#naoya zenin icons | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jiminjamms · 10 months

Text

sex therapy :: 18. behind closed doors

chapter tags/warnings: mentions of sex. infidelity/adultery. misogynistic! naoya. manipulative undertones. strong language. classism. heavy angst.

word count: 3.2k

notes: there was a lot dished out in the last chapter, aha! i promise that the storyline's background will get elaborated on in the following chapters. also, this chapter is posted just as jjk season 2 is on schedule for release! so excited to see our man toji and the iconic sashisu trio in full action. likes, comments, and reblogs are deeply appreciated. xoxo

fic masterlist | 01. 02. 03. 04. 05. 06. 07. 08. 09. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33.

“Leave me alone, woman!”

Those were Naoya’s words as he pushed you aside from the foyer, beyond aggravated that—on the one evening he sought a reprieve from his apartment—you followed him to the door, interrogating him on his whereabouts. In his honest opinion, you had no business sticking your nose into his personal matters.

He thought he had made his intentions clear that other night, when you first confronted him about his infidelity: that there was no love in his marriage with you, that he had long promised his heart to someone else, and—the most important bit—that he would not meddle into your affairs so long as you did not meddle with his.

These past few weeks, he had completed his part of the promise. At the very least, you should give him credit for the many evenings he spent pounding his thick semen deep into your warm core, ensuring that not a drip would be wasted.

The thought may have been in vain, but you were sure that you were winning your husband back.

Sure, Naoya Zenin was by no means a big cuddler. Instead, he was the type to mumble a terse ‘good night’ after he had gotten his own orgasm, tossing over to his side of the bed as he slapped your thighs one last time.

But tonight was when you realized that Naoya had never changed at all.

With nothing but a nightgown, you chased after his fast paces. “Then, will you be home in the morn—”

“Know your place before you speak,” he countered impatiently, not showing the slightest worry for the way your lower lip trembled. With great irritation, he ignored your frozen form, departing with one last comment that inflicted a thousand times more pain than any physical wound: “In the Zenin household, all you are is a fucking ornament.”

In other words: pretty, nice, and ultimately useless.

Which is how you ended up suffering alone, all the bottled-up torment gushing out the very moment Naoya disappeared past the front door.

Truthfully, you were not sure how long you had been sobbing, shaking, and crying. As the tears that blurred your vision cleared into a puddle by your feet, you stared into a nearby mirror reflection. Sorrow etched into your features: vibrant eyes now dull and cheeks with remnants of cascading tears.

What did you do to deserve this?

Was this because you were the homewrecker to begin with? Was this your punishment for marrying a man who had already promised himself to someone else, for hindering the romance between your husband and his true lover?

Naoya’s secret girlfriend, not his lawfully wedded wife, was whose existence had carved a special place in his heart. But you?

No, you were just his toy, a ragdoll to be tossed to the side once he was done and tired.

If only you weren’t so selfless. Your life would have been easier if you cared less about being a people pleaser and instead prioritized your mental well-being.

But Naoya had made a point. His father Naobito and your father Daisuke had spent months arranging the marriage details, determined to solidify the relations between two of Japan’s most influential households.

‘We wouldn’t want them finding out about our part-time flings, now would we?’

Weeks later, these words from your husband still echoed fresh in your head. Naoya was right, he and you were married for a reason. Although he had long been devoted to another woman and you had secretly indulged in various extramarital ventures, your vows to each other had been pledged in a ceremony that graced television screens and magazine covers. Renouncing the marriage and subsequently disclosing the reasons would not only leave you both falling from grace but also begin an ugly feud between families too powerful and dignified to see themselves lose.

At this point, there seemed to be no solution to your marriage, nor did you desire one.

With this, anyone could tell you desperately needed someone who would listen to your anguished thoughts. You needed someone who would empathize with your frustration and your sentiments. You needed a therapist.

Perhaps...a sex therapist.

Suddenly, you remembered. Mind in auto-pilot, you traveled toward the unit's walk-in closet, connected to the master bedroom from the side. With so many handbags on display, you nearly forgot about this one Goyard tote placed toward the bottom had it not been for the very important business card you had left inside.

You rummaged through the purse and fished a thick black badge from an inner pocket.

Dr. Toji Fushiguro.

Delicately, your fingers traced the name etched in graceful and golden strokes, seemingly flowing over the card’s sleek surface. Your last encounter with Toji, that one evening in Teyvat, didn’t end prettily. How you now wished to apologize to him, to tell him that he was right, that he had always been right—about how you had deserved better, about how Naoya could never truly like you, and about how you should have been considering a divorce long ago.

When the scattered light from above played upon the card, your eyes were drawn to the embossed numbers below his office’s address.

What if...you called him?

No, you really shouldn’t. Toji could not be burdened with your internal agony. Not at this late night hour.

But if your own therapist Toji wasn’t the one to talk to, then who would that be?

You abhorred how you were alone with your thoughts and, surely, no one else—not your father, and definitely not your husband—would want to deal with your emotional turmoil.

So, you decided.

Grabbing your phone from the tabletop, you dialed the number, the sound of each digit pressing against the screen echoing in the quiet room and your nerves dancing in tandem with anticipation as the phone started to ring.

What if Toji didn’t want to talk to you anymore? Besides, you did just depart suddenly and angrily the last time you had seen him. Honestly, you could still back out from this call if you wanted to. Maybe the better decision would be to sit in your own discomfort and try to figure out the solution yourself rather than—

“Good evening, you have reached Dr. Toji Fushiguro’s line after hours. How may I help you?”

Wait, who was this?

For a moment, panic crashed upon you. Interacting with strangers was never your strong suit, but there was a familiarity to the enigmatic timbre that hummed on the other line. The first and last time you dialed Toji’s number, his son had picked up, giving your call a very awkward start. Whoever picked up this time was not the teenage boy, however, and you pursed your lips in an attempt to identify the mystery man.

“Geto...?” you murmured when the realization struck.

Upon recognizing your voice, the said man paused briefly, likely surprised to hear from you but moreso bothered at the shakiness in your tone.

“Hey, are you alright?”

“Can you please,” and you stopped.

With floodgates bursting, you melted onto the floor with a choked sob, clutching your nightgown to ground yourself. Gosh, you had to stop sniffling if you ever wanted to finish your sentence. What a mess you were, your syllables punctuated with shaky inhales.

“Can I please talk to Toji?”

When the line fell silent once more, your heart raced. Only when the words fell from your mouth did you realize how offensive you may have sounded. After all, Geto had mentioned that Toji was off the clock, and what was wrong with confiding in him?

“Sorry!” you half-yelped and half-choked, grateful that no one else could see the tears streaming down your cheeks. “Sorry, Geto! I’m certain that you’re a wonderful therapist too and would be an amazing person to talk to, but—“

“Send me your address. I’ll pick you up shortly.”

And Geto was true to his word.

Within fifteen minutes, a Porsche Cayman turned into your street, the vehicle’s yellow exterior gleaming from the street lamps before slowing to a stop not too far from your apartment building’s entryway.

From the curb, you could peer inside from the windows, seeing Geto in the driver’s seat. He slicked his long hair back, the strands bunched up with an elastic with stray tufts resting behind his neck. He smoothed his top—a Hawaiian shirt with pink pineapple prints (just how many button-ups like these did he have?)—and rolled his window down completely.

Geto threw one arm out to greet you with a wave and then, with his chin, gestured toward the empty shotgun seat.

“Get in.”

Compliant, you wrapped around the bumper before getting inside. The interior was a creamy leather, leaving you to sink into the material that wrapped around your weight like warm water.

The moment your seatbelt clicked into place, you were suddenly pulled toward the side in one swift motion as Geto tucked his fingers below your chin and lifted your head.

His lips.

Upon turning towards him, the first thing on Suguru Geto that drew your attention was his lips. Plush. Smooth. Lightly parted as though they invited you to explore the mischief within.

A dangerous expedition, that would be.

You realized you had never seen Geto up close before, mere centimeters from him such that his breaths fanned hotly across your cupid’s bow. He had a nice jawline too, not to mention defined cheekbones that blessed him with strong features rolling against his softer angles. When an unexpected glint caught you off-guard, your gaze shifted to the silver piercings that adorned each brow. Edgy. You liked how the metal accentuated his natural arches, shining when headlights from passing cars shone into the vehicle.

When he blinked, you then turned to his eyes, and goodness—you met the most intense inky pools that could ever peer into your soul.

How long had he been looking at you like that? Why did he look at you like that? With those insanely dark depths that swam with so much curiosity that you almost wished you hadn’t looked at him to begin with.

Almost. Almost wished.

Thankfully (or not), Geto averted his gaze first. He inspected you instead, gently wiping at a small black-tinted streak near your chin, his brows pinching as concern tugged his handsome features.

“Been crying?” Geto prodded. Of course, he noticed the glassy film that shone on your pretty eyes, the puffiness that dabbed your warm cheeks. When you did not immediately reply, he brushed a warm thumb over your lower jaw. “Listen, cupcake. You may not know this about me but...” he paused, the usual glimmer in his sharp eyes darkening into a chilling stare. “...whoever did this to you, I will fuck them up.”

At his offer, you forced a sad smile.

“Nobody,” you lied. Geto had already had taken the time to comfort you with his presence at such a late hour, and he could not be burdened with the pitiful details involving your marriage. “Just some personal stress with—”

“It was Naoya, wasn’t it?”

Just hearing your husband’s name left you frozen, your heart suffocating in pain. “Was...it obvious?”

As the man clicked his tongue, he brought his hand up again. He brushed a few strands away from your face, tucking them loosely behind your ear with lithe and tattooed fingers, your earrings swaying softly with the movement.

“I see lonely eyes like yours more often than I’d like,” he explained, expression sullen.

While you had once registered Geto as outrageous and unscrupulous upon your first encounter, you were starting to realize that he was—in fact—incredibly empathetic.

"You do?" you asked quietly.

At the question, he pushed his lips to one side and sat up straight, placing his hands on the steering wheel so that he could idly drum his fingertips on the surface.

“Everywhere. I see those hopeless and confused gazes everywhere,” and his tone was melancholic as he started a list, “Clients in sex therapy because their partners can’t satisfy them, clients in sex therapy even if their partners can satisfy them. Don’t even get me started on some unfortunate patients I’ve seen from the hospital’s OBGYN department when I work there.”

Given Geto’s carefree nature, you had forgotten that he had mentioned his work in the medical field before, and you let silence hang in the air while you quietly contemplated the emotions Geto must encounter as a practitioner across various disciplines.

Noticing the resulting sigh from your lips, Geto relented. He really wasn’t the type to poke his nose into other people’s business, anyway.

“Listen, you don’t have to say more if you don’t want to,” he offered, easing the silence by re-adjusting his rearview mirror. “I get that. I respect your privacy.”

When the engine rumbled to a start again, you peered over your shoulder. “Then, where are we going?”

After such a somber discussion not long ago, Geto’s lips twitched upward, appreciating how comical you could be.

What a silly question, he must have thought.

“To the one man who can understand your situation better than anybody.” With his left hand, Geto signaled right to pull away from the sidewalk, his indicators blinking against the road. "You were the one who wanted to see him, no?"

You twiddled with the wedding band on your finger, a habit you have yet to drop. "I thought Toji wasn't working now."

"He's not. Usually, I'd handle any late-night emergencies for him, but I'll take you to his place instead."

"Oh." That did not make you any less anxious. "So, he knows I'm coming over then?"

"Nope," the therapist answered curtly, and he popped the 'p' in his response. "But, you know, just for you," and Geto shot you one last wink, "he would do anything."

Toji was not the 'broke motherfucker' that Sukuna had once made him out to be.

What broke motherfucker lived among Tokyo’s tallest residential skyscrapers?

As the Porsche slowed upon arrival, you craned your neck to gaze at the colossal structure, which was no normal residential building for Japan’s middle or lower classes. Rather, this was an extravagant premise clearly tailored for—not even the nouveau riche—but for the descendants from old, old money.

While Geto pulled into the entrance's porte cochère, y ou had to ask, "This is where Toji lives?"

How his colleague was able to afford such a luxury in the Minato Ward, the most expensive neighborhood in not only the Japanese capital but also the entire country, was beyond your knowledge. You glanced over at the vehicle's infotainment system at the center, which—according to Google Maps—indicated in bold lettering that your destination was, in fact, to the left.

You glanced up again, the high rise making you feel like an ant in Disneyland. "Sure you didn't take me to the wrong address?"

Shifting the gear to park, Geto nodded assuredly. "A hundred and ten percent positive."

"But then," you turned toward him in your seat, "Sukuna called Toji broke? Toji could not afford this if he was broke."

At first, Geto lifted a brow in confusion. But as the words sank in, his fingers traced along the wheel as he chuckled. "Ah, that. Toji just isn't where he could possibly be."

"Could possibly be?" you repeated.

He hummed, looking ahead. "Longest story, honey.” He sat back in his seat, toying with his man bun in thought. "Shouldn't be a tale for me to tell anyway."

Your mind might have buzzed with curiosity, but you conceded. Whether Toji wanted to reveal his private matters was not something for his colleague to decide.

"Look," Geto pointed beyond the shotgun seat window, "the footman's here."

Following the direction of his gaze, you glanced behind you to see someone approaching the car. With white-gloved hands, the attendant opened the door in one controlled swing, waiting patiently and wordlessly for you to disembark. Half-expectantly, you waited for Geto to get off as well, but he shook his head.

"I can't stay here," he informed and pointed to a nearby signage. "I can only drop you off because I can't leave my car here for too long. Besides, I've got plans."

"You do?" That should not surprise you. Didn't Sukuna mention that Geto had something going on with, what was her name again, Shoko? Wasn't she, like, his girlfriend or—

“Work,” he replied, reminding you that he was the therapist on call tonight. He then turned to the footman beyond the door, ducking slightly so that he could catch the escort's gaze. “This young lady is here for the Fushiguro residence.”

“Of course.” The footman offered a warm grin, stepping back to gesture you inside. “Right this way, Mrs. Fushiguro.”

Mrs. Fushiguro?!

The misplaced designation really shouldn’t have caused your heart to flutter as much as that did, but you could feel your entire body grow warm, hoping that no one could notice how you broke into a flustered sweat.

“Ah, I’m not—”

“Thank you for taking care of her,” Geto interrupted with an impish smile, his eyes crinkled into mischievous half-moons. Oh, he found this funny, didn’t he? He tipped his head to the side, and he waved. “Have a wonderful evening.”

“Hey! I—” How dare Geto leave you like this?

Yet, with the footman already heading back inside, you could not finish berating him, instead focused on scurrying after the steward’s long strides like a squirrel.

Once at the entrance, the heavy glass doors parted automatically, and the lobby inside must be a whole other world. Fresh blooms nearby welcomed you with their sweet perfume as a staff member behind the concierge desk acknowledged your presence with a slight nod, a gesture you shyly returned. Meanwhile, the marble floors clicked to your footsteps as scones along the walls washed the vicinity with cozy hues, plush armchairs to the side offering a small sanctuary. Living amongst such splendor yourself, the sheer elegance in this space was not anything new, but what you were marveled by was the fact that the Toji Fushiguro lived here? In this very building?!

“The elevators are over there, madam,” the footman called when he must have noticed your stupor.

You blinked rapidly, otherwise not noticing that you were headed in the wrong direction. “Oh.”

He led you down one grandeur hall, scanning a card at various security checkpoints to allow you through. Upon reaching the elevator bank, he pressed a button at the dispatch screen, and the rightmost door opened with a number on a dashboard indicating that the lift was headed to the forty-ninth floor.

Upon yourself stepping in, the doors slid to a close and offered one last view of the footman who had angled himself into a bow.

It was ridiculous how skittish you were as the elevator ascended, the Mozart tune from the overhead speakers doing little to calm your nerves. When the doors reopened a little less than a minute later, you were introduced to another warmly-lit corridor. The passageway itself had a design similar to the lobby floor except with one large abstract artwork centered across the elevators.

At an incredibly slow pace, you neared the only door on the floor, the entrance’s deep dark mahogany surface looming over your much smaller presence. There was no turning back now, and you pushed the small glowing button at the side.

There was no response.

Of course, there wouldn’t be. You had only rung the bell ten seconds ago, but anticipation rushed to your fingertips. While holding your breath, you turned to your clicking heels.

You battled your body’s thrumming desire to flee and, just as the seconds seemed to stretch into hours, the door finally cracked open.

Your gaze shot up.

On the other side, Toji stood—silent and stunned. There were a million questions that you caught running across his murky emerald eyes, but a much-needed sense of relief embraced you as you met his familiar, comforting gaze, tears welling up at your lashes all over again.

“Can...we talk?”

last chapter || next chapter

end notes: Unrelated, but I've recently started my full-time job! Balancing my personal and health priorities along with my work has been challenging, but I've made a point to still work on my fics as writing and interacting with my readers (you!) genuinely makes me happy. Sending love and hugs to you all.

taglist: @dissociatingdiva @httpsplanetmarsdotcom @nemoyr @huangfairy @shadowarchon @203steph @agentdedf1sh @cloudybabes @hinativity @lynn-writes-things @illicitwriter @7oji @kikuchimi @piqer @nobody289x @chaoticjojofan @musicisme333 @vvestwoodrose @kumocchin @s-guru @mwahilovemylife @hey-gurls69 @cloudsinthecosmos @moon-mumu-moon @kazscara @obitohno @skilerfrostfairy @funicidals @nico707 @proteovaldez @tsukiyohanayome @marimoares @qirbys @moodpi @blackdragoncigarette @puffaloxx @tokyometronetwork @downtown-roponggi @the-cosmos-network

368 notes · View notes