 

The attention is pulled away between you and your fiancé, hearing the question come from your father.

You answer, “Um—no, Daddy—Suguru is actually a mechanic.”

“Mechanic?”

There was something within your father’s tone that sounded almost disgusted. Your back straightens at hearing it.

“Yes, sir. My parents own a market up town—not that anythin’ would be wrong with me workin’ under their business—“ he looks directly to your father, “I own an auto shop. ‘Specialize in Japanese imports to Louisiana.”

“I see.” 

Your mother, however, seemed more pleased, “My—You have a business? That’s wonderful—my husband still doesn’t know his way around cars too much, it’s good we now have a mechanic in the family, huh?” 

“Family?” 

Your father’s brows furrowed.

“This one here”—he refers to you—”Hasn’t mentioned anything that sounds like a wedding date, so I’d be careful throwin’ the term ‘family’ around.”

Your father’s words left a silence hanging over the entire room. You felt the grip of Suguru’s hand on your thigh, fingers digging into the flesh as if to calm down his irritation.

“September, actually.”

You swallow the lump in your throat, “We’re tryna’ find a venue in Kyoto.” 

“As in Japan, Kyoto?” your mother repeats.

“Yeah,” you smile, “I’ve always wanted to go there, and—Suguru figured it’d be the perfect opportunity to bring our family’s together,” you nod, slipping your fingers between his own, squeezing for comfort. 

Here comes the main topic of discussion. Your father asks—

“Have you found a church?” 

Your lips pressed together.

Your voice is soft, “No, Daddy. We um—we decided not to do it within a church.”

Both of your parents’ eyebrows shot up in surprise at your statement—But it was your mother that voiced the question, “You’re not?” 

The air around the table was growing tenser by the second. 

“I want somewhere outside—probably a garden or something,” you explain, knowing you were trying to hide behind that response. 

“There are plenty of church venues with gardens in their backyard, cheri. Have you not liked any of the ones you looked at?”

“There’ve been many,” you murmur softly, “But—“ 

“I’m not a religious man, sir.”  

Your eyes pop from their sockets, not expecting Suguru to say exactly what you begged him not to say. 

Your mother nearly choked on her food, your father’s frown heavy over your fiancé— a slight pause of silence hangs in the air before speaking, “You’re not a Christian?”

“No, sir.”

“Why not?” 

“I’ve never been able to get behind it,” he replied simply, “Never clicked with me.”

“You believe religion is a lie?” 

“Dad—“ 

“Not necessarily a lie,” Suguru replied easily, “‘Just ain’t a factor in my own personal beliefs.”

“Suguru—“ 

“Let him speak.” 

The sharpness in your father’s tone had you immediately snapping your mouth shut, shoulders visibly tensing—this wasn’t going how you wanted it to.

Your father’s jaw clenched as he took in Suguru’s words, “You’re aware you’re marryin’ into a religious family, right?” 

“Absolutely. I love your daughter more than anythin’ in this world, but that doesn’t mean I have to agree with her beliefs, just like she doesn’t have to agree with mine.”

“So you think my daughter is going to change her beliefs just to please you?” 

Suguru’s eyes narrowed, “I never said that.” 

“Sure sounds like that’s what you’re implying,” Your father hissed, “Converting others isn’t too far after abandoning a religion.”

Your mother tries to step in, “Honey—“ 

“Your daughter is an intelligent woman, sir. Nothin’ is gonna’ change my relationship with her—including religion, or lack thereof.”

“And that’s where your problem lies, Suguru. You don’t think religion is relevant, even though it’s the cornerstone that humans built upon—you don’t think it’s a factor in what drives us as people? How do you think you got that shop of yours? How your parents' market is still in business? How any of your successes come into your life? God did that.” 

You see the way Suguru’s jaw clenches, “I don’t need religion to keep me goin’. I got your daughter, my family, myself. The same strength I always had comes from inside—It has nothin’ to do with some metaphorical bullshit up in the clouds.” 

A fist slams down against the table.

Your father’s palm nearly made the dishes jump, “You don’t speak about God that way in this house!”

Hearing Hazel push through the swinging door of the kitchen from the commotion, your mother places her hand upon her husband's chest, “You both need to calm down!” 

“I need to calm down?” Your father hissed, “This is your daughters doing!” 

“I didn’t come here to make you upset,” you try to  intervene, “I just wanted you to accept the man I loved—“

“You thought this was the way you’d get my blessing? Disappearing for years, coming back with a man that spits in the face of my morals? Disrespecting me?” 

You frown, “I never disrespected you, Dad.”

Your father’s eyes were nearly bulging. 

“You chose him over God.”

The silence that followed was suffocating, stifling. Hearing him say exactly how he felt was painful, and it nearly clasped your emotions by the throat. 

Your head slowly shook from side to side, voice shaky, “I didn’t choose anyone over God— nothing is wrong with him being different from me!”

“He can’t be different from you—he’s supposed to be on your level,” your father snaps, eyes flashing with anger, “You’ve chosen a future with this man—With this—low life!” 

“Daddy!—“ 

“I ain’t no fuckin’ low life,” Suguru snarls, “You don’t know shit about me. You don’t even know your own goddamn daughter.” 

“Don’t you dare lecture me about my own daughter!” 

The chair legs shriek against the floorboards as the men both stood from the table—your father stood at his full height, but he was nowhere near as physically imposing as Suguru. 

You were in absolute shock—your palms tug at Suguru’s arm, pleading for him to calm down, your mothers creole echoing across the room as she tries to calm her own husband, “Sispann sa! Ou pa ta dwe goumen ak pitit fi ou yo—“ 

“You did this.” 

Your father looks directly at you. 

A mixture of absolute disappointment and betrayal was carved all over your father’s face as he spoke, the words hitting you like a truck, “You chose this.” 

The silence felt like an eternity—Your face remained blank, completely frozen in shock as the words registered within your brain. 

“Dad—“ 

“Cheri,” your mom interrupted, “Please.” 

Your mouth clasps shut. This was all your fault, it had to be. All the years you could’ve opened yourself to them, all the apologies that could’ve come before. They were hurt. 

The kitchen door swung as your father exited through there, leaving the three of you standing in place.

Suguru frowns, “I wanna apologize—“

“You don’t have anything to apologize for, Suguru.”

Your mother’s voice was soft, hand placed within a gentle hold at your shoulder, trying to sooth you as much as she was capable of, “I wanted to calm the situation down before it got worse. It’s just—different. It’s very different.” 

She could feel you nearly trembling under her hand. Another beat of silence, she then asks, “Do you smoke, chou?” she questions your fiancé.

You could feel the anger burning off him. But out of respect, he gives your mother a nod, low voice responding, “Yes ma’am.” 

“How about you get comfortable in cheri’s old bedroom, hm? I can’t allow you to drive home after an upsetting situation—there’s a terrace for you to smoke, Suguru.” 

Your voice is tired, “Momma, I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“You’re not asking,” she smiles, “You’re too old to believe anything should come from you asking me to do so.” 

Her fingers brush at your hair, pushing it back from your face—she could see the frown in your eyebrows, rubbing your cheeks as she hums, “Pa gen devan, lanmou mwen.” 

She then turns back to Suguru, “How about you get a head start? Hazel will show you up, provide towels if you’d like to prep for bed—I’d like to speak to my daughter, alone.” 

Even if the request was phrased as a soft command, there was no room for refusal, and he knew that. He merely nodded, glancing towards you one last time—the grip he had on your hand was tighter as he looked over your face. Then, he let go. It felt cold without him. 

Once being left in the dining room by yourselves, your mother sits in a chair beside the table—she pats the one beside her, “Come sit, chou.” 

The moment you sit next to her, she presses her palms against the floral of her dress. She hums to you, “Do you remember the story of Joseph and the Colorful Coat?”

“I don’t know if I’m in the mood to hear a sermon, momma.”

An airy laugh comes from your mother, “You’re not getting a sermon, I’m simply reminding you.”

She leans back in her seat, a reminiscing look coming to her expression as she spoke, “Joseph is one of the most important figures out of the Bible. Do you remember why?”

You shake your head, “Not really.” 

Your mother sighs, fingers curling gently around the hem of her dress, “Joseph was favored by his father. This favoritism, however, was hated by his brothers—and out of anger, they sold him as a slave. He was taken to Egypt, where he was then raised up as a servant, and grew into a man of success and power—even while being under the control of someone else, his life had a purpose.”

Your brows furrow a bit, taking in her words.

“I don’t really know where you’re tryna’ take this story, Momma.” 

Your mother smiles once more, tilting her head so that her face rests against her palm, “Patience, babydoll.” 

She exhales, “One day, he reunites with his brothers. Even after they did him wrong—he forgave them—but he didn’t just forgive them. He helped them.”

Her next words were delivered with soft intonation.

“He was able to turn a hardship into something so beautiful.” 

Her hand rested on your own, “You’re just like Joseph, mon cheri.” 

“Mama…” 

“You’re not perfect,” she admits softly, “And neither am I, neither is your father—None of us are. Everyone in this world has a story— with those flaws being reminded, you have to forgive those who hurt you in order to move forward.” 

You didn’t realize your vision had blurred—all of the pain you felt over the years, the strain of your parents—you had to remember that they also hurt from the distance you’d put between them. 

You wrap your arms around your mother’s neck, your tears burying within her shoulder. You cry, “I’m so sorry, Momma. I just—“ you sniffle, “I just didn’t know how to come back. I wanted to live for me, and Dad wouldn’t—“

“I know, baby—“ she held you, gently rocking you side to side beneath her chin, “But your father loves you, and he’s sorry too. He’s just—a dummy, as you kids say.” 

That makes you giggle through your tears, hugging her tighter than before. 

She then says, “You’re marrying a man just as stubborn as him, you know.”

You keep your cheek within her shoulder, swiping your tears as you murmur, “I’m sorry about dinner tonight.”

“Don’t apologize,” she insists softly, voice tender and filled with reassurance, “You did nothing wrong, and neither did Suguru.”

“You don’t think he did?” 

“Suguru spoke the truth, and—he’s right. You shouldn’t be forced to live your life the way your father would want you to. And as much as he loves you, he will come to his senses.”

“You think so?”

She taps your chin, “Look—it’s late, baby. Go on upstairs. You have time to talk to your father tomorrow. And once that settles over, we can start planning a wedding.” 

You wipe the tears from your face, “You’re already planning a wedding and my father can’t stand him.” 

She presses her palm over your hand, the other wiping gently at your tears, “And I’ll make sure it’s the most beautiful, gorgeous—the most magnificent wedding Kyoto will ever see.”

You smiled.

“I love you, Momma.” 

She smiles in return, pressing a kiss on the crown of your head, “I love you more, cheri.” 

Closing the door to your old bedroom, you leaned your back against the wooden surface, letting out the breath of air you had been holding. You stared at the deep blue walls of the room, the furniture made of white, duvet covers and frills—The angel statuettes and artwork hung all across the ceiling like heavens within the sky.  

You pushed yourself off the door, stepping towards the glass sliding door that led out to the terrace, finding your fiancé standing just in view—Your hand rests at the white sheer curtain, parting it slightly with the pads of your fingers as you looked out—Suguru had his back leaned against the ledge of the patio, cigarette raised to his lips as he smoked. 

As he stood facing away from you, you could see the muscular outline of his body in the shadows cast upon him—every contour on display beneath his top. His hair was a beautiful mess. Some strands fell from the bun he had it in, falling over his face and along the nape of his neck.

“Needin’ a little company?”

His head turned towards the glass door, spotting you standing beneath the sheer curtains—the first thing he can discern is your eyes. His expression visibly softened, pierced eyebrow furrowing with concern.

He eyed you, “You were cryin’ again.”

A beat of silence.

You nod gently, “Yeah.”

Suguru’s silent for a long moment. He comes forward, eyes fixed on yours as he pulls you by your waist, “Talk to me.” 

It’s another long stretch of silence before you break it. 

“My father…” you trail off, trying to put your words together, “He can be stubborn.” 

“Yeah, I noticed.”

You nod along as well, taking in the silence of the night—the crickets that sounded around, the soft wind that brushed against you. 

You feel his grip on your waist tighten as he asks, “You all right, though?”

He then sighs, “Baby, I wanna apologize for how I acted earlier—“

“You don’t have anything to apologize for. I wanted my father to meet you—to give us his blessing, not for him to start an argument with you.”

Your fiancé’s thumb rubbed gently at the curve of your hip, his brows furrowing just a bit, “It’s not my place to get into it with your father, but he was sayin’ shit to—“

His chest rose and fell, taking another inhale off the cigarette—he then exhaled out into the air, the smoke disappearing with the wind, “It just didn’t sit right with me.”

You rub your fingers against his bicep, trailing it up to the ink of his neck—you sigh, “I know that. I’m not mad at you, Getou.” 

“I’m supposed to be apologizin’. You’re not supposed to be consolin’ me.”

Your fingers reached for the back of his neck to scratch gently at his hairline, “So stop apologizing.”

You reach to grab the cigarette from his fingers—taking a drag of the smoke, the burn tickles your throat, nearly satisfying.

Suguru then murmured, “You seem to get that soft shit from your momma, bunny.” 

A small smile played at the corner of your lips, “You’d be the first to say so.” 

The taste of nicotine stuck to your tongue as you ran your thumb along the back of his neck, his eyes slowly shutting as your fingers moved in small circles.

He then asked, “You feel better now?”

“Mhm,” you murmur, “I wanna go cuddle.”

He chuckles lowly—deep and rough—just how you liked it, “You’re spoiled.” 

A grin pulled at his lips when you nod in response, your smaller body leaning into his. He reached to pinch the base of the cigarette, pressing it to his lips for one last inhale before tossing the remnants away.

"C’mon.” 

The moment you made contact with the soft comforter of your bed, your upper body leaned against the frame—your journal was sprawled against your thighs as you had your knees close to your chest, Suguru’s arm wrapped behind you in a way that kept you close as his face laid within your shoulder—your smaller form almost seemed to sink into his. 

“You ever gonna’ tell me what you’re writin’ in there?”

You smile, glancing to the nightstand before you answer—an angel structured night light gleams the darkness of the room, stars glowing atop of the ceiling.

“You really wanna know?”

His chin rested upon your shoulder, nose buried within the skin of your neck, breathing you in—He nods, “Yeah.” 

One of his hands rested atop your thigh as he spoke, palm rubbing along the skin in slow motions. The oversized shirt you wear smells of him. 

You hum, “Unicorns, rainbows, babies. All the things I want in this lifetime.”

There's a grin pulling at his expression, “A baby, huh?” 

You look back at him, nodding, “A boy, Keiji,” you scribble down within your journal, “‘Means peaceful.” 

Suguru’s lips brushed against the sensitive skin of your neck, nose just right over your pulse point, “You put thought into all of this.” 

His words send a shiver down your spine, your answer a whispered, “M’always daydreaming.” 

“I know.”

You pull your journal a bit closer to your chest, continuing to write your thoughts of the entire day. As you do so—you’re noticing something. Your fiancés fingers are circling at the top of your knee—but that’s when he slowly takes your thigh closest to him, raising it atop of his body in a way that has your legs spread open.

At first, you were too absorbed within your journal—but the moment his fingers draw closer on your inner thigh, his body looming above yours, your grip on the pen falters. Your face flushes, dropping your journal as you reach for his hair. 

You giggle shyly, “Suguru.”

A low chuckle spouted from his lips —He leans down to nudge the tip of his nose against yours, “‘Thought you were writin’?” 

He grunts the words to you.

His aura, his size—the giggles from your lips die down the moment his forehead pressed against yours, glaring down. 

Suguru drops his lips onto your mouth, sucking them in between his before snatching them back, a popping flesh sound coming in return. 

At the same moment, he spreads your legs just a bit more. His palm grazes up your leg, down to your thigh, following the sway of your hips as you gently squirm—then, his fingers make contact with your clit. They don’t move. They just—stay there.

Your fingers are the current comb in his ocean of hair. The moment you feel him below, you graze his scalp, a small pout forming at your lips.

“Whatchu’ poutin’ for?” 

His fingers stay pressed between your legs, unmoving. His nose brushed against yours, lips still a few centimeters close to your own. 

You could never hide your emotions from him—nor how sensitive you were.

And then, he’s rubbing—it’s slow, but it’s so intense. Your eyes shut as you weakly gasp into his mouth, thighs trembling in response.

He can feel the way your legs begin to respond, your grip on the back of his neck only gets tighter—He groaned out huskily, “Look at you.” 

His tongue licked at one of your parted, panting lips.

Your teeth sunk into the flesh of your mouth—hard. But it fails to muffle the little mewl of his name that comes from your lips, all four of his fingers just rubbing.

“‘Bunny’s just too sensitive, huh?” 

His voice sounds like a deep grumble to your ears. 

Your lips part, another soft, breathless plea of his name comes from your mouth. He can feel how heated you are from below, how drenched you’re getting from just the simple touch of his fingers.

“Yeah—Yeah, you’re right there, ain’t you?” 

Your head just nods so feverishly, your hand pulling him closer at the back of his neck. 

His voice is rough, “Just listenin’ to your pussy, baby. She’s so loud.” 

And it was—you could hear how wet you were, feeling the secretion beginning to build on your inner thighs. You pout even more, your mouth trembling—you say so softly, “Ohmygodbaby.” 

“She fuckin’ missed me.” 

The moment he said that, your breath left your lungs in a heavy, husky moan, a low slur of, “Suguru,” coming from your trembling lips.

His middle and ring finger suddenly sink in so slowly—Suguru lets out a moan, feeling as you tighten around his knuckles. Your mouth drops against his, cheek burying into his shoulder as you pout, “Ughn,” whining into the comforter to mask your reaction.

“Makin’ a fuckin’ mess already,” he mutters against your neck, sucking just beneath your jaw—His fingers curl inwards—Suguru grumbles a little moan, “You gotta’ open up more, baby. Gonna’ hurt when I go in.” 

You whimpered, feeling his fingers sliding in and out of you, that all you could do was hold onto his hair. 

You felt like you looked pathetic. His lips brush against yours and you try to capture them, mewling, “Suguruu.”

“You’re so fuckin’ whiny,” he grunts—“Agh,” you moan against his mouth, and he swallows it with a moan of his own, his fingers sinking even deeper.

“Look at you, baby. Look.” 

The hand cradled behind you finds its way into your hair—it’s yanking your head up to peer down—you see his fingers going in and out, dropping deeper each time. You frown up to his face, pleasure so within your eyes as you squeal, “You’re so deep, baby.” 

His fingers hit right at that little spot that made your back arch, “There we fuckin’ go.” 

“Fuck, baby—“

“”Can’t wait ‘til I’m inside, bunny.”

You whimper, “I need you now, baby. Please.” 

“There you’ go with that beggin’ shit.”

His fingers slide against your folds, slapping against your pussy—your thighs tremble, “C’mon, Suguru.”

When he gets you to a place of begging, it never stops. You take his large palm, clutching it around your throat as you lay on your side—your back presses to his chest, your palm now reaching down to spread your folds from behind as you whimper, “Please, ‘guru. Please.”

A growl comes from behind you, his jaw buried within your shoulder as his face pushes to the side of your head, pressing his mouth to your ear, “Keep sayin’ that shit. Keep sayin’ you want it.”

“Please,” you were so pouty, “I want it.”  

His palm left your neck for a second, his hand coming down to grip onto the curve of your leg, lifting your thigh to adjust himself behind you, rubbing the fat tip of his dick against your folds, “How deep?” 

“So deep.”

“Goddamn. I’m finna’ give you this shit.” 

His tip sinks in just a little, spreading you apart in a discomforting pinch. And then—

Deep. 

A grunt is ripped out of his mouth, his fingers digging into your thigh, finding their way back to your throat, “Fuckin’ hell, girl.” 

The way you grip around his dick would’ve left another man falling apart, but—Suguru—he just kept going, his hand spreading your thigh further. 

It hurt—but you loved it. This was the hurt you wanted. The pleasure is so violent that it courses your entire body, voice so whiny as you rock your hips back, “Yeah, baby. Uh—huhhh.”

Your little mewl only causes his fingers to tighten around that neck of yours—he’s tugging and yanking you back onto his dick, “Shit,” he groans out huskily, “Feels tighter every time I’m in you.”

He sounds drunk, so lost in the wet, warm feeling. You grip onto his fingers at your neck, nails sinking into his hand, “Itssobigbaby. So big.”

“Yeah?” he’s stroking into you, “This all you’ been wantin’?” 

You are in fact so whiny, “Uh-huh,” your fingers grasp at his hand, “Yes.”

“Bounce back on it,” he grunts, “Move on me.”

You’d do anything he’d ask of you.

Your ass claps on his pelvis, bouncing back against his abdomen. His forehead knocks into the curls of your hair from behind, his palm tight on your throat, “Uhfuck,” he moans to you, “Just like that. Keep doin’ that.”

He’s letting you set the pace, “Goddamn,” His fingers twitch around your neck, “You’re so fuckin’ good.” 

His moans against your ear are so much louder every time he sinks into you, balls drenched in your folds in such a nasty way, “—I feel you clampin’ so hard, girl. I can feel you all around me.”

“I’m so full.” 

Between those words, you could barely catch your breath in a repetition of, “You’re so big.”

“You so small, girl,” he’s moaning into your ear, “I’m fillin’ you up.” 

But something in him feels—hungry—like he’d lost his appetite hours before and found it in this moment. It’s like the blink of an eye, and his long, dark hair spills across your stomach—his mouth is now between your legs.

Your fingers are in his hair, pulling against him. His tongue is warm, sliding up and down your folds, wagging along your clit that saliva parts lines from the sides of his lips. 

His name comes from your mouth in moan, and he only moans back, feeling the way your legs are clamping around his face, his hands pressing your thighs to keep you from moving away, “Pussy so pretty in my mouth—keep movin’ for me.” 

His mouth was so good, he moans on your clit, able to taste all of your arousal—he groans into your core, “Uuunnhhh,” he moans into you, “I could eat you forever, baby.”

His hands are clamping down at your thighs, keeping you spread wide open, you could hear how sloppy his tongue was getting, “So fuckin’ wet for me, huh?” he asked, “All for me.”

He’s evil—the way his hair falls around his clenched jaw, eyebrow piercing glowing beneath the light—His pink tongue spreads out to show you the cream on it, straight teeth white as he grins above your pussy, “You see that? How you’re creamin’?” 

He’s licking it up like it’s a treat, “You taste so good,” He moaned into you, “Can’t get enough of you.” 

The feeling was mutual—you couldn’t get enough of him, either. You find yourself tugging him up, pulling his mouth into a kiss that wraps your tongue around his, his large body looming above yours—his hair shadows the both of you into a deeper kiss, tongues sinking in and out of each other's mouths.

His tongue laps your own, “You want me this fuckin’ bad?” 

You don’t necessarily answer—but instead, flip yourself to where his back is against the bed—your tongue glides up the flesh of his abs, slender eyes coaxing his vision deeper into yours.

“Where you’ think you’re goin’?”

But he didn’t have to ask again—now, your mouth was on his tip. 

Suguru groans—Your tongue laid flat, slowly lapping at the base of his length—his fingers sink into your hair as his head hits the headboard, “Shit, baby.”

Your fingers grip the base of his dick, stroking him up and down as your mouth works the head—he’s so big, he stretches your mouth wide, but you love it. You’re drooling spit onto his tip, the sexiest smile on your face as saliva coats your full lips—your freckled face is flushed, curls sprawling around your head so prettily—you whimper to him, “I miss you inside me, baby.”

He grips your hair, fisting your tresses as he tugs you back upward, “You wanna’ be on top that bad, huh?” His fingers grip the flesh of your waist, “Come fuck me.” 

“That’s how you want it?” you slide your fingers against your swollen nipples, “Tell me.”

You keep your weight on him with one hand at his shoulder, the other gripping his tip as you slid it on your dripping folds. 

“You’re too big.” 

“Quit playin’,” He moaned into your throat, “You’re tryna’ get me to beg. That’s what you want, huh?”

You grip the clench of his jaw—your palm connects with his face, the grunt he gives in return making you giggle—you whimper at the smack he gives your ass, “I know you’ll beg.” 

“You’re a brat.”

His hips grind along yours, and you repeat, “Lemme’ hear you beg, pretty boy.”

Your hands find grip within the mess of his hair, yanking against the tresses. His jaw clenches, “Mmnnngh,” he moaned as you slapped his tip against your folds, “Fuck.”

His voice is low in your ear, his grip tight and hard on your waist, “I want you so bad.”

His tip is back to sinking in, curls hanging above his face as you whimper, “You want me this bad, baby?”

“I need you, fuck.” 

Your fingers rake through Suguru’s hair—He’s so deep, he’s spreading you open—you moan, “I’m so wet—just stay here,” you beg him not to move, smacking your lips against his for a moment.

“So good,” he’s panting to you, kissing you back, “You’re just so good.”

His hand slides down your back, finding the curve of your ass to hold. His other hand clenched around your thigh, beginning to lift you up, “Look at that, baby.” 

Your thighs are clapping onto his, bouncing. Your mouth falls open at the feeling of him, your back curving forward, “Fuck.” 

You whine to him, “I love bouncin’ on your dick, baby.”

“Yeah?” He’s grunting, “You take it so fuckin’ good. You must love that shit.” 

Your curls are in your face—your eyes peer back to watch your ass jiggle and bounce with the rhythm of your tits —that you mewl, your head falling back as you groan.

“There you go.”

 He’s watching you with dark, glazed eyes, fingers coming up to your lips to wipe away the spit around your mouth, dragging it across your nipples, “Don’t you fuckin’ stop.”

It happens before you realize—you’re squirting on him, your eyes watering all at the same time, rolling, face pouty as you grind on him, feeling the rupture of your body’s release.

You’re drenching his tip—You’re so over sensitive, he’s just grunting and moaning, like something out of a dream, “Goddamn, your shit is leakin’, baby,” he thrusts, “Let it all out.” 

”I made a mess on you,” you’re sobbing, your body trembling in his arms as your sensitive clit aches. Suguru’s hand comes around and lands a smack that echoes off your ass. You moan as he snarls, “You’ made a fuckin’ mess, girl. You and that pretty little pussy.”

“Cum with me, pretty boy,” you whimper, “Cum in me.” 

That name, it makes Suguru huff in return—but the sound is weakened by a whimper he does, “You’re so fuckin’ wet.” 

His fingers grip the back of your neck as his body tensed beneath yours, “I’m gonna’… fuck…” He whined, burying his face against your shoulder, rocking you through his cum warming your insides, you’re panting in each other's mouths, moaning, so full of passion you’d never have for anyone else. He was yours, and you were his.

There’s silence for a moment in your shared bliss—your foreheads rest against each others, fingers brushing through hair, your chests rising and falling with heavy breaths. 

Both of you laugh softly, feeling eased and content. He looks up to you, pressing a kiss to your chin, "You alright?” 

“Yeah. I’m…”

You’re unsure—maybe it’s the moment—maybe it’s the fact that you were already crying. But more tears begin to fall from your face, your hands flying onto your flushed cheeks—you’re sobbing once more.

His face twists in panic, hands immediately coming to wipe at your tears, “Woah, baby, you’re good. Why you’ cryin’?” 

He’s so gentle, sitting up straighter, keeping you close on his lap as you cling onto him.

“You’re okay,” he repeats, “Was it me? Did I do somethin’—“

“No,” you sniffle, “I just—I’m so sorry for keeping you from my family this long. I love you so much, Suguru. I wanna marry you a thousand times,” you whimper to him, “I wanna have your little babies and everything.” 

When you press your face into his chest and cry harder, your fiancé can’t help but chuckle at your emotions—he cradles your head to his body, “You make a good case. But I’m not mad at you, baby.”

He lowers his neck, peeping your eyes through your covered face—he murmurs, “You gonna’ let me in?” 

You sniffle, lowering your fingers from your face. 

After a second of comfortable silence—just the sound of your breathing and Suguru’s soft laughter, he pressed a kiss to your shoulder, “You had to connect with your family before I came in, and now we got’ all the time in the world to make things right. I can’t wait to see you all pregnant, and married—I’m gonna give you a whole damn clan, girl.”

Your arms wrap around his neck so tight that you feel a grunt, squeezing as you repeat, “I love you so much, Suguru.”

“I love you so much more, pretty girl.” 

“More than automobiles?”

“More than a damn car lot.” 

Of course, you giggled.

When your eyes open again, a ray of sunlight peaks through the slit of white curtains, dancing across the bedsheets to greet your body the next morning. As your vision adjusts, an arm shifts around your waist—the ink on the strong, defined muscle holds a grip, fingers digging just slightly into your flesh.

Your heart was so warm, that it nearly had forgotten about the day before. But you were quickly reminded seconds later, as a soft knock came to the door of your old bedroom. 

You frowned. 

Slowly, your body turns towards your fiancé, mouth raising over his ear as you murmur, “I’ll be back, okay?”

He stirs just slightly, his thick fingers reaching to clutch onto your side when you move—his eyes cracked open, “Don’t forget ‘bout me.” 

You smiled softly, reaching to brush the hair out of his eyes, “Promise I won’t.”

The moment you throw Suguru’s shirt onto your head and slip on some sweatpants, you quickly tug at the door in anticipation of Hazel—instead, a more familiar face. 

Your fathers. 

You glance around the hallway, narrowed eyes going back to him, “Good morning—you okay, Daddy?”

He clears his throat, hands resting behind his back. He looked exhausted. 

“Can we…” he began softly, “Talk?” 

You’re quick to nod, “Of course,” opening the door a bit further to step out, closing it gently behind you.

You stood opposite of him in the hall, face showing no emotion as you waited for him to begin. He exhaled silently, hands folded behind his back, “About yesterday…”

He shook his head, “I’m sorry to both you and your fiancé for the way I acted. I shouldn’t have—behaved the way I did.” 

He takes another breath, “From not seeing you in years, to finding out you’re getting married—I just couldn’t admit to myself that you had grown up without me, baby girl. And—if you left home, it must’ve been my fault.”

Your eyes soften as you watch your father. He’s being completely vulnerable, and that wasn’t something you expected of him. You can’t help it—your hand reaches for his, gripping it tightly in a comforting gesture, “Daddy, that’s not true.” 

He shook his head, fingers tightening around yours, “I messed up, baby,” a small sigh left his lips, “I messed up, not you. You wanted to see the world and spread your wings. That’s something I had to respect, even if it hurt me. I’d do anything for you, you know that.”

Your fingers are still wrapped around his, your free hand coming up to rub his shoulder affectionately, “Of course I know that.” 

You sigh, “I have to apologize too. Being an adult, I should’ve been communicative with how I felt about leaving home—I just didn’t think you’d be receptive to it, so—it was easier to just leave. And—meeting Suguru, he made me realize how important family was.”

Your father’s face stays neutral. 

“Despite your moral differences—Suguru is amazing, Daddy. He loves me more than I could express to you, and wants nothing more than for me to be happy. He encouraged me to come here yesterday.”

“He told you to come here?”

You nod, “He did.”

Another beat of silence. 

“You’re happy, cheri?”

Your hand squeezed his, your voice a soft whisper, “Happier than I’ve ever been.”

“Then that’s all I want, baby girl. I’m happy for you, I’m so proud of you.”

A few tears welled up in your eyes, your fingers gripping onto his back so tight that you were afraid you’d leave a mark underneath his button up, hugging him. You buried your face into his shoulder, “I’m sorry for leaving, Daddy.”

“Don’t be sorry, princess,” his hand rubbed up and down your back, “You can always come home.”

You smiled, “I’d really like to make up for the missed years.”

He let out a soft hum from his chest, hand coming up to graze your cheek affectionately, “We can start by planning this wedding together—Tell me everything you want, and how much my pockets gonna break from it.”

He then sighs, “And—by letting me know when your fiancè wakes up, so I can talk to him as well.” 

Your head tilts at that, eyes wide, “Really? You’re ready to do this?”

“As ready as I can be.” 

Your face lights up, excitement spreading through your body as you cling onto his arm, “Good—I have so much to tell you! C’mon, you can treat me to some beignets— Then, you and Suguru can be besties, yeah?”

“You’re pushing it, cheri.”

You sigh, “Thought I’d give it a shot. Let’s go!”

[nydascienceguy]

৻ꪆ uggg ik TOJI is so irritating in the morning, he’s grumpy, groaning when you try to wake him up, complaining saying “5 more minutesss” it’s ridiculous. but when it’s your time to wake up for work, he’s your personal alarm clock.

it’s currently 7:30 am, you have work at 9. toji knowing you taking at least 2 hours to get ready tries to wake you up. you’re currently on your back, your silk bonnet slightly over one of your eyes. toji lifts himself up from his stomach looking to the left at the nightstand to see the read time, looking back your sleeping beauty worth face and lowly chuckling. shifting his body to be slightly on top of yours — “babyyy , gotta wake up” using his fingers to lift the bonnet over your eyes. “mmm” was all you gave him before turning your body to be on your stomach, facing your head away from. “you forgot you work ma’ c’mon you need’a get up.” his voice more demanding, placing his large hand on your lower back rubbing it and slightly shaking you. “toji, stop.” you mumble weakly moving your hand to move his off your back.

that was toji’s last straw, lifting his hand off your back and angling it to your ass. “you need to get. up!” *smack!* “OWW! fuck is you hitting so hard for tojiii, knowing im soreee!” he used all his force to slap your ass awake, taking your hand to rub the stinging spot. toji laughed before getting on you leaving kisses on your cheek and apologizing. “toji loves you babyy, needa get up.” continuing so pepper kisses on your cheek. — “hmmm” you groaned, still feeling the sting on your ass cheek :<

“toji it’s friday, i have off.” you say in a some-what sad tone, toji raises his eyebrow, grabbing your phone off the nightstand checking the time and date. oh shit

“oh shit.” — “oh shit is right, take your ass to the fucking living room.” you attempted to push his big ass off your back, but with no avail. toji lightly laughed at your attempt, finally getting off of you and peppering kisses on you cheek, (this is his way of apologizing), as you look disgusted pushing his face away. “ i don’t receive kisses from bums who wake up their girlfriends so early for no reason, yuck!” you jokingly say turning the other way. “would a bum really offer his girlfriend a homemade breakfast in bed as his apology?” you turn your head giving toji a cheeky smile. “ok now, maybe you’re not as bad as a bum.”

@/nydascienceguy 2025

[psuejo]

❥ late night cravings..

“toji.”

he doesn’t even have to open his eyes to know you’re staring at him, soft fingertips tracing gentle lines down his thick arm. he doesn’t really get why you think you need to be so tentative — he’s a light sleeper. you could breathe wrong and he’d be awake.

“... hm?”

a pause, one that stretches for far too long, especially for you, and toji sighs. “wha’s wrong? get yer period or somethin’?”

he can hear the faint rustling of you squirming in the sheets, though he can’t see the way your thighs press together, how your panties are damp with slick, or the small, recently used vibrator resting on your nightstand.

it’s just not scratching that itch. nothing is, currently — at least, nothing you yourself can do.

you swallow. “no. i, um... i know you’re tired, a-and it’s late, but—”

“doll.” your lover rolls over, cracking open both emerald eyes to peer at you. you’re gorgeous, even in an oversized t-shirt and a little bit of crust in your eye.

my pretty girl.

“what? tell me what ya want,” he says, and his voice is extra deep and gruff with sleep. it really shouldn’t, but the sound of it only makes more heat pool low in your gut, and you shift a little.

“i’m horny,” you blurt, and toji blinks.

that’s it? with all that fidgeting you were doing, he thought you were gonna drop a bombshell on him.

he rubs at his face with a groan before rolling onto his back and pulling you right up onto his chest. one big hand taps your thigh, and now he can tell just how needy you are. “put ‘em on the side of my head.”

you oblige and slowly lower the rest of your weight right onto his face, a blissful sigh leaving your lips the second his nose bumps against your clit protruding through the soaked fabric of your underwear. a shudder dances down your spine, and toji snorts.

“greedy,” he murmurs, delivering an almost chastising swat to your ass, even as his other hand tugs that scrap of fabric to the side. “if ya want me, then ya can have me.”

all you have to do is ask.

[beyondsuki]

Fragmented

College AU

Fratboy!Toji x Fem!Reader

Summary: After years of being without you finally met someone whose eyes follow you. Burn for you. You meet Toji Zenin one night at a party after seeking respite outside. You’re immediately drawn to him despite his less than savory background. Like a drug you keep coming back, only, he’s the one pulling you towards him.

Content: Angst, Smut, Fluff

Word Count: 4k

Last part - Next part

The music pulsed through your veins. A slower rhythm than your heart as his touch burned even through your clothes.

He smelled good. Like cedar and whispered promises. You spun in his arms. Wrapping your arms around his neck. He watched you. As if there was only you. “Why are you dancing with me?”

“Am I not allowed to?” He said, voice rougher than usual. “Not when there’s other people vying for your attention,” that smirk appeared. “You jealous angel?” Your eyes shot to his.

You swallowed, his eyes followed the motion. You focused your attention on something else. His smiled widened, recognizing the reason for your sudden nervousness. “What?” He said, leaning in.

“N-nothing,” “Doesn’t seem like nothing,” he said, grabbing your chin. Forcing you to look at him. At those eyes that saw right through you. Out of your peripheral vision you saw a girl making her way over. Her eyes locked on Toji.

“I-it is,” you said, attempting to pull away. Trying to separate yourself from him before you did something rash. You placed your hands on his arms trying to push away.

But he held you there.

“Toji-“ you glanced to your right. He finally looked to see what you were looking at. His grip loosened. Allowing you to back up. Breathe.

As soon as she came over you made a break for it. Making your way over to a quiet corner with a couch unoccupied. It wasn’t long before Toji joined you.

You could feel the burn of his emerald gaze. “What?” “Talk to me,” at that you looked over. Meeting his gaze head on. “There’s nothing to talk abo—“ “Bullshit. I can see you thinking,” you threw him a glare.

You sat there in silence. He got up. “Smoke break,” you nodded.

He was out there for a while. So long you decided to look. The party danced around you. Dry shampoo and copious perfumes that managed to smell the same filled your senses as you moved through the crowd.

“Y/n?” You turned around to find one of your friends. The same one who hooked up with Toji. The same one who rubbed it in your face every time the chance presented itself.

“Oh hey—“ suddenly her drink was all over you. “You’re a fucking liar!” You blinked, confused. “I don’t know—“ “You came here with Toji didn’t you?” You didn’t respond. You just stared at her.

At the way she looked at you like she hated you. At the way her hair was messed up in the back. Almost like someone had been grabbing it. “I fucking knew it. You slut! I told you I liked him!”

She didn’t. She hadn’t told you a thing. Only that they hooked up. You had no idea where this was coming from. Why she suddenly had it out for you.

She shoved you once before your other friends came and got her. They all shook their heads in disappointment. Mumbling profanities under their breath.

Tears clouded your vision as you walked to the closest door you could find. “Hey- what happened?” Toji was on you faster than you could blink. You hadn’t realized you walked out to the porch.

You just looked up at him as the tears began to fall. “I-I don’t know. I was just l-looking for y-you and she cussed me out and-and threw her drink at m-me,” you felt his hands on your face.

He wiped your tears with his thumbs “who?” “…Kayla” even through your tears you saw the way his jaw clenched.

He nodded. “it’s okay angel,” his voice softer than you’d ever heard it. “B-but—“ “I know. C’mon,” he gently grabbed your wrist and led you through the party.

He dragged you up the stairs and to his room. It was undeniably him. Dark furniture and walls and his scent lingering in the air. An undertone of boy wafting towards you as he moved around the room, picking up the clothes that littered the floor.

He eventually came over and handed you a neatly folded stack of grey and black. “The bathrooms’ right through that door. There’s towels in there already and you can use whatever you want,” you blinked at him. Surprised by his kindness.

You gave him a watery ‘thank you’ before making your way to his unpredictably clean bathroom. After you finished you slipped on the sweats and hoodie he gave you.

You could smell him on you. From the clothes to the soap, his signature cedar scent stuck to you. You folded your clothes and placed them on the dresser with your purse.

Toji looked up from his phone when you came in. “Sorry I took so long, the water pressures’ really nice…” but he wasn’t listening. His jaw clenched as those burning green eyes looked you over. Taking you in from head to toe.

His cock twitched as you walked closer, allowing him to smell himself all over you. “Toji…?” He blinked, finally realizing you were talking to him. “what?” “I was just saying sorry I took so long..” his brows furrowed.

“You have no reason to be sorry,” he patted the bed beside him. “Sit.” You stared at his hand. He had changed. Now he was wearing his usual attire. His grey sweats matching the ones he gave you to wear. And a worn white wife-beater.

You glanced at his bed, then back at him. You wondered how many girls had been in it. How often he washed his linen.

“I don’t bring hookups here if that’s what you’re worried about,” your eyes shot to his “That’s not-“ “And I washed them yesterday.” You clamped your mouth shut. You had mentioned in passing you preferred to keep your space clean.

How anxious it made you if everything you could control was in disarray. You could feel the smile creeping onto your face. “‘Okay,” you were stiff, awkward even as you sat on his bed.

He watched you. His clothes were practically swimming on you and yet he found himself wanting to switch out every hoodie in your closet with his.

He handed you his remote. “You can watch whatever you want.” Your mouth opened a bit. “I have almost everything thanks to Jack Frost,” you snorted a laugh. Gojo did love his shows.

You flipped through different streaming services, looking for something to watch. You finally settled on some new movie you’d heard about.

“You okay ma?” Toji said after watching you settle down on the bed. After watching your chest rise and fall for a while in that steady controlled way you did when you were trying not to fall apart.

You hummed “getting there,” it was silent for a moment. You turned to face him. He was still sitting up. “I’m fine.” You said. “You sure?” You felt your eyes water against your will. “Sorry,” you wiped them.

He tucked a stray curl behind your ear. “You got nothing to be sorry for,” you nodded, still trying to get your emotions in order as your hands wiped at your eyes.

Suddenly you felt big arms wrap around you. Toji had shifted, now laying in the bed with your head in his chest.

That really made you choke up. And suddenly you were sobbing into him. He rubbed soothing circles over your back, your nape. He smoothed down your hair as you cried.

“I know angel,” even as your tears soaked into his shirt he sat there, holding you. Reassuring you that it was okay. “I don’t know what I did wrong,” you said, after your tears had calmed. Face still in his chest. Words muffled by his shirt.

“Nothing,” he held you. He held you until you stopped crying. Until your breathing slowed to something steady. Not forced or brimming with control. Until he looked down and you were asleep in his arms.

It was ironic really. The reason for the alcohol all over your top was holding you while you slept. The very cause of why your friend put her hands on you was reassuring you.

Toji found himself watching you again. And as he sat there, drawing lazy circles on your skin, he realized how natural it felt. How much he liked the feel of you against him. In his arms.

Comfortable enough around him to let him be this close in your most vulnerable state.

Content enough to be vulnerable.

You woke up to the feeling of something heavy on you. Something firm wrapped around your waist. You blinked your eyes open, quickly realizing that you were not in your room. Memories of the night before flashed through your mind.

Toji. Toji taking you to his room. Toji giving you his clothes. Toji letting you use his shower. Toji holding you while you cried. While you slept.

Toji who was still holding you as he slept. His arms tightening around your waist when you started shifting. He let out a low groan, his chest vibrating against your cheek in protest.

“Stop moving,” your cheeks heated at the sound of his voice. Deeper than usual from sleep. Scratchy in just the right way. You reached to grab your phone off the nightstand but he held you tight.

“Wait- Toji let me grab my phone,” he let out a heavy sigh before loosening his grip just enough.

You had around 14 missed calls from Satoru. It rang twice before he picked up.

“What the fuck happened to you? I was so worried—“ “I’m fine Satoru,” Toji groaned as he nuzzled his face into your neck, trying to drown out Gojo’s voice.

“You could’ve at least- wait. Is that a guy??” “Uh..no” “Who are you with right now that was more important than letting your best friend know that you weren’t in a ditch somewhere?” You laughed.

“This is not funny! Toji’s car was here all night. Didn’t he bring you to the party? Did he make you uber home?” You were silent.

“That asshole. I swear to-“ “Satoru I’m fine I promise,” he sighed. “Whatever as long as you’re good. I’m coming over later so have snacks.” He hung up and you sighed.

“Sorry about him,” he just hummed. “Thank you,” you said, after a while. You felt him nod. “Feeling better?” He said, backing up. His eyes searched your face as his fingers traced slow circles on your waist absentmindedly.

To other people he might still look brooding, indifferent. But you were starting to see flashes of emotion in those burning green eyes.

He looked curious and worried even? You knew what he had done for you showed that he cared but who’s to say he doesn’t do this for every crying girl he meets?

That he hasn’t done this for anyone else?

You smiled “Much. Still tired though.” “Go back to sleep then.” Just as you tucked yourself back into your new source of warmth, there was a loud knock on the door.

You sunk under the blankets on instinct, bristling when you heard Gojo’s voice. “Toji! I don’t give a fuck if you’re sleep. I need to talk to you.” Toji sighed. “I’ll be right back,” you nodded, letting go of him. Feeling the chill on your skin almost immediately.

He stepped outside, closing the door behind him. Their voices were muffled but you could make out most of what was being said.

“What the fuck do you want?” “Why did you let Y/n go home by herself last night?” There was a pause. “I didn’t.” “What the fuck are you talking about? Everyone said your car didn’t move the whole night.”

Toji sighed. “She’s fine isn’t she?” “That's not the point! I trusted you. I told you before you even went over there—“ “She’s fine. Safe.” You heard Gojo sigh. He was probably running his hands over his face right about now.

“Don’t let this shit happen again.” He said after a long pause. Soon after, Toji came back in the room. His face a mask of nonchalance.

But you saw something else in those green eyes. Something new. “How’d it go?” You asked. “Fine.” “I should probably go huh? I’ve already caused enough trouble.” He blinked. Confused again

As if you weren’t currently taking up his space. As if you weren’t clad in his clothes. As if he didn’t want you to leave. “You didn’t cause nothing. But I can take you home if that’s what you want.” You nodded.

You didn’t want to go home. Not really.

When you finally made it to the car you sighed. The drive was silent. Not the sterile kind. The type of silence that wraps around you like the warmth of another.

“/n…Y/n!” You looked over, lost “huh?” “We’re here,” you looked around, taking in your neighborhood “oh. Yeah, sorry.” He just shook his head, a whisper of a smile appearing.

“Thanks again,” “No problem ma.” His jaw clenched as he watched you walk away in his clothes. He sighed through his nose before driving off.

He needed to remember his place. Remember that he couldn’t. You were the complete opposite of what he was used to. Opposite of what he deserved. Soft skin and even softer feelings.

Yet he couldn’t find it in himself to stay away.

Later that day after you had showered and—much to your dismay—put Toji’s clothes in the washing machine you heard someone knocking on your door.

You opened it and Gojo and Geto walked right in. “You couldn’t have at least waited until I said ‘come in’?” “No” Gojo replied, heading straight for your kitchen.

He raided your cabinets while Geto plopped down on the couch. “Where’s Shoko?” “She’s with family. So tell me about this guy I heard—wait, is he here right now?” “There was no guy Toru’ it was the TV.” You lied, remembering the roughness of Toji’s morning voice.

Him and Geto looked at each other. “What?” “You’re lying,” Geto chimed in. “I’m not!” You were. You walked to the couch, sitting with a huff.

“You are.” “What even happened last night? Someone said you got into a fight with your friend? And that the bitch poured her drink all over you?” Satoru said, walking over with an armfull of snacks.

“Oh. Yeah. I got up to look for T—my other friend and she confronted me.” “What was it even about?” “She thought I was seeing this guy she liked.” “Fucking bitch. You wouldn’t even do that.” Satoru said, flipping through channels.

A few hours later a knock on your front door interrupted all conversation. You got up. When you looked through the peephole your stomach twisted with nervous excitement.

What was he doing here?

“Hey,” “You forgot your clothes,” Toji said, handing them to you. “Oh my— I didn’t even realize! Thank you.” He nodded. “I uh..” he rubbed the back of his neck. Nervous almost.

“I washed them,” “Oh! Thank you so much. They smell good too,” They smelled like him. Like his sheets. Like the cedar in his cologne. You saw his eyes flick over your head.

“You wanna come in?” You don’t know why you said that. Maybe it was how close he was or even the way he towered over you. Maybe the two combined clouded your judgement. He grunted and brushed past you. “Who the fuck—Toji?” You quickly took your clothes to your room.

“What are you doing here?” Gojo said, confused. “I left something in one of our classes. He was just returning it.” You answered. Toji walked over to your couch and sat on the end, mirroring Geto.

“So why is he staying?” “Satoru.” “Okay fine I was just asking!” He said, throwing up his hands in defense.

You sat in between Toji and a very concerned Gojo. The whole movie you could feel Gojo shooting looks at Toji over your head. Suguru got up to use the bathroom. “Don’t use all my room spray either!” He flipped you off.

Toji’s legs were spread wide and his arm was thrown over the back of the couch. Your thighs touched. Neither one of you moved them. “Do you want some of the blanket?” You asked, low enough for his ears only.

“I’m good ma,” you nodded. “Oh! I put your clothes through the wash. They should be clean now.” Although the only light in the room was coming from the screen you could see the surprise dancing in his eyes.

“Did you now?” He said as he tucked a piece of hair behind your ear. “Didn’t want to though.” “Yeah? Why is that?” He brushed his knuckles over your cheek. “They smelled really good.” He huffed out a laugh.

“Next time don’t,” your heart raced at the idea. At the idea of next time. At the thought that he was thinking ahead too.

“Alright I guess we should head home,” Gojo said after the movie had ended. “Thanks for the food,” he said, almost reminiscing about the wings and pizza you had earlier.

“You bought it Toru’” “Oh yeah! Well, thanks for the snacks!” He had brought them all a week ago so you’d have his favorites but you just nodded.

You gave Geto and Gojo a hug. They looked back at Toji expectantly. “You guys go I gotta piss,” they looked at you and you nodded. “Drive safe! Let me know when you make it,”

Once you were alone you went and grabbed Toji’s clothes. “Here,” your hands brushed as you handed them over. The roughness of his palms made you wonder what kind of life he’d lived up until this point.

He handed you his phone “Put your number in,” you took it with shaky hands. “…okay,” his lips tipped up at your nerves.

When you handed it back he glanced at the name. “I know who you are.” You had put your name and the main class you shared in parenthesis by it.

“I know but—“ he flashed you a look that made your mouth clamp shut.

He quickly deleted it and changed it to something more fitting. “Text me when you get home,” you said, as you walked him to the door.

That wolfish smile appeared as he bent to your level. “You worried about me?” You pushed him out the door “Go home Toji,” you said laughing. “See you Monday Angel,”

Later that night you got a text.

Unknown: Made it ma

You added him to your contacts right away.

You were at the house sitting at the table with Shoko and Nanami when you saw Toji walk in. Hood low, head down. You could spot him from a mile away. Regardless of if his face was visible or not.

Shoko turned around. “Oh hey Toji,” he looked up to nod towards her when his eyes locked on you. He froze. Bruises bloomed all over his jaw and cheek bones. The one around his eye a deep purple.

You felt your heart drop.

Something in you ached at the notion of him being hurt. “What the fuck happened to your face man?” Shoko said, as he walked past her and to the kitchen. “I fell.”

“You always say that,” always?

You watched as he rummaged around in the fridge. He grabbed a bottle of water and an apple from the counter before heading upstairs.

You stayed at the table for as long as you could. But his wellbeing was eating away at you. “I’ll be right back,” you made sure you were out of sight before you went upstairs.

You knocked on his door. “Toji? Are you in there?” You waited for a while. Just as you were about to knock again, the door opened.

Now he was wearing a dingy white T shirt. He opened the door wide enough for you to enter. You went into his bathroom and saw that he had already set out medical supplies. He had almost everything.

Gauze, bandaids, gloves, wraps, painkillers, and much much more. You pulled him into the bathroom and pulled yourself onto the counter.

“What are you…?” He said as you waved him over. “Helping you,” “I don’t need help ma,” you shot him a look and his mouth clamped shut before he walked over.

You opened your legs so that he could stand between them. You treated the wounds that could be treated. Taped and bandaged the few cuts on his chin and brow. “Hold this to your face,” you said, handing him an ice pack.

He took it without a word. “You’re not gonna ask?” He finally said. You met his eyes—really met them—for the first time since you’d been in there.

You took a deep breath. “No. Am I concerned? Yes,” You grabbed a light “look up,” you shined the light, paying close attention to his pupils. His eyes fell back to you.

He grabbed your wrist. “Y/n,” “Yes?” You said, more breathe than anything. “Thanks.” You blinked “…Anytime.”

He was silent for a moment. “Really” He said, barely above a whisper. You looked at him “I know,” You said softly.

He just stared at you. Stared like he’d never heard those words before. Like he couldn’t believe what he heard.

“Do you have a headache?” No answer “Toji?” “Hm?” You repeated your question. “No,” he said, looking away. “Are you telling the truth,” “…no,” you sighed. “Are you nauseous?” “No,” “Are your ears ringing at all?” “No,”

You let out the breath you’d been holding. “Good news is I don’t believe you have a concussion. Ibuprofen and rest should help the headache. And the bruises will heal overtime which I’m sure you know,”

He nodded, still staring. “C’mon,” you hopped off the counter and pulled him to his bed by his wrist. You handed him some painkillers and watched as he took them.

“I’m gonna order some food so rest until it comes.” “My card is in my wallet,” he said. “Don’t need it.” “You’re gonna use my card.” “I’m not,” he began to sit up.

You pushed his chest down “Fine! Ugh I hate you,” you heard him chuckling as you went and grabbed his wallet. “Is there anything you don’t eat?” He shook his head.

“I’m bulking so I’ll eat anything,” your mouth opened a bit “Do you…need to?” you said, using the conversation as a chance to ogle at him.

“What? You don’t think so ma?” He said in the voice he used to tease. Your eyes met and you snapped out of your trance. “Go to sleep. I’ll be back,” you said, turning away before he could see the embarrassment flitting across your features.

“Ma,” you hummed, turning to look at him. “Order it in here.” He wanted you to stay. It was clear as day. You blinked. “Okay,” you said, a bit breathless.

You climbed onto his bed. “I can’t see the phone from all the way over there.” He said, while opening his legs a bit. “C’mere angel.” He just looked so good.

His eyes were low and his hair was messy from hasty drying after his shower. You stared as he adjusted on the bed. His thighs spreading and his shirt raising slightly.

You climbed across the bed and into his lap. Your head resting against his chest as you scrolled through all the food options.

His arms wrapped loosely around your waist and before you knew it, his breathing had slowed to something steady.

He wasn’t quite asleep. Just in that relaxed moment right before.

You finally decided on a place. You looked up at him. “Are you sure you want me to use your card?” “Yes. Order it,”

You sighed as you quickly added his card and ordered the food.

You looked up at him as you set your phone down. “What?” He said, as he peaked an eye open. “Just checking on my patient.” He let out a quiet chuckled.

He breathed deeply as he stared at you. Cataloging your features almost like he was trying to memorize them.

The gloss on your lips. The way you studied him carefully. The way you melted into him. The way you cared for him was unlike anything he’d ever experienced.

Toji was in deeper than he realized and it was only a matter of time before he had to pull himself out to protect the both of you.

Or rather, protect you from him.

Tag list: @p1nkfl0wers @socutesotall @miraes-world @unlikelyportraitscenarioscookie @morenitakarina @duckie3801

I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter!! Sorry it took so long :( (again) there was so much dialogue and I was trying to make sure I kept his tone consistent. Comment ‘tagged’ if you want to be added to the tag list.

Plagiarism is not authorized

[beyondsuki]

Two posts in one day!! Who am I feeling like??

[beyondsuki]

| Favorites Firefighter!Toji x Sensitive!Fem!Reader

Suggestive + Domestic Toji + foul language + NSFW

One of your favorite things about your husband is how touchy he is. He always has to have his hands on you. Whether you’re relaxing in your home or out and about, Toji always has to be touching you.

Another thing you love about him is that deep drawl of his and how he grounds out the words “mama” and “baby.” Both casually, and to coax you into doing whatever he wants.

You especially love how possessive he is when you’re out. One time, when you were at a couples brunch with a few friends, you heard your friends chastising their spouses for not being as touchy as Toji.

And Toji just loves how soft you are. He’s always complaining about how long your showers take and how extensive your skincare regimen is and yet he’s the one who reaps the benefits.

It was the perfect balance for him. He was all hard muscles and sharp lines and you were his polar opposite. Soft and pliable. And so so sensitive.

Typically, you walk around in just panties and a t-shirt of some sort. Leaving your ass on full display for Toji to drool over.

You could be doing anything and suddenly a loud SMACK! would sound and a red hand print and sting would be left for you to deal with. “Toji!” “I’m sorry ma. It’s just too fat not to smack.” He said, smirking. He wasn’t sorry. Not one bit.

Today you were both at home. You decided you’d clean up a bit since you had some free time. You were wearing the strappy pink night gown he had just bought you. It was thin and allowed you to move around easily.

Toji was in heaven. Every time you bent over he got the perfect view of the round globes of your ass and a peek of your clothed pussy in a pair of pink lace panties. He swore you were teasing him on purpose.

And your tits? Don’t even get him started. The straps of your nightie kept falling leading to them in a constant state of spilling out.

“Is there something you need?” You asked as he had now been following you around for the past 10 minutes. “Nah, just keep doing what you’re doing.” You gave him a once over.

All he was wearing was a pair of low hanging grey sweats. His arms folded as he stared at you with that intense green gaze.

You huffed and got back to your cleaning. It went on like that for another 10 minutes before you made the mistake of picking up a hair tie from under the table. The move caused you to arch your back. Making your husband lose what thread of control he had left.

Suddenly you were being groped. He was squeezing and pulling apart the globes of your ass and grinding his hardened erection into you.

“Toji!!” Your face grew warm “Fuckk ma, you look so good today,” “Tojiii I’m trying to cleann,” you whined, not doing much to stop him. “Cleaning can wait. Pussy’s been calling me all morning,”

You squealed as he spun you around and threw you over his shoulder. You gave up as he walked you both to your bedroom.

Cleaning would just have to wait another day.

I’m still working on the Drabble you all voted on but this has been sitting half finished in my drafts foreverrr so I decided to post it!

Plagiarism is not authorized

[beyondsuki]

Fragmented

College AU

Fratboy!Toji x Fem!Reader

Summary: After years of being without you finally met someone whose eyes follow you. Burn for you. You meet Toji Zenin one night at a party after seeking respite outside. You’re immediately drawn to him despite his less than savory background. Like a drug you keep coming back, only, he’s the one pulling you towards him.

Content: Angst, Smut, Fluff

Word Count: 4k

Last part - Next part

The music pulsed through your veins. A slower rhythm than your heart as his touch burned even through your clothes.

He smelled good. Like cedar and whispered promises. You spun in his arms. Wrapping your arms around his neck. He watched you. As if there was only you. “Why are you dancing with me?”

“Am I not allowed to?” He said, voice rougher than usual. “Not when there’s other people vying for your attention,” that smirk appeared. “You jealous angel?” Your eyes shot to his.

You swallowed, his eyes followed the motion. You focused your attention on something else. His smiled widened, recognizing the reason for your sudden nervousness. “What?” He said, leaning in.

“N-nothing,” “Doesn’t seem like nothing,” he said, grabbing your chin. Forcing you to look at him. At those eyes that saw right through you. Out of your peripheral vision you saw a girl making her way over. Her eyes locked on Toji.

“I-it is,” you said, attempting to pull away. Trying to separate yourself from him before you did something rash. You placed your hands on his arms trying to push away.

But he held you there.

“Toji-“ you glanced to your right. He finally looked to see what you were looking at. His grip loosened. Allowing you to back up. Breathe.

As soon as she came over you made a break for it. Making your way over to a quiet corner with a couch unoccupied. It wasn’t long before Toji joined you.

You could feel the burn of his emerald gaze. “What?” “Talk to me,” at that you looked over. Meeting his gaze head on. “There’s nothing to talk abo—“ “Bullshit. I can see you thinking,” you threw him a glare.

You sat there in silence. He got up. “Smoke break,” you nodded.

He was out there for a while. So long you decided to look. The party danced around you. Dry shampoo and copious perfumes that managed to smell the same filled your senses as you moved through the crowd.

“Y/n?” You turned around to find one of your friends. The same one who hooked up with Toji. The same one who rubbed it in your face every time the chance presented itself.

“Oh hey—“ suddenly her drink was all over you. “You’re a fucking liar!” You blinked, confused. “I don’t know—“ “You came here with Toji didn’t you?” You didn’t respond. You just stared at her.

At the way she looked at you like she hated you. At the way her hair was messed up in the back. Almost like someone had been grabbing it. “I fucking knew it. You slut! I told you I liked him!”

She didn’t. She hadn’t told you a thing. Only that they hooked up. You had no idea where this was coming from. Why she suddenly had it out for you.

She shoved you once before your other friends came and got her. They all shook their heads in disappointment. Mumbling profanities under their breath.

Tears clouded your vision as you walked to the closest door you could find. “Hey- what happened?” Toji was on you faster than you could blink. You hadn’t realized you walked out to the porch.

You just looked up at him as the tears began to fall. “I-I don’t know. I was just l-looking for y-you and she cussed me out and-and threw her drink at m-me,” you felt his hands on your face.

He wiped your tears with his thumbs “who?” “…Kayla” even through your tears you saw the way his jaw clenched.

He nodded. “it’s okay angel,” his voice softer than you’d ever heard it. “B-but—“ “I know. C’mon,” he gently grabbed your wrist and led you through the party.

He dragged you up the stairs and to his room. It was undeniably him. Dark furniture and walls and his scent lingering in the air. An undertone of boy wafting towards you as he moved around the room, picking up the clothes that littered the floor.

He eventually came over and handed you a neatly folded stack of grey and black. “The bathrooms’ right through that door. There’s towels in there already and you can use whatever you want,” you blinked at him. Surprised by his kindness.

You gave him a watery ‘thank you’ before making your way to his unpredictably clean bathroom. After you finished you slipped on the sweats and hoodie he gave you.

You could smell him on you. From the clothes to the soap, his signature cedar scent stuck to you. You folded your clothes and placed them on the dresser with your purse.

Toji looked up from his phone when you came in. “Sorry I took so long, the water pressures’ really nice…” but he wasn’t listening. His jaw clenched as those burning green eyes looked you over. Taking you in from head to toe.

His cock twitched as you walked closer, allowing him to smell himself all over you. “Toji…?” He blinked, finally realizing you were talking to him. “what?” “I was just saying sorry I took so long..” his brows furrowed.

“You have no reason to be sorry,” he patted the bed beside him. “Sit.” You stared at his hand. He had changed. Now he was wearing his usual attire. His grey sweats matching the ones he gave you to wear. And a worn white wife-beater.

You glanced at his bed, then back at him. You wondered how many girls had been in it. How often he washed his linen.

“I don’t bring hookups here if that’s what you’re worried about,” your eyes shot to his “That’s not-“ “And I washed them yesterday.” You clamped your mouth shut. You had mentioned in passing you preferred to keep your space clean.

How anxious it made you if everything you could control was in disarray. You could feel the smile creeping onto your face. “‘Okay,” you were stiff, awkward even as you sat on his bed.

He watched you. His clothes were practically swimming on you and yet he found himself wanting to switch out every hoodie in your closet with his.

He handed you his remote. “You can watch whatever you want.” Your mouth opened a bit. “I have almost everything thanks to Jack Frost,” you snorted a laugh. Gojo did love his shows.

You flipped through different streaming services, looking for something to watch. You finally settled on some new movie you’d heard about.

“You okay ma?” Toji said after watching you settle down on the bed. After watching your chest rise and fall for a while in that steady controlled way you did when you were trying not to fall apart.

You hummed “getting there,” it was silent for a moment. You turned to face him. He was still sitting up. “I’m fine.” You said. “You sure?” You felt your eyes water against your will. “Sorry,” you wiped them.

He tucked a stray curl behind your ear. “You got nothing to be sorry for,” you nodded, still trying to get your emotions in order as your hands wiped at your eyes.

Suddenly you felt big arms wrap around you. Toji had shifted, now laying in the bed with your head in his chest.

That really made you choke up. And suddenly you were sobbing into him. He rubbed soothing circles over your back, your nape. He smoothed down your hair as you cried.

“I know angel,” even as your tears soaked into his shirt he sat there, holding you. Reassuring you that it was okay. “I don’t know what I did wrong,” you said, after your tears had calmed. Face still in his chest. Words muffled by his shirt.

“Nothing,” he held you. He held you until you stopped crying. Until your breathing slowed to something steady. Not forced or brimming with control. Until he looked down and you were asleep in his arms.

It was ironic really. The reason for the alcohol all over your top was holding you while you slept. The very cause of why your friend put her hands on you was reassuring you.

Toji found himself watching you again. And as he sat there, drawing lazy circles on your skin, he realized how natural it felt. How much he liked the feel of you against him. In his arms.

Comfortable enough around him to let him be this close in your most vulnerable state.

Content enough to be vulnerable.

You woke up to the feeling of something heavy on you. Something firm wrapped around your waist. You blinked your eyes open, quickly realizing that you were not in your room. Memories of the night before flashed through your mind.

Toji. Toji taking you to his room. Toji giving you his clothes. Toji letting you use his shower. Toji holding you while you cried. While you slept.

Toji who was still holding you as he slept. His arms tightening around your waist when you started shifting. He let out a low groan, his chest vibrating against your cheek in protest.

“Stop moving,” your cheeks heated at the sound of his voice. Deeper than usual from sleep. Scratchy in just the right way. You reached to grab your phone off the nightstand but he held you tight.

“Wait- Toji let me grab my phone,” he let out a heavy sigh before loosening his grip just enough.

You had around 14 missed calls from Satoru. It rang twice before he picked up.

“What the fuck happened to you? I was so worried—“ “I’m fine Satoru,” Toji groaned as he nuzzled his face into your neck, trying to drown out Gojo’s voice.

“You could’ve at least- wait. Is that a guy??” “Uh..no” “Who are you with right now that was more important than letting your best friend know that you weren’t in a ditch somewhere?” You laughed.

“This is not funny! Toji’s car was here all night. Didn’t he bring you to the party? Did he make you uber home?” You were silent.

“That asshole. I swear to-“ “Satoru I’m fine I promise,” he sighed. “Whatever as long as you’re good. I’m coming over later so have snacks.” He hung up and you sighed.

“Sorry about him,” he just hummed. “Thank you,” you said, after a while. You felt him nod. “Feeling better?” He said, backing up. His eyes searched your face as his fingers traced slow circles on your waist absentmindedly.

To other people he might still look brooding, indifferent. But you were starting to see flashes of emotion in those burning green eyes.

He looked curious and worried even? You knew what he had done for you showed that he cared but who’s to say he doesn’t do this for every crying girl he meets?

That he hasn’t done this for anyone else?

You smiled “Much. Still tired though.” “Go back to sleep then.” Just as you tucked yourself back into your new source of warmth, there was a loud knock on the door.

You sunk under the blankets on instinct, bristling when you heard Gojo’s voice. “Toji! I don’t give a fuck if you’re sleep. I need to talk to you.” Toji sighed. “I’ll be right back,” you nodded, letting go of him. Feeling the chill on your skin almost immediately.

He stepped outside, closing the door behind him. Their voices were muffled but you could make out most of what was being said.

“What the fuck do you want?” “Why did you let Y/n go home by herself last night?” There was a pause. “I didn’t.” “What the fuck are you talking about? Everyone said your car didn’t move the whole night.”

Toji sighed. “She’s fine isn’t she?” “That's not the point! I trusted you. I told you before you even went over there—“ “She’s fine. Safe.” You heard Gojo sigh. He was probably running his hands over his face right about now.

“Don’t let this shit happen again.” He said after a long pause. Soon after, Toji came back in the room. His face a mask of nonchalance.

But you saw something else in those green eyes. Something new. “How’d it go?” You asked. “Fine.” “I should probably go huh? I’ve already caused enough trouble.” He blinked. Confused again

As if you weren’t currently taking up his space. As if you weren’t clad in his clothes. As if he didn’t want you to leave. “You didn’t cause nothing. But I can take you home if that’s what you want.” You nodded.

You didn’t want to go home. Not really.

When you finally made it to the car you sighed. The drive was silent. Not the sterile kind. The type of silence that wraps around you like the warmth of another.

“/n…Y/n!” You looked over, lost “huh?” “We’re here,” you looked around, taking in your neighborhood “oh. Yeah, sorry.” He just shook his head, a whisper of a smile appearing.

“Thanks again,” “No problem ma.” His jaw clenched as he watched you walk away in his clothes. He sighed through his nose before driving off.

He needed to remember his place. Remember that he couldn’t. You were the complete opposite of what he was used to. Opposite of what he deserved. Soft skin and even softer feelings.

Yet he couldn’t find it in himself to stay away.

Later that day after you had showered and—much to your dismay—put Toji’s clothes in the washing machine you heard someone knocking on your door.

You opened it and Gojo and Geto walked right in. “You couldn’t have at least waited until I said ‘come in’?” “No” Gojo replied, heading straight for your kitchen.

He raided your cabinets while Geto plopped down on the couch. “Where’s Shoko?” “She’s with family. So tell me about this guy I heard—wait, is he here right now?” “There was no guy Toru’ it was the TV.” You lied, remembering the roughness of Toji’s morning voice.

Him and Geto looked at each other. “What?” “You’re lying,” Geto chimed in. “I’m not!” You were. You walked to the couch, sitting with a huff.

“You are.” “What even happened last night? Someone said you got into a fight with your friend? And that the bitch poured her drink all over you?” Satoru said, walking over with an armfull of snacks.

“Oh. Yeah. I got up to look for T—my other friend and she confronted me.” “What was it even about?” “She thought I was seeing this guy she liked.” “Fucking bitch. You wouldn’t even do that.” Satoru said, flipping through channels.

A few hours later a knock on your front door interrupted all conversation. You got up. When you looked through the peephole your stomach twisted with nervous excitement.

What was he doing here?

“Hey,” “You forgot your clothes,” Toji said, handing them to you. “Oh my— I didn’t even realize! Thank you.” He nodded. “I uh..” he rubbed the back of his neck. Nervous almost.

“I washed them,” “Oh! Thank you so much. They smell good too,” They smelled like him. Like his sheets. Like the cedar in his cologne. You saw his eyes flick over your head.

“You wanna come in?” You don’t know why you said that. Maybe it was how close he was or even the way he towered over you. Maybe the two combined clouded your judgement. He grunted and brushed past you. “Who the fuck—Toji?” You quickly took your clothes to your room.

“What are you doing here?” Gojo said, confused. “I left something in one of our classes. He was just returning it.” You answered. Toji walked over to your couch and sat on the end, mirroring Geto.

“So why is he staying?” “Satoru.” “Okay fine I was just asking!” He said, throwing up his hands in defense.

You sat in between Toji and a very concerned Gojo. The whole movie you could feel Gojo shooting looks at Toji over your head. Suguru got up to use the bathroom. “Don’t use all my room spray either!” He flipped you off.

Toji’s legs were spread wide and his arm was thrown over the back of the couch. Your thighs touched. Neither one of you moved them. “Do you want some of the blanket?” You asked, low enough for his ears only.

“I’m good ma,” you nodded. “Oh! I put your clothes through the wash. They should be clean now.” Although the only light in the room was coming from the screen you could see the surprise dancing in his eyes.

“Did you now?” He said as he tucked a piece of hair behind your ear. “Didn’t want to though.” “Yeah? Why is that?” He brushed his knuckles over your cheek. “They smelled really good.” He huffed out a laugh.

“Next time don’t,” your heart raced at the idea. At the idea of next time. At the thought that he was thinking ahead too.

“Alright I guess we should head home,” Gojo said after the movie had ended. “Thanks for the food,” he said, almost reminiscing about the wings and pizza you had earlier.

“You bought it Toru’” “Oh yeah! Well, thanks for the snacks!” He had brought them all a week ago so you’d have his favorites but you just nodded.

You gave Geto and Gojo a hug. They looked back at Toji expectantly. “You guys go I gotta piss,” they looked at you and you nodded. “Drive safe! Let me know when you make it,”

Once you were alone you went and grabbed Toji’s clothes. “Here,” your hands brushed as you handed them over. The roughness of his palms made you wonder what kind of life he’d lived up until this point.

He handed you his phone “Put your number in,” you took it with shaky hands. “…okay,” his lips tipped up at your nerves.

When you handed it back he glanced at the name. “I know who you are.” You had put your name and the main class you shared in parenthesis by it.

“I know but—“ he flashed you a look that made your mouth clamp shut.

He quickly deleted it and changed it to something more fitting. “Text me when you get home,” you said, as you walked him to the door.

That wolfish smile appeared as he bent to your level. “You worried about me?” You pushed him out the door “Go home Toji,” you said laughing. “See you Monday Angel,”

Later that night you got a text.

Unknown: Made it ma

You added him to your contacts right away.

You were at the house sitting at the table with Shoko and Nanami when you saw Toji walk in. Hood low, head down. You could spot him from a mile away. Regardless of if his face was visible or not.

Shoko turned around. “Oh hey Toji,” he looked up to nod towards her when his eyes locked on you. He froze. Bruises bloomed all over his jaw and cheek bones. The one around his eye a deep purple.

You felt your heart drop.

Something in you ached at the notion of him being hurt. “What the fuck happened to your face man?” Shoko said, as he walked past her and to the kitchen. “I fell.”

“You always say that,” always?

You watched as he rummaged around in the fridge. He grabbed a bottle of water and an apple from the counter before heading upstairs.

You stayed at the table for as long as you could. But his wellbeing was eating away at you. “I’ll be right back,” you made sure you were out of sight before you went upstairs.

You knocked on his door. “Toji? Are you in there?” You waited for a while. Just as you were about to knock again, the door opened.

Now he was wearing a dingy white T shirt. He opened the door wide enough for you to enter. You went into his bathroom and saw that he had already set out medical supplies. He had almost everything.

Gauze, bandaids, gloves, wraps, painkillers, and much much more. You pulled him into the bathroom and pulled yourself onto the counter.

“What are you…?” He said as you waved him over. “Helping you,” “I don’t need help ma,” you shot him a look and his mouth clamped shut before he walked over.

You opened your legs so that he could stand between them. You treated the wounds that could be treated. Taped and bandaged the few cuts on his chin and brow. “Hold this to your face,” you said, handing him an ice pack.

He took it without a word. “You’re not gonna ask?” He finally said. You met his eyes—really met them—for the first time since you’d been in there.

You took a deep breath. “No. Am I concerned? Yes,” You grabbed a light “look up,” you shined the light, paying close attention to his pupils. His eyes fell back to you.

He grabbed your wrist. “Y/n,” “Yes?” You said, more breathe than anything. “Thanks.” You blinked “…Anytime.”

He was silent for a moment. “Really” He said, barely above a whisper. You looked at him “I know,” You said softly.

He just stared at you. Stared like he’d never heard those words before. Like he couldn’t believe what he heard.

“Do you have a headache?” No answer “Toji?” “Hm?” You repeated your question. “No,” he said, looking away. “Are you telling the truth,” “…no,” you sighed. “Are you nauseous?” “No,” “Are your ears ringing at all?” “No,”

You let out the breath you’d been holding. “Good news is I don’t believe you have a concussion. Ibuprofen and rest should help the headache. And the bruises will heal overtime which I’m sure you know,”

He nodded, still staring. “C’mon,” you hopped off the counter and pulled him to his bed by his wrist. You handed him some painkillers and watched as he took them.

“I’m gonna order some food so rest until it comes.” “My card is in my wallet,” he said. “Don’t need it.” “You’re gonna use my card.” “I’m not,” he began to sit up.

You pushed his chest down “Fine! Ugh I hate you,” you heard him chuckling as you went and grabbed his wallet. “Is there anything you don’t eat?” He shook his head.

“I’m bulking so I’ll eat anything,” your mouth opened a bit “Do you…need to?” you said, using the conversation as a chance to ogle at him.

“What? You don’t think so ma?” He said in the voice he used to tease. Your eyes met and you snapped out of your trance. “Go to sleep. I’ll be back,” you said, turning away before he could see the embarrassment flitting across your features.

“Ma,” you hummed, turning to look at him. “Order it in here.” He wanted you to stay. It was clear as day. You blinked. “Okay,” you said, a bit breathless.

You climbed onto his bed. “I can’t see the phone from all the way over there.” He said, while opening his legs a bit. “C’mere angel.” He just looked so good.

His eyes were low and his hair was messy from hasty drying after his shower. You stared as he adjusted on the bed. His thighs spreading and his shirt raising slightly.

You climbed across the bed and into his lap. Your head resting against his chest as you scrolled through all the food options.

His arms wrapped loosely around your waist and before you knew it, his breathing had slowed to something steady.

He wasn’t quite asleep. Just in that relaxed moment right before.

You finally decided on a place. You looked up at him. “Are you sure you want me to use your card?” “Yes. Order it,”

You sighed as you quickly added his card and ordered the food.

You looked up at him as you set your phone down. “What?” He said, as he peaked an eye open. “Just checking on my patient.” He let out a quiet chuckled.

He breathed deeply as he stared at you. Cataloging your features almost like he was trying to memorize them.

The gloss on your lips. The way you studied him carefully. The way you melted into him. The way you cared for him was unlike anything he’d ever experienced.

Toji was in deeper than he realized and it was only a matter of time before he had to pull himself out to protect the both of you.

Or rather, protect you from him.

Tag list: @p1nkfl0wers @socutesotall @miraes-world @unlikelyportraitscenarioscookie @morenitakarina @duckie3801

I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter!! Sorry it took so long :( (again) there was so much dialogue and I was trying to make sure I kept his tone consistent. Comment ‘tagged’ if you want to be added to the tag list.

Plagiarism is not authorized

[beyondsuki]

I did not think yall were gonna like the last post that much 🌚

What do yall want next?

Angst + comfort

Comfort + fluff + suggestive + jealousy(from third party)

Voting ended onAug 1, 2025

[beyondsuki]

Yall are sick!! I thought you’d pick angst. Anyways I’m writing now…🌚

[beyondsuki]

I did not think yall were gonna like the last post that much 🌚

What do yall want next?

Angst + comfort

Comfort + fluff + suggestive + jealousy(from third party)

Voting ended onAug 1, 2025

[beyondsuki]

| Early mornings with Toji Firefighter!Toji x Sensitive!Fem!Reader

Slightly suggestive + fluff + SFW

Toji is a man who’s rough around the edges. His life has been in no way easy. In fact, he’s been met with death in more ways than he can count. And he’s been fine with it that way. After all, that’s the life of a fire fighter.

Until he met you. You who he lives for. His sweet, sensitive little girlfriend—at the time—whom he first saw at his local coffee shop. You appeared to be studying. Scribbling something down in that neat girly handwriting he adored. Switching between pens of different colors while pushing up your glasses.

You don’t even know how it happened. Toji was your complete opposite. Where he was rough you were soft. Where he was harsh you were kind and sweet. And he absolutely adored you.

He wasn’t the best at conveying his feelings through words but his love for you was displayed through his actions. One being the way in which he spoke to you. “Hey pretty baby,” he said as you finally began opening your eyes. You smiled seeing that your husband had climbed into bed with you during the early hours of the morning.

“How was work?” You said, voice hoarse with sleep. “Good. No major calls.” You hummed. “What time is it?” “Around seven,” your brow furrowed with worry. “Have you—“ but before you could ask your next question, he pressed his lips to yours.

“You talk too much ma,” he murmured before going back in, humming with satisfaction as you melted to him. “I know what you’re doing,” you said as you pulled away.

“Yeah? Is it working?” He asked, smiling “…kinda.” His hands roamed your body, lighting your skin on fire. You’re always sensitive to Toji’s touch but you’re especially reactive in the morning. And he knows that.

“Tojii you need to s-sleep,” “I slept enough ma—don’t look at me like that,” your lips had turned into a pout. One that he would always be weak to. He knew that his wellbeing also affected yours. So he often lies about how he truly feels when it comes to his health.

But being who you are, you always knew. You rolled out of his arms and on your back. “Where are you—“ “c’mere Toj,” he knew there was no point in fighting you. He sighed before laying his head on your chest and wrapping himself around you.

You rolled your eyes at his dramatics. Knowing that despite all his huffing and puffing he’d be sleeping soundly in no time. Your fingers carded through his hair as his breathing started to slow.

He nuzzled into you as your nails drew patterns on his back and through his hair. “Love you ma,” was the last thing he said before light snores began to fill the room.

“I love you too Toji.”

Here’s a little Drabble to make up for my inconsistent posting. Lmk if you want this to be a series!!

Plagiarism is not authorized

Series continuation

[beyondsuki]

I’m writing guys I swear!! I just feel like it’s kinda rushed so I’ve been picking part 3 apart for dayssss

[beyondsuki]

hi so I’m NEW to the jjk fandom and I’m seeing people on TikTok saying Gojo is an albino black man but google says that’s incorrect so I’m LOST- is Gojo black in the canon- have I missed something 😭

Omg WHO told you this. Gojo is a Japanese man who has white hair and blue eyes due to his abilities. The whole black Gojo thing is just a joke because they say he acts lightskin 😭

[beyondsuki]

Fragmented

College AU

Fratboy!Toji x Fem!Reader

Summary: After years of being without you finally met someone whose eyes follow you. Burn for you. You meet Toji Zenin one night at a party after seeking respite outside. You’re immediately drawn to him despite his less than savory background. Like a drug you keep coming back, only, he’s the one pulling you towards him.

Content: Angst, Smut, Fluff

Word Count: 2.7k

Last part - Next part

It went on like that. You’d see him, avoid him and go about your day.

Until it happened. Until the day Satoru invited you over to study. You’d needed some help with an assignment due later that week.

You arrived on time, books in hand. Satoru opened the door for you. “Cmon in!” There was no evidence of the party. Only the usual suspects.

Geto laid out on the floor scribbling on what looked to be his math homework. Nanami was at the table, drinking tea and tapping away at his computer.

You were surprised to see him. Normally, he locked himself away in his room. Sukuna was on the floor adjacent to Geto, scrolling on his phone and Shoko was on the porch taking a smoke break.

Suddenly you felt the air change. Shift

Your body stood alert when you saw him come around the corner. Low hanging grey sweats and a black jacket with nothing underneath.

You met his eyes. Still the same deep green you remembered them to be.

He raised his eyebrows at you as that smug smirk played on his lips. You looked back to Satoru, pretending to be interested in whatever he was saying.

“…study with Toji!” Huh “What did you just say?” He huffed “I said I realized I have a big assignment due at 11:59 so I can’t help you tonight. But Toji knows the material so he can step in,” your blood ran cold.

“You know, I’m actually exhausted. I think I’m gonna head home-“ “Nope. I know you. You’re gonna spiral if you don’t understand. So just accept the help,” accept the help?

You took a deep breath. “Fine,” you were shaking. Something about this made you wildly nervous. He’s just helping with school work. Nothing more, nothing less.

“Hey Nanami,” you said, setting your stuff down. He was deep in his books but he looked up to wave. “How’s stats?” He rolled his eyes “Horrible. Midterms’ Friday.” You hissed “And you’re down here?” “Not for long,” he said, those amber eyes following something behind you. You laughed.

Toji fell into the seat by you, ignoring Nanami’s glare. You began shortly after

He studied you as he taught you. He watched as you concentrated. He took in every move you made. He wanted to see how your mind worked. What prompted the conversation that night besides alcohol.

What he said made a lot of sense. You were surprised. He was smarter than he let on. Yet another piece of information you held onto without meaning to.

Suddenly, he got up.

When he came back is jacket was opened. You saw the way his tattoo curled around his chest like smoke. The way his muscles flexed, the way the light hit his abdomen.

His fingers graced yours as he handed you a glass. He brought water. “Thanks,” They were rough. Felt like he had lived. “Be back,” you nodded. He went outside for what you assumed was a smoke break. He stayed out for a long time.

So long you finished. “You done?” Satoru said, walking over. “Yeah. Uh. Where’s Toji?” “Porch, why?” “Thanks,” you walked to the back door.

It creaked when you opened it. Just like that night. Only it was you going to him.

He looked over. Amusement danced in his eyes. “Was wondering when you’d come out,” he stepped on what you assumed was a cigarette. Blowing the remaining smoke out his nose. “Thought something got you,” you said, looking out into the yard. He tilted his head as you felt the familiar burn of his eyes. “I was just coming to let you know I finished. Thanks for the help,” you looked at him.

But he was already watching you.

“Anytime,” he meant it. You intrigued him. To him you were a puzzle, something to figure out. “You don’t look at me. Not really,” he said curiously. “I’m looking at you now.”

He was painfully attractive. His presence made you nervous. His gaze made you burn. “It’s skittish. You scared?” He said, his voice rough. “If I was?”

It was quick, barely there. But his gaze traveled to your lips. “I wouldn’t blame you,” he smirked, scar stretching. “Goodnight Toji,” “Goodnight Y/n,”

Over the next few weeks you talked more. A wave here. A short talk in the hallway on the way to class. Your friends started to notice. They said he was bad news. They said he was passed around.

‘Easy’ is what they called him.

But they’d all had their moments. Experienced all their firsts. You liked him regardless. He was more than just rumors to you. You had spoken to him. Sat with him. You still wanted to know more. Peel back the layers and see what lie beneath.

Maybe they’d be right. But maybe, just maybe, they’d be wrong.

You felt him before you saw him. The way the air shifted. The way everyone’s eyes stuck to him. You were walking with a few friends when Toji came up to you. “Oh. Hey,” “The snowflake left. Told me to give you a ride.” You stopped in your tracks.

Dammit Satoru! “I-I’ll catch up with you guys later,” they nodded hesitantly while saying their goodbyes. “Those are your friends?” You glanced up at him. “Oh. Yeah they’re just worried about me.” He doubted it was something real. He knew their worry was fleeting; based solely on their experiences.

He saw the way you shined with other people. The way you smiled and practically lit up. But they dimmed your light. Stealing it for their own selfish benefit.

“Why?” He bit. “They don’t like you,” he chuckled. Shoulda bet on it. “Why?” You pursed your lips. You didn’t necessarily want to tell this man your friends thought he was a whore. You danced around it. “They’ve…heard things.”

“Oh yeah? What kind of things,” “Just…things,” “I’m not quite getting it. I’m not the brightest-“ “Don’t irritate me,” he laughed. He actually laughed. It wasn’t loud or over dramatic. But it was genuine.

Real.

“I guess the better question is…do you believe them?” You didn’t want to. “Should I?” You saw something flash in his eyes. Something unreadable. Something you had never seen before. He shrugged. “Do what you want,” you saw the way his body language shifted. The way he turned to face forward instead of at you.

His car was nice. Surprisingly clean, save for some of the stuff from his gym bag that had fallen out. He took up space wherever he went but in his car it was suffocating. Everything was unmistakably Toji.

“You hungry?” He said, relaxed. One hand on the steering wheel as he pulled into what looked to be a burger place. “…sure?” He got out the car, shocking you when he came around and opened our door. “You coming?”

“Oh. Yeah. Sorry.” You got out, almost bumping your face into his chest. “Need a hand?” “Sor-“ “I’m joking,” then he did something unexpected. He placed his hand on your head. Patted it.

It wasn’t imposing. It was comforting.

When you got to the window he ordered for you. “Is that okay?” You nodded. You liked that about him. He took initiative. You were tired of doing everything yourself. Tired of having to depend only on you.

“What’d you do today?” You said as you waited for your food. He smirked, “The only thing that really stood out was talking to you,” you frowned. “Be serious.”

“I’m always serious,” you shook your head. You sat in silence for a moment. It was comfortable. Familiar almost.

“What’s your favorite color?” You said, resting your face against your fist. “What is this, twenty one questions?” “It can be.” He gave you a wolfish smile. One that made you smile in return. It was big and genuine and real.

“You can’t tell?” He said, spreading his arms out. Your eyes traveled slowly down his massive frame. A black compression shirt stretched over his broad shoulders. A black hoodie and sweats paired with it.

“Black?” He clapped. “Very observant,” you shrugged. “I know a little bit,” His name was called from somewhere to your left.

“How is it?” He said when you were both back in his car. “Goodf,” you replied, mouth full of food. That night you found out what his favorite food was. Burgers. If he prefers the ocean or the mountains. Mountains. What his pet peeve was. People. And that his superpower would be “being Batman,”

“That’s not a superpower Toji,” You said, laughing. “It is.” “You’re absolutely unbelievable,” he tipped his head. “Okay, then what would yours be?” “Oh it’d definitely be being starfire,” you said, voice serious.

“But I’m the unbelievable one?” he said, shaking his head. You pulled up at your apartment soon after. “Thank you for the food…and the ride.” He nodded. “Goodnight Batman,” a piece of that wolfish smile appeared “Goodnight Y/n,”

You had a break between your classes so you and your friends decided to get lunch. The table was silent as they passed glances between one another.

“What is it?” You said, confused. “Were you with Toji last night?” Your heart dropped. You lived alone. No roommates. And your friends lived on campus. “What?”

“My friend said she saw you with him at some burger place last night,” “Why would I be at a burger place with Toji Zenin?” Because you craved his attention. You craved the burn of his gaze. Because those emerald eyes bore into you and saw right through you.

“Didn’t he give you a ride home?” “He did. But we didn’t eat,” you didn’t know why you were being secretive. Maybe because you knew of their opposition towards him. Or maybe you just wanted to keep him to yourself.

“Oh okay. I thought so. Didn’t want you getting too close to him. Especially since I hooked up with him last weekend.” Oh. The girls around the table squealed. Asked her to spill all the juicy details.

“I gotta pee,” you said, getting up. You knew this would happen. That it’d be like this. You’d get used to it eventually. You knew it was just friendly between you two.

But that wasn’t the part that hurt. It wasn’t about him. Not really. It was about them. How they warned you away from him. The only person you’d shown real interest in. Only to tell you he was just another one of their hookups.

You felt the tears fall before you could stop them. This was so stupid. You hated yourself for crying.

Suddenly, you felt someone grab you. It was him. “What do you want?” You said, wiping your face. His eyebrows pinched. “Why are you crying?” “It’s nothing just-“ “it’s not nothing,” you stared at him. “It is,” you mumbled, pulling your arm from his grip.

“Toji!” Gojo called. “What?” “I’ve been calling you for three minutes.” Toji let out a heavy sigh. “The fuck do you want?” “Can you grab Y/n?” His ears perked at that.

“Why?” “She won’t listen to me. She’s been locked in her house since midterms. Only comes out to go to school. Hasn’t been to any parties.” Oh he knew. He looked for a flash of you every Friday night since he saw those tears in your eyes. The sadness that overtook you in that moment mirrored his.

And it bothered him.

“And you think I can convince her?” Gojo threw his hands up “I don’t know! Sukuna’s buying alcohol, Suguru and shoko are inviting people, and Nanami will just convince her not to come. You’re my last hope.” Toji sighed. “Fine,”

You were so tired. Mentally and physically exhausted as you lie on your couch, binging some new show you’d heard about when you heard a loud knock.

You groaned as you got up. “I already told you I’m not going-“ There stood Toji, clad in black jeans and a baggy black leather jacket. His cologne attacked your senses, pulling you into him. “W-what are you doing here?”

He pushed past you, brushing your arm on the way in. He looked around at the blankets and snacks that littered your couch and coffee table. “I’m here to pick you up.” You sighed “I’m not going to that-“ “that’s fine,” somehow he was across the room.

He started picking up different snacks, eyeing you. “I don’t wanna hear it.” You said. He put his hands up in defense as he sat down on the couch. “What are you doing?” “You said you weren’t going. So, what are we watching?” He was insane. He had to be.

“Toji- what- I’m not going.” “I heard you,” he said, flipping through channels. You stared at him like he was a stranger. He looked over, that wolfish smile appearing on his face. “Do you not want my company?”

“No,” You both knew that was a lie. He sucked a sharp breath through his teeth “Harsh.” “Why are you here?” You said, tone more serious. “Did Satoru send you?” for some reason, Toji didn’t want Gojo to take the credit for this task.

He shrugged. “I’m not allowed to pick you up?” You stared at him. Really looked into those green eyes. “…give me a sec,”

When you made it to the party it was packed. You allowed yourself to be persuaded by the cedar in his cologne and the burn of his eyes. He leaned in close to your ear. “Already regretting it?” He asked, you nodded.

“C’mon,” you felt his hand ghost over your lower back. Radiating the same heat his eyes did. Only, when he actually touched you, your skin lit on fire. Adrenaline rushing through your veins as he led you through the crowd.

“Y/n!!” Satoru said as he walked over, leaving whoever he was talking to behind. He leaned down to hug you. Having to use one hand due to the red solo cup in his other.

“You look gorgeous,” “Thank you Satoru,” he smiled that sly smile that made you realize why so many girl threw themselves at him. “That’s what I’m here for!” Someone called him from the right. He waved before walking away.

You turned around to find Toji already staring at you. “What?” He blinked “Nothing,” suddenly, some blonde came over. You watched as she started feeling him up, completely ignoring you. He turned to her, smiling in that way you thought was yours.

You took that as your que to leave. In the kitchen you mixed whatever you could find. “Damn Y/n,” Sukuna said coming into your field of view. Predatory eyes followed you as you chugged half your drink down.

“You finally came out the house I see. With Zenin no less.” You cut your eyes at him. “He had nothing to do with it,” “Oh but I think he did,” he smiled, canines showing, growing sharper as the conversation continued.

He sipped his drink, causing the muscles in his arms to flex, enhancing the tattoos displayed on his arm. “I’m going for a smoke break,” he said, holding up a blunt “wanna come?” “I’m good,” “suit yourself.” He said, walking out.

You were starting to feel the effect of what you had chugged. Maybe that’s what led you to the dance floor. Or maybe it was the fact that you could feel the burn of his attention.

You felt a hand on your waist and warm breath by your ear. “Wanna dance?” you knew that voice, that smell, that fire. “Sure,” you said, more breathless than anything.

He placed both hands on your waist, holding you there. “You look beautiful tonight,” he breathed “just tonight?” You said, looking over your shoulder. The alcohol emboldening your usually timid demeanor with him. He smiled. And then, you began dancing.

The music was slow, intimate. You found yourself leaning into him. Forgetting where your body ended and his began. His hands stayed on your waist, not traveling further than your hips.

“Didn’t know you could dance,” he said, that deep drawl of his right by your ear. “You don’t know a lot of things about me Toji,” “Then tell me,” he knew he shouldn’t. Because the more he asked the more attached he’d get.

And the deeper he’d fall into the soft radiance that was you.

A privilege he didn’t deserve.

Tag list: @p1nkfl0wers @socutesotall

Hope you enjoyed! Sorry this took so long :( if you want to be tagged in the next one comment “tagged” and I’ll add you!

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[beyondsuki]

Fragmented

College AU

Pairing: Fratboy!Toji x Fem!Reader

Summary: After years of being without you finally met someone whose eyes follow you. Burn for you. You meet Toji Zenin one night at a party after seeking respite outside. You’re immediately drawn to him despite his less than savory background. Like a drug you keep coming back, only, he’s the one pulling you towards him.

Content: Angst, smut, fluff

Word count: 1.6k

Next part

You often wondered if it was you. If you were the reason stares would linger but never act. If you were the reason love and all the things that came with it never touched you.

You had never experienced the teenage version of love that highschool had to offer. All fleeting glances and forbidden touches. The naive kind of love that allowed for mistakes.

You wondered what kind of love you’d receive. Or rather, what kind of love you’d expect. Would it be the sweet slow kind that kept you up at night, sighing to yourself at the thought? Or would it be the kind that left a deep ache behind your ribs? Deeper than the one that was there now.

The ache that blossomed behind your sternum was one that burned brightest in the silence of your thoughts. A pain that had coiled itself within the deepest parts of your chest while you lie distracted by fantasies.

You have been offered numerous opportunities to have a little fun and loosen up a bit. But you yearned for something more. Something deeper than surface level college hookups. You yearned for the naïveté that messy highschool love would have granted you.

You busied yourself with schoolwork, hoping the throws of your major would distract you from the never ending ache. That was until you saw him. All broad shoulders and a jawline so sharp you swear it cut you when he turned.

Something inside you burned. And that ache slowly transformed into something new. Something curious. “Toji Zenin,” your friend said, snapping you out of your trance. “What?” “That guy you were eyeing? His name is Toji Zenin,” you nodded.

You didn’t pry further. The last thing you needed was another fruitless crush to distract you from your goals. Goals you set a long time ago when you realized that love didn’t want you.

You didn’t want to go. Your friend had invited you to some frat party. You’d been to parties before but this time was different. You could feel yourself slipping. You could feel the web of control you had so carefully crafted unraveling.

You were itching to do exactly what was suggested of you so many times. You were itching to let loose. You sighed as you finally gave in.

The thrum of the music made your bones rattle as you entered the house. The air was filled with sweat, smoke, and the sweet sting of alcohol. The kind of sting that sticks to your lungs and lingers in your throat. You made your way to the kitchen after your friend ditched you for some guy she had been talking about the entire drive there.

After you downed about a cup and a half of whatever you could find you felt the tension in your bones start to ease a bit.

Until you looked up and saw him.

That curious fire lit within you once again as your eyes locked.

He raised his eyebrows as his eyes drifted to the cup and then back up to you. You huffed can’t even get drunk in peace.

You needed to get out of there. You told yourself it was because it reeked of cigarettes and bad decisions. You told yourself it was because the DJ sucked. But in reality, You could no longer take the intensity behind those forest green eyes.

You ended up sitting on the back porch. Originally going to the bond fire only to make a quick 180 when you saw a couple sitting far too close to one another.

As you sipped on the remainder of what was in your cup, the door creaked open.

You lazily looked over only for shock to make your eyes as round as saucers. There stood Toji Zenin in all his muscled glory. He brought a lighter to his mouth to light what you assumed was a cigarette.

The light played off his tattoos. Making them look like his inner demons were on full display.

He flicked it twice before putting it in his pocket and taking a long drag. The smoke curled in the space between you and you watched as it slowly disappeared into the night.

He stretched his hand out in offering. You shook your head and held up your cup. He chuckled, bringing the cigarette back to his mouth. “For someone who prefers alcohol you sure don’t look like you enjoy it,” you smiled to yourself. “It’s not to enjoy. Just to numb.” That caught his attention.

You didn't look over but you could feel his eyes on you. They burned hot as they assessed you. “Boy trouble?” he asked, out of pure courtesy. He didn’t actually care and neither was he courteous. But he said it anyway.

You laughed “Please. Do I look like I would have boy trouble?” You said, still chuckling to yourself. He shrugged. Silence hung between the two of you like a blanket that didn’t quite reach the tips of your toes. A blanket that let the cold still seep in.

“You ever wonder why you keep going?” You said, breaking the silence. Not giving him a chance to answer before continuing “Y’know, why you keep trying despite everything?” He didn’t respond but you felt those forest green eyes watching you.

It was easy to talk like this. Where he couldn’t see the way your eyes glazed over. Not that he’d care. “You ever wonder if it’d be easier if you stopped trying?” Silence fell over the two of you once again.

“Yeah,” he said finally, taking another drag from his cigarette. He didn’t say anything else. It was nice having someone to talk to. Someone who didn’t offer constant consolation. Someone who let you sit in your pain. Someone who let you feel it.

You stood, trying your best not to stumble. “I guess I’ll see you around. Maybe. I doubt it.” He hummed, watching you. He knew you were out of your depth. He could tell you weren’t one to drink.

And yet, he said nothing about it. He didn't taunt or tease. He didn’t chastise you for your lack of tolerance. He just watched in this quiet, intense way. “Night,” you said, leaving before his response could be heard.

Your assumption was completely incorrect. You saw him again the next day in class. You didn’t even know you shared a class. But he knew. On the rare occasion that he showed up he watched you as you took notes, asked and answered questions and left as quickly as possible.

Today, you got to class a few minutes late and someone had taken your usual spot, leading you to grab a seat towards the back.

You were so meticulous in the way that you did things. So controlled. “Can you keep it down?” You froze when you recognized the familiar cool, deep grumble as none other than Toji Zenin.

The man you sat in the dark with the night before.

Just when you had convinced yourself your anxiety was fruitless and that you’d never see him again he shows up in your 1pm class. “S-sorry,” you said, not quite meeting his eye.

This was your worst nightmare and dream wrapped into one. Both the dream and the nightmare being sitting next to the sexiest man you’d seen up close.

Relief washed over you when the lecture ended. That mossy green gaze watched you as you quickly grabbed your things and walked outside.

You packed your things in the hallway. The attention was making you nervous. “Do I stink?” He said, emerging from the classroom looking every bit of the man you knew him to be. And yet, like something completely new.

Your heart stuttered. “W-what?” “You left to pack your things out here.” “Oh yeah. That. I just didn’t want to be in your way.” You said, only briefly glancing up.

A white flash suddenly appeared behind Toji. You could feel your body physically relax. “Y/n!!” Gojo said as he ignored whoever was talking to him. You shook your head.

“Hey dork,” you said as he approached. Toji watched your face change as his friend and frat brother approached you. You actually looked at him. Didn’t avoid his gaze.

“Hey nerd,” you punched his arm. “Owww,” he said, rubbing it. “Am I lying?” He wasn’t. You loved to learn. You just frowned.

You had met Satoru in your physics class. You’re not one to shy away from help so when you needed it you asked the person closest to you. And that person just so happened to be him.

Ever since then he’s been around. Checking on you. Inviting you to things. Almost like he knows how it is to be surrounded by people and yet still feel completely alone.

“Toji?” Gojo said, finally noticing him. “Do you know each other?” He asked, looking between the two of you. You opened your mouth to say no. To deny any affiliation with the tattooed giant when he answered for you.

“Yeah,” That got you to look. Your eyes blew wide as you looked up at him. A smirk played on his lips. It was quick, a flash. Anyone who wasn’t looking wouldn’t have noticed it. But you did. You were looking.

“Really?” “Surprised?” Toji said, looking at Satoru. “Yes. Is he lying?” Looking to you for answers. Your eyes moved to Toji. Those emeralds narrowed and you swear he tipped his head ever so slightly. A challenge.

”No, I don’t.” This time he actually smirked. He hung the bait and you bit. “Are you sure because-“ You pulled Satoru with you down the hall. “What? What did I do?”

You felt that burning gaze on you as you walked away. It burned like fire against your skin and yet.

Yet you wanted more.

Finally found time to post! I have so many fics in the drafts. Also lmk if you guys want a part 2 :)

Plagiarism is not authorized

[sixxels-deactivated20260420-dea]

taunt me ~ t.fushiguro angst

fratboy!toji x reader

wc: 18k

!!disclaimer!! angst-heavy content, mutual pining, slow burn, jealousy, detailed consensual smut, alcohol use, hurt/comfort, references to unhealthy coping mechanisms.

summary ~ between late-night parties, jealous stares, and the chaos of sukuna’s games, your relationship with toji is a tangled mess of almosts and apologies. he pushes you away to protect you, but it only hurts more every time he does. when everything finally implodes, it’s not just love on the line, it’s your sanity. you both want each other. but love’s never been that simple. m.list

the bass hit first, deep and thick like it had teeth, rattling the cracked windows of delta phi and bleeding out into the dark. the house was already a mess by the time you got there. glitter on the floor, someone shotgunning a beer in the kitchen, a girl crying quietly in the hallway. classic. you’d been to a few of these now. you knew the rhythm. the chaos. the low thrum of want and violence that came with being around them, especially him.

toji was already inside when you arrived, leaning against the wall by the living room entrance like he always did, watching everything with that dark, sharp gaze like he was bored but taking notes. someone had tossed a hoodie over his shoulder, tank top clinging to his chest, black jeans ripped at the knees. his hair was messy like he’d just gotten out of bed. maybe he had. his eyes flicked to you when you walked in. slow. low. they lingered on your legs, then your lips, then back to your legs. he didn’t smile. he never did. just that slight raise of his brow, like he was amused you were even there.

you knew that look by now. it meant 'come here.'

you didn’t go right away. instead you wandered through the crowd, brushing past sukuna’s throne-chair in the living room where he held court like some bored devil, girls draped over him, red tattoos sharp in the strobe. he caught your wrist for a second and leaned in too close. “looking pretty tonight, sweetheart,” he murmured, mouth brushing your ear. “toji’s watching, you know.”

you didn’t reply, just slipped free and kept walking. sukuna’s laugh followed you. sukuna was always like this, too bold for his own good, always talking shut. the exact opposite of his best friend toji.

by the time you reached toji, the music had shifted into something lower, dirtier. he didn’t speak. didn’t ask. just reached out and took your hand, pulling you into the crowd with the kind of possessive ease that made your chest burn. you didn’t protest. you never did.

you ended up right in the middle of the room, surrounded by sweat and smoke and the smell of spilled liquor. bodies pressed close, but you only felt his. his hand on your waist. his fingers splayed against your back. he moved slow at first, lazy, like he wasn’t even trying, but his grip never loosened.

“you look good,” he said, voice rough from whiskey or weed or both. “real sexy.”

you looked up at him, close enough to see the slight scar above his brow. “you always say that.”

“cause it’s always true.”

your fingers curled in the hem of his shirt. you wanted more. wanted his mouth on your neck, his hands on your skin, but all he gave you was his eyes and that crooked smirk that meant trouble.

all you wanted was him. all of him. you two had been friends who flirted for about two years now, and god, it was getting so fucking unbearable.

you danced like that for a while, grinding, turning, your body brushing against his over and over until it was hard to tell where you ended and he began. every time you pressed into him, he let you, but his jaw stayed tight. his hand never dipped low enough.

“you gonna kiss me tonight, toji?” you asked against his throat.

he chuckled, low and dark. “you want me to?”

you tilted your head up, lips inches from his. “maybe.”

he didn’t kiss you. he never did. just leaned in like he might and then pulled back at the last second. teasing. cruel.

it drove you fucking crazy.

gojo wandered by at some point, wearing sunglasses and no shirt, red solo cup in hand as his perfect body shined with the blue led lights above. “jesus christ, get a room,” he called, grinning. “or don’t. watching this is better than the music i guess.”

toji flipped him off without looking. you laughed, but toji’s hand tensed on your waist for half a second. only you noticed.

eventually, you both pulled back, breathless. not from dancing. from the way he kept looking at you like he wanted to ruin you and hated himself for it. he led you to the edge of the room where it was quieter, just you and him and the pulse of the party vibrating through the walls.

“you shouldn’t dance like that,” he said, lighting a cigarette.

you stole it from his mouth and took a drag. “why not?”

he looked down at you, smoke curling from his lips. “cause it makes me wanna do things i shouldn’t.”

your heart kicked hard in your chest.

you handed the cigarette back. “so do them.”

he exhaled slow, eyes dropping to your lips again. “you don’t get it,” he muttered. “you never get it.”

he was always like this. hot and cold. pull and push. he’d dance with you like he wanted to take you apart, then disappear the second things got too close. sometimes he ignored you for days. sometimes he found you in the hallway at midnight, eyes dark, and murmured your name like a confession. you didn’t know what he wanted. but you knew what you did.

you wanted him. all of him. even the broken parts.

in the kitchen, shoko was pouring shots with sukuna. geto leaned against the counter, joint tucked behind his ear, quietly judging everyone. choso sat cross-legged on the floor, eyes half-lidded, scribbling something in a sketchbook. nanami was nowhere to be seen—probably upstairs rereading a syllabus and pretending he didn’t live here.

this house was wild, loud, suffocating. but it had toji. so you kept coming back.

you were still close to him, back against the wall, watching him smoke. he glanced at you. held your gaze for a second too long. “you like all this?” he asked. “the parties. the attention.”

“i like you,” you said, honest. “that’s why i’m here.”

his eyes flickered.

“shut up, y/n. you don't know what you're saying,” he said finally. voice low. tired.

“i know.”

“then stop trying.”

“i cant.”

he stared at you. his hand brushed your waist again, just for a second. a soft touch. something real.

then it was gone.

~

he watched you laugh with gojo later, something tight coiling in his chest. you looked happy. light. too good for this hellhole. too good for him.

you didn’t see the way his jaw clenched when sukuna slung an arm around your shoulders. didn’t see the way his fists curled when you leaned into geto’s side, laughing at something he whispered. you didn’t notice the way he watched you like he was memorizing every detail in case it was the last time.

you were popular, of course you had a lot of friends l, including the ones he was friends with. but fuck if it didn't hurt watching you get touched up on by all his frat brothers like you were just some girl.

toji fushiguro didn’t fall in love. he fucked. he fought assholes who's egos needed a good bruse. he disappeared when things got too warm. but you… you made everything complicated.

you were soft and beautiful and real. you looked at him like he mattered. like he wasn’t just some fuck up with too many scars and not enough soul. you smiled when he was cruel. didn’t flinch when he pushed. you kept coming back like you didn’t know any better.

he wanted to kiss you so badly it made his teeth ache.

but he didn’t.

he leaned back against the wall and watched the party burn around him, heart heavy, throat dry. he couldn’t have you. not the way you wanted. not without wrecking you. and he cared too much to do that.

so he hurt you instead.

kept his distance. said shit he didn’t mean. shit that he knew kept you up at night. let you believe he didn’t want you.

it was the only way he knew how to protect you.

and it was killing him.

~

he stayed outside for a while after that. just him, the stars, and a silence too thick to breathe through. the cold didn’t bother him. he’d take it over the warmth of you any day. warmth made him weak. warmth made him want to pull you into his lap and never let go. warmth made him selfish.

inside, the party didn’t slow down. it just got messier. louder. meaner. when you came back in, sukuna was still where you left him, perched in that throne-chair like some cursed king with a solo cup in one hand and a cigarette in the other. he gave you a lazy smirk, legs wide, tattoos gleaming under the shitty lights. “your little shadow still outside?”

you didn’t answer. you were too busy scanning the room. your eyes found him immediately. he was back inside now, leaning against the far wall like he hadn’t just told you he was bad for you with eyes full of regret. he looked calmer than he felt. calm enough that it made your heart twist.

you were about to move. one foot forward. just one. he was across the room but you could make it. you could try again. maybe this time you’d get through. maybe this time he’d—

then she walked into frame.

a girl. short skirt. tight top. she said something to him. laughed. he didn’t even hesitate. toji reached for her waist and pulled her in.

then he kissed her.

you froze. couldn’t move. couldn’t breathe. his hand cupped the back of her neck like he’d done to you once when he was drunk and reckless and almost real. his mouth pressed to hers slow at first, then deeper. open. hungry. you stared.

it felt like your ribs cracked open one by one. like your skin peeled back to make room for the ache blooming in your chest.

you and toji had been like this for two years. flirty friends. nothing more.

you weren’t even sure when it started. maybe it was that one party where you ended up sitting outside together at three a.m., passing a blunt and talking about shit neither of you usually said out loud. maybe it was the way he always made room for you on the couch without asking, or the way his hand would linger a little too long on your back when he walked by. maybe it was the night you both ditched the chaos and drove around in his beat-up car for hours, sharing gas station snacks and laughing at nothing until the sun came up.

but the thing was, he never kissed you.

not once.

you’d slept in his bed. worn his hoodies. let your legs tangle under his blanket when the movie ran too long and no one wanted to move. you’d made ramen in his kitchen and cleaned up his messes and seen him hungover and shirtless more times than you could count.

he’d seen you cry once. held your face in his hands and wiped your tears away with his thumbs and still didn’t kiss you. it drove you crazy sometimes. how close you were without tipping over the edge. how he flirted like he meant it but never followed through. how he’d call you sweetheart with that low voice and look at you like he was starving, then laugh it off like it was nothing.

you were just friends, everyone said it. he said it. you said it. but it never felt that simple.

not when he showed up at your dorm at midnight just because you sounded off over text. not when he sat next to you at parties even though he never sat still. not when he gave you his hoodie when you were cold, even if it meant standing outside in just a tank top himself. it was friendship, yeah. but it was the kind that felt like something sacred and dangerous all at once. like a match too close to gasoline.

and maybe nothing had ever happened between you two. not technically. not officially. but you felt it, he did too. you knew he did. and that made it worse.

you didn’t realize you’d stepped back until your shoulder hit sukuna’s. he looked down at you. and for once—just once—he didn’t say something cruel.

his voice was low. almost quiet. “he’s trying to make you hate him.” you blinked hard. your mouth was dry. “it’s working,” you whispered.

sukuna sighed and leaned back, dragging a hand through his hair. “yeah,” he muttered, “but you won’t. not really.” he tilted his head, looking at you sideways. “you’re too fucking soft.” you didn’t respond. couldn’t. your eyes were still locked on toji. he’d pulled away from the girl now. was saying something in her ear. she laughed again, tossed her hair, disappeared into the kitchen. he didn’t watch her go.

his eyes found yours instead. and even across the room, in all the chaos and noise and flickering lights, you saw the guilt. you saw the shame. you saw how much it hurt him to do it.

but he’d done it anyway.

you turned away.

sukuna stood, stretching lazily. he flicked his cigarette to the floor and ground it under his boot. “come on,” he said. “i’ll get you something stronger.” you didn’t want to follow him, but you did.

because it was easier than staying.

you ended up on the back porch with a bottle of cheap vodka and sukuna sitting next to you, his usual smugness dimmed. he didn’t touch you. didn’t flirt. just passed the bottle back and forth and let you sit there in your heartbreak.

“you wanna hear the truth?” he asked eventually. you looked at him, eyes rimmed red. “he’s not doing it to be cruel,” he said. “he’s doing it cause he thinks he’s saving you.” you blinked. “by kissing someone else right in front of me?”

he shrugged. “yeah. stupid, huh?” you didn’t laugh. didn’t smile. he looked up at the sky, jaw tight. “guys like him don’t know how to love without destroying shit. we don’t get soft things. we just break them.”

you stared at him. “and what about you? what do you want?” he met your eyes. something unreadable passed between you. “doesn’t matter,” he said. “i’m not the one you look at like that.”

you didn’t have anything to say to that. so you took another sip and let the vodka burn a hole through your chest where your heart used to be.

~

toji hadn’t moved from his spot.

he was still leaning against the wall, arms crossed, pretending not to look for you in every corner of the house. pretending the kiss hadn’t made him sick to his stomach.

he could still taste that girl’s lip gloss. fake cherry. too sweet. not you. he’d seen your face when you caught him. saw the way your expression cracked down the middle. the betrayal. the confusion. the hurt.

he wanted to punch something.

but this was what he’d wanted, right?

he told himself that. over and over.

she needs to hate you. she needs to leave. she needs to find someone who won’t break her.

so he kissed someone else, and now he was alone.

choso passed him on the way to the basement, headphones around his neck. he paused, looked at toji for a second. said nothing. just shook his head like he was disappointed.

gojo showed up a few minutes later with a raised brow and a knowing smirk. “you done being a dumbass?”

“go away.”

“you know she left with sukuna, right?”

toji’s head snapped up.

gojo grinned. “yeah. out back. he got her a bottle. they’re talking. real close.”

toji’s jaw clenched. “fuck off, satoru.”

“just saying,” gojo drawled. “you’re not the only one who knows how to self-destruct.”

he walked away whistling.

toji didn’t follow. he couldn’t.

he wasn’t sure what he’d do if he saw you sitting with sukuna, drinking and crying and leaning into the shoulder of a man who didn’t deserve to touch you. he’d lose it. do something he’d regret.

he deserved this. he made this happen.

and still—still—his hands were shaking.

~

you stayed out back longer than you meant to. the vodka numbed the sharp edges, but not the center. not the deep, hot ache that sat in your throat like a stone. sukuna didn’t try anything. didn’t even make a move.

he just let you be broken.

“i don’t get you,” he said after a while. you looked over at him, wiping under your eyes.

“he’s an asshole,” sukuna continued. “but you look at him like he strung the stars.” you laughed bitterly. “maybe he did.” he scoffed. “no. he just learned how to hold a hammer and forgot to put it down.” you leaned back, head against the siding of the house. “he’s not all bad.”

“no,” sukuna agreed. “but he’s not all good either.” he glanced at you. “just remember that next time he tries to break you in half.”

you wanted to argue. to say you could take it. that it was worth it. but your voice caught on the truth. it already hurt.

and he hadn’t even touched you.

when you finally came back inside, the house had shifted. quieter now. people passed out on couches. music down to a murmur. the scent of smoke and spilled drinks clung to everything.

toji was gone.

you checked the usual places. the kitchen. the hallway. even peeked into the basement where choso gave you a look like he wanted to say something but didn’t. eventually you found shoko leaning against the railing upstairs, cigarette in one hand, textbook in the other.

“you seen him sho?”

she looked at you without surprise. blew smoke out the side of her mouth. “he went to his room.”

you nodded. turned to go.

“don’t,” she said. you paused. “just… don’t,” she repeated. “not tonight.” you swallowed hard. “why?”

“cause you’ll forgive him if you do. and he won’t stop.” you looked at her. “i already forgave him.” shoko didn’t smile. didn’t judge. she just took another drag and said, “i know.”

you stood there for a long time. just stood. unsure of everything except how much it hurt, and how much you still wanted him anyway.

your anguish didn't go unnoticed to your friends, especially not to your most over the top one, gojo. he was pissed. pissed at toji. so after you had left, he made it his god sent to speak his mind to his brooding brother.

the hallway outside toji’s room still smelled like tequila and cheap weed. music was finally starting to die down downstairs, voices slurring into sleep or hookups or some kind of mess. gojo stepped over a knocked-over chair, kicked an empty red cup out of the way, and knocked hard twice before turning the knob without waiting for an answer.

the door creaked open. dark inside, save for the blue glow of a laptop screen. toji sat at the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, tank top clinging to his chest with sweat. his hair was a mess, jaw clenched tight, a bottle of jack daniel’s sitting beside him like company.

“the fuck do you want,” toji muttered without looking up. gojo leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “wanted to see how the world’s biggest asshole was holding up.” toji scoffed. “get lost.”

“can’t. house rules. i get to verbally beat your ass at least once a semester.” toji didn’t move. just stared at the floor like it had answers. gojo let the silence hang for a second before pushing off the wall and walking inside. “you really had to do that to her? in front of everyone?”

“drop it."

“nah,” gojo said, voice tightening. “you don’t get to pull shit like that and then sit here acting like you’re the victim.”

“you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“i know exactly what i’m talking about. she looked wrecked, toji. she left early. sukuna of all people had to comfort her. do you even realize how fucked that is?” toji’s head snapped up. “i said drop it.”

“and i said no,” gojo snapped. “you want me to stop then tell me why the hell you did it. why you kissed some random girl when the one person you actually give a shit about was walking toward you.”

“because she was walking toward me,” toji growled, standing now. “that’s why.” gojo blinked. “what?”

“she was coming over, gojo. i saw it in her face. like she still thought there was something there. like she was ready to try again.” toji’s chest rose and fell, breathing sharp. “and i can’t. i can’t do it.”

“can’t or won’t?"

toji laughed, bitter and low. “don’t start with that bullshit.” gojo stepped closer, voice sharp now. “then what is it, huh? you string her along for two years, make her think she means something, then blow it all up the second it feels real?”

“because she does mean something,” toji snapped. “that’s the problem.” gojo went quiet.

“she’s too fucking good,” toji said, voice breaking low. “she’s soft and kind and stupidly hopeful and i’ll ruin that. i’ll tear her apart without even trying.” gojo’s hands clenched into fists. “so your solution is to rip the bandaid off by kissing someone else in front of her? are you listening to yourself?”

“it’s better this way,” toji muttered, like he was convincing himself. “for who? not for her. and definitely not for you.”

“what do you want from me, satoru?” toji barked. “you want me to say i’m in love with her? that i can’t fucking sleep unless i know she’s safe, that i think about her every time i lift, every time i come home, every time i see her name on my phone? you want me to say i wish i wasn’t like this, wish i could be good enough for her?”

gojo stared, jaw tight. “well i’m not,” toji said, voice raw. “i’m not good. i never was. and if i let her close she’s gonna learn that the hard way.”

“she already knows,” gojo said, softer now. “she’s seen it. and she stayed.”

“she shouldn’t have to.”

“maybe that’s not your call to make.”

they stood there breathing like they’d just fought for real. and maybe they had. the air was thick with unsaid things, old wounds, the kind of hurt you only let out when it’s been sitting too long. “i’m not gonna tell you what to do,” gojo said after a long beat. “but you owe her better than what you gave her tonight.”

toji sat back down on the edge of the bed, rubbed a hand down his face like he was exhausted. “i know.”

“and for the record,” gojo added, “if i didn’t like her like a sister, i’d be the one standing next to her right now. not you.” toji looked up at him, eyes sharp. gojo raised a brow. “but i do. so don’t make me regret having faith in your dumb ass.”

the room was quiet again. not calm, not exactly, but the storm had passed. gojo turned to go, then paused in the doorway.

“you know,” he said without looking back, “i’ve seen you take hits from guys twice your size. but the look on your face when she walked out? that was the first time you actually looked hurt.”

then he left, door clicking shut behind him.

toji didn’t move for a while. just stared at the door like he was hoping you'd walk through it instead. like maybe he hadn’t ruined everything.

but you didn’t.

and he had.

~

the next morning was rough.

the sun was sharp and mean, casting everything in that washed-out gold that made the world feel too loud. toji didn’t bother with sunglasses. he never did. he walked like someone who had nothing to prove and still made people get out of the way.

he was headed to his monday morning business class, dragging his feet a little more than usual, hungover but used to it. the hangover was never the issue. it was the way his thoughts stuck to the back of his throat like smoke that wouldn’t clear. his little verbal fight with gojo last night ontop of making you feel like shit was not helping.

campus was already moving around him, caffeine-fueled freshmen and overachieving finance majors crowding the sidewalks, chattering about midterms and internship interviews and parties they weren’t even invited to yet. toji didn’t speak to any of them. he didn’t have to. everyone already knew who he was.

toji fushiguro was a name people said with caution. the kind of name that came with rumors and stories passed around late at night, most of them half true. people said he used to be a cage fighter. that he dropped out sophomore year because he broke someone’s jaw in a seminar. that he only re-enrolled because delta phi practically begged him to come back. that he had a kill count and not just in bed. and hey, he's not saying that's not true.

he didn’t care what they said. he’d been through worse than whispers.

he wore a black long sleeve shirt, sleeves shoved up to his elbows, tattoos crawling down his arms like they had minds of their own. heavy black ink that looked rough even from a distance, sharp edges and sacred lines. they looked like they belonged on someone who didn’t believe in softness. piercings glinted at his brow and ear and lip, silver catching the sun. his jeans hung low on his hips and his boots were scuffed like they’d seen too many nights out.

he was big. not just tall, but thick with muscle, all wide shoulders and brutal arms. one of the man reason he got you do hit and bothered. he looked like he could lift a car if he felt like it, or throw a man across the quad just to prove a point.

and despite the fact he barely said ten words to anyone in class, the professors never called on him. not anymore. he didn’t sit with anyone, except nanami when he felt like it. didn’t take notes. didn’t even open his laptop. but he passed every exam, turned in every assignment, and showed up just enough to stay under the radar. just enough to keep his spot at delta phi, which was really the only reason he hadn’t burned the whole place down yet.

toji wasn’t the president. that was sukuna’s circus. but he was something scarier—unofficial muscle. the one who kept the wolves at bay when they came too close. the one everyone looked at when things got ugly. he didn’t speak unless it mattered. didn’t fight unless it was worth it. but when he did? people remembered.

he cut across the back end of campus on his way to class, heading past the old science building where the vending machines always ate your change. the path was quieter here, shadowed by overgrown trees and cigarette smoke curling from cracked benches.

he caught the tail end of a conversation before he even saw who was talking.

“…seriously, fuck gojo. he’s not even that hot. just has clout. i saw him with mia last week. she was crying about me the week before, now she’s on his dick like i didn’t even exist.”

toji slowed down. his jaw twitched. the voice belonged to some guy he vaguely recognized—football or lacrosse, something cocky and replaceable. he was laughing with another dude, but it was bitter. jealous. toji turned the corner and looked directly at him.

“say that shit again,” he said, voice low and calm. the guy froze. his friend bailed immediately, slinking off with a muttered “i’ll catch you later, bro,” like even he knew what was coming. toji stepped closer.

“what?” the guy asked, trying to puff up his chest like that would help. “you think i’m scared of you?”

“no,” toji said, voice flat. “i think you’re pathetic.”

the guy scoffed. “you don’t even know what—” toji grabbed the collar of his hoodie and slammed him back against the brick wall, one hand flat against his chest like he wasn’t even trying yet.

“you got a problem with gojo?” he said, voice quiet. “say it to his face. otherwise shut your fucking mouth.” the guy flinched. toji could see the flash of fear behind his eyes now. good.

“jesus, man—he fucked my ex.”

“she left you. there’s a difference.” toji let go with a hard shove. the guy stumbled forward, catching himself on the edge of the bench. “you wanna blame someone for your girl moving on? blame yourself. don’t drag my brother’s name through the dirt ‘cause you’re too soft to handle it.”

the guy didn’t respond. didn’t even look at him. just turned and walked fast in the opposite direction, muttering under his breath. toji exhaled through his nose, shook out his hand like the heat in his blood was trying to burn through his skin.

despite his altercation with satoru the night prior, he'd always stand up for his family. hell, gojo probably wouldn’t even care. he never did. too laid back for grudges, too self-assured to let shit like that stick. but that didn’t matter to toji. because he knew what gojo didn’t show. he knew the cracks that didn’t reach the surface. the stuff behind the sunglasses and grins.

and loyalty? that wasn’t optional for toji. it wasn’t a trait. it was the only rule that mattered. delta phi might’ve been a shitshow, but it was his shitshow. they were his people. no one talked about them like that.

not without consequences. he adjusted the strap of his backpack and kept walking, heart still beating a little too fast in his chest.

because the truth was, he needed them. more than he’d ever admit out loud. the house, the chaos, the late nights and stupid games and gojo yelling about who stole his lighter again. it kept him tethered. kept him from spiraling too far. he knew gojo only meant well, so he'd never hold shit against him for putting his mind in the right place.

but mostly, it was you. you were the one thing he couldn’t name. couldn’t reach for. couldn’t lose. and now that sukuna was getting closer, now that you were looking at him like you didn’t know what to believe anymore, now that he was the one who made you cry—

he felt it slipping.

all of it.

and he didn’t know how to stop it.

'fuck me.'

~

your dorm feels colder than usual. the light is soft and pale through the blinds, the kind of grey morning that makes everything feel slow and sticky, like your body’s moving through half-dried paint. it’s just past nine and your bedsheets are tangled around your ankles like they fought back in your sleep. you didn’t dream. you didn’t get the chance. too many thoughts, too many flashes of his hands on someone else’s waist, her mouth on his, the curve of his grin that should’ve been yours.

you roll onto your back, stare up at the ceiling and breathe through the ache that’s settled behind your ribs like something permanent. you told yourself you wouldn’t fall for him. two years of skirting the edge, of shared joints on rooftops and late-night food runs and smirks across dance floors. two years of almosts and maybes and looks that said too much but never went anywhere. two years of him pulling you in just to push you away.

but last night? that felt different. dancing with him, the way his hands gripped your waist, the way his voice dropped when he said your name like it meant something.

it had felt real.

and then it hadn’t.

you replay it over and over—the moment your eyes locked across the room, the second you stepped away from sukuna, ready to go to him again, to risk it all one more time. and then the way his hand wrapped around her hip, how his mouth found hers like it was nothing. like you were nothing.

your stomach turns. you sit up, hair a mess, hoodie sliding off your shoulder. you hadn’t even taken your makeup off last night, just crawled into bed and let it all hit you at once. you remember sukuna’s voice at your ear, warm and surprisingly soft despite the venom he usually spat.

“you don’t cry over guys like him, sweetheart,” he’d said, pressing a drink into your hand. “you let them cry over you.” you weren’t sure why he cared. maybe he didn’t. maybe he just liked having a front row seat to the destruction. but last night he didn’t press too hard. just sat beside you while the party roared on, kept his arm slung behind the couch and didn’t let anyone else get too close.

your phone buzzes beside you. you pick it up and squint at the screen.

sukuna [9:09am]: you okay pretty girl?

you stare at it for a second, then type back.

you [9:10am]: i'm fine ryo

you hesitate, fingers hovering over the keyboard. you want to say more. thank him, maybe. tell him you appreciated it, even if it came from the last person you expected. but before you can send anything else, there’s a knock on your door.

you blink. frown. no one ever knocks on your door at this hour. you climb out of bed, tug your hoodie down, try to smooth your hair a little as you shuffle toward the door barefoot. you unlock it and pull it open—

“good morning, sunshine!” gojo stands there, grinning like the hangover skipped him entirely, sunglasses perched on his nose despite the cloudy sky outside. he’s holding a flyer in one hand and a coffee in the other.

“you’re… happy,” you mumble, rubbing your eye. he shrugs. “always am. some of us don’t let heartbreak slow us down.” you blink at him. “what?”

“nothing,” he says, way too fast, and pushes the flyer toward you. “special delivery from delta phi. invitation only. it’s a bar takeover tonight, and i was instructed—” he leans forward like it’s a secret— “by myself, because i’m a genius, to invite you personally.”

you take the flyer. the paper’s thick and smells faintly of weed. “you’re really doing printed invites now?”

“classy, right?” he wiggles his brows. “sukuna wanted a neon poster that said ‘girls drink free until they cry’ but i vetoed that.” you snort, but it dies fast. your fingers tighten around the flyer.

“so,” gojo says slowly, “how are you holding up?” you look up at him. he’s smiling, but not as wide as usual. he’s watching you carefully. “fine,” you say.

he tilts his head. “wrong. try again.” you shrug, leaning against the doorframe. “i don’t know. last night sucked.” he nods, lets that sit for a second.

“toji’s an idiot,” he says eventually. your breath catches. “you don’t have to—”

“i do,” he cuts in gently. “because i know him. and i know you.” you press your lips together. “he’s…” gojo runs a hand through his hair. “he’s complicated. always has been. doesn’t let people get too close, especially the ones he actually gives a shit about.”

“yeah, i noticed.” he frowns. “look. i’m not gonna make excuses for him. what he did last night? not cool. not even a little. and i know it hurt you.” you blink fast.

“but,” gojo says, stepping forward, “if it means anything… he didn’t want to hurt you.”

“he literally made out with someone right in front of me,” you say, voice cracking just slightly. “after dancing with me like—like he meant it.” gojo exhales. “i know. i was there.” he leans against the wall across from your door, crosses his arms. “he’s terrified. you mean too much, and that makes him feel like he’s already failing before he’s even tried. so he lashes out. does something cruel, because then he doesn’t have to deal with the guilt of ruining something good.”

you swallow, hard.

“i told him he was being a dumbass,” gojo adds. “for what it’s worth. we got into it a little.” your brows lift. “you fought?”

“not like, fists and broken bones. just the usual screaming match.” he shrugs. “brotherly love.” you lean your head back against the frame and sigh.

“you ever think,” you murmur, “maybe i was stupid for waiting this long? for thinking he’d eventually… i don’t know. stop running?” gojo’s voice softens. “you weren’t stupid. you were patient. and hopeful. that’s not weakness.” you close your eyes.

“but,” he adds, “you also don’t have to keep waiting. not if it’s breaking you.” you nod slowly, thumb brushing over the corner of the flyer. “so what do i do?” you ask. “show up tonight? act like it’s fine?”

gojo gives you a crooked smile. “you show up looking hot as hell, dance with whoever you want, and remember you’re not the one who messed up.” you huff a laugh. “easier said than done.”

“i’ll be your wingman. we’ll make it a whole thing.” you raise a brow. “you’re not gonna try to flirt with me?”

“oh, i absolutely will. but only in the respectful, ego-boosting way.” you laugh again, a little more real this time. he pushes off the wall. “think about it, okay?” you nod. “thanks, gojo.” his smile softens. “anytime. and… for what it’s worth, if he ever gets his head out of his ass, you’re the only girl i’d root for with him.” you blink at him.

“he’s never looked at anyone else the way he looks at you. not once.” then he’s gone, already whistling down the hall like he didn’t just emotionally disarm you before ten a.m. you stand there a while longer, door half-shut, staring at the flyer in your hand and wondering what the hell tonight is going to feel like.

wondering what’s going to hurt more—seeing him again, or pretending like none of it ever happened. and most of all, wondering if he’s going to look at you like he did before everything fell apart.

or if he won’t look at you at all.

~

~

god, you should’ve never come.

you told yourself that the whole walk over, heels clicking on uneven pavement, breath caught somewhere between your lungs and your throat. the air was sticky and warm, just the edge of summer pressing in, and you were too aware of the way your dress clung to you, the way your lipstick felt too pretty, too brave. but gojo had asked so sweetly, flashing that grin like a sunrise and pressing the invite into your hand like he already knew you’d say yes.

and maybe you did. maybe you wanted to be seen. maybe you wanted him to see you.

the bar was already a mess when you walked in—bodies packed wall to wall, bass vibrating through the floor, lights flickering pink and gold. it was chaos, the kind gojo thrived in. you spotted him first near the bar, shirt half-buttoned and sunglasses still on, despite it being night. he raised a hand when he saw you, mouth already forming something ridiculous, but your eyes didn’t stay on him long.

they found toji.

of course they did.

he was across the room, leaning back against the booth like he hadn’t ripped your heart out just nights ago. like he hadn’t kissed someone else while your chest was still cracked open in front of him. he hadn’t texted. not a word. not a hey. not a sorry. not even a “you good?” like you were some girl he barely knew. you hated that your first instinct was still to look for him.

and god, he looked good.

black tee stretched over his chest, sleeves rolled just enough to show the curve of his biceps and the ink that wrapped around them like smoke. his chain caught the light when he tilted his head. he hadn’t even shaved. a shadow of a beard clung to his jaw, making him look more like trouble than usual.

he saw you before you could look away.

his gaze locked with yours. it didn’t falter, didn’t skip. it stayed steady, calm, unaffected. he lifted a brow like he’d seen you last night, like nothing had happened, and your heart clenched in your ribs.

you almost turned back. you almost went to gojo and begged for a drink and a distraction. but toji was already pushing up from the booth and walking toward you, slow and steady, beer still in hand, eyes never leaving yours.

“you look so sexy y/n,” he said when he reached you, voice lazy, deep, low enough to drown in. his mind drifted to gojo screaming at him to get his shit together, but it quickly faded when he remembered just who he is. a fucking asshole that's nothing mroe than bad news.

he watched you blink, stupidly. “just gonna ignore last weekend?”

toji smirked like it was funny, like your confusion was some private joke he didn’t plan on explaining. “we’re at a party. don’t ruin the mood.”

you hated how fast he pulled you back in. how your anger wilted under his closeness. he smelled like cedar and whiskey, like heat and sweat and safety, even if he was the last person you should feel safe with. his hand ghosted against your lower back, not quite touching but close enough that your skin burned.

“so you’re just gonna ignore it?” you said, voice soft but sharp. toji’s eyes didn’t waver despite his intense inner turmoil. “what do you want me to say?”

everything, you thought. 'i miss you. i didn’t mean it. you’re not just some girl.' but you didn’t say it. because the second you did, it would all come spilling out, everything you’d been holding in since you met him two years ago, since you realized the way your stomach flipped every time he looked at you like you were a secret he didn’t want to share.

you shook your head instead and let him lead you toward the bar, let him order a drink for you, let him stand too close while you sipped vodka from a sticky straw and tried not to crumble.

“you looked good dancing with sukuna last weekend,” he said casually, like he wasn’t gripping the bar so tightly the tendons in his hand strained.

“you looked good kissing that girl,” you shot back. toji’s jaw ticked, but he didn’t flinch. “she kissed me.”

you gave him a look. “didn’t look that one-sided.”

he didn’t answer, just took a swig from his beer and looked straight ahead. the silence between you turned thick and bitter, but not unbearable. it was always like this. always a push and pull, a fire you both stood too close to.

after a beat, he leaned in, mouth brushing your ear, voice low.

“you still mad at me?”

“what do you think?”

he didn’t pull away.

“think you’re too pretty to look that angry.”

you hated him. hated the way he knew exactly how to disarm you, how he used softness like a weapon. hated that you leaned into him anyway, your shoulder brushing his chest, your breath catching when his fingers ghosted over your wrist.

“you don’t get to play like this,” you said. “not after that.”

“i’m not playing.” you stared up at him. his face was unreadable, but his eyes were anything but. something dark swam there, something he’d never say out loud. fear. guilt. want. it made your knees weak.

“then what is this?” he didn’t answer. you danced with him anyway. because what else were you supposed to do?

when the music shifted into something slower, hazier, he pulled you into him like you were meant to be there. your hands found his shoulders, then the curve of his neck. his arms circled your waist and tugged you closer until your chest was flush against his and you could feel his heartbeat, erratic and hard. he smelled like home. like everything you wanted and couldn’t have.

“you didn’t text me,” you whispered, staring at the place where your hand rested against his collarbone.

“i know.”

“why?”

“i didn’t know what to say.”

you bit your lip. “you could’ve said sorry.”

toji’s mouth curved into a grimace. “you think that’d make it better?”

“no,” you said honestly. “but it would’ve meant something.” his grip tightened just slightly, like the truth hurt. “i didn’t know if you wanted to hear from me.” you looked up at him. “i always want to hear from you. even when i hate you.”

his eyes softened for half a second. then he pulled you closer, forehead resting against yours. “you don’t hate me.”

“sometimes i wish i did.” he smiled. it wasn’t a happy one. “me too.” the song ended but you didn’t move. his breath was warm against your cheek, his hand splayed across your back like he was holding you together.

“what are we doing?” you asked quietly. “making bad choices,” he said.

you laughed. it sounded hollow. “yeah. i noticed.”

“you wanna leave?”

you looked at him. god, you wanted to. you wanted to crawl back into that space you used to share—his bed, his couch, that place on the porch where you’d sit and talk shit for hours. not that he meant it in a hook up way, you were bound to just go home and talk. you wanted his hand in yours, his mouth against your shoulder, his voice in your ear. but not like this. not until he meant it.

“not tonight,” you said. toji nodded. he looked away, you stepped back, he let you go.

you didn’t look at him again as you walked off the dance floor, not even when you felt his eyes on you the whole way across the bar. you found gojo leaning against the wall, sipping something neon and watching the crowd like a bored lion. he looked at you, then at toji, then back again.

“you good?” he asked.

you didn’t answer.

he handed you his drink.

you took it.

"fuck satoru i don't know how long i can do this shit."

~

meanwhile he was spiralling.

toji slammed the bars bathroom door so hard it rattled the fucking frame. fluorescent light buzzed above him, harsh and yellow, and the second the lock clicked into place, he was across the bathroom, fists braced against the sink, head down, jaw clenched so tight it hurt.

his reflection stared back, mocking. he hated what he saw.

“fucking idiot,” he spat, low and sharp like a curse. he was breathing too hard. chest heaving, eyes wild. “you fucking idiot.”

you looked beautiful tonight. more than beautiful. you looked like a dream he never deserved to touch. and when you walked in—god. you’d barely looked at him. you held yourself like you were trying not to shatter and he’d done that. again. he was the one who made you pull away, the one who twisted something soft into something cold.

he hadn’t even fucking texted you. because he’s a pussy. a loser with nothing good to offer and too much fucked up inside to fix. he gripped the edges of the sink harder, breathing through his nose, his heart pounding in his throat. the way you looked at him when you walked away—it gutted him. you didn’t yell. you didn’t cry. you just looked… done.

“you always ruin it,” he growled at the mirror. “always. every fucking time.”

you had every reason to hate him. he let you get close, let you crack open the rusted door to his chest and see what was rotting inside. and right when it felt like maybe, maybe he could be something better—he kissed that girl. right in front of you. because he was too fucking scared to admit that he wanted more. because wanting more meant admitting he needed you, and needing you meant risking it all, and he’d never been brave enough for that.

so he ran.

again.

and now you were out there in that goddamn dress looking like the one thing in the world that could save him, and he just stood there like nothing happened. just leaned in close, smiled, said stupid things like he hadn’t torn you apart. he leaned down and let his forehead hit the mirror with a dull, solid thunk. breathed hard. hands shaking. he felt like his bones were trying to break through his skin.

“you ruin everything,” he whispered. “you ruined her.”

his knuckles cracked as his fist slammed into the side of the sink. the porcelain groaned under the force, a tiny web of fractures blooming under his hand. it didn’t break all the way, but it was enough to feel something. enough to hurt. he deserved it.

he couldn’t get your face out of his head. the way your voice shook. the way you said you wished you hated him. me too. he meant it when he said that. because maybe if you hated him, you wouldn’t keep coming back. maybe you’d finally let go, finally move on, finally be safe from him. he leaned over the sink, hands on either side, and stared at his reflection again.

this wasn’t what you deserved, he’d never been what you deserved. and maybe that’s why he kept fucking it up. because deep down, he knew. there wasn’t a version of this story where he ended up the good guy. there was only you, trying so hard to love someone who couldn’t even love himself.

the door creaked open behind him, casual and slow. toji didn’t move. he didn’t have to. he could already smell the cologne—something expensive and offensive, paired with the soft, familiar click of jewelry against skin.

“jesus christ,” sukuna said cheerfully, voice bouncing off the tile. “you’re really losing it, huh?”

toji didn’t turn around. “get the fuck out.”

sukuna laughed. laughed. fucking prick.

“so touchy,” he said, stepping deeper into the bathroom like he owned the place. “must’ve been one hell of a kiss.”

toji’s jaw tensed so hard he thought his teeth might break. “don’t start.”

“but it was such a moment,” sukuna drawled. “the drama. the heartbreak. the way she looked at you like you just kicked her puppy. that was some real emotional cinema, man. had me misty-eyed.”

toji turned slowly, his eyes dark, dangerous.

“last warning.” but sukuna just leaned against the wall, all lazy arrogance and smug grin.

“what’re you gonna do, fushiguro? cry some more? break another sink? maybe punch a wall like a real alpha male?”

toji stepped forward once. sukuna didn’t flinch. “you think she’s gonna wait around forever?” sukuna said, voice dipped low now, a little more serious.

“you keep pushing her away, one day she’s not coming back.”

“shut the fuck up.”

“you know i’m right.”

“you don’t know shit.”

sukuna tilted his head, tongue poking the inside of his cheek. “i know she was crying.”

toji froze.

sukuna smiled. “i saw her. outside. right after you played tonsil hockey with that desperate little blonde. she was trying so hard to keep it together. but you broke her, man. again. and the worst part? she still looked like she was hoping you’d come after her.”

silence.

toji’s fists curled so tight his nails dug into his palms. “so what do you want, huh?” sukuna said, tone suddenly sharper. “you wanna keep her on a string? just close enough to feel her, just far enough she can’t touch you? you wanna fuck her up until she hates herself for loving you?”

toji launched forward so fast the room blurred, slamming sukuna up against the wall with one hand twisted in his shirt. the tile cracked behind him. sukuna grinned.

“hit me,” he dared, eyes gleaming. “do it. take all that guilt and rage and let it out. won’t change the fact that you’re a fucking coward.”

toji’s breathing was ragged, his other hand shaking at his side. he wanted to. he wanted to bury his fist in sukuna’s face and watch the smug drain out of his mouth. he wanted to feel something break that wasn’t inside him.

but he didn’t move. because sukuna was right, and that made everything worse.

“fuck you,” toji breathed, venom in his voice.

sukuna chuckled low in his throat, leaned in just enough to say, “she deserves better.” then he slipped from toji’s grip like water, smoothing out his shirt, fixing the collar like nothing happened. “see you out there, big guy,” he said, casual, and walked out.

toji stood frozen in place, chest heaving, hands shaking, heart breaking. he looked at the cracked sink again, at the tiny lines spidering out like fault lines in porcelain.

just like him, splintered. ready to shatter.

~

you weren’t sure how long you’d been standing at the bar since you left tojis side, the bass thumped under your feet, lights spinning across the floor, but everything felt distant. muffled. like you were underwater watching the night move on without you.

you leaned against the back wall of the bar, drink long forgotten in your hand, staring into the crowd like you were searching for something—someone. like if you just waited long enough, maybe toji would come back. maybe he’d walk up with that lazy smirk and say something stupid like 'you look pretty'. you hated how much it still hurt.

your throat was tight, chest heavy with that unbearable ache that sat behind your ribs and wouldn’t move no matter how many times you told yourself to be fine. you felt like a fool for hoping. for showing up looking good, thinking maybe things could go back to how they used to be, thinking he’d finally see you the way you saw him.

but of course he hadn’t. because that would’ve required him to care enough to be honest, to be brave, and toji fushiguro didn’t do honest. didn’t do brave. he just did damage. and you were so, so tired of bleeding over him.

you closed your eyes. tried to breathe. tried to escape the way your body ached for someone who wasn’t even trying to hold you anymore. and just like a prayer whispered into the dark, someone stepped into your silence.

“you’re looking like you just got stood up,” a voice said beside you, smooth and cocky and way too amused. your eyes snapped open. sukuna stood there, drink in hand, eyebrow raised, mouth curled into that familiar smug grin.

“fuck off,” you said, no heat behind it.

“harsh,” he laughed. “and here i was, ready to rescue you from your little emo spiral.” you rolled your eyes, but you didn’t walk away. you couldn’t. not when his presence suddenly made the air easier to breathe.

“you don’t need to do this,” you muttered.

“do what?” he asked, feigning innocence as he leaned against the wall beside you. “check on the pretty girl who looks like her world’s falling apart? seems like the least i could do after last time.”

you looked at him then. really looked. he didn’t look sorry. he never did. but there was something else in his face—something quieter underneath the usual edge. not sympathy. not pity. just… attention. you hated that it felt good.

“come dance with me,” he said suddenly, holding out his hand.

“no.”

“yes.”

“i don’t want—”

“i don’t care.” he grinned. “come on, sweetheart. let me give you something to think about that isn’t him.” you hesitated. just for a second. and that was all it took. he grabbed your hand and pulled you into the crowd like you weighed nothing. and maybe in that moment, you didn’t. maybe the ache in your chest loosened just enough for you to follow.

the music swallowed you both whole. bodies pressed in all around, but sukuna didn’t care. his hand found your waist like it belonged there, the other lacing through your fingers as he pulled you close—too close. “relax,” he murmured, lips near your ear. “you’re allowed to enjoy yourself.”

you wanted to argue. but then his hips rolled into yours and everything inside you short-circuited. he danced like sin. like temptation wrapped in a body built to destroy. and the worst part? you let him. because for once, someone wanted to be close. someone was choosing you, and god, it felt like oxygen.

somewhere off to the side, you caught gojo shaking his head as he leaned toward geto. the two of them were watching from their booth, drinks in hand, resigned like babysitters watching a soap opera unravel in real time.

“should we stop this?” geto asked, sipping his whiskey. “nah,” gojo sighed, tapping his glass. “let it play out. toji needs to see what happens when you leave something good waiting too long.”

on the dancefloor, sukuna spun you around and tugged you back, your chest against his. his hands skimmed lower than they should have, but his touch didn’t linger—he wasn’t greedy. just deliberate. “you’re tense,” he said into your neck. “no shit.”

“i could help with that.”

you snorted despite yourself. “this isn’t a solution.”

“no,” he said, looking down at you. “but it’s something.”

you wanted to be strong. wanted to step away and prove that toji didn’t still own some broken piece of you. but your body betrayed you—moved with sukuna like he was the only thing keeping you upright. your breath caught every time he touched you, every time his fingers slid just barely across your skin. it wasn’t love. it wasn’t healing, but it was a distraction.

and you needed it.

what you didn’t see was toji.

he walked out of the bathroom with fists clenched, throat tight, still reeling from what sukuna said—only to be met with the image of you in said mans arms. dancing, smiling, laughing like you hadn’t just cried over him a few nights ago. he froze. everything inside him froze, and then it all caught fire.

he saw red. thick, searing jealousy choking out any rational thought. his stomach twisted. his heart fucking dropped.

you were dancing with him. his stupid fucking frat brother who was notorious for being a slur, bit that he could really speak on it but still. the one guy who never shut up about wanting you. the guy who toji knew was only doing this to piss him off.

and worse—you were letting him. he didn’t think, didn’t breathe, just turned on his heel and stalked straight toward the bar.

“what’s good, baby?” he said to the first girl he saw. she was tall, pretty, and already drunk enough to think he meant it. “hi,” she giggled, touching his chest, he didn’t even hear her name, he just kissed her. sloppy. hard. intentional. made sure the angle lined up perfectly so when he opened his eyes mid-kiss, you were watching.

your body went still on the dance floor. sukuna smirked down at you. “there he goes.”

you stared, heart pounding, feeling sick. toji was kissing someone else. again. like nothing mattered. like you didn’t matter. you pulled away from sukuna, stumbling a little.

“you okay?” he asked, still smirking, but there was a sharpness behind it now.

you didn’t answer. you were too busy watching toji pull the girl closer, whisper something in her ear, and start leading her toward the door. your heart shattered in your chest.

again.

gojo groaned into his drink. “he’s such a fucking idiot.” geto sighed. “you think he’s doing it to hurt her?”

“i think he’s doing it to hurt himself,” gojo muttered. “she’s just collateral.” you turned and walked off the floor, jaw tight, trying not to cry in public again. behind you, sukuna just chuckled.

“this is getting good,” he said, sipping his drink.

across the bar, toji didn’t look back.

not once. but he felt every step you took away from him.

and it burned.

~

everything after seeing him with that girl felt like a blur, you didn’t remember how you got to the couch. didn’t remember pushing past the noise or the crowd or the awful ache in your chest. all you knew was that when you saw gojo’s bright blue eyes across the room and the way geto looked up like he already knew something was wrong, your knees went weak and everything you’d been trying to hold in just crashed through you like a wave.

“woah,” gojo said, sitting up. “hey hey hey—”

“oh no,” shoko muttered, putting her drink down. “come here, sit. now.” you collapsed onto the couch between them, face hot, hands shaking, heart beating too fast. you couldn’t breathe. couldn’t think. couldn’t stop the tears even if you wanted to.

“he— he kissed her,” you choked out, voice cracking, “he did it again, and i let myself believe he wouldn’t.” shoko put a hand on your knee, gentle, grounding. gojo was frowning now, serious in that rare way he only ever was when someone he loved was hurting. geto reached for your hand, warm and solid, thumb brushing over your knuckles like he was trying to anchor you back to earth.

“just breathe,” geto said softly. you tried. you really did. but everything in you was unraveling. “i don’t understand what i did wrong,” you whispered. “we were so close. for two years he’s been my best friend, he’s been everything to me. and yeah, it was flirty and yeah, i caught feelings, but i thought— i thought he felt something too. i thought maybe—” your voice broke again, and you covered your face. “i’m so fucking stupid.”

“no,” gojo said immediately. “no you’re not.”

“he doesn’t even look at other girls like he looks at you,” geto murmured. “you’re not imagining it.”

“then why does he keep doing this?” your voice rose, raw and shaking. “why does he keep picking someone else? why does he keep hurting me and acting like i don’t mean anything?” shoko lit a cigarette, exhaling slowly. “because he’s scared. and because he’s an idiot.”

you laughed bitterly, wiping at your cheeks. “he doesn’t even text me. he can’t even say sorry. he just pretends like we never almost— like nothing ever happened.”

“toji’s always been like that,” gojo said, watching you carefully. “he shuts down. he panics. the second he feels something real, he runs.”

“but why?” you asked, voice barely a whisper. “what’s so wrong with me that he can’t even try?” geto pulled you closer. “it’s not you. it’s him. he’s just— he doesn’t think he deserves good things. and you’re the only thing he actually wants.”

you collapsed into him then, forehead against his shoulder, tears soaking into his shirt. “i hate him,” you mumbled. “no you don’t,” shoko said gently.

“i should.”

“yeah,” she said, flicking ash into a nearby tray. “you probably should.”

you didn’t say anything else. couldn’t. not with your whole chest cracked open, all the grief and love and hope spilling out where everyone could see it. gojo leaned back and sighed like he was tired of watching people break over someone who refused to show up properly. shoko lit another cigarette. geto just held you while your shoulders shook.

and somewhere near the back exit of the bar, sukuna leaned against the wall, sipping his drink and watching it all unfold with a little smirk pulling at his mouth. the chaos was beautiful.

you were so far gone you didn’t even see him watching. but toji wasn’t. toji stood outside, arms crossed, jaw tight, staring off at the road while the girl he’d kissed leaned against him, giggling about nothing important.

“you callin’ the uber?” she asked, lips already brushing his neck. “yeah,” he muttered, pulling out his phone and tapping through the app. he wasn’t even listening to her. didn’t know her name. didn’t want to. she wasn’t you.

she’d seen the whole thing—him dragging her out of the bar, eyes locked on you like he wanted to tear something apart. she’d liked the attention. thought she was gonna get lucky with the hottest guy in delta phi. but now, standing on the sidewalk, it was clear to her he wasn’t really there.

“you okay?” she asked. toji nodded, tight and short. didn’t meet her eyes.

when the uber pulled up, he opened the door for her and she paused, confused. “you’re not coming?”

“nah,” he said, barely looking at her. “go home.” her face fell. “seriously?” he didn’t say anything. “wow,” she huffed, rolling her eyes as she climbed in. “asshole.” the door slammed and the car pulled away.

toji stood there in silence, head tipped back against the wall, wind biting at his skin.

he hated himself.

he reached into his jacket, pulled out a blunt and lit it with shaking hands. took a long drag and exhaled slowly, trying to ignore the way his heart felt like it was about to cave in.

“you fucking dick,” he muttered to himself, staring out at the night. he had no one to blame but himself. no excuse. no reason that made any of this better. you’d shown up tonight looking like a dream. like something out of a memory he was too afraid to hold. and he saw you—saw how you smiled, saw how you scanned the room like maybe, just maybe, you were hoping he’d come to you.

and what did he do? he panicked. again. like a fucking coward. like the version of himself he thought he’d buried long ago. all because he didn’t know how to handle the way you looked at him like he could be good.

he smashed his fist against the brick wall, breathing hard. hated how he made you feel. hated that he’d watched you cry and didn’t go to you. hated that he couldn’t fix what he kept breaking.

and worst of all, he hated the way sukuna touched you. he had his hands on you. he made you smile. you were supposed to be safe from that. from him.

toji took another long drag, jaw clenched so hard it hurt. the weed didn’t calm him. nothing could. he could still feel your eyes on him when he kissed that girl.

could still feel the disappointment in your face. he saw the way your body tensed. saw the way sukuna pulled you closer like he owned the moment. and toji had let it happen. he’d let someone else have you. again.

he closed his eyes.

“you don’t get to love someone like that,” he said to the night. “not when you keep proving you can’t handle it.”

he wasn’t good for you. he knew that. he’d known it from the start. but god, he wanted to be. he wanted to stop fucking it up. wanted to stop pushing you away every time it got too real. wanted to hold you like he meant it and stop making you cry and just be enough for once.

but he wasn’t.

he was this.

a fucked up mess with bloody knuckles and a blunt burning slow between fingers that didn’t know how to be gentle.

“you deserve better,” he whispered. and for once, he actually meant it.

~

you woke up to the smell of cologne and the scratch of expensive sheets. your body ached. your head throbbed. your mouth was dry and you had no idea where the hell you were. sunlight filtered in through high windows, catching on glass shelves and too many sunglasses and a stupid amount of hair product on the dresser. the room was cold, the blankets heavy, and it hit you all at once.

this wasn’t your dorm. and you were very much in someone’s bed. you sat up fast, heart pounding, brain still foggy. your dress was still on. your shoes were at the foot of the bed. no one else was there. but the panic still crawled under your skin.

'no no no no no what did i do—'

the door creaked open. gojo poked his head in, holding a red solo cup and a protein bar like he hadn’t just stepped into a full blown crisis.

“you’re alive,” he grinned, “that’s good.”

you stared at him. “what— where— did we—”

his face scrunched up like he tasted something sour. “ew. no. jesus."

you blinked. “but i’m in your bed.”

“yeah, because you were blackout at the bar and i couldn’t find your dorm key and you kept telling everyone you wanted to fight god. i figured this was safer.”

you slumped back against the pillows, dragging a hand over your face. “frick.”

gojo walked in, setting the cup on the nightstand beside you. “here. water. drink before you shrivel into dust.” you took it with shaking hands and sipped slowly, nausea curling in your stomach. everything from last night came back in pieces. the dancing. the kiss. toji dragging that girl out. the way he looked at you like you didn’t even exist.

sukuna’s hand on your waist, your breakdown on the couch. toji going home with that girl.

you groaned and curled up on your side, still clutching the cup. “so,” gojo said, sitting on the edge of the bed, “wanna talk about it?”

“no.”

“you sure? because you cried a lot last night and i think you used geto’s hoodie as a tissue.”

“satoru.”

“right. shutting up.” he leaned back on his hands, still watching you, still grinning like an idiot but softer now. it was that rare expression he wore only when he really cared. like when geto got too high and panicked or when shoko locked herself in the bathroom during finals week. “he’s a fucking idiot,” gojo said eventually. “just so you know.”

“yeah,” you whispered, staring at the wall. “i know.” you stayed there for a while. quiet. raw. letting the weight of it all settle on your chest like a stone. you didn’t know why it still hurt so much. maybe because you’d let yourself hope again. maybe because it wasn’t just any guy—it was toji. your best friend. your everything. and he didn’t even look at you. after a while, you pulled yourself up and grabbed your shoes, brushing past gojo without a word. “you sure you’re good to go?” he asked.

“i’ll live.” he didn’t stop you. the hallway outside was dim and quiet, the frat house still half asleep from the chaos of the night before. your heels clicked against the wood floor as you moved past the open kitchen, the beer cans, the stained couches. everything felt distant. muffled.

you turned the corner too fast and slammed into something solid, or someone. your stomach dropped.

him.

toji in all his tired glory stood there in a black hoodie and sweats, duffel bag slung over one shoulder, keys in his hand. he was heading to the gym. of course he was. that was what he did when he couldn’t deal with reality—he trained like he could beat the guilt out of his body.

he froze when he saw you. eyes dark. jaw clenched, you opened your mouth. maybe to say hi. maybe to apologize. maybe just to explain that you didn’t sleep with anyone in the frat. that you were still yours. but he didn’t give you the chance.

his eyes flicked down. took in your clothes. the fact you were coming from the direction of sukuna or gojos room.

and just like that, his face hardened. lips pressed tight. no emotion. no recognition. no trace of the person who used to make you laugh so hard you couldn’t breathe. he pushed past you without a word.

just brushed his shoulder against yours and walked out the front door like you weren’t even real. like you had done something wrong. you stood there, frozen. breath caught in your throat. he thought you’d slept with someone else. and that mattered to him, but not enough to stop, not enough to ask. not enough to care out loud.

you felt it again, that horrible twist in your chest. that ache that had nothing to do with heartbreak and everything to do with betrayal. you’d given him everything. time, trust, love. and all he gave you back was silence. you blinked hard, lips trembling.

fine.

if he didn’t want to listen, then you’d stop talking. if he didn’t want to care, then you’d stop hoping. you’d learn to shut it all off too.

just like him.

but god, why did it still hurt so bad?

~

the gym was cold.

too cold for this early in the morning, but that didn’t stop him. nothing really could when he was like this—when his chest was tight and his head was loud and everything felt like it was seconds from snapping. toji slammed the barbell back onto the rack, chest heaving. sweat ran down his neck and soaked through his hoodie. he didn’t even bother peeling it off. he wanted to feel like he was suffocating.

his knuckles were raw from the heavy bag. he’d been there for a while. lifting. hitting. breaking down, and it still wasn’t enough. he wiped his face with the back of his arm and dropped onto the bench again, eyes burning, heart racing.

he kept seeing your face.

your eyes when you looked at him in the hallway disheveled from sleep. the way you opened your mouth like you were gonna say something and he just—walked past you. pushed past you like you were nothing. because he couldn’t hear it. couldn’t take the sound of you explaining how good sukuna made you feel. at least that's what he thought happened. how you finally let go. how it meant nothing, just sex, just comfort. how it didn’t hurt you like he did.

his stomach twisted.

he was the one who ruined this. he’d kissed another girl. in front of you. like a fucking child. like some messed-up defense mechanism he didn’t even understand. and then you disappeared, all teary-eyed and broken, and now what? now you were with sukuna?

his hands curled into fists. 'of course it was sukuna, it had to of been him. gojo wouldn't of done it.' sleazy, smug, opportunistic sukuna. he probably saw how fucked up toji was over you and waited for the perfect moment to slide in. always smiling. always watching. always pushing buttons just to see what would happen.

and you let him. you let him touch you. god, his head was spinning. he didn’t even know what happened, not really. but the way you looked this morning, still wearing that dress, walking out of someone's room like you couldn’t even care—he could feel it. you were gone. and he should’ve expected it. you weren’t his. you never were. just friends. that’s what it was. that’s what it always was.

he told himself that so many times. drilled it into his head like it’d eventually feel true. even though he watched you for two fucking years and wanted you more than he ever wanted anything. even though every time you smiled at him or leaned into him or laughed at something he said, it lit up something in him he didn’t know how to name. he wanted you. not just your body. not just sex.

you.

and he was too much of a coward to admit it. so instead he kissed some girl he didn’t even like. and now sukuna got to have you.

toji grabbed a weight and launched it across the room. it hit the wall and cracked the plaster, landed with a heavy thud that echoed through the gym. he bent over, elbows on his knees, breathing hard. his chest hurt, not from the workout, not from the cold, from you. because no matter how many times he reminded himself that he didn’t deserve you, that you deserved someone better, someone softer, someone who wouldn’t break you just by existing—he still wanted to be that person.

he wanted to take it all back, the kiss. the girl. the silence. he wanted to be the one you turned to when you were hurting. not sukuna. never sukuna.

he wanted to knock on your door and say all the shit he never let himself say. how he thought about you every goddamn day. how he felt safe with you in a way that scared the hell out of him. how he loved when you doodled in his notebook and how he’d watch your hands more than he watched the board. how sometimes he caught himself picturing your name next to his in places it didn’t belong.

he dug his fingers into his hair, pulling hard, trying to breathe. why did it feel like losing something he never even had? he was the one who made this mess. he knew that. he just didn’t think it would cost him you.

and now that it had, he didn’t know what the hell to do with himself. the gym fell quiet again. just the buzz of the old lights overhead. just the sound of his own breathing. heavy. strained. like he was trying not to fall apart. in the back of his mind, sukuna’s voice laughed, smug. cruel. knowing.

he knew he won.

toji grabbed the heavy bag again and punched until his hands bled.

god, why did it hurt so bad?

he didn’t even hear the gym door swing open over the pounding bass in his skull. he was too busy beating the shit out of the punching bag, sweat dripping off his jaw, chest heaving, knuckles already raw through the tape. he could barely breathe past the thoughts echoing like fists against his ribs. you and sukuna. god, just the image of it made his stomach twist.

and then there it was, a voice like poison dipped in silk. “damn. someone’s got issues.”

toji didn’t even have to look to know who it was. he’d know that cocky tone anywhere. he turned anyway, slowly, shoulders stiff and glistening under the fluorescents. sukuna was leaning in the doorway like sin itself, sweatpants hanging low, torso bare, tattoos stretched like inked war across his golden skin. hair messy like he just rolled out of someone’s bed, that smug-ass smile already curled on his mouth. he looked annoyingly perfect, like he hadn’t lost a second of sleep.

“you always train like you’re trying to exorcise your demons or is it just the guilt today?” sukuna stepped inside, slow and casual like he owned the place, dragging his fingers through his hair. “guessin’ she didn’t take it well, huh? not that i blame her. you kissed that blonde like you were tryin’ to make a porno.”

toji’s eyes narrowed, chest rising faster now. he wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, jaw tight enough to snap. “don’t,” he muttered, voice low.

“don’t what? bring up the girl you keep playing emotional dodgeball with?” sukuna cocked his head, mock sympathy dripping from every word. “you fuck her up, push her away, then lose your shit when someone else so much as breathes her direction. tell me, does she even know how deep she’s in? or are you too busy acting like you don’t care?” toji’s hands curled into fists.

“you don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

“oh, i think i do,” sukuna grinned, stepping even closer now, chest to chest. “you’re just pissed because for once, you’re not in control. and i gotta admit, she looked good last night. felt good too. all soft and sad, leaning into me like she just needed someone who wasn’t gonna treat her like a walking heartbreak.”

that was it.

the punch came so fast it cracked through the air. toji’s knuckles collided with sukuna’s jaw hard enough to whip his head sideways, and for a second, everything went still. even the music felt quieter.

then sukuna laughed. blood on his teeth. “oh, it’s like that?” he growled, and then lunged. they collided like a thunderstorm, all muscle and fury and months of unspoken shit. fists flying, bodies slamming into the gym wall, the weight bench tipping over with a crash. sukuna landed a punch to toji’s ribs, toji shoved him back and hit him square in the gut. it wasn’t frat brothers fighting. it was men with grudges too deep to hide behind loyalty.

“you think you’re better for her?” toji snarled, grabbing sukuna by the collar and shoving him against the mirror. “you think she’d want you?”

“i don’t gotta think,” sukuna spat back, blood trailing down his chin. “i already know i’d treat her better than you ever fucking could.” they barely noticed the gym door open again.

“for fuck sake,” gojo said, deadpan, as he and geto walked in. “and here i thought you two were just gonna kiss eventually.”

“this is bad,” geto muttered, already moving. “you think?” gojo stepped between them first, planting a hand on toji’s chest and forcing him back. “enough. what the fuck is this? you fighting your own brother over a girl you don’t even have the balls to admit you love?”

“stay out of this,” toji growled, panting, but his fists didn’t rise again. “too late for that,” geto said flatly, shoving sukuna back with a hand to his shoulder. “you both look pathetic.”

“he started it,” sukuna muttered, wiping his lip with the back of his hand, smirking like the devil. “i just gave him a reason.”

“you’re both bleeding,” gojo said, exasperated. “you’re not in high school. jesus christ.” the silence was heavy, tense, thick with adrenaline and the stench of sweat and resentment. toji looked at sukuna again, the red haze behind his eyes finally fading to something colder. disgust. at himself more than anything.

“you don’t get to talk about her,” toji muttered finally, voice quiet. “then maybe you should stop giving her reasons to need someone else,” sukuna shot back.

gojo grabbed his shoulder before toji could move again. “how about you both just shut the fuck up.” toji didn’t fight the grip. not anymore. his heart was still pounding but his energy was drained. his eyes dropped to the cracked mirror behind sukuna and for a second he saw himself. just a fucked-up guy, broken and bleeding, trying to fight what he couldn’t fix.

geto crossed his arms, glancing between them. “you both better figure this shit out before someone gets hurt worse than a busted lip.” sukuna scoffed but didn’t say more. toji stayed quiet, chest rising and falling like a man trying not to drown. gojo looked at toji. “you need to decide, man. either stop hurting her or start being real. you don’t get to have it both ways.”

toji’s jaw clenched. god, he knew that. he knew that.

he just didn’t know how to do either.

~

later into the day.

you were just trying to breathe.

the day felt heavy on your chest, like everything you’d been ignoring had finally decided to sit on top of you all at once. your head still ached from the night before, sleep had barely touched you, and your thoughts wouldn’t shut up. you’d left the frat early that morning, the weight of toji’s silence clinging to you like a second skin. all you wanted was to get coffee, maybe clear your head, maybe pretend life wasn’t completely falling apart.

you weren’t expecting to see sukuna, but there he was.

leaning against the corner store wall just across from campus, cigarette tucked between his fingers, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, that stupid grin already on his lips like he knew you were coming. he looked like sin soaked in sunshine, messy hair, glinting piercings, tattoos slipping under his collar like secrets. and then you saw it—his lip. swollen and cracked, red crusted at the edge, the faintest bruise shadowing his jaw.

you stopped in your tracks. "jesus,” you muttered without thinking, eyes locked on the damage. “what happened to you?” he grinned wider, like he wanted you to ask. “oh, this?” he gestured lazily, tapping his bottom lip. “got into it with a wall.” you gave him a flat look and he rolled his eyes.

“fine. toji punched me.”

the air caught in your throat. “what?”

“mm,” sukuna said, dragging on his cigarette, exhaling smoke like it didn’t matter. “we had a little… disagreement.” you blinked, heartbeat crawling into your mouth. “what about?” he tilted his head, watching you too closely. “you.” your breath stuttered.

“sukuna…”

“i might’ve said something that hit a nerve. poor guy’s been wound tight for days. looks like he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. and hey, when you keep pretending you don’t feel things, eventually they explode. right?” he gave you a pointed look, all knowing and cruelly soft. “you’d know something about that.”

you folded your arms, trying to stay upright under the weight of his gaze. “what did you say?”

“nothing that wasn’t true,” he said, smiling like he didn’t just set your insides on fire. “just told him maybe you needed someone who didn’t keep breaking you just to pull you back in. someone who wouldn’t make you cry every other night. someone who actually knows what he wants.”

you looked away, chest tightening, blinking too fast. he was always good at this—getting under your skin with a smile and watching you unravel like it was art. “he hit you because of me?”

“he hit me because he hates himself,” sukuna said smoothly. “i just gave him the mirror.” you hated how much that made sense. hated the twist it pulled in your gut. you hadn’t spoken to toji since the party, since he’d looked at you like you were nothing. you didn’t know if it was better or worse to find out he’d gotten violent because of it. “why are you telling me this?”

“because you deserve to know he cares,” sukuna said, and for one second, he actually looked sincere. “even if he’s a fucking idiot about it.” you stared at him, throat burning, but before you could answer, he stubbed out his cigarette and pushed off the wall.

“sure i want you, i think that's much is obvious, but he wanted you first. i was just here to stir the pot abit. take care of yourself, sweetheart,” he said, brushing past you with a low chuckle. “you look like you’re about to break.” you didn’t say anything.

you couldn’t.

you stood there frozen, chest cracked wide open, heart bleeding somewhere behind your ribs. his words echoed like static in your skull, twisting everything you thought you understood. he cared. toji cared. he just didn’t know how to show it. or maybe he did. maybe this was what love looked like from someone who didn’t believe he deserved it.

you made it down the street before your vision blurred. you ducked into the nearest alley and finally let the tears come, clinging to your coffee cup like it was the only solid thing left. you sobbed quietly, shoulders shaking, the weight of all of it catching up at once. his silence. his eyes. the kiss. the pain. the fact that he’d rather fight someone than talk to you. the way he looked through you like he didn’t still dream about you every night.

and somewhere far off, you were almost sure you could hear sukuna laughing. not because it was funny, but because he’d won. he’d pressed all the right buttons, and now you were left alone with nothing but your feelings, and the cruel understanding that you still loved a man who didn’t know how to love you back.

what the fuck were you going to do?.

~

toji wasn’t answering his phone. not gojo’s texts. not geto’s vague check-ins. not even shoko’s “you alive?” at 2 am. he wasn’t going to classes either, not really. he showed up to one lecture midweek, sat in the back with his hood up, left halfway through. no one said anything. no one ever did.

the next morning he hit the gym. hard. again and again. he trained until his knuckles bled. by the fourth day his hands were fucked up enough that even gojo noticed and said something, but toji just laughed it off. said he liked the sting.

he drank every night. it started with a few beers. then whiskey. then whatever geto had stashed in the back of the kitchen. the nights bled into mornings. he wasn’t sleeping much. wasn’t eating right either. he didn’t want to talk to anyone. didn’t want to explain that the thing eating him alive was not knowing if you really slept with sukuna, or if he just assumed that because of his own guilt and jealousy. didn’t want to admit that the thought of sukuna touching you made him feel like he was choking.

he saw you once across campus. walking with shoko, hair pulled up, hoodie sleeves too long. you didn’t look at him. didn’t even hesitate. that’s when he knew. you were done. or trying to be.

he couldn’t even blame you.

by the time saturday came around, toji wasn’t planning to go to the new party satoru was throwing. it was a quieter one, a smaller crowd, mostly people they knew from the frat or nearby houses. nothing crazy. but still, he couldn’t stomach the thought of seeing you there, laughing with someone else. maybe sukuna. maybe not. didn’t matter. he couldn’t fucking bear it.

so he slipped out the back of the house and started walking. hoodie on, hands in his pockets, head low. didn’t know where he was going. just kept moving. the streets were cold and empty, sky a low grey. there was a flicker of music echoing out from a cracked-open window two blocks down. someone laughed. he kept walking.

he thought about texting you. he even opened the screen. stared at your name. the thread of messages hadn’t moved in a week. last one was from you. just a simple “did i do something?” and he never replied. he couldn’t. he stared at it until it blurred. thumb hovered over the keyboard. he typed out, “can we talk?” then deleted it. typed, “i’m sorry.” then deleted that too. locked his phone. shoved it back in his pocket like it’d burned him.

his head was spinning. maybe from the whiskey he snuck earlier, maybe from the shit swirling inside him that he couldn’t name. regret. anger. grief for something that never even got a chance to start.

he turned the corner and stopped dead in his tracks.

you were walking toward him.

you looked soft under the streetlight, skin glowing and eyes wide when they landed on him. you weren’t dressed for a big night out — simple jeans, jacket, a look that still made his breath catch because it was you. because he hadn’t seen you this close in a week and it physically hurt.

you stopped too. like the world had pressed pause on everything.

his heart stuttered. fists clenched in his pockets. he didn’t know what to say. he didn’t know how to look at you and not fall apart. didn’t know how to open his mouth and not spill every raw, cracked, bleeding thing he’d been trying to keep buried.

but here you were. real. walking straight toward him like some cruel twist of fate or some final test from the universe.

and all he could think was:

'fuck. i missed you.'

you stop a few feet away from him and the wind knocks right out of you. he looks like hell. hoodie pulled low, dark circles bruised under his eyes, hands in his pockets like he’s holding himself together by a thread. but he’s still him. still that big, broad-shouldered shadow you’ve known for two years. the longest you’ve ever gone without hearing his voice was a few days during winter break. this week felt like being buried alive.

and now he’s right here.

you open your mouth to say something and nothing comes out. your throat burns. your heart’s clawing at your ribs and your brain’s playing back every horrible thing from the past week like a cursed slideshow. him kissing that girl. him ignoring you. walking past you like you were nothing. all the nights you cried into gojo’s pillows. the way sukuna smirked when he saw you shatter. all of it presses down at once and something inside you snaps.

“i’m sorry,” you choke out, voice already breaking.

toji flinches.

“i’m so sorry,” you say again, louder, more desperate. “i shouldn’t have danced with sukuna, i should’ve just gone home, i didn’t mean to make things worse, i didn’t want you to think—”

your words trip over each other like they’re racing to be forgiven. “i didn’t sleep with him, i swear. i wouldn’t. i was drunk and stupid and mad, and i just… i missed you. and i know you hate when i say shit like that, but i missed you so much and i’m sorry. i’m sorry for everything. i don’t know what i did to ruin this, but i’ll fix it, i swear—”

“hey.” it’s quiet. barely a breath. but it cuts through your rambling like a blade. you look up and he’s already stepping forward. his arms come around you in one smooth, heavy motion, big and warm and solid like the rest of the world doesn’t exist anymore. your knees almost buckle. your face presses into his chest and his hoodie smells like cigarettes and something familiar that makes your stomach ache. he holds you so tight it almost hurts.

you freeze for half a second and then sob into him. you don’t even care how pathetic it sounds. you cry into his hoodie like it’s the last time you’ll ever be held. you grip at his sleeves like if you let go he’ll disappear again. and he just stands there, letting you fall apart against him.

after what feels like forever, he finally speaks. “everything’s gonna be okay baby.” you hiccup against his chest. he says it again, lower this time. like a promise. “everything’s gonna be okay, alright?”

you nod, even if you don’t believe it yet. his voice is that same deep, unreadable rumble it always is, but it softens at the edges now. like he’s trying. like maybe he’s been hurting just as much.

“i’m sorry,” he says, and you don’t think you’ve ever heard those words from him before. “i’m sorry for being such an asshole to you. not just last week. all of it. the whole fucking time.” you pull back a little, just enough to look up at him. your face is hot and damp and your eyes are swollen and he still looks like he’s carved from stone. but his eyes are glassy. you’ve never seen him look like this before.

“toji…”

“you didn’t do anything wrong,” he says. “none of this is your fault. i just… i can’t be what you need. i don’t know how to. i never could.” you shake your head fast, “don’t say that—”

“i love you.” the words hit the air like a truck and your breath catches. he says it like it’s already killing him. like it’s always been true and he’s hated himself for it every second.

your heart stutters.

“i love you so fucking much it makes me sick,” he goes on, jaw tight. “and that’s why i can’t do this. because i’ll ruin you. because i’ll drag you down with me and you don’t deserve that.”

you start crying again.

he doesn’t try to stop you this time. he just watches, eyes dark and wrecked, like this is costing him everything. like this is what love looks like when it’s too broken to survive.

“i can’t fix it,” he says. “i wish i could. but i’m not built for the kind of love you deserve.” you don’t know what to say. your throat’s closing up. your chest is a mess of cracks and bruises. your fingers dig into his arms and he still doesn’t let go.

for a second, the world just goes still. your face pressed into his hoodie, his arms around you like armor, the ache of everything you never got to be pressing down from all sides. then you whisper, “i just wanted you.” he closes his eyes and presses his chin to the top of your head. “i know.”

and it’s not enough.

but it’s something.

you stay like that for a long time, pressed against his chest, the weight of everything between you hanging in the air. you’re not crying as hard anymore, but your breath still hitches now and then. his hand stays on the back of your head, fingers in your hair, like he can’t stop touching you even if he wanted to. finally, your voice comes out small. “what if… what if we tried?” his chest rises and falls beneath your cheek, slow and tense. you feel it before he even says anything.

“you don’t know what you’re asking,” he murmurs. “you really don’t.” you pull back just enough to look up at him again, your hands still gripping the front of his hoodie. “maybe not. but i know what i feel. i know i want you, even after everything. i don’t care how messy it is, i don’t care how broken you think you are. i just—i just want to figure it out with you.”

his jaw clenches. he looks away, breathing hard through his nose like he’s trying not to snap. “you say that now, but give it a few months. i’ll fuck it all up again. i’ll hurt you again.” you shake your head. “you don’t know that.”

“yes, i do,” he says, harsh and bitter. “that’s the one thing i do know. i’ll say the wrong thing or push you away or get jealous and do something stupid—again. and you’ll hate me. and i’ll hate myself even more.”

“then let me hate you,” you whisper. “but let me decide.” his eyes cut back to yours. you keep going, voice trembling but sure. “you’ve spent two years deciding what’s best for me. you keep saying you’re protecting me, but what if that’s not what i want? what if all this time, i just needed you to stop pushing me away?”

he stares at you like he wants to believe you but doesn’t know how. “i’m not scared of your damage,” you say. “i’m scared of not having you at all.” his throat works like he’s swallowing glass.

“please,” you whisper. “we don’t have to call it anything. we don’t have to make it perfect. i just want a chance. with you. even if it’s just a maybe.” his hands tighten on your waist. you feel the shift in him before you hear it in his voice. “what if i say yes,” he murmurs, low and rough, “and i end up destroying you anyway?”

you search his face. “then at least i’ll know i wasn’t the only one who tried.” his expression crumples for half a second—just a flicker, there and gone—but it’s enough to tell you he feels it too. all of it. the love, the fear, the impossible ache of wanting something that feels like it shouldn’t belong to you.

he leans in slowly, resting his forehead against yours. your noses brush. his breath is shaky. “a maybe,” he echoes. “that’s all i can give you.” you nod. “i’ll take it.” he lets out a breath like a war is ending inside him. and for the first time in what feels like forever, he kisses your forehead. soft. deliberate. full of everything he’s never been able to say out loud.

you close your eyes and let it sink in.

not a fix. not a solution. not a promise of forever.

just… a maybe.

and maybe that’s enough for tonight.

"toji... let's go back to my dorm, i don’t want to deal with a party right now."

~

you didn’t say much on the way back. your fingers were laced in his, warm and rough, grounding you in the quiet dark as the two of you walked through mostly empty sidewalks. toji kept stealing glances at you like he was checking you were still real, still here with him. your hand in his, your steps matching his pace, the silence between you strangely soothing.

he stopped you once just before you turned onto the path leading to your dorm, pulling your hand gently and making you look at him. the streetlamp above you flickered like a heartbeat, painting soft yellow light across his face. he looked like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how. he opened his mouth, paused, then just said in that low, gravel voice, “are you sure?”

you nodded before he even finished the sentence.

inside, the dorm was quiet. your roommate was gone for the weekend and the place felt hollow in a comforting way. as soon as the door shut behind you, you turned to him and he was already looking at you like you were something delicate and holy and he didn’t know if he deserved to touch you.

you stepped into his space first, gently taking his face in your hands. he leaned into your touch like he’d been starving for it, letting out a quiet breath as his forehead pressed against yours.

“you okay?” you whispered.

“not even close,” he whispered back, and then you kissed him.

it started soft, like testing the waters of something you both knew had been there for years. his lips were warm and slow against yours, his hands moving to your waist like he was scared to hold you too tightly. you pulled him closer, fingers curling into the back of his shirt, grounding yourself in the heat of his body.

toji sighed into your mouth like the weight of every regret he ever had was being lifted off his chest with every brush of your lips. he kissed you like he was saying sorry, like he was saying everything he never had the courage to speak out loud. your hands were on his chest, feeling the muscle beneath his shirt, the slow thudding of his heart that was somehow calmer now that you were touching him.

he pulled back just slightly, eyes searching yours. “you don’t have to—”

“i want to,” you said instantly, no hesitation. your thumb brushed his cheek. “i want this.”

something cracked in him. he kissed you again, deeper this time, more certain. his hands roamed up your sides, under your shirt, fingers slow and reverent. you felt like the most precious thing in the world under his touch, and god, you’d waited so long to be wanted like this by him.

you guided him to your bed. he let you, letting you crawl backwards onto the mattress as he hovered over you, eyes dark and full of something almost too intense to hold. he kissed your jaw, your neck, down your collarbone, whispering your name between each press of his lips. your shirt came off in a blur and so did his, and the feel of his skin against yours was enough to make you tremble.

“fuck,” he muttered, pressing his forehead to your chest. “you’re so—i don’t even know, i’m losing it.” you cupped his jaw and tilted his face up so you could kiss him again. “then lose it with me.”

his hands moved carefully, learning every part of you like he’d never get another chance. he took his time, like he didn’t want to miss a single detail. he traced the curve of your hip, the dip of your waist, kissed every inch of skin he uncovered like it was sacred. you felt worshipped. like he was finally letting himself feel everything he’d buried beneath all the guilt and fear and self-loathing.

you tugged him closer, wrapping your legs around his waist, gasping softly when you felt the way he pressed against you. your fingers found the waistband of his jeans and he froze just for a second, looking down at you with that broken look he’d worn since the day he realized he loved you.

“you’re sure?” he asked again, voice low and tight.

“i’ve never been more sure of anything,” you said, threading your fingers through his hair. “just… be here with me.”

his eyes dropped to your mouth like he couldn’t help it. like something in him was still resisting but not strong enough to stop what he needed. his thumb brushed your cheek, slow and reverent, and then you felt it—his breath mingling with yours, his hand sliding behind your neck like he needed to anchor himself to you, and then he kissed you.

god, he kissed you like he’d been dying to. like he was sorry and starving and scared all at once. it wasn’t rushed, it wasn’t just lust. it was deep. full-bodied. a confession sealed between parted lips and quiet moans. his hands were rough from years of training and weightlifting but the way they held your face was so gentle it made your chest ache. you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and kissed him back like he was everything. because he was.

“missed you so much,” you breathed against his mouth, barely able to get the words out between kisses. “you hurt me so bad, toji…”

he groaned into your lips like the truth pained him. “i know, baby. i know.”

his voice cracked when he said it. there was guilt in his hands, too—how they ghosted over your body like he didn’t feel worthy of touching you even now. but you weren’t going to let him float away again. not tonight.

you reached for the hem of his hoodie and tugged it up, and he let you, watching you with that dark-eyed intensity like you were unwrapping something dangerous. he didn’t stop you, not even when your fingers danced over his abs, not even when your lips trailed kisses down his chest like every part of him deserved worship. his hand came to the back of your head, gentle pressure, not to control you, just to feel you. to feel that this was real.

“can’t believe you’re real,” he murmured, like he was saying it to himself. “can’t believe you still want me after all that.” you met his eyes, then kissed over his collarbone. “don’t make me regret it.”

his mouth twitched like he almost smiled, but he couldn’t hold it. not with how shaky he felt inside. you pushed him back until his knees hit the edge of your bed and then climbed into his lap, straddling him slow, your hands finding their way into his messy black hair. he looked up at you like you were the only thing in the world he wanted to see. his hands settled on your hips and stayed there, tight enough to ground him, loose enough to let you move how you needed.

you rocked into him gently and felt the low groan vibrate through his chest as he buried his face in your neck. “fuck. you’re gonna kill me,” he whispered, voice hoarse.

“then die with me,” you whispered back, kissing the shell of his ear, “if you’re gonna be dramatic.” toji laughed under his breath, shaky and soft, and you felt something in him melt for you. he held you tighter, his forehead pressed to yours, and you both breathed each other in. this was slow. this was real. not some hazy hookup or guilt-ridden goodbye. this was you, pouring everything you had into the way you touched him, kissed him, held him. this was toji, stripped down to something raw and trembling and human beneath all his bravado.

you guided his hands under your shirt, placed them over your bare waist, your ribs, your back. he explored you like he’d never touched you before, even though he knew your body better than most. his fingers left burning trails. his mouth followed. every kiss was an apology. every gasp he pulled from you was one more promise that he’d do better, be better, love you right if you’d let him.

you tugged at the waistband of his sweats and he sucked in a sharp breath, head dropping against your shoulder. “you sure?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

you cupped his jaw and made him look at you. “i’ve never been more sure of anything.” his lips crushed into yours before you could say another word, and this time it was urgent. all teeth and tongue and breathless need, hands sliding over bare skin like he was trying to memorize every inch. clothes fell away one by one, carelessly discarded, and soon it was just skin against skin, heat tangled between sheets, and the weight of everything left unsaid hanging in the air around you.

he moved slow. every inch, every roll of his hips, every kiss to your throat, your chest, your stomach—it was all deliberate. no rush. just the ache of needing to feel connected. you clung to him, gasping his name, whispering how much you loved him in between moans and desperate kisses, and he gave it all back to you without saying much at all.

his mouth told you in other ways.

his hands told you in reverence.

his body told you in devotion.

you lost count of the times he made you cry out for him. lost yourself in the way his fingers gripped your thighs and how his voice broke when he told you you were perfect. he held your hand while your bodies moved together like they were made for it, pressing kisses to your palm, your wrist, your collarbone like he could kiss away all the damage he’d done.

you were shaking in his arms by the end, a mess of limbs and sweat and whispered i love yous, and he just held you, his arms strong and warm and wrapped around your body like you were something to be protected. something to be cherished. he didn’t run. he didn’t shut down. he just stayed, kissing the top of your head, whispering against your skin, pulling the blanket over your shoulders like you were the most important thing in the world.

and maybe you were.

“still scared?” you murmured sleepily, fingers tracing over the lines of his chest.

he kissed your forehead and whispered, “terrified.”

but he didn’t let go.

and neither did you.

never again would either if you slip away from each other, because this was real, this was what you two had always yearned for.

m.list!

oo i might like this better than my choso fics icl 🙁🤝 i hope you enjoyed ong i loved writing this make sure to tell me how you felt about itt 🫦

[beyondsuki]

Some of the best work I’ve ever read