❝ your answers are also inside yourself. you just need to find them. ❞ - kim namjoon
ABOUT ME
hi there! leoni/noni. she/her. 21 years old. black. caribbean. a literature and anthropology student. music lover. capricorn sun and moon, scorpio rising. INFJ. an anime enjoyer—aot, jujutsu kaisen, haikyuu, etc. army. ahgase. deobi. nctzen. mixer. my dms are open to anyone, don't be shy!
i have been writing and practicing since i was about the age of 12, so this is truly a passion and some kind of dream of mine, to publish.
ೃ⁀➷ rules
i do not exclude anyone, but do not bring any negativity here, criticism is welcomed!
no racism, colourism, homophobia, xenophobia, or any bigotry, it is not welcomed here and will be rewarded with a block.
i do not write smut (nothing against it, i am just terrible at it)
i will try my best to take requests! but i will not be writing anything with stepcest, pseudocest, fauxcest, incest, noncon, infidelity (idc if it is justifiable or not) or anything along those lines!
i would prefer if minors do not interact, i do not write smut, but my works might be suggestive, so i ain't responsible for your consumption. proceed with caution.
if i am incorporating visuals, it will always be a black woman becuz i am one, BUT anyone can read my works!
he was the dark knight of the station—the brooding, raven-haired man who was cherished for decades, selflessly protecting the breadth of tokyo. the fading scars littered all over his body, kissing even the smallest parts that no one could reach or see; they proved his deeds alone. even the troubles he committed before he saved his own life.
you hated him for that. well, not hate, but he was almost too perfect. he was just too good. he was everyone's darling. handshakes at every corner, from the seniors who had seen it all in this station down to the young boys he mentored. all the women in the workplace adored him for his gentlemanly actions. little did they know how savagely he could act based on his carnality, his needs—how filthy he could be.
they all loved him, especially chief yamazaki.
everyone's darling that you have been secretly seeing for amounting days and endless hours in a shabby motel. where sheets were stained with shared fluids, emptied takeout boxes scattered across the floor—toji was yours too.
you watch him be awarded another medal for the year alone—a decoration for his bravery. he had already accumulated six trophies. chief yamazaki offered to present the man himself, eyes gleaming with a fatherly pride and slapping his hand against his shoulder. cameras flashing. acquaintances all looking and watching. his gold teeth glimmer as he flashes a smile up at the titan of a man. you watch him breezily pose for a picture, shooting a small smile at the camera. close-lipped and cool, dwarfing hands holding up the gold plaque with his name engraved. you stifle a smile that gives your feelings away, but you cannot help the way the corner of your mouth quirks upward.
it was sort of fun working with someone like toji—mind flashing with images of your thighs spread apart, his head in between. his mouth fervently working and suckling around your aroused clit for his own pleasure. hearing the sounds of slurred praises, wet sounds of skin colliding in a sinful cacophony you couldn't pry from your mind.
even the times you get distracted by his mere presence, gawking as he walks on by, so nonchalant; his muscles pressing against that fitted uniform. you were just having a conversation with the detective leading the case you were patrolling, shiu kong, when he walks by. slapping kong on the shoulder, eyes briefly meting yours.
"you with me, officer? " he teases, nudging you. your eyes peer up at shiu, profusely apologizing, with a bashful expression.
other than that…it was fun.
just not when you had spent last night screaming at each other for about an hour. something stupid and trivial, like stress piling up and killing the passion that usually accompanies both of you in that hotel room. he had been promoted to sergeant, and he was feeling generous. he upgraded the nightly rendezvous to a luxurious hotel. you weren't thinking of that. no, only the way his voice sharpens. the way he towers over you, subconsciously using his stature to assert himself. you shout back, pointing your finger in his face, pushing him away—yet somewhere inside of you wished everyone saw something else of him, like you did. where he was a bit more human. where he loses control and snaps from the pressure of being the perfect one.
shiu triggered the conversation first. the three of you were sitting in the break room, enjoying coffee while both toji and shiu enjoyed cigarettes.
"any plans for the weekend? " he shakes off specks of ashes collected at the butt of the stick, watching them fall into the ashtray. toji shakes his head, reclining, eyes peering over at you. you nod your head. certainty paints itself all over yours while silent perplexity paints itself on his. you learnt to detect that look in his eyes.
he didn't remember any special plans, other than being in that hotel room with you. nothing too different.
he was beyond confusion.
"yep. "
"oh, really? " shiu chuckles, shooting you a shit-eating smirk. you smile, sipping from your mug. "okay, so why don’t you spill? "
"…i have a date. "
the room sinks into a momentary silence, nothing but the steady thrum of feet shuffling behind the door, the air conditioning running, and you…chugging down your now lukewarm coffee.
you don't miss the way toji's jaw tightens, watching him slowly sitting up. suddenly intrigued and moved by the conversation and your indifferent answer. his fist clenches underneath the table, right on his thigh, which impatiently shudders.
"with who? what the hell? i know you're not gettin' any play before i get some. " shiu grunts out, eyes fixed on you. toji's as well—a slow infuriation blackens emerald-green, covering it in a cloak of jealousy. not envy, jealousy. he has you already. you're his in every way. in ways, whoever this motherfucker is, cannot have you. his knee accidentally knocks against the bottom of the table from his leg jumping too much, from the tension in his body shooting up. you flinch back with surprise, before amusement creeps into your eyes. shiu gazes over at him. toji doesn't care.
"you didn't answer. " toji's voice tightens, peering into your eyes, still trying to hold onto his composure. "who is this…person? “
he spits out, venomously.
"just a friend. some…guy. " you lie.
"where'd you meet 'im? " he grills.
"at some bar. " you lie again. and he's definitely losing his composure, sitting there silently seething.
"damn, at some bar, huh? you don't even drink- "
toji shoots out of his seat, tapping your shoulder—one, two, three times before he makes a beeline to the door. "needa talk to you for a second. "
yoyr eyes slightly widen. shiu stifles a laugh, before he takes a sip of his own coffee.
who the hell was this guy? where do you get off with this random? you were his. only. he didn't care anymore; that scares him, while it excites you. something nestled deep inside yearned to see him unravel, to see him be real, like he was inside that motel, when he's smiling freely at his crude jokes or smothering you in the morning with cuddles and annoyingly sloppy kisses. to see him do all of this over you. he rarely…did this, meaning lose his grip on who he was professionally, but the dynamic, the way he silently craves you- he couldn't let this slide. especially in the way he launches the door too forcefully. especially in the way he storms off, heading outside.
you follow. of course. smirking. oh no, but the smirking falters when you exit into the sweltering heat and your back meets the wall—firm- before his lips are on yours.
"who is he? " he mutters against the plushness of your lips and the heat in between.
"toji- "
"look what you make me fuckin' do, woman. you're happy about this shit, i bet. " his teeth sink into your bottom lip, soothing the bite with his languid tongue. you nod. "you like havin' a hold on me? "
"toji, wait- " his hands move quickly to undo your pants. you freeze, before chuckling softly, hands halting his.
so disappointed in BTS rn for the Ai Collaboration AND now namseok going to a Chris brown concert in Toronto:/ especially for namjoon who prided himself on educating himself and reading books on the topic to then just go to the concert of an abuser is so..... I am a woman before I am army.
no girl there's nothing weird about writing older bf!toji pounding into younger gf!reader in her room while she grabs on her baby pink plushies nonono nothing weird at all
he was the dark knight of the station—the brooding, raven-haired man who was cherished for decades, selflessly protecting the breadth of tokyo. the fading scars littered all over his body, kissing even the smallest parts that no one could reach or see; they proved his deeds alone. even the troubles he committed before he saved his own life.
you hated him for that. well, not hate, but he was almost too perfect. he was just too good. he was everyone's darling. handshakes at every corner, from the seniors who had seen it all in this station down to the young boys he mentored. all the women in the workplace adored him for his gentlemanly actions. little did they know how savagely he could act based on his carnality, his needs—how filthy he could be.
they all loved him, especially chief yamazaki.
everyone's darling that you have been secretly seeing for amounting days and endless hours in a shabby motel. where sheets were stained with shared fluids, emptied takeout boxes scattered across the floor—toji was yours too.
you watch him be awarded another medal for the year alone—a decoration for his bravery. he had already accumulated six trophies. chief yamazaki offered to present the man himself, eyes gleaming with a fatherly pride and slapping his hand against his shoulder. cameras flashing. acquaintances all looking and watching. his gold teeth glimmer as he flashes a smile up at the titan of a man. you watch him breezily pose for a picture, shooting a small smile at the camera. close-lipped and cool, dwarfing hands holding up the gold plaque with his name engraved. you stifle a smile that gives your feelings away, but you cannot help the way the corner of your mouth quirks upward.
it was sort of fun working with someone like toji—mind flashing with images of your thighs spread apart, his head in between. his mouth fervently working and suckling around your aroused clit for his own pleasure. hearing the sounds of slurred praises, wet sounds of skin colliding in a sinful cacophony you couldn't pry from your mind.
even the times you get distracted by his mere presence, gawking as he walks on by, so nonchalant; his muscles pressing against that fitted uniform. you were just having a conversation with the detective leading the case you were patrolling, shiu kong, when he walks by. slapping kong on the shoulder, eyes briefly meting yours.
"you with me, officer? " he teases, nudging you. your eyes peer up at shiu, profusely apologizing, with a bashful expression.
other than that…it was fun.
just not when you had spent last night screaming at each other for about an hour. something stupid and trivial, like stress piling up and killing the passion that usually accompanies both of you in that hotel room. he had been promoted to sergeant, and he was feeling generous. he upgraded the nightly rendezvous to a luxurious hotel. you weren't thinking of that. no, only the way his voice sharpens. the way he towers over you, subconsciously using his stature to assert himself. you shout back, pointing your finger in his face, pushing him away—yet somewhere inside of you wished everyone saw something else of him, like you did. where he was a bit more human. where he loses control and snaps from the pressure of being the perfect one.
shiu triggered the conversation first. the three of you were sitting in the break room, enjoying coffee while both toji and shiu enjoyed cigarettes.
"any plans for the weekend? " he shakes off specks of ashes collected at the butt of the stick, watching them fall into the ashtray. toji shakes his head, reclining, eyes peering over at you. you nod your head. certainty paints itself all over yours while silent perplexity paints itself on his. you learnt to detect that look in his eyes.
he didn't remember any special plans, other than being in that hotel room with you. nothing too different.
he was beyond confusion.
"yep. "
"oh, really? " shiu chuckles, shooting you a shit-eating smirk. you smile, sipping from your mug. "okay, so why don’t you spill? "
"…i have a date. "
the room sinks into a momentary silence, nothing but the steady thrum of feet shuffling behind the door, the air conditioning running, and you…chugging down your now lukewarm coffee.
you don't miss the way toji's jaw tightens, watching him slowly sitting up. suddenly intrigued and moved by the conversation and your indifferent answer. his fist clenches underneath the table, right on his thigh, which impatiently shudders.
"with who? what the hell? i know you're not gettin' any play before i get some. " shiu grunts out, eyes fixed on you. toji's as well—a slow infuriation blackens emerald-green, covering it in a cloak of jealousy. not envy, jealousy. he has you already. you're his in every way. in ways, whoever this motherfucker is, cannot have you. his knee accidentally knocks against the bottom of the table from his leg jumping too much, from the tension in his body shooting up. you flinch back with surprise, before amusement creeps into your eyes. shiu gazes over at him. toji doesn't care.
"you didn't answer. " toji's voice tightens, peering into your eyes, still trying to hold onto his composure. "who is this…person? “
he spits out, venomously.
"just a friend. some…guy. " you lie.
"where'd you meet 'im? " he grills.
"at some bar. " you lie again. and he's definitely losing his composure, sitting there silently seething.
"damn, at some bar, huh? you don't even drink- "
toji shoots out of his seat, tapping your shoulder—one, two, three times before he makes a beeline to the door. "needa talk to you for a second. "
yoyr eyes slightly widen. shiu stifles a laugh, before he takes a sip of his own coffee.
who the hell was this guy? where do you get off with this random? you were his. only. he didn't care anymore; that scares him, while it excites you. something nestled deep inside yearned to see him unravel, to see him be real, like he was inside that motel, when he's smiling freely at his crude jokes or smothering you in the morning with cuddles and annoyingly sloppy kisses. to see him do all of this over you. he rarely…did this, meaning lose his grip on who he was professionally, but the dynamic, the way he silently craves you- he couldn't let this slide. especially in the way he launches the door too forcefully. especially in the way he storms off, heading outside.
you follow. of course. smirking. oh no, but the smirking falters when you exit into the sweltering heat and your back meets the wall—firm- before his lips are on yours.
"who is he? " he mutters against the plushness of your lips and the heat in between.
"toji- "
"look what you make me fuckin' do, woman. you're happy about this shit, i bet. " his teeth sink into your bottom lip, soothing the bite with his languid tongue. you nod. "you like havin' a hold on me? "
"toji, wait- " his hands move quickly to undo your pants. you freeze, before chuckling softly, hands halting his.
sweaty bodies, the loud noise of metal clanging, machines moving, being utilized and worked—you were in the gym. with your fiancé. eyes fixated on his veins protruding against his skin every time he launches the dumbbell to his chest, grunting. sweating. making you sit, totally bewitched.
his tattoos. the compression shirt saturated with sweat. his drenched hair. those darkened eyes as he was determined to walk out this building satisfied with his progress and appearance.
he’s so…hot.
“you gonna get shit done or jus’ stare at me the whole time, huh? “
your eyes widened in mild surprise from being caught. the corner of your mouth twitching with the promise of a smirk. you were unapologetic in allowing your eyes to flicker from his beefy thighs, his tatted and dampened arms to his crimson eyes peering straight at you through the mirror.
“nah. i rather…savour this sight in front of me. “ you tease softly, sitting on the bench. “don’t let me distract you- “
“well, you are. stop starin’ at me like a freak. “ his voice rolls out, husky and spent. you were going to explode.
“stop looking…so sexy and i’ll stop- “
his grunts interject perfectly as he throws the dumbbells onto the rack, glaring back at you with zero malice, slight irritation and a tinge of amusement.
for as long as you’ve known ryomen sukuna, he took pride—unrepentant and tangible, in his ability to stay fit. with a height towering above six-foot and muscles that were nearly impossible, you couldn’t miss that silent arrogance sliding off of him at your salivating mouth and widened eyes.
much like today.
but, you were supposed to be doing a few reps with him. you hadn’t done anything but stare and sing along to the radio.
and, oh, did his irritation heighten when you trail behind him as he makes a beeline for the lat pull-down machine, scaring off anyone neighboring or in his way with that intimidating frown..
“don’t bother me if you aren’t doing anythin-should’ve jus’ left your ass home. “
“quit bitching, sukuna. “ you mumble, positioning yourself beside him, watching him adjust the weights. “come on, babe. you got this. “
with sheer strength and determination, he begins to pull the handles down towards his chest, feeling his muscles tighten and stretch. the pink-haired man purses his lips, barring his teeth.
“fuck. “
“look at you. i knew you could do this, you know why- “ you snicker.
“get…away. “ sukuna grits out, punctuating each word with another glare.
“i’m encouraging you. this is the fuel you’ll need-fix your posture, babe- “
“the fuck you know about posturing and shit- “
“day one or one day, ‘kuna? which one? “ he huffs out a disbelieving chuckle that straddles between amusement and barely restrained agitation. but, it…was working. he works towards finishing the rep, begrudgingly, silently admitting your little mischievous smiles and the incessant encouragement works.
“two more, babe-there ya go! i knew you had it in you. “ you giddily smile, slapping your hand against his corded abs. feeling him twitch beneath you.
tired huffs breeze past his mouth. his chest heaves with every breath. tepid sweat trickles down the ridges of his body, down his temple, over his inked skin. he grabs the towel you lend him. takes the water bottle, guzzling the water down with his focus fixated on…you. and your distracted singing.
“so, what’s next? because this isn’t where you stop, big guy, nah…this is the beginning. “
your eyes track his movements—him putting down his water bottle, him wrapping the flimsy towel around his neck and his stature slowly standing. hovering. you see that mischievous glint, yet you don’t register his hands quickly moving towards your waist. tightening around it, before your feet leave the ground.
“sukuna, you mother-let me down. “ you nearly shriek, hitting his back with your fists. like his back was not a brick wall in itself.
and so effortlessly, all so seamlessly, he drapes your body over his shoulders, holding your thighs and tightly gripping your arm. sukuna chuckles.
sweaty bodies, the loud noise of metal clanging, machines moving, being utilized and worked—you were in the gym. with your fiancé. eyes fixated on his veins protruding against his skin every time he launches the dumbbell to his chest, grunting. sweating. making you sit, totally bewitched.
his tattoos. the compression shirt saturated with sweat. his drenched hair. those darkened eyes as he was determined to walk out this building satisfied with his progress and appearance.
he’s so…hot.
“you gonna get shit done or jus’ stare at me the whole time, huh? “
your eyes widened in mild surprise from being caught. the corner of your mouth twitching with the promise of a smirk. you were unapologetic in allowing your eyes to flicker from his beefy thighs, his tatted and dampened arms to his crimson eyes peering straight at you through the mirror.
“nah. i rather…savour this sight in front of me. “ you tease softly, sitting on the bench. “don’t let me distract you- “
“well, you are. stop starin’ at me like a freak. “ his voice rolls out, husky and spent. you were going to explode.
“stop looking…so sexy and i’ll stop- “
his grunts interject perfectly as he throws the dumbbells onto the rack, glaring back at you with zero malice, slight irritation and a tinge of amusement.
for as long as you’ve known ryomen sukuna, he took pride—unrepentant and tangible, in his ability to stay fit. with a height towering above six-foot and muscles that were nearly impossible, you couldn’t miss that silent arrogance sliding off of him at your salivating mouth and widened eyes.
much like today.
but, you were supposed to be doing a few reps with him. you hadn’t done anything but stare and sing along to the radio.
and, oh, did his irritation heighten when you trail behind him as he makes a beeline for the lat pull-down machine, scaring off anyone neighboring or in his way with that intimidating frown..
“don’t bother me if you aren’t doing anythin-should’ve jus’ left your ass home. “
“quit bitching, sukuna. “ you mumble, positioning yourself beside him, watching him adjust the weights. “come on, babe. you got this. “
with sheer strength and determination, he begins to pull the handles down towards his chest, feeling his muscles tighten and stretch. the pink-haired man purses his lips, barring his teeth.
“fuck. “
“look at you. i knew you could do this, you know why- “ you snicker.
“get…away. “ sukuna grits out, punctuating each word with another glare.
“i’m encouraging you. this is the fuel you’ll need-fix your posture, babe- “
“the fuck you know about posturing and shit- “
“day one or one day, ‘kuna? which one? “ he huffs out a disbelieving chuckle that straddles between amusement and barely restrained agitation. but, it…was working. he works towards finishing the rep, begrudgingly, silently admitting your little mischievous smiles and the incessant encouragement works.
“two more, babe-there ya go! i knew you had it in you. “ you giddily smile, slapping your hand against his corded abs. feeling him twitch beneath you.
tired huffs breeze past his mouth. his chest heaves with every breath. tepid sweat trickles down the ridges of his body, down his temple, over his inked skin. he grabs the towel you lend him. takes the water bottle, guzzling the water down with his focus fixated on…you. and your distracted singing.
“so, what’s next? because this isn’t where you stop, big guy, nah…this is the beginning. “
your eyes track his movements—him putting down his water bottle, him wrapping the flimsy towel around his neck and his stature slowly standing. hovering. you see that mischievous glint, yet you don’t register his hands quickly moving towards your waist. tightening around it, before your feet leave the ground.
“sukuna, you mother-let me down. “ you nearly shriek, hitting his back with your fists. like his back was not a brick wall in itself.
and so effortlessly, all so seamlessly, he drapes your body over his shoulders, holding your thighs and tightly gripping your arm. sukuna chuckles.
or, sometimes it's hard to see where this is going.
wc: 1.5k
cw/tags: sorcerer!nanami x fem!reader, ambiguous relationship (can be normal relationship, can b situationship, wtvr), bittersweet, unresolved emotional tension, third person pov, nanami is kind of avoidant here (potentially ooc), unreliable narrator, balcony conversations, a very violet prose.
☾ — first 'nami fic everyone cheer !! this is a pretty old draft i finally finished n so i hope it makes sense. the only edits i made to this was changing it to second-person pov bc i originally wrote it in third-person (she/her prns) which is on ao3 bc i decided on posting my less-edited works there. i'm not going back in for more editing bc i start hating my writing the more i read it so i will wait like another month before i look at this again HAHA. no beta we die like NO ONE bc jjk is a slice-of-life and NOBODY DIES TRUSTTTTT
neon lights reached faster than the moon and her stars on this cloudless, blissful night. you were a speck in tokyo’s skyline; a shadow from a neighbor’s window, one of many witnesses to the bustling life still scratching the pavement below, technicolor at your heels as they dangled over the ledge. the sun was either overjoyed in the summer or—after the billions of years worth of sin it had bore witness to—used the time to enact his vengeance upon the human race, with the moon as his foil.
fictitious, undoubtedly. but the world could use some magic. one had to find escapism from the boiling heatwaves of summer’s days and the skin-prickling chills of its nights somehow; these fuzzy socks were doing jack-fucking-shit.
“here.”
cashmere cascaded down your shoulders. the breeze conspired to flood your lungs with the brown of sandalwood and coffee and warmth; flushing your skin, sinking between your pores to mingle with your bone marrow.
“oh—?”
“i warmed it in the dryer for a few minutes.”
“thank—”
his footsteps were already drifting away before you could look back, lashes fluttering through a gaze over your shoulder to wait, icicle fingers wrapping the blanket closer. it wasn’t long that he reemerged, and a pinch of guilt festered when his seat beside hers wasn’t warmed—though it was easy to tell that the huff as he took said seat was more so from the shift of his bones.
warm hands—large, inviting, comforting—held mugs on either palm, both steaming of dairy and rich, lovely cocoa.
a flush spurred your heart, tugging at your lips as he handed you your mug. “thank you.”
“my pleasure.”
there was little else to say that the world didn’t supply. chocolate and milk drip, drip, dripped down their throats to swirl in their stomachs, swishing around with their acids as the steam fogged your cheeks with a huff, huff, huff. downstairs, next door, elsewhere, their neighbors huff and puff their favorite toxins—the fifth cigarette of the day or the hour, or they nurse a late night drink in their lonesome or between giggles. the spectrum of life; effervescent, or descending. all within these windows and balconies, just a walk and a knock away.
wondering again, your cloud of thought was cocoa-scented. if anyone were to glance up high, would they too, wonder of you? the two of them in their bubble, wrapped in their silence and hot chocolates and bound to the ledge of his balcony, neon-kissed and amidst cigarette mist.
would they wonder of the two of you, the way you had been?
fluorescent green flickered suddenly, by way of an old, creaky billboard between repairs. it rippled across his skin as his adam’s apple bobbed with a sip, his hazel gaze wandering.
“what are you thinking about?”
your lips jutted; a pout. “do you see a future with me, ‘nami?”
“of course.”
“how far?”
a beat. two, three—he hesitated. in an idyllic, ideal world, his answer would burst out of his mouth and not a moment late. this was neither. this was tangible, cold, and right beside her.
his lips welcomed another sip. “i see a path ahead with you.”
“yes—” you acknowledged, facing him. “how far?”
“i don’t look at my future with a telescope.”
why did he hesitate? had you given him any reason to?
his awful, curtly reply caved in your spine. their bubble rippled and your shoulders sagged. bluntness was his double-edged sword and he happened to swing it the wrong way—at least, that was what you liked to believe, though it was the simplest thing to know that it was his truth. lying was a waste of time, and he once said that you were not. he wouldn’t lie. beneath this moon, it had never felt more contradictory.
a paradox that he, the anti-complicator, was indulging in.
woven cashmere was suddenly cold and even heavier than before, just the way the perfect hot chocolate was suddenly too sweet. dizzyingly so.
soft, warmed hands set it between them. their contribution of fog for the night was the wisping cocoa from their mugs—good enough for the breeze, for it carried it all the same. perhaps, it even cherished it. it must tire of exhaust and cigarettes.
“that’s fair.” alas, you supposed. honesty was a virtue, and one of the many good, sturdy pillars that made his whole man.
this bubble for two had yet to fully recover. tonight, there’s little hope that it truly could.
“i don’t know..” you couldn’t read him, and you did not want to look at him to burn an attempt. your hands wound the blanket tighter—perhaps this way, you could cocoon, transform, and flee this conversation. instead, you (weakly) attempted a jest. “i guess i thought those glasses of yours did something, or whatever.”
he chortled like it was a little costly. “they’re for work. they aren't magical.”
“i know that.”
he should know, too, what it was you were searching for. he must. the brain beneath his blonde tresses pulsed with illustrious thought and depth; his mind was a library full of wisdom and intelligence and compassion, fueling the heart you knew thrummed with life and love. smart men knew how to love, he knew how to love.
why did he hesitate?
this mess was not ideal. to him, this must feel like a waste. his silence was humiliating. lie you bare, strip you down to the flesh he so kindly kept warm. and yet, this exposure felt nothing but burdensome. arrangements like these never worked well with words. the twisted necessity of honesty had rendered you a casualty to his blade of a tongue, when this could've been avoided with a kiss. you should've kissed.
lithe digits pinched the warm mug between you by the rim to lift and set aside—along with his own—on the vacant space on the other side of his thighs. with this, he had a distance that he, without a second thought, willingly closed. knee to knee, shoulder to shoulder. a sturdy one of which nudged yours.
“i see us clearly, i do.”
his tall nose brushed the slope of your neck as his lips peppered the smooth, shifting neon-kissed skin. the breeze was a terrible, unfortunate aide in amplifying his stupefying charm; carrying the whiff of his clean, musky shampoo into the air flooding your lungs. it's only muscle memory for you to give in, lashes fluttering.
“but i will not promise you something that i can't guarantee.”
within your ribs, your fragile heart leapt and forced your eyes wide. despair wound itself into the fingers that pried his face from your skin, cupping the sharp lines of his cheek. he mellowed at the horror in your gaze.
“what are you talking about?”
chocolate eyes shifted, uneasy. beneath your fingers, his jaw tightened, shifting muscles by his ear. you wondered if whatever kept him here, bound him to your for this long, was enough to unwind his tongue. if the truth—all of it—was affordable by credit, this far in.
his jaw eased. “my work. it has.. risks.”
“what risks?” you posed. “‘nami, you work at a school.”
the knob of muscle in his throat bobbed with an unsteady, unsure swallow. “my.. position, it isn't very stable.”
oh. was it money? was his hesitation made of a man's shame, given to by a society who deemed those who couldn't provide failures? you blinked. once, and twice. the bubble regained its form, somewhat. its strength was still in question.
“that's fine,” you assured, thumbing at his cheek and brushing stray strands aside. “if it changes, then it does. nothing we can't handle.”
your head tilted. “right?”
long, blonde lashes withheld the sudden fog swirling in his eyes. it was as if you idly watched a steaming cup of hot chocolate being stirred, watched as a whirlpool formed and tore through the center. was he, in your hands, so gentlemanly torn over this chivalrous dilemma? maybe you could read him, or perhaps your imagination stretched vast and wide. why did it feel as if you were witnessing something break and rebuild itself with bricks, to withstand the chill of the night's breeze and the flushing touch of warmed skin?
there lied a house in the depths of his waning gaze, fire-lit with only a single door. your credit wasn't enough after all—this key, you couldn't afford.
he gave you a smile, though. partially reaching his eyes and crinkling the sides. once upon a time, the sight would plant sturdy trees of faith in the forest of your mind, ready and unwavering no matter the coming wind. tonight, your bubble was disturbed. the offerings of cocoa didn't appear to appease this breeze.
“of course.”
gentle hands found cashmere laden skin and held; cradled your shoulder, pinched your chin, thumb tracing the outline of your jaw. his lips trailed a path from cheek to sideburn to temple and to your wispy hairline, one arm slithering around to pull your closer. he was all-encompassing or attempting to be—regardless, sandalwood was all that you could breathe.
“nothing we can handle.”
☾ — ending is so rushed n funky as FUCK i am so sorry. i originally wrote this in april n the original p me take out the tomatoes rn. i intend on writing more for my husband definitely so reblog n comment to lmk 😋😋
sweaty bodies, the loud noise of metal clanging, machines moving, being utilized and worked—you were in the gym. with your fiancé. eyes fixated on his veins protruding against his skin every time he launches the dumbbell to his chest, grunting. sweating. making you sit, totally bewitched.
his tattoos. the compression shirt saturated with sweat. his drenched hair. those darkened eyes as he was determined to walk out this building satisfied with his progress and appearance.
he’s so…hot.
“you gonna get shit done or jus’ stare at me the whole time, huh? “
your eyes widened in mild surprise from being caught. the corner of your mouth twitching with the promise of a smirk. you were unapologetic in allowing your eyes to flicker from his beefy thighs, his tatted and dampened arms to his crimson eyes peering straight at you through the mirror.
“nah. i rather…savour this sight in front of me. “ you tease softly, sitting on the bench. “don’t let me distract you- “
“well, you are. stop starin’ at me like a freak. “ his voice rolls out, husky and spent. you were going to explode.
“stop looking…so sexy and i’ll stop- “
his grunts interject perfectly as he throws the dumbbells onto the rack, glaring back at you with zero malice, slight irritation and a tinge of amusement.
for as long as you’ve known ryomen sukuna, he took pride—unrepentant and tangible, in his ability to stay fit. with a height towering above six-foot and muscles that were nearly impossible, you couldn’t miss that silent arrogance sliding off of him at your salivating mouth and widened eyes.
much like today.
but, you were supposed to be doing a few reps with him. you hadn’t done anything but stare and sing along to the radio.
and, oh, did his irritation heighten when you trail behind him as he makes a beeline for the lat pull-down machine, scaring off anyone neighboring or in his way with that intimidating frown..
“don’t bother me if you aren’t doing anythin-should’ve jus’ left your ass home. “
“quit bitching, sukuna. “ you mumble, positioning yourself beside him, watching him adjust the weights. “come on, babe. you got this. “
with sheer strength and determination, he begins to pull the handles down towards his chest, feeling his muscles tighten and stretch. the pink-haired man purses his lips, barring his teeth.
“fuck. “
“look at you. i knew you could do this, you know why- “ you snicker.
“get…away. “ sukuna grits out, punctuating each word with another glare.
“i’m encouraging you. this is the fuel you’ll need-fix your posture, babe- “
“the fuck you know about posturing and shit- “
“day one or one day, ‘kuna? which one? “ he huffs out a disbelieving chuckle that straddles between amusement and barely restrained agitation. but, it…was working. he works towards finishing the rep, begrudgingly, silently admitting your little mischievous smiles and the incessant encouragement works.
“two more, babe-there ya go! i knew you had it in you. “ you giddily smile, slapping your hand against his corded abs. feeling him twitch beneath you.
tired huffs breeze past his mouth. his chest heaves with every breath. tepid sweat trickles down the ridges of his body, down his temple, over his inked skin. he grabs the towel you lend him. takes the water bottle, guzzling the water down with his focus fixated on…you. and your distracted singing.
“so, what’s next? because this isn’t where you stop, big guy, nah…this is the beginning. “
your eyes track his movements—him putting down his water bottle, him wrapping the flimsy towel around his neck and his stature slowly standing. hovering. you see that mischievous glint, yet you don’t register his hands quickly moving towards your waist. tightening around it, before your feet leave the ground.
“sukuna, you mother-let me down. “ you nearly shriek, hitting his back with your fists. like his back was not a brick wall in itself.
and so effortlessly, all so seamlessly, he drapes your body over his shoulders, holding your thighs and tightly gripping your arm. sukuna chuckles.
toji wholeheartedly believed he was the ‘one and done’ kind of father. he had his little boy, the seven-year-old boy who ran his house as if he owned it. who reminded him so much of himself every time he peered into his identical eyes. his life was complete. just working enough to provide foods and essentials, to help his boy through school.
he sincerely believed that.
that was until you sauntered into your shared bedroom, plopping down next to him with a pregnancy test in hand. quiet. contemplative. almost…reluctant. frankly, he was happy if you were. he was pleased if you were.
"i'm pregnant, babe, " you uttered, glancing down at the window that very much said, 'pregnant'.
and he most definitely thought he was going to father boys. he grew up around a brother. roughhousing and play-fighting. had a little boy himself—he didn't know how to soften enough to be around a little girl. or to soften his voice enough to play dolls with her. besides the fact he initially chose a girl name for his only little boy. it fit him. he was truly his blessing.
yet, that view was shattered—fragile —when he found out he would soon be a father to a little girl. he swore he was unmoved by the news as pink icing coated megumi’s lips. his little arms shooting into the air. you smile right down at the boy, belly all swollen and face all filled with healthy chub and joy.
it looked great on you.
the macho man. the man of not so many emotions—toji made a beeline to the boutiques down in tokyo with those frilly baby clothes and pink bows. spending the entirety of a bill for the best. only for his little girl. god, when she came, he hid his dampened cheeks and glistening eyes in the crook of her neck. he could not believe his eyes. she was precious and small. she was ethereal and looked too much like him; it scared him.
meisa was attached to her father. really. the way she'd instinctively curl against his chest, nuzzling into his warmth, with satisfied coos. her tiny body was propped, balanced on the width of his arm as he hovered over the kettle, closely watching it bubble. she coos before her pretty face scrunches up in distress.
he stiffens up. not wanting to see her cry.
“i’m getting it ready for you, princess. “ her fussing turns into whines as his lips press against her chubby cheek. “see? such a little...crybaby, mei. “
he carried her everywhere. emphasis on everywhere. watching football with her, laid against his chest, her fists scrunching the fabric in her hands. while megumi, he had fallen asleep on his shoulder not too long ago. he adored the times you would hand her over after bath time, so he could glide the soft bristles of the brush across her obsidian bangs with clumsy hands. her eyes blinked up at him. dressing her into the pleated and light pink dress he swore she was eyeing.
“toji…she’s going to sleep. not outside- “
“i know that. “ he grunts out, clicking his tongue in response.
she was like his little doll. one with emerald-green, doe eyes. one with thick black tresses covering her little head. one that he absolutely adored.
and don’t even mention when she grows into a toddler. she’s feisty. something, somewhere in his little family’s lineage to be menaces. you thought to get on top of her rather bratty mannerisms and tantrums. he thought they were the cutest sights ever.
“meisa, bed. now. “
she stands in front of you with her pink elephant in her arms. pigtails. hello kitty-printed pajamas that, of course, toji bought her. her lips pucker into a small pout—adorable, he coos from the corner of the room, smiling over at her.
“mommy! “ she points over at the table where toji is, typing away on his laptop.
“oh, god- “
“just let her stay up a bit. “ you shoot him a glare.
"i'm not going to be doing that, toji, we agreed on her bedtime. " you sternly assert. his mouth curls into a smirk. he always found it sexy when you got all strict on him. "stop whatever you're thinking. "
a guffaw billows, and you stifle a smile.
"seriously, babe. "
"i'll put her down-meisa, princess, come to papa. "
and she does. turning on the waterworks. stumbling over to the dining table before she launches herself into his lap.
"mommy's being a mean girl. might have to give her some spankings later on for my meisa. "
you roll your eyes, sauntering into the living area.
toji was smitten over his little girl. he couldn't hide it.
please shoot some ideas. i'll try to do them and commit to them. i am shutting down on the ideas fr ;((((
shrubs and towering trees obscure the house. away from sorcery or what kento was fixated on running from; his overpowering trauma. the war, the guttural cries, endless fighting. the one that held him hostage whenever the morning sun barely rose, sitting up in his bed, listening to his chicken fluffing their wings. leaving behind what was horrific, bringing along everything that was good.
you. his wife.
you trudge out of the wood-built house, bare-foot and in a frilly nightgown. the sun was virginal and sweltering, yet it felt good. skin glistening as you lumber down the lane, the grainy path leading to the little lake nearby. pungent flesh, smelling of lake water. his broad build forms in sight, as he quietly fetches tonight’s dinner.
“kento, “ you sweetly call out, dirt coating the bottom of your feet, “baby. “
in your hand is a steaming mug. his morning coffee. always how he started his mornings. your eyes halt on him—his dishevelled blonde hair, short but jagged from your poor hair-cutting skills, shirtless, and focused. but, the haze shatters. he turns around slowly.
“your coffee. i couldn’t catch you, you must’ve been excited to go fishing, “ nearing him, you slip onto your tippy toes, pressing your lips against his, “or to leave me. “
“...sorry, my love. “ hazel eyes deeply stares into your face for more than a moment, before he takes the coffee mug with a hushed gratitude, trouble within his eyes. his voice leaves in a grit, not an unpleasant placement.
“you okay? “ your eyebrows fold, eyeing his body language, closely.
“i’m okay…really, “ kento throws the fish connected to the hook, sharpened edges slicing into its mouth, into the pail. watching the flailing vertebrate squirm in the container, “in my head. like always. “
you nod your head. you grip onto the top of his shorts, pulling him closer and kissing him silly. with his unoccupied hand, it slithers around your waist, fingers dipping into your plushness as he presses flush against your body. relaxed, he was, now. slackening against you. and you let him.
you break from the kiss first; the countless things to do around the lake house, including that garden of yours, was calling your name. with a pat against his ass, you slowly advance up the path.
“come inside for breakfast when you’re ready. please. “
his eyes warmly linger, fingers gently brushing atop lavender satin. watching you step back, creating a distance. creating space for his mind to…return to whatever reality he needed to be within. just not that one.
every once in a while, the stench of scorched flesh wafts and he is sent to a time he bitterly recalled. regretted not listening to the tremble in your voice when you just told him…no. no to that life. telling him to come with you, go to the court and solidify the marriage. let everyone know you were both in love. you did go to the court, yet, with teary eyes, you watched the man you adored, barely able to collect himself.
scorched flesh. frowns.
a cane to help him stand.
an eye-patch. and his fitted suit.
the view went blurry and you finished your vows in blubbered words and lachrymose tears. the court went completely silent when you signed the paper after him. the witnesses wistfully watching—shoko stood by as one of the loyal witnesses. it was charged, crackling with devastation.
he called the higher-ups about a mission. speaking low so you did not hear. god, the tantrum you would cause—it was justified, though. their voices dripped with…something infectious. he knew they could care less about his psychological scars. money. money and prosperity was the end goal. your dulcet hums, the click of the washing machine closing, the warmth around the house—he knew he had to make a choice then and there.
and he did.
he quit. again. packed his house up. every lasting memory and furniture. relocating to the lake house in okinawa. it was not malaysia, but with its beautiful beaches, it was the closest thing.
and you were there.
you were ecstatic. you loved the life down here.
he did…as well.
the peaceful calling of the birds at the tip of the morning. healing his heart and body with the flesh and meat of grilled fish. he learnt how to fish on youtube. no more cries from you, no more begging him to stay. to not go too far. no, it was more like the endless cries of pleasure, your desperate pleads; voices breaking around them, and the neighbours couldn’t hear.
he traded it all for this life.
but he found that life was still trickling through the crevices.
a nine-time world boxing champion recognized and feared for his gritting fists, how they mercilessly pounded down on his opponents. the same ones that’ll slice through skin as if it were paper. toji’s body was built to fight, created to endure; he had known that since he was a teenager. a teenager browsing the grimy streets for fights, for a reason to fight.
he adored the adrenaline. lived off those arrogant gazes turned to him as his opponent stepped into the white square, sizing him up—thinking they would be walking away unscathed. keen. agile. a body constructed of brooding muscles and suppressed anger saved for the ring.
one glance. it took one glance for just a random bystander to shrivel up.
just not…you. that didn't work on you much. his stubborn wife. the medic waiting at the bottom of the ring.
you were the quiet support that he needed. it drove him to hit harder, to move faster, to win. the steady nurse that cheated their way into the arena with only a few co-op experiences in the medical field. not as prepared for the gore, and the blood splattering, staining the white, or seeing your husband rock a bruised nose after another win. as if it was a badge of honour—it was in a way. standing by with the first aid kit, a wince and a… deep frown.
you weren’t like shiu, who shouted for joy as soon as the locker room door was closed. slapping his hand on toji's broad back, guffawing loudly at the knowledge that they were going to see cash flow in, incessantly. just mere minutes after toji scares a skittish journalist off and—in no time—groans at your hand smacking the underside of his head with a disapproving scowl.
“what the fuck was that for? “ he grits out, bandaged hand cupping the back of his head.
“you have to be such an asshole all the goddamn time, fushiguro? you know better than that. “ you grit back, hovering with another threat of a hit. and he backs down. almost instantaneously.
"'coming like my mother. " he barely stifles a breathless chuckle, watching you stare him down.
he knew a fight with you was not worth it. it was the only time he’d truly lose a fight in his life.
you were certainly not like his brother, who appreciated the nice dinners that came with toji's success, the money and the cars. while you, you still clung to that sedan your husband bought you with measly checks when he first started boxing.
“toji, put that down. you don’t need- “ he holds the newest pair of sneakers to launch in japan, the same ones he had silently pined for. calloused fingers skimming the material, his hulking body hunching over it like it was precious. he shoots you a pointed scowl, fighting a smirk.
“damn, woman, can i spoil myself, sometimes? “
“toji. “
it was the finality in your voice that made his spine straighten. that made him put the sneakers down on the rack.
“got it. “
you were like an anchor to him. reminding of who he is. reminding him of who he is not. you knew him better than anyone. he knew you well too.
you hated blood on his hands. hated his arrogance even more, despite finding yourself flustered whenever he shoots a wink at the camera as his celebratory performance, the only bite the press gets out of him. yet, you supported his dream. celebrated his accomplishments with a small dinner at home and a slow night in bed. or however he wanted it. the tears glistening in your eyes when he was hurt too badly after a gruelling match—he knew you deeply cared for him.
“fucking relax, baby. “ he would drawl out, holding onto your waist as you stand in between his spread legs. one bobbed erratically, just hating how upset you were. despising the fact he was the reason you were upset.
he frowns. his fingers sink into your skin, listening to you sniffle.
“i can’t…relax, toji. i told you about this. i don’t like it. “ you delicately dab the crimson-soaked cotton swab on the graphic bruises. you try not to look at how unnatural his nose looks right now, how the next morning starts with a visit to the hospital.
“i’m okay, ‘m a big boy, i can take a few hits or kicks. something like that-i won, baby. “
“i don’t care about that. stupid. “ his usually hardened emerald green eyes soften. wholly softening as you wipe your face with his your hoodie’s sleeve.
a silence passes by. seamless and tense. his eyes still trained on you.
“gimme a kiss. and stop all’at crying. “ he mumbles, his voice spent and deeper than usual. hoarse. patient.
it was odd to see toji like this for shiu, but he couldn’t care less about how uncharacteristically soft he was right now. his lips puckered. his arms encircling your waist. gazing up at you.
“toji, let me finish- “
“really? can't get a kiss? “ you sigh, before meeting him halfway for a kiss.
in a world where he was respected. where he rebelled, where he was the champion—there was somewhere inside of him that softened around you. it wasn’t like him. it wasn’t supposed to happen, but it did.
“you have any words you wanna say after your tenth championship? quite incredible, dude. “ the pushy reporter asks, smiling as he points the microphone in toji's direction, standing in the middle of a crowd of toji's team, the cameramen and destruction.
toji pauses for a second, sniffling, before his eyes meet the camera lens.
“i wanna say firstly…i won this f’r my wife and our little boy wherever they are. know you can see me on the television right now,” he pants out, pressing his towel to his face, dabbing the sweat, before his mouth curls into a wolfish grin, eyes all soft. “daddy’s bringing the title back home.”
with a flying kiss and wink, he prowls before leaping off the stage. hurrying backstage to get ready, to give those guys press…and head home.
it is 2 in the morning...had to shit this out before i'd lose it. love me some boxer!toji thoughhhh
shrubs and towering trees obscure the house. away from sorcery or what kento was fixated on running from; his overpowering trauma. the war, the guttural cries, endless fighting. the one that held his hostage whenever the morning sun arose, sitting up in his bed, listening to his chicken fluffing their wings. leaving behind what was horrific, bringing along everything that was good.
you. his wife.
you trudge out of the wood-built house, bare-foot and in a frilly nightgown. the sun was virginal and sweltering, yet it felt good. skin glistening as you lumber down the stripe, the grainy path leading to the little lake nearby. pungent flesh, smelling of lake water. his broad build forms in sight, as he quietly fetches tonight’s dinner.
“kento, “ you sweetly call out, dirt coating the bottom of your feet, “baby. “
in your hand is a steaming mug. his morning coffee. always how he started his mornings. your eyes halt on him—his dishevelled blonde hair, short but jagged from your poor hair-cutting skills, shirtless, and focused. but, the haze shatters. he turns around slowly.
“your coffee. i couldn’t catch you, you must be excited to go fishing, “ nearing him, you slip onto your tippy toes, pressing your lips against his, “or to leave me. “
“...sorry, my love. “ hazel eyes deeply stares into your face for more than a moment, before he takes the coffee mug with a hushed gratitude, trouble within his eyes. his voice leaves in a grit, not an unpleasant placement.
“you okay? “ your eyebrows fold, eyeing his body language, closely.
“i’m okay…really, “ kento throws the fish connected to the hook, sharpened edges slicing into its mouth, into the pail. watching the flailing vertebrate squirm in the container, “in my head. like always. “
you nod your head. you grip onto the top of his shorts, pulling him closer and kissing him silly. with his unoccupied hand, it slithers around your waist, fingers dipping into your plushness as he presses flush against your body. relaxed, he was, now. slackening against you. and you let him.
you break from the kiss first; the countless things to do around the lake house, including that garden of yours, was calling your name. with a pat against his ass, you slowly advance up the path.
“come inside for breakfast when you’re ready. please. “
his eyes warmly linger, fingers gently brushing atop lavender satin. watching you step back, creating a distance. creating space for his mind to…return to whatever reality he needed to be within. just not that one.
every once in a while, the stench of scorched flesh wafts and he is sent to a time he bitterly recalled. regretted not listening to the tremble in your voice when you just told him…no. no to that life. telling him to come with you, go to the court and solidify the marriage. let everyone know you were both in love. you did go to the court, yet, with teary eyes, you watched the man you adored, barely able to collect himself.
scorched flesh. frowns.
a cane to help him stand.
an eye-patch. and his fitted suit.
the view went blurry and you finished your vows in blubbered words and lachrymose tears. the court went completely silent when you signed the paper after him. the witnesses wistfully watching—shoko stood by as one of the loyal witnesses. it was charged, crackling with devastation.
he called the higher-ups about a mission. speaking low so you did not hear. god, the tantrum you would cause—it was justified, though. their voices dripped with…something infectious. he knew they could care less about his psychological scars. money. money and prosperity was the end goal. your dulcet hums, the click of the washing machine closing, the warmth around the house—he knew he had to make a choice then and there.
and he did.
he quit. again. packed his house up. every lasting memory and furniture. relocating to the lake house in okinawa. it was not malaysia, but with its beautiful beaches, it was the closest thing.
and you were there.
you were ecstatic. you loved the life down here.
he did…as well.
the peaceful calling of the birds at the tip of the morning. healing his heart and body with the flesh and meat of grilled fish. he learnt how to fish on youtube. no more cries from you, no more begging him to stay. to not go too far. no, it was more like the endless cries of pleasure, your desperate pleads; voices breaking around them, and the neighbours couldn’t hear.
he traded it all for this life.
but he found that life was still trickling through the crevices.
admittedly, fushiguro toji was a possessive man. it was nothing he would feel ashamed about. territorial as a dog with its chosen person or toy, not that you were a toy, but you were his chosen person. and it wasn’t something he had ever felt he was lacking, i mean, he was not lacking in any capacity.
yes, he was the type to pull you close in the middle of the dimmed bar. your back flush to his chest. emerald eyes meeting those hungry, obsidian eyes across from the space. there was a man undressing you with his predatory glance, sitting at a table. nursing a beer.
yes, toji doesn’t allow the conversation held with shiu and akio, his coworkers, to get in the way of his hands freely roaming all over your body. he didn't care in the slightest way. he knew you looked good, too good. ravishingly good. he already had made plans for when the both of you were alone, in the comfort of your own home. where your moans would deliciously bounce off the walls. freely, and he could do what he had been wanting to since the tip of the night.
yes, he was the type to lean in, whispering sweet nothings here and there, “i think i deserve a kiss, baby, “ to which you would blush and giggle; all flustered.
the hand that was not occupied by a sweaty bottle of beer cups your hip, before travelling to your bare thigh, staring down that bold motherfucker, jaw clenched and eyes ablaze. did he not see what you had already? a man that was more than willing to hound his face in. brimming with fury and…jealousy. possessiveness. a man that could handle you like no other.
shiu was the first to catch, as always. akio was too far gone in the television, the competitive boxing match playing. boisterously yelling at the screen.
yes, he was the type to dip, bending forward a bit, still blabbering about a business deal, about his fucked-up boss to his coworkers, and press his lips against yours, blatantly ignoring the way shiu smirks, huffing out a chuckle. he captures your lips in a slow, yet passionate kiss, "mmph, 'ji". his lips moving agonizingly slow, steadily against yours. a second later, his languid tongue darts out, slipping inside of your mouth to deepen the kiss. darkened emerald green eyes glancing over at the man, dead, in his eyes. shielding your body from whoever but that man, and slipping his hand under your skirt.
“toji, wha- “ you’d squeak into his mouth, helplessly and softly moaning.
“i could fuck you right now, but you’ll be without your husband for some time. “
you choke on a laugh, mewling when his deft fingers press against your clothed clit, rubbing tight circles. your hand wraps around his wrist, pushing him away. shooting him a glare.
“behave, fushiguro. “ he huffs out a scoff, yet he does not stop nuzzling into the crook of your neck, or peppering kiss on your jumpy pulse point.
little did he know, you saw that man's eyes on you, you felt it. you knew when toji was hit with that sick jealousy as he got handsy. you knew what your fiancé was on about, and you secretly loved it.
it was morning. the sweltering summer heat had already kicked in in kyoto. with fans planted in every corner available in the house. you hum along to a nameless tune. ideally, it was the time when you began cleaning around the house. when megumi awakens, he sleepily trudges into the living area for cartoons on saturday mornings. and toji, oh, he is in the kitchen, the only place he can manage a rapid workout.
“1, 2, 3-fuck! “ toji huffs out, allowing his muscular arms to work as they push and lower his body, up and down.
sweat pricks at his skin. he managed about four sets already.
“babe, where are your work clothes? “
“in the hamper. “
he rasps out, groaning, exerting his body enough to garner his little boy’s attention.
with soft footsteps and his curious and blue eyes, he cranes his head to gaze into the kitchen. watching his father.
“dad? “
“son. “
“what are you doin’? “ the four-year-old inquired, slowly entering the kitchen, his cartoons fading in the background as his attention averted to his father.
“exercisin’, kiddo. gotta get this body right unless you want another sibling- “
“fushiguro, shut y'r trap! “ you yell out from the laundry room.
a breathless snicker—mischievous, brushes past his lips, blinking the beads of sweat out of his sight. obsidian bangs obscuring his eyes, yet he could see the little boy in pyjamas, glancing back at him with a delicate amusement. this smirk that looked identical to the ones toji shoots you when he is up to something. and with paced steps, megumi skips over to his father, snickering under his breath.
"ayo-god, you're heavy. you weren't this heavy last week, huh? " the boy laughs as he plops down onto toji's back, "i ain't getting younger, kid. "
"c'mon, dad, faster. " he slaps his father's side, almost like a person would do to rile a horse up. and with an annoyance and a slight smile, toji continues to push himself up, before his muscles work and coil as he lowers himself to the floor. counting out loud. joining megumi's laughter.
"giddy up! "
"you goddamn...sea urchin, " toji grits out, rough from the workout, not lacking amusement and humour. megumi boisterously giggles in response.
your ears perk at the mere sound. smiling while your hands precisely fold the dried and cleaned clothes, placing them in the basket. you shake your head, amused as much as your husband and son were.
you were in the middle of preparing lunch, humming a nameless tune under your breath—it was noon already. wind chimes singing in the tepid breeze. with the sunshine beaming through and into the house. humble and too quiet, especially with a toddler and a husband like toji.
lightly cooked noodles topped with earthy vegetables, freshly picked from the garden out in the backyard. imitation crab for you and megumi. ham for toji. a cooled chicken broth to combat the sweltering heat, to cut down on turning on the furnace. seasoned and slightly spiced for toji.
in the distance, the clanging of toji’s tools loudly trail inside. your husband meticulously working on a junk car echoes throughout, fueled by his old school rap tracks and…megumi’s constant squealing when a bird lands on the driveway. it was his ‘summer project’. a fixer that was going to carry his family across country for road trips.
your eyes dart across the kitchen, the living area where the television softly chatters, before landing on the garage door.
“you wanna do this when you grow older like papa? you gotta focus, boy. never mind that damned bird. “ toji holds up a wrench, emerald orbs glaring back into a pair of identical ones—just more innocent, much bigger and more beautiful. megumi owlishly gazes up at his father. blinking. mouth parting.
before his arm swings. his hand colliding with his chunky thigh as he argumentatively babbles.
toji’s eyebrows furrow, frowning.
“whaddya saying, dude? you don’t wanna do this anymore? “ offended, he asks his little boy, ruffling his obsidian hair, playfully.
you open the garage door, nearly hollering out that lunch was finished and that toji ought to come inside for a break.
the sight in front stops you. really. your husband standing tall in front of megumi—white tee tucked into his pocket while he remains shirtless, sweating. alluring, but you resist against your urges, especially in front of little megumi.
“i gotta give you my shop and trust y’re gonna treat it well. take care of it. not sell it to these money-hungry bastards out here. “
almost as if he understood his father’s words, clinging onto them like they were sacred, he nods his head. strong and confident.
toji huffs out a chuckle, smile dropping when megumi grunts out. his little face twisting with an immature agony that was too adorable.
“da-da! “
“you actin’ like this offends you-thats me, boy, i’m offended. “
you chuckle, shaking your head in mild disbelief.
“you’re confusin’ me, really. your mother’s gonna give me another kid, maybe they’ll receive this…conversation better- “
“yeah, if you’re having the child- “ you interject, standing in the doorway with an amused expression.
“we’ll talk about it, your momma and i. “ toji huffs out a chuckle, eyes turning to where you stand. a shit-eating smirk creeps onto his face.
“toji, come in and eat. stop stressing my baby out. “ you sigh.
