#GIGI [ ... ] she/her. twenty-one. libra. district 8. infp-t. afro-latin (a) chronic girlblogging disease. practicing writer. a “wannabe” poet. sometimes 18+ content. / FROM THE RIVER TO THE SEA!
AITA FOR POSING AS A RICH MAN TO PULL A RICH GIRL..?
sum. when toji falls for the hot lady that frequents his shifts at the local grocery store, can his frat brothers help him pose as a rich hot bachelor ? or will you discover his kid & true identity first ? [n]sfw
“brokie and a baby daddy but you wanna pull y/n? don’t even joke, lad.”
ΣΧ
toji zenin is pretending to stack boxes in the third aisle of the local loblaws.
well, not exactly. toji zenin has his biceps flexing under the weight of crates but his eyes don’t lift to the shelf he places them on. instead his pupils flit to the automatic entrance doors, thick & glass-heavy, before he glances at his watch & back to the door again. 12:30 PM sunday. toji knows you should be here by now.
but you’re not, so toji’s lip twitches as he stares at the box of freezies in his arms and sighs. it’s pathetic, really. he’s got five more boxes of who-knows-what to arrange before the end of his shift but he can’t fucking focus. his mind’s on your short skirt & pretty laugh & the way your voice goes sweet whenever he pretends to help you look for items while holding your hand between the aisles. toji grunts, shakes his head. focus focus focus.
“toji.. can you help me reach the olive oil? the cold-pressed one with the pretty label?”
toji’s head snaps up so fast he almost drops the box of freezies.
it’s you—oh god, it’s you, and you’re looking down at him with those pretty lashes & short skirt & your hands holding a basket behind your back. you’re in those cute kitten heels you had on the first time he saw you—did you get your nails done? so pretty. you’re so pretty, you’re always so pretty, and toji’s mouth dries.
he doesn’t say anything because he can’t, because your perfume smells like honey & has his lungs sticking to his throat—but he slowly stands up anyway. you’re humming to yourself as you pad closer, getting in his way, heel clicking against the tile as he traps you in the aisle.
he reaches up to the glass bottle, and he can see your lashes fluttering up at him. your chest presses against his, and his lip ticks upward.
“you want this, princess?” he mumbles.
you playfully swat his chest, but your palm doesn’t slide off. you’re caressing his pecs now, teasing. “toji, give it to me. i have a pasta to make tonight. i’m busy.”
toji chuckles, slipping the bottle into your basket and letting his palm sneak over your waist instead. your hands are still on his pecs, lightly squeezing as you laugh when he tugs you closer. he nuzzles your jaw, murmuring, “only if i get an invite, sweetheart.”
“we’ll see,” you tease as his tongue licks your earlobe. you’re running a thumb over the silver tag on his chest: TOJI. “if you’re good, maybe i’ll let you wash the dishes.”
he kisses your neck. “m’always good for you, baby.”
you’re giggling now, shoving him away with flushed cheeks & a laugh too bright. toji catches your hands, tugging you back with a smile on his face before squeezing your hips. your lips are so glossy. is that the new gloss you bought last week? can he kiss it off?
he’ll never know, because he’s holding your hips while you tug at his collar and whisper something he doesn’t care about in his ear. his manager calls his name.
fuck.
toji gives your hips one last squeeze. “go pay, princess. i’ll bag your stuff.”
“you better.” you huff, spoiled & sweet, and toji can only watch the sway of your hips as you make your way to the register.
you’re a pretty girl with a posh life who will never know lack. toji’s a 24-year-old who’s still in college, working odd jobs with a son waiting at home.
in the third aisle of the local loblaws, toji zenin has his hands on his hips and his eyes on the ground. toji zenin will never say it out loud, but he knows he will never, ever, get the girl.
ⵌ AT THE FRATHOUSE !
“you can’t pull someone like y/n, no offense.”
toji wishes suguru wouldn’t spell it out. he already knows, for christ’s sake.
in sigma chi’s living room, toji zenin is sprawled out on the center rug while suguru and sato eat on the floor beside him. sato is between geto’s legs with his back against geto’s chest & his toe tickling toji’s jaw through his socks. suguru is tilting his shawarma for sato to bite from before taking a bite of his own.
sato’s about to dish out an insult of his own when the door swings open. in comes ryomen sukuna, standing in the doorway with bags in his hands and his limbs stretched out like some sort of clown. he bellows, “therapy fucking sucked today. i still don’t think i need therapy, by the way. watching porn and jerking off is completely normal—fuck you, suguru.”
“maybe it is,” suguru’s lips are sticky with shawarma sauce, “but having your dick out in the same room as other people is not.”
“a young man can’t be an exhibitionist? suck my dick, man.”
“oh, i’m not hungry..”
sukuna trudges over toji’s legs, then plops on the ground opposite sato and suguru. sato throws him the middle finger with a grin. sukuna throws it back. “i brought drinks. toji, why’re you on the floor? ya need therapy too?”
sato snickers. “toji’s fallen for a rich girl.”
sukuna snorts, “don’t even joke, lad.” but suguru and toji aren’t laughing. his brows scrunch. “wait—“ he turns to toji, “you’re serious?”
toji eyes him. “mind your own business.”
sukuna doesn’t believe in complex schools of thought like ‘minding your business.’ so instead of picking a shawarma for himself and eating in silence, he joins sato and nudges his foot against toji’s cheek. “does she know you’re poor?”
“hey, hey,” geto bites his cheek, “not too much on him.”
but sukuna continues. “what about the kid? does she know you have a son?”
toji’s jaw only tightens.
sukuna looks at toji in disbelief. then at sato, then suguru—then shakes his head, laughing. “jesus christ of jollof rice,” he cracks open a beer, “you’re fucking cooked, bro.”
toji drags his hands over his face. his eyes are hot, for some reason.
suguru sighs, resting his chin on sato’s head as sato munches happily underneath him. “i hate to suggest this, but there’s a way you can get her to give you a chance.”
sukuna and toji both perk up.
“if she doesn’t know about meg—or your, uh, economics,” suguru clears his throat, “then you keep it that way. she thinks you’re some hot older uni student who works at loblaws for beer money. lean into it.”
sato frowns. “this sounds like something i’d suggest. so not good, i think.”
suguru pokes his cheek, making sato’s pout grow deeper. “i’m just spit-balling here. it’s obvious you really like her, toji. and megumi needs a mommy.”
“i don’t like her because i want her to play housewife.”
“we know,” suguru’s smile is affectionate. “that’s why we’ll help you.”
sukuna grunts in agreement. “sounds scummy but it makes sense. if she finds out you’re a baby daddy with no money, she’ll just run back to her range rover.” he takes another swig of his beer. “we’ll help you hide your true identity. you just get her hooked enough that when she eventually does find out, she won’t leave.”
sato nods. “we’ll babysit. lend you money. heck—you can drive my porsche to your dates.”
on the floor, toji zenin is staring towards the ceiling. it’s a stupid plan, his frat brothers are even stupider, and there is no way in hell whoever is up there will actually let things work out in his favor.
but toji’s desperate. he has been for a long time. so before he can let himself think about it, his lips part to respond.
“alright,” he grunts. “let’s fucking do it.”
SIGMA CHI’S REMARK : DON’T WORRY BRO, WE GOTCHU !
BROKE BOY TACTICS #2: WHO’S YOUR DADDY ?
taught by: sato, sukuna, suguru
“babysitting a five year old brat. how hard could that be?”
ΣΧ
megumi zenin is tufts of black hair, sleepy blue eyes & a tiny fist in a jar full of gummy worms. he’s slumped against his dad’s thick leg, shoving fistfuls of gummies in his mouth with candy-smeared cheeks & a bored expression on his face.
sato, sukuna and suguru are side-by-side on a straight line.
hands tucked behind their backs & chests puffed out like soldiers. toji clears his throat. “listen up. i’m going to be gone for exactly two hours. if i come back and the kid has a single scratch on him, i’m throwing all of you into a pond.“
suguru shakes his head, stepping forward to crouch down to megumi’s height. he wipes megumi’s cheeks with a smile. “don't worry, toji. we've got him. right, little man?”
“hi, uncle sugu,” megumi’s voice is flat but he leans into geto’s palm on his cheek. “are we going to draw today?”
“of course, kiddo. i bought some new crayons just for you.”
toji scoops his son up in his arms, ignoring the way his tiny body writhes towards the gummy worms abandoned on the floor. suguru lifts the jar back to megumi with a smile. sukuna, however, is frowning. “why is his face like that.”
“sukuna, do not fight my kid.”
megumi points towards him. “my daddy calls you a pervert.”
sato bursts out in laughter. suguru’s snickering too, though he’s doing a better job of hiding it. toji drops his son to the ground and crouches to his height. megumi offers him a soggy, wet gummy worm. toji eats it off his palm & pokes his belly.
he rises to his feet. “suguru is in charge. rest of you, keep your hands off him. i’m leaving.”
megumi waves a sticky hand. “bye, daddy. bring me a cookie.”
“will do, brat.” and the door shuts with a thud.
——
“we should go to wonderland. you like amusement parks, ‘gumi?”
megumi zenin has a crayon in his hands, scribbling furiously with a focused expression on his face. he’s seated in geto’s lap, occasionally having suguru hand him a crayon as he perfects his artistic masterpiece. to his right, sato gojo is leaning over the table and talking a mile-a-minute.
megumi answers, scribbling a drawing of what looks like him and his father—DADDY AND ME. “i’ve never been to an amusement park.”
“what?” sato slams his palm on the table, distraught. “what kind of kid has never been to an amusement park?!”
“my father is poor.”
“oh,” sato shrinks. “fairs.”
suguru lets out a fond huff, burying his nose in megumi’s hair to hide the fact that he’s shaking from laughter. sato looks crushed by guilt. “i can’t take this anymore, suguru.” he clutches his chest. “we’re going to the apple store and getting him an ipad pro right now.”
suguru raises a brow. “toji said no screens. and either way, i won’t let you turn him into an ipad kid.”
megumi slumps against geto’s chest. “i want a blue gatorade.”
“i’ll get it for you, buddy,” suguru smiles before kissing his cheek, easing him off his lap. “don’t let sato teach you about investment and stocks while i’m gone, okay?”
sato has his chin on the table, defeated. and just as suguru’s back turns into the kitchen, sukuna saunters in, steps heavy, palm curled around a blue bottle of—is that the last gatorade?!
sukuna cracks the plastic seal, taking a slow, heavy swig of the drink while staring right at the five year old. megumi’s tiny brows furrow. “that’s mine. uncle sugu said i could have it.”
“well,” sukuna licks his lips, slow. “uncle sugu’s not the king of this house.” he takes another gulp, throwing his head back with a refreshed ahhhhhh. megumi frowns, lips tight.
and then he screams.
“uncle sugu! mister pervert’s being mean again!”
sukuna chokes on his gatorade. “who the hell are you calling mister pervert, you little brat—“
sato jumps over the table to hold back sukuna before he can strangle the five-year-old. suguru runs out of the kitchen in alarm, quickly scrambling to hold back sukuna’s wrath alongside sato.
megumi only blinks at the display. three grown men bickering and shoving over gatorade. hell, he’s not so sure he even wants it anymore.
he sighs, reaching across the table to pick up sato’s iphone. he dials his dad’s number, palm smushed into his cheek as he watches suguru smack sukuna for his bad behavior.
ⵌ AT THE DATE !
in the local coffee shop, your lashes are fluttering & the sunlight kisses your skin as you stare out the window.
toji zenin has his heart in his throat. his hands are in his pockets but his ribs are cracked against his chest, and the sight of you pouting out the window has his mouth drying with want. he strolls over regardless, posture lazy, steps cool, because toji zenin is a man who can only have pride when he pretends.
“hi, princess,” he slides into the booth seat—next to you, not across, because he’s been thinking about the feel of your waist in his hands since last thursday—and his ankle hooks around yours on autopilot.
“hi,” you smile, leaning into his side as he kisses your hair. toji takes your palm in his. your fingers are so dainty. fuck.
“you look nice today,” you hum. “who are you trying to impress?”
your lashes are batting up at him, but toji manages to keep his cool. his smirk is lazy & gorgeous. “you, obviously.”
toji wonders how you can let him touch you so casually. even now he’s nibbling your ear as you talk about something from class—a lazy professor or something else, it’s hard to listen when your thumb brushes his jaw while you speak—and toji’s mind wanders. he’s kissing your neck now, thumbs rubbing circles on your thighs as your breath hitches between words, and toji wonders why you haven’t yet flinched in disgust.
he doesn’t dwell on it too long, though. he knows the topic will only get him down.
so he kisses your neck as you laugh and swat him away, telling him he’s distracting you from your story. you never push him off, though, and your thigh’s on his lap now.
but all good things must come to an end.
toji’s phone buzzes.
loud & obnoxious. SATO, his screen reads. he quickly swipes it away. “sorry…just spam.”
“spam?” you poke his bicep, grinning. “or is your little side piece getting impatient?”
“don’t have a side piece, baby,” he murmurs into your cheek. “only want you.”
1 NEW FACETIME AUDIO CALL : SATO 🤡
his phone has been buzzing for ages now. you sigh, crossing your arms & clearly annoyed. “toji, just answer it. what if it’s an emergency?”
you’re right, he should answer it, because if anything happened to megumi, he’d fucking flip. he bites his lip, “one second, princess.”
he presses his phone to his ear, but megumi’s voice greets him instead.
“daddy! uncle kuna’s trying to kill me because of blue gatorade!”
toji’s eyes widen. from the corner of his eye, he can see you inching closer, brows furrowed in concentration as you try to listen in.
in the background of the call he can hear sato shrieking. “suguru—! use the spatula! use the spatula! sukuna stop—“
you’re blinking at him, inching closer to his bicep on the table. “daddy? who’s calling you daddy?”
toji’s soul leaves his body.
“daddy, are you coming home soon? uncle sugu’s spanking him now. it’s very loud—“
he ends the call before you can hear any more.
“do you have a son?”
toji’s breathing stutters. you’ve inched away from him now, lips bent in a frown, brows furrowed, expression curious—or cautious, toji can’t really tell. and it pains him to lie to you, but what else can he say when you’ve already shifted your thigh off his lap?
“nah,” he answers too fast. “it’s my nephew.”
toji reaches out to thumb your cheek, but you don’t relax into his palm. “think he meant to call my brother, not me.”
he tugs your bottom lip as you speak. “i didn’t know you had a brother…”
“there’s a lot you don’t know about me, princess,” he leans in to kiss the corner of your lips, because he knows he doesn’t deserve any more than that. your pout deepens.
“we can change that though,” he lies, smiling. “wanna get dessert?”
SATO’S REMARK : NICE SAVE, TOJI ! AND MY BAD—HAHA !
BROKE BOY TACTICS #3: BLEACH !
taught by: geto suguru, toru gojo
“inviting her over already? we’ve gotta scrub this place clean, then.“
ΣΧ
toji zenin has one hour to make it seem like megumi doesn’t exist.
geto suguru is scrubbing the bathrooms. toru gojo has somehow been roped into this predicament and is scrubbing away in the kitchen. in the living room, toji zenin is picking up cheerios from the rug, phone in his ear with sukuna on the line.
“hi daddy,”megumi’s voice is flat through the speaker. “uncle kuna’s being nice to me today.”
“that’s great, kiddo. can you put him back on the phone?”
“yo,” sukuna’s voice crackles through.
“if anything happens to my son, i will spread your ass cheeks and sprinkle paprika in the hole.”
“oh.”
“yeah,” toji shifts the phone in his neck. “make sure he has a good time at that amusement park. and don’t let sato spoil him too much.”
“heyyy toji!” sato’s voice crackles through the speaker. toji sighs before grunting back a hello. “keep megumi safe, got it?”
“yes, sir!” / “we got it, boss.” / “bye, daddy!”
toji says his goodbyes. just as he clicks the end button, toru gojo pads into the living room, glasses tilting off his face & slipping rubber gloves off his hands. “all done in the kitchen. remind me why we’re deceiving this poor lady again?”
toji picks up a gummy worm tucked under the rug and cringes. “because she wouldn’t look twice at a broke guy with a kid.”
toru softens, adjusting his glasses. “you don’t know that. have you tried telling her?”
“no.”
“why not?”
"because,” he picks up another gummy worm hidden under the couch, glaring at it before throwing it away. "because every time someone finds out about megumi, they look at me different. like i'm a burden. like he's a burden."
toru purses his lip. he’s watching as toji ducks under the couch, picking out stray bits of cereal and snacks and other things that make toji’s nose scrunch up in disgust.
toru shakes his head, taking off his glasses to set them on the counter. “but you don’t know if she’s like that.”
“i know i can’t lose her before i even have her.”
toru purses his lip. toji’s voice came out too tight.
ⵌ SHOW TIME !
when toji opens his front door, you’re in a too-short dress and there’s moët & chandon in your hands.
god, you’re gorgeous. and toji really needs to stop thinking that. needs to stop saying it in his head before he slips up and says it out loud with a tone he can’t take back.
“hi,” you tilt your head, batting your lashes in that way that makes him stupid. “you gonna keep standing there? or are you gonna take this bottle off my hands?”
ah, right. toji reaches for the bottle but you pull it back. he raises a brow.
“say ‘please pretty girl, may i have the wine?’”
you’re still peering up at him, hugging the bottle of wine to your chest, teasing smile on your glossy lips. toji leans against the doorframe. arms crossed, dark eyes raking over your hips, plush thighs, pretty waist. fuck.
his lips twitch, “i’m not saying that.”
“aww,” you pout, glossy and spoiled. “guess i have to turn back home and drink this expensive wine all by myself.” you turn, and toji bites his cheek because your dress has ridden up to give him the perfect view of your ass. so soft. he can’t wait to squeeze it.
“i’m gonna be so lonely…” your back is still turned to him, voice wistful. “and i came all the way over here, too. i’m so upset.”
toji doesn’t let you take another step.
you squeal as he scoops you up with a grunt, arms snaking over your waist & under your thighs to lift you bridal style. you squeeze the bottle of wine in your arms, eyes shut tight as you giggle while he kicks the door shut. “toji! put me down!”
careful what you wish for.
toji drops you to his couch with a thud. you land with a breathless laugh, dress bunched up to your hips & he can see the print of your panties. your hair is fanned out, and the bottle of wine is pressed to your stomach. you’re giggling, eyes bright, and god. you look so fucking gorgeous all laid out for him. toji’s jaw ticks.
he climbs over you, pressing his warm body down until the wine digs into your stomach. his eyes are dark. hungry.
“please, pretty girl,” he murmurs, breath hot, lips teasing your neck. “may i have the wine?”
oh.
your breath hitches. you stare up at him, cheeks hot, eyes wide, thighs squeezing together in anticipation. but you’re a bad girl, so you don’t give toji zenin what he wants just yet.
your smile falters, but you tilt your head. “thought you weren’t gonna say it?”
he grins, pressing a hot kiss underneath your ear. “and i thought you were leavin’.”
you let out a shaky gasp as toji licks a hot stripe up your neck. he’s filthy—big hands gripping your hips to keep you pinned to the couch, squeezing you hard each time you moan and buck yourself into him. his breath is hot against your neck, sucking and kissing and teasing, the occasional nip when you whimper just the way he likes.
his weight presses the wine harder into your stomach. you gasp, “toji, the wine—“
“hold it, baby.”
your eyes squeeze shut as his kisses trail further down your neck, tummy fluttering as heat pools between your thighs. his thumb on your hip sinks under the silk of your panties, and you whine his name before he shushes you with a sweet kiss to your cheek.
toji doesn’t kiss you on the lips. the lips are too honest, and toji is not.
you’re still clutching the bottle, chest heaving as toji presses your hips deeper, deeper—
“ow!”
toji freezes.
in truth, toji zenin has never been a gentle man. his body is too big and his hands are too rough, and life itself has never treated him gently, nor given him much reason to be gentle towards others. but as toji hovers over you, limbs frozen in alarm, his stomach can’t help but twist with disgust. said body and rough hands have crushed something soft yet again.
“did i hurt you?” his voice comes out weird. “doll—look at me. you okay?”
“i’m fine,” you wince, cheeks flushed as you try to steady your breathing. you twist your leg slightly, sliding your fingers down into the sofa cushion where something sharp poked at you. “something... something poked my leg.”
you pull out a tiny, red brick.
you blink. “a lego?”
for the second time this evening, toji freezes.
he takes it from your hand, flicking it away. he lifts your arms to wrap them around his neck, and lowers himself back to your chest. “that what you stopped me for, princess?” he mutters coolly, like his heart isn’t beating in his throat. “had me so worried, baby.”
“toji, why do you have a lego?”
he kisses your jaw, “my nephew’s.”
ah, that makes sense. you hug his neck tighter, giggling as he slips the wine off your belly & onto the floor. he presses yet another kiss to your neck, warm & sweet, and you let your chin rest on his shoulder as he loves you with gentler hands.
but then you see it.
on the metal door of the kitchen fridge, past a jar of gummy worms and a poorly placed broom, a banana-shaped magnet is there.
and right under it, a scribbled drawing. the messy figure of a man with spiky hair, and a smaller, more spiky-haired boy.
DADDY AND ME.
your body goes still.
toji’s hands are on your hips, thighs, waist—but his touch suddenly itches. the warmth has gone cold.
“toji,” you whisper. “who drew that?”
toji doesn't move. his eyes slowly follow your gaze to the fridge, and the panic in his eyes is unmistakable. the lie slips out of his mouth before his brain can even catch up to it.
“sociology project,” he breathes. “developmental regression. drew it with my left hand.”
“your left hand…”
your voice trails off as toji sinks his lips back to your neck.
toji zenin does not study sociology.
TORU’S REMARK : YOU CAN’T FOOL HER FOREVER.
BROKE BOY TACTICS #4: LEAN INTO THE LARP !
taught by: sato gojo
“you can’t pull up to a date in an uber. take my porsche—you’re a rich guy now.”
ΣΧ
it’s late, and three floors down, toji zenin has his hands on his hips, staring at sato’s sleek black porsche in disbelief while his tie itches at his neck. three floors up, in toji’s crappy apartment, the gang’s all there.
megumi has a blanket pulled up to his chin, seated on the couch next to suguru. sukuna is lounging on the floor with his back against said couch. sato is flipping through TV stations. the light in the room is dim, and sato snickers at something sukuna says before tossing him the remote.
“why does everyone always leave me?”
the trio freeze.
megumi’s expression is flat. he’s staring into the tv’s glow, but his eyes are soulless and empty. suguru hesitates—but then he rests a hand on megumi’s hair. “what do you mean, kiddo?”
“daddy’s always leaving now,” megumi closes his eyes, rigid against the couch cushions. “he never spends time with me anymore. he’s acting like my mommy did.”
the three boys’ hearts crack right down the middle.
they’re staring at each other now, the weight of megumi’s words on their shoulders. how do they tell a little boy that the reason his father has been less present—and is also not present tonight—is because he’s currently trying to hide his child’s existence to impress a woman? and that they’re all helping him?
sato speaks first. too quick, too fast.
“he’s just been busy,” he croaks out. “he’s been picking up new shifts. he’s working really hard.”
“yeah,” sukuna agrees. “he’s working hard. to take care of you, meg.”
megumi stares into the tv screen. geto’s hand is still heavy on his head, and his body is limp and his eyes are heavy.
“i know.” megumi mutters. “he’s my hero.”
suguru bites his lip. “you know what, meg? why don’t we draw something? a new picture for your dad?”
megumi’s eyes flit to the kitchen fridge. DADDY AND ME. the picture is still there, but the paper is crinkled and damp now. as if someone threw it away with heavy eyes, then somehow thought better of it.
megumi nods, “yeah.”
“okay, buddy. i’ll go get the crayons.”
“i’ll get the paper!”
“and i’ll… uh. you want a gatorade, kid?”
the three adults go after the various items. megumi takes one last look at his drawing on the fridge, and then he slips off the couch and pads away.
ⵌ SHOW TIME !
toji zenin is a man who can only have pride when he pretends.
so today, he pretends the sleek black porsche parked outside your house is his. he pretends he’s not wearing sato’s luxury cologne, that his tie isn’t secondhand, that the cuff of his suit isn’t too tight on his wrist and that the guilt in his mouth doesn’t taste like his blood.
he’s gripping the wheel so hard his knuckles turn white.
when you open the car door, you look like a dream.
your lips are glossy, always glossy, but it’s a different shade of shimmer tonight. your hair is loose all over your shoulders, heels clicky, dress black and matching the shade of sato’s car. toji stares, jaw slack as you slide into the passenger’s seat. the words in his throat have turned into bile.
“Hi.” you blink at him.
“Hi.”
he can’t say much else, and he really ought to but he can’t, so instead he only watches as you huff and click your seatbelt in place. toji licks his lips, turns back to the wheel. says a quick prayer to a god he doesn’t believe in. “you look gorgeous.”
you don’t respond.
the car starts with an expensive growl. it makes toji wince, and he hopes you don’t notice. he’s practiced starting the car three times so he can pretend he’s used to it. he isn’t, and he’ll never be.
he pulls onto the streets, eyes frantically scanning the road as his pulse drums in his teeth.
“toji?” you say, eyes trained ahead of you, voice flat.
“yeah, baby?”
“where are we going?”
toji’s fingers drum on the steering wheel. he turns right at the fork. “somewhere nice,” his voice is strained. “somewhere you deserve to be.”
he lets his right hand shift to the center console, trying to bridge the gap. his hand is sweating, maybe. you glance at it. glance away.
you peer out the window, head against the edge, watching the lights blur through the glass. “i feel like i’m sitting in a museum,” you murmur, quiet. “everything feels curated. including you.”
he swallows. “i’m trying to make tonight special.”
“special…” you trail off, lashes fluttering as you stare out the window.
“i don’t know who you are, zenin.”
toji’s head aches. and so does his chest, violent and sharp and stabbing. he’s a liar, a con artist, a selfish man with rough hands and a son waiting at home. oh—megumi. his phone’s been buzzing in his pocket for a while now. how’s megumi?
“i’m just a guy,” he chooses to say. “a guy who likes you.”
“do you? or is that just part of the exhibit?”
maybe there really is a god watching, because before toji can respond something makes a sound.
he’s not sure what, honestly, but he’s quick to capitalize on it. he needs the air. toji turns into an empty street to park. he unbuckles his seat belt, leans over a bit. “stay in the car, okay?”
you only nod, and toji’s throat curls with guilt.
the night air is cool on his skin. he opens the car bonnet—careful, as careful as a man like him can be—pretending to scan the engines for a possible source of the noise. he doesn’t find anything wrong, and he knew he wouldn’t, but he holds up the bonnet and pretends to check anyways.
three minutes pass before he returns to the car.
three minutes of toji zenin teaching himself how to breathe. the same way he does when megumi shuts down even though he thinks the steps are corny. having a kid really changes you, doesn’t it?
megumi. he looks at his watch, 9PM. his boy should be in bed by now.
the buzzing from his phone has stopped. he should check it now, but you’re still waiting. still beautiful. still hurt.
so toji slams the hood shut. sucks in a breath and slides back into the driver’s seat. you’re staring at him as he buckles his seatbelt.
“toji,” your voice is careful. “do you have anything you want to tell me?”
yes. i work three jobs and i’m drowning in student loans. i got a girl pregnant when i was eighteen, and she left me when i turned twenty-one. i have a boy who’s five-and-a-half and he’s the only good thing i have left. and i’m sorry i lied, but i didn’t want you to leave me before i could love you and i’m sorry, and i’m sorry again, and you deserve better, and i’m sorry.
“no,” toji lies.
you purse your lips. “okay.”
the engine roars back to life. and toji is sweating, and the date feels over before it’s even started, and his pulse is too loud and—
“daddy?”
toji’s blood runs cold.
in the backseat of sato’s porsche, megumi zenin is there, body tucked under a blanket and rubbing his eyes. he slips off the seat and stumbles towards the console, still rubbing at his face. “hi, daddy.”
toji zenin can only stay frozen as megumi wraps his smaller arms around his neck.
he tries to speak, fingers twitching as they hover over his son’s back. “megumi—hey, buddy—what’re you doing here?”
megumi buries his nose into his father’s neck. “i didn’t want to be alone again.”
toji bites his lip. he can feel your eyes boring into him, and he nervously scrambles. “hey—you’re never alone, buddy. where are your uncles? come here.”
he lifts megumi into his lap, avoiding your gaze.
“is this your son?”
toji’s mouth dries.
he could say it’s his nephew, make up some lie about him referring to both him and his ‘brother’ as dad, but god. you’re already looking at him with something he doesn’t have the vocabulary to name, and toji’s jaw aches.
“yes,” he sucks in a breath. “this is my son, megumi.”
he brushes megumi’s hair back, taking his little fist away from his face so he stops rubbing at his eyes. “meg, say hi to the pretty lady.”
“hi, pretty lady.”
megumi waves a small hand, then collapses against his father’s stomach.
you force a smile and flick your eyes back up to toji.
“i think you should take me home.”
???’s REMARK : YOU CAN’T LARP YOUR WAY INTO BEING LOVED !
BROKE BOY TACTICS #5: EMBRACE YOUR ECONOMICS !
taught by: nanami kento, megumi zenin.
“maybe she doesn’t hate you. maybe she hates that you thought so little of her you felt the need to live a lie.”
ΣΧ
it’s a new day, and toji zenin is laden with old burdens.
he’s slumped against his bedroom wall, phone pressed to his ear with megumi on his stretched out legs. megumi has a red & green colored hand in another jar full of gummy worms. toji makes a mental note to hide it better next time.
“you didn’t just lose the date,” nanami’s voice cuts through the speaker, flat and professional as always. “you insulted her intelligence. made her out to be a shallow woman who’d only care about you if you had money in your bank account.”
toji stares at the ceiling. then at megumi, who’s about to eat a gummy worm off the floor. he flicks it away. “she looked at me like i was trash, nanami.”
“she looked at you like you were a liar,” nanami corrects. “which you are.”
nanami sighs, breath sending a crackle through the speaker. all he wanted to do was spend his afternoon reading his new favorite BL, doukyuusei, but once again the shenanigans of his friends have interrupted his peace.
“toji, you’re a smart man. and she sounds like a smart woman. i doubt she’d lose interest because you have a son—i believe she hates that you lied to her.”
megumi takes a worm and makes it crawl through toji’s lips. it’s cold, but toji chews and swallows anyways. “i need to apologize.”
“yes,” toji can hear a page flip. “and quickly. i have to attend to other matters now, but say hi to megumi for me.”
the line goes dead, and toji drops his hand to the floor.
megumi chews a gummy worm. then he takes it out of his mouth, frowns at it, then eats it again. “daddy, are you mad at me?”
toji frowns. “for what?”
“i ruined your date,” megumi looks into the jar of worms, frowning, then back at his dad. “with auntie.”
toji looks at his son. at his candy smeared cheeks, sticky hands, black spikes of hair and sugar in his teeth. megumi looks just like him. he’s always known it, but he’s growing to look more and more like his father every day.
“you didn’t ruin anything,” he murmurs, pulling his son into his chest. “you’ve never ruined anything in your life.”
he pats megumi’s hair, head thrown back. “i’m sorry, meg.”
five-year-old megumi zenin has already lost interest. he’s more focused on getting the red and blue gummy in the sea of yellow-green ones, small hand grabbing fistfuls of worms before dropping them back. he doesn’t know his father is sorry, sorry for everything, for trying to erase his existence to impress a woman and for bringing him into this world knowing he will never be able to give him the future he deserves.
megumi retrieves the red and blue gummy worm. his favorite flavor. he blinks at it once, twice.
then he turns to his dad. lifts the gummy worm on his palm to his face.
toji zenin eats it right off.
ⵌ SHOW TIME !
megumi zenin is in his best clothes: baby blue button-up from suguru. a white top with a red race car that sukuna had got him for his birthday. light up skechers from uncle sato. toji had tried to get him to wear normal shoes, but megumi shut that down quickly. he wanted to be seen.
you no longer frequent the local loblaws.
and it breaks toji’s heart, actually. you haven’t blocked him just yet, thank god, so toji thinks you might not yet hate him completely. that he might still have a chance.
call him a weirdo, but he’s been to almost every grocery store nearby.
no frills, sobeys, you name it. and now, at 12:30PM sunday, toji zenin is in his car with his son, watching you load groceries into the backseat with a pout on your lips. like you’re above this. like you need a big, strong man to offer his help. and toji’s chest aches. because he could be that man, you know. if you’d let him.
toji slips out of the car. megumi hops out too.
he stops just a few feet behind you, watching you mutter curses as you haul a carton of juice. toji’s lip twitches. then he pulls megumi along.
“let me help.”
you blink as toji comes out of seemingly nowhere to save the day. he lifts everything out of your cart and into your car, never breaking a sweat. truthfully, your groceries aren’t even that heavy. he’s not sure why you were struggling, but he thinks it’s so fucking cute.
he lets you click your remote to close the boot shut. then he turns to you: “i owe you an apology.”
you tilt your head. “do you?”
he squeezes megumi’s hand in his own to ground himself. “i lied because i was scared,” he admits, and you never thought you’d hear toji and ‘scared’ in the same sentence. “you’re a pretty girl from a nice family who spends my rent money on groceries,” he breathes. “and i want you, bad. and i thought if you saw me—the me who lived paycheck to paycheck and has nothing except this little brat,” he raises megumi’s hand, “you’d leave before i even got a chance.”
he shifts his hand to megumi’s head. “it’s fucking stupid, i know. but this is my son,” he ruffles megumi’s hair. “say hi, kid.”
“hi, auntie.”
your gaze shifts away from toji, and drops to the little boy beside him. megumi is apple cheeks, dark, messy hair and nervous feet shifting on the pavement. he looks like his dad, and the sight makes your heart melt.
“hi, baby boy.” you crouch down to his height. “i love your shirt. do you wanna come here?”
megumi nods. he abandons his father’s side to let you scoop him up in your arms.
toji frowns.
megumi’s a shy kid. or not shy—awkward. he can’t make eye contact with kids his age, his tone is too flat, and his eyes are always bored. he doesn’t like to be touched by people he isn’t familiar with, and he’s very quick to say no to what he doesn’t like or want. so toji can only watch, brows knit in confusion, as megumi’s fist curls over your necklace and he lets you press a kiss to his cheek.
“hi, auntie,” megumi collapses into your shoulder, fist still gripping your necklace. “i did a very good job.”
“so good, baby,” you kiss his hair, grinning. “i’m gonna buy you all the gummies in the world.”
megumi blushes from the affection. he shifts his head over your shoulder so all you can see is his pink chubby cheek.
“what the hell is happening?”
“daddy’s a big dummy,” megumi mutters into your shoulder. “the biggest,” you agree.
toji’s frown deepens, and you laugh. “i’ve already met megumi, silly.”
toji blinks. he’s about to ask how, but you beat him to it: “remember when you got out of the car? megumi woke up in the backseat,” you kiss his ear softly, and megumi’s blush deepens. “we had a long chat about you, toji. and i asked him to pretend we’ve never met, and go back to sleep in the car.”
you watch megumi, fond. his fingers curling deeper into your necklace, his eyes shy and staring behind you. “i can’t believe you’ve been keeping this little angel from me. you’re a monster, toji.”
“dummy monster…” megumi mutters. you kiss his cheek again and he hides.
toji thinks about it. to megumi referring to you as auntie back in the apartment. fuck. he didn’t think too much of it, but perhaps he should’ve.
“so? you two were testing me, or some shit?”
you shift a hand from megumi’s back to your hip. “no attitude, mister. i’m still mad at you,” your frown, and then your shoulders drop. “did you really think you had to fake having money to impress me? picking me up in a porsche when i’ve already seen your crappy apartment?”
you stroke megumi’s hair. “and lying about meg,” your expression goes soft, sad. “have you apologized to him?”
“yeah,” megumi tugs your necklace. “he told me sorry.”
you smile at him, then kiss his little fist. “that’s great, baby. you deserve an apology. and i’m sorry as well, for taking away your time with your father.”
megumi pats your face, voice flat. “i forgive you.”
you giggle, pinching his cheek, and toji can only stare in disbelief.
megumi’s cheeks are pink from your kisses, little fingers curled tight around your necklace while you sway him absentmindedly against your chest. his light-up skechers blink every time his feet kick against your thighs. you’re smiling at him like he’s heaven as a boy, and megumi—quiet, awkward, megumi—is hiding his face in your shoulder because he’s shy.
how greedy.
how greedy of toji zenin to pick out cheerios from between couch cushions like trying to erase evidence of a crime scene. how greedy of him to scrub crayon off his walls, peel gummies off his floors and hide away his son with other people he can’t truly call family. how greedy of him to rip his son’s drawing off the fridge, only to put it back again later because he can’t even be greedy right.
how greedy of toji zenin to hide the only good thing in his life away; all because he wanted yet another good thing: you.
he wanted your pretty laugh in his apartment. wanted your heels by the front door, wanted your perfume in his sheets and your voice mixed with megumi’s cartoons on saturday mornings. toji zenin wanted everything.
now his everything was shoving his chubby hand in the face of his other everything to keep from getting attacked by kisses. but he was smiling. megumi zenin was smiling, and blushing, and laughing—and toji thinks about how he hasn’t seen megumi this childish in a while.
his heart aches.
“i’m sorry.”
sorry for what? he knows what he’s sorry for, but the words have failed him again, so he can only watch. watch as you tilt your head the way you always do, before megumi glances at you and tilts his head back at him the same way. oh god.
“‘gumi, do we forgive daddy?”
“yeah,” megumi’s feet kick. his shoes light up, red and blue. “if he stops hiding my gummies.”
toji won’t hide his gummies anymore. hell, he’ll never hide anything again in his life.
and maybe megumi senses the guilt on his father’s shoulders, because he squirms his tiny body for you to set him down and dashes so hard into his father’s legs that he knocks his forehead against his knee. “ow…”
toji snorts, crouching. “what are you doing, kid.” but he’s scooping megumi into his arms anyways. you pad closer, grin cheeky, and poke megumi on his side.
“how about we go shop for some gummy worms?”
BONUS — Y/N AND MEG’S FIRST MEET !
“who are you?”
the voice makes you jolt. you’re staring at your hands in the passenger’s seat of toji’s rented—no, probably borrowed—porsche, blinking away tears in your eyes when a tiny voice speaks behind you.
you whip your head around so fast your neck aches.
and standing there is a little boy, tiny, maybe four or five, rubbing away sleep from his eyes. his hair comes in tufts of black, and his eyes are blue, and oh my god he looks just like his father.
toji.
megumi is rubbing his eyes harder now. your heart melts.
“hi, baby,” you coo, patting away your own tears on your lashes. “i’m friends with your daddy. what’s your name?”
“i’m megumi,” he sniffles, yawns. “my friends call me meg. but i don’t have any friends.”
oh. “hi, meg. what’re you doing here? did your dad leave you home alone?”
you hope he says no, because you know toji’s been hiding something—someone from you, but he wouldn’t go that far. at least, you hope he wouldn’t.
“no, my uncles are at home,” he says sleepily. and you hover your hands over his face in silent permission. he blinks at your hands, sniffles again, before nodding to let you brush his hair back from his face. “i wanted to see daddy. he left for work.”
work? no he didn’t. toji zenin is outside, lifting the bonnet of a car he knows is too good to call his. “did he tell you he was going to work, meg?”
“no, but i know he is. he works for us. he wears the tie and he goes away.”
“oh, baby…”
toji zenin is a liar. a liar with a handsome face, and warm touch, and words that make your head dizzy. and you should be mad, really. you are, but the sight of this little boy with a face like his father’s only makes your heart ache.
you want to ask questions: who are your uncles? where were you when i came over? is your mother still in the picture?
but megumi zenin is blinking sleepily as you caress his cheek, leaning into your touch with a sigh.
“megumi, do you wanna make a deal?”
“what kind of deal?” megumi tries to rub his eyes, but you ease his fist away.
“a super simple one. your daddy’s been acting really strange, right? to you and me,” you pat his cheek. “all you have to do is act like we’ve never met, and i’ll give you anything you want.”
megumi thinks very hard. then he asks, “are you the lady daddy wants to impress?”
you blink. “what do you mean?”
“i heard him on the phone with uncle sugu,” megumi rests his head against your leather car seat. “he said he likes a nice lady. said he wants to be a better man for her.” he rubs his eye. “then he started leaving me. where’s daddy? i wanna talk to daddy.”
“oh, meg,” your heart breaks. “come here, baby.”
megumi hesitates, but then he lets you pull him into a hug. his hands are limp by his sides, but he pats your back once before his tiny hand slips away. “auntie, why are you crying?”
your shoulders shake over him. you sniffle, “don’t worry about it, meg. and your daddy’s gonna come back soon, okay? and he won’t leave you alone anymore. i’ll make sure of it.”
megumi pulls back. “you promise?”
you cup his cheeks. “i promise. go back to sleep, okay?”
EPILOGUE !
on the couch of toji’s crappy apartment, megumi zenin is curled into his father’s side, gummy worms in his mouth as he presses his sticky hands to the screen of his brand new ipad pro. a shiny gift from his loving uncle sato, who bought him the device despite suguru and toji’s wishes.
megumi offers his father a gummy worm. “when is auntie coming?”
toji eats it off his palm. “soon, kid,” he clicks his tongue. “swear you like her more than me now.”
megumi picks out five gummy worms from the jar, then lines them up on his ipad screen for convenience. “nah, i like daddy the most.”
toji softens.
all toji can see right now is the top of his little boy’s head, his tiny nose poking out and his chubby little cheeks. the ipad screen is sticky and candy smeared—much like megumi’s hands—and on the screen is a video of a teacup in a ballet dress—ballerina cappucina?—getting married to a little espresso man wearing a ninja bandana. toji frowns. the video gives him flashbacks to his days of working as skai jackson’s personal AI prompt writer. he shivers.
toji shakes his head. “meg, you know i’m never leaving, right?”
“i know,” megumi groans. “you told me a billion times yesterday!”
“quit whining,” toji murmurs, pulling his son into his lap. megumi reaches for his jar of gummy worms, and toji tugs it closer. “just wanted to remind you.” he mumbles.
megumi slumps against his father’s chest. soft, distracted, satisfied. “you don’t need to say sorry anymore. i forgive you.”
toji kisses his hair, burying his face in the dark strands. he sighs, “thanks, kiddo.”
———
when the doorbell rings, toji zenin is already half-asleep.
the sound—and megumi’s accidental jab of his elbow against his stomach—wakes him right up. toji smooths his hair, rubs the sleep from his eyes. then he turns to tell megumi to go wash his sticky hands, then decides not to.
he sucks in a breath and opens the door.
“hi, pretty.”
“move. i’m not here for you.”
you shove at his chest and push your way into the apartment, and on the couch to the right megumi zenin is there, ipad in hands and cheeks sticky and looking up at you with big, blue eyes.
“auntie?”
“oh, my baby!”
you scoop him off the couch and into your arms, and megumi clutches your shoulders tight as you attack him with kisses on his forehead, cheeks, everywhere. toji’s eye twitches in disbelief. “are we serious?”
“oh, you’re still here,” you glance over at him, bored. “meg and i are gonna make cookies today. mind being a doll and fetching the ingredients from the car?” you toss him your car keys.
toji looks at the keys in his hands. then you, who is cooing silly things that make megumi blush and bury his head in your neck.
toji pads over to you, slow. “i wanted to see you.”
you ignore his hands snaking around your hips. you turn your nose up at him, “and now, you have.”
“you still mad at me?”
of course you’re still mad. maybe not as mad as you were a week ago, but still upset. that he lied. that he thought so little of you that he went out of his way to sculpt a whole other life and hide away the little angel in your arms. but toji’s hands are still heavy on your hips. his voice is warm in your ear. and he apologized, you know. in the parking lot that day. at your house on monday, holding a bouquet of half-dead flowers and wearing a rented suit that went to waste because you refused to go out with him anyway. he sent you an hour long voicemail apologizing. you listened to it all on the way here.
toji zenin is such a sap.
he acts like he isn’t, though. but he is, and you feel it in how he presses his lips to your neck, over and over and over again. i’m sorry i’m sorry i’m sorry.
megumi shoves his father’s lips away. “daddy stop.”
you laugh, nuzzling megumi’s cheek. “he’s such a dummy, isn’t he meg? do you think i should forgive him?”
“yeah,” megumi mutters, collapsing into your neck. “he said sorry a billion times to me yesterday. daddy’s really sorry for everything.”
“aww. daddy’s so cute when he’s sorry, isn’t he?”
toji is glaring at you. you can only giggle and press a kiss to his jaw, and his eyes widen a bit in surprise. you cup his jaw and press another one to his cheek. just one more, because you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t missed him as well.
“i forgive you, mister. now go get those groceries—shoo!”
toji nuzzles your neck before leaving the apartment.
megumi is still on your hip, clutching your shoulders for balance as you pick out pans and trays from the cupboard. he grips your hair in a tiny fist. “auntie?”
“hm, gummy?”
megumi hides in your neck—shy, nervous. “are you gonna be my new mommy?”
you freeze.
megumi clutches you tighter. his face is buried in your throat, and he’s gripping so tightly his little nails bite into your skin, but you soften. toji had already confessed everything in his voicemail. his mom isn’t in the picture anymore. how a mother can let go of a little angel like meg, you don’t know, but who are you to judge and conclude?
“i don’t know, meg, it’s too soon,” you hum softly, setting a pan on the tabletop. “but i know i’ll be here, baby. for you.”
“will you be at my school, too?” he peers up at you, big eyes glimmering with hope. “all the other kids have mommies except for me.”
“oh, megumi—of course i’ll be there!”
it’s taking everything in you not to carry this boy and run! you attack his face with kisses, and megumi squirms in your arms but he’s giggling. his hands are sticky on your face, neck, everywhere, but you kiss him over and over again, because you’ve only known him for a little over a week but you’re already ready to give him the world. “auntie, stop!” but he’s laughing. “there’s lip gloss all over me!”
when toji walks in, he can’t believe his eyes.
there are too many shopping bags in his hands, because everything about you is too much, even down to your shopping, and toji is staring in disbelief. the woman of his dreams in his kitchen, holding his son, and his son is laughing. laughing the way he used to before his mother left him two years ago.
and he doesn’t really deserve the warmth curling in his chest, or the strange feeling coursing through his veins, but who is toji zenin if not greedy?
so he drops the bags to his feet (gently, because you’d curse him if the eggs broke), and pads over to the kitchen where you’re showering megumi with affection, and he snakes his arms around your waist and drops his head into your neck. you turn, grinning, and you don’t push him away when he presses a quick kiss to your lips. the lips are honest, and now toji is too.
“aww, look at you getting all sappy.”
“auntie made my face all sticky..”
toji squeezes you both tight. a little greed never killed a man.
five fratboys + one nerd. will you join them as they try (and fail) to romance the reader with each other’s help ? inc: fratjo(sato), nerdjo(toru) , toji , sukuna , geto , nanami
𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐃𝐕𝐀 ◞ NERDJO › AVAILABLE NOW !
toru gojo wants you bad. when the fratboys of sigma-chi — toji , sukuna , nanami , geto & his twin brother sato — come together to give him various ‘alpha male’ tactics used to manipulate women into falling in love , will he succeed in winning your heart , or will it blow up in his face ? wc: 4.5k
sato gojo has it all — the looks, the money, the popularity. but when the one girl he wants on campus rejects him because of his playboy reputation, can his frat brothers — and real brother — help him prove he’s not a player ? wc: 5.2k
toji zenin is at the end of his rope. drowning in student loans, child support and working himself to death while in college. when he falls for you, the pretty rich girl who frequents his shifts at the local supermarket, can his frat brothers help him hide his true identity? or will you find out and love him regardless?
synopsis: after a long day in the office, you, the ever so hardworking secretary of hiromi higuruma was getting ready to leave after sorting through documents and other important legal stuff. it’s only when you hear mumbled curses and a low dimmed light so you decide to stay and see what’s going on.
pairings: hiromi higuruma x secretary!reader
warnings: mature content (18+). slight d/s dynamic, dubcon, workplace environment, power imbalance, cunnilingus, fingering, cum eating, overstimulation, head pushing?, dry humping, mention of getting caught, belittling, higuruma is tired but not too tired to not eat you out. // MDNI!!
count: 3.5k words
a/n: HEAVILY INSPIRED by the movie secretary 2002.
❝ …You're not shy. You're a lawyer. ❞
It had been a long night.
The base of your heels had been hurting the second the clock hit 6:30. It was inching closer to midnight now and you still found yourself in the office. Letting out a soft whimper with each click of your heels you made a point to go down the very intricate checklist and steps your boss had left for you.
Align briefs for the next week’s advance, check. Manage clientele communications, check. Docket deadlines, check check. Make sure the place is nice enough for the morning advances…
The last one has been something new added, as you had been the newest hire it was of the upmost importance for you to proof yourself. Or at least that’s what you heard your coworkers laughing about over day old donuts and shitty coffee. They assumed you hadn’t been paying attention or that you were too anxious but their words stuck with you.
I give it a month tops.
Hell no, with Higuruma she’ll last probably till the afternoon.
Doubtful, very doubtful.
It was all a lot for you. Especially since you’d made it longer than anyone had expected. With each entrance into a room or phone line directed they continued to stay shocked. You had made it, proving yourself time and time again to be a reliable addition to this small yet powerful organization. The only problem that lingered however had been Hiromi Higuruma.
Head defense attorney and all around asshole. Or at least how you categorized him. Stern.
He wasn’t like most bosses who nodded off with every worry or complain anyone in a lower tax bracket would have. He was in all but few words…particular. He had a hand in everything and anything you had ever and will ever do with this company. It was his way.
And it sent chills down your spine when you first started, the checklists, the intensity, the structure. Hell when had you ever known a boss to tell you to wear pencil shirts, dark red heels, rose blooming fishnets and your hair pinned up nice and proper.
No straggling hair, no mistakes.
Always on point.
But it wasn’t as hard for you as you thought it would be, being told what to do and how to do it. You actually in many cases enjoyed it, left little time for wandering thoughts or trickling anxieties about being a new comer in this intense world. Higuruma liked that.
Liked how obedient you were.
It’s why you’re still here, after everything had been done and checked three times over and even the janitor had said his goodbyes. You were still here. Walking past the very few cubicles, nodding along the way. He would be proud of his place. Would be proud of you.
At the end of the small hall you see it.
A dimly lit room, his office. And right across had been your very own. It was an open space. Where people could see you and ask questions about personal inquiries regarding their own cases but the placement hadn’t made sense. At least when you really thought about it, you secluded from the rest of the workers, right across from him. The kind of space where if you hadn’t known any better swore you were being babysat or at least watched.
You remember his gaze, the first time you sat there how it stirred fear and something else you couldn’t quite place. You had to look away, but still felt his eyes on you, even as his coworker droned on and on about some missing case file needing to be redirected immediately. Hands crossed and placed against the bridge of his nose, glasses tight against his eyes.
Boring into you. Devouring you.
Thinking about it now made your knees weak.
Back then you had been fearful of being lost in the ways of a man who had thrown out coffee in front of you if it had one too many sugars. Black, no crème, (three not four sugars) and red straw neatly tucked between your forefinger and middle to keep it from stirring itself.
Things are different now, his gaze still just as sinking, all knowing making you fall into every word. But needing it more than anything else. He could tell you to do anything and you’d do it without hesitation. Perhaps that’s why he kept you around, he knew you were the kinda girl who listened.
Your heels clicked softly against the floor, the sound coming to an end when you finally reached his office door. It had been left open, unusual by his standards. Remember to tell the janitor about that in the morning. Is what you noted in your mind before hearing a cough, snapping yourself out of it you then heard a muttered strand of fucks and dammits.
Higuruma had always been the one to keep his own. Unlike the few lawyers that decided to give this place a chance with loud and brazen need to feed their egos Higuruma held his silence and stature. That was what made him a great lawyer, he worked with thought rather than words unless needed. Justice carried him not the filth of rich clients that wanted an easy out.
And that of course came with its stresses. The number of times you remember Higuruma yelling was few and far between, a rare occurrence that made everyone’s attention snap towards the man. He rarely spoke regularly, your relationship was continued emails, small phrases, phone line mergers and those looks.
Biting your lip you knocked on the open door before fully allowing yourself to enter. When you had, it was like you weren’t even there. The presence of him was all consuming. His world, his space, his livelihood. It was all in the palm of your hands at a constant beat, but when he wasn’t there. The lush rug that clung to the floor muted his anxious foot tappings. The lamp on his office desk near the end of the table flickered once, twice before keeping a steady hum.
“Isn’t it a bit late for someone of your position to be lingering about?” He didn’t even look up at you, too consumed with the papers scattered across his desk. How could even get a handle on what he was doing?
“I was just…” Nervous still you coughed, he looked up then, goading your response and when you hadn’t answered immediately just shook his head.
Saying your name firmly he began. “It’s late. Don’t tell me the checklist consumed the entirety of your night. That simply won’t work.”
“No Sir!” You spazzed, it was then he stopped his insistent flipping through pages. Not bothering to look up again he beckoned you forward.
“Come here.” His two fingers lulled you into a false sense of security. You allowed yourself to move turning behind you at first as if he had been talking to someone else. Your brain was clouded, of course no one else was here. It was just the two of you.
“It’s not a good look for my secretary to be tired on the job.” Higuruma notes, and with each step you caught your breath. “What will they say? Hmm? Are you trying to give me a bad look?”
“N-no Sir, I was actually about to leave.” You motion, his gaze still transfixed on his work, only this time his hand was out for you. Raising a brow you look at it confused before moving towards him, sickeningly close. “I just wanted to make sure everything was prepared for the meeting in the morning.” Higuruma nods, pushing his glasses forward with his other hand.
“And?” He continues,
“Everything is in tip top shape.” You say with a twinge of nervousness, “Except for…”
“Except for my office. Yes.” He finishes for you with a sigh. “It would seem I have a long night ahead of me.” It was then you took the time to look down, your eyes scanned the merrad of words, all of which could make you dizzy. Deep red marks circling words that hadn’t made sense to you and highlights against things that truly mattered. It was all so methodical and maddening. Just enough for him and him alone to understand.
“I’m rather tired myself.” He cuts. He rubbed his face, glasses rising and falling again. “So tired…”
It was an invitation, something to bond over yet all you could do was nod. Words caught at your throat as you opened and closed them back again.
“It may be best if you—” You start to mumble, staring at your feet before you feel your body tugged against your better judgment. He’d pulled you towards his desk, towards him. That’s what the outstretched hand was for, you pieced.
“What are you doing here?” He mutters.
“I told you sir I-”
“What are you really doing here?” It was a question that would linger in your mind, you hadn’t gone to law school, hadn’t yearned for justice the way others who had worked here had. Hadn’t had the ego boost or inflamed sense of need, you just needed a job. A balance in the world rather than losing yourself like you had plenty times before. You couldn’t find an answer or at least one that you knew would goad Higuruma’s approval. All he could do in return was sigh, now pressing his head against your stomach.
“Mr. Hig- Sir.” You gulped. “I don’t know if this is…”
“You’re my secretary aren’t you? Fulfilling my needs is apart of the job…all my wants…needs…” The line had been blurring, you knew that all too well. It started the moment he stared you down, that time when you wore what he asked and when. And now.
You laced your hands in his hair, both letting out a sigh of relief and tension you hadn’t known you’d been harboring. Like a need that was reaching its peak. “Decompression is an important part of the job,” He starts again, his breath hot against your clothed skin, you almost swore you’d heard a whimper in his words. “If a case consumes me…it’s hard to come back.”
“We can’t let that happen.” You whisper, your fingers twirl absentmindedly against his hair, tugging slightly and anxiously not knowing what it was doing to the man, your boss, below.
He hisses at the remark before shaking his head. It’s then he looks up at you, red dancing on the edges of his eyes and bags covered by his glasses. “Sit.” He says, reluctantly pulling himself away from you and motioning towards the desk.
“What about your work?”
“Sit.” Higuruma repeats, this time with more emphasis before leading you. Rolling his chair back he allows you to step in front of him, skirt rising as you adjust yourself on top of the desk. The silence of the room, warmth of the air and crinkle of papers below leaving you absolutely breathless.
You go to cross your legs only to be stopped. Grabbing the back of your leg Higuruma comes close to you, still seated he places your heel against him. It only takes a second before you’re both breathless, shocked at his boldness though it feels as though this had been a thin line waiting to be crossed for a long time now. You press down softly, feeling what could only have been his growing size. Your mouth opens wordlessly, trying to find something, anything to say to this but simply couldn’t. Transfixed against him now he hold you there before moving his seat closer, pressing your heel firmer.
His other hand is what allows the sinking feeling that was bound the rise. It goes to a place you had never once thought could. Trailing up your rose patterned fishnets he groans, further and further until he hits the edge of your skirt. Closing your mouth you go to swallow spit, his gaze is consuming you again. Shaking his head more so to himself he almost pulls back.
Please. A voice hits the air, you couldn’t tell if it had been your own or some omnipresent entity who couldn’t handle it all. What you do know is that your hand goes against his and his breath staggers.
“Let me.” He practically begs and you’re already nodding. Leaning forward he’s pulling at your tights now, slowly he lets your bare legs out and slowly releases the tension you held in your feet. A tongue darts between his lips before looking to you again, his glasses hung low against his nose bridge before looking back again.
“Lace.” You answer knowing the question pending in his mind. His eyes close almost in bliss before looking back down to you. His hands are warm, rough as they reach for your panties. It was then you realized the pool of wetness that began, your nerves trickling in as you reached the peak. “Black.”
A hand reaches out for him to stop and he only moves them away. Don’t. His body says for the both of you. Don’t ruin this. We’ve gone this far.
His finger slips between your legs, hitched breathing as he slides your panties to the side, gaining access to your slit. He practically falls over himself, knowing what he’s done to you. That this was all for him. Only him.
“Mmmph-” You let out a moan, eyes already watering from the tension.
“This is why you stayed isn’t it?” Higuruma muttered before leaning down against your legs. Peppering kisses against your legs. “You wanted to help me… finish up?” The last part of his words were laced with intent and before you could even answer your skirt was off. Lifting himself up from his chair he laid your body bare against the table, legs spreading, wetness pooling around.
“Hig-” You hiccup, feeling a sharp nip against your inner thighs.
“Shh.” He muses. “This case is tough as you know. Hard to focus when I’ve got other things on my mind. Things that worm their way in even when you think they’ve given up.”
His hot breath fanned against your now exposed body, you try to close your legs at the sudden change in temperature but Higuruma snaps them back open. He tuts your hips forward before places two fingers to your mouth. “Suck.” He mutters, his eyes not daring to leave your whining pussy. Clenching around nothing you obey, drool pooling from your mouth and onto his long tentative fingers. They play with the pad of your tongue before delving deeper and deeper until you’re short of breath, a slight choke that sends him reeling.
“Fuck you’re so-” He starts before closing his eyes and breathing deep. “Thaaaat’s it.” And you, so desperate for it now continue on, sucking and imagining it was another part of him you begin to moan, so needy, so willing, so his.
“Please Mr. Higuruma, Sir I need.” He shushes you again. “I know, I know.” Shaking his head and making a clicking noise. “She’s just as restless as we are.”
Pulling his fingers from your mouth he goes back to your now dripping hole. He slides one finger in, its length probing you as you suck it in so tight. “Fuck, it’s like it doesn’t want me to leave does it?” You shake your head, eyes closed, mouth open wide still. Drool dripping from your tongue to your chin Higuruma’s eyes blow out wide beneath the rims of his glasses.
“Have you always been this needy?”
Embarrassingly you nod and that does it. “For you Sir, only for you.” Inserting a second finger Higuruma is above the talk now. He prods at your pussy, fingers delving deeper to find your most intimate of spots and when he has it, curling against you making your face form that pretty little O he knew he could pull from you the minute you stepped inside his office it snaps him back. Yes he’d been a professional with his words, used lines and such to make a show of his justice but you, here before him now spread so prettily for him, so willing.
That left him with a blossoming feeling of recompense. The yearning he’d felt and the urge to satisfy even in his tired state. “Fuck. I need to taste you.” You nod quickly, biting your bottom lip as he continues his scissoring motion inside you, back and forth, pulling at you, molding you.
“Please Sir…I need you…” And that was all he needed, the go ahead to absolutely devour you. He didn’t even bother taking off his glasses, too tired from work and too hot with want to take them off. He didn’t bother with the niceness of it all, didn’t kiss or rub your clit with his thumb no.
The man was nothing if not thorough though.
All he wanted now in this moment, was you. In any way you’d let him. And if that meant he’d spend the night devouring your pussy like a fucking animal, he’d be here all night just to prove he could. Work be damned.
Your high pitched moans make him dizzy, with every sharp tug and slurp he had within him. It only made him more desperate, it was as if he’d been thinking about this forever. How he’d do it and when.
“Fuck Higuruma.” You hiss now putting your fingers through his hair grabbing strands like you did once before, now in a more intimate nature. Still professional enough with the name, perhaps that’s what got him off. Because now his fingers are out and his mouth took center stage.
Like a man possessed he eats. Sticking his tongue nice and deep trying to get every single thing you’d held in out. Moaning as his nose bumped against your clit and yet he still doesn’t look at you. Not the way you want him too. Not the way he had that one day.
“Please please please.” You’re bordering senselessness. His words muffled back, don’t talk, just feel. And you do, you feel everything so much. You’re floating now or at least that’s what it feels like, the way he circles your clit then dives back deep. Over and over until final you feel yourself about to come. You clench again this time harder you swear you’re afraid you’ll suffocate him.
Pulling at his hair at the same time he knows your release is coming. He can feel it around his tongue.
Slipping his fingers back inside of you he pulls. “C’mon, let me see you. Don’t hide from me.” He’s looking at you now. Glasses fogged up, nose and lips absolutely covered. You can’t even speak, it’s all high pitched inaudible babbling. “She wants you too.” He says motioning to your pussy. “I want you too.”
And with that a flood of your juices finally peak, you’re practically shaking as come undone beneath him. Eyes blurring and showing white as you moan out his name.
“Yesss.” He drags finally getting what he wanted. “You did good, you did so good.” He’s pulling his fingers out now, glistening under the lamplight.
“That was….” You’re breathless, that much was clear, your chest heaving and hair a falling from its perfectly neat place. You didn’t know what you looked like now but you’re sure HR would have a field day with the sight. And all Higuruma could do was stare, if he could take a picture and frame you in this moment trust the whole office would get the sight.
And to top it off you weren’t expecting the kiss to come right after. Your boss, yes that very one kissing you. Sticking his tongue down your throat and practicing begging for you to suck it or at least fight back. And you do, you so do. Tasting a mixture of yourself and his spit. It’s all teeth and tongue, all so new you never wanted it to end.
But alas, all good things…
He pulls away, fixing his suit and somewhat ignoring the not so subtle bulge in his pants. “You should get going Miss.” He coughs, leaving you in shock. “I have a lot of work to do and you’re needed for the meeting tomorrow. No sleeping in even if you’re tired.”
And you nod, pulling yourself up. The fantasy was over as quick as it came. “And you, no rest for the wicked I assume?”
“Funny.” He responded dryly, before looking back down at his work. “And be sure to reprint the needed files for tomorrow. These ones are no good.”
“Yes Sir.” You spoke. Grabbing your things and shifting your panties back in place you begin your departure. And you don’t bother looking back, don’t wonder if Higuruma is staring you down and thinking the same thing is you. Would this happen again? Was this just some midnight rendezvous bred out of pure tiredness and lonesome desire? Had it been anyone else would he have done this to them?
You didn’t know. You didn’t want to.
All you knew for certain, was that you would keep your job for another day.
NOTICE: As more and more fanfic writers are using generative AI for their works (you uncreative dweebs), I hereby swear on everything I hold dear that I have not and will NEVER use generative AI in ANY of my written work. Everything I post will be organically and creatively my own.
i have a fic idea for nate jacobs but a lot of you are gonna have to get open minded and fast! (i just find jacob elordi attractive im so sorry in advance.)
well 🧍♀️ as a reminder this blog is NOT a safe space for trump supporters but it IS a safe place for women, queers, trans ppl, people of color, undocumented people, and any marginalized group.
synopsis: you had your eyes set on facing the end of the world alone, it’s what you deserved. but call it what you want, the will of god, testament, a lapse in judgment. you find yourself feeling a little less sure.
pairings: jud duplenticy x eater!reader (bones and all au)
warnings: cannibalism, mention of religious trauma, blood, and angst, (psa! i’m not a religious person so some things may be inaccurate).
a/n: should i drop part two…maybe???
Your need had teeth.
Mangled pitfalls that managed to sink their way into your stomach. It ached horrifically as you continued to push it further down. It would work, in the late night drives off to nowhere good, but more often than not you felt it. The hunger. All consuming, the teeth were fang like. You’d sooner douse yourself in blood, the feeling of warmth metallic ichor filling your throat and the stain of sweat and filth sticking to your teeth, consuming you than, damning you from ever being clean again. And you hated yourself for it. It’s why you left. Why you took that truck and made the decision to try, force it down—become clean—make it better.
Chimney Rock was a place you could never call home. But it’d make do for now, it has to. The hunger had subsided by the time you pulled into the lot. That much you could remember, and the dangling cross swaying back and forth on the dash felt like a calling, or perhaps a sick joke.
You’d always had a complicated relationship with God. Had he been real? Had he even been a he at all? And if he was real and true the way others claimed…why did he do this to you, why allow you to feel so eternally damned. A walking example of a demon rose in flesh, why make you?
Coming from a small town where the bible was more of a declaration than decoration. You knew a place like this would happen to leave a mark on you. You remember the guy whose car this was before, older farmer type from the outskirts coming in. No one would miss him, hell no one had from the looks of his wallet, a small crumpled up note saying ‘go to hell’ and the picture in his wallet from years before, maybe before you were even conceived. A baby girl in his hands and a wife’s hand tenderly placed on his shoulder. Fuck, the thought made you sick again—how people are and will always be people. That someone like you can take it all away like that just off need and want alone.
It’s why you’re here now. You’ll take anything at this point.
You needed to be fixed.
By the time you stepped foot through the door it all felt too real. Call it the weight of God or simply because the place was so grand you couldn’t help but shrink.
The stillness of the church could almost consume you, and the slam of the doors hadn’t helped the fact. But thankfully for you—it had been empty. Though a voice had rang from the loneliness from within. “I apologize, but service isn’t for another hour.” It echoed against the holy yet hallow home and you nodded as though he the voice could see you.
Shaking your head at yourself for the notion you decide to walk closer to the silhouette before speaking. “That’s good actually. Sorry, I mean—I guess I was just trying to have a look around before anything else. Perhaps even speak to the Father himself.”
The silhouette turns before you ever see his face. He’s stepping closer now, each foot carrying more weight than the last.
And the sound of fabric shifting, the soft scrape of a chair leg against stone. You could almost feel it in your chest, you see him fully now, he was the one you had been looking for this whole time it seems. Adorned in his robes — this was the Father, true to form. In his holiest light.
“You’re welcome to stay,” He begins. His eyes holding some sort of kindness, like he’s known this phrase his whole life. “Father Jud.” He introduces himself, albeit a bit clumsily. “People don’t often come in this early unless they’re lost.”
You almost laugh at that. Lost implies there was ever a direction.
As if you’d ever.
“I won’t be in the way,” You reply, hands curling into the sleeves of your jacket as though they might anchor you. Your voice sounds smaller in here, swallowed up by the nature of this whole affair. “I just needed somewhere…quiet.”
“Quiet is something we offer,” Jud comments. “Though people rarely find what they think they’re looking for.”
“I’m not here for absolution or confession—,” you say quickly. It’s almost unbelievable. “Or any of that.” You gesture vaguely toward the echo of where the cross should be, its essence looming behind him.
His eyes flick to it, then back to you. Studying. Not judging. Worse somehow. “That’s all right,” He says. “God hears plenty whether you speak or not.”
He motions for you both to sit, and you do.
The name lands heavy in your chest. God. Like a stone dropped into water you didn’t realize was still. “I’ve had my fair share of his word, if I may be honest Father.” He turns his head to the side, looking at you with almost a sort of intrigue before smiling.
“Yes it would seem most do—I for one before finding the path of God felt the same. That I was, underserved and unbecoming of his light. But the thing is—that’s what so great about him. He’s with you always, in the darkness, the light. In the moments where we feel as though we won’t make it through.”
“You almost sound like you believe that.” You cut.
“Because I do.” He’s leaning towards you now, and that’s when you feel it. That pit coming back, the notion of hunger. You swallow, it’s dry and unnerving. You thought you’d have more time before you needed to…feed.
“Silence is not absence,” He adds. “Sometimes it’s restraint.”
Your fingers dig into your palms, you feel your nails plunge harsh and deep. “Funny,” You mutter. “Restraint’s never been my strong suit.” The air feels tight now, and perhaps it was only on your end. There was no cut, no wrath of God, no thunder, no righteous fury. Just a subtle tightening, like the room itself has leaned in.
And you could smell him, the scent of his sweat, his blood pumping underneath his neck. God, his neck. And as crazy as it sounds you could smell the faded ink of his tattoo that held its place there. The divots in his skin and freckles precariously places on his skin you so desperately wanted to touch for yourself. He smells like aftershave and oakwood, the smell of church dust staining him as well but you hadn’t cared.
You need to leave. Before it gets ugly before you—
He nods once, as though that confirms something. “And you believe coming here will fix you.”
There it is again. The word that’s been gnawing at you since you stepped foot out of the car. The word that’s been held at your throat since you were old enough to eat. Fixed.
“I’ll take anything,” you say. Honest. Raw. “If it makes it stop.”
“Make what stop?” he asks gently.
You don’t answer. You can’t. Because giving it a name would make it real in a way you’re not ready for.
“Then perhaps,” Father says, voice steady as he looks to you, “We should start with the truth, if you’re comfortable.”
And for the first time since you walked in, you understand—this wasn’t a place you stumbled into. It had never just been four walls and a cross.
