first off, i hope the new year has been treating you all kindly, and that you thoroughly enjoyed the holidays !! i apologise for leaving so hastily and without any forewarning, i’ve just been very overwhelmed irl and online, and felt i needed to distance myself and focus on 1) uni and 2) my mental & physical health, which directly impacts uni, and that comes first !
i usually try to be more communicative and transparent on here, especially regarding my health or possible absences, and especially with my friends who definitely didn’t deserve my zero communication. (to you all i apologise. it is something i struggle with and that i’ve recognised is a horrible way to go about.) that being said, i have been getting a lot of help health-wise, and i’ve found many outlets, habits, and friends to lean on for support in times of trouble ! i deeply appreciate all the asks and messages i’ve received wishing me well, i love you all so, so much. more than you could ever know ☹️ !
now, with my return, i come bearing news ! i will be posting one other work on this account for my dear luvie’s event, and then i will be archiving musouie. it has been fun, and i have found a little community on here that i adore with aaaaall my heart. but i have nothing to offer tumblr, and i fear tumblr has nothing to offer me. at least, as of right now.
i plan to return to tumblr in the future once my foundations are a little bit sturdier, as writing has been a hobby i’ve cherished for years, and i enjoy sharing my art with everyone. and hopefully, when i’m ready and in a place i want to be, you all might seek me out again :,) ! i will still pop in whenever i can !
anyway, this is the official musouie goodbye. thank you all for being here with me. it’s been a lovely year. hope all is well, and i’ll see you soon xxx
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[ 𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙜. . . ] 𝓗𝓐𝓜𝓐𝓡𝓣𝓘𝓐 — Driven by a desperate need for redemption, you undertake a perilous quest to capture the ancient and formidable King of Curses.
Yet, the true challenge lies not in seizing him, but in breaking him. His submission, whether voluntary or not, hinges on stripping him of all his malevolent energy — the dark force fuelled by his unbridled sexual power.
| RATED R language, smut, dubcon, somnophillia, monster-fucking, wc. 10.2k
| ⓘ credits: divider by @/cafekitsune, event hosted by @luv-lies, ntfx temp by @/chrollogy
an. lost the plot after 8k words. ignore this fact. for my sanity. please… (ALSO HUGE THANK YOU TO LUVIE FOR INVITING ME TO THIS EVENT!! i wish it turned out better than it did TT but thank you nonetheless. eternally honoured 💗)
Father always believed you were destined to be a great samurai.
He was certain that the kami — the gods perched upon the mountaintop — had willed it, for you conquered and devoured your sister in the womb, and were born on the breath of your mother’s last.
“My little dragon,” he’d always whisper, eyes alight with something feral. Perverse. “You’ve fended for your honour since your very dawn.” The cleft of his cheeks would deepen; the wretched scar would warp. “Such might, such terrible might it takes to slay your own before you even bear a name, before your eyes have tasted the sun!”
But was it might? Or a savageness folded into the flesh; wedged between the hollows of your ribs and forced to dwell, fester—
“You were forged in blood, little dragon.”
—consume.
Still, as mighty as he believed you to be, you could never bear his retellings of your slaughters. Bile would claw its way up your throat, mercilessly coat your tongue with haste, and your stomach would always churn — innards coiling and twisting about themselves — knotting around the ugly head of shame that had long rooted itself in your gut; inevitably blossomed into something rotten.
(Its odour was so deeply foul, putrid and heady)
For you, savage as you were, had nearly killed him, too.
(Putrid. Putrid and heady.)
It was so long ago, and still you trembled as though it were yesterday. Then, you were weak. Starved for strength. Hardly of eleven years when he had thrusted a katana into your small hands.
“Charge at me,” he had commanded, his own weapon drawn.
“F-Father?”
“Charge at me!”
“W-What if—what if I hurt you?” Your voice had cracked, then was lost beneath your nervous swallow. “This is no wooden toy.”
He’d huffed. “You’ve been given what you need, little dragon.”
“But this blade—it thirsts. It will spill blood; w-will wound.” Kill.
“Then let it wound me! Let it bite if I am weak enough to feel its teeth.”
Your head had begun to shake. Slowly, at first, before it deepened with an intensity near violent; voice drawn thin around a high-strung whine. “I-I cannot. I will not. It is madness for m—”
“I will father no coward,” he had hissed, spittle collecting in the cracks of his lips. “Submit to the blade or master it!”
Your breaths were short gasps, then — curt and ragged — dragged from your lungs. “I cannot do it.”
There was a pause, and then a snarl. A low, furious thing, of storms and high winds and ire. “Well then, you must learn.”
And in the blink of an eye, the steel of his katana had ventured to kiss your neck, greedy and blood-thirsty, sentient only through its master; ruthless just as he.
You remembered little of what happened between then — when the fire within your father had surged; when his steps had ceased and a metallic scent — cloying and smothering — clung to the air.
You remembered that you’d closed your eyes — your face pinched tightly, stitched together with unbridled trepidation — and thrusted your arm out in a protective stance as you let out a shrill cry: the cry of a boar.
The cry of a warrior.
And you remembered the sharp clang, the strike of steel clanging against steel, and then, the foreign warmth that spurted along your skin. From the bow of your lips to the curve of your brow, you had felt it, and it felt you — as it slid down your nose, clung to the seams of your lashes, trickled onto your tongue.
Salt and honey and ruin.
Blood and blood and blood.
It had pooled inside your mouth, poured down your throat with little regard to how you squirmed — thick like tar, sweet like sap from a tree, heady like mead — and you whimpered at its sheer warmth. At its taste. The corruption it promised beneath.
(How could such warmth spring from a thing so dark?)
Your body had trembled, then, and you had wished nothing more than to spit it up, rid yourself of it. But oh, you were so weak, and your mind so feeble, and your tongue ached for more — for the warmth.
And so, you had swallowed it. As though it were sacred nectar, milk from the heavens. The finest wine. Salvation. You had swallowed. And like a babe that clung to its mother's bosom, you did not let up — could not bear to. Not when every part of you had felt cradled by fire, pressed into the womb of the sun itself.
You'd drank, mouth twisted, eyes closed tight, until your body hummed, until your soles had left indents in the soft earth, until you were his blood and it you —
(How could such warmth spring from a thing so dark?)
— until you heard a strained gurgle, a gravelly rumble, a shift in the air and the thump of something hitting the ground.
You’d opened your eyes slowly, carefully. And rightfully so, when you did —
(The warmth had been snuffed, your tongue had stilled. The hunger had ceased.)
— you had wailed.
Your katana was buried deep in your father’s gut, the hilt quivering as though it wept, too, at the horror — the savagery — that had been wrought. Soft whimpers had spilled past your lips, in sick tandem with the crimson river that gushed from the gash in his flesh, and you watched with wide eyes as the fire in his own fizzled out to something darker. Something familiar.
Your chest had heaved.
“I-I’m so sorry, father. I’m so sorry, so sorry. Sorry–” Your clammy hand tightened around the hilt, moved to free it from his quivering innards, but his own quickly engulfed yours. Squeezed it tight as he’d uttered, “Leave it.”
But his blood still poured.
With a vice-like grip you clung to the hilt, hands engulfed by tendrils of red and riddled with blooms of gore and hate for the fissure they had carved into your father. You had carved into your father. With the expertise of a barbarian. A savage.
He had stared at the deep gash in his abdomen, almost transfixed by the blood that stained his silken kimono, before he drew his eyes to you: trembling on the bloodied training grounds with horror tumbling from your lips.
And then,
with his chest stuttering slowly,
and the colour seeping from his skin,
he had...smiled.
Wide and warped and carved along his face — the smile of a boar (whose tusks abrasively chafed against his lips at the foreign intrusion.)
It’d bested the stretch of his fluttering eyes, his stained teeth, his gums — his red, red gums, bright with blood from hacking coughs — a grotesque thing that split his face like a second wound.
(It was this smile you had feared more than his wrath.)
Somewhere amidst his dwindling lucidity, he had closed the distance between you, hands seeking and outstretched. For his child, his beast — his beautiful, beautiful beast. He’d clasped your wet cheeks in the cusp of his paws, smearing his blood against your tears, rubbing them into your pores and crevices — his gift to you.
And all you could do was tremble.
Like the feeble flame of a candle, you had trembled.
“Wild,” he had slurred after a moment, tongue heavy and clumsy and viscous with the wine of his mouth. “And with so much promise.”
His thumb leisurely traced the peak of your fluttering, bloodied eyelids, urging you to stop your tears, then retraced the path once they were thwarted.
(His gift, his gift.)
Yet, your skin burned where his blood had smeared upon it.
His thumb had stroked your skin once more and you sniffled, felt the trembling begin to abate despite the singing of your flesh, the oscillation of your body, the guilt that clawed and clawed and clawed.
The need to lurch back from his touch had begun to dwindle as you realised that he cradled you not out of fear — but acceptance. Father admired your strength, however brutish — however untameable it might seem. For it took on a shape of a different kind in his mind. One more jagged.
“You’ve conquered another of…your clan,” he’d whispered weakly, blood gurgling from the clefts of his lips. “I begged the kami for a son that would become a great warrior, and I weep at their heedfulness, for they have granted me you — who was made in their image. Speaks...in thei– their tongue.”
But you were born a girl.
A weakness, in these destitute lands.
He’d frowned momentarily, as though the thought, too, had just occurred to him. He’d hummed, winced around a groan, his bones and flesh straining to force his mouth to its familiar shape.
“I can make a warrior of you yet.”
𓆩✧𓆪
Your journey began in the winter.
The cruel, harsh winter, where beasts are left to starve.
Starve, after they’ve torn through all they can ravish, gnawed at the splintering bones of carcasses, shredded through the withered foliage; left the already suffering land barren —
they are left to succumb to the hunger,
or turn their teeth on each other.
“You’ve gotten weak, little dragon.” Father muttered, his sake cup half-empty and neglected on the worn chabudai between you. Your gaze flitted down to the small table, lingered on the drink, and then shot to the side as you slowly bowed your head in deference, scarcely suppressing the twitch of your jaw; the slight baring of your teeth — that were clenched and ground against one another until only dust remained. Sand, in the cavity of your mouth.
“Is it the weather? A fever? A poison?” Hues of red and pink licked at his cheeks — prickled down to the nape of his neck — as they often did with all men affected by drink and the chill of the winter. “Ah!” he gasped, feigning surprise as his eyes narrowed to slits. Seeds of contempt, lines of ire. “Perhaps it is your indolence. Oh — no,no — I suppose not. You have been busy duelling those with half your skill, and tenderising your tongue with cheap ale, haven’t you?”
“That—”
“You’ve ruined my reputation.” He let out an incredulous laugh. “A drunkard!” He gasped. “The kami — the almighty — have bestowed upon me a drunkard child!”
You winced. Bit the inside of your cheek.
“Forgive my insolence. Father.”
But you could tell by the weight of his sigh, that quivered with mockery, that an apology of that nature was far from what he sought. He leaned back until his spine met the wall, rested there comfortably — the structure his perch, his throne. His pillar.
“You beg for forgiveness too easily, girl.” His tongue was too loose — or perhaps too heavy — and dragged his words into an elongated drawl. Made them stick on the blade of his disgust. You heard a rustle and then a scoff, and then so suddenly a cold finger was pressed to your forehead with enough force to leave a mark. “Straighten your spine.”
You did. Swiftly. And by doing so, you met his sneer. Razor sharp. Venomous.
“Such an obedient little dragon,” he purred, patting your cheek lightly despite the way his fingers curled, before he pulled away. Almost — just. And then absence. Restraint. “So why do you not do what I wish? Why must you make a fool of me? Mock me? Me, who has given you your wings.”
Your lip had begun to throb. “I’m–”
“Do you care for me so little?”
“That is not—”
“Do you seek to punish me?”
Sometimes, you wryly thought to yourself. But that was not the case now. You were careless, and you are young, and you yearned, and that, you feared, was the extent of your grievance. Your mouth parted to say as much, but so swiftly, and so predictably, you were cut off. Smothered.
“Wasteful, wasteful! That is what you are — all you are! Twenty years of waste!” Father scarcely took a breath; shot on and on and on, spittle flinging all about. “I have paved a path for you — the kami have paved a path for you — and you, as insolent and useless as you are, have veered from it and done as you wish.”
As the last word left his mouth, your teeth pierced the fragile skin of your lip. Tore it, then shredded it, as though it were nothing. (You were nothing.)
Iron trickled onto your tongue, a steady stream. Warm, bitter. When father got like this — reached this point of madness. There was nothing one could do but bend the knee. Submit. Give in to the voracious cycle of being pushed and pushed and pushed. Until only dust remained.
You swallowed.
“What do you have to say for yourself now?” Your father growled, and everything began to sting.
“I’ll…do better, Father. I will.
“A hollow promise I’ve heard a multitude of times.”
“I swear it.”
He scoffed cuttingly. “On what? Your flesh or mine?”
“Mine, father. Mine.”
He studied you, his lip curling as though he saw something he didn’t quite like. “You—cannot be trusted. Not after the shame you have brought upon our house, upon me.”
You watched as he rose to his feet slowly, unsteadily.
Bent, swaying.
Drunk.
Still, he commanded a particular power over you, and you kept your distance — even as he approached. Your eyes sought refuge at the corner of the room, settled on the thread-bare tatami, the worn shōji sliding doors, riddled with tears and hazed with cracks; anything but the starving predator. You tensed when he neared, fingers pressing crescents into the meat of your shoulders, seeking.
He stared at you, analysed you, registered all there was to pick apart and feast upon: all of the imperfections and weak points and fraying threads and brittleness. From the creases of your brow to the tremble of your lips and the tight clench of your hands, balled into fists around the linen of your hanten.
(Could he smell your fear? Could he taste it? A preview of all that you could offer and then some?)
He stared,
sniffed,
squeezed,
and then, with a gravelly scoff, wrenched his hand from your skin — as though scalded — and strode for his chamber doors, his sandals slapping against the floorboards in time with your drubbing heart.
There was a shuffle, a pause — and something sharp in the air that you were at a loss to identify, though you knew, instinctively, that it was dangerous. Aged. You didn’t turn as he walked away, just kept facing his wall —his pillar, until his chamber doors slammed shut.
It seemed a beast had made its move, at last; left puncture wounds in your neck, bruises along your flesh.
Perhaps not all would starve this winter.
𓆩✧𓆪
That night, you had awoken to a cold hand cradling your cheek. Large, peppered with scars, coarse.
It was a hand you’d felt a plethora of times (struck across your face, grabbing at your hair, tightening about your neck) and instinctively, you flinched, eyes fluttering open. As you jerked, it lifted — freed you — moonlight hazy about its outline until your breathing grew static, and your body began to unfurl. Ease.
“Father?” The hand returned. Cupped your chin, then. As it curled around your jaw, you heard a light grunt above you, and the shadow — the man — began to materialise, and with him came a familiar scent. “Father.”
His fingers smelt of ale, his touch reeked of smoke; and under it, caged underneath the weight of all you wished him to be — all he had to be — was a father. A scent not nearly as sweet, not nearly as satisfying, not nearly as potent — but one your weak constitution could relish nonetheless.
His thumb stroked the high edge of your cheekbone with unusual tenderness, and you stared at him — his outline, nothingness — with probing eyes. ‘What are you doing?’ balanced on the tip of your tongue. It dangled, swung, breathed in and out as it hung on a thin string of saliva (or perhaps unease, apprehension). But you were a samurai. You adapted, not poked. And more than anything, you feared what would happen if you shattered whatever it was that gathered in the air — heady and oppressive, yet… sickeningly warm.
You reeled it back in.
“It is very late.” Father murmured. And though you couldn’t see him, you could feel his eyes on you, seeking. “Even the cicadas are silent.”
You hummed, nuzzled your face against his paw. Indulged. “What time is it?”
“Hours before the sun will rise.”
You hummed again; peered into the darkness. Ignored the roughness of his thumb against your flesh. “Is…something wrong?”
There was a lengthy silence after your question, and after a minute, you began to wonder if there was truly anyone there at all. It wouldn’t be the first time you dreamt of your father — of this foreign tenderness. Of being cradled and cherished, in lieu of the harshness you often felt was inescapable, embedded in the soles of your feet and the stone of your wretched, beating heart.
The harshness that trailed everywhere.
You lifted a hand and felt for the one that gripped your chin, grasping at bruised knuckles. Solid, real. There. Your thumb glided to the inside of his wrist, felt for his pulse, let out a sigh as you felt it thrum steadily beneath the pad of your finger.
He was there.
And as it had in your dream (dreams, plural), his hand slid along the side of your neck — large enough to encircle almost entirely; a thick, fat noose — and settled at the junction between, caressing it. Squeezing lightly.
Once. Then twice.
This must be a dream.
His motions were restrained, languid. Near painful as you waited for more, chest tight — stiff, only for it to never come: more. His touches remained light, harmless, and between them, he released a sigh, sake heady and trapped in his breath. You held your own.
Inhale, exhale.
(Hold.)
Inhale, exhale.
(Hold.)
And then, fingers lifting from your warm flesh, he spoke. After so long, you’d forgotten why he had at all. “Much, little dragon. There is much that is wrong.”
Your brows furrowed, your lips twisted. “What is it, father?”
“The kami…have spoken to me. Revealed their will.”
Slowly, you sat up, brought your knees to your chest and leaned close; your ear, hungry, angled just below his lips as though chasing his secret. The furrow in your brow deepened. “And what revelation did they grant onto you?”
There was a mirthful kind of sound from your father, something like a laugh, perhaps the crackling of flames, or a throat meshed together by blood and covetousness. And then you felt him lift a hand — saw it amidst the shadows; large, calloused, peppered with scars — to your face again. “Skin of stone, flesh of my flesh.”
Your mouth felt heavy when you spoke, sluggish and strange. Heady with metal and bile. “I... I don’t understand.”
And you could almost hear the ‘you wouldn’t’, as his eyes reflected the moonlight and gazed at you. Bottomless. Ensnared by a milky white. A waltz of dreams and nightmares; everything and nothing.
Something glinted as they leered upon you, a glimpse of cruel, steel sharp teeth. And you weren’t sure why, but somewhere you thought — no, hoped — that it would remain as it was: an illusion. A trick of the light (or perhaps lack of). But oh so predictably it moved, a line of ivory — glistening. Sheathed behind a thin curtain of skin and spit.
With the little sliver of light, you could see his scar — his wretched scar — warp and twist. Contort. “Rise. Rise, and I will show you, make everything clear. Will enlighten you, little dragon.”
That was all it took.
(Fool.)
You were too curious —
0r perhaps too mindless,
to competently sense when you had gotten too close to the fire. To know that you should pull back one warmed, once the heat had grazed your fingertips and wrapped around you — grown in fervour, licked at your skin and seared it. Lapped and lapped, until your metacarpals were charred — and even still,
— you’d obey. Linger.
Woefully so.
𓆩✧𓆪
You’d been riding on horseback since dawn — since you followed your father from your chambers and he helped you onto his prized mare’s saddle, whose coat rivalled the night.
It was near sunset now.
In all that time, he had yet to enlighten you on what message he had received. On what had led him to embark on this journey up the mountain in such haste, such desperation, despite the bite of the frigid weather.
Many times you had wanted to prod, sought answers — the hunger for it all growing ferocious by the minute. But each time your lips parted around a question, a dryness would settle in the canal of your throat, and the wind, it seemed, always blew a little harsher. Carried your words in a gust to the precipice of the mountainside and flung it; flung it into the pitch-black nothingness waiting just beyond. Into the abyss.
So, you said nothing. Allowed your curiosity to wane as your trembling arms encircled your father’s burly back and you clung to him, snow beating against your face and a sharp wind whipping through your hair, leaving you wild looking — dishevelled — and with cold-bitten cheeks.
This close, you could see his chest stutter, could inhale his ale-tainted breath — could smell his sweat, sharp, and somehow rotten. Some part of you revelled in it, because with the scent came warmth — and whatever residue of his own that still saturated in the fur of his deerskin was enough for you; a minor boon. A blessing.
Yet still, you were growing weary of the cold, the dull ache of hunger, and the rawness in your throat from heaving and panting, over and over and over again, like an old, weathered dog. So desperate were you to feel some semblance of relief; it translated through you burying your nose deep in his fur cloaks, a numb hand grabbing at your own cloaks to shelter the weaker parts of your body from the punishment of the elements, shivering into his solid form every now and again.
Your father, on the other hand, seemed unbothered by the assault; didn’t bat an eye — even as the wind blew his ragged travelling cloak with a beastly determination, the chill raking about his skin like cruel talons, as if begging him to turn around and flee.
But, it seemed as though nothing would halt him, nothing would hinder him, as he wound up the icy path. Further, and further, and further, until there was nothing but winter all around — the only source of comfort: one another, and a black horse.
More than an hour had passed when the sky shifted, dwindling to a purplish-blue hue, like that of a plum. And finally, above the thicket of frost-coated trees, he brought the mare’s pace to a leisurely trot. “We are nearly there.”
Before you was the same scene of white — nothingness — but amidst that bleakness, which contrasted so starkly, you could see something dark just ahead. A speck, amongst vastness.
You nodded, a gesture unseen, and tightened your grip about his abdomen. “Will —” you licked your lips, mitigated their dryness. “Will you tell me what is going on?”
There was a shift beneath you as your father urged the horse around a bend, and for a few seconds you braced yourself, nails digging into his rough flesh as your body leaned. He let out a gravelly grunt. “The kami—they have…provided me insight of an…opportunity…for your redemption.”
Your body readjusted. “...Redemption?”
“Your actions have not gone unnoticed, little dragon. They are…unhappy, as I am unhappy.”
“Father—”
He whipped his head behind him and you paused, met his glare — ice and scorn and all the sharp things you sought refuge from. If you had a tail, you’re certain it’d be erect, rigid and pointed. Instead, your spine straightened and you thickly swallowed, and as his head swivelled back to the path before him after a tense moment, that familiar sour taste returned to your tongue. Putrid—
“All we wish is to guide you back onto the right path, away from corruption. Simple as that. You are...” He paused. And for a second, the only sound that could be heard was the howling wind. “...very valuable to us.”
(Is that all you were?)
“But—”
“Do not argue, girl.” He all but spat. “Would you test my patience even now? After all you’ve done? All you haven’t?”
And as the words left his mouth, your face, frozen as it was, began to twist. Twist and twist, like you’d bitten into a lemon, features pinched and pulled taut — rendering you gruesome-looking beneath the moonlight. Wretched, like something caught ahold of you. (It hardly had to fight. You suspected it’d been there all along. Waiting, lurking. Creeping.) Your grip around your father’s abdomen tightened, nails digging, biting, cutting—
“Where did I go wrong…? Where did I go wrong? How did I end up with such a pathetic child?” He gnashed his teeth, a jagged rock lodged deep in the back of his throat — in the base of his stomach; bleeding, throbbing. “I have failed as a father…and in equal measure, as a servant of the kami.”
Your nails bit deeper.
There was something that stirred in your belly, in its centre, that grew more ferocious as he went on. And believe, he went on, and it grew, and he went on—
“We are fortunate the kami are so forgiving. Without them…what would we be? Pariahs, ostracised from our kind?” He shook his head, a sliver of a raspy laugh leaving his lips. The ale. You smelt it again. “But — do not misunderstand. They are strict with this most merciful of gifts. Do not doubt the danger that will strike us — and it will. It will — if you refuse the chance they so graciously have presented before us.”
And then the mist had waned; all had become clear. Shame. What you had felt was shame. The kind of shame that clung to the underbelly of one’s skin, thick and oily and all-consuming, such that when the heat of the sun returned, it stung.
“I do not want that for us….for you, little dragon.” He murmured, hands tugging on the mare’s reins as the speck came closer into view, and materialised into the mouth of a cave, barren and yawning. “Which is why you must do it. For us. For your future.”
Something hung heavy in the air, coiled and waiting.
You knew then — despite how much you wished it otherwise — that you had no choice in this matter.
As it had once before, your fate had been decided for you.
You relented. “...What must I do?”
This time, your father spared no hesitancy. The second after the question tumbled from your lips he slowed his horse, brought her to the mouth of a winding path that opened up to the cave, nestled snug between two crags. With the tap of his heel against her side, he brought her to the entrance, whereupon she came to a complete stop, shaking her mane and letting loose a long, quivering neigh.
"Inside." Your father nodded, his head gesturing to the entrance, wide enough for four men, side-by-side, to pass through without a hindrance. “There lay an akuma.” Demon. “This is what the kami demand of us — sacrifice the akuma, in return, they will bless us with their benevolence and favour for eons, in every undertaking.”
Tendrils of mist slithered from the mouth of the cave, billowing, writhing, as though they were alive, seeking, begging to be sated. It wrapped around the horse's limbs, trickling down her flanks, collecting into droplets. When she raised her foot, so too did they raise.
Father turned to look at you fully. "It will be no match for your skills."
Against your will, your tongue prodded your inner cheek and retreated, as though bitten. "But—"
"No buts!" Your father growled, low, his large hand settling on the nape of your neck in the same way he did when you were younger. His palm encompassed most of the area, thick fingers curving along the back of your skull, enveloping you completely. Claws grazed your jawline and pressed, insistently. “It is this — or nothing.”
His eyes bore into your, the moonlight lending them a cruel lustre. Stiffly, you nodded — bobbing. Over and over. Your jaw worked, tightened, and then, eventually, loosened; tension receding in increments, as though reluctant to free itself.
A moment passed,
Then two,
And finally, you exhaled, long and heavy.
He gave your neck a rough squeeze. You returned the favour, closing your eyes — steeling. And as you began to peel apart one layer of flesh, one after the other, something slid out in its wake. A stoniness. Your nerves turned to clay. The stone wall erected itself.
When your father urged you from the saddle, you obeyed, your stiffness almost immediately melting away into a supple elegance of a body as your feet sank into the snow. With an additional hand to your back, he nudged you closer. To the mouth, the veil — to the unknown. Away from him. "Go."
A hard stare, the pinch of a claw into the curve of your neck, and your chin raised, taking in as much air as your tight, small chest could handle. Your shoulders squared, muscles rigid under his touch, but made no move to do or say anything further.
(Loyal little child, you were.)
You kept silent and offered nothing.
Not even as he tossed his precious katana by your feet. An offering.
Not even as he nudged you again; teeth clenched, jaw set.
Not even as he wrenched his claws, dragging you close, just to hiss out a final 'go'.
Not even as you took a single step forward, and then the next, and the one after that, sinking deeper, sinking further, the tips of your feet numbed, the tips of your fingers burning; a poor grip around the scabbard, that would not steady.
And when the dark engulfed you completely —
Not even as you tripped, fumbled, felt the soft, sharp caresses of frost against the backs of your legs, biting, taunting. Not even then.
As you heard your father's mare take off, trampling in the snow, whinnying behind you --- you realised he offered no formal goodbye. What if he never saw you again? His weak little child; so helpless and foolish. How would he know if you had succeeded? And yet, that had been nothing of importance as the pace his steed's hooves tramped increased with each stride.
You unsheathed his katana and drew your cloak tighter about you, eyes fixed on the darkness. There was only one thing you had wanted him to say:
Thank you for freeing him. Thank you for freeing you.
You were right, as always:
You had never truly been his child.
Only his tool. His beast.
Your feet scraped against the blackened floor of the cave, hands scrabbling against rock and stone alike to guide yourself as your sight dwindled more and more; a fog seeping and creeping, strangling the coordination from you. But the chill didn't abate with distance — and perhaps, all at once, it dawned.
How were you supposed to find anything in here?
You shakily inhaled, inhaled again as your other senses strained themselves to the limits, screaming — heaving; you tasted and felt your way around, a method to a madness. As your mind travelled further and deeper, an uneasiness grew in your guts and bloomed in the empty cavity of your chest, until all at once, it bled out. And you feared, with sudden desperation, that something terrible lurked beyond, where you couldn't see.
One wrong step, a misjudgement of any kind, and—
That thought brought your feet to a pause. Your neck creaked with the way your head tilted — ear facing the dark. But that was all. No other sounds save for your own laboured breathing that rushed through the mouth-piece of your scarf.
Why wasn't there anything? Anything at all?
Just how vast was this place?
Creaking your neck further, you listened — sought out, searched for anything that'd give your ears a tune, any sound to signify, any sound at all — anything.
But it didn't come. Nothing. Just your ragged breathing. The scuffling of snow and your feet. Nothing else.
So you resumed your steps, hands against the wall to steady your own blindness, and further down the mountain you delved. Deeper into the womb of it all.
Further and further,
Deeper and deeper.
The temperature of the cave walls began to change and slowly, steadily — you realised they weren't as cold anymore. The more steps you took, the warmer it got. Warmer and warmer, until it became unbearable. Almost as though you were being suffocated by an invisible cloud of heat; you could barely breathe. It became heavier, thicker, and it cloyed and churned at your chest, weighed it down, made the air you pulled into your lungs feel like cement bricks rather
You were drowning — at least that’s what it felt like (You’ve never droned in your life, but if you ever were to, you’re certain this would be the feeling. A feeling of pure panic as one fights against an intangible foe as it steals their breath
You began palming at the interior of the womb, chapped fingertips failing to find a grip as you began to wheeze, throw a coughing fit, twist and turn — anything to regain your breath.
With an exhale, you crouched, grounded yourself with a fist full of dust and rock and gulped. Brought your fingers to the thick-coated fur and, you pulled, and pulled, until all that remained were thin sheets draped along the curve of your waist and chest, the rest, tossed behind you;
then you went straight into your descent
After a few long minutes of scrambling — body propelling itself with one arm thrown forward, the next, in sequence — you began to taste something like moss in your mouth. Sweetened by the saliva that seemed to pour more with each hurried inhale, every thumping, desperate heartbeat.
(Is this what death tasted like?)
You lost count of how many breaths you took, how many seconds, minutes, how long exactly, before there was nothing more than this wretched taste on your tongue, and a husk — a dried-out husk. Your night clothes clung to you like a second skin, translucent and dark where perspiration pooled — but it felt like nothing. It felt like there was no barrier between you and the warmth of the womb, seeping and seeping and seeping and —
(Where were you?)
Pushing your hand against the smooth ground to push yourself up, you fought another coughing fit, coughed and spluttered — dribbles of spittle leaking from the corners of your mouth.
Beady sweat gathered like morning dew atop your lip.
Swollen tongue clicked. Swollen lips parted.
It was then that you noticed something else, some semblance — or maybe just an imprint of one — of another (for it was a thing of mystery, more like an infernal tickle, a suggestion of sensation, a sensation which — much like this stifling atmosphere — you had no choice but to acknowledge). It came and went in a flash, vanishing — fleeting. A figment, of course. Certainly. It must, in your delirious state.
For what could explain the red eyes that suddenly appeared before you? A breadth away from your own?
You sputtered again and wheezed, shook violently as your diaphragm rattled, and with it, your slowing heart. Perspiration pooled. Coursed, as did the saliva from your maw as you drooled and drooled, and spluttered, spluttered and shook and —
Wasn't this hell? Was this it? Had you been condemned to hell?
Your lips moved, made a silent vowel; formed an indistinct vowel. No sound followed, only a dull huff from somewhere above — distant. The womb pulsed, contracted, and you found yourself cheek down on the cave's floor.
(And that was it. Wasn't it?)
You hadn't a strength in you left to do anything but let it happen.
'Allow yourself to drown', they'd said — those spirits whose lips were joined at the base. Where it all started. Where it was destined to end — right there, within the cave; inside the very womb, the belly that gave birth. The umbilical cord cut; the promise broken.
This was what they wanted of you, and so this is what they will get.
At the end of the day, you had not been your own ---
-- and a beast is never offered a merciful death.
Your eyes, with little grace, fluttered closed. And then, there was darkness.
𓆩✧𓆪
“Do you know what an akuma is, little dragon?”
You shook your head no, eyebrows drawn near. “A…kuma? What is that?”
Your father smiled, “A demon. A mighty one. An ancient one. They’ve walked on this earth long before man, long before anything. We humans used to pray to them, sacrifice ourselves to them to appease their bloodlust, worship them like gods."
"Gods? Why would you think they were gods?"
He shrugged. "Power. That is the only thing one sees. Whether it's a dragon god or a golden deity with six wings. A god is a god. Power is power."
You fiddled with the sleeve of your hikimono, fluttering nervously. "So why do we not worship them anymore? Why the kami?"
"One had more power than the other. Scattered and banished the akuma all over the land and bound them to their graves."
Your gaze fell to your lap, face unreadable. "...why are you telling me all of this, father?"
"Do you know what would happen if their graves were unearthed?"
Your brows pinched. "I..."
You stilled as something was placed in your hands. Peering into your open palms, you stared at the small pouch. You tipped it over, emptying its contents into your hand. Your stomach roiled uncomfortably as you traced your eyes over the jagged shape of bone. A smooth piece. Too large to be human. The thought should have eased you, but your throat only felt as dry as a parched field during a long, hard drought. Your fingers closed around the bone and you tightened your grip, allowing the sharpened ends to sink into your flesh, ground you. "Where is this coming from, father?" you whispered. "What is this?”
"If one manages to unearth their grave -- their prison, the demon becomes bound to them. Unable to cause any harm to the one who set it free, rather, it will be grateful." His smile made your blood run cold. "Forever in their debt," he said.
"...Debt..." You opened your hand, eyeing the bone that was pricking your skin.
"Yes," he murmured, watching you. "All they can do, is kill for you." His smile widened and he leaned toward you. "And that, my child, is true power."
"Akuma don't come cheap, little dragon," a gentle smile ghosted his lips. His hands reached to touch your cheeks, making you flinch. He seemed not to notice, his thumbs smoothing the backs of your ears, hands cradling your face and neck.
Your bottom lip quivered as a burning heat grew behind your eyes. Your hands, unconsciously, held onto his yukata, bunching the fabric until your knuckles grew white. "Then w-what d-do they...require? Surely there is some price you must pay for these," you swallowed the knot that formed in your throat, "these mighty beasts?"
His lips pursed, something akin to sadness --or was it pity? Restraint? "You'll soon learn, little dragon. You'll soon learn"
𓆩✧𓆪
There was a searing heat against your neck, like a flame held too close.
Except it didn’t burn, necessarily. It felt hot, yes. But a pleasurable sort of hot…
What a strange thought.
Hot. Heat. Warmth. Comfort. Pleasure—
That wasn't supposed to be the first thing to enter your mind when you opened your eyes. Not when everything ached, hurt in a manner that was visceral. Made it near impossible to focus on the simple act of cognition; of breathing.
But there it was again.
An encompassing comfort that defied sense.
There was pain — and then there wasn’t. Fleeting -- yet not, existing in a nebulous limbo between one and the next.
There was the coarse, hard earth beneath your cheek and yet — despite how uncomfortable it should be, should be making your wounds bleed more, sting and hurt and hurt, you could not bring yourself to move from the comfort and warmth of your spot, and found you didn’t particularly have the mind or desire to care as that strange presence pressed up closer to the back of you.
Wet warmth latched against your skin, suctioned and dragged; from the curve of your jugular to that sweet point behind your ears that had the smallest of hums crawling up your throat — escaping without permission, a mere, gentle gasp that slipped through, eased.
Another suckle against the juncture of your nape — sharp, pointed, almost possessive — and you writhed, writhed against the surface below you; arching your neck more into what could only be teeth. Teeth that bit and grazed. Nipped. Then lathered. Tongue to lick the aftermath.
And how sweet it was — the soft, wet lick.
You tilted your head forward and rolled your hips. Once, twice — a tentative back and forth, coaxing. Searching. An open-mouthed pant followed and you pulled one knee to the side — an invitation, beckoning.
If this was indeed hell, then so be it.
Above the cover of your lashes, half-hooded and misty, something flashed briefly, as though a fire had sparked, glowed. A red so lucid that a sickly warmth trickled from your stomach and settled somewhere lower — somewhere between the junction between your legs, warm, slick, as something tightened and then flexed.
"Good." It hissed. "That's it, good."
Another lick, and this time it was deeper. Thicker. Something coated your neck, slathering, searing — the burning warmth spreading. Slipping and gliding lower and lower and lower still, towards the hollow space between your breasts. Your breaths picked up their tempo and soon, the pace became desperate, hectic. With a hefty jerk, a large hand grabbed hold of your chest and kneaded. Heavily. Thick fingers curled, squeezed, kneading once, and then twice, as if they wished to carve indentations. Indents to claim.
And you'd allow yourself to be claimed. You would, you would! For this blissfulness for a millenia you'd allow it, succumb to it, surrender your soul to the flames of ecstasy, to the scorching, consuming; the being whose touch was bereft of solidness and whose shape and mass could not be given form, save for those fiery eyes that pierced and hovered and searched—
(Fiery eyes...?)
A asp escaped you and your eyes, swollen and heavy-lidded, struggled against their weight as you peered above and they shot open completely. Red met yours, eclipsed it, as your entire frame began to jerk, pulling itself up from where you'd previously lain. But to no avail. Something clamped around your shoulders and brought your chest back down.
"So restless," The voice came from all sides, ringing and reverberating. As did the fire that enveloped its entire surroundings in a stifling heat, bringing moisture to your forehead, to the tip of your nose and brow. In fact, everything felt damp, and your senses were muddled by that smell alone, musky, woody — a faint coppery sweetness with the sharp edge of rot underneath. "Be still." It commanded.
"Demon." Was all you managed, throat raw. Your brows drew together as you attempted once more — unsuccessfully — to pry yourself free.
There was nothing but silence for several moments, and for those moments you simply stared at one another — as if neither of you truly expected the other to exist in reality. A small breathy whine passed through your chapped lips and you wriggled again, reaching towards the abandoned blade to your right, but the creature pressed its immense weight on top of you, clambering, scraping and grasping ahold of any limbs you extended.
"Such a cute, tiny thing." The akuma murmured. There was a faint echo to the baritone — an undertone of mockery and cruelty, a gentler cadence and an almost child-like lilt. "I see this time they sent a frail little thing. My, have all the mighty grown weary?" He leaned closer, and you could hear the grin spread along his face despite not being able to see a thing. "Or are you...a treat?"
When his eyes descended down upon you, his entire body soon to follow as though his own size had become a hindrance, the wetness between your thighs trickled outwards to stain the clothing you still had on, and his nostrils flared in return. "Ohh," It seemed that was enough of an answer for him. "It has been so very, very long since I had a treat." His nose dipped to your groin (You could tell by the snuffle and the subsequent nuzzling), his eyes, a stark shade of crimson, staring back into yours all the while.
And they smiled. Smiled so brilliantly the fire intensified, flared up to the cragus ceiling and down to the slickened floors — the red fire, for there were tongues of it — not just the dancing orange and yellow, but the red. Hot, fiery, violent red flames.
You inhaled a shaky breath as the hand pressed your lower stomach flat and slipped below your sodden sash, and just like his nose, its long, thin fingers brushed across the outer length of your slit — teasing. "S-stop!" You attempted a feeble shake of your head, eyes flying over the demon in attempts of visualizing. His image, his shape, anything. But the more you peered the less you saw; the fuzzier his silhouette grew — wavering. Murky.
"Oh?" Was it your eyes or did his figure, too, warp and twist; stretch beyond comprehension? The heat. This terrible heat. "Why do you shy away?" It felt as if something, an invisible finger, traced along the seam of your underwear, along your swollen labia. "Do not lie, precious little sacrifice." It whispered and again, his weight shifted, following the hand between your thighs, the fingers yanking your soiled garment aside — baring all to the open air.
"You reek of pheromones. That mouth, panting so. Sweet little cunt dripping, clenching, yearning—" Another fiendish grin. "Yearning to be filled."
"No..." Your eyelids grew heavier, mouth running dry. "Do...not touch me with your...with your...w-wretched hands." You forced.
A breath fanned against the quivering skin of your thighs. Warm. Warm. Like everything else.
"You offer yourself to me on a platter," One arm wound about a leg, and tugged, twisted it to the side — as far as it'd go — before it stilled. "Scantily clad and wandering through my domain. And I...am the wretched one? Mmm?"
His tongue was on your skin now. Warm. Your eyes fluttered to your side as you sought your katana once more, fingers scrambling blindly against the ground — reaching, feeling, searching.
"That is the problem with man." His tongue returned again; only this time it slid up, leaving a slither of slime as it did so and then down, curving with your thigh to sweep at your clothed folds. "You give in too easily."
Your fingers continued to move about, drawing figure-of-eights over the rugged earth — until finally, the tip of one curled and clutched what must have been its hilt. Clenching your grip, you wrapped your remaining fingers around the pommel as best you could. A weak whimper crawled from the cavern of your mouth, escaping as a throaty sob that stuttered from your lungs. "Off," Your nails pressed so firmly against the surface they cracked and bent. "Get off. Get off of me! Filthy demon! Kami above, hear me—"
"They can do nothing." Came the casual reply, tone so chilling it had you clamping your lips together in spite. "Here, I rule. Here, no gods or goddesses listen,"
"---hear my cry and free me from this prison." You continued anyway, squeezing your eyes tight, fingers trembling around the weapon as you attempted to raise it overhead; its tip aimed directly at him.
(but did this voice hold power anymore, after everything?)
His tongue lapped at your clothed cunt again and he moaned. "Your gods," his voice deepened. "Have forsaken me," There was a noise — almost a gnarl and an exhale. "As they have forsaken yo---."
Your father's katana crashed against the back of the beast, his scales or his armour, and a growl — an unholy, vibratory growl erupted, rumbled the walls; the cave itself. "Little girl," His snarl sounded and his grip on your hipbone tightened. A fresh wave of pain bloomed, had the tears welling, trickling down the curve of your temple. You could sense a hesitation in his grasp, as it twitched and flexed. Before at last, his movements loosened.
In an instant, the sweltering heat, the mummifying haze, the mind-numbing stupor, the world ceased. Abrupt, and rather painful. For a moment the world stopped altogether, and then resumed. Except, you were the only being amidst the ruins. Not the voice, and not the fire.
Your lungs, they creaked as you dragged a sea of air back into your lungs, eyes fluttering as you did, flitting through the cave — taking a few moments to adjust before they continued the chase, frantic, searching. You could see properly again, and with that clarity, you did, in fact, clutch your sheer robes to your body, and readjust the small scrap of cloth that dangled between your legs. That was now stretched; stained.
“It was…you...” you whispered, legs shuffling as you rushed to put space between you and the akuma, who lay where you left him. On his knees, now that you could see. "...that made everything hazy. Messed with my mind and my vision..."
He didn't so much as twitch. His profile - fuzzy still – remained turned away from yours, yet his chuckle clearer than ever. As though he were beside you. "That I am guilty of…human. Though your lust," he murmured lowly. His tone, mirthful, despite the injury to his shoulder. "is entirely your own."
Hissing, you stumbled against the cave’s wall, wiping the mix of tears, sweat, grime and blood off of your upper-lips. "No, your demonic energy played a part. It messed with my concentration. H-had me confused—" you felt your cheeks begin to flame with both anger and embarrassment, eyes lowering to your lap where you sat cross legged.
He scoffed. “Confused? Are your people not made of lust? So hungry, you humans are." He didn't turn around but you sensed his stare upon your person. And from what you could see through the flickering flames, his teeth appeared unnaturally pointed, slightly crooked in nature. "Little girl. What a lovely morsel you were. My mouth salivates."
"...Then come claim your meal." You took your sword into your shaky palms and forced it above you. Your muscles burned with the simple act. "For I will die fighting you and your ilk."
A rough and low rumble reverberated and your face contorted in confusion when he threw his head back and laughed. An animated laughter, it was. But more than anything it sounded wild, like the whines of a pack of hounds — and nothing quite human. "Yes, I will have a taste of your sweet marrow." He murmured and it appeared the fire went out, suffocated. Blackened. And there you were once again, staring into the abysmal void.
"But I will take it on my own accord. That I promise, my pretty morsel."
You watched as he rose unsteadily to his shadowed feet, legs buckled, and his body grew tall, then taller as he stumbled towards the opposite wall — where the darkness was thickest. And you weren't certain if your vision had deceived you, if your fear had mingled and the ill-timed play of light and dark had simply been playing tricks on your tired eyes — but as you watched him settle against the wall, an eye flashing briefly before it closed once more, and a grin pulling taut across a deformed set of teeth, you shivered.
"Pretty girl.” He murmured. “Pretty sacrifice. Your… taste lingers."
Another gargle of a chuckle and,
"You belong to me now."
𓆩✧𓆪
You cradled your father’s katana to your chest as the hours passed, eyes straining against the darkness for any move the akuma might make.
Your breaths came out even and faint from your nose — measured, as you listened closely. Every muscle in your body was taut, rigid, but the beast stayed exactly where he was. Silent, unmoving — just the occasional sigh and rustle.
It didn’t occur to you, until his sighs grew further and further in occurrence, that the akuma may be asleep.
Did demons…sleep?
Your mind spun as you racked your brain for all your father ever told you of them — all the stories you’d heard. Perhaps this is all some trick to lure me closer, you thought, fingers growing clammy as you remembered the press of his body on yours, the heat on the curve of your throat.
(The heat between your legs).
Scoffing, you pushed the intrusive, shameful thought away with an edge of reluctance — not caring for why, as you glanced back towards where the akuma was last. Whether he was feigning or not, you knew you'd never have an opportunity like this again. He'd only grow more hungry, you more anxious, and so with an inhale — short, sharp — you struggled to your feet and took a tentative step towards him, minding your footing.
You wondered to what extent the creature was hurt by your weapon. He seemed as though he were genuinely hurt, but that could be another ruse, another ploy to gather you within his maw and bite down. Devour you in one. You lifted your leg, balancing precariously on the sole of your right foot and strained your eyes, glowering through the black as you saw the outline of a large, tanned leg. Then another.
Two legs, then a large torso and a head resting on a bulging chest — all features and details carved in stark shadows.
Curious, you moved closer. Saw tufts of pink hair on his arms, on his head,, noticed that he was shirtless, and there were little pink hairs there too. You looked at his large hands, and squirmed as you imagined those large things on your body.
Moved closer. Rubbed your thighs together as you saw his lips. Mouth parting slightly.
Only a breadth away and his eyes snapped wide. “I can smell you, morsel.” you staggered back watched as he smiled crookedly and the wound began to meld.
“What–”
“You taste divine.” he licked his lips, long, forked tongue shooting out to the air. “Are you offering yourself to me this morning ... how generous.” he drew the s’ as his tongue flickered. “But I said I wanted to take you on my own.”
“I…I did nothing of the sort.” you murmured, placing your hand over your forehead as a dizziness overcame you, a heat licked at your nape. "S-Stop it." you waved your hand as though that would keep him at bay.
"Stop what?''
"Stop making it so damn hot in here." you wheezed. "You are putting a spell on my.."
"Is that right?" Another lick at the corner of his lips, another flash of red. "So delicate. Like a piece of glass." he mocked as he pulled back. "You stepped into my space, morsel. Do you...yearn for my tongue again?"
You shook, watched as his wound meshed together as a slick grew between your legs. "Do not. D-do not change the topic,"
"You tasted wonderful." he cooed, taking his time as he trailed his gaze up and down, a low purr erupting from the pit of his stomach. "Such a pity you do not share in our desire." He snarled softly and rose to his feet.
You backed away. "Desire?" You mumbled under your breath and for a second it occurred that perhaps his intention hadn't been as nefarious as you first thought — and to your surprise, the mere concept made your nipples pebble. "D-desire." you breathed out and immediately felt sick with yourself.
“I am going." You spat suddenly, flushing, not caring if the beast meant to harm you or not. For your instincts spoke louder and despite how rational this thought sounded in your head, something didn't quite sit right. With anything. With him, and his words. Even now. "My task was to...to..."
You continued to back up, and he continued staring at you with a smile. "...terminate you..."
His jaw shifts as he observes you retreating with slow steps. His entire presence feels very much predatory, the grin that spreads from ear to ear unsettling, a light shimmer of red peeking through the flesh. "But,"
He stalks forward, slowly, deliberately.
"Perhaps I can bargain with you. Offer something better."
"You do not have anything that interests me." you stated flatly, heart racing a million paces per second as you twisted and pivoted to flee, finding the opening at the mouth of the cave with newfound hope.
He ignored you. "Give me your energy, your body and your soul, and I shall offer you a head to take home."
"Are you in a position to barter?" You answered back just as promptly, stepping over the small and rocky slopes that brought you closer towards the exit.
You did not hesitate, and he did not answer either, which for some reason left your mouth slightly dry, even as you neared the stone steps you had first climbed down, and the faint beams of moonlight peeked through the pine needles, casting its glittering light in your surroundings.
"Just think it over."
And you did. Had no other choice to. Over the next week Sukuna tried to get you to surrender your body and soul (on multiple occasions you awoke to him stroking his cock right before you, moaning loud enough to shake the cave’s walls. Too bad you felt far too weak to even touch yourself.), and even though the latter seemed very easy, the thought of offering yourself, of surrendering what was considered sacred to him — and thus a forbidden fruit, became a frequent and desirable one. You allowed yourself to consider how it would feel to belong to him, how it would feel to surrender to those pointed incisors and fanged maw — perhaps his tongue, too.
No one will know, whispered the little voice inside of your head. It was just you and him and you nd the cold and you and your thoughts. For so long you were lost in those very thoughts, that the first twinge of hunger had you gasping, bending over and clutching your middle in an effort to try and stifle it. But it didn't. It merely grew sharper. Fresher. More persistent.
Over the following week your body weakened, it was expected, considering you had next to nothing to eat since you were in the mountains — save for the odd fern, few pine branches that resembled needles and the rotting bits of fruit you found. They were hard as stones, but still edible to some extent.
To the demon, this had not gone unnoticed.
"Must you suffer needlessly?" he had asked you on the eighth day. A taunt, and yet, an opportunity, nonetheless. "In doing so, does it satisfy you?" He took a few paces closer, his bare feet quiet along the dirt. You shrunk into the wall. "You cannot survive much longer, not in this winter, nor in this cold. Your frail little human body will not."
"You know not of my resolve." you stated simply, edging away when he walked forth.
Sukuna halted mid-step and curled his lips to show his teeth, to display that pointed fangs and a forked tongue that resembled a serpent's. "No," he sneered. "I know not." He stopped when he reached the centre of the cavern and rested against the large rock that held a permanent fixture in the core. "But there is that about you..."
He smirked. "That...smell." Your breath hitched, and his smirk grew. "You will not last much longer."
And you knew he was right. You were so weak. So hungry. While it seemed he grew stronger and stronger.
"Aren't you lonely in this pit of fire?" Came a lilting chime, before you felt the caress of claws upon the hem of your kimono. "Little, useless thing."
The heat in the room seemed to grow. Grow and grow. The heat between your legs—
“Aren’t you hungry?” The akuma whispered. “For I am. Very, very hungry.”
You groaned weakly, lifting a hand to swat at him. “I…am not.”
Stuttered breaths hitched in your throat as fingers crawled up the flesh of your thigh, trailed across the soft, delicate expanse of it —
trapped, you knew, between a devil and a rock, and under that devil's stare, his hungry gaze, and the sediment.
His long fingers reached for your kimono and shoved it up your thighs, made it easier to access your glistening cunt, and he took a claw and dragged your panties to the side.
“I can smell you, human.” He sung, a smirk on his lips. “You will enjoy this. It will be…” he paused, tongue flicking out, tasting your scent. “...a wondrous feeling.”
Warm, thick saliva dripped and puddled around the crux of your thighs, his long, inhuman tongue delving itself between your slickened folds and poking into you, testing, sampling. You shivered and whimpered at the pressure of his rough tongue, how it seemed to reach every part of you, make you warm.
“D-Do not.” You forced out weakly, despite the fact that your hips lifted to press yourself closer to his mouth. The akuma simply ignored you, continued running his tongue through your folds as his grip on your skin tightened. Huffing and puffing as you dampened his face and oh— you are certain that this was hell. A fiery ball of heat that you were trapped in. Condemned to.
It was ludicrous, really, that in a time like this all you could of in a time like this was that your father would despise you. You didn't think of how you’d get home—beat the demon, slay him and drag his heavy head down the mountain.
All you could think of was your father, and your father, and your father and—
“Oh!”
The demon turned you over onto your stomach, forced your legs wider as he continued to prod at your hole. The sheer pleasure was far too much for your weakened body, and it brought a surge of tears to your eyes. Your legs began to tremble and spasm, even more so as that ache in your core began to swell.
“You’re loving this, aren’t you?” The demon mumbled against your folds. “Despite how you writhe and fight you’re enjoying this.”
You could only manage a strained grunt.
“It’ll be worth all the trouble, human.”
Trouble…never would there be a more fitting label. This was trouble. His large hand running along your skin and squeezing your hips was trouble. His mouth moving away from your body… trouble. And certainly, the feel of his hand along your hips; something flared and soft prodding at your hole…was trouble.
Your body was weak, and your mind was tired, yet the akuma still managed to hold you upright.
He moved his hands from your hips and further up your back, his claws digging into the soft flesh of your shoulders and slowly, carefully, the akuma pushed himself inside of you.
The feeling was indescribable. As though a piece of heaven had descended from the heavens and blessed your body, and as his cock sunk deeper and deeper inside you, you felt a wave of pleasure hit you.
You had never been with a man before, but this was different. He was not a man.
"Oh." You cried out, the sound echoing through the cave.
The akuma's claws dug further into your flesh, the sharpness of them almost breaking the skin. "Good, isn't it, morsel?"
You groaned, and he took that as an affirmation. Oh, how it felt so good, so right, to give in.
"I will take care of you, my little morsel," the akuma purred. "I will keep you safe, and warm, and fed."
"What do you want from me?" You asked, and he laughed.
"Everything."
Your squirmed, breath hitching. "…My soul?"
"Yesss," he hissed. "Your soul, your body, your energy. All of you."
He thrusted harder, his thrusts growing faster, harder, and you gasped at the pain, at the pleasure. He was so big, stretching you completely, and the way his cock slid in and out of you was almost hypnotic. Mouth ajar, drool dribbling down the corner of your lips, you could not help but moan.
"A-And if I refuse?" You wouldn’t. You couldn’t.
He smiled. Devilishly. As though he knew this too. "You won't"
A squelching sound filled the room, the akuma's cock sliding in and out of you, and you could not help but gasp, moan, at the feel of his thick cock inside you. Stretching you. Leaving you breathless and wanting.
"That's it, morsel," he hissed. "I'm going to fill you up, make you mine."
"Oh, God," you moaned, the akuma's thrusts becoming harder, faster, and you could not help but cry out, his cock slamming into you over and over again.
"Yes," he growled, his thrusts becoming more erratic. "Take my seed, morsel."
And you did.
He came with a roar, his cock pulsing, and you could feel his seed filling you. It was warm, and it was thick, and it was everything you had ever wanted.
"Fuck," you moaned, the akuma's cum dripping out of your pussy, and you could not help but frown as you felt his grip grow harsher, practically hearing the way his body hummed with new power.
"You are mine," he growled, his voice deep and animalistic, and you could not help but nod, the akuma's words washing over you.
"Mine," he repeated, and you nodded, the akuma's cum dripping down your legs, and you could not help but smile, the akuma's seed filling you, and you could not help but moan, the akuma's cock twitching inside of you.
"Yours," you whispered, the akuma's claws digging into your skin, and you could not help but shiver, the akuma's hands roaming your body.
"Mine," the akuma growled, and you could not help but smile, the akuma's warmth spreading throughout your body. His power: your power.
"Mine."
----
abrupt ending because i've genuinely been stumped on how to finish this TT. but thank you for reading x
notes: hello i’m posting the netflix template i made on canva since i’ve been asked a lot about it in the past. (may add other notable templates i make in the future)
Netflix Template
website/app: canva
video examples: [1] , [2]
for personal use such as theme, fic banners, event banners etc.
this is a video template but if you want it as a picture, simply download as PNG or JPG (picture above is PNG). the template is fully editable and you can add anything you want—text, colour, media—but please do not remove my water mark and/or claim as your own. like & reblog if you use my template. credit is much appreciated! :3
Netflix Episodes Template
website/app: canva
picture examples: [1] , [2]
for personal use such as theme, fic banners, event banners etc. — mainly recommended for a multi-fic series as shown in examples + can be used in conjunction with netflix template above!
for orientation purposes, i made this a video template but can still be saved as a picture. simply download as PNG or JPG (picture above is PNG). the template is fully editable and you can add anything you want—text, colour, media—but please do not remove my water mark and/or claim as your own. like & reblog if you use my template. credit is much appreciated!
@luv-lies | event masterlist | matchmaking : building gingerbread houses
cinnamon and nutmeg hang in the air, wafting from the kitchen. at the table, ingredients are spread to every corner: gumdrops, shredded coconut, chocolate chips, anything the two of you could find to craft the perfect gingerbread houses.
yours is going well - it at least hasn’t collapsed yet. there’s a nice path made of crumbled cookies leading to the tiny wafer door, with candy shingles carefully attached to the roof.
choso, meanwhile, sits with his back facing you. every time you attempt to catch a glimpse of his creation, he shifts, blocking your view with his shoulders. all you can make out are thick, furrowed brows as he works.
“almost done,” he smiles with a glance towards you. “just putting the finishing touches on!”
which would be sweet, you think, except he hasn’t reached for anything in the past twenty minutes beyond the giant bowl of frosting.
“don’t you want to use any candy though, cho?”
he just chuckles, pink dusting his cheeks. “no, no, i’ve got everything i need!”
absentmindedly, you pop a few gumdrops into your mouth, letting the chewy sugar melt on your tongue. placing a few candy canes along the edge of your plate, you form a makeshift fence for your perfect little baked home as you wait.
“aaaand, done!” he exclaims suddenly.
stepping to the side, he reveals his gingerbread house: white icing drawn in the shape of your name, surrounded in hearts, covers the walls. on the roof, he has written ‘i love you’ in his neatest cursive.
“well? what do you think?” he nervously fidgets with his hands while you take it in, holding his breath.
just as your mouth opens to compliment him, tell him how it’s perfect, how he’s perfect, how he makes you feel warm and safe in a way no one else ever has before, something shifts. in an instant, the walls cave in, his creation collapsing into a pile of frosting.
“nooo,” he pouts, reaching out to salvage what he can but only ending up with sticky fingers.
your palm rests lightly on his wrist, and you place a soothing peck to his cheek. “i love it, cho, it’s perfect.”
“i just…i wanted to make something as pretty as you are.”
“well,” you giggle, “it might not be as pretty, but it will certainly be more delicious.” through a smile, you take a piece of the gingerbread, still warm as it crunches between your teeth. clove and spices meld on your tongue before offering it to him. he takes a bite, resting his head on yours, sugar and sweet.
a/n: MY DEAR LUVIE!!!!! thank you for letting me play matchmaker teehee :3 our poor sweet boy is just doing his best hahahahahaha i thought he'd be nice and cozy and caring <3 thank you for always being so kind and being such a lovely person to talk to, i love you sm!!!!
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contents: dilf!toji, fem reader, heavily implied age gap, he calls you sweetheart and kid, you call him sir, one use of daddy, size kink, breeding kink, creampies, squirting, slight degradation, praise, body worship, toji is a tit man, i'm sorry i am ovulating ok!!
wc: 1.9k
If your friends knew you were fucking the single dad who lives in the apartment next to yours, you’d never hear the end of it.
But it’s not your fault.
Toji is nice. He fixed your car for you once, when he found you outside of your building, panicking about how you were going to get to class in time. And then there was the one time when he helped you get your new table inside your apartment. You even watch his kid for him sometimes, when he gets a late shift at his job.
He calls you sweetheart. You like it, though it made your friend cringe when she heard it after you coincidentally ran into him in the hallway.
“He calls you that? That’s so old-school. Don’t you feel sorta uncomfortable?”
But you could never feel uncomfortable around Toji. Not when he fixes your leaking sink and offers to give you a ride to university whenever the roads are too slippery during wintertime.
“The roads aren’t safe,” he’ll mutter, eyeing your little Toyota Aigo.
“Did you even remember to get the tyres changed for winter?” he adds, and you’ll shake your head, feeling embarrassed.
No worries though, because Toji will drive you to class and neither of you will comment on the hand on your thigh during the ride. Maybe he has time to go get your tyres changed on the weekend.
And you definitely do not feel uncomfortable when he knocks on your door on evening and tells you with a smirk that Megumi is sleeping over at some friend's place. So he has time to take a look at that flickery lamp you mentioned last week.
“Thank you,”
Your eyes are lidded, your cheeks stained with tears, and your hair is a mess. “Thank you, thank you, fuck, thank–”
Toji chuckles and leans down to press a wet kiss to your cheek, spit and tears mixing as he rests an elbow on each side of your head, caging you in underneath him. If anyone were to walk into your bedroom, they would only see Toji’s broad back and his hips pistoning into yours. You doubt they’d be able to see you, apart from your legs dangling over his shoulders.
“You don’t have to thank me, sweetheart,” he rasps, his face mere inches from yours as he watches you carefully, taking in your knitted brows and the way your jaw falls open, as a lewd, borderline pornographic moan leaves you each time he bottoms out. “The pleasure is all mine.”
His eyes travel down, watching the way your tits bounce with each thrust. He didn’t bother taking your tank top all the way off, only pulling it right above your tits so he could watch them in all their glory. He played with them earlier, till they were overly sensitive and soaked in spit.
“Your tits are a sight for sore fucking eyes,” he mutters, giving you a particularly hard thrust just to watch your back arch and your body jolt. Your cunt squeezes around him, and his eyes flicker to yours, a grin stretching on his lips. “You like that, kid? Like when I praise you?” he asks.
You sink your teeth into your lower lip and whine, all pretty and pouty, hating when he reminds you of how inexperienced you are compared to him.
“I’m not a kid,” you mutter, and Toji scoffs in amusement. His eyes travel down again, this time all the way to where your bodies connect. He watches himself disappear in and out, enjoying the little bulge in your abdomen.
“I’m so deep, aren’t I?” he says, and his tone is as teasing as ever.
You huff. Toji isn’t just deep—the tip of his ridiculously large cock is practically bullying your cervix, sending sparks of pain and pleasure through your body. You’re so terribly wet that there’s a puddle of slick running down your ass and creating a wet spot underneath you. A white ring has formed around the base of Toji’s cock, sticking to you both when he bottoms out, and Toji can’t help himself when he brings a hand down to press on your stomach while his other arm wraps underneath your waist, forcing you to arch into him.
“That’s it,” he praises as he feels you grow impossibly tight, his cock now abusing your sweet spot as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. The sounds that leave you are obscene. It’s all babbled nonsense, praises and thank you’s and fuck, sir, feels so good, fucking me so good, thank you, thank you, oh my god—
Your sweaty bodies stick together, the back of your thighs pressing against Toji’s stomach as you go mute, jaws becoming slack in a silent scream. Toji pulls back slightly so he can look at you, watching the way your eyes roll to the back of your head. He grabs your arms, once again settling with an elbow on each side of your head while his hands hold your arms above your head.
“Good”, thrust “fucking,” thrust “girl,” Toji says through gritted teeth. He keeps eye contact as best as possible (at least when your pupils aren’t disappearing in the back of your skull) while he completely rearranges your guts, stretching you thin around his thick length. “You’ve been aching for this, haven’t you?”
You can’t reply. At this point, you’re just taking whatever he’s giving you, your toes curling and your legs slightly shaking.
“You think I can’t hear?” he asks, slapping your cheek lightly, bringing you somewhat back to earth. “Think I can’t hear when you bring those loser college boys home?”
“I might be old, but I’m not deaf, sweetheart,”
You mewl. You know the walls are thin. It doesn’t make it better that the wall your bed is up against is connected to Toji’s bedroom on the other side. You didn’t think he’d hear.
Or maybe some secret perverted part of you hoped he did.
“I’ve heard the way you moan when they fuck you,” he says, and at this point his thrusts are punishing as he snaps his hips into yours, pressing your bodies together, and making the headboard bang into the wall. The very wall that keeps your bedrooms separated. “Tell me if I’m wrong, kid, but you sound much more fucked out right now.”
He wants to say that you sound more genuine as well. But that would mean he’d have to admit to lying awake at night, listening to your pathetic, little moans as some sweaty, hormonal boy laid on top of you. He hates the way he’s imagined countless times how you sound when you’re drowned in pleasure. How it would be to fuck you dumb.
How it is you sound right now.
But his imagination could never live up to the real thing. Not in a million years. Your moans are like music to his ears, clouding up his thoughts and making his dick hurt with how hard he is.
“What is it you always say,” Toji muses, leaning down and nipping at your earlobe. “Harder, fuck me harder,” he repeats, and you let out a wretched sob, trashing underneath him as you feel the buildup in your abdomen, while simultaneously feeling embarrassed that he heard all that.
“Say it for me, kid,” Toji breathes in the scent of your hair, waiting.
“Harder,” you gasp, hot tears rolling down your cheeks as your toes curl. “Fuck me harder, please, sir, I want to come.”
Toji groans, and you feel his dick twitch inside you. He grabs the back of your head and makes you look at the way he bullies his thick cock inside your cunt.
“You see that,” he asks, both of you fixated on the sinful sight. “Taking my dick like the perfect little cocksleeve,”
“Gonna come,” you gasp, digging your nails into his biceps as you grab him for leverage. The headboard bangs against the wall louder. You’re bound to get complaints from your other neighbors, though you can’t bring yourself to care.
Your orgasm builds and builds and builds, and you try to get away from the immense pleasure, and Toji’s punishing cock, but you’re inevitably brought to the edge when he thumbs your clit.
You spray him soon after, squirting all over his abdomen as you reach heaven. Black dots cloud your vision, and you cry out, hitting his shoulders when he keeps fucking you.
“You’re perfect,”
Toji whistles, and his hips stutter at how tight you get. You’re practically begging for a creampie at this point, but luckily Toji isn’t stingy, as he buries himself deep inside you and shoots copious amounts of cum, painting your insides white. You almost come again at the feeling, though you’re ready to pass out, fully content with the proper dicking down you just received.
You grab him, wrapping your arms around his neck.
“Thank you, daddy,” you hum. There isn’t a single intelligent thought running through your head other than how good Toji is to you. Toji huffs at the slip of a new nickname, though he doesn't complain. He makes a mental note in the back of his head, to ask you about it later. Megumi probably wouldn’t mind a little sibling if you want it so bad.
He pulls out, though he’s still hard, and watches his cum spill out of you. It’s a lovely sight really, and he can’t help but consider a second round, unable to deny the fact that it would only be right to fuck his cum right back into you.
Just for good measure.
Naive girls like you deserve to be creampied. You practically beg for it, honestly, with your tempting body and your pretty sparkly eyes, always looking at him like he has the answer to everything. It’s only right to stuff you full and fuck your brains out, Toji reasons, as he rubs the head of his cock on your clit.
He slips in again, ignoring your tiny protest when he begins to grind his hips into yours. You moan and grab his hair, running your fingers through dark locks and kissing the scar on his lips.
“Kiss me, please,” you mutter, and Toji obliges, pressing his lips to yours properly this time, sucking on your tongue, and fucking you slow and nice. You moan and gasp and whine. It all sounds so very pretty that it makes Toji’s teeth ache with how lovely you are.
“Feel good, kid?” Toji asks, and you nod, moaning into his ear and sucking on his neck.
“Feels so good. Mmmh, love your cock so much, sir,” you babble, pushing your hips up to meet his pace.
“Pretty baby just needed a real man,” Toji chuckles. “You’ve been craving a proper cock, haven’t you? Probably got so tired of bringing home useless college dude after college dude.”
You whine at the thought, nodding your head.
“Pretty girls like you need real men, though. You deserved to be fucked like a whore.”
You let your head fall back as a second orgasm unexpectedly rips through you.
"Fuck!” you yell as your body convulses and your thighs shake. You tense up, and Toji continues to fuck you, though it’s not long before he comes again and fills you up once more.
You giggle. Especially when he puts your panties on again and you feel them get cum-soaked immediately. He helps you pee (though he tells you to not waste any of his cum), and then there’s cuddles and food and water and shitty movies on your computer in your bed.
And if you suck his dick later, letting him grab your head and fuck your throat as a proper thank you for all he does, then you can’t really be blamed.
After all, it is common decency to return favours. <33
first fic for toji, oh em gee!! i need him bad, guys, i need him carnally, i need him in every position possible, i need him night, morning, and day i need him NOWWW
thank you for reading >:D please reblog and comment to support your writers!!
wow what an absolutely beautiful shop you have here…. :33 do you have any special items this week?? perhaps a magical locket or a mirror with a princess stuck in it? :3
hi my dearest letta. <33 i hope you are immensely well. please remember to eat warm foods and stay hydrated!! how was your week?? >:D
my dear i am so glad you asked *dramatically pulls back a large, velvet drape*
we have .... a very widely-sought kettle that is said to have been used by royalty 😲 ! oooh ! i think we have a magical locket somewhere .... hm(i swear i saw it a second ago i have no clue where it went. sigh.) ... in the meantime can i distract you with chaste kisses while i search a bit longer hehe ;333
ANYWHO, i am doing so well alba, thank you for asking ! it has been a busy week, and has gone by too quickly in my opinion. one second it's monday and the next it's saturday .... insane. HOW ARE YOU ? HOW IS EVERYTHING ??
hiii letta!!! I know I am very, very late, but I just wanted to greet you a happy birthday!! <3
It's Eden, hehe- but that aside, I wish only the best for you and more the future that waits!! As the year comes to an end, may you be blessed with whatever you want, and be able to persevere amidst the harshest of obstacles.
I'm glad to have found your blog and met you, as your aesthetics stand out among others, and your fics were written like divine prophecies, words of prayers, or simple harks of devotion. I loved that, and I love you you you!! <33
EDEN AHHHH this has me giggling like a madman (>////<) ... i am so grateful for YOUUU, and i am so incredibly flattered by ... everything AHAH thank youuu (you are so eloquent ! this was like a little love poem hehe) ! may you flourish throughout the rest of this year and all to come as well ;33 i hope all is well 💝
ONCE MORE TO SEE YOU — toji fushiguro x female reader [oneshot]
summary: you’re a single mom with a schedule that leaves little room for anything but work and longing. twice a week, you get to hold your daughter close, pouring all your love into moments that always feel too short. across the hallway, there’s toji — a single dad who watches from a distance, arms crossed, jaw tight, as he wonders how you juggle work and parenting and still manage to make your kid so happy. at first, he’s envious. envious of your composure, your warmth, the way your daughter looks at you like you’re her whole world. but slowly, that envy shifts. what happens when two broken hearts start to lean on each other, finding strength in the spaces they thought would stay empty? can you let someone in without fear of breaking again? can he?
content warnings: fluff, slight angst with comfort. strangers to friends to lovers. slow burn. single parent/divorced (female) reader. single parent toji. reader has a girl [aged 8-9] no name specified, megumi is the same age as well. reader has a toxic/manipulative ex husband. happy ending. lot of feels. very personally penned </3 mentions of other characters: nanami, yuuji, nobara, gojo & sukuna
read on ao3!
toji didn’t usually care much about other people’s business, but you? you were impossible to ignore.
it wasn’t just because your door slammed too loud when your kid came running out, or because you always seemed to be lugging some heavy-ass groceries up the stairs with that determined scowl of yours. it was how you did it all like some damn perfectionist.
toji hated it.
hated the way it made him feel like he should be trying harder too, especially when his kid, megumi, was busy leaving trails of destruction like a little tornado.
“megumi, stop throwing the damn ball against the wall!” he bellowed one evening, slumping further into his couch. the kid ignored him, of course.
then, as if the universe hated him, your door creaked open, and there you were, strolling into the hallway like you had nothing better to do. arms crossed, brows raised, you peered down at him with that no-nonsense air of yours.
“maybe he’s bored?” you suggested, leaning casually against your doorframe.
toji snorted. “maybe he’s just an asshole.”
your face scrunched in disapproval, the kind he’d seen a million times from the PTA moms who used to glare at him when he showed up late to pick up megumi. but you didn’t launch into a lecture like he expected. instead, you glanced at megumi, who had paused mid-throw to stare at you, and crouched down to his level.
“hey, buddy,” you said, voice softening in a way that made toji’s stomach twist. “why don’t you try aiming for that spot over there?” you pointed to a section of the wall that wouldn’t drive everyone insane. megumi actually listened, and toji couldn’t decide if he was impressed or pissed off.
“what, you think you’re some kind of kid whisperer?” he muttered, shoving his hands into his hoodie pocket.
you stood, brushing off your knees, and looked him dead in the eye. “no, but i know how to talk to them.”
toji scowled. “yeah, must be nice, being born with that magic ‘mom gene.’”
you blinked, then burst out laughing, and for some reason, that annoyed him even more.
“mom gene? toji, i only have my kid on weekends. the rest of the time, it’s just me and a bottle of wine trying not to lose my mind.”
he frowned, caught off guard. “wait, what?”
“yeah, divorce does that to you.” your voice was breezy, but your eyes flickered with something darker for a split second. “not that it’s any of your business.”
toji chewed on that revelation, something prickling at the edges of his brain. you weren’t some perfect supermom after all. you were just...getting by, same as him.
the realization didn’t sit well — it made you seem less annoying and more...real. vulnerable, even.
“huh,” he grunted, looking away, suddenly too aware of how quiet the hallway had gotten. megumi was still tossing the ball, but it was softer now, more controlled. “guess you’re not as put together as you seem.”
“and you’re not as big of a jerk as you seem,” you shot back, giving him a pointed look before retreating to your apartment.
toji stared after you, jaw tight, until the door clicked shut. something about you made him itch, made him feel like he needed to either punch a wall or figure out why he couldn’t stop thinking about how you smiled at his kid.
damn it.
toji sat at the edge of his couch, one hand wrapped around a cold beer and the other flipping through a stack of bills. the TV was on, low volume, playing some mindless sports recap he wasn’t even watching. megumi was somewhere in his room, the faint clatter of toys filtering down the hall. the kid had been sulking since this morning, muttering about how “nobody does anything fun.”
he grunted, rubbing a hand down his face. it wasn’t like he didn’t want to take the kid out, but hell, it was hard enough keeping the lights on. trips to the park felt like a luxury he couldn’t afford — time or energy.
and then he heard it. your laugh, loud and unapologetic, echoing in the hallway like it owned the place. toji tilted his head back against the couch, scowling at the ceiling as if that would make the sound go away. it didn’t. instead, it was followed by the high-pitched giggle of your kid, shrieking with joy as the two of you stomped down the stairs.
“hold on, mama needs her shoes!” your voice floated up through the doorframe, playful but firm.
“hurry! we’re gonna miss the swings!” your daughter yelled back, her excitement enough to make toji wince. he could practically see the image of you two — hand in hand, all smiles, making your way to the park like you didn’t have a care in the world.
his jaw tightened. perfect. just another reminder of how much he sucked at this parenting thing.
he took a long swig of his beer and stared at the stack of bills like it was their fault he couldn’t be the kind of dad who made his kid laugh like that. no matter how much he wanted to, he couldn’t just...be you. he didn’t know how to make life look that easy.
“megumi,” he called, his voice rougher than he meant it to be.
there was a pause, the kind that made him think the kid wasn’t going to answer, before a small, reluctant “yeah?” drifted back.
toji sighed, setting the beer down. “you wanna...go outside or somethin’?”
another pause. then: “what for?”
the response hit harder than he cared to admit. what for? shouldn’t his kid want to? shouldn’t he be the one excited to spend time with his old man? but megumi sounded skeptical, like he’d already decided it wouldn’t be fun.
“never mind,” toji muttered, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “forget it.”
the sound of the door to megumi’s room clicking shut made toji’s shoulders sag further.
outside, your laughter faded, replaced by the echo of your footsteps retreating into the distance. he leaned back on the couch, staring at the flickering TV screen, feeling something in his chest tighten and pull.
toji didn’t know when exactly it had started bothering him — this stupid, begrudging little alliance the two of you had. you’d come over when megumi refused his medicine, talking to the kid with that low, steady voice of yours until he opened his mouth like it was no big deal. and toji would come over when your sink started leaking, muttering under his breath the whole time about how you should’ve called a damn plumber.
but this? this was different. it wasn’t about fixing a sink or calming a tantrum. it was about the fact that you always seemed to do better — better at this whole parenting thing, better at making life fun, better at...everything.
and he hated that. hated how it made him feel like he was doing it all wrong.
maybe tomorrow would be different. maybe tomorrow he’d try harder. but for tonight, toji sat in the dim light of his living room, beer in hand, listening to the muffled sounds of megumi’s toys clattering in the other room, and let himself wonder — just for a second — what it’d be like to get it right.
your neighbors thought you had it all figured out — the strict yet cool mom who always had her shit together. you weren’t the one scrambling for groceries or apologizing to the pharmacist because you forgot to refill a prescription. no, your pantry was always stocked, the fridge had every snack your daughter loved, and there was always a pack of pads tucked in the bathroom cabinet, just in case. because if there was one thing you were going to do, it was prepare. even if it was only for two days a week.
but those two days weren’t enough. not for you, anyway.
your daughter was happy, blissfully unaware of how unnatural this arrangement felt to you. she was too young to see what you saw, to feel the cracks in your chest every time sunday evening rolled around and your ex-husband came to pick her up. you watched her climb into the car without a second thought, giggling about whatever they had planned for the week ahead, and you stood on the curb with a smile that felt like it might crack your face in half.
because this wasn’t the norm. at least, it shouldn’t have been.
but she didn’t know that, and how could you tell her? how could you explain that the only reason the divorce had been so clean and quick was because you’d made sure it was? no yelling, no lawyers, no drawn-out battles over custody. you wanted it over before she could develop memories sharp enough to stick.
and it worked — she was happy. unbothered. as if this was just how life was supposed to be.
you hated it.
you hated it almost as much as you hated sitting alone in your too-quiet apartment for the other five days of the week, waiting. hoping. praying for something, anything, that would keep her with you longer.
sometimes, you’d stare at your phone, willing it to light up with a text from your ex. something like hey, last-minute work trip, can you take her this week? or she’s asking to stay with you, is that okay?
but those texts never came. and your little girl never asked. she loved you, you knew that, but she didn’t need you in the way you wished she did. not yet.
not like you needed her.
so, you waited. and in the waiting, you heard everything else.
the muffled shouts of toji and his kid through the walls. the occasional crash of what was probably a wrestling match in their living room. the bark of laughter when megumi said something funny. the kind of noise that used to fill your own apartment, before the silence settled in like an unwelcome guest.
you missed that noise. you missed the mess of it, the chaos, the constant reminder that there was life happening right in front of you.
some nights, you’d hear megumi’s voice drift into the hallway, arguing with his dad about bedtime, and you’d feel a pang in your chest so sharp it made you suck in a breath. you didn’t even know what you were hoping for anymore — a reason to knock on toji’s door? an excuse to borrow sugar or offer some unsolicited parenting advice? maybe it was just the idea of not being alone that called to you, the longing for that noise to become a permanent fixture in your home.
but the door stayed closed, and you stayed on your side, waiting.
thanksgiving wasn’t something you cared much for anymore. your daughter was off with your ex, being doted on by her grandparents, and you were left standing in the middle of your apartment wondering what the hell you were supposed to do with yourself. the thought of spending the day bouncing from bar to bar, pretending like you didn’t care that you were alone, felt more pathetic than liberating.
you had just grabbed your coat, keys jangling in hand, when the knock came. not a gentle knock, either — a heavy, impatient pounding. opening the door, you found megumi standing there, arms crossed and wearing a scowl that was all too familiar.
“you need to come help my dad,” he said bluntly.
you blinked. “uh, what?”
“the turkey,” he clarified, rolling his eyes like you should’ve already known. “he’s gonna burn it. again.”
you almost said no. you really did. it wasn’t your problem if toji fushiguro couldn’t figure out how to roast a turkey. but then megumi fixed you with a look — stubborn, determined, his little fists clenching at his sides — and you saw your daughter in him. that same unyielding resolve she’d inherited from you.
before you could stop yourself, you sighed and grabbed your shoes.
“fine,” you muttered. “but only because i don’t wanna smell burnt turkey through the walls for the next week.”
megumi led the way, not bothering to wait for you to catch up, and by the time you stepped into toji’s apartment, the chaos was already underway. toji was in the kitchen, glaring at the bird like it had personally insulted him, sleeves rolled up and hair a mess. megumi darted off to the living room, immediately digging through his toys, leaving you standing awkwardly in the doorway.
“you planning to just stand there, or are you gonna help?” toji barked without looking up.
“oh, i’m sorry,” you shot back, shrugging off your coat and stepping into the kitchen. “i didn’t realize i was signing up to save thanksgiving.”
“yeah, yeah, just don’t touch the knives,” he grumbled, handing you a bowl of stuffing. “last thing i need is you slicing a finger off.”
“cute,” you deadpanned, elbowing him out of the way to check the turkey. “you’re supposed to baste it, you know. not drown it in oil.”
toji huffed but stepped aside, muttering something under his breath about know-it-alls. for the next hour, the two of you worked in tandem — him grumbling every time you corrected him, you rolling your eyes every time he ignored your advice only to realize you were right. it was messy and loud, and megumi kept wandering into the kitchen to ask if he could “decorate the turkey” with his action figures.
“no,” you and toji said in unison, making megumi pout and stomp back to his toys.
you hated to admit it, but it felt...nice. domestic, even. like the kind of thanksgiving you used to dream about before everything fell apart.
when the turkey was finally done, golden and steaming, toji leaned against the counter, wiping his hands on a towel. “well, guess that’s not a total disaster,” he said, nodding toward the bird.
“you’re welcome,” you replied, smirking.
toji glanced at you, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. then, in a tone that was almost shy — almost — he added, “you, uh...you should stay. for dinner, i mean. since you helped.”
you hesitated, the instinct to say no already on your tongue. but then megumi poked his head around the corner, grinning as he asked if it was time to eat yet, and something in your chest softened.
“yeah,” you said, surprising even yourself. “yeah, i guess i could stay.”
for once, you didn’t worry about whether it was selfish to want this — to sit at a table with someone else’s kid, someone else’s dad, and pretend, just for a little while, that it was your own family.
you barely had time to put your keys down when your daughter bolted out the door, still wearing her ballet costume — tutu, tights, and all.
“where are you going?” you called after her, already regretting the question as you hurried to follow.
by the time you reached the hallway, she was standing in front of megumi, who looked as though he had just rolled out of bed. his hair stuck up in every direction, and he was clutching a carton of milk he’d clearly just retrieved from the grocery bag hanging outside his door. the poor kid froze like a deer caught in headlights as your daughter crossed her arms and declared, “you’re the same height as me. you have to practice with me.”
megumi blinked at her, then at you, then back at her. “what?”
“pirouettes,” she said matter-of-factly, pointing to her little satin shoes. “you just have to stand there and twirl, like this.” she spun in place, her tutu flaring out as she executed a clumsy turn.
“uh...” megumi glanced at the milk in his hand, clearly weighing his options. then, with a defeated grumble that sounded eerily like his dad, he said, “fine. but only for five minutes.”
you were about to step in, to scold her for bothering someone she didn’t know, but then megumi set the milk down and mimicked her spin, his movements stiff and awkward but surprisingly cooperative. the sight of the two of them twirling in the hallway — her with all the determination of a drill sergeant, him with the resigned patience of a kid who had long since accepted the absurdity of his life — made you pause.
“no, no, your arm’s supposed to go here,” she corrected, pulling his hand up into what you assumed was a ballet pose. megumi didn’t protest, just followed her instructions with a tiny scowl on his face.
you leaned against the doorframe, half-amused, half-stunned. the hallway was hardly the place for this — the flickering overhead light and slightly dingy carpet hardly screamed “dance studio” — but neither of them seemed to care. they were kids, after all. they didn’t need permission or a proper setting to make something fun out of nothing.
toji’s door creaked open, and he stepped out, rubbing the back of his neck. his eyes landed on the two kids, and his brows shot up. “what the hell’s goin’ on here?”
you smirked. “your kid’s being recruited as a dance partner.”
toji snorted, crossing his arms as he leaned against the doorframe. “looks like he’s takin’ it seriously.”
“he’s a good sport,” you admitted, watching as your daughter adjusted megumi’s stance like a tiny ballet instructor.
“yeah, well, don’t let him hear you say that. he’s already got enough of an attitude,” toji muttered, though there was a trace of pride in his voice.
you laughed softly, watching as the two kids twirled down the hallway like it was the most natural thing in the world. for a moment, you felt that familiar pang in your chest — the one that came from watching your daughter interact with someone so freely, so innocently. it reminded you of something you’d almost forgotten: kids didn’t care about the social rules adults imposed on them. they didn’t worry about boundaries or appearances. they just...were.
and maybe, just maybe, you could learn something from that.
you had rules. hard, fast rules you swore by, especially when it came to relationships. your daughter was your priority, and anything — or anyone — that complicated the fragile arrangement of custody and weekend visits was a hard no.
you’d learned that the hard way.
it was supposed to be just another date. nothing serious, nothing special. just someone you’d met through a friend of a friend, someone who seemed decent enough at first glance.
but “decent enough” didn’t cut it when he started poking around your home like it was his, asking invasive questions about your parenting and making himself far too comfortable in the space you shared with your daughter.
the final straw came when your girl, barely out of her toddler years, tugged on your sleeve and whispered, “i don’t like him.”
you snapped. you didn’t care about niceties or keeping things civil. your voice was sharp and unrelenting as you told him to leave, not sparing a second thought for his protests or excuses. when he didn’t take the hint, standing there like he had every right to argue with you in your own home, the commotion must have reached the hallway because toji showed up.
he leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, his eyes hard and unwavering. “you heard her,” he said, his voice calm but carrying an edge that could slice through steel. “get the hell out.”
the man hesitated, glancing between you and toji, before finally storming out with a string of muttered curses. the door slammed behind him, and you exhaled, your shoulders sagging under the weight of your anger.
toji didn’t say anything, just gave you a curt nod before disappearing back into his apartment. but his presence lingered, a silent reminder that someone else got it. someone else understood that when it came to your kids, there were no compromises. if they didn’t like someone, that was the end of it. no debate, no second chances.
because the truth was, kids had a steadfast sense of people. they could see what adults often ignored or rationalized away. and if your little girl didn’t like someone, then that was reason enough to show them the door.
it wasn’t about being strict or overprotective. it was about being selfless in the way only a parent could be — putting your child’s comfort and safety above your own needs, no matter how lonely or frustrating it could be.
and as much as you hated that night, as much as it left you raw and questioning your own choices, it also reaffirmed something you already knew: your girl came first. always.
toji didn’t see the point of relationships. not when all he needed was a night of sex and no strings attached. a quick call, a casual meet-up, and back to their place or the backseat of his car — it was simple, clean, and didn’t involve his son.
rules were rules. no bringing anyone home, ever. it wasn’t just about protecting megumi’s innocence; it was about maintaining some semblance of order in the chaos of their lives.
megumi wasn’t clueless, though. he’d catch on when his dad had a “special lady friend,” his young mind putting two and two together. but he never lingered on it — he was too preoccupied with his toys or his own little world to ask questions. still, toji made it a point to keep those two parts of his life separate. or at least, he tried to.
then there was that night. the one he wished he could erase entirely.
it started with a hookup — someone he barely knew, someone who got a flat tire on the way to meet him. she called him in a panic, and toji, feeling half-responsible, told her to wait downstairs while he scrounged up some cash to help her out. it was supposed to be quick, a simple transaction before he sent her on her way.
but when he opened his apartment door to check on megumi, there she was, standing in the hallway, looking between him and his son like she’d just uncovered some dirty secret.
“seriously?” she snapped, her voice rising. “you have a kid, and you didn’t tell me? what kinda man are you?”
toji froze, his jaw tightening. “it’s not like that,” he started, already regretting everything about this situation. “he’s my son, yeah, but —”
“oh my god,” she interrupted, her voice dripping with something he couldn’t quite place.
“you’re a single dad? that’s so...hot. like, wow, you’re doing all this on your own? it’s inspiring.”
toji stared at her, horrified. was this some kind of joke? how the hell did she jump from being pissed to romanticizing his life? did she think being a single parent was some kind of aesthetic?
before he could say anything, you appeared from your apartment, drawn out by the commotion. one look at the scene and you put the pieces together — the woman’s flirtatious tone, toji’s visible irritation, megumi standing awkwardly behind his dad.
“are you serious right now?” you said, your voice cutting through the tension like a blade. “do you even hear yourself? you don’t just barge into someone’s home and start fantasizing about their struggles like it’s some rom-com plot.”
the woman blinked, clearly taken aback, but you didn’t stop. “being a single parent isn’t some cute little quirk, okay? it’s hard work. it’s messy and exhausting, and you don’t get to stand there and act like it’s sexy or whatever weird thing you’re doing right now. you’re embarrassing yourself.”
toji folded his arms, leaning against the doorframe as he watched you with something close to amusement. “yeah,” he added, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “what she said.”
the woman huffed, muttered something about how she “didn’t mean it like that,” and stormed off, leaving behind a cloud of awkward silence.
you turned to toji, your arms crossed. “seriously, fushiguro? what the hell was that?”
“don’t look at me,” he grunted. “i told her to wait downstairs. didn’t think she’d take it as an invitation to meet my kid.”
“well, maybe next time, screen your hookups better,” you shot back before glancing at megumi. “you okay, honey?”
megumi shrugged, holding his pillow like it was a shield. “she was weird.”
toji sighed, running a hand through his hair. “tell me about it.”
as you headed back to your apartment, you muttered loud enough for him to hear, “unbelievable.”
toji couldn’t argue with that.
pta meetings were never on your radar — your ex had made sure of that. "you don’t need to stress about these things," he’d said, his tone dismissive, as if your role as a parent didn’t extend to showing up for your own kid. but the moment he insisted one too many times, you knew it was less about easing your workload and more about him basking in the spotlight of being the ever-dedicated single dad.
you weren’t having it anymore.
so, there you were, shuffling awkwardly through the school halls, feeling like a stranger in your own child’s life. asking for directions to the third-grade pta made you feel ridiculous, but not nearly as much as the sight that greeted you when you finally found the room.
your daughter sat next to her father, the picture of poise and politeness. her hands folded neatly in her lap, her back straight, nodding along as if she’d been practicing for a commercial. for a moment, you wondered if you’d walked into the wrong classroom.
but then her eyes flicked to the door, and the facade crumbled. she leaped out of her chair, her tiny legs carrying her toward you as she yelled, “mama!” loud enough to turn heads. the force of her hug nearly knocked the wind out of you, but you didn’t care. this — her joy, her excitement — was worth every awkward second of wandering the school halls.
your ex, however, looked less than thrilled. his jaw tightened, his smile turned brittle, and you swore his ears went red.
“you’re not supposed to be here,” he hissed, his voice low but venomous. “we agreed —”
“you decided,” you cut him off, your voice calm but firm. “i have just as much right to be here as you do.”
your daughter, oblivious to the tension, looked up at both of you with wide, curious eyes. “but daddy said you don’t like school stuff,” she said, her little brow furrowed. “is that true?”
you knelt down, brushing a stray hair from her face. “of course not, sweetheart. i love being here for you. don’t ever think otherwise, okay?”
her face lit up again, but the moment was short-lived. your ex scoffed, muttering something under his breath about boundaries and making a scene. you felt the familiar heat of embarrassment creeping up your neck, the weight of the other parents’ stares pressing down on you.
and then, as if on cue, toji strolled in with megumi trailing behind him, looking as uninterested as ever.
toji’s eyes scanned the room, landing on the little drama unfolding between you and your ex. a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “looks like i’m not the only one dreading this circus,” he drawled, loud enough for everyone to hear.
megumi, clutching a slightly crumpled report card, muttered, “dad, can we just sit down?”
toji ignored him, stepping closer to where you were standing. “need backup?” he asked, his tone teasing but with a glint of seriousness in his eyes.
your ex bristled, standing a little straighter. “this isn’t any of your business.”
“maybe not,” toji said, crossing his arms, “but if you’re gonna start a scene in front of your kid, might as well make it entertaining for the rest of us.”
you bit back a laugh, your shoulders relaxing for the first time since you’d walked into the room. your ex muttered something incoherent before storming back to his seat, clearly deciding he’d rather sulk than argue with toji.
“thanks,” you said quietly, glancing at him.
“don’t mention it,” he replied, waving a hand. “besides, i could use the distraction. these meetings are the worst.”
megumi sighed dramatically, dragging his dad toward the nearest empty seats. your daughter tugged on your hand, pulling you toward her spot. “sit next to me, mommy!” she insisted, her voice brimming with excitement.
and just like that, the weight of embarrassment lifted. maybe the pta wasn’t so dreadful after all.
stationery shopping ranked high on toji’s list of things he’d rather not do. it wasn’t just the hassle of navigating cramped aisles and overly enthusiastic sales clerks — it was the quiet longing he saw in megumi’s eyes. his kid had always been practical, never asking for much. a pencil and eraser were all he ever said he needed.
but toji wasn’t blind. he noticed the way megumi’s gaze lingered on superhero-themed pouches, colorful erasers, or fancy gel pens that clicked in three different colors.
today, however, megumi wasn’t eyeing superheroes. he stood rooted in front of the store’s most ridiculously pink setup — hello kitty galore. pink pouches, glittery pens, stickers with cartoon bows and sparkles. “what’re ya staring at, brat?” toji grumbled, leaning against the cart.
“nothing,” megumi mumbled, looking down at his sneakers.
toji raised a brow. “yeah, sure. ‘nothing’ has you glued there like a statue.”
“it’s for...her,” megumi muttered, barely loud enough to hear.
“her?” for a second, toji wondered if his kid had cooked up another imaginary friend. but then it clicked. “her” wasn’t imaginary — it was your daughter. ever since she had dragged megumi into practicing her ballet routine in the hallway, she’d been on his radar. toji had caught him talking about her in passing, dropping little comments about her sparkly shoes or how good she was at balancing on her toes.
toji scratched the back of his head, sighing. “alright, pick something out.”
megumi’s head snapped up, his eyes wide. “really?”
“yeah, really. just don’t make me regret it.”
a few minutes later, toji was standing in line with a glittery-pen set, the kind of thing he never thought he’d buy in his lifetime. at checkout, he stared at the receipt longer than necessary, grumbling about how overpriced stationery had gotten. still, he couldn’t shake the thought of megumi’s sheepish little smile when he picked out the pen set.
later that day, toji knocked on your door, the pen set in hand. when you opened it, he held the package out awkwardly. “here,” he said gruffly. “megs wanted to give this to your girl.”
you blinked in surprise, looking between him and the gift. “oh, uh, thank you. that’s sweet of him.”
“yeah, well, don’t make a big deal out of it,” he muttered, already turning to leave.
“wait.” you disappeared into the apartment for a moment before coming back with a box in hand. “give this to megumi. my daughter won it in a raffle at school and insisted it was for him.”
toji frowned, taking the box. when he opened it, his jaw nearly dropped. inside was a limited-edition action figure of megumi’s favorite superhero, still in its pristine packaging. “seriously?” he asked, glancing up at you.
you shrugged, smiling. “she said he deserves it for helping her with ballet.”
when toji handed the box to megumi later, the boy’s eyes went as wide as saucers. “this is for me?” he asked, his voice almost disbelieving.
“yep,” toji said, leaning against the doorframe, a smirk tugging at his lips. “from her.”
megumi cradled the box like it was made of glass, his face lighting up in a way toji hadn’t seen in a while. “she’s...cool,” he mumbled, his ears turning red.
toji snorted, ruffling his son’s hair. “yeah, kid. guess she is.”
it started with the clatter of plastic pots and pans echoing in the hallway. toji peeked out, ready to bark at whoever was making the ruckus, only to see your kid — a whirlwind in a frilly dress — dragging megumi out of the apartment by his wrist. toji frowned, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. “what’s she up to now?” he muttered to himself.
your girl had plopped her miniature kitchen set right in the middle of the hallway, setting it up with an authority that would make a professional chef jealous. “okay, megumi,” she declared, hands on her hips. “we’re playing house-house.”
megumi shuffled awkwardly, glancing at the scattered pink cookware. “uh...i don’t know how to play,” he mumbled, scratching the back of his head.
your daughter waved off his hesitation with a dramatic flourish. “it’s easy! you’re the dad, and i’m the mom, and we make dinner together.”
toji suppressed a snort. the dad, huh? poor kid.
but then megumi, shifting uncomfortably, mumbled, “what’s...a dad supposed to do?”
your daughter blinked at him, pausing her bustling activity. “you don’t know?”
he shook his head, his hands stuffed in his pockets.
“well,” she said, her tone matter-of-fact, “my dad doesn’t play house-house much. but it’s okay! we’ll just figure it out.”
toji’s chest tightened at her words, his grip on the doorframe unconsciously tightening. he didn’t think a kid’s game could hit so close to home, but there it was. she said it so simply, so innocently, like it was a fact of life. and megumi just nodded, kneeling down next to her and fumbling with a tiny plastic frying pan, like he was trying to make sense of a concept he couldn’t quite grasp.
when he glanced across the hall, he saw you standing there. you weren’t smiling. the look in your eyes was a mirror of his own — quiet, pained recognition. you knew. how could you not? this was your life too, wasn’t it? this strange, fragmented version of what a “home” was supposed to be.
and for once, toji didn’t have a quip or a grumble. he just stood there, watching his kid try to figure out what “playing house” meant, wondering if maybe the real problem wasn’t the game at all.
there were days when the weight of work pressed so heavily on your shoulders, you didn’t know if you’d make it to bedtime without breaking. days when you stared at your laptop screen, the relentless deadlines pounding in your head, and wondered if anyone cared enough to ask how you were holding up.
your daughter? what could you even tell an eight-year-old? that mamma’s work feels like it’s swallowing her whole? your ex? let’s not kid anyone — he didn’t give a damn.
so when you heard the faint knock on your door, you sighed, ready to dismiss whatever delivery or inconvenience had shown up at your doorstep. but it wasn’t a courier. it was megumi, standing there awkwardly, holding a casserole dish that looked far too heavy for him.
“uh, hi,” he mumbled, not meeting your eyes. “my dad said you should eat this. and, um...are you okay?”
you blinked, caught completely off guard. “i — yeah, i’m fine. why are you —”
“dad said you looked ‘off.’” he shifted his weight, staring at the floor like the words were a script he was forced to read. “so he made food. and, uh...he said you should eat it. or something.”
you stared at the casserole, the steam fogging up the glass lid, before your gaze moved back to megumi. “your dad sent you?”
megumi nodded, still not looking up. “yeah. but also...uh, you shouldn’t be sad. ’cause my teacher says work is like a big test. and you can’t cry during tests.”
you let out a soft laugh despite yourself. “is that so?”
“yeah,” he said, more confidently now. “and also...you should have cookies after tests. or...or, like, cake. something sweet.”
you crouched down so you were eye level with him, your exhaustion momentarily forgotten. “thank you, megumi. you’re very thoughtful.”
he shrugged, his ears turning red. “it’s just what people do, right?”
“you’re absolutely right,” you said, reaching out to ruffle his hair. “tell your dad thank you for the food, okay?”
megumi nodded, suddenly eager to escape, and darted back toward his apartment. as you stood, watching him go, you caught a glimpse of toji leaning against the doorway, his arms crossed, pretending like he wasn’t paying attention. your eyes met, and he gave a half-smirk, a silent acknowledgment that, yeah, he sent his kid over to do the emotional heavy lifting.
you didn’t know whether to laugh or roll your eyes, but as you brought the casserole inside and inhaled the warm, comforting aroma, you realized it didn’t matter. the gesture had worked.
and for the first time that day, you felt a little less alone.
toji leaned against the garbage chute, the crumpled bag dangling from his grip like the weight of his entire day had been stuffed inside it. his head was pounding, his nerves frayed, and the sheer mental load of keeping everything together made his chest feel tight.
just one drink, he thought. one drink to take the edge off.
but the thought of megumi catching even a whiff of whiskey on his breath, of being the kind of dad who needed an escape like that, stopped him cold.
that’s when you showed up, bag in hand, hair disheveled from a long day. you gave him a quick glance, your usual mixture of mild irritation and casual acknowledgment, before tossing your garbage into the chute.
“you look like hell,” you said bluntly, folding your arms.
you didn’t flinch. instead, you just leaned against the wall beside him, watching as he seemed to wrestle with something internally. you weren’t dumb — you could tell when someone was running on fumes.
“you ever feel like you’re drowning?” he asked suddenly, surprising even himself with the admission.
you blinked, caught off guard by his honesty. “constantly,” you replied, your tone softer than usual. “but i’m guessing you mean with the whole...single parent thing.”
toji chuckled dryly, shaking his head. “ding, ding. i don’t know how you do it. you make it look...effortless.”
“effortless?” you raised an eyebrow, almost laughing at the absurdity. “you think i have it together? newsflash, toji: my kid’s with me two days a week. that’s not parenting perfection. that’s a weekend babysitting gig.”
“still,” he muttered. “you make those two days count. i see it. i hear it.”
you exhaled, running a hand through your hair. “look, i don’t have all the answers. but what i’ve learned? you can’t do it all. not perfectly. no one can. and pretending you can is just setting yourself up to fail. so...cut yourself some slack. you’re not screwing up as bad as you think.”
he stared at you for a moment, the words sinking in like drops of water on parched earth. it wasn’t a grand revelation, but coming from you — iron mom of the year — it hit different.
“you really believe that?” he asked, his voice quieter than usual.
you shrugged. “not always. but it’s what i tell myself when i feel like i’m about to lose it. sometimes it helps. sometimes it doesn’t. but it’s better than drinking yourself stupid.”
toji’s eyes flicked to you, his brow furrowing. “how’d you —”
“please,” you cut him off. “you think i don’t know that look? seen it in the mirror too many times.”
he huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “you’re something else, you know that?”
“so are you,” you countered, nudging his arm lightly. “whether you believe it or not. and whether you’ll admit it or not.”
he didn’t respond, just stood there for a moment, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. and as you turned to head back to your apartment, he found himself standing a little taller, the crushing weight of the day feeling just a little lighter.he still wouldn’t call it respect. but maybe, just maybe, he didn’t hate you as much as he thought.
your ex’s text had felt like a sucker punch, the kind that knocked the wind right out of you. you’d stared at the message for far too long, rereading his smug little declaration: “taking her on a trip she’ll never forget. don’t worry about the details.”
no invite for you, no mention of her asking for you — just a cruel reminder that he still had ways to hurt you. and for her birthday, of all things.
you spent the next two weeks in a fog. the silence in your apartment was deafening without her, no shrieks of laughter, no tiny footsteps running to show you her latest masterpiece. it felt like someone had pressed pause on your life, leaving you stuck in this unbearable limbo. every day you’d get up, go to work, and come home to the same aching emptiness. you even avoided the hallway, unwilling to face anyone — not even toji and megumi.
but then, one evening, as you were sorting through yet another pile of takeout containers, you heard a soft knock on your door. when you opened it, there stood megumi, clutching a piece of paper in his small hands. he shoved it toward you without a word, his face unreadable, before bolting back down the hall.
you closed the door, confused, and unfolded the note. it was written in uneven, colorful crayon strokes, the kind only a kid could produce:
dear y/n,
pls come to my bithday party. we having cake and maybe pizza
dad said okay
i want you to come :)
from megumi
your breath caught in your throat, and before you knew it, hot tears were streaming down your face. it was the kind of pure, innocent gesture that knocked down every wall you’d tried to build over the past two weeks. megumi didn’t know the weight of what he’d just done — how he’d given you a reason to get out of bed, to care about something again.
you clutched the note to your chest, letting out a shaky laugh through your tears. for the first time in weeks, you felt a flicker of warmth. maybe you couldn’t be there for your own daughter’s birthday this year, but for megumi? you’d show up.
and maybe, just maybe, you wouldn’t feel so alone.
toji swore he hadn’t stopped pacing since he woke up that morning.
megumi’s birthday.
the kid had been talking about it for weeks, dropping subtle (and not-so-subtle) hints about what he wanted. toji had done his best — got the decorations, ordered the cake, and even splurged on superhero-themed plates and napkins. but standing in the middle of his living room, now transformed into a battlefield of action figure balloons and capes, he couldn’t help but feel like a superhero himself — one on the verge of a breakdown.
megumi had insisted on handling the invites, which in hindsight might’ve been a mistake. the first arrivals were fine enough: yuuji and nobara, two of megumi’s classmates. yuuji was all boundless energy and chaos, while nobara strutted in like she was already running the place. “where’s the cake?” she demanded, hands on her hips. toji grunted and pointed toward the kitchen.
then came the wild card. the bane of his existence.
“tooojjjji!” gojo’s voice echoed through the apartment, loud and grating as ever. “heard there’s a party! didn’t wanna miss out.” he waltzed in, sunglasses perched on his stupidly perfect nose, a massive gift bag in hand that screamed overcompensating. toji pinched the bridge of his nose. why me?
and then, you. you stepped in, looking a little hesitant, holding a neatly wrapped present in one hand. megumi practically lit up when he saw you, rushing over to tug you inside. “you came!” he exclaimed, grinning ear to ear. toji froze for a moment, then scratched the back of his neck awkwardly.
“didn’t think you’d actually show,” he muttered, avoiding your eyes.
“megumi invited me,” you said simply, smiling down at the boy. “couldn’t say no to the birthday boy, now could i?”
toji grunted in response, but deep down, he was relieved. somehow, having you there made the chaos of the day feel a little more manageable.
the party was... chaotic, to say the least. yuuji inhaled pizza like it was a sport and promptly threw up in the kitchen sink, much to nobara’s disgust. “ewwwww, you’re so groooossss!” she shrieked, dodging as yuuji stumbled past her. toji was already on the phone with yuuji’s older brother, sukuna, who arrived not long after, looking pissed as hell.
“i told him not to eat like a damn vacuum,” sukuna growled, hauling yuuji out the door.
megumi, meanwhile, didn’t seem fazed by any of it. he was too busy showing off his new action figures to your daughter, who somehow managed to make it to the party just a few hours before her flight. you and toji exchanged a glance — a silent acknowledgment that, despite the chaos, the kids were happy.
and somehow, so were you.
with your daughter off on her dad's two-and-a-half-week escapade, you found yourself with something rare and unsettling: free time. the emptiness of your apartment felt heavier without her laughter filling the corners, so you did what any sane, lonely adult would do — you forced yourself to go out. and somehow, somehow, you ended up on a date with nanami kento.
god, he was perfect. the kind of perfect that made your chest ache. polite, well-mannered, and respectful, with a quiet intensity that felt... safe. he opened doors, listened like you were the only person in the world, and didn’t even bat an eye when you cried mid-dessert about how surreal it felt to be treated so kindly. nanami kento was a unicorn in human form. you left the date with a full heart and a nervous little hope tucked away in the corner of your mind.
but with that came distance. maybe you didn’t mean to pull back from the chaotic warmth of your hallway interactions with megumi and toji, but it happened all the same. when megumi called out a soft “hi” as you passed him by the mailboxes, you offered a quick smile but kept walking. the sink had been dripping for days, but instead of knocking on toji’s door, you’d booked a plumber. you weren’t doing anything wrong, you told yourself — they were just neighbors. neighbors.
not friends. not anything more than the people across the hall. right?
toji, though, noticed. the absence of your knock, the way megumi seemed a little more sullen, staring at the hall like he was waiting for someone. “you think she’s mad at us?” megumi asked one evening, poking at his rice.
toji’s response was a noncommittal grunt, but the truth was, he didn’t know. for some stupid reason, the distance stung. not that he’d ever admit it. not that he had any right to care.
you were just neighbors, after all.
when your girl came bounding through the door, her face glowing from the trip, the first thing she asked wasn’t about you or the gifts she’d brought back. no, it was, “how’s gumi? how’s uncle toji?”
the question hit harder than it should’ve. you realized with a pang of guilt how much distance you’d put between yourself and the fushiguros. brushing it off with a casual, “they’re fine,” didn’t sit well either. so, when your daughter insisted on running over to their apartment to see megumi, you didn’t stop her.
watching her skip down the hall, you thought it’d all smooth over naturally. kids were resilient like that, weren’t they? but then she came back. and she was crying.
between her sobs and hiccups, you managed to piece together the story. megumi, sweet, awkward megumi, had exploded in a torrent of childish frustration. how your daughter hadn’t been around. how you hadn’t been around. how he thought you both didn’t care anymore.
you felt your heart shatter as your girl bawled into your arms, her small hands clutching at your shirt. “why’s he mad at me, mama? i didn’t do anything!”
meanwhile, across the hall, megumi was in tears too, angrily wiping at his face as he sat cross-legged on the couch. “i hate her!” he shouted, voice wobbling. “she didn’t even say hi! she just left like everyone does!”
toji sat there, looking at his son, the beer he’d been nursing now warm and forgotten. the kid’s words were like a punch to the gut. he realized, with sinking clarity, that megumi wasn’t just upset with your daughter. the boy was lashing out because he felt abandoned.
when the knock came at the door, it was no surprise. you stood there, your girl clutching your hand, both of you looking just as frazzled as toji and megumi.
“we need to talk,” you said.
“yeah,” toji muttered, stepping aside to let you in.
the conversation wasn’t easy, with both kids sniffling, glaring at each other, and clutching onto their respective parents like lifelines. but as you and toji sat there, stumbling through apologies and promises to do better, you realized how much you’d hurt them by pulling away.
“friends don’t do this,” your girl said, wiping her tears with the back of her hand.
“yeah,” megumi added, glaring at his lap. “friends don’t just leave.”
and in that moment, you and toji exchanged a look. it was one of understanding, of shared guilt and resolution. you weren’t just neighbors anymore, were you? whether you liked it or not, you’d become something more — something messier, but ultimately worth fighting for.
the fight left behind a new set of rules — some spoken, others understood. your daughter would spend one hour with megumi every weekend, no negotiations. an additional hour was set aside for assisted ballet practice, with megumi reluctantly twirling around like an uncoordinated giraffe under her direction. and then, as if her creative pursuits weren’t already ambitious, she insisted on an hour of practicing makeup.
on a very, very unwilling toji.
the first time she smeared blush across his cheekbones, a bright pink mess, toji grumbled the entire time. “this is ridiculous. i look like a clown.”
“no, you don’t,” your girl countered with all the confidence in the world. “you look beauuuutiful.”
megumi snickered behind her, holding up a hand mirror so his dad could see the finished product. toji groaned, but the corners of his mouth betrayed him with the faintest twitch of amusement.
you leaned against the doorway, watching the scene unfold. the shared giggles, the clumsy but earnest teamwork — it was loud, chaotic, and beautiful in its own way. this was right. this was what you hadn’t even realized you were missing.
and kento? well, the date you thought could be something turned into a friendship you didn’t know you needed. he became a quiet presence, someone who checked in, who made you laugh when work got overwhelming, and who offered sage advice about life when you needed it most.
“you’re doing great,” he told you once over coffee, his calm reassurance soothing the doubts that often crept in.
between the budding chaos in your hallway ballet classes, the makeup artistry sessions that somehow always ended with toji pouting in pink lipstick, and the quiet stability kento offered, you realized that life had settled into something messy, imperfect, but undeniably nice.
maybe it wasn’t what you’d planned. maybe it wasn’t ideal. but as your daughter twirled around the room, megumi trailing after her with hesitant steps, and toji scowled half-heartedly at his reflection, you couldn’t imagine wanting anything else.
exam season brought chaos, but not the kind you'd expected. with your daughter spending extra time at her dad's house to focus on studying, the silence in your apartment felt foreign. that is, until megumi started showing up more often, knocking on your door with his usual grumbles.
"why isn't the test about superheroes or football?" he'd complain, dragging his workbook into your living room as though it carried the weight of the world.
you’d chuckle softly, pulling up a chair next to him. “if multiplication was about superheroes, what would the question even look like?”
megumi furrowed his brow, considering. “uh... like, if spider-man saved five people every day for a week, how many people would he save?”
you smiled, leaning in. “exactly. now, how would you solve that?”
somehow, tailoring the lessons to his interests worked wonders. before long, megumi wasn’t just tolerating study time — he was coming over more and more, plopping onto your couch like he lived there.
toji, on the other hand, didn’t know what to make of it. sure, he appreciated that you were helping the kid, but every time he walked past your door and heard megumi's laughter ringing out, he felt... off.
he chalked it up to jealousy at first. not the bitter kind, but the kind that made him wonder why megumi could so easily open up to you, share his frustrations and laugh like the world wasn’t on his tiny shoulders.
then there was the other feeling, the one he buried as quickly as it surfaced. it was... comfort. relief, even. seeing megumi so at ease with you, so happy, made something in his chest tighten.
it didn’t help that when megumi came home, he’d mention you in passing, the smallest smile tugging at his lips. “she said i’d ace the test if i think about it like superheroes. she’s kinda cool.”
toji would grunt, pretending not to care. “yeah, well, don’t get too comfortable over there.”
but the truth was, toji couldn’t decide if he envied you for being able to connect with his son so easily or if he was just... glad. glad that someone like you existed in megumi’s world.
he wouldn’t admit it, though. not even to himself. instead, he shut the feelings down, brushing them off like they were nothing. because, after all, you were just the neighbor who helped out when needed.
right?
toji had every intention of marching into your apartment to retrieve megumi with a grumble about bedtime. the kid was always strict about his sleep schedule — how the hell had he fallen asleep at your place?
but when he stepped inside, the sight stopped him dead in his tracks.
there you were, sprawled on the couch with megumi curled up next to you, both of you out cold. the TV flickered softly, playing megumi’s favorite superhero show. the coffee table was a chaotic mess of open textbooks, scattered pencils, and hastily scribbled notes.
toji stood there for a moment, unsure what to do with the weird tug in his chest. the scene was... domestic.
painfully so.
megumi’s head was resting on your shoulder, your hand loosely draped over his back like you’d done this a thousand times before. the way you were both nestled together was too natural for something that should’ve felt foreign. it made something warm and uncomfortable rise in toji’s chest, a feeling he wasn’t ready to name.
he took a step closer, leaning against the doorframe. his frown deepened, not out of anger but out of frustration — mostly at himself.
this wasn’t anything, right? this was just you being nice to his kid. helping him out with schoolwork and keeping him company because you were a good person.
but then why did his heart feel like it was trying to beat its way out of his chest? why did seeing you with megumi like that make his throat tighten?
toji ran a hand through his hair, sighing quietly.
“dammit,” he muttered under his breath.
he knew he should’ve woken the both of you up, taken megumi home, and gone about his night like this didn’t mean anything. but instead, he found himself lingering, watching the two of you for a moment longer.
did neighbors really do this? take care of someone else’s kid like they were their own?
and did neighbors treat each other with such quiet, subtle affection? the kind that slipped into actions rather than words — the casseroles when someone was too tired to cook, the soft smiles exchanged in passing, the way you’d text him about the latest sale on megumi’s favorite snacks?
toji shook his head, trying to shove the thought away. god forbid, he might actually like you.
it was supposed to be a normal monday morning. drop your girl off at her ballet studio, exchange a quick goodbye, and then head to work like it wasn’t eating you alive that she was growing up too fast.
but then toji came out, coffee in one hand and his other scratching the back of his neck as he leaned against the doorframe, clearly still waking up. “hey, kid,” he called to your daughter, motioning her over with a lazy wave.
what happened next made you freeze mid-turn, your keys jangling awkwardly in your hand.
toji knelt to her level, his gruff voice taking on an edge of sincerity. “listen up, girlie. when you’re up there, you give ‘em hell, alright? don’t let anyone tell you you’re not good enough. and don’t worry about messin’ up — just keep goin’ like it never happened.”
your daughter nodded with wide eyes, hanging on to every word, her little face lit with admiration.
and god, he was trying so hard to keep it clean. but every so often, a “shit” or “hell yeah” would slip out, sending her into a fit of giggles. she tried so hard to be serious, biting her lip to stifle her laughter, but the sheer ridiculousness of him attempting to be PG while still being him was too much for a nine-year-old.
megumi, standing nearby with his arms crossed, was clearly torn. his little scowl was stuck somewhere between annoyance at your daughter for monopolizing his dad’s attention and longing to be spoken to like that himself.
and your daughter? she latched onto toji like he was some kind of life coach, her arms around his neck, thanking him in that sweet, sing-song voice she always used when she was truly happy.
your fingers tightened around your keys as your chest did a stupid thing.
because here was toji, your grumpy neighbor who could barely keep it together when megumi so much as sneezed during homework time, and yet here he was giving your girl the kind of pep talk that should’ve come from her own dad.
and worse? she listened. eagerly.
you fidgeted with your keys like that’d distract you from the warmth creeping into your chest, from the realization that maybe, just maybe, this tough, foul-mouthed, perpetually tired man wasn’t just good with kids. he was good for you. god forbid, you might actually be falling for toji fushiguro.
it wasn’t your finest moment — double-booking a work meeting during your daughter's pickup. you were already spiraling into guilt, pacing the room while trying to find a way to make it work, when toji grumbled his way into volunteering.
“don’t make a big deal outta it,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “she’s comin’ over for megumi anyway. might as well save you the trouble.”
you barely had time to thank him before he was out the door, keys jingling in his hand.
but what toji walked into at your ex’s house was far from what he expected.
your ex was already on some power trip, standing in the doorway like he owned the world. the smugness on his face was palpable, and it only got worse when he saw toji, a man who didn’t give a damn about puffed-up egos.
“oh, so you’re her chauffeur now?” your ex sneered, leaning lazily against the doorframe.
toji ignored him at first, his sharp eyes scanning past him to find your babygirl. she was standing behind her dad, clutching her little backpack like it was a shield, her lips trembling as she peeked at toji with wide eyes.
“c’mon, kid,” toji said, his voice softer than you’d expect from a man like him. he extended a hand, but your ex stepped in the way.
“you got a lotta nerve coming here,” your ex spat, crossing his arms. “what, you think playing house makes you her dad?”
toji’s eyes darkened, his jaw tightening as he took a deliberate step forward. “nah,” he said coolly, his voice dripping with menace. “but i’m a helluva lot better at it than you.”
that set your ex off, his voice rising with insults and accusations, not even caring that his daughter was right there, watching the whole thing unfold.
and toji? he had it. his patience snapped like a brittle twig.
“y’know what’s funny?” toji growled, stepping so close your ex had to tilt his head back to meet his glare. “you’re standin’ here flappin’ your gums about bein’ her dad, but you’re too busy bein’ a selfish prick to realize what you’re doin’ to her.”
before your ex could stammer out another insult, toji hoisted your girl into one of his arms like she weighed nothing, shielding her with his broad shoulders as he glared down at your ex.
“don’t bother callin’. she’s got enough on her plate without dealin’ with your crap,” he bit out before turning on his heel and walking away, your girl clutching his shirt like it was her lifeline.
the ride back was quiet, your girl’s sniffles filling the air as toji’s hand rested protectively on the wheel. he didn’t say much — just an occasional grunt to reassure her. when they arrived, he handed her off to you without a word, but the fire in his eyes told you everything you needed to know.
and you? you were floored. because for all of toji’s grumbling and rough edges, he wasn’t just stepping up when you couldn’t — he was fighting for your girl like she was his own.
evening walks were supposed to be your moment of calm, a chance to clear your head after a long day. but calm went out the window the moment you saw megumi in the park, his usual quiet confidence missing as a group of older kids cornered him.
his small frame was tense, shoulders squared, but you could see the way his hands trembled as he balled them into fists at his sides. it wasn’t like megumi to let himself be pushed around, but whatever the bullies were saying had struck a nerve.
you didn’t even have to get close to catch the cruel words that slipped out of their mouths.
“no wonder your mom didn’t stick around.”
“bet she took one look at you and ran.”
“you’re just some charity case with a deadbeat dad.”
your heart twisted at the look on megumi’s face — his jaw clenched, eyes glassy with tears he refused to let fall. you weren’t his mom, but you felt the instinctive flare of protectiveness that made you forget every rule of decorum.
marching over, you didn’t bark at the kids or shoo them off like some passerby might. no, you planted yourself right beside megumi, crossing your arms with a look so sharp it could cut steel.
“is there a problem here?” you asked, voice calm but carrying a weight that made the kids shrink back.
they glanced between each other, suddenly unsure. “we were just talking —”
“talking?” you cut in, your tone sharp enough to make them flinch. “sounds to me like you’re all just jealous.”
the kids froze, confusion written all over their faces. “jealous of what?” one of them finally asked, voice cracking slightly.
you placed a hand on megumi’s shoulder, squeezing it gently. “jealous that you’ll never have the heart or the strength this kid has. it’s easy to gang up on someone when you’ve got a pack behind you. try standing on your own for once. but then again, maybe that’s asking too much.”
megumi didn’t say a word, but you felt him lean into your touch, his small hand brushing against yours as if testing its solidity.
the bullies sputtered, trying to save face, but one by one, they slunk away, muttering excuses as they disappeared into the distance.
the moment they were gone, megumi’s tough facade crumbled. his shoulders sagged, his head dropping as the tears he had been holding back finally spilled over.
you crouched down to his level, wrapping your arms around him as much as his wiry frame would allow. “it’s okay, sweetheart,” you murmured, brushing a hand through his unruly hair. “you’re okay now.”
and just like that, this tough, guarded nine-year-old melted into your embrace, his small sobs muffled against your shoulder.
you stayed there, holding him as the evening light faded, your heart breaking and swelling all at once. you weren’t his mom, but in that moment, you might as well have been.
toji wasn’t the type to lose his composure, not even when megumi brought home bruised knees or a bad grade. he was a man of steady hands and a guarded heart, but tonight? tonight was different.
he was sitting on the couch, beer in hand, when megumi hesitated in front of him, nervously fiddling with his sleeve. “dad, something happened today,” he mumbled, voice low.
toji raised an eyebrow, setting his drink on the table. “what kind of something?”
and then megumi started talking — about the bullies, about their cruel words, and then about you stepping in. how you stood there, firm and unyielding, pretending to be his mom without hesitation. megumi’s voice cracked when he got to the part where he cried in your arms, and toji swore he felt something shatter in him.
he didn’t know if it was anger, gratitude, or guilt — maybe all three twisting together into a storm that made his chest ache.
"you didn’t say anything stupid to her, did you?" toji asked, his voice rougher than he intended.
megumi shook his head quickly. "no, but... she was really nice. it felt... it felt okay."
toji sighed, running a hand through his hair as he leaned back into the couch. he should’ve been mad. should’ve been upset at megumi for dragging you into their lives like that, but instead, all he could think about was the way his chest tightened at the thought of you.
he needed to see you. not because he owed you, not because of some sense of duty, but because the idea of you stepping up for his kid like that made him feel something he hadn’t let himself feel in years.
he stood abruptly, grabbing his coat. megumi looked up at him, startled. “where are you going?”
toji paused for a moment. “i’ll be back. don’t stay up too late.”
megumi didn’t ask questions, just nodded and watched his dad leave the apartment.
when toji knocked on your door, he didn’t even know what he was going to say. a simple “thank you” didn’t feel like enough, but what else could he offer? the way his hands flexed at his sides and the way his heart pounded in his chest betrayed the calm exterior he was trying to maintain.
when you opened the door, he saw the surprise flash in your eyes. “toji?”
he rubbed the back of his neck, looking almost sheepish — a sight you never thought you’d see. “can i come in?”
and that’s when you felt it too — something bubbling between you both, something that had been building for a while, but neither of you had been ready to face. until now.
toji stood there, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, his eyes flicking between you and the floor like the words he was searching for might be scrawled on the ground. he wasn’t the kind of man who talked about his feelings, let alone spilled them out like this.
but he had to say something.
“look,” he started, voice low and gruff, “i’m not great with... this kind of thing.”
you tilted your head, waiting patiently, and that just made it harder for him.
he huffed out a breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “megumi told me what happened today. how you... stepped in. and, uh —” he paused, almost wincing at how clumsy his words sounded, “ — just... thanks. for being there. for him.”
you smiled softly, opening your mouth to respond, but he held up a hand, cutting you off. “no, wait. i’m not done.”
he shifted, clearly uncomfortable but pushing through it anyway. “it’s not just today. it’s all of it. you’ve done more for that kid than most people ever have. hell, more than i probably have, and i’m his dad.” his laugh was bitter, self-deprecating. “you didn’t have to, but you did. and i —” he faltered, swallowing hard.
you could see it then, all of it — the gratitude, the guilt, the admiration, the something more he was too scared to name. it was all there, plain as day in the way he looked at you.
he sighed, shoulders slumping as if the weight of his words had exhausted him. “just... thanks. for him. for me. for... everything.”
and maybe you didn’t need to say anything. because as clumsy and awkward as his words were, you understood. you really did.
so you stepped forward, just close enough that he couldn’t avoid meeting your eyes anymore, and gave him a small, understanding smile. “you don’t need to thank me, toji. i care about him. about you both.”
something flickered in his expression — relief, maybe, or something even deeper. he nodded, just once, and it felt like enough. no confessions, no big speeches.
just this.
something had changed, though neither of you dared to put it into words. it was in the little things, the quiet moments that made your lives blur together in ways that felt natural, almost inevitable.
like how megumi, who usually kept his friends at arm’s length, started demanding your baby girl's presence at every outing, loudly justifying it as “she’ll get bored otherwise,” when really, he just liked having her around. and during those movie nights, when the kids were too engrossed in the screen, you and toji sat closer than necessary, your fingers brushing as you both reached for the popcorn. neither of you pulled away.
it was in how you became megumi’s loudest cheerleader at his little league matches, rivaling even toji’s booming encouragement. and the way he’d grin at you like you were the reason he hit that home run, his awkwardly mumbled, “did you see that?” enough to warm your heart.
toji wasn’t any different. no matter how busy he was, he showed up to every single one of your baby girl's ballet recitals, clapping so obnoxiously loud at the end that even the other parents gave him side-eyes. and after each recital, he’d crouch down, looking absurdly out of place with his towering frame, to tell her exactly how amazing she was — always with a teasing grin and a “guess megumi’ll have to step it up to keep up with you, huh?”
and then there were the practices. toji, of all people, trying to mimic ballet moves while your daughter giggled at how his long legs never quite landed in the right positions. megumi tried to feign disinterest but ended up joining too, his face as serious as ever as he attempted a plié.
you’d think the makeup thing would’ve been too much for him, but no. those butterfly-drawn cheeks and glittery nails stayed with toji for hours after your daughter left, and he never wiped them off — not until bedtime. megumi pretended not to notice, but you’d catch him smirking when toji forgot to scrub off a particularly bright streak of pink before heading out.
it all felt so... domestic. so easy. yet, neither of you dared to name it.
because neighbors helped neighbors, right? neighbors went to movies together. neighbors cheered for each other’s kids. neighbors shared popcorn and let their walls crumble, piece by piece.
this was okay. just neighbors looking out for each other. nothing more.
...right?
until it wasn’t.
you barely managed to get out of the cab, your heels clicking against the pavement, your dress clinging uncomfortably after hours of fake smiles and firm handshakes. all you could think about was peeling everything off, crashing into bed, and hoping the world would let you sleep in for once.
but then you saw him — toji, leaning against your apartment door, his broad frame tense, his head snapping up the moment he heard your footsteps.
"where the hell were you?" his voice was rough, low, but not angry. it was something else.
you froze, your bag slipping off your shoulder. “what are you doing here?”
his eyes, bloodshot and desperate, locked onto yours, scanning every inch of you like he was checking for injuries. “it’s one a.m., on a thursday,” he said, his voice cracking slightly on the last word. “your lights were off. you weren’t answering your phone.”
it hit you then — he’d been worried. toji fushiguro, the man who grumbled more than he talked, who deflected every feeling with a snarky comment, was pacing the hallway outside your apartment because he thought something had happened to you.
“i had a business meeting,” you said, the exhaustion seeping into your voice. “it ran late.”
but your explanation didn’t seem to matter. he took a step closer, his shoulders sagging in relief but still stiff with whatever storm had been brewing inside him.
“you could’ve told me,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “what if something happened? what if —”
“toji.” your voice was soft, cutting through his spiraling thoughts.
he stopped, his hand dropping to his side as he looked at you, his expression raw and unguarded. he wasn’t just worried. he was terrified. terrified that whatever this strange, fragile thing between you might be, it could slip away in an instant.
and before either of you could think better of it, you closed the distance. your arms wrapped around his torso, pulling him into a hug that felt as natural as breathing.
he stiffened at first, his body caught off guard, but then his arms came up around you, pulling you closer with a quiet exhale that sounded like he’d been holding it in all night.
neither of you said a word. you didn’t need to. whatever this was — this thing that had been building between you — it was no longer just neighbors helping neighbors.
it was so much more.
sure, the hug wasn’t something life-changing, but it definitely shifted something, like a tiny crack in the wall that neither of you were ready to knock down completely. there was this... tension now. not bad, not awkward, just there. like some invisible thread pulling you two closer, though never quite crossing a line — both of you too cautious, too unsure, to see what might happen if you did.
and damn those kids. they picked up on it almost immediately, their sharp little eyes catching every glance that lingered too long or every time toji grumbled just a little less around you.
megumi, of course, was the worst of the two, his quiet observations turning into pointed stares and a knowing smirk that made you want to sink into the floor.
“so,” he started one evening as he watched you and toji navigate an unspoken argument over whether you’d be the one to drive the kids to practice. “are you gonna be my dad’s special lady friend now or what?”
you nearly choked on air, and toji’s head snapped around so fast you were sure he’d pull a muscle.
“megumi,” toji growled, the warning clear in his voice.
megumi just shrugged, completely unbothered. “what? i like her. she’s nice. and you’re less grumpy when she’s around. that’s what matters, right?”
toji pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something under his breath about smartass kids. but there was a faint flush on his face, one that made you glance away quickly before your own cheeks betrayed you.
megumi’s logic was simple, blunt, and so very megumi. but it stuck with you more than you wanted to admit. if he was okay with whatever this was between you and his dad, maybe... just maybe, that was enough.
you sat cross-legged on the couch, sorting through some old receipts and papers, while your babygirl sprawled on the floor with her coloring book. the soft scratch of her crayons filled the room, a soothing sound that made the evening feel warm and easy.
“mom?” she asked, her voice cutting through the quiet.
you glanced up, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “yeah, baby?”
she didn’t look up from her coloring, her little fingers gripping the green crayon a bit too tightly as she focused on staying inside the lines. “i like him.”
you blinked, confused at first. “like who, sweetie?”
she paused, tilting her head as if the answer was obvious. “uncle jiji.”
the crayon stilled in her hand, and she finally looked up at you, her eyes wide and sincere. your breath hitched, a small wave of surprise washing over you.
“oh?” you tried to keep your tone light, your fingers fiddling with the papers in your lap. “why’s that?”
“he’s funny,” she said matter-of-factly, returning to her coloring. “and he’s nice. he always listens to megumi, even when megumi’s being bossy. and he told me i’m the best ballerina ever — even better than on tv!”
you couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped you. of course, toji had said that.
“he’s just really cool,” she added, as if that sealed the deal.
you set the papers down, your chest tightening in a way that felt both overwhelming and oddly comforting. her words felt like a weight being lifted off your shoulders, one you hadn’t even realized you were carrying.
“you really like him, huh?” you asked softly.
she nodded vigorously, her pigtails bouncing with the motion. “yeah. and megumi’s cool too. he always shares his toys, even his superheroes. i think he’s my best friend.”
the corners of your mouth tugged upward as you leaned back against the couch. “well, i’m glad you think so, baby.”
“do you like him?” she asked suddenly, her eyes locking onto yours, filled with that unnerving, sharp perception only kids seemed to have.
your cheeks warmed, and you glanced down at the papers in your lap, pretending to shuffle them aimlessly. “well… yeah, i think he’s nice too.”
she studied you for a moment before shrugging and returning to her coloring. “good. because you’re happy when you talk to him. and he looks at you like daddy never does.”
your breath caught. her words were simple, innocent even, but they struck something deep. you reached out, smoothing a hand over her hair.
“you’re pretty wise for someone not even ten yet, you know that?” you murmured.
she giggled, leaning into your touch. “i know.”
as she went back to her coloring, you leaned back into the couch, letting the relief settle in. maybe she was right. maybe this wasn’t so bad after all. maybe… it was something good. something you both deserved.
toji sat on the worn couch in his living room, staring blankly at the muted television. the house was quiet, save for the occasional shuffle from megumi’s room. it should’ve been peaceful, but instead, it felt like the silence was screaming at him, pressing all those thoughts he’d been trying to ignore right to the surface.
what the hell was this?
he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, rubbing a hand down his face as he let out a low sigh. you were in his house so often now that it was hard to tell where the line was anymore. your girl's kid-sized ballet slippers were right by the door next to megumi’s sneakers. a casserole dish you’d returned sat drying on the counter. you had this way of slotting into his life that felt so natural it scared him.
did he want to address it? maybe.
maybe not.
you were busy as hell — a working mom with your own kid to think about. toji wasn’t stupid. he knew what he came with. a nine-year-old son, a messy history, and enough emotional baggage to sink a ship. did he really want to drag you into all that?
but then there were moments, like tonight, when the kids had dragged you into some elaborate roleplay involving superheroes and ballerinas. you’d sat cross-legged on the floor, a makeshift cape tied around your shoulders, pretending to be "supermom," and he hadn’t been able to look away.
when you’d caught him staring, you’d just laughed, “what? do i have pizza sauce on my face or something?”
he’d grunted something noncommittal, shaking his head, but his chest had felt tight in a way he couldn’t explain.
and now, here he was, thinking about it again.
his thoughts were interrupted by the soft click of the front door opening. you peeked your head in, a sheepish smile on your face. “hey. sorry, megs forgot his backpack at my place. figured i’d drop it off before i forgot, too.”
he stood, shoving his hands in his pockets as you walked in, setting the backpack down by the door. you were still in your work clothes, your shoulders looking a little more tired than usual.
“you could’ve waited till tomorrow,” he muttered, his voice low but not unkind.
“it’s no big deal,” you replied, brushing him off.
he watched as you straightened, lingering in the doorway, and something about the way you hesitated made him speak. “you eaten yet?”
you blinked, clearly surprised by the question. “uh, no, actually.”
he motioned toward the kitchen. “there’s leftovers. you want some?”
your smile softened as you stepped closer. “sure. thanks, toji.”
as you walked past him, his hand twitched at his side, like it wanted to reach out but didn’t know how.
in the kitchen, you moved around like you belonged there, grabbing a plate and heating up the food. he leaned against the counter, watching you in silence, and for the first time, he let himself think about what it would mean to let this thing between you be more than unspoken.
“hey,” he said after a moment, his voice rougher than he intended.
you glanced at him over your shoulder. “yeah?”
he opened his mouth, then closed it, the words catching in his throat. instead, he just muttered, “nothing. never mind.”
you tilted your head, studying him for a second, before giving a small nod. “okay.”
but there was something in your eyes, like you knew what he wasn’t saying, and it made his chest ache.
he wasn’t sure if addressing whatever the hell this was would change anything, but seeing the way you fit into his life — into megumi’s life — made the idea of trying feel a little less terrifying.
it wasn’t like you and toji had made any grand declarations. it was all small things, gestures that felt normal but carried an undercurrent of something deeper. grocery runs were the easiest excuse. you’d bump into him on your way home, still in your blazer and heels, and he’d grumble about needing to pick up some snacks for megumi. before you knew it, you’d both be walking side by side, bickering over the best brand of chips.
“you’re seriously buying that brand?” you teased, holding up a bag of chips that toji had tossed into the cart.
“megumi likes ‘em,” he retorted, leaning on the cart with that stupidly casual confidence that annoyed you just enough to make your heart flutter. “and besides, it’s not like your kid’s picky when she raids our pantry.”
you rolled your eyes but smiled all the same, because he wasn’t wrong.
then there were the little fixes around your apartment that seemed to magically get done whenever toji was around. your leaky faucet, the busted door hinge, your temperamental car — he waved off every attempt you made to pay him. “mechanic perks,” he’d say with a shrug, wiping his hands on a rag and giving you a smirk that made you want to both thank him and punch him.
and those car rides? the ones where the kids didn’t even need to be there? yeah, those were starting to feel more like a habit. you’d offer to drop toji off after picking megumi up from practice, and somehow, the drive would extend into picking up your girl from ballet class.
“they gotta meet anyway,” toji would say, his tone so nonchalant it was almost believable. but the way his eyes softened when your babygirl came running out, arms wide open for both of you? that was something he couldn’t fake.
then there was the day your ex finally had enough of whatever this was. the two of you had shown up together, a united front, to pick up your daughter from his place. she’d lit up like a firework when she saw you and toji standing side by side, and you couldn’t help but revel in the sight of her running straight into toji’s waiting arms before hugging you just as tightly.
“this is the guy you’ve been parading around with?” your ex sneered, his voice dripping with disdain as he leaned against the doorframe. “what, you think a deadbeat like him is an upgrade?”
toji’s posture stiffened, his grip on your daughter tightening just slightly as she clung to his neck. you opened your mouth to retort, but toji beat you to it, his voice calm but laced with steel.
“funny coming from you,” he said, his eyes narrowing as he stared your ex down. “least i actually show up for her.”
your ex faltered, his face contorting in anger, but he didn’t have a comeback. you didn’t stick around long enough for him to try.
as you buckled your daughter into the car, her voice piped up, innocent and bright. “jiji, are you coming over for dinner?”
toji glanced at you, and for a moment, something passed between you. a silent understanding, an acknowledgment of whatever the hell this was.
“yeah, kid,” he said, ruffling her hair with a small grin. “i’m coming over.”
and for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel like you were walking this road alone.
the house was warm with the kind of peace that only came after a long, chaotic day. your babygirl and megumi were a tangled heap on the couch, her tiny head resting on his shoulder while he leaned back with his mouth slightly open, fast asleep. the tv played muted scenes of superheroes saving the world, but the real action was in the kitchen, where you and toji stood shoulder to shoulder by the sink.
"you sure you’re not just washing that same plate for the third time?” you teased softly, nudging him with your elbow as he scrubbed with more focus than seemed necessary.
toji smirked but didn’t look up, his voice low and gravelly. “just making sure it’s clean. you don’t want megumi whining about leftover crumbs, trust me.”
you chuckled, rinsing another dish under the warm water, and for a moment, it was just the soft clink of plates, the jazz playing quietly from your speaker, and the faint sound of your daughter’s steady breathing in the living room.
but something was different tonight. the air felt heavier, charged, like it was holding its breath. you could feel it in the way toji’s arm brushed against yours as he passed a dish to you, in the way his fingers lingered a second too long when he handed you the towel.
“you really didn’t have to stay and help with this,” you said, glancing at him.
he shrugged, still not meeting your gaze. “figured i owed you. besides, you cooked. least i can do is clean up.”
his voice was quieter than usual, almost shy, and that wasn’t a word you’d ever thought you’d associate with toji fushiguro. it made something in your chest tighten.
you turned off the faucet, drying your hands as you looked over at him. he was still focused on the plate in his hands, but you could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw was set like he was bracing himself.
“toji?”
he finally looked at you, and there it was — that softness in his eyes that he didn’t let show often. it made your breath catch, made the world feel like it had shrunk down to just the two of you standing in this little kitchen.
he set the plate down slowly, wiping his hands on a towel before turning to face you fully. for a moment, neither of you said anything. the jazz filled the silence, but the air between you was louder than words.
his hand came up hesitantly, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his calloused fingers grazing your cheek. “you’ve been good to him, y’know,” he murmured, his voice rough but soft in the way he said it. “to us.”
you didn’t know what to say to that. all you could do was nod, your throat tight as you looked up at him. his face was closer now, his gaze flicking between your eyes and your lips like he was searching for something — permission, maybe, or courage.
you didn’t even realize you’d moved until your hand rested lightly on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palm.
and then it happened.
he leaned in, slowly, almost cautiously, and your eyes fluttered shut just as his lips brushed against yours. it was tentative at first, as if testing the waters, but when you didn’t pull away — when you leaned into him instead — it deepened.
toji kissed like he did everything else: fully, unapologetically, with an intensity that left you breathless. his hands found your waist, pulling you just a little closer, and you slid yours up to rest on his shoulders, feeling the strength there, the way he held you like you were something fragile and precious all at once.
the kiss wasn’t hurried or frantic; it was slow, deliberate, like he wanted to memorize every second of it. it was the kind of kiss that left your knees weak, your head spinning, and your heart pounding in your chest.
when you finally pulled back, both of you a little breathless, his forehead rested against yours.
“damn,” he muttered, his voice low and a little shaky.
you couldn’t help but laugh softly, your fingers still curled in the fabric of his shirt. “yeah,” you agreed, your voice barely above a whisper.
the moment stretched between you, warm and heavy and perfect. and for the first time in a long time, everything felt right.
megumi stirred awake first, his sharp eyes blinking groggily as he took in the scene. your baby girl was still curled up against him, her face smushed against his shoulder, and he wrinkled his nose, trying to shake her off gently without waking her. it was only when he looked over to the kitchen that he paused, his brain catching up with what he was seeing.
his dad. toji. standing ridiculously close to you by the sink, both of you talking in low voices like the world outside didn’t exist. toji’s hand brushed your arm lightly as he reached for a towel, and you laughed softly, a sound that felt too intimate for megumi to process this early in his half-asleep state.
“ugh, gross,” he mumbled under his breath, sitting up straighter and inadvertently jostling your babygirl awake.
she yawned, rubbing her eyes and giving him a confused look. “what’s gross?”
“nothing,” megumi said quickly, his face heating up as he avoided looking at her — or at the scene in the kitchen that was playing out like the ending of one of those superhero movies he loved but would never admit made him feel things.
by the time you and toji noticed the kids were awake, megumi had already schooled his expression into something neutral, though his sharp eyes flicked between the two of you as you made your way over.
“sorry for waking you up, sweetheart,” you said softly to your kid, crouching down to smooth her hair.
toji, ever the blunt one, crossed his arms and grunted, “time to get going, brats.”
megumi shot him a look, one that said you’re not fooling me, old man, but he didn’t say anything. instead, he stood up and stretched, deliberately not looking at how his dad’s gaze lingered on you for just a second too long.
at the door, the kids exchanged their goodbyes in their usual awkward but affectionate way — your baby girl giving megumi a quick hug that he tolerated with a huff.
toji ruffled megumi’s hair roughly, earning an annoyed grunt. “come on, kid. say thank you.”
megumi rolled his eyes but muttered a grudging, “thanks for dinner,” before looking up at you.
and then, because megumi was too perceptive for his own good, he added, “and for putting up with him.”
toji frowned, his brows knitting together. “watch it, smartass.”
but the way you laughed — soft and warm and filled with something megumi couldn’t quite name — made toji’s expression soften.
as you leaned down to hug your babygirl goodnight, megumi caught his dad watching you again, his face doing that weird thing it did when he was proud of a home run or secretly enjoying one of megumi’s superhero tangents.
“dad,” megumi said as they stepped into the hallway.
“what?” toji grunted, avoiding his son’s gaze.
megumi smirked, the kind that made him look way older than his nine years. “you’re doing that thing.”
toji frowned, feigning ignorance. “what thing?”
“you know. that thing my favorite superhero does when he saves his secret girlfriend,” megumi said with a dramatic air, glancing back at your door before looking at his dad again.
toji snorted, trying — and failing — not to look flustered. “quit it, kid.”
but megumi didn’t miss the way his dad’s lips twitched into the smallest of smiles. he knew exactly what was going on.
love? probably.
yeah, megumi was pretty sure his dad loved you.
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it was funny, really, how quickly time had flown. one moment, you were corralling a tutu-clad, glitter-faced babygirl to ballet class, and the next, you were breaking up arguments between her and megumi over whose superhero knowledge was superior.
"they’re literally fake, megumi!" she'd shriek.
"so are ballerinas in space!" he’d yell back.
and there you and toji would be, slumped at the dining table, each nursing a lukewarm cup of coffee as you exchanged weary, knowing looks.
“how do ten-year-olds even have this much energy?” you’d mutter, pressing your fingertips into your temples.
toji, half-laughing, half-grumbling, would reply, “they don’t. they’re siphoning it off us.”
it had been a year and a half of this — this weird, beautiful, chaotic thing you’d built. the kids, their shared antics, and the way they declared every single dinner a sleepover had woven your lives together so seamlessly that it felt like you’d never been apart in the first place.
but the truth? the sleepover excuse wasn’t just for the kids anymore. you and toji had grown so comfortable in this rhythm, this routine, that it felt like breathing. and yet, there was still this unspoken thing between you, hanging in the air like a question neither of you wanted to ask.
it was easy to ignore, easier still to pretend that this was just how things were. you’d watch as toji threw his head back in laughter at one of megumi’s sarcastic comments, his broad shoulders shaking, or when he’d lean in to help your girl tie her ballet shoes — his fingers oddly gentle for someone so rough around the edges. those moments made your heart ache in ways you didn’t want to name.
and then there was the way he looked at you when the kids weren’t paying attention. like when megumi would drag your babygirl out into the yard to “train” her in superhero moves, and you’d catch toji’s eyes lingering on you just a second too long.
“what?” you’d ask, your voice quieter than you intended.
“nothin’,” he’d say, but the way his lips twitched into a small smile betrayed him.
but you knew it wasn’t nothing. it hadn’t been nothing for a while now. and maybe it was time to stop pretending.
your ex hadn’t made it easy, of course. every time he paraded some new flavor of the month in front of your girl, you’d see the disappointment in her eyes, and it made your chest tighten. but then there’d be toji — steady, dependable, his quiet reassurances and the way he always managed to make her smile again.
“he’s better than dad,” she’d told you once, out of the blue, her voice small but firm.
and maybe that was the final nudge you needed.
the night felt heavier than usual, the quiet hum of the dishwasher and the occasional creak of the floorboards the only sounds accompanying you as you stood side by side in the kitchen. toji rinsed the last plate, handing it to you with a quick glance that lingered a little too long.
“they’re getting wilder,” he muttered, nodding toward the living room where your girl and megumi were sprawled on the sofa, limbs tangled as if they'd fought sleep until it finally won.
you chuckled softly, drying the plate and setting it aside. “they’re ten. this is the warm-up for what’s coming in a few years.”
he let out a low groan, running a hand through his hair. “don’t remind me. thought i’d have more time before the hormones kicked in.”
you smirked, leaning against the counter as he dried his hands on a dishtowel. it was domestic in a way that felt almost too intimate, like crossing an invisible line. and yet, neither of you had stepped back.
“toji,” you said, your voice breaking the comfortable silence.
he looked up, the weight in your tone pulling his full attention. “yeah?”
you hesitated, biting your lip as you fidgeted with the edge of the dish towel. how do you even start this? you thought about the past year and a half, the shared laughter, the quiet moments, the way his presence had become a constant in your life. the way your girl lit up when he was around. the way you lit up.
“this,” you finally said, gesturing between the two of you, your words coming out softer than you intended. “whatever this is... do you think we should talk about it?”
his brow furrowed slightly, and for a moment, your heart sank. but then he nodded, setting the towel down on the counter.
“i’ve been thinkin’ about it,” he admitted, his voice low.
“and?” you prompted, your heart pounding in your chest.
he sighed, leaning against the counter beside you, his gaze fixed on the floor. “look, i’m not great at this kinda thing,” he began, his fingers tapping absently against the edge of the counter. “but... you’ve been good for me. for megumi. hell, for both of us.”
your breath caught, and you turned to face him fully. “toji...”
he held up a hand, cutting you off gently. “lemme finish,” he said, his voice a little rough. he looked at you then, really looked at you, his eyes searching yours like he was trying to figure out how to say something he’d been holding onto for too long.
“i didn’t think this was gonna happen,” he said finally. “not for me. not again.” he ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “but you... you made it so easy. like it’s not somethin’ to be scared of. like it’s just... there. y’know?”
you nodded, your throat tight as you listened.
“and it’s not just about me,” he continued, his voice softening. “it’s about them. megumi... he’s happier than i’ve seen him in years. and your girl? she’s somethin’ special, and the way you’ve raised her... damn.” he shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “you’re somethin’ else, you know that?”
you felt your cheeks heat, and you looked down, trying to compose yourself.
“so yeah,” he said, his voice steady now. “i don’t know what this is, but if you’re askin’ me if i want more of it... then yeah. i do.”
your breath hitched, and when you looked up, the sincerity in his eyes made your chest tighten.
“toji,” you said again, your voice barely above a whisper. “i’ve wanted to say something for a while now, but I didn’t know how. you’ve been... everything we didn’t know we needed. me and my girl. you’ve been there in ways no one else ever has, and it’s just... it’s so easy with you. i want this too.”
his lips curved into a small, relieved smile, and for a moment, the weight of the unspoken words between you lifted.
“yeah?” he asked softly, his voice almost teasing.
you smiled back, nodding. “yeah.”
and then, like it was the most natural thing in the world, he reached out and pulled you into a hug. it wasn’t rushed or desperate — it was steady, grounding, the kind of hug that felt like coming home. and when he whispered, “i’m all in if you are,” into your hair, you felt the last of your hesitation melt away.
because with toji, love wasn’t just a possibility — it was a promise.
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another two years later, and the kids were twelve. twelve. a big deal, according to them. suddenly they were "basically teenagers," and with that came a whole new level of attitude and pride. and you and toji? you were more than grateful for the chaos. or, as he liked to tease, “engaged to it.” yeah, engaged. took the man long enough — three and a half, maybe four years — but who’s counting?
your kids, of course, had taken the news with the kind of casual confidence only twelve-year-olds could muster. “about time,” megumi had muttered, earning an elbow in the ribs from your girl, who’d just grinned and said, “told you he liked her.”
and publicly? they carried themselves with the kind of poise that made you and toji bite back laughter more than once. “yeah, that’s my dad,” your girl would say with a shrug as toji dropped her off at ballet, towering over all the other dads and somehow looking both intimidating and incredibly proud as she disappeared into the studio.
megumi was just as bad. “that’s my mom,” he’d say to anyone within earshot at his little league games, pointing you out as you cheered the loudest from the stands, sometimes alongside toji who couldn’t help but smirk at your enthusiasm. “and yeah, that’s my sister,” he’d add, nonchalantly, as if it wasn’t a big deal that they’d practically become inseparable siblings over the years.
of course, behind closed doors, they were just kids. kids who still watched superhero movies while pretending not to, kids who choreographed ballet routines to superhero soundtracks because cool kids don’t watch superhero movies.
and you? you were still on that hustle, balancing work, motherhood, and planning a wedding with the kind of grace that made toji shake his head in awe every time.
“how do you do it?” he’d asked one night, watching you juggle your laptop and the kids’ school schedules.
“coffee and pure spite,” you’d replied, smirking over the rim of your mug.
toji, though? he’d built something solid too. his mechanic shop was finally open, a dream he’d quietly nurtured for years. seeing him in his element, sleeves rolled up, hands covered in grease, and that signature smirk plastered across his face, was enough to make your heart skip a beat every damn time.
life wasn’t perfect — there were still late nights, homework battles, and the occasional tantrum — but it was good. no, scratch that. it was damn good.
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happy belated birthday!!! i hope this year brings you nothing but happiness and success n you achieve everything you’ve always wanted to. i’m sosososo incredibly grateful and happy that we’re friends, and i’m so grateful i’ve had the privilege of reading your amazing work.
I LOVE YOU SO MUCH N I AM HUGGING YOU SO TIGHTLY MY DARLING!!! <333
Lily xo @storiesoflilies
LILY 🥹🥹🥹 !
YOU ARE THE SWEETET AND I LOVE YOU AND IM SO GRATEFUL I MET YOU TOO !! THANK YOU THANK YOU FOR THE KIND WORDS ! HUGGING YOUUU
LETTA HAPPY HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!! i hope you have the most incredible love filled day, i'm so happy we met!!! <3
(also sorry for accidentally unfollowing you TT)
THANK YOU SALEM !! I LOVE YOUUU, SO GLAD I MET YOU AS WELL ! you bring so much light to my silly little life 💝 (and omg.... i'm gonna have to keep you on a tight leash from now on 😒)
LETTA MY LOVE MY HEART!!!!!!!!! i hope it is still your birthday …. time zones and things …. but nevertheless . i arrive with LOVE!!!!!!!
i’m so glad to have met you, the kindness and joy you show makes me so so happy and warm, i see things throughout my day that remind me of you (today i saw a pretty lamp … it was very letta to me) because you are all things beautiful and cherished and golden, and they are all you :’) i love you so much and i hope you had a lovely day, happiest of happy birthdays my dear <33
QUINN !! i love you so much thankyouthankyouthankyou for such sweet words and the birthday wishes, i'm smothering you in kisses rn actually. and hehehehee i'm so glad i am haunting you everywhere .......
thought of you the other day as well because my cats were playing and rolling around on the ground and my first thought was "omg that photo quinn sent me over the summer !" and then i went "wait .... this is so us." >:3
OMG HAPPY BIRTHDAY LETTA!!!!! 🥹🩷🙂↕️ i hope you’ll enjoy the concert when you go to it and i love you so much!!!! you’re such a kind, sweet, & caring person and you’re such an amazing writer too :’) i hope today will be filled with so much happiness, amazing vibes, and lots of yummy food!!! :D MAY ALL YOUR WISHES COME TRUE <333 ILYSM MWAHHHHHH 🎂🎂🎂 - @gothsuguru :3
KAIROOOOOO,
THANK YOU !! i will be lightly spamming the dash in march with so many concert pics :333 I LOVE YOU MORE, THANK YOU FOR THE BIRTHDAY WISHES 💝🥹
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happy happy birthday to you my love! i hope you’ve had a good day so far, because you honestly deserve nothing less — a beautiful soul like you only deserves the best!! did you have cake? did you receive anything you wished for? did you get enough hugs??
no matter what, i am sending an abundance of hugs and affection from over here, can you feel em??? ALL THE LOVE I HAVE FOR YOUUUU 🩷
i am so incredibly grateful to have encountered you on this app bby, someone so sweet and kindhearted!! anyone who crosses paths with you should count themselves lucky, i sure know i do 🩷
AHH i've rewritten my response to this so many times, but i couldn't get very far because i'd reread it and just get so emotional jkajk (you've unravelled me, dear hea 💝)
but i'll start off with how sweet this was 🥹 ?!?! i always try my hardest not to cry on my birthday (i'm a huge baby ...sigh), but just reading the first paragraph had my lip trembling ... and then i couldn't stop the ugly crying TT ...
i can feel your hugs !!! and your affection !!! and i'm very grateful that you've extended them to me and made me feel so, so very special, hea 🥹 ! i love you !! love love love LOVE you, from the bottom of my heart. and i'm so grateful we've met, and that i've gotten to know you -- someone so kind and earnest and selfless--- and have the privilege of growing alongside someone as beautiful as you 🌱!
i had cake ! and drinks ! and i got to see some family members and friends that i haven't seen in so longgg ! MY BEST FRIEND CAME, YAY ! i haven't seen her since uni started and she moved, and it's been so rough, but seeing her made everything instantly better ! she gave me so many hugs !! my family too !! it was a very satisfying day (made better by this sweet message <333)
SWEET HEA, i love you so much for taking the time out of your day to leave something so sweet for me ! sending so many hugs to you hea, wrapping my arms around you so tightly <333 !AHH you are just so wonderful. i'm so lucky to have a friend like you 🥹🥹
i was feeling down this afternoon because i thought my sister forgot my birthday (again), but when i came home she was sitting on my sofa (it was very terrifying and i jumped all over the place), and announced (stay with me now. very monumental) that we will be going ..... to .... a clairo concert >:333