Sap

He skates like an iceberg—slow to anger, steady in motion and impossible to move once set. Quiet in the locker room, he listens more than he speaks, his presence heavy but comforting. Teammates know him as calm, almost sleepy, like a polar bear on ice. Opponents mistake that stillness for softness. It isn't. Beneath the patience is raw, controlled strength. He doesn't chirp, doesn't shove after whistles, doesn’t chase grudges. Though his muscle-packed build, towering height and unsmiling resting face are a word of caution all on their own.

As a boyfriend though, he's a quiet anchor. Steady, dependable and patient. He's there when you want him to be and lets you have your space without ever taking it to heart or being distant. His calm presence makes others feel safe, like a cozy cabin in a blizzard. It's no wonder many of the prodigies he teaches view him as a father figure. Petty conflicts rarely disturb him, he's always quick to resolve them and doesn't go looking for drama. Affection comes in thoughtful actions rather than grand gestures like a warm hand to hold, a steady shoulder to lean on and a comforting word. Despite his intimidating, unapproachable exterior, the man is a gentle giant and the discovery is rewarding to those brave enough to approach.

However, you think he's considerate to a fault. Especially because he's willing to do anything for you, be the perfect man but he won't touch you—not in the way you want. As confident and certain as the man is, he has a fear that he may hurt you like he did in the past when he got carried away and fractured a woman's hip by fucking her too roughly. That has scared him—the unpredictability of this strength—and even after making sure she got proper care and healed, he simply could not move on. He's abstained from sex for two years now, only having dates with his right hand.

It wasn't easy for a man with as high of a libido as him but he managed. Getting a girlfriend definitely makes things so much harder since you're always jumping him and climbing him like a tree, purring like a cat in heat when he gets home. He indulges you with his mouth, fingers, thigh, abs, heavy petting and dry humping but that's about it. His cock is a no-go zone. At first, you thought he was holding out on you, making you work for it but then a year passed and he still didn't fuck you, a stern look on his face if you tried to initiate sex.

Frustration, naturally, builds. Insecurities take root in your mind like invasive vines, poisoning your thoughts with the ideas that he may be cheating on you. Hence, you get snappy with him, accusing him of stuff and it leads to arguments which are mostly you yelling because he's always calm. So fucking calm. Never raises his voice. Never punches walls. Never throws and breaks things. Nothing like your exes you'd go head to head with, pans swinging and plates shattering.

Initially, you adored him for it. All that terrifying strength and he never abused it. There was a time when hearing a man say he would start wars over you was the most romantic thing he could say yet he wouldn't even put the damn toilet seat down. It's easy for a man to react violently in the name of love—wielding swords and exchanging blows is their universal fantasy. So when Toji doesn't start a fight even when a stranger is ogling you or trying to chat you up, it surprises you. Just a look from him would send the bastards running for the hills anyway. He was never controlling or possessive either.

The change was refreshing from your usual toxic tastes in dating. His eyes may be green but there was not a jealous bone in his body. As doubts planted themselves in your head, you began to wonder if that was a flaw. Wasn't the fear of losing the person you love a normal one? Did he just not feel that strongly about you? Did he not feel any obsessiveness towards you?

You’ve always had the sense that people mistake your softness for silliness. Your open, bubbly way of moving through the world only seems to confirm their assumptions. They call you cute—a word that lands like a condescending head pat—when what you really want is to be seen as captivating, magnetic, a woman who makes people look twice for all the right reasons.

Sometimes you wonder if that’s why your boyfriend handles you the way he does, like you’re something delicate that might break if the world presses too hard. Like fragile cargo instead of someone steady and capable. The strange part is that when you notice the same traits you have in other women, you find them beautiful. On them, those details seem charming, even alluring.

Unwisely, you tucked these thoughts away in your head, letting them build and build until the walls enclosing them cracked and crumbled. It all came to a head one night when Toji told you once again that he doesn't want to hurt you, that you're too sweet and too soft and he'd never forgive himself if he did. Funny because he never had that issue with his exes from the articles you'd seen online. It didn't help that they looked nothing like you. They were sexy temptresses.

“You're a real piece of work, Fushiguro,” you'd scoffed bitterly as you hastily tugged on your dress, the forest green one he liked that complemented his eyes. You even used that perfume you save for special occasions and endured an agonizing full body wax so you could surprise him when he got back from an international tournament only for him to turn you down once again.

Rubbing a hand down his face, Toji sat on the couch with his shoulders hunched, elbows on his thighs while he watched you. You acted as if he wouldn't do anything for you and constantly pushed for the one thing he wouldn't do. It was for your own good, why couldn't you see that? His usual patience was fraying with every uncalled for jab you threw his way and he knew he was going to say something he regrets but couldn't stop himself.

“I'm fucking tired of carrying this relationship. Being the only one who actually tries!” Those accusatory words snapped what was left of his tolerance and he shot up to his feet, eyes ablaze as they bore into you. You don't cower and he knew you wouldn't, the insolent set of your jaw and your nose cocked in the air saying as much.

Stretching a beefy arm out, he points an index finger towards the door. He could take your insults, your irrational remarks but making him out to be a bum of a boyfriend when he was anything but hit a nerve.

“If being with me makes you so unhappy and miserable then you're free to leave. I'm not about to force someone who clearly doesn't want to be here to stay. The door is over there,” his voice is even and there's no malice in his tone but they still cease your breathing as your eyes widen.

A pregnant pause hangs between you two and Toji swears his heart stops too.

Flitting like a swarm of butterflies, an array of emotions pass over your face. A breath that's short of a chuckle like you're waiting for him to say this is a joke. Exhaling harshly as you understand that it isn't and are taken aback by his audacity. Livid as you scowl at his arm that's showing you the exit

Fury dissipating, he feels dread creep up his spine as your face twists, brows scrunching and eyes bowing, shining with the tears bubbling in them. Toji thinks he'd feel less guilty if you screamed but your voice comes out quiet, a wet, wobbly thing as you gather your purse and march to the door.

Chest tightening with icy panic, he rushes after you, hands out, ready to stop you as his heavy footfalls pad behind your hurried ones. “Baby, wait. I didn't mean that. Come here—”

Swatting his hand away, you might as well have punched him in the sternum with how he steps back. “Do not fucking touch me. God, you're such an asshole! I don't know what I ever saw in you. The next guy I date will be nothing like you!”

Bristling, his fingers twitch with the urge to clench his hands into fists but he refuses to give you the reaction you want. Taking a deep breath, he stares you down, expression hardening into stone and eyes glazing over with something unreadable.

“Good for you. You can go ahead and do that. Hell, text me all about it and send me pictures of your new man while you're at it.”

His indifference has your blood boiling as you stomp your feet into your shoes, the backs of them folding beneath your heels but you're in no mood to rectify the fit as you just want to get out of here.

Swinging the door open, you step out, tossing him a glare over your shoulder. “Thanks for the suggestion. I'll do just that. Might even send you a video of your cousin fucking me since you refuse to.”

That has his coldness wavering for just a second, brows pinching. “Naoya? That freak with pus-coloured hair who's entire personality is hating on women and being a knock-off of me?” An incredulous laugh bursts from his chest.

His humor pisses you off more, the wave he gives you makes your temper flare. “Fine then. Don't let me stop you, babe. I'm sure he'll be a real upgrade after me.”

You didn't dignify that with a response, whirling around and marching off. It's just hours after you leave that Toji starts regretting it all over again, spamming your phone with texts and calls only to realize that you already blocked him.

Six months have passed since then and Toji hasn't moved on, unwilling to even change his lockscreen which is a picture of you petting a stray cat and smiling up at him. You, on the other hand, are dating his misogynistic pig of a cousin like you said you would.

Before, he could confide in his teammate, Sukuna who was facing a similar issue after his friend with benefits ditched him for some Renaissance guy out of spite. Sharing a six pack of beer, they'd grumble and sigh about the struggles of loving difficult women and letting them go. Fortunately for Sukuna, he was able to reconcile with his not-so-ex, leaving Toji to sulk all alone.

Even now just before the match starts, he watches the pink-haired, tatted man lift his stick and point it at his girlfriend, clearly dedicating the goals he's about to score to her. She makes a face and rolls her eyes but there's obvious affection tilting at the corner of her lips. The woman was definitely the reason Sukuna was back on his feet and better than ever after the fall he had.

You're here too because of course you are. Prior to dating him, you loved hockey so breaking up didn't affect your admiration for the sport. Usually the jersey you're sporting is for his opponent but today you're not wearing any colours to show your support for either team. Strange. Naoya is facing off with him today so he thought you'd be donning his number.

For whatever reason you're not wearing it, he's glad. The knot in his chest loosens a bit.

Tearing his gaze away from you, he focuses on preparing to play, ready to add another win to his streak. The arena rumbles with its usual chaos between periods—skates grinding, sticks clattering, fans shouting through the glass—but down on the ice tension has narrowed on the two men circling each other near the boards.

Toji has been jawing with defensemen all night but when Naoya skates past the bench, he slows just enough to lean in, that shit-eating grin stretched across his face that's nothing short of a provocation. Needless to say, with a mouth like his, the blond man has gotten many fists to his punchable face.

“Hey,” ignoring him, Toji is forced to acknowledge the younger man with a dry look when he taps his stick against his shin guard. “Tell your girl thanks for the fun while it lasted. Shame she got really boring and left when she found out about the others.”

Body freezing, Toji slowly lifts his eyes to him, praying for Naoya's sake that he didn't hear that right. His helmet tits slightly like a predator sizing up its prey. His cousin loved the sound of his own voice, if he could he'd devour his own reflection in the mirror by pressing his lips to it. Toji's convinced that he's tried.

“Guess I stole your woman and broke her heart. A few more goals and that'll make two wins for me tonight,” his voice was louder now, enjoying the attention.

Somewhere behind them, the puck drops once more but Toji doesn't move. Let's rephrase what was said earlier about the dark-haired man—he doesn't engage in fights on the ice unless some idiot crosses the fucking line. Until his protective instincts kick in when he catches wind that someone fucked with a person he cares about.

He shoves Naoya once—hard. The blond laughs, delighted that he got a reaction out of his older man and shoves back. Whatever Naoya saw on his face when he met his gaze again strips his junior of all the smugness that had swelled there. His pride falters for a beat, a flicker of fear flashing in his eyes before he steels himself and tries to act tough.

Gloves hit the ice followed by the thud of Toji's helmet. Naoya tries to do the same but is thrown off when his cousin spits out his mouth guard, the plastic clattering against his face cage. Fingers hook into the grid of the steel wiring and yank the younger man forward. In an attempt to defend himself, Naoya swings first, a sloppy right that glances off Toji's shoulder pad. It was enough time for the man to rip off the blond's helmet and answer with a clean punch that snaps his head sideways, ice dust spraying under their skates.

A horrified gasp tears through the entire audience at the unforeseen commotion. Skates screech to a holt, ice grinding beneath and shaving off as other hockey players look at the scene unfolding in front of them. Some try to go defend their teammate but are held back.

Linesmen start skating towards them but back off when the second and third punches land, blood splattering and tainting the pure white beneath them. Naoya tries to grapple him, hooking an arm under Toji's shoulder but the latter twists his jersey tighter in his fist and hammers his cousin into the glass that rattles with the force of his slam.

“Don't—ever—fucking—talk—about—her,” he growls, a menacing sound like stabs Naoya in the back like icicles.

A referee yells, also startled because Toji is the last person he expected to resort to violence. What was once a crowd of hockey fans morphs into aristocrats and peasants roaring as they watch two gladiators spar in a colosseum.

Toji evidently has the upper hand which earns cheers from his supporters and boos from the others.

Stupidly, Naoya tries to spit another insult, something along the lines of, “Uuu fuckkin’ asshhholle,” voice pitching higher with his fright and muffled by the glass.

"Someone should really stop them," a guy from the opposing team murmurs to Toji's teammate beside him. They both nod but don't dare intervene.

Flipping him around and shoving his back against the glass, Toji snarls as he punches him again. Driving him down onto the ice, the two of them slide hard into the boards. Sticks clatter out of the way as teammates shout. Sukuna calls out to Toji but the man cannot hear it over the rush of blood in his eyes and his dimming vision.

Naoya manages one desperate swing from underneath, getting his cousin in the face, busting his lip. A hot trick of blood drips from Toji's nose and onto the sputtering blond's cheek as his eyes bulge at the sight of the older man's crazed, toothy grin. Toji pins him and drives another punch straight to his jaw.

The glass trembles from the crowd pounding against it. Another player tries to wrestle Toji off but the rage makes him immovable—heavier, stronger. The guy was helpless until the linesmen finally dove in, grabbing Toji's arms and hauling him up and away from the other man.

Naoya lays sprawled on the ice, blinking through the blood and lights that are too bright, face aching while Toji is being yelled at by both his coach and an outraged Sukuna. Neither men know what the fuck got into the one member of the team who might as well be a saint with how calm he usually is. He isn't paying attention though, gaze zeroed in on the blood dotting the ice near the blue line.

His stupid cousin gets dragged off the ice not before Toji shouts something about keeping “her” name out of his mouth while the blond sags against a teammate, dazed and not mouthy now.

By the time the adrenaline fades, he's in the concrete-walled back rooms of the arena, a trainer pressing gauze against the cut above his eyebrow while Sukuna hands him a towel, shaking his head in disbelief but there's an impressed smile playing on his lips. If anyone were to break out into a fight over a woman, everyone would expect it to be hot-headed Ryomen, not level-headed Toji.

The noise of the game filters faintly through the walls, distant and hollow. Eventually they waved him toward the recovery room, where a steel tub filled with frigid water waited beneath fluorescent lights. He lowers himself into the ice bath with a sharp inhale, muscles screaming as the cold swallows him up to the waist, his knuckles still swollen and raw.

The door bangs open not long after, the impact visceral enough for it to feel like it hit his skull. And in you walk like an ethereal goddess of fury.

“You idiot!” you shout before the security guard has even stepped away after trying to chase you down and escort you out for trespassing only to leave when Toji dismisses him.

Pacing the tiled floor like a storm trapped indoors, your hands fly through the air. “Do you have any idea what you just did out there?”

Toji wipes water from his face and winces as the cold bites into his bruised knuckles. “He started it,” he mutters, almost petulant like a little boy sat in the principal's office after a tussle on the playground. “He was bragging about cheating on you like it was an achievement.”

You spun toward him, eyes blazing. “And your solution was to try to kill him in front of ten thousand people?”

“I didn’t try to kill him,” Toji says as if you're being dramatic, though his voice was gruff. “I just—”

“You just what? Roughed him up a bit?” You laugh bitterly and keep pacing, sneakers squeaking on the tile. “I dated him to get back at you, remember? That was the whole stupid point. I don't care if he cheated.”

Toji stares at the swirling ice around his arms. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “Well… it worked.” Eyes lifting with a withering glower, he adds, “But cheating on you is still disrespectful. You may be fine with it but I'm sure as hell not.”

Stopping for a moment, you stare at him in the tub, at the swelling bruise along his jaw and the taped eyebrow and the anger still simmering behind his eyes.

“You’re unbelievable,” you huff, but your voice has dropped.

Toji leans his head back against the metal rim, chest quivering slightly in the freezing water. “Maybe,” he agrees. “But he doesn’t get to laugh about hurting you.”

“You don't have a say in these things anymore,” you remind him and he opens his mouth, but you cut him off before he could say a word. “You think beating him up fixes anything? You think that makes this better? Makes you better?”

Your voice bounces off the lockers and tiled walls while he slouches further against the rim of the tub, cool air curling around him, jaw tight, trying to ignore the sting of the cold and the hotter sting of your anger.

“What was I supposed to do—laugh with him?” You stop pacing, glaring at him like he’d missed the point entirely. Honestly, he's just glad you came looking for him and are talking to him after months even if it is to scold him and scowl. He'll take what he can get.

“You were supposed to ignore him,” you shoot back, throwing your hands up. “You were supposed to play the game. Instead you nearly put him in hospital because you can’t stand the idea that I made my own mistakes.”

The room went quiet for a moment except for the faint crackle of ice shifting in the tub. He looks up at you then, bruised eyebrow stitched and dripping water down his temples, and says hoarsely, “He didn’t just hurt you. He bragged about it.”

You exhale hard, frustration still blazing in your gorgeous eyes as you resume pacing the narrow strip of floor between the benches. “And now everyone in the league is talking about you losing your mind over me,” you scoff. “Great job. That definitely helps.”

Traitorously, your eyes flick over to him. Water clings in gemstone beads to his broad and sculpted chest. You recall the feeling of his hard nipples against your tongue when you'd tease him and it makes your breasts tighten.

Wet, tousled hair hangs over his forest green eyes that are dragging over you like he's reacquainting himself with the sight of you, seeing if anything has changed. Purple and maroon bruises on his skin and the cut on his lip near the silvery old one of his makes him look even more rugged and handsome rather than taking away from his appeal.

Your gaze tracks the bob of his Adam's apple as he swallows, the familiar lump you used to playfully sink your teeth into to hear him hiss as his hands squeeze your hips flashing in your mind. A rush of liquid heat pools between your—No, what were you doing? This is not what you came here for.

Crossing your arms over your chest, you ignore how his hooded eyes dip to your cleavage briefly. The room smells like antiseptic and wet rubber mats so you concentrate on that as your eyes narrow at him.

Kissing his teeth, he inclines his head. “Quit glaring at me like that. You're too pretty to be making that face. We both know you only dated him to get back at him. Like I said, it worked. Quite well. Can we move past that?”

Mouth downturned, you hate how sure of himself he sounds. “I didn't only do that for you.”

Deadpanning, he stares at you all lazy and bored, clearly not buying your lame excuse. “Yeah, right. It's just a coincidence that you took an interest in him after I said you could.”

“As if I needed your permission,” you sneer.

“Didn't say you did,” he replies smoothly, lifting a shoulder. “But you did it after I agreed, didn't you? Still listening to me even after we broke up, huh? Some things never change.”

Arms falling to your sides, you frown. “Oh, shut up. That's not why.”

“Temper, temper,” Toji purrs with mirth. His voice drips down your chest like syrup, slowing your pulse with the languid, deep and low cadence of it. You despise that it still relaxes you.

It's brief though, the calm that settles over you, because then he's rising from the tub, water sloshing and ice clinking as it cascades down his very, very bare body. For your sanity, you fix your gaze on his glistening chest, watching the droplets run down it.

There's a tingle in your knees like they'll wobble if you move, head swimming and breathing growing shallow as he approaches you with wet steps, drawing your eyes back up to his face. His scent washes over you like a long lost friend, clean, expensive and masculine as well as medicinal and metallic from the antiseptic and his blood.

Coolness from the ice bath hits your warm body and you're thankful for it with how heat is blooming on your face and down your neck. He's clearly way too comfortable standing before you naked and you don't know if it's because he's used to it since you're exes or he does this with his team too. Maybe a bit of both.

Breath hitching when he leans in, you freeze, expecting a hug or a kiss for whatever stupid reason as your mind blanks. But he pulls back, towel in hand to dab himself dry, eyebrow arching at you in confusion like he didn't know what he was doing.

“Then what was it?” he asks and it takes you a second to realise he's continuing the conversation as he wipes down his tanned body. “You suddenly into guys who'll degrade you? Treat you like dirt? Shove you around? Is that it?”

Hackles rising, your lips pursed. “Of course not!”

Smirking faintly like your protest is entertaining, he moves to his duffle bag and rummage through it for his underwear while you try and fail to not stare at his ass.

“What a greedy thing you are. Breaking up with me just ‘cause I wouldn't manhandle you and stuff you with my cock. Just ‘cause I don't want to split you in half on it.”

That has your jaw dropping but you collect yourself before he sees as he's too busy pulling on his boxers. “God forbid a woman has needs. I'm not ashamed.”

Humming, he tugs on a baggy shirt and trackpants, walking over to you, staring at you down the line of his nose, a mischievous gleam in his emerald eyes. The cuts and bruises just make him look like an utter delinquent who's unfortunately hot.

“Should've figured you'd be into that. Dating a guy like me. You really want to be pushed around and shit, huh?”

Against your will, you find yourself smiling because yes, you're guilty of that. Going after men who could toss you across the room with ease.

“I never said that,” you try to defend.

Cocking a brow, he squints in suspicion. “You're right but your smile gives you away.”

“Maybe you're just projecting.”

“Oh, I know we both are into it though. Seeing as you left me because I didn't want to hurt you,” he reminds you, a slight crease between his brows like the memory stings.

Smile falling, your stubbornness replaces it, chin tipping as you give a haughty breath. “That's because I hated you treating me like I'm some delicate flower, Toji.”

“It wasn't just about you,” he retorts, your name melting in his mouth and dripping from his lips as his eyes soften. “I wasn't ready to sleep with anyone after what happened a few years back. I told you that.”

“I know but it felt like you didn't want me,” you admit, bottom lip jutting out.

A pained look contorts his face at that. “Baby, I always want you. Fuck, it was as torturous for me as it was for you but after being celibate for so long, I'm worried that I might get carried away and history will repeat itself.”

“You're too careful for that to happen again, Toji.”

Without thinking, you cup his face and he leans into your touch. It's a tender, fuzzy moment before you realise what you're doing and pull away.

“Did you, uh,” Toji starts awkwardly after a beat, voice strained. “Did you fuck him?”

Jerking back as if he slapped you, you regard him as if he got concussed on the ice. “It's none of your business but no.”

His brows shoot up at that and you're offended by his shock. “Really? Why not? Thought you wanted a rebound.”

Grimacing, he finds the curl of your lip and wrinkle of your nose adorable. “You know why. He may be good looking but that's pretty much where his strengths start and end. The moment his mouth opens, all that appeal falls away. I'm suddenly as dry as the fucking Sahara.”

Coughing to hide his startled laugh, Toji looks away but his smile is still visible. Sliding his gaze back to yours, he snickers.

“You're never dry though.”

Gesturing at nothing, you nod. “Exactly!”

“Might have chaffed his dick when he slipped it in if you did do anything,” he comments, face blank and you giggle at that.

“Oh my gosh, stop!”

Spurred on by the tinkling laugh of yours that graces his ears and has heat blossoming behind his ribs, he continues.

“Probably doesn't know what or where the clit is. Might put it in the wrong hole too.”

Much to your dismay, your ex-boyfriend jokes his way back into your life that night, making you laugh even more over dinner.

And makeup sex was worth the breakup honestly.

Toji wasn't kidding about needing to take his time and be careful because the stretch burned and was really uncomfortable but he was patient and loving the entire time, murmuring soothing words of encouragement in your ear, dotting kisses to your dewy temple, nuzzling his nose against your cheek and thumbing your clit to ease your tensed muscles.

Having sex with him erased your past experiences like they never happened, as if you were a virgin all over again. You were not complaining one bit and Toji was cussing under his breath like he wished he did this sooner.

Your boyfriend now sees you everywhere when you're not there.

On the kitchen counter where he dropped to his knees and ate you out. The bathroom sink where he bent you over while you were brushing your teeth, looking all soft and fluffy in his shirt. On the couch where you got between his parted legs and took him in your mouth. In the backseat of his car when you two are too desperate to wait to go home. In the shower when you're supposed to be washing off the stickiness of your last encounter. The touches are greedy, kisses ravenous, bodies crushing the air between you and eyes clouded with arousal and adoration.

And once again, Sukuna and him have something to bond over, sharing stories about what their girlfriends did this week that they found so endearing or complaining about the ridiculous thing they got yelled at for. If there's one thing both hockey players know for sure it's that they're exactly where they want to be.

you recognized him immediately—the star athlete, the guy who usually had a trail of teammates behind him and a jersey that seemed three sizes too small for his frame. on campus, he was the guy everyone gave a wide berth to, not just because of his size, but because of that permanent, unfriendly scowl he wore like a warning to stay away.

but as he got closer, the scowl wasn't there.

you blinked, watching him stumble into the light. he looked different without the jock-squad. he looked human.

and then, he saw you.

he froze for a second, his hand flying up to cover his face, but he wasn't fast enough. “what the fuck is she doing here?”

in the harsh glare of the streetlamp, you saw it: his eyes were red, puffy and raw, the tell-tale sign of a long, heavy cry.

huffing, he pulled his jacket tight, his tough-guy persona struggling to click back into place. he let out a sharp, wet sniff and wiped his nose with the back of a cold hand.

"hey!" he called out, his voice cracking slightly before he lowered it into his usual tone. he walked over, trying to loom, though the effect was ruined by the way his shoulders slumped. "why are you sitting here alone? it's late."

he peered down at you, his intimidating height usually enough to make anyone nervous, but your eyes were fixed on the tears he was desperately trying to stem. his flushed face made the tattoos framing his face pop.

“are you okay?” he questioned, strong brows lowered as he stared at you down the line of his crooked nose.

his hair was a mess of salmon tufts, flames licking the tips and melting them into a burnt orange now that he's backlit by the warm glow of a streetlight that crowns his head like a halo.

"are you okay?" you countered, your voice soft. "your eyes... they're really red and puffy."

sukuna stiffened, snapping his head away as if he’d been slapped. he let out a sharp, defensive huff, his hand scrubbing at his face again.

"oh, um, yeah," he muttered, his voice thick. "i'm fine. it's just allergies. this damn city air, you know?"

he tried to laugh, but it came out as a wet, miserable sound. he sat down on the far end of the bench, looking everywhere but at you. despite his reputation for being mean and scary, he looked incredibly small right now.

"okay," you said gently, not pushing it. "i'm fine too."

he glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, the tough facade slipping back into place, though it looked more like a mask than a reality.

"you shouldn't be out here," he grumbled, looking at your small frame and then back at the dark street. "a girl like you shouldn't be sitting at a bus stop alone this late. it’s not safe. where are your friends?"

you looked down at your phone, the screen still showing the lie you'd sent to your mom about being at a party. you didn't have the heart to tell him you were just as lonely as he clearly was.

"sorry," he added after a moment of silence, his voice dropping to a whisper as he swatted a fresh stray tear away. "i've just got some really bad allergies tonight."

you sat together in the silence of the rain, two people from the same campus who didn't know each other at all, both holding onto lies just to get through the night.

reaching into your grocery bag, the plastic crinkling loudly in the quiet night, you pulled out two small cartons of apple juice. you nudged his arm, offering one.

"here," you said softly. "sorry i don’t have a beer. we can pretend though," you sang, wiggling the box at him.

sukuna looked at the tiny straw and the bright packaging, a sudden, genuine bark of laughter escaping him. his hand dwarfed the juice box comically.

"apple juice? really?" he took it anyway, his large fingers clumsy with the small straw. "thanks. it’s actually better than a beer right now."

when the bus finally arrived, neither of you got on.

instead, he stood up and adjusted his bag. "look, it’s late. i’ll walk you home. i don't want to hear about some girl from my psych elective getting mugged because i was too busy suffering from allergies to be a gentleman."

the walk was surprisingly easy. you talked about the grueling professors you both shared and the way the campus dining hall always smelled like burnt onions. the scary aura he projected in the hallways melted away, revealing someone who was just tired.

as you turned down your street, you stopped and looked up at him. "are you sure you’re okay, sukuna?"

the wall went back up instantly. he shoved his hands in his pockets, staring at the pavement.

"well, even if i'm not, so what? what would you do about it?" he shrugged with a bitter, self-deprecating huff. "i'm too big for anyone to hug me the way i’d want. like, i couldn't even rest my head on your chest. it’d just look dumb."

“would you want to feel small when you're hugged?” you tilt your head to the side, curious rather than judgemental as you nibble on your lips, your hair fluffy and ruffled by the breeze.

honestly that made it worse as he rubbed a hand down his face again, dragging his eyelids and cheeks, embarrassed, groaning into his hands, the heels of his palms pressed into his eyes.

“when you say it like that it sounds even more embarrassing,” he grumbles, hands dropping as he glances up at the starry sky to avoid your gaze.

you looked around the dimly lit sidewalk. near a pile of construction debris sat an old, sturdy plastic bucket. without a word, you dragged it over and stepped up.

now, for the first time, you were looking down at him. you opened your arms wide. thinking better of his size, you spread them a bit more, expression expectant.

"what are you..." he trailed off, eyes squinted in confusion and incredulity.

eyes narrowing in suspicion, he frowned. “not funny if that's your joke.”

"it's not a joke," you assured him firmly. “come on, i'm not gonna stand like this forever.”

"whatever," he muttered, but his feet moved forward anyway. he leaned in, burying his face against your shoulder, his large frame finally relaxing as he let you hold him.

heat enveloped you. you stayed like that for a long time, the only sound was the distant hum of the city.

eventually, he started to chuckle against your hoodie that smells like fabric softener and perfume. "this is ridiculous. you’re standing on a bucket."

"shut up," you laughed, pulling back just enough to look at him.

the laughter died out. the air between you changed, turning thick and charged. you found yourselves staring deeply into each other's eyes, the streetlamp casting long shadows across his face.

tentatively, he leaned in, lips pressing to yours in. the kiss was soft at first, a hesitant question, but it deepened quickly when you moved yours too. as he began to tilt his head, his tongue flicking out against the seam of your lips to slip in, you let out a small, sharp intake of breath—a tiny, surprised noise.

he practically jumped back. "fuck, i’m sorry! shit, i... i shouldn't have—"

"it's okay," you interrupted, your face flushed. "i've just... never kissed anyone before."

sukuna’s face went from pale to a deep, panicked crimson. "what? like, ever? your first kiss? what was i thinking?" he started pacing the small patch of sidewalk. “what were you thinking?! you’re supposed to give that to someone important, not some random guy from uni you met at a bus stop!”

maybe those texts he got from his father earlier were right. maybe sukuna is a fucking disappointment. he kept fucking screwing up.

"no, no! i wanted to give it to you," you cut his rant off, stepping off the bucket. "i don't regret it."

chewing on the words, you peer at your sneakers, rocking on your heels, gaze dragging back up to him, eyes shimmering with sincerity. “besides, who said you're not important?”

that seemed to break his brain. for the rest of the walk to your apartment, the confident athlete was gone. he responded to everything in bashful grunts and short nods, his ears glowing red in the dark.

at your front door, you fished your keys out of your pocket. you looked up at him one last time, a playful smile on your lips. "so has your allergy gotten better?"

he blinked, looking confused for a split second before remembering his cover story. he cleared his throat, looking away shyly. "uh, yeah. it’s better now."

"good," you whispered, turning the key, a devastatingly sweet smile on your lips. "see you in class, sukuna."

“ryomen,” he offers, hands shoved deep in his pockets, mouth tingling and stomach fluttering as your brows raise, eyes doe-eyed and so fucking cute, he wants to smother you in his arms and kiss you silly again. “call me ryomen.”

“ah,” you nod slowly, suppressing a giddy grin. “goodnight, ryo,” your mouth rounds at the last letter, his skin prickling in delight.

leaving that encounter, you realise that maybe this city isn't that different from home after all and sukuna accepts that he isn't as disappointing as his old man thinks.

a pretty, kind girl like you shared your juice with him, hugged him like he always wanted and gave him your first kiss, after all.

note: based on a comic i saw

well, not exactly. toji zenin has his biceps flexing under the weight of crates but his eyes don’t lift to the shelf he places them on. instead his pupils flit to the automatic entrance doors, thick & glass-heavy, before he glances at his watch & back to the door again. 12:30 PM sunday. toji knows you should be here by now.

but you’re not, so toji’s lip twitches as he stares at the box of freezies in his arms and sighs. it’s pathetic, really. he’s got five more boxes of who-knows-what to arrange before the end of his shift but he can’t fucking focus. his mind’s on your short skirt & pretty laugh & the way your voice goes sweet whenever he pretends to help you look for items while holding your hand between the aisles. toji grunts, shakes his head. focus focus focus.

“toji.. can you help me reach the olive oil? the cold-pressed one with the pretty label?”

toji’s head snaps up so fast he almost drops the box of freezies.

it’s you—oh god, it’s you, and you’re looking down at him with those pretty lashes & short skirt & your hands holding a basket behind your back. you’re in those cute kitten heels you had on the first time he saw you—did you get your nails done? so pretty. you’re so pretty, you’re always so pretty, and toji’s mouth dries.

he doesn’t say anything because he can’t, because your perfume smells like honey & has his lungs sticking to his throat—but he slowly stands up anyway. you’re humming to yourself as you pad closer, getting in his way, heel clicking against the tile as he traps you in the aisle.

he reaches up to the glass bottle, and he can see your lashes fluttering up at him. your chest presses against his, and his lip ticks upward.

“you want this, princess?” he mumbles.

you playfully swat his chest, but your palm doesn’t slide off. you’re caressing his pecs now, teasing. “toji, give it to me. i have a pasta to make tonight. i’m busy.”

toji chuckles, slipping the bottle into your basket and letting his palm sneak over your waist instead. your hands are still on his pecs, lightly squeezing as you laugh when he tugs you closer. he nuzzles your jaw, murmuring, “only if i get an invite, sweetheart.”

“we’ll see,” you tease as his tongue licks your earlobe. you’re running a thumb over the silver tag on his chest: TOJI. “if you’re good, maybe i’ll let you wash the dishes.”

he kisses your neck. “m’always good for you, baby.”

you’re giggling now, shoving him away with flushed cheeks & a laugh too bright. toji catches your hands, tugging you back with a smile on his face before squeezing your hips. your lips are so glossy. is that the new gloss you bought last week? can he kiss it off?

he’ll never know, because he’s holding your hips while you tug at his collar and whisper something he doesn’t care about in his ear. his manager calls his name.

fuck.

toji gives your hips one last squeeze. “go pay, princess. i’ll bag your stuff.”

“you better.” you huff, spoiled & sweet, and toji can only watch the sway of your hips as you make your way to the register.

you’re a pretty girl with a posh life who will never know lack. toji’s a 24-year-old who’s still in college, working odd jobs with a son waiting at home.

in the third aisle of the local loblaws, toji zenin has his hands on his hips and his eyes on the ground. toji zenin will never say it out loud, but he knows he will never, ever, get the girl.

ⵌ AT THE FRATHOUSE !

“you can’t pull someone like y/n, no offense.”

toji wishes suguru wouldn’t spell it out. he already knows, for christ’s sake.

in sigma chi’s living room, toji zenin is sprawled out on the center rug while suguru and sato eat on the floor beside him. sato is between geto’s legs with his back against geto’s chest & his toe tickling toji’s jaw through his socks. suguru is tilting his shawarma for sato to bite from before taking a bite of his own.

sato’s about to dish out an insult of his own when the door swings open. in comes ryomen sukuna, standing in the doorway with bags in his hands and his limbs stretched out like some sort of clown. he bellows, “therapy fucking sucked today. i still don’t think i need therapy, by the way. watching porn and jerking off is completely normal—fuck you, suguru.”

“maybe it is,” suguru’s lips are sticky with shawarma sauce, “but having your dick out in the same room as other people is not.”

“a young man can’t be an exhibitionist? suck my dick, man.”

“oh, i’m not hungry..”

sukuna trudges over toji’s legs, then plops on the ground opposite sato and suguru. sato throws him the middle finger with a grin. sukuna throws it back. “i brought drinks. toji, why’re you on the floor? ya need therapy too?”

sato snickers. “toji’s fallen for a rich girl.”

sukuna snorts, “don’t even joke, lad.” but suguru and toji aren’t laughing. his brows scrunch. “wait—“ he turns to toji, “you’re serious?”

toji eyes him. “mind your own business.”

sukuna doesn’t believe in complex schools of thought like ‘minding your business.’ so instead of picking a shawarma for himself and eating in silence, he joins sato and nudges his foot against toji’s cheek. “does she know you’re poor?”

“hey, hey,” geto bites his cheek, “not too much on him.”

but sukuna continues. “what about the kid? does she know you have a son?”

toji’s jaw only tightens.

sukuna looks at toji in disbelief. then at sato, then suguru—then shakes his head, laughing. “jesus christ of jollof rice,” he cracks open a beer, “you’re fucking cooked, bro.”

toji drags his hands over his face. his eyes are hot, for some reason.

suguru sighs, resting his chin on sato’s head as sato munches happily underneath him. “i hate to suggest this, but there’s a way you can get her to give you a chance.”

sukuna and toji both perk up.

“if she doesn’t know about meg—or your, uh, economics,” suguru clears his throat, “then you keep it that way. she thinks you’re some hot older uni student who works at loblaws for beer money. lean into it.”

sato frowns. “this sounds like something i’d suggest. so not good, i think.”

suguru pokes his cheek, making sato’s pout grow deeper. “i’m just spit-balling here. it’s obvious you really like her, toji. and megumi needs a mommy.”

“i don’t like her because i want her to play housewife.”

“we know,” suguru’s smile is affectionate. “that’s why we’ll help you.”

sukuna grunts in agreement. “sounds scummy but it makes sense. if she finds out you’re a baby daddy with no money, she’ll just run back to her range rover.” he takes another swig of his beer. “we’ll help you hide your true identity. you just get her hooked enough that when she eventually does find out, she won’t leave.”

sato nods. “we’ll babysit. lend you money. heck—you can drive my porsche to your dates.”

on the floor, toji zenin is staring towards the ceiling. it’s a stupid plan, his frat brothers are even stupider, and there is no way in hell whoever is up there will actually let things work out in his favor.

but toji’s desperate. he has been for a long time. so before he can let himself think about it, his lips part to respond.

“alright,” he grunts. “let’s fucking do it.”

SIGMA CHI’S REMARK : DON’T WORRY BRO, WE GOTCHU !

BROKE BOY TACTICS #2: WHO’S YOUR DADDY ?

taught by: sato, sukuna, suguru

“babysitting a five year old brat. how hard could that be?”

ΣΧ

megumi zenin is tufts of black hair, sleepy blue eyes & a tiny fist in a jar full of gummy worms. he’s slumped against his dad’s thick leg, shoving fistfuls of gummies in his mouth with candy-smeared cheeks & a bored expression on his face.

sato, sukuna and suguru are side-by-side on a straight line.

hands tucked behind their backs & chests puffed out like soldiers. toji clears his throat. “listen up. i’m going to be gone for exactly two hours. if i come back and the kid has a single scratch on him, i’m throwing all of you into a pond.“

suguru shakes his head, stepping forward to crouch down to megumi’s height. he wipes megumi’s cheeks with a smile. “don't worry, toji. we've got him. right, little man?”

“hi, uncle sugu,” megumi’s voice is flat but he leans into geto’s palm on his cheek. “are we going to draw today?”

“of course, kiddo. i bought some new crayons just for you.”

toji scoops his son up in his arms, ignoring the way his tiny body writhes towards the gummy worms abandoned on the floor. suguru lifts the jar back to megumi with a smile. sukuna, however, is frowning. “why is his face like that.”

“sukuna, do not fight my kid.”

megumi points towards him. “my daddy calls you a pervert.”

sato bursts out in laughter. suguru’s snickering too, though he’s doing a better job of hiding it. toji drops his son to the ground and crouches to his height. megumi offers him a soggy, wet gummy worm. toji eats it off his palm & pokes his belly.

he rises to his feet. “suguru is in charge. rest of you, keep your hands off him. i’m leaving.”

megumi waves a sticky hand. “bye, daddy. bring me a cookie.”

“will do, brat.” and the door shuts with a thud.

——

“we should go to wonderland. you like amusement parks, ‘gumi?”

megumi zenin has a crayon in his hands, scribbling furiously with a focused expression on his face. he’s seated in geto’s lap, occasionally having suguru hand him a crayon as he perfects his artistic masterpiece. to his right, sato gojo is leaning over the table and talking a mile-a-minute.

megumi answers, scribbling a drawing of what looks like him and his father—DADDY AND ME. “i’ve never been to an amusement park.”

“what?” sato slams his palm on the table, distraught. “what kind of kid has never been to an amusement park?!”

“my father is poor.”

“oh,” sato shrinks. “fairs.”

suguru lets out a fond huff, burying his nose in megumi’s hair to hide the fact that he’s shaking from laughter. sato looks crushed by guilt. “i can’t take this anymore, suguru.” he clutches his chest. “we’re going to the apple store and getting him an ipad pro right now.”

suguru raises a brow. “toji said no screens. and either way, i won’t let you turn him into an ipad kid.”

megumi slumps against geto’s chest. “i want a blue gatorade.”

“i’ll get it for you, buddy,” suguru smiles before kissing his cheek, easing him off his lap. “don’t let sato teach you about investment and stocks while i’m gone, okay?”

sato has his chin on the table, defeated. and just as suguru’s back turns into the kitchen, sukuna saunters in, steps heavy, palm curled around a blue bottle of—is that the last gatorade?!

sukuna cracks the plastic seal, taking a slow, heavy swig of the drink while staring right at the five year old. megumi’s tiny brows furrow. “that’s mine. uncle sugu said i could have it.”

“well,” sukuna licks his lips, slow. “uncle sugu’s not the king of this house.” he takes another gulp, throwing his head back with a refreshed ahhhhhh. megumi frowns, lips tight.

and then he screams.

“uncle sugu! mister pervert’s being mean again!”

sukuna chokes on his gatorade. “who the hell are you calling mister pervert, you little brat—“

sato jumps over the table to hold back sukuna before he can strangle the five-year-old. suguru runs out of the kitchen in alarm, quickly scrambling to hold back sukuna’s wrath alongside sato.

megumi only blinks at the display. three grown men bickering and shoving over gatorade. hell, he’s not so sure he even wants it anymore.

he sighs, reaching across the table to pick up sato’s iphone. he dials his dad’s number, palm smushed into his cheek as he watches suguru smack sukuna for his bad behavior.

ⵌ AT THE DATE !

in the local coffee shop, your lashes are fluttering & the sunlight kisses your skin as you stare out the window.

toji zenin has his heart in his throat. his hands are in his pockets but his ribs are cracked against his chest, and the sight of you pouting out the window has his mouth drying with want. he strolls over regardless, posture lazy, steps cool, because toji zenin is a man who can only have pride when he pretends.

“hi, princess,” he slides into the booth seat—next to you, not across, because he’s been thinking about the feel of your waist in his hands since last thursday—and his ankle hooks around yours on autopilot.

“hi,” you smile, leaning into his side as he kisses your hair. toji takes your palm in his. your fingers are so dainty. fuck.

“you look nice today,” you hum. “who are you trying to impress?”

your lashes are batting up at him, but toji manages to keep his cool. his smirk is lazy & gorgeous. “you, obviously.”

toji wonders how you can let him touch you so casually. even now he’s nibbling your ear as you talk about something from class—a lazy professor or something else, it’s hard to listen when your thumb brushes his jaw while you speak—and toji’s mind wanders. he’s kissing your neck now, thumbs rubbing circles on your thighs as your breath hitches between words, and toji wonders why you haven’t yet flinched in disgust.

he doesn’t dwell on it too long, though. he knows the topic will only get him down.

so he kisses your neck as you laugh and swat him away, telling him he’s distracting you from your story. you never push him off, though, and your thigh’s on his lap now.

but all good things must come to an end.

toji’s phone buzzes.

loud & obnoxious. SATO, his screen reads. he quickly swipes it away. “sorry…just spam.”

“spam?” you poke his bicep, grinning. “or is your little side piece getting impatient?”

“don’t have a side piece, baby,” he murmurs into your cheek. “only want you.”

1 NEW FACETIME AUDIO CALL : SATO 🤡

his phone has been buzzing for ages now. you sigh, crossing your arms & clearly annoyed. “toji, just answer it. what if it’s an emergency?”

you’re right, he should answer it, because if anything happened to megumi, he’d fucking flip. he bites his lip, “one second, princess.”

he presses his phone to his ear, but megumi’s voice greets him instead.

“daddy! uncle kuna’s trying to kill me because of blue gatorade!”

toji’s eyes widen. from the corner of his eye, he can see you inching closer, brows furrowed in concentration as you try to listen in.

in the background of the call he can hear sato shrieking. “suguru—! use the spatula! use the spatula! sukuna stop—“

you’re blinking at him, inching closer to his bicep on the table. “daddy? who’s calling you daddy?”

toji’s soul leaves his body.

“daddy, are you coming home soon? uncle sugu’s spanking him now. it’s very loud—“

he ends the call before you can hear any more.

“do you have a son?”

toji’s breathing stutters. you’ve inched away from him now, lips bent in a frown, brows furrowed, expression curious—or cautious, toji can’t really tell. and it pains him to lie to you, but what else can he say when you’ve already shifted your thigh off his lap?

“nah,” he answers too fast. “it’s my nephew.”

toji reaches out to thumb your cheek, but you don’t relax into his palm. “think he meant to call my brother, not me.”

he tugs your bottom lip as you speak. “i didn’t know you had a brother…”

“there’s a lot you don’t know about me, princess,” he leans in to kiss the corner of your lips, because he knows he doesn’t deserve any more than that. your pout deepens.

“we can change that though,” he lies, smiling. “wanna get dessert?”

SATO’S REMARK : NICE SAVE, TOJI ! AND MY BAD—HAHA !

BROKE BOY TACTICS #3: BLEACH !

taught by: geto suguru, toru gojo

“inviting her over already? we’ve gotta scrub this place clean, then.“

ΣΧ

toji zenin has one hour to make it seem like megumi doesn’t exist.

geto suguru is scrubbing the bathrooms. toru gojo has somehow been roped into this predicament and is scrubbing away in the kitchen. in the living room, toji zenin is picking up cheerios from the rug, phone in his ear with sukuna on the line.

“hi daddy,”megumi’s voice is flat through the speaker. “uncle kuna’s being nice to me today.”

“that’s great, kiddo. can you put him back on the phone?”

“yo,” sukuna’s voice crackles through.

“if anything happens to my son, i will spread your ass cheeks and sprinkle paprika in the hole.”

“oh.”

“yeah,” toji shifts the phone in his neck. “make sure he has a good time at that amusement park. and don’t let sato spoil him too much.”

“heyyy toji!” sato’s voice crackles through the speaker. toji sighs before grunting back a hello. “keep megumi safe, got it?”

“yes, sir!” / “we got it, boss.” / “bye, daddy!”

toji says his goodbyes. just as he clicks the end button, toru gojo pads into the living room, glasses tilting off his face & slipping rubber gloves off his hands. “all done in the kitchen. remind me why we’re deceiving this poor lady again?”

toji picks up a gummy worm tucked under the rug and cringes. “because she wouldn’t look twice at a broke guy with a kid.”

toru softens, adjusting his glasses. “you don’t know that. have you tried telling her?”

“no.”

“why not?”

"because,” he picks up another gummy worm hidden under the couch, glaring at it before throwing it away. "because every time someone finds out about megumi, they look at me different. like i'm a burden. like he's a burden."

toru purses his lip. he’s watching as toji ducks under the couch, picking out stray bits of cereal and snacks and other things that make toji’s nose scrunch up in disgust.

toru shakes his head, taking off his glasses to set them on the counter. “but you don’t know if she’s like that.”

“i know i can’t lose her before i even have her.”

toru purses his lip. toji’s voice came out too tight.

ⵌ SHOW TIME !

when toji opens his front door, you’re in a too-short dress and there’s moët & chandon in your hands.

god, you’re gorgeous. and toji really needs to stop thinking that. needs to stop saying it in his head before he slips up and says it out loud with a tone he can’t take back.

“hi,” you tilt your head, batting your lashes in that way that makes him stupid. “you gonna keep standing there? or are you gonna take this bottle off my hands?”

ah, right. toji reaches for the bottle but you pull it back. he raises a brow.

“say ‘please pretty girl, may i have the wine?’”

you’re still peering up at him, hugging the bottle of wine to your chest, teasing smile on your glossy lips. toji leans against the doorframe. arms crossed, dark eyes raking over your hips, plush thighs, pretty waist. fuck.

his lips twitch, “i’m not saying that.”

“aww,” you pout, glossy and spoiled. “guess i have to turn back home and drink this expensive wine all by myself.” you turn, and toji bites his cheek because your dress has ridden up to give him the perfect view of your ass. so soft. he can’t wait to squeeze it.

“i’m gonna be so lonely…” your back is still turned to him, voice wistful. “and i came all the way over here, too. i’m so upset.”

toji doesn’t let you take another step.

you squeal as he scoops you up with a grunt, arms snaking over your waist & under your thighs to lift you bridal style. you squeeze the bottle of wine in your arms, eyes shut tight as you giggle while he kicks the door shut. “toji! put me down!”

careful what you wish for.

toji drops you to his couch with a thud. you land with a breathless laugh, dress bunched up to your hips & he can see the print of your panties. your hair is fanned out, and the bottle of wine is pressed to your stomach. you’re giggling, eyes bright, and god. you look so fucking gorgeous all laid out for him. toji’s jaw ticks.

he climbs over you, pressing his warm body down until the wine digs into your stomach. his eyes are dark. hungry.

“please, pretty girl,” he murmurs, breath hot, lips teasing your neck. “may i have the wine?”

oh.

your breath hitches. you stare up at him, cheeks hot, eyes wide, thighs squeezing together in anticipation. but you’re a bad girl, so you don’t give toji zenin what he wants just yet.

your smile falters, but you tilt your head. “thought you weren’t gonna say it?”

he grins, pressing a hot kiss underneath your ear. “and i thought you were leavin’.”

you let out a shaky gasp as toji licks a hot stripe up your neck. he’s filthy—big hands gripping your hips to keep you pinned to the couch, squeezing you hard each time you moan and buck yourself into him. his breath is hot against your neck, sucking and kissing and teasing, the occasional nip when you whimper just the way he likes.

his weight presses the wine harder into your stomach. you gasp, “toji, the wine—“

“hold it, baby.”

your eyes squeeze shut as his kisses trail further down your neck, tummy fluttering as heat pools between your thighs. his thumb on your hip sinks under the silk of your panties, and you whine his name before he shushes you with a sweet kiss to your cheek.

toji doesn’t kiss you on the lips. the lips are too honest, and toji is not.

you’re still clutching the bottle, chest heaving as toji presses your hips deeper, deeper—

“ow!”

toji freezes.

in truth, toji zenin has never been a gentle man. his body is too big and his hands are too rough, and life itself has never treated him gently, nor given him much reason to be gentle towards others. but as toji hovers over you, limbs frozen in alarm, his stomach can’t help but twist with disgust. said body and rough hands have crushed something soft yet again.

“did i hurt you?” his voice comes out weird. “doll—look at me. you okay?”

“i’m fine,” you wince, cheeks flushed as you try to steady your breathing. you twist your leg slightly, sliding your fingers down into the sofa cushion where something sharp poked at you. “something... something poked my leg.”

you pull out a tiny, red brick.

you blink. “a lego?”

for the second time this evening, toji freezes.

he takes it from your hand, flicking it away. he lifts your arms to wrap them around his neck, and lowers himself back to your chest. “that what you stopped me for, princess?” he mutters coolly, like his heart isn’t beating in his throat. “had me so worried, baby.”

“toji, why do you have a lego?”

he kisses your jaw, “my nephew’s.”

ah, that makes sense. you hug his neck tighter, giggling as he slips the wine off your belly & onto the floor. he presses yet another kiss to your neck, warm & sweet, and you let your chin rest on his shoulder as he loves you with gentler hands.

but then you see it.

on the metal door of the kitchen fridge, past a jar of gummy worms and a poorly placed broom, a banana-shaped magnet is there.

and right under it, a scribbled drawing. the messy figure of a man with spiky hair, and a smaller, more spiky-haired boy.

DADDY AND ME.

your body goes still.

toji’s hands are on your hips, thighs, waist—but his touch suddenly itches. the warmth has gone cold.

“toji,” you whisper. “who drew that?”

toji doesn't move. his eyes slowly follow your gaze to the fridge, and the panic in his eyes is unmistakable. the lie slips out of his mouth before his brain can even catch up to it.

“sociology project,” he breathes. “developmental regression. drew it with my left hand.”

“your left hand…”

your voice trails off as toji sinks his lips back to your neck.

toji zenin does not study sociology.

TORU’S REMARK : YOU CAN’T FOOL HER FOREVER.

BROKE BOY TACTICS #4: LEAN INTO THE LARP !

taught by: sato gojo

“you can’t pull up to a date in an uber. take my porsche—you’re a rich guy now.”

ΣΧ

it’s late, and three floors down, toji zenin has his hands on his hips, staring at sato’s sleek black porsche in disbelief while his tie itches at his neck. three floors up, in toji’s crappy apartment, the gang’s all there.

megumi has a blanket pulled up to his chin, seated on the couch next to suguru. sukuna is lounging on the floor with his back against said couch. sato is flipping through TV stations. the light in the room is dim, and sato snickers at something sukuna says before tossing him the remote.

“why does everyone always leave me?”

the trio freeze.

megumi’s expression is flat. he’s staring into the tv’s glow, but his eyes are soulless and empty. suguru hesitates—but then he rests a hand on megumi’s hair. “what do you mean, kiddo?”

“daddy’s always leaving now,” megumi closes his eyes, rigid against the couch cushions. “he never spends time with me anymore. he’s acting like my mommy did.”

the three boys’ hearts crack right down the middle.

they’re staring at each other now, the weight of megumi’s words on their shoulders. how do they tell a little boy that the reason his father has been less present—and is also not present tonight—is because he’s currently trying to hide his child’s existence to impress a woman? and that they’re all helping him?

sato speaks first. too quick, too fast.

“he’s just been busy,” he croaks out. “he’s been picking up new shifts. he’s working really hard.”

“yeah,” sukuna agrees. “he’s working hard. to take care of you, meg.”

megumi stares into the tv screen. geto’s hand is still heavy on his head, and his body is limp and his eyes are heavy.

“i know.” megumi mutters. “he’s my hero.”

suguru bites his lip. “you know what, meg? why don’t we draw something? a new picture for your dad?”

megumi’s eyes flit to the kitchen fridge. DADDY AND ME. the picture is still there, but the paper is crinkled and damp now. as if someone threw it away with heavy eyes, then somehow thought better of it.

megumi nods, “yeah.”

“okay, buddy. i’ll go get the crayons.”

“i’ll get the paper!”

“and i’ll… uh. you want a gatorade, kid?”

the three adults go after the various items. megumi takes one last look at his drawing on the fridge, and then he slips off the couch and pads away.

ⵌ SHOW TIME !

toji zenin is a man who can only have pride when he pretends.

so today, he pretends the sleek black porsche parked outside your house is his. he pretends he’s not wearing sato’s luxury cologne, that his tie isn’t secondhand, that the cuff of his suit isn’t too tight on his wrist and that the guilt in his mouth doesn’t taste like his blood.

he’s gripping the wheel so hard his knuckles turn white.

when you open the car door, you look like a dream.

your lips are glossy, always glossy, but it’s a different shade of shimmer tonight. your hair is loose all over your shoulders, heels clicky, dress black and matching the shade of sato’s car. toji stares, jaw slack as you slide into the passenger’s seat. the words in his throat have turned into bile.

“Hi.” you blink at him.

“Hi.”

he can’t say much else, and he really ought to but he can’t, so instead he only watches as you huff and click your seatbelt in place. toji licks his lips, turns back to the wheel. says a quick prayer to a god he doesn’t believe in. “you look gorgeous.”

you don’t respond.

the car starts with an expensive growl. it makes toji wince, and he hopes you don’t notice. he’s practiced starting the car three times so he can pretend he’s used to it. he isn’t, and he’ll never be.

he pulls onto the streets, eyes frantically scanning the road as his pulse drums in his teeth.

“toji?” you say, eyes trained ahead of you, voice flat.

“yeah, baby?”

“where are we going?”

toji’s fingers drum on the steering wheel. he turns right at the fork. “somewhere nice,” his voice is strained. “somewhere you deserve to be.”

he lets his right hand shift to the center console, trying to bridge the gap. his hand is sweating, maybe. you glance at it. glance away.

you peer out the window, head against the edge, watching the lights blur through the glass. “i feel like i’m sitting in a museum,” you murmur, quiet. “everything feels curated. including you.”

he swallows. “i’m trying to make tonight special.”

“special…” you trail off, lashes fluttering as you stare out the window.

“i don’t know who you are, zenin.”

toji’s head aches. and so does his chest, violent and sharp and stabbing. he’s a liar, a con artist, a selfish man with rough hands and a son waiting at home. oh—megumi. his phone’s been buzzing in his pocket for a while now. how’s megumi?

“i’m just a guy,” he chooses to say. “a guy who likes you.”

“do you? or is that just part of the exhibit?”

maybe there really is a god watching, because before toji can respond something makes a sound.

he’s not sure what, honestly, but he’s quick to capitalize on it. he needs the air. toji turns into an empty street to park. he unbuckles his seat belt, leans over a bit. “stay in the car, okay?”

you only nod, and toji’s throat curls with guilt.

the night air is cool on his skin. he opens the car bonnet—careful, as careful as a man like him can be—pretending to scan the engines for a possible source of the noise. he doesn’t find anything wrong, and he knew he wouldn’t, but he holds up the bonnet and pretends to check anyways.

three minutes pass before he returns to the car.

three minutes of toji zenin teaching himself how to breathe. the same way he does when megumi shuts down even though he thinks the steps are corny. having a kid really changes you, doesn’t it?

megumi. he looks at his watch, 9PM. his boy should be in bed by now.

the buzzing from his phone has stopped. he should check it now, but you’re still waiting. still beautiful. still hurt.

so toji slams the hood shut. sucks in a breath and slides back into the driver’s seat. you’re staring at him as he buckles his seatbelt.

“toji,” your voice is careful. “do you have anything you want to tell me?”

yes. i work three jobs and i’m drowning in student loans. i got a girl pregnant when i was eighteen, and she left me when i turned twenty-one. i have a boy who’s five-and-a-half and he’s the only good thing i have left. and i’m sorry i lied, but i didn’t want you to leave me before i could love you and i’m sorry, and i’m sorry again, and you deserve better, and i’m sorry.

“no,” toji lies.

you purse your lips. “okay.”

the engine roars back to life. and toji is sweating, and the date feels over before it’s even started, and his pulse is too loud and—

“daddy?”

toji’s blood runs cold.

in the backseat of sato’s porsche, megumi zenin is there, body tucked under a blanket and rubbing his eyes. he slips off the seat and stumbles towards the console, still rubbing at his face. “hi, daddy.”

toji zenin can only stay frozen as megumi wraps his smaller arms around his neck.

he tries to speak, fingers twitching as they hover over his son’s back. “megumi—hey, buddy—what’re you doing here?”

megumi buries his nose into his father’s neck. “i didn’t want to be alone again.”

toji bites his lip. he can feel your eyes boring into him, and he nervously scrambles. “hey—you’re never alone, buddy. where are your uncles? come here.”

he lifts megumi into his lap, avoiding your gaze.

“is this your son?”

toji’s mouth dries.

he could say it’s his nephew, make up some lie about him referring to both him and his ‘brother’ as dad, but god. you’re already looking at him with something he doesn’t have the vocabulary to name, and toji’s jaw aches.

“yes,” he sucks in a breath. “this is my son, megumi.”

he brushes megumi’s hair back, taking his little fist away from his face so he stops rubbing at his eyes. “meg, say hi to the pretty lady.”

“hi, pretty lady.”

megumi waves a small hand, then collapses against his father’s stomach.

you force a smile and flick your eyes back up to toji.

“i think you should take me home.”

???’s REMARK : YOU CAN’T LARP YOUR WAY INTO BEING LOVED !

BROKE BOY TACTICS #5: EMBRACE YOUR ECONOMICS !

taught by: nanami kento, megumi zenin.

“maybe she doesn’t hate you. maybe she hates that you thought so little of her you felt the need to live a lie.”

ΣΧ

it’s a new day, and toji zenin is laden with old burdens.

he’s slumped against his bedroom wall, phone pressed to his ear with megumi on his stretched out legs. megumi has a red & green colored hand in another jar full of gummy worms. toji makes a mental note to hide it better next time.

“you didn’t just lose the date,” nanami’s voice cuts through the speaker, flat and professional as always. “you insulted her intelligence. made her out to be a shallow woman who’d only care about you if you had money in your bank account.”

toji stares at the ceiling. then at megumi, who’s about to eat a gummy worm off the floor. he flicks it away. “she looked at me like i was trash, nanami.”

“she looked at you like you were a liar,” nanami corrects. “which you are.”

nanami sighs, breath sending a crackle through the speaker. all he wanted to do was spend his afternoon reading his new favorite BL, doukyuusei, but once again the shenanigans of his friends have interrupted his peace.

“toji, you’re a smart man. and she sounds like a smart woman. i doubt she’d lose interest because you have a son—i believe she hates that you lied to her.”

megumi takes a worm and makes it crawl through toji’s lips. it’s cold, but toji chews and swallows anyways. “i need to apologize.”

“yes,” toji can hear a page flip. “and quickly. i have to attend to other matters now, but say hi to megumi for me.”

the line goes dead, and toji drops his hand to the floor.

megumi chews a gummy worm. then he takes it out of his mouth, frowns at it, then eats it again. “daddy, are you mad at me?”

toji frowns. “for what?”

“i ruined your date,” megumi looks into the jar of worms, frowning, then back at his dad. “with auntie.”

toji looks at his son. at his candy smeared cheeks, sticky hands, black spikes of hair and sugar in his teeth. megumi looks just like him. he’s always known it, but he’s growing to look more and more like his father every day.

“you didn’t ruin anything,” he murmurs, pulling his son into his chest. “you’ve never ruined anything in your life.”

he pats megumi’s hair, head thrown back. “i’m sorry, meg.”

five-year-old megumi zenin has already lost interest. he’s more focused on getting the red and blue gummy in the sea of yellow-green ones, small hand grabbing fistfuls of worms before dropping them back. he doesn’t know his father is sorry, sorry for everything, for trying to erase his existence to impress a woman and for bringing him into this world knowing he will never be able to give him the future he deserves.

megumi retrieves the red and blue gummy worm. his favorite flavor. he blinks at it once, twice.

then he turns to his dad. lifts the gummy worm on his palm to his face.

toji zenin eats it right off.

ⵌ SHOW TIME !

megumi zenin is in his best clothes: baby blue button-up from suguru. a white top with a red race car that sukuna had got him for his birthday. light up skechers from uncle sato. toji had tried to get him to wear normal shoes, but megumi shut that down quickly. he wanted to be seen.

you no longer frequent the local loblaws.

and it breaks toji’s heart, actually. you haven’t blocked him just yet, thank god, so toji thinks you might not yet hate him completely. that he might still have a chance.

call him a weirdo, but he’s been to almost every grocery store nearby.

no frills, sobeys, you name it. and now, at 12:30PM sunday, toji zenin is in his car with his son, watching you load groceries into the backseat with a pout on your lips. like you’re above this. like you need a big, strong man to offer his help. and toji’s chest aches. because he could be that man, you know. if you’d let him.

toji slips out of the car. megumi hops out too.

he stops just a few feet behind you, watching you mutter curses as you haul a carton of juice. toji’s lip twitches. then he pulls megumi along.

“let me help.”

you blink as toji comes out of seemingly nowhere to save the day. he lifts everything out of your cart and into your car, never breaking a sweat. truthfully, your groceries aren’t even that heavy. he’s not sure why you were struggling, but he thinks it’s so fucking cute.

he lets you click your remote to close the boot shut. then he turns to you: “i owe you an apology.”

you tilt your head. “do you?”

he squeezes megumi’s hand in his own to ground himself. “i lied because i was scared,” he admits, and you never thought you’d hear toji and ‘scared’ in the same sentence. “you’re a pretty girl from a nice family who spends my rent money on groceries,” he breathes. “and i want you, bad. and i thought if you saw me—the me who lived paycheck to paycheck and has nothing except this little brat,” he raises megumi’s hand, “you’d leave before i even got a chance.”

he shifts his hand to megumi’s head. “it’s fucking stupid, i know. but this is my son,” he ruffles megumi’s hair. “say hi, kid.”

“hi, auntie.”

your gaze shifts away from toji, and drops to the little boy beside him. megumi is apple cheeks, dark, messy hair and nervous feet shifting on the pavement. he looks like his dad, and the sight makes your heart melt.

“hi, baby boy.” you crouch down to his height. “i love your shirt. do you wanna come here?”

megumi nods. he abandons his father’s side to let you scoop him up in your arms.

toji frowns.

megumi’s a shy kid. or not shy—awkward. he can’t make eye contact with kids his age, his tone is too flat, and his eyes are always bored. he doesn’t like to be touched by people he isn’t familiar with, and he’s very quick to say no to what he doesn’t like or want. so toji can only watch, brows knit in confusion, as megumi’s fist curls over your necklace and he lets you press a kiss to his cheek.

“hi, auntie,” megumi collapses into your shoulder, fist still gripping your necklace. “i did a very good job.”

“so good, baby,” you kiss his hair, grinning. “i’m gonna buy you all the gummies in the world.”

megumi blushes from the affection. he shifts his head over your shoulder so all you can see is his pink chubby cheek.

“what the hell is happening?”

“daddy’s a big dummy,” megumi mutters into your shoulder. “the biggest,” you agree.

toji’s frown deepens, and you laugh. “i’ve already met megumi, silly.”

toji blinks. he’s about to ask how, but you beat him to it: “remember when you got out of the car? megumi woke up in the backseat,” you kiss his ear softly, and megumi’s blush deepens. “we had a long chat about you, toji. and i asked him to pretend we’ve never met, and go back to sleep in the car.”

you watch megumi, fond. his fingers curling deeper into your necklace, his eyes shy and staring behind you. “i can’t believe you’ve been keeping this little angel from me. you’re a monster, toji.”

“dummy monster…” megumi mutters. you kiss his cheek again and he hides.

toji thinks about it. to megumi referring to you as auntie back in the apartment. fuck. he didn’t think too much of it, but perhaps he should’ve.

“so? you two were testing me, or some shit?”

you shift a hand from megumi’s back to your hip. “no attitude, mister. i’m still mad at you,” your frown, and then your shoulders drop. “did you really think you had to fake having money to impress me? picking me up in a porsche when i’ve already seen your crappy apartment?”

you stroke megumi’s hair. “and lying about meg,” your expression goes soft, sad. “have you apologized to him?”

“yeah,” megumi tugs your necklace. “he told me sorry.”

you smile at him, then kiss his little fist. “that’s great, baby. you deserve an apology. and i’m sorry as well, for taking away your time with your father.”

megumi pats your face, voice flat. “i forgive you.”

you giggle, pinching his cheek, and toji can only stare in disbelief.

megumi’s cheeks are pink from your kisses, little fingers curled tight around your necklace while you sway him absentmindedly against your chest. his light-up skechers blink every time his feet kick against your thighs. you’re smiling at him like he’s heaven as a boy, and megumi—quiet, awkward, megumi—is hiding his face in your shoulder because he’s shy.

how greedy.

how greedy of toji zenin to pick out cheerios from between couch cushions like trying to erase evidence of a crime scene. how greedy of him to scrub crayon off his walls, peel gummies off his floors and hide away his son with other people he can’t truly call family. how greedy of him to rip his son’s drawing off the fridge, only to put it back again later because he can’t even be greedy right.

how greedy of toji zenin to hide the only good thing in his life away; all because he wanted yet another good thing: you.

he wanted your pretty laugh in his apartment. wanted your heels by the front door, wanted your perfume in his sheets and your voice mixed with megumi’s cartoons on saturday mornings. toji zenin wanted everything.

now his everything was shoving his chubby hand in the face of his other everything to keep from getting attacked by kisses. but he was smiling. megumi zenin was smiling, and blushing, and laughing—and toji thinks about how he hasn’t seen megumi this childish in a while.

his heart aches.

“i’m sorry.”

sorry for what? he knows what he’s sorry for, but the words have failed him again, so he can only watch. watch as you tilt your head the way you always do, before megumi glances at you and tilts his head back at him the same way. oh god.

“‘gumi, do we forgive daddy?”

“yeah,” megumi’s feet kick. his shoes light up, red and blue. “if he stops hiding my gummies.”

toji won’t hide his gummies anymore. hell, he’ll never hide anything again in his life.

and maybe megumi senses the guilt on his father’s shoulders, because he squirms his tiny body for you to set him down and dashes so hard into his father’s legs that he knocks his forehead against his knee. “ow…”

toji snorts, crouching. “what are you doing, kid.” but he’s scooping megumi into his arms anyways. you pad closer, grin cheeky, and poke megumi on his side.

“how about we go shop for some gummy worms?”

BONUS — Y/N AND MEG’S FIRST MEET !

“who are you?”

the voice makes you jolt. you’re staring at your hands in the passenger’s seat of toji’s rented—no, probably borrowed—porsche, blinking away tears in your eyes when a tiny voice speaks behind you.

you whip your head around so fast your neck aches.

and standing there is a little boy, tiny, maybe four or five, rubbing away sleep from his eyes. his hair comes in tufts of black, and his eyes are blue, and oh my god he looks just like his father.

toji.

megumi is rubbing his eyes harder now. your heart melts.

“hi, baby,” you coo, patting away your own tears on your lashes. “i’m friends with your daddy. what’s your name?”

“i’m megumi,” he sniffles, yawns. “my friends call me meg. but i don’t have any friends.”

oh. “hi, meg. what’re you doing here? did your dad leave you home alone?”

you hope he says no, because you know toji’s been hiding something—someone from you, but he wouldn’t go that far. at least, you hope he wouldn’t.

“no, my uncles are at home,” he says sleepily. and you hover your hands over his face in silent permission. he blinks at your hands, sniffles again, before nodding to let you brush his hair back from his face. “i wanted to see daddy. he left for work.”

work? no he didn’t. toji zenin is outside, lifting the bonnet of a car he knows is too good to call his. “did he tell you he was going to work, meg?”

“no, but i know he is. he works for us. he wears the tie and he goes away.”

“oh, baby…”

toji zenin is a liar. a liar with a handsome face, and warm touch, and words that make your head dizzy. and you should be mad, really. you are, but the sight of this little boy with a face like his father’s only makes your heart ache.

you want to ask questions: who are your uncles? where were you when i came over? is your mother still in the picture?

but megumi zenin is blinking sleepily as you caress his cheek, leaning into your touch with a sigh.

“megumi, do you wanna make a deal?”

“what kind of deal?” megumi tries to rub his eyes, but you ease his fist away.

“a super simple one. your daddy’s been acting really strange, right? to you and me,” you pat his cheek. “all you have to do is act like we’ve never met, and i’ll give you anything you want.”

megumi thinks very hard. then he asks, “are you the lady daddy wants to impress?”

you blink. “what do you mean?”

“i heard him on the phone with uncle sugu,” megumi rests his head against your leather car seat. “he said he likes a nice lady. said he wants to be a better man for her.” he rubs his eye. “then he started leaving me. where’s daddy? i wanna talk to daddy.”

“oh, meg,” your heart breaks. “come here, baby.”

megumi hesitates, but then he lets you pull him into a hug. his hands are limp by his sides, but he pats your back once before his tiny hand slips away. “auntie, why are you crying?”

your shoulders shake over him. you sniffle, “don’t worry about it, meg. and your daddy’s gonna come back soon, okay? and he won’t leave you alone anymore. i’ll make sure of it.”

megumi pulls back. “you promise?”

you cup his cheeks. “i promise. go back to sleep, okay?”

EPILOGUE !

on the couch of toji’s crappy apartment, megumi zenin is curled into his father’s side, gummy worms in his mouth as he presses his sticky hands to the screen of his brand new ipad pro. a shiny gift from his loving uncle sato, who bought him the device despite suguru and toji’s wishes.

megumi offers his father a gummy worm. “when is auntie coming?”

toji eats it off his palm. “soon, kid,” he clicks his tongue. “swear you like her more than me now.”

megumi picks out five gummy worms from the jar, then lines them up on his ipad screen for convenience. “nah, i like daddy the most.”

toji softens.

all toji can see right now is the top of his little boy’s head, his tiny nose poking out and his chubby little cheeks. the ipad screen is sticky and candy smeared—much like megumi’s hands—and on the screen is a video of a teacup in a ballet dress—ballerina cappucina?—getting married to a little espresso man wearing a ninja bandana. toji frowns. the video gives him flashbacks to his days of working as skai jackson’s personal AI prompt writer. he shivers.

toji shakes his head. “meg, you know i’m never leaving, right?”

“i know,” megumi groans. “you told me a billion times yesterday!”

“quit whining,” toji murmurs, pulling his son into his lap. megumi reaches for his jar of gummy worms, and toji tugs it closer. “just wanted to remind you.” he mumbles.

megumi slumps against his father’s chest. soft, distracted, satisfied. “you don’t need to say sorry anymore. i forgive you.”

toji kisses his hair, burying his face in the dark strands. he sighs, “thanks, kiddo.”

———

when the doorbell rings, toji zenin is already half-asleep.

the sound—and megumi’s accidental jab of his elbow against his stomach—wakes him right up. toji smooths his hair, rubs the sleep from his eyes. then he turns to tell megumi to go wash his sticky hands, then decides not to.

he sucks in a breath and opens the door.

“hi, pretty.”

“move. i’m not here for you.”

you shove at his chest and push your way into the apartment, and on the couch to the right megumi zenin is there, ipad in hands and cheeks sticky and looking up at you with big, blue eyes.

“auntie?”

“oh, my baby!”

you scoop him off the couch and into your arms, and megumi clutches your shoulders tight as you attack him with kisses on his forehead, cheeks, everywhere. toji’s eye twitches in disbelief. “are we serious?”

“oh, you’re still here,” you glance over at him, bored. “meg and i are gonna make cookies today. mind being a doll and fetching the ingredients from the car?” you toss him your car keys.

toji looks at the keys in his hands. then you, who is cooing silly things that make megumi blush and bury his head in your neck.

toji pads over to you, slow. “i wanted to see you.”

you ignore his hands snaking around your hips. you turn your nose up at him, “and now, you have.”

“you still mad at me?”

of course you’re still mad. maybe not as mad as you were a week ago, but still upset. that he lied. that he thought so little of you that he went out of his way to sculpt a whole other life and hide away the little angel in your arms. but toji’s hands are still heavy on your hips. his voice is warm in your ear. and he apologized, you know. in the parking lot that day. at your house on monday, holding a bouquet of half-dead flowers and wearing a rented suit that went to waste because you refused to go out with him anyway. he sent you an hour long voicemail apologizing. you listened to it all on the way here.

toji zenin is such a sap.

he acts like he isn’t, though. but he is, and you feel it in how he presses his lips to your neck, over and over and over again. i’m sorry i’m sorry i’m sorry.

megumi shoves his father’s lips away. “daddy stop.”

you laugh, nuzzling megumi’s cheek. “he’s such a dummy, isn’t he meg? do you think i should forgive him?”

“yeah,” megumi mutters, collapsing into your neck. “he said sorry a billion times to me yesterday. daddy’s really sorry for everything.”

“aww. daddy’s so cute when he’s sorry, isn’t he?”

toji is glaring at you. you can only giggle and press a kiss to his jaw, and his eyes widen a bit in surprise. you cup his jaw and press another one to his cheek. just one more, because you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t missed him as well.

“i forgive you, mister. now go get those groceries—shoo!”

toji nuzzles your neck before leaving the apartment.

megumi is still on your hip, clutching your shoulders for balance as you pick out pans and trays from the cupboard. he grips your hair in a tiny fist. “auntie?”

“hm, gummy?”

megumi hides in your neck—shy, nervous. “are you gonna be my new mommy?”

you freeze.

megumi clutches you tighter. his face is buried in your throat, and he’s gripping so tightly his little nails bite into your skin, but you soften. toji had already confessed everything in his voicemail. his mom isn’t in the picture anymore. how a mother can let go of a little angel like meg, you don’t know, but who are you to judge and conclude?

“i don’t know, meg, it’s too soon,” you hum softly, setting a pan on the tabletop. “but i know i’ll be here, baby. for you.”

“will you be at my school, too?” he peers up at you, big eyes glimmering with hope. “all the other kids have mommies except for me.”

“oh, megumi—of course i’ll be there!”

it’s taking everything in you not to carry this boy and run! you attack his face with kisses, and megumi squirms in your arms but he’s giggling. his hands are sticky on your face, neck, everywhere, but you kiss him over and over again, because you’ve only known him for a little over a week but you’re already ready to give him the world. “auntie, stop!” but he’s laughing. “there’s lip gloss all over me!”

when toji walks in, he can’t believe his eyes.

there are too many shopping bags in his hands, because everything about you is too much, even down to your shopping, and toji is staring in disbelief. the woman of his dreams in his kitchen, holding his son, and his son is laughing. laughing the way he used to before his mother left him two years ago.

and he doesn’t really deserve the warmth curling in his chest, or the strange feeling coursing through his veins, but who is toji zenin if not greedy?

so he drops the bags to his feet (gently, because you’d curse him if the eggs broke), and pads over to the kitchen where you’re showering megumi with affection, and he snakes his arms around your waist and drops his head into your neck. you turn, grinning, and you don’t push him away when he presses a quick kiss to your lips. the lips are honest, and now toji is too.

“aww, look at you getting all sappy.”

“auntie made my face all sticky..”

toji squeezes you both tight. a little greed never killed a man.

MEGUMI’S REMARK : CAN I HAVE SOME GUMMY WORMS…?

#SIGMA CHI STORIES !

LOVE OVER LOBLAWS, end.

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