⋆˚࿔ around the kitchen stove 𝜗𝜚˚⋆
pairing: fem!reader x exhusband!toji content// slowburn-ish, smut, praise kink, f!nger!ng, kissing, some fluff
One day, you wake up and realise you’ve been living beside each other instead of with each other.
You signed the papers on a Tuesday morning. Sat across from each other, in a way that didn’t feel real, agreeing on things that should have been harder to let go of.
Your routine, your house and..
50/50. Fair and practical.
You both told yourselves it was better this way. That the love (whatever version you two had of it) wasn’t the way it was supposed to feel. And maybe it wasn’t, but that didn’t make it easy.
Because even now, there are mornings when your 3 year old asks why daddy doesn’t stay for breakfast anymore.
And you never quite know how to answer that without feeling like you’re explaining something you don’t fully understand yourself.
But somehow, nearly two years later, it leaves you here—
Standing in a café you don’t even like.
You’re standing in line, arms folded, shifting your weight from one foot to the other as the queue moves forward. The air smells like burnt coffee and something overly sweet. You check the time again and again.
You’re just about to look back down when something pulls your attention. There’s someone by the counter.
At first it seems like nothing. Just another person waiting for their coffee. But then you notice the way he stands.
One shoulder lower than the other, like it carries more weight. Your breath falters.
You don’t even need to see his face to know why your chest suddenly feels too tight. You’ve seen that posture before.
Your heart starts beating faster. This is stupid, you thought. It’s been almost two years. You see him every week when you drop off your son. You know what he looks like now. You know the exact distance he keeps, the way he nods instead of lingering, the careful politeness he wraps around every interaction like a shield.
Your eyes land on the back of his head. Dark hair. A bit shorter than what it used to be.
And something in your chest drops. You shouldn’t look. You know you shouldn’t. But you do.
He turns just enough for you to catch a glimpse of his profile–
And your breath leaves you all at once.
That’s definitely not Toji. Just someone who looks close enough to make your heart react before your mind can catch up.
You let out a slow breath, trying to steady yourself, trying to push the feeling back down where it belongs.
But it doesn’t go away. Because this isn’t the first time.
You see him everywhere lately. Or versions of him.
A silhouette across the street. A voice that sounds just slightly familiar. A laugh that hits too close to something you used to know.
It’s like your mind keeps trying to rebuild him in places he doesn’t exist. And you don’t know what that means.
The line moves. You step forward.
You hate it. Because it reminds you of something you don’t like admitting. You miss him.
Not in a way that keeps you up at night, but in the way you still expect him to understand things without explanation. In the way you catch yourself looking for him without meaning to.
Your name finally got called. You step forward, grab your drink and turn away. And for a second you thought—
what would it be like if it had been him. If your eyes met, if something shifted… but then you shake it off. Because that’s not what happened. And even if it did, it wouldn’t change anything.
You stepped outside, feeling the cold air hit your face. Adjusting your bag on your shoulder, already thinking about everything you still have to do.
Just normal, simple stuff.
You’re halfway down the street when this time– you see him.
Not a feeling. Not a resemblance of him. Like him him. Actually him.
Standing across the road, one hand in his pocket and the other holding your son’s tiny hand.
Your son spots, his face lighting up instantly. “Mama!” and just like that— everything fades.
Seeing Megumi’s face light up whenever he saw you was the highlight of your day and it was somethibg you wouldn’t dare trade for the world.
“Hey, baby,” you murmur, picking him up holding him close.
For a moment, that’s all there is. Then, you look up. Toji already looking at you. His expression is the same as always.
Hey,” he says. Simple. Like nothing ever changed. Like everything did.
There’s a pause between you two. The type that exists between two people who have know each other too well to pretend, but know well enough anymore to be easy.
Your son shifts in your arms, then pulls back just enough to look between the two of you. “Can we go home now?” he asks, already leaning into you like he’s decided.
You smile softly, brushing your hand over his hair. “Yeah, we can.”
You glance back at Toji, waiting for the usual: “I’ll see you next week.” But today he doesn’t say it right away. Like he’s thinking. But you noticed. You always noticed.
“Did he eat?” you ask, adjusting your hold on your son.
Toji nods. “Yeah. Not much, though.” You sigh lightly. “Of course.”
“He said he was saving space,” he adds. You frown slightly. “For what?”
Before he could answer, Megumi perks up again, like he’s been waiting for this moment.
“For dinner!” he says, so excitedly.
“With you,” he turns his tiny head toward Toji. “And daddy!”
Your heart pauses, you let out a small, careful breath. “Oh.”
You glance at Toji. He’s already looking at your son, his expression unreadable—but softer than before.
But your son cuts him off. “Please?” he asks, looking between the two of you, his little voice hopeful in a way that doesn’t feel fair.
Because how are you supposed to say no to that?
“It’s not—” you begin, then stop.
Because you don’t even know how to finish that sentence.
Not something you can handle?
All of it feels true. And none of it feels like something you can say out loud to your son who just wants both his parents in the same room.
This could be a bad idea.
A really bad idea. And you know it. Toji knows it. But when you look at him again— He doesn’t look away.
“Just dinner,” he says. Like he’s giving you space to say no. You really should. But with the way your son is looking at you, you just can’t.
“…Okay.” you say, before you overthink it.
Your son lights up instantly, his entire face brightening in a way that makes something in your chest ache. “Really?!”
You nod, softer now. “Really.” Your son hugs you tighter, like you just did something big.
By the time you unlock the door of your penthouse, your chest tightens.
“Go wash your hands baby,” you tell Megumj softly. He runs off immediately. And just like that— it’s quiet. You settle your bag down slowly, fully aware that he’s right behind you.
You turn slightly, he’s already looking around. “It looks…” he starts, then pauses.
You lean slightly, crossing your arms. “What?”
He glances at the space again, then back at you. “…Clean.”
You let out a small breath through your nose “Yeah,” you say lightly. “It always was.”
You don’t look at him right away. But you can feel it—
the way his attention lingers, like he caught the edge in your tone and chose not to ignore it. You reach for the kitchen counter, brushing imaginary crumbs away just to give your hands something to do.
“No wonder our son gets his cleanliness from you.”
You turn your head slightly, studying him.
He looks the same—calm, unreadable—but there’s something quieter in his expression. Something that doesn’t match the almost petty tone you were ready for.
It throws you off. “Yeah,” you mutter, turning back toward the counter. “Well… someone had to teach him.” The corner of his mouth lifts just slightly. “I did help.”
You give him a look. “Mhm.”
“I did,” he repeats, pushing off the counter a little. “You just liked doing things your way.”
You scoff softly. “Because my way actually made sense.”
“That’s debatable.” You turn fully now, folding your arms.
He nods once, like he’s very sure. “You used to reorganize things I already put away.”
“They were in the wrong place.”
You let out a small laugh despite yourself. “Exactly.”
He scoffs, shaking his head slightly, but there’s no annoyance to it. “You’re still like that, aren’t you?” he says.
“Like what?” “Particular.”
You narrow your eyes slightly. “That’s a nice way of saying controlling.”
“You meant it.” A small pause. Then— “Maybe a little.”
You roll your eyes. Then huff, turning back to the counter. “Wow.”
There’s a quiet chuckle behind you.
You try your best to ignore it, turning your attention to the fridge to grab the ingredients for dinner.
Focusing on the vegetables infront of you, the steady rhythm of chopping grounding you again.
Time passes without you really noticing. The kitchen settles into something quieter. Softer.
Your son’s voice drifts in and out from the other room, mixed with the faint sound of a cartoon playing in the background.
You’re focused on cutting, stacking, moving—keeping your hands busy so your thoughts don’t wander too far.
You don’t hear him move closer. Not at first.
It’s only when the space around you shifts—
when the air feels different—
that you realize. He’s right behind you. Closer than before.
“…What are you doing?” you ask, trying to keep your tone normal.
No answer. Just his hand reaching past you. Grabbing the edge of the counter. Now you’re caged between the counter and him. He’s so close to you to. Close enough that you can feel the warmth of him.
His name comes out quieter than you meant it to. He hums softly in response, like he’s not in any rush to move.
“I needed this,” he replies calmly, feeling his breath against your neck, leaving shivers down your spine.
Your grip tightens slightly around the knife, though you’ve stopped cutting completely now.
“You would’ve taken too long.” You almost turn your head. Almost. But you don’t, because you know if you do you’ll be way too close
“You’re still so annoying,” you mutter. There’s a small pause. Then, right near your ear, then a quiet “Still?” falls from his lips.
You finally turn your head slightly, just enough to glance at him over your shoulder.
He’s already looking at you. Too close.
You’re not moving,” you point out.
“That’s because you’re—” You stop.
Because there’s nowhere to go with that sentence.
One of his hands comes sliding down to your waist, keeping you close.
“You always did this,” he says quietly. You frown slightly. “Did what?”
“Got quiet when you didn’t know what to say.”
Your chest tightens just a little. “I know what to say.”
“…Move,” you settle on instead. There’s a small pause. Then, the faintest hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth.“That’s not what you want to say.”
You exhale, turning your head forward again. “You don’t know that.”
You let out a soft, disbelieving breath. “You’re so—”
There’s a quiet huff of amusement behind you. And then, finally, he stepped back. You stare down at the vegetables for a second longer than necessary before picking up the knife again.
“You’re impossible,” you mutter. “And you didn’t push me away,” he replies easily.
You’re at the dinner table with Toji sitting across from you, your son sitting next to you as you feed him. You hold the spoon close to his mouth. “Open,” you murmur. He does, half-distracted from the cartoon playing in the background.
Toji watches. Quiet. You feel his gaze at you piercing. Of course you did.
“You’re staring,” you say not looking up at him. “I’m observing.”
You huff softly. “That’s the same thing.”
You glance at him briefly. “Then what’s the difference?” He tilts his head slightly, like he’s thinking about it.
“Staring is mindless,” he says. “Observing means there’s something worth looking at.”
You pause, then continue feeding Megumi like it didn’t affect you. “Ugh. You’re still so weird.”
Dinner ended quite better than you had hoped for. Your son falls asleep faster than usual, curled up on the couch, one arm tucked under his cheek.
Then you reach down, brushing your fingers gently through his hair.
“He had fun,” Toji says behind you. You nod. “…Yeah.”
Then softer—“He misses this.” Your chest tightens. “I know.”
You straighten slowly, pulling the blanket up over your son before turning toward him. “I’ll move him to bed in a bit,” you say. He nods. “I can carry him.”
You walk ahead, opening the door to your son’s room, watching as he lays him down gently. Adjusts the blanket. Brushes his hair back. That same soft version of him.
You stand in the doorway longer than you should. Just simply watching. Feeling something you don’t quite want to name.
“I can see he sleeps better when you’re here,” you say quietly, your voice softer than you intended. Toji glances at you briefly before looking back down at him. “He just likes routine.”
You almost smile at that. “You are his routine.” When he finally straightens up and turns to you, you’re now aware of how close you’re standing. “Come on,” you murmur, stepping back into the hallway to give him space, though you’re not sure why your chest feels tight as you do.
He runs a hand over the back of his neck, glancing toward the living room like he’s grounding himself in something familiar. “I should head out,” he says, though his voice lacks the usual finality.
You nod instinctively. “Yeah… it’s late.” But neither of you moves. Not toward the door. You stay where you are, leaning lightly against the wall, your arms folded loosely—not defensive, just… something to hold onto.
He notices. Of course he does. His gaze shifts back to you, slower this time, more deliberate. “You’re thinking about something.”
You huff softly. “You always say that.” “Because I’m usually right.”
You shake your head, but there’s no real denial in it. Instead, you let out a quiet breath, your eyes dropping for a moment before lifting back to his.
“…You can stay,” you say.
“Stay?” he repeats, quieter this time.
You nod, shrugging lightly. “It’s late. And he’ll probably ask for you in the morning anyway.” It’s a safe excuse. You both know it.
But he doesn’t call you out on it. Instead, his gaze lingers just a second longer before he nods slowly. “…Alright.”
You hand him a shirt without thinking too much about it, only realizing too late that it’s one of his. One he left behind a long time ago.
But he doesn’t comment, just takes it from you with a quiet, “Thanks,” before heading toward the bathroom.
You exhale slowly once he’s gone, your fingers brushing over your arm as if you’re trying to settle yourself. This is fine.
It doesn’t mean anything. Right?
When he comes back, the air shifts again. The shirt fits him the same way it always did—slightly loose, familiar in a way that feels too personal for something that shouldn’t matter anymore.
You’re standing in the kitchen when he walks in, and when you look up, your eyes meet immediately. Neither of you look away this time.
“Can,t believe you kept it,” he says, glancing down at the shirt before looking back at you.
You lean lightly against the counter, your fingers curling against the edge. “It was comfortable.” A faint smirk touches his lips. “Still is.”
“You didn’t have to ask me to stay,” he says after a moment, his voice lower now. You tilt your head slightly. “I know.”
“Then why did you?” The question settles between you, heavier than anything else tonight.
You hesitate—not because you don’t have an answer, but because you’re not sure you want to say it out loud.
“…I don’t know,” you admit finally, your voice softer, more honest than you intended. His gaze doesn’t leave yours. He steps closer.
“You do,” he says quietly. You then turn to face him, feeling your back suddenly press against the counter as he almost closes the distance between you. “You’re not being fair,” you murmur.
“I’m not trying to be.” There’s a pause. And then, quieter—
Your chest tightens sharply. “Miss what?” you ask, even though you think you already know. His gaze flickers briefly to your lips before returning to your eyes.
“Us,” he says simply. His hand lift slowly to your face, cupping your cheek and rubbing it with his thumb like a precious art piece.
“Tell me to stop,” he says quietly. Your breath falters. You don’t. And that’s all it takes. Your lips clash with each others, leaving quiet smooches! and warm breath against each other.
This was a bad idea and you knew it.But could you help yourself? Nope.
Inviting his own hand down your leggings, he cupped your pussy, feeling the wetness, heat on his fingers. “…fuck girl, already like this for me?”
You kept quiet, hiding your face in his neck as he rubs small circles around your clothed cunt.
He pushes your panties aside, slowly making his way into you with all three fingers. “Somethings never change. Still so warrrmmmm and wetttt.”
You leave small bites against his neck, trying your best to hide your moans. He starts making movements back and fourthh, making you clench your walls around his greedy fingers. Faster and deep-deep—deep in. “…you still got it in you?” Toji groans.
You hesitate, not sure of what to say. But finally–“…yesss.”
Toji had you where he wanted you. Your back pressed against the bed, your face looking heavenly at him, like you’re in a whole different world. His mouth was wet from kissing your lips and chest. His hands slide down the under of your breasts, cupping them and rubbing your soft nipples ‘til they harden.
He takes the opportunity to use his tongue on your breasts. He slowly lift his head because you were sooo close, but you needed more.
Toji notices your eyes begging for him. “Don’t worry, doll, I’ve got you.”
Both you and Toji’s clothes were long gone. His shirt on the floor, your bra on the dresser next to the bed.
He shoves his cock in you, inch by inch, as if he’s making sure the inside of your pussy was remoulded by all his shape.Toji is looking at your pretty face with so much admiration and love. “You’re taking in me so well, baby…” he leaves soft praises for you. “…fuck, no one could ever make feel this good, this pussy is all minnnneee.”
Toji always loved fucking you like this. But he’d always check up on you. The only thing he wanted you to care about in this moment was him stretching your pussy loose.
He was slammin’ his fully hard dick to the very back of your cervix, leaving you a moaning, filthy yet hot mess. Your pussy tightening around him like she never wants to leave.
He rubss your wet cunt with his fingers, and shoves them a bit aggressively into your mouth, trying to feel your warm breath and saliva into around his fingers.
You get a taste of both your liquids, a taste of something so sweeett and bitter, that you couldn’t help but lick his fingers around and around.
“…you’re so big tojjiii—fuck!” you mumble, his fingers reaching towards your throat. His fat cock hitting every hot, velvety walls.
He can’t get enough with how your ass looks so soft and jiggles every thrust he takes. You’re even pushing your pussy inside of him, not needing his other hand guiding you on it. It’s as if your pussy has a mind of its own and swallows him.
Toji finally takes his fingers out you, leaving you nearly breathless. “…you don’t know—hck! how much I’ve been wanting this,” Toji says also breathlessly “I’ve got to be the luckiest and man in this damn— fucckk, world…”
As you’re grinding on him, he starts to feel his cum loading up, already leaking if precum. His balls slapping against your wet flesh, with wet, sloppy sounds and the mix of your juices spilling out.
“Ji,— I’m about to- cu–cum!… pleaassee, fuuckk!”
You cream around his cock, as he thrusts innnnn and ouutttt with more pressure than before. With one last, final thrust Toji stuffs his cock inside you.
Hot, sticky ropes of cum pump deep into you, flooding it with his hot seed. His body twitches against yours as he thrusts back into you, keeping you all warm and comfortable.
You both come down from your high, laying next to each other, holding eye contact.
The room is dim, the only light coming from the hallway slipping through the door, just enough to see the outline of his face. Your fingers rest lightly against the pillow between you, barely brushing his hand.
“…You’re thinking again,” he murmurs quietly. His voice is softer now. You huff a small breath, eyes flicking up to his. “You always say that.”
“Because you always are.”
You shift slightly, your fingers brushing his properly now without meaning to.
“You’re not?” you ask. He watches you for a second before answering.
“…I am.” That makes you pause. Because he doesn’t usually admit that.
“What about?” you ask, quieter now. His gaze lingers on your face, slower than before, like he’s taking his time with the answer. “…This,” he says simply.
Your chest tightens just a little. “Regretting it already?” you try, but your voice sounds hesitant.
He shakes his head almost immediately. “No.” “I just don’t want you to.”
You swallow, your gaze dropping for a second before lifting back to his. “I don’t,” you admit.
Your hand shifts again, this time resting more fully against his. He turns his hand slightly so your fingers fit more comfortably against his, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles in a slow, absent motion.
You exhale softly, your body relaxing into the bed a little more. “…We’re going to confuse him,” you murmur after a moment.
Toji’s thumb stills for a second before continuing its slow movement. “…We’ll figure it out,” he says. You glance at him. “That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one I have right now.” You smile at that.
Your hand stays loosely against his, your breathing evening out slowly as the moment fades into something softer. And just before you fully drift off—
The lightest press of his lips against your forehead.