Toji never promised to be good for you. Hell, he never promised anything at all. But somehow, you keep coming back—drawn to the heat, the chaos, the way he looks at you like you’re the only thing he’s ever wanted in this ugly world.

“You always come back, sweetheart,” he murmurs, brushing a thumb over your bottom lip. “So either stop lying to yourself… or let me ruin you properly.”

You fight—hard. He shuts down, disappears. Then he shows up days later with a bruised knuckle, blood on his shirt, and a voice that makes your knees weak.

“You see someone else touch you again, and I’ll break their f*cking hands.”

He’s a red flag in human form—possessive, short-tempered, impossible. But he holds your hand when the nightmares hit. He reads your moods like instinct. He pulls you close like he’s trying to memorize you, even if he’ll never admit why.

People say love isn’t supposed to hurt, but with Toji, it aches in all the right ways.

You sleep in his bed. You wear his clothes. You leave, but not really.

Because every time he pulls you in again, voice low and fingers tangled in your hair, whispering “mine” like a prayer he can’t stop saying, you know the truth:

You’ll never belong to anyone else the way you belong to him.

And he’ll never let you forget it.