lina 𝜗ৎ

• james potter

- interested in the uninterested (a series): series masterlist coming soon . . .

- what they didn't say that night (a oneshot) coming soon

- gryffindor after dark (a oneshot) coming soon

• sirius black

nothing to see here yet . . .

• remus lupin

nothing to see here yet . . .

• other characters (not including peter sorry)

he was already there when you arrived.

that should not have mattered as much as it did, but the sight of him leaning against his car beneath the spill of a streetlamp made something warm and inconvenient shift low in your stomach. he looked unfair in the kind of casual way men never seemed to appreciate, broad shoulders under a dark shirt, one hand in his pocket, the other tapping idly against his keys as if he had not checked the time twice in the last minute. when your headlights swept over him, he straightened just enough to give away that he had been waiting for you specifically. he did not wave, did not smile, did not pretend eagerness.

but his eyes found you immediately.

you stayed in your car a moment longer than necessary, checking your reflection with a look of deep personal offense. your lipstick was fine. your hair was fine. you looked good enough that it should have felt like victory rather than vulnerability. by the time you stepped out, he had already crossed half the distance between you, gaze moving over you once in a way that was shameless and slow enough to count as a touch.

“you clean up nice,” he said.

“and you still sound stupid.”

“there she is.”

his mouth tilted at one corner, small and dangerous. it irritated you how quickly your body recognized that expression now, how easily it translated it into something warmer than annoyance. he reached for the passenger door before you could get there, pulling it open with an ease that did not match the rest of him.

“i can open my own door.”

“i know.”

“then why are you doing it.”

he looked down at you, unbothered. “because i wanted to.”

you hated how simple that answer was.

the drive was short, though you noticed every second of it. the quiet confidence of his hands on the wheel. the way he drove one armed like the car itself understood him well enough not to require effort. the low music playing through the speakers, something smooth and old that made the city lights outside feel softer than usual. when you glanced over, he caught you immediately.

“miss me that bad?”

“i was checking if you always look this smug or if it’s seasonal.”

“you keep lookin’ and maybe i’ll answer.”

you rolled your eyes and looked out the window before he could see your smile threatening.

the restaurant was intimate without being obnoxious about it, warm lighting cast low over polished wood and crowded tables. the kind of place where voices naturally softened and everything felt closer than it was. toji gave his name to the host like he had done this a hundred times, hand settling briefly at the small of your back to guide you through the room. the contact lasted only a second.

it was enough to ruin your pulse.

he noticed, of course. men like him noticed everything when it suited them.

“relax,” he murmured near your ear as you walked. “just touchin’ your back, not proposing.”

“keep dreaming.”

“didn’t say it was my dream.”

you nearly stumbled.

the host seated you in a curved booth tucked partially away from the rest of the room. close enough to feel private, open enough to watch everyone else. you slid in first, and toji took the seat across from you before reconsidering and moving beside you instead.

you stared at him.

“what are you doing.”

“better view.”

“of the room?”

“nah.”

his eyes dropped pointedly to your mouth before returning to your face.

you turned to the menu before your expression betrayed you.

the server approached a moment later, young, polished, and immediately too eager. he smiled first at you, then at toji only as an obligation.

“good evening,” he said, voice warmed half a degree too much in your direction. “can i start you with something to drink, beautiful?”

toji went still beside you.

not tense. not dramatic. simply still in the way large predators did when something entered their space that had not yet realized it was prey. you felt it more than saw it, the subtle shift in the air at your side.

you looked up at the waiter slowly.

“can’t you see i’m on a date, you idiot?”

the silence that followed was exquisite.

the waiter blinked, smile collapsing in stages. “i, uh, i just meant”

“you meant to be annoying,” you said flatly. “congratulations.”

toji leaned back beside you, one arm stretching across the back of the booth behind your shoulders like he had all the room in the world. when you glanced sideways, he was watching the waiter with an expression so mild it circled back to threatening.

“i’ll take a whiskey,” he said lazily. “she’ll have whatever she wants and you’ll stop flirting with her.”

the waiter flushed a violent shade of red, scribbled something, and retreated.

you exhaled through your nose. “moron.”

toji was grinning now, broad enough to show teeth.

“what.”

“nothin’.”

“say it.”

“you got all mean for me.”

“i got mean because he was stupid.”

“sure.”

you turned toward him sharply. “wipe that look off your face.”

“can’t. too happy.”

“you’re unbearable.”

“and yet.” he tipped his head slightly closer. “you defended our date.”

our date.

the phrase landed with embarrassing force.

you looked back at the menu as if it had personally offended you. “i defended basic social awareness.”

“keep explainin’ it. gets cuter every time.”

you elbowed him in the ribs hard enough to matter.

he laughed.

the drinks came quickly, delivered by a different server who looked determined to survive the shift. you took a long sip of wine while toji watched over the rim of his glass like he expected entertainment at any moment. being observed by him had become its own kind of physical sensation, one you had not learned how to ignore.

“you jealous?” you asked finally.

“of him?” he scoffed. “please.”

“you looked tense.”

“i looked annoyed.”

“same thing for possessive men.”

he angled toward you, close enough now that the booth suddenly felt smaller. “you wanna know what jealous looks like?”

your throat tightened despite yourself. “not particularly.”

“liar.”

he said it softly, eyes lowered to your lips again. then he took another drink and leaned back like he had not just disrupted your breathing for sport.

you hated how often he won small things.

conversation moved easier than the first night, less guarded in some places and sharper in others. he asked questions like they were accidental and remembered every answer no matter how casually given. your favorite dessert. the city you wanted to leave and never had. the fact that you hated people who chewed loudly. each detail resurfaced later in some offhand comment that proved he had stored it away.

most men listened only for openings.

toji listened like gathering information was instinct.

“you’re quieter tonight,” he said after a while.

“i’m eating.”

“you can insult me and chew at the same time. i believe in you.”

“maybe i’m enjoying the silence.”

“nah.” his fingers tapped once on the table. “you’re nervous.”

you laughed outright. “delusional.”

“your leg’s been brushing mine for ten minutes.”

you froze.

then slowly looked down beneath the table, where his thigh was indeed pressed lightly against yours in the narrow booth. impossible to tell whose fault it had been originally. impossible to move now without making it obvious.

“space is limited,” you said.

“right.”

“don’t start.”

“didn’t say anything.”

“your face did.”

“good. means you’re payin’ attention.”

you should have moved your leg.

you did not.

instead you let the contact remain, warm and steady and increasingly distracting while pretending nothing was happening. he knew exactly what you were doing. the smugness rolling off him was almost visible.

when dinner arrived, you found it difficult to focus on food while his knee occasionally nudged yours as he shifted. accidental enough to deny, deliberate enough to notice. at one point his hand reached past you for the bread basket, forearm brushing yours, and your body reacted so quickly you nearly dropped your fork.

his mouth twitched.

“you alright there?”

“fine.”

“you seem flustered.”

“you seem ugly.”

“there she is.”

you wanted to stab him with the butter knife.

instead, you took another drink.

halfway through the meal, a man passing your table glanced down at you and smiled too long. harmless enough on its face, but familiar in the way men often were when they thought women existed as ambient decoration. before you could ignore it, toji’s hand settled over your knee under the table.

firm.

casual.

claiming.

the stranger kept walking.

you looked at toji sharply. “did you just”

“what.”

“that.”

“protectin’ your peace.”

“you are the loudest thing in it.”

his thumb moved once against your knee before lifting away entirely, like he had forgotten it was there. the brief loss of contact annoyed you more than the touch had.

you stared at your plate.

he watched you do it.

“you blush easy for someone so mean.”

“i’ll kill you.”

“there she is again.”

dessert came because he ordered it without asking, some warm chocolate thing with two spoons placed beside it. when you raised an eyebrow, he shrugged.

“you looked like you wanted somethin’ sweet.”

“and you thought of yourself first?”

“always.”

you took the first bite anyway, then closed your eyes for a second at the taste before you could stop yourself.

toji made a low sound beside you.

you opened them immediately. “what now.”

“nothin’.” his voice had gone rougher somehow. “just liked that face.”

heat climbed your throat so fast it was humiliating.

“you’re disgusting.”

“you’re cute.”

“i regret defending you.”

“you loved defending me.”

“i tolerated it.”

“you called him an idiot.”

“because he was.”

“for flirtin’ with a woman already on a date.”

“correct.”

“with me.”

you set the spoon down carefully. “you’re talking a lot.”

“you’re avoidin’ agreeing.”

“you’re insufferable.”

“and you came anyway.”

that was the problem, wasn’t it.

you had.

when the bill arrived, you reached for it on instinct. his hand landed over yours first.

warm, broad, immediate.

“absolutely not,” he said.

“i can pay for my own meal.”

“didn’t say you couldn’t.”

“then move.”

“nah.”

you looked down at where his hand covered yours. neither of you moved. the server waited politely, eyes elsewhere with the wisdom of experience.

“toji.”

“you say my name nice when you’re irritated.”

“i’m about to say it worse.”

“lookin’ forward to it.”

he paid while still trapping your hand beneath his, thumb idly brushing once over your knuckles before releasing. by the time he stood, your pulse was a mess and he knew it.

outside, the night had turned cool, the sidewalks slick from earlier rain. city lights reflected in broken gold across the pavement. he shrugged off his jacket and draped it over your shoulders before you could protest.

“i don’t need this.”

“i know.”

“then why.”

he stepped closer to adjust the collar around you, fingers brushing your neck with maddening carelessness. “because i like how you look in my things.”

your breath caught.

traitorous body.

“that was a terrible line.”

“worked though.”

you opened your mouth, then shut it again.

his grin widened.

the walk to the parking lot was slower than necessary. his hand occasionally finding your back, your elbow, the small spaces where touch could pass as guidance. each one brief enough to deny and long enough to feel.

you crossed your arms. “so, about earlier. you were jealous?”

“yeah. so?”

the bluntness startled you enough that you looked over. he kept his eyes on where you were walking, his facial expression not giving you enough magnification to see what was going on inside that handsome head of his.

“that was easy for you to admit.” you say, slight surprise on your tongue. he scoffs a bit.

“you know it was obvious, woman. useless and unnecessary question.”

“and if i’d flirted back?”

his jaw shifted once, tightening as the veins on his neck strain slightly. “would’ve dragged you out by your pretty wrist, sweetheart. doon’t fuckin’ try that shit.”

your stomach started to feel funny.

he laughed softly at your reaction when you both are getting closer to your cars. though, neither of you moved to get in them. the jacket still smelled faintly like him around your shoulders, warm and distracting. he turned, his gaze settling over your face with none of the earlier playfulness softened, only deepened.

“you gonna invite me home?” he asked, “or keep makin’ me work for it?”

“who says i’m making you work? and coming home on the first date? please, i’m not that easy.”

“never called you easy, your whole personality says otherwise.”

“maybe i just like watching you try.”

“yeah?” he leaned closer, voice lowering. “you like a lotta things tonight, don’t cha?”

“name one.”

“when i touched your knee.”

heat flared instantly. his smirk widened at the pink he saw on your face.

“when i paid.” he stepped closer, his voice lowering and he started speaking slower. “when i got jealous.” he all but whispered, his warm breath fanning over the side of your face.

you hesitated to return the eye contact and his eyes sharpened at once.

“thought so.” he teased.

“don’t get smug.”

“too late.”

you reached for your car’s door handle just to break the moment. his hand caught your wrist before you could open it. not rough. not forceful. simply certain.

“hey.”

you looked back.

for once, his expression was almost gentle. almost.

“i had a good time, and i don’t usually like going to stupid restaurants.”

the sincerity of it hit harder than any line could have.

you swallowed. “you’re still annoying.”

“yeah?”

“yeah.”

“come here then and tell me if i’m still annoying you.”

he tightened his hold on your hand and spun you to face him before pulling you closer, it was slower, giving you every chance to pull away and proving he already knew you wouldn’t. one hand slid from your wrist to your jaw, thumb pressing lightly beneath your chin as he guided your face toward his. the other braced against the hood of your car, caging you in without force, close enough that the heat of him wrapped around the small space between you and your car. your breath caught before his mouth even touched yours.

the first kiss landed slowly, but not softly. it was a slow press of lips that lingered just long enough to make your pulse stutter, his mouth warm and impatient against yours like he was testing how long he could make you wait. when you parted for a breath, he followed immediately, catching your lower lip between his teeth in a brief tug that drew a quiet sound from you before you could stop it.

he stilled for half a second then smiled against your mouth.

“aren’t you cute,” he murmured just to piss you off.

“shut up,” you whispered back, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt and pulling him in again.

that seemed to break the last of his restraint. the next kiss was deeper, fuller, and somehow even harder with his hand sliding from your jaw to the back of your neck as he angled you closer to him. he kissed like he argued, direct and certain, taking his time only because he knew it would ruin you more. your fingers tightened in his shirt as he kissed you again and again, each one slower than the last until you were the one chasing him when he pulled back an inch.

his low laugh brushed your lips.

“impatient.”

“you cannot be talking, you just tried swallowing my face.”

he answered by kissing you again, sharp and needy enough to wipe the smugness off of your face for all of two seconds. he made a rough sound in his throat and dragged you closer, one hand spreading over your waist now, thumb pressing into your side through the fabric of your clothes. the position was awkward, his height causing him to lean down at an awkward posture, but neither of you cared enough to fix it.

his mouth moved to the corner of yours, then your jaw, then just beneath your ear where he paused long enough to feel the shiver that ran through you.

“there she is,” he repeated quietly.

“say that again and i’m leaving.”

“liar.”

he kissed the spot below your ear anyway, slower this time, and your head tipped back before pride could stop it. his hand at your waist tightened in approval, drawing you even closer until your legs bumped into his and made both of you laugh under your breath. the sound only made it worse somehow, the brief softness of it, the intimacy of being tangled up and amused and unable to stop touching each other.

when his mouth found yours again, you kissed him harder, all teeth and heat and the frustration of wanting more than you meant to. he met it instantly, one hand back in your hair now, fingers threading at the nape of your neck as if he had every right. your lipstick was probably ruined and his shirt was wrinkled beneath your hands. neither of you cared.

eventually he pulled back just enough for air, forehead resting against yours, both of you breathing harder than either would admit. his thumb brushed once across your swollen lower lip, eyes fixed there before lifting to meet yours.

“you kiss mean too,” he said, voice roughened low.

“learned from you.”

“i like that.”

“yeah? prove it.”

he kissed you once more then, slower than all the others, unhurried and almost unfairly tender, as if he knew that would affect you more than anything rough ever could. when he finally let you go, you stayed close for one extra second before remembering yourself and pulling back.

his grin returned immediately. he took a few steps back while you quickly learn how to stand on your own without his big arms keeping you up. as you opened the driver’s seat to your car, toji spoke.

“you gonna text me when ya get home, sweetheart?”

you turned, walking backward a few steps.

“wouldn’t you like to know?”

“i know you’re gonna do it anyway.”

you smiled despite yourself.

“keep dreaming, toji.”

and with his signature grin, he said “already am.”

my terms and conditions for requests ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

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i may also decline requests that feel out of character or overly repetitive. howeverrrr, if it's that i simply don’t have inspiration for it, that will be stated so i make it aware it may be done in the future (not guaranteed tho!)

• toji fushiguro

- only the ones like you (a collection):

part one

part two

part three

• hiromi higuruma

- you said you'd stay (a oneshot)

• other characters

nothing to see here yet . . .

the worst part was, neither of you even tried to pretend otherwise.

two days passed, and somehow that made everything worse.

you had expected the usual after a night like that. expected the heat of it to cool by morning, the sharp thrill of being looked at by a man like toji fushiguro reduced to something embarrassing in hindsight. maybe a laugh with yourself while brushing your teeth, maybe a roll of your eyes while replaying the way you had practically thrown yourself into verbal combat with a stranger because he happened to be broad shouldered and unfairly attractive. you had expected distance to make it ridiculous.

instead, distance made it settle deeper.

you thought about him while pouring coffee. thought about him while standing in line at the grocery store. thought about the rough scrape of his voice when he’d called you annoying with the kind of honesty that felt more intimate than compliments usually did. your own phone had become irritating to look at because his number sat there untouched, a fact that somehow annoyed you more than if he had texted first. you checked it anyway, which was humiliating.

it wasn’t that you wanted him.

that was the lie you told yourself because it sounded cleaner than the truth.

the truth was that you wanted what happened in that bar again, wanted the feeling of standing across from someone who did not immediately bore you, wanted the rush of being looked at like you were something worth paying attention to. you wanted the rare relief of not having to make yourself smaller, sweeter, softer, just to be digestible. and worse than all of that, you wanted it from a man who looked like trouble in every language.

which meant you were learning absolutely nothing.

you stood in front of your bathroom mirror that evening, one hand braced on the sink, staring at yourself like you were a problem someone else had left behind. the apartment was quiet except for the hum of the fan overhead and the distant traffic filtering through the window. your reflection stared back with the same expression it always did lately, polished and unimpressed, every rough edge arranged into something neat enough to pass for confidence. people mistook it all the time.

they thought sharpness meant certainty.

they thought sarcasm meant invulnerability.

they thought because your mouth was quick and your gaze steady that nothing ever reached you long enough to leave damage. nobody ever guessed that cruelty had become a language you learned because softness once got you humiliated in broad daylight. nobody ever guessed that underneath all the bite was someone who still remembered exactly what betrayal felt like.

you did not think about him often anymore.

that was another lie.

sometimes it came back in flashes so sudden they felt physical. your ex laughing too loudly with a girl you had introduced him to. the way everyone else at the party had looked anywhere but at you while she sat in his lap like it was a joke. the way he later called you dramatic for being upset, as if fidelity were a matter of preference rather than respect. the worst part had not even been the cheating.

it had been how stupid it made you feel for trusting him.

you reached for your phone before you could think better of it.

his contact stared back from the screen with nothing attached to it but ten digits and your own stubbornness. no name at first, because you had refused to save it that night out of principle, but sometime yesterday you had caved and typed in toji. just toji. no emoji, no note, nothing sentimental enough to be mocked by your future self. your thumb hovered over the message box.

then you locked the screen and tossed the phone onto the bed.

pathetic.

across the city, toji was having an equally irritating evening.

he sat on the worn couch in his apartment with one arm slung over the backrest and the television on mute, some sports recap flashing bright colors across the room while he ignored all of it. the place was sparse in the way homes became when someone only used them for sleeping and occasionally eating. shoes by the door, half folded laundry on a chair, a knife on the counter because he had forgotten to put it away after cutting fruit. nothing personal enough to tell a story.

he preferred it that way.

women had come and gone through this apartment before. some had stayed the night, some had stayed longer than he wanted, some had cried when they realized indifference was not a challenge to be solved but simply who he was. none of them had mattered enough to leave traces once the door closed behind them. he had liked that too.

so why the hell was he thinking about you.

his jaw tightened as he leaned forward to grab the bottle on the coffee table. the drink was warm now, forgotten halfway through, but he took a swallow anyway. you had lodged yourself somewhere inconvenient in his mind, appearing at random moments with that unimpressed stare and that mouth that never once tried to flatter him. it was irritating enough on its own.

what made it worse was the other thing.

the softer thing.

he rubbed a hand over his face like he could physically remove the thought before it formed again, but it came anyway. you in his kitchen, looking annoyed while stealing food off his plate. you on his couch with your legs tucked under you, pretending not to care that your head had ended up on his shoulder. you talking to him in a voice stripped of all that sharpened steel, sweet in a way no one else got to hear.

he grimaced.

“disgusting,” he muttered to the empty room.

the image should have died there. instead it shifted. you standing in front of him, brows softened, fingers absentmindedly fixing the collar of his shirt while asking if he’d eaten. you smiling at him not because you had won some exchange between the two of you, but because you were simply glad to see him. you saying his name gently.

he set the bottle down harder than necessary.

what the fuck was wrong with him.

toji fushiguro did not fantasize about domesticity. he barely tolerated company. women were fun until they became complicated, and then they became gone. that had always worked fine for him. clean, simple, no obligations worth resenting later. now some mean mouthed stranger from a bar had him imagining being spoken to kindly like he was a dog desperate for scraps.

he hated it.

which unfortunately did nothing to stop him from wondering what your voice would sound like sweet.

he stood abruptly, needing movement more than reason, and crossed to the kitchen. the fridge light spilled across the floor when he opened it, cold air brushing against his bare arms. there was nothing in there worth eating besides leftovers and beer. he stared into it anyway, jaw set, like somewhere between the shelves would be an explanation for why his brain had turned traitor.

there wasn’t.

he shut the door and grabbed his phone instead.

your number sat there because of course he had saved it. not under your name at first. under mouthy girl. then yesterday he had changed it because the first one annoyed him. now it was just your name, typed plain and clean, which somehow felt worse. he stared at the thread containing absolutely nothing.

“not textin’ first,” he said aloud.

the room, wisely, offered no opinion.

you ended up at your friend’s apartment the next night because being alone with your own thoughts had become unbearable.

the music playing from her speaker was too loud for the size of the room, some playlist full of songs designed for getting over men you had not technically had yet. she was cross legged on the floor painting her nails while you occupied the couch and pretended to care about the movie on television. every few minutes she looked at you with the kind of expression only close friends could wear without getting slapped.

“you look constipated,” she said finally.

“wow, thanks tanna.”

“accurate.”

you rolled your eyes and reached for the bowl of chips between you. she smacked your hand away without looking.

“sooo.. what’s his name?

“there is no him.”

“then what’s her name?”

you glared at her. “there’s no anyone.”

tanna blew on her nails, unimpressed. “you’ve checked your phone twelve times in twenty minutes. either you’re waiting on a text or you joined a pyramid scheme.”

you hated that she was right enough to be smug.

“it’s nobody,” you said. “just some guy from a bar.”

“oh! a bar guy. let's continue.!

you told her less than half of it. enough to explain why a stranger’s number existed in your phone, not enough to reveal how badly the memory of his eyes had followed you home. she listened with the expression of someone trying not to laugh in your face.

“so you bullied a hot man into giving you his number?" she summarized.

“that is not what happened.”

“then why are you acting like this?"

you opened your mouth and closed it again.

because wanting people was dangerous sounded too dramatic. because saying i liked how he looked at me felt too vulnerable. because admitting you did not trust your own judgment anymore would turn the room colder than you could tolerate.

“i’m not acting like anything.”

she snorted. “right.”

the conversation moved on, but not really. it lingered in the back of your throat while the movie changed scenes and tanna rambled about work. by the time you left, the night air felt too thin and your patience with yourself even thinner. halfway to your car, you pulled out your phone.

you: you always this boring over text too, or only in person?

you stared at the message for one full second after sending it. then swore aloud in the parking lot.

toji’s phone buzzed while he was in the middle of doing absolutely nothing productive. he glanced at the screen and nearly dropped it. a laugh escaped him before he could stop it, low and surprised enough to sound unfamiliar in his own apartment. he read the message twice, then once more for the pleasure of it. of course that was how you chose to start. not hello, not some fake polite opener, not even pretending restraint.

his thumbs hovered over the keyboard.

toji: Took you long enough woman

he sent it before overthinking could contaminate the moment. your typing bubble appeared almost immediately, vanished, then appeared again. he found himself leaning forward.

you: dont flatter yourself. i was bored.

he smirked.

toji: Yeah? toji: Should thank me then

you: for what

toji: Fixin' your night

he could practically hear the scoff you’d make reading it. the image pleased him more than it should have.

you: confidence is ugly on most men

toji: Good thing I ain't most men

there was a pause after that one. longer than the others. he imagined you reading it with narrowed eyes, maybe biting back a smile you’d deny having. the thought settled warm and unwelcome somewhere in his chest.

you: maybe you: still deciding

toji stared at the word maybe until it annoyed him.

toji: Let me know when you figure it out

you: maybe i wont

toji: You will.

another pause.

you: cocky bastard.

toji: Can assure you won't be saying that when you see mine, sweetheart.

he sent it because he wanted to see if it would make you retreat. your cheeks flushed immediately. you couldn't let him have the upper hand. so unlike his inference, three dots appeared instantly.

you: careful toji

you: keep speaking like that and i will assume youre jacking your shit off to the thought of me

you: also, im not sweet. bitch.

toji leaned back on the couch, smirking now with no one around to witness the embarrassing evidence.

toji: The thought of you? How mighty do you see yourself?

you: not denying it tho?

he stared at that one longer than necessary.

something about you was dangerous in a way he understood too late. not because you were sweet enough to trap a man or dramatic enough to ruin him. because you met every challenge with one of your own and made the whole thing feel like a game he wanted to keep losing by inches.

toji: You free tomorrow?

the typing bubble did not appear right away this time.

when it finally did, it came and went twice before your reply landed.

you: nice diversion asshole

you: i am. why?

toji: Because I asked.

you: terrible answer

toji: Worked enough for you to respond though?

another pause. he could almost feel the shift through the screen, your hesitation wrapped in sarcasm, your curiosity trying not to expose itself. he recognized caution when he saw it. wore enough of his own.

he watched the typing bubble appear again, then disappear for so long he thought you’d changed your mind.

you: fine

toji: Fine means yes?

you: don’t make me regret it already

he laughed outright this time.

toji: 8 tomorrow

toji: I'll text you the address.

you: not picking me up? chivalry is dead

toji: Bitch please

you: LMFAO kidding.

you: don’t be late

toji: don’t be annoying

you: ugh no fun.

a few minutes passed until you decided to message him again.

you: see you tmr. :)

toji: A Smiley face? Falling in love already?

you: im cancelling tomorrow

toji: No. See you tomorrow, sweetheart

he stared at the screen after the conversation ended, the room gone quiet around him. there was no reason for the satisfaction curling low in his chest, no reason a simple yes from a woman should feel like he’d won something. he disliked needing anything from anyone.

but tomorrow at eight, he knew exactly where he’d be.

you, meanwhile, sat in your parked car gripping the steering wheel like it had personally betrayed you.

a date.

not technically. maybe technically. whatever it was, it had become real the second a time got set. your reflection in the windshield looked deeply unimpressed with your life choices.

you could still cancel. you probably should cancel.

men like him were fun right up until they weren’t. handsome enough to distract you, charming enough to lower your guard, detached enough to make every bit of effort feel like something you had to earn. you knew the type. maybe not exactly him, but adjacent enough to set off alarms. the part of you built from old humiliation recognized risk when it saw it.

the problem was that another part of you did not care.

because he had not lied to you yet.

because he had not pretended softness he didn’t possess.

because when he looked at you, it felt less like evaluation and more like recognition.

you hated that most of all.

by the time you got home, your mind had split neatly into two enemies. one side listing every reason this would end badly. the other replaying his messages until your stomach did something traitorous and warm. you washed your face, changed clothes, and got into bed with the determination of someone refusing to spiral.

sleep did not arrive quickly.

when it finally did, it brought dreams full of dark eyes and rough hands that never quite touched you.

morning came with the kind of clarity that only lasts until you remember your own decisions.

you were going to see him tonight.

which meant, unfortunately, you cared what you looked like.

you spent far too long pretending not to care while changing outfits three times. nothing too eager. nothing too obvious. nothing that suggested you had stood in front of your closet muttering insults at hangers. by the time you settled on something simple and unfairly flattering, you were already irritated enough to text him first.

you: what's your favorite color?

his reply came less than a minute later.

toji: Mornin to you too

toji: Not patient enough to see me to ask your dumbass questions?

you: answer the question

toji: Fine toji: Black

you: of course

toji: This better be you asking so you can surprise me with a sexy lingerie set in my favorite color 😏

you: hell no.

you stared at the screen, then set the phone facedown before you could smile at it.

that evening, across town, toji stood in front of his own mirror and frowned. he owned clothes. plenty of them. none had ever mattered enough to think about beyond whether they were clean. now he was considering shirts like a man possessed.

“pathetic,” he muttered.

he chose black because it required no thought, then changed it because the first black shirt fit too tightly, but then again, that's good right? he remembers seeing you damn near salivate seeing his pecs and biceps through his shirt at the bar. then he swore under his breath when he realized what he was doing. he was thirty seconds away from caring about a date.

it wasn’t a date, he tried to convince himself.

still, he shaved properly for the first time in weeks.

when he finally grabbed his keys, he caught himself wondering if tonight would be the night he heard your voice soften.

the thought made his stomach turn.

and made him drive faster anyway.

author's note: this isn't proofread cus im #lazy

the apartment was too quiet.

not the peaceful kind, not the kind hiromi used to crave after long days in court, but something hollow, stretched thin over the sound of your breathing from the other room. it came unevenly, too light, like it might disappear if he stopped listening for even a second. he stood in the doorway for longer than he should have, briefcase still in his hand, coat half slipping from his shoulders, like he hadn’t fully decided whether he deserved to walk in at all. the clock on the wall ticked too loudly, marking every second he’d spent away from you, every moment he’d chosen something else. he told himself it had been necessary, that the case needed him, that someone else’s life had been on the line. but standing there now, with the weight of your absence pressing into every corner of the room, those reasons felt thin, almost laughable.

you were asleep when he finally stepped inside, or at least that’s what he told himself at first.

your body barely shifted under the blankets, too still, too small against the bed that suddenly looked too big for just one person. the faint rise and fall of your chest was the only thing grounding him, the only thing keeping his thoughts from spiraling into something worse. he set his briefcase down quietly, like noise itself might hurt you, and pulled his tie loose with trembling fingers he didn’t recognize as his own. there had been a time when he could walk into a room and command it without effort, when his voice alone could shift the course of someone’s life. now, he couldn’t even bring himself to say your name without feeling like it might break something fragile beyond repair.

“‘romi,” you murmured, voice barely there, but it cut through him sharper than anything else could have.

he froze.

for a moment, he considered pretending you were still asleep, that he hadn’t heard you, that he could keep this distance just a little longer. but he couldn’t. not when you sounded like that, like speaking itself took more energy than you had to spare. “yeah,” he answered quietly, the word catching slightly in his throat as he stepped closer. “i’m here, darling.” it sounded wrong, incomplete, like being physically present meant nothing compared to everything he’d already missed.

you turned your head just enough to look at him, your eyes tired but still searching, still soft in a way that made his chest tighten painfully. “late again,” you said, not accusing, not even surprised, just stating it like a fact you’d already accepted.

that was worse.

if you’d been angry, if you’d yelled, if you’d told him exactly how much he’d failed you, he might have known how to respond. he understood arguments, understood conflict, knew how to dissect words and find something solid to stand on. but this quiet acceptance, this gentle acknowledgment that he had chosen something else again, left him with nothing to argue against. it stripped him of every defense he’d built over the years, every justification he’d leaned on to keep moving forward.

“the case ran longer than expected,” he said anyway, because it was the only thing he had left, even if it sounded as empty to you as it did to him.

you watched him for a moment, like you were deciding whether to believe him, or maybe deciding it didn’t matter either way. “you always say that,” you replied softly, your voice thinning at the edges. “it must be a very important case.”

he flinched.

not visibly, not in a way anyone else would notice, but you did. you always did. his hand tightened slightly at his side, fingers curling like he was trying to hold onto something that wasn’t there. “it is,” he said, more firmly this time, like conviction alone could make it true enough to justify everything else. “someone needed help.”

the words hung there, heavy and fragile all at once.

you smiled, faint and tired, like you didn’t have the strength for anything more. “i know,” you said, and there was no bitterness in it, no resentment, just quiet understanding. “that’s why i fell in love with you.”

that was what broke him.

because you meant it.

because even now, even like this, you were still choosing him, still seeing the good in the parts of him that had taken him away from you in the first place. he took a step closer, then another, until he was sitting at the edge of the bed, close enough to reach out but hesitating like he didn’t have the right anymore. his eyes traced over your face, memorizing details he should have never let himself forget, the slight hollowness in your cheeks, the way your skin had grown too pale, the exhaustion you tried and failed to hide.

“i should have been here,” he said finally, the words quiet but heavy with everything he hadn’t allowed himself to admit. “i should have been with you.”

you shifted slightly, your hand moving weakly against the sheets until it brushed against his, the contact light but intentional. “you are here,” you replied, as if that was enough, as if it erased everything that came before.

it didn’t.

he turned his hand, letting your fingers rest in his palm, careful, like you might disappear if he held on too tightly. “not when it mattered,” he said, voice lowering, rougher now, like it was scraping against something raw inside him. “not when you needed me.” every late night, every missed call, every time he had chosen a courtroom over this room pressed into him all at once, unbearable in their clarity.

you watched him quietly, your thumb brushing weakly against his skin, grounding him even as everything else unraveled. “you were saving people,” you said, like it was still something worth defending.

he shook his head slightly, the motion small but firm. “and i left you alone,” he replied, the truth landing heavier than anything else. “i told myself it was temporary, that once things settled, i’d come back, i’d fix it.” his grip on your hand tightened just a fraction, like he was afraid you’d slip away if he loosened it. “but it never settled, did it.”

you didn’t answer right away.

your eyes drifted over his face, soft and tired, taking him in like you were trying to memorize him too. “you always looked so tired when you came home,” you said instead, voice quieter now, almost fading. “i didn’t want to make it worse.”

that hurt more than anything else you’d said.

because even in this, even when you were the one fading, you had been thinking about him, protecting him from something he deserved to feel. his other hand came up then, hesitant at first before he let himself rest it gently against your cheek, thumb brushing lightly over skin that felt too warm, too fragile. “you should have,” he said, barely above a whisper. “you should have made it worse.”

you let out a small breath that might have been a laugh, too faint to hold its shape. “you wouldn’t have listened,” you murmured.

he closed his eyes for a second, because you were right.

because he knew you were right.

“i would now,” he said after a moment, the words slipping out before he could stop them, desperate in a way he’d never allowed himself to be before. “i’d listen to everything.”

your gaze softened, something gentle and sad settling there as you looked at him. “that’s because you’re running out of time,” you said, not cruelly, just honest.

his breath caught.

there it was.

the truth he’d been avoiding, the one thing he couldn’t argue against, couldn’t delay, couldn’t fix with words or effort or late nights spent trying to do something good for someone else. it was here, in this room, in the way your hand felt in his, in the way your voice had grown too quiet to carry.

“don’t,” he started, but the word fell apart before he could finish.

you squeezed his hand weakly, the pressure barely there but enough to stop him. “it’s okay,” you said, the same way you always had, like you were the one comforting him. “i knew what kind of person you were when i married you.”

his throat tightened, the weight of that pressing down harder than anything else. “and you still chose me,” he said, the disbelief in his voice sharper than he intended.

“i still choose you,” you corrected softly.

that nearly undid him completely.

he leaned closer then, his forehead resting lightly against yours, careful not to put too much weight, like even that might be too much. his grip on your hand tightened, grounding himself in something that was already slipping through his fingers. for the first time in a long time, hiromi didn’t think about his cases, or his reputation, or the people he’d tried so hard to save. he only thought about the one person he hadn’t and the time he didn’t have left to fix it.

morning came too quietly.

there was no shift in the air, no sudden stillness to mark the difference between before and after, just the same faint light slipping through the curtains and settling across the bed. hiromi hadn’t slept, not really, his head resting too close to yours, his hand still wrapped around yours like letting go would mean something irreversible. at some point, your breathing had evened out, softer than before, almost peaceful, and he had told himself that was a good sign. that maybe, just maybe, things weren’t as close to the edge as they felt. he held onto that thought with quiet desperation, afraid of what it meant if he didn’t.

“you should rest,” you murmured at some point, your voice barely there, like it was slipping between moments.

he shook his head immediately, even though you probably couldn’t see it. “i’m fine,” he said, too quickly, too firmly, like he could force it into truth. his thumb brushed faintly over your knuckles, feeling your familiar worth start to chill. “just stay with me.” it wasn’t a request, not really, more like a quiet plea he didn’t know how to phrase properly.

you didn’t argue.

that was what made it worse.

your fingers shifted slightly in his grasp, weak but present, and for a moment, everything felt suspended, like time had slowed just enough for him to believe he could hold onto it. your eyes were half-lidded, heavy, but they found his anyway, soft in a way that made his chest tighten painfully. “i am,” you said, barely audible, but steady enough to reach him.

he leaned closer without thinking, his free hand coming up to rest gently against your cheek, careful, like you might break under too much pressure. “don’t talk like that,” he whispered, the words fragile, almost breaking as they left him. “like you’re going somewhere.”

you smiled, faint and tired, but still there.

“i was always going to,” you replied softly.

he froze.

the words settled into him slowly, like something sinking too deep to pull back out. his grip on your hand tightened, not enough to hurt, just enough to remind himself you were still there, still real, still within reach. “no,” he said quietly, shaking his head like denial alone could undo it. “not yet.”

your gaze didn’t waver, even as your strength did.

“you’re still trying to argue it,” you murmured, something almost fond in your tone despite how thin it had become. “even now.”

he swallowed hard, his other hand pressing more firmly against your cheek, thumb brushing over skin that felt too warm, too fragile. “because you’re wrong,” he said, but it lacked the certainty he used to carry so easily. “i’ll fix this. i’ll—” his voice caught, the promise collapsing before it could take shape. there was nothing to fix, nothing to argue, nothing to win.

for once, there was no case, no defense, no way out.

you shifted slightly under his touch, your breathing growing lighter, quieter, like it was slipping further away with each passing second. “you don’t have to fix everything,” you said, the words barely holding together. “just… stay.”

he nodded quickly, even as something inside him began to unravel. “i am,” he repeated, softer now, leaning closer until his forehead rested against yours again. “i’m right here.”

your hand moved weakly in his, fingers tightening just a fraction, like you were holding onto him too.

“i know,” you whispered.

there was a pause after that, longer than the ones before, stretching just a little too far. he waited for your next breath. and then the next.

and then—

nothing.

at first, he didn’t understand it.

his mind stalled, caught somewhere between expectation and reality, waiting for the rise and fall of your chest that had become his only anchor through the night. his thumb stilled against your hand, his breath catching as he leaned back just enough to look at you properly. your expression hadn’t changed much, still soft, still calm, like you’d simply drifted off again.

but there was no movement. no quiet inhale, no faint exhale, nothing to fill the silence that suddenly pressed in from all sides.

“hey,” he said, the word low, uncertain, like he was afraid to say it too loudly. his hand shifted slightly against your cheek, a gentle nudge, like he could coax you back with something as simple as touch. “don’t—”

the rest didn’t come out.

his fingers trembled, just slightly, as he watched you, waiting for something, anything that would prove he was wrong. that this wasn’t what it looked like. that he hadn’t missed it, hadn’t let it slip past him while he sat right there.

“you said you’d stay,” he added after a moment, quieter now, the words barely holding together.

but you didn’t answer.

the silence stretched, heavy and absolute, settling into the space between you in a way that couldn’t be ignored, couldn’t be argued against, couldn’t be undone.

his hand slowly tightened around yours, pressing it into his palm like he could force warmth back into it, like he could hold onto something that was already gone. his other hand remained at your cheek, unmoving now, as if letting go would make it real in a way he still wasn’t ready to face. he had truly nothing to say. no more arguments, no reasonings, no carefully chosen words to make sense of what had happened.

just silence.

and the crushing, irreversible weight of it.

“darling.. i know you’re tired, but please wake up for me.” his voice cracking under each hard syllable.

at your frozen state he allowed himself to cry, his warm tears glittering onto your face. he clutched your body close to him like he could somehow shave some of his years off his own life and transfer them to you.

“i’m so sorry i was late… i’m so sorry.”

he lifted your hand and kissed your extravagant wedding ring once. twice. then a third time. the realization that his wife, his beautiful and kind wife, had finally passed away sunk in.

the day of the funeral arrived without ceremony, quiet in a way that felt almost intentional, as if the world itself had chosen not to intrude. hiromi made the arrangements alone, declining every suggestion of assistance, every expectation of something larger, something public. there were no guests, no distant relatives, no colleagues from the courtroom who might have spoken about his dedication or his work. he did not want witnesses, did not want anyone to soften what this was or reshape it into something more acceptable. this was not a moment for sympathy or shared grief, not something that could be divided among others and made lighter. it was his, entirely, in the same way his absence had been, in the same way his choices had led him here. the quiet suited it, even if it pressed too heavily against his chest.

the service itself was minimal, stripped down to its barest form, absent of the usual comforts people clung to in moments like this. there were no long speeches, no gentle reassurances about peace or rest, nothing that attempted to frame the loss as anything other than what it was. he stood there alone, posture rigid but not composed, like he had forgotten how to carry himself without purpose. the air felt still, almost suffocating, every second stretching longer than it should have as he remained in place, eyes fixed forward without truly seeing anything. time moved, but it did not feel real, not in the way it once had, not in a way that meant anything anymore. there was no case to prepare, no argument to structure, no next step waiting for him on the other side of this. just an ending he had been too late to change.

he had chosen the location carefully, somewhere quiet, removed, a place where nothing would interrupt or intrude upon the finality of it. the ground was still slightly uneven, the kind that hadn’t been disturbed often, and he found himself staring at it longer than necessary, as if memorizing it might serve some purpose later. his hands remained at his sides, empty, unfamiliar without something to hold or carry, without the constant presence of work to occupy them. there had been a time when his life was defined by movement, by urgency, by the relentless push forward into the next obligation. now, there was only stillness, and it settled into him with an unbearable weight. it forced him to remain, to feel, to acknowledge what he had spent so long avoiding.

guilt did not arrive all at once, it unfolded slowly, threading itself through every thought, every memory, every quiet second that passed without distraction. it lived in the hours he had spent away, in the nights that had stretched too long in courtrooms while you had waited alone, in the moments he had told himself there would be time later. it was not loud, not overwhelming in a way that demanded immediate attention, but constant, persistent, impossible to ignore once it had settled in. there was no argument he could make against it, no justification that held up under the weight of what had happened. he had spent years believing that doing good elsewhere could balance what he left behind, that saving strangers could somehow excuse the absence he carried into his own home. standing here now, that belief felt hollow, reduced to something almost meaningless in the face of what it had cost him.

the absence you left behind was not dramatic, not marked by sudden emptiness or sharp, visible fractures, but something quieter, more insidious. it was in the way his hands remained still, in the way his thoughts no longer moved toward the future but circled endlessly around the past. it was in the silence that followed him, no longer something he sought out, but something that clung to him without relief. every detail of you lingered, not as comfort, but as reminder, each memory carrying with it the weight of what he had failed to do, what he had not been present for. there was no distance from it, no reprieve, no moment where it lessened or softened. it remained, steady and unchanging, as much a part of him now as anything else.

when it was over, nothing shifted, nothing resolved itself into something easier to carry. he did not linger for closure, did not search for a sense of peace that was never going to come. instead, he stood there a moment longer than necessary, not out of obligation, but because leaving felt like another kind of abandonment, another choice to turn away when he should have stayed. the air remained still, unchanged, offering nothing in return for what had been lost. eventually, he stepped back, slow and deliberate, as if the act itself required more effort than it should have. there was no one to acknowledge his departure, no one to share the weight of it, just the quiet certainty that he was walking away again.

and this time, there would be no chance to come back.

the bar was loud in that lazy, late-night way where conversations blurred into a dull hum and nobody really paid attention to anyone else. toji fushiguro sat off to the side like he always did, one arm slung over the back of his chair, eyes half-lidded and uninterested in anything that wasn’t worth his time. girls had tried, of course they had, drifting over with soft smiles and careful voices, but he’d brushed them off without a second thought, barely sparing them a glance before turning back to his drink. they were all the same to him, too polite, too easy, too predictable. he didn’t even bother pretending to listen anymore, just letting their words fall into nothing while they eventually gave up and walked away. it was routine, dull, and entirely expected.

you were already irritated before you even reached him, watching the way he dismissed everyone like they were background noise. as much as it helped relieve your jealousy of other girls talking to the man you wanted, it was the fact that nobody pushed back, nobody demanded anything more than a glance. so when you stepped up to his table, introducing yourself, he didn’t look at you either, just gave that same lazy silence like you weren’t worth the effort, something in you snapped. you leaned forward slightly, just enough to invade his space, and your voice cut clean through the noise around you. “uh hello? look at me when i’m fucking talking to you.” it wasn’t loud, but it didn’t need to be, sharp and direct in a way that made people nearby pause without meaning to. for a second, nothing happened, like the world held its breath waiting to see if he’d react the same way he always did.

then he did something he hadn’t done all night. he looked at you.

it wasn’t immediate, not a quick glance just to brush you off, but slow, deliberate, like he was choosing to acknowledge you. his eyes lifted first, dark and heavy with boredom that hadn’t quite faded yet, but the second they actually landed on you, something shifted. it was subtle, a flicker more than anything, but it was there, interest cutting through that usual indifference like a blade. you weren’t soft, not in the way the others had been, and it showed in everything from your posture to the way you held his gaze without hesitation. and god if he could commit your scowl to memory. his expression didn’t change much, but the air around him did, tension tightening just slightly as he leaned forward a fraction, like he was getting a better look. “you always talk to strangers like that, woman?” he asked, voice low and rough, but there was something almost amused buried under it.

you didn’t back down, not even a little, and that only seemed to make it worse in the best way. “only the ones like you, who think ignoring me is a good idea,” you shot back, crossing your arms like you had all the time in the world. you sat next to him and he didn’t shift away. there was a beat of silence after that, but it wasn’t empty, it was charged, like something unspoken was building between the two of you. he let out a quiet huff that might have been a laugh if he cared enough to admit it, eyes dragging over you in a way that was no longer dismissive, no longer bored. it was slow, deliberate, and very aware, like he was taking his time memorizing every detail just because he could. “you’ve got a mouth on you,” he muttered, but it didn’t sound like an insult, not even close. “say, what else does it do?”

you tilted your head slightly, unimpressed by the comment even if you caught the shift in his tone. “and you’ve got a staring problem,” you replied, just as sharp, but there was something else under it now, something warmer, more dangerous. that seemed to do it, because this time when he leaned back in his chair, it wasn’t out of disinterest, it was like he was settling in, actually engaging for once. his hand came up to rub the back of his neck, casual, but his eyes never left you, not for a second. “maybe,” he said, voice quieter now, more focused, “have you fuckin’ seen yourself? i can stare if i damn want to.” the honesty in it was unexpected, blunt in a way that matched you almost too well.

“you gotta name that matches that face?”

after you told him your name there was a moment where neither of you spoke, just holding that eye contact like neither of you was willing to be the first to break it. the noise of the bar faded into the background again, but this time it felt distant, irrelevant compared to the way the atmosphere between you had shifted. you hadn’t come over expecting much, maybe just his number out of sheer stubbornness, but this was different, heavier, like you’d stepped into something you couldn’t just brush off. he tapped his fingers against the table once, twice, like he was thinking, before finally reaching into his pocket and pulling out his phone. “i’m toji. ya wanted somethin’, right?” he said, glancing at it before looking back at you.

you raised an eyebrow, but you took it, fingers brushing his for just a second longer than necessary. “your number,” you said plainly, like it had been obvious from the start, even though the situation had clearly changed. you slid him your phone and watched as he typed it in, not even pretending to look away, and when he handed it back, there was a faint smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. it wasn’t soft, wasn’t gentle, it was the kind that promised trouble in the most appealing way possible. “don’t waste it,” he said, tone low, almost like a warning, but there was no real threat behind it, just expectation.

“oh please. like i need your number to survive.”

“ya know, you did force me to look at you.”

you leaned in just slightly before stepping back, close enough that your voice didn’t need to be loud. “i don’t chase things that aren’t worth it, alright? you’re hot enough to make me want you, don’t confuse that as need.” you replied, holding his gaze one last time before turning to leave like you hadn’t just flipped his entire night upside down. behind you, he stayed exactly where he was, but he didn’t go back to being indifferent, didn’t sink back into that bored silence. for the first time all night, toji actually looked interested.

he noticed the way you stayed right there in his space like you belonged, like you weren’t even considering leaving yet. his thumb tapped once against the side of his phone before he slipped it back into his pocket, eyes dragging back up to yours with something sharper than before. whatever interest had sparked earlier hadn’t faded, it had settled in, heavier now, more deliberate. “what, you done already?” he muttered, leaning back just enough to look at you properly, “thought you’d at least pretend you had something better to do.” there was an edge to it, not dismissive, just testing, like he was waiting to see if you’d bite.

you let out a quiet scoff, unimpressed, shifting your weight onto one leg as you looked down at him like he’d just said something mildly embarrassing. “if i had something better to do, i wouldn’t be standing here,” you replied, tone flat but cutting in all the right ways. your eyes flicked over him the same way his had done to you earlier, slow, obvious, and not even slightly subtle about it. “don’t get it twisted though, you’re not exactly good company yet.” the insult landed clean, but there was no real heat behind it, just enough bite to keep things interesting. a few people nearby glanced over again, sensing the tension, but neither of you paid them any attention.

his mouth twitched at that, not quite a smile, but close enough to count. “yet,” he repeated under his breath, like he found that part more amusing than the insult itself. he leaned forward this time, elbows resting on his knees, closing the distance just a little without asking. “you always this annoying, or am i getting special treatment.” his voice dropped lower, rougher, like the noise around you had stopped mattering completely. there was something in his eyes now that wasn’t there before, not just interest, but challenge, like he was pushing back just as hard as you were.

you didn’t hesitate. “you should feel honored,” you shot back immediately, lips pressing into something that almost resembled a smile but didn’t quite soften. “most people don’t last long enough to get this version of me.” your hand came up to rest lightly on the edge of the table, fingers tapping once like you were considering something, but your gaze never left his. “you barely made it, by the way.” it was blunt, borderline rude, and entirely intentional.

he huffed out a quiet laugh at that, shaking his head slightly like he couldn’t decide if you were serious or just trying to get under his skin. “barely,” he echoed, but he didn’t look offended, not even close. if anything, it only seemed to hook him further, the way you didn’t try to soften anything you said. his eyes dropped to your hand for a second, then back up, slower this time, more deliberate. “and here you are, still talking to me anyway,” he added, tone quieter, but there was something heavier sitting underneath it now, something that made the air feel tighter.

you leaned in just a fraction, enough that the distance between you wasn’t casual anymore. “don’t confuse interest with approval,” you said, voice low, matching his without even thinking about it. your head tilted slightly, studying him like you were trying to figure something out, but there was nothing unsure about you. “you’re entertaining, i’ll give you that. that’s about it.” the words should’ve pushed him away, should’ve ended it, but neither of you moved, neither of you broke eye contact.

instead, his hand came up, resting against the side of his jaw as he watched you like he was piecing something together. “entertaining,” he repeated, almost thoughtful, before his gaze sharpened again. “you’re a pain in the ass,” he said plainly, no hesitation, no sugarcoating. “but i don’t hate it.” there was no attempt to make it sound nicer than it was, and somehow that made it worse, or better, depending on how you looked at it.

you let out a quiet laugh at that, finally, but it wasn’t soft, it was quick and edged, like everything else about you. “good,” you replied, straightening slightly but not stepping back. “i’d hate to think you were boring on top of everything else.” your fingers brushed the table again before you pulled your hand back, crossing your arms loosely like you were settling in instead of leaving. “so what now,” you added, raising an eyebrow at him, “you gonna sit there and stare all night, or do you actually have something worth saying? don’t tell me you’re like every other man out there.”

his eyes narrowed just slightly, not in irritation, but in focus, like you’d just thrown something down and he was deciding how to pick it up. then he leaned back again, slower this time, one arm draping over the chair like before, but the posture didn’t feel lazy anymore. it felt intentional. “careful,” he said, voice low, almost amused again, “you keep talking like that, i might think you’re trying to keep me interested.” the words were a challenge, clear as anything, but the look he gave you said he already knew the answer.

there was a pause after that, brief but heavy, the kind that said more than anything either of you had actually said out loud. neither of you backed off, neither of you softened, and that was exactly why it worked.

you didn’t move when he said that, didn’t step back, didn’t break eye contact, just tilted your head like you were sizing him up all over again. toji noticed it instantly, the way your gaze dragged over him without any shame, slow and obvious, like you wanted him to know exactly what you were doing. his arms shifted slightly as if he’s flexing for you, something sharper settling into his expression as he leaned forward again, closing that space you kept refusing to give back. “you’re staring,” he said, voice low, but there was no real bite to it, just a hint of something amused. “kinda desperate for someone who came in here acting like she didn’t care.”

you let out a quiet laugh at that, soft but edged, your eyes flicking back up to his like he hadn’t just tried to call you out. “please,” you muttered, folding your arms loosely, “if i was desperate, i wouldn’t have picked you after seeing you ignore every other bitch here.” the words landed clean, but the way your gaze lingered on him for just a second too long ruined any attempt at pretending you weren’t interested. you leaned in slightly after, just enough to make it intentional, your voice dropping a fraction. “you’re just… convenient.” it was an obvious lie, and you both knew it.

his mouth twitched again, that almost-smirk pulling at the corner like he couldn’t quite hide it anymore. “convenient,” he repeated, slower this time, like he was testing the word in his mouth. his eyes dipped down your face, your posture, the way you held yourself like you owned the space, before dragging back up to meet yours again. “that’s funny,” he added, quieter now, “cause you walked over here like you already decided you wanted me.” there was no hesitation in it, no second guessing, just blunt and straight to the point.

you didn’t deny it. instead, you shrugged, one shoulder lifting lazily as your lips curved just slightly. “i did,” you said, just as blunt, “doesn’t mean i’m impressed.” your hand came up this time, brushing lightly against the edge of his table again, closer to him than before, like you were testing how much you could get away with. “you’re just amazing to look at,” you added after a beat, tone casual, like it wasn’t a compliment at all, “personality needs a bit of work though.”

he let out a quiet huff at that, shaking his head, but he didn’t look annoyed, not even close. if anything, it only seemed to pull him in further, the way you kept throwing just enough to keep him pushing back. “yeah, like you’re able to talk,” he muttered, leaning in closer, his voice dropping so it barely carried past you, “and you’re a pain in the ass.” his gaze flicked to your lips for a split second before coming back up, slower this time, more deliberate. “but damn, you’re fine as fuck. about the only thing even interesting here anymore.” the honesty slipped out just enough to change the tone, to make it clear this wasn’t just pointless back and forth anymore.

you caught that, of course you did, and instead of softening, it only made your expression sharpen in a different way. “that’s cause everyone else is boring,” you replied, but your voice had dipped too, matching his without thinking about it. you scooted closer again, barely noticeable, but enough that the space between you felt tighter, charged in a way it hadn’t been before. “don’t act like i’m doing you a favor,” you added, quieter now, your eyes locked on his, “you’re enjoying this way too much.”

he didn’t even try to deny it this time. his hand came up, resting against the table near yours, close enough that your fingers were almost brushing, but not quite. “yeah,” he said smirking, watching you like he was waiting for you to do something about it. “i am.” there was a pause after that, heavier than the ones before, like the insults had finally started slipping into something more obvious. his gaze dropped again, slower, then back up, like he wasn’t even pretending anymore. “you’re fuckin’ annoying,” he added, quieter, “but you’re also the only reason i haven’t left yet.”

you smiled at that, finally, but it wasn’t soft, it was sharp, satisfied, like you’d just gotten exactly what you wanted. “good,” you said, just as low, your fingers shifting slightly closer to his on the table, not touching, just close enough to make it obvious. “would’ve been embarrassing if i picked you and you turned out to be boring.” your eyes flicked down to his mouth for a second before returning to his gaze, deliberate, unhidden. “lucky for you,” you added, voice barely above a murmur now, “you’re just interesting enough to keep me here.”

he leaned in just a fraction more at that, close enough now that the tension didn’t feel accidental anymore. “just enough,” he repeated, almost amused, but his eyes had darkened slightly, focused entirely on you. “you’ve got high standards for someone who jus’ walked up and started swearin’ at me.” there was a hint of a smirk again, but it didn’t soften the weight behind it. “kinda makes it obvious you liked what you saw.”

you didn’t pull back, didn’t break, just held his gaze like it was nothing. “obviously,” you said, easy and direct, like there was no point denying it now. your lips curved slightly again, slower this time, more intentional. “and you liked it when i didn’t act like everyone else, you also seem to like staring at my tits.” it wasn’t a question, not even close, just a statement you both already knew was true. his smirk widened.

for a second, neither of you said anything after that. you didn’t need to. the insults were still there, the edge still sharp, but it wasn’t hiding anything anymore. it was clear in the way neither of you moved away, in the way his hand stayed right there next to yours, in the way your eyes kept drifting back to his mouth without even trying to hide it.

and the worst part was, neither of you even tried to pretend otherwise.

-> part two

characters from these fandoms have their own respective masterlist. find those fics there! ❤︎

• the marauders era

• criminal minds (coming soon . . .)

• jujutsu kaisen

other characters! ❥

nothing to see here yet . . .