in which, husbandtoji! handles your recently disrespectful child.
you were sick of it.
your son had tap-danced on your last nerve for the last month and you were inches away from snapping.
from mouthing off over simple instructions to getting in trouble at school.
you were at your wit's end.
this time you were arguing with him about how you caught him stealing your car last night to take a drive with his girlfriend.
"i don't know why you're complaining, the car doesn't even have any scatches." he huffed, head propped up by his elbow as he sat at his desk.
"that's not the point! you took the car without permission, which is disrespectful. i didn't even tell your father because i wanted to have a proper conversation with you." you explained, trying not to yell.
"and? you're wasting your breath, i brought the car back. you should be thankful, nag." he mutters, turning around to face his laptop.
you felt like you wanted to scream. well, until your husband appeared. he slammed the laptop shut, turning your son's chair to face him.
"look at me, brat," toji spoke quietly, but the air was tense. your son slowly looked up, nervousness washing over him.
"do you know who the fuck you're talking to?" he asked, but it wasn't a question.
"that is my wife. you disrespect her, you disrespect me." he leaned in, almost nose to nose with your son. "disrespect her again and you will face me. understood?" toji's voice had lost that natural ego, now full of discipline and edge.
"u-understood." your son spluttered, face pale and hands shaking.
your husband stood up straight, walking over to you and kissing your forehead. "dinner's almost ready, my love."
in which your husband toji is obsessed with your post-partum body (especially your tits)
toji’s obsession with your body reaches a new, completely unhinged level after you have his baby. he was a beast for you before, but now? now he’s absolutely feral, a slave to the changes your body has undergone for him, for the life you created together. he’s insatiable, and it all centers on your tits.
god, your tits. they were always perfect, a handful he loved to worship, but now? now they’re fucking magnificent. swollen, heavy, veined, and so painfully full. he can’t keep his eyes, or his hands, or his mouth off of them. he’s like a man possessed, and the fact that they’re now a source of nourishment for his child only makes his twisted, possessive brain short-circuit with even more desire.
he loves to watch you nurse. he’ll sit in the corner of the nursery, a hulking shadow in the dim light, and just watch with this dark, intense hunger in his eyes. he’s not just watching the bonding moment; he’s watching the mechanics of it, the way your breast changes shape in the baby’s mouth, a single drop of milk sometimes escaping and tracing a path down the soft skin.
his jaw gets tight, his fists clench, and you can see the raw, primal jealousy rolling off him in waves. he’s jealous of his own child. he wants that connection, that intimacy, that sustenance. the second the baby is fed, burped, and drowsy, he’s on you. he doesn't even wait to put the baby all the way down in the bassinet before his big, calloused hands are on you, kneading the other breast that’s still heavy and aching with milk. "look at that," he’ll growl, his voice rough with want, "so fuckin' full. let me have it. you gave him his, now it's my turn."
he doesn't ask. he takes. he’ll push you back onto the bed, still in your loose postpartum clothes, and his mouth is on you with a desperation that borders on violence. it’s not the gentle suckle of the baby; it’s a greedy, claiming pull. he groans like he’s starved, his big body shuddering as the warm, sweet milk hits his tongue. he’ll drink until his stomach is tight and full, but he won’t stop.
he loves the taste of you, this new, intimate flavor that’s solely because of him. he’ll switch sides, voracious, lapping up every drop, sucking until you’re oversensitive and mewling, your hands tangled in his hair, not sure if you’re pushing him away or pulling him closer. he’ll come up for air with milk slick on his chin and a wild, glazed look in his eyes. "fuck, sweetheart. you taste better than anything. you’re fuckin’ perfect. made for this. made to feed me."
and it drives him into a rut like nothing else. the taste of your milk on his tongue is his personal brand of aphrodisiac. he’ll fuck you right after, his thrusts deep and possessive, his mouth attached to your breast, sucking lightly even when the milk has slowed to a trickle. he loves the way your body is softer now, your hips wider, your stomach still carrying the gentle proof of growing his child.
he worships every new curve and mark with a filthy mouth, telling you how beautiful you are, how he’s never been harder, how the sight of your motherly body makes him want to put another baby in you right fucking now. he’s obsessed with the leaky, milky, all-natural reality of you.
he loves when a letdown happens while he’s fucking you, when your tits spray a little onto both of your chests, making everything slick and smelling sweetly of you. he’ll smear it into your skin, marking you with your own essence, growling about how you’re his own personal dairy farm, his perfect, life-giving woman. he’s a perverted, obsessed bastard, and he’s never been more in love with every single part of you.
oh, the fantasies this man has. they’re not just passing thoughts; they’re full-color, detailed obsessions that play on a loop in his twisted head, especially in the dead of night when he’s watching you sleep, your chest rising and falling, a faint milky scent still clinging to your skin.
his favorite filthy daydream, the one that makes him rock-hard in his jeans at the most inconvenient times, is a scene of utter debauched bliss. he’s sprawled in his favorite armchair, the one that smells like him and leather, and he’s shirtless.
you’re perched in his lap, straddling his thick thighs, but not how you normally would. you’re sideways, one leg hooked over the armrest, so he has full, unfettered access to your chest. your baby is nursing contentedly from one breast, those little suckling sounds filling the quiet room. and that’s where the fantasy truly begins.
while your baby feeds, toji’s hand is wrapped around yours, guiding it slowly, so slowly, up and down his massive, throbbing cock. he’s imagining the perfect, sinful juxtaposition. the innocent, nurturing act of feeding his child with one part of your body, while another part of you is dedicated wholly to his base, carnal pleasure.
he’s jerking himself off to the thought of your eyes, heavy-lidded and maybe a little shy, flicking between your baby’s face and the sight of your own hand working his length, slick with pre-cum. he’d be groaning, low and continuous, his head thrown back against the chair, his free hand kneading your other breast, thumb brushing over the nipple until it’s pebbled and tight, a drop of milk beading just for him.
he dreams about leaning forward, his mouth replacing the baby’s for just a moment, sucking a deep, pulling draught of milk into his mouth while his hips buck up into your fist. he’d taste that sweetness on his tongue at the exact moment he feels the tight coil of his orgasm building in his gut. the ultimate mind-fuck for him—being nourished by you, pleasured by you, all while witnessing the proof of your shared creation. he’d cum with a guttural roar, his release striping his stomach and your hand, all while the baby—his baby—fed peacefully, completely unaware of the depraved, possessive worship happening just inches away.
it’s the confluence of it all that drives him insane: your motherhood, his possession, your body’s amazing duality—able to sustain a life and simultaneously drive a grown man to the brink of madness with pleasure. it’s the dirtiest, most intimate thought he’s ever had, and he wants to make it a reality more than he’s ever wanted anything. he’s a perverted bastard, and he wants every single function of your beautiful, changed body to belong to him.
HEADCANONS OF OLDER BF TOJI WITH HIS SHY YOUNGER GF <3
cw - domestic fluff then NASTY smut. age gap(20s, 43), daddy kink, Weird disgusting shit as usual, yk me. Toji is an ASS man, slight piss kink, anal play, stuff w spit, light face slapping etc. this man’s mouth is filthy. this shit is so long for no reason. Banner is from Ikyouto Kouryuukai.
a/n - still on my break but I just wanted to post this bc it’s gonna be my last post for a while since my classes have started again so I’ve been busy. Also thank you everyone for your sweet and kind messages, I’ve seen all of them, they’ve made me so happy, and I’m genuinely very very grateful for everyone. Thank you and take care🤍
⋆˖ ࣪ 𐙚 FLUFF
You once told him you love listening to the rain and how peaceful it sounds—so now whenever it rains, he’ll open the window just a crack, light your favorite scented candle, and tug you into bed to cuddle with him under the covers to listen together—even if he’s supposed to be busy.
Toji always keeps a soft, freshly folded blanket in his truck just for you. Whenever you’d ride along with him, he’s always tossing it over your lap—doesn’t matter if it’s hot outside, he’d turn the air conditioner up, he just likes knowing you’re cozy and comfortable.
He buys groceries like a dad—meat, rice, basic stuff but every single trip he sneaks in little things that’s clearly just for you: the strawberry milk you love, a box of cute cookies, a silly little snack. When you try to thank him, he shrugs like it’s no big deal, but the corners of his mouth twitch like he’s fighting a smile.
On lazy mornings, he pretends to still be asleep so you’ll think it’s safe to touch him. You’ll gingerly run your fingers through his raven hair or trace little shapes on his broad chest, only for him to suddenly rumble, “That tickles, sweetheart,” in his sleep-rough voice. You always squeak in embarrassment, but he just laughs and pulls you closer into the warmth of his body.
He hates taking selfies, but you’re too shy to take pictures of yourself. So he started a quiet habit—he’ll pull you into his chest, lift his phone, and snap a picture of you two together when you’re sleeping or not expecting it. Later, you’ll find your face saved in his gallery a hundred different ways, all with him grinning and you looking shy but happy.
He loves when you fall asleep against him. You’re shy about dozing off in front of others, but Toji thinks it’s adorable that you trust him enough to lean your whole weight against the his chest. He’ll stroke your hair until you’re fully out, then whisper things he’d never admit while you’re awake—little confessions about how much you mean to him.
Toji carries you around the house without asking—from the couch to the bed, from the kitchen to the living room like it’s his favorite job in the world. He’ll grumble playfully when you tell him you can walk yourself, “What’s the point of being this strong if I can’t use it on my girl?” and set you down with a soft kiss to your forehead.
Whenever you’re cooking, Toji comes up behind you and wraps his weathered arms around your middle while he rests his chin on your shoulder, muttering about how delicious the food smells. He always sneaks a taste straight from the spoon you’re holding, which makes you giggle, and then he’ll pinch your cheek just to hear you laugh harder.
On slow mornings, Toji makes you sit on the kitchen counter while he makes breakfast. He’ll bump your knees apart to stand between them, kissing your cheek every minute while flipping pancakes like it’s just another part of his morning routine.
You write little notes for him sometimes—reminders, “good luck today,” or just cute silly doodles. You’re too shy to hand them directly, so you’ll tuck them into his lunch bag or jacket pocket. Toji never says much about them, but one day you found a whole stack of them tucked into his nightstand, neatly kept.
He has a sixth sense for when you’re craving something. You’ll never say it out loud, but if you pause a second too long in front of a bakery or linger on a display in a store, Toji makes a mental note. Somehow, a day later it shows up on the counter with a casual, “Picked this up for you”.
He loves when you hold onto his arm while walking. Sometimes you’ll just hug it close with both hands and press your cheek against his sleeve where his muscles are bugling through the fabric. He pretends to tease you, saying, “What, scared I’ll run off without you?” but his chest feels like it might burst every time.
He takes you fishing sometimes, but not because he cares about catching anything. He just likes seeing you all bundled up in his oversized hoodie by the water, asking curious questions in your quiet voice, dangling your legs off the dock while he casts the line.
Toji teaches you how to whistle with your fingers because you admitted you couldn’t and he was determined to teach you. He spends an entire afternoon showing you, laughing whenever you get shy and blow air with no sound. When you finally get it, he claps way too dramatically and ruffles your hair till it’s all messy, like you just won an award.
Toji always takes your side of the booth at diners. He hates sitting across from you, so he’ll squeeze his massive body in the small space next to you, arm stretched along the backrest, making you shy while he orders like nothing’s unusual.
Toji is huge on physical affection, especially casual touches. He’ll rest his big palm on your lower back when guiding you through a crowd, tug you into his lap when you’re shy about sitting next to him, or casually hook two fingers into your belt loop just to keep you from going anywhere too far from him.
He loves feeding you from his chopsticks or fork, even if you’re eating your own meal. “C’mon, darling. Open up,” he says, holding it there until you lean in shyly.
Sometimes late at night, he pulls you outside barefoot just to look at the sparkling stars in the night sky. He’ll point at constellations all wrong, making you laugh as you correct him. You lean into his side while he rests a heavy arm around you, his thumb brushing circles into your shoulder. At some point he murmurs, almost too softly, “Pretty up there. But you’re way prettier”. You hide your face against him, and he chuckles low in his chest.
Whenever he gets paid, Toji has a rule: you get the first “treat”. Sometimes it’s a new hoodie, sometimes a necklace, sometimes just fancy expensive desserts. He never tells you beforehand, just drags you along and says, “Pick something, baby. I’m not leaving till you do”.
After dinner, you always offer to wash dishes but Toji shoos you away. “Nah. You cooked, I’ll clean”. He’ll roll his sleeves up to his thick forearms, stand at the sink, and whistle while rinsing everything down. Sometimes you sneak up and hug him from behind, pressing your cheek flat to his massive back. He always pauses for a second, hand dripping with soap suds, before chuckling and leaning back into your embrace.
When Toji rakes leaves in the yard, he always makes one big pile just for you. He acts like it’s a chore, but when you run and flop into it, he laughs until his chest aches. Sometimes he even tackles you into the pile, both of you sinking into crunchy leaves while he kisses your cheek with dirt-smudged hands.
Toji is obsessed with how smaller your body is compared to his, especially your pussy. Every time he forces his cock through that tight clingy ring of muscle, he can’t help but moan at the way your walls flutter and clamp down instinctively, squeezing him like you’re trying to keep him locked in. “Fuck, baby…you’re fucking strangling me. You love when daddy splits you open like this, don’t you?” And when you moan and cry out too loud, he fucking loves it—because it’s proof you can’t hide how good it feels to be stuffed full of him, stretched until you’re shaking and leaking all over his cock till it’s coated in your juices.
When you’re on your knees giving him head, he’ll push your adorable glasses up just enough to see your watery eyes staring up at him. He fucks your throat and spit on your tongue until drool strings down your chin, then wipes it across your cheek with his rough thumb, grinning like a bastard. “Look at you… glasses all fogged up, face a mess of spit, and still begging for more cock. Cute”.
He jerks off over you when you’re too tired to move, fist working his thick cock while you lay there flushed and whimpering. He always aims for your bare tits, your face, your fogged-up glasses—anywhere he knows will make you flustered. And when he’s finished, he presses his messy fingers to your lips, making you lick him clean like a good girl.
He’s a freak for your panties. Sometimes he’ll just tug them to the side to fuck you because he loves seeing them ruined and stretched around your ass. Other times, he’ll stroke his cock into a pair when you’re not looking, deliberately leaving them sticky and tainted with his seed so later you’ll pull them on and feel the mess soaking against your skin. And when he catches sight of you wearing them, his eyes go dark—he can’t stop smirking as he palms his cock and hums, “Knew you’d end up walking around with my load stuck to your pussy. Bet you like it. Shit, you’re so nasty, baby”.
If you’re too shy to touch yourself, he makes you anyway. He leans back against the headboard with his mean cock out, stroking it lazily while you fumble with your throbbing clit under his heavy stare. “That’s it? That’s how my baby tries to get off? No wonder you need daddy to fuck you dumb”. His voice laced with mocking amusement, watching you squirm and whine, your hand shaky and awkward against your needy pussy. And when you can’t finish, he takes over without mercy—pinning you down on the mattress, rubbing and fucking you until you’re overstimulated and crying while clinging to his shoulders for dear life, whimpering out every broken little sound he wanted to hear.
He records you on his phone without shame. Sometimes it’s your face when you’re choking and gaging on his veiny cock, sometimes it’s your little pussy squirting all over his lap. Later he’ll play the clips back while you’re blushing and hiding your face, muttering, “Don’t hide, baby. Ohh look this one’s my favorite”. While showing a video of him unplugging his cock from your cum stuffed cunt, and watching as his milky seed floods out in thick streaks.
He makes you beg out loud for the dirtiest things. “Say it, baby. Tell daddy which hole you want stuffed. Say it nasty”. If you try to whisper, he’ll slap your ass until you’re crying it out and begging him.
When he’s really mean, he’ll stuff his lengthy fingers down your throat while he’s buried in your warm cunt, forcing you to choke on his thick digits while you clenched down instinctively around him from how much you love it. He pulls them out while they’re dripping, and smears your spit across your tits.
He’ll carry you into the bathroom after he filled you and make you squat over the bath tub while his cum slowly leaks out of your ruined hole. He strokes his cock watching like a pervert, “shiiit, Look at my mess dripping outta you. Should shove it right back in”.
Toji loves when you accidentally twitch your asshole while he’s spreading you open. He’ll laugh and pinch your cheek, cooing, “Aww, look at it winking at daddy. Cute little hole wants some attention too, huh?” before spitting on it and rubbing his thumb in until you’re squealing.
Toji gets obsessed with your little gape. He’ll quickly yank his dick out while holding your asscheeks apart, and he tilts his head like he’s admiring a drawing. “Ohhh look at that cute open hole, Daddy stretched his baby wide like a little donut”. Then he spits in it just to see it flutter back in place before stuffing himself back in.
On the subway, he cages you against the door, holding the bar above your head while his clothed erection presses against your ass through his sweats to the point where it’s digging into you. He sways with the train so it looks casual, but his bulge is grinding up and down your cheeks, heavy and hot. He smirks when you blush, muttering, “Crowded in here, huh? Good thing my cock fits right between your ass”.
Toji lovesss starting oral by spitting straight onto your pretty pussy, thick gobs dripping into your folds. He doesn’t even wait—just smears it in with his tongue until your sensitive clit and hole are bubbling with spit. It foams white when he slurps, and he pulls back with his chin dripping, grinning, “Messy little cunt’s frothing like a beer f’me”.
In public while you’re out with friends, he’ll slide his big hand under the table and make you rub your socked foot against his crotch while he talks casually to whoever’s there.
He loves pressing his cockhead right against your leaking hole while you piss. His fat tip gets sprayed and splattered, slippery with warm streams, and he moans, “Ohhh fuck... look at that pretty pussy showering my cock. Keep going, baby”.
He’ll drag you onto his lap, grind your clothed pussy on his bulge, and angle you so his cockhead rubs right against your asshole through your panties. He controls your movements and forces your hips in circles, groaning, “That’t it. Rub your ass on daddy’s dick, make it messy f’me”. By the time he’s done, your panties are ruined, and your hole is twitching from nothing but pathetic friction.
Toji loves folding you up tight in mating press—your knees shoved by your ears, belly squished, pussy spread wide open for his assaulting cock. But when he notices your little feet dangling right by his face, he smirks darkly before licking a long stride from your heel to your ankle before ending it with an affectionate kiss.
He shakes his head side to side while he’s nose deep in your sloppy cunt, stubble scraping your delicate skin, drool mixing with your sticky slick, smearing all over your thighs. He pulls back to grin at you, his chin and lips shining, then dives back in with a grunt.
He loves blowing spit bubbles on your sensitive clit, then sucking them up with a nasty slurp. The sound alone makes you whimper, and he laughs against you. he’ll force your cunt to spit back at him. He shoves two thick fingers inside, curls them against your sweet spot until you gush all over his fingers, then smears his slobber into the mess until your pussy’s bubbling. He licks it up loudly, making eye contact the whole time.
He’s obsessed with how your asshole reacts. Every time his tongue pushes in, your rim clenches tight like it’s trying to fight him off, then flutters open again. He’ll pull back just to watch it twitch from his gaze, chuckling, “this little hole can’t even decide if it wants to run or kiss daddy’s tongue”. Then he dives back in, slobbering until spit foams at the corners of his mouth.
Toji cannot keep his hands off your ass. Doesn’t matter if you’re cooking, folding laundry, or just walking past him — he’s always grabbing, squeezing, spreading, or smacking it.
He’s obsessed with watching it jiggle. Half the reason he pounds you so hard while giving you backshots is so he can watch your ass bounce off his hips from the mean impact of his thrusts. He’ll smack it over and over, grinning darkly at the view. “Godddddamn. Look at it wobble. Old man could fuck this view forever”.
Toji loves reverse cowgirl, because it’s his perfect view: your round ass bouncing on his pathetically hard cock, cheeks rippling with every desperate drop. He grips handfuls of you, spreading your cheeks wide just to see his veiny cock disappearing snugly inside you just to appear back again with a fresh coat of your cream. He slaps your ass till it’s all red and marked up with his large handprints, snarling, “Look at this fucking view. ‘M fucking buried in heaven”.
When he’s really filthy he’d spit into your asshole over and over until it’s bubbling frothy white, then lap it all up again like he’s drinking from you. He smears his thumb across your wet rim, presses it in until your hole stretches around the tip of his finger, then shoves his tongue beside it. The pressure makes you cry out, and he just moans into you.
Toji wakes up for work groaning, rubbing his eyes, already scowling at the alarm. He’s halfway out of bed, muttering curses under his breath about being late, when he notices you curled up on your side — panties crooked, glistening pussy peeking just a little under the blanket. He sighs through his nose and drags his hand down his face. “Fucking brat. You think I’m walking outta here with that pussy looking at me like that? No chance”. Next thing you know, he’s got your legs shoved open, his fat cock pushing in without prep. He mutters into your hair, “This hole’s a problem. ‘M never making it to work on time”.
His dirty talk is like a half lecture. He’s got his throbbing cock buried to the hilt where his curly pubes are grazing your clit, hips snapping into your sloppy pussy over and over, muttering, “Every damn morning. My alarm goes off, and instead of leaving I’m balls-deep in my brat. Pussy’s got me by the fucking throat”. He grope your soft ass roughly, grinning when your hole spasms around his shaft.
Sometimes he fucks you right at the door—you’re bent over the entryway table with his boots half on. He’s grunting, balls harshly smacking your neglected clit, while his keys jingle in his pocket. “Pussy’s making me late, kid. Gonna lose my job ‘cause I can’t stop breeding you”. When he finally spills inside, he stuffs your panties back up against your messy cunt and whispers, “Now go back to bed, and keep it warm f’me”. While you nod and clench around his load.
In doggy, he’ll yank you back by your throat, arching you against his chest while he pounds into you from behind. You’re choking, crying, drooling, and he snarls into your ear, “Nothing but my toy. That’s all you are”.
Toji loves watching your mouth hang open while he cuts off your air. He’ll spit right on your tongue while he’s got you pinned and make you swallow it.
He’ll tongue your drooling pussy so hard your juices spill down to your ass. Instead of wiping it away, he sniffs the trail, following it back up with his tongue, slurping until you’re soppy cunt is bubbling with spit and slick.
He loves humping his nose against you. He rubs it back and forth over your clit until you’re crying, then drags it down to smear against your asshole. Sometimes you’ll be bent over reaching for something, and suddenly his big hands are on your hips, nose shoved right between your ass cheeks, and nudging between your folds as he inhales deeply.
He corrupts you into loving the filth. The first time you squirt on his face, you cry in embarrassment but Toji just moans while his eyes roll back, licking it up sloppy like it’s the best drink he ever had. “Taste fucking amazing, baby. Don’t be shy— soak daddy again”. Now you gush for him on command.
He loves catching you acting innocent in public—polite voice, shy smiles because he knows later he’ll have you bent over, drooling on his cock like a mindless slut while you cling to him, sobbing while he snarls, “Where’s my sweet little girl now, huh? All I see is daddy’s whore”.
If you hide your face during sex, he’ll slap your cheek gently to make you look at him. “Did I say you can look away? Look at me while I stretch your pussy”. That sting just makes your tears spill faster. He gets off on how your body reacts. One slap and your mouth hangs open, drool on your glossy lips, your pussy gushing harder all over him. He laughs, “Shit, This slutty little pussy gets wetter everytime I slap your face. You’re so fucked up, baby”.
In oral, he’ll use it as a rhythm—you’re choking on his cock, warm tears down your cheeks, and he’ll slap your face lightly a few times when you slow down to catch your breath, “C’mon, baby. Take it all. My cock looks so good down your throat”.
After he slaps you, he often cups your face gently, thumb rubbing the sting, then spits in your mouth.
Whenever you’re too teary and trembling from overstimulation, he’ll be surprisingly gentle. He presses your face to his neck, pats your thigh, and whispers, “Shhh. You’re okay. Daddy didn’t mean to push so hard. You did perfect”. Then he’ll rock you a little until you calm down.
When it’s all over and your body’s shaking, Toji never pulls away at first—he just lays heavy on top of you, kissing your damp cheek and letting you catch your breath. Eventually, he eases out slowly, cooing, “Easy, baby… I got you,” and tucks you against his chest before you can even whine about the emptiness. He’s gruff about it, but so careful—one huge hand rubbing slow gentle circles on your back, the other stroking your thigh as he sits up to grab a towel.
He wipes you down with surprising gentleness, kissing your knee after, before tossing the rag aside and tugging you into his lap. You get water pressed to your lips while his calloused hand steadies the glass, and when you’re too tired to swallow, he smirks and coos, “C’mon, baby. Couple more sips f’me”. He’ll even grumble his way into the kitchen if he thinks you’re hungry, returning with something small just to make you eat while he pets your hair. After that, you’re tucked under his chin, his heartbeat steady against your ear, while his big palm strokes your hip fondly. He kisses your forehead, scratches lightly at your scalp, and murmurs in that low, rough voice, “My good girl. Im proud of you… you did so fucking well”. Even when he finally drifts off, his arm stays locked around you like he’s never letting go.
best friend!suguru who has no problem casually asking your friends—with that quasi-affable smile of his—“can i borrow her for a bit?” so politely it’s near impossible for anyone to refuse. and you know exactly what he’s thinking when he steers you toward his room.
best friend!suguru who has a habit of skewering your potential crushes with the most offhand observations. never explicitly cruel, but still insidiously precise. “he talks too much about his job,” or “you notice how he can’t hold eye contact?” delivered in that mild tone that makes it sound like he’s merely stating facts. and somehow, by the end, every guy you bring up feels suddenly insufficient.
best friend!suguru who lets you complain about how your new boytoy was… underwhelming. he listens so attentively it feels cathartic, “so he doesn’t know what he’s doing. figures.” then, after a long pause, he tilts his head at you—thoughtful, almost bored—“want me to show you what it’s supposed to feel like?”
best friend!suguru who takes you apart with his mouth just to prove a point. and when you admit that no one’s ever done it like that, he only smirks and presses a chaste kiss to your thigh, “consider this your baseline from now on.”
best friend!suguru who loves how easily you fluster—so he’ll rest his chin on your shoulder at some gathering, let his lips brush the curve of your ear, and whisper something unthinkably obscene. then he steps back, amused, watching your ears burn while everyone else assumes he just said something innocuous.
best friend!suguru who delights in drawing things out. whether it be deep conversations over cigarettes or the excruciatingly slow drag of his fingers deep inside you, keeping you right at the edge because, really, what’s the hurry?
best friend!suguru who has a habit of calling you over to his place only to leave you fuming on the couch while he finishes his shower in his own sweet time. when he emerges, toweling off his hair, drops of water trailing down his chest, he just grins and says, “what, impatient? you could’ve joined me.”
best friend!suguru who manspreads on the couch—long legs parted wide, arm draped across the backrest—and you’re left with no choice but to perch yourself in his lap if you want any semblance of space. he doesn’t even acknowledge it, carrying on the conversation as though you’re not sitting on the hard bulge beneath his bontan pants.
"stop being fucking mad at me." TOJI FUSHIGURO grunts, driving the point home by grinding his cock in deeper inside you. your thighs quiver where they're hooked around his waist, lewa slapping noises permeating the room. you keep turning your face, trying to angle it out of reach, or at least force the fury back into your expression. the grudge held like a phony talisman, meant to keep your pride immune from the way he's fucking you into the mattress. but it never works.
"i'm not-"
"hmph. you are." he nips at your shoulder. "you keep clenching up when i talk. 'cept here." his hips rear back, a wet squelch sounding from where you're joined, then he sinks back in with a grunt. "she's still so fuckin' sweet to me."
the truth stings worse than the fight itself: toji knows you cold. he knows exactly how to fuck you until your resentment feels misplaced and petty. hands that had been pushing against his chest find the sheets instead, clutching tight.
"was a stupid fight," he pushes in again, slowly, allowing you to luxuriate in the thick ridge and veins dragging along your walls.
"and you know it." pride makes you not answer.
"princess," he sighs. "you really gonna let me cum in this pussy while you're busy pretendin' to hate me?" you blink up at him. defiance radiating from every inch of your face.
"tch." the man even has the audacity to pinch the bridge of his nose, like you're the one being unreasonable. "so fucking stubborn." he reaches between your bodies, thumbing lazily at your clit. "you think i like walking out?"
rage bubbles back up at once. "you slammed the door and left."
"you knew i'd come back!" he snaps, not missing a beat. an especially brutal thrust has you seeing stars. "you want me to lie and say i don't care when i do?" you try to hitch your hips, to hurry him along but he held you down, eyes narrowing.
"go ahead and scream, curse me out, break something if you need to. but don't fall asleep hating me. that shit?" he shakes his head. "can't take that."
your words come out sharp, bitter. "so what’s the plan, fuck me into forgiving you?"
there's no hesitation in him when he grins wofishly, "exactly. if we fight in the morning, fine. but if we're sharing a bed, we fix it before we close our eyes. understood?" no thought forms before your head's nodding stupidly, not an ounce of resistance (or dignity) left. he sinks back in to the hilt, tip kissing your cervix.
greedy, almost juvenile in his fervour—palms cupping your face, mouth on yours before you even had time to say hello. your lips, your breath, your skin: his reward. like a child choking down bitter medicine, then chasing it with something sweet.
but something changed. he’d press a hand to the nape of your neck, lean in like he meant to kiss you—and then, at the last second, his lips would skim past yours. a chaste peck to your temple or cheek. the corner of your mouth, if anything. anywhere but where you wanted him most.
ingesting curses had always been part of his technique. but lately, it had become unbearable. the aftertaste coated his tongue like bile-soaked gauze. but what he feared most was the association—some sort of fucked-up pavlovian response; classical aversion. what once brought him comfort—you—could be irrevocably rewired into revulsion.
no, he wouldn’t allow something so foul to embed itself in the memory of you. that would be desecration.
kisses became rare. only when he was sure the aftertaste was gone, when he’d cleansed his mouth with tea or menthol rinse, waited hours. only then did he allow himself the indulgence.
you were so sweet and understanding about it, too. never once complained, though he could see the hurt in your eyes each time he shied away.
years later, standing alone in his temple, he presses two fingers to his lips and realises with a pang of regret:
Synopsis: in which everything falls apart in one night because of a bad argument between you and Toji
Warnings: angst, major character death, hurt/no comfort, f!reader, lots of swearing, grief, some description of bodily injury but nothing graphic, there's no light in this tunnel like fr, not proofread
Word Count: 5.2k
“I just don’t understand why you’d rather go to the bar than sit here with me?”
Toji scoffs. “All we fucking do is sit here. What’s so bad about me taking a break and getting some air?”
“A break?” Your hands are flying, waving about as if they could get it through his head how ridiculous he sounds. “You want a break from me? So, what, I’m this horrible monster you just can’t wait to get away from?”
This argument has been going on for hours at this point, with neither of you willing to cave. It started with you, in comfy pyjamas and face mask, preparing dinner and super excited to watch a new movie on Netflix with your boyfriend, but when he came out of the shower, he was in jeans and a shirt without stains. You both looked just as incredulous as each other. He said he was going out. That he had told you. And you were sure he hadn’t because if he had, then you wouldn’t have gone through the trouble of making a hearty meal, laying out the snacks and his very own matching pjyamas.
Slowly, like he thinks you can’t understand anything when it’s said at a normal pace, he answers, “I didn’t say that. You’re acting fucking crazy, woman. Look, I’m going out to the bar, with my friends, and that’s that. You can do all the shit you wanted to do on your own.”
He’s walking to the door now, grabbing a jacket on the way. Stomping over to him, you get in the way, blocking his exit with a furious glare. There’s no way this conversation’s ending like this, with him deciding it’s the end, with him getting what he wants and your feelings being trampled all over because he’d rather drink himself to death than cuddle on the sofa with you.
“No.”
“No?”
“Yeah, I said, ‘no.’ You’re not going. We have to talk about this.” Toji opens his mouth, disbelieving and growing more irritated with every syllable you utter, and you know he’s going to ask what the fuck you mean about ‘this,’ so you get the words out before he does, “This. Us. Our night. Our home. Why don’t you want to be with me?”
Rolling his eyes, he bulldozes past you, pushing you to the side. You don’t let him. You’re tugging on his jacket, nails digging into the thick material. He can’t go. What if he never comes back?
The words that have been thrown around tonight are sharp edged swords, though they don’t dig deep, they weave several shallow cuts that sting. No ambulance to rush you away, no hospital to take you, no surgeon to sew you back up. You just bleed out, alive and wobbling away.
Clearly beyond done, Toji grunts, easily shrugging off your pathetic attempts to hold him back. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about and I don’t want to hear it right now. Just get out of the way.”
“No, answer me.”
Pitiful fists smack into his chest in a flurry. He doesn’t budge, doesn’t even flinch. You want to make him hurt. That ache inside your chest, the one that’s holding onto the tears that threaten to stream down your face, that’s driving you insane – you want him to feel it. You want him to care.
Toji doesn’t relent. Instead, he stands there, an immovable statue sculpted by someone else, and pinches his nose. “Just stop.”
“No. Why are you always leaving? Huh? Why can’t you just stay? What’s so fucking wrong with me that you don’t want to have dinner and watch a movie with your girlfriend?”
“Because you’re suffocating me!” He bellows.
You stumble back.
“I can’t fucking breathe. God, I can’t even think without you nagging me. ‘Let’s get dinner,’ ‘let’s go to a museum,’ ‘let’s wear matching shirts.’ It’s never enough for you. For fuck’s sakes, I just want to be able to put my feet up, drink beer and not have to cater to every fucking whim of yours like I’m some goddamn dog.” Combing a hand through his hair, he breathes through his nose. He’s losing steam – you can see it in the way his shoulders fall and he shakes his head, slowly, weary and fatigued. Then, with a quieter, gentler, more desperate tone, he asks, “I see you everyday and you still want more? You ain’t tired of this shit? Of all the fake coupley shit that you think we have to do otherwise we’re frauds? You haven’t had enough? ‘Cause I’m growing pretty fucking sick of all the bullshit.”
Speechless, you just keep as still as you can, feeling mighty small under the weight of his words. You’ve never seen Toji like this. Usually he’s passive, allowing you to ramble on and on about whatever’s filling your mind, even when you’re mad at him, when he’s heard your story a million times before, and even in your worst moment when you bait him into chasing after you. Through it all, your boyfriend took your insecurities and flaws like a champ.
Now he’s done. Now he’s been backed into a corner and there’s nowhere else for him to go except past you.
It’s unclear to you what expression you wear on your face; you can really only focus on that hollow sinkhole widening in your heart. Something about your eyes makes his close tight. Toji breathes once, twice, and says, “We’ll talk later. I’m late.”
And then he leaves.
His jacket is dangling from your clutches and it’s suddenly so heavy. Tears threaten to fall. You don’t let them, even when your bottom lip wobbles and so does your balance. Heaving, you lean against the wall.
How did it all fall apart so quickly?
The day had started off like normal: sweaty, dirty sex, pillowtalk, late breakfast, lazy lounging around the living room, and catching each other up on what’s happening on your phones. Weekdays are more productive, what with you both having jobs to do, but weekends are yours and his to share. Or at least that’s what you thought.
An eerie silence falls upon the apartment. It’s unlike the silences you’re used to, like being the last one to leave the house and you’re eating the breakfast Toji made for you, or waiting for him to come back from throwing the bins out, being the first to come home, sitting in bed doing your own thing as you slowly unwind from the day’s toils.
You can’t stand it – the doing nothing – so you shuffle away from the closed door that’s not going to open anytime soon. There’s a lot to tidy anyway: the plates of food untouched, the unfolded blanket you wanted to be cuddled under, face masks and snacks and dips, and the pile of clothes he probably wasn’t going to wear even if you begged.
Maybe you are too much.
Maybe what Toji was saying had some merit to it.
All those outings he would have never done if you hadn’t pleaded with a huge smile and puppy dog eyes were planned by you. The dinners reserved by you, the anniversaries, the dates, all of it. You. It wasn’t as if he didn’t love you. The fact that he did all of it, albeit begrudgingly, was proof of that. His love showed in his gentle touch, his patience, though limited, and in the fact that, through the ups and downs, he still stayed.
But he won’t forever, not when he feels…suffocated.
With a sigh, you grab your phone, snatch his jacket and decide you’re not going to let him be out there, cold and angry.
So you, too, leave.
.
.
.
“Go home, Fushiguro.”
That isn’t what Toji wants to hear from his friend slash handler, Shiu. Truthfully, he wanted to be validated, wanted the man to tell him you were acting crazy, and that he wasn’t wrong for walking out.
As he stomped into the bustling bar, the suited man took one look at him, shook his head with an exhausted laugh and took a huge gulp of his whiskey, knowing damn well it was going to be a long night. It always is when the scarred man looks ready to kill and for free.
Toji takes a swig of his beer. “You didn’t hear a single shit I said? I said, ‘I'm not in the mood to get into it with her again.’”
“Being a man is about learning to take the beatings life hands you,” Shiu professes mysteriously, tracing the rim of his glass.
“Fuck off.”
Sitting in the corner of the bar, they’re left alone to wallow in their problems – one man chronically alone and the other about to lose it all. They don’t remember how they found each other or why they stayed as friends when they barely like the other, but they suppose it’s really because through all the faces they’ve met, not many have ever stuck around. But they did. And that has to mean something.
The bastard is rarely not right and he knows it. He prattles off great advice with a smug face and one has to fight the urge to lay a good one on his nose. No matter how fucked up shit gets, Shiu could always make things so simple, so clear, and straightforward that he’d feel like a dumb sack of shit.
In fact, that’s pretty damn close to how he feels now.
Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he admits, “I feel like shit. Like I got hit by a fucking truck. Look at me. I’m sitting here talking about my fucking feelings with your stupid ass. She’s always gotta get into my head about things. Made me a chump. Fucking hate this. Me. I turned into a pussy.”
“I don’t know about you, Fushiguro, but I like the you she created.”
Toji snorts. “What the fuck does that even mean?”
“You were a massive asshole,” Shiu begins, using a tone that suggests it should be obvious to the man sitting opposite him. “You were angry all the time, moody and brooding for no reason. Hours could pass and you wouldn’t say a single word. Ha, a college kid bumped into you and you knocked his shit before he could even open his mouth to apologise. Made him piss his damn pants. Got everyone scared of your big ass.”
He couldn’t deny that. Their friends, if you could call them that, often joked that he was a monster. And yeah, well, moving place to place, house to house, couch to couch would make a monster out of anyone. Before, these kinda criticisms would have rolled off his back, maybe even brought a smirk to his scarred lips, but something about the person he is now makes that sudden blast from the past bring a grimace to his face.
Shiu chuckles and, with a clink of his glass to Toji’s, says, “Look at you now – you actually shower and smell less like horse shit these days. Sure, you’re still killing for a living but you don’t do that shit with a smile on your face like a psycho now. Hell, you even tip. You used to steal tips, remember? And then just last month, some pimply-faced kid fell onto our table and spilled our drinks and I, honest to God, thought you’d beat him black and blue –instead, what did you do? Huh? Tell me. What did you do?”
“Fuck you.”
“You fucking picked him back up and told him, ‘Get some water in ya, the girl you came with likes you so don’t embarrass yourself.’” He throws his head back and laughs as if he just heard the funniest joke come out of his own mouth. “And don’t try to argue with me. You know she’s cleaned you up, made an honest man out of you, or as honest as a killer-for-hire can be. You smile more, Fushiguro. Fucking cheesing at your damn phone, leaving the bar early, speeding to get the fuck home before she does just so you can do God know’s what – and don’t say, I’d rather not know.”
The changes he talks about, Toji hadn’t noticed. Of course, he knew life had changed for him. A steady, secure home with a woman that sees him and is happy with what fills her vision, a woman who doesn’t mind hearing grunts as replies, who’s patient and kind, that cleans up the blood off his shirts and does it all with a smile. There's stability in his life now. Something that gets him up in the morning other than hunger and a need to piss. A thing to look forward to, a home to come back to.
"Honestly, I don't know why you'd rather be here with me than her. If I had a woman half as good as her, you'd never see my sorry face. Any more of these nights with you and people will think we're lovers, which is fine by me, just as long as they know I'm on top."
A bead of condensation drips down the neck of his beer bottle. The bar’s too loud, too crowded and it doesn’t smell sweet and floral like home. Everyone’s too drunk to give a shit about what’s happening outside, far too elated with the clumsy grinding and grimy sweating of bodies. Maybe that’s why he likes places like this so much; it’s easy to forget your responsibilities, your past, and all the things that drag you down.
But that’s not you. You’re not a burden, you’re a part of his present, and the only thing that keeps him going.
So why didn’t he act like it?
You looked so damn excited to watch that movie with him and he crushed that spark that makes you you under his boot, for what? For booze? For some time alone with an asshole wearing a tailored suit and tie in a dingy bar?
The words he spewed at you come crashing back like a tidal wave of regret and shame. He told you you were suffocating him. He told a bunch of lies, anything to get you off his back, to make his need for alcohol justified. Like. A. Fucking. Pussy.
Glancing at his phone, he sees missed calls and a voicemail. From you. So does Shiu, who whistles and suggests, “You’re done for, my man.”
“Fuck.” Toji throws his head back. He fucked up. Big time. Running a hand down his face, he says, “I need to go. I need to get home, catch her before she fucking leaves me or some shit. Ah, fuck, fuck, fuck.”
A couple papers get thrown on the table, along with whatever loose change he has in his pockets, and he lunges out of the bar faster than if there was a fire, though not before he sees, in the corner of his eyes, a familiar looking smug tilt of a brow on a suited prick.
He’s driving home now, fingers thrumming on the wheel, a subconscious desperation to manifest the ability to push the car beyond its limits and get to its destination faster. The useless piece of shit isn’t going fast enough; every second he wastes getting home when he should have been there to begin with is a second closer to him losing everything he never deserved to have in the first place.
Images of you crying, hugging yourself and waiting by the door, or sleeping, alone, in an empty bed flash in his mind and without realising it, he’s accelerating even more. The roads are empty this time of night and he thanks the universe; the last thing he needs is to be honked at.
Why couldn’t he just suck it up?
Movie nights are a lot of work – he often has to drive down to the store and get all the snacks your heart desires, squeeze into the cheesy pyjamas you bought him, let you spread some goo on his face, and then sit through some chick flick that he grumbles about at the start but gets really into once ten or twenty minutes has passed. All the dates that required him to get off his ass sent dread settling in his stomach usually turn out more fun than he thought. Because you know him. Because you know his strengths and weaknesses, his sore points and intolerances. And love him because of them.
Having half a mind to listen to the voicemail you sent, Toji thinks about what he wouldn’t want to hear. What he can’t. The argument was bad, yes, he admits. But it’s not bad enough to quit, to end the beautiful thing you’ve grown, to give up. There’s no life after you, without you. It’s just you. You’re his…everything. And when he gets home, he’ll take you into his arms, apologise for all the shit he said and will say, and watch that movie with you. Hell, he’ll watch it a million times.
Toji will do anything to make it up to you.
Maybe he should take you to the sea. That’d be a nice break from the chaos of the city. You two can go fishing, take long walks down the beach like women love to do, and do that thing he watched in a movie, where he carries you into the water, laughing and giggling.
And what about the ring he’s been meaning to buy?
Flashing lights catch his attention. A fuckload of police cars and ambulances off the side of the road. Toji’s brows furrow. “Fuck happened there?”
Palm sweaty, he fishes his phone out. That voicemail he’s been ignoring, pretending it doesn’t exist because if it’s anything other than an ‘I love you, let’s not break up,’ he might just throw his phone out the car. He runs a hand through his hair and presses play, only hesitating twice. A second of static silence reaches his ears before your voice does.
“Hey, Toji…I, um, don’t know if you want to hear from me right now."
Your voice has the corner of his scarred lip twitching. It's the tender and gentle voice he knows, and not the scratchy half-screams he last heard. The latter never suited you. It's just not who you are and deserve to be.
"But uh…I wanted to say sorry…You’re right, I was a lot today, like usual….And I’m sorry. About the movie that you didn’t want to watch, t-the face masks and the food I didn’t even ask if you wanted to eat. God, I’m so fucking sorry, Toji...I was too much, wasn’t I?”
He shakes his head. There’s a creeping sudden tension rising up his spine and he tightens his hold on the wheel, slowing down for show so the uniformed men don’t give him shit, and as soon as the red and blues of the night disappear from his rearview mirror, he revs up.
“I think it’s ‘cause there’s so much I want to do with you, y’know? Like, you’ve lived a whole life before me and it’s a little intimidating….You’ve loved before…and it’s beautiful…but you’re my first and I’m not trying to compete with her or anything, I swear! I just want to make our own memories, y’know? I want experiences too. And when you’re quiet, less active, less…present, I guess it triggers something in me: a need to compensate. Maybe one could even say I’m overcompensating and they wouldn’t be wrong, I guess.”
When he pulls up, his feet carry him out and into the building on autopilot, gravel crunching under his shoes and the weight of the world bearing down on his shoulders. There’s no one else around. The lights of every window are off. It’s too quiet. Toji scratches his chest.
“I don’t know where I’m going with this; you know I ramble when I’m nervous. Maybe I should just go to sleep and wait for you, fight through that feeling I’m getting that says I won’t see you ever again after this. I should sleep everything off…but I couldn’t let our night go like this. You have that mission tomorrow and you’re going to be gone for a couple days so I guess I just wanted to cram some time together…”
The door’s unlocked. He flexes his hand, knuckles turning white with the tight clench of his fist. Somehow, his work schedule had eluded him; it was you who kept up with all that admin shit that Shiu never bothers to remind him about, after all.
“I should have known it’d be too much. I mean, you’re right that we see each other every day – that was hyperbole, of course...I think anyway...but it’s practically true. We see each other a lot…but I don’t know…I guess I just thought it wasn’t enough.
Your voice grows quiet and he has to lift the speaker of his phone to his ear to hear your next words over the sound of his heart pounding.
“To me, I could never see too much of you. I always want to see you. To be with you. And…you don’t feel the same…”
Something painful scrunches in his chest, it almost makes him double over. Under his breath, he mutters, “No, baby. I do. Fuck, I do.”
“And that’s okay. I’m realising now that that’s probably healthy. I think I just love you too much. More than you love me – that’s not a complaint at all, I promise. It’s not a reflection of you but rather of me….God, I’m crazy, aren’t I? I never know when to shut up and wow, even now I’m saying ‘I’ a lot. Okay, so yeah, I have problems and I need to work on them.”
You’re not in the living room. The TV is off. And what was that about him loving you less? That’s bullshit. Complete and utter bullshit. You know that. You have to. Right?
Making a mental note to make that the first thing you hear, he continues his search.
“Ma? Where you at?” He checks the kitchen and finds containers of the food you prepared put neatly away. It’s his favourite. His stomach rumbles. “You sleeping, doll?”
The bedroom’s empty too. Fuck.
“I’ll work on it, Toji…so, please, will you give me a chance? To do better. To be better.”
He’s checked every room. Twice. And again. You’re not home. But that can’t be right. You have to be home. You just have to. It’s dark outside and cold and dangerous and he’s not there to hold your hands to make sure they don’t fall off from the frost of summer.
Louder, nearing a scream, he says, “Baby, I’m not messing around. Tell me where you are. You hiding? Is that it? You hiding from me? Fuck, sweetheart, I promise I’m not mad, okay? So just come out here. L-let me see my gorgeous girl, yeah?”
Breathing faster and faster until he has to lean against the wall for balance, Toji scrambles to think. You’re saying so much so fast and he can’t keep up. For every sentence you utter there’s a whole conversation to be had. So many inaccuracies he needs to correct, to set straight. Where the hell did you even get all this shit you’re saying?
Not from him, right?
He didn’t make you feel so small, did he?
The woman that had built him up crumbling all by herself because he’d rather drink himself to death than live a life you made possible for him. Fucking bastard. Ungrateful son of a bitch. Useless fucker.
“Uh this is getting long, sorry. We can talk more about it when I see you. So, yeah, that’s what I was trying to say. I’m driving over to the bar to give you your jacket. You forgot it. Or maybe you left it on purpose. I don’t know. I just don’t want you to be cold. Or maybe it’s just an excuse to see you, hopefully smiling...You don’t smile without a bottle in your hand nowadays but if I had a clingy girlfriend, I’d probably be making out with beer too. I’m kidding. Sorry, that’s not funny…okay, so, um, I love you and I’ll see you soon. Bye.”
Flashing lights,
Cop cars.
Ambulances.
The crowd…gasping and pointing.
And a flipped over car he only now just processed.
The ride over to the crime scene goes by in a blur. Only static and the faint sound of your voice on repeat playing in the background. Every stop light is ignored, pedestrians barely avoided, and the wheels pushed to their very limits. All while he foregoes wearing a seatbelt.
Toji doesn’t breathe. Doesn’t think or slow down or answer the many calls from unknown numbers.
He doesn’t even make a sound.
Not until he arrives, shoves past tiny men with their tiny understanding of who you are and what you mean to him, and finds a body wrapped up in a bag. Rushing of blood fill his ears. People try to hold him back, to get him away, but there must be something in his face or his eyes that warns, ‘don't get in my fucking way’
It’s akin to a wounded yelp of a wild beast or the guttural flames of hell as it opens up and consumes whole poor, unfortunate souls. No one’s ever heard anything like it. Yet, they know. Just from the way he had fallen to his knees, had rushed to yank that zipper down but hesitated to pull the bag open. But the sound…the sound tells a whole story.
Some look away, half paying respect and half all too familiar with the scene. Others can’t. They bear witness to the shaking hands that cradle your cold face, cut up and bleeding, and the one sided conversation.
“No, no, baby, what h-happened? Wake up.” Toji’s patting your cheeks, searching for a flicker of your lashes or the rise of your chest. Even now when he feels the nauseating coldness on a body that had only ever kept him warm he's mindful of the force he's using. He could never hurt you. Not like this. “Come on, this isn’t fucking funny. Open your eyes, baby. Come on. Please.”
Shallow cuts on your face, glass shards still embedded in the skin graze his thumb as he brushes the hair from your hair. They cut him too until the blood staining the skin he’d felt and tasted are both his and yours.
“I need you. I need to talk to you. Fuck, it isn’t fucking fair. You got to say your shit. You need to hear me apologise ‘cause I am fucking sorry. You hear me, you stubborn woman? I’m s-sorry. So wake the fuck up. Please. I can’t do this without you. I just can’t.”
The car’s totalled. Hit a tree. He can hear the police talk on their radio, something about how you were crushed for hours, alive and yelling for help, but was dead when anyone got to the scene. A roaring of injustice wages war in his very soul. His babygirl in pain and alone and dying. Did you call out for his name? Did you think he was going to come even till your last moments?
He doesn't know how long he holds you for, can't even tell if it's raining or if he's just sweaty as hell. Those trembling hands of his, that have killed countless men and got him this far in life, seem so useless now as he wills warmth into your limbs. Your pyjamas are soaked with a metallic liquid; they stain his hands.
A familiar face shows up, suit wrinkled. “Fushiguro. They need the body.”
Firm hands pull at him, tugging him away. He won’t let go. Can’t let you be all by yourself. Look at you. You’re not even wearing a jacket. Silly girl. You’d bring his but not your own?
Do you always have to be so goddamn perfect?
Pressing a kiss to your forehead, he says, “Let’s go home, yeah? Let’s go home and watch that movie. That sound good, doll?”
But you don’t answer.
Not his prayers the next day or his pleadings the week after and certainly not your phone every day since.
Toji never touches another bottle again if only because when he does his mind gets so blurry, so fucked out, he can’t envision the exact angles of your smile or how many wrinkles form at the corner of your eyes. Honestly, if he could, he'd never return to that place you two lived in; it's far too big now and everywhere he looks he sees you. But where else would he go? Where else in this fucked world could he go to find you?
He doesn’t eat either – no one’s cooking tastes the same as yours. They lack something he thinks he might never find again. And maybe that’s fine. It was always too good for him anyway.
None of the people that show up to his door are allowed in; they’d just disturb the air you touched. Not his friends or yours, he has no family and yours don’t really want to see him. Good thing too. He can’t deal with the pity or the attempts to relieve him of his responsibility.
‘It’s not your fault,’ they say. ‘It was an accident.’
Shit doesn’t matter. Nothing does. How could anything mean shit to a man who only wants to spend his days in bed, holding your pillow over his face, simultaneously wanting to consume every particle of your scent and suffocate on memories of a life he barely lived?
They say he shouldn't let your death define you but how would that even be possible? You've always defined him. There's only the Toji before you, during you, and without you. He thinks maybe his life will forever be defined by all the things he never should have said and the things he wishes he did. That's the real tragedy.
'You need to move on.'
Bullshit. All those grief counselling pamphlets and self-help books don't know shit. There's no moving on. There's only you.
The worst, perhaps, that he’s heard is, ‘she’d hate to see you like this.’
Because what the fuck do they know about you?
Those assholes see a man locked away, beard growing in, dark circles under his eyes, and an air of death about him. Whereas Toji sees himself as someone who’s keeping your memory alive. Because, contrary to what you believed, you weren’t too much. God, you couldn't ever be too much. With your scent fading, your clothes collecting dust and the divot in your spot on the sofa evening out, he thinks he hasn’t had enough. Could never have enough.
Even the fact that when he closes his eyes he sees you serves as no consolation. It’s not enough. He wasn’t enough. Wasn’t man enough. Didn’t love you enough. Toji needs to touch you, to feel you, to make up for all that he never gave you when he should have. Wherever you are, he wants to be.
His girl all alone? No, he can’t have that. Someone needs to listen to you ramble, to lift heavy things for you and hold you the way you like when you sleep. Who's keeping you company up there? Who's drawing on your palm when you get nervous? Who is telling you you've always been enough?
Someone needs to be there for you.
Staring at a picture of you on his bedside table, he smiles softly.
synopsis-> Gojo never lets anyone touch him. Not without his infinity. One day he finally lets you in and you're able to graze his skin. He never does that for anyone so what could this possibly mean?
The rooftop view was incredible. The lights shone overhead and the slight breeze swept over your hair, making you shiver slightly. The city beneath you buzzed wildly, people walking and birds chirping. But it was just two of you on the rooftop and you couldn't help but glance at the man standing a few feet away, looking downwards at the city's lively lights. "Pretty, huh?"
He chuckled. "Not more than you."
"You're such a gentleman Satoru" you said enthusiastically, making you both laugh. You've been friends for a while and suddenly things blossomed into more. You were one of the only people that Gojo trusted and you were both in close proximity most of the time. He looked up at the sky, taking a deep sigh. You knew of the burden on his shoulders. What was expected for him. "Being the strongest tires you out, huh?" You inched closer to him.
"You've no idea." He let out a sigh. "I don't.....I don't think anyone truly understands me. I just....sometimes I think its a curse.." he trailed off.
The way he acted. So playful and so ignorant-like but you were the only person who knew how he truly felt. The only person who he ever opened up to. His sadness and displeasure soaked in the playful facade he wanted others to see. But you weren't fooled. You knew how traumatic his childhood was. You knew him, maybe more than he knew himself. "You know...." you inched closer until you were only a few millimeters away "you can tell me anything. Whatever's bothering you. Don't hide from me." He turned to face you. His beautiful blow eyes piercing into your dark ones.You made sure you weren't too close. Satoru Gojo didn't do closeness. Not physically, not emotionally. He never turned off infinity. He never let anyone close, ever.
He let out a breath. "How come... how come you're always here? With me?" he asked, gazing intently.
"Do you want me to go?"
"No. Stay...."
A beat goes by. It's quiet. Not the insufferable kind but the warm kind of quiet. You understood him in a way nobody else could.
"I've never let anyone touch me....not without infinity" he blurts out into the darkness.
You turned to him, your faces inches apart. He gazed at you like you were the only thing worth his attention.
You didn't move. Your heart pounded. "Satoru—"
"i'm turning it off. I...I want you to touch me" he let out breathlessly. "Just for a second...just for you."
How could you refuse? He finally let you in. Physically and emotionally.
His posture softened as he moved toward you...waiting. You stepped closer and let your finger graze his face. He leaned down slightly as you touched him softly like something sacred. Like he meant the world. His eyes closed as your warm fingers slightly brushed against his cheek and he flinched slightly. He closed his eyes and whispered softly, "I've never let anyone this close before...I don't know how to feel."
"Shhhhh..it's okay my baby it's okay" you leaned in closer tugging at his shirt until he was embracing you. And it seemed like he liked it. His face was buried in your hair as he inhaled your flowery scent and you both just stood there. As your foreheads touched you gently uttered, "you don't have to be the strongest anymore. I'll carry the burden with you. Just let me in...please?"
As you looked up to look at him a single tear rolled down his cheek and you wiped it away with your finger. "I'm here for you. I'm yours forever." The moment he heard you say that he pulled you in closer to his chest as you ran your fingers through his back. And for the first time Satoru Gojo, the strongest sorcerer in existence, finally let himself feel. He let his guard down and let you touch. And in this moment you knew for a fact you were never, ever letting him go.
Hi you can call me Tima and i'm a blogger. I love watching anime, reading poetry, posting on IG, Tumblr, and listening to music. I also love my cat ฅ^._.^ฅ
fav animes ➛ Jujutsu Kaisen, attack on Titan, Tokyo Ghoul, Nana, Chainsaw man, Banana Fish, Grave of the Fireflies, A silent voice, Fruits basket and honestly so many more! I'm a letterboxd fiend ᵔᴗᵔ
music ♬ ➛ Chase Atlantic, Lana del Rey, Mitski, The Marias, The nbhd, Olivia Rodrigo, a lot of rap like carti and 21 savage, yeat, Billie eillish and I listen to sm but I'm too lazy to edit my Spotify playlists :(
things I love ᵕ̈ ➛ Poetry, making tiktoks and insta dumps, watching Toji edits cuz he's so sexy, putting on makeup, talking and meeting new people, never finishing shows, diet coke, wired earphones, fluff and angst esp in fanfics, watching true crime, funny people, animals, pretty dresses, and traveling to name just a few!
I'm not very important but tysm for reading mwah (˘ ³˘)
synopsis-> Gojo tries helping you in the kitchen but just becomes a disaster
This was supposed to be easy. Just cooking you know? A simple fried rice and chicken with teriyaki salmon. Easy. But not for the tall, white-haired, shirtless man in your kitchen. Not even an hour in and he's already managed to burn the fried rice and overcook the chicken and you've had enough. "Gojo you're not a very cook" you blurt out crossing your arms, annoyed.
He just grins and leans his elbows on the counter. "What makes you say that? I'm a chef thank you very much?" He replies feigning wounded. You give him a look.
"You burned the rice. And the chicken is overcooked."
"Every chef makes mistakes. You know...it's protocol."
"Maybe you should go watch TV? I've got it I promise" you plead with him but he shakes his head.
"I promised you i'd help you cook didn't I?" He tugs off his apron, flexing his abs. "So that's what i'm doing."
"Satoru you're just distracting me" you mutter as you mix the batter of the chocolate cake as strong arms wrap around you. He dips his finger into the batter as you swat it away and licks it off.
"Mmm yummy. But you know.....you taste way better" he winks as he pulls on your waist.
"Satoru be serious. We have to finish and clean up so we don't starve tonight. And no you pervert you cant satisfy your hunger with me. You eat twice as much as a whale."
"Babyyy you worry too much" he kisses your neck, biting it gently as his fingers crawl under your shirt, tugging lightly.
"Satoru" you giggle lightly trying to pull away. "After I finish and you're not very diligent as a partner y'know? There's a reason I cook around here" you let out a sigh.
He pulls you in closer as you finish up with the cake and you make him flip the teriyaki salmon to make it seem like he accomplished something. He dances around the kitchen almost tripping twice but you don't care. As you put the cake in the oven and finally plate the food after over an hour of hell with Gojo you set the table. "You're never cooking again. It took me twice as much time to finish cooking!" you let out a huff, biting into a piece of chicken.
Gojo finishes eating his plate and goes back for seconds just as the cake is ready to be popped out the oven. He quickly gets up to retrieve it as you yell after him, "don't forget to wear gloves its hot."
You hear him let out a stream of curses but at least the cake is out. As you reach the kitchen and gently kiss the bruise on his hand he suddenly pulls you in closer and sets your ass oon the counter. "Gojo we cant fuck on the kitchen I coo-" he shuts you off with a kiss and pulls you closer, moaning softly.
"Have I ever told you how much I love devouring sweet things?" he whispers in your ear, wrapping his muscular arms around your neck as his other hand pulls down your shorts. Maybe dessert could wait?
❝ answer me. did you think of her when you're in bed with me? when you're kissing me and holding me— was she the one on your mind? ❞
summary: it's hard knowing you aren't really the person in toji's heart but loving him was something you still did regardless. as for toji, he thinks he's ready to give you his all.
desc: 2.8k words, f!reader (referred to as ‘mama’), canon compliant i think, takes place after mamaguro's death and before toji’s, age gap (early 20s reader, early 30s toji), baby gumi ahhhhh, sfw, angst to fluff to angst again lol, intended lowercase, think you're tsumiki’s mom but without tsumiki bc the relations would be too complicated and also the second wife erasure in the canon storyline?? yeah it's reserved specifically for this fic, not proof read i fear but pls read it's really interesting i can swear by it lmaoqhdhns
dating a widowed man with a son wasn't easy especially when the said man is still in love with his former wife, or rather, his wife who had died.
love is often beautiful but sometimes it's unfair. it can also be cruel. what other reason would make you still stay despite knowing you'll never measure upto the person who had been here before you?
and you've heard stories about her. she was sweet, so beautiful— not just in her appearance but her entire being was beautiful. there always was an ache in your heart upon just the mention of her name.
so how much more would it have ached for toji?
“mama” the spiky haired boy, barely two years old calls you and you realise the silence in the room. “not mama, i’m nana okay?” sick.
nana. not mama but close enough. it doesn't matter anyway, n and m are just letters and next to each other so how much difference would that make? you're the one that's here after all, are you not?
if there's a lump in your throat and your eyes are burning with unshed tears, you force yourself to ignore.
“okay nana” megumi nuzzles his face into your chest, slowly drifting away to sleep. the boy always liked cuddling with you and it melts your heart immensely.
your hands strand through his dark hair. people always said he's the carbon copy of his dad but you'd like to differ. megumi has his mother's eyes and his hair resembled hers more than it did his dad's.
the thought sends another ache in your chest but you push it away– as you always have.
you recall the last time toji had heard megumi call you “mama”. you had never seen toji that livid. he was never a gentle man to begin with but that night, there was nothing else you've been more scared of.
was he like that to his wife? maybe not.
does that matter though? it's not like toji treats you badly. he's decent and loves you an enough amount. you weren't crazy enough to stay when you're not wanted so that must mean you were something to him right?
you also recall the whispers of pity and condemnation thrown at you for just being with toji. him being a brute is one thing but the difference in age is what people seem to have a problem with. you're so much younger than him and have your whole life ahead of you so why are you entrapping yourself this way?
you disagree though. love doesn't know any age and you definitely aren't naive to be head over heels over a guy just because he's relatively older. no, this was real and genuine.
a faint knock disrupts your train of thoughts. “he sleepin’?” toji nods towards the small boy in your arms and you nod back in return.
taking care not to wake the sleeping kid, you slowly pry his hands away from you and pull over a blanket to cover his small body.
when you make your way towards toji, he wastes no time in pulling you closer “missed you” he mumbles, placing a kiss onto your forehead and suddenly all thoughts plaguing your mind disappears. that's all you could ask for, even if it was just for a moment.
“i missed you more” you whisper back, he only huffs out an amused chuckle.
“got bad news though” a frown finds itself on his lips, decorated by a single scar next to it.
“did you lose all your money again?” toji was a gambling addict, another thing you forced yourself to tolerate just for him.
“sorry, doll. thought i’d win this time” he rubs small circles on your back comfortingly and it makes you a bit uneasy to know that he has his way with you so easily.
“it's alright. i’ll just find another part time job”
“so good to me” toji pulls you into his chest and you let out a sigh— of exhaustion? relief? you couldn't really tell but that's not important, toji had you in his arms.
“i’ll try and think of something too. don't worry your pretty little head too much” he lifts you up with ease. while you're in his arms, you feel the safest.
toji really felt bad this time. he was confident he would win but that stupid horse had to trip and lose its lead, ending up last of all places. he knows luck never favoured him but that's didn't stop him from trying again and again and again.
he also knows how you didn't say anything more than necessary about it but he isn't that much of an idiot either. he sees how your expression falters and your shoulders slump a little more when he comes home with another news of his gambling loss.
this is also why he tries, or rather, tried to quit — one too many times, unbeknownst to you. however, old habits die hard and most of the time (everytime) toji gives into his urge and loses yet again. the cycle keeps happening.
maybe this isn't just about gambling.
with the way you're asleep so soundly next to him after putting his son to sleep and taking care of him too, he is overcomed with yet another feeling to be better for you and megumi alike.
toji isn't a gentle man; everyone knows that, you do too — even more than anybody else but he can't help the familiar pool of warm feelings surging through him the longer he stares at your peaceful state.
he remembers the last time he felt it, with another person. it felt like a lifetime ago.
he also remembers how painful it was when he lost it — the person, the feeling altogether. his hands that were making their way to caress your face stops mid air.
toji knows you deserve so much better. you've been nothing but patient to him, so amazing, so perfect to him. still, he just can't do it yet, just not yet.
he will eventually, he hopes you stay until then.
toji wakes up to an empty bed and his heart sinks a little but the creases and wrinkles on the sheets serve as a reminder that you were really here.
he makes his way towards the kitchen, only finding megumi sitting on a chair next to the dining table.
“hey kid, where's your mama?”
toji freezes. it came out so naturally he didn't realise he said it himself and almost thinks he didn't but megumi's wide eyes prove that he actually did.
“m…mama?” megumi says hesitantly and toji nods this time. “yes, your mama”.
“potty potty!” megumi points to the bathroom and giggles, toji follows suit. the man crouches to his son's eye level and pats his head.
“you love your mama, kid?” toji sees megumi's eyes sparkle as the boy nods enthusiastically “very very much!!”
“yeah? i love your mama too.”
toji smiles to himself, he can't wait to tell that to you.
the next time toji got his pay, he finds himself hesitating. instead of heading towards the race tracks, his feet takes him to a jewellery store.
instead of picking out a slot and testing his luck, he picks out a ring. it's not fancy by any means but he thinks it would be the most beautiful band of metal to exist if it slides into your ring finger.
the tiny ring carries all the heavy feelings he has for you.
──
it was one particular evening when you saw an old man lingering by the front gate. its particular because the warm sunset and the soft cool breeze contrasted the ground breaking truth you find out.
“can i help you?” you ask the old man who looks at you up and down, not making an attempt to hide his distaste of your sight.
“is this where toji zenin lives?” he stares down at you with his scrutinising gaze; it makes you feel small.
“zenin?” you ask, confused. is he referring to toji? but his last name is fushiguro is it not?
“yes toji zenin. i heard he has a son as well. you're not the mother are you?”
is it that obvious? you wonder how the old man figured it out. regardless, you're not about to give him his answers so you stood your ground.
“i’m sorry i don't know what you're talking about.” you turn around, about to head inside when his words make you stop short.
“are you fushiguro?”
that's toji’s last name isn't it? not zenin or whatever he called it. so why is he asking you that? is he implying that you're married to toji?
“no. you have the wrong person.”
“why? did he say not to get involved with anyone from his clan?” the old man draws closer, chucking to himself. you're just there unmoving, trying to comprehend the situation and the words coming from his mouth.
“or did he not tell you that either? did he tell you anything at all?” he stands tall in front of you, tearing away bits of yourself with every word he says.
“when he returns, tell him the clan wants to propose him an offer. you can do that much at least won't you?”
…
and when toji comes home that night with the ring cluched tightly in his fist and inside the pocket of his white pants, the world stills.
he finds you in a state he has never seen you before. you look completely and utterly defeated.
“hey, what's wrong?” his hands come to caress your face so effortlessly, the ring and prior nervousness long forgotten.
“talk to me what's going on?” he looks around and the house seems emptier than usual. your laundry that were usually hanging with his were gone.
your small trinkets you placed around the house to “make it more lively” were nowhere to be found.
and there's a bag in the corner of the room which toji prays and hopes he isn't what he thinks it is.
your hands push away his own that were cupping your face. you're not even looking at him.
“say something damn it!”
you flinch and toji takes a step back. he recalls the last time you trembled in fear — when he got mad megumi called you his mom. he punishes himself for it.
“im sorry. please talk to me.” he isn't touching you now but he wants to. he wants to reach out and pull you close, as he always had done. but now there's an unbearable silence and the small distance between you both felt like lightyears away.
“who's zenin” your voice was meek, barely a whisper but toji's eyes widen. how did you find out about that?
no fuck that, he was supposed to be the one telling you. in his own time.
“i can explain” was all that came out of him. he's nervous, he doesn't know where to start. there's a lot of information to unpack and he's not sure how to do it without hurting you too much.
when he doesn't elaborate, you ask another “who's fushiguro then?” your voice falters a bit and toji curses himself for it.
but he's done running away and keeping things from you. “my… my late wife” he says wryly.
your eyes close and a shaky breath leaves your body, as if he just confirmed your worst suspicions. damn life is so funny isn't it? everything you thought you knew apparently wasn't what it seemed to be after all.
opening them again, your vision blurs and you realise tears were escaping your eyes. fuck you didn't want to cry now of all times but they won't stop.
and the way toji was looking at you, it makes you want to throw up.
“i must've been so stupid to you” you let out a humourless chuckle. “did you pretend im her?”
your gaze was sharp and so were your words. maybe all your bottled up feelings were resurfacing. it doesn't make you feel better about it but that doesn't stop you though.
“answer me. did you think of her when you're in bed with me? when you're kissing me and when you're holding me, was she the one on your mind??” your voice was loud now. you should be afraid of waking up megumi who you cradled to sleep just a few hours ago but no, your thoughts are too clouded right now.
toji sighs. he has no excuse.
“i used to” he actually looks ashamed as if he wasn't the one who did it purely out of his will.
your scoff makes him wince “but not anymore.”
his words fall on deaf ears “you know… i knew you did. but i stayed regardless because i thought there would be a chance that maybe one day, you could open up your heart to me. im not even asking for all of it, just a little… i thought you'd let me in.”
you're blabbering and honestly, so distraught.
“but not a moment was there when it was me isn't it? it was always her in the first place.”
now toji should have said something, anything but he stays there planted in place. and maybe that was your breaking point.
you turn around, grabbing your bag and brushing past him towards the door. instead of holding onto you and stopping you, toji clutches the small box containing the ring — your ring in his pocket, almost crushing it in the process, as he hears the door slam.
you think it's funny how toji did not reach out after what happened. it's poetic even. very fitting of him, till the very end, he did not give two shits about you.
so then, why were you back here?
it's been four long years since the trajectory of your life changed. you still don't know if it was for the better or for the worse.
saying it has been hard would be an understatement. it took you a long time just to get back onto your own feet but you did it regardless. however, you left a part of you here long ago and now, you're here to take it back.
that and you missed megumi dearly. perhaps it was an excuse too because you won't deny a part of you still missed toji, despite everything that happened.
standing a few feet away from the place you used to call home, you hesitate.
maybe this was a bad idea. oh this was definitely a bad idea. you'll see them, and then what? what comes after that?
closure? don't make yourself laugh. you’ll just be reminded of how you couldn't be that person for toji— how you'll always come second. and what if they moved?? there's no reason they'd still be here right?
forget this, you don't need to do this. why must you still be the one who put effort? to reach out? four long years passed and still no news means they clearly moved on... right?
you were convinced enough and was about to go back when you saw little megumi carrying a backpack on his back, seemingly coming home from school.
your feet wouldn't move and your eyes wouldn't blink. he grew up so well.
the world pauses as your gaze follows the kid you used to consider your own, now as good as a stranger.
“do you know that kid?” a voice at your back makes you whip your head around. life really is full of surprises and this time, the surprise was in the form of a tall man, no a tall kid with white hair, looking at you curiously through his round tinted glasses.
“... no i don't” well you weren't exactly lying. you don't know the megumi you see now. perhaps if he asked whether you raised him since he was a baby till he was two, then your answer would've been different.
“oh okay” the boy shrugs. “poor guy though”
“why? whats up with him?” you turn to look at megumi again who was minding his business walking home and your heart aches a little.
“I'm here to recruit him. his dad died you see so he's–”
“wait what was that??”
“his dad. he's dead” the amused boy in front of you chuckles and you stare at him, horrified.
“what happened to him?” your voice was shaky and doesn't sound like your own. he leans down to meet your eye level and smirks “why? i thought you don't know that kid. why does that matter to you?”
your stomach churns as you stare at him, not even knowing what to say— the smug expression on his face only widens.
“so you do know him.”
'know' would be a weak word to use when it comes to toji. you knew of his habits, the simple things he does and also of the more complex ones — like the exact place his scar decorated his lips and how it felt to kiss it.
then again, you don't really know anything about him and maybe you never will.
husband!gojo who's so excited on his wedding day and can't wait to marry his beautiful bride and spend the rest of his life with you
husband!gojo who is playful and affectionate and doesn't waste a second when he comes home to wrap his strong arms around you into a bare hug and smell your neck
husband!gojo who loves decorating your bedroom with pics of you and him and tears up when he sees your wedding photos
husband!gojo who loves to brag about how many curses and higher ups he's pissed off or killed and how much of a pain in the ass they are
husband!gojo who loves to reminiscence about his high school days and you sometimes catch him talking or looking at pics of his dead bestfriend, Geto, whom he never brings up willingly because of how much it hurts him to think about it
husband!gojo who looooves showing affection in public and is always touching you and doing PDA and is weirdly obsessed with pinky promises and never breaks them
husband!gojo who loves wrapping his long fingers around your waist when you're both sleeping and instinctively pulls him closer to you, murmuring your name in his sleep
husband!gojo who is so much taller than you and loves teasing you by putting stuff on high shelves just so you have to ask him to bring it down to you and he does it while grinning
husband!gojo who always brings back souvenirs when he comes back from his out of Tokyo missions and likes to spoil you rotten, giving you anything you want before it even leaves your mouth
husband!gojo who always falls asleep with his head in your lap when your watching movies and is very gentle with you, pulling you closer whenever he can
husband!gojo who goes to any extent possible just to keep you safe and trains you so you can protect yourself in situations where he isn't alongside you
husband!gojo who despite his chatty and playful banter is extremely tired and has so much pressure put on him by the jujutsu world
husband!gojo who never got to experience the same childhood you did so you bring out his inner child and help him feel whole and safe and loved
husband!gojo who wants the best for his students and often talks about how much he wants them to succeed and asks if you have any suggestions
husband!gojo who cries on your shoulder because of how lonely he feels and how no one understands him as he watches people he loves pass away and he's left with regret that burns a hole in his heart
husband!gojo who gives you the entire world and more and whatever you could ask for <3
i hope this was accurate please consider liking or following if you enjoyed!
synopsis -> Toji has just escaped the Zenin clan—bloody, bitter, and ready to die. But when you see him outside your home, you make the mistake of saving him. You wonder what a broken, hurt, trauma-ridden man like him would be like. After arguments and cold distances, he finally opens up to you, and you help him heal. The romance blooms from there, and suddenly he's broken in your arms, still thinking he's unworthy of you.
Slow-burn, and angst-heavy with silent intimacy and emotional healing; SFW
NOT PROOFREAD
The rain poured softly from the sky. The leaves brushed past the soaked, muddied floor. The air smelt of leaves, air, and dirt and also something sweet. You couldn't pinpoint what exactly. Toji's body was bruised and battered, his breathing coming out in small gasps, aching like broken glass. His blade covered in blood just a few feet away, his body twitching lightly. He was covered in scars, some healed some fresh. Blood pooling on his head and his small coughs filling the air. He didn’t even remember who he killed. Just that they were wearing Zenin colors. He fell down with a thud, rustling the trees nearby. "Damn clan. Damn life.... damn everything" he uttered as his face brushed against the wet grass, leaves pressing to his clothes.
You were going out to buy some bread when you saw his body twitch a few feet away. At first it looked like he was dead. Until he uttered those words. Those broken, horrid words you only hear from people who didn't wanna live, it felt like he was barely there. You walked over to him, your eyes narrowing slightly as you looked him over. He was huge, muscular and filled with scars. He was bloodied and soaked to the bone. His chest rose and fell like it was the last time. Like it hurt to breathe. He looked bruised and battered and hurt everywhere. "Should’ve never seen this," you muttered, but you leaned down and gently patted his arm, making sure he was real.
You somehow dragged his unresponsive body back. Your house only being a couple feet away helped. He was heavy and half-conscious letting out gruffs and muttering curses the entire time. A few names. None which you recognized. You dragged him to your living room, taking off his shoes and jacket and anything that was wet or damped with blood or dirt to throw in the washer. You gently lifted up his shirt to take care of his bruises and left him in his sweats. You ran a hot wet cloth over his face relieving it of the dirt and water from outside. His face was cut and bruised but still quite handsome. If he was awake he'd look very intimidating and scary. You decided to take off his shirt for easier access and gasped when you saw how ripped and muscular he was underneath. He was still covered in blood and you quickly wiped it off, also ridding dirt from open wounds that were riding across his entire body. You stitched where you could and ran your fingers through his bruises making sure you weren't too hard and didn't press too firmly. He winced in pain even unconsciously but the warmth of your living room fireplace helped his body and you could see he wasn't shivering anymore. And yet, even unconscious, he looked angry. Haunted.
You were in the kitchen brewing some tea for you and the stranger and when you were done you decided to go check up on him. You walked into the living room where suddenly he opened his eyes with a start, his hand flying for the weapon which wasn't beside him. "Easy there. Your'e still sore" you watched him with a steaming mug in your hands. Toji’s eyes scanned the room wildly. He looked down realizing he was shirtless and you were the only person in sight. His voice was hoarse: “What the hell is this place? Who are you?” You could tell he wanted to ask more but his tired and bruised body was torture.
"You're safe. For now at least" you responded smoothly.
"You didn't answer my question. Who are you?" His eyes narrowed as he gazed at you from head to toe.
You let out a sigh, setting down your mug. "You're in my house. I saw you lying outside like a dead person and I took you in. Don't worry, your clothes and stuff are in the washing machine, however you should change out of those sweats. They're wet and you'll catch a cold." You watched him curiously wondering what he would do next.
He sat up with a grunt, wincing in pain “I never asked for your help.” He muttered as he palmed his hand against the sharp bruise on his arm, letting out a pained whimper.
You watched him horrified. "You didn't have a choice and don't touch your bruise you'll just make it worse!" You darted to your freezer and got out an ice pack and rushed over to him, putting it on his arm gently. "I stitched you up. You're bruised and scarred so just rest okay? I'm not gonna hurt you." You rolled your eyes glancing at his muscular arms. You couldn't help but feel attracted to his mysterious persona as your breath caught in your throat, but you quickly tried to ignore it.
His jaw clenched. He hated needing anyone. He hated feeling helpless and weak. As you pressed the ice pack to his arm he looked at you sharply, "what do you want from me?" He asked. You looked at him, amused. You raised a thin sharp eyebrow. “Seriously? You think I dragged your half-dead ass through the grass just because I wanted something? You looked like you were about to die out there.”
Silence wrapped around like a candle in silicone. He gazed at you, harshly muttering, "Should've just left me."
You glanced at his solemn and desperately harsh face which was equally as beautiful. "Maybe but I didn't" you responded, icing over his bruises. He looked empty and in need of some comfort. You wondered where the bruises came from but you kept quiet, not wanting to pry into his personal life. You had just met the man.
"You should rest here. I have a spare bedroom and you look like you're about to die." You got up, looking down at him wondering what he'd say. For some sick reason you wanted him to say yes. Wanted him to stay. For your own sick pleasure or to keep patching him up? You don't know.
He let out a gruff. "I don't need your help and I sure as hell don't need your charity" he replied as he winced in pain.
"Yeah? What other option do you have? It's either this or go out there and down in the rain or die of hypothermia. You can't even move by yourself I'm giving you an option so just take it." You looked over at him, walking so you could help him up.
He seethed, looking at you with dead, cold eyes as you helped him up. He didn't push him off you this time. Not like he could. You helped him to the spare bedroom, covered in light blue and white sheets. The bedroom was ocean themed and framed artworks of turtles and sailboats and waves framed the walls. The decoration was so cute and soft looking as you helped Toji onto the bed. He didn't bother protesting further, too tired to argue. You put him under the sheets and brought a heater close to him to help him feel warmer and also a steaming mug of tea. He looked cold, not his body but his face. He also looked hurt, not just physically but there was deep sadness behind his eyes. Like the weight of a man that was carrying the entire sadness of the world on his shoulders. He was tired and too burnt up to argue. You brought him a change of your brother's clothes that you had from back home and decided to put his sweats in the dryer. When you came back a few minutes later to check on him he was passed out asleep, snoring like there was no tomorrow,
You hadn't registered the sheer foolishness of letting a stranger inside your house. Letting a random person you saw covered in blood, enter your room and sleep there was now a terrifying thought. But somehow he looked....safe? Like he couldn't hurt you. Not in this bruised fucked up state anyway. You gave his handsome face a delicate once-over in the pale moonlight that was rocking in through the window wondering how he got here. What was his story? Who was he? Questions filling your mind but you were too tired to ponder over them. You closed the door to the guest bedroom and decided it was time to go to bed for you also. You would deal with the stranger in the morning. You didn't know a single thing about him and questions whirred around in your mind as you slept just a few doors away.
The next morning you wake up to the light streaming out the window and birds chirping happily right outside. You get up and change and brush your teeth. After all that you decide to go check up on the handsome, bloodied man you let inside your house last night. You walked toward the guest bedroom and found the door half way open. He was shirtless and on a chair looking out the window rubbing his palm gently over his arm which was still red in places. The bruises looked like they ached and you wondered how he could even stand up straight. This was obviously not normal and you wondered if he could be superhuman? You cleared your throat, handing him a water bottle and putting it on his nightstand. You half expected him to have escaped during the night so you were kinda shocked he was still here.
He whipped his head around meeting your gaze full on, nodding at the water bottle you handed to him. "Didn't know if you'd stay the night" you murmured looking at him.
"Wasn't planning on it but I didn't feel like dying in the dirt" he muttered gruffly. You let out a deep breath wanting to know more about him. Your thoughts were racing and he looked too good shirtless, even if he was bruised. "Didn't think you'd be dumb enough to let a strange man into your house and let him spend the night?" he raised his eyebrows.
You chuckled. "Oh please. In that condition I'm surprised if you could even limp." You walked towards the bed and sat down on it. Your head was still reeling with all the unanswered questions you had. You let out a sigh looking at his beautifully sculpted face and those scars. "So, what's your story? What's your name?"
He didn't reply for a minute and just looked out the window holding his bruised arms and his bruised torso. "Toji Zenin" he whispered suddenly. You weren't even expecting a response.
"What's your story?" you whispered weakly, wanting to know more.
He looked back out the window. "I kill people" he said, jaw clenched. "Is that a good enough answer for you?" You knew that wasn't the entire story but you didn't push Because he barely trusts you. You were just a stranger to him. You knew him for what? A day? And that's being generous. He didn't look like the type of person to open up or talk about his feelings. He looked broken. Physically and mentally. Beyond repair. You couldn't save him. But you wanted to try anyway. You tried not asking more personal questions to avoid prying into his life but there was a magnetic pull to him. Something you just couldn't quite put your fingers on. "I was a part of something once. Left. Should’ve done it sooner." He added under his breath disdainfully. You nodded your head and bit your lip to keep from talking and slipping up.
"I'll get you some ice. You should rest up okay?" you got up and ran to the freezer and came back to find him finally laying on the big, fluffy mattress. You walked towards him and iced his bruises and ran your fingers lightly through the soaked bandages. You could see him wince and pull away slightly so you said in a soothing voice, "It's gonna be okay i'll be gentle. I need to re-bandage them in new cloth, these ones are soaked to the brim." And that's exactly what you did.
"I've had worse" he muttered under his breath.
"That's no fun. These wounds are pretty deep." His eyes were dark and sharper than a blade, as they locked on you. He wasn't annoyed he just looked tired. Like he was waiting for you to be afraid of him. Waiting for you to give him a reason to run. But you didn't.
"Why are you doing all this? I didn't ask for your help you're just making it harder on yourself" he let out coldly. "Why did you let me sleep here? Do you feel pity?"
"I can't just leave someone like this. You were on the brink of death and I just brought you back" you replied simply after re-bandaging his wounds and icing them. This time he lets you gently wrap his arms. Because for the first time in a long time, someone's hands aren't hurting him.
After you were almost finished bandaging up his ribs, you could feel his steady breathing and how it started to slow. "Toji" you said out of thin air testing it on your tongue making sure it flowed. "I'm Y/n."
He let out a huff and muttered under his breath, "Never asked."
"Well now you know" you wrapped up the gauze and put it on the nightstand. He looked at you, amused. Looking down at you with those sparkling, broken and tired eyes. "You've got a lot of attitude for someone who looks like they just got a beating from ten guys and a bruised lip" you uttered underneath your breath. He let out a huff ignoring you. "What happened anyway?"
"Clan business. Wrong place at the wrong time. Y'know how it goes" he shrugged.
You raised a brow? "Clan? As in family? The Zenins?"
"Not anymore" he replied coldly with a blank look in his eyes. There was something there. Something broken. You wondered if maybe it was just his family giving him a hard time. The room went silent for a beat. You didn't push. You looked up at his freshly wrapped body, the result of your quick handiwork.
"You planning on leaving anytime soon?" you asked.
"I would've left by now but i'm still here" he bit back.
You nodded, keeping your voice even "Guess so." He looks at you like he's surprised you haven't kicked him out yet. Suddenly, his voice drops to a low whisper, "Don't get used to me."
"Wasn't planning to" but a part of you already had. There was just something about him and you knew if he slipped out of your grasp you would never forgive yourself. "You should rest. I'll make breakfast" you said walking out of the guest room, closing the door behind you. You cook up some eggs and leave them in his room. You don't know if he'll eat it, but if not he can just starve. You go away just before seeing him take a small bite.
Two days go by with Toji still cooped up in the guest bedroom. He hasn't been eating much and you get worried. His wounds are somewhat healing but still not there. He's emotionally closed off and the quiet tension between you two is eating you alive. Inside the room and away from your sight, he messes with the bandages and paces around the room trying to get his thoughts in order. He's used to being on high alert and comfort and safety is new to him and strange. You realize he hasn't been half as much as what his body should consume so you cook up some rice and steak and take it to his room for him to eat. You knock on the door before coming in, watching him sit on the bed, still bruised to no ends. You put it on his nightstand this time and stand over him, waiting. "You should eat before your ribs cave in. You've been here for three days and barely eat the food I bring you" you mutter as you cross your arms.
He looks up at you tastelessly annoyed, "I didn't ask to be fed. I'm no charity case."
"I'm not letting you die under my care. Suck it up and swallow" you respond, annoyed.
He just glares at you and spoons the food before finally taking a bite. He doesn't say anything and you don't push him. Maybe it's his injuries. Maybe he's just too tired to argue and you turn to walk away. When you reach the door frame you suddenly turn around to face him and whisper, "I don't want anything from you. You're here and that's enough. It's nice having some company around even if they're a pain in the ass. I don't know who you pissed off to end up like this but I'm not here to hurt you." You turned around without a glance and closed his door.
After a couple of days you both get sorta used to each other. You like having someone around. In the afternoon, you walk in on him awkwardly trying to change his own bandages in the mirror. You watch trying not to laugh as he gives you a sharp glare and grumbles. You walk over to help him as he winces slightly. He's clenching his teeth, shirtless and broody with dried blood on his gauze. You quickly wrap them up and discard the old ones. You scan your eyes through the healed bruises on his torso and arms and wonder where they're from. He catches you looking. "Where are those from?" you nodded to the healed bruises on his body that looked old. They were faded, and uneven and looked like it was a repeated offense. Like someone wanted to beat his body in the shittiest way possible.
Silence spreads between you both like poison.
"This one's older" you point to a deep wound on his arm. "It's healing quickly too." You gently run your fingertips across his scar very gently, touching it like glass. He hisses but notices your gentleness. He looks at the mirror blankly not wanting to remember. You think he's not gonna reply but he does.
Suddenly he whispers. "The Zen'ins. They break you if you're different." His voice comes out low and you just stare at the wounds that are old and cluttered. Your heart broke. Someone hurt him?
"Toji. You didn't deserve that. I c-can't believe they would..." you whisper, delicately running your hands through his arm. "Did they h-hurt you that day too?" you asked not wanting to hear the answer. But he nodded.
"You don't know me. Maybe I did" he just shrugged.
"Toji no. How could you even say that?" tears began to swell up in your eyes as you ran your fingertip lightly across the scar on his mouth. "You didn't. Did they do this too?" you asked gently.
"Threw me into a pit of cursed spirits when I was a kid. Scar stayed." He said this like it was normal. Like family was supposed to hurt you and cause you pain to this degree.
"I'm so sorry" you whispered to him as he finally looked down at you and you could see the hurt in his eyes. He didn't wanna admit it but it affected him. Suddenly something came over you and you wrapped your arms around his torso and hugged him. He didn't pull back. He just let you.
"It's okay. Don't feel bad" he muttered as you just stood there like that.
"Screw those bastards. I'm here for you now. You didn't deserve any of that. Not even for a second." you gently pulled back. He let out a half-smile for the first time and you knew that maybe, just maybe something would change. maybe he wouldn't be so cold with you anymore. He gives you a half-nod as you just gather the bloody gauze and leave the room.
That night you're in the kitchen making tea when you hear heavy footsteps behind you. You just finish pouring it into mugs when you turn around and see Toji behind you, shirtless and patched up. You hand him a mug and he takes it. "Didn't hear you get up" you voice as you take a sip. He just nods in reply and drinks across from you. A heavy quiet wraps over you both like velvet. Not impatient or awkward. Comfortable.
" You make it better than most" he mumbles.
"What? Tea?"
"Silence."
You take a long sip. "Are you not used to quiet?"
"Not really."
And you understand him. Maybe in some weird twisted way. But it's as if you both understood each other at that moment. And for the first time, he lets the silence stretch without running from it.
A few nights later you just come home after grocery shopping as you notice a weird presence behind you. Unsettling and strong. You turn around and run face-to-face into a cursed spirit twice the size of you. You let out a scream because of how unprepared you are and how much of a nuisance this is. You take a step back bumping into something. Or someone. Toji's hard abs graze your back as he utters sharply, "get inside right now." Your'e unable to move and stay rooted in the same spot, not knowing what to do. You let out a whimper as the curse pounces but Toji quickly slices through it, hard, with a slice of his sharp katana. It echoes all throughout as the curse stays there still twitching. You shout his name as he's still not healed properly and could bleed out any second. It doesn't register with him. "Get inside!" he screams at you to listen but your'e too worried about him to give a shit.
The curse gets back up as you throw something heavy against it and Toji delivers a quick, heavy and brutal blow and it finally dissolves into midair. "TOJI!" you scream his name worriedly, running to his side just in time and heaving him inside quickly and shutting the door. Once inside you make him go to the couch as his wounds burst open and you're on your feet, playing nurse in an instance. His body twitches in pain as he contorts his face in agony. "You idiot! Why do you never rest? You tore it up again" you shake your head as you wrap him up and get rid of his old gauze. His breathing heavies as he looks up at you, smirking faintly.
"I'm still alive aren't I?"
"Just barely. You'd be dead if I wasn't helping you. That's twice I've saved your ass" you mumble angrily, unaware of the way his gaze looks over your delicate features. You're too busy wrapping him up to notice. He watches you clean his wounds. You make sure to touch him delicately, like glass that could break at any second. Your hands are shaky from worry and fear. He notices. He always does. "You're not invincible, Toji" you say, softly this time. He doesn't respond. He just looks tired.
"You should hate me. You should’ve kicked me out the second you saw what I am. Why are you doing all this?" he points to his freshly wrapped cuts you cleaned.
"Because I want to. I saw a broken person. Why won't you just let me?" your voice wavers.
"You saw a Zenin! A useless piece of shit that gets abused by his family and doesn't even have a cursed technique! Seriously what am I to you? I'm horrible. You deserve better. Someone who can give you everything. Not me...I can't give you shit." He snaps, jaw clenched, staring daggers with those beautiful mystic green eyes. The ones that you loved so much.
"Don't....don't say that." Your eyes swelled with unshed tears as you took his face in your hands. This was the first time you had touched him like this....intimately. He didn't pull away. He was finally comfortable. "I know what I want. Even if you might not want me to...I was meant to save you" you said broken between tears. He raised up a finger and discarded away a loose tear, watching you. You leaned in and kissed him. Something you've been dying to do. And got it felt good. Like ecstasy and heaven all at once. He pulled you in close and you just stayed like that for awhile.
That night you walk into the balcony. The stars overhead as beautiful as always. Footsteps ached in beside you and someone stands next to you. "Couldn't sleep?" you ask into the chilly air.
"No. You'll catch a cold." He lets out a sigh and looks up at the sky.
"You should be resting, you know?"
A beat passes by.
"It's too quiet."
"I thought you liked the quiet?" You raise your brows, turning to look at his face lightened up in the moonlight.
"Not used to it." He glances at you and catches you looking. "but you make it bearable."
You laugh a little. The chilly air sweeps around you both as you notice Toji wrap a big, muscular and warm arm around you and run his fingers along your shoulders to help you warm up a little. And you can't help but ask.
"Where are you going after this?"
"Somewhere where they can't find me."
You turn to him and look into his eyes. "Why don't you just stay?"
He lets out a grunt as he looks down at you. "I'm scared i'll ruin you" he whispers. "You're too sweet for me."
You step closer. "M-maybe I want that. I decide what makes me happy. And it's you. I'll burn your family to the core for touching you."
His lip quivers as he wraps his arm around you, sinking his face into your hair. "I wreck everything I touch. You don't want me." You can hear his voice break. "I'm not good for people. Please just let me go. I don't wanna hurt you." He shakes violently as you hold his bruised body in your arms. This man is tragic. You know loving him won't be easy. But your'e willing to give it your best shot and heal him of the pain and suffering his family caused. As he shakes in your arms, his wet tears stinging to your face as he desperately holds you like you're his last lifeline. You rock his broken body back and forth kissing his face all over and in this moment you know one thing in your heart for sure. You love him. And you will be with him no matter what it takes. No one is taking you from him.
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