Aniniyah - Nini - Tumblr Blog

so, sylus can cook, sing, wears chokers and chains, is a boxer, rides a fucking motorbike, and is literally cleaning his gun during work/study time— oh sylus, the man that you are.

He's making dinner for both of us instead of dining out?

He's only mildly annoyed that we playfully poked him in the side? (Also MC feels comfortable enough to do it in the first place)

He's let us cover him in cutesy childish band-aids five times before stopping the sixth attempt?

Man is soft for us. He is giving "if anything happens to her, I will kill everyone in this room and then myself" vibe.

I'm in love.

here are all the pics i took of him in the 1st chapter because this man has got me in a fucking GRIP

MC sat on his lap, his eyes staring straight at her, AND HE PULLED THE TRIGGER

WELCOME BACK REAL ENEMIES TO LOVERS TROPE

ZAYNE DON'T LET THIS MAN TAKE ME AWAY FROM YOU LIKE THIS PLEASE

Ah, the night's just getting started. Don't let me catch you so easily next time. ⸺ QIN CHE // SYLUS ִֶָ☾.

I need him biblically

she’s with me. 

synopsis: love and deepspace boys’ reaction when someone tries to flirt with you. 

wc: 3.5k (approx 800-900 per chara)

character/s: zayne, rafayel, xavier, sylus 

warning/s: men being creeps (dude, she's just not into you.)

note/s: i apologize in advance if this isn’t entirely lore accurate or ooc, i’ve just started playing and am only at chapter 5 (if you’re in the asian server, let’s be friends!!) 

zayne: 

zayne was running late. you sighed as you looked at zayne’s text message. it contained an apology about the unexpected traffic and how he would be a few minutes later than the agreed upon time. 

knowing that the situation was out of his control, you text him back a reassurance and took a picture of the menu, asking him what he’d like so you could order it before he arrives. 

“are you ready to order, miss?” the waiter asks and you put the menu down and give him a polite smile. 

“not yet, i’m still waiting for someone.” you could see a spark twinkle in the waiter’s eyes. you didn’t like it. it felt as if he were hoping for something that you were not willing to give. 

every now and then, the waiter would ask if you would like to order and time and time again, you make it clear that you were waiting for someone. the waiter would constantly look over at your table, taking notes of the minutes and coming back with subtle hints of his infatuations. 

first, it was a refill on the untouched napkins with the first folded one conveniently having his number. 

second, it was accidentally spilling water over your table even though there were no obstacles that hindered his footing. 

third, and hopefully the last, he managed to insert himself while explaining the menu as a pick-up line–which almost made you lose your appetite. 

you felt uncomfortable.  

“would you like me to inform you of tonight’s specials? it’s a rare wagyu steak with a side of me—” “oh, you’ll just be wasting your time. i think it’s better for you to tell me when my date arrives. we wouldn’t want you wasting your breath now, would we?” you jest, trying to subtly tell the waiter to leave you alone but it was either he was very persistent or very dense as he keeps ghosting over your table even after leaving. 

you try to push any assumption away, telling yourself that it was part of his job to be attentive but was it still professional attentiveness when he wouldn’t stop staring at you? 

your phone vibrated on the table and before you could take a look. the waiter comes back to your table, more confidently this time. as if he was about to claim a prize. 

“miss, i’m off for the next half hour, how about i keep you company while you wait for your ‘date’.” you didn’t like how he put air quotes on the word date and the sarcastic lilt in his voice as he speaks to you. 

“i told you, i am expecting someone and i do not appreciate you being unprofessional when i have explicitly told you i’m waiting for my date.” 

“by the looks of it, he probably stood you up. no man would keep a pretty girl like you waiting.”

you were evidently pissed, your face held an unimpressed stare but before you could answer back, a familiar deep voice caught both of your attention. 

“while i do appreciate your sentiment for keeping my girlfriend company, i don’t think that’s necessary.” the sight of zayne made your lips quirk up into a small smile, the waiter, with his back turned, only offered a snort of arrogance. 

“yeah, some boyfriend you are keeping a lady like her wa—” the waiter stops in his tracks as he turns around and sees zayne’s tall, lean physique looking at him with the same unimpressed look you were sporting. the epitome of tall, dark and handsome. 

the waiter feels like he’s being watched under a microscope due to how the two of you were looking at him as if he were some kind of gum under your –most likely– expensive shoes. 

zayne spares him a glance no longer than a second before he turns to you. 

“i apologize for being late, darling. work took longer than usual and the traffic was unexpected.” he explains and takes a seat in front of you. you smiled and shook your head. 

“was the surgery a success?” you asked and zayne nods before you gave a hum of acknowledgement. 

the waiter then realizes who just sat across from you. he was on the news for being the best cardiac surgeon in the akso hospital. he knew he was no match for him– not that he was an option in the first place. 

 you turned over to the waiter who looked like he was regretting every decision he’s ever made with his life. 

“would you mind getting another menu? my date and i would like to order at the same time.” you asked, the waiter nods stiffly before turning around and walking away. 

the additional menu was brought over to the table by a different waiter, but neither you and zayne questioned it as you enjoyed your date night. 

rafayel: 

stinkfish: wruuu :((  stinkfish: i’ll sneak out this exhibition talk to come to u this is so boring :((  stinkfish: i don’t wanna explain to the people why i painted this and that. they won’t listen the way you do stinkfish: tell me where u are pretty pleaseee :(( 

you snort as you see the myriad of texts rafayel was sending you. you sent him a picture of the aisle you were in with no context before turning your phone off, you looked at the painting in great detail. smiling softly as you remembered how excited rafayel was when he was rambling about the vision he had and how he couldn’t wait to paint it. and now, after a few days, his vision came to life and you were in front of it, admiring the details and thoughts that went behind the painting. 

“you know…” you hear a foreign voice say from beside you, your thoughts get cut off as you look at the stranger with a curious glance. 

“i thought you were the prettiest painting until you started moving.” you blinked, not exactly knowing how to respond to the cheesy pick up line but you only offered him a polite smile as you nod and move away. 

the man did not take the hint. 

“so, what brought you here?” he asked and you showed him the brochure of rafayel’s exhibition with an obvious look.

“so am i! wow, we have a lot of things in common.” you were fighting the urge to roll your eyes because as much as friendly goes, the man knows that you’re obviously not interested, but he isn’t going to give up. 

the two of you stopped by in front of rafayel’s biggest painting yet. the glimmering shade of red that contrasted with the painted sand captivated you. you tilt your head to the side, smiling at how the painted blue ocean seemed as if it were glittering under the lights of the exhibition. 

“do you like that painting.” right. he’s still there. you don’t bother facing him as you nod. the stranger huffs. 

“there’s nothing good about this painting. it’s just the ocean. if you were to ask me, i’d say it’s mediocre at best.” 

‘i didn’t ask.’ you wanted to say but you kept your mouth shut, not bothering to reply to the stranger no matter how much he insulted your boyfriend’s works. your hand clenches the brochure tightly as you move on to the next painting, hoping the man gets off your tail because you were so close to flag down a security guard and report him but it’s fine. you can handle it. 

silence is the best weapon after all. 

“— and i think the blue could use a deeper shade because it doesn’t look right, the blablablablabla” you tuned out the stranger’s yapping, not really acknowledging nor caring about whatever comes out of his mouth. 

“you know… the exhibition is about to end and i think we have a connection.” brother eugh. this time, you couldn’t help the cringe that overtook your features as you grimaced at his forwardness. 

the stranger clicked his tongue, a smirk playing on his face. “still playing hard to get, huh?” he takes a step closer to you. “i like that about a girl.” your grimace only deepens as you look at him as if he was the most disgusting being on earth. 

“too bad, that’s my little conch shell you’re talking to.” you turn your head to the side, your grimace turning into a smile as you see rafayel behind you. 

“hey miss bodyguard. you weren’t at the picture you took.” rafayel pouts, you shook your head slightly. “you were taking too long, i wanted to see your exhibition already.” you finally talked for the first time and in the corner of your eye, you could see the stranger deflate when he realizes that he was your boyfriend and you were not in fact playing hard to get nor interested in him. 

“i had to escape thomas, he kept telling me that new buyers were coming and he kept going on and on and on– so i escaped and here i am.” he beams, his arm wrapping around your waist as he pulls you closer. 

“you’re prettier than anything in this exhibit.” he says loud enough for the stranger to hear and the stranger almost throws a tantrum when he sees you bury your face in rafayel’s chest due to flusteredness. 

rafayel cradles your head to his chest in a gentle way, but the look he gave to the stranger was nowhere near. 

his brow raises. “why are you still here?” as if the man’s trance snapped, he blubbered out apologies before he ran out the exhibition, knowing the embarrassment would probably haunt him for years. you pull away with a sigh. “thought he’d never leave me alone. i almost thought you’d met your match because he kept talking.”

“are you trying to say i talk too much.” 

“...”

“hey!” 

xavier: 

xav<33: I’m sleepy. U and Ur friend enjoy yourselves though. Good night my little star.

you huff as you read your boyfriend’s text. he could’ve at least remembered tara’s name. you think to yourself before you send him a good night sticker. he responds back with one back and a heart, causing a smile to etch on your face. 

“hoho.” tara smirked evilly. “is the boyfie dropping by?” she teases and you huffed. “i wish. knowing xav, he probably sent me that emoji while asleep.” you said before pocketing your phone. 

“pfft, more fun for us then!” tara beams as she pulls you in the nightclub that she planned. 

the strobe lights were blinding as the dance floor lit up with different shades of blues and purples. the people around were dancing as if nothing else mattered and there was no tomorrow. 

“whoah.” tara breathes out, eyes filled with amazement. “there are a lot more people than i thought there would be.” she turns to you with a smile on her face. “stay close to me, okay? wouldn’t want your boyfriend getting worried!” you smiled and nodded as you let her lead you to the dance floor. 

the dance floor wasn’t quite as packed as it was a few minutes ago, seeing as some people left to get more drinks, hoping to get more buzzed. 

maybe it was an impulsive decision on tara’s end, or maybe it was her fear of missing out as she yells over the music. 

“i’ll be back in a second, i’ll go grab us drinks!” and before you could yell back that you’ll stay on the sidelines while waiting, she was already gone. 

thinking that tara would look for you and see you on the sides eventually, you stood and observed the people around you. the atmosphere was nice. the club wasn’t stuffy, the music was loud but not uncomfortably so and the people seemed to be having a great time. 

“you here by yourself?” you remain unfazed as your eyes flit to the sides, seeing a man who looked like he was buzzed. his breath reeked of alcohol and his body was slurring to the side. you smile dismissively before you shake your head and point towards the dancefloor with a vague finger. 

“my friend is getting me drinks.” tara hurry up. 

“ah? really? i don’t see them.” he takes one step closer and you instinctively take a step away from him. “she’s about to head here.” you explained. the stranger grins and you could feel a cold sweat on your back. 

“how about you give me a dance before i let you over to your little friend? maybe she could join if you’d like.” disgusting. absolutely disgusting. 

you wanted to kick the man where the sun doesn’t shine and maybe, just maybe, neutralize him with the same neutralizer you use with unstable wanderers. the thoughts of what you could do in the situation filled up your mind that you didn’t notice his grimy hand reaching for your wrist. 

“would you mind not touching my girlfriend?” you look up to the voice. pleasantly surprised to see your boyfriend holding onto the man’s wrist with a glare on his face. 

“hah! as if! back off, chump, i saw her first.” the man cackles, xavier remains unfazed as he tightens his grip on the man’s wrist every time he struggles– which was a lot that you had to stop xavier once you hear the cracking of bones. 

xavier abides to your gentle touch before he pushes the man before letting go, causing him to lose his balance and slide against the nightclub wall as he whimpers pitifully at the pain on his wrist. 

xavier spares him no glance as he places a hand on the small of your back and escorts you outside the nightclub. 

“(y/n)!” you hear tara wail as she runs to you, hugging you tightly. “oh my god, i’m so sorry! i couldn’t find you anywhere and you weren’t responding to my messages and–” “tara, it’s okay.” you reassured her, tara looks at you with a doubtful expression, obviously still feeling guilt before she turns to xavier. “thank god you got here so fast! i really wouldn’t know what to do! ack! i’m really, really sorry.” she apologizes, xavier gives her a nod. 

“it’s alright. i’ve neutralized the threat—” “threat?!” “what he means—” you hold tara’s hands with a smile on your face. “he managed to find me before anything bad happened, right, xav?” your smile screamed out just agree and thankfully, your dense boyfriend caught onto it as he nods his head in agreement. “right.” 

“it’s getting late and i don’t think we can continue the night, how about we reschedule this?” you asked tara and she gives you a determined nod before the two of you parted ways. 

once you waved the taxi that tara was in goodbye, you turned to xav. 

“how did she manage to wake you?” “i wasn’t asleep. i was waiting for you to message me to pick you up.” he explains before he yawns. “you owe me so much cuddles for making me teleport.” 

you scoffed, knowing that your night will be spent with you as his personal bolster. but you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

sylus: 

“last chance to back out, kitten. i must warn you that i may not be able to have my eyes on you once we get inside.” sylus says as the two of you stood outside the banquet doors. you were donned in a fitted blood red dress, your makeup was done just right and you were the embodiment of elegance. 

“are you scared that i’ll be swept on my feet by someone else if you look away?” you teased. sylus chuckles, the rich baritone of his voice reverberating against the quiet hall. 

“my kitten, i am in no way insecure about you falling for another man’s trap. i am merely concerned for the poor fellows who will fall for your beauty, not knowing you’re mine.” his deep voice practically purrs by your ear as his nose traces the outline of the side of your head. his musky cologne invades your nostrils causing you to shiver slightly. you scoffed, pushing his head away before you wrapped your perfectly manicured hand on his bicep.

the banquet was regal. that was the only term you could think of as you stepped in with sylus by your side. your heels click in pace with his large steps as all the clamor quieted down, all eyes were on you and sylus. 

almost immediately, the elite walked towards him, trying their best to get the onychinus’ boss’ attention. you immediately let go of his arm, not wanting any attention to be on you. although, if that were truly the case, you shouldn’t have had walked in with him but it was his demands. you had no choice but to abide. 

you shouldn’t even be here in the first place! you did not agree to being sylus’ arm accessory, it wasn’t part of your deal but with the wave of his black card, you find yourself observing the people who desperately tried to gain his attention.

you can see the women blinking their lashes, trying to get sylus to even glance at them but you paid them no mind, knowing that sylus only has his eyes on you. unfortunately, not at the moment, as you slipped from his gaze and walked over towards the bar. 

you sat by the corner, by yourself as you observed the elite and how they interacted with each other. you can see how the ladies immediately roll their eyes once their conversation partner turns their backs, or how the men would look pointedly at their henchmen when information about their rival partnerships were leaked out of intoxication. 

a cold drink slides down the bar and hits your arm, you jolt slightly at the sudden change in temperature before you turn to take a look at the bartender who offered you a charming smile. 

“i did not order this.” you say, pushing the drink back, the bartender shakes his head. “it’s on the house.” 

you tilt your head in confusion, your body unconsciously shifting towards the bar as you engaged in conversation. 

“i can’t have a pretty lady sitting on my bar and not have her drink, right?” you blinked before your eyes darted towards the drink, a blank expression on your face before the bartender chuckled. he took the glass away from you, dumping its contents out before preparing you a new one.

“the first one wasn’t spiked. but maybe that just wasn’t your cup of tea.” he explains before asking for your preferred drink and went into making it immediately, making sure your eyes were on him. the bartender smiles as he presents you with the drink. 

“open a tab fo–” “it’s on the house.” “excuse me?” the bartender smirks, elbows on the bar as he gestures towards the drink. 

“pretty ladies drink for free.” he winks and you almost want to look back at sylus and see if his eyes were indeed on you, but you weren’t about to take advantage of some stranger’s generosity even if he was obviously flirting with you. 

“no, i insist. open a tab for–” “i insist it’s on the hous–” “sylus.” the bartender looks at you amusedly before he huffs out a laugh. “sylus, huh? haven’t heard that name for a tab in the past twenty minutes.” he smirks. 

“lady, you’re the fifth person to ask for a tab to be opened after sylus’ name.” you fight the urge to roll your eyes. “before this gets embarrassing for you, i suggest you take the free drink and maybe i can have your contact?” he winks. 

“sylus may not look at you but i will.” the bartender obviously did not see you and sylus walk in together. 

“while i do appreciate the generosity for buying my kitten a drink.” you barely bat an eye as you hear sylus’ booming voice interrupt your conversation, one of sylus’ big hands run down the slit of your dress, fingers slipping into your thigh garter as he pulls out his black card. 

“i am very capable of providing for what’s mine.” he says as he places the black card down. “you heard the lady, open a tab under my name.”  

the bartender was now distraught, obviously intimidated by sylus’ presence as he takes the card and immediately turns his back, making your drinks with shaky hands.

“scared i’d get swept away?” you repeat your words from before, a smirk forming on your lips. sylus places his hand on your cheek, his thumb playing near your lips. 

“what can i say? you look absolutely ethereal, sweetie. i wouldn’t put it past them to attempt and steal what’s mine.” 

note/s: first ever l&ds work we cheer !

THEY’RE BEING A TEASE - TEXTING THE LOVE AND DEEPSPACE MEN

Warnings : NSFW obviously, sexting, masturbation, penetrative sex, fingering, phone sex, filming oneself, sending nudes, orgasm control, cockwarming, consensual somnophilia, use of sex toys in public, public sex, implied exhibitionism, reader is gender-neutral!

Genre : filth smut

Additional notes : Needed to take multiple cold showers after this WHEW😮‍💨 Thank you nonnie for your massive sexy brain. To anyone else reading this, my requests are still closed!! These are just old requests I had in my inbox🫶🏽

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no escape.

summary: sylus hunts you down.

cw: nsfw!! female reader, predator/prey, chase/capture, mild primal, tickling, biting, ass spanking & pussy spanking, getting fucked from behind, penetration (penis in vagina), unprotected sex, creampie, aftercare (hinted at end). this one gets kind of intense & has a little bit of cnc vibes, read at your own risk!

a/n: i hope you enjoy the second installment of my degenerate knismo series. if anyone needs me i will be passing away dfksjfjk

You dart through the dark hallways, darting in and out of the shadows as you search for another hiding spot while doing your best to suppress your rapid breaths. Your heart pounds against your ribcage, but you do your best to maintain a level head and still the panic jolting through your veins.

Another night. Another unfair game proposed by your sadistic host in the N109 zone. Sylus had promised to accompany you on an important mission if you succeeded in evading him, as long as he didn’t catch you before the time was up. 

It sounded simple enough. This mansion was huge, and you had gotten high scores in the stealth portion of the hunter’s exam. 

You thought it’d be a breeze. 

You thought wrong.

You couldn’t shake him, no matter how far you ran or how many hiding places you found. The dining room. The study. The washroom. The main entrance. He found you every time, chuckling in that low baritone while calling out to you in the dark.

“You’ve got to do better than that, kitten…” he’d say, his voice followed by the sound of slow, deliberate footsteps.

But time was almost up. If you could just hang on for a little longer…

You duck behind one of the sculptures in the hallway and glance at the watch on your wrist. 11:47. Thirteen more minutes, and you’d be victorious. 

A few minutes pass in silence. Still no Sylus. You start to get the feeling that something is wrong. He hasn’t made it easy this entire time you’ve been playing his game, so why did things suddenly get so quiet? Was he trying to usher you out, get you to lower your guard under a false pretense of safety? He was a big fan of tricks and mind games. This could be one of them.

You soon get your answer. 

Your eyes look back at your watch to check the time. Five more minutes. You were so close, you could taste victory on your tongue. You start thinking about how you’ll brag about besting him, but as soon as the thought comes to mind-

“...Boo.”

You let out a shriek and jump back, almost knocking over the sculpture in your attempt to escape from the disembodied voice that’d just whispered in your ear. It’s him. You can sense his foreboding presence even though you could barely see. 

A pair of deep crimson eyes begin to glow in the inky blackness of the room. You turn tail and run.

You’re past the point of logical reasoning. Your instincts have taken control of your body, and your instincts say run. Your legs move faster than your thoughts, stepping in tune with the rapid beating of your heart. 

But it’s not enough. He toys with you, chuckles into your ear as he closes in. You feel his body press against your back, sense his large hands wrapping themselves around your neck and waist before he finally takes hold of your frame. 

“Got you.”

His tone drips with arrogance. You can practically see the smirk creeping across his face. You’d be annoyed if you weren’t so focused on trying to break free of his grasp. He’s taken hold of your arms and pinned them behind your back, and now he’s forcing you to your knees. Soon, your face is pressed against the floor, and you’re barely able to wiggle. He’s straddling your thighs, admiring the view of your bum as its forced into the air.

“What a shame,” he leans down to gloat, his breath tickling your ear. “And to think, there were only a couple minutes left until you succeeded.”

“That’s not fai- aaaaahhh!”

His teeth sink into your neck, and your words turn to shrieks. It’s not enough to break skin, but feeling him drag them across the sensitive area is enough to make you squirm. With one hand still holding your arms tight, he uses his free hand to snake his fingers under the hem of your shirt where he can access your helpless waist. His nails claw at your ribs, forcing laughter from your lips. In your current position, there’s little room to even wiggle. 

“That’s right… keep struggling,” he croons,  lips brushing against the shell of your ear. He hikes up your skirt, gives your ass a firm smack, then yanks your panties down with enough force to rip them. He spanks your pussy, then rubs your swollen clit before testing your wetness.

“S… stop…” you manage to squeak out before he starts tickling your side again. You scream with laughter while he taunts you.

“Still not wet enough, that won’t do…”

You curse yourself for letting him discover your turn ons so easily. His expert hands dance across your skin, digging into sensitive areas seldom touched by others. They sneak under your arms, prod at your ribs, skitter over your stomach while you squeal, cry, and giggle. It’s too much, having him take advantage of you in this position. Every now and then he stops tickling to give you another spank. First your ass, then your pussy. You cry out each time, a mix between a moan and a gasp. 

After tickling your stomach for a minute or two, his fingers return to your pussy to feel for your wetness. You’re soaked now, enough to satisfy him. There’s a brief sound of shuffling you can hear behind you, followed by the sensation of something pressed against the opening of your hole. 

It’s wide. Even just the tip of his cock feels like too much. You part your lips in protest, but the words get stuck in your throat.

“Don’t worry, darling,” he finally lets go of your arms, only to wrap his hand around your neck. “I’ll make it fit.”

He pushes himself inside you, and your cries of pleasure echo through the empty hallway.

Sylus fucks you hard and deep. He starts off slow, shoving his cock as far as it will go before pulling out carefully, taking note of the pathetic noises coming out of your mouth. Then, when he senses you’ve warmed up to it, his strokes become faster, rougher. One hand presses down on the back of your neck, keeping your head in place. The other crawls up and down your side, forcing you to giggle in between moans and thrash around helplessly. That seems to make him harder; his dick pulses inside you with every movement you make to try and escape. Even with your arms free, you’re powerless to shake him off. The dual sensations of being fucked while getting tickled mercilessly have put you in overstimulation hell.

It continues like this for a while. Sylus has monster-like stamina. His hand never leaves your side, although it wanders to your hips and digs in the creases there, and burrows under your arm to torment the weak spot there despite your efforts to protect yourself. You’re unable to anticipate his movements, being stuck facedown while he’s fucking the living daylights out of you. And God, does it feel good, having his thick cock pushing itself into your tight walls…

Some time passes before you’re suddenly filled with a comforting warmth. He lets out a long, gravelly groan, gasping for air as his cock pulses. Your hole is filled with his cum; you feel it dripping when he pulls out and sets you free. You lay on the floor limp, too exhausted to move after the hours you’ve spent running and the intense fucking he just put you through. You hear a shuffling of clothes and a quick zipper, then feel a cold hand brush against your face. You keep your tired eyes closed until you feel yourself being lifted into the air.

Sylus carries you bridal style with slow, careful steps, holding you close to his chest like something precious and delicate. Your eyes flutter open and meet his gaze. There is a surprising amount of warmth and affection in his expression when he speaks to you.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he says, glancing down at you with a soft smile. “I think my little prey has earned some pampering.”

his side profile is actually insane

im not available in dms anymore, if you need me you gotta go to the N109 Zone, find Mephisto to lead you to Sylus (sorry he deals with my schedule)

yk what at least sylus got me

there's so many different forms of love everywhere and it's so nice to witness and participate in them. i love love :D

nanami kento comes home on a saturday afternoon, hands full of groceries and hair freshly cut. in the distance, he hears his precious wife humming along to her favorite soundtrack. you must not have heard him come in. he smiles to himself, setting the groceries on the counter, but not unloading them. that can wait. right now, he wants to hold you.

he slips out of his shoes, padding quietly to the laundry room where you are folding towels. you have your back to him, headphones lodged in your ears. as nanami gets closer, the music bleeding from your headphones becomes audible. he chuckles softly. no matter how many times he tells you it's bad for your ears, you insist on listening to your music at just below full volume.

snaking his arms around your waist, you jump at the sudden contact. nanami presses his chest against your back as you take out your headphones, leaning into his touch. you sway in silence for a moment, nanami resting his chin on your shoulder. when you turn to face him, your expression changes at the sight of his hair.

"your hair," you state dumbly. "you cut it."

"yes," your husband muses. "is there something wrong with it?"

"no, no!" you assure nanami, studying his hair. "i just wasn't expecting it. you normally have me do it, which you know i don't mind doing."

"i know, but i didn't want to bother you on your cleaning day."

your expression softens at his words. nanami, your ever loving, ever caring husband, always thinking about you before himself. you reach one hand up, smoothing the hair down the back of his neck. as you bring your hand up, the freshly cut hair pricks your palm, and nanami lets out a low hiss.

you immediately apologize, pulling away. "did that hurt?"

"yes, but it's okay. it felt... good," nanami confessed. "... do it again. please." his voice is thick and demanding, and you obey without hesitation.

this time, you use just the tips of your fingertips to graze his undercut, beginning at the base of his neck. his breathing quickens as you continue to to run your hands through his undercut, going up and down, switching from one hand to both, thumbs caressing the sides of the cut. the laundry room fills with his melodic whimpers and faint groans. his eyes are shut tight, teeth digging into his bottom lip.

"fuck..." he cusses lowly.

"you okay, nani?" you giggle, stopping momentarily. his eyes flash open, pupils blown. "kento?"

"let's go to the bedroom," he insisted, grabbing your hand and dragging you towards the master bedroom. you barely have time react before nanami pushes you back on to the bed, practically ripping your leggings off.

"kento, what are you doin-" you try to protest, his hands clamping around your wrist and bringing them down to grip his hair. his head disappears between your leg, lips latching around your clit. involuntarily, your fingers tighten around his sharp undercut. he moans into your cunt, the vibrations sending waves of pleasure through your body.

from then on, nanami kento always got an undercut.

FIVE! - C.K.

Synopsis. Five hours - it’s all it takes for Choso’s baby fever to take over. After all, you’d look so pretty with his kid - five of them, in fact.

Pairing. Choso Kamo x Reader 

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, established relationship, unprotected, bréeding, Choso with rings + a tongue piercing, creampíe, mentioned kids, cúmplay, he goes feraI, oraI (fem receiving), Itadori family shenanigans (mild spoilers for unc-kuna), overstím, fíngering, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 5.9k

A/N. Will I ever write a Choso fic without the Itadori family? No absolutely not.

4:37PM.

“Ooo, Cho can we check that place out?”

And, listen, just because Choso would give you the moon right along with his heart doesn’t exactly mean he’s jumping with joy when he follows your gaze to that gaudy little shop tucked away in a corner of the mall. Flashing a loud, glittering sign reading, “FORTUNES: FIND YOUR FUTURE!”

Traitorous memories flash through his mind with each step you drag him closer. Of all those fortune shops he’d frequented years ago, trying to figure out whether you’d say yes to a date - before even thinking of actually asking you. 

He won’t ask anything, Choso reassures, stepping through the heady, curtained doorway. Probably not anything, he’s musing, pulling out his wallet to pay for your session. Well, maybe some things, he concludes, eyeing the sprightly old woman that takes a seat opposite you two, peering down at her dramatically large glass ball on the table. 

But that doesn’t mean he’ll-

“Babies.”

“Huh?”

“Yes.” the woman gives a solemn nod. “Five of them.”

Both of you let out a squawk of surprise, much to the amusement of the fortune teller. And Choso can feel his palms getting sweaty against your own as he manages to croak out a low, disbelieving, “Five?”

All but toppling out of his seat in suspense as she takes a moment to scrutinize her orb once more. And, surely glass balls can glitch, right? Mix up fortunes or something? Because while he knows you’ll be by his side in this life and every other one after - kids were a whole other responsibility that neither of you had talked about, yet.

At least, that’s what Choso was trying to convince himself right before the woman lets out a thoughtful hum, “Well, you-” pointing a wisened, accusing finger right in his flushed face. “-want more - about eight - but, of course, your future wife says no.” Gesturing to your giggling figure, “Honestly, young man, learn to keep it in your pants, the poor dear!”

Shit, he was going to run away, do something to end up on the national news - and judging by the way you squeeze his hand, you could tell, too. 

Subconsciously, Choso’s eyes scan the wall for any hidden cameras, wondering what type of strange prank this was. It had happened once four years ago - and just-so-happened to be what made him give up and finally ask you out - but, hey, it made for a pretty great first date story, right?

Finding none, he sighs, barely opening his mouth to ask before she plows on, “And of course there’s only so many your uncle can piggyback at once, right? No matter how much that grump says he doesn’t like it.”

Right.

Of course.

Oh god, he thinks he could faint. 

Choso doesn’t dare say anything for the rest of the session, nor does he look directly in your eyes. Save for that one time to admire your delighted laugh when the fortune teller prattles on about how your kids will “fight his needy self for your attention.”

Not until the two of you are stepping back out into the too-bright mall, your fingers intertwined with his, voice sweet in his ear as you continue with your forgotten mission to find the good brownie mix for the family dinner tonight. 

“Eyes like yours and hair like mine.” You sigh, repeating what you’d heard mere minutes ago. Hooking a finger subtly into his belt loop, smirking, “Sooo, five, huh? You’re this worked up over that?”

“N-no.” Choso replies hastily, but the heavy gulp he takes is a dead giveaway he can’t stop thinking about tiny combinations of the two of you running around. Face too-hot, hands jittery, brows furrowed as he decides for the second time in his life that, yeah he’s never stepping foot inside a fortune shop again. 

You notice - of course, you do. 

Especially when he pulls you into the nearest changing stall, knuckle-deep inside your drenched panties, rings cool against your cunt, lips kissing at your throat. Ignoring your teasing complaints about “getting late”, despite how you’re letting him have his way. 

He feels the vibration of your voice under his hot tongue, laughing - even when he gives your pretty clit a little pinch. “Five.”

And through it all, he can’t help but think - hypothetically, of course, that he hopes they all have your laugh.

---

7:16PM.

Honestly, the one thing that made the Itadori residence more of a home to Choso was having you there. Even when you’re standing with him outside the front door, letting out a sigh as you glare at your sad excuse for brownies.

“Ugh, Cho, we totally burnt them.” you grumble up at your boyfriend. “Your dad is gonna hate it and Sukuna’s gonna make fun of me and-”

“Sukuna can try.” Choso hits the doorbell once more, sure that the ruckus inside was too loud to even think over. “And he probably will.” Before turning back to your adorable pout, and ah he can’t stop himself from cupping your face, smoothing over that furrow in your brow. He leans in to give your lips a chaste peck, “But, he’s still gonna steal some. N’ dad’ll love it, and you already know gramps is gonna sneak in some even though his doctor told him not to.” He’s getting out through kisses, pulling your giggling face closer to his. “And we’ll be lucky to get any before Itadori inhales them.”

He ends his little speech with a slow, lingering kiss. Sliding his soft lips across your now much happier ones. Dancing a hand down to pull your hips closer, murmuring throatily, “N’ most of all, I’m gonna love ‘em, baby.”

You gasp at the feeling of his long fingers pressing just at the hem of your panties through your dress, “You’re- you’re too much.” You hiss, but it comes out more breathless than you intended. “But, the brownies really are-”

Slam!

“Yeah yeah, Jin, the brats are finally here, jus’ fucking on the porch!” 

If there’s anything Choso’s learned from all the times you’ve had dinner with his family, it’s that 1. Yes, the brownies - as burnt and questionable as they were - will always turn out to be a hit in the Itadori household. 2. You were really, really too perfect for your own good, even amidst the chaos. 

“Oh no, let me.” you flash Jin a beaming smile, taking over the well cleared-out plates to the kitchen. Only to be followed by an enthusiastic Yuji almost tripping over his own feet to help you out. 

“You got a good one there.” Choso snaps out of his soft stare to whirl around at where his grandpa was seated next to him. He tips his head over to where you were chattering animatedly with the younger boy taking your load of dishes. “Real lovely. Though, the desert I’m assuming you helped out with.”

Jin pipes up, “Bah! I thought that liquorice was great.”

“They were…brownies.” Face burning, he stammers, knowing full well that you were the one that forgot them in the oven. “And uh y-yeah, you got me…”

And, of course, because it’s a family dinner, Sukuna has to lean over to rile him up. Interjecting teasingly, “Then you best wife that cute lil’ thing up before those baking skills of yours make ‘em run off n’ find someone that can bake.” He smirks devilishly, eyes flitting to the view of the kitchen, “And…”

“And?”

“-is fuckin’ great with kids, too.”

Several things happen at once - the words are barely out of Sukuna’s mouth before he’s being swatted over the head. Hard. After all, being the nicer of the two doesn’t make Jin Itadori forget his roots as the older brother.

And Choso’s jaw is dropping into a soft oh! Not at the unusual display of strength, no, instead it was at the heavenly scene before him.

He swears, the lights grow just a bit brighter and the world becomes a little rosier at the sight of you teaching an eager Yuji the correct way to scrub strainers. Gently guiding the boy until that confused furrow between his brow disappears. “Yeah, just a bit more on the side and you’re done!”

He gives you a very soapy high-five, “You’re literally a lifesaver, Kugisaki was just making fun of me for this the other day.” Moving onto the rest of the workload, “‘Can’t do shit’ gonna show her, seriously. Thank you mom- uh-”

Yuji freezes. You freeze. And it seems that everyone in the world might’ve frozen, except for Sukuna who was still rubbing that bump on his head. 

And you, of course, promptly cutting off the flurry of apologies that looked like they were about to burst from Itadori’s lips. Smiling at the flustered boy softly, “Well…good job, Yuji.” you bump his hip. “And now onto the blender.”

“AW, MAN.”

Suddenly, everything was normal again. Except for Choso - definitely not Choso. 

Mom? 

So utterly, completely not Choso when everyone’s still talking downstairs, and he’s not. Making some cheap excuse about a ‘bathroom break’, which really didn’t explain why he covertly drags you behind him by the hand. All but shoving you into his childhood bedroom, shutting the door as quietly as he could without alerting anyone of your tryst. 

“Ch-Cho-” you squeal when he pushes you against the wall, dropping down to his knees with a fervor that makes you wince. But if it hurt, then Choso doesn’t show it - doesn’t show anything but pure need when he bunches your dress up at your waist. Soft tongue darting out to glide along your drenched slit, “What’s gotten- hngh- into you?”

The only response you get is a murmured growl of something you can’t bother deciphering. And he doesn’t give you any other, either - sluggishly nudging away your panties to admire your glistening cunt. 

So close. Just hovering over your puffy folds, smiling at the way they only get wetter at his hot breath, “Five.”

Too close. Glossy pink lips falling slack to wrap around your clit and-

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

Though, it was more of a bang. And an even louder voice from outside, “OI, you brats better be decent, gramps found some dusty old albums n’ wants you two down.”

---

9:02PM.

“Awww, this is from his first fight with Yuji- yes, Choso so what if I took a picture?” Jin excitedly points to a photo on the page, “Yuji was the one with a bruise, but Choso was the one bawling.”

You titter at the glossy picture, a confused-looking Yuji as a toddler, being smothered by his older brother in a hug - big, fat tears running down his pouty cheeks. Adorable. And somehow that encounter with the fortune teller today rings in your mind - wonder if your kids would have those same eyes?

“As cute as ever, huh?” your gaze dances across all the gems of childhood on the page. 

“Disagreed.” Sukuna leans over, no matter how much he’d like to pretend he wasn’t interested in these albums. “Look how attached the lil’ anklebiter used to be.” A painted nail pokes at one of Choso on his uncle’s shoulders, tiny fists happily gripping onto pink hair - much to his disgruntlement. “And then I look over at him now and-” He glances over at the man in question, very much unamused. “Well. That’s disappointing.”

Choso rolls his eyes, “What’s disappointing is how you’re this old but still can’t find a-” 

“Ooo look this is from when he’d run away during bath time!”

That album is snatched so fast out of Jin’s hands that you wonder whether it might just be your imagination. But you look over at a red-faced Choso, seeing him hold it way above your heads. Muttering out a hasty, “I think that’s enough photo time.”

Amidst the collective groans of disappointment - even Sukuna lets out a low huff, you hadn’t gotten to those ugly matching Halloween costume pictures yet - only Yuji speaks up, “Do you think I’d be like that, too?”

Sukuna scoffs, “What? An emo bastard? Might just work out for ya, kid, the dumbass look isn’t doing you any favors.”

Yuji juts his chin in indignance, “No- we already have Fushiguro for that.” Tilting his head over to the album still tight in Choso’s clutches. “Do you think your kids would like me? Would I be that cool favorite family member?”

“No way, brat. It’ll be me.”

Choso’s grandpa also chimes in as well, “Huh? No, I’d be the favorite.”

“Gramps-”

“Says who?”

“DISRESPECT TO YOUR ELDERS!”

“Hey!” Everything turns to Choso, startled at his sudden outburst. Tension crackling as he pokes a thumb at his chest, “I’d be their favorite. For all five of them.”

And you knew a fist or two to be thrown, hell, you half-expected the album to be used as some type of weapon. Because before you knew it, Sukuna was on Yuji, and both Yuji and Choso were on Sukuna. Falling to the floor in a tangled pile while his grandpa sat on the sidelines, chanting an elated, “Fight! Fight! Fight!”

Ah, it’s times like this that you wonder how Jin Itadori really had the patience. Because with all the grace that was lacking in the current scuffle on the living room floor, he claps his hands loudly. “Alright. Perhaps Choso’s right, that’s enough photo time for tonight.” He plucks the album out of a dazed Choso still gripping onto it, before moving to walk out. “And for the record-” Flashing you all a devious smile which suddenly had you remember that shit, him and Sukuna were twins, after all. “-I’d be the favorite.”

The arguments that followed were ones you had to record on your phone to giggle at later. And, yet, through it all, the only thing you could truly focus on were Choso’s words - all five of them.

Fuck. You were truly, irrevocably so fucked, and one sideglance at the pretty pink blush burning at the tips of Choso’s ears told you he wasn’t faring any better. 

You jolt when his hand wraps around your waist - nothing out of the ordinary - but what was was the way he strayed past their usual perch at your hip, trailing slightly above to just caress your stomach. Something so electric in those eyes when they catch yours briefly. 

All five of them, huh?

---

9:37PM. 

SLAM!

“Cho, why’d you-”

“Shut up.”

You don’t know what’s hitting you first - his lips crashing against yours, or the realization that this was Choso. Dark eyes half-lidded, skin burning, breaths heaving with the fervor he was drinking you in with. 

“What-” you yelp when he pulls away lazily to suck on your lower lip. “What got-” Only to come clashing back down again, drawing out all the air in your lungs as he blindly shoves the two of you against the nearest wall. “What got into you this- mmpf-” And again it’s like Choso didn’t want you to talk - could bare another word in your sweet voice for fear of poking some deep, visceral part of himself awake. 

This time, not even daring to break the kiss, he pants into your open mouth, “Shut up.” So bruisingly sloppy, “Please.”

And oh he was so very determined to have it that way, because all you can do is let out breathless gasps when his hands dance down your body. Handling you so rough with the way he snaps the neckline of your cute lil’ dress, kneading your breasts, your hips. Everywhere and anywhere he could reach until he makes his way down to cup your already-damp cunt through your panties. “-because tonight m’gonna have her talking.”

Choso pushes his hips against yours with a strained grunt. Lips curling into a sinful leer when all you can do is gasp at the outline of his thick erection through his pants. Grinding down onto his palm subconsciously, dragging your sloppy pussy. 

“Shit.” Choso immediately brings his hand up to admire - now all glistening with a sheen of your syrupy slick. Looking you right in your glassy eyes as he pops a wet finger into his mouth. His own rolling to the back of his head, “Oh shit.”

Oh, he was going to enjoy this. So very, very much.

“Turns out…” he trails off, cutting himself off by dropping to his knees. Hard. Large hands groping your ass closer to his greedy mouth, “-she says we got some unfinished business.”

You whine when Choso hooks an index underneath the mound of your drenched panties sliding it along your puffy folds. All the way up until he was nudging at your pretty clit, then down, down, down until you were just coating his fingers. 

“Ngh- Cho-” your knees weaken, when his hot breath hits your pussy. And he notices - of course he does. Circling his muscled arms around your legs to hold you up, “Oh my god s’too much.”

Too much? He’s barely even getting started. And he tells you that - slurs it between his sharp canines biting down on the thin fabric of your panties. He tugs with his teeth, “M’gonna- fuck you smell so heavenly- m’gonna ruin you.” 

You whimper in disbelief. Knowing he was too entranced with your cunt to tease you again, you mewl, “Wh-what’s got you this- fuck- worked up, Cho?”

The only response you get is a throaty growl - like the mere idea of the answer to that has Choso losing his sanity. 

And, honestly he feels like he’s lost it already. Instead, taking his time to watch the way your slick beads through the see-through fabric with each passing second. Breaths coming out in little puffs as he pulls your panties back every-so-slightly and-

“Fuck!”

And then he’s pulling - ripping your poor panties to shreds. Cock twitching wildly at the strings of slick connecting your pussy to the fabric. Mouthwatering. 

Your panties lay in tatters on the floor. The cold air hitting you right along with his steady stream of saliva. Once. Twice. Smearing it across your folds with his thumbs as Choso repeats a single, jagged whisper, “Five.”

But you barely even have the time to register his response before he’s diving nose-deep into your dripping cunt. You don’t even know if he took the time to breathe - hell, he was kissing your puffy folds like he didn’t need to breathe. 

“Shouldn’t have taken me to ngh- that fortune shop.” his lips mesh sloppily with yours. “Shouldn’t have gone to dinner, too.” Licking down your folds, the cold metal of his piercing making your head spin. “Fuckkk we shouldn’t have. Ohhh we shouldn’t have- ”

He can’t help but let out a guttural, fucked-out little grunt at the sight. Looking right up into your glassy eyes as the tip of his nose bumps against your throbbing clit. On purpose. 

You buck your hips deeper into his pretty face, mewling. “O-oh. Fuck- fuck fuck fuck-” Letting him lick so filthily all over your clit - your folds - just barely dipping into your hole like he couldn’t decide. And it finally sets in that just maybe you weren’t getting off easy this time. “Five?”

And fuck you can feel the way Choso grins against your pussy, wrapping his now-glossy lips around your clit to suck so harshly.

“Mhmmm.” he moans, cheeks hollowing as he tugs on your poor, ravaged clit. Rolling his tongue - the ball of his piercing - right across the sensitive bud in just the way he knew you liked. “Shouldn’t have put those thoughts in my head, baby.”

Oh.

Oh, shit. Five. 

You definitely weren’t making it out alive today.

The same sentiment seems to ring in Choso’s pussydrunk head as he pulls away with a lewd squelch to grin up at you. So fucking pretty with his eyes miles away, hair messily framing his smudged eyeliner. Lips all puffy and glistening, your slick covering the lower half of his face, his chin - some even on his jaw like Choso was trying to get messy on purpose. “Ya finally got it, baby? I could feel her gettin’ wetter.”

You did. How could you not?

You jump when Choso reattaches his lips, this time bullying his tongue past your folds, into that first, feeble ring of resistance. Stretching out your sopping entrance on his tongue in persistent, rough pushes. “Seems she hngh- really likes the idea, hm? Of me breeding this lil’ cunt?” he moans, muffled with the way he was thrusting his tongue deeper and deeper with each second. Roaming for those cute sensitive spots he knew so well, “N’ who am I to say no to the fuck- mother of my kids?”

“There! Oh my god there-” you cry when his piercing just hits at your g-spot. “I-I thought you ngh- didn’t want kids, Cho–”

As if to prove you wrong, Choso’s only curling his tongue deeper into your walls. Squeezing past your walls to fuck you exactly the way he wanted to with his aching cock right now. Hitting that magic spot again and again and-

“Oh yeah? Seems-” Like he was fucking addicted, Choso surges forward again. And again. And again and again so deep that you could feel the curve of his chin, each and every movement of his jaw. “Seems the last five hours were a bit- eye-opening. Fuck- you’re squeezin’ me s’fucking- mmf- tight”

And it was true - your walls were milking Choso’s tongue so hard you half-lucidly wondered whether it didn’t hurt. Whether his tongue wasn’t cramping up at this point, lips aching. 

But if they did, then Choso acted the exact opposite. Nails leaving neat little patterns on the plush of your hips as he makes you ride his face harder. 

“Cho!” you buck your hips wildly when that wasn’t enough for your needy boyfriend either. Big, fat tears of overstimulation rising up to your eyes when he swipes his thumb across your pulsing clit. Rings cold against your cunt when he starts to draw urgent, messy little circles in time with his tongue.“Oh fuck-” 

“Five.” he’s spitting into your cunt when your thighs start trembling beside his head. Jaw sagging open so lewdly as he gets faster - sloppier. Fuck any rhythm or reason. “Five.” he moans, sounding as strained as you felt - as taut as a tightrope right now with each drag of your sloppy cunt over Choso’s ravenous mouth. Greedier - letting your slick run all the way down his wrist now with how messy he was getting. “Five.” he whispers, when you finally cum. 

And shit, you’re such a vision when you do. Tears springing to your eyes, fingers tightening on Choso’s hair. Letting out such cute sobs of his name, hips moving out of control all over his mouth while he still pulls and pushes his tongue into your gummy walls. Fucking you so obscenely through your high. 

“Yeah? You all done with the first one, baby?” he rasps, giving your sensitive cunt one, last peck at your delirious nod - and another extra, just to watch you squirm. “Then-” Choso does the same up your body, pressing his lips to your stomach, “-you can-” the valley of your breasts. “-take responsibility.”

That’s all it takes for Choso to easily throw you onto his sculpted shoulders like some ragdoll. Taking long, urgent steps towards the nearest flat surface - that just so happened to be your couch. 

“Cho- slow-” you squeal when he throws you onto the cushions. “-down.”

And he does anything but. Barely paying attention to your zipper when he pulls off whatever’s left of your dress, throwing it god-knows-where behind him. “I’ll buy you a new one when we go pregnancy shopping.”

Choso lets out a long, strained groan when he unbuckles your bra. “Gonna be so pretty as a mama.” Large, soft hands coming to knead and guide your pretty nipples into his mouth, “Gonna be- fuck- so pretty with these all full.” 

And you can only watch, jaw-dropped, as Choso sucks on your tits. Eyes rolling to the back of his head with how harsh he was - as if he was trying to get out milk. Needing to feel it - to taste it on his tongue. 

“And this- oh this-” A hand sneaks its way down to splay out over your stomach. Pressing down, hard. “So round and full with my kid.” He manages to grit out over the metal clinking of his belt, “They’ll look at you and all they’ll see is me.” He pauses, feeling something crinkle in his pocket - a shiny condom. One that Choso chucks along with your dress, “Fuck, they’ll see me. Know how I ruined you. Me me me me-”

Fuck- 

You’re so caught up in Choso’s sinful little mutters that you barely even noticed he’d pull down his pants - just enough for his rock-hard erection to spring free. And he looked so painfully hard, such an angry red at his weeping tip, leaking all the way down, down, down those prominent veins. 

Twitching upwards at the mere sound of your voice, “Why don’t you p-prove it then, Cho?”

You broke him. You were sure you broke him. 

The words have barely left your lips before Choso’s fist is squeezing at the drenched base of his cock. Angry. Desperate. 

All but cumming on the spot when he glides his fat head along your slit - letting your cunt drool all over him before-

“F-fuck-”

“Shhh baby, I know I know.” his mouth crashes against yours in a messy, open-mouthed kiss. Sucking on your tongue while he bullies his massive cock into your snug cunt. Inch by fucking inch. And whatever’s remaining of Choso’s sanity knows he should slow down, let you breathe, maybe stretch you out more - but how could he when he physically can’t. “Fuck- too- too good. God, I have t-to do this more often.”

Your raw cunt too heavenly that he genuinely can’t stop his hips from splitting you apart deeper, from spreading your thrashing legs so far apart it burned.

From feeling the way you’re torn between taking more and flattening your feet to push away- Letting out a strangled groan, “No no no no no- don’t you take this pussy away. How else will I breed her?” He runs his delirious mouth, strong arms just dragging you across the couch back onto his mean cock. “Need this- need this so bad. Fuck-” Choso throws his head back as your cunt sucks up his leaky tip. “-oh god think m’gonna die if I don’t get to breed this pretty pussy. To give her my kid.”

Pushing in small, sharp jabs to bully himself inside, having your puffy folds bulge so obscenely around his cock. Quivering and struggling to take him all. Not even a quarter of the way in yet he was pushing in and out in and out in and-

“Oh- please-” you claw down his toned back, his waist, onto the biceps that were pushing your knees up for easier access, all the way until they were at your tits. Folding you into a tight mating press, “Cho–”

Ah, that little nickname always did things to him. And Choso nuzzles the crook of your neck gently - the exact opposite of his hips, leaving faint, dark streaks of eyeliner on your skin. “What is it? What do you hngh- want, baby? I’ll give ya anything.”

And maybe you were a mastermind. Maybe you were an idiot. Because you hum into his ear, sending goosebumps rising down your boyfriend’s spine, “Wan’ five of them.”

If you thought you broke him before then you fucking ruined him now.

Because in one, harsh thrust he’s bottoming out - feeling like he was pushing all the way into your lungs, your hazy brain. And the stretch - fuck. You could feel each and every dip and curve of Choso’s girth, thrumming against your plushy walls. Still pushing inside you despite bottoming out, stretching you out like such a slut. 

It was all Choso could do to echo, over and over like some type of mantra. “Finally- Five, huh? Five- Fuck!” Leaving little bruises on your thighs from spreading them apart so hard. “Gonna give you five- fuck- five.”

Each word was punctuated by a long, mean thrust, not daring to reel back until Choso could feel his fat head kiss your poor cervix, and his heavy balls smack against your ass. 

It was starting to take a toll on your ability to speak in coherent sentences - as expected, of course. 

“Oh- ngh- Cho, s’too deep. Too- ah-” you blubber tearily, heels digging into his shoulders. And he only fucks you harder into the couch. Bouncing you so rough on his swollen cock. 

“Too deep?” Choso mutters, sounding genuinely surprised. As if to confirm for himself, he trails up a hand to feel for where he knew he was leaving loving little marks on your cervix. Pressing down. “How are ya- hah- how are ya gonna let me breed this cute cunt if even this is too deep, huh?”

You don’t have the ability to answer even if you wanted to - because Choso starts to toy with your still-sensitive clit. Sending flashes of white-hot pleasure with each roll of his ringed thumb over it. Tiny, incessant circles.

He coos over your lewd ah! ah! ah! “Awww. My baby can’t s-speak anymore?”. The curve of his dick fucking you so dumb, massaging your tight walls, hitting sweet spots you didn’t even know you had. “S’alright, jus’ let me hah- take care of it, okay? Jus’ let me paint this oh- heavenly pussy white.” Choso’s knees dig into the cushion as he angles his hips ever-so-slightly to hit that one-

“Fuck! Oh fuck- Cho–”

Found it.

“C’mon, baby.” Choso moans into the valley of your breasts, hips out of control now. Free hand coming up to squish your cheeks together, forcing you to peer into his dark gaze. “L-look at me. Fuck- look at the future father to your kids.”

All while his thick tip hit your g-spot over and over and- 

And oh how he loved how fucked-out you looked already. Capable of only giving him bleary, cockdrunk heart-eyes as he milks himself on your sloppy cunt. He couldn’t think straight - doesn’t think he’s been able to since five hours ago. 

Since he’s been wrecked with thoughts of how he’d do their hair and you’d pick them up from school. And how Yuji would be the best uncle and- Fuck, how he wanted those five kids with you - maybe even more- 

“More?” you gasp. And Choso lets out a guttural groan when you clench so sinfully around him in surprise. Fucking you so filthy, “M-more kids?”

Choso only drawls out a low, “Mhmmmm.” Pinching your clit faster between two fingers to shut up those cute whines because shit- he could cum from just how tight you were squeezing him. But refuses to before the mother of his kids. “Ya don’ ngh- wan’ me to? Don’ want me to fuck a baby into you?” 

You’re crying out harder when he speeds up. Rocking your sloppy cunt so harshly, making sure your poor pussy will remember him for a long, long time. Just trying - needing - to make himself cum. To fill you up with his seed till you can’t take it anymore. “I- ngh- do!”

And it takes everything in Choso to pull away from your ravaged tits, connecting his sweaty forehead with yours. Whispering, “How many?”

“As- fuck-”

“Mhm?”

“As many as you want- hngh-”

That’s all it takes for Choso’s body to bow, teeth digging in right above that rapid pulse on your neck so hard you wondered whether it drew blood. Hips stuttering, giving your sensitive spot one last, harsh kiss.

This time, when you cum you see white flashes behind your eyes - or maybe that was just Choso. Because the sight of you falling apart on his dick was all it takes for him to as well. Hard. Almost painfully so. 

Eyeliner running down his cheeks now with each thick, hot rope of seed he was filling your snug cunt up with. Those cushions below the two of you the last thing on his mind right now as he holds your trembling hips still, fucking his cum deeper and deeper.

The hand on your stomach pushes down, watching awe-struck at how your bloated cunt just coats him in cum. Dribbling down the side of your puffy folds, forming a creamy ring at his base.

“Oh!“ your jaw falls slack at how animalistic it felt. At how slutty your overfilled pussy felt, drooling all down your legs - and his. Onto Choso’s painfully squeezing balls as he fucks you like an animal. Again. And again and-

Again. He was speeding his hips up again. 

Then it’s like something snaps - Choso’s restraint, your sanity, and the couch. Fuck, his hips were so harsh that the couch was sagging entirely too much on your end.

This time, wrangling your legs around Choso’s waist, lifting your limp body up into Choso’s arms before you can react - squirming at the way he still doesn’t bother to pull out. Letting your cum gush all the way down his still-hard dick. 

Hands spreading your puffy folds apart, making such a mess of cum down below as he drags himself across your walls. Like he was marking you from the inside out - and he was.

“Didn’t think we were ngh- done, did you?” Choso’s lips graze your swollen ones. “After all, I did promise five.” Softly pooling a stray tear onto his tongue, piercing burning into your heated skin. “N’ we gotta practice for that, too, right?”

---

“The photo albums, really? Honestly, dad, you might as well have just gone and just outright told them.”

The older man only waves a hand dismissively, turning back to his favorite late-night show, “I’m not getting any younger here. N’ I’d like to see some grandkids before I see the pearly gates.”

Jin only sighs, but doesn’t disagree - after all, he couldn’t deny his father what he himself has been dreaming about ever since Choso finally plucked up the courage to actually ask you out. Yet he persists, “But honestly, Sukuna - you were teasing him a bit too much.”

Sukuna grunts, “Teasing? What teasing?” Crossing two big arms across his chest, “From the way they ran outta here, I suspect he should be thanking me.”

“Well, the true MVP - as the kids say - is this one-” Grandpa Itadori points at a rather oblivious Yuji. ‘Real nice improv to the plan, kid.“

Who only shakes his head before looking around the room for any answers, “Huh, wait. What plan? Did I miss some plan?”

“Ahem- no. Nothing.” Jin coughs, swiftly moving along the conversation above Yuji’s confused protests about what secret plan there was and why. “But, really, it should be that fortune teller you hired, Sukuna. Bit over-the-top honestly, but Choso was telling me all about her and you must’ve gotten a real convincing actress.”

Rolling his eyes, “Huh, I didn’t hire her, I thought that was the ol’ man’s work?”

“Now why would I go looking for actresses, my wife would just haunt me from the grave.”

The silence that follows is a heavy one as it slowly dawns upon everyone in the room - except for a still-floundering Yuji - that this was in no way a creative improvisation to the aforementioned plan. Not at all, really.

Oh. 

Wow. Five…really?!

“GUYS WHAT WAS THE PLAN?”

A/N. This got wayyyyyy longer than I expected lmao.

Plagiarism not authorized.

Brick by Brick

You have his favourite tea on hand. You ask him what he'd like for dinner this weekend. One time you opened the door for him within seconds of buzzing, like you'd been as eager for his visit as he was.  And maybe most devastating of all: you routinely start making too much food for even Simon to finish. 

tags: 🔞construction worker simon/neighbour reader, unprotected piv, oral (f receiving), size kink, brief mention of simon's childhood abuse

part 1 | part 2

After that things shift, just a little. You still sit with Simon while he works, handing him tools he teaches you the names of; still try to convince him to get pay for his work around the house. 

But you have his favourite tea on hand. You ask him what he'd like for dinner this weekend. One time you opened the door for him within seconds of buzzing, like you'd been as eager for his visit as he was. 

And maybe most devastating of all: you routinely start making too much food for even Simon to finish. 

“Thought you might want some leftovers for lunch,” you tell him, holding out two tupperware boxes. “If you're working those long hours you have to eat right, you know?” 

When Simon opens them at home, just before tucking them away in his work bag for tomorrow, his chest clenches. It's not just leftovers. There's dried beef jerky, a pack of crackers that go well with coffee, and a fist-sized chunk of banana bread. And— 

A little note. 

His heart hammers against his chest when he unfolds it. It's nearly dark out, crickets chirping soft and low somewhere beneath the window. The only sound in his kitchen is the ticking of a clock. 

Good luck today! Don't work too hard :)  

“Christ,” he mumbles, fingers tracing over the ink. Pretty. Like you. Like every fucking thing you do. 

Summer is nearing its end, and Simon is running out of excuses. Part of him feels proud to see the house shape up to the best it can be, but over the months the boxes have nearly all disappeared. He knows—has helped you unpack God knows how many books. Helped you put together a new bookcase, even. 

But if he's no longer useful, what's keeping you from closing your door on him? Dread rises sharp and fast in Simon's throat when he thinks about a dark, cold home waiting for him as his only company. He passes your door on the way home, more often than not sees your silhouette against the warm light of your window. Illuminating the hard dirty edges of him.  

You've started feeding him, this big mean watchdog, and he might choke on his leash if you stop now. 

“Hello, what is that?”   

Simon sharply yanks his lunch away from Johnny's grabby paws.  

“None f’your business.” 

“Is that bloody banana bread? You've got to be fuckin’ me.” 

“That's homemade,” Kyle says unhelpfully from just behind Simon's shoulder. 

“Piss off,” Simon grumbles. 

Johnny does not, of course, piss off. Instead he grins, cheeky and wide. “Didn't know y’had a bird, Simon.” 

“Fuck,” Kyle groans. “Is that roast beef? That smells so good. Where'd you get this?” 

Johnny snorts. “More like who's he blackmailin'.” 

Simon glowers at Johnny, then says through a mouthful, “My girl.” 

If there'd been any hope of them dropping it, it's gone now. Simon realises his mistake as soon the words leave his mouth and Kyle and Johnny light up.  

They're incessant. Dog him at every opportunity—who is she? What's her name? What's she look like? Show us a photo, Simon, dinnae be so selfish. 

Simon suffers it for a week until he slams his gloves on Price's table and threatens someone's going to end up in the cement mixer by the end of the day if he doesn't do something about it. 

They quiet down after that, though they can't help but ask after you every now and then—even Price, who despite his congratulatory shoulder clap admits he wishes he had a sweet thing of his own. 

And the lunches keep going. As do the notes, every one of which Simon keeps carefully tucked away in a box at home. He didn't find one last night, and he suppresses the wave of disappointment. Maybe you forgot. Maybe you were just tired, and maybe he's grown too comfortable with your casual affection. 

So when a little piece of paper that was stuck to the bottom of the lid flutters onto the ground the next day Simon is unprepared. The two seconds of surprise cost him—Johnny dives after it like a hawk and scoops it before it's barely touched the concrete. 

“You little shit—” 

Simon's at him immediately, and Johnny, delighted by what he thinks is a funny fucking little game, twists and dodges while fumbling the note open with one hand. 

“Looking forward to dinner tonight. Be safe today,” Johnny reads before Simon snatches it from him with a hard shove to his head. “Aww, Simon, you lucky shite. C’mon, give us one o’ those cookies, aye? If you're goin’ home to a candle lit dinner.” 

“Get your own cookies,” Simon huffs, and curls one arm around his tupperware protectively while he eats. 

Looking forward.   

So is he. 

- 

“Simon!” 

Simon whips his head around and catches you stepping out of your car with a wave. You've arrived home just after him today, and his breath catches in his throat when he sees your dress flutter prettily around your legs. 

You're dressed up all nice today—must've been at university, then. Simon doesn't know which he likes better: the shorts you wear at home or the glimpse of cleavage he gets when you wear a nice work blouse. 

His dick throbs when he holds his own hand up in greeting, hanging back just to get those few extra seconds with you.  

He's not sure why today is especially bad. Probably doesn't help that every time he jacks off in the shower you're the one he thinks of, imaging your pretty lips wrapped around his cock. It's hard to resist the indulgence after a long hard day of sweating and laying brick, then coming home and only getting to look, not touch. He doesn't want to stain you with his filth, but what's he supposed to do? He wants you. 

And his desire has sat festering in the confines of his rib cage for months. It curls his hands in tight fists so he doesn't reach for you by accident the way he does in his dreams, keeps him from leaning in to taste your lips to see if they're as sweet as your cobbler pies. 

“Alright?” he asks when you get closer. You feel off, distant, and when you nod it feels like it's more for his sake than for the truth of it. 

“Yeah. Um.” You adjust the strap of the bag on your shoulder, shifting on your feet. “I wanted to let you know I can't do dinner tomorrow. I'm, um, I have a date, so...” 

The spin of the world stutters for a second.  

Simon sucks in a quiet breath. “That so.” 

“Yeah.” You look up at him with a sad little smile. Not the kind of face you'd expect from someone who just scored a date, but Simon is too wrapped up in his misery to notice. “How was your day?” 

Normal. Unsuspecting. Good, even, until you told him some twat is taking you out to dinner.  

“Fine,” he hears himself say. Adds, “Watchin’ a match tonight.”  

An excuse—an out for both of you. You won't have to feel obligated to ask him if he'd like to come ‘round for a meal, and he won't have to pretend he doesn't feel like throwing up. 

“Go Manchester,” you reply with a smile. 

Just like Simon, they don't score. 

- 

He waits up for you. It's pathetic, really—that of all things this is what gets him to dig around for a pack of smokes. Been mostly clean ever since you moved in next to him, his half-hearted attempts to quit finally mounting up to something with real resolve. 

He doesn't want to taste nicotine when he eats your meals. 

Even threw out his lighter. Which means when he finds a crushed, dust-caked pack with only one cigarette in it behind his couch he has to light it with a match and shaky hands. 

It tastes awful. But it's familiar, and sometimes he craves the burn even when he sees his dad putting out his own cigs on Simon's legs behind his eyelids. 

The evening grows colder around him, late summer skies tinted with dark purples and blues. It's quiet in the neighbourhood. He's the only one out this late—everyone else has retreated to the comfort of their homes, ready to turn in for the night. 

It should feel peaceful, but all Simon feels is anxious and on edge. Not even the smoke calms his nerves. 

Should he back off, leave you to the happiness you deserve? Throw everything away in one last shot, ask to take you out like he's wanted to forever? 

Words are no good, but he's tried so desperately to show you that he'd do just about anything if you asked. To let you know that underneath his gruff silences he doesn't bite the hand that feeds him and that he'd rip anyone else to shreds for raising a finger against you. 

Simon's head lifts when his ears pick up the rumbling of a car. Is it...? 

It is. 

Lamplight flashes over the cobbled street, and then the rumble of the engine turns off with a click. 

You're alone—thank God. Simon doesn't know what he would've done if you'd taken your date home. 

You look worn out, and not the happy kind after a successful lay. Just tired—to the point where you almost don't notice him and jump when you do. You take a startled step back from his hulking silhouette leaning against the stone little fence curling around all the houses along the street you share, before pausing and asking in a soft voice: 

“Simon?” 

And because he's a masochist he asks, “Y’have fun?” 

He expects a yes. At best a non-committal shrug—at worst an enthusiastic smile. But you look down at your shoes, chew your lip, and say, “No.” A breath. “No. It was awful. He was a twat, and he tried to feel me up under the table, and he's been hounding me at university for months, and I got so sick of it I just said yes but now I'm going to have to email HR and ugh—!”  

Your voice breaks on the last sentence and you sniffle, turning your face away from Simon so you can give it a quick wipe with the back of your hand. 

He's up on his feet in an instant, trying to take slow breaths so he doesn't act on the overwhelming urge to hunt down the wankstain and crush his fingers so he can never fucking touch you again. Your dog bites without warning or remorse, and everything in him wants to show your sad excuse of a date just how sharp his teeth are. 

But he can't. You're hurting, and that's more important than breaking some bloke's nose. 

And so Simon tries for softness as much as he's capable of it, large scarred hand hesitantly landing on your shoulder. It's all the coaxing you need to lean into his touch, and when Simon shifts a little closer your head falls on his shoulder. He burns with a different kind of fire. 

“Sorry,” you sniffle. “I'm okay, I really am, it was just such a—such a—” 

“S’alright,” Simon rasps. He pets your hair and strokes your back with a clumsy touch, unsure of how far he should, can, is allowed to go. “Y’should've called me. Would've come t’pick you up, maybe sock him a new one.”  

He'd do more than that if you'd let him. He'd take you home and made sure the only time you cried was when he worked his fat cock inside you. 

Christ, he's going to hell. 

“I didn't want to bother you,” you say in a small voice. 

“Sweetheart. You're never botherin’ me.” You let out a shaky sigh, and Simon tucks your head under his chin a little more securely. “Woulda made sure y’got home safe.” 

It's quiet, then, save for the sound of a car driving away somewhere down the road. Simon doesn't say anything else. He doesn't want to break the spell that you're under. You feel so soft in his arms, his sweet bird, finally come home to where you belong. 

“I kept wishing it was you.” Your voice is so soft he almost doesn't catch it, but before he can process it you pull yourself out of his embrace, cursing under your breath. “Sorry. Sorry—forget I said that. I'm... I'm gonna go home.” 

Simon's hand shoots out and grabs your wrist. You stare at him with big wet eyes that has the pit of his stomach swoop low. 

“Y’wish it was me?” 

His voice is low and rough, strained with want. 

Your cheeks burn and you avert your eyes, though you don't pull your hand away. “Sorry. Ignore me, I'm just...” 

“I'll take you,” Simon says a little too quickly. “Anywhere you wanna go. Dinner. Movies.” He pauses, trying to remember what people do for fun. “The library.” 

There. You hiccup a little laugh, finally, and the beginnings of a smile tug at your mouth. 

“The library?” 

Simon smiles a little, too. “Anywhere you want,” he repeats. Even the fucking library. 

Your gaze drops to your hands, and you carefully turn your palm against his. “I think I'd like that.” 

Simon swallows and lets his fingers intertwine with yours. “Yeah?” 

“I don't really care where we go, though. If it's with you.” 

Jesus bloody Christ. 

“Okay,” Simon says, voice tight. “Alright. We'll—we'll figure it out. We'll go somewhere.” A breeze hits you as he says it, and you shiver. “...Right now let's just get you home.” 

You nod, the fatigue overtaking your features again. Simon walks you all the way to your door, squints against the night sensor he installed himself. 

You hover in the doorway before opening your mouth, closing it, then take a small step forward to rise on your toes. Simon's heartbeat kicks up under your hand where you steady yourself on his chest, and then he feels your lips press against his cheek. It's his bad one, the one with the nasty scar from a bar fight long ago. 

“Thanks,” you say softly. 

“Yeah,” he manages, tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth. “’Course.” 

The door closes with a soft click.  

- 

When you mention wanting to hike out on a trail nearby Simon, true to his word, makes it happen. It's not so bloody hot anymore and it's nice, hearing the birds chirp overhead. Nice to exist in a world where everything is washed in shades of mottled green, hearing the dirt crunch under his feet.  

It relaxes him. Makes his muscles untense. You promised him a picnic at the end of the trail, and to Simon's delight he succeeds in coaxing you to feed him bites of your homemade sandwiches in the midst of tall grass and meadow flowers. 

When you get home, sweat and sun lingering on your skin, Simon has full intentions of dropping you off at your doorstep and wishing you a good night. Maybe get another kiss if he's lucky. 

And he does—but you linger, soft lips hovering over his cheek. His fingers curl and uncurl against his sides, waiting and wondering. 

“Please kiss me?” you breathe on his skin, and that's all it takes. 

He surprises himself with the intensity of it, but fucking hell, he's wanted you for so long. His shoulders hunch, neck bent low, and he slots his mouth over yours. Your little fingers grab at his shirt for balance, and he pushes you against your doorframe. Every time he pulls away you make a small noise of protest and chase his lips, and though Simon hasn't had a drop of alcohol today he feels well on his way to hammered. 

“Do you want to—please come inside—?” 

Simon groans and rests his forehead against yours. Fuck. “I want to—want t’do this right,” he rasps. 

You exhale with a shaky breath. Your cheeks are flushed, eyes glittering like stars. Simon's stomach lurches at seeing you want him. “Right, um. Of course. I just—I've thought about... about you. For a—a really long timmf—” 

Simon groans into your mouth. He cups your cheeks, one hand sliding to hold you at the back of your neck. A sweat breaks out along his spine when he imagines you at night, in your bedroom, fucking yourself with your little fingers. Whimpering his name... 

“Yeah? Y’want me to take you to bed, sweetheart?” he murmurs, and you shiver. 

The two of you barely make it past the door until Simon is stealing the breath from your lungs again. He's wanted this for so long it's a little hard to stop, even if it's to break apart for air. Miraculously you seem to want it as much as he does, seem as desperate for his touch as he is for yours. 

When has anyone wanted him this bad? When has he ever felt like he'd die on the spot if he didn't get inside you right the fuck now? 

He doesn't need to ask you where the bedroom is. This place has felt his touch almost as much as yours, has shaped up into a cosy little home that is part of him, too. Like he wants to be part of you. 

Simon simply scoops you up and carries you straight to bed, forgetting to be gentle when he deposits on the mattress. His head is buzzing, his heart is thundering, and he needs you now.  

Fortunately you don't seem to mind much. Your hands immediately fly to his belt, tug at the metal impatiently, then fumble with his zipper with trembling hands. Simon pulls your top over your head, throws it somewhere on the floor without a care followed by his own. 

“Lie back,” he husks, and makes quick work of your trousers. Pauses just for a second to take in the growing wet patch of your panties. 

“Simon,” you whine softly. 

He drops to his knees and slides his large hands over your thighs, transfixed. He smooths over the goosebumps on your legs, presses a kiss to your knee. 

“Want me t’take these off?” he rasps, snapping the band of your panties. You lift your hips in silent assent. Simon helps you shimmy off your underwear and suppresses a moan when a string of sticky arousal clings to the fabric—then follows it right to the source. 

You gasp when he kisses your folds before gently spreading them with big warm fingers. “Sweet little cunt,” Simon mutters, and then he goes to town. 

He starts with slow, wet licks, feeling out what you like and what's too much. He keeps it light for a while just to feel you squirm and to hear your breathing turn ragged, then backs off just when your knees start trembling. He smiles when you whimper his name with a desperate little “please". 

“Such good manners.” His breath washes over your clit, and your hips try to twitch away from him. “Proper sweetheart, yeah?” 

It's great fun, playing with you, but his cock is throbbing painfully and he's leaking everywhere, and he very much intends for you to end the night feeling so blissed out you let him sleep next to you. 

So Simon hoists you closer, hooks your thighs over his shoulder, and sucks on your clit until you're sobbing his name. He holds your hips down by splaying one big hand over your stomach because you're a sensitive little thing, bucking away from him when he's not nearly done with you yet.  

It's cute, seeing you lose yourself to the pleasure. It's also really fucking hot. Simon slowly pushes one finger in you and groans when you clench around him. 

“Simon,” you whimper. “Oh, please, please—” 

Such a good girl, begging without him telling you to. Simon crooks his finger, and your next breath is a stutter of moans before your whole body tenses and you cum on his tongue. 

Simon hums approvingly, keeping his motions slow and steady so you ride it out all the way. When you whine and wriggle away from him he lets up, wiping at your slick covering his chin. 

Best meal you've cooked him by far. 

“Oh,” you sigh. “That was... Give me—give me a minute...” 

Simon chuckles and rises from his knees to crawl over you and steal a kiss. “Feelin’ good, princess?” 

“Princess—” you let out a breathless laugh, but even in the low light of your nightstand lamp Simon sees the colour rise in your cheeks. Liked that, did you? You blink up at him, a sweet satisfied smile on your lips. “Mhm. So good. Come here?” 

Your hands trail over his sides, stroke over the light hair trailing down his stomach. Simon shudders when your knuckles brush over his cock and he shucks off his trousers further to give you better access. 

When you wrap your hand around him he drops his head into the crook of your shoulder and moans. The twitch of his hips is involuntary, too desperate to chase his pleasure to stay put. 

“Next time,” you whisper while pulling him forward, spreading your legs wider to fit around his hips, “I want to feel you in my mouth.” 

“Jesus,” he groans. It takes everything in him to not just slide in. “We need a condom?” 

“I'm clean,” you murmur against his jaw. “On birth control. If you want we can—” 

“Fuck yeah I do,” Simon says, and you laugh. Soft eyes when your hands slide over his shoulders, brush through the short hair on his neck. Simon watches your face while he lines himself up without blinking, and he's rewarded with the flutter of your eyelashes, the parting of your soft lips. 

Your brows scrunch together at the first few inches, and he kisses you sweetly to make you relax. Simon knows he's not small, and he groans when you clench around him. 

“Good girl,” he whispers against your hair. “Good girl. Just like that, yeah? Takin’ it real well. Just like that.” 

He slides in a little deeper. You shiver and mewl and beg him for more, and he gives it to you. Anything you want.  

“Simon,” you whimper. “Feels so—oh, you feel so good. More, please, please—?” 

Simon brushes the hair from your forehead, keeping his thrusts long and slow and making sure to kiss your cervix each time, just because your breath stutters so prettily every time he does. 

“Fuck,” he groans. “Fuck, you're so—such a tight little cunt. Couldn't wait any longer, could you? Jus’ had to have me?” 

You nod immediately and empathically, eyes glassy with arousal. You try to answer him, but the only thing you manage are airy moans that sound like his name. 

That's alright. Don't need to talk. He knows what you want to say; he feels the same. Simon catches you in a messy kiss while lacing his fingers with yours. Yours. Mine.  

He shoves his free hand between your two bodies and finds your clit, circling it until he's found the right rhythm that has tears gathering in your eyes. He could live on that for the rest of his life, of hearing you mindlessly stuttering his name while your body tenses up and your head drops back and those pretty lips part in a choked moan— 

“Christ,” Simon grits through his teeth, sweat dampening his brow. Your cunt flutters around him, soft little flower in full bloom that, with another thrust or two, has him falling apart as well. 

Both of you moan at the feeling of his cum spurting hot and thick in your waiting womb. Simon rocks against you slowly to make sure you get every last drop—birth control or not. 

He kisses you on the comedown. You melt into his touch, butter and honey, running your fingers through his hair until Simon shifts you around so you're curled up against him. 

In another minute he'll get up and get you a washcloth before tucking you in and kissing your bare shoulders. He'll wrap himself around you before sleep takes you, make sure that he's the last thing you see and hear and touch. 

For now he lets himself bask in the present. In having a sweet little bird clinging to him for comfort and giving him more than he could ever ask for in return. 

Simon doesn't think you quite realise what you've gotten yourself into, in giving this big ugly watchdog your affection. He's not a king or a prince; not even a knight, not like the ones you read so much about. Simon wouldn't exactly call himself chivalrous or genteel. 

But he's just as devoted and twice as vicious. He'll belong to you, and you to him, and from the moment he saw you he was oath-bound. 

He'll have to steal a ring or two to measure which size is right. It'll take some work to knock down the walls between your two houses, but he'll ask the lads for help. Simon knows you'll win them over right away if you cook dinner or bake them something sweet. 

And maybe in time he'll have to try his own hand at baking. He always did want to put a bun in the oven, and Simon just knows that if you're the one to do it with him— 

It'll come out perfect. 

GHOST WHO runs his calloused fingers through the fabrics of the clothes you folded for him: now gingerly placed in his duffle bag for another month of service. Neat and compact just the way he liked it.

GHOST WHO has to push the delectable taste of your cooking another plate away as his taste buds prepare for stale food kept in plastic bags, despite the ache festering in his stomach.

GHOST WHO always drops you off to work the day or two before he leaves: admiring the radiance of your face amongst street lights and the upward curve of your smile like the delicate bend of a crescent moon. He'll squeeze your hand before you slip through his fingers, not before tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, not before the wind whirls and spins; taking him away.

GHOST WHOSE tongue festers bitterness because he knows you're assistant and students will smile and laugh at your jokes and come to you for support because of your tenderness to the world: to which he has learned was your highest virtue, a weapon of undoing to his bruised soul. He'll clench his fist and furrow his eyebrows because he knows the cafe's barista will ask you more 'How are you?' than himself, he knows the youth living down the road will banter with you more as you share a cake you can't finish on your own, he knows the woman walking her dog every Saturday will acknowledge you more than he has in a month. He knows he won't be part of the small moments scattered about your life. He knows it damn well.

GHOST WHO seldom mentions you around anyone, even t141. Initially, it was all about your security: to keep the spark in your eyes aflame, it always is of course. However, amongst the dim lights of a bar, the rest drunk on the fleeting rush of victory and memoria, he'll make sure to silence the thrashing beat of his heart and the desperate desire crawling up his throat to join in on the drunken yearning and say: "I miss my wife."

GHOST WHO returns home to either your waking body or sleeping flesh. The cycle repeats anew.

cod masterlist. / similar posts

⤷ omg! first post of the blog. got a little angst out here... hope you enjoyed it. reblogs and comments are highly appreciated!

a.n. - small mention of sex in here, mdni!

boxer!toji, who ups his flaunting when he starts dating you. he sees you sitting in the stands, cheering him on, and he throws his punches a little harder, showing off specifically for you.

boxer!toji, who loves when you carefully inspect his bruises and scrapes after a fight, loving how you kiss them softly. how tender you are to treat his wounds, making him feel more and more loved by the day. you chip away at his heart, and he's appreciative of the patience and tenderness you show him.

boxer!toji, who aims to win every fight, intent on getting the money to spend it on you. even if you insist that he doesn't have to do constant fights, because you get stressed about his well-being, he brushes you off, saying it makes him feel good to win, to spend his earnings on you.

boxer!toji, who brings you into the ring before his match, kissing you deeply, even in front of the cameras, claiming you're his good luck. he brings you in after the match is won for another kiss, saying your good luck kiss helped him win.

boxer!toji, who brings you to his training building, bringing you into the old ring to have a small work out session with you. he loves hearing you laugh when you hold up the pads for him to hit, running around for him to chase you. he lives for when he doesn't have to make boxing super serious, always giving a small laugh when he's with you.

boxer!toji, who after a heated argument with you, is off his game and gets knocked out. he wakes up in the on sight emergency room, to a very worried you, who's apologizing for the entire fight as you check over him. he smirks, pulling you in for a kiss, apologizing gruffly on his end as well, swearing to you that he'll be more careful.

boxer!toji, who runs off adrenaline after a match, and carries that energy back to you afterward. adrenaline that you know that will last all night, his stanima lasts for a long while.

boxer!toji, who isn't scared to start any amount of fights with a man who flirts with you in front of him. he's easily jealous, and he has the fight skills to go after any man who is making you uncomfortable with their flirting.

boxer!toji, who brings you up to the stage after a match, and you think it's his regular routine of kissing you, but instead kneels on one knee to propose. he cherishes the memory of you bursting into tears and accepting the proposal.

boxer!toji, who's getting older now and officially retires from boxing. but that doesn't stop him from coaching when megumi follows in his father's footsteps, becoming a boxer as well. it makes your heart swell to see them get along, though you think that them being able to take out their anger in the ring with each other might help with that.

boxer!toji, who loves getting old next to you, proud of the life he built.

Hoping my moots and followers are all having a great day like I am ❤️

FR

Husband!Nanami who doesn’t expect anything for his birthday because you’ve both been pulling long hours at work and putting money toward savings

Husband!Nanami who comes in exhausted from another overtime shift, the scowl on his face melting away when he sees you waiting up for him with balloons and a tableful of treats from his favorite bakery

Husband!Nanami who hugs you tight and gently tells you that he didn’t need anything, only for you to respond that he deserves everything

Husband!Nanami who laughs when you come out of the kitchen with candles stuck in a loaf of bread and blows them out with a silent wish, feeling like a kid again with the way you’re pampering him

Husband!Nanami who closes his eyes when you tell him to, happily wearing a cheesy paper party hat as you count down from 10

Husband!Nanami who opens his eyes to see you standing in front of him wearing nothing but a big red bow and a shy smile

“Happy birthday, my love!”

Husband!Nanami whose heart melts, (and whose cock does the opposite) immediately standing to pull you close to him, his strong hands exploring every inch of his “present”

“All for me, beautiful? I’m too lucky.”

Husband!Nanami who pulls you into your shared bedroom and leaves all his stress at the door, groaning in relief as you rip his work clothes off until there’s nothing separating the two of you

Husband!Nanami who makes sure to show you just how grateful he is for the little celebration, neither of you noticing when it passes midnight