cloe ﾉ 20 ﾉ she.her ﾉ romantic by compulsion. i fall in love like it’s a dare. he said “hi, you good? did i scared you?” and i imagined our wedding. @jolliebeeeeee personal account.
SINGLE DAD!OLIVER had seemed strangely distant all week, even though Frans was finally finding his smile again. The boy often came running to you, eager to share the latest coloring pages he had done with his father—after showing SINGLE DAD!OLIVER the ones he had made in your company. Frans had even grown close to little Himiko, the two of them chattering endlessly about the classroom toys. But Oliver..
Oliver was different. He was suddenly one of the very first parents to arrive at pickup, no longer lingering with his usual teasing “how are you, miss? You still haven’t given me that answer about our date, by the way 😼”
SINGLE DAD!OLIVER whom you finally had to stop just to speak to. “Can we talk?” you asked, attempting a small smile before calling Frans over to let him know his father was there. To your surprise, Oliver’s lips pulled into a crooked grin. “Missed me, didn’t you?” he murmured.
He leaned closer, his cologne wrapping around you—warm, masculine, intoxicating—stirring something deep in the pit of your stomach as his voice slid into your ears, low and deliciously rough.
“H-Hm, that’s not what I wanted to talk about,” you stammered, your eyes darting away before reluctantly meeting his again. A short, breathless laugh escaped him.
“Everything’s fine.. with Frans?” you ventured at last, trying desperately to conceal the edge of nervousness in your tone. Speaking with parents was nothing unusual for you, but this.. this was different. With him, you felt something wholly unfamiliar—something forbidden.
Oliver rested one arm against the doorframe above your head, his body caging yours in without touching. He loomed over you effortlessly, every line of him confident and commanding. The loose edge of his shirt parted just enough to reveal the carved definition of his chest, each curve of muscle drawing your gaze and making your pulse race.
“Yeah, you could say that,” he replied, his voice low, velvety, and disarmingly magnetic. The sound of it seemed to reach straight through you, making the classroom walls blur and vanish. “Spending time with his teacher has done him a lot of good—along with.. everything else.”
His eyes traced every detail of your face, slow and deliberate, as though memorizing you. Then he smiled, leaning close until his lips brushed the curve of your ear. His whisper came warm, husky, and intimate, meant for you alone, “I’d like to get some of those.. special attentions myself, miss. Let me be greedy just this once—let me have a piece of your attention.”
The dark promise in his voice set fire to your skin. A violent shiver raced down your spine, forcing you to recoil a step. One trembling hand pushed a strand of hair behind your ear, your face flushed hot. You cleared your throat quickly, voice rising sharper than intended,
“Frans, Himiko, Inari—your parents are here.”
The children bolted toward the door, laughter and squeals filling the room. Frans rushed into Oliver’s side, excitement lighting up his face.
“Say goodbye?” SINGLE DAD!OLIVER coaxed, tilting his head toward you. Frans grinned wide, waving enthusiastically before disappearing with his father.
guys, when you’re requesting make sure to precise which characters please..
to the anon that asked for more “replying 🧌 to his nudes” can you tell me which characters? because if it’s the same ones, i don’t think i’ll do your request pookie, don’t take it personally i assure you it’s nothing against you😔
May I perchance request some Shoei Barou x f!reader who’s a vet? Like she’s really strong, takes no shit (not even his royalty bs), and sassy in uniform but is a complete 180 and completely different when not in uniform? Like out of uniform she dresses really pretty and is the most cheerful and sensitive person.
EVEN KINGS BOW TO SOLDIERS
tags/content warning. swearing, unrealistic (?) strength, me trying to be funny..
author’s note. i hope you like it!! and thank you for requesting huuuh. i enjoyyyyyed writing your request (i still feel like there’s something missing😩)
not proofread
BARO loves his MILITARY VETERAN!girlfriend. He loves how perfectly you always dress, how the colors you pick seem made to bring out the brightness of your eyes. He loves how you never miss his most important football matches, screaming yourself hoarse the moment he steps onto the field. Oh he knows you’re cheering for him, and him only—your voice always finding its way to him, feeding his hunger for victory.
BARO and his VETERAN!girlfriend, who ends up crying on his shoulder—as if he had died right in front of you—while watching the least tragic movie ever.
“You know.. that’s just a movie,” he sighs, tone flat, expression as unfazed as Nagi’s.
“But she loves him so much, babe! Don’t you feel touched? She literally died for him!” you sob dramatically, burying your face in the crook of his neck. Your noisy sniffles crawl over his skin, sending a shiver down his spine, disgust written all over his face.
You were just watching Shrek..
Baro and his VETERAN!girlfriend, the one he always forgets is actually that strong—until his heart nearly stops when he catches you hoisting an entire fridge onto your shoulder.
“What the hell? Is this what they teach you in the army?”
He never lets it go. He brags about it to his friends all the time—about how amazing his girlfriend is. Strong, beautiful, wonderful. And yeah, sometimes a little too sensitive..
But hell—he’d never admit how different you seem when you come back from the army. He hates the way your eyes sharpen, the way you carry yourself like someone who’s lived a hundred lives. Sometimes he swears it feels like the government cloned you.
BARO, who one day decided it was a good idea to prank you after seeing a tiktok of people sticking their faces close to their veteran friends just to break their composure.
“Huh, look at you,” he murmurs, lowering his face until it hovers just a breath away from yours. His hot breath brushes your skin, his crimson eyes tracing every detail of you. “Bet you’d flinch if I kissed you right now. You’d probably melt and call it an honor.” The corner of his mouth curled into a mocking grin.
He knew you couldn’t resist him when he was this close—you’d inevitably smother him in those tiny, peppered kisses he pretended to hate.
All those years in the army wouldn’t save you now. A smile was already breaking across your stern, soldier’s face; your composure shattered in an instant. Because at the end of the day, you love smothering your boyfriend with affection.
Bullseye.
“Get out of my face,” you snap, your voice sharp enough to cut. You don’t even flinch. “Did you even brush your teeth this morning? This shit stinks.”
Yeah—Baro always tends to forget just how much of a brat you can be when you’re in uniform. And maybe that’s his fault too—because outside the military, you’re so soft, so sweet, so different that no one would ever guess how sharp-tongued you are. You always fool him.
It was like every time you came back on leave from the army, you had to humble him in some way.
“What the—” he jerks back, brows furrowed as your words register. Frustration explodes across his face. Did anyone else hear that? You swear you can see the vein in his forehead pulsing.
How could he even come back from something this blunt, this sharp, this brutal?
Damn it—he knows his VETERAN!girlfriend is practically buzzing inside, savoring the victory of landing a line like that on him. With such a straight face.. anyone else would’ve burst out laughing.
Your boyfriend’s ego never stood a chance whenever you wore that uniform..
tags/content warning. fluff, kinda angst-ish (only some parts)
author’s note. thank you for requesting, i hope you like it pookie :3 (i love writing nagi like, he’s so funny and interesting and hot and interesting hot and funny)
Hii! How could you make an smau between Sae and his wife? :3 just silly chats between them
I THINK.. I MISS MY WIFE
tags/content warning. just silly stuff, sae and reader have a daughter
author’s note. ngl i wanted to do something angst-ish too, but i couldn’t come up with any idea sooo.. anyway!! i loved doing your request and i hope you enjoy it too pookie :3
hellloooo! i love your smau texts with the bllk boys so much! can i request texts with oliver, kaiser, and sae (and whoever else you wanna add) where the reader has a kid with them that misses them while they're at an away game. thank youuuu 😄💖
THE KID MISSES YOU..
including. sae itoshi, oliver aiku & michael kaiser.
can req something really really fluffy with aizawa? i haven't been don't great mentally and i really just need something comforting. thank you so much!!
HOME IS NOT A PLACE.
tags/content warning. reader is an er doctor, blood (non graphic), mentions of deaths and injuries, established relationship, fluff after angst/comfort, bodily fluids (drool, light humor).
author’s note. i know it’s not reaaaally focused on aizawa but i found it more comforting to explore the family dynamic. also, i decided to post this request first since things haven’t been easy for you.. i hope things get better and that what i wrote is good enough to bring you (in some way) the comfort you’re looking for :)
dividers by @/enchanthings-a.
The past two days had stretched endlessly, as though time itself had slowed just to test you. The cries of patients still echoed in your ears—raw, desperate sounds that clung to you long after you left the ER. Some refused help, flailing against hands that only tried to save them, injuring themselves further. Others arrived broken, mangled, the metallic tang of blood thick in the air while you fought to keep them alive. And then there were those you couldn’t save—losses that pressed against your ribs like stones. You hadn’t had a single moment to breathe.
Your body bore the story of it all—muscles aching, arms heavy, your skin still marked with stains that no amount of scrubbing under scalding water had erased. Your clothes were stiff where blood had dried, somewhere between grayish red and a ghost of white, carrying the sour smell of disinfectant laced with iron. The scent followed you like a shadow. You no longer noticed the world around you—your legs simply carried you forward until you found yourself at your own front door.
The moment the lock clicked open, everything shifted. A different scent washed over you—warm, familiar, the faint sweetness of something simmering in the kitchen. The air felt softer, almost golden, wrapping around you like a blanket after a storm. “I think I heard the door!” a small, eager voice rang out, followed by the quick patter of tiny feet rushing toward you.
You had barely kicked your shoes off before a sudden weight collided with your waist—small arms circling you tightly, pressing with all the strength they could muster. “You’re finally home!” Eri’s little voice trembled, muffled against your uniform. For the first time in forty-eight hours, you felt the world slow, as if her embrace had pulled you back into your own body.
“O-Oh Eri, sweetheart.. my clothes don’t smell nice. They’re dirty, you shouldn’t—”
“I missed you,” she whispered fiercely, her little hands clutching your shirt. “You’ve been gone forever. Like.. ten whole days!”
From the hallway, another presence approached. Shota’s figure appeared, familiar and grounding, his hair tousled yet catching faint sparkles under the light. His tired eyes softened the moment they found you. Just the sight of him was enough to make your lips twitch into a weary smile.
“She’s right,” he said quietly, his voice a low rumble threaded with exhaustion, “it feels like forever since you were here.” He leaned in, pressing his lips gently against your forehead. His kiss lingered just long enough for warmth to bloom where fatigue had carved hollows. Eri’s bright eyes darted between you both, her joy practically vibrating in the air.
“It’s only been two days,” you tried to laugh, though it came out hoarse, your throat rough from too many shouted instructions, too many reassurances whispered over broken bodies.
Shota’s hands moved with care, his touch slow, deliberate. He slipped the coat from your shoulders as if he could peel away your burdens with it. The faint scrape of fabric against your skin sent shivers down your spine. Eri hurried off, carrying your bag to its place with determined concentration, her little feet padding quickly across the floorboards.
You could try to hide it, but Shota didn’t need words. He read your body the way others might read a book—the slope of your shoulders, the heaviness in your movements, the dimness in your gaze. He knew too well the cost of your work. Once, he had doubted whether this life could make room for raising a child. And yet, here you were, pouring yourself into both worlds without hesitation. To him, you were still the rarest, most irreplaceable gift.
“We made your favorite dinner tonight! And dessert! And I got you flowers!” Eri piped up, tugging your hand with a grin that lit up her whole face. Shota chuckled lowly, the sound vibrating against your bones, soft and fond.
“That was supposed to be a surprise, Eri,” he teased, amusement flashing briefly across his tired features. She turned crimson, ducking her head, and you felt the edges of your chest loosen.
He guided you to the table, pulling out your chair with gentle insistence. The dining room glowed under warm light, dishes laid out like small works of art, steam carrying rich, comforting aromas. You inhaled deeply, and for the first time in days, something other than antiseptic and iron filled your lungs. Another night, you might have teased them for overdoing it, but tonight, the bright colors and careful effort felt like therapy, like medicine crafted just for you.
“So,” you asked, voice softer, “how were your days?”
Eri erupted with excitement, words tumbling out faster than she could chew. Her little hands waved dramatically, her cheeks puffing as she tried to talk and eat at once. Shota’s gentle reminders about manners only made her beam harder, unbothered. Watching her like that—so full of life, unburdened—brought something inside you to ease and expand, filling every hollow space with warmth.
Then, a quiet pressure—a hand sliding into yours, strong and steady. Shota’s thumb traced lazy circles over your knuckles, anchoring you. His gaze caught yours, and the whole world seemed to still.
“Eri,” he said, voice low but carrying, “why don’t you go grab the last surprise?” Her eyes grew impossibly wide before she dashed off, laughter trailing behind her.
“Another surprise?” you asked, a small smile tugging at your lips. “You didn’t have to do all this.”
“She missed you every second,” Shota murmured. “So did I.” His words vibrated against your skin as he stepped behind you, his hands settling onto your shoulders.
His fingers pressed gently into the tense knots in your muscles, drawing soft circles that sent heat spreading across your back. The contrast of his warmth against your sore body was intoxicating. Your head tipped back into him, eyelids heavy, surrendering to the safety he offered. Each knot unwound beneath his touch until exhaustion pulled you under like a tide.
You didn’t realize you had fallen asleep until a cool dampness startled you awake.
Shota’s arms still held you, but strands of blue hair tickled his face. It took you a moment to realize Eri had climbed onto you in her sleep, sprawled across your chest, drool slipping down your cheek in an unbroken trail.
“Do something—she’s drooling on me,” you hissed, eyes wide with alarm. You didn’t dare move, afraid to wake her.
Shota cracked one eye open, hair falling messily across his forehead, and the corner of his mouth quirked.
“A brilliant doctor like you scared of a little drool?” His voice was rough but teasing, the rare sound of amusement coloring it.
“It’s cold—and it tickles!” you whispered back, your body betraying you with laughter bubbling up. Your lips curved into a grin too wide to hide.
That grin undid him. To Shota, you were radiant like this—smiling despite exhaustion, your spirit shining through. He remembered every spark that had led you here—your smile on your first date, the way you had said yes to him, the day you had promised to be Eri’s mother. In his eyes, you had never been more beautiful. Tired, messy, with a streak of drool glistening across your cheek.
Carefully, he shifted Eri off you, laying her gently on the couch, her little body curling instinctively into the cushions. Then his arms wound back around your waist, his lips brushing butterfly-soft kisses along the sensitive line of your neck, each one a quiet promise.
“Thank you,” he whispered against your temple, his breath warm. “I don’t think I could ever be happier than I am right now—with you.”
Later, when you finally slipped into the bedroom, you found the final surprise waiting on the nightstand. A photo frame rested there, catching the soft glow of the lamp. Inside was a picture of your little family, all three of you wearing clown accessories—Eri and you pulling ridiculous faces while Shota stood behind, arms wrapped around you both, holding you close as if you were the most precious gems in his world.
The sight made your chest ache, your throat tighten with tears you hadn’t realized you’d been holding back. In that instant, you understood—home wasn’t a place. It was them.
can req something really really fluffy with aizawa? i haven't been don't great mentally and i really just need something comforting. thank you so much!!
HOME IS NOT A PLACE.
tags/content warning. reader is an er doctor, blood (non graphic), mentions of deaths and injuries, established relationship, fluff after angst/comfort, bodily fluids (drool, light humor).
author’s note. i know it’s not reaaaally focused on aizawa but i found it more comforting to explore the family dynamic. also, i decided to post this request first since things haven’t been easy for you.. i hope things get better and that what i wrote is good enough to bring you (in some way) the comfort you’re looking for :)
dividers by @/enchanthings-a.
The past two days had stretched endlessly, as though time itself had slowed just to test you. The cries of patients still echoed in your ears—raw, desperate sounds that clung to you long after you left the ER. Some refused help, flailing against hands that only tried to save them, injuring themselves further. Others arrived broken, mangled, the metallic tang of blood thick in the air while you fought to keep them alive. And then there were those you couldn’t save—losses that pressed against your ribs like stones. You hadn’t had a single moment to breathe.
Your body bore the story of it all—muscles aching, arms heavy, your skin still marked with stains that no amount of scrubbing under scalding water had erased. Your clothes were stiff where blood had dried, somewhere between grayish red and a ghost of white, carrying the sour smell of disinfectant laced with iron. The scent followed you like a shadow. You no longer noticed the world around you—your legs simply carried you forward until you found yourself at your own front door.
The moment the lock clicked open, everything shifted. A different scent washed over you—warm, familiar, the faint sweetness of something simmering in the kitchen. The air felt softer, almost golden, wrapping around you like a blanket after a storm. “I think I heard the door!” a small, eager voice rang out, followed by the quick patter of tiny feet rushing toward you.
You had barely kicked your shoes off before a sudden weight collided with your waist—small arms circling you tightly, pressing with all the strength they could muster. “You’re finally home!” Eri’s little voice trembled, muffled against your uniform. For the first time in forty-eight hours, you felt the world slow, as if her embrace had pulled you back into your own body.
“O-Oh Eri, sweetheart.. my clothes don’t smell nice. They’re dirty, you shouldn’t—”
“I missed you,” she whispered fiercely, her little hands clutching your shirt. “You’ve been gone forever. Like.. ten whole days!”
From the hallway, another presence approached. Shota’s figure appeared, familiar and grounding, his hair tousled yet catching faint sparkles under the light. His tired eyes softened the moment they found you. Just the sight of him was enough to make your lips twitch into a weary smile.
“She’s right,” he said quietly, his voice a low rumble threaded with exhaustion, “it feels like forever since you were here.” He leaned in, pressing his lips gently against your forehead. His kiss lingered just long enough for warmth to bloom where fatigue had carved hollows. Eri’s bright eyes darted between you both, her joy practically vibrating in the air.
“It’s only been two days,” you tried to laugh, though it came out hoarse, your throat rough from too many shouted instructions, too many reassurances whispered over broken bodies.
Shota’s hands moved with care, his touch slow, deliberate. He slipped the coat from your shoulders as if he could peel away your burdens with it. The faint scrape of fabric against your skin sent shivers down your spine. Eri hurried off, carrying your bag to its place with determined concentration, her little feet padding quickly across the floorboards.
You could try to hide it, but Shota didn’t need words. He read your body the way others might read a book—the slope of your shoulders, the heaviness in your movements, the dimness in your gaze. He knew too well the cost of your work. Once, he had doubted whether this life could make room for raising a child. And yet, here you were, pouring yourself into both worlds without hesitation. To him, you were still the rarest, most irreplaceable gift.
“We made your favorite dinner tonight! And dessert! And I got you flowers!” Eri piped up, tugging your hand with a grin that lit up her whole face. Shota chuckled lowly, the sound vibrating against your bones, soft and fond.
“That was supposed to be a surprise, Eri,” he teased, amusement flashing briefly across his tired features. She turned crimson, ducking her head, and you felt the edges of your chest loosen.
He guided you to the table, pulling out your chair with gentle insistence. The dining room glowed under warm light, dishes laid out like small works of art, steam carrying rich, comforting aromas. You inhaled deeply, and for the first time in days, something other than antiseptic and iron filled your lungs. Another night, you might have teased them for overdoing it, but tonight, the bright colors and careful effort felt like therapy, like medicine crafted just for you.
“So,” you asked, voice softer, “how were your days?”
Eri erupted with excitement, words tumbling out faster than she could chew. Her little hands waved dramatically, her cheeks puffing as she tried to talk and eat at once. Shota’s gentle reminders about manners only made her beam harder, unbothered. Watching her like that—so full of life, unburdened—brought something inside you to ease and expand, filling every hollow space with warmth.
Then, a quiet pressure—a hand sliding into yours, strong and steady. Shota’s thumb traced lazy circles over your knuckles, anchoring you. His gaze caught yours, and the whole world seemed to still.
“Eri,” he said, voice low but carrying, “why don’t you go grab the last surprise?” Her eyes grew impossibly wide before she dashed off, laughter trailing behind her.
“Another surprise?” you asked, a small smile tugging at your lips. “You didn’t have to do all this.”
“She missed you every second,” Shota murmured. “So did I.” His words vibrated against your skin as he stepped behind you, his hands settling onto your shoulders.
His fingers pressed gently into the tense knots in your muscles, drawing soft circles that sent heat spreading across your back. The contrast of his warmth against your sore body was intoxicating. Your head tipped back into him, eyelids heavy, surrendering to the safety he offered. Each knot unwound beneath his touch until exhaustion pulled you under like a tide.
You didn’t realize you had fallen asleep until a cool dampness startled you awake.
Shota’s arms still held you, but strands of blue hair tickled his face. It took you a moment to realize Eri had climbed onto you in her sleep, sprawled across your chest, drool slipping down your cheek in an unbroken trail.
“Do something—she’s drooling on me,” you hissed, eyes wide with alarm. You didn’t dare move, afraid to wake her.
Shota cracked one eye open, hair falling messily across his forehead, and the corner of his mouth quirked.
“A brilliant doctor like you scared of a little drool?” His voice was rough but teasing, the rare sound of amusement coloring it.
“It’s cold—and it tickles!” you whispered back, your body betraying you with laughter bubbling up. Your lips curved into a grin too wide to hide.
That grin undid him. To Shota, you were radiant like this—smiling despite exhaustion, your spirit shining through. He remembered every spark that had led you here—your smile on your first date, the way you had said yes to him, the day you had promised to be Eri’s mother. In his eyes, you had never been more beautiful. Tired, messy, with a streak of drool glistening across your cheek.
Carefully, he shifted Eri off you, laying her gently on the couch, her little body curling instinctively into the cushions. Then his arms wound back around your waist, his lips brushing butterfly-soft kisses along the sensitive line of your neck, each one a quiet promise.
“Thank you,” he whispered against your temple, his breath warm. “I don’t think I could ever be happier than I am right now—with you.”
Later, when you finally slipped into the bedroom, you found the final surprise waiting on the nightstand. A photo frame rested there, catching the soft glow of the lamp. Inside was a picture of your little family, all three of you wearing clown accessories—Eri and you pulling ridiculous faces while Shota stood behind, arms wrapped around you both, holding you close as if you were the most precious gems in his world.
The sight made your chest ache, your throat tighten with tears you hadn’t realized you’d been holding back. In that instant, you understood—home wasn’t a place. It was them.
home isn’t a place ( comfort, requested, drabble )
didn’t find what you were looking for? fic requests are closed, but smau suggestions are always open. if you want a specific fandom let me know, otherwise i’ll pick one for you ;p
author’s note. since i couldn’t find much baro’s content, i’ll do it myself😔 while proofreading, i remembered baro’s going to the bowling game and doing yoga in his free time, so my drabble is wrong, his son actually does look like him :p
Shoei Baro is so girl dad coded. Not because he already has sisters, but because she’d be his copycat, and he’d be fucking proud of her, screaming to everyone who wanted (or didn’t) to hear that she’d be as good as him in everything she does. That little girl is literally him, from her eyes to her hair, from his ego to his hunger for victory. Baro knew who his little girl would be when she told him she wanted to play football just like him; she’d be the Queen who’d run the whole field, and everyone would bow to her.
“Y’all kids could never, peasants.” Baro would send a video of his little baby's entire match to the old group chat of Blue Lock members, in which she’d strike two goals that brought victory to her team.
“Here he go again :x,” Nagi replied. Baro did it constantly; they were used to seeing this little girl playing football. They joked about how she looked like her father; she really was a dictator in the making.
And then, when Baro was convinced to be happy having a lovely life with his wife (you) and his daughter, you gave life to his son, a real copy of you. The little boy looked nothing like Baro and his sister. He was calm, introverted, and feared his sister’s energy (she was such an excited little gremlin). And he hated sports. While his sister was shocked, telling him how much of a loss, Baro didn’t make it a big deal to your surprise. Instead, he’d always go to his son to find out his interest in the moment and then buy him books and toys related to the said interest. One time, he offered his son to paint on his face instead of the walls so that he could experiment with his painting skills.
Baro knew how to balance his time between his children and love them equally while loving you a little more. He was so different when spending time with his daughter or son, and you must admit, you love him more every day. He is such a good dad.
“Are y’all kids as smart as mine? I don’t think so, peasants,” he’d send to the group chat, a photo of the grades and degrees decorated with teddy bears of his son for winning the Maths and English national competition. ”Got the best kids here, and you all don’t.”
“I knew I should’ve removed him from this group chat when his wife got pregnant again.”
“You mad, huh? Looser.“
Baro’s kids were perfection to him. Although his kids would throw tantrums (which Baro found normal since they were just kids, but god, he hated it when it happened in a public place), Baro hated going out without his children. It was hard for him to leave them with his mother and sisters, even if it was just for the evening.
Baro kept family pictures everywhere he could: a picture of you in his wallet, many of those kids on his car, on the walls of the house, on his keychain, and even a painting of them (that he painted when he spent time with his son) at his mother’s house.
You made Baro’s life so much better, for nothing in this world he’d leave you. You brought life to him, and he’d be forever grateful for that.
author’s note. ladies and gentlemen.. *drum roll please* make some noise for single dad!oliveeeer :3
part2
dividers by @/cursed-carmine
SINGLE DAD!OLIVER who got a little crush on his son’s kindergarten teacher. He always found excuses to make the meetings longer, turning the conversation toward your availability for a drink some night instead of talking about his son’s grades every chance he had. He was such a flirt.
SINGLE DAD!OLIVER who fell for the way you were so soft-spoken. He admired how sweet you were with his son and the other kids, always paying attention with patience and that glint of joy in your eyes—you loved your job so much and it shone through. Even though you sometimes looked tired—you worked with children, after all—Oliver was always amazed at how you somehow made the bags under your eyes look almost invisible, even hot, which only added to your charming personality.
SINGLE DAD!OLIVER was late one day and couldn’t pick up his son, Frans, on time. That day, little Frans accidentally wet himself and felt terrible about it all day long. You decided to stay with him as long as it took, working together on a coloring book in class. Frans wasn’t very talkative and didn’t have many friends—he may looked like his dad, but he certainly hadn’t inherited his dad’s outgoing personality.
SINGLE DAD!OLIVER who bursts into the classroom with a big smile on his lips, greeting you warmly. Frans doesn’t run into his dad’s arms with excitement—he just looks up at you with doe eyes. “Can I take the drawing, miss? So I can finish at home,” his little voice almost breaking, eyes watery. You give him a reassuring smile, brushing his hair gently. “Of course you can. And you’ll show me when it’s done, hm? I’m sure it’ll look great.” A small smile reappears on his face as he packs up his colored pencils.
SINGLE DAD!OLIVER who winks at you when you get closer, making sure Frans is far enough not to hear. “How are you, miss?—You know that’s your color, right? Your eyes look prettier,” he teases, pointing at your clothes. For the first time, you roll your eyes, irritated. Fuck—she’s sexier.
“We need to talk about Frans,” you say seriously. “He doesn’t smile as much lately, he’s alone during breaks, and.. he wet himself today.” You tried to stay professional, but he could still hear the worry in your voice as you handed him a small plastic bag with what looked like Frans’s clothes inside.
SINGLE DAD!OLIVER whose only response is to shrug. “Yeah, so what? Any child can randomly wet themselves,” he says flatly, his words stripped of warmth. So different from everything you’d seen of him before. “Frans is just a shy kid. Nothing’s wrong with that.”
SINGLE DAD!OLIVER who suddenly hides inside his shell. He wasn’t a bad father if that’s what you thought—and fuck—you could believe whatever bullshit you wanted. He was far from neglecting his son. They were just depressed since the divorce, that’s all—and his ex-wife hadn’t gone easy on him, saying things their son should’ve never heard. The way she bragged about not having full custody was probably what made Frans so sad. How could a mother say something so cruel to her little child?
This wasn’t even about Oliver’s mistakes.
SINGLE DAD!OLIVER had feelings too and unfortunately, he didn’t know how to handle his and his son’s emotions at the same time. Frans was just a kid; he shouldn’t have to live through that. So maybe, yeah, being in love with his wife (well, he loved her at some point) and devastated at now having to call her his “ex-wife” did make him a bad father.
“I’m not judging you,” you say, cutting into his inner torment. Your voice calms the storm inside him, much like the ocean settles after rain. “It’s my responsibility to tell you what’s wrong when I feel it. You don’t have to share what’s happening in your personal life, Sir Aiku, but Frans.. He’s kind and talented, he shouldn’t—” Here you are—always so caring and warmhearted.. being this considerate should’ve been illegal.
You had no idea how hearing those words heals something in him—they meant to him. And the way you praised his child—it was so touching—the kind of support that make all the difference.
“I’m done, dad.” Frans joins his father’s side, who immediately brushes his hair gently. His little eyes glance at you again with a shy smile as he says, “Thank you, miss.” Your heart nearly implodes from how cute he is.
SINGLE DAD!OLIVER who gets his loyal grin back. “Next time you want to talk about my parenting flaws, we should do it over a drink instead.” He winks before scooping Frans into his arms to leave.
18+ NSFW / MDNI, roleplay, established relationship, fingering, dry humping, female reader. not proofread (wrote this reeeeal quick)
thinking about this. your fiancé comes home from work, wearing unusual clothes. satoru has traded his familiar dark blue suit for an ivory one, with a tie whose design you’d recognize anywhere. “like it?” he chuckles, spinning around like a teenage girl trying on her prom dress for the first time. with one hand, his long, slender fingers brush back his white hair. “does it look good on me? it does, don’t lie!”
his tall figure looks finer—and sexier; the fabric highlights his arm muscles, making them look bigger than in his usual uniform. his broad shoulders are more pronounced, and the buttons seem ready to snap. is it really nanami’s clothing? it looks so tiny.. there’s no way it suits him—maybe that’s why your fiancé looks so much more muscular in it.
“you shouldn’t be stealing our friend’s clothes, babe..” a small chuckle slips past your disappointed sigh.
“aw, don’t worry.” he steps closer, his perfume teasing your nose—nanami’s perfume. “he probably forgot them—you don’t mind, do you?” satoru pouts, his arms slowly sliding over your shoulders to hug your back. his skin against yours brings a warmth you hadn’t realized you missed.
you tilt your head to the side, granting him more access to your neck as he leaves soft kisses there. satoru’s hand slides over yours, wrapping around the cooking spoon. “let me handle dinner,” his voice drops, deeper, steadier—more manly. “how was your day, sweetheart?”
that’s it. that’s nanami.
your fiancé has slipped into your friend’s skin so easily it’s confusing—and forbiddenly sexy.
you turn to face him, sliding your arms around his neck as you rise slightly to kiss his chin, a small grin tugging at your lips. your body is pressed between your fiancé and the counter. he smiles, abandoning the pot to grab your hips—things are taking an interesting turn.
you always look so lovely, so beautiful, especially through those green-tinted glasses. “well then, sir nanami.. what brings you to my kitchen tonight?” you twirl a lock of his hair around your finger before tucking it back into place, “my husband wouldn’t like finding you here.” your voice is low and seductive, making it easy to believe you really are doing something forbidden.
satoru leans in, his nose brushing yours—nanami’s musky, woody scent overwhelming everything else, a cologne only a true gentleman would wear. “then he doesn’t have to know, sweetheart. does he?”
he finally captures your lips in a soft, teasing kiss. his hands slip under your ass, cupping firmly before pulling you against him. a moan escapes you shamelessly.
“hm?” he kisses you again—mocking, playful. your fiancé relishes how much you enjoy pretending he’s another man. switching back to nanami’s tone, he murmurs, “you shouldn’t be moaning like that, sweetheart. not for a friend of yours.” he licks his bottom lip.
“i can’t help it—you’re so fucking hot wearing this.” your teeth graze his lower lip as you kiss him again.
your fiancé’s fingers slip under your skirt, giving your cunt the attention it deserves. your body starts rubbing against his, moans crashing in the crook of his neck—you don’t need much to feel like you’re on the brink of losing your mind. the room’s getting hot, and not only because of the cooking pot. sweat drips down your forehead—you’re drowning in nanami’s fragrance, both of your perfumes blending into one, masking the dinner’s scent.
“yeah,” your hips jolt forward, satoru’s fingers sinking deeper inside you, “right there, kento..” you moan, head thrown back, your legs going numb.
your fiancé can’t get enough, seeing you this wet for another man—usually, he’d tease, “aw, looks like my girl still gets bitches ;p.” but something is different, something that makes his cock rock-hard, rubbing against your thigh as both of you grow breathless, begging for more.
he leaves a trail of wet kisses down your neck and collarbones, your skin drenched in nanami’s fragrance—fuck, he shouldn’t grind harder. a dark spot blooms on nanami’s pants—pre-cum leaking from satoru’s cock. the fabric is way too thin not to stain, but thick enough to contain him. there will be a mark, but what wouldn’t he do for his pretty wife-to-be when she’s begging for something this exciting? his fingers slip in and out of your pussy with ease, as if sculpted for each other. his thumb circles your clit, his palm collecting your slick like precious water.
“tell me—can your man stretch you like this?” he groans against your neck, his hips slamming into yours with a sharp thrust. “can he make you this wet, sweetheart?”
feeling your fiancé’s fingers and your friend’s at once makes your pussy tighten, leaving no room between them and your walls. “fuck.. kento—kento, please—make me cum. i can’t—” you implore, breathless. the way satoru rubs your clit makes you dizzy; it’s only a matter of time before your legs give out—he knows you by heart, touching the perfect spot at the perfect time. he knows that pussy like he owns it.
your fiancé chuckles, though nothing is funny anymore. feeling you this desperate drives him insane—grinding against your thigh isn’t enough but—fuck—it still feels so good. he wants to rip that suit apart just to let his cock taste the sweet slick coating his fingers.
the slick sounds fill the room as pornographic moans spill from both your mouths, pleasure swelling like a bubble ready to burst. being fingered by your supposed friend feels undeniably good.
“go on, sweetheart. cum for me.. gojo—fuck, you’re so tight, babe!—gojo will understand..” his voice almost breaks, a small cry caught in his throat as your fiancé feels his fingers sucked in by your sweet pussy.
as he mutters the words against the crook of your neck, something electric surges through your whole body, a shameful moan tearing free from your lips as your muscles finally relax. you giggle when it’s your fiancé’s turn to cum, ruining his clean suit, your hand gently brushing his soft hair.
his fingers are still resting on your cunt—satoru loves feeling every pulse of your orgasm. he pulls you into his other arm, slowly ending his rutting, shallow breaths mixing as you both cool down. then he kisses you—deeply, hungrily, a kiss that could make you fall in love all over again. you hardly notice his hand slipping off your skirt.
“so?” he murmurs, smooching your face.
“so what?” you giggle under his sweet kisses. he pulls back, pouting—almost more hurt by your feigned ignorance than by hearing you beg nanami to make you cum.
“who fingered you better—nanami or me?” he clarifies.
“i don’t know.. maybe i need you both at once to find out,” you tease, your voice dripping with provocation. now that you’ve tasted what making out with kento could be, you crave more.
the next day, satoru plans to put back the clothes as if nothing happened—but since things rarely go his way, nanami is already there, looking for his belongings. boldness is his only option.
“hi, nanamin!” he greets, voice high and playful. the blonde man’s face falls into his palm. “i got your clothes!”
“why’s that?” kento asks suspiciously as satoru hands him the bundle with a big, cheerful smile. your fiancé only shrugs and turns his back before nanami can ask anything else.
“hold on, gojo.” nanami’s voice is serious. there’s no way i’m turning around :3
“..why do my clothes smell like your wife?” he brings the fabric to his nose—they smell nothing like the laundry detergent he used to wash them.
