What Your Husband Don’t Know pt. 3 (Toji x Black Mom Reader)
(Just decided to do this randomly cuz why not? Remember reader is a black mom. Enjoy)
😏💦😩: Meet me at the Pearl in Hotel Blue
You blinked at the screen. You hadn’t heard from Toji since the last time the two of you had hooked up in the restaurant bathroom. That night, you had each been on dates with your significant others, and you had never felt so guilty and turned on in your life.
You thought back to that evening and the way Toji had gotten so possessive over you. How he’d manhandled you and fucked you until you had a permanent switch for the remainder of that night. Hell, that whole week. The way he had stared at you the entire night until he and his wife finally left.
The memory was enough to make your knees weak and your pussy clench in desire.
Then again; there was also her.
Hana Fushiguro, Toji’s wife.
She had walked out of the women’s bathroom beside the gender neutral one that night after you and Toji had finished.
The tired, strained smile she had given you when you tried to make polite conversation still haunted you. You’d been thinking about her ever since that encounter as well.
Of course both Mrs. Fushiguro and your husband were constant features in the back of your conscience, but it had been so easy to forget about them. When Mrs. Fushiguro was just a distant obscure figure. More of an idea than a person.
Then of course there was Kento. Sweet, unsuspecting, naive, Kento. Who never doubted you for a second. Who loved you unconditionally.
Every time you thought about him guilt churned in your gut until you were sick, but you always rationalized it.
Oh he’s never around. He’s always working. He doesn’t even notice. It’s his fault if he’s not concerned enough to be involved in this family. He loves us, but he doesn’t show it the way I need. The passion is gone and it’s partially his fault.
And then it was easier to assuage your guilt. To continue the affair with Toji because you had enough excuses to drown the shame and flush it out of your system.
It was what you were doing now as you stared at the screen.
You pulled off the other yellow rubber glove, and discarded it beside the sink where the dishes were soaking in hot, bubbly water.
For a long time you could only stare at the screen.
It was 11:00am. The kids were in school, Kento was at work, and you had a long list of housewife chores to muddle through before picking up the children.
Three and a half hours. It would take at least half an hour to get to Hotel Blue if you gunned it.
😏💦😩: ????
You blinked at the screen. What did he want after an over week?
Me: I’ll be there in 30 mins
Half an hour later, you strutted into the restaurant wearing a red wrap dress and heels. A clutch was tucked under your arm with all your essentials in it. You knew Toji wouldn’t be able to resist the bright color against your dark skin.
You scanned the restaurant. Big windows let in plenty of sunshine illuminating the sparsely populated restaurant.
You didn’t see Toji’s familiar build or mop of black hair anywhere.
“Looking for me?”
Your heart skipped. You motor senses failed you. Time seemed to stop for just a moment.
By force, you turned around.
There she stood.
Hana Fushiguro glared at you with all the ire she seemed able to muster.
Your mouth went dry.
“M-Mrs. Fushiguro—“
“Save it.” She raised a palm. “We need to talk.”
Your stomach flipped. Hana breezed straight past you to a booth at the back of the restaurant. You didn’t know what compelled you to follow her. You could have just as easily turned around and walked out. Hana couldn’t force you to follow her.
Yet you did.
You slid into the booth across from her and the two of you stared at each other.
The mistress and the wife.
You had watched these moments unfold on countless dramas and telanovellas. Read about them in numerous romance novels. But none of that had prepared you for being in this moment.
For Being the other woman.
There was a charged silence infused with unasked questions, speculations, insecurities, and comparisons as the two of you sized each other up.
Hana Fushiguro was a lovely woman. Fair skinned, luminous complexion, almond eyes—which upon closer inspection were actually a rich, dark brown—and shiny black hair. Her figure was slim, but soft and hugged in a white Juicy Couture sweatsuit.
And yet…the stress of the affair had taken its toll, you could tell.
The usual luminous quality to her skin was dull. It looked as if she had forgotten to moisturize that day. Her hair was damp and tousled as if she had raked her fingers through it several times. Her eyes were puffy and red rimmed.
She had been crying.
You felt like shit.
After a few minutes of silence, Hana spoke in a voice shaky with unshed tears.
“I hope you’re happy.” She spat. “Toji left me.”
Your eyes blew wide.
“Wha-“
“You heard me, bitch. He left me. Said our marriage hasn’t been happy for years. Said his affair with you just confirmed that.”
“I-I-I don’t know what to say.”
“I tried to record you two that night, you know?” Hana fished through her little black pocketbook. “I heard you two through the bathroom wall. Imagine my surprise. Hearing my husband fuck another woman in the fucking restaurant bathroom WHILE WE’RE ON A FUCKING DATE!” She screeched.
Diners whipped their heads in your direction and the minimal chatter in the restaurant ceased. A passing waiter paused on the way to a table.
“Moaning about how much he loved your slutty cunt and-“ Hana choked out a sob as she cut herself off.
You watched her fiddle with a carton of cigarettes she’d pulled out of her pocketbook.
She drew the cigarette to her red painted lips while fumbling for a lighter.
“And here your ass come.” She chuckled. “I found that fucker’s second phone weeks ago. But he swore it was another work phone.” She let out a dry, humorless chuckle. “So,” she shrugged, “I believed him. Even when he would cut the screen off when I would look over his shoulder. Even when he would take the so called ‘work phone’ into the bathroom. I wanted so badly to believe him.”
You felt lightheaded as you listened to the woman. Your hands folded tightly in front of you while your knee bounced beneath the table. You had to do something. Say something.
“Hana, I-“
“Do you even give a shit?” She asked, cuttingly. Then she eyed you with the most offensive sneer you’d ever seen on a person’s face. “I mean, Clearly not.” She scoffed, gesturing at you in disgust. “You rushed right down here in your tightest fuck me dress to hop on my husband’s dick in the middle of the day. My god. You were just out with your husband last week. Did you go home and screw him too with my husband’s cock on your breath?”
“Hana, that’s—I’m not-“
“Does he know?”
You blinked back at her.
“Does…what are you-“
“Your husband.” She deadpanned. “Does he know?”
You swallowed a lump in your throat. The waiter had quietly brought over a couple glasses of water and bread but you hadn’t touched either.
Hana scanned your stiff posture and pensive expression before letting out a chuckle.
“Of course he doesn’t.” She sat back against the booth.
A waiter came to the table, nose wrinkled in irritation.
“Ma’am, you can’t smoke here.”
Hana never took her steely gaze off you as she took a long draft of the cigarette.
“No problem.” She stood, never once looking at the waiter. “I’m done here.”
The waiter looked uneasy as he glanced between Hana and you, but instead of pressing the matter, he just nodded.
“Please hurry, ma’am, it’s bothering the patrons.” Then he scurried away. Leaving you alone with Mrs. Fushiguro once more.
You thought about defending your honor. Making a case for yourself or at the very least, retaliating against Hana’s verbal cut downs.
But you didn’t.
Instead, you could only cower under Hana’s scornful glare, feeling small and ugly as she stood over you.
Then a small, wry smile stretched across the woman’s tired, pretty face. She leaned down, her damp, black hair framing her face like a veil.
“Since you won’t tell your husband about your affair, Mrs. Nanami, I will.”
Hana dropped the cigarette in your glass of water. The smoke fizzled out in seconds.
“We can both be single, bitch.”
And with one last parting glare, Mrs. Fushiguro stormed out of the restaurant.
You watched her discarded cigarette float in your water feeling that familiar guilty churn in your gut. Stronger than ever.
With a jolt, you jumped from the table and bolted to the nearest bathroom.
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