#gears turning turning turning in my mind about this

[ruesol]

underground boxer!sukuna realizes that he is a lot more important to you than he thinks (angst & fluff)

Your knees nearly buckle when you open the door.

He stands with his head hung low, hair drenched with rainwater as his t-shirt starts to resemble a second skin.

The bruises on his face have bloomed into gashes, but that doesn’t stop him from throwing you a small smirk. However, no matter how hard he tries, you’re always able to look past his resilient attitude.

“You gonna let me in?” he croaks out, voice a little muffled because of the heavy rain. Your legs move before your mind commands it, Sukuna’s battered state awakening your protective instinct.

He barely has a minute to take his shoes off when you drag him to your kitchen counter, sitting him down on a barstool before you collect all your first aid supplies from the bathroom.

Sukuna lets out a sarcastic laugh when he sees you rummage out an ice pack from your freezer. Your frustrated huff amuses him as he shakes his head, staring out at the thunderstorm.

“What? No bag of frozen peas this time?”

You don’t reply to his sarcastic gripe. The heat of his gaze follows you around the kitchen as you shuffle around to look for a pair of scissors. “Where is it?” you mumble under your breath. Your movement is frantic, as if the man in your kitchen was at the brink of death (which he very well may be considering the line of work he willfully chose despite your protest).

Your irate state is only able to simmer down when you feel warm, calloused palms on your shoulders. Sukuna turns you around, hoping to see your sullen face, but instead he’s met with indifference.

“I’m sorry,” is all he speaks out to break the deafening silence.

“I know I’m bad at listening to you—“

“You can’t be bad at something you never did.”

You push his hands off you and pull him to the barstool again. And he lets you, placing his hands above his head when you guide him to do so like he’s your own doll to play with.

He says nothing when you peel his shirt off him, chucking it away in the dustbin because it was too dirty to be washed. Too much blood staining the beige fabric.

His skin is like a cluster of galaxies—blue, yellow, purple, and an occasional green. You look up at him, and it pains you to see his pupils dilate when your eyes meet his. Even though his body and mind ache, you fill every crevice of his brain.

“He was bigger than me, but I won. I came over to share the good news.”

His explanation gave no consolation or ease, so you continued to ignore him and began applying ointment on his roughed up knuckles (likely caused by the lack of protective gear).

“At least, kiss my wounds if you’re not gonna congratulate me,” his little joke sounded more like a complaint this time. Still, you didn’t budge, already wrapping a bandage around hand. You quickly move to his jaw and begin tending to the cut there. The sight of it puzzles you, but you know not to rely on your expectations.

Gladiator’s consanguine. His wounds show that he fought like he had a thirst for blood, never giving up. You’d only ever seen him in that state once, and it was more than enough to never stomach the sight again.

Your hands are trembling by the time you tend to do the bruise on his cheekbone, and Sukuna cannot help but grab your wrist to stop you.

“I’m sorry,” he says earnestly, eyebrows furrowed and eyes boring into yours. He cautiously lifts his hand against your cheek, and you lean against his palm.

You can’t forgive him. You don’t want to.

So you press your lips on his, trying to silence the cries of sorrow in your head.

He kisses you like your presence grounds him to the earth, pulling you closer by the back of your head when you try to pull away. As his hands gently hold your waist, your mind can’t help but revel about how they’re the same ones that brutally destroy behemoths in the ring.

It’s the most vulnerable he’s been with you since the beginning of your relationship so you savor it. “If you were truly sorry,” you say between kisses. “…you’d stop hurting yourself.”

When you pull away, Sukuna stamps his hand on your waist to keep your chest connected to his.

“There has to be another way for you to go on,” you continue. But just like your behavior before, Sukuna ignores your concerns and chooses to look away, tucking your face in his neck as his hand webs itself in your hair.

“Don’t ignore me.” Your voice trembles, and Sukuna’s grip on you grows tighter. “Don’t dismiss me like I don’t matter.”

You continue crying into his neck and Sukuna begins to think that visiting you was a mistake.

Sukuna is not someone who can affirm what his partner needs. He can’t bring himself to say the sentence ‘I love you’ mainly because he knows that there will be days where you’ll question him. He had more pride and selfishness than the average man.

When you finally stop crying, he holds your face in his hands and leans down so your nose is touching his crooked one that’s been reset too many times.

“You don’t get it,” he starts. You pull away almost immediately and he has to hold on to your waist even tighter than before to keep you in front of him. When he looks at your face, his chest feels hollow—blotchy, red-eyed and swollen, but so full of love.

He looks away, choosing to stare at the trashcan that had his soiled shirt. “This…is all I know,” he reasons.

But you shake your head. He wipes a tear from the corner of your eye, the rough pad of his finger feeling like a scratch, but you let him touch you anyway. You let him trace the outline of your features with as much delicacy he can muster up.

When his thumb lands on your bottom lip, he swipes it and pulls it down, leaving a peck on the soft flesh.

“You think you’re just bruising your body, but you’re hurting me too. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life sitting around, wondering if you’ll ever come home in one piece,” you confess, wrapping your arms around his waist and leaning against his chest once more.

His heart is beating quickly, hammering against your ears like it’s begging to tear out of his tattooed skin.

Sukuna rests his chin above your head as his arms lazily wrap around you.

For the first time in his life, he realizes that there is someone out there who sees him for the man he is and not the strength he packs on his body.

You’ve asked him to stop many times, begged and cried even, but he thought you’d get over it eventually. It was only until he’d witness your persistent nature that he realized that you loved him more than life itself.

He used to think that love was heavy, a baggage to carry and dump if it got too overbearing.

But your existence makes him feel weightless. He didn’t need to ‘survive’ around you.

A home is a beacon of sanctuary. It stands still among chaos and that’s what you’ve been to him. You were home—peace, comfort, and safety all wrapped up in one person.

He couldn’t imagine losing his home in the storm of his turbulent mind. That fact scared him more than any burly opponent ever had.

So he kissed the top of your head as a silent promise. That night was his final fight, not only with another boxer but also with his indecisive anguish.

[rotapathetic]

HIMBO RAFE running to you after getting hurt ⣄⣀

himbo introduction

the skatepark is where rafe resided if he wasn’t by your side. but it’s also where you hung out with rafe’s friends’ girlfriends who joined to support their boyfriends. you were chatting with sarah who tagged along, rafe at the bowl, gearing up to go around again.

he tapped topper on the shoulder, nodding his head at the bowl. “bet i can flip off of it,” he turned to topper who raised his brows, slowly turning his head to look towards you.

rafe frowned, “i can do it. she won’t mind, because i won’t get hurt. and she’s not paying attention, so if i do get hurt, you didn’t see a thing,” he warned topper who chuckled at rafe, waving a hand at him. “yeah, whatever. just do it if you’re gonna talk about it.”

rafe rolled his shoulders back, blowing out a breath. he could do this without getting hurt. he could prove to you he wasn’t accident prone like how you possibly think he is. yeah, he always runs to his girlfriend when he gets even a scrape, but you take such good care of him and he only wants your attention whenever he hurts himself, so why wouldn’t he run to you?

but he wouldn’t have to this time. he placed his board at the ledge, then pushed off, doing a usual lap with a couple of tricks thrown in, then went for the backflip to leave the bowl. it was a couple of seconds of air time and rafe thinking he for sure nailed it. but when he felt his skin hit the ground instead of the board, he realized he didn’t.

the board rolled behind him, rafe on the ground, legs burning with a throb in his temple. he sat up, quickly assessing the damage on his legs. well, that’s an interesting color that isn’t rafe’s skin tone. he blinked up at topper who ran over, then blinked again when something dripped into his eye. so, that’s what the head throb is from.

topper started to ask rafe if he was alright, but rafe swiftly stood, waving him off. “’m fine. this is totally fine, don’t worry,” he limped towards you. “i actually feel alright, i’ll just head over to my girlfriend,” his voice cracked at the end. “no reason. just want her right now, thanks.”

he picked up his pace, rushing towards you now. you gasped once you noticed him, rafe already rushing into your arms. his lip slightly trembled, “i didn’t land my trick.”

you nodded, helping him walk, “that’s okay. let’s go get you patched up,” you headed to the car.

rafe rubbed at his nose, voice wobbly, “’m sorry. thought i could do it and you wouldn’t be mad.”

you turned to him, “i’m not mad at you, rafe. you tried to do something you thought was fun. there’s nothing wrong with that. i never mind cleaning you up when something goes wrong, okay? i’ll never be mad at you.” you looked up to his usual blonde hair that’s now sporting a pink tinge.

rafe grinned at you, “you’re so sweet. . you too,” he pointed to your side. you looked over to see no one there. rafe’s eyes widened. “i have two girlfriends. sweet, the more of you, the better,” he nodded his head.

you started walking a little faster, “okay, let’s hurry.”

[lucybookss]

Late Night Thoughts

"There were people I said 'I love you' to before I met you," Jayce says one night as they're laying in bed. He's on his stomach, holding his pillow and looking at a place that could be Viktor's shoulder or just the pillow he's using as a backrest while he reads.

Viktor looks at him and slowly closes his book. Jayce does this sometimes. He'll lay beside him and, after a long moment of thought that Viktor can never chase, he'll say something that would be considered odd if it were anyone but him.

"What are you saying, Jayce?"

Jayce's brow furrows, the gears of his mind forming the last traces of his thoughts. Viktor gives him time. When Jayce is like this he knows that forcing the issue won't solve anything, and, if anything, make the final product come out jumbled and confused.

Viktor, for the record, does not take offense to the statement. Jayce has successfully (and sometimes, annoyingly) showed his love to Viktor in so many ways that a man such as himself, who goes through their life focused on facts, could not dismiss his acts of affection.

He knows Jayce loves him, just as he knows he loves Jayce. That too is a fact he could not ignore.

"I told them I love them," Jayce repeats, finding his mental footing, "but I think I lied to them."

Viktor puts his book on the side table so he can slink down to Jayce's eye level.

"Do you feel guilty about that?"

Jayce pouts. "No. Yes? Maybe." A pause, then, "No," he decides. "That's... That's not what I'm trying to say."

Viktor turns into his side, fully facing Jayce.

"Then what are you trying to say?"

"I lied to them because I didn't know any better," he confesses. "I lied to them because I hadn't met you before, and I didn't know what love was until I met you." He meets Viktor's eyes. It's amber on gold. "I love you, Viktor. And I've never loved anyone else."

Viktor smiles, because of course he does. He may have been unlucky with most things in life, but he doesn't mind so much since all the good luck he does have went into finding Jayce.

"I love you too, Jayce, and only you," Viktor says. Then he reaches forward and kisses Jayce on the forehead. "Now sleep, my love. Give your brain a break."

Jayce smiles, happily, sleepy, lovingly. His hand finds Viktor's waist and he pulls him close. "Goodnight, Viktor."

[amongemeraldclouds]

blowing off steam

Bar meet cute with Mattheo Riddle.

Mattheo Riddle x f!Reader

A/n: Celebrating @acourtofchaos festival of aus! Here's my official entry for week one: modern au.

Content: slightly suggestive but no smut.

✿ Masterlist | 799 words

Mattheo Riddle always minded his own damn business. So why did his gaze keep returning to you? To call you gorgeous would have been a waste of syllables. No, there was something enchanting about you that went far beyond what any word could describe.

Not that he was ever good with words anyway. He'd be much better at showing you. Hands pinned on your sides, your back pressed against a wall, while his kisses told you everything he thought about you. And - no, he shook his head. He had no business having his blood rush to his jeans in public.

He cleared his throat and picked up his rum and coke, the cool condensation running down his fingers, as he turned his eyes away from you. It was a test of wills he was already sure he'd fail. He was not one for acing tests. He had dropped out of university for fuck's sake, he scoffed before he brought the drink to his lips, letting the bittersweet taste wash away his spicy desires. He was supposed to be blowing off steam here at the bar, it was not a night for sharing his bed.

But Mattheo Riddle was nothing more than an opportunist. Giving up false pretenses, he looked at you again, the gears in his head spinning. And what do you know? Someone else had sidled up beside you, offering a drink, which you outright refused with a shake of your head, a look of discomfort overcoming your features.

He couldn't help but smirk when the other bloke couldn't take the hint, his stubborn arse still sat firmly on the seat beside you. Now there was the perfect opportunity to blow off steam. He downed his drink with one final gulp and strode over to you, fist clenching in anticipation as he prepared to be your knight in shining armour.

Yet he was only halfway through when he saw your fist fly, punching the guy on the nose. Curious patrons looked toward the scene. For a moment, conversation hushed while upbeat music continued thumping through the speaker. His head flew back with the impact and he covered his nose on instinct, wincing when he touched it, his hand soaking wet with blood. With a final look of pain and embarrassment, he stormed off and left the bar. A sadistic grin lit up Mattheo's features.

Everyone had gone back to their drinks and partying by the time he reached you.

"Want to be the next one?" You asked him playfully, flexing your fist in warning.

He laughed in surprise, you were a lot more delightful than he thought. "I can take a rejection," he replied, clutching his chest dramatically as if he had been shot. "I'm a lot cuter than that guy though," he said, pointing in the direction he had exited from.

"Can't be rejected if you don't ask," you shrugged your shoulders and picked up your drink, a rum and coke, just like his, nd sipped it.

"Okay, what's 278 x 45?"

"Smart ass," you exclaimed, shaking your head, intrigued by this stranger.

He motions to the waiter, "another rum and coke," he orders and waits.

"Not going to buy me a drink, aren't you?" You asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Nope," he smiled mischieviously. "Just drinking here, it's a pretty comfy seat," he said patting down the hard wooden chair. "Besides, I think we've established. I'm not going to end up like that guy."

"So it won't matter to you if I sat over there instead?" You motioned to the other end of the bar where a few seats were vacant.

"You know, I heard the chair over there is quite comfortable too. I might just try it for myself," he replied.

Just then, the bartender handed him his order and you took this opportunity to study him. He has curly hair that fell in waves near his eyes, just messy enough to be sexy without being unkempt. His sharp jaw gave him a serious look while his eyes looked bright and alert.

He wore a black leather jacket over a white shirt and jeans, that looked casual yet stylish, and he sat with the relaxed confidence of a man who belonged everywhere he went.

You cleared your throat, trying to focus back on the conversation. "And how would you know that chair was also comfortable?" You looked back at the corner you had pointed to earlier.

"Because it would be the chair right beside you," he stated.

You shook your head, smiling. "I'm Y/n."

"Mattheo Riddle," he said, matching your smile.

With the way things were going, he sure hoped you remembered it, for it would be the exact name you'd be screaming later tonight. After all, there are many ways to blow off steam.

[puckinghockeygirl]

They Know

All Too Well Series, Chapter Three

Content Warning: foul language, angst, crying,

Song Inspo: Apocalypse by Cigarettes After Sex; exile by Taylor Swift, ft. Bon Iver

Word Count: 3.8k

Author's Note: Okay, so this turned out way longer than I meant...I may have gotten carried away. I hope you all enjoy, though! Also, if you guys have anything you want to see from Nico and Maia, like blurbs, imagines, asks, etc, feel free to send them in my asks! I'm always looking for more funs stuff to write. Feel free to request for other players too, I love getting to practice writing for people I haven't written for yet.

Maia was late. 

She was so, sooo late. 

She probably looked insane: coffee in one hand, gear bag in another, phone pressed between her shoulder and her ear. 

“Lacey I promise I’m on my way. I’m so sorry. I slept through my alarm but I swear I’m coming.”

Maia’s best friend groaned on the other end of the line. “Maia!”

“I know! I know, I’m sorry, I’m coming. I have your gear bag, I’m right around the corner, I’ll be–oof!”

It was like hitting a brick wall. Maia slammed to a stop, flailing, coffee cup crushed against her chest. She stumbled back and hit the ground hard. 

“Maia?” Lacey’s voice on the other line was frantic, and Maia could imagine her friend pacing back and forth, grass crunching under her feet, soccer ball under her arm. “Maia? Are you okay?”

“Ugh. Yeah, yeah, I’ll be there in a minute Lacey. I’ll call you right back.” Maia groaned, her shirt soaked with iced coffee as she looked up. 

The boy she’d run into looked about her age–18, probably. He, too, was holding a coffee, and Maia was grateful as she realized that the impeccable suit he was wearing was still dry. 

Who wore a suit at nine in the morning? On a Saturday, no less?

Her cheeks flamed as the boy stared curiously and offered a hand to her, which she graciously took. His hands were rough and calloused, at odds with his whole appearance. 

“I’m so sorry,” she said bashfully. Her eyes welled up as she watched the boy struggle for words. She was going to get screamed at, wasn’t she? His suit screamed money, and she knew that she–in a ratty band shirt she’d gotten from her mother, ripped jeans, and coffee undoubtedly soaking into her bra–did not. 

“Your shirt.”

The boy’s voice was melodic. Which, really, just wasn’t fair. He didn’t get to be attractive, have a suit, and sound nice. There was an accent to his words though, one Maia recognized immediately. 

She felt herself perk up. “Bist du Schweizer?” You’re Swiss?

The boy looked shocked. “Sprichst du Schwiizerdütsch? Wie bitte?” You speak Swiss? How?

“Mini Muetter isch Schwiizerin! ” My mother’s Swiss! 

She watched the boy grin like she’d just made his day as he started speaking rapid-fire Swiss-German at her. 

“I haven’t met anyone in the US who speaks Swiss-German,” he told her. “Your shirt is Swiss too. My mother used to love that band.”

“Mine too! It’s hers, actually. She gave it to me!”

Maia watched the boy from as he took in her shirt again. “It’s going to be stained.”

“Oh!” She crossed her arms over her chest, the coffee and fabric sticking to her uncomfortably. “That’s okay. I’m sorry for running into you. I was in a rush, but that’s not an excuse.”

The boy bit his lip, glancing at her shirt then back to her. “I will pay for it.”

Maia paused, her hand halfway to Lacey’s gear bag. “You–what?”

“I will pay for it,” he repeated. “The cleaning. It is a good shirt.”

“Oh, no, that’s not necessary, really–”

“Can I give you my information? For if you change your mind?”

Was he…no. Couldn’t be. 

Right?

Was this boy trying to…flirt?

Maia blushed deeply, so deeply her ears burned.

I mean, it couldn't hurt…right?

Maia unlocked her phone and held it out to the boy.

 The boy merely grinned at her, so big Maia thought she might be able to see all of his teeth. He took the phone from her and began typing hurriedly, putting in his number. It was all completely normal until he lifted the phone up and took a picture of himself, still smiling widely, for his contact picture. 

Maia laughed in disbelief. The boy handed her phone back to her. 

“A picture,” he said, still in his native tongue. “In case you forget.”

Oh, she wouldn’t be forgetting this. 

Maia gave him a grin that rivalled his own and glanced down at the contact. 

Nico Hischier. 

And then, where someone would put the company the person worked with, he had simply typed COFFEE. 

Maia laughed and tucked her phone into her back pocket. “It was nice to meet you, Nico Hischier.” She shook her head at him, still in disbelief at the whole interaction. “I’m Maia. Maia Kessler.”

Nico was still smiling, but it was smaller now, a smirk that made Maia red again. “Goodbye, Maia.”

Maia laughed, saluted him, and sprinted on, Lacey’s gear bag thumping against her back. It didn’t feel so heavy now, she noticed. 

It should be noted: had Maia known what was coming, had she known what would become of her and this boy, if given the choice to do this moment over…

She wouldn’t change anything.

***

Two days after Jack saw Nico cry in the parking garage, Nico missed morning skate. 

This itself was a red flag. Nico never missed the morning skate, especially not the day of a game. He was the captain–he didn’t miss, even when he was sick. Jack remembered one time when he’d seen Nico puke into a trashcan in the locker room, wipe his mouth, and head out onto the ice. 

Needless to say, Jack had avoided Nico as much as possible at that practice. 

Still, this didn’t make sense. When Jack asked Keefe, he’d simply said something about not feeling well, but that he was expected to play that night against Ottawa. Jack was trying to sort it all out during practice, playing like he normally did during their little scrimmage when he was pinned against the boards, the puck between his skate and the wall, and Timo’s stick digging into his back as the two of them jammed at the puck, somehow managing to miss every time. 

Wait. How was Timo–

“What do you know?”

Timo’s voice was so quiet, Jack was surprised he could hear it over the sounds of the rink. Jack jolted, momentarily stunned, before Timo lightly shoved him back into motion. Jack shook his head, the puck still trapped against the boards. “I–what? What do I know about what?”

“Nico’s not here,” Timo told him flatly. 

“Yeah, I see that. What does that have to do with me?”

Timo put his full weight onto Jack, and Jack let out an oomph! squished so tightly it was hard to move. 

One of the coaches blew the whistle as the puck refused to come loose, ending the play, and both players relaxed, skating over to the bench for a drink. Timo’s eyes followed Jack the whole way, just a step behind him. 

When it was just the two of them over by the bench, he asked again. 

“What do you know?”

“I don’t know anything, what are you talking about–”

“You left at the same time as Nico on Monday, right?”

“...Yes?” Jack dragged the word out, still confused. “And?”

“Did he seem off?” Timo pushed. “Weird?”

“...No.”

Timo straightened, eyes narrowing. “You hesitated.”

“No I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did. What aren’t you saying?”

“Listen, man, I don’t really think it’s any of our business what’s going on with Nico, okay? He’s a big boy. He can handle himself.”

Clearly, Jack shouldn’t have said that. Timo leaned closer to Jack, but before he could get any words out, another whistle blew. Jack had never skated away so fast in his life. 

The hell was that?

***

Luke Hughes knew he was an easy target. 

Not physically, of course. He was six-two, almost two hundred pounds. No matter how skinny, his size was normally enough to scare people away. His face, however? Well, that screamed an easy target. 

This had never been more clear to him than when he was cornered by Timo in the parking garage. He’d just thrown his bag into his trunk, slamming the gate down, when Timo just appeared. 

“Holy–have you been there the whole time?!”

Timo’s neutral expression didn’t change as he merely stared at Luke and deadpanned, “Not important.”

“Okay? Dude, what are you doing?”

“Did you ride home from practice with Jack on Monday?”

Uh-oh. 

“Yes.” Luke straightened, unsure where to put his hands now that he had nothing to hold, and settled for crossing his arms over his chest. “Why?”

“You know why.”

“No I don’t.”

“Yes you do.”

“No I don’t.”

“Yes, you do–”

“Dude, this is ridiculous.” Luke ran his hands over his face. “What Nico did or didn’t do is his business.”

“So he did something? Something off?”

Okay, Luke sucked at this–whatever this was. 

“Okay, look.” Timo stared Luke down. “I’m worried about Cap, okay? I’ve known him for a long time, and he’s going through something right now, and now he’s not at practice. And you and I both know that he never misses practice. So if he’s missing, something’s wrong. I called him, like, five times earlier and it went straight to voicemail every time. It didn’t even ring. Something is wrong. So, Luke, I am asking you, as your teammate, as your friend, as Nico’s friend, to tell me what happened on Monday.”

Luke stared into Timo’s eyes. 

Timo stared right back. 

Luke went to move. 

Timo moved with him. 

They continued this stalemate for another thirty seconds before Luke let out an exasperated sigh, running a hand through his hair and stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets. “Jack’s gonna kill me.”

“I’ll deal with Jack. What happened?”

“Jack had just finished putting his stuff in the car on Monday, and I’d already gotten in the car. Nico was sitting in his car with the engine off and the door still open, just staring at his steering wheel.”

Sensing that wasn’t the whole story, Timo prodded Luke along. “And?”

Another sigh. “Jack asked him if he was okay, because obviously, he was acting weird. Like, I’d never seen him like this. But Nico didn’t even answer. He acted like Jack wasn’t even there. He just slammed the door to the car shut and peeled out of the garage like somebody was chasing him.”

Timo kept staring. Ten seconds, then twenty. 

Luke’s eye twitched. “He was crying, okay? Or, like, he was about to, when he closed the door. His eyes were all red and watery.”

“Shit.”

“What does that even mean?” Luke asked his teammate.

“Do you and Jack still have that spare key to his apartment?”

Oh, Luke did not like where this was going.

***

Maia had no business being this nervous for a date. 

She’d been on dates before. This wasn’t her first. Some had been good, some had been bad, some her date hadn’t even shown up for. So why was she in the bathroom in her underwear, hair and makeup done, looking frantically between the two dresses she held in her hands like one would answer all of her prayers. 

“Blue or red?” She screamed at Lacey, who was two rooms away in the kitchen. 

She heard Lacey groan. “Ugh, neither! I told you to look in my closet. Your dresses suck.”

“Hey!”

“I told you to go shopping with me and Ally last time we went, but noooo, you were too good for the deals.”

“Too good? I was trying to get into college!” Maia looked back to her dresses again. “Please help me!”

Lacey snorted, her footsteps padding over towards Maia–

But her movement was interrupted by three polite, punctual knocks on the apartment door. 

Maia froze, glancing at the clock on the bathroom wall, peering through the open bathroom door at Lacey. “Oh my god, he’s on time.”

“Okay, that’s a plus.” Lacey grinned, her blonde curls bouncing as she shook her head at Maia, who nearly burned herself as she unplugged the curling iron and began wrapping up the cord. “Hold on, I’ll get him.”

“Lace, I don’t have any clothes on!”

“Well, I don’t think he’ll complain.”

“Lacey!”

She snickered. “Kidding, kidding. I’ll stall him. Go grab that white strappy dress I wore for my team banquet last month.”

Maia, whose brain was clearly just following directions at this point and unable to think for itself, scurried into her friend’s room and slammed the door shut behind her. She went through Lacey’s closet like a tornado, scouring her racks before she finally found the white dress she was talking about. She threw it on, stealing–borrowing–a pair of her friend’s heels while she was at it, hearing the sound of Lacey’s voice and the melody of Nico’s as she looked in the mirror one last time. 

“Okay,” she told herself. “This is easy. You’ve done first dates before. You look hot. Let’s do it.” She tucked her brown waves behind her ears, squared her shoulders, and stepped into the living room. 

The first thing, she realized, was that she was glad she wasn’t overdressed. Nico was wearing a white button down and slacks, his hair gelled down, dress shoes practically sparkling. Maia felt herself blush–dammit, not again, she told herself–as she noticed Nico’s hands practically strangling a bouquet of red roses. 

No, not roses, Maia realized; rosebuds, still tightly closed, a striking red, no less beautiful than the actual blossoms. They were beautiful–beautiful and strange, because Maia wasn’t sure she’d ever seen a bouquet of flowers that hadn’t bloomed yet. 

She stepped closer to Nico, who was staring, mouth parted, at Maia. She watched him closely, waiting for his eyes to move to a less appropriate part of her body, but they never did. They just stared at her face, a blush high on his own cheeks, as she heard him breathe softly, “Mein Gott.”

Well, didn’t that do wonders for her confidence. 

Nico handed her the flowers gently, speaking in English now as he gave her a soft greeting and smiled. “Here,” he told her. “For you.”

Maia took them, the buds still aromatic despite not being open. “Thank you,” she told him, trying to tone down her excitement. 

“Oh, how lovely.” Lacey took the flowers from Maia before she could blink. “Why don’t I put these in some water and you two head out? Nico, was it?” At the nod of confirmation, Lacey grinned. “Nico, have her home before midnight. She’s a busy girl. Needs her rest.” Her voice dropped and so did her smile as she leaned closer to him. “And she tells me everything. So I suggest you don’t do anything untoward.” She studied him closely, her gaze flicking up and down his body before meeting his eyes again. “I play soccer–football, as you’d call it. Which means I have an excellent kick.” She leaned back, plastering a smile back onto her face. “Have a good night, you two!” She flounced back into the kitchen, leaving Nico and Maia both staring after her. 

Maia shook her head and guided Nico out the door. “Sorry about her,” she told him. “We’ve been friends since primary school. I’m not sure she knows a language other than aggression when it comes to me dealing with guys.”

Nico laughed. “She is a good friend,” he told her, his accent wrapping thickly around his words, the syrupy sound making her grin. “I know the kind. I have some of my own.”

The date went so fast, though Maia knew they had been out for hours by the time they returned back to her apartment. The night flew by, a blur of food, laughter, and flushed faces. There was something about Nico Hischier–Maia couldn’t put her finger on it, but he was different than any first date she’d ever had. It wasn’t that he held open doors, which he did, or that he pushed in her chair at the fancy restaurant they attended, wasn’t that he was a professional hockey player like he’d said, or that, when their waitress slid him her number at the end of the night, Maia had watched him rip it up and promptly dump the pieces into his water glass. 

(That, she admitted, made her a little weaker in the knees than she liked to admit.)

No, it was the fact that he was just so…interested. He listened to her. He really listened, like every word she said was important, whether she was talking about her childhood, her dreams as an athletic trainer, or about how she hated broccoli since she was little and nothing had ever managed to change that. He listened, and when Maia had asked him questions, there had been no condescension or brushing her off. When Maia asked if he would explain hockey to her sometime, he’d lit up like a Christmas tree at what seemed like an opportunity to spend more time with her. How, on the drive back, he’d heard Maia quietly humming to the song on the radio, and had turned it up, smiling softly as she’d grinned at him and sang along. 

He just noticed things. He just knew things. 

When they came to a stop at Maia’s apartment door, Nico looked almost disappointed, a slight frown on his face as Maia stuck a key into the lock. She leaned against the door, looking up at him.

“I had a really good time,” she whispered. 

“Me, too,” Nico told her. “Thank you for letting me take you out.”

Maia laughed. “Any time, Nico Hischier.”

Nico smiled. “Really? So, if I asked you to come over to my apartment to watch hockey next time, you’d say yes?”

“Only if you promise to explain it to me,” she told him. “I don’t know very much.”

“That’s okay,” he told her. “I can teach you.”

Maia smiled again, her face red for the millionth time that night. She wasn’t sure why she’d bothered with blush when this had been happening to her nonstop. “I’d like that, Nico.”

At some point during their conversation, they’d gotten unbearably close. Maia could feel the heat emanating from Nico, could smell his cologne, something like wood and vanilla, as he leaned closer. 

Maia tilted her head up to look at him again. He was so close. She could feel his breath. 

“Can I kiss you?” He whispered. 

Maia closed her eyes, so giddy she wasn’t sure what to do with herself. “Please.”

Maia was nervous, just for a second, as Nico inched closer. Was she a good kisser? She’d only had a few boyfriends, and they’d seem satisfied enough, but then again, she was single right now. Maybe she was bad? 

But then Nico’s lips met hers, and Maia wasn’t thinking anymore.

***

Someone had snitched. 

That was Luke’s first thought as he and Timo rolled up to Nico’s apartment, the hall a whole hell of a lot more crowded than it should have been. The hall was filled with hockey players, an amount only seen when Nico hosted team dinners occasionally. They milled about, some talking in low, hushed voices, other silent, staring holes at the apartment door. The group looked up as Timo and Luke approached. 

“Dude, for real?” Luke asked. “Who snitched?”

It was unsurprising, really, when Jack emerged from the group, his hand raised meekly.

Luke gaped. “Dude!”

“You snitched first!”

“Yeah, I told Timo, not the entire team!”

“I didn’t tell the entire team!” Jack snapped. “Just Nemo!”

The group parted to reveal Nemec, who looked a bit ashamed as he looked at the floor, then back up to Luke and Timo.

“I told many people,” he deadpanned.

Luke let out a strangled sigh and ran a hand down his face. “This is such a disaster. Why the hell is everyone else here? Don’t you all have anything better to do? Pregame rituals? Meals? Naps? Anything?”

“I’ve seen Nico like this before,” Jesper piped up from beside the door. “Trust me, nothing is more important right now.”

Okay, maybe he had a point.

Luke pulled the spare key from his pocket. “Let me be clear–this is not us accosting our captain. We’re concerned. We just want to know what’s wrong. We want to help.”

“Like an intervention,” Nemo said solemnly, nodding. 

Luke gaped. “No!” He told him. “Not like an intervention! Nothing like that! We’re just checking on him, okay? As soon as we know he’s alive, we leave.”

There was some grumbling and muttering, but the team eventually agreed. 

Luke rolled his eyes as he knocked on the door a few times, calling for Nico as the group behind him stood in solemn silence. After a few minutes, and no signs of life–no shuffling, no yelling telling them to go away, no sign of their captain–Luke groaned, regret already flooding through his body as he shoved the key into the lock and turned it.

The first thing he noticed was the empty bottle of bourbon on the countertop, and Luke knew that whatever was about to happen was not going to be enjoyable. He hoped, god, did he hope, that Nico was just nursing a hangover. That he was fine, just trying to sleep off the booze, but that hope was quickly crushed. 

Nico was sitting on the couch across from the wall of windows, staring into the sunlight like he didn’t have a massive hangover (or maybe he just enjoyed the pain), unmoving. 

Or, he seemed unmoving at first. 

But Luke creeped closer, wincing at the sound of a floorboard creaking under his foot, but it didn’t matter, because Nico didn’t turn. It was only as Luke moved closer, step by step, inch by inch, that he realized Nico was moving. 

His whole body was shaking, shoulders trembling, chest heaving, as he stared out the window, crying.

He knew the exact moment that somebody else realized it, because Jesper snapped at everybody and told them that if they hadn’t been on the team five years ago that they needed to leave. There was a grumble of complaints, but Luke watched Timo hit the group with such a fierce glare that he watched some of them pale before immediately leaving the apartment. 

When all was said and done, only Luke, Jack, Timo, and Jesper remained, staring at Nico. 

Jesper sat down next to Nico. The captain looked at his friend with red, wet eyes. 

“C’mon, man.”

Nico turned away. “Leave, Bratter.”

“No.” It was Timo who spoke this time. “You missed practice, man. We’re worried about you.”

Nico gestured to himself. “Clearly, I’m fine.”

Jack eyed him. “This is you fine?”

Nico glared at him, but Jack didn’t back down. It was a stare-down. Luke wasn’t sure how long it lasted, but Nico was the one who broke first. 

He let out a harsh laugh. “Alright. Fine. Everybody so concerned about me?” He gestured at the different forms of seating in the living room. “Go ahead. Take a seat.”

In the tense silence, they did. 

Nico couldn’t meet anyone’s eyes as they spoke. He just kept looking out the window, the sun burning into his retinas, forcing him awake. 

“Everybody good? Good.” He clasped his hands together so tightly Luke watched his knuckles whiten. 

“Let me tell you about how I fell in love. And then let me tell you how I fucking ruined it.”

Author's Note: The angst is so real. Why do I do this to myself? Why must everybody be so sad? Real talk, though, thank you to everyone who is supporting this fic! It has been so fun to write so far, and I'm so excited to be fleshing out the relationships and characters further.

[nanashijt]

“Yeah, kinda interesting.” he replies.

He suddenly snaps his fingers, as if enraptured by another idea.

“That reminds me! Ever since the Shatterverses were finally fully developed following the reassembly of the Paradox Prism, I’ve really been looking into wielding the power of other alternate worlds. Turns out someone from a former Egg Empire city* had invented something like that! Dr. Yi Sang, I believe?”

Nine takes out a handheld mirror from his pocket, and cards the size of mahjong tiles.

“Behold! The Mirror of Endless Realities, enhanced with Paradox Energy! By reaching into what they called the “light of endless possibilities,” it allows you to overlay your own identity with an alternate versions of yourself from another world or another timeline, granting you their skills, items, abilities, and in a disconnected way, their personalities. These so called ‘Identities’ or IDs for short, are stored in these cards here.”

“Hey, if Egghead, the Chaos Council, or any other bad guy shows up, I could show you it in practice. Probably the best one I have is this Effloresced E.G.O. Philip ID.”

Nine is clearly fixated on all of this… you could have swore you read about some of this during a wiki binge for some indie gacha RPG.**

“Wait, I haven’t even explained EGOs yet! They’re personalized superpowered gear you manifest from your mind and-” At that point your ears glaze over, in a sense. The infodump is going in one ear and out the other.

OOC:* (My Sonic AU I’m taking my characters from is basically a daydream cinematic universe all adapted into the world of Sonic. So there’s many, many other series and franchises being crossed over and modified to fit the Sonic universe more, from Naruto, to Final Fantasy 7. One of these crossovers is with the Project Moon games: Lobotomy Corporation, Library of Ruina, and Limbus Company. In this AU, the City, the cyberpunk dystopian setting of the Project Moon games, is now a formerly Eggman controlled megacity, like Robotropolis in Sonic SatAM.)

**(The links, highlighted in blue, are for you to read about what’s being crossed over/referenced here.)

A tumblr wormhole opens up and out of it swirls a nine-tailed Mobian vixen, with more than a passing resemblance to Tails.

“Miles? It’s your mother… another you’s mother at least. My Tails’ other brother, Nine told me about you after his multiversal scouting trip. He thinks you’re about to snap, what’s gotten into you, sweetie?”

@nanashijt

a……mother of mine. Huh. *he seemed a bit more tense* well something happened earlier, possession they said? Uh, I’m fine now. I’m not gonna snap. Who is this “nine”?

[troutfur]

But what if Firestar did end up dying to the fox trap for good?

[kaoniitegladiator]

Perception: He is an ideal, he is his guiding light, he's someone he aspires to be. He wished he was forged in the same fires as him. He would have traded his previous life if only to have the chance to know Megatron years earlier.

He detests him. The hate he harbors for him could rival the brightest sun. He envies what he has, what he embodies, he wants all he has for his own. He doesn't believe Megatron deserves everything he's gained because he would never appreciate it the way Starscream would.

There was life before him, there is no life after him. Starscream is at his worst with him yet his loneliest without him. He's as patient as he is insufferable. He's as merciful as he is brutal.

Starscream never wants to understand him. He prefers the mystery of not knowing, and yet he craves to know him down to the finest detail; all his weaknesses, all that he holds proud.

HOW DOES YOUR MUSE PERCEIVE MY MUSE? || accepting

// My heart...... I love the duality the two of them have, how they're both the best and worst thing that happened to each other; how they can't stand each other but also can't stand to be away from each other. The obsession neither of them wants to admit they have.

[bl4ckdevl]

@waruins | sparring thread. cont'd.

the soldiers here had the wisdom from the deepest wounds of their scars. they'd risen from the nation's mold of perfect human ruination, with nothing left but ashes of fallen comrades and the ever-nagging question: were they still socially desirable—or obsolete machines discarded by an amnesiac, violence-enabling society?

but that burden wasn't what weighed heavy on their minds now. the real weight was each other. their aggression may have been condemnable, but the battle between them retained a dark delicacy that neither party would deny themselves.

the sequence of their spar—each blow, block, twist—had none of the clean spectacles of fiction. this wasn't choreography. it was communion. the black dog in our hound's head hadn't yet surrendered his pride to the bloodletting that threatened to drown out the art beneath their violence.

what hurt billy the most wasn't the pain—it was the months of stagnation. no challenge. no worthy opponent to wett his rust. until now.

gloria's fluency in violence tuned him to her rhythm. beneath him, they weren't just fighting. they were speaking. violence as dialect. lethality as fluency. and in that shared tongue, they became actualized flesh—human in the way people like them were never permitted to be.

so maybe fluency isn't quite the word. there was an affinity pulsing—like recognizing a carnal tune he couldn't hum but could play note for note with bare knuckles, enough to make the ground beneath her quake.

her palm—delicate, but fatal under the right motivations—pressed to his throat. her legs twisted around his calf like offended serpents. pain surged up his hip, nerve-deep and electric, slicing through arousal like a hot wire. it didn't dull him. it sharpened him as though he was a whetted blade. the pain is real—god, it's real. the pang of pressure refined him to that old, hideous edge no one wanted to admit still gleamed.

his weight atop her is a form of pressure. not dominance. a mutual burden. not unlike the kind that coils within trauma's skin—a secret sickness in different bodies, same source.

the devil dog watches her then. it could've been mistaken for hunger. maybe even shock. but it was neither. there was only recognition. that quiet, sacred thing: one human looking at another and selling all of them. scars. sins. shadows. and something good buried underneath somewhere.

when gloria asks him that question—what's got you hard, billy? is it the pain or the echo of control?—he surprisingly doesn't blink. but nor does he smirk, despite how funny it sounded aloud.

what he gives her is quieter than all that.

    ❝ pain, gloria, ❞ he murmurs, the word nearly lost in the shallow hush between their mouths. ❝ was the first teacher i ever had. you never forget your first. ❞ his voice lowers, calm as his heart gradually slows, like someone taking their sweet pauses to detail a long-remembered recipe.

    ❝ it taught me how to stay. how to shut up. taught me that everything civilians call love is just leverage you haven't seen yet. ❞ he pauses, momentarily to catch his breath. ❝ and this? i love this. ❞

his andric fingers curl in the soft cotton of her shirt—not in ownership, but in anchoring. our black was not claiming her. only to ground himself. the layers, war-affected flesh slickens with heat, and undeniable tension, it was all-consuming.

he doesn't flinch under her pressure, in fact, he happily leans into it—surrenders his neck the way a domestic or wild beast might offer their vulnerable underbelly. not in submission. invitation.

he'd like her to press harder. he wants her to. he wants his blood to rise. he wants the pressure to threaten veins and choke breath from his lungs, the way those hags in carolina folktales did—crushing chest, dragging victims down under and wearing their skin like a new coat.

if she turns into a ruin, he wants it to mean something.

    ❝ but control? ❞ his head tilts, not dislodging her hold on his throat, only shifting within its grasp. allowing her to feel the delicate cords in his neck flex.

    ❝ don't we all need that? seems like a basic human function to me. a right we were created to have. ❞

she twists tighter. he lets her. he doesn't wince, because there's no break in him. the truth blooms across his porcelain doll-esque features like an oil spill—humanely ugly, honest, inevitable. 

his grin turns knife-edged.

then his hand ghosts up along her arm, trails over her bicep—like he's reading old hieroglyphics from his trips in egypt. wondering what rage her flesh has deified. what bruises and teachings shaped her into this perfect collision of softness and hurt.

    ❝ you're a smart woman, gloria. i think you know that already, ❞ no pride in it. no apparent smugness, just forthrightness and honest.

and in the sweltering heat between their bodies—both burned by wars that had no flags and became echos of old politicians wills—he doesn't need to ask her to stay. he knows she will. because she's not scared of him.

why would she be? from what he's gathered, she's scared of what parts of herself only billy seems to speak fluently. and while may not know love, he's fluent in the unspeakable.

[imminent-danger-came]

You know I think my lmk ships are: skeletalspider (SQ x LBD), ivorylotus (Ne Zha x Yellowtusk), shadowpeach (you already know), and the samadhi dumpster fire (dragonfruit)

[netscapenavigator-official]

Sometimes I have these vivid moments where my brain likes to come up with conspiracy theories that I can't disprove and are kinda reality rattling, but I just kinda gotta be like "meh," and move on.

The latest is what if religious people are right about life on Earth being a test for the afterlife... but what if the test isn't existence, but religion, itself.

As in, what if the "God" that created humanity specifically made religion on Earth as toxic and dehumanizing as they could possible think, and only those who can stare their maker in the face and say "I disagree with your rules" and not follow religion, are the ones who make it into the "good" afterlife. Like, what if our "God" specifically wanted to make themselves sound like an extremely evil, snobbish being, where the one and only rule in "religion" is to trust them blindly. That way, after death, they can filter humans between those who were strong-willed enough to maintain morality, even when told it's against their entire life's purpose; and those who blindly followed immorality because they were told it was what the creator wanted. In essence, religion is the pre-afterlife test that aims to sort humans into those who will show compassion, even if it damns them; and those who will internalize fear and become nothing but a yes-man to "God."

.

.

.

Anyway, enough of that. I'm making mozzarella sticks for lunch.

[termagax]

anyways. i feel like ive said this before but i think that wouldve been a bigger concern of his when he was younger and was trying to think abt how he was gonna like. live in the world. well and then the world exploded and he decided he could do whatever he wants forever and started larping as his fursona and i think hes chill about it now. like i think hes okay.

[thedragonagelesbian]

the raven circle IS a baldur's gate faction the info about making swords of ppl's souls is FROM minsc and boo's journal of villainy it would not be that hard to write an act 3 encounter.......................................

[gratisdiamanten]

contemplating whether i need to go on anon for this or into witness protection. but i reject and actively pray for the downfall of all daniel girl delusions about him getting the rbr seat.... idc that you have a conspiracy board of explanation and that checo is "flopping" in a car that doesn't suit him as well as his teammate....

🤨 the f1blr hypocrisy of 'my fave is flopping in the car but his teammate is doing great so obviously its NOT HIS FAULT' vs 'my fave deserves this seat bc the current racer is flopping but his teammate is doing great and this is obviously HIS FAULT'

now if yuki gets the red bull seat? im listening. i can dream about promotion.

Now see I cook up plots and schemes to get Daniel back in that seat so Max can finish him off for good measure

[tonycries]

Bad Boys Bring Roses - G.S.

Synopsis. You’ve never dealt with the yakuza - not once. So why is the future head of the Gojo clan suddenly coming up to you, demanding that you marry him for 30 days?

Pairing. Yakuza boss! Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, yakuza! au, fake marriage, annoyances to lovers, elders suck, mentioned k*lling (not reader or Satoru), Satoru is INSANE and SO down bad, one bed trope, praise, biting, oral (fem receiving), fíngering, unprotected, créampie, spitting, overstim, flower language, kníves, bit dark, HAPPY ENDING, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 9.1k (whoopsies)

A/N. I just HAD to get this out of my mind like I wanna write an entire book series on this. Spent too long researching rose language as well so see if y’all catch that hehe.

You thought the wedding invitation was a joke when it had arrived - a delicate, lacey little card that you’ve probably read over a million times by now. It had been stuffed haphazardly into your mailbox, along with a ridiculously large bouquet of purple roses. Seemingly inconspicuous when you first tore into the thick envelope, wondering which one of your friends was getting married now. 

And it was - that is, until you saw your name at the very top - right where the blushing bride’s was supposed to be. 

We hereby formally invite you to the marriage of…

What? 

No return address. No date. No groom’s name either. Only yours, written in beautiful, golden writing - inviting you to your own wedding, exactly a week from now.

You remember perfectly the way you’d flipped it over and over in your hands, the gears turning in your head as you tried to crack down on the motive behind this invitation. A threat? A joke? Texting all of your friends about what a cute prank that was - only to get a shared confused reaction, and a few “April Fool’s has already passed, y’know.”

Hell, you’d even cornered the mailman, desperate to get to the bottom of this. But that wasn’t particularly helpful when he was only able to shake his head in protest, pale as a sheet, and trembling ever-so-slightly as he sped away from you. Weird. 

Without a clue as to who sent the letter, or even a follow-up in the days after, you stuffed the invitation somewhere deep in the back of your closet and handed the bouquet to your mother. Not bothering to tell your parents where it was from - because who’d worry over a stupid prank like this? It was probably one of the kids from down the street that’d gotten their grubby lil’ hands on a printer. 

You, however, had more important things to focus on - like trying to help your father revive his failing diner. It was a family business, a quaint, hearty little shop. One that was quickly, and dangerously, losing both customers and employees with the brand new fast food place that’d popped up right across the street. 

Which is why you found yourself here - working overtime on a Saturday night, looking over the empty chairs and stacks of boxes from behind the counter. Whatever, it was only a few weeks until relocation anyway.

You heave out a sigh, eyes flitting to the clock beside you - 11:21pm.

Nine minutes more, you drum your fingers in boredom, maybe you should just close up early. Because sure as hell no one else was-

“Oh? Still open?”

“Ah- Uh, yes, welcome!” Jolting out of your reverie, you stand up ramrod straight, taking in the customer standing at the door. He wasn’t one of the regulars - no, you think you’d remember if he was. Cloudy white hair, piercing blue eyes that twinkle from above his shades, even in the dim light of the diner. He was so very tall, taking up almost all of the doorframe, only getting more and more imposing as he walks up to you in quick, long strides. Magnetizing. 

And if you dared let your eyes wonder, you caught a few tattoos peeking out from his unfairly snug button-up, clashing with its flashy blue color. Dragons? Trees? Or were they flowers - roses?

“Roses.” the man in front of you answers your unspoken question, voice so very deep, and melodic - tinged with something playful in it that you wouldn’t have expected at first glance. At your raised brow he continues with a wink, “Could tell ya were checkin’ me out, sweetheart.”

“F-forgive my rudeness, sir.” you sputter, face burning. You look away from the way his muscled ripple as he crosses his arms, immediately turning to fumble with the menus, “Please take a seat and I’ll be there with you shortly.”

You’d expected him to take up a booth, or maybe head towards one of the good tables around the corner. What you did not expect was for him to plop down on the stool right in front of you, flashing you a playful grin before humming, “S’alright, m’just waitin’ for someone.”

Oh. Well, it made sense that someone like him would be taken. Swallowing, you hand over the menu, before giving him a close-lipped smile, “A lover?”

Resting his head on his palms, not bothering to even glance at the list of dishes before him. “My fiancée.”

“Congratulations, Mr…”

“Gojo Satoru.” he tilts his head, looking way too happy with himself. “Please, call me Satoru.” 

You nod softly, picking up your pen and notepad to get this conversation over with - and maybe to also avoid his heavy stare that made something hot and uncomfortable coil in your stomach. “Right, Mr-” at his disappointed whine, “Satoru. Congratulations, must be one heck of a thing to plan.”

“Oh I’m having fun with the wedding planning.” He waves off your words with a chuckle, missing - or pointedly ignoring - the way you were waiting for his order. “How’s it going for you?”

What?

You narrow your eyes at the way Satoru was batting those long lashes up at you, deceivingly innocent and waiting for your answer. “I’m sorry- Me? Did you mean with the diner relocation plans or-”

“No no no.” he laughs, loud and boisterous. And usually you’d have a thing or two to say at someone interrupting you if you weren’t so mesmerized by that little dimple at the corner of his grin. One that moves as he plows on, “M’asking how wedding planning is going for you, wifey~”

There’s a beat of silence. One. Two. With you gaping at the pure audacity as Satoru quiets down to little titters, seemingly studying your reaction in amusement. Which slowly, but surely, drains from his face as you grit out a sharp, “I’m gonna have to ask you to leave, sir. We’re very busy and don’t have time to entertain your pick-up lines.”

Those widened blue eyes sweep the painfully empty diner, letting out a low whisper. “I can see that.” you let out a strangled noise of embarrassment at that. “But you’re really gonna ask your husband to leave?”

Huffing in frustration, “I don’t have a husband.”

“...you do.”

“I don’t.”

“You do.”

“I don’t. And who the fuck are you to tell me I do?”

“What?!” Satoru jumps out of his seat in shock, fast enough that the stool clatters to the floor with a deafening clang! Hands slamming on the counter as he leans over it - so close that you could feel his minty breath fanning your face with each hurried, shrill word that tumbles out of his lips. “What do you mean you don’t have a- I’m gonna kill those fuckin’- After I bought Canva premium just to make that invitation? Did the flowers come at least?”

And while Satoru is panicking, words spilling out of his mouth a mile a minute - only one of those rings in your mind - invitation. 

“You.” you hiss, barely audible over meltdown in front of you. Pointing a finger accusingly, “You’re the one behind that prank with the dumbass roses.”

That seems to snap Satoru out of his dramatic monologue - and you’re glad it did. Because he looks up to meet your glare, “Hey! You didn’t like the roses?” 

And for the first time, you see Satoru more serious than he’d been ever since stepping into this diner. Eyes somewhere behind you, ablaze and almost…frightening. “Didn’t you ask him?” 

You whirl around to see your father, who’d apparently rushed downstairs at the commotion. Baseball bat to fight off the intruder hanging in midair as he stands frozen, taking in the scene before him - but more importantly, that man in front of him. “You.”

---

And, well, it’s not everyday that you’re having late night tea with your parents and one of your father’s…business associates. Even rarer when said business associate is…you gulp, praying to whoever’s above that this is all some sick dream you’ll wake up any second from. 

“So, let me get this straight…” you sigh, pinching your nose in frustration. It’s been an hour or two of trying to understand whatever this was. Giving a stern look at the two men squirming across from you in the booth. “My father was conned by one of your-” you gesture your head at Satoru, which only makes his smirk grow, “-men to take a loan from your um-”

“Family, yakuza. Anything goes.” he supplies helpfully.

You wave him off, trying as quickly as possible to brush off the ‘yakuza’ bit that makes your stomach lurch. “And now he owes you a favor of…what exactly?”

Satoru leans across the table, t-shirt opening tantalizingly. Voice dropping to an almost-pleading murmur, “Look, I just need you to pretend to be my doting, loving, charming, gorgeous-” backtracking at your withering glare, “...Anyway. I just need a fake wife for a few months, convince my family to get off my back about arranged marriage n’ carrying the Gojo legacy. Then bam! you stomp all over my heart, we divorce and I’m too heartbroken to ever get married again. Easy.” 

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

You bet Satoru’s disappointed groan echoed across all 23 words of Tokyo, because it was definitely ringing in your ears amongst whirlwind thoughts of marriage? To a yakuza? Completely, and utterly ridiculous. And from his talks of “carrying the family name” it seemed like he was some sort of future head as well. Though, he definitely wasn’t acting like it right now. 

“Alright. Plan B, then.” 

Oh? You couldn’t help but think that maybe he wasn’t that much of a manchild as sits up from where he’d been splayed all over the table in tragedy. Lacing his fingers together before turning to your father, continuing in a more diplomatic tone, “But I want the cash you took. In full. Now. Gonna hafta disguise my best friend as my wife, n’ dresses for a six foot man aren’t cheap.”

Your mother looked like she could faint right then and there. Choking out a noise of surprise, “B-but we’ve deposited it all for the relocation- Please, can’t we pay any other-”

At the firm shake of his head, you stammer, “Now? Aren’t you some yakuza nepo baby, can’t you just ask your parents for money?”

“No.” Satoru chuckles, in a tone which told you that he probably could but might just lose his head for it. Only further supported as he muses, “Not unless I want a finger cut off for dealin’ money on the side. Seriously, sweetheart, why did you think I sent you the invitation last week?”

“Take me instead.” you father cries, trying to negotiate above Satoru’s half-joking mutters of “Ugh, I’m not into ol’ men dumb enough to sign yakuza contracts.”

It was all too much. You couldn’t take out the relocation deposit - it was a new start, possibly the only thing to save your family. Nor do you have enough in savings to pay back the loan. And if Satoru’s warning was anything to listen to, then you knew that dealing with the yakuza could be dangerous. Why you? Why you? Why you? 

“Fine.”

The moment that word leaves your lips, it’s like the whole world freezes. Everyone in the room - including yourself - unsure of whether they heard you right. “I’ll do it.” you clarify, voice hesitant but firm. Eyeing the way Satoru’s eyes begin to sparkle, the beginnings of a smile curling his lips. Raising a finger to shush your father’s protests, “But for a month, until we leave this place. After that m’going with my family and you’re never to contact us ever again. Deal?”

And oh Satoru seemed over the moon, reaching out to grasp your hand in a handshake - so warm, and softer than you’d imagined. “Swear on m’life, wifey. You can kill me if not.”

He was so intimidating - and intimidatingly exhilarating.

Only an hour more of arguing and a quick phone call later, men - yakuza, you assume - were flooding your family’s little diner. All tattooed and burly, looking somewhat comical as they carried your few packed-up suitcases outside. Well, at least they stayed for a late dinner. 

And ended up being witnesses to a very rushed, very rushed signing of marriage agreements. Evidence to really show up your alleged marriage. It barely even lasted a few minutes before, well, that was that - you were married, to the son of a yakuza head. 

You say a quick goodbye to your teary parents, soothing them with promises of “I’ll be back before you know it. One month. That’s all.” 

“And don’t worry about a thing,” Satoru sing-songs, coming up behind you. “If there’s anyone she’s safe with, it’s me.”

“You better keep your mitts off of my baby.” your father warns, raising the baseball bat still clutched in his hand menacingly. 

“I won’t lay a hand on her, father-in-law. And anyone that even thinks about it…” he cackles, breath hot against your ear, sending shivers down your spine. “I’ll kill.”

Prancing off to hold the door of that shiny black Mercedes parked outside open for you. “Ladies first.”

With another quick hug to your parents, you hastily make your way inside. Feeling extremely out of place amongst the overly luxurious interior in your slightly-stained work uniform. God, the covers on these cushions themselves probably cost more than your house. 

“Like the car? I can buy you one. Or four, as a wedding gift.” Satoru grins. 

Oh, right. You weren’t in here alone - you were here with your new…husband. The word felt so strange to even wrap your head around, instead you turn to meet his easy smile. Clenching your jaw as you grit out, “So how do we act m-married?”

You swear he brightens up impossibly, scooting closer to you on the seat. Heart lurching as he raises his eyes to meet yours, dizzy with the heat of his proximity, he promptly pulls out his Notes app. 

“Well, you see. I forgot to send this with the invitation so you better memorize this before we get home.” flashing you a long, long list of likes and dislikes, “Here’s my favorite color and my favorite Digimon and-”

That car ride could not have been longer. Because in addition to arguing with Satoru about who the best Digimon was, you had to fill out your own version of his overly extensive list. “So we can be foolproof.” he’d whined. And you’d been so engrossed in the process that you barely noticed the looming estate out the window.

“We’re here, young master and madam Gojo.”

It took a second to register that the driver was talking to you as well as Satoru, immediately pushing your face against the window to take in the scenic site before you. Heavy wooden doors - probably taller than an average house - opening to reveal sprawling gardens. Koi ponds and rose bushes lining a pathway that led to a traditional Japanese house - all power and glory. You half wondered whether you were still in Tokyo. 

“Home sweet home.” Satoru grunts. “Such a beautiful hell, huh?”

Your home, for the next month. At least. 

And if you had any doubt that Satoru was in fact the future yakuza head, that all went out the window at the welcome you got. Men lining the wooden hallway, bowing at the waist while your all-new husband wraps a hand around your shoulders, pointing out the various rooms and ornaments as he led you in. 

“-and this is going to be our room.” he brings you in front of a large tatami room, one the size of your entire diner. 

“Ours.” you repeat. Walking unhurriedly to the king-sized bed in the middle - the only bed. Heart pounding as you take it all in. 

“Ours.” Satoru echoes, happily. And if he was any bit as affected as you are, then he doesn’t show it, instead pulling out a blue yukata from the closet, a golden Gojo emblem stamped on the back. Made with such a pretty, delicate fabric that it made you shiver to think how much it cost. “Now, I had these made jus’ for you last week. You can give me a lil’ fashion show tomorrow, so make sure you get some rest, wifey.”

It’s only when he says the word “rest” that you realize exactly how tired you are. Your long shift and the entirety of this having your eyes feeling heavier than usual. 

“Um…” you start, risking a glance at the bed. 

Satoru jolts, “Ah- don’t worry, sweetheart. You take the bed.” beginning to saunter outside to meet his team. “Got some work, so I’ll be sleeping in my office. Dream of me~”

And, really, you almost felt bad splaying yourself out on the crisp navy sheets. Sinking into the heady smell of fabric softener, and something so so Satoru. Addictive. Like an expensive cologne that made your head spin, one that wafted through your mind as you dreamt of summer weddings, and blue, blue skies.

“Ichiji.”

“Yes, young master.”

“See to it that the madam is safe. Anyone try anything funny and you bring them back alive. I wanna be the one to play with them, okay~?”

“Of course, young master.”

---

Admittedly, you probably have the best sleep of your life at the Gojo estate- or, it would’ve been if your husband didn’t burst in every morning at 7am. Handing you a ridiculously big bouquet of white roses, straight from the garden, before dragging you outside. 

Milling about the estate, Satoru was never too far behind, chattering away. Letting you hold onto his strong arm crossing the bridges, occasionally having you show up to yakuza meetings as his plus one. Relishing in the rumors spreading all through the yakuza syndicates in Tokyo. Gojo Satoru, and the commoner wife he’d do anything for.

Weirdly enough, some strange little part of you thinks he puts in a lot more work than necessary for some pretend relationship…

“I think that stupid plan is really working, y’know.” you muse to him after a few days of this. Dipping your fingers into one of your favorite koi ponds with a nod at the figures watching you from a distance - Gojo clan elders, you assume. “Those old coots hate being within a five mile radius of me.”

Satoru huffs out a laugh, “That so? S’probably the method acting then, huh? Taking good care of me, wifey?” he wiggles his eyebrows, nudging you from where he was holding an umbrella beside you. 

Furrowing your brows mockingly, “S’funny for you to say, they don’t even look at me. But they follow me around everywhere.”

“Do they annoy you, must I do my duty as a husband and gouge their eyes out?”

He…didn’t sound like he was joking. 

Rolling your eyes, you pointedly ignoring the way your heart lurches at the word “husband.” Still so jumpy at the idea. “Speaking of, your parents give up the marriage proposals, yet?”

At this, Satoru clenches his jaw. “Still nagging, but they’re finally considering you as my actual bride rather than some hijink.” he spits out, seemingly recalling whatever conversation they’d had before. “And they want to have some family ‘dinner’, but it’s going to be awful and you don’t-”

“Let’s go.” you interrupt, nodding determinedly. “The realer this marriage seems, the faster we can divorce, no?”

He blinks at you slowly, “That’s…true. For the divorce, then?”

“For the divorce.”

And, well, that was settled - you were to meet your new in-laws. The ever-elusive heads of the Gojo clan. Also one of the most powerful yakuza in all of Japan, but, semantics really.

You spend the evening cooped up with Satoru in the library, poring over the bloody history of the yakuza - with the Gojo’s heading them all. The only time he actually leaves your side is a few hours before the dinner. 

“For you.” he’d murmured, lips ghosting your ear, slipping something cold onto your finger. You look down to see one of the most beautiful rings you’ve ever seen - gold, with delicate blue and white diamonds encrusting it, cut in the shape of roses. “Can’t be married without a wedding ring, huh? Think of it as a good luck charm for tonight.”

And with that he’s swept away in a flurry of bodyguards and ruffled men, and you’re left standing there all alone. Cheeks burning, wondering how the hell he knew your perfect fit. 

You worry longer about the dinner than you spend actually preparing for it. Though, that’s probably because of the group of stylists that come into your room to help you dress. Wordlessly fussing around you despite your weak attempts at conversation, eyes averted. Almost like they were…scared of you. 

But there wasn’t much time to think of that - not when you’re being marched off in the direction of what you remember Satoru had called the family dining room. “More like a fuckin’ meeting room for those hardasses.” he’d snarked.

The moment you step in, all eyes turn to you - the only ones you recognize being Satoru’s, who immediately stands with a smile. “Ah, wifey! Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” pulling you into a tight hug. His voice drops into a low, raspy murmur in your ear, “Ya look fuckin’ gorgeous in my colors, y’know.”

Traitorously, jolts of electricity run down your spine. Especially at how fucking gorgeous he looked in traditional wear. Whispering back, “Playing up the doting husband bit, huh?”

“Only for you.”

Pulling away, you drink in his dangerously handsome state. Hair so effortlessly styled, tattoos winking at you from just above his yukata - blue, to match yours. So pretty.

Stammering out, “Corny.”

“Only for-”

“Now that the girl is finally here, may we begin with dinner?” A stained voice sounds from behind Satoru, old and tinged with a tone that years of customer service told you did not bode well. Craning your head, you look over his broad shoulders, meeting the eyes of several disapproving elders. 

Shit. Some of the most dangerous people in this country right now. 

Gathered here - for you. 

Automatically, you knew which ones were his parents - painfully upright, and hauntingly beautiful in a cold, calculated way. Sat right at the head of the long table. With a jolt, you realize that you two are seated right opposite them. 

“So.” his mother starts, as you take your seat with a bow. Satoru doesn’t waste any time on niceties, plopping down right next to you, scooting closer than necessary. “Congratulations on the…wedding, my son.”

My son. You ignore the way both parents pointedly avoided looking at you. Your husband, however, does not. “What~ Not gonna wish my dear wife as well?”

It’s a silent staredown - one that has the entire room on edge. You don’t realize that you’re clenching your fists in tension until Satoru untangles them, slipping his larger hands into yours. Gaze still alarmingly intense and locked on the other side of the table.

He wins.

“Congratulations. Let us begin now.” 

You breathe out a sigh of relief, the tension only slightly broken as butlers stream into the room, carrying decadent trays of food. Well, at least the food might make up for how appalling this dinner is going to be.

It’s only 15 minutes in that you realize how very, horribly wrong you are - because the elders of the Gojo estate really don’t hold back, do they? Thank God you memorized every part of that stupid likes and dislikes list.

Besides picking apart every aspect of your relationship that they could manage to squeeze out of you between the appetizer and the main course, the main scrutiny tonight seems to be you. But in that icy, subtle way that has Satoru’s jaw clenching tighter each second. 

Lips curling, Gojo senior eyes you over his wine glass. “So, dear,” voice dripping with underlying venom despite the pet name. “Is it true our Satoru missed an esteemed marriage meeting with the Zenin group to ambush you at some rundown old diner?”

You fight to keep the smile plastered onto your face, painful and cracking under the pressure. A hand squeezing under the table to stop Satoru from opening his mouth to retort, you answer instead, “Well, ambushed wouldn’t be the word. You could say we fell in love over the counter - at my family’s diner.”

“A waitress, she said?”

“Now we know why it was this rushed. Probably pregnant.”

“The scandal. How far the Gojo name has fallen.”

The few stifled gasps from the other end of the table are so dramatic that you could almost laugh. But you don’t. Breath hitching as Mrs. Gojo chuckles, “Marrying the daughter of a lowly diner owner? How... quaint.”

“Mother, be quiet or-”

“What?” she throws her hands in exasperation. “Can’t I say anything around here. Honestly, Satoru, I’m just trying to make conversation with your new wife.”

Before either you or Satoru can react, his father speaks up, apparently not done with the interrogation. “You understand that we’re just worried, right, dear? Especially with marrying into prestigious families, of course.” The emphasis on “prestigious” is not lost on you.” And it drives you insane. 

Steeling yourself, you train your eyes on the untouched food below you. “I understand.”

Plowing on as if trying to infuriate you, “And you understand that this position is dangerous? You’ll be targeted.”

“I understand.”

“Do you? Don’t be swept up in our Satoru’s charm and wealth, dear, my son just wants a way out of duty.” tone dripping with disdain, Satoru’s grip becoming tighter and tighter on yours. “The Gojo syndicate owns half of this city, we could bulldoze over that little diner of yours with only one phone call”

“My wife and I are leav-”

“I said I fuckin’ understand.” Your words hang in the air like a foul stench, and you raise your head to glare. If looks could kill, all the elders in this room would be six feet under and you’d be dancing on their graves already. “Neither me, nor my husband would ever let that happen because he knows a thing or two about respect, unlike you.” Lacing your fingers tighter with Satoru’s. “So shove your mighty family up your wrinkly asses. I don’t give a flying shit.” 

Eyes wide, jaws dropped, the old couple opposite you finally seems stunned into silence. And if it was any other situation you could’ve almost laughed at how similar they looked to Satoru when he found out you thought his proposal was a prank.

His father adjusts his glasses. “Perhaps that is so.”

Ah, if only the rest of the table would be quietened just as easily. 

“Not only is she a slut she’s a-”

Thud!

It all happens so fast you’re not even sure if your eyes are playing tricks on you. Because in a split-second, the knife that was at your side is suddenly embedded, deep into the wooden table - barely even an inch away from the elder that had spoken up. 

“You’re lucky I’m matching with my wife n’ didn’t want to dirty this new yukata.” a voice sounds from your side. Melodic and so so eerie that you don’t realize for a second that it’s Satoru - your Satoru. 

He loops an arm under your legs as he stands up. Easily maneuvering you into a princess carry, forcing you to cling onto his robes for dear life as your feet dangle from the floor. You look up - maybe to snap at Satoru to put you down - only for the words to die in your throat at how absolutely fucking feral your husband looked. Eyes wide, aura menacing. A grin gracing his features, not the familiar one which had your heart racing, no - something so dangerous and cold. 

“Now,” he hums. Turning his back to the room, gaze still locked with the shocked heads inside, “My lovely wife and I will be retiring. Won’t you all say goodnight to your future madam?”

You don’t know what shocks you more - the way everyone in that room mumbles out a disdainful little “Goodnight, ma’am.”, or the way Satoru cackles as he carries you to your shared bedroom. Laying you gently on the mattress with a quiet, “Be right back, sweetheart.”

What the fuck happened?

He could’ve killed that man. And looked like he wanted to. 

Your brain yells at you - run away run away run away- But you weren’t…scared? In fact, you don’t think you’ve ever been less fearful in your entire life. Especially not when Satoru stumbles back into the room, clearly rushing. Something warm spreading in your chest at the trays of food in his hands.

“Dinner’s better without a bunch of fossils on my kill list.” he grins. Settling right next to you on the bed, setting out the dinner he’d brought for you. And, well, you didn’t doubt that they really were on his kill list. 

“Hey, wifey.” Satoru speaks up after a few moments of silence, satisfied with the food laid in front of you. “M’sorry for putting you through that. No more family dinners from now.”

You inch closer to lay your head on his sculpted shoulder, a hand bringing up the food to his pretty lips. He smelled so good, faintly like pine, and clouds. It made you so dizzy. “Eat, Satoru.”

That’s all which is said, because maybe that’s all that was needed. And for a second there, you almost forget that this is all pretend.

---

“Hey, uh- mister. You alright?” you call out, voice barely audible over the rain. 

The sullen figure didn’t react at first, soaked through and eyes trained on the ground. Unmoving, even when you hesitantly drew closer, umbrella quivering in your hands. 

You should turn around - walk away like everyone else on the sidewalk was doing. But no, something about the way he sat alone, stoic to the storm around him made you inch closer. “Here.” you hold out your umbrella. “S’our diner’s, but you look like you could use this more than I do.”

He jolts, as if hearing you for the first time. A flash of blue, so quick you almost think you miss it. Still not raising his head fully, the man’s snowy hair tousles as he jerkily closes around the handle. Pretty. And so so sad.

“It’ll be alright.” you nod. 

And with that, you turn, running back in the rain to the haven of the diner, where your father was waiting impatiently - he’d just bought the boxes to start packing up for relocation. Fingers still burning ever-so-slightly where his hand had brushed against yours. How strange, you wondered his name.

---

Satoru stayed true to his word over the weeks that followed. His parents seemed well and fully intent on avoiding you. And, well, other than a few disdainful remarks, the elders mostly scurried away in fear at your very sight. 

The only thing that made your skin prickle was that the housekeepers had a penchant for peeping in on the two of you. Increasingly following you - they always did, but now…honestly, it was a bit disconcerting. 

But other than that, it was almost��peaceful. You wake up every morning to a large bouquet of burgundy roses at your bedside table - and a husband. Because Satoru had taken to sleeping on the little couch at the corner of your room every night - saying something about not wanting to rouse suspicion because if he actually had a wife he’d be “taking her to bed every night”. Somehow, you didn’t doubt it. 

“Funny how it’s getting close to a month of being married, but you haven’t even kissed me yet.” you deadpan. Looking down at where he was resting his head in your lap, sprawled across the soft grass in the garden.

Something else also happened - something different.

Because Satoru was a bit touchier, a bit closer. Like right now, preening into your fingers carding through his soft hair. “Oh~? Why, wanna take me to bed, wifey?”

“You wish.”

“Maybe I do.”

Your hands still, pulse racing as your eyes bore into Satoru’s, trying to figure out what sort of bad joke this was. Subconsciously, you find yourself leaning down closer - too closer. Close enough that you could count every shade of blue in his hungry gaze. But by the grace of whoever was above-

“Young master, please excuse the intrusion but you have-”

Sitting up abruptly, addressing the newcomer in a stone-cold tone. “How many fuckin’ times have I not told you to never bother me when I’m with my wife?”

The servant bows apologetically, sputtering out apologies as you move to get up. Flashing a smirk at Satoru’s dramatic pout, “I have to catch up on some reading anyway. See ya, Satoru.” 

“Noo~ my sweetheart don’t leave me~” 

You stifle a laugh at his little tantrum, so different from when he was serious. He was so….dizzying. “You’ll be okay, Satoru.” Glancing up nervously to meet the servant’s intense stare, studying the scene before him, how different his master was. “I’ll be at the library now.”

And Satoru notices - of course, he does. He sees that tiny flash of concern in your eyes. One that you might not have noticed yourself. He lowers his voice as you walk away, so you don’t hear him speaking behind you. Words dripping with a similar venom he always heard from his parents, “Now, tell me who you’re spying for. Names, first and last.” 

Satoru doesn’t join you in the library that day, the first time in weeks. And you find yourself missing him more than you should. It’s dark out by the time you’re raising your head from the books, joints aching from poring over them for hours. The house seems a lot quieter. Somewhat bigger. 

Something was wrong. Something was wrong. Something was wrong. 

Scratching the back of your head, you wander through the wooden hallways to your bedroom - wondering what was amiss. Your feet take you there as if on autopilot, thankful for Satoru’s meticulous tours. 

“Hey,” you smile softly at a servant making your bed, “Where are-”

Your question dies in your throat at the way she yelps at your words, hurrying down the corridor with a jerky bow. Weird. Leaving you all alone, and confused, muttering to yourself, it’s only then that you notice the flash of red by your bedside table. 

Not a bouquet. Only a single, red rose - a note tied around the stem, something you’d never gotten before. 

“The marriage proposals have been revoked, your contract is fulfilled, my ex-wife.”

Oh, reading that hurt more than it should’ve. You should be happy at being free, a few days earlier than expected at that - but it was over - just like that. You didn’t want to leave him. You didn’t want to leave him.You didn’t want to leave him.

 Were you going insane?

Clutching the flower like a lifeline, heaving out a sigh, “Maybe Satoru knows…”

“Thinking of me?”

Startled, you whirl behind to face your husband. In the dim-lighting, making out the stoney expression on his face, eyes wide and a little duller than they had been earlier today. 

“Satoru?”

His eyes light up at the mere sound of your voice - then you’re engulfed in him. Wrapping you in his arms, bowing his body into yours, so tight that it almost hurts. But you let him, fisting the fresh yukata in your hands - and that’s when you realize, he’s changed his robes since this morning. “Are you okay?” you whisper into his shoulder. Drinking in the smell of his cologne, and something faintly metallic. 

Every cell in your body is screaming at you to take the opportunity - to run away from this yakuza and his slaughter and whatever this was. But how could you? Staying rooted to the spot, not even a speck of fear.

Satoru heaves out a heavy breath, tickling the hairs at your nape as he pulls you impossibly closer. “Those nosy elders won’t be bothering you anymore, sweetheart. You’re free to go.”

A shudder runs down your spine at his words, and you didn’t want to think too hard about what they meant. Instead, you guide him to your bed - and, surprisingly, he allows you to. Letting the two of you sink into the plush mattress. With Satoru still in your arms. He repeats, “You’re free to go.”

Run away. Run away. Run away-

There it was again - that strained little manta. You stare right into his eyes, voice thick at the sinking feeling in your stomach. “My 30 days aren’t over yet.” 

“Leave. Please.” he grunts into the crook of your neck, like your hands drawing patterns down his back had broken some dam. “M’not a good man.” 

You press your lips to his forehead, searing and a desperate attempt to soothe the man. “I think I’ll be the judge of that.”

“I’m yakuza, sweetheart. Doomed to follow my parents here.” he mutters, strained and voice more unsure than you’ve ever heard. And once he started, it was like Satoru just couldn’t stop, rambling into your skin, “I hate it here, and you should, too. All these fuckin-”

“So go with me instead.”

“What if-”

“Toru.‘ you cut off his words, slurring and spilling out of his mouth. Gently, you pry him away from his little haven, reeling back to take a good look at the face he’s been hiding for so long. Hair mussed, curtaining his whirling eyes - all disheveled and vulnerable where he was once so suave. 

Your eyes bore into his, unwavering. “It’ll be alright, Toru.”

And then he’s kissing you - and you’re kissing him. Only when his lips meet yours, soft, and so so sweet, do you realize that this is everything you ever want right now - possibly these past few weeks. “Y’can kill me if you don’ want his.” he mutters into your open mouth.  

It’s so desperate - a messy clash of teeth and saliva, Satoru was drinking you in like you were the last drop of water on Earth. He tasted so sweet, like candy almost, and the gentle caress of a lover. You were addicted like you could do this forever and ever and-

And then he’s pulling away. A disappointed little whine leaves you involuntarily as he parts, delicate strings of saliva snapping in the space between you two. Satoru’s mouth drops into a soft oh! at the noise, surging forward minutely like he was about to kiss you senseless again. Only to halt with a pained grunt, just a hair’s breadth from your lips. 

“M’sorry.” Claiming your lips once again, like a man possessed. Drinking in your breathless gasps. Like he never wanted to let go. “F-fuck, sweetheart. Y’don’t know how crazy you drive me.” he pants.

“Why did you pick me?” you blurt out, a question that had been nagging at the back of your mind every time Satoru slipped his hand in yours, introducing you as his loving wife. “Was it just the debt?”

He’s kissing your pulse now, canines hovering over the erratic little cadence. Breathing you in like you were intoxicating. “No.” he’s licking a long, languid stripe up your neck. Pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down every inch of skin he could reach. 

“Then why?” your words come out in almost an embarrassing plea. But by the way his breath hitches, you know that Satoru loves it. 

“Because.” he breathes, “You treated me like a human.”

He’s capturing your lips with his again, nipping at your bottom lips. You squeal as he pulls, suddenly wanting him to tease you like this everywhere. To have him absolutely ruin you like you know he could - treat you like the wife he claimed you were. 

But Satoru wasn’t done yet - far from it. He chuckles, kissing down your neck, fumbling with the ties of your yukata, “Remember that night? You probably don’t, was rainin’ so hard I thought I’d drown out there.” Worshiping the valley between your breasts as he hastily unbuckles your bra. “That night was when the marriage proposals had come in. They said I’d either carry the legacy or be forced to leave the family. Kicked out of my own home.” 

And you’re reeling from both his words and the way Satoru was rocking his hips into yours now, something hot, and so achingly hard pressing in the damp area between your legs. “Thought I was gonna take ‘em all out that night.”

“Take them all out?” your breath hitches.

“Every. Single. One.” Fingers dancing across the hem of your panties. “Wouldn’t have felt bad about it either.” 

Satoru’s licking down your navel now, humming in confirmation into your skin. “But then…” he groans, taking in the first fucking sinful sight of your drenched panties. So flimsy and already dripping for him - and after just a few kisses, really? You were heaven on Earth. “But then along came you. So pretty and all worried f’me. The daughter of that diner owner I’d loaned money too.”

You watch, heart racing as Satoru swallows in awe. Darkened gaze locked on the way your slick beads out of your pussy, bare thighs trying to close - give yourself some semblance of dignity. But no- how could you? When Satoru’s holding them apart.

“And then I knew…” he’s sliding his index underneath your panties up and down, grazing your swollen folds. Pooling your sweet sweet juices on his fingertip before popping it into his mouth. Eyes fluttering shut at the taste, and you’ve never seen him look so blissful. “I just had to have you.”

Rip! 

The cold air brushes against you before you even know it - only when you feel Satoru’s hot breath against your dripping cunt does it hit - this bastard just ripped your panties off. And he was dangling it like a badge of honor, breathing in your juices so animalistically. 

Your lips wobble as he just admires your pussy, the way it glistens and clenches around nothing. “Hah- please.”

“Please what?” he grins, and you can feel him licking little circles around your inner thigh. So close. “The wife of a yakuza boss has gotta know how to use her words.”

“You’re awful.”

“And yet you married me.”

With such a cute lil’ whine that makes Satoru’s cock twitch so painfully, you buck your hips closer to his hot mouth. “Wan’ your mouth on me, to eat me out. Please, Toru.”

He lets out a shuddering breath, “There’s my girl.”

You gasp when he surges forward, burying his pretty face nose-deep in your pussy. Holding your breath as he lazily licks up your folds - long, sloppy movements of his tongue all the way from your base to your swollen clit. Swirling deftly around the sensitive nub. 

Drunk off your pussy with the way he’s so messy - seemingly unable to decide between sucking harshly on your poor, ravaged clit to dipping into your sloppy hole. And it’s driving you mad, keening and pulling at his soft locks. You haven’t been touched this good in ages, and Satoru was well and fully intent on ruining you. 

“Shhh, don’t worry, wifey.” words muffled into your cunt, “Your husband’s gonna take care of you.” He’s throwing your legs over his broad shoulders.

“Real good care of you.” Then he’s plunging knuckle-deep in your plushy pussy, the tips of his long fingers massaging your plushy walls. Messy enough that your slick is trailing down his wrist. Roaming for that one spot he knows will have you moaning deliciously. Pressing down, hard.  “Found it. Gonna have you screamin’ my name til’ the entire estate hears.”

You tug on his hair, urging Satoru’s mouth towards your cunt - partially because you wanted him there, partially because you really needed him to shut up right now. 

And shit how could he ever say no to his pretty wife?

Satoru is grinning, you can feel it on your throbbing clit as he wraps his pretty pink lips around it. Pumping his fingers in and out, hitting that little spot each and every time. Looking like he was absolutely in heaven as he rolls and swirls his tongue against your clit over and over and-

“Sh-shit. Toru-”

“Mmm, yes- fuck, love it when you call me that.” he groans. And oh he’s looking at you like he wants to devour you - eyes half-lidded, such a pretty blush disting his cheeks - and making out with your pussy just as much. Tilting his head back, back, back so that your juices slide down his throat. “Feels good? Ya like when m’ruining your pretty pussy?”

“Yes!” you squirm. Shaking, bucking your hips into his touch so desperately. “Wanted it s’bad.” 

He’s becoming frenzied now, drinking in your cute little whimpers like he was addicted. But it wasn’t enough - it never was and fuck Satoru wanted more more more-

“Move your hips, yeah- jus’ like that.” Satoru’s grunting and smacking his lips against your own. Letting you pull and angle him just as you please. 

“Gonna be the best fuckin’ husband you’ll ever have. N’ anyone that says otherwise, m’gonna fuckin’ kill.” The vibrations have your body jerking violently. “Make you cum harder than y’ever have. C’mon, say yes.”

And with that, he’s alternating between lapping at your clit and bullying his tongue through your swollen folds. Stretching you, thrusting in and out of your sloppy hole. Jaw grinding deeper into you as he eats you out like his last meal. “Ngh- fuck, yes yes yes-”

“Beg for it, beg for your husband.”

“Wanna cum- Ah! Please, wanna cum, Toru.”

One hand so messy toying with your dripping entrance - not having the patience or the sanity to even draw circles anymore. Just quick, hurried patterns to get you off. The other digging into your hips, so hard you were sure it’d leave marks for tomorrow. Making you drag your sloppy pussy senselessly all over his mouth. Using him. 

“Hngh- Toru! Ah- fuck fuck Toru Toru T-”  You’re shaking - crying out as you cum. A guttural, strangled moan of your husband’s name. So violent, and hard that you don’t even realize at first. Just that you’re rocking your hips into Satoru, white-hot pleasure behind your eyes, blood roaring in your ears.

And he doesn’t stop - not even once. If you were in any better state of mind you’d wonder whether it hurt - whether his fingers were cramping up, and his tongue was tired. If they were, he didn’t show, only letting you chase your high as roughly as you want. 

Greedily lapping up all your juices. Even when you’re blinking your vision back, chest heaving as you try to regain our breath. “S-Satoru.” you mewl, stars behind your eyes with each flick of his tongue. 

“Jus’ a bit more. Wanna taste all of you.”

You weren’t going to make it out alive.

Big, fat tears pricking at your eyes from the overstimulation as Satoru finally rises from what you almost worried would be his favorite seat. “All done. Now, keep that pretty lil’ cunt on display f’me, my girl.”

And your cunt is clenching in- fear? Anticipation? As your husband finally unties his yukata, letting it slide off those milky, toned shoulders. And shit he was such a fucking masterpiece. The dim-lighting bouncing off every curve and dip of those carved abs. Delicate swirls of his tattoo inching from his collarbone, down, down, down, hugging Satoru in a way that made you so half-lucidly jealous. All the way till the last inky thorn meets the neat tufts of white hair peeking up from the hem of his underwear. 

“Touch me.” he groans into your ear. The words barely leave those pretty lips before your hands are everywhere. Dancing down his tattoo, groping at this pecs - too much to worship, not enough time. 

“Toru…” you trail off, hand reaching out to brush his waistband. Tugging just enough that his throbbing cock springs out, hitting his sculpted abdomen. Red, and so so angry, fat tip weeping down his length, already so soaked in precum. He was so intimidatingly long - longer than anyone else you’d had before. Thick enough that you wondered whether you’d hurt yourself. 

And he sees right through you.

“Now now, none of that.” he tuts, pushing your bare thighs as far apart as they’d go. He spreads your cunt so shamefully with his thumb. Spitting once, twice. Some of it splatter against your thigh as Satoru mixes his saliva with your slick. “Don’t worry, wifey, m’gonna make it feel good for ya.”

You flinch as he uses you like some object. Dangerously liking it more and more as he drags his fat head down your folds. Wetting himself, all the preparation he was going to give you because fuck Satoru needed to be inside your pretty lil’ pussy right now. 

Then you feel like you’re being split apart - as if Satoru’s cock was pushing all the way to your lungs as he presses through the first ring of muscle.

“Ah! Ngh- Toru, s’too big!” you yelp, eyes locked on the way your lips were stretched so lewdly around his tip. Clamping and quivering as he keeps pushing in, inch by fucking inch. No mercy. Absolutely none at all. 

And while he sounded like he was on cloud nine, you were having your head spin, torn between wanting to run away from his massive cock and just push yourself down for more more more. His lips claim yours - absolutely animalistic because God he needed to shut up your pretty whines or else Satoru was going to cum right here right now.

“Breathe, sweetheart, breath. Ngh- You can take it.” Satoru pants into your mouth, fucking into you in mindless, shallow little thrusts just to fit inside your snug cunt. Sounding like he was losing his sanity each time your heavenly walls milked him. “So fuckin’ tight. Jus’ relax f’me. Oh yeah, jus’ like that. You can take it you can-”

You gasp for air when he finally bottoms out inside you, tears streaming down your face and clawing at his back. 

Satoru only coos, letting you mark him up all you want. Pace increasing relentlessly, “Aww, my good lil’ wife. Taking me so well, huh?” Starting to rock his hips just a bit faster into yours, “Always knew y’would.” 

“Can y’feel me, right-.” Balls smacking against your ass, his finger tracing an invisible line halfway down your tummy. “-here?” Thumb stroking where he could feel himself bulging inside you, pressing down. Hard. 

You almost sob at the pressure, jolting - you should’ve expected that the yakuza boss would fuck so mean.

And shit you can just do nothing but take it, hips jerking wildly as Satoru pounds into you with reckless abandon. Clutching at his shoulders, the sheets, his hair - just anything. 

“C’mon~ Don’t run away from me,” he grunts, strained like he’s struggling to maintain restraint. Lacing his fingers on top of your head to slide you impossibly deeper onto his cock. “Jus’ fuckin’ got you, so don’t you dare run away.”

You can only nod. Eyes glazed, cockdrunk and letting him thrust so sloppily. “Won’t run away Toru…” you babble, “Wan’ you to make me yours.”

“Mine? Gonna be all mine?”

“All yours, Toru.”

And maybe you were an idiot, maybe you were a mastermind - because with a choked out little moan of what sounded like your name, Satoru’s pulling you both to sit up. The gravity makes you bury his cock deeper and faster into your tight pussy.

With the new angle, your husband’s hitting all the right spots easily, almost as if he knew your body better than you did. Veins rubbing so deliciously against your walls, shifting around your hips to fuck up into that poor, abused spot. 

“Ya like this, huh?” he groans, fingers now toying with your ravaged clit. Rolling it around harshly between two fingers. “Always knew this cute pussy could take me s’well. Just didn’t know it would feel this fucking heavenly.”

Faster, sloppier. Bouncing you on his rock-hard cock  like he was claiming you from the inside. So, so desperate and debauched.

And exactly where you wanted to be. 

You leave delicate pink bites down this pale neck, alongside those roses - marking him in your own way as you edge closer and closer. It was too much. Everything was too much. 

“Toru-” you sob. And he already knew what that meant. With how your voice breaks so adorably and the way you’re clenching around him hard enough that it’s almost difficult to ruin that cute pussy. 

“Close?” 

“Mhm…”

“Well then.” thrusts getting sloppy, with no reason or rhythm now. Grip on your body tightening like a vice. “Cum f’me like a good lil’ wife, then.”

And that makes you throw your head back in ecstasy - it makes you cum. Thighs quivering, jolts of electricity running down all the way from your overstimulated cunt to your hazy mind. It has you chanting Satoru’s name like a lifeline while his teeth dig into your flesh. Hard enough that you distinctly wondered whether he was out for blood.

Letting out low, muffled moans into your neck while he cums as well. Hot ropes of seed filling up your poor, bloated pussy, painting your walls such a sinful white. Cumming and cumming so hard you wondered whether you’d make it out alive.

And because of the obscene position, you could feel the way it dribbled down your legs. Thick globs landing in a pool on the overpriced sheets below, smearing so lewdly between you two. Hips still fucking up into you - not even thinking about it as he pushes his seed deeper and deeper. 

You managed to raise your eyes, still dazed to meet his - exhausted, and dark with lust and something else that you really weren’t in the right mind to decipher right now. 

And then Satoru’s lips find yours again, biting and tugging lazily. Tasting so unfairly of candy and sweet, sweet trouble. Body melting into you like all the worries have been lifted from his shoulders. He’s looping his arms tighter around your waist, crushing you into an almost-painful hug against him. 

Something soft. Something new. Something that makes a little part of your heart twinge to break the kiss and pull away mere millimeters. “We better not divorce after this.”

“Of course not.” He chuckles into your lips, resting his forehead against yours like he was trying to map the constellations in your eyes. “I haven’t even given you my wedding gift yet.”

Smirking, you lock your legs tighter around Satoru’s toned waist as he lets the two of you fall back into the mattress. Sinking into it - and each other - with both exhaustion and something of a quiet, unspoken little fondness. Batting your lashes up at him, “Mhm, I remember someone talking about giving me four mercedes as a wedding gift and I’m leaving if not.”

“Well then, better get to it. Four for my in-laws to get on their good side, too,” he nuzzles the bite mark on your neck. “Because I plan to stay like this for a long, long time.”

A/N. Plagiarism not authorized.

[hoshigray]

𝐎𝐥𝐝 𝐓𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐬, 𝐒𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐓𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐬 | toji fushiguro

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: Your ex-husband bringing the kids over for trick-or-treating is one thing; him wanting to spend the night at your place is another. But it's just for the night. There's no way one night can rekindle some old feelings...right?

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: ex-husband! Toji x fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - the reader is around their mid-30s - Tsumiki (age 11) and Megumi (age 9) - mutual pining - kissing/makeout sessions - unprotected sex - Daddy kink - breast sucking + nipple play - fingering (f! receiving) - oral (f! receiving) - spooning + mating press - cervix fucking - breeding kink - praise - clitoral play (pressing and grinding) - pet names (baby, good girl, mama, princess, sweetie, sweet thing) - you and Toji have been divorced for five years - cameos: Gojo, Utahime and Mei Mei - mention of drool/spit and tears - humor bc I'm [not] funny.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 7.6k (....dawg.)

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: happy Halloween, everyone!! so, randomly missed writing ex-husband! toji bc it's lowkey my favorite, soooo yeah, this is what we're doing to celebrate the end of the month! anywho, happy October, beautiful ppl, and tysm for reading my works!! Alsooo, ty for 2.8k!!!

“Trick-or-treat!!”

“Gasp—Oh my goodness!” 

“We came to celebrate Halloween! Also, Megumi forgot his toothbrush here again.”

Opening your door to children at the sunset of Halloween day isn’t out of the ordinary or anything special. However, it’s always a pleasant surprise when it’s two kids you hold dear to your heart. You greet them with a hug, two siblings you know too well to say you’re acquainted with. If anything, you’re practically family. 

The raven-haired brother, referred to as Megumi, speaks up. “It’s not my fault! Dad was rushing me last time.”

“Because you had to bring your stuffed animals last time, holding us back for your baseball practice.” Tsumiki, the older sister, snapped back. The two argue amongst themselves in front of you as you try to mediate. It’s no avail until another voice comes to the fray.

“All right, chill out, you two.” The voice belonged to the person approaching the porch stairs, your eyesight capturing the familiar figure walking up with two duffle bags. The one standing tall before you was the father of the children, Toji Fushiguro. Who’s also known as your one and only former husband. “Get inside and finish y’r homework, or else we’re goin’ back home.” 

The siblings stop bickering and head inside, taking off their shoes at the foyer and walking upstairs. Now that they’re gone, you turn to the man with the jet-black hair, his viridian orbs focused on you. The weather was chilly, so the man wore his usual dark denim jacket over his plain black sweatshirt, matching his jeans. “You look good, big guy. What’s in the bags?”

He greets you with a curled lip, and the scar on the side of his lip lifts. “Picked them up from their after-school sports, so it’s their sports gear and costumes for tonight. Mind helpin’ me here?” 

“Hmmm,” you merge your facial expressions to that of faux pondering, turning your back to Toji. “Nah, can’t. Got dinner to finish making.”

“Hmph, should’ve known.” He makes his way through between you and the front door. “Wouldn’t wanna break your pretty nails carrying heavy shit, huh, princess?” 

You glare at him using the nickname, hating his patronizing gaze. “From what I remembered, you would never let me carry the heavy stuff because you thought I was too fragile and easy to break. So how about that, Mr. Knight in Shining Armor?”

“Really? I don’t remember sayin’ all that before. You must’ve put me in a spell.” 

“Probably, I’ve been told I’m quite cute~.”

“Mmm, nah, more like an old hag of a witch.” Toji barks a laugh at your offended reaction, and he immediately ducks and heads for the stairs when you throw a sandal at him.

“At the very least, say I’m a cute witch, fucker.” You say the final word under your breath, grabbing the sandal you threw and heading back to the kitchen.

To say you and Toji were acquainted with one another would be the biggest understatement of the century. The two of you met a decade ago, fell madly in love, and married within a year of the relationship. When you tied the knot, Tsumiki had to have been two years old, and Megumi just turned one year old. You two had been together for four years after that, and you could confidently say those were one of [if not THE] best years of your life. You often second-guessed yourself being in a relationship with someone who had children, fearing that they wouldn’t like you or ignore you.

However, those worries were blown right away as the days went by. Every time you spent time with the children brought you three closer than ever; it was to the point that they saw you as their mother. How sweet! And there’s no denying that Toji loved you. The man would break someone’s nose for you  — yes, it happened before, and it wasn’t pretty — for you were his sweet little thing that kept him going.  

Well, if it was so great, why the divorce? Let’s just say you weren’t Toji’s first love. That title would have to be awarded to the Megumi’s mother. Even in her unfortunate passing, you can tell that Toji loved that woman like no other. It didn’t make you jealous or anything, seeing the man you love still mourn for a dead woman. Hell, you’d probably do the same if you were him. But, you can’t lie; it felt like you were cast over a “shadow” when it came to her influence. It was damn near suffocating to bear, especially in those four years of marriage. So, for your sake and his aching heart, you pulled him aside and suggested a divorce. And Toji didn’t fight you on the proposition, signing the papers and setting you free from the thick air.

Although things ended between you two, that didn’t mean things stopped being what they were. If anything, it was as if nothing happened at all. Even if you still don’t live under the same roof, you still make time to hang with the Fushiguros, whether invited to some occasion or exchange phone calls or texts to check up on them. Even now, five years after your separation, it warms your heart knowing that you get to interact with the people you care about. 

There are moments you find yourself missing living under the same roof with all three of them and living alone can be pretty lonely. But all in all, as long as they’re comfortable and trust you enough to be around, there’s no need to change things up again. Like right now — the four of you sit at the dinner table eating before the kids go off trick-or-treating.

“Are you going to trick-or-treat with us, Y/n?” The brown-haired child sitting next to you asks while finishing up her dinner. 

“Sorry, not this time, gotta be at a Zoom meeting for my job in a few minutes. But I do have someone else to take my place. Gojo will be here at around—Why are you two making that face?” You stop mid-sentence to notice Megumi and Toji at the other side of the table, displaying disgusted facial expressions at the mention of the white-haired other’s name.

“Why him?” They said in unison.

“Why not??” You question their irritation.

“He’s so annoying…” Again, in unison. Proof enough that they’re father and son.

You sigh as you get up to take your plate to the sink. “Oh, come on, you two, it’s not like he’ll be with you guys the entire night. He has a party at a friend’s he’s going to later.” 

“Isn’t he too old to trick-or-treat?” Tsumiki questions, noting that Gojo is way past his undergraduate years. 

“He is, but whatever gets that prick any free sweets,” Toji answers his daughter before getting up to put his dish in the sink. 

You exit the kitchen, head into the living room, and sit on the couch. The laptop you had placed there was ready to open and unlock, and you clicked on applications and windows to look through before your meeting started in the next three to two minutes. He should be here about—

DING-DONG!!

Now.

Right on cue, you motion for Toji to grab the front door, and he follows your command. “Kids, Gojo’s here!” You shout out to the two kids who still sit at the table. “When you’re done eating, you can go upstairs and put your costumes on. But whoever finishes last has to do the dishes.” You can hear commotion from the table as the brunette rushes to put her dish in the sink and dash for the stairs. Megumi groans to himself; you giggle when you hear him mutter an “Aww man…”

You pull out your headphones to connect to your laptop, put them in their respective ears, and prepare yourself for the meeting. Ignoring the faint passive-aggressive tones of your ex-husband when greeting Gojo at the door…

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Your eyes flutter open, noticing the lighting change around the living room. The orange sunlight no longer decorated the space, substituted with the gradual darkness that overtakes you. The only source of light you can figure out is the flashing from the television screen.

Aside from the TV, there are no other signs of life. There aren’t any signs of Tsumiki or Megumi around playing or causing a raucous. It could only mean the two are still trick-or-treating with Gojo. 

One blink, two blinks. I must’ve fallen asleep after the meeting… You hum while sinking to the couch, burying your face into the pillow. 

But…since when did your pillow act like it was breathing with a heartbeat? And…I smelt that cologne before…How?

“Ya awake now?”

You raise your head, realizing you are not lying on your couch. Technically, you were; however, you were lying on something else on the furniture with you – more like someone. 

It’s then you realize that you were lying on Toji during your entire slumber, him leaning on the end of the couch, one leg spread to make room for you to sleep on him while you sit on the other. And you can guess that you had your head on his chest, snuggling up to his warm figure. He looks at you with his green eyes now darkened by the room, yet you can see their glow from the television light. And that small smile he gives you, the scar on the right side of his lip lifted upward. The familiar butterflies in your stomach flutter like before. Like old times sake…That must be embarrassing, huh?

You frantically try to get off of him, “Sorry about that, I thought—“

“No, no,” Toji places a stern hand on your back, keeping you from moving further. “You were comfortable.” 

You stare at him for a few seconds until your face contours to a look, and a smile starts to creep up while you situate yourself back to your original position, pressing your face back on his chest to listen to the beats of his heart again. “I recall having this couch all to myself not too long ago, so where’d you come from?”

“Well, I wanted to watch some sports highlights, but I figured you’d kick my ass if I pulled you off and had you sleep on the floor instead.” With the click of your tongue, he chortles. You bet your ass I would. “So, I decided to have ya sleep on me while I watch TV.”

“What’s wrong with the other side of the couch? It’s quite vacant and enough for a big guy like you.” 

“True,” his hand rubs circles on your back, an old habit he did when he used to have you like this. “But then I’d be lonely.” 

You titter. “That’s big for someone who said he thrives on being alone.”

“I thrive being alone when I’m working.” You’re glad he can’t see your eyes roll; he’d probably grab you by the cheeks like a child. “Besides, why would I wanna be alone when I have you for myself.”

And there it is, your cheeks begin to warm up. Or was it because you’re so close to him that his heat is transferring to you? That’s probably it, yeah. Let’s change the subject…”How long was I out for? I remember the kids left around 7:30-ish.”

“Mmm, it’s going to eleven right now.”

Three and a half hours? Damn. “It’s past their bedtime.”

Toji scoffs. The abrupt motion of his chest rising is satisfying in a way that makes you even more comfortable. “You still think they’re gonna sleep with all that sweet shit they got?” He snickers some more as you shake your head.

“They know better. When you guys get home, be sure to put their candy bags on the top shelf of the closet for the morning.” 

“Still traumatized from that one time?” 

“Uhhh, yes??” The memory flashes to you for a quick moment, but the dread from before still haunts you. Megumi was six years old and Tsumiki seven, returning home from trick-or-treating and immediately tasting their labor from that night. However, what you didn’t expect was for them both to eat almost half their bags. Let’s just say, thanks to their sugar rushes, they didn’t drop dead until the hour hand touched two of the morning. “Unless it’s the weekend, never again.”

The way the older man chuckles is so therapeutic — it nearly makes you want to fall asleep again. “You weren’t the one chasin' Megumi all over the place tryin' to get him to sleep. Little squirt gets his speed from me.”

“Awww, poor you~” You can sense the glare as you respond in a condescending, sing-song tune. “You and him are always butting heads. Like father, like son.”

“Tch, hate that sayin’ so fuckin’ much.”

“Why? ‘Because it’s true?”

“Shut up.” The hand he used to rest his head comes down to pinch your nose. You wriggle out of his hold with giggles, but he happily keeps you grounded to him with his stronghold and a leg wrapped around to prevent yours from moving. “He only listens to you. Such a sweet lil’ baby to you, huh? Puttin’ my own son against me.”

More giggles prompt out of tiny guilt, and you bring up a hand to rub on his chest. “He’s such a bright boy now. Growing up so big and fast.”

“Miki, too. That girl is way too smart fr' me to catch up. And she’s becoming so kind and strong, crazy to think she made me play teacups when she could barely go down the stairs by herself.” Toji hums, the vibrations felt on the pads of your fingers. “Think she gets that from you.” 

You shook your head. “They’re your babies. They do amazing things because they have a big guy like you to catch them if they ever fall.”

“Hmm, fair…But let’s not pretend I’m the best dad in the world. Fuck, never in my life did I think I’d be a dad, especially with two kids. I didn’t know shit back then — still! I still don’t know shit.” You don’t say anything, just listening to him voice his thoughts to you. Because he knows you’d listen – you always do. “If you weren’t there for them, I don’t think they’d be shining like this. Y’re definitely the thing that brought us up together. They look up to you so much. Ya did so well with them.”

Nodding aimlessly, his black sweatshirt grazing on your cheek. “Thank you. Same to you. Didn’t do so bad yourself, big guy.”

“Mmm.”

Nothing is said between you two after that. The only thing that makes noise is the voices coming from the television. The volume lowered, an initiative you could guess from Toji wanting you to get some rest. The silence was too awkward that it might torture some, but it was fine where it was. There was no need to change it, especially when you were comfortable in each other’s embrace.

That is, until Toji asks, “Do you miss it?” The rubs on your back go slower, his fingertips drawing a ticklish sensation.

“Of course I do. All the time.” You answer honestly, turning your head to rest your chin on him. Your eyes glimpse directly at his, giving him a tiny grin. “Why ask? I know the kids miss me being around; what about you? Miss me nagging and putting you to work all the time?”

He sneers at your comment. “Every day.”

It was such a simple answer, yet it had the power to wipe that smirk right off your face. Your eyes locked in his sight, and your heart tuning to an irregular rhythm. Oh, come on, Y/n, get a grip! “Ahem—Toji, I hope you know that I never stopped missing everything we had — I never will. Those years that we shared were probably the best I’ve had. We had happy moments, others sad, of course. But, God, do I miss it all. I miss it so much. I miss having you guys here. Miki and Gumi and—“

“Me?” Good Lord, if this man doesn’t stop looking at you with those goddamn eyes of his, such captivating orbs that say more than he lets on. Your breath hitches, and so does the hand on your back. “Hmm? Ya miss me, baby?”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. Why’d you have to call me that? And it gets worse when he places his free hand on your cheek, his thumb brushing your skin while the forefinger teases the lobe and tragus of your ear. Goddammnit…

“...Yes,” your voice was down a whisper, which could easily be mistaken with the television. But you know Toji heard you, loud and clear. “Especially you, Toji.” You said it. The words that he wanted to hear from you. They felt so forbidden to say, yet it was the truth. You avert your gaze away from him. But you knew that wouldn’t work, not right now. Toji taps your cheek with his thumb, and your eyes sheepishly return to his.

He doesn’t say anything, and that makes your heart beat at an unbearable rate. It’s all you can hear when you stare into his deep emerald eyes, the sound of it ringing your eardrums as if you could puke. Your throat running dry, so you gulp to ease the uncomfortable bob. If something could just happen to end this anxious torture, that would be great. 

And then your prayers get answered: something does happen. Toji slowly brings his face closer to yours — your body goes rigid, and you instantly face away before the inevitable happens. No, I didn’t mean that!

“Aht aht, don’t do that, baby.” His hand slithers from your cheek to your chin, forcing you to face straight at him. “Lemme see you.”

“Toji, wait,” your voice travels out in a shaky breath. “We shouldn’t be doing this. We can’t cross this line anymore.”

He listens to your pleas, but his body does otherwise. Placing a gentle kiss on your forehead while the hand on your back snakes downward. “Why not?” His gruff voice dialed down to a whisper.

“Because—Mmmm…” Toji interrupts you by licking the helix of your ear. Oh, you slick bastard. “We’re supposed to be done…” 

“That’s not stoppin’ me from takin’ care of my sweet thing.” Jesus Christ, you almost melted from the way he whispered that to your ear. He’s pulling out all the same old tricks, and it gets more hellish by the second as you try not to give in. “So, y're gonna let me take care of you like I always do, right, mama?”

Both his hands now rest on your ass, groping it while your hips sway as if they have a mind of their own. The leg between yours comes up slightly, making you ride on it. The heat on your cheeks has already blossomed to your ears, making it hard to think straight. Gripping his sweatshirt, your hips ride his thigh to ease the throbbing sensation that grows with every motion. Good God, you shouldn’t be doing this. You know you shouldn’t be doing this. However, it’s been so long that you felt wanted like this — wanted by him. It’s all the same – his voice, his hands, his words, his body, and the names he calls – yet here you are turning into putty. 

“Haaahh, Mmmfff…Toji, please,” Toji withdraws his face from your shoulder, leaving him to examine your expression. You must look so dumb right now, with your hooded eyes and shivering lips. But, at this point, do you even care? “Please…Treat me right.”

One moment, you see his gaze narrow with a devious glint. Next, you’re taken aback when Toji slams his lips on yours, kissing and sucking your bottom lip until you give him access. With a moan, you open your mouth for him and sink deeper into the kiss. Your hands come around his neck, keeping him focused on you and you alone. Not that he would have it any other way.

His strong hands continue to knead your asscheeks while you hump and grind on his thigh. Nibbling on your lip, you whimper helplessly for him. It strokes his ego, knowing he’s making you like this, the fucking bastard. He takes in your tiny cries happily, shoving his tongue to play with yours. You give in to him, almost losing your balance riding his thigh, yet Toji’s lips never leave yours.

You break the kiss to get an imperative breath, panting loudly and sweetly for him as Toji kisses and licks your ear. The sounds make your lower region twitch. “Hnnmm, fuck…That’s my girl. So fuckin’ good fr’ me always, Y/n…” You can feel him slide a hand up to the hem of your leggings, forcing it inside for his thick fingers to brush up on the bare flesh of your butt. You gasp sharply. Him squeezing your butt has you biting down on his sweatshirt. “—Hahhh, Oh God, Toji,” With every squeeze, he inches closer to your panty-covered chasm, where you know he’d find a damp spot. Please touch me. Please, please, plea—

CLACK-CLINK!!

The two of you are frozen stiff when you hear the sound of the door opening and closing, the foyer lights turned on. “Alright~, we got you guys home. See ya later!” That was Gojo’s voice, indicating everyone was finally back from trick-or-treating. This means that Tsumiki and Megumi are about to see you on top of their father, his hand in your leggings and smacking lips with yours. Your eyes shoot wide with horror — immediately remove yourself from Toji and stand up from the couch to pull your bottoms up. You barely had the chance to peek at Toji because the kids already run to the living room to find you two.

“Y/n, Y/n, look!” The brunette was the first to greet you with her adorable pink Barbie cowgirl costume. She and her brother, dressed as Sasuke Uchiha, cheerfully showcased their pillowcases full of candy. “Look at all this candy we got!”

“Wooow, you guys really went on a haul,” you can only hope they can’t see you sweating bullets through your fake reaction. “Wh–Where’s Gojo?” 

“He dropped us off here a few seconds ago and left for the party,” The raven-haired boy answered while scanning his pillowcase.

You only nod along until you frantically wipe your mouth, realizing the tiny trail of spit from the corner of your mouth. “Umm—Ahem, well then, I’m glad you two got all that candy. Now, let’s hurry up and get you guys home so you can get ready for school tomorrow!” 

But the children didn’t move an inch. Actually, they looked like they were going to tell you something. You lift a brow. Oh no, they’re going to look at each other. They looked at each other and then glanced back at you. Oh, God, no. “Uhhh, Y/n, we were thinking.” Big sister Tsumiki is always the one who asks the following question. “Can we stay over?”

You inhale a massive breath, yet you do your best not to exhale a heavy sigh. “Kids, you promised to keep the overnight stays to three at max per month. This will be the fifth!” 

“Yeah, but it’s dark out. Plus, it’s way past our bedtime.” The younger chimes in with a tiny pout. “We’ll be asleep by the time Dad gets us home.”

And here comes Tsumiki with the tag-team response to add on. “And that means he’ll have to make continuous trips back and forth from the car. Picking me and Megumi up, getting our bookbags, the bags full of candy, the whole thing! We already packed up our PJs just in case.” 

You stood there staring at the two in astonishment. There’s no way they thoroughly planned this out. There’s just no way… And to make it worse, they were making valid arguments. You open your mouth to say something, but the two give the best puppy eyes they can. The wave of guilt hits like a train, internally cringing. You turn to Toji, who still sits on the couch, and the motherfucker only gives you a shrug. Wow, what a helpful father he is.

You groan into your hands, shaking your head while looking at the kids who wait for your verdict. “…Alright, you can stay as long as you PROMISE to put those candy bags in my bedroom closet. Deal?” The happy smiles and aggressive head shakes should answer your question. “Good, now go ahead and take your showers before you head for bed.” They rushed to the stairs by the time you finished that sentence, so enthusiastic about staying the night at your house, and you can’t help but smile hearing their footsteps run up the stairs. 

With that being said, you turn to the older man again. Your brows are trenched down, but your smile is still present. “So, you legit just sat there and let those two tag-team me like that? In my own house?”

Another shrug with a dumb smirk on his handsome face. “Told you: too smart fr’ me to catch up.” You shake your head before exiting to get the kids and guest rooms ready, leaving him with the television. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The midnight hour has finally danced its way into the darkness of the night. Halloween is finally over, and the month of October is no more. The pitter-patter sound of the rain cleanses the neighborhood of its merits and festivities that partook hours ago, ready for a new phase of the year to take over.

After having the guest room ready with sheets and sleepwear for Toji and kissing the kids goodnight, you rinse your stress off with a nice shower and put on your pajamas to get ready for bed. After you turn the lights off, you drape the comforter over your figure as your body sinks with the cozy sheets and pillowcase. Your eyes close while focusing on the curtains of your window, the only light piercing inside being the lampposts by the street. 

…Well, at least that’s what’s supposed to happen. But that’s not the case because you’re not the only one lying comfortably on your mattress. Instead, Toji is here with you, in your room, on your bed, his chest to your back, and his hand roaming inside your oversized shirt. Your lips are now connected with his, sharing your erotic moans with his enticing groans, and you get a little louder as his fingers cup and play with your breast.

“Mmphh…Ahhhh, I thought I told you you’re sleeping in the guest room—Nmmff!” He tweezes your nipple with his forefinger and thumb roughly.  

“And I thought you’d be smart enough to know that wasn’t gonna happen.” Toji kisses the crook of your neck, drawing near your ear for him to whisper. “Besides, look at you. Still sleepin’ with no underwear on?”

“Hmph, only when I have a man around the house.” That answer got you another rough tweak on your nip and a purposeful gnaw to your ear. You knew he’d react like that, never liking the mention of another man leaving your mouth – especially during an intimate time like this.

“That so? What man you know that can handle all this?” Toji then moves from his side to be between your legs, pulling up your shirt to fully expose your chest. And your breathe hitches while his free hand travels down your abdomen to your bottoms.

“Ahhhh, no one. Just you...” You look at him with half-lidded eyes, taking in his reaction to what you said. The salacious grin on his face becoming broader should entail that he greatly loved that retort.

He brings his face to your other unattended nipple, “Good answer, princess.” The nub of your breast enters his mouth, and the wet warmth of his tongue greets it with lapped motions and grazes from his teeth. Despite that, it doesn’t distract you from the fact your bottoms are pulled down with ease and are thrown to the bedroom floor, leaving your cunt out for him, your erotic fluids seeping and glistening from the outside lights. 

Toji plays with your folds until he can stuff his pointer finger into your chasm, the insertion resulting in your body’s jolt. It’s been a long while since you had his thick digit inside you, playing and scraping the inner walls to evoke whimpers. God, it felt so good, this satisfying feeling returning to awaken your body to his touch. He interacts with your body as if he’s the only person who knows how to get you going – and it’s the truth. No one can put you in a blissful haze quicker than this man. And you’d prefer to keep it that way. 

The addition of his middle finger into your leaky entrance startles you, the thick digit making its way in with such vigor that he uses both fingers to scrape the velvety texture of your walls. Your eyes are now screwed shut at the growing commotion between your thighs, and the heat within your body flourishing all around gets to your head. “—Khmm, Oh fuuck, Toji. Please, don’t stop.” 

With a soft ‘pop’ noise from his lips, Toji replies to your demands. “I’m sorry, what’s my name again?” You giggle with trenched brows. Of course, how could I forget?

“Nmmph, D-Daddy, pleaseee, I’m so clo—Ahhhann!!” He puts his thumb to your clit, grinding down on it unexpectedly. “I wanna cum, pleaseee…”

“Hmmm, good girl,” he teased, laying down kisses, nibbling on the skin of your stomach and inner thighs until he arrives at your leaking slit. Your body jerks up from the bed when you feel the cold, wet muscle slowly lick on your clitoris before ravaging your folds. The sounds of his mouth on your cunt are so lewd to the ear, slurping noises from his lips with the lapping motions of his tongue claiming your come are too much for you. And when he uses his hand to swipe and pinch your clit? Oh, it’s a wrap. Your release comes out without control, biting down on your bottom lip to make sure your cries don’t leave this space for the kids to hear. Their room is on the other side down the hall; tonight isn’t the night for too many risks.

When your trembling body calms down and subsides, Toji withdraws his face from between your thighs. Your essence paints his mouth, and he wipes his chin clean while licking the remnants that coat his scarred lips. “Hmph, missed tastin’ you like that.” You open your eyes when your high finally evades you, watching your ex-husband pull down his sweats. His erection springs out and hits his stomach, your mind going rampant with thoughts as you ogle at his freed limb. Shit, it’s been so long. Will that shit even fit me again?

“Don’t think it’ll fit, baby?” Damn him, he loves teasing you. Toji then discards his black wife-beater, at long last revealing his well-built, brawny physique that has you drooling for him. He uses his hands to maneuver your legs—your knees pushed to your chest as your legs propped up on his shoulders. A position you’re all too familiar with. Your eyes don’t leave Toji’s cock as he aligns his cock to your slick-coated folds. “Take some breaths fr’ me, sweetie. Can’t take care of you when you’re all tense.”

You take up on his advice and begin taking deep breaths, reminding yourself to maintain the steady pattern as he pushes the tip of his dick between the lips of your cunt. Every inhale is where he nudges into the hole of your inner cavern, and every exhale gives you time to breathe out the pain that comes in for a split second. This carries on until the cockhead wedges itself perfectly into your vagina, along with the inches of his girth that stretches until the base kisses your lips, the tip of him kissing your cervix. Tears swell up in your eyes, taking more deep breaths to prepare yourself for what’s about to come. 

“Oooh fuuuck…Heh, yeah, that’s my baby right there. Fittin’ so perfect fr’ me, mama…” He puts his weight on you, keeping your figure unmoving under his bow. 

“Nmmmf, Daddyyy,” you’re forced to take in all of him, and drool trails down your lips with no hope of taking care of it. “…I’m so full, you’re too much…”

“I know, sweetie, I know.” He wipes your spit after kissing your forehead. How gentle compared to what you’re about to go through. “Gonna move now.” His thrusts start slow for the two of you to adjust to each other; the feeling of his length’s veins coming in and out of your chasm is so euphoric, and the kisses to your cervix want your body to writhe and squirm. But you’re bent into this position for a reason: forced to submit to him no matter what. So you do just that.

Yet your horny haze gets more potent once he picks up the pace, rutting into you with increased speed. Your slit, still sensitive from earlier, gets overstimulated with the constant grazes on your gummy walls and jabs to your tender cervix. It takes everything in your power not to come so early.

“—Hahhhh, Nmmph. Oh, shit, shit, shit…” Toji groans above you, the thrusts of his pelvis increase to an irregular rhythm, grinding deep into your cunt to the point of uncontrollable babbles escaping your lips. His bullying on your insides results in you gripping his length hard, causing the older man to hiss and moan at your contractions. “—Ohhhfuuuckk!! Jesus Christ, baby. Y’re gonna make me go crazy.” 

As if that wasn’t already happening now that he pistons his cock into your wetness, your brain turning into mush from the onslaught of ruts to your puffy wet chasm. Tears stream down your face, and more drool follows down with more precise hits to your delicate canal. The pounding in your head makes it hard to think of anything else, the squelching noises and paps of Toji’s balls hitting your cunt making it worse. 

“D-Daddyyy, I’m—Ohoooo!! Oh, Jesus, ohhhshit!” You can’t formulate a proper sentence, too engulfed with the electrifying sensations coursing through your body. 

“Damn, you feel too fucking good—Hnngh!!” Toji places his forehead on yours, resting his entire weight on you while his hips have a mind of their own. “‘Bout to make me knock you up…”

Oh, good Lord. The mere thought of having a child is the last thing that should be on your mind. But in a time like this, who in their right mind would be thinking straight? “Nnnfff! Oh God, pleaseee, fill me up, Daddyy!” Green eyes narrow with trenched brows. “—Pleasepleasepleaseee!! I want you to fill me up so bad, I want it, I want—Hyaaaaa!!” 

How can he deny your desperate, teary pleas when you’re urging him on like this? “Heh, you’re so fuckin’ sexy, mama.” Toji captures your lips with his, your mewls taken by him as you sink further into your pleasurable thrill.

Sporadic thrusts of his pelvis produce more raunchy noises in the joining of your sexes, his heavy balls smacking on your cunt as he drives the base of his cock straight into you. Your slit is now a puffy mess, come and slick form a soapy mess that Toji now harbors a milky ring around his girth. A few rushed, sloppy thrusts heighten your high once more, and then Toji presses his pelvis down to the hilt on one final, harsh thrust, unloading his seed into your aching folds. And your climax follows in a few seconds, the walls of your cunt fluttering on his pulsating dick as your essence soaks him. Your muffled shrieks are received by him, quivering under him until the aftershocks wash through your body. 

Once you two breathe at a steady tempo and the nerves of your sweaty bodies fall still, the kiss is broken with heavy pants and a string of spit that links you two together. Toji buries his face between your neck and shoulder, licking and kissing your skin as you’re allowed time to experience your clarity.

“Hmmm…You know I’m not done yet, princess.” Toji mumbles to your ear before stationing your legs off his shoulders for them to rest.

“Yeah, I know, big guy.” You tease him with a breathless laugh, kissing him on the temple. “Always wanting more…”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“…So, you’re telling me you had your ex-husband spend the night? Not just the kids?”

“Yup, that’s what happened.” 

This morning was different from your usual routine – well, you can’t say it’s different if you have done it before, huh? After five years of divorce, you thought you’d be so used to waking up and getting ready for work without worrying about others. However, this morning proves otherwise.

It felt natural walking into the kids’ room and lightly shaking them awake, telling them to get ready while you whip up something quick for them to eat as Toji showers (using your bathroom, by the way). Watching the kids run down the stairs and eat breakfast puts a smile on your face, reminiscing about the good old days when they were younger and teenier. It sometimes feels surreal doing the same thing for them now that they’re getting older and taller. But seeing them bicker and interact with each other in your presence never fails to warm your heart.

When Toji’s finished freshening up and loading his kids’ stuff in his truck, it’s time to bid them farewell for their departure for school. You give them final touch-ups on their hair and outfits, reminding them to be safe and not get into trouble (especially Megumi, now that the boy’s been getting into fights). And before they rush to the car, you hug them and give each a kiss on the cheek. Here is where the warm feeling inside your heart begins to deteriorate, not wanting to let them go. Yet, for their sake – and education – you release them and hope for the best.

The last to leave was Toji, who came from the kitchen to the front door with a paper plate wrapped in foil in one hand. His name is written boldly by a black Sharpie. “This fr' me?” 

“No, it’s for Shiu Kong, for dealing with you all the time.” You stick your tongue out at Toji as he glares at you, not even moving out of the way while he exits through the door. “You better eat that when you get to work, you have a terrible habit of skipping lunch.” 

“Whatever ya say, mom.” He pesters you with the title, knowing you’re technically not a mother anymore. Yet it only makes you smile knowing he notices your maternal side. 

“Don’t forget to text me when Tsumiki’s soccer game is next week.” You watch him go down the porch stairs. 

“Will do.”He whistles. 

“And Toji?”

The man stops walking to turn to you, his forest green eyes fixed on you so quickly that you almost forget what you want to say. Or what you wanted to do. You place your fingers on your lips and blow a kiss with an outward gesture. It was an old habit you did whenever he left, something you can’t seem to get out of practice with. It’s embroidered in your mind at this point. 

And when he catches the kiss with his free hand and places it on his chest, it makes your heart skip a beat. Toji grins, “I’ll be damned if that was fr' Shiu, too.”

You snicker with a shaken head. “Drive safe, Toji.” Closing the front door, you stand there for a while. Your smile doesn’t falter; it gets bigger as you replay the moment instead. Thinking about him, hearing him, seeing him, it all drives you crazy. And that’s a good thing…right?

“I don’t know, sounds like you still kinda care about the guy.” 

“Of course I do,” So here you are, sitting in your living room enjoying the rays of the sunset decorating the space, in a video call with your best friends, Utahime and Mei Mei. You reply to the former’s comment. “Just because I don’t have the ring on my finger doesn’t mean I shouldn’t care about him. I mean, he’s the father of two lovely children.”

“Shoot, you’re better than me, then.” The dark-haired woman admits. “But you’re kinda proving my point, Y/n. Even when you don’t have the ring on, you two act like the same old couple, and it’s definitely not just for the kids’ sake. Let’s be real here.” 

You try to interject, but the pale-blue-haired other, Mei Mei, intervenes, “I agree. It’s one thing if you let the children stay over, but he also wanted to spend the night. Sure, he could’ve been tired from driving all day and such. However, if you’re still seeing a man for the last five years – while legally unbound – and he says he wants to spend the night under your roof, which is rare, that should ring some bells at least.”

“I know, it did…” you nod along with what your friend is saying, throwing your head back with a heavy sigh. “But it’s not like he’s never spent the night here before, nor is he banished from stepping inside.” 

“Oh? Then why is this time different from the others?”

Utahime jumps in after Mei Mei’s chirp. “Yeah, you’re telling us about all these nostalgic lovey-dovey feelings as if you’re falling in love with him all over again. What, did you two have sex or something?” 

An open mouth, yet no words come out, leaving you in a predicament. You could’ve just lied or swerved the subject to something else. But you didn’t. And the two women on the screen lift their brows with hooded eyes, a look meaning a thousand words. You couldn’t even explain yourself either because a sudden knock on your door captured the attention of all three of you. 

You stand up and walk towards the door, your friends still on call on the phone at hand. Opening the door, you’re almost stunned to see in front of you. Tsumiki and Megumi with nervous smiles, and their father at the car collecting the same duffles bags from last night. You’re kidding.

“Hey, kids.” The two of them gulped from not calling them by their names. You bring up the phone to face the screen to them. “Say hello to Auntie Mei Mei and Utahime.” The women on the line smile and wave at the children, who sheepishly wave back.

“Hi, aunties.” Megumi greets them, and then his eyes drift back to you. “So, Y/n—“

“What did you forget this time?” Straight to the point, no room for excuses.

“It was Miki this time! She forgot her soccer cleats.” The older sibling gawks at her younger brother for calling her out.

“Tsumiki, I know you have cleats at home.”

“I do, but these are special! You bought them for my birthday, and I’ve been wearing them to every game ever since! So, I was scared when I couldn’t find them at home.” The brunette was quick to defend her stand. “Also, Dad doesn’t feel like driving up here and then back. So…can we…”

You close your eyes and bring the phone to your face to shield your vexation. Twice in a row, the sixth time this month. You can hear the giggles of your friends from the other side of the phone, adding more fuel to the fire. You don’t look up until you hear heavy footsteps on the porch, seeing Toji holding both duffle bags with a hand and shoulder. He stares at you as you stare at him, a silent conversation on how to handle this situation. And when he shrugs with lifted brows, you realize it’s no use and release the long-awaited sigh.

“….If I see one more thing being left behind here, you guys can’t come back till December, understand?” It wasn’t anything serious, but enough for the kids to know you weren’t joking. They nod their heads in unison while you roll your eyes. “Okay, get in here.” They rushed inside with gleeful laughs, the shuffling of their backpacks following along with them. Your eyes then drift to Toji as he walks up to you. “Did you forget something here, too?”

“Yeah,” you lift a brow when he drops Megumi’s bag to the floor. Before you can register his hand on your chin, you squeak when he brings his lips to yours. It lasted for seconds, but the kiss was sweet and tender, sucking on your lip before letting go with a playful bite. “Meant to give you that when you woke up. Thanks fr' the food, mama.” 

Toji picks the bag up and walks inside your home to put the bags in the rooms, leaving you standing on the porch with an astounded expression. You couldn’t appropriately calibrate your thoughts until you heard faint laughs from the phone. Then, you realize your best friends witnessed the entire scene that transpired. 

Utahime, with the slyest leer, was the first to say something. “Oh yeah, he laid that pipe on you good, without a doubt.”

“Mhmm,” Mei Mei agrees with a chuckle. “And I'm guessing he’s gonna do it again tonight. Isn’t that right, Y/n?”

You end the video call with a heated face. “Sh-Shut your damn mouths!!” Again, you groan into your hands before returning inside. Thank God I still have those birth control pills...

♱ 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2023 – reblogs + comments are appreciated wholeheartedly ☆ header art by rororogi mogera + dividers by the amazing @/cafekitsune!!