#oc: grieving mother

[zorejar]

oc by the name of the grieving mother

[selinas-ships]

OKAY IM LATE BUT I GOTTA ASK ABOUT UR LORE WITH KUZCO BEING HIS OLDER SIBLING AND ALL-

SORRY IM SO OBBSESED WITH THIS MOVIE but seriously how do you deal with him all the time- I feel like he’s such a little shit (well he is but he’s sweet….at times😭)

(And also Lore for Uncle Hades would be nice too 🤫🧏‍♂️)

⭐️(a gold star for you!! :D) @pastelpousay

AWAAAAA HOORAY HOORAY HOORAY

OKAY OKAY OKAY SO my OC's name is Quya!! here she be, she is soooo pretty :3

shout out Azalea's Dolls Arabrian Nights maker <3

anyway the story I've got so far is Quya is the elder sister to Kuzco and was originally heir to the throne. Quya was fifteen years old when Kuzco was born (and in my AU, when they lost their mother, Empress Sayri, who Kuzco is a spitting image of <3) and she was eighteen and Kuzco three when their father, Emperor Uqllu, set sail for an overseas trade agreement with a king of India. However, his ship was caught in a horrible storm that sunk it, leaving no survivors.

my story/AU is based heavily off of Kingdom of the Sun, what Emperor's New Groove was going to be before the tone was completely changed. so weeks after their father set sail with a promise to return in a few months (effectively leaving Quya in charge of both her brother and the kingdom with Yzma and the imperial council's help), Kuzco started having nightmares every night.

Now the thing you most need to know about Quya is that she loves her family, especially her baby brother, more than anything in the entire world. And she is reckless and impulsive with her own safety.

Quya had snuck into Yzma's lab before to tinker with her elixirs and stuff, and so she snuck down there in the middle of the night to find something that might help her brother. What she ends up finding is an incantation meant to chanted during a very specific sacrifice to a very specific deity. She uncovers a plot to sacrifice a son of the sun (aka Kuzco) to unleash Supay from his prison beneath the earth.

Quya takes this incantation, fearing for her brother's life, and runs to the temple of Inti. She is seen and chased by Supay conspirators all the way to the temple. She throws the incantation into the fires of Inti, is attacked by conspirators, and (I've actually just changed this a little lol) Inti in his rage turns the conspirators into ash with his flames and turns Quya into gold to protect her.

For the next fifteen years, Quya is believed to be dead, and Kuzco is raised with the ghosts of his family, barely able to remember them.

Until Quya is found during a Chipmunk Scout field trip to the temple of Inti. When she is found, she is turned back into a human, and now has to grapple with the fact that so much time as passed and her baby brother is barely a year younger than she is now. :3

IT IS SOOOO MESSY AND SOOOO COMPLICATED AND THEY LOVE EACH OTHER THEY DO BUT THEY ALSO HAVE TO LEARN HOW TO HAVE A SIBLING AND HOW TO BE A SIBLING AND RAHHHH THEY MAKE ME EMO!!!!

[ineedfairypee]

Wait what

[layalu]

i should talk more about Boar Boy on main so here's the current Companion Opinions Rundown

Aloth: Was super frustrated with him for playing dumb on the Awakened thing for so long cos Alder had clocked him pretty much since Maerwald. That said, they do actually get on pretty well! And they Get Each Other the best out of the group on account of the. yknow. being Awakened.

Iselmyr: See the problem is Alder kind of likes her. The problem about this is that he he Absolutely Cannot Admit that she is A Person in any way for the sake of his own sanity.

Edér: Started out chill but people being Weird about either him being godlike or him being a druid is a big sore spot, and you bet your ass Edér was/is obliviously delighted by Alder's spiritshift. Also, the way Edér interacts with Iselmyr makes Alder uncomfortable for the same reasons as above.

Durance: Alder attempted an active conversations with him one (1) time before deciding it is not worth the headache and has since resorted to simply not paying attention to him. This drives Durances up the WALLS

Sagani: Dwarf solidarity!! 💪💪 She's easy to talk with, they vibe with each others' sense of humour, and they bond over exchanging stories of their homes since they're from opposite ends of the.. world? continent? and are both foreigners in these lands. He's chill with Itumaak too :)

Kana: He's... loud. Nice, but loud. Alder is kind of fascinated by Kana's curiosity and kind of wished he could share it, but his energy and Presence get a bit much over long stretches of time.

Hiravias: Only just met him, but made a strong impression for sure fhskfdjsl. He isn't weird about Alder At All despite being a druid and in fact doesn't even worship Galawain?? That's cool. And you gotta respect his commitment to the bit (eating raw gust full of shit).

Grieving Mother: Met her even more recently than Hiravias her but he had a very visceral reaction to the. All That and very complicated feelings. It was really unsettling but also feels like being just out of reach of answers or understanding or something important of some sort, so he pleaded asked her to stay with them

[shrinkthisviolet]

Oh, tell me are your eyes brown, blue, or green?

And do you like it with sugar and cream?

Or do you take it straight, oh, just like me?

Taglist (send an ask or DM to be added or removed):

@ocappreciationtag @arrthurpendragon @vexic929 @ironverseocs @raith-way @thechaoticfanartist @goldheartedchaoticdisaster @negative-speedforce

[kashkadavr]

Old arts that i really like. Especially with the Grieving Mother.

[theicequeen623ggg]

So these first three are just some character drawings. I wanted to try the trend where you do gender swapped then evil. And the last one is so you know what she looks like normally.

The next two are more grief and serious so I’ll just write the caption below each

“I wish you could see how much he’s grown”

“Another birthday without you.”

[arolesbianism]

While I may not be allowing myself to post spiraling upwards spoilers, I see no issue with posting art of a bunch of folks who are dead before the story starts and one Conetalon who isn't

[shadowglens]

isa has such a complicated relationship with her childhood and trauma. she'll downplay it at most opportunities, or simply lie to avoid a conversation she doesn't want to have. before the events of bg3, only one person outside of her immediate family knows of her past, and esra is isadora's most trusted confidant. no one in the party discovers even an inkling of her past until act 3.

she isn't an orphan, wasn't horribly abused, didn't have something equally as terrible happen to her as a young child, and when most people she meets have had something truly horrible happen to them, it seems small of her to complain. her parents weren't cruel and provided her a fairly well-off upbringing with a governess to boot. still, when she came of age, she didn't hesitate to flee neverwinter and never return.

her human parents, particularly her mother, were mortified when isa was born with her pink toned skin and stubby horns and the inkling of a tail. her mother outright refused to try for more children for the fear of birthing any more tieflings, and grieved the large family she had always wanted for years when isa was young. her father loved her as much as he could in his stilted way, but he also never brought her into the family's merchant business despite her begging.

isa wasn't locked away, per se, but she had known from a very young age that she'd brought shame to her family, that she was unwanted. she was fed, and educated, and given any and all lessons she wanted, but she had few friends and suffered more scalding from her governess than she did affection from her parents. it was a lonely, guilded cage of a childhood.

[quinttyz]

“Tch…you always saw right through me”

[ruvviks]

❣️🗣️🌱👪🎢💬 for cassidy and/or vitali mayhaps? :-)

oc asks!

❣️ - What are their love languages?

cassidy's love languages are physical touch and quality time :^) he likes being close with people and spending time with them, doesn't even necessarily mean they have to talk the whole time because he will gladly sit in silence for hours and still have the time of his life

vitali's love languages are physical touch, words of affirmation and acts of service. it's interesting that as a fixer especially the last two are things he does (and receives in return from his mercs) basically on a daily basis; it's what makes him a good fixer and why his business runs smoothly and why his mercs actually like working for him :^) physical touch as reassurance is also a thing he's good at

🗣️ - How do they handle public speaking?

cassidy isn't too fond of social interactions in general and he has trouble with a lot of day-to-day interactions with for example a cashier in a store or a waiter taking his order. when he has a script to work with it goes a lot better, but the second the other person doesn't stick to it he will shut down a little bit. he's getting better at it but still has his bad days sometimes but that's ok :^) he's got plenty of people who can help him out with it nowadays

vitali is a lot better at it because of his history at arasaka and also having worked a lot of retail jobs himself. he regularly does mission debriefs with mercs and he has calls every single day with clients and potential sponsors and he's given entire speeches before in meetings, council gatherings as well as for his own mercs. he's very confident in his speaking abilities and since he's lived in night city all his life, there's not really a language barrier to struggle with either

🌱 - Do they have a green thumb or are they a plant killer?

cassidy loves plants and he's very good with them! always knows exactly how much sunlight and water they need and which spot in his apartment is best for a specific plant and such. he also talks to them a lot,, hasn't named all of them though. that would be too difficult to memorize since he's already named all his plushies

vitali is. decent. with plants. he's not great at keeping them alive but usually they do live for a while so he's not a plant killer either he just tends to forget about them easily, or he's too busy with work

👪 - What’s their relationship with their parents like?

cassidy's parents died when he was very young and by now he can barely even remember what they were like :( his adoptive father also died when he was 16 so he doesn't have any parental figures anymore and while he often wonders what it would be like if they were all still alive, he also can't think about it too much or he will get envious towards others who DO still have their parents in their lives

vitali's relationship with his parents is. complicated. if we're talking post broker fic however: he doesn't talk to his mother anymore. the damage nadya did to him his entire life is irreparable since she still refuses to see him as her son and she is still stubbornly holding on to the belief that vitali ruined her life. vitali IS however trying to restore his relationship with his father a little bit. even after everything that happened, he can see that nadya influenced a lot of matvey's decisions and he wants to give his father a chance now that nadya is no longer in the picture. we support divorce in this household

🎢 - Do they like amusement parks? What’s their favorite ride?

cassidy LOVES amusement parks but also gets easily overwhelmed by them so he doesn't go on many rides usually, but he likes anything with water a lot!! ferris wheel too. i don't know if that counts as an amusement park ride but it does to me. nothing beats a good ferris wheel

vitali enjoys amusement parks a regular amount but also gets motion sickness easily in the wilder rides :( he loves haunted houses though. prefers the ones where you can just sit in a cart that moves around but is willing to walk through something himself too. less likely to go in there with vincent and mikhail then though because they Will both try to jump on his back when startled

💬 - What are some filler/buffer words they use? (Like, um, etc.)

cassidy mostly just uses "um" and stretches it out longer if he needs more time to think or he simply stays quiet. on rare occasions he will try to keep talking instead but he stops making sense at some point because his inner dialogue and what's coming out of his mouth are mixing together and it's not going well

vitali tends to go for what sounds more like "eehh" and weaves it into his speech flawlessly so it sounds like he's tying it to the end of a word until he's found the next one. it flows so well that you usually don't even notice it :^) if his brain is lagging behind a lot then his speech will be a lot choppier and he will add "well" in there a lot

[viisiond]

Leucosia is Egeria's mother. The ocean came before anything else within Fontaine, and in her power she created Egeria.

[manishroom]

so so many characters to write about but none can i create in under 1.5k words. except for monica. but fuck monica

[natasha-in-space]

The Beginning of the End

Series: 'A Wilted Daffodil' (AO3 link): Ch. 1 (you are here!), Ch. 2;

Characters/pairing: Rika/cmc Chaewon Lee, Jihyun Kim;

Summary: Everyone experiences grief differently. The loss of a loved one can be both debilitating and overwhelming, leaving you with no idea how to continue living without them. Chaewon is familiar with the grieving process of families and loved ones. Unfortunately, working as a nurse comes with the responsibility of bearing witness to some very tragic events. But she never thought she would have to see her own dear friend crushed by a sudden loss nobody has ever seen coming.

CW for: pet loss, grief;

Credits: picrew by wagirain, dividers by @/saradika-graphics.

"-She got run over, Chaewon, she's dead, and it's all my fault. I knew it. I knew I should've listened to Jumin! Why did I ever think that I knew better what she truly needed...? She must've suffered so much... And I couldn't do anything for her, I couldn't save her...!"

Chaewon felt a terrible chill run down her spine as she held the phone up to her ear nimbly. Rika's voice sounded so utterly broken and anguished that she could practically feel her dear friend's breath getting caught in her throat as she stumbled over her words in hysterics. A heavy lump of dread suddenly blocked her airways, taking her voice away from her. She felt her entire body freezing up completely as all that she could do in the moment was just stand there, not knowing what to do or what to say.

Sally meant everything to Rika. Chaewon understood that Sally was not just a beloved dog, she was much more than that. Before herself, RFA, or even Jihyun, Sally was Rika's loyal companion and first source of comfort when she needed it most. She knew that much from the many conversations her and Rika had shared. To lose someone like that... in such a horrendous and abrupt way nonetheless...

Oh God, she was starting to get really scared for Rika now. Who knew what she would do in such a vulnerable state of mind?

She clenched her free hand into a tight fist, her fingernails digging into the skin of her palm, until she had to hold herself back from wincing. At the very least, this enabled her to keep her head above water and avoid complete freeze-up. Swallowing down the lump in her throat, she pushed through the paralyzing unease snaking its invisible tendrils around her body and mind, and spoke up, sounding uncharacteristically stuttery and high-pitched for her usual tone of voice. She would feel embarrassed about it, if not for the horrible situation at hand keeping all of her focus away.

"...Rika, listen to me, just- stay on the phone with me, alright? Are you at home? I'm coming right over. Just- Hold on for me, okay? I... I'll be right there. It'll be okay. I promise," Chaewon muttered hurriedly into the phone as she sprinted off from the supply closet she had tucked herself into to take this call as fast as her legs could carry her. Her heart was pounding in her chest with so much force, she was afraid it might just stop beating altogether. And, she couldn't allow that. Not right now. The words she spoke sounded extremely foolish. Of course it won't be okay. It won't ever be okay. But, she didn't know what else to say. She needed time to think, but she didn't have that luxury right now.

So, she ran.

Everything else was lost in the haze of panic, confusion, and frustration. It was probably incredibly reckless and irresponsible of her to just abandon her nursing post like this, especially right at the beginning of her night shift. But she barely gave a single thought about that right now, however selfish it was on her part. Nothing was more important than getting to Rika's side as fast as humanely possible. Before something bad could happen. Before she becomes even more afflicted than she already is, in any way or another. Chaewon was always a self-centered person, in the end. She accepted that. But Rika... Rika gave so much of herself away in order to help others, to make people smile, to give them hope for a better future.

Rika was not even comparable to Chaewon, and consequently, she did not deserve to experience such a terrible loss alone.

It was truly a miracle that she didn't get hit on her way there. Her driving was extremely erratic and dangerous. She won't be at all surprised to find a notification about a fine or two for exceeding the speed limit once this all blows over. Even if she knew, deep down, that it won't. And that was scary to think about. She told herself that she was just panicking, and that's why this harrowing feeling was scratching at her insides like a caged wild animal. The feeling of something going horribly wrong. The feeling of things collapsing and never being the same again.

Chaewon ignored it.

She was able to reach Jihyun's secluded home safely and with her car intact, thanks to pure luck. Feeling relieved wasn't possible for her, however. None of it truly mattered once she saw Rika's small trembling frame sitting all alone at the front porch, her head tucked tightly into her knees, almost like she was trying to curl herself up into the tiniest human ball imaginable. It looked painful. Chaewon was sure her back must have hurt from staying in such an unnatural position. How long had she even been like that? Seeing Rika like this broke her heart. Usually, she'd get greeted by cheerful barking and her friend's soft giggling, as she stepped through the front gate to usher her inside for a cup of fresh pomegranate tea. Now, Chaewon heard nothing but the heartbreaking sounds of hoarse sobs and labored breathing. It all felt like a big, horrible nightmare she would wake up from any minute now. Her only wish was to wake up. Oh, how she wished for this to be nothing but a cruel trick of the mind.

However, this was a reality. She had no choice but to confront it head on.

Chaewon rushed towards Rika, clumsily squatting on her knees in front of her on the pavement, her hands stopping only inches from touching her. It didn't matter that her pants were now soiled from the damp ground from the rain. It didn't matter that she accidentally grazed her hand against the edge of the wooden door that hung right open - another thing that was horribly out of place. It was as if the entire world has faded from existence, leaving only her suffering friend and the deafening sound of her own blood pumping in her temples, making it very hard to focus. She was genuinely beginning to suspect that she was on the brink of a panic attack, and she had the urge to curse outloud at the realization. Of all the times she could loose her cool, this one just had to happen.

But... She was scared.

Chaewon was incapable of providing comfort to others. She could treat a nasty-looking physical wound and not bat an eye at the blood and gore, she could fight off a bully just fine, or she come to someone's defense with a strong word or two without a second thought. But... such fragile and emotionally driven ordeals? Rika's forte was always those things. Or Jihyun's, for that matter, as much as she hated to admit that. Yet another reason why that man would always be better than her in one way or another. But, this was not the occasion for her pity party. Rika, she needs her right now. And any comfort would still be better than no comfort at all. At least, she hoped so. She didn't come here for no reason.

Don't worry about it, just do it.

"...Rika? We should-"

She failed to finish her sentence.

"-She's gone forever now, Chaewon, and it's all my fault! I'm never going to see her again. I didn't even... I didn't even get to give her any proper goodbye. She must have died in so much pain, so scared, feeling so betrayed and alone... I can't... I can't handle this. Not without her. Oh, Sally... My Sally..." Rika sobbed, choking on every painful word crawling up from her raw throat, almost like it was her own words tearing at her trachea, rather than the globus sensation that appears during emotionally vexing situations. Some part of Chaewon felt gross that she was applying her medical knowledge even in such an emotional situation. She felt like it was wrong of her. Still, Rika's breathing was growing more and more ragged with every passing second, and she needed to try and fix that. Or, at the very least, mitigate. She was aware that this was bad. This was very bad. She never saw Rika like this before. So vulnerable, so... so hurt.

She tried to tame her voice by swallowing shakily. This isn't good enough. She needed to ask: "Does V-"

Once more, Chaewon was interrupted. She was beginning to believe that she would not be able to achieve anything at this rate.

"-I thought she would be fine on her own. I thought I was doing the right thing... I swear, I-I took my eyes off of her for just a moment! I never imagined... Oh God, I couldn't do anything. Not a single thing!"

"Rika, please, you need to listen to-"

"-I wish... I-I wish it was me who got hit by that car instead! She was so much more deserving of a chance to live! She was good! Not me! I killed her! I... I hate myself. I hate myself for letting her die-!"

"-Rika! Stop it!"

As if she was on impulse, she darted close and tightened her grip on Rika's shoulders, feeling her heart dropping all the way into her stomach at such frightful words. She was experiencing pure panic at this point. Her hands were trembling. Her hands never trembled like this before. What is her responsibility here? What should she say?

Her voice was breaking, every word slipping off her tongue before she could even process them. She couldn't think straight. This was not good. She didn't act rationally whenever she got like this. She would just make everything worse, "Don't you ever say such things again! This is not your fault! These sorts of things happen all the time! Please, you had no play in any of this!"

"How can you even say that!? You weren't there!" Rika shouted back, but it sounded more like a broken wail than an angry scream. Despite everything, Chaewon's heart still hurt, "You don't know how much she suffered, you don't know what pain she was in! If I had just given her that surgery, none of this would have happened!"

Chaewon tried to calm her racing mind by running a hand through her messy black locks, which have gotten damp from the light rain trickling down on them from above. This wasn't good. She was handling this poorly, as expected. She needed to get herself together, think of something, anything. Screaming and arguing won't get her anywhere. This isn't a debate.

"...Sally wouldn't have wanted to see you blaming yourself like this, Rika," in a hushed voice, she murmured, releasing a soft sigh to calm her nerves before continuing, "She was loved by you. More than I've ever seen anyone love their pet before. And you were loved by her, too. You are still loved by her."

The tiny little sound almost that came from Rika as a response almost made Chaewon cry herself, as her friend whimpered. Rika appeared like a small helpless child, feeling scared, lost, and confused after losing something she had never expected to lose. It was absolutely heartwrenching to see.

"...I don't deserve her love. It all feels so empty. Like a part of me was ripped away, and it hurts. It hurts so much, Chaewon. I thought I was used to this pain, but... but it's too much."

She had a desire to have a separate conversation with Rika about that. There was always a part of her that knew there was more to the lighthearted beautiful woman she fell in love with a year ago. Some part of her that felt concerned about all the tiny signs she pretended not to notice, since Rika never brought them up. Some part of her that longed to be the one to ease Rika's wounded heart. But... Wouldn't that be selfish of her? Feeling wanted by someone who had only seen her as a close friend was all she wanted. It wasn't right for her to be greedy. Especially right now. Rika had Jihyun. Jihyun brought her happiness. Jihyun was supposed to make her happy.

Otherwise... what point was there in her just standing by all this time?

Without pause, Chaewon gently stroked the side of Rika's face with her fingers, discovering her skin to be damp and cold. As if the misery she was experiencing on the inside was slowly evolving and transforming what was on the outside to match its cruel image. It hurt her heart to see.

"Please don't say that..." What else could she possibly say? She couldn't bring Sally back. She couldn't ask her not to cry. She was incapable of making it all right. She felt so frustrated and helpless. If only she could take away even the smallest portion of this pain Rika was feeling and redirect it onto herself instead, she would've done so without a second thought.

"I hate this... Why did she have to suffer like this...? Why couldn't she just live a peaceful and happy life? She was good... She was pure. Not like me. What did she ever do to deserve such a horrible death? Why does God always hurt those that are innocent in such cruel ways!?"

Chaewon was uncertain about what to say to that. Rika didn't seem to be listening to her at this point. She just breathed out shakily, pulling herself up to sit beside her and carefully rest her chin atop of Rika's head, once she knew she wouldn't push her away. If only her embrace could protect her from all the pain in this world.

If only it was that simple.

"She's not in pain anymore... I promise," that was all she could muster up, however clumsy it was. In a somewhat awkward embrace, she gently held Rika's small trembling frame close. She did not compel her to release her knees or raise her head. She just wanted to make her feel that she wasn't alone right now. A small sigh escaped her, as she could feel a small damp spot slowly forming in her shirt, where Rika buried her face in, her entire body wracked with painful sobs. She wished their first embrace had not occurred under such heartbreaking circumstances, "...It wasn't your fault."

It might be more effective to be truthful instead of improvising. Rika's head was now being carefully caressed by her, and Chaewon noticed that her normally soft and beautiful golden locks were tangled and rough to the touch. It made her purse her lips tightly in displeasure: "Rika... I want to help you. In any way I can. Please... tell me what should I do. I... I don't know. I need you to tell me."

"J-Just stay. Don't leave. Please," Although Rika's voice was barely audible, she still managed to hear what she was saying. The sensation of her fingers digging into her shoulders was intense, almost to the point of being painful. She didn't care, "I'm scared..."

"Don't be. I'm here. I'm right here," Chaewon mumbled, pulled her friend close, and just let her cry. Maybe there wasn't any need for words right now. She didn't know. She just knew that she wouldn't leave her alone in such a state, "I'll be here for as long as you need me to be."

After an hour had passed, Chaewon heard a car screeching to halt near the front entrance of the house, followed by hurried footsteps. She wasn't at all surprised to see the tall man with messy mint hair once she lifted her head up from where it had loyally remained on Rika's for the past hour. A silent moment of sorrow and mutual understanding passed between the two, nothing but the sound of Jihyun's ragged breaths and the quiet pitter-patter of rain filling the air around them.

It looks like she's not the only one who dropped everything to come as soon as possible.

"...Is she...?"

"I think she fell asleep," Chaewon quietly responded, not even bothering to listen to the entire question. Rika was probably exhausted, both physically and mentally, from the immense stress she had to go through in the past few hours. No wonder she eventually just drifted off to sleep. Perhaps, it was better for her to just not think about anything for a while and sleep.

Jihyun sighed, his hands shaking noticeably while he fumbled with the corners of his jacket. Chaewon felt comforted to know that she wasn't the only one feeling overwhelmed by this situation, in an ironic sense. Finally, he spoke up again, carefully sitting down on the same porch her and Rika were nestled upon, his hand carefully brushing a strand of his fiance's hair behind her ear. There was genuine heartache in his eyes, and she had to look away from the scene dejectedly: "I came as soon as I heard. I... Is she okay? Did she..."

Chaewon believed that his question had a greater significance than simply expressing concern for his lover's well-being. She tried to get rid of that strange thought, but it persisted in the back of her mind, like a parasite slowly extending its tentacles into her mind.

It appeared that he was asking if Rika had done anything. She was unaware of whether that was to herself or someone else. But, it alarmed her nonetheless.

To avoid disturbing her unconscious friend, Chaewon shook her head slightly: "She's alright. I think. Aside from... possible raw throat, tense back and headache, she should be fine. Physically."

She was certain that she would have noticed any wounds right away.

Jihyun sighed with relief, but no joy was present. Chaewon couldn't hold him accountable for it: "Thank you... For being with her when I couldn't. I am... ever so grateful she had you by her side right now."

She felt like screaming when she saw the small smile of gratitude he gave her. Him being genuine was the most unfair aspect of it all. Jihyun was a good and caring man. Although, she had more in common with his friend Jumin, rather than the photographer himself. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't hate him. And her feeling so disgusted with herself was caused by the ugly feelings of jealousy and envy that were eating away at her from the inside. Jihyun considered her a dear friend, and here she was, getting all worked up over him rightfully caring and worrying over his fiance.

It's a shame that she's so selfish.

Chaewon bit the inside of her cheek in a mixture of frustration and pain, feeling the slight taste of copper on her tongue. Right. She was merely a friend. To Jihyun and Rika all the same. A close friend. Nothing more. Jihyun was the one Rika trusted the most. He knew the parts of her that she was never allowed to see.

What's the worst aspect of it all? It's that Jihyun was a better match for Rika, as she was aware. He was kind, gentle, artistic, loving. He was everything that Rika valued in a person. Chaewon's behavior was characterized by bluntness, forcefulness, and practicality. She was incapable of competing with this man for her heart. And did she even want to do that? It's not like she ever tried. She just sat back without doing or saying anything.

It seemed like there was a pattern in her life.

Agh, take a look at yourself. You're too busy feeling sorry for yourself about some stupid crush, even though your friend just lost her beloved companion. Get a grip. Chaewon quickly chastised herself as she tried to redirect her attention back to what was truly important right now, rather than her pitiful lovesickness.

"We should... probably carry her in. You should have her take a warm bath once she wakes up. Or give her a warm beverage. She might get sick after staying out in the rain like this," she mumbled quietly while untangling a few of Rika's golden curls to distract herself from something else. She certainly did not want to imagine Jihyun taking care of Rika like that. But... She wasn't one to be petty. At least not outwardly. She could be petty, angry, and upset all she wanted once she gets home, where her selfish outbursts won't harm anyone.

Jihyun carefully stood up from his spot while nodding: "Yes, you're right. I'll keep in contact with you. She might need her friend by her side once she wakes up."

"...Right."

Her friend. Chaewon prayed that she did not sound too bitter. She wished to avoid being perceived as an asshole. She made sure to help Jihyun carry Rika back into the house, offering a few more tips out of what little she knew. Of course, those were all health-related. Not much she could advise on emotions.

After drinking her stress away for a few hours that night, she sunk into bed with a bad feeling that kept her awake until early morning. A sensation of horror, disgust, and chilliness. The same one that she felt back in her car. It never left. It just faded onto the background. However, it was ever present. Demanding to be listened to. The feeling of things never being the same again. The feeling of something horrible lurking just around the corner. Something that would forever alter everything.

A point of no return. The beginning of the end.

Chaewon ignored it, just like she had done before.

[memwazz]

ALTHUR FLASHBACK 45

When Aloïs lost his mother, Arthur was his main support and did everything for him not to collapse. Both the Marshalls were too devastated to take care of each other and Arthur knew well what mourning a mom feels like. 

Here's Al having a crisis in Arthur's arms. He felt and still feels responsible for his mother's de@th because what he told "caused it". 

Also, he needs a lot of physical contact and hugs from his loved ones during his breakdowns, it usually helps a lot. 

His wounded hands are from repeatedly punching something to evacuate.

[arachine]

yes, i'm ready (to fall in love)

── ˚₊���‧₊ genre: smut, fluff, mild angst

── ˚₊✩‧₊ synopsis: after reader is persuaded into putting herself back out there by long time friend, shoko, she successfully ends up scoring a date. unbeknownst to her, though, the gods have different plans—and one of them seems especially interested in her relationship with ex-husband, gojo satoru.

or in other words: a failed date results in a night of passion amongst former lovers.

── ˚₊✩‧₊ contents: 13.5k words, ex-husband!gojo + co-parent!gojo, slight dub-con (alcohol use), dumbification, overstimulation, vaginal penetration, unconventional form of contraception (pull-out method - don’t do this), pussy eating + one oc for the sake of plot

── ˚₊✩‧₊ note: i know this is really long and most people don’t have the attention span for it but PLEASE give it a chance! this is literally the longest piece of fiction i’ve ever written and i’m really proud of it :(

songs to listen to for best reading experience: donny hathaway - i love you more than you’ll ever know barbara mason - i’m ready partynextdoor - showing you bryson tiller - been that way

After you divorced your ex-husband, and decided to devote all of your time to being a mother, you never really considered getting back into the dating world. Not that you didn’t eventually want to settle down with someone new, but the dating world now was just so–different.

Different in the sense that meeting people organically was becoming increasingly difficult. It wasn’t like how it used to be in high school or college, and it really didn’t take that much effort then to get a man’s number by the end of your outing. 

When you were in your early twenties, a brush of your hand on a man’s arm would’ve worked. An ‘accidental’ bump into someone at a grocery store or cafe might’ve ended in a quick lay. Using these tactics today, though, might earn you some weird looks–have–earned you some weird looks. 

You’re on call with a friend from college when you begin recounting something embarrassing that happened to you recently. At first, the conversation started out about all of the professors you would’ve slept with (if given the chance), but then, one thing led to another, and she asked you something that made you wince: 

“‘How’s your dating life been since, you know, Satoru?’” 

There’s a heavy silence from your end, and she almost thinks you hung up. 

“I mean, if you want to share,” she splurts, attempting to approach this gently, “I know that after the divorce, I wasn’t there for you like you needed, but I’d like to make up for that–if you’d let me.”

Shoko’s always been like that. Blunt and charismatic, but gentle and zephyr-light in the way she cares for those closest to her. It’s a trait of hers that you admire, because not so many people would care to treat your heart with such fragility.

“No, it’s okay. You can ask, you know, it’s not this secret thing,” you start, sighing before continuing, “it happened, and it was a mutual decision.”

Shoko hums on the other side, “Well, I’m still sorry. I let us go without talking for far too long…”

“Well, I accept your apology, even if it’s unwarranted. Like I said, it was mutual and…there wasn’t really an intense grieving period for me? The only thing that hurt me is that you distanced yourself. I mean, the girls did miss their aunt Shoko…” you say, trying to make her feel bad but not too bad. 

“I know, I know, I’m a bad aunt,” she jests, then the tone shifts to something serious. “I think I was just scared because both of you were my best-friends. I didn’t want to ‘pick sides’, but I see now that it was a mutual decision, so I’m assuming you two are on good-terms?” 

Again, you pause, “I mean, yeah. Satoru will always be my best friend. We may not be together romantically but he’s such an integral part of my life, I couldn’t do this–all of this–alone.” After you say it, you feel a weight being lifted off of your chest that you didn’t know was even there. 

You think nobody would understand if you told them this. You think they’d question how a person could divorce someone who’s supposed to be their best-friend. And with the way you describe it, they’d probably think you were still in love with him. But Shoko’s different, she gets it. Which is why saying it to her came so easily. 

“He is a great father,” she chimes in, “but you two rushed into it so quickly, I don’t think either of you had time to discover yourselves after college.”

Although she can’t see it, you smile. Because she gets it. Even if time did place itself in between the two of you, she was there for most of it, when things were still touch-and-go. When things were fresh, and clumsy. 

“Exactly, that was our biggest gripe,” you admit, “We didn’t afford ourselves that time to grow, and I think that hindered our relationship. We weren’t husband and wife first, we were parents–and we were young, way too young.”

“You made it, though,” Shoko tries to brighten the mood, “you’re both amazing parents, and I know those beautiful girls that you created are lucky to have you.” 

The intimacy of the conversation sends your emotions into overdrive. You quickly realize how much you missed her, how much you yearned to talk to her. To reconnect on this level. 

A single tear cascades down your cheek, and you try not to sound like you’re crying when you say, “Ok, enough about that. You wanted to know about my shitty dating life, right?”

It happened last week, the grocery store incident. You were out picking up a few things for dinner when you spotted a cute guy standing outside of the aisle a few rows from you. He was fit beyond measure, in looks and strength, and was wandering around aimlessly in pursuit of red pepper flakes. 

Coincidentally, you just happened to be in the seasoning aisle, and like the good samaritan you were, decided to personally hand-deliver it to him. 

You wince as you vividly recall the embarrassing ordeal that ensued immediately after. 

“Hey,” you peer from behind the aisle, with a bottle of red pepper flakes in tow. “I heard you mumbling about finding this, and you looked pretty lost, so I thought I’d pick ‘em out for you.” 

The man’s brows furrow briefly before his lips up-turn into a grateful smile, “Oh, cool, thank you so much!” As quickly as the conversation started, it ends even quicker. He gives you a final nod of endearment before he’s turning around on his heels to resume his shopping. 

“God, could he be any more dense? The men today really make you work for it, huh?” you mumble to yourself, pulling the bosom of your blouse down until a good amount of cleavage is on display. “Okay, alright. You got this, you got this. This always used to work, right? Yeah, men love boobs.”

Walking up to the man again, you try a different approach–a bolder approach. “Not to be a bother but I was wondering if I could-”

“Babe? Oh, there you are,” a new voice interjects. The owner of the voice emerges from around the corner and walks up to the man with a cart and a baby in tow. You’re stunned, to say the least. All you can do is stand there and blink in complete and utter dumbfoundment. As you remain in their presence, you take a moment to analyze the woman. She’s gorgeous, and toned. A real model-type broad, with feline-ish features that make so much sense paired with the man who appears to be her partner. 

Oh, you think, and apparently say aloud, too. That’s when the woman turns to you, finally acknowledging your much smaller, and much quieter presence. 

“Hi, can we help you?” she smiles, and it’s actually genuine. Toothy and perfect, and totally not jealous. You blink once, twice, before gathering your wits to answer her question. 

“Yeah, uh, no. I actually, uhm, was helping your h-husband. He was looking for red pepper flakes,” you mutter embarrassedly, and point to the bottle in his hand. Upon further observation, you notice that she isn’t exactly wearing a ring. You find this odd, especially because his not wearing a ring is what encouraged you to pursue him. Carefully, you prod. 

“If I may ask, how come neither of you are wearing rings?” The couple gives each other a look, one that makes you feel like the odd man out. A look that is universally known, and without a doubt, could easily be translated to: ‘did this chick really just ask that?’

Still, you smile as you wait for an answer. The woman takes the initiative. “Yeah, we don’t really believe in rings, isn’t that right, babe?” she says so matter-of-factly. You blink again for what seems like the thousandth time, because of all things, you did not expect that to come out of her mouth. Her husband is quick to validate her statement. 

“Yeah, we think rings are unnecessary, you know? You don’t need a piece of metal to confirm your feelings,” he says walking to his partner’s side and wrapping an arm around her. 

Disgustingly, the two give each other googly eyes before locking lips briefly. You can tell they’re the type to probably share this information with just about any soul who asks. Today, you just happened to be that unfortunate soul. 

“Are you married?” she queries, tilting her head against her husband’s chest.

“I was, now we just…co-parent,” you purse your lips, ready for this entire interaction to be over. The woman frowns at your answer, and this time it’s not as genuine.

“Awe, well, I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It was actually a mutual decision,” you quip.

“Okay,” she smiles, widening her eyes at her husband to signal a departure, “well, it was nice meeting you, and thank you for the red pepper flakes.”

The family turns away and heads to the front where check-out is. You don’t even buy the items you intended to purchase, just leave your cart in the middle of whatever aisle you abandoned it and leave the store.

“Oh, baby, you didn’t?” Shoko asks in horror. You nod your head, still forgetting she can’t see you and the way you’re sliding down against the wall. 

“I did, and I shan't ever again,” a laugh erupts from your throat. 

“I mean, fuck, are we getting old? ‘Don’t believe in rings,’” she mumbles, “Don’t believe in rings, my ass! Is this what the youth are doing these days? Not proposing with rings?”

Now that you think about it, you wonder how that would even work. “Yeah, right? I mean, how does that even work? ‘Will you marry me? But, actually, you should know I don’t have a ring for you, so people will have to guess that we’re together purely based on vibes and energy,’” you mock, in a not-so-great man voice. 

Shoko’s laughing so hard by the end of your bit that she breaks the sound barrier, and the sound that makes on the phone sends you into your own fit of laughter. You laugh so hard it seems like a stream of pee comes out. Curse your developed incontinence after motherhood.

“God, you’re so stupid, I can’t breathe,” she says exasperatedly, and you know that on the other side she’s probably keeling over in her bed. 

“Oh, please. I bet you haven’t laughed this hard in a long time, bitch.”

“I haven’t,” she cackles. This back-and-forth continues until the two of you settle down enough to continue discussing your (pee-inducing) love life. 

“You tried any dating apps?” 

It’s a simple and valid question, but it only makes you laugh even harder. You only stop when the other side of the line goes quiet. “Wait, seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously. It’s what everyone’s doing these days! You’re not that old, you know.”

“Shut up,” you kid, “ it’s just that I never considered it. I mean, dating apps feel so impersonal. How serious do people even take it?” 

“Sure, there’s people who use it for casual hook-ups and stuff, but a lot of people do come out of it with a relationship. Just don’t knock it ‘till you try it.”

“Oh?” you muse, curious. You wish Shoko could see your face, and the weird little dance your brows were doing. “Shoko, have you used a dating app before?” 

The brunette kisses her teeth. “Can’t get anything past you.”

“Never.”

There’s a sense of hesitance but you encourage her to elaborate because ‘she became estranged from you for almost a decade and needed to pay her dues’. Sighing defeatedly, she eventually acquiesces. 

“Fine, fine, maybe I’ve…been on a few dates,” she starts, “–and had a few one night stands, maybe more than a few, and maybe even dated a guy that turned into my stalker–”

“Ieiri Shoko! You naughty, naughty girl! Wait, stalker?”

“To make a long story short, I got a restraining order on that creep. Anyway,” she segues, attempting to change the subject, “We should make you a profile!”

For the rest of your phone call, Shoko guides you through all of the dating app basics. She offers her expert advice as you scroll through your camera roll for potential photos to use. You go through about a hundred before you finally settle on five that she really likes. 

The one that she tells you to put first is a photo of you in a bikini. It’s a few years old but she says you look ‘radiant’ and that your ‘tits were practically spilling out of the cups’. Plus, for further consolation, she says most people on dating apps are liars. 

“Everyone’s got at least one old photo on their profile, doesn’t make you a catfish,” she quips, “just means you’re a nostalgic person!” 

“Right…” 

The next one is a selfie. You’re smiling big in it, showing your gums, and it’s genuine. Shoko says guys like those types of photos because it shows them that you’re approachable. It also won her over because it’s fairly recent, too. 

Out of all your photos, there’s only a select few that were taken within the year. You had to admit to her that you never really took photos of yourself anymore. Satoru took most of your candids. Still, she had a mission. And she wasn’t going to be satisfied until she stuck around to see your first match. 

“After the selfie you should put the one of you with the girls.”

The picture she’s referring to is one Satoru also took. You remember that day fondly, and even now, the memories feel like a warm embrace. 

about 8 years ago . . .

“Dad, mom, look! Hurry!” Hana, your oldest, shouts. Satoru and you are sitting on a blanket up on the sand dunes with Haruki, who’s trying her best to make a sand castle–to no avail. 

“What is it, hon?” Satoru and you rush over to her, snatching toddler Haruki in the same breath. When you get to the scene, a flood of warmth washes over you upon discovering the ‘threat’. 

“See, it’s baby turtles!” Hana’s squatting in the sand, watching with pure and unfettered fascination as the hatchlings crawl north to the ocean. When she looks up at you, with eyes so bright, and a smile so big that’s missing two of her front teeth, you want to cry. 

“Oh, hon, that’s beautiful,” you gasp, lowering to your haunches so that you can join her. Satoru is about to follow suit before deciding at the last minute to go back to the blanket. When he returns, he snaps a picture unbeknownst to you. Eventually, though, you turn your gaze to him and he captures–what he used to think then–the ‘prettiest’ photo of you.

“You sneaking photos of me?” you squint, pointing at him. He trods closer until he’s standing above you. Then he snaps another. Your head’s tilted up, and you’ve got one eye open, and the other closed because of the sun. He always liked when you squinted like that because it made your nose do this cute little scrunch. 

“Yup, ‘cause you’re my muse.”

You’re pulled out of your daydream when Shoko says your name on the other line.

“You still there?” 

“Yeah, it’s just…”

“Just what?” she queries, waiting for a response. 

“I wanna use it, but my ex-husband took it. It feels weird, you know? And do I want to use a photo of me with the girls?”

“Hon, who cares if Satoru took the photo? It’s still a good photo, and to answer your second question, why wouldn’t you include a picture with your girls?”

“I don’t know, I guess I’m just afraid no one will be interested. Nothing about a picture of a mom with her two daughters exactly screams ‘fuck me’.”

Shoko lets out a small chuckle but you’re being serious. “Oh, sweetie. You’re so cute. Milfs are in these days, I don’t think I’m the one getting old, I think it’s just you!”

“Ha-ha, laugh at the mom,” you feign annoyance, but give her a laugh in return.

“But seriously, please use that photo. Nobody’s going to skip you just because you’re a mom. A lot of men on there have kids of their own, just gotta tweak your settings,” Shoko reassures you.

By the end of your call, the profile is set. You thank your old friend for the previous heart-to-heart conversation, and the time she spent helping you set up your profile.

“Keep me updated, and don’t talk about mom stuff, okay? Now, I’m not saying you can’t talk about them,” she begins, “but show these guys your personality! I know she’s in the closet somewhere hiding next to our old slutty clubbing clothes.”  

Then, the both of you say your goodbyes and she wishes you a good-luck on your newly established dating journey. As you lay in your bed, you give your profile a final onceover. Not too bad, you think to yourself. 

You ended up using all of the photos she had originally picked out for you. Even the beach photo. To compensate for your old photos, though, Shoko made sure that your prompts were witty and full of personality. 

“I’d match me, I think. No, yeah, these are funny. She did a good job.”

The following day, you open your phone to fifty notifications from the dating app. A tingle of excitement shoots through your body from the tip of your toes, to the top of your head. It takes all of your might not to squeal in the office. 

“Holy fuck,” you whisper at your desk. The amount of notifications that you initially saw on your homescreen read ‘50’ but when you opened the app, it showed you an overwhelming ‘100’ with a fat plus sign next to it. “Wait, are these all the people who liked me? Shoko’s gonna flip.” 

Getting up from your chair, you make a beeline to the nearest bathroom. Not that you have to use it, but so you can scroll through all the potential prospects without your boss seeing you on your phone. 

Pulling open the door to the bathroom, you close it shut behind you and lock it. A few minutes pass in the time you’re able to get through about half of the people who liked you. You end up skipping a lot of them. They’re either too young, too self-absorbed, creepy, or just downright not your type. 

Some stick out, though. Even trick you into thinking they’re potential matches, but then the other shoe drops–because there’s always another shoe. You’ll scroll through their profiles, and they’ll seemingly have all the perfect traits: intelligent, witty, handsome, tall–and then, boom. You see their ‘don’t want kids’ preference. Every failed match only discourages you more and more. 

It’s weird, because your profile preferences are set to ‘have kids’ and you even have a photo pictured with your girls. So why are men liking your profile despite that? After a few more scrolls, you’re just about ready to head back to your desk but then–you have a hit. 

Your finger hovers over the ‘x’ at the bottom of the screen, then retracts. The guy’s profile at first impression is miles better than the rest, it’s almost too good to be true. His first photo is what piqued your interest. It’s of him posing for a silly photo with his sons, and he’s got his arms draped around their shoulders. 

As you scroll down his profile, you see that there’s even more of him with his children. You take this as a green flag. He wants people to know he has kids, and that he isn’t embarrassed to show them off. You admire him for it. 

The last few remaining photos are an amalgamation of selfies and full-body photos. To the average, well-adjusted adult, looks wouldn’t be a deal breaker. But he definitely wasn’t too bad on the eyes, and you were not complaining about that–especially, after the odd men you had to scroll through to get here. In other words, he was gorgeous and still fit despite being older than you (him, respectively being in his early forties). 

Checking the time on your phone, you realize that you’re pushing your little ‘bathroom break’. Before heading back to your desk, you decide to respond to his first photo.

You: Cute! Could never get my girls to stand so still for a photo like this now haha :)

Work goes by slower than you’d like, but finishes up just in time when you get a notification from the dating app. You’re a little more excited than you’d care to admit. Tidying up your workspace, you say your goodbyes to your colleagues and head to the elevator. Absent-mindedly, you rush to answer his message but realize it won’t go through because of the elevator’s poor service.

Kazuki: Oh, they’re moody and grown now, don’t be fooled. I can't remember the last time I saw my youngest smile. 

You don’t answer his reply until you get home. Actually, you do just about everything but answer his reply: check on the girls, shower, prepare dinner, pour a glass of wine–you’re nervous, and you don’t know why. But you know you should probably answer soon before he becomes disinterested. So you get comfortable in bed with your glass of wine and pull open his chat.

You: Lol, know that all too well. Kids are little assholes, aren’t they?

The speed in which he reads your text is startling, you don’t even have enough time to close out of the chat. Then, he responds. 

Kazuki: Hell yeah they are! 

Kazuki: Sometimes I want to strangle my youngest. He’s at that age where he’s starting to rebel and question everything. I told him he was supposed to be the ‘easy’ one, but his knucklehead brothers are bad influences on him…Tell me, does it ever get easier?

You: Sounds a lot like my oldest. She used to cling to me like a koala but now she’s the ring leader, and I’m the enemy. My youngest still loves her mama, though (for now lol). 

You: And to answer your question, I’d like to think so? 

You take a second before continuing your response. Shoko told you to keep the mom talk limited, but this seems to be working for you so far, and he’s genuinely interested in what you have to say. So for once, you’re going to ignore her advice. 

You: Kids go through phases. It's our job to reassure them that we’re not going anywhere. No matter how much they push us away or try to, that is :)

Kazuki’s chat bubbles pop up, then disappear. You think he’s deciding on what to say. 

Kazuki: I can tell we’re gonna get along great. It’s nice opening up like this, you know? Talking to another parent. If I'm being honest, dating apps have always intimidated me…

Kazuki: People see kids as ‘baggage’, and it really bothers me. My kids aren’t baggage. They’re the best parts of me. And if someone doesn’t see that, then we have no business getting to know each other. 

Kazuki: Sorry for getting all sappy. Just felt like I needed to say it. 

His apology makes you frown. It feels like a breath of fresh air to hear someone talk about their kids so lovingly, because you feel the exact same way. You’re glad you downloaded the app, and you make a mental note to thank Shoko again later (after you debrief her about this). 

You: Never apologize for speaking about your kids! And if we’re being absolutely transparent, that was my biggest gripe with downloading this app, too. 

You: I’m so glad we matched each other. I’d like to get to know you more. And I’m hoping the feeling’s mutual?

Kazuki: It’s more than mutual. 

Kazuki: Don’t want to get ahead of myself but how do you feel about dinner? There’s a cool high-scale restaurant in the city that I haven’t been to yet. Heard it’s got two Michelin stars despite opening up not too long ago. 

The prospect of going on a sit-down dinner date has your stomach in knots. It’s been a hot minute since the last time you’ve done so, but you’re eager to know the man behind the screen on a more personal level. Plus, being treated to a high-scale restaurant with two Michelin stars doesn’t seem too bad either. You’re never one to turn down free dinner.

You: I’d love to, but how soon we talkin’? Gotta see if it’ll align with my schedule.

Kazuki: How’s this Friday at 8 sound? :)

The days leading up to Friday breeze by in a blur. For the majority of the week, it feels like you’re walking on cloud nine. Eventually, the conversation transitions from the dating app to exchanging phone numbers, and since then, the two of you have been texting back-and-forth everyday.

You talk about mundane things. Work, shows, movies, books you’ve recently read, what your kids are up to–but the other things? The other messages are flirty, and sexy, and filled with so much tension that it could cut a rope in half. 

In between messages, the two of you have also exchanged a few photos. Nothing risqué or anything of that nature, just random photos of you throughout the day. The last one he sent was a few hours ago of him at work, captioned with: ‘Could this meeting be any longer?’. 

You reply to the message with the ‘ha ha’ reaction, in consideration of not wanting to get him in trouble at work (even if he was the one who initiated the conversation). As the days go by, though, you make it a habit to update Shoko every step of the way. 

Her first reaction to hearing about him was enthusiastic. That is, until you showed her screenshots from his profile. You vaguely remember her saying something that was meant as a compliment, but came out more like an insult. 

“‘Oh, he’s a dad!” was her initial response, “oh, he’s a dad…and he really loves his kids. You’re meant for each other.’” 

When you tried to ask her what she meant by that, she changed the subject. Every update since then has earned slightly more positive reactions, though.

Today, you ask her for more advice. Only this time, you’re on video call. 

“Shokoooo,” you drawl, “our date is tomorrow! You have to help me find something to wear.” The panic in your voice is so palpable, she can almost feel your shaky hands through the screen. Flipping the camera, you hurriedly pan your phone around the closet. 

“Breathe, girl, breathe,” she demonstrates first, before telling you to repeat the same motions. “Take me to that section over there–no, not that one–wait, yep, there.” You amble over to the area she’s directing you to through the phone.

“What’s that black little number right there?” She points. You prop the phone up on a shelf and scour through the section, tugging out a dress you haven’t seen in ages (which has you questioning how she even spotted it because it was pretty far back into the closet). Walking back into frame, you hold the fabric up to your body. 

Shoko nods in approval, “That’s the one, babe. Try it on!” 

It’d been about a decade since the last time you wore this dress. It’d also been about a decade since you were ever this small. Looking in the mirror, you run your hands over every surface inch, every crevice of the dress, in a newfound sense of appreciation for the adult weight you’ve gained since becoming a mother. 

The dress was always stunning but it hugged everything perfectly even more so now. When you walk back into frame, your friend gives you a look of pure adoration. She’s so enthralled that she snaps a few screenshots for keepsaking. 

“Thank god it’s Satoru’s turn to get the kids tonight,” she says, “‘cause you’re definitely getting some tonight.” 

You roll your eyes, reminding her she’s on speaker phone. “Oh, please. It’s just dinner!”

“Not in that dress,” she retorts, wagging her finger in the camera. While the two of you continue to chat about the details of tonight, a knock on your bedroom door draws your attention. 

“Mom, can I come in?” the voice sounds. It’s Haruki. 

“Come in, hon!” 

After you give the ok, you turn to Shoko and mouth to her to behave. Haruki turns the knob and enters, closing the door behind her. She sees you standing in front of the mirror before you see her, and silently utters a ‘wow’. You’re just about done putting your earrings in when you join her in the other room. 

“What do you think, bun? Does your mom look hot?” you spin around, smoothing your hands down the length of the dress. You wait in anticipation for her approval, because if anyone could tell it like it is, it was always going to be a kid. Your Haruki was no exception. 

“You look really pretty, Mom. I’m glad you’re going out tonight, I mean, you don’t really have friends so I think this will be good for you,” she elaborates, though you wish she would’ve stopped at the compliment. 

Still, it puts a smile on your face to hear her verbalize that she’s okay with you doing something for yourself. You never quite discussed the prospect of getting back out there with your kids–and not even intentionally. It just never felt like the right time. 

“You could’ve stopped at the compliment, punk!” you grab her, then wrap her in your arms, “but thank you. Love you, bun.”

“Love you more, mama.” Neither of you make the effort to pull away. Instead, you both stand there. Hugging, breathing, embracing each other’s warmth. You don’t always get hugs this good, so when you do, you savor it. Drag it out until your arms and legs get all tingly. 

Or until someone interrupts. Another knock on the door. This time it’s Hana. 

“Ew, what’s going on?” Hana feigns a look of disgust. You know she’s just jealous; she’ll never admit it, though. Which is why sometimes you have to force her to participate. 

“Get over here,” you scrunch your nose, forcefully pulling her into your tight embrace. She tries to protest but eventually accepts defeat. You squeeze them both until they whine that they can’t breathe anymore. Then you squeeze them some more because this one’s for you. 

“My special girls,” you breathe in, taking in all of their love. Soaking it all up so that tonight you have the courage to try again. To allow yourself a love of your own. When you let go, there’s a sniffle from the closet. It totally dawned on you that Shoko was still on the phone. 

“They’re so big now, they don’t even know their auntie,” she fakes a sob, blowing her nose into a tissue. 

“Mom, who’s on the phone?” Haruki queries with a confused expression etched onto her face. It suddenly dawns on you again that although you’ve been communicating with Shoko again, you haven’t exactly told them. 

“Hey, you came in here to tell me something right, Han?” Your attempt to change the subject is poorly done, which doesn’t come as a surprise to you considering deflection has never quite been an ability you excelled at. Nonetheless, the look of suspicion they give you after is fleeting before they explain to you in unison that their father is here. 

“Your father’s been waiting down there this whole time and nobody cared to tell me?” you whisper-yell, left eye twitching to emphasize your ill-preparedness. The girls only shrug their shoulders in response, like this was something you were just supposed to know. 

“Well, you did force us into a hug and make us do all that Kumbaya stuff,” Hana mumbles under her breath.

“Okay, enough about all that. Are you guys all packed? Where are your bags? I don’t want your dad seeing–” 

“You don’t want dad to see your date, right?” Hana raises a brow, all knowing. Sometimes she was a little too smart for her own good. You want to blame that on the private schools Satoru had them enrolled in, but really you just know she’s just a menace in her own right. She learned that from him. 

“I agree with the kid,” a voice chimes in. You rush to the closet and grab your phone from the shelf. There’s a huge, shit-eating grin on Shoko’s face. Somehow she’s responsible for this. You don’t know how yet, nor do you have proof, but you know it. 

“Okay, thank you, love you, bye!” Before you can hang up, Shoko blurts something. 

“Tell him I said hi,” she begins, “–andnottogetahardonwhenheseesyou!”

You hang up the call and roll your eyes, chuckling to yourself because of her idiocy. When you enter the corridor, you hear a faint sound of hushed voices from downstairs. It’s only when you round the bannister at the top, when those voices become discernible and louder. 

You stop at the top, and when your eyes meet his, it feels like all the air in your lungs have expelled. Suddenly, you’re hyper-aware of what you’re wearing, and the fabric, and the way it clings to your body. Neither he, nor you, look away–you should, you want to, but you don’t. 

And in the time the two of you gaze upon the other, time stops for a modicum of a second. In this second, you and him are the last two souls in the world. At least, that’s how it feels anyway before he breaks eye contact. 

You shift your gaze shortly after, and put on a trained smile. Those eyes of his were always so intense. You guess you forgot over the years how easy it was to lose yourself in the crystalline pools of them. Gathering your wits, you resume your movements and saunter down the imperial staircase. 

“Hey, didn’t mean to keep you waiting. Sort of lost track of time, but I think the girls are all packed,” you say, your voice coming to a decrescendo upon noticing the way his eyes trail over your frame. They’re unreadable, though. Indifferent, and honestly, you’re not sure how to feel. So, you begin fidgeting uncomfortably with the rings around your finger. 

Then, he smiles. It’s eerie and fake. “Not a problem, I haven’t been here too long. But, uh,” he begins ambling around the place, touching random objects around the living room, “Didn’t know you had plans. What’s the occasion? Going out for drinks with your colleagues?” 

You furrow your brows, confused with his sudden interests in your plans. It wasn’t really like him to prod. “No, actually,” you rock back-and-forth on the balls of your heels, “i’m…i’m going on a date,” you finish with a pursed smile. He only nods his head in response, still walking around the place touching stuff, messing with the picture frames on the mantle. They’re all crooked now. 

“How come this is the only picture you have up of me,” he asks suddenly. You know, that he knows, the answer to that. And he knows, that you know, you’ll indulge in his games anyway. 

“The girls wanted them in their rooms. Why do you ask? You want me to go grab them and put ‘em all up around the house?” Again, he doesn’t say anything. Just gives you a final once over before heading back to the foyer to ask if the girls are all set to go. 

“Yeah, but I can’t find my tablet, dad. Can I go look for it?” Haruki speaks up. “I thought I packed it.”

Satoru looks at the time on his watch, pinches the crease in between his brows. “Sure, kiddo. Can we make it quick, please?” He throws his hand in the air for emphasis, then points to his watch. Haruki nods, then runs up the stairs. 

“Actually, you go on up too and help your sister. You guys are holding up dad,” you turn to Hana and gesture for her to head up with your head. She rolls her eyes, yelling up the stairs for her younger sister to ‘freaking hurry up’. 

You and Satoru both turn to each other with wide eyes, laughing at the nerve of those children. 

“They get that attitude from you, you know,” you point to him, driving your index finger into his bicep. 

“You sure? Their mom’s got a pretty bad mouth on her, too. Or, have you forgotten?” He teases, bending his knees slightly to level his eyes with yours, intruding into your space. The smirk he dons is cheeky, too friendly–too inviting. You want to smack it off of him. 

“Oh, shut u–” the sound of your phone chiming interrupts your banter. It’s a message from Kazuki, and you open it while Satoru stands over you. Probably close enough to read the message on his own if he wanted. 

Kazuki: Hey, I hate to do this but I don’t think I can go through with tonight. 

When you read the message, your heart drops into your stomach. There goes the other shoe, you think, fully embracing your pessimism. Who were you kidding, really? To think that tonight you’d go out and have a good time. Do something for yourself. It was stupidity. 

Chat bubbles pop up on the screen. He has more to say. 

He has more to say, and you’re fighting the urge to cry–to not shake out of sheer frustration while you’re still standing in front of Satoru. Because nothing would be worse than him seeing you can’t even land a date. 

Kazuki: I recently just went through a divorce, and I know that I should have informed you about this before continuing our conversations…Especially since you’ve been so transparent with me about your own divorce and strife.

Kazuki: But if I’m being completely honest, I was scared. I genuinely wanted to see this through, at first. I wanted to forget about my ex-wife for just one night. But I realized I’ve been asking the impossible of myself…I’m still in love with her, and it’s because I’m in love with her that I won’t allow myself to lead you on any further. 

Kazuki: I think we would’ve had a good time tonight. It's unfortunate we had to meet under such circumstances because you’re a really lovely woman, and I’m sorry an asshole is standing you up right now. 

Kazuki: Take care. I know there’s a guy out there just waiting for his shot. 

Satoru takes notice of the way your face drops as you read over the messages. Part of him wants to overstep his boundaries and take a peek at the screen. But he doesn’t. He gives you your space and takes a seat on the couch, waits for you to say something first. 

In the meantime, he studies your face. Watches intently as your eyes become glossy the more you scan the messages, watches as your bottom lip catches between your teeth to hold back from crying. He thinks he knows what just happened. 

Taking a deep breath, you lock your phone and put on another trained smile, “Well, looks like I’m staying in tonight.” Satoru dislikes when you do that. When you put on a fake smile and overcompensate to make others around you feel better, even when it’s so very obvious you aren’t. He wishes that sometimes you would just be selfish–act out. 

And then you continue the façade. It makes his skin itch. 

“I was too tired anyway, guess I can just catch up o–”

“Will you stop,” he spits, rising from his seat on the couch to stand. It comes out harsher than he intended, but he doesn’t regret it. You look at him like he’s got two heads as he walks over to the mantle and leans against it. His back is turned towards you, and the palms of his hands hold the crest of it. He uses it as leverage to rock on the heels of his feet. You can tell there’s something he wants to say because of the way his jaw ticks. 

Satoru is never one to bite his tongue, so you’re not exactly sure why he’s choosing to be so restrained. If he wasn’t going to spit it out, you were going to poke. “What’s your problem?” 

He chuckles at this, rubs his chin then pushes off the mantle to stand in front of you, gets all in your space again. The movement almost sends you back but you hold your ground, tilt your chin up at him and repeat the question. Slowly, this time with more venom. 

“My problem? What’s your problem?” He breathes through his nose, his eyes flickering back-and-forth between your own. “Why do you always pretend like you’re not lonely? It’s okay if you were looking forward to having fun tonight. It’s okay to be upset and be mad at the asshole who stood you up!”

With every verbal prod at you, the gap between you decreases. His feet inch closer and closer to your own and force you to retreat farther until your back hits the wall. The coldness of it causes your breath to hitch, and you try to stay calm as Satoru encroaches more into your personal space. Being on the receiving end of his passion was always suffocating, you feel exposed under the intensity of his gaze–even more so as he continues to tear into you. 

“Why do you even care?!” you cut him off, eyes wide and veins pumping full of adrenaline. “It’s not your place to be so invested in my life anymore! We’re not together, you don’t have to get so hot and bothered about things going shitty for me. I’m a big girl, and I’m perfectly capable of fighting my own battles.” 

By the time you finish, you’re a heaving, shaking mess. He takes this as a sign to withdraw from your space, and goes to sit back down on the couch. When you finally settle your nerves, you join him, leaving a foot of space in between you. There’s an awkward silence, one that wouldn’t have even happened if he just respected your boundaries in the first place. Now he feels like the asshole instead of the actual asshole who dumped you. Taking a hesitant breath, he decides to speak up. 

“Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t…It wasn’t my intention to come off so strong like that,” he begins, “I just wanted to let you know that you don’t always have to pretend to be fine. It’s not fair, you shouldn’t do that to yourself.” His eyes wander over to you reluctantly, like he’s scared that if he looks too long you’ll disengage from the conversation. 

“It’s okay,” your voice is small, just above a whisper. You want to face him, but you know that if you do, you'll break into a million pieces. So you keep your gaze downward, busy yourself with the stray pieces of thread on the bottom of your dress. “You’re right, you know. I think I just…I think I just tell myself to expect disappointment so that when something bad happens, I’ll know it’s not because I got my hopes up.” 

Satoru turns to you, and you can see him frown through your peripheral. Still, you don’t face him because you’re not done talking. But you thank him silently for listening without interrupting. 

“Even though you’re right, I don’t appreciate the way you came on so strongly. We’re not married anymore, we’re not a couple–we’re co-parents. So if there’s something I want you to know about that’s outside of the scope of our kids, I’ll let you know. Otherwise, leave it alone.”

Satoru’s face softens. For once you’re being selfish, putting your foot down. This is the side of you he likes. “Okay. I respect that,” he says, “But can I ask you something?” The smile on his face is mirthful, like he’s got something else up his sleeves this evening. Skeptical, you finally face him with a raised brow. 

“What?”

“Let me take you to dinner.” 

You laugh in his face, even go as far as smacking his arm because you want him to know you found the joke really funny. He doesn’t budge, and that’s when you realize he’s being serious. 

“Wait, what?” 

“Let’s go to dinner,” he stands up, crossing his arms across his chest. You tilt your head in disbelief. You’re just waiting for someone to tell you you’re on that old reality show punk’d. 

“Funny, I just poured my heart out to you and now you’re making fun of me,” you roll your eyes, feigning annoyance. 

“I’m being serious,” he reassures, “you’re already dressed up. It’d be a shame for it to go to waste.” His eyes are twinkling with hope, and once again, you find yourself falling victim to their persuasiveness. 

Being under Gojo Satoru’s gaze was suffocating. 

Giving in, you ask, “So what are you gonna do? Drive all the way home to get dressed?” 

The question is genuine, but the bastard just grins. “I’m a little hurt,” he throws a hand over his heart, “don’t you know me by now? I’m a businessman. I keep pressed blazers and slacks on me at all times.”

He swings his keys around his index finger, hoping that the promise of a spare change of clothes being in his car is enough to convince you to say yes. 

“I don’t know…” you trail. 

“C’mon, let me take you out. I promise you won’t regret it.”

Somehow he was able to persuade you into going out. After he changed into his spare clothes, you ended up telling your girls that there was gonna be a change of plans, and that they’d go home with their dad tomorrow. 

Of course, before leaving, you made sure to leave some money on the table for pizza, and you also made sure to drill into their heads not to open the door for anyone except the delivery guy. You knew they knew the drill already, but it didn’t feel right to leave without saying it anyway. 

“Be good, listen to your sister, she’s in charge,” you pinch Haruki’s cheek. Hana smirks, nodding her head in agreement with you. 

“I will mom, I know,” she huffs, crossing her arms.

“And you,” your finger wags at Hana, her smirk drops. “Don’t provoke your sister, be nice. Act like you love each other, please.” 

“Fine, whatever. I guess,” she grabs the knob to the door, ready to kick the both of you out already. “So does this mean the two of you are back together, or?” 

Satoru and you turn to each other before answering in unison, “No.” 

“Okay, cool. Well, have fun,” she practically closes the door on the two of you, locking it after. Satoru is just as dumbfounded as you are, but then you break into a fit of laughter. 

“Those kids, man.”

“Your kids!” you correct, pushing him playfully as the both of you walk down the pebbled pathway. He finds his equilibrium in time to unlock the car and open your side of the door. You pause before ducking inside.

“Oh, how gentlemanly of you,” you jest, “And they say chivalry is dead.”

“How could it be when I’m alive?” He says matter-of-factly, closing your side of the door. He taps the top of the car before sliding across the hood to the other side. Nice to see some things never changed. 

When he gets inside and turns on the car, he puts his hand on the back of your seat to back out. The proximity sends a shiver down your spine, and you have to physically refrain from letting your eyes linger on his jaw, and his arms, and the face he makes when he’s trying to concentrate. 

You try to dispel these less-than-friendly thoughts by looking somewhere, anywhere else but him. But you can’t, and it’s irritating. 

This is the second time tonight you’ve been this close, and it’s only this time that you realize something about him is…different. Earlier, he didn’t really smell like anything, but you quickly notice his smell has changed. 

There’s a sort of piney scent coming from him. It’s not strong or obnoxious enough to blind your nostrils, but it’s enough for you to just barely pick up on it. You almost think it was premeditated, that he took the liberty of spritzing some on before walking you to the car. Before you separated, he’d made it a habit to wear variations of woody scents for you. If you can recall correctly, a passing comment you made about the cologne he was wearing that day is what sparked the habit. 

Surely, this couldn’t be coincidental? 

“You smell nice,” you blurt, filling in the silence. 

Satoru glances at you, “Thank you.” You hate that from the corner of your eye, you can see his stupid little smirk growing bigger by the minute. He already had a big ego, it didn’t need to be stroked any more. 

“Don’t let it go to your head, though. You usually smell pretty rank.”

“Ohhh, is that so? Guess I gotta start wearing this more often then, huh?”

“Sure, do what you want,” you say, trying to remain indifferent even though you’re failing terribly to hide your smile. When the car approaches a red light, you finally decide to ask the big question. “So where are you taking me?” 

“You’ll see,” he glances over, “Just know I’m good friends with the owner, so last minute reservations weren't a problem.” 

The rest of the car ride is silent, save for the low hum of the music playing on the radio. When you arrive at the location, Satoru makes sure to walk all the way around to your side of the door again and open it. Immediately after, the two of you are greeted by a young male. He’s wearing a white button down, black slacks, and a black vest with a red tie. Judging by his appearance, you assume he’s a valet driver. 

Satoru drops his keys in the driver’s hands, and escorts you towards the entrance. The boy bows and goes to park the car. Looking around, you start to wonder where exactly this place is supposed to be. The area is dark and secluded, and from where you stand outside, it doesn’t sound like there’s supposed to be a restaurant here. You don’t hear any voices, you don’t even see any security or other passerbyers. 

Still, you follow behind him like a duckling, only coming to a halt when he leads you to a door taller than the both of you. He gestures for you to back up, then raises his knuckles to blow a strong, single knock. You’re taken by surprise when a set of angry eyes appear behind a slot in the door. 

The pair of eyes first scan over you, then Satoru. A gruff voice is second to accompany them, “Where can I get a good drink?” 

“I heard the bar down the street is nice,” Satoru answers. The hatch to the door closes, then swings open the door, and the man behind it moves aside to welcome you in.

“Follow me, please.” Once he closes the door, he begins guiding you down the dimly lit hallway. After making what seems like your hundredth turn, you eventually reach a staircase. The man gestures for you to go on ahead, and you think this is him implying where the three of you will depart.

“Thank you,” you say softly, disappearing down the stairs. Satoru isn’t too far behind, keeping a pace between you. As you near the end of the long, narrow hallway, a stream of white light brightens up your whole path. It leads you down to another door like a beacon of light, and when you reach it, you can hear voices, live music, and dishes clanking on the other side. It’s bustling with life. A huge, joyous smile plasters across your face. It’s almost child-like in appearance, like you haven’t seen something this cool in a long time. 

Satoru stands beside you and winks. “What d’ya think? Any idea yet where we are?” 

“I think this is fucking cool, and hm,” you take a second to mull it over, “are we at a speakeasy?” 

“Smart girl. Now come on.” Stepping back, you allow him to pull open the door, and when he does, there isn’t a word to describe the atmosphere of the place you step into. All you can do is stand there in astonishment. Before long, a man walks up to you. 

“Welcome, what is the name you reserved under?” 

“Gojo.”

Nodding, the host instructs you to follow after him. He leads you to a private seating area, somewhere far in the back that’s secluded from the other patrons. The space is much bigger, and much more extravagant. You know you’re only sitting way back here because Satoru is who he is. And in all the years you’ve known him, his connections were just another party trick in his arsenal. 

The hostess seats you, then Satoru, and tells you that a waiter will be with you shortly. 

“This is nice, really nice, but is it–”

“Legal?” he finishes your sentence, “don’t worry. It’s a modern speakeasy-style restaurant. There’s nothing illegal going on here, promise.” 

While you wait for your designated waiter, your focus shifts from the man in front of you to the man singing on the stage. Up until now, his voice was white noise in the background, but then he started singing a tune scarily reminiscent of your past–and your breath catches in your throat. 

If I ever leave you, baby

You can say I told you so

And if I ever hurt you

You know, I hurt myself…

Turning your gaze back to Satoru, you squint your eyes mirthfully in disbelief. You wonder if this is just a funny coincidence, if this is the universe playing her tricks, but you know deep down, that coincidences and Gojo Satoru don’t belong in the same sentence. 

You open your mouth to speak, but quickly close it when you see the waiter approaching from the corner of your eye. He greets the both of you with a polite smile, then sets down two glasses of water. 

“Good evening, I’ll be your waiter for the night,” he says, placing a menu in front of you, “Can I get you fine folks started off with a bottle of wine?” 

Satoru nods, tells him to bring the best bottle of red they have and then gestures for him to come closer so that he can whisper something in his ear. All the while, you sit back in your seat observing, clicking your nails on the table until the server pulls back and bows. 

When he departs, you immediately lean in over the table, and ask, “Just how much time did you have to plan all of this?” 

Satoru feigns aloofness, taking a sip of his water, “What do you mean?” 

You roll your eyes, gesturing at the stage with your eyes. Then, as if suddenly coming to a realization, he goes, “Oh, that? Yeah, I had nothing to do with that. But isn’t it funny they’re playing our old song?” 

Now he’s smirking, with his elbow leaning back on the chair, and a gaze so piercing, you’re certain you’ll crumble into nothing unless you look away. So you do, avert your gaze back to the stage and sway calmly. 

Is that any way for a man to carry on

Do you think I want my loved one gone

Said I love you

More than you’ll ever know

More than you’ll ever know

“So funny,” you counter. 

Eventually, the server comes back with a bottle. “1982 Chateau Latife Rothschild,” he holds it out to present, “Is this alright?” 

Despite the years spent with Satoru, and the many elitist events you often attended with him, your knowledge on wine had never surpassed anything but surface level. You knew the difference between good wine and cheap wine was the taste, but your taste buds had grown accustomed to store-bought, so if anything, store-bought tasted like heaven to you. Anyway, though, you nod your head and urge him to pour a glass. 

“Thank you,” you smile, before gently swirling the glass and bringing it up to your nose to smell (something you only know to do after being the odd man out at so many company banquets). Satoru waits for you to sip your glass before he sips his. The way you melt into your seat is a silent assurance that you’re pleased. 

“This is great, you’re amazing,” you tell the server, who seems pleased by your compliment. 

“Glad to be of service, miss. Are you ready to order?” 

Dinner goes by smoothly. In fact, it goes by so smoothly, you and Satoru finish the entire bottle of wine. Now you sit at the table, bellies full, faces flushed and sore from laughing, and now you find yourself telling him about the grocery store incident. If you had half a mind (a sober one), you’d shut up right this second to save yourself from the embarrassment. But you don’t. And Satoru’s very persuasive when you’re tipsy. 

“Keep going,” he leans in, hand nestled under his chin. He’s completely invested in the story. Actually, as soon as he heard the words ‘store’ and ‘cute guy’, he just had to know more. And you begging him to change the subject didn’t help, not when the sadist in him loved to see you so embarrassed. 

“Fine,” you hiccup, “It was so - so bad, Toru.” He doesn’t miss the way you slip and call him by the nickname you’d always reserved for him. It makes his heart race, and god, does he miss the way it sounds spilling from your lips. But he ignores the feeling, and refocuses on your story instead. Which, by the way, was proving to be a task in itself because his eyes couldn’t stop drifting back down to your lips. So soft, so–

“And then she said ‘we don’t believe in rings,’” you whisper, fist coming down on the table. The sound it makes nearly sobers you up, and you realize just how loud you’re being despite your table being secluded from others. Giggling like a kid, you continue, “I mean, how fucking insane is that?!” 

“Something as bizarre as that could only ever happen to you,” he replies, laughing along with you, “those people were crazy.” 

“The craziest,” you agree, throwing your head back in another fit of laughter. Gradually, the two of you begin to settle down, and once again, you find your attention being drawn back to the man on the stage. Only this time, he’s making an announcement.

“Good evening ladies and gentleman. Tonight I’ve got a special request,” he says, looking out into the audience. Looking at you. “This one’s for a very special lady who, from what I’ve been told, is a great mother that needs to start doing things for herself.” 

The singer steps out of the spotlight and hands the note to a server. Your server. Then he begins to sing, and your heart drops into the pit of your stomach. It was your wedding song. 

[...] I don’t even know how to love you

Just the way you want me to

But I’m ready (ready) to learn (to learn)

Yes, I’m ready (ready) to learn (to learn)

“Now this one? This one was me,” Satoru leans forward, and you swiftly turn your head to face him. He smiles as he watches your face go through ten different emotions before ultimately softening. It warms your heart to see how incredibly planned this evening was, despite the amount of time he was given to work with. Even so, it kind of scares you–because then that meant this was a grand gesture–that this was his way of saying something. And you weren’t too sure if you wanted to hear it. Your gaze drops to your lap, and Satoru frowns. 

To fall in love 

To fall in love

To fall in love with you…

“Look at me,” he says softly, but you don’t. “Hey, look at me.” He reaches over the table to take your chin in between his fingers. The touch alone feels electric. Sends liquid hot lightning down the column of your spine. Reluctantly, you meet his gaze, and like always, it’s suffocating. They’re so wide with hope, and so, so gentle in the way they hold you. The longer you gaze upon them, the more you convince yourself it’ll be okay if you surrender to them. 

“It’s been years since we’ve divorced,” his voice is shaky, almost strained, like he’s actively thinking how to choose his words carefully, “and when we sat down that night, I thought it was what I wanted, too, you know? And for a while, it was,” he reaches a hand across the table to rest atop your own, “but you gotta know…you gotta know–you’re it for me. There’s no one else on this Earth that I want to start over with. You’ve always been the beginning and end of my story, and I’ll be damned if I let another man start one with you.”

Your heart is beating faster than you can even process what he’s saying. The only thing you’re focused on is not passing out in the middle of this damn restaurant. But then he’s squeezing your hand, and your focus is drawn back to those piercing, pale blues that even put crystals to shame. 

“So what do you say?” he says, so softly, so tender. “Can we try again?”

Waiting for your reply, he squeezes your hand again. It’s like your soul is wandering the line between death and the living, and his touch is the tether that brings you back. In the background, the tune of the song sung at your wedding gives you a push of courage. 

I don’t even know how to kiss your lips (kiss your lips)

At a moment like this

But I’m going to learn how to do 

All the things you want me to

Yes, I’m ready

(Are you ready?) Yes, I’m ready

To fall in love

To fall in love

To fall in love right now

“Yes.”

The walk back to the car is hurried. Aided by both, years and years of built up tension, and the liquid courage currently bubbling in your systems. 

The race back to his apartment is even faster. You thank the gods silently that it’s within close proximity to where you just were. 

Once you get there, make your way past the doorman and concierge (who both give the two of you a knowing look), go up the elevator, and finally get into his loft–it’s over. Years of restraint, years of pretending, wanting–yearning, come crashing down. 

There’s barely any time to close the door before he’s pushing you against it. His lips trail down the column of your neck, then come up to kiss your jaw, until eventually, they find your lips. And when they do, it’s instantaneous–that familiar feeling, the feeling that feels almost like falling. 

Once again, for what felt like centuries, you feel again the rush of helplessness. The push and pull of the tide. It brings you down, down, down to the bottom of the ocean floor, and it’s unmerciful. 

Kissing Satoru is like being shocked with ten thousand volts of energy. Like all this time you’ve spent not kissing him, has been costing you your life, and he’s the only one who can deliver you salvation. It’s all teeth and tongue for a minute. Messy, and sticky, and nasty. A true testament to the desperation brewing in the pits of both your stomachs. 

The sensation of it all has your knees going slack, and that’s when he says–

“Jump.” 

Obeying, you do just that. Jump right into his arms, and wrap your legs around his torso like you’ve done so many times before. The way you feel now is the way you used to feel before then, too. Like you were made to fit like this. To be held in his arms like you were molded from the same clay. 

Carefully, he adjusts his grip on your body. Keeps his palms planted on the bottoms of your ass, and begins the trek to his room. He struggles a bit getting there because you haven’t stopped kissing since entering the apartment, but he figures it out after a stumble or two (which resulted in a bitten lip and you apologizing profusely through giggles). 

“The turbulence up here is crazy, don’t blame me, blame the pilot,” you jest, kissing down his neck to make up for it. 

“I’ll make sure to let him know,” he jokes back. As soon as he gets to the bed, he sets you down at the edge of the bed. You try to bring him down to your height but he stops you, wags his finger in your face playfully before using it to push you back into the bed. His fingers start to play with the fabric of your dress, and then his face takes on an indifferent expression. The same one from earlier that night when he first saw you walking down the stairs. 

“Can’t believe you were gonna wear this for him…” he trails, lifting the fabric up slowly, eyeing you while doing so, “as if this dress doesn’t mean something.” 

Of course, when Shoko chose it, its significance did make you falter–but in your defense, not once did you ever anticipate for him to see you in it. And you especially didn’t expect for him to remember it, the last time you wore it was almost a decade ago. 

“I didn’t…” you start, a smile creeping on your lips, “think you remembered?”

“‘Course I did, how could I not?” He says more sharply than intended, taking offense. He takes offense because he spent the better half of the night showing you he remembered. The little things and everything else in between. Couldn’t you see that?

“It was our 4th anniversary. Bought you this dress and fucked you in it that same night. Funny how the second time I’m seeing you in this dress, the circumstances are the same except only this time we’re divorced,” he says, crawling over your body. “Guess I gotta show you just how much I remember.” 

With that, he slips a hand under your dress, pulls your panties to the side and runs a finger down your slit. Oh-so-willingly, do you spread your legs for him. It’s almost subconscious, the way your body responds to him. And he revels in it. Lets his fingers work you, feel you, bring you to ecstasy. Then he heightens your pleasure tenfold when he kisses his way down your body, and takes a seat before you on his knees. 

Unceremoniously, he pulls your body to the edge of the bed. Takes his time slipping your panties down the length of your legs, then kisses the insides of your thighs, before finally stopping at your mound. 

Slowly, he lowers himself to your cunt, kisses your clit softly. Once, twice, three times. The pace in which he’s moving is killing you, to say the least. But you know he’s savoring the moment, making up for all the years he spent not kneeling like this between your legs. So you let him; let him caress you all over before he comes seeking the honey-sweet salvation dripping from your core. 

The second his tongue makes contact with your heat, you find yourself clamping a heavy hand over your mouth. “Fuck, Toruuuu,” you drawl, back arching off the bed. Pleased with his abilities, he smiles smugly, using this as an opportunity to push himself even deeper. Up and down, he licks at your slit, uses his fingers in tandem with his tongue to prod at that spongy spot he knows you love. 

“Tastes,” a harsh suck, “so good,” another, “better than I remember.” 

You know he’s talking, but his words fall on deaf ears. You’re so caught up in your own high, you don’t even take notice of the obscene sloshing sounds coming from your pussy, or the moans you’re making. All you can do is lay there and take it as he takes, and takes, and takes from you. 

Soon, you find your orgasm cutting through you like a knife, and you come with a strangled cry that has you biting back tears. Satoru talks you through the whole thing. He lays his head down on your thigh and continues working you with his fingers until you start to shake from the overstimulation. 

For a few, you lay and stare at the ceiling. You think you can see the Milky Way–and all the constellations that make it up. It feels like your soul is floating beyond your physical body, and you don’t come back down to Earth until a sharp, stinging sensation brings you back. Did he just?

“Did you just bite me?” you lift your head, peering down to see the evidence. In all its glory, there it was; a red ring smack-dab in the inside of your thigh with teeth imprints. Looking at Satoru, he grins. 

“Had to get you back from earlier,” he says, sitting back on his knees. You attempt to kick him with your foot, but he grabs hold of it. Pretending to be wounded, he gasps, “Is this how you treat the man who just gave you a soul-shattering orgasm?” 

You roll your eyes, but to your dismay, it only encourages him to continue. 

“Fuck, Toru,” he mimics, “oh my god, Toru. You fuck me so goo–”

“Alright, enough!” you manage to kick him this time, laughing as you bring up your hands to cover your face. “Keep carrying on like that and I won’t let you fuck me…” You’re serious in your bite, but he’s smirking. Like he knows you’re full of bullshit. 

“Yeah right. You and I both know I make you feel too good.” 

Feeling bested, you scoff, though, there’s no real weight behind it. While he begins to remove his shirt, you sit up and replace his hands. He relinquishes control and allows you to unbutton it until the item falls haphazardly to the floor. 

He’s so beautiful, you think. Still so chiseled, so perfect after all these years since you’ve last seen him like this. At his most vulnerable. The only difference now is that there are more freckles littered across his skin. Back then, he’d say they were signs of aging, and he’d hate them. 

But he’s older now. More mature. So much so that he even winks at you when you trace your fingertips over them.

“They suit you,” you whisper. 

“Yeah?”

You nod your head, “mhm.” 

Continuing your ministrations, you begin removing his belt. He holds your gaze the entire time it takes for you to unzip his pants and pull them down–and he doesn’t once shy away when you discover the wet spot on the front of his briefs. Slowly, delicately, you remove the soiled item and let it fall down to the floor with the rest of his clothes. 

Still looking at him, you take hold of his length and fist him once, twice, experimentally. A dribble of pre oozes from his slit and you bring it to your mouth. All the air in his lungs expel into the air when you lick it off with your tongue, and god, he thinks he could come from that alone. 

God, he’s missed you. Missed your touch, your lips–the way you hold him with your eyes like he’s something worth being gentle with. Nothing could ever compare to you, not even his own hand. 

As soon as you’re about to take him in your mouth, he stops you. Pushes you back down onto the bed and slots himself between your legs. “No more playing, I’m tired of playing,” he breathes, lowering himself down until half of his weight is on top of you. 

Guiding his cock to your entrance, he pushes past your folds with little resistance. The feeling of your cunt squeezing him in has his arms wobbling like jelly, but he musters enough strength somehow to stay up. You, on the other hand, are close to tears. 

The more he eases himself in, the more you feel like you’re being stretched open (despite him previously prepping you). If you were being truthful, this wasn’t a complete shock to you. You’ve known that he’s always been big, but something about tonight feels different. Or maybe it’s just been too long since you’ve had something more than just your own fingers. 

Even so, you try your best to ignore the burn of the stretch. You throw your arms around his neck and invite him deeper into you, hooking your legs around him so tightly that it renders his limbs useless. For a minute, all you can feel is the weight of him inside of you, and his chest against yours as they rise and fall asynchronously. 

“Toru,” your voice is just barely above a whisper, but enough to make the hairs on the nape of his neck stand. “Make love to me.” 

Heeding your request, he begins moving. Painfully slow, he unsheathes himself from you until only the head of his cock is inside, then pushes himself all the way back in with force. Again, and again, he repeats this motion. Pulls out, pushes in. Pulls out, pushes in, until he decides to increase his pace and set a steady rhythm. 

Every thrust into you is meticulously calculated. Sharp, and forceful, and not once does he disrupt the rhythm. He listens carefully to the sounds you make. Even listens to the way your breath hitches when he hits a spot right. Everything he’s doing is perfect–and it’s to no surprise. Deep down, you know that Satoru knows your body like the back of his hand. He’d know it if you were all old and wrinkly. He’d know it if his soul reincarnated. Hell, he’d know it blind. 

“Missed this,” he grunts, burying his head into the interstice of your neck, “missed you,” a kiss to your neck, “missed us.” 

The veracity of his words render you speechless. He’s already professed his feelings for you tonight, but it feels even more real now that you’re beneath him. To be loved by Gojo Satoru was a feeling many couldn’t say they had the consolation of knowing. Only a few in his circle could hold that position–but only one person in this world could truly ever know his love to its fullest extent. You. 

Satoru continues his mindless rambling, “I love you,” a thrust, “it’s always been you,” another, “was always going to be you.” Leaning back on his heels, he pushes your dress all the way up to reveal your breasts. Now it’s him who sits back and admires this time. As if he were reacquainting himself, he traces the planes and pastures of your chest with an eager hand. He runs it up and over each mound, squeezing and kneading the flesh experimentally. 

Then, he dips down and kisses the space between them. Sucks and licks until the skin bruises, and he has evidence to prove tonight actually happened. Eventually, he withdraws from your chest and returns his focus on easing his cock in and out of your cunt. 

“So beautiful,” he says, but it’s more to himself than anything. You’re so lost in your own pleasure, he doesn’t even think you can hear him. “Want you to cum on my cock, know you can do it, baby. Know you can,” he grunts, taking your hand and intertwining it with his own. Letting his head fall into your neck, he begins to quicken his pace. Fucks into you with everything he’s got and willing to give. 

“Toru,” you finally manage to say, “‘m so close, keep going. Do it - do it inside.” 

Do it inside. Do it inside. Do it inside. The thought is tempting, too tempting. It makes his dick twitch inside of you, and he swears if you say it again, he’ll actually do it. But he knows better than to listen to anything you say out of delirium. 

“Trust me, sweet girl,” he cradles your face, to which you lean into, “I want to - I want to so fucking badly. But we both know you’d regret it later.” 

Whining, your lips form into a pout, and the sight is so cute, he can’t help but to kiss it off of you. Compared to your kiss earlier, this one is much sweeter. Slower. More relaxed. He kisses you with the intent of making you dizzier than you already are, and it’s scary. Even so, you don’t pull away. You allow him to drink you up. Like your lips are the only source of water around, and he’s been quenched for days. 

Finally, with a few more thrusts, you reach your climax. The pressure building in the pit of your belly pops like a balloon, and everything goes white. “Toru!” you shriek, arching off the bed and trembling in his grasp. 

Using your arch as leverage, he keeps his hands underneath your back and continues to ram into you without abandon. You’re a babbling, wet mess at this point, and your cunt squeezing around him only encourages him more. 

“Fuckfuckfuck, ‘m gonna - ‘m gonna,” he curses, balls beginning to tighten. Quickly, he unsheathes himself and fists himself the rest of the way. With an impassioned moan, he climaxes–spurting thick, white, ropes of seed all over your abdomen. Then, falls onto your limp body with a grunt, chest heaving rapidly, and slick with perspiration. 

By this time, you’ve settled down enough to form a proper sentence. “That was…”

Satoru huffs, catching his breath. “Yeah.” 

Still spent, he continues to lay atop you. And you, having nowhere else to go, let him. The two of you lay comfortably in silence like this for a long time. Just you tracing shapes into his back, and him purring into your neck. Both of you know you should be getting up, but neither of you make an effort to do so. In this moment, time is transcendent. There is no rush to move when time stands still for you. 

Soon, that silence is broken. 

“I love you,” you say, and there’s no elaboration. Not even a recant. In fact, you say it so nonchalantly, he’s not even sure it was real. You say it like you’ve never been more certain in your life, like it’s the easiest thing you’ve ever had to do. 

“Really?” he queries, almost pathetically like the mere idea of you loving him is something unattainable. You look at him like he’s got two heads. 

“Yeah, you’re my best friend. I’ve always loved you,” you admit, pausing your ministrations on his back, “I just had to relearn how to love you.” He smiles at this, hums into your neck to keep from crying. 

“I’m glad we found our way back to each other,” he mumbles into your neck, “so where do we go from here?”

“From here we take it slow. We’ll learn together what it means to be individuals, and then from there we’ll see where it goes,” you say matter-of-factly, “no more repeating past mistakes.”

“Agreed,” he nods, “what will we tell the girls?”

That’s when your eyes widen and you sit up, forcefully pushing Satoru off of you. 

“What did I say, what’s wrong?” he queries, sitting up on the bed. He watches you rummage around the room maniacally, head on a swivel as you run out of the room and return with a purse. You pull your phone out to see a slew of missed calls and messages. 

“We forgot to call the girls!” You yell, showing him your phone screen of missed calls. Gojo jumps up to join you, one leg already sliding into his pants. 

“Shit!” 

Noticing the state of your appearance, you pinch the skin between your brows. “Satoru, I can’t wear this! You got cum all over it,” you groan, pointing to all the splotches of white. He tells you to wait a second before disappearing into his closet, then he comes back with a fist of clothes and throws it at you. 

“I can’t wear this either, they’ll wonder why I’m wearing your clothes!” 

Satoru runs to you and pull the dress off of your body, “We’ll wash it!” he screams, disappearing again out of the room, and to where you imagine, the laundry room. When he returns, he’s out of breath and panting. It’s only then do you realize how insane he looks with half his shirt buttoned, and his pants twisted around his hips. A giggle escapes your lips.

“What are you laughing at? Chop chop,” he claps, ushering you into his bathroom. 

Yeah, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t miss this idiot.

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