#techbro assholes | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ctrlsatoru · 1 day

Text

DIABLO CH2 - TOJI FUSHIGURO

content: techbro billionare!toji, reader is gojo's little sister, age gap (toji's in his mid 30s, reader in mid 20s) kind of ooc toji, suggestive themes, no smut yet. protective!toji, but also asshole!toji. warnings: 18+ only. suggestive themes. explicit language, references to being roofied. toji being toji. minors do not interact. pairing: toji fushiguro x afab gojo!reader word count: 8k tags: @liitlesushi a/n: ok so this might be longer than I anticipated and also semi slow burn. it'll be worth it, trust. summary: It's Gojo's anniversary party, you're doomed by your Satoru's whims, haunted by your father's scheming, and now a devilish third player appears: Toji Fushiguro. And he's here to collect.

Toji opens his eyes, manually focusing on the strange ceiling. It twists slowly before it settles.

This bed is not his own, he can tell from how flat the pillow feels under his head, which is throbbing painfully. He feels like a dozen horses ran over him. A voice, distinctly female, unnecessarily loud, makes him wince and curse under his breath.

“... If I agree, and I haven’t, you’re not picking my outfit. Know that .”

This is unlike him. He can’t remember a thing. The only good thing about not recognizing the bed is that he’s not gonna have to deal with a strange woman in his place–

“Because your conception of what’s socially acceptable to wear to a formal function is not tethered to earthly reality, Satoru.”

Oh.

It’s you .

You’re on the phone, standing by floor-to-ceiling windows. The sunlight casts off your ring like a white laser when you turn, blinding him.

“Mornin’” he croaks, pushing himself to sit against rough the rattan bed frame. The room moves from side to side, like you’re stuck in a boat instead of Haibara’s beach house. It’s all coming back to him, watching you and your boyfriend’s rowdy love spat, the deck–

“Oh. Hey, buddy.” you say idly, looking over your shoulder as you sit on the other side of the bed, your ring-covered finger tying your slutty sandals around your ankles like some shibari countess. The strap of your top falls as you lean over. Toji’s buffering.

His ears must be fucking deceiving him. Buddy?

The fuck?

He can’t for the life of him remember anything after the deck. You’re zooming through the room, texting furiously. On top of that, you look fresh and plump like lettuce out of the fridge, don’t you? But he had to blink several times to break through the layer of crust around his eyelashes, and his body is telling him you two fucked like animals for the past 12 hours.

Or he spent the weekend in the trenches.

He feels wildly unprepared for this morning after, and it’s a just fucking relief that you’re keeping your distance until you start tap tap taping your little heels to the door.

“The hell do you think you’re goin’?”

You stop, surveying him over your shoulder like he’s coming close to being some sort of inconvenience.

And then the corner of your lips lifts, the mole on your cheek jumping with the motion.

“It was fun.” Your phone starts ringing again. The sound drills a hole into Toji’s temples. “Too bad that it never happened.”

With that, you’re gone.

You leave Toji with a bunch of unconscious people scattered around the house and Haibara, who’s still young enough to not know what a real hangover is. The kid will just not shut up about some hardcore surveillance system he had installed around the house recently after he noticed someone was stealing from his Kaws collection.

Toji listens to the whole story, sipping on the cold pressed green juice Haibara made himself, simply refusing to use the crystal straw, and makes a promise to himself. You’ll pay for whatever it is you did to him.

Even if he doesn’t remember what that was. Yet. It doesn’t matter. You’ll pay anyway. Nicely.

“Say, kid.” he asks Haibara, licking the green foam off his lips and putting down the empty glass on the counter. The juice tasted just like it looks, which is cow puke, but his mind is somewhere else. Machinating. Scheming.

“This system of yours, does it cover the whole house?”

Here’s the thing.

There are many things Toji isn’t.

For starters, he’s not easily bothered by most things, a trait that people usually mistake for a personal attack, like it has anything to do with them and isn’t just the hand that he was dealt. People assume others, in this case him, think about them more than he can be bothered to.

He’s not a control junkie either, not anymore. He left those days behind.

Control isn’t something he needs to worry about anymore. He has plenty of it. If something gets out of line, it gets back on it automatically. That’s just the way life is. Sure, he had his vices back then; lactose, gambling, adrenaline, women.

But the thing is, you learn a few things with age, right? Shiny things lose their sparkle. The excitement wears off. Nothing is safe from becoming predictable, not even the rush of hearing bone crack under his fists or the juiciest, tightest pussy presented to him on a tray.

And this sheds a light on the fact that he’s way past the age of being pussy whipped.

“You cannot be serious.”

So why the fuck is Shiu Kong looking at him like that?

And who does he think he is standing next to him, all up on his screen, and mind you, only alive thanks to the fact that Toji has lost some edge from his gory days?

He shuts down the tab like a kid who got caught watching porn on the family PC.

“You listen to me. Don’t you ever fucking do that–”

“The Gojo kid?”

Toji’s eyebrows dig into his face because you’re certainly not a kid. No. Far from it. Kids don’t go around feeding people horse tranquilizer or whatever the fuck it is you fed him with that glossy mouth of yours. And that’s what you did. That’s as far as he can remember.

“Is that what’s been–”

“I’m gonna stop you before you say some dumb shit and piss me off any further.”

Shiu’s been pestering him for days now about the upcoming iteration and the threat of several deadlines. Toji has been brushing it off. No nagging back or shutting down his complaints.

Somehow, his silence only pushes the stick up Shiu’s ass even. Like he’s his sexually neglected wife of 40 years.

Truth is, he hasn’t given the dynamic with his CFO/best friend much thought lately. Why would he when there’s an infuriating, mouthy woman with siren eyes that look down at him even when he’s about two heads taller than–

You.

“–stalking the poor girl on the desktop version of Instagram.”

Toji returns to the conversation. “I don’t stalk people. I’m a grown-ass man.”

And you’re not a girl either. You’re something else. He hasn’t figured it out yet.

“Mm. So am I.” Shiu says, still standing there with his hands in his pants pockets, head tilting down at some forgotten paperwork on his desk. “And even I know looking at someone’s profile on a desktop computer is a concerning level of unemployment, which you’re not at. Yet.”

Toji’s not that thick-headed. He knows he’s been distracted, but he can’t just brush away the mystery of what went down that night at Haibara’s.

You pop up in his head unannounced and make yourself comfortable, rent fucking free. Like a little squatter. In the middle of meetings, on the drive back home, at the gym, when he’s at his favorite club with a gorgeous and willing girl on his lap.

It’s becoming so frustrating that he’s started to despise you for real, and not just the made-up version of yourself he created when he met you and decided you were an ill-mannered bunny that he wanted to toy with for a bit.

In this scenario, of course, he was a wolf.

No one ever talks about how sometimes the bunny roofies the wolf and bolts the morning after.

Days pass and his mind is blank of memories, no glimpses, no time-stopping sex flashbacks, just a bunch of vivid dreams about you that distract him to the point of burning his toast one morning and nearly knocking the front teeth off his trainer’s face.

Toji’s positive you didn’t fuck. Sure, you had a bit of bed hair, but your face lacked the I-was-fucked-by-the-Toji-Fushiguro glaze he was used to seeing in women and took pride in. You looked perfectly fine, unfucked enough to be giving hell to your dimwit brother on the phone and fuck with him before disappearing.

It was fun.

He was also wearing underwear, and you walked just fine. No wobbly legs or tilted hips. No bruises on your neck or scratches on his back–

Too bad that it never happened.

You had shared a bed, that much he knew. He caught a whiff of your perfume after you left. He had cursed you then, feeling like a pathetic fucking dog sniffing up some pillows, but now the confusion and annoyance faded to a curiosity that extends past the time in his head he gives to even the best lays he’s had.

So he put up an incognito tab and looked you up hoping to find something corny or annoying about you to make you unappealing, and somehow he landed on your personal IG profile.

You posted a set of pictures three days ago of meaningless corners at some random location. The fourth picture is a snap of what looks like your desk. By the corner, there’s a polaroid of you and your fiancé.

You’re standing in front of the guy, leaning your head to the side with his chin resting nice and cozy on your shoulder, his nose pressed against your neck. It pulled a dry snort from the depths of his chest.

He found your twitter account as well, because why not? And finds nothing interesting there. You stick to promoting your work and hardly communicate. Other people in your circle, on the other hand…

Toji went through a twitter phase not too long ago. He found endless amusement in pissing people off with less than 140 characters and replying to those who enjoyed his work. He uninstalled the app the second he found people selling mugs with screencaps of his tweets.

Safe to say the decision made Shiu’s and the PR team quite happy.

He’s out of the loop with the overall discourse, but it’s clear that you have farmed your own dedicated micro following online and your boyfriend’s some kind of underground A24 flowerboy on the rise.

The both of you, as a couple, act like viagra for a very specific, insufferable and presumptuous crowd. They’re hyper-focused on the fact that you haven’t posted him on your stories lately and that Hiroki allegedly deleted some posts with you on Instagram.

Kids these days. As short as life is, and the things they waste their time on…

“Please tell me that’s not her twitter account,” Shiu says. Toji’s hands twitch. “This is more pathetic than I thought. No wonder you haven’t gotten anything done in days.”

Toji kills the rest of the tabs, spitting over his shoulder “I can’t very well do my fucking job if you’re breathing over my fucking shoulder, can I? You know how I fucking feel about people standing behind me when I’m trying to get shit done.”

“ Twitchy .” Shiu notes and takes his sweet time walking around his desk, plopping down on the seat in front of him.

“Yep, take a seat, why don’t you.” Toji grumbles.

His partner and oldest friend crosses his legs in front of him and taps his fingers on his knee, a sign that he’s craving a cigarette.

“So I’m gonna take a leap of faith here and assume this is some kind of executive-level scheming, and you’re just exploiting a vulnerability.”

Toji’s face twists like he sucked on a lemon at the mere thought of it.

“You know damn well the day I do business with that old cunt will be the day your ex-wife comes clean about what she did at that yoga retreat in Bali and asks for forgiveness.”

“Figures. So?”

“You’d probably take her back. Fucking cuck.”

“She really got under your skin, didn’t she?” Shiu notes, not at all bothered by the unprovoked attacks.

Toji sniffs, comes down from the spike of anger, and finds a more comfortable position on his chair.

“She owes me.”

Shiu leans his head back, mildly amused.

“You adding usury to your ledger now?”

“Not money.”

“Alright then, I don’t want to know.” Lies. But Shiu knows better than to push too much. Toji’s the type to hoard details not because he’s afraid of compromise, just to be an asshole.

It’s refreshing to see him almost… desperate. If you were anything like your brother, Shiu thought, you might be just the perfect little karma agent for his best friend.

“Fine. You get that business sorted. You’re no use to me if you’re distracted.”

“You worry about sorting your own business and I’ll worry about mine, Kong.”

Shiu stands up, fighting back a smile until he opens the door, stopping at the sight of Toji’s assistant about to knock.

“What is it?” Toji asks, scratching his eyebrow, already exhausted.

Keiko looks down at the tablet in her hands, hesitant.

“The team at Gojo Corp has reached out, sir. It seems Gojo Shinobu would like to invite you to dinner next week.”

The look on Shiu’s face as he slowly turns to face him is priceless. Toji rests his elbows on his desk, a sinister smile pulling at his scar.

“Well, isn’t that interesting?”

“Interesting indeed.” Shiu agrees. Keiko eyes them skeptically.

“I better get to work then, eh?”

“Anytime would be nice, yes.” Shiu says, turning to Keiko. “I guess I’ll finally find out about Bali, then.”

So you might think, look at him backtracking like that.

Don’t get him wrong, it’s nothing like that.

Toji’s sitting across from Gojo Shinobu, the man, the myth, the bigot himself, with absolutely no intention of making business with him.

He’s just sniffing the territory.

And he almost regrets it. The man is a disturbingly aged mixture of you and your brother: the hair and the uncanny valley eyes went to him, but the eyebrows, the slope of his nose, it’s you. Even the handshake, firm and tight like a war general, reminds Toji of you.

Gojo Shinobu’s old as the fucking bible. His eyes are graying, eyelids sagging, but he’s still got it for sure.

Let’s make one thing clear, Toji doesn’t like the old fart. He represents many things that he despises about older generations, and his business model is one of the many reasons for the country living in the past, but he’s not about to get political.

Not liking Gojo Shinobi doesn’t mean he doesn’t have some respect for him, so he’s honest and immediately shuts down the proposal of Gojo Corp. being involved in future Diablo releases.

Dignified. Not happy. But never one to see a no for what it is, Shinobu just smiles, brushes his beard like a Ghibli villain, and switches the subject.

Alcohol involved and pretending to put business talk aside, the conversation flows easily. Your father has a surprisingly entertaining dry sense of humor. Toji supposes you stop giving a shit when you have one foot in the grave.

“I hear you have a kid.”

“Two kids.” Toji says, remembering that he’s supposed to pick up Tsumiki in an hour. Ballet class. She’s getting rather serious about it. “A girl and a boy.”

“Ah, good balance.” Shinobu nods with a knowing smile. “They listen to you? How old are they?”

“15 and 16. And they do.”

They don’t, because they’re teenagers, not soldiers. Megumi and Tsumiki are good kids, certainly better than he was at their ages, they don’t need him ordering them around.

“Dangerous, dangerous age.” your father hums. “You make sure they do that, save yourself the bitterness in the future.”

Damn. Alright. Toji lifts his eyebrows and leans in, listening. That’s all it takes.

“You’d be surprised. You get a little too light handed, and a perfect sapling can get ruined just like that.” he snaps his fingers. “It’s harder to straighten them up as they grow up.”

Toji takes a long, good sip, fighting back a chuckle. He has no concerns when it comes to who or how people choose to fuck, but the blatant homophobia is always amusing.

“Or worse, they’ll gang up on you.” Shinobu scoffs “No wife? You raising them on your own?”

“I am.”

“Good man. It’s hard, honest work. Make sure you look for a good one to settle with, not all of them are in touch with their motherly instinct.”

His assistant comes in, tells him someone has arrived.

Shinobu makes a noise with his nose or mouth that reminds Toji of an exasperated horse.

“Take the advice from me. You see–”

He leans over the table, brushes his beard.

“If, and I’m not wishing this upon you, your daughter comes of age and– after years of picking up and dropping all sorts of interests with no interest in commitment, she comes to the conclusion that she wants to waste her life playing with cameras and hanging out with gender-bending creatives ,”

The word is said with so much despise Toji feels like there should be a new phobia for it

“–you have to sit down and choose what’s more important; letting her waste her potential away, or being in her good graces. Sometimes it can’t be both, that’s just how it is.”

Perhaps Toji hasn’t given you enough credit. You could’ve ended up a lot worse than you are. You could’ve murdered him and kept him in your fridge instead of drugging him, and he’d kind of understand why.

“But when she tells you she wants to let some bland dimwit into your family and make him blood, you take matters into your own hands.” he nods firmly, like it’s Toji he’s mad at, and finally looks over his shoulder, nostrils flared.

Asaya Hiroki approaches the table. Jetlagged eyes, tail between his legs.

“Fushiguro, this is Asaya Hiroji, my daughter’s boyfriend.” he says, with a meaningful side eye. Hiroki looks like he has half a mind to correct him on either the name or relationship status but he’s too fond of keeping his head attached to his body.

You were right, Hiroki’s pretty. Toji can’t compete in that department. He looks like he puts sugar and milk on his tea and smashes the china on the floor when he’s told he can’t have more, like a psychotic puppy.

In other words, both of you make sense together.

You like to look at pretty things so your boyfriend’s cute. No harm in acknowledging that, though he remembers Tsumiki mentioning that when noses dip down like that it means there’s some kind of prosthetic.

And if you pay attention, really read between the lines of his 90’s film heartthrob face, something’s off with him, isn’t it?

But what does he care? A nose job is no crime. Hiroki has other flaws to offer. For example, he has a rather shitty way of hiding the fact that he’s doing something he’s not supposed to right now.

Perhaps, even, going behind someone’s back.

And the guy calls himself an actor.

Satisfied with the results of what he thought would be a waste of an afternoon, He excuses himself. If he leaves now, he’ll be in time to get to Tsumiki’s class before it’s done and have the other kids’ moms and nannies ogle at him. Tsumiki hates it when he does that.

“Don’t be a stranger, Fushiguro. I’d like to keep this channel between us open. I hope to see you at the anniversary party.”

“Pardon?” Toji stops, surprised.

“The company’s anniversary party, this Friday,” Shinobu says, like it’s obvious. “I’d like you to meet my son, and well, you’re already acquainted with my daughter.”

Hiroki’s round bobba eyes follow him all the way to the grand crystal doors. Toji has the distinct feeling that he was just part of Shinobu taking matters into his own hands.

He’s both disturbed and impressed. He never mentioned meeting you, and he’s pretty damn sure that this didn’t slip from your lips either.

Every year the company throws an anniversary party, and you and your brother and every high-level employee have to attend and listen to your father’s rendition of why diesel was better and how you’re all wimps for being born after the extinction of smallpox.

The one year that you didn’t attend, because you were stuck in Norway with a canceled flight, your father spent exactly 11 months reminding you of it like you had any say in the weather conditions of the North Sea.

Tonight might be his last speech as chairman, not because he’s dying or anything, but because he’s about to step down from his position after growing health concerns.

Suguru approaches you at the empty family table with a flute, sitting down next to you with a lift of his eyebrow. He’s looking as handsome as ever, dressed in black, with his hair tied back, but you much prefer the bangs framing his face.

“So, when do you think he’s going to publicly execute the medical staff that diagnosed him with Alzheimer’s?”

He chuckles, fingers tapping the table. “Probably after he declares war on Gretha Thunberg.”

You’re wary. He might have everyone convinced, but it’s not like him to step down quietly. Your instincts are telling you to expect shenanigans tonight, and they’ve never once failed you.

“Seems too good to be true, don’t you think?” you say, eyeing the crowd around you. “I don’t know how Satoru’s so cool about it.”

Suguru sighs, craning his neck. “I wouldn’t say he is.”

And of course, that’s when your brother slams his palm on the table and makes you jump in surprise. He leans over the two of you, eyeing the room like it’s the school cafeteria and he’s the king of prom.

And he kind of is. Today your father will officially name him his successor, so the sour look in his face makes you and Suguru share a look.

“Do you see Hideo Kojima on steroids hanging out with Nanamin? I guess next year we’ll have the Yakuza on the jazz band.”

You laugh, only half weirded out, not interested in knowing what he’s talking about, unlike Suguru who looks up at your brother, confused.

“ Who? ”

“ Toji Fushiguro. ” Gojo drawls, icily amused, and your neck turns so fast Suguru worries it’ll break. “And his underling.”

Remember your intuition? Red sirens start ringing in your head, and the edges of your vision start staining in with a deep burgundy color.

What on earth is he–

“Dad invited him.” Satoru says, still not sitting down and still scanning the room with deadly eyes. You feel the urge to look around and pinpoint his exact location, but you wait for him to point with his chin. “They’ve been seeing each other. Mimosas and manicures, I heard.”

You find him across the room, just over the elevated candles in the middle of your table, talking with Nanami and some man you don’t recognize.

You fight the weak but sensible urge to look away when he suddenly turns to your table with an unreadable expression and lifts his glass in your direction, like he felt the shit talking from a distance.

The room is vast, but you recognize the feeling of his eyes looking straight at you. Your brother is too occupied cursing under his breath while he lifts his glass to notice you gulping.

“You think dad’s hitting that?”

You try not to gag. “You’re sick.”

“Cause someone will owe me a loooot of money if that’s the case.” he taunts. You both placed a bet on whether your father is bisexual or not years ago. “Look at him, standing there like he’s threatening to swipe all the fertile wives in the room. Freak.”

You snort on your drink, a bit of it goes down the wrong pipe, Suguru pats your back.

“You better hold on to yours then.”

“Nah, he’s locked in. Ain’t cha , babes?”

You roll your eyes, feeling Suguru shake his head with a lovesick smirk. Your brother replies with a wink, lazily dropping his weight on the chair next to you, like you need to be in the middle of all that.

You lean back, stretching your neck. “Ok, you can back up a little. It’s embarrassing enough to be matching with you.”

Satoru stretches his arm over your now empty seat. They’ve been purposefully keeping a distance, him and Suguru, people assume it’s for appearances sake, but you know them better than that. They’re playing some game tonight, and you’d rather pluck out your lashes one by one than learn the details.

“And I distinctly remember asking you to stop feeding into those fucked up theories online about me terrorizing you as a child, but you had to take those creepy family portraits with the heads cut off. We don’t always get what we want, sis.”

And don’t you know that. Tonight was stressing enough without 6’ something with a lip scar, ever so subtly following with his eyes as you make your way around the party. Not too obvious for an outsider to notice, but just enough to make the exposed hairs at the back of your neck stand up.

You’re a little too energized. Like too many shots of espresso after an allnighter. It makes no sense to start feeling threatened by Toji Fushiguro tonight, when he’s in your territory, but you do.

But you weren’t raised in your father’s household to be so easily intimidated, so you mingle, let people stop you for quick, boring catch ups and questions about being excited about your brother and what-have-you-been-up -tos, even those whose faces or names you can’t recall. You smile, entertain and even ask people about their whereabouts, until you’re out of social battery for the rest of the month.

“Took you long enough.” you say, making a point of not looking at him.

His voice comes closer than you expected or feel comfortable with. Smooth and dark, in through your left ear.

“Patience is a virtue, haven’t you heard?”

His presence is more unnerving than you geared up for, and just like the first time, a shiver cuts through you. Something urges you to move and take a step sideways, out of the magnetic pull around him.

You finally take him in. Tailored tuxedo, slightly tousled black hair that you know for a fact is unfairly soft, exuding confidence. Never in your life had you encountered someone as infuriating and intoxicating as him.

“Are you my new stepdaddy?”

A slap to his face would’ve stunned him less. Hell, he might’ve enjoyed it. You don’t give him a chance. His pants have no business getting tighter from that fucking question.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

Toji hums, hands in his pockets, playing off the fact that you’ve been talking for ten seconds and he’s already fighting the urge to devour you where you stand.

“Depends.”

You lift an eyebrow.

“You into that kind of thing?”

You scoff, dismissive as always, but suspiciously purse your lips to one side before taking a sip of your drink.

Head held high, nose up in the air. Toji takes your profile in. The light bouncing off the high points of your face, the deliberate, doll-like curl of your lashes, the soft slope of your neck and the dips and curves of your shoulders. Your dress painted a nice image in his head of your body from afar, so he refrains from going past your collarbones.

“What? No comeback? I’m disappointed.”

“I didn’t expect to see you any time soon.”

“Like I said, patience is a virtue.”

You roll your eyes and laugh dismissively. “You don’t believe that.”

“Bold assumption.” he counters. “I wanted to see how long you’d last entertaining guests, but then your right eye started twitching and I suppose took some pity on you.”

“Aren’t you an empath.”

“Even to those who don’t deserve it.”

Your chin quivers, but you keep the smile to yourself with a quick sigh. Toji could look down at the way your chest rises and drops, but he’s not in a rush here.

“Why are you here?”

“Is that any way to speak to a guest? I’m sure Shinobu raised you better than that.”

Name dropping your father gets the exact reaction he was hoping for.

“Why are you here?” you repeat, enunciating slowly, but the words you want to say are dont fuck with me right now.

But you’re too precious for him to deny himself the pleasure. Not when your eyebrows tremble like that.

“Your father was kind enough to invite me. It would’ve been rude to turn him down.”

“You’re not here to entertain him. He’s stepping down soon and you can’t stand him.”

“Me disagreeing with his work ethics doesn’t mean that I don’t respect him.” You laugh, loud and clear, not caring for the heads turning your way. “Why else would I waste a perfectly nice friday night surrounded by a bunch of suck ups? Are you suggesting I have some ulterior motive?”

Your squint at him, like you don’t believe he has the guts to say it.

“Did you perhaps assume I’m here for… you ?”

Toji wonders if your silence has anything to do with the white haired manchild looking your way for the second time.

“We do have something to settle. You owe me something, if I remember correctly.”

“I think you’re mistaking me for someone else.”

“Nice try. An explanation, does that ring any bells?”

Your head snaps up to him, the wisps of hair hanging from the sides of your face flow with the movement. The tip of your nose and your cupid’s bow catch the light, if he couldn’t see your face this close he’d mistake that for sweat.

He’s reminded of how you looked at the deck in contrast to the sight of you right now. A sheer layer of sweat was covering your skin, your plump thighs spilling on the wood surface, he kept his hands in his phone and held on to his own sanity.

“What is there to explain? Nothing happened.”

Toji tilts his head. “Lying is a bad, bad thing,”

“We didn’t do anything, Fushiguro.” you insist, lowering your voice. Toji looks over your head, bored with your attempts at gaslighting. “If you–”

“You wanna dance?”

The nonchalant act drops, you unconsciously lean back and open your mouth like there’s not enough air in the room. Toji smirks at your hesitation, cold, challenging

“It’s in your best interest.”

“How?”

“Because the old cunt that kept kissing your hand earlier is coming our way and I’m about to leave you alone with him” he lies and you don’t dare look over your shoulder to check, not wanting to risk making eye contact with the slimmy fucker.

It’s a bad idea. Being near Toji is a bad idea, dancing with him is the equivalent of putting on a vest bomb. Your father is somewhere in the room and your brother might act aloof but not a single interaction of his interest is going unnoticed.

Putting your hand in his is a bad, bad idea. The worst. But you suspect figuring out Toji Fushiguro’s intentions will take some compromise on your part, so you don’t hesitate when you grab his hand.

With his arm around you, Toji sees flashes of a particularly vivid dream he had about you days ago. The first thing he did when he woke up from it was open his app notes and write two words, perverse angel . Now he knows it was actually deja vu; you close your eyes for a bit, the breathing image of reminiscing. This isn’t your first time in his arms.

The melody gets rather slow. You hold yourself with all the poise of a reluctant little heiress, defiant but serene as you look at him, arm resting over his.

While he’s growing quite fond of the sight of your neck exposed, he’d rather find the main pin and let your hair down. Let you get comfortable, not taut like you are in his hold.

“You look like a tall pint of guinness.”

Toji could do this all night. Just watch your expression drop, annoyance pinch at your temples.

One ankle betrays you, but he’s not about to let that happen. The arm around your waist keeps you steady, moving along with him. His grip is firm, but not overpowering.

“You’re an asshole.” You say like you just discovered it tonight.

He’s right. You know it and you hate that he described it so right. You’re dressed in a black, sleek and form fitting dress that goes down to your ankles and the top is made of an off-shoulder white band that wraps around your shoulders.

Toji laughs with that shark grin of his, his scar stretching.

“There’s nothing wrong with it.” He adds helpfully, hand coming up to straighten the white fabric around your left shoulder. The air turns colder with the absence of his arm, but it returns to the spot in no time. “Wouldn’t have been my first choice, granted, but it’s a lovely dress. Perfect for a night at the pub, watching the game with the boys.”

Your lips curl in distaste. “I think I’ll pass on the unsolicited fashion advice, thanks.”

“Come on. You can never go wrong with a red dress.” he counters, eyes dropping briefly. You wrinkle your nose, he takes offense. “ What? ”

“Not my style” you shrug.

He hums sarcastically. “Now that’s just tragic.”

“If it makes you feel better, I’ll make sure to wear one to your funeral.”

The couples closest to you turn with different looks of controlled distaste. Toji laughs heartily, head thrown back and everything.

“I’ll hold you to that. I might just return just to see it with my own eyes.”

“Not sure doors open both ways in hell, but hey, more power to you.”

“So you wanna hear my theory?”

You sigh. “Nothing happened, Toji. I mean it.”

What a terrible liar you are.

“I think you had a little alcohol in you, were fresh off a fight with your boyfriend, and just couldn’t help yourself because you have a thing for problems.”

You nod sarcastically. “And of course, you’re the problem in question.”

“Well, yes.” he blinks. “And you don’t have half the self control you believe you have. So you freaked out and put me to sleep to stop yourself from doing something you thought you might regret.”

This is how it was. You had forgotten the rush, despite replaying time and time again your past conversations. Interacting with Toji Fushiguro’s like playing five finger filet, thrilling and grueling and high risk, but it’s a whole other thing with people around you. You can’t let up, all your senses need to be on guard.

“Aren’t you too old to be throwing a fit because I gave you more than you could handle?”

Toji’s eyes dig into yours, a hint of amusement and something else.

“Here’s a piece of advice: choose your words very, very carefully. They might come back to haunt you. ”

“It never happened. And it won’t.” You repeat with a cool tone. The pulse on your wrist drums against his own.

“I have to say, you’re a better actress than he is.” he mentions. “But denial does not suit you. We’re gonna have to do something about that or things will get very awkward real soon.”

“Actually I think we should focus on your rejection issues first.”

“I’m not a problem for you to solve, sweetheart.” he chuckles darkly, eyes knowing, never leaving yours. Years of practicing the art of bullshitting in your household could not help you deny the attraction. “What you see is what you get. And you can, when you stop being a little coward.”

He makes you turn effortlessly, that’s when you see it. The words die on your lips, your stomach drops, all resolve wavers. Toji releases you, and your arms hang limp on your sides.

He licks his scar and smirks sideways at you, eyes twinkling with mischief. “You should fix your face, sweets, ‘cause I won’t behave if he wants to pick a fight.”

You’ve always liked Nanami Kento. He’s one of your father’s closest advisors, the pathological victim of Gojo’s pestering, and always impeccably polite to you, sweet even. But right now, when he’s introducing Toji Fushiguro and his friend to Suguru and Hiroki, you’d love to hit him in the head with a hammer.

At least your brother is nowhere to be seen.

"Pleasure to meet you," Suguru says.

Hiroki has a hand around your waist, he’s not looking at you, but you know what the dimpling of his cheeks mean.

“We’ve met before actually, haven’t we?” Toji turns to him, brow burying into his face like he’s not too sure. “Correct me if I’m wrong. I don’t remember too well.”

Your heart is stuck in your neck, threatening to crawl out of your mouth. Suguru gives you an odd look.

“We have.” You don’t see the look on Hiroki’s face when he replies, but his tone is controlled.

“Yeah, I thought so.”

Shiu Kong says something, and Suguru responds accordingly.

You grab a drink from a passing tray and the corner of Toji’s mouth tilts, his attention on Suguru’s conversation. You feel irrationally mad, you feel like slapping him, but then he’d probably fix his jaw and look at you like you should go rougher and–

There’s something seriously wrong with you.

You grab Hiroki’s hand and pull him with you.

He’s confused but follows you nonetheless. “Can you just wait for a–”

“We should ditch the party.” You say, but he doesn’t agree like he usually would and grabs your arm, stopping you at once, brown eyes searching yours.

“You’re not even gonna ask why I’m here?”

“My dad invited you?” you reply, confused by the offended look on his face.

He makes a strange face. “ No . Why would he? You know how I feel about this kind of thing.”

Now you’re confused. You smell his breath and notice his flushed cheeks. “But you’re here.”

“Wow. Try to contain the excitement, why don’t you.” he scoffs. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to fly across continents and interrupt whatever the hell that wa–”

He’s starting to raise his voice, drawing attention, usually composed demeanor nowhere to be seen. You catch the smell of his breath and put two and two together.

“You’ve been drinking.”

His face drops. The volatile look in his eyes is not something you can deal with tonight.

You’re forever grateful for the woman announcing your father’s speech. Hiroki’s expression clears up, but he gives you a look that says you’ll resume the conversation later, soon, tonight .

Then he puts his arm around you, pulls you to his side, and leads you closer to the podium.

Your father looks into the crowd with piercing blue eyes. You have a bad feeling. Like if you were to take a picture right now, it would later be displayed as the moment before hell broke loose.

“... And as many of you know, the time has come for me to step back and allow a new generation to lead us forward."

The crowd hangs on his every word. You scan the room for the 10th time, worried eyes looking for a head full of white hair.

Hiroki notices your unease and looks down at you, rubbing your arm. “Hey, what is it?”

“I don’t see Satoru.”

Your father continues, voice unwavering.

"It is with great confidence and optimism that I announce my successor, a person who embodies the values and vision of our company."

You finally find Satoru at the back, he’s with Suguru and Nanami. Waving his arms around him, pissed .

"Please join me in welcoming the next CEO of Gojo Corp, Noritoshi Kamo."

The room erupts into applause, but before his words can fully register, a sudden, sharp crack echoes through the hall. For a split second, confusion takes over, and then it turns to full blown panic.

You see your father go down and your legs move on their own

Gunshots.

People are running, ducking and diving for cover all around you. Tables are overturned and glass shatters.

"Get down!" someone shouts.

Someone slams into you.

Toji helps you up. Quick eyes locating an exit and going for it.

“My dad.” you protest, trying to look over your shoulder, and Toji has half a mind to fully pick you up.

“He’s fine.” he assures, hand covering your head, pulling it down.

Security sprung into action in no time at the first gunshot, formed a barrier around him and hurried the old man out of the stage. Toji had seen it with his own eyes right before he caught you running like a tweaking baby reindeer, and saw some piece of shit slam himself into you.

You keep protesting and trying to go in the opposite direction, and Toji’s positive the gunman hasn’t been taken down yet so he throws you over his shoulder and slams the exit door open, leading you down the corridor.

You’re livid, fists slamming into his back without mercy. Toji puts you down when he’s comfortable in the emptiness of the sterile hallway. Eyes still looking over your head as you give him an earful.

“Shut the fuck up for a second, will you?”

You’re just flabbergasted, opening your mouth again in full Karen fashion

Toji doesn’t care for it. “Are you hurt?”

“No.” you reply furiously, fist tight on your sides. You catch your breath, step down from your heels and start to speed walk. “I need to find my father– I need to– Satoru –”

“They’re safe.” Toji says on your side. “Gojo’s security doesn’t fuck around. I mean they did fuck up letting a guy bring a gun inside the premises, but they were quick with it.”

Your nostrils flare. Toji hears voices at the corner and pushes you behind him, he sees a couple of guys in black in the reflection, wired ears, walking like they know they might lose their jobs tonight.

“Hey, I got the heiress here. She’s looking for her old man.”

Escorted by them, you two rendezvous with your father in some conference room upstairs. The altercation can be heard from outside.

“It’s for the best. You don’t understand the full picture.”

Nanami, your father’s closest advisors, everyone is gathered here. Someone says the police have arrived. You pay them no mind, eyes stuck on your father and your brother.

Satoru starts pacing and turns to face Shinobu.

“No, I understand all of it. You’re too fucking prideful to let me fix what you did.”

Getting caught in a family brawl was not in Toji’s plans tonight, but he stays put, watching you approach them with confusion all over your face. They don’t seem to notice you.

Gojo Shinobu levels his son with warning eyes, finger pointed at him. “Watch your words, Satoru. You don’t know what you’re talking about. My decision is final.”

“Oh, I know exactly what I’m talking about.” Satoru shoots back. “You know I can do it. You just can’t stand the thought of me succeeding where you fucking failed.”

It’s clear on the look on your face that you don’t know what your brother is talking about, and that you’re in no headspace to ask either. The words hit your father square in the chest.

Things are about to get bloody.

“You think you’re ready for this? You’re nothing but a spoiled, entitled brat who thinks he deserves everything handed to him on a silver platter. Look at what you’ve made of your life, acting like everything is a fucking game. You think I’ll let someone like you lead what I spent my life building?”

“Jesus christ, dad.” you say in disbelief, giving your brother a careful look.

Satoru’s eyes flash.

“Over my dead fucking body.”

Your brother’s face contorts in rage, he lunges forward, fist aimed at your father’s face. No one, not even the army of security is as fast as you going after him, but it’s ultimately Toji who cuts in, strong hand catching Gojo’s arm, stopping him mid swing.

Blue crazy and uncanny eyes land on him. As a general rule, Toji does not get in other people’s business, particularly not love spats or family drama, but he means it when tells your brother:

“Trust me, you’ll thank me later.”

Your father collects his features and chuckles mockingly. Shaking his head, letting himself be escorted away by an assistant that is most definitely underpaid for shit like this and a wall of security men.

Gojo drops his arm, watching his father walk away, chest heaving up and down.

“Toru?”

It’s weird on you. The look of being lost and confused. Small in the middle of a family brawl. It’s not right.

“What was that?” You ask, voice nothing like Toji has heard before.

“Not now,” your brother snaps, turning around and walking in the opposite direction, Geto Suguru quickly joining his side.

Toji’s phone starts ringing. Shiu, probably wondering where the fuck he is. He walks away to answer, hoping one of the security guys eyeing him does something stupid like trying to stop him.

Shiu’s waiting for him outside, lets him know that the police caught the guy, and helpfully lets him know he saw some people they know act like fools in the midst of the chaos. Toji takes a deep breath, and yet again, against his own rules, tells him to give him the details later and to leave without him, not answering any questions about his whereabouts.

With your father leaving the crowd has dispersed. Your boyfriend, god knows where he came from, is trying to get you to reason with him in a corner of the room.

Toji stays put and watches it.

“Why?” he asks you. He has his grip on both your arms, like he’s trying to shake something out of you. You’re looking at him like he grew a second head. “We talked about it all the time, we always said–”

“What do you mean why ? Have you lost your mind? I can’t leave Satoru alone right now, Hiroki.”

“Well in case you didn’t notice he just fucking left you here.” he snaps at you.

You flinch. Recoil. Pull away from him.

“Let go, Hiroki. I’m sorry but I can’t deal with you tonight.”

“You can’t? Right. You can’t. Tell me something, do you have any idea what kind of shit I’ve had to put up with–”

You snarl at him, baring your teeth, pulling away to no avail. Bare feet stomping on the carpeted floor. Hiroki doesn’t even sway with your attempts, or flinch at the near animalistic way you look at him.

“I fucking don’t. And I don’t want to know. I didn’t ask you to be here tonight.” you reply, tone vicious, jaw locked. “You don’t get to hold it against me.”

The next thing Hiroki says flows out easily out of his mouth, like it’s known, or an acceptable thing to say to the woman you’re going to marry.

“They don’t give a shit about you. You know that.”

The piece of shit is not letting up, you gasp when he fixes his grip on you.

Toji walks over you, gets between you, way too close to his pretty face. The abrupt interruption startles Hiroki and gives you an advantage; you step back, free at last.

“I think that’s enough.”

“Well, this is just great.” Hiroki chortles, looking away like he’s collecting his thoughts. Biting his lips in contemplation. “You know, I keep seeing you everywhere lately, why is that?”

Toji shrugs. He’s not gonna punch his pretty teeth into his face even if he oh so desperately wants to. You’ve had a long night, and he’s gonna have a hard time forgetting how you looked earlier when your moron of a brother brushed you off and left you behind, standing with your heels hanging from your hand.

Doesn’t mean he’s not gonna give the boy something to pop a vein about. “Why don’t you take a guess, hm?”

Hiroki’s eyes land on you. Lids heavy. Toji confirms everything he suspected about him.

And he makes a decision. He’s gonna get rid of him.

“Are you fucking him?”

How predictable. Toji looks at you over his shoulder, and somehow you understand the silent question. You shake your head.

“You have to leave.” you sound a lot more like yourself now. Except tired. Really exhausted. Like your feet are about to give out under you. Toji is not blind to the way you’ve been putting all your weight on one foot.

Hiroki pauses, realization lands on him that you’re talking to him, and not Toji.

“Get on a plane, fly back to Spain, and stay there for as long as you have to.”

“This is fucking unbelievable.”

“I disagree. Have a safe flight.”

Hiroki stomps past and hits his shoulder against an unfazed Nanami Kento, who looks back at him like he’s a speck of dust. He asks if everything is fine, examining Toji thoroughly. You seem to be surrounded by assholes at all times.

You nod, ask about your dad. He’s currently talking to the police. Nanami insists on getting you a car, tells you to rest, but you hesitate.

“I can take her home.” Toji says, surprising himself yet again. You look at him, then at Nanami, and following his lead you surprise him when you nod.

“Are you sure?” Nanami repeats.

“Yes. Keep me posted?”

The blonde man’s eyes soften just a bit, he touches your shoulder, promises he will. He doesn’t keep his eyes off Toji until you walk out of the door.

Toji thinks that maybe he does like the guy, stick up his ass and all.

#toji fanfiction #toji x reader #toji smut #toji x you #toji fushiguro #fumetsu no anata e #toji fanfic #jjk fanfiction #jjk smut

65 notes · View notes