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nappingwithyuuji · 1 year

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sex therapy :: 17. wicked games

chapter tags/warnings: family drama. mentions of masturbation. mentions of sex. infidelity/adultery. nonconsensual acts. manipulative undertones. strong language. classism.

word count: 3.6k

notes: this chapter incorporates the official manga relationships in the zenin household (link that illustrates the family tree). without further ado, i present to you the latest pov added to the fic: toji! 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.

Toji Fushiguro could not get his mind off of you.

Was that weird to admit?

When he last saw you two weeks ago in Teyvat’s meeting room, dolled up in that pretty pink dress, he had to wrestle every urge to push you onto his dick. All the times he had to retreat to his room afterward too—all because your one outfit had set off his imagination—forcing Toji to lock and then lean against his door so that he could palm himself through his sweats to dirty thoughts about you.

Gosh, what higher being in the universe allowed you to be such a hot and sexy tease? You sure loved prancing around with basically nothing and stealing looks at his colleagues as though he wouldn’t notice.

At this point, Toji was certain that he wasn’t the only therapist calling dibs on you. That most definitely pissed him off, though, because he explicitly told you that your pussy belonged to him.

Then why hadn’t you made another appointment these past two weeks?

Were you upset, perhaps flushed with utter denial, from the revelation that your husband had been cheating on you? Besides, he recalled how you had reacted so strongly to the information, racing away from the therapists who were just being honest with you.

In hindsight, Toji might have felt a teeny tiny bit bad about crushing your rose-colored glasses without much lead-up, but he was rarely the type to beat around the bush anyway. After all, he was the one to suggest a divorce in your first therapist appointment.

Of all things, echoing laughter was what finally grounded Toji’s wandering mind.

His green eyes fluttered rapidly, realizing that he had been in his office and staring blankly at his desk for... how long has this been? He glanced briefly at his tabletop clock. When he noticed how the time had advanced by thirty minutes, Toji rested his forehead on his left palm. “Damn...”

Given how he had a fully booked schedule today, he could not afford to dawdle in his thoughts. He had not noticed that half an hour had passed so quickly. How was it possible that thinking about one person (you) made him lose all sense of time?

He could do better than this.

‘Maybe you’re the one who needs a therapist,’ Megumi had recently pointed out to him in irony, and boy, do these words from his own eighteen-year-old son sting.

In contrast to himself, though, his co-workers had lately been in higher spirits than usual. That much Toji could ascertain given the hubbub that continued to filter into his suite. He would not have minded the phenomenon much had it not been for this gut feeling, this hunch, that you were the reason behind this change.

At his age, Toji has learned to mind his own business, but he still considered joining his colleagues by the reception desk to investigate. He stopped, however, upon noticing an article at his desk.

Right, this was what had derailed Toji from his work.

‘Look at this, boss,’ Geto had said when he first presented the printed webpage to Toji. ‘No wonder Y/N’s been lonely. Naoya literally took his side bitch to Mexico.’

The accompanying photo may be in low resolution, but Toji recognized the two figures hand-in-hand, stepping into a private jet. Their faces were shielded by baseball caps and face masks, their bodies clad in boring and baggy clothes. Consequently, Toji had to scoff, drumming his fingers along his cheekbone.

Another impeccable snapshot for our collection, huh?

Quite the scandal was brewing in Japan’s high society, not to mention how the illicit relationship involved your husband, and the therapists were merely here for the show. This was what the therapists were trying to advise you about before you promptly shut yourself away from them.

The love affair—especially involving a family as influential as the Zenin’s—should theoretically be all over magazines and newspapers, but any internet search for this image would prove futile. The Zenins were good like that, relying on under-the-table tactics to ensure that this photo would go nowhere.

Only thanks to his colleagues, who had extensive contacts throughout Japan’s many ranks, was Toji able to get his hands on this printed article before the magazine editors had taken them down.

Naoya, that cunning bastard.

If he had been in Cabo prancing around with his paramour, how did he so quickly realize that his images had been circulating among Japanese media? Or, more likely, was it his authoritarian father Naobito who informed his doltish son about the impending rumors?

Either way, Toji could not believe that he was affiliated with both assholes by blood, no less: Naoya, his cousin, and Naobito, his uncle. To think how he was involved again with the relatives who he had sought to avoid, Toji assumed that fate must love toying with him.

Already, growing up in the Zenin family was hell, to put things mildly: how they would obsess over power and prestige as though those two items alone determined one’s value as a human being, how they would scrutinize one’s every action because everything had to conform to their cookie-cutter standards, and then how they would abruptly cast aside those who strayed away from their ideals.

Toji, once an established member of the household, could speak from experience. Thus, blood relation meant nothing if these were the same people who had prayed for his downfall.

He recalled his relatives’ dirty glances when he announced his engagement twenty years ago, then the even nastier looks when he took his first wife’s surname as his own: Fushiguro. ‘She’s a woman too low for our caliber,’ Toji had been told.

He remembered the apathy he later received after his wife’s untimely death, followed by belittlement when he chose to marry again—this time, to a single mother. Perhaps he should have heeded his family’s advice for the last bit, but his decisions seemed right at the moment. During a desperate time, he provided his then-gradeschool son with a much-needed maternal figure as well as a stepsister.

His personal life already made him a deviant among his relatives, so when his family discovered his therapist ventures earlier this year, Toji was not surprised to be severed from the household he once had been considered to lead. Well, Toji was more relieved than bitter, anyway. He could now live life on his terms without worrying about what his father’s uncle’s second cousin twice-removed or some crap like that thought about him and his son.

As he gazed upon the pixelated photo again, he sighed and wondered: was this how low the Zenins have stooped since they had expelled him? A centuries-old bloodline built on relationships with the public and the powerful, now resorting to bribes and threats to sweep scandals under the rug? While watching the Zenin clan burn from afar was entertaining, the situation was also pathetic and sad.

To also think that his moronic cousin Naoya was now not only the household heir but also the current CEO of the family conglomerate. Not to mention that the family’s current patriarch Naobito seemingly turned a blind eye to Naoya’s flings. The older Zenin might have been a brilliant businessman back in the early ‘90s, but his elderly brain had deteriorated too far to see how, at this rate, his son would eventually drive the company and the prideful family to the ground.

Had you realized what you married into?

Probably not, but you didn’t deserve this.

Or, to put things the other way around, the Zenin family didn’t deserve you.

“Yo!”

Toji shot up from his seat just as his door crashed against the wall.

He turned to the sound’s source in surprise. Leaning against the entryway stood a personage with his white lab coat draped over his unsurprisingly shirtless chest. The incomer crossed his thick arms over his half-exposed tattoos, but one such arm frees itself to greet Toji with a mocking wave.

“Sukuna,” the older therapist grumbled, “I’ve told you to knock first.”

“Why?” the pink-haired man challenged, not caring how this must have been the hundredth time he heard the order. For him, this was in one ear and out the other. Rather than mind the complaint, he inspected his newly filed nails. “Worried I would walk into you fingering Mrs. Zenin again?”

“Only because that’ll make you jealous,” Toji retorted with equal spite, to which his colleague chose not to respond anymore.

Besides, as a savvy businessman, Sukuna knew how to pick his battles. He might come off as crude, but only because he understood that, with his financial acumen and incredible connections, he was an indispensable asset.

After some silence, Sukuna’s chest rose and fell with a long sigh. “Well, check your schedule, Fushiguro. You have an appointment coming up now.” Not only was he the most well-organized therapist but also the current receptionist on duty. He then huffed again. “Tsumiki’s mom has been waiting for you. I don’t know how you deal with such an impatient bitch. What the hell am I supposed to do when—"

And a hand shoved his face away before he could finish.

Sukuna, flinching from the unexpected approach, recoiled at a beaming woman that peered in from the door frame. Anyone would immediately notice that the overly excited client was beautiful. The plush of her full lips, the gentle arches to her face, the roundness in her doe-like eyes—her looks were akin to an angel constantly in awe. Most people could hardly believe that, with her youthful looks, she actually had a university-aged daughter (with whom Toji could see a strong resemblance, too).

Meanwhile, her large brown eyes scanned the office—the posters, the couch, the nearby mirror—until her gaze landed on Toji and lit up.

“Honey, I’ve missed you!”

Before someone could stop her, the woman welcomed herself into the premises, her lithe limbs swaying with her graceful figure. She sported a simple navy dress that contrasted with her true self because, as far as Toji knew, this woman was anything but simple.

In fact, as she sashayed into the room uninvited, Toji remembered the paparazzi pictures still sprawled on his desk. He caught Sukuna’s maroon gaze and scowled.

This is why I tell you to knock.

Hurriedly, Toji then pushed the photos under some files just as his client seated herself in the sofa seat closest to him. She then turned to her escort in the hall. “Thank you, Sukuna. You’re such a wonderful man.”

She might be oblivious to Sukuna’s irritation, but Toji did not miss the way his colleague hid a gag and rolled his eyes. “M'kay, whatever,” the pink-haired therapist muttered as he slinked back into the corridor.

Then, when Sukuna shut the door with him, she pressed her rosy lips together. “Aw, Strawberry Boy doesn’t want to join us. Guess he likes to play hard to get.”

“Mari,” Toji started, placing his right ankle over the other knee. He rested his back against his chair and held his hands behind his neck. “I do not think neither Sukuna nor any other therapist here is interested in you. Therefore, if you are seeking a summertime fling, I’d suggest you pursue someone else.”

Shot down, an exasperated Mari tossed her dark locks to one side, a die-hard habit of hers. “Like who?”

Like Naoya.

It was hilarious for Toji to think about how he was entangled with his cousin’s mistress, the very same lover in that paparazzi photo with the young executive. In fact, Toji had this theory that Naoya sent Mari here as a Trojan horse, a seemingly harmless client whose actual intention was to gather intel for the Zenin CEO from afar, a pretty façade to lure others into ruins. He didn’t have much evidence to back up the suspicion (yet), but he knew Naoya for long enough to be familiar with the silly games he’d play. Did Naoya and Mari really think that Toji would be so naïve?

“Well, in Tokyo, there are plenty of ways to meet people your age,” he finally suggested and had to suppress a slight smile before adding, “Unless...you’re into younger guys?”

Mari narrowed her eyes but for a millisecond. Had Toji not been at the top of his field, he would not have noticed. Nothing, however, got past him.

“But,” she responded, “I still like you most because you give me your time, Toji.”

Interesting. Because that would mean Naoya had been too busy for his poor sweetheart, hm?

No wonder Mari had been so frustrated. Life must be tough when one was merely the mistress of the Zenin Corporation’s CEO. Not only was Naoya Zenin a mediocre performer in bed, but the homewrecker role also came with no fancy balls, no formal recognition, and—if the affair was well-hidden—not enough public attention either.

Pity.

Toji leaned forward in one fluid motion, resting his elbows on his desk. “Do not misunderstand my intentions, though,” he clarified while lacing his fingers. “I spend time with you because, as your therapist, I am sadly obligated to do so.”

The woman frowned.

“Now, that’s not nice,” she pointed out, allowing her staccato to afflict him with guilt. "That’s not how to talk to your wife, my dear husband.”

And Toji snapped.

“Ex-husband,” he corrected forcefully. His startled client jerked backward in her seat, but that didn’t matter because he had to sternly remind her, “You were the one who filed for divorce, remember?”

Toji liked to think that he was a patient man. Well, he had to be. As he grew up, the pressure that came with the Zenin spotlight taught him to exert self-discipline and emotional regulation, skills that became even more pertinent in his current role.

As a licensed practitioner now, Toji was obligated to treat all clients equally regardless of background. But under no circumstance could he remove all biases when this was the very woman who split up with him, leaving his son Megumi and his stepdaughter Tsumiki under his care. Therefore, she had quite the audacity to keep visiting him at his office and still call him her husband, especially since she was Naoya’s mistress!

How sinister life could be. For years, no one—not even Toji himself—would have seen this coming: how his second wife would leave him, citing ‘irreconcilable differences’ on the divorce papers, only to become his first cousin’s secret girlfriend.

His sudden confrontation, however, must have caught Mari off-guard, for she began twirling at her strands again. “Just because we aren’t married anymore does not mean that I don’t think about you. It’s been so long since we’ve—"

“Three days,” Toji interjected. He had to hold his breath before his annoyance controlled him completely. “The last time you saw me was three days ago. That isn’t much long ago at all.”

The silence that ensued was admittedly awkward until Mari suddenly stood up.

For a moment, Toji had to hide his relief thinking that the appointment would end earlier than anticipated, but he should have known that Mari wouldn’t leave that easily. Instead, she approached him in slow steps, encircling the seated therapist like a vulture.

When she drew near, her hands skimmed up from his brawny arms to his equally well-built shoulder blades, gliding over his lab coat before her warm palms began to knead at his tired muscles.

“I...think about you more than I’d like to admit,” she whispered, an incantation that could set any lustful man’s heart ablaze. Her fingers continued to massage him in slow and circular motions, the gentle pressure over tight knots melting into a calm and comforting rhythm. “I care about you so...don’t be mean to me, alright? The words you sometimes say, they hurt me a lot.”

Her delicate hands crawled up to his chin next, her left thumb tugging at the plush pillow of his lower lip. The most dangerous thing about Mari wasn't how she embodied a young lady’s exuberance with a mature woman’s elegance. Rather, it was her ability to place spells like these. Back when he had less self-respect, Toji might have forgiven her and caved in, her simple but flirtatious touches like trances that could crumble his resolve.

But you still fuck your ex-wife?

Of all moments, your words from weeks ago decided to haunt him now, your revolted expression a clear image in his memory. His heavy-lidded eyes batted quickly as he came to a realization: Why was he doing this?

In the revelation, Toji stopped Mari’s wandering hands from traveling toward his black slacks.

“Mari,” he said very firmly. As he pulled her away from him, his green eyes held her shimmering brown ones. “No.”

“What?” Given the woman’s visible surprise, Toji could also imagine the smoke that fumed from her nose. After all, this was the same man who once would go weak on his knees for her. Mari stepped back, folding her arms defensively. “Why not?”

“You say that my words hurt you, but I would argue that you’ve hurt me far more,” the therapist explained. As he regained composure, he twirled his chair so that he could face his client squarely. “Have you heard? Your own daughter Tsumiki isn’t even returning to Tokyo for her university’s summer break because she is too ashamed to see you.”

“Good!” she shot, surprising the man with her soured temper. “Would not have cared to hear from her either! Tsumiki had always sided with you and your urchin-headed son. But you know what? You’ve changed, Toji. You, and all the other therapists here, too. I don’t know what has been up with you four, but this clinic was far better back when Naoya worked here.”

Toji had a talent for hiding the whirr behind his thoughts, but he could not conceal his surprise this time. Although he wanted to, he never bothered to mention Naoya in his appointments with Mari before. However, it turned out he didn’t have to be the first one to bring up his cousin since Mari did so herself. Had she not reminded him, Toji would’ve forgotten that Naoya was once a sex therapist too, the family pair once working several doors away from each other.

Since the opportunity already presented itself, Toji took the chance to inveigle his ex-wife. He stood up from his office chair and closed the little gap between him and his glaring client.

“Let me tell you something,” Toji started, his voice low but steady. “You genuinely think Naoya is all that great of a person? That man has received countless complaints from his former clients about manipulation and derogatory remarks. He’s disrespectful. He’s deceptive. He's a complete con man. Therefore, I would actually argue that our office is much, much better without that elitist and misogynistic asshole.”

Come on, woman. Take the bait. I’m waiting. Three, two...

“Naoya is not that kind of person,” Mari erupted, likely faster and with more fury than she intended.

Well, that was easy. Toji appeared unruffled from the outside, yet he grinned inwardly.

While he paid no mind to how the woman shook her hands from anger and flung a weak fist into his strong chest, he did—however—find more amusement when she added, “Spreading false rumors about your own relative doesn’t make you the bigger person.”

Unfortunately for her, she tended to act and speak before she thought, not realizing that rushing to Naoya Zenin’s side made her suspicious.

“What? Do my claims about ‘my own relative’ upset you that much?” Toji challenged, quoting her words. He rolled his shoulders back after pushing the woman’s hands from his pectorals. “He’s my baby cousin, so naturally, I have seen his good and bad sides. Just throwing that out there. Unless,” his voice then dropped into a deep bass, “for some reason, you know something I don’t...?”

The inflection in his tone was purposely inquisitive, and he raised an innocent brow with his questions. He could see the emotions that threatened to spill past her walls, from how she furrowed her brows in contemplation to how she pursed her lips in wrath.

But Mari bit her tongue at the very last moment. “No,” she quipped and folded her arms defiantly. “Naoya is not my business.”

Sounded rehearsed, but oh well. The paparazzi photos from their recent Mexico getaway might prove otherwise, though.

“If you say so,” Toji shrugged.

He was satisfied enough with Mari’s reactions to his cousin’s name, and he liked thinking about how two heartless people had found passion in each other. Just as Toji retreated to his seat, a knock rapped at the door and opened to Geto at the entrance.

“Time is up, boss.”

Even as the appointment ended and was followed by other clients that day, Toji’s mind buzzed into the evening.

Call him obsessed, but—for himself, for his son, for his stepdaughter, for his colleagues, and for you—he sought revenge. As Toji mulled over his strategy in his home library that night, he could feel himself about to detonate like a time bomb when the apartment buzzer rang unexpectedly.

“Megumi!” Toji’s low timbers boomed, hoping that his son would hear him from his room upstairs. He chased toward the entryway in hurried steps, calling the teenager’s name again because only the boy’s high school friends would be visiting at this hour. Toji swung the door open. “Megumi! Yuuji and Nobara are downst—”

His words vanished when, in the place of two bubbly teenagers, there stood you.

You raised your gaze from the ground, the overhead lighting leaving a warm glow on your features as you met Toji with reddened and lachrymose eyes.

“Can...we talk?”

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end notes: 1) For me, this was another challenging chapter to write, as I balanced between introducing the many layers behind our main therapist and inundating you—my lovely readers—with too much information without adequate context. 2) Originally, I had named Mari something else. I changed it because her name eventually reminded me of a different anime character and I didn’t want the association. Haha.

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