innocent virgin reader this, sweet virgin reader that
how about virgin reader whos far from innocent, you probably know more about sex than toji - just no hands on experience. you are the filthiest person on earth!! you have a sex drive that flys off the charts, constantly rubbing at your poor hole, pinching your clit and nipples.
you're also far from sweet, you're crude and cruel. that's why toji was so drawn to you. when he discovered you were a virgin, he couldn't believe it honestly. he didn't ask any questions, didn't care. he just knew he had to have you.
he expected you to be shy during your first time, but no, you were a filthy fucking mess.
sprawled out beneath him, his tip entering your tight cunt. you moan loud, meeting his eyes. toji groaned out, a strained, growl. your eyes lock with his, direct eye contact as he shoves his dick further into you. deep breaths swarm the sticky room.
the pace picks up, you had complained it wasn't fast enough so fuck, he would show you. you're gripping tight onto the bedsheets, spurting everywhere as drool runs out from your lips. he thrusts into you with a fury, stretching your virgin hole in a harsh way. but you loved it. you open your mouth and he spits into it. you swallow instantly, he didn't even need to tell you. toji frees a hand and lowers himself onto you, trapping you with his body and his heat. your body smushed by his larger one, his free hand runs a thumb over your cheek.
you grin at him. "that all you got?" you challenge, smirk plastered over your satified expression. and just as those wods utter out, a slap is brought to your cheek. well ,fuck.
you cum right there, cream ringing around his dick as you clench like a fist around him. he groans out and his breath stutters. hips copying his lungs and stuttering too.
toji lets out a hot load, deep inside of you. his body twitching and shaking as if it was his first time. he had expected you to be the same, fucked out, passed out possibly, from the intense orgasm you just had. but no, you were smiling sweetly at him, "round two?"
you try to lever yourself deeper, breath coming in short, fucked gasps, but his palm is iron at your hip, steadying you vexingly on his cock.
"too much-,” you whimper, nails clawing his chest. “i can’t—toooji—i can’t—”
his grin widens—he clicks his tongue, head tilted back with that lazy sneer. “—can’t, huh? funny—‘cause i still see plenty’a cock left starin’ at me.” his fingers flex into your skin, jerking you down just an inch more. 8 inches down—3 more to go.
you choke on a sob as the stretch convulses your walls—aching you deliciously.
“there it is,” he groans low when he feels the fluttering of your walls around him, eyes shrouded as he watches your walls suck him in greedily, “little by little—look at ya, takin’ more without even meanin’ to—yer doing just fine—relaax mama."
trembling, trying to pull up again—hips jerking weakly—but he just drags you down tardily, hand locking your hip, “c’monnn—don’t fight me now,” he growls, devilry in his tone. “yer walls got a mind o’ their own, eh? bitin’, squeezin’, suckin’ me down—god, yer fuckin’ amazing.” he ends his ramble with adding anotha' inch.
—2 more down to go.
—that's if you were conscious.
your head’s hazy, words tumbling out between sobbing breaths “i—i can do two more inches—yea i-i can.."
toji chortles at your determination, mirth in his eyes. “yeah? think ya' can handle it, mama?” his hand slides down, palm flattening cruel over your tummy—pressin’ hard like he’s tryna prove just how deep he’s buried, knuckles grindin’ over the fat shape of his cock inside you.
“what's two inches more—eh? s' nothin' for my girl." he snickers, feeling your palms grow tighter around his meaty shoulders.
you whine feeling him flex slowly, shaking, nails breaking skin in his chest—but he doesn’t let up, he just gets deeper.
“look at ya' mama,” he rasps again, voice low and taunting as he bucks his hips slow, making your pussy clench and suck him up, “yes you fuckin’ can. two more inches—that’s all. open up fer' me.” he groans, feeling you tighten around him.
another inch forces its way in—your scream muffled against his shoulder, body twitching when the sear splits you apart.
“hah—look atcha,” he chuckles darkly, kissing the corner of your wet mouth, “nine wasn’t enough? needed ten? greedy lil’ cunt’s tryna swallow me whole—yer built for this, mama."
—one more left.
s' only one—
but you're so incredibly brimmed with his girth—quarter seems like seven inches for you now—
or maybe it's his seven inches that were currently mauling you from inside.
and you’re babbling nonsense now—now that you were almost fully sat on him. drool slick on your chin, eyes rolled as toji bottoms you out with a sharp grind—his palm still cruel on your belly, makin’ sure you feel him everywhere.
“fuckin' told ya'” he snorts, hips stabbing lethargic, “told ya you could take it, mama. whole cock sittin’ snug in that greedy cunt.”
you’re shaking, spasming around him, tears streaking down as your body gives up—walls milking him, begging for more even as your throat breaks his name into sorry sobs.
he chuckles low, mean, sweat dripping down his temples as he settles you harder. “mmm, fuck—yer’ done. cockdrunk. ruined for anybody else. tight lil’ hole only knows me now.”
when his thrusts finally stutter, when the heat floods thick inside you, dripping past your folds and down your thighs—he smears it deeper with a last grind, watching you twitch beneath him like you’ve been claimed. white ribbons dribble down your legs and onto his own.
“yup,” he snickers, smug as sin, chest heaving, “toji fushiguro vs yer fuckin' pussy—and guess who fuckin’ won.”
Boyfriend!Toji Who loves keeping your legs in the air when he fucks you, adoring the way your toes spread and curl with each thrust. His hands grope and squish your thighs and calves smirking down at you as he kisses the skin whenever his hips roll into yours.
Boyfriend!Toji Who’s so deep inside you he can see the way your belly slightly distends when he pushes all the way in, his cock throbbing when he realizes he’s causing that bump in your belly.
Boyfriend!Toji Who loves it when you have a bush, it makes your sex life so much more raw and real, in his humble opinion. Maybe he’s weird, but he loves to sit deep inside you and grind your pubes together, his balls tightening against your ass as he cums deep into your welcoming womb.
Boyfriend!Toji Who doesn’t fuck you immediately, but rather slides his cock in and out with a wet squelch, watching the way your hole desperately tries to suck him back in, only to gape and clench around nothing. Oh, and did he mention he fucking loves the sloppy little sounds your cunt makes with each exit? Yeah, maybe he spends too much time teasing you than actually fucking you.
Boyfriend!Toji Chuckles whenever you cum, your face contorting into the cutest little thing, your toes curling and legs shaking, oh, he thinks it’s down right adorable.
Boyfriend!Toji Who actually prefers slow sensual sex rather than fast and hard fucking. He wants to feel every bump inside you, wants to feel every clench and squeeze when he hits that squishy spot inside you just right…and it’s totally not because his stamina is slowly declining. Totally.
Boyfriend!Toji Who isn’t really into giving oral, but doesn’t mind eating you out occasionally. His mouth is so sloppy and lazy, tongue drawing rough circles around your clit while green eyes peer up at you with a heavy gaze. When he inevitably gets tired of that, he just locks his entire mouth around your labia, sucking harshly as if he was trying to drink all the juice out of you.
Boyfriend!Toji Who’s so thick, it takes a little over an hour to prep you. Extra lube constantly drizzled onto your pussy as his fingers curl and fuck deeper into your cunny, slowly adding a second and a third one to stretch your internal muscles. And even after, he spends a few minutes just fucking you on different sized dildos, making you cum maybe 3 or 4 times before finally slipping his cock inside.
Boyfriend!Toji Who’s determined to make you squirt even though you’ve never been able to. He does everything. Finger fucking you for hours until your crying and crawling away from him, fucking you dumb on his cock until you pass out, and even making you drink 3 bottles of water before sex…only for you to accidentally release your bladder halfway through your second orgasm.
Boyfriend!Toji Who finds out he has a piss kink, that same night.
~~~
A/N: it's 1 am and im horny. i will regret this in the morning
this is a short one, just a thought i had today at work and i had to share it with you or i would’ve combusted ౨ৎ
who, if not toji, would be a better fit for a stress relieving session?
definitely nsfw, and not proofread, bit of a drabble if you like
“i need some buff, tall, strong man to toss me around and fuck the hell out of my brains,” is what you said two days ago to your friend at work. you were stressed, no time to hang out, no time to have some fun and the frustration was seriously starting to eat at you.
“if you are just looking for a fuck, i think toji would be a great match.”
you snickered. it was a dumb suggestion. he wasn’t the most talkative nor the nicest at work. being a manager a night club and you being all up in your office doing the accountant work make it rare for you to even cross paths. the only times he’d come up were either to pay some receipt he left pending or to attend the weekly manager meeting.
he suited the job description, you gave him that. and he looked so fucking hot doing it too. black fits, muscles squeezing the fabrics, green eyes glaring, tending bar whenever the team needed an extra hand. you weren’t as unfamiliar with him as he was with you. you’ve seen him once or twice during action when you needed to grab something from the club after hours.
but to think he’d even agree to fuck you? actually rewind that, does he even know your name to begin with? he barely smiles at anyone, rarely acknowledges other people’s presence, what could possibly make your girlfriend think for a moment that not only he’d be a great fuck but that he’d be interested in the first place.
yeah, hold on to that thought.
you whimpered against his forearm as he held you in a headlock, his hips hitting yours as he moved at a rough pace, his thickness spreading you open.
“shit doll, if i knew you felt so damn good i would’ve hit that a long time ago,” he whispered in your ear, licking at your neck resulting in a moan slipping from your lips.
your hand latched onto his bicep, you nails digging in his skin as he picked his pace up, your skins mixing the sounds of sweat and slick. he’s had you in this position for a few minutes now, drilling his fat cock inside your abused cunt.
“so good, fhuckk,” he groaned, his palm printing itself on your check with a loud slap. you could feel him pulling you upwards, your back arched at an exquisite angle, your spot now fully rubbing against his swollen tip. you rolled your eyes as his hand found it way to your clit, teasing and edging you in the cruelest of ways. “think i never noticed you huh?” he whispered making you fight your ecstasy to focus on his words.
“think i didn’t see how you looked at me whenever i’d come up, or that tight fucking half buttoned shirt you’d put on, damn,” he groaned pulling at your tongue with his fingers to make you drool on your tits. “suffocating your perfect tits, you had me hard whenever i’d see you,” you moaned through his speech, your mind clouding up. you attempted to pull him closer by wrapping your hand around his neck. he chuckled at your desperation, bending down to let you kiss him.
it was messy and sloppy but exactly what you needed. he shoved his tongue in your mouth enjoying the feeling of suction you provided. you were so needy, he thought to himself. he felt you tense up your walls when his fingers twisted at your nipples, your body rocking itself to match his tempo.
“be my good girl tonight baby, be my good girl and let me come inside that sweet pussy tonight.”
Toji found himself sneaking over to the infirmary once again.
He'd sworn to himself he wouldn't go there.
But, let's be honest, when does he ever keep a promise?
The first time he ever visited the infirmary, he'd been actually wounded. A dislocated shoulder - nothing too serious, but his friends had threatened him to go.
He hated it there - the flirtatious winks, chits with numbers, teasing touches and whispers. By some bizarre chance, he always managed to bump into a horde of giggling girls on his way there.
But there was something different that had him backtracking.
You.
You were ordinary, like every other girl he'd fucked - but just one thing had you differing. And bearable.
You didn't giggle and swoon, pass numbers and bite your lip until it bled. No, even if you did fancy him - he repeated it, consoling himself - you hid it well.
You'd caught his eye the very moment you'd just taken one look at him, casually ordered him to sit, slipped on those plastic gloves and set to work. Touches that didn't linger, looks that didn't wander, professional comments and gestures like you knew what you were doing.
It was the first time he'd actually felt nervous in front of a girl. Damn, if you actually did address him like a crush, he might've felt bolder and made a move. But because you didn't let any notion that you even had anything for him ...
He found himself fidgeting to even choke out a "thank you".
He had to wait ten minutes before leaving, or everyone would know. He'd have to wear looser pants - these ones showed much.
As soon as he'd strolled out of the room, now having controlled himself, he'd made it his mission to know more about you.
A medical student, who'd been assigned as an assistant to the infirmary because of your spectacular results and sharp mind.
Thank God, he thought. At least you were a student here - he could meet you.
So ever since then, he'd been visiting the infirmary almost everyday - migraines, coughs, sore throats, sprains. His friends always laughed out loud; Toji Fushiguro, the man who had fifty kilograms of tits alone, muscles enough to last for days - running off to the doctor's just for a headache.
"You're down bad, man," Gojo had wiped invisible tears from his eyes once, when they'd found Toji sauntering out of the infirmary with a cast on his elbow. If he could be considered a friend.
"It's pathetic at this point," Geto had mused. "I'm tired of sitting my ass down in one of those waiting chairs while you're fake coughing your lungs out like a plague-infected Victorian child inside."
"I'm surprised she hasn't put a ban on you by now," Shiu elbowed him in the ribs. "If only you just got hit by a car. You'd at least have a solid reason to be there."
"Is she the fucking angel of health or what?" Gojo eyed him. "She can't put his bones together."
"He acts like she does," Shiu had shrugged.
"She may not give him fixed bones," Geto smirked. "But she does give him the hardest bo-"
"Alright, alright!" Toji had grunted, cradling his elbow. "You all are insufferable."
"Says the one who follows the assistant around like a fucking puppy," Gojo exclaimed.
Toji had stalked off after giving Gojo a reason to visit the infirmary.
But now ...
As he knocked on the grey door tentatively (he never thought he'd see the day where he couldn't knock like he owned the place - heck, even have to knock), he mentally rehearsed his entire speech to recite when asked whatever the fuck had he broken.
The door swung open under his touch, and the air whooshed out of his chest again.
He couldn't help it. There was nothing special about you - yet he always found himself eye fucking you, like a goddess herself.
You were tying your belt around your coat, the white material cinching at your waist. Toji fisted his fingers - it's not like she has the body of a succubus, you miserable motherfucker.
But he still couldn't tear his eyes away from you as you prepared yourself, the belt, the plain white skirt and crisp buttoned top, pulling on those plastic gloves over your nimble fingers.
He instantly straightened as you whirled around, your eyes immediately finding his. You gently smile at him. "What is it this time?"
He swallowed - and when he couldn't find an excuse, or even remember one, he did the only thing he could. Scowl.
"Entire fuckin' body hurts like it just got whipped," he frowned.
You press your lips together to bite back the smirk. "Okay. Do you ... do much sports? Work out much?" You start the routinely checkup, spouting off all possible reasons as you sit down on the chair in front of the table. He saunters over and perches on the edge of the sleek, metal bed, his knees deliberately brushing yours, his eyes hungrily searching your face for a reaction.
Which you don't give.
He finds it difficult to not give a sarcastic reply. "Yeah ... I work out a lot."
"Hm. Those muscles couldn't appear out of nowhere," you pointedly glance at his biceps and pecs, and his mouth goes dry. So you do notice his physique.
"I could show you my workout," he suddenly blurted. And then added, "If it could help you understand what's messing with me, of course."
You clear your throat, eyes darting around the room. You could've sworn there was boss music booming from somewhere. But ... what's the worst that could happen? It was tempting to go with him, after all - you mean, to diagnose what was making his muscles hurt. Yeah. Of course.
"Maybe," you shrug, and Toji's toes curl in his shoes. Fuckin' hell. She agreed.
"Saturday?" He confirmed.
"Saturday sounds good," you nod. "You - you should remember to ... um, show all the equipment you use. Um, I need to know where the strain comes from."
"Yeah." Toji hastily nodded. "Nice."
And immediately, he started planning the entire attire and tour. Something tight, like a compression shirt. Something to eat. The most outrageously difficult workout set he could think of.
"Well, if you're done-"
"Oh, nah. I still have it sore," Toji intervened, grasping on to the time he could get with you.
"And what, precisely, is 'it'?" You dryly prompt, one hand firmly pressing down on his chest, the heel of your palm pressing him down until he lays flat on the table.
Toji prayed to every and anything he could think of that you didn't feel his racing heartbeat.
"'It', medical assistant, is my entire damn body," he growled, staring up at you, blinking at the blaring light. It makes a halo around your head, and you look like a fucking angel. His angel.
"Well, patient, I'm going to do a little check. And I do have a name. Y/n," you inform him as you lessen the lights, almost finding his scrunched nose and squinting eyes adorable.
"Alright, y/n," he tested your name on his tongue, the words rolling off his tongue like honey. He could get used to that. The sweet sound. Something he could be m-
Nope. Not now, not when his pants were way too loose.
"I'll have to know if you have any knots in your limbs from exercising, then I'll have to check for sore spots and massage them out. If you're comfortable, of course," you explain. "Because you'll have to take off your shirt and lie upside down so I can pop those knots or whatever. Almost everybody is ashamed and refuse to do it, so I can understand. Only if you're okay shall we proceed."
Toji swallowed hard, feeling his throat constrict at the mention of taking his shirt off. It wasn't that he was shy about his body.
Far from it. He had spent years honing it, feeling proud about the way it looked.
No, the issue was her. You.
"Yeah. I'm okay," he sat up.
"Are you sure? We can cancel this appointme-"
"I'm good." He couldn't help but feel a thrill of anticipation as he reached for the hem of his shirt, slowly peeling it up and over his head. He tossed it onto the chair beside him, utterly aware of every pane of his body, every line and stretch of his muscles, the veins and contours.
He lay down face-flat on the table, his face burying in his arms, thankful for the position, already feeling a discomfort below.
"Alright. I shall proceed," you baldly announce before your fingers brush the nape of his neck.
The tips of your fingers touch the base of his neck, slowly trailing across his shoulder blades and down. Now, of course, you didn't mean it to feel sensual and agonizingly slow - but it did.
"You ... You sure do swim a lot. Got a lot of knots," you wince, having mapped out the panes of his back. You pull back, the warmth of your hand leaving his body. "I'll have to massage a few out, though you'll need to visit a professional chiropractor for this."
A warning tap on his head is the only precedent you give before your hands hover over a point in the middle of his shoulder blades.
And then, you press down with the base of your palms - tenderly, yet hard enough to make it pop and relax. Toji couldn't help but groan at the feeling, his face warming.
You then begin to massage, rocking your hand back and forth, one on top of the other - pressing in circles and up and down, hard, easing out the soreness and some groans out of him.
You hiss, muttering about the knots, and also coaxing him during the hasher ministrations.
Fuck you - he's not a tiny child who's going to cry out of pain, you chastise yourself. But damn if you didn't feel overly nervous right now - not like you were a licensed chiropractor.
Toji's breath catches in his throat, eyes squeezed shut, mind whirring at an insane speed, hands itching to just grab you and pin you to the-
~Technically this should be your fresh start. Moving to Japan as a single mom and getting a regular job, living the peaceful life you've always wanted. But trouble finds you in every corner, taking either the form of those weird monstrous things you catch in a blurry half gaze ocassionally, or of that extremely hot single dad, whose son, Megumi is friends with your daughter.
Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x Reader
Tags // Warnings: NSFW (not in this chapter tho sry), MDNI, canon divergence, single parents au!, slow burn(ish)
Word Count: 8.5k
Next
“This ain't the type of car for a kid”
This is the first thing he ever sputters to you. An all too smug face is paired with the douche-y comment— for a moment you think that your fist won't even be strong enough to shatter his face no matter how hard you wish it was.
You give him a mean look instead; eyes slant, nose scrunched and angry, pouty lips. And mind you, he finds it so amusing he's laughing in your face about it. A bird chirps in the back, as the cold breeze of this spring afternoon finds release through your hair and your brain is so dry of a reply that the person standing before you must think you've gone mute.
Shooting a quick look between your car and the man you begin to wonder if he looks like he's on his right mind. Who, ever, looking this scary too, approaches a mother trying to get her toddler into her car? Right outside a kindergarten?
“Uhm, this is a Mazda Rx-7 sir”
“I know” He laughs again. “Need help to get her into the car?”
You don’t care that he’s pretty, frankly. Despite the shaggy black hair and the full lips —the heavy muscles even— you think he’s nothing but a creep. And being a single mother trying to make it overseas all on your own has made you paranoid that you shouldn’t trust anyone for your daughters safety.
However, your toddler, smiles at him from the passenger seat. You shoot her a confused gaze, but now that he’s in all of her vision you watch as she giggles.
What the fuck? Why does your four year old reckognize a man this old?
“Ey Toji” she chirps and your eyes widen in surprise.
The man—Toji— waves back to her politely, big smile adorning his features. You settle for looking him up and down, just a quick scan, but even if he looks dangerous as ever you notice he has his own four year old attached to his hand.
Damn, okay, how is his kid holding such a big hand?
Your heart starts skipping again. Somewhere between being an antisocial mess and having an overly social child, you’ve seem to have lost the notion that you’re literally picking her up from school. The thought that he’s a creep completely slips your mind, he too, is picking up his kid from school, just like you.
“Hey Megumiiii”
“Hi,hi”
Taking another look at the kid attached to this man’s arm, you think, you recognize him. He’s the one in most photos your mother would send you of your baby while you were away. Right. Megumi. Her friend.
It’s insane to think that there are more than 50 photos with Megumi and Mai-mai in your phone and you couldn’t even make it out it was him at first glance.
“Oh you’re Megumi” you speak and the kid nods coldly.
Of course he does, he doesn’t know you, he’s probably having the same reaction to you, because he has never seen you again, as the one you had for his father. What was his name again? Ah— Toji.
“Uhm” you clear your throat “sorry that was so unkind of me, I’m fine getting her in the car on my own”
Toji watches as you bow to him politely, blinking steadily so. He studies you softly and only for a moment. Your features are too similar to Mai-Mai, save for her lighter hair color and that’s the only confirmation he needs to make sure you’re not some rando picking her up from school, or worse— abducting her. He’s seen way too many good looking strangers like you with bad intentions trying to pick up a kid from school and in a fatherly instinct he thought approaching a stranger that’s struggling to get his son’s friend into her car was a good idea.
The car is… surely an addition to your image, it’s light, porcelain blue, detailed, with tinted windows, but oh well, he figures, maybe you do have money to spare to modify your car like that. Not that it’s his place to talk about this. Your parents must have had enough money to buy this for you if they can afford to send what he thinks is your sister to such a prestigious kindergarten.
“I don’t know if your mom told you, but we’ve got a playdate with your sis today”
“Excuse me? Sis?”
You stare, back and forth, between him and Mai-Mai. It's flattery that creeps up on you now, to be considered old enough to be her sister, not her mother and then it’s guilt that poisons that thought, for having missed six entire months of her at school, for having your parents stay in Japan for six whole months to take care of her, just so that her friend’s dad thinks of you as what he stated.
It’s not Toji’s obligation, however, to have known Mai-Mai has such a young mother but it’s baffling, at least, that your parents never mentioned you to the father of your daughter’s friend. Even if they’ve helped you raise her with all they’ve got, they’re still opposed to the idea of a 25 year old raising a child on her own, in a country across the globe too.
Your jaw clenches.
Normally you’d settle for just the flattery of being mistaken for someone younger, seeing that you deeply and still care that the life you had planned out for yourself in your teens hasn’t played out the way you wanted it to. You wish you were someone less responsible and younger, like your friends back in your country that you can’t even afford to fly to Japan to visit you.
But seeing as this is the reality you chose, you straighten your spine, arms crossed right under your breasts. The way he said the word ‘sis’ so casually, like it’s obvious, just absolutely shouldn’t be so destructive to your mental health. Even if it hits like a shove to the gut you weren’t braced for.
Your expression is pulled tight when you blurt it out. “Im her mother, not her sister”
A fact. An unforgiving one at that. A fact that you speak like it’s a poem you’ve practiced to recite. You’ve said it a hundred times and still your spit goes dry in your mouth because saying it makes you feel like you’ve swallowed a grovel full of dirt.
Yes, you are going to let a complete stranger think that your daughter was a mistake, and yes he's going to be right to think so. You should have thought about that earlier, not after she was born.
“Hmm, Aight, figures”
Right. That’s… it!? No joke, no backpedal. Even if you let it linger in the air for him -or you- to take in, he doesn’t react in any other way. No questions about a dad being in the picture, no flinch, no stumble. This might be the most humble and normal reaction you’ve ever gotten and it still somehow irritates you. You're used to interactions like these being a battle and it’s emptying that you’ve got no battle to fight right now.
Toji is almost paused, mid-motion as he’s picking Megumi up in his arms seeing that the little kid is set off kicking a few rocks off the road, waiting until the adults do their grown up things that don’t include him. Despite that nonchalant look on his face you catch a glimpse of what you think is surprise and step on it like the start of a staircase, just to clear your conscience as to why he’s never seen you around.
“My parents were watching her while I was away,” you add, because you suddenly need him to understand. “Work, overseas. I just got back.”
Toji shakes his head sharply in surprise.
Backtrack, baaaacktrack, this definitely doesn’t ease the awkwardness.
At least you're not a deadbeat mom.
You shift your weight to one foot, trying to ignore how your cheeks feel hot. Toji’s eyes soften a little, brows twitching like he’s filing that away, and now he looks at you different. Not younger, not like a stranger, just… like a parent.
Now he knows how you came to buy this car, he thinks, but doesn’t look twice, he still has a few manners left in him.
“Makes sense,” he murmurs. “You’ve got the same eyes.”
You weren’t ready for that. To be reminded that your daughter looks like you and someone else, that there’s a single feature of hers that isn’t yours, but she does have your eyes and your expressions, and your face shape. You don’t expect Toji to tell you this.
You look away, pretend to fix the strap on your bag just to have something to do. Or just so you don’t tear up.
Inside the car, Mai-mai is talking to herself, narrating something about a magical dinosaur kingdom to no one in particular. She taps at the window rhythmically like she’s in a completely different reality than yours, one where people don’t get mistaken for their child’s sibling, one where six months isn’t a chasm you have to cross barefoot.
Megumi waves at her and tries to lean closer to the car window, away from Toji’s embrace and you giggle at the struggle of this hunk trying to get his son to stay put.
Toji shoots you a side glance at the sound of your laugh, and for a beat, he looks at you like he wants to say something else. But then Megumi starts squirming hard in his arms, feet kicking, voice growing more determined.
Whatever moment you could have had for the fraction of a second, vanishes into thin spring air.
“Alright buddy, we’ll do the play date later, since Mai and…” there’s a sudden pause before Toji clears his throat. Oh shit, this is where you should have told him your name. “her mom need to go home”
You blurt out your name to correct him, as in to tell him you’re not just your daughter's mom but a person too and then rush— to text your mom and ask if he’s legit (to which she immediately replies that he is and that he’s lovely) and to open the drivers door at your car, before you hear it.
The shriek doesn’t come from your kid. You’d know that banshee wail anywhere—this one’s different. Lower-pitched. Angrier.
“Down, I said! I go now. We go now! Playdate!”
Toji grunts, adjusting his grip.
You’re already trying to slide into the driver’s seat, ready to shove the entire encounter into the mental junk drawer labeled ‘Weird Interactions I’ll Pretend Didn’t Fluster Me’, when you hear it once again.
“Nooooooo”
You freeze.
Your eyes flick toward the side mirror just in time to see Toji trying to meet Megumi’s face. The kid’s got his little fists balled up at his sides like he’s powering up for a street fight, and Toji’s rubbing his temple like he already regrets being someone’s father today.
You crack your window.
“Megumi,” Toji says, exasperated, “it’s not a no, it’s just not right now.”
“But you said today,” Megumi wails, voice wobbling into that dangerous emotional territory where crying is two seconds away and unstoppable once it starts.
Your daughter perks up in the seat beside you, face lighting like a lamp. “Gumi wanna play!” she shrieks joyfully, banging her palms against the window like a tiny gorilla, in support of his tantrum. “Gumi wanna come house!”
You close your eyes. Briefly. The pout of your toddler's face you can handle, but seeing Toji struggle with his own little gremlin just centimetres away from you isn’t something you can just ignore.
Maybe it’s because you’re too sad to see Megumi throw a tantrum, seeing kids being sad had always been your greatest weakness.
You step out again. This was not supposed to become your problem. You were supposed to say no, go home, pretend Toji’s smile didn’t do whatever it did to your stomach given the fact you. Just. Met. Him. and get back to your regularly scheduled anxiety spiral in peace.
Instead, you find yourself walking over to them.
Toji looks down at you, one brow raised like he’s surprised you’re coming back for more. “Sorry,” he mutters. “Told him it’d be another day.”
Megumi, upon seeing you, levels you with the full force of his betrayal. “You said! You said I can play with her!”
“Toji and my mom said,” you correct quietly, smiling like you know why you bother as if making the kid understand that you’ve got a mommy too will stop him from being the menace that he is right now.
“They did!!” Megumi screams with finality, like that closes the case.
Mai-mai is now unbuckling herself, climbing halfway out the car window before you bark her name with your Real Mom Voice, and she slinks back inside like a cartoon criminal caught mid-heist.
Toji scratches the back of his neck. “I mean. It’s technically my fault. Told him yesterday, figured if it didn’t happen he’d forget.”
“He’s four,” you deadpan. “They never forget.”
Toji exhales hard through his nose, looking at Megumi like he’s the second mortgage of his life. “Alright. If you’re up for it,” he says “I can bring him over for a couple hours.”
You blink. Then there’s this eerie feeling that glooms around his aura that punches your stomach, but strokes gently on your cheeks.
And it hits you that there is no way this man has ever been invited anywhere by another parent. He looks like he’d drink beer in a sippy cup just for fun. You imagine other kindergarten moms go out of their way to avoid eye contact with him at drop-off, scared he’s going to steal their soul or something. Or …. Not? Is he just attractive to you or are other moms swooning when they see him?
God, it’s the first fucking day of picking up your daughter from school and you already have a crush on a dad. The man could be married for all you know and you’re kinda, sorta too preoccupied with thinking that he’s never been invited to a house before.
This is usually stuff moms handle, you tell yourself. Maybe there’s no mom in the picture.
But your daughter is squealing now, feet swinging back and forth, and Megumi has gone silent, waiting for the final jurisdiction of his father.
“Ask your mom if we can come” he says, to you and you smile because your plan has worked. Megumi sees you as someone who has a mom too, he’ll probably listen to you if you tell him no.
I'm sorry I just met your dad and I don’t trust him.
Or
My mom said you can’t, but once I get to know your dad you're free to come whenever.
But your heart— your heart swells in your chest because you can’t say no to Megumi.
“Alright. But just for an hour or two. And only if your dad doesn’t mind being stuck with me in my weird little apartment for the duration.”
Toji grins, something sharp-soft behind it.
“I’ve survived worse places,” he says.
You arch a brow. “Yeah?”
He nods. “Once spent three hours in the soft play zone at Joypolis. Got puked on twice.”
You snort despite yourself. Great. Now you’re amused and flustered. And that big ass, extremely attractive scarily looking man you just met is coming to your house.
Toji just jerks his head toward the car. “Lead the way, mom.”
And damn it—you hate that the way he says mom is starting to sound less like a mistake, and more like a compliment.
You only realize you’re staring when your daughter squeals again, a high-pitched victory noise that rattles your eardrums, and you snap out of it with a jolt. Megumi’s hand is already in hers through the open car door, like they’re comrades heading off to war and not two toddlers preparing to demolish your apartment with glitter glue and snack crumbs.
“Toji,” you murmur under your breath, testing the name like a new language on your tongue, as he leans closer. Why must you be so iradical when it comes to developing a crush? “My car isn't fit for more than two people”
You say it gently, like you’ll ruin a moment that only you think is there, like five minutes with a pretty stranger is all it takes for you to be enticed.
Maybe your best friend was right, maybe you do fall in love when someone gives you so much as a glance because you need the attention.
“Right. I’ll take mine and follow you then”
A slight bell rings inside your head. Ding ding, stranger… and you pay it some mind. Just enough so that you ask; “Wait, you've never been to our house?”
You’re sure your mother has sent you a photo of your daughter and Megumi inside your apartment.
“I have, I just figured, you know, for the courtesy of it…”
Yeah, right, you just have a very hard time accepting people you don’t know are kind.
You’re rounding the car when he looks up at you again.
“You always this trusting?” he asks, but it’s not sharp. It’s not a dig. It’s genuine curiosity, tucked behind the half-laugh that edges the corner of his mouth.
“No,” you reply without hesitation, pulling your seatbelt on. “You just looked… equally tired.”
He laughs. Really laughs. And it’s the kind that scrapes the back of his throat, like he hasn’t had a reason to in a while or you're simply deluded, thinking this is the start of some romance? How would it have turned out had you punched him earlier?
“You sure this isn’t inconvenient?” he says eventually, eyes still forward.
You shrug. “You think I’m gonna say no when I’ve just earned, like, a week’s worth of toddler goodwill? No way.”
He smirks. “Smart.”
“And besides,” you add before you can stop yourself, “I’ve survived worse places too.”
His eyes flick sideways, and there’s something in them this time. Less amusement, more… recognition. Like he knows exactly what you mean, even if you haven’t said it out loud.
The drive is short, ten minutes max through the traffic but your gut is about to burst, you haven’t been accustomed to this—accommodating a playdate for your daughter because it’s only ever been your friends that would come and visit but this? This is real. Your daughter having friends is real.
Perhaps this is how your mom felt when you’d beg to have your friends from preschool visit.
You turn into your street and the familiar weight of your life settles back over you. The smallness of your space, the clutter you left behind this morning, the meal you were supposed to cook that now might have to be ramen and chopped-up string cheese if things get desperate.
Toji steps out of his own car first and grabs Megumi like he’s done this a thousand times. You envy how natural it looks. How secure Megumi seems in his arms.
“You sure you don’t want to eat first?” Toji’s crouched in front of Megumi now, doing that calm, almost parental negotiation thing that never actually works when a four-year-old has already made up their mind.
Megumi stares back at him with the unblinking determination of someone who’s tasted the freedom of an unsupervised playdate and will die before relinquishing it.
“No.”
Toji blinks. “There’s leftover curry at home.”
“No.”
“Chicken nuggets?”
Megumi squints like that offer is offensive.
“You said play,” he accuses, and now he’s folding his arms, a tiny statue of betrayal. “Not eat. Play.”
You stand a few feet away, arms crossed, watching the entire thing unfold like it’s free theatre. Mai-mai’s already skipping circles around Megumi in excitement, chanting “Playdate! Playdate!” like a spell that’s only fueling the child-sized rebellion.
Toji exhales through his nose. He looks up at you briefly, deadpan. “You ever try to reason with a fridge magnet?”
You snort. “Welcome to the club.”
“I brought this on myself,” he mutters, rising with the dramatic weariness of a man thirty years older.
Megumi sees his dad stand up and immediately grabs your daughter’s hand again like he’s making a political statement. He juts his chin up.
“Im not hungry.”
“You will be,” Toji warns, voice lightly threatening in that exhausted-dad way. “And don’t come crying to me when you turn into a gremlin an hour from now.”
“I am not a gremlin,” Megumi says with conviction. “Im Megumi.”
Toji mutters something like “coulda fooled me” under his breath and pinches the bridge of his nose.
You bite back a laugh. “I’ve got food at the apartment. If that helps.”
He looks at you like you just offered him a parachute mid freefall. “You sure?”
You shrug. “I mean, it’s nothing fancy. Sandwiches. Cut fruit. String cheese if no one’s too proud.”
Megumi lights up like you just said magic potions. His grip on your daughter tightens and he starts tugging her toward your front door like this is his show now.
“Play and snack,” he declares. “Now.”
Toji sighs, clearly defeated, rubbing a hand down his face. “This is blackmail, right?”
You grin. “Kind of. But they’re cute, so.”
He gives you a look like he doesn’t want to agree, but he does. He definitely does.
“Alright,” he says, dragging a hand through his hair and staring toward your car with the kind of resignation that only comes from fatherhood or debt. “Let’s see if your place survives two four-year-olds and one suspiciously calm single mom.”
“Suspicious?” you echo, walking beside him to the door to your apartment
“You’re not panicking. That’s always suspicious.”
You smirk. “Don’t worry. I’ll panic internally. I Should warn you,” you say as you unlock the door, “there’s no toy box in sight. She’s got, like, one Barbie with no arms and a broken xylophone. Everything else is a mess. As in, her mom just came from overseas and she hasn’t had the heart to do all her chores mess.”
“We’ve got worse,” he replies. “Megumi’s best friend at home is a pinecone. And he also has a dad that doesn’t have the heart to do all his chores too”
You snort. Why on earth does he sound like he gets you? You won’t dare ask if he’s trying to tell you that he’s single as well and if you did catch anything in his statement, you’ll simply let it slide, despite feeling curious to know.
You know you won’t take it well if someone asks you about Mai-Mai’s dad when they’ve just met you, having some context as to that you're a single mom.
The kids barrel into your apartment like it’s a castle. You don’t even try to stop them. There’s some yelling. A crash. Someone’s giggling maniacally. It’s chaos—utter chaos since the first second, but despite it, you rush to take off your shoes and wash your hands.
Toji hovers by the door until you nod toward the couch.
“You can sit, you know. I won’t bite.”
He lowers himself down like he’s afraid of breaking something, and you wonder, briefly, how many places this man’s been where he didn’t feel like he belonged or if he has ever felt like that!? Like, ever?
Maybe, you settle for seeing that little nervousness one would feel while being in an almost stranger’s house.
Your phone buzzes on the kitchen counter — your mom, probably. Or work. But you don’t check it. Instead, you hand Toji a juice box — one of the last ones — and he takes it with a raised brow.
“What?” you say. “Equal treatment. You come into my home, you drink apple juice.”
He grins around the straw like he’s never been given anything so ridiculous and kind at the same time.
And you grin back before climbing the kitchen counter and hurling under the ventilator.
You’re still tired as you pull out your pack of cigarettes, still too tired to think that you shouldn’t smoke inside the apartment, but the weight of the world on your shoulders is… excruciating. It shouldn’t smell if the vent’s on. And for all that's worth on good manners, you offer Toji a cigarette too.
Toji eyes the cigarette in your outstretched hand like it’s an invitation to something more complicated than nicotine. You can tell he’s debating it; maybe he’s trying to be polite, or careful, or something that people like you usually don’t get from strangers who were almost punched in a preschool parking lot.
But then, finally, he takes it. He takes it anyway, brushing your fingers in that subtle way that probably means nothing and feels like something. His grin tilts just enough to make you think he knows that, too.
You light yours first, exhaling toward the vent, and he follows suit like it’s a ritual you’ve both done before in other lives, just not together.
“Equal treatment,” he murmurs, echoing your earlier words, and there’s something dry and fond in the way he says it. Like he gets it.
The vent hums above your head, a lazy background noise to the distant shrieking of toddlers turning your home into a disaster zone. Toji lights up, takes a drag, exhales slowly like it’s been a week—and maybe it has. Maybe it’s been a year, maybe a lifetime. You wouldn’t know.
Not until he says “I’ve stopped smoking for a while”
“I haven’t” you reply, like you’re flirting, when you really aren’t, yet your voice does that smooth, fake enticing thing you have only ever been able to master when you’re not into anyone.
Toji almost grins
“Riiight”
You’re an enabler when it comes to smoking, you know that.
“Im sorry, I always offer, it’s easier than asking if you're a smoker or not”
Toji leans back against the kitchen wall, eyes flicking to the narrow hallway where the chaos continues.
“…Fair.”
There’s a quiet between you—not awkward. Something easier. Comfortable, in a way that surprises you.
“Didn’t peg you for a smoker,” he says around the cigarette, his voice a little hoarse now, softer.
You shrug. “Didn’t peg you for someone who’d willingly follow a stranger home because of toddler politics.”
He huffs a laugh, shifting his weight against the counter. “I like to live dangerously.”
You glance sideways at him. “Yeah, I got that vibe when you didn’t flinch after I almost punched you.”
He takes a slow drag. “I don’t flinch.”
“That’s tough”
Fuck— you hate yourself for another flirty line.
He doesn’t respond and the quiet lingers for an agonising amount of time. You glance at him. “You okay?”
He pauses, like he wasn’t expecting the question. Then, with a small shrug: “Yeah. I mean—no. But yeah. Y’know?”
You do. You really do.
You blow smoke toward the vent, watching it curl and vanish. “I didn’t think I’d be doing this alone,” you admit, more to the ventilator than to him. “Not forever, anyway.”
He’s quiet for a beat. Then: “Same.”
Your eyes flick over to him, but he’s not looking at you. He’s watching the hallway again, where Megumi’s laughter rises like a battle cry. You don’t know if he means the parenting thing, or the being here, in someone else’s kitchen with a juice box and a cigarette, but you think it doesn’t really matter.
You let out a quiet snort and return your attention to the vent above. Smoke rises, the kids shriek-laugh from the other room, and Toji’s still there.
After a beat, he says, “So… you were abroad?”
You blink. It catches you off-guard—his voice, that question, the fact he remembered what you said despite your total awkwardness, it does something inside you. It stirs your stomach.
“Yeah… I'm not from Japan. I moved here for a fresh start last year, then I got this summer job in my country and I had to stay over for six months instead of three. So naturally Mai-Mai started school and I had to come in later… I'm honestly surprised my mom didn’t tell you all this. Then again she hates what I'm doing with my life.”
“Your mom is nice,” Toji says, clearing his throat. “I think it’s just a very personal issue to share with me” he lets out a soft, low breath that could be a laugh. “She’s sweet. Protective.”
“She was very against me moving here. Said I wouldn’t last more than three months.” You smirk, then add, whispering, rolling your eyes to the side just to meet his. And spoiler alert— he’s already looking at you
“I think im gonna last way more than that, even without her”
“Longer than that?”
You hum, letting your chest fill with pride as your face is adorned in an almost comically induced expression.
The notion of lunch is forgotten, choked underneath that fake fullness in your stomach that comes after smoking and seemingly the kids forget about it too. You wish you had the mind to eat, or the physical need of a growl in your stomach but you’re so sucked in this conversation with Toji that you can’t even think of moving away.
There’s an aura about him. Magnetising. Like it’s pulling you in—not to punch him, but to trust him, to set foot in your house when you’ve known him for an hour or two.
Your eyes are glued on him even if that eeriness about his aura remains.
Toji doesn’t say anything right away, but there’s a flicker of something in his expression—an acknowledgment, maybe, or approval. The kind that doesn’t ask questions or offer sympathy. That it’s fine for you to just look, take him in.
He taps ash into an ashtray you’ve set nearby and says, “You’re tough.”
And you can’t help it—you laugh. “I smoke inside, feed my kid string cheese, and just let a man I barely know into my house. I don’t know if that’s tough or stupid.”
He tilts his head like he’s weighing the difference. “Could be both.”
Another silence. Not heavy though.
Then he says, quieter this time, “Megumi… he doesn’t take to people easily. You noticed that?”
You nod. “A little.”
“He doesn’t laugh a lot either. Not like that.” He gestures loosely toward the hallway, where Mai-Mai’s now proclaiming herself Queen of the Pillow Fort and Megumi is swearing fealty in loud, confused syllables.
Something flickers behind his eyes then—barely there. Gone as soon as it comes. Like a window cracked open in a room you shouldn’t be in.
“I don’t bring him places much. Not like this.” His voice is rough, but not guarded. Just used to silence more than talking. “Figured… maybe it’d be different this time. Your mom has always been nice to us and to think you’re as nice too…”
You should say something. Only one little thing. A ‘thank you’. Something, anything, but you’ve never been a good responder, you’ve never had your way with words like he does. You're short on spit and words, stuck in a loop where no syllable can tell him all the thoughts that are going through your head.
Instead, you nudge the juice box closer to him. “Drink. That stuff’s elite.”
There. The only thing you can actually say.
He chuckles under his breath and takes a sip like he’s humoring you.
“You always joke when it gets heavy?” he asks, not accusing, just curious.
You shrug. “I'm bad with words. Too bad. I'm a disaster. It’s just better to not speak sometimes y’know”
“At least you’re real” he says, like it’s a good thing.
Toji nods once, eyes lingering on you like he’s seeing something past the words, past the smoke, past the carefully stacked joke-shaped bricks you build around your feelings.
You shrug. Being real hasn’t gotten you anywhere, at all, except for maybe sharing your living room in Japan with someone you’ve just met and a new friend for your daughter.
“Real’s good,” he says. Simple. Quiet. A little serious. “People forget how to be that.”
You scoff, like that kind of talk shouldn’t affect you—but it does. You feel it slide down your spine like warm water, a little uncomfortable because it’s true.
“Yeah, well. Being real doesn’t pay rent,” you mutter, flicking the ash off the tip of your cigarette, “or get your kid to sleep on time. Im kind, there’s a difference”
He huffs again, softer this time. Almost fond. “Still better than being fake. And rude.”
It’s not a compliment exactly, but it lands like one. And maybe that’s worse. Or better. You can’t tell. You inhale too deep and cough once, embarrassingly, and Toji passes you the juice box like it’s a goddamn medical prescription.
You take it, roll your eyes, and sip.
He watches you the way you’d watch a stray cat coming close for the first time—careful, patient, a little surprised you haven’t bolted.
You don’t even mind drinking off the straw of someone you just met but this… this drumming in your chest, the palpitations you can feel in your heart knowing this means something in the cultural context of Japan— it makes your skin crawl and tingle.
Ultimately, you decide the world won’t end if you catch on to the pass you were just thrown.
Right now, your daughter is laughing in the next room, and a scary-pretty stranger is in yor kitchen, and the world hasn’t ended yet.
“So what do you do?” Toji asks and snaps you away from your inner thinking “for a living I mean”
You pause. Not because you’re trying to decide whether or not to lie. Not because you think he’s gonna turn misogynistic and act like women aren’t allowed to do what you have done—but because you haven’t answered that question honestly in a long time. Not in a real way. Not in the way he’s looking at you now, like whatever you say will matter.
“I used to race cars,” you say.
Toji blinks, sharply. It’s the first time today that he’s visibly caught off guard. “What, like… professionally?”
You nod. “Back home. Small circuit stuff at first, then bigger. I got signed by a sponsor when I was twenty-three. I needed the money. But I’ll save the sob, too cliche story of a racer that gets into an accident for another time.”
His mouth opens like he’s going to say something—then closes again. He leans back against the opposite counter, jaw working like he’s trying to imagine you behind the wheel of something with horsepower and death baked into the seat.
“Damn,” he says finally, voice low. “Didn’t expect that.”
You smirk, eyes half-lidded behind the smoke. “What’d you expect? Barista?”
“No I just— anything but that.”
“Because I’m a woman?”
“No. Fuck that shit, because this isn’t something people tell you every day” he pauses “so that explains the car”
You hum. “Well it got me enough money to be able to move here, but at first it was out of spite. Mai-Mais dad was obsessed with cars and I wanted to prove that I'm better than him.”
Toji lets out a low whistle, long and soft. Not mocking—impressed. Like maybe now he’s seeing you differently. Or maybe just seeing more of you. There’s a different kind of spite -petty- you have to have in you in order to show off like that. He understands what petty is, to his fucking core and it’s still amusing.
“So… you raced out of spite and ended up making it a job,” he says. “That’s kind of badass.”
You laugh, sharp and a little bitter. “Yeah, well. Turns out rage has a pretty good fuel economy.”
Toji chuckles at that, a real one. The sound vibrates low in his chest, and it’s honestly unfair how nice it sounds. He flicks ash into the tray, then glances over at you with something like curiosity, or respect, or whatever that look is that makes your stomach tighten.
“Still race?”
You shake your head. “Nah. Well I mean, I had to in order to save some money for a year in Japan. But… Too many late nights, too many close calls. You don’t think about dying until you have someone small waiting for you at the finish line.”
His face changes just slightly—less in expression, more in energy. It settles. Quiet, thoughtful and slightly pained. He doesn’t nod, doesn’t say something cliché. Just listens. Which you’re learning is a thing he’s oddly good at. A trait that feels rarer than it should be.
The silence that follows is a little heavier now, but not uncomfortable. Like it’s been earned.
You lean back on your elbows, sighing. “Anyway, now I'm gonna teach English part-time and pick up temp work when it comes. Not as cool as racing, but it’ll keep us afloat.”
Toji nods slowly. “Cool doesn’t feed kids,” he says. “But for what it’s worth… I still think that’s one hell of a past life.”
You tilt your head at him, like a puppy would, hungry for more information. “What about you?”
He raises a brow, then shrugs like the answer’s not worth too much weight. “Odd jobs. Stuff that pays in cash and doesn’t ask questions. Construction sometimes. Security. Whatever keeps things quiet and Megumi fed.”
You nod. You get that. You get it more than you’d like to admit.
Then, without thinking—just because it slips out before you can catch it—you ask, “How old are you anyway?”
Toji glances at you sidelong, something sly behind his expression. “Thirty four. Why?”
You sip from the juice box again, feeling ridiculous and too full of adrenaline. “Just checking if I should be worried.”
“And?”
“Well I should, but it’s fine. I mean. It’s okay, I'm just jealous… you had your son at a normal age”
“Yours isn’t?” He asks
But this time you don’t expect him to understand. Even when knowing so little about his life you could assume that someone having a kid at thirty means he could have had a chance to go to college, go out with his friends, work for their own sake. You gave all that up when you decided to have your daughter at twenty one.
“I just. I'm twenty five and my life didn’t turn out like I wanted it to. Save for the Fast and Furious dream car”
Toji goes quiet, and not in the awkward way people do when they don’t know how to comfort someone—they fidget, they backpedal, they tell you “but look how strong you are” or “at least you have your kid”. None of that. Toji’s still. And his eyes, when they meet yours, hold none of that uncomfortable pity. Just awareness. Recognition.
He takes one last drag and stubs the cigarette out, his voice low. “Yeah. But I got married at twenty five”
You blink, straightening slightly. “Wait. Really?”
He nods, lips twitching like the memory tastes half-bitter. “Didn’t feel like a normal age back then. I was broke, angry, stupid. Thought I’d wrecked everything. Felt like the rest of the world was on some train I missed, and I was standing on the platform with just being in love as my only possession.”
The confession slips out so easily that you’re stunned for a second. You weren’t expecting that honesty—not so soon. Not from him.
Toji looks toward the hallway again, where the kids are quieter now. Still chattering, but sleepily. Slower. Like their little bodies are running out of chaos.
“I never had time for much else,” he says. “College, friends, the normal stuff? Didn’t happen. All I had was rage and a lot of nights I didn’t sleep. Still don’t sometimes.”
You study him now—this man who looked like he was carved out of street brawls and bad decisions, who grinned when you challenged him and drank juice boxes without complaint. You realize he’s probably never had someone ask how he got here. Or maybe he has, but they never stuck around for the full answer.
Assuming things for other people has never gotten you anywhere, but this? It’s dazzling to find out that people struggle. Globally. And you knew that before but it’s now taking flesh before you.
You try not to pry—so you don’t ask about the wife but you do let the statement concerning his rage float in your head. Saying that you’ve felt something so similar shouldn’t feel like a burden. And yet for a moment, you’re out of words.
You study his face again, but now you can see it in a light that's different than the one under the vent. You can now see past his sharp eyes and he has black circles underneath them, you can see that scar on his lip. You’re studying a face, yet you can see the tiredness that negative emotions manifest.
You wet your lips. “I'm full of rage too… ugh… Why does it sound better when you say it?”
He looks back at you. “’Cause you’re still living it. I’m just remembering it.”
And damn. That’s the first time all night you feel like your heart drops a few inches lower in your chest.
You offer him your cigarette pack again, even though neither of you really need another. He waves it off this time.
Then, because you feel like the moment needs air—you get up, plucking another cigarette from the pack and in your mouth, trying to convince yourself it’s the only way to get your hands to stop from shaking.
Toji sets the juice box down on the counter like he’s placing something valuable. Like it matters, somehow, to treat even this small thing with care.
You lean back, shoulder hitting the cabinet, arms crossed now. Your stomach growls now—but the thought of cooking feels like climbing a mountain in flip-flops. Toji cocks an eyebrow at the sound and your embarrassment fills the room.
You try another pathetic attempt at excusing yourself.
“I can’t cook,” you admit, deadpan. “I mean—I can, but not right now. I’ve got nothing left in me. We should order something. You like noodles?”
Toji shrugs. “I like free food.”
You snort, paying his comment no mind. “That’s not what I asked.”
He gives you a lazy grin. “Yeah. Noodles sound good. And some sides”
You reach for your phone on the counter, flicking it open to your food app, and halfway through picking a place, you glance over at him.
He watches you type in the order, then leans a little closer over your shoulder like he needs to see what you’re picking. You try not to freeze when his arm brushes yours—casual, unthinking, but enough to send a little zip of electricity straight through your tired body.
“You okay with spice?” you ask, barely masking your voice wobble.
“Bring it.”
You hit order and toss the phone down like it just said something incriminating. The kids scream again from the hallway—something about dragons now—and you sigh, but you don’t move. You’re still anchored here, somehow, and Toji doesn’t look like he’s leaving either.
You’re the first to pull away.
And then, as if you can’t ever allow yourself to get lost in a moment, the inevitable occurrence there is about having two toddlers playing freely in your house, happens.
CRASH!
Toji groans and pushes himself away from the kitchen counter. “Guess I better go make sure Megumi didn’t convince your kid to build a ladder or jump off a closet.”
You laugh despite the fact that your stomach lurches and let Toji pick up the pieces of what sounds like a devilish scheme of children that went rogue, verified by the ultimate silence instead of shrieking and crying that comes from Mai-Mai’s room.
Outside, the sun’s starting to dip, casting your kitchen in gold and long shadows. The smell of apple juice and ash lingers in the air. The vent hums quietly above you like it knows you still need the white noise to cancel out your anxiety.
You sit on the couch and kind of hope the food takes forever to get here.
Not even seconds later,Mai-Mai interrupts your thoughts again by launching herself into your lap with the energy of a child who has never known gravity. Megumi follows shortly, dragging a blanket and a shoe behind him like trophies of war and Toji— Toji takes the walk of shame from down the hallway with a broken bed plate, mouth pursed to the side of his face and shoulders shrug like he’s trying to say ‘sorry’.
You know what this means; that the kids were jumping on Mai’s bed and now you have to let her sleep with you tonight until you fix this tomorrow. Perhaps it’s one of her schemes, but you can’t blame her for it. She’s just a child that’s missed her mom.
“Snack,” your daughter demands.
“Snack,” Megumi echoes with slightly more menace.
Toji raises his hands in surrender. “I knew this was a trap.”
You groan, shifting under your daughter’s weight. “I ordered food”
The kids start bouncing again—Mai-Mai wiggling in your lap, Megumi climbing up on the couch like it’s Fuji—and you can feel your patience and your bones grinding down into the same exhausted powder. But Toji doesn’t look fazed. If anything, he reaches over and hauls Megumi into his own lap like it’s the most natural thing in the world, casually anchoring the boy with one arm while leaning back into the cushions like he’s done this a hundred times before.
You realize you’re still watching him. That he looks too comfortable here.
That you do, too.
“Food’ll be here in fifteen,” you mutter, mostly to remind yourself this night has a timestamp. “Try to survive until then.”
Toji glances at you, something lazy and amused curling at the corner of his mouth.
——
The food arrives in a plastic bag that smells like heaven and costs more than you want to admit.
You don’t ever ask for money from the pretty stranger on your couch.
You set the containers on the coffee table and everyone just kind of migrates around them like feral animals gathering at a watering hole. You offer the kids milder stuff—yakisoba, some sweet potato tempura—while you and Toji take the spicier dishes.
The four of you eat like you’ve been starved, in a kind of comfortable silence only broken by the occasional slurp or half-choked laugh from the kids. Your daughter acts like the most behaved child in the world—until, Toji casually announces that he and Megumi have to leave.
“No,” Mai-Mai says immediately, gripping Toji’s sleeve like she’s about to drag him back down to the floor. “Stay. Sleep over.”
She does her best — perfecting her pleading pout, lower lip all poked out under her puckered upper one and eyes deery big, as a messy strand of hair sticks to her small sweaty forehead.
Toji freezes, a half-finished dumpling between his fingers. He glances at you, one brow raised in that way that says ‘this is your problem now’.
“Mai,” you sigh, already bracing yourself. “We’ve talked about this. Guests don’t have to stay just because you’re giving them a cute face.”
“But he said he’d show me that other karate kick if I ate!”
You stare at Toji. “Seriously?”
“She asked.”
“Did you show her one?”
“She said please.”
You shake your head, but you’re smiling—can’t help it. Your daughter is practically climbing him now, and Megumi is draped over a cushion nearby with the unmistakable weight of a kid who is about to pass out in five minutes or less. Still pouty over the fact that he has to leave, but at least he’s not rebelling over it.
Toji gently peels your daughter off his arm. “We’ll come by again sometime,” he says, directing it to her like a promise, but you feel the weight of it land on you. Then, to you, quieter he says “If that’s alright and mommy says yes.”
And you sigh, knowing full well that the face your daughter tried to pull on Toji is going to work on you.
“Mommy can Gumi and Toji come over again?”
“Yeah,” you say, hands running through your hair before they rest awkwardly on your hips.
Toji stands, lifting Megumi up like it’s second nature. The kid doesn’t even blink. Toji adjusts him with one hand and glances back at you as you walk him to the door.
There’s a weird pause. Not uncomfortable. Not rushed. Just quiet lingering.
Then, he tilts his head. “Hey, uh… You got socials or something? Number?”
You blink, surprised. Not by the question, but by how casual he makes it sound. Like he’s asking if you’ve got a lighter. Even though he was the one with the lighter when he wasn’t supposed to be smoking.
“Yeah,” you say. You reach for your phone, trying not to make it obvious how fast your heart’s beating. “Here, let me”
And sure, there it is, that subtle touch of his fingers on yours, like before. Electric, insanely hot, in a way that’s completely unreasonable for how brief it is.
You look at him and notice that his eyes are green.
He hands you his phone, screen already open to a new contact. You type in your number and name, then hesitate before adding your handle. You figure if he wants to snoop through your photos, let him. You’ve got nothing to hide, no photos of an ex you don’t want to see the light of day.
When you hand it back, he looks at the screen for a second, then glances up at you, pressing the button to call you, hanging up once he sees the call reach you.
Toji gives you a look that lingers, not too long, not too sharp, just precise.
You don’t hand him your phone.
Still you ask, “Toji?”
“Fushiguro” he states, but as you type, he continues “but you’re not gonna meet many Tojis around”
“Oh im sure”
“You need anything, you call”
You nod, like you understand what he says without intending to take action toward your agreement.
Then, with a grin that’s halfway to a smirk, he adds, “And you owe me a race, show-off.”
“Drift—” you start, raising an eyebrow.
“‘Scuse me?” he cuts in, playful, almost teasing.
“I used to drift race,” you say, and his laugh rumbles out low, his grin cracking wider.
And then he’s gone, his steps echoing down the hallway, the smell of soy sauce and cigarette smoke still faint in the air. You lock the door behind him, back pressed to the wood, heart loud in your ears.
It’s not until an hour later that your phone lights up from your nightstand. A text— that one is definitely not from your mom or work.
Toji: Next time I see you, you better show me how you drift.
You don’t reply. Not because you don't want to—but because your brain short-circuits a little and you don’t trust yourself not to say something stupid like only if you wear something right.
What could he possibly wear that wouldn’t be right. With his built.
~All rights reserved: @/strawberry-nugget, 2025. Please do not copy, over write or steal my work.
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