THE OTHER WOMAN

" 'cause I don't want to be in love with another, even in another life."

Keigo loved you as Icarus loved the sun—too close, too much.

The story of Icarus is a greek myth. One where Icarus made his own wings and was warned of the impending dangers of the sun. He ignored them and flew near it anyway—burning his wings before falling to his death.

hawks x reader & slight dabi x reader

warning; this may be the best piece of fiction i have ever written

Keigo didn't know where exactly he was walking to.

All he knew was that he was on break. As a boy who had just freshly turned sixteen, he was working full time to become one of the greatest heroes to live. It was his dream, one he would work hard to fulfill no matter what it took.

He's walking through an unfamiliar neighborhood. It was a lot like the one he grew up in when he was younger. While this one didn't seem necessarily dangerous, the run down houses and poorly taken care of lawns indicated this wasn't a wealthy area like the ones he was slowly beginning to become accustomed to with his new lifestyle.

But there are children running and playing around, adults sitting on their porches and chatting away as they smoke. It was different than what he once knew. He wonders if maybe his old neighborhood is like this now—more open, more free, where people could roam the streets without fear

He almost didn't hear you at first. His steps were optimistic and a little quicker than they usually were as he walked down the sidewalk. He lifted one of his wings to cover his gaze from the relentless sun that beat down on Japan. He almost passed the small sound he heard as an animal scurrying by, but he heard it again—a quiet whimper that suddenly sounded a lot more human.

His footsteps slow in front of the dark alley, and he carefully side steps to enter it. He sees you almost immediately, with your knees pulled to your chest, fingers tugging harshly at the strands of your matted hair as you held your head in your hands

"Hey," Keigo quickly said, kneeling down onto the dirty ground completely as he sits in front of you. His eyes are wide with worry as his heart beats faster at your state. What happened to you to have you sitting outside and all alone like this? You couldn't be older than him, maybe you were younger—he decides you're the same age as him when your eyes meet his. The look on your face was similar to an animal that had been kicked down too many times, and you instantly push your feet in front of you and backed yourself into the brick wall behind you when you hear his voice

You're embarrassed to meet his gaze. Seriously, a boy your age was crouching down in front of you during the absolute worst time possible and looking at you with a boyish grin that was too kind for your heart to take. He was dressed in odd clothes you've never seen before, majestic red wings twitching in anticipation behind him as he looks at you with gentle eyes—a striking hue of gold that captivated you in an instant

"Who are you?"

Your voice comes out rougher than you intended it to, strained and hoarse from crying too much as your fingers press into the concrete beneath you. You know you're a mess right now—eyes red and cheeks puffy, clothes tattered and blood smearing your arms from being hit too many times. But Keigo doesn't look at you with any less kindness than he would to a bunny

"I'm Hawks! A hero in training, who's here to save people just like yourself," He smiles, moving to sit beside you as he rests his strong back against the wall. His frame was a lot larger than yours and you stiffen beside him, a rare form of envy forming in your stomach as you realize this well put together boy sitting beside you probably got three meals a day judging by the size of his muscles and happy grin—he was far too cheerful for you right now, and you simply didn't have the energy or strength to deal with it.

"Please leave me alone.," You mutter quietly, discreetly wiping any stray tears lingering with your knuckle. He's quiet for a moment, before he starts speaking again. His voice was softer this time around.

"It's okay. I know it's bad right now—but, I can help. Tell me, dont'cha think these wings can fight off whatever’s hurting you?" He huffs, standing up suddenly to his full height as he spreads his wings out behind him—a show of power. You can see his pearly white teeth poke through his charming smile, and he holds his arms out as he looks down at you

You let out a huff of laughter unlike yourself, your lips forming a wobbly smile as you slowly nod your head

"Unfortunately there's nothing you can really do to help me. I'm...kinda hopeless."

He smiles at your words. A feeling of trepidation prickles at your skin hotly as you prepare to be made fun of. You can already imagine what his taunting laugh would sound like when you suddenly feel a heavy wing wrap around your frail shoulders as he pulls you in for a hug, sitting back beside you on the ground

Your shoulder bumps against his as he pulls you into his side, and Keigo's smile falters when he sees how alarmed you are by the simple gesture. He loosens his hold on you just the slightest bit before sending you an apologetic smile

"You know, the only way out of hard times is through them. Trust me. Why don't you get up and come with me?" He smiles, and the sight of it takes your breath away

You had no one who loved you to go back to, no one who would care if you were gone forever.

But here, six pm on what had begun as any other day, came your savior. A boy with a smile as golden as his eyes. He was devastatingly beautiful—and he reminded you quite a bit of an angel. He looked and behaved just like one, and you realize he is one.

Keigo watches your hands play with the frayed fabric of your sleeve as you stare into his eyes. Your hand twitches as you reach it out towards him, before ultimately curling into a fist as you place it in your lap

He can see the hesitation in your eyes. You'd just realized how dirty your hands were, calloused from going unloved and dirty from digging your fingers into the dirt mere hours earlier when you were crying

He uncurls your fist, intertwining his fingers with yours before squeezing gently—his fingers tainted in a quick instant as he grins

He had a really boyish smile. And full cheeks, too. Ones that looked like apples whenever he smiled. You squeeze his hand back as he tugs you up to stand

The sun is setting in the horizon, catching his eyes and wisps of beautiful blonde hair in its rays as he walks with you, hand in hand.

You will forever remember the following years of your life with Keigo, the boy who had taken care of you when the world had turned their back, as lovely.

The Hero Public Safety Commission was the organization Keigo worked for. You entered the facility with him, gawked at by all the employees who worked there. The walk across the building began as a long one with all the stares you were receiving, but Keigo wrapped a single wing around your frame to hide you from their intruding gazes

In a matter of months you were implemented into the same program as him. Side by side, you and Keigo became friends.

You've never had a friend, and neither had he. You were slowly introduced and implemented into a new society, one that shined brighter and warmer than the darkness you had grown up in.

Keigo was a beacon of hope for you. The two of you became a tangible thing. One never caught without the other. From training together to getting your licenses, you slowly built a new life for yourself with him.

The past was being forgotten slowly, but surely. The dark times you'd spent cowering under your own parents disappeared as they wasted away—just like all you had ever known.

Keigo made you forget those things. He brought you closer and closer to his heart—allowing you to understand and see what love was like. You unknowingly had done the same for him, teaching Keigo Takami the gentleness of true love.

But you didn't have time actively pursue a relationship with him. While the words were unspoken, the love between the two of you was strong and braided into your very being

"Y/n."

Keigo lays a casual arm around your shoulder, peering around before pressing a hard kiss onto your cheek that has you leaning away from him with a groan. Now freshly twenty, Keigo had grown into an adult. His younger features remained, but they were sharper now. He had grown taller and packed impressive muscle over the years too, growing into an admirable hero.

"Gross. Lay off, birdie." You grin, tilting away from him with a heartfelt smile as he laughs loudly

You had grown up too. Your first few days with Keigo were nothing but eye opening. Suddenly, you had a warm meal placed in front of you and someone to share it with. He made sure you went to bed every night with a full stomach, helping you grow into your figure and get stronger.

As an emerging hero, you were right behind Keigo, forever holding his hand as he paved a path for the two of you with nothing but determination in those beautiful eyes of his

"We got a mission to go on. Think you're ready for this one? We gotta take down a reallll bad villain." He teases, removing his arm from your shoulder as he slides into the seat across from you. He crosses his arms in front of his chest, and you try and avert your eyes from the way his muscles flexed under his compression tee

"When have I ever chickened out of a mission? Are you ready, Hawks?"

Keigo likes it when you say his hero name like that. It rolls off your tongue nicely, stirring something deep within him with immense joy

"I was born ready. Now, come on. We can hit the movies after this mission if we finish early!"

You smile, unknowing of what the day would bring.

The two of you are transported throughout Japan on the usual camouflaged vehicle, going to the villain's reported hideout as you look over his records and files in your hands. Apparently, this villain was one who'd been stealing medicine from all sorts of hospital facilities and wreaking havoc in his trail as he did—reports showed he may plan on reselling them for outrageous prices abroad.

After reviewing the geography of the area, the van rolls to a stop, giving you and Keigo your signal to get out and begin. Breaking in was easier than you thought it would be, but the building was far bigger than you'd anticipated. It would take hours to go through each room and collect the necessary evidence.

"All right then, let's split up." Keigo proposes, tightening his grip on the small walkie talkie attached to his hip as you turn to him in surprise

"Split up? But, well—isn't that a little risky for a mission like this?" You question, hoping he doesn't catch the hesitation in your voice as you mutter the words

He looks up. He'd caught the shift in your voice and understood how you felt immediately—he always did.

"Usually, yeah. But I got a good feeling about today! Plus, I wanna finish this quickly so I can take us somewhere nice after the movies..." He says, trailing off with a soft grin as he suddenly hooks his finger in the loop of your jeans—pulling you closer to him.

The action has your breath hitching in your throat before you see his hands quickly move to your walkie talkie, working on changing the settings so the SOS button was more accessible. You take a quick, steadying breath before letting out a huff, grumbling profanities under your breath and going on about how he scared you. Keigo just laughs, eyes twinkling as he gazes up at you through blonde lashes.

He lets go of your waist once he's all done, looking around the dusty room with attentive eyes

"I'd send one of my feathers with you so I know where you are, but I don't want it to catch unnecessary attention. That's why I tweaked our walkies a bit. You take the left wing and I'll take the right one so we meet in the middle. Think you can do that, Y/n?" He smirks as you roll your shoulders, sending back an equally amused grin.

"Let's see who gets to the middle first." You say, and his eyes light up at the sound of your challenge

"It's on! Loser does the paperwork summary of the mission!" He yells over his shoulder as his wings flap above you, with one last grin—he flies down the hall and turns towards the right wing with immeasurable speed

You take off the moment after he does, skidding to a stop in front of every door you came across before efficiently checking through them for evidence or trace of the villain

Your mission's main objective was catching the villain—as for all the medicines he'd stolen, they'd be collected by the higher ups soon after.

Most of the rooms were empty. Mainly filled with sparse bookshelves coated with dust as you checked for slots in the walls or anywhere something may be hidden. You wonder if Keigo's found anything before you see a dim light coming from one of the rooms down the hall

Your footsteps are stealthy and silent as you slowly approach the room with caution, your hand held out and ready to activate your quirk at any given moment

A shift of movement from inside confirms your suspicions, and you immediately corner the threat, shoving them hard and driving their back into the wall of the small room

A man that must've been in his mid forties stares at you slack jawed, eyes blown out in terror as a small grunt leaves his throat from where your knee was pushing into his stomach

"Don't move. Stay still so I can take the necessary procedures to take you into custody, sir." You tell him, eyes narrowing as you take in his features—yes, this was the supposed villain you had to find.

This man was keeping hundred of patients from receiving the medicine and care they deserved. The thought flared a spark of anger in you—and you were young, just twenty and filled with a lot of emotion. That's the only reason you pushed your knee further into his gut before a small, strangled sound leaves his throat

No. Not his throat, from behind you.

Someone else was here.

Your grip on him loosens as you whip around, a scowl on your face at you own stupidness. Not confirming the number of enemies in a room was a rookie mistake you'd made in the heat of the moment.

A small girl lays on a dinky hospital bed, her small eyes watery as she glares at you. She couldn't be much older than five, but the look on her face has you loosening your grip on what you'd soon learn is her father

The truth of the situation dawns on you as you look between the father-daughter duo. Multiple IV's were hooked up to her, and her heart rate monitor began to beep rapidly as she watched you

"Let him go! Let my papa go!"

She's wailing, little chest simply unable to keep up with her racking sobs as your eyes soften

"It's ok, I'm just—"

She suddenly lets out a loud cry, and you realize the man under you had started crying as well when you feel something wet on your palm. His chest is shuddering from his quiet and pained sobs, and you kneel beside him with your heart beating erratically

You weren't taught how to deal with this. You were trained how to fight against someone with murderous intent, you were trained to deal with villains who had long range weapons—but you were never trained for anything like this.

"P-Please stop crying." You whisper, not sure if you're directing it to the little girl or the father

There's shouting in the hallway, and the man stills underneath you at the menacing sound as the little girl freezes, her small frame shaking with terror as she continued mumbling her father's name over and over again

What was the Commission doing here? They shouldn't be here—this was a mission for only Keigo and you. They enter with large guns, and suddenly the girl is sobbing all over again as one of them rams the end of their weapon into side of her father's head

You yelp, kicking the Commission worker in the knee as he buckles, quickly turning to catch the girl's father a moment after

"He surrendered! He surrendered, stop it!"

The man looks at you through his mask in confusion before Hawks suddenly bursts into the small room—his eyes quickly locating yours as he heaves out a sigh of releif

He strides across the room in a few steps before wrapping his arms around you in a tight hug. He's pulling away moments later to look over your body for any signs of injuries

"Are you all right? No injuries? No—"

"Did you call them?" You speak, baffled and bewildered as he nods quickly

"You didn't your answer your walkie–dammit I called you eight times, Y/n!"

You still at the memory of you turning down its volume when you were approaching the room. You had meant to turn it back on once you'd gotten the threat under control, but....

"I'm...I'm sorry." You speak, but your apology doesn't sound sincere at all. Your eyes are wide and distracted as they haul the limp man out of the room. The little girl cries softly now as one of the men carefully bring her out too

Keigo pays no attention to either of them—his gaze focused solely on you and beyond worried

"You can't turn it off like that. I thought—I thought—"

He wraps you in a sudden hug again, the sound of the workers exiting the room swiftly leaving the two of you standing in silence

Slowly, his breathing evens out as you wrap your arms around him loosely, before tightening them

"He was stealing medicine for his daughter. She was sick, Kei." You whisper, and Keigo knows your mind is scattered when you mistakingly utter his real name

He sighs, cradling your face in his large palms. He rubs a thumb over your cheekbone, eyes trailing over your features just to confirm one last time you had no injuries

"Look at me."

You do. But your mind can't help but think of the little girl's sickly state. So much like yours when you were younger, pale from malnourishment and eyes sunken from too many sleepless nights. And something shifts in your gaze as Keigo holds you

"He still stole. It was wrong, but...I understand why you're upset. You need to understand he put hundreds of other lives at risk. That's not ok." He mumbles, gliding his thumb over your cheek as you lean into his touch

"I..."

He shakes his head, knowing you weren't ready to talk anymore before he takes your hand, squeezing it reassuringly

"We'll talk about this later, all right?"

You nod, thankful for the distraction.

You never did get to have that talk with him. If only Keigo knew how much this mission would affect you. If only. He would cradle your face for hours and tell you to let it all out—but he didn't. He thought he was doing the right thing when he didn't push you to speak your thoughts.

That day was the beginning of the end.

Keigo didn't know when he had begun to lose you. All he knew was that it started slow, growing over the years before the hand he used to hold was suddenly too far out of reach for him to grasp.

He watches the news play on the big TV screens as he stands in the middle of his agency, a crowd gathering around him to watch as well as they murmur their shock and disapproval

Your face was plastered among the League's, your eyes devoid of the light he had once lit as the words WANTED blare alarmingly on the bottom of the screen. It was just yesterday when he asked you out on a date for the first time.

"I'm tired, Keigo."

He had been laying on the edge of your bed, his usual smile faltering as he gently squeezed your calf

"I know—that's why I want to take your mind off of everything! You know, we haven't been able to hang out much. I know you're busy with whatever you're doing, so...I thought it'd be good for us."

You've never wanted to kiss him so badly. He was out of his usual hero attire, laying at the foot of your bed with that same smile from all those years ago. Except this time, you don't take the hand he's offering you.

"How about another time? I just...need to rest for a bit, ya'know?" You try smiling, and he quickly nods

"That's ok—I'll wait for you. Even if I'm an old, crippled man by the end of it." He jokes, standing up and pressing a quick kiss onto your forehead before he turns to leave. The sting of your rejection is brutal—but he'd meant what he'd said.

He'd wait forever for you, if he had to.

You want to tug him back, tell him everything on your mind and how you're unraveling right in front of him—but he gives you one last smile and a cheesy thumbs up before closing the door.

That was the night you met up with the notorious Dabi who promised to help you.

You had stared at the answer on your anonymous question with a sense of fulfillment taking place of the dread that was once in your chest. After posting the thread where you voiced your feelings on society and how stuck you were—a stranger offered you a role too intriguing to not check out.

Imagine both you and Dabi's surprise when you'd first met.

He had bewitched you the same way Keigo—Hawks—had done all those years ago. Promising you a brighter future if you joined him to fight for his cause. His piercing gaze had softened a degree by the end of his conversation with you. Dabi had found someone worthy. A perfect addition to the League—just what he was looking for.

"I love you."

You'd never spoken the words to Keigo before. But with Dabi—your heart burned as bright as his flames. Maybe it would be reduced to ashes by the end of your time with him, but you didn't care.

Dabi's fingers pause from where they were trailing down your cheek, before he smashes his lips into yours. As the League became more and more well known, you and Dabi's romantic relationship did too.

It was true love for Dabi. But was it true love for you?

You weren't in the right headspace. But he didn't care. Dabi took advantage of it, making you solely his in the process. Consuming you and your noble thoughts the way smoke engulfed clean air.

Some nights, you'd watch Keigo's most recent interviews when you were alone. He'd lost his spark, the light in his eyes you loved to see so much. And you knew it was your fault. But the world was crumbling around you, and you couldn't bring yourself to fix it.

The Commission and Agency marked you up as their one and only failure. Maybe it wouldn't have happened if they hadn't killed the little girl's father after slamming him with charge after charge. If they had just listened, things could have been different. And maybe you shouldn't have let someone else's pathetic life affect you so much—but it happened anyway.

Dabi listened to your mindless chatter all the time. Threading his rough palm through your hair as you told him how much you were growing to hate the world. Even when he made love to you, he whispered into your ear how he'd make a better world just for you. His initial plans of destroying it all had flourished into building something anew—like a phoenix rising from the ashes. All for you.

But the war came quicker than you wanted it to. You told yourself you were ready to face Keigo—to help All For One take down your best friend and everything you'd once known. All For One never sensed any hesitation from you, nor did he sense any hatred. But on the battlefield, as he lifted Hawks into the air by his neck—something in the air shifted.

Hatred and fury like no other surged through it. And your attack came raining down on him like a gunship. No other hero was able to inflict the amount of damage you did, all because it was so unexpected and strong.

It was the sight of your Keigo about to get his wings taken away that awoke something inside of you you'd thought had been burned. You could see the intent in All For One's eyes—his lips curling into a malicious and disgusting grin as he gripped Hawk's throat and stared at his wings with greedy hunger.

The same red wings that sixteen year old boy used to shield you.

You're able to get All For One down for about a minute, dread filling your stomach when the realization that he would kill you for that stupid move when he wakes up hits you. Keigo is barely able to sit up, so weak and so bloodied, but so in love. He croaks your name like he was calling out to a God to save him.

You're by his side in an instant, your wet tears washing away the dirt on your face as you cradle his face in your lap, kissing him all over softly and murmuring the word sorry over and over again.

Everything hurts. He wants to yell at you—tell you how you broke his heart when you left. Shattered his resolve and took the remnants of his kid self with you. But war was a tragic thing, and before he could tell you it was okay, or that he was sorry too, or even just that he loved you—

He was met with a hue of blood similar to the color of his wings being splattered all over his face as All For One sunk one of Keigo's stray feathers into your back, effectively ending it all as Keigo watched the life drain from your eyes.

Keigo Takami was never the same after that day.

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.

comments + reblogs very appreciated !!!

© arachine 2023

NSFW. Ango x Oda x GN!reader.

Content: Reader has a pussy but no gendered pronouns used. Threesome. You and Odasaku team up to give Ango a birthday to remember. Set in an alternate Dark Era where everything is cool and sexy and there's no tragedy whatsoever and you could all get married and grow old together if you want to because nothing bad will ever happen. Very submissive Ango. Alcohol consumption, smoking (not specified who), lots of kissing, handjob (Ango receiving,) oral (Ango receiving,) anal (Ango receiving,) vaginal penetration, reader on top, nipple play (Ango receiving,) Approx 3.5k words.

Happy Birthday, Ango

Your orders from the Port Mafia's youngest executive were clear: “Take this card to Bar Lupin in Chuo City and deliver it to a man named Ango Sakaguchi. It's his birthday, but I'm afraid I have an assignment to carry out and won't be able to celebrate with him. Please send my apologies. And after that, you can call it a night.”

A simple job for a low level PM grunt such as yourself. Still, your hands shook on the stair rail as you walked down into the bar. This was, after all, an assignment given to you directly from Osamu Dazai, and you knew far better than to piss the kid off. His reputation not only preceded him, but kept his enemies awake at night.

There were two customers in the cozy, windowless bar, along with the bartender and a calico cat whose eyes seemed to follow your every movement with a vague and alarmingly human sense of amusement. The two men perched on stools at the counter barely registered your arrival, save for a polite nod from the one you recognized; Sakunosuke Oda, a grunt just like you but even lower in the hierarchy. He’d always seemed like a decent man.

That meant the other man was likely your target. 

“Mr. Sakaguchi?” you asked the bespectacled one, approaching the bar and sitting on the vacant stool between the pair. 

Sakunosuke and Ango made brief eye contact, a silent exchange passing between them, a mild concern followed by an assuring nod of the grunt’s head. He knew you were Port Mafia, there was no need to be suspicious of you. 

“Yes?” Ango replied, looking down his nose at you.  

“I was asked to deliver this to you. From Mr. Dazai. And he sends his apologies but he won't be able to come tonight.”

Ango pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose before opening the envelope. “Ah, it's a birthday card.” He read the card with a blank expression. “Dear Ango, have a drink on me. But there's no money inside.”

Cold fear turned your blood to ice. “I-I didn't take it, I swear.”

“I know you didn't,” Ango said with flat sincerity as he tucked the card into his satchel. 

“There was never any to begin with. That’s just Dazai,” Oda confirmed, sipping his whisky. 

“You sure?”

“Absolutely certain,” Ango said. “You can relax.”

And relax you did. 

Dazai had told you you could call it a night once the card was delivered, after all, and far be it from you to disobey a suggestion from an executive. It took very little convincing for you to stay perched at the bar, working your way through a bottle of 12 year-old Yamazaki with Ango and Sakunosuke— who after the second glass insisted on you referring to him as Odasaku. 

Stiff conversation turned to an easy flow after a half hour, and a boisterous stream by the end of the evening. 

Before you knew it, the bottle was dry and the three of you were pleasantly buzzed, squeezing into the back of a cab, you and Odasaku giggling mischievously as you penned Ango in the middle seat. 

“This is absurd,” Ango muttered, struggling to find a comfortable spot for his elbows. “Odasaku, get in the front seat so we can breathe.”

“Psh, we’re all friends. Besides, it’s your birthday.” Odasaku sighed, linking his arm with Ango’s so they could sit more comfortably. 

“What does that have to do with–?”

“Hey,” you interjected, linking your arm with Ango’s on the other side. “Where are we going?”

“Ango’s place,” Odasaku said, putting his head back on the headrest and closing his eyes. “He has a bottle of 18 year-old Yamazaki.”

“You are not touching my 18,” Ango said bluntly before leaning forward to give the cab driver his address. 

Your eyes briefly met Odasaku’s across the seats, their blue impossible to see in the darkness of the cab, yet you remembered it vividly. You could almost picture the playful light glinting in them as he gestured toward Ango with a tilt of his head, his intention clear: let’s get him. 

You grinned in silent response: let’s do it.

The moment Ango had finished giving his instructions to the driver, You and Odasaku yanked him back into the space between you, rewarded for your synchronized effort by a haughty harrumph from the smaller man. 

Ango glared at you both across the top of his glasses, which had slipped halfway down his nose. He tried to raise his hand to push them up, but both his arms were pinned. A long-suffering sigh marked the end of his attempt as he resigned himself to his fate.“You two will be the death of me.” 

“Nonsense, birthday boy,” Odasaku chuckled, reaching out to assist him. “You’re back between us, right where you belong.”

“Don’t put fingerprints on my glasses!”

“Well, hold still and I won’t.”

“You are! Oh look at them, Odasaku, you’ve made such a mess,” Ango groused. “It’s like looking through fog.”

The city lights passed by the cab’s windows as your new friends bickered playfully beside you. It was a short ride to Ango’s apartment, made even faster by the ease with which they welcomed you into their fold, with you quickly falling into the role of Ango’s co-tormentor. Not that any of it was malicious; quite the contrary. It was all affectionate and he knew it. 

By the time the three of you were seated around the chabudai in his apartment, Ango’s once stiff demeanor had melted away completely, leaving him altogether more relaxed and somewhat rosy cheeked at your playful jabs. The record player in the corner played easy bebop jazz on softly crackling vinyl, the warm light of the room casting your trio in a comforting golden glow.

“You’re terrible,” Ango sighed with a subtle smile, shaking his head as Odasaku expertly jimmied open the liquor cabinet and took out the 18. “Utterly utterly terrible. Robbing a man on his birthday.”

“We’ll repay you,” Odasaku said, sitting cross-legged at the low table and pouring three generous measures. 

The bespectacled man’s face paled as he watched his precious whisky fill the glasses. “And how exactly do you plan to do that? That whisky is worth a fortune. It was a gift from the boss, you know.”

“Hm…” Odasaku shrugged as he screwed the cap back onto the half-emptied bottle. “Well, there are always birthday kisses.”

“Kisses? From you?”

“I’ll kiss you too,” you said, taking a sip of the whisky. “Both of us, right, Odasaku? That should cover it.”

The redhead nodded sagely. “Both of us.”

“Pft,” Ango's brow puckered as he skeptically watched the two of you, waiting for one of you to crack, for the sudden tension in the room to break when one of you laughed. But it wouldn't happen. You were both dead serious. And his ears began to turn red. “Wait… you aren’t joking, are you?”

“Not even a little. C’mere.” Oda made the first move, cupping Ango's pretty face between his broad hands, gazing down at him with a subtle smile before leaning in to kiss him. 

And even though he knew it was coming, Ango let out a startled cry, muffled against his friend's lips, his stiff poise melting after just a moment, before his hands came to cover Oda’s. You drew closer, waiting your turn, watching as the two of them made out, exploring uncharted territory together. Slow and tentative at first, then deeper, hungrier, sighing longingly into each other’s mouths. Oda’s stubble against Ango’s smooth skin, the PM grunt’s hand reaching out toward you and urging you closer. 

When Oda drew back, Ango’s eyes were still closed, his lips remaining parted as though his brain was still catching up. 

“Your turn,” Oda said, moving to the side to make room for you. 

Ango was still dazed and catching his breath, his Adam's apple leaping above the buttoned collar of his shirt. 

“Do you want me to kiss you?” you asked. 

Ango nodded breathlessly in response. 

He really was very handsome, with his angular features, his come-to-bed eyes, and the little mole, elegantly placed just above his lip. And that was precisely where your first kiss landed. 

You felt his lip twitch at your touch, the subtle turn of his head; he'd expected you to kiss him on the mouth the way Oda had. Perhaps he felt a little silly. Perhaps he felt you were a little silly. Either way, his smile widened and he chuckled softly. 

“You missed,” he said. 

“No. I’ve wanted to kiss you here all night,” you told him, brushing your lips over the exact same spot again. His breath caught again, his upper lip twitching beneath yours before his smile returned, tipsy on whisky, affection, and the strange sort of magic the night held. “You’re stupidly pretty, Ango.”

He laughed again, shaking his head. “Pretty? You need to get your eyesight tested.”

“No, I’m right, right, Odasaku?”

“Right,” the redhead confirmed, sitting back and swirling the whisky around his glass.

“Oh, will you two stop,” Ango fussed, the color on his cheeks rising and making him even prettier. Even harder to resist. “I’m not–” 

You cut him off with another kiss, this one to his lips, letting his words die on your tongue. Smoke and whisky, shy and sweet. He moaned softly into your mouth, hands coming up to grip your arms, pulling you just a little closer, his tongue timidly caressing yours before his confidence blossomed and he kissed you like it could sustain him. Fuck, he was beautiful. He and Odasaku, they both were. 

When you pulled back to draw breath, Odasaku took over once more, kissing Ango with a renewed hunger, spurred by watching you both. And when Oda withdrew, you moved in, the pair of you once more working in tandem to unravel Ango until his breaths were shallow and shaking, and his cheeks, throat, and ears were all stained rosy pink. 

Oda kissed you after that, slow and deep, the kind of kiss that seeped into the marrow of you and would haunt your sleepless nights for years to come. Fingers cradling the back of your head, pulling you gently against his broad chest.  

“You two…” Ango whispered, adjusting his glasses as he watched the pair of you. “Dammit, if you knew what you’re doing to me.”

Oda glanced at you, a wry smile slanting his lips. “I think we have a pretty good idea. The question is, do we stop at kisses?” He paused, letting the question hang in the air between your trio. “I’m more than happy to see this through all the way, but if you want it to end here, we’ll let it go. No hard feelings at all.”

If working for the PM had taught you anything, it was that life was fleeting and tomorrow never guaranteed. Why the hell not indulge while you could? Ango and Oda were both beautiful; Ango with his classic, timeless elegance and handsome features, Oda with his altogether more rugged beauty, his gentle blue eyes, the subtle dusting of freckles on his cheeks. “I'm in. All the way.”

Oda gave a single nod of agreement, his softening expression hinting that perhaps he too had been a little nervous of rejection anyway. “Ango?”

Without a word, Ango took off his spectacles, setting them carefully on the table before picking up his whisky glass and taking a sip. For a moment you suspected he was going to say no, that he was working up the courage to assert that kisses were enough for tonight and you should go your separate ways. But then he set down his glass, loosened his tie, and rocked forward onto his knees, closing the space between you on all fours and ghosting his lips over yours.

Not quite as shy as you had assumed. 

While he kissed your lips, cupping your face between his hands, Oda moved in too, bestowing deep, languid kisses to the groove of muscle running the length of Ango’s slender neck. Ango moaned softly, the sound vibrating through your body and causing heat to pool in the pit of your belly. 

As with everything, it seemed you and Oda had once more reached a silent agreement that this night was for Ango, and the two of you would do all that you could to make it good for him. And Ango didn’t seem to mind at all being the recipient of both of your attentions. He broke away from your lips to watch Oda’s sturdy hands slip the little pearly buttons of his shirt out of their holes, his breaths trembling as he pressed his brow to yours.

“Shit,” Ango whispered. “Is this happening?” 

“It’s happening,” Oda replied, pulling off Ango’s button-up, exposing the man’s lithe torso to his and your lips, your tongues, and teeth. 

And Ango was so very sensitive, jolting, breath fracturing at every kiss, his body undulating into the sensation as you licked a slow stripe up the length of his torso, beginning below his navel and ending at the valley of his throat. Oda lapped at his nipples, his hand disappearing beneath the waistband of Ango’s slacks and drawing out a breathy cry of surprise and pleasure. 

“Feel good huh, birthday boy?” Oda crooned against Ango’s chest. 

Ango’s hand surrounded yours, guiding it down to the bulge tenting his trousers, releasing a fragmented breath at the sensation of two hands touching him. “S-so good. Use me. Please God.”

It wasn’t long before you were unbuckling his belt, sliding your hand inside to find him obscenely wet, leaking onto Oda’s rough hands. 

“My, and here I thought you’d be the quiet one,” you said, teasing his weeping slit with the pad of your thumb as Oda stroked the base of his cock. 

He was throbbing, twitching, pre-cum beginning to soak through the fabric of his trousers, leaving a wet patch which had Odasaku smirking as he flicked his tongue back and forth over the puckered bud of Ango’s nipple. 

“So wet,” you whispered against his ear. “So pretty.”

A moment later Ango lifted his hips, frantically wriggling from his slacks so he could watch you both touch him. The head of his cock was engorged, glistening, a deep shade of reddish-pink. The sight of it proved too much almost instantly. “I… ohhh. I might– c—”

Oda chuckled. “We’d better slow down, huh? ‘S getting too much?”

The other man nodded, dragging shallow steadying breaths through his teeth. “I don’t want it to end yet. Just give me a moment.” 

“Poor Ango,” you cooed, kissing his temple and threading your fingers through his tousled hair which his morning gel had long ago surrendered hold of. He was a wreck already, and oh so very beautiful. Lying, kissed half to delirium by his lovers, so gorgeously decadent as he lay blushing on the living room floor. 

He huffed indignantly through his nose, yet unsubtly leaned into your touch. “It’s not as easy as it looks, being the center of attention.”

“No?” Oda asked with a subtle smile, pressing his lips to Ango’s shoulder. “Well we’ve got all night. We don’t have to do a thing before you’re ready.”

It really didn’t take long. Ango was more resilient than he looked. 

“I… I’m ready,” he declared a little while later, lowering himself to take the last few inches of Oda’s cock with such a wanton moan it made your core clench.

He sat with his back to Oda’s chest, your hands keeping his slender legs spread wide while you knelt between them, dragging your tongue along his twitching dick, tracing the bulging veins running from base to crown. 

“Oh god…” he moaned, the twin sensations immediately too much. Yet he couldn’t stop himself from rocking back and forth, toes curling against the carpet, hands braced on your shoulders. “I don’t think… hah… I’ll last…”

“Stop thinking, Ango,” Oda said, wrapping his arm around his friend’s waist, teasing his kiss-swollen nipple with the pad of his middle finger. “Just feel.”

Ango’s cock twitched against your tongue, his fingertips grasping for purchase along your back. He was balanced on the precipice of release, yet desperately wanted to prolong the sensation, to delay his climax as long as possible. The poor thing was doing his best to get a rhythm going, but time after time the stimulation became too much for him and he had to pause, gasping and overwhelmed from pleasure and exertion.

“Need a break?” Oda offered, peppering Ango's back with gentle kisses and pressing a hand against his lower belly. “You can just lie back and get fucked…”

Ango could only nod, sweat beading down his temples and on his upper lip. “Uh-huh.”

“Good.” Those pretty blue eyes met yours. “What do you think? You want to ride him?”

A needy whine slipped from Ango's downturned mouth, his eyes screwing tight and cock leaping in response. He definitely liked the sound of it. 

With a smile you pressed forward, your lips trailing up his belly, feeling him tense and quiver, “You want to fuck my pussy, Ango?”

“Yes,” he nodded again, as if to emphasize the sincerity of his answer. The calm, measured man you'd first met at the bar was no more as he leaned back, silently inviting more of your kisses. “Yes. Yes please. Please. I want– I need–”

Odasaku placed his hands either side of Ango's waist holding him down as you climbed on top. The redhead ground out a low, breathless “fuck” as your weight pressed Ango even further back onto his cock.

You wrapped your hand around the base of Ango's dick, teasing yourself with his bulbous tip by sliding it between your pussy lips and circling your clit. Ango whined desperately, his eyes squeezed tight, his thighs trembling beneath you.

“Heh,” Oda panted, pressing his head back against the back of the couch. “He's squeezing me so tight. Fuck… milking my cock. He wants your pussy so bad, isn't that right, Ango?”

“Oh God…” Ango was done in completely, his head back against Oda's shoulder, one hand draped across his brow, the other gripping your arm as though some part of him feared you'd stop if he didn't hold on to you. 

“Here, sweet thing,” you said, taking his hand and leading it down to your clit, guiding his fingers so he stroked you just how you liked it. “Make me cum.”

The look of desperation in Ango's eyes took on new urgency as you lowered yourself onto his cock, his cry of pleasure immediately fading against your lips. Nimble fingers devoutly stroked your clit, chasing your pleasure as much as his own. 

He wasn't going to last much longer. And neither were you. 

“Fuck yes,” Oda gasped beneath the two of you his lips against Ango's ear, “oh fuck, fuck, mmmh… ‘m close. So fucking close. You’re gonna make me cum, Ango.”

Ango's brow pinched as his jaw fell slack, his eager tongue swiping at your lips as you approached your own high. Sweat and panting breaths, his cock pulsing inside your throbbing cunt. The air hot and heavy, between the three of you, filled with the heady scent of sex and gasped pleas. 

“Oh god, oh god I… I'm dying…” Ango whimpered, drawing out Odasaku's blissed-out smile, teeth pressed to his lower lip. 

Your climax rolled through you, your pussy clenching around Ango's cock as Oda filled him from behind with a bitten back growl. Ango followed a fraction of a second later, cumming with such a feral cry it was as if his soul was being torn from his body. 

“Fuck me, oh fuck me,” Ango ground out, tears of relief clumping his pretty lashes. “Thank you, thank you.”

The world began and ended with the heat of your bodies pressed together. Labored breaths slowing, remnants of pleasure binding the three of you, fading throbs a blissful swansong. 

“Happy birthday, Ango,” Odasaku said, breaking the silence. 

Ango could barely lift his head, his soft breaths warm against the crook of your neck as he muttered something vaguely along the lines of “thanks” 

Later, you stood on the balcony with Ango wrapped in blankets yet still shivering from the cold, and Odasaku, cooling off with the last of the whisky. Wind whipped cigarette smoke into the frigid night air, the lights of the city casting your trio in a calm blue glow.

“Almost wish I'd grabbed your camera, Ango,” Oda sighed, stubbing his cigarette on the railing, “I could have taken a few souvenir shots for you to remember this by.”

“As if I'll ever forget,” Ango chuckled, pulling his blanket tight around his body and leaning his head on your shoulder. The man was exhausted but unmistakably content. “Besides, it's your birthday in five days time, isn't it, Odasaku?”

 “It is. Perhaps the three of us should have another party?” The redhead's lips twitched subtly, his nails rasping through the stubble on his chin as he turned to you. “What do you think? You in?”

Author's note: Hi! I just want to say thank you to all the people who have read and interacted with my Ango Week fics. This was such a passion project and there were times I was sitting on my couch writing these stories and thinking "am I the only one who is actually going to care about this?" so it means a lot to know others enjoy it too.

And also, happy birthday, Ango, ILYSM.

Tags: @osamucide @dorotheasdiary @candiedfright @hisokamywaifu @hideandgopeep @da-h0manb3an @shytastemakerthing @nem0philistx @thewickedjazzy @chuuminn @guys-im-scared

You walked up to the tall middle blocker, bracing yourself for whatever line you might come up with. Flirting was never your strong suit, but you were blessed with shameless confidence.

“Hey there, handsome. You can middle-block me any time you want if you know what I mean.”

Suna squinted, looking both confused and offended. “I actually have no idea what you mean.”

With an understanding hum, you looked around for some inspiration and found nothing. Instead, you turned back to him with that same playful glint in your eyes. “That’s what he said.”

He gaped slightly, now looking quite concerned, which in total was more emotion than you’d seen from him through the whole volleyball game he just played. “I’m curious if this is going how you wanted it to," he admitted.

“Depends. Will I get your number?”

“…I’m down.”

reader who wears a fake engagement ring so men don’t approach you, but character doesn’t notice it. not like it matters, since the two of you get into a semi heated argument at the bar + he suggests, half as a joke, why don’t yall just fuck it out and come to an agreement. you hold up your hand and say “im married!!!” and without a missing a beat, he tells you, “your husband must not love you if that’s the ring he got you.”

turns out, character is as rich as he is annoying (which is to say, very very very very much so) & it’s just your luck that your work forces you to be in close proximity to him. if he sees you lifting anything heavy, he’ll ask you with mock sympathy “does your husband know they have you doing manual labor?” (but even more annoying… he’ll carry the stuff for you 🤭)

and then one day you lose the ring and he notices immediately and you would have thought christmas came early. “trouble in paradise?” he’ll ask you, hoping to hear abt ur divorce.

“getting the ring cleaned.” you lie, and you can smell the disappointment coming off of him. he’ll ask the people close to you “so anyway what does her husband even do?” and one of your slow on the uptake coworkers/friends goes “[name]? she doesn’t have a husband……”

oh. well now character is going to have a blast next time he sees you.

perv!hinata almost going feral after meeting airhead!you during a beach volleyball skirmish just as the sun is going down. you’re at the front row of the crowd in your little bikini set, top barely covering your delicious tits as it bounces when you cheer him on, shaking your fists in makeshift pom-poms.

he couldn’t help the stir of his cock in his shorts as he hears you shout his name in a saccharine tone, wondering if that’s how you’d sound in the bedroom.

hinata getting all fired up from all the cheering, especially from you, that him and his teammate manage to win the skirmish 2-0 in a breeze if it meant he get to talk to you sooner. and how he thanked the gods when you’re still in the same place after the game, seemingly waiting for him with stars in your eyes.

he tried to be respectful at first, gaze trying to stray away from your cleavage as you babbled to him how amazing he was. then you told him how hot and sexy he looked until he turned beet red from your forwardness.

him flushed even redder when you reached out for his arm, pulling it plush against your bikini clad breasts, asking him to teach you how to play beach volleyball. and he can’t say no to a perfect opportunity.

he’s more than happy to help, although some of his methods maybe questionable. he leads you both to a more secluded area of the beach, just behind a closed hut where the street lights barely shine, reasoning with you that it’s better if there’s no distractions around you.

after that he shows you the right form to receive and he watches in excitement as you try to mirror his stance, pressing your tits together with your arms out then hitting the ball, hinata holding back a groan when he watches them jiggle from the hit.

he acts nonchalant about it, clearing his throat with crossed arms and telling you that your posture is off before proceeding to stand behind you to ‘help you the proper way’ instead of showing you side by side. the tent in his shorts only tighten as his fingers dig into the fat of your hips and a squeak of surprise leaves your mouth.

Keep reading

based off this song !

" girl lay yo body down .. on this fuckin' couch –

open up yo legs , I'm gon work my mouth "

" try not to make a sound , this my momma house "

tw : drool , body fluids ( cum, spit , tears , a little bit of snot ) , overstim , slight choking , dirty talk , squirting , PET NAMES! size kink (?) THINKIN BOUT DABI 😩

winter nights are usually for staying inside. inside where theres heat, maybe watching a movie with a friend. after your cold, you want to warm up right? so whats the best thing to do when your cold? have your man warm you up.

squelches filled the silent air around the living room where your spread out, stuffed hile hes fully dressed. the squelches of fingers being pushed into and out of something wet. muffled whimpers was like music to Dabi's ears. he snickers a bit as he sees you struggling to take his think fingers.

one hand has two fingers, his middle and ring in your mouth, holding its place at the back of your tongue. guaranteed restricting your sounds and making you slightly gag on his fingers. his other hand, two fingers plunged into your cunt. thrusting in and out at a rough pace, dragging his trimmed nails against your g-spot. his mouth ( as he said would be put to work ) sucks harshly on your clit. the action has your pretty eyes rolling into the back of your head.

"going dumb for me already, baby? its only been a few minutes" he chuckles into your core as he watcher your thighs tremble with every harsh thrust of his fingers and suck of your clit. "hold out a bit for me. cant you do that much, my dumb girl?" he smirks wickedly and dives back in to run his thick tongue over your hole once he removed his fingers.

your hand reaches down to tug as his locks but he doesnt budge, his tongue presses open-mouthed kisses onto your whole cunt. the fingers in your mouth dig deeper and the lack of air turns you on even more.

the orgasm quickly approaches and you dont know weather run from it to try and give into the pleasure. your legs tighten around Dabi's head, basically capturing him there as your fingers dig into his scalp and his wrist which was down your mouth. your body completely tenses and a spray of clear liquid came squirting out, drenching the couch, his shirt, his face, his hair. "there we go, baby. let it allll out." he said, with a mean smirk as he saw your body basically shut down on itself. drool drips out of your mouth steadily as snot mixes with it. your tears dampens the couch under your head. your body twitches every few seconds while dabi pulls his fingers out of both your wet caverns, and you whimper pitifully. he sticks all fingers in his mouth, tasting everything while making a mess of his own with the mouth full.

"you taste so good, baby. i just cant get enough"

- saw the song on tiktok and thought teenager DABI would fit this

- Aizawas BARB !

Regarding accidental polyamory, still in the early months of dating dazai and he has to go on a work trip (high security prison, not that he tells you that) so chuuya takes care of you while hes gone. Initially you think this just means chuuya will help in emergencies, but he goes into full "cooking dinner, helping with home renovations, massaging your shoulders" bf mode. It only takes a few days before he is pulling you into his lap to grind on his hard-on while complaining that dazai is worthless and inconsiderate for leaving you like this. No amount of "i am normal about dating and understand that my partner has a life outside of me" will convince chuuya. Obviously you are stressed and need relief from working all day. His projection game is insane. Keeps saying stuff like "break up with that loser and date me instead" but then will talk about all the kinky shit the three of you will do together when dazai is back

Dazai annoys his russian cell-qneighbor with how excited he is to get back home (and tie the both of you up)

Oh my god you're so right and that is so hot too adjsckze

You think he's just going to take care of you, keep an eye on you since Dazai is sometimes a little paranoid and likes to know you're safe, that kind of thing. But it's only days before Chuuya is shifting all the groceries into one hand so he can hold yours, giving your hip a squeeze when he drops by after work, then one hand curling around the back of your head to kiss you properly (for "good luck").

Chuuya pulling you in for grinding/dry humping has me 🥴🥴🥴 god Please Chuuya one chance

I know maximum security prison probably doesn't have the one phone call thing but imagine it did omg. It's been a few days/a week since Dazai "left for work" and Chuuya has moved fast, going from hanging around always to kisses to full on groping, spooning you at night "so you won't be lonely" and not-so-subtly grinding against you, pressing his bulge against your ass. Whispering in your ear that he could treat you so much better, he could spoil you, leaving wet kisses all over your shoulders and neck. But he also talks about sharing? One minute he's promising to fuck you so good you'll never be able to look at Dazai again and the next he's purring in your ear about how he wishes you were sandwiched between them.

Ahem I got sidetracked anyway that one phonecall. Dazai calls you, of course, and immediately hears hiccupy apologies and stuttered cries of his name, your voice wavering. He can hear low grunts and the slap of skin on skin in the background and grins, already knowing what's happening. Chuuya bending over your shoulder, draping himself over you so he can taunt Dazai, describe how wet you are and how well he's treating you while he's away, fucking into you with a brutal pace to make you cry into the receiver and give Dazai a show. Both of them speaking to you at once, one in each ear, cooing at you and praising you or not, until you're trembling like a leaf and milking Chuuya's cock while he growls, laughing at Dazai because he can't get to you.

Hello! I'm new to this but have you ever thought about any of your favorite characters while they're in the act and you look down at a certain part and they're so big on you that it scares you but they're pretty sure it could fit.I don't know if you could write something like that, sorry if it makes you uncomfortable.

hellooo, absolutely love this prompt so much ty for this ♡

men that make it fit | 18+

warnings/tags: nsfw, afab/female!reader, size difference, fingering, pet names, praise kink, squirting, raw sex, implied multiple orgasms, large cocks ♡

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Big men who just cover your entire body with theirs when they’re on top of you. 

Guys who make you feel so small when you’re on their lap, their hands are so damn big that they can cover your entire waist, legs, and hands—practically engulfing you. 

Big men that just pin you to the mattress while making out with you, they’re so strong without needing to try, and you probably should feel scared by the difference in strengths but god—you feel so secure. 

And you know he’ll take care of you even if he can hurt you sometimes—never on purpose unless you want it—because of how massive he is. 

Guys who feel just a little bad when they hear you cry from them pushing their thick fingers inside you—stretching your poor cunt and making you leak all over his hand as he curls his fingers inside your plush walls, coaxing out a throbbing orgasm from you. 

“Such a sweet little thing for me,” You hear him murmur, watching as your face twists with pleasure, and he can see the slight worry in your eyes as he fucks you with his fingers. “My baby is taking me so well already.” 

But can you take his cock? 

Fuck—what if it’s too big? 

It must be—his fingers are already too much for you—his dick will be nearly impossible to fit inside you. 

“You think you can be good and take my cock?” You whine, feeling heady and muddy as he pins both of your hands above your head on the bed, while his other hand continues to twist and curl inside you, his thumb pressing and rubbing your swollen clit. “I want to feel my favourite pussy, sweetheart.” 

But you suck in a shaky breath, eyes wide and scared because you know you can’t fit all of him in, and he chuckles breathlessly as he kisses your lips so softly, making you melt against him. 

“Don’t be scared,” He kisses your cheek, then gives your trembling lower lip a gentle pull with his mouth, trying to get you relaxed as he strums his fingers through your sopping folds, his voice low and deceptively soothing. “I’ll be gentle with you, okay?” 

He always is—and that’s the thing. 

No matter how gentle he tries to be—he still ends up stretching you so wide that you think you might actually split in half, the sting of him inside you being too much that you cry sometimes.

He kisses you, and reassures you, hand running up and down your body to spread goosebumps all over your skin. 

Then he’s pushing his pants off to let his fat cock bounce free—it lands on your belly, all hot and heavy, and your breath hitches as electricity sparks through your body—and your heart rate doubles with every passing moment, just waiting for him to stuff you with his cock. 

“Relax for me,” He says while guiding his dick to slide between your plush pussy, letting your slick folds hug his length and coat them in juices as he rocks his hips—his cock head bumping against your clit every time his hips are flushed against yours. 

“You feel that, baby?” Your lashes flutter, your eyes half-lidded as he works you up, making your cunt pulse as he glides his heavy cock over it. “You’re gonna be so good and fit all of me, okay?” 

You gulp, but you still nod—because you want to be good for him. 

You want to feel him and make him feel good. 

And he watches you, focused, taking in every twitch of your features as he slowly pushes the head of his dick inside you—his eyes alight with heat when he sees the way your mouth pops open with a gasp, already feeling the intense stretch of him. 

“You’re okay, baby,” he shushes you, sliding his hands under your thighs to guide them around his waist, and you whine as you hook your arms around his neck, bringing him closer, sloppily kissing him as he waits for you to adjust. “You feel so tight already—fuck—”

He groans, his voice vibrating against you, and you begin to breathe heavily as he pushes his fat cock into you—making you feel every agonizing inch as your pussy struggles to swallow him whole. 

“I—“ Your sentence gets cut short as you choke, already feeling him in your lungs and he’s only halfway in, “I can’t—”

“You can,” One of his hands comes up to swipe a fallen tear on your cheek with his thumb, while his other hand pins you to the bed by the waist. “I know you can, baby, you always did before.”

Which is true—you always did but—

It’s just so fucking big—holy shit—

You bite your lip, and your eyes squeeze shut as you try your hardest to relax—your fluids being pushed out as he lodges his dick inside your warm, plush walls, causing a wet mess all over your thighs and bed. 

You hold him as if you’re clinging onto dear life—taking all of him as he kisses you through it—until his hips finally press against your ass, his cock so deep that your limbs grow numb and you swear you can orgasm already. 

“There you go, sweetheart,” He purrs, waiting a moment as your pussy throbs around him, feeling abused and soaked, and he smiles down at you so achingly soft. “Taking me all like a good girl for me.” 

Then he pulls back—

“Oh god—” And you keen when he rocks his hips forward, sliding his cock along your walls, and he sets a pace of fucking you—getting you wet and your eyes to roll back as he becomes greedy with your pussy. 

“Look, baby,” He grunts, thrusting his cock in and out, his length coming out slick and creamy from your arousal, and he grips your face—fingers squishing your cheeks—to make you look down. “Look how well you’re taking me.” 

Your vision is foggy, you’re barely able to comprehend anything except for the dick inside your sore cunt, and you blink blearily as you try to look at what he wants you to see and—

Fuck.

You watch the way his cock disappears into your pussy, his girth forcing its way into you—and you let out a shaky breath at the way you’re taking it all in. 

Just like he said you would. 

“Told you I’ll make it fit, sweetheart, I always do,” You hear him murmur, and you force yourself to relax into a ragged breath as your limps melt into the mattress beneath you.

You feel like you’re being split in half as he fucks you over and over, bringing you higher and higher until you’re cumming all over him—gushing out liquid as you squirt on his cock with a wet moan, his name on your tongue—

And he takes good care of you throughout it all. His aftercare overwhelms you with cuddles of love and affirmation.

He loves you too much, anyway.

End.

Bokuto, Oikawa, Ushijima, Atsumu, Suna, Gojo, Choso, Sakusa, Geto, Sukuna, Nanami, Akaza, Oda, Kuroo, Hinata, plus any of your fav characters ♡

Masterpost

caution: incredibly slutty use of birth control. MDNI.

Across the room comes the piercing, repetitive sound of an alarm.

You look to Sanemi in question, whimpering as the warm comfort of his body abruptly pulls away from you. The little cry of protest you make at the loss of his warmth tugs at his heart, but he’s got an obligation to see to. Jaw tight, Sanemi ignores the own ache he feels as he crosses the floor of the hotel room to rummage through your luggage, his cock painfully hard where it bounces against his abdomen.

It takes him only a second to find the small card lined with those tiny white pills. Quickly, he pops one free and holds it between his teeth, reaching to silence the alarm blaring on his discarded phone.

Pill wedged carefully between his teeth, Sanemi makes his way back to you and climbs onto the bed, knocking your legs apart with his knee.

He ignores your questioning look, too focused on the slightly swollen lips of your pussy, the glistening slickness of your own arousal mixed with his cum.

Fuck, he’ll never get enough of it.

Giving himself a firm pump, Sanemi lines his tip back up with your entrance and slides home once more. He resumes his pace with ease, fucking you as though he never stopped, while you writhe and moan beneath him.

“Hey,” he commands around the pill still perched between his teeth. The moment your eyes, hazy with pleasure, find his, Sanemi grabs your jaw. His fingers squish your cheeks as he surges toward you, closing his mouth roughly over yours.

Your lips part for him and Sanemi forces your birth control into your mouth, parting with one flick of his tongue against yours. He pulls back, his hands sliding under your ass, tilting your hips up as he settles in his knees.

Stunned, your mouth remains slightly open as you stare up at him, pupils blown wide.

“Swallow it.” Sanemi commands, forcing himself to hold your stare instead of letting his eyes fall to your breasts as they bounce with his movements. “Your birth control. Swallow it.”

When he does not see the telltale bob of your throat, Sanemi unlatches a hand from your ass and brings it to where your bodies are connected.

A graze of his nail of your clit makes you buck, but Sanemi slows his movements. “Swallow it.” He orders again, noting with some relish, the indignant scrunch of your eyebrows as he stops moving all together. “Do it, or else I won’t come in you.”

He’s dead serious and you know it. Still, the threat of him not filling you up the way he knows you need quickly turns your eyebrows up, your eyes widening with a plea.

Hastily, you swallow under Sanemi’s discerning eye. The moment the pill slides down your throat, you hold your tongue out for him, eager.

A pleased smirk settles on his lips and you clench around him. “That’s my girl,” he purrs, carefully drawing his hips back until only the tip of his cock remains inside you.

Sanemi’s hands anchor your hips. He rises slightly on his knees, bringing your lower half with him and pauses. A flick of his eyes to yours, and he slams forward, impaling you on the thick, full length of him.

what a whore.