Supreme Shitlord

"You about done?"

[plotsignificanthaircut555]

Ever since I was little I knew my real dream for my life was to be the beautiful pet kept on the chain of a horrific, magical and evil bisexual man.

[plotsignificanthaircut555]

The Creature of the Woods (True Form Sukuna x Reader) SMUT 18+ONLY MDNI

You never felt right in your village. You were always too nasty, too wrong, too sick. You were consumed by the stories, the warnings, really of the creature that lives in the forbidden woods. Finally, you gather the courage to leave your village in search of the creature you desire. And maybe he has something for you as well.

Ao3, Ko.fi, WC: 12k

Warnings: NASTY, SMUT, light blood, spit, double penetration, Sukuna has two dicks and theyre both big, Sukuna's tummy mouth, TRUE FORM SUKUNA, monster fucking, Pre canon, nothing to do with jjk honestly, oral sex (both receiving), breast play, nipple play, Reader being a weird little freak, sukuna also being a freak, going freak for freak.

I hope y'all enjoy. I've wanted to write for Sukuna since I made this account but haven't had the vision, and I feel as though it finally presented itself to me as this weird vague fantasy, the village-ass scenario. I hope y'all enjoy and as always I would love to know what y'all think and if you enjoyed.-Doodle xx

Your feet were shredded and bloody from the brambles and sticks of the forest floor. Jagged rocks and thorns sticking inside, making you wince. But you wouldn’t turn back. You worked too hard to escape, to pack in silence, to make it all the way this deep into the wood. Truthfully, you wouldn’t know your way back if you did crave retreat. It was vain but you were grateful that the thorny branches had mostly spared your face. Although, its salvation came at the expense of your hands. Deep, angry scratches along your fingers, blood already starting to congeal, making your palms sticky. You wiped them on your dresskirt as best you could, but there, too, was inlaid with bramble and thorn. It seemed the woods were consuming you already. 

You hoped they liked your taste. That what the woods housed, what it fed, would be pleased with what you offered. The moon above you could just barely penetrate through the treeline. Sparse, silver bars of luminescence lead you deeper and deeper in. But soon, the moon would sink below where it could reach the forest floor, the cold, wet darkness of the forest would surround you. And you would be lost. Almost certainly forever, either from cold or in the maw of some terrible beast. 

You just prayed it was the beast you sought out. 

You left three hours prior, the moon was high and rising, the sun had long left its post watching over your village. Your parents had fallen asleep, the candle light in their bedroom blown to smoke, their snores resounding, harmonizing with the livestock outside. You would miss the animals, one of your nanny goats was due to deliver any day now, and you were sorrowful that you would not see her kid. You gave her a small kiss on her small, diamond furred forehead as you slipped into the night. 

No one came after you. Truly, you wonder if when morning light returned, they even would. It wasn’t likely you would be missed. Or at least you had told yourself that. For weeks now you reminded yourself every moment you could spare, that you were a weight to those of your village. Especially to your family. Well past the earliest marrying ages, and still unclaimed. Carrying a…reputation. Whether it was true or not didn’t seem the concern of anyone around you. Your, disposition, was enough to drive away the interest parties that gave you the generosity of benign interpretation. You had over heard your parents fuss over your future for years enough for the fuss to grow from fury to pliant resignation. They planned for you to be uselessly alone forever.

But you knew they wouldn’t come after you. No one came into the woods. Animals were found mutilated, either flayed or completely devoid of flesh. Blood, too dark to be animal, trailed into the thickets in disturbing, palm shaped streaks. For years it went on like this. Until the offerings began. Healthiest, heartiest livestock left subdued or dead at the edge. Gone by morning light. Never taken if the watchmen lingered. Taken less quickly dead than if they were alive. The village soon learned that the Thing in the Woods wanted the creatures alive. It wanted the struggle, the sound, the steam of blood against winter air, the humid stink of heat rotted flesh. 

When you were taught these things, in hushed, circle-formed groups of sticky faced children. Slightly older, less sticky, children passing horror stories onto one another again and again, the other girls squealed in dismay. Some wept for the poor animals, some grew sick at the garish, gory detail. Boys too, although trying to seem brave, but the damp backs of their necks didn’t lie like their faces did. 

But you, you were….intrigued. You feigned fear, likely excessively, so as not to seem strange or morbid. You learned quickly that the adults around you did not take kindly to a child who didn’t fear the Creature of the Woods. Even less one who found it intriguing. But you couldn’t help finding this symbiosis oddly, comforting. With every ounce of ease, this Thing could tear your village to shreds. And yet, because of these offerings, it abstained. It let you be, took your kindnesses. Some attempt to break bread with one another? 

Only one person in your village claimed to have seen the creature. A man the age your father’s father had been when he passed. One clouded eye, and three deep slashes across his chest and neck to show for it. You had never spoken to him directly, your father forbade it. But you had heard from those who heard from those who heard from those who heard, that the creature was taller than any natural man, taller than the horses, taller than the trees. It was a red and pink and black monstrosity of lines and teeth. With two faces full of teeth, more legs than a spider, more eyes than a moth’s wing, and more muscle than an ox. Some said he had multiple mouths, each with more teeth than the last. Some said he was covered in black snakes that would bite and wrap themselves around you until you you could no longer draw breath. Some said he was faster than the flash of ember that caught flame. 

You, again, found that these stories were not something to be sought out openly. Nor were they something to express an enthusiastic attitude toward. You only asked your father once, of the creature’s appearance, and he told you the Witness was a drunk with more time on his hands than any good man should have while he and every other man in the village worked as hard as they did. You did not ask again. 

But as you grew, it became harder and harder to deny your intrigue. A seed that took root in the dark part of your mind inched toward the light and grew vines. Vines that spread throughout, festering in corners, and thriving in others. Vines that, at some point, managed to grow lower and lower. Taking form as a new, warm, hungry lick at the back of your belly. You knew it was sick, that you must be cursed; one of those women that was simply depraved. You tried everything you could to escape the wicked, nasty thoughts that would inch into your mind in the privacy of night, when your fingers could travel discreetly, as long as you kept your breath even. Thoughts of many mouths, if multitudinous inhuman hands, too strong to fight. Thoughts of blood and stone and pain and pleasure.

For a while you even sought out the touch, the company of boys around you. But they were too soft, too gentle, or too clumsy. Wimpy, breathy kisses that had no force or control. No passion. Hands that shook as they untied your clothes, that sweat against the skin of your legs. This was how you had garnered your…reputation. But it wasn’t like you were the only one, you just were less…sensitive about the experiences. And it often left the boys’ pride wounded. Nothing and no one incites more gossip than a wounded man. 

In many ways you always knew you would end up here at some point. In the back of your mind, in the depth of your heart, you knew. But you really did want to try to play the part of a gentle daughter, and obedient wife. You thought if you just wished enough and stayed quiet you would learn to do it right. But you had run out of time. In so many ways, you were doing them a favor. Surely they would see it that way, too. They had to. 

Approaching the edge of the forest, you felt the night air grow even colder. Misty fog tickling your nose and whetting your neck. Once you crossed inside, you knew you could never turn back. There was no offering tonight, no chained animal bleating into the night air for mercy or salvation. You were the offering tonight, but you felt no fear, no desire to be saved and kept safe here. You felt only exhilaration. Only peace and the thumping of a heart that was finally inching toward fulfillment. You entered the woods. 

But you felt fear now. It was dawning on you that you truly had no inclination of what you should be looking for. You had no shelter, no means of sustaining yourself through the night. Your shoes had held up so poorly they were practically ribbons. And night was getting darker. All you could feel now was fear. Your thumping heart was not joyous or purposeful, it was panicked and desperate. Pushing blood faster though the many perforations your journey thus far had created on your skin. Panic, or blood loss, was begging to make your head feel fuzzy, dizzy. The corners of your vision were growing dark and dim. Or perhaps the moon itself was retreating, not wanting to bear witness to whatever horrible fate approached you. 

You turned around in a circle wildly, hoping for any sign, any opening, any break in the trees. Any kind of shelter, a cave or a burrow or even a spot under eath adjoined trees where you could sit and rest until morning. But there was nothing. All around you there was nothing. Moonlight barely glinted from the shiny, poisonous berries, nor their dripping thorns. Dew was beginning to gather, but that couldn’t provide enough light for you to get any sense of direction. You were lost and it was getting darker by the second, the air was so cold and wet you could barely take in a full breath without shaking. But how had it grown so cold so quickly, it wasn’t winter yet, but you felt icy. 

Oh.

This was it. This was the chill of death oft described by those who had seen the edge between worlds and not yet tipped over. 

You could feel it. The reaper’s breath on your face. The cool blade of his scythe at your neck. 

You stopped moving, stopped rushing. In a moment, you knew and you accepted all at once. 

At least you would no longer be burdening anyone. You inhaled a calm breath, and let yourself fall to the forest floor. 

But a reaper’s arm caught your frame. You could not open your eyes to see the edge of worlds, suddenly weighted too much to bear. And unconsciousness descended. 

When you woke there was warmth. The smell of burning, the feel of rough wool against your skin. The lingering smell of smoke and meat. You worried momentarily if this was hell. If fire and brimstone had truly awaited you all this time, and your short life of promiscuity and depravity had earned you a spot right next to the fire. You couldn’t be all that shocked, really. But when you opened your eyes you knew, in that intangible, singular way of parsing reality from dream, that you were still alive. Death’s grasp had not yet been tight enough, and here you still were. You wondered then if you were back in the village, if someone really had come to find you and you were in for a fate worse than hell. But taking in the high ceilinged stone room around you as your eyes circle around in their sockets, there was nothing familiar. 

So then where were you? 

You realized then that you were naked. A fur over you, the only thing covering your body. You ran your hands over the pelt, the heat from your body beneath it simulating the life the body it once had. Despite the warmth, you shivered. 

“Does the taking of fur disgust you?” A voice came from the opposite side of the room. A deep, low bass filled voice that even with the calm tone, you knew could make the room shake around you. 

You hadn’t even realized you weren’t alone. You sat up fast, pulling the fur closer around you, shielding your bare chest and shoulders, curling your legs underneath you. Such quick movement made your head swim, so much so you thought you would be sick. You wanted to lie down again but you instead stayed sat up, your face turned to find the source of the voice. There was nothing, no one, to be seen. 

“Answer me.” The voice commanded. 

“No.” Your throat was hoarse, words barely waking out either from thirst or from fear, “it is only natural. The exchange between lives. Caring for one for use, being cared for for the use of another.” 

“Mm.” The affirmative hum seemed to resonate from your own chest, vibrating your bones. 

“Have you come here as a scout?” It continued. 

“Where are you?” You looked again, the fire was situated across from you, the stone room was lavish, warm fur and cool stone surrounding the bed you had awoken on. 

Furs hung along the walls, dissecting the room, you assumed, into small sections. Was this some kind of cave? A long forgotten fort of another era? Just how long had you been asleep. The wounds on your hand were clean but not healed. So it can’t have been weeks, days maybe? 

“Answer me.” The voice called again, firmer now. 

“No. I came on my own.” You held the fur closer to you, sinking further into yourself. 

“I know that, woman. Finding you incapacitated in the woods was clue enough.” You heard a hearty, hard step toward you, “I asked, why you have come.” 

“I—I came…I…”you couldn’t answer.

Any explanation tasted foul against your tongue. Too shameful. Years of repressing your desire were keeping you silent. 

“I don’t take kindly to being intruded upon. Even less to being hunted. If your village is planning some kind of attack, they will be dead before they can reach the woods. Do you understand? You are alive right now, not because of kindness. What are they planning?” You could feel him now, behind one of the hung furs, the…essence of him was suffocating the room. 

You shook your head frantically, “nothing! No one told me to come. I came myself! No one told me to do it. I wanted to see the creature of the woods! I couldn’t stay there any more.”

Once your meek voice hushed, the silence followed. The voice was thinking. You hoped it was thinking things through, measuring your honestly, planning to accept it as fact. One of the longer, thicker suspended pelts was moved aside, only partially. Partially obscured and in the dim light you couldn’t make out the whole of the figure before you, but it was a large one. 

“You came willingly?” The voice was so much darker, the bass vibrations now chillingly closer. 

You nodded, afraid to speak, afraid to look, desperately wanting to look, horrified by what you could see, delighted by the possibility. You wanted to know, but you knew once you had seen you would never be the same. You would never go back to what your life was before you saw it. Although, the same was true for your entrance into the woods. 

“You came to me, and yet you cast your eyes away. As though you can not bear the sight. How pathetic.” As much chastisement as amusement colored the voice, and the laugh that followed, “Turn.” 

Your body trembled. Despite the warmth of the room, and the fur around you, you couldn't stop the shivers. Another thunderous step forward came from your left. Out of the corner of your eye you saw the fur pushed aside, then return to its place, waving back to stillness, before being blotted out by the back lit figure coming close to you. That's when you could feel the heat of its body. Radiating toward you, warmer than the hearth. Not a fiery, blistering heat, but an organic, mammalian heat that the deepest, most primal part of your brain craved. 

Your arms wrapped the fur closer around your chest, wanting to hide your naked skin from him. Whether the impulse originated out of fear or shame or a desire for modesty, you could not say. But you regretted it immediately, knowing you were cowering away from your desire. The creature’s massive hand entered your vision, it was familiar, almost human even. But large, so unnaturally large. The palm alone could cover your entire face, without even considering the length of its fingers, extended more so by the talon-curved black claws at their tips. 

“Turn.” He repeated, the creature didn’t have to touch you, but it may as well have, contactlessly guiding your face, turning your neck with just its kinesthetic energy toward him.

There you saw the face of a man. Or what may have once been a man. The brain you currently housed could not take in all of him at once, only in sections, piecing it together like a puzzle until the whole picture was finally digestible. One half the face of a man, deep black marks along the angles, his jaw, under his mouth and eyes. Of which there were four, two stacked on the left side, two on the right stacked atop one another, each one deep blood, crimson red. 

The top quadrant of the right of his face was shielded in some kind of shell or armor. His hair was short and wild above his face, a soft pink that felt incongruous above his fearsome face. The dark, charcoal black lines were perfectly symmetrical underneath his bottom lip, which was full and pressed tightly against his top. His face was wider than any human man you had ever seen, his neck was nearly the same width, large shoulders draped in a dark grey robe. Looking down, following the line of his thickset throat you saw two more black marks across his chest, moving in toward the center in hook like symbols, their origins shielded by the top collar of the robe. It was unsashed, and beneath it, down the line of his torso you could see four arms giving it the appearance more akin to thorax than torso. Each one is made solely of sinew and muscle. Each vein prominent and building under the surface of his skin. Black rings on his wrists, his forearms, all four of them, matching the black talons his thick scarred fingers ended in.  

He was unlike anything you had ever seen before. He was more animal than man. But still the contours and lines of humanity held the monstrous form together. You couldn’t look at him all at once. He was too large and too complicated for your mind to categorize. Your breath shook in your chest. He was real. The creature of your fears, your fantasies, or the stories you had heard countless times was real, and he was here before you, eyes boring into you, an unreadable series of thoughts behind his many eyes. 

A warmth spread in your chest, a bloom of summer comfort that you had only felt glimpses of upon meeting your newborn livestock. Was this love? Had you been right all along and this really was the man, or monster, you could love.

“Are you afraid?” He speaks low, the deep smoky voice once disembodied now home in his mouth in front of you. It suited him perfectly. 

“No.” And you knew it was not a lie. 

Seeing him now, having him so close, seeing his full form, not just in your imagination, he was…beautiful. The type of beauty that almost hurt to look at, but you couldn’t look away for even a second, for fear that it would extinguish itself. Like watching a dying star bloom and burst before being snuffed out in its own power. But power like his, the power you could feel coming off of him in waves would never be snuffed out. This power, this creature before you was eternal. Far after your miniscule human life, he would remain, even past his own corporeal life, he would always remain. A mark on this earth, a canyon-esque gash that would alter the topography of the world that remained. And how wonderful the world would be with his influence. Your pounding heart slowed, your mouth fell open in awe, tears begged to fall from your eyes. 

You could not restrain the wandering hand that raised to touch his armored face. Your quivering fingers looking so small against the hard, textured kaiten. It felt the shells of snails you would find by the creek bed, like the flaking shale stone but sharper and solid. The edges indented your fingers, but didn’t cut, if you were to have slid along their edges you were sure they would. 

He observed you carefully. “You are unafraid to touch me?” The eyebrows above his top most eyes twitch inwards slightly. 

“No.” You watch your fingers follow the lines of armor inward to the bumped bridge of his nose, following the ridge downward toward his mouth. 

“No…” you repeat, “I think you’re marvelous.”

Sukuna felt your fingers on his face, soft, still cooled fingertips, swirly and human. Your heart was beating hard in your chest, not rapidly, but as though it was taking breaths. He watched your lips part as your fingers studied his face. He wasn’t sure why he was still allowing you to touch him so freely. He had certainly killed men for less. He wasn't sure why he hadn’t left you to die in the woods? Or why he hadn’t killed you the moment he found you? Why he let your body warm in his bed instead of consuming you as he would any other offering your village made. Maybe he wasn’t feeling like  himself. Maybe he was just curious how far you would be willing to go. 

He had had curious, delusional humans like this wander into his life, beg for his attention, his help, whatever they believed he could provide them with. Power, money, influence, whatever it may be. Their fealty was impressive at times but they all made for a fine meal after brief entertainment. This was something else. You were something else. One of his foremost arms reached forward and wrapped his hand around your wrist, his fingers curling in on themselves around your slight, human wrist. 

“What is it you have come to ask of me?” He separates your fingers from his face, holding them still just a breath away, “Have your sycophantic fantasies of power beyond human capability brought you to the home of the monster?” 

You could sense the anger rising within him, the hold of your wrist growing tighter, starting to even pull you forward, your hips and bottom rising from the mat. His eyes seemed to grow redder. 

“I am not a granter of wishes nor am I of a generous spirit. You stumble here half dead, you surely must want something. So what is it you think was worth asking of me before I take the life you have given me.”

You were even closer to his face now, he had pulled you up with him as he rose to his feet, he must be two and half meters, had he been holding you at his full height, your feet would have hung above the bed. The fur had fallen from your body as he drew you up against him, but you didn’t feel the cool cave like chill you had when you first awoke. His strength, his power, the heat of his body, the restrained, simmering fury held inside of him. It was overwhelming, seductive, and more than enough to keep you warm. He could hear your heart begin to race, and your blood rush through your body all too quickly, your skin heating up against his hand. On your knees against the mat you knelt before him, you followed his lead up to his face and pushed yourself forward to connect your lips to his. 

You feel the distended, armoured eyes’ casing press against your cheek, its raised textures stinging the slashes the forest had given you. His lips were softer than his demeanor, but you could feel the teeth behind them were hard and sharp. It felt like genuine surprise colored his face as you kissed him. You were too overjoyed to have had the courage to pursue your desire, both here and stepping into the forest. Your bravery had brought you this far, and now you finally tasted the lips of the thing you desired most in your life. 

Another one of his hands gripped the back of your neck, pinching between the vertebrae hard enough to make your jaw fall open in a gasping cry of pain. Furious, blood red eyes glare at you, a mix of shock, maybe disgust and something…darker and meaner swimming behind the firelight reflected in them. 

“So that’s your desire?” His voice, already gravel and sunken, was clashed metal and flame. 

“Yes,” You nodded, or attempted to with his iron clad hold on your neck, “Yes. Yes. I desire you. I desire to be had by you. To be ravaged by you. To have you within me and for you to claim me above all others. I desire to feel the monster of the woods in my body, in my mouth, in my mind, everywhere. I am without purpose beyond your use, so please use me. Please. Please. Please. Ple--”

“Stop.” He clenched his hand again, silencing your words and replacing them with another sharp cry.

He was appraising you again. Your desperation was sickening, to see a woman so obsessed with such perverse desire was pathetic. You couldn’t have been more than thirty, and already so repressed and vile. 

Disgusting.

 But, there was something enticing about how willing you were, how your body had heated, how you had wettened from just one kiss. He could smell you leaking. Your pheromones filling the room, the sweetness of your blood sinking into pores in the stone. He could see your perked nipples, as though they were reaching for him. He could see your drooling mouth and frantic breaths. Bare chest hitching with each intake of air as though you were about to cry. 

 When he found you, cold and half dead on the forest floor, he could sense something animal within you. Something dark and sinister lurking below the feeble exterior. But even Sukuna, monster that he was, hadn’t expected that a young woman would hold such depravity in such high regard that she would forgo everything in her life for a chance. A chance to be with him, without even knowing what he was. If he was Curse or Monster or Animal or Human, hadn’t seemed to be part of your decision. This was the kind of devotion he had been used to, it was refreshing to see that some women didn’t always change with the times. 

Or, maybe it had just been too long since he got his dicks wet. 

Sukuna’s angry eyes lidded, he had made his decision. And you, in all of your wanton desire, prayed to him, the only god worth recognizing, that it was what you wanted.

Another one of his hands moved to the front of your neck, now holding the entirety of your throat in two of his hands. Your hands, useless by comparison, try to wrap around his forearm, not to pull him away, but to bring it closer to you, to feel more of him, to relish in the sight of your hands drafted by the strapping, muscle defined, black ringed forearms. 

“You want to be fucked by the monster? You think you deserve to be ravaged?” A baffled chuckle leaves him, your gall was certainly amusing to him, “You think I should want to use something like you?” 

Doubt crept into your desire-scorched mind. In all of your years of pining you never even considered that he would reject you. That he would be…a creature that had preferences and could recognize your pitfalls. Your chest began to feel hollow, caving in on itself in shame and devastation. Your whole life had led to this and you failed. You would never know the pleasure of the monster of the woods. You truly had no purpose all along. 

“Is your innocence still intact?” He glowers down at you, all four eyes now moving over your body, which was fully bare to him now that the fur had fallen to the mattress. 

You shook your head, burning red shame climbing to your cheeks. 

But he seems to smile, a barely perceptible smile that could easily have been a trick of shadow, “You think because you fuck a few farmer’s sons you are prepared to fuck the king of curses himself?”

You choke out a strangled, “no”

Your voice was pathetic against this hold, the attempt at shaking your head was even more pitiful. 

He shakes his own since you can not, “No.” 

The fire must have grown, the room was scorching and sweaty, thick with the smell of organic life. Sukuna could smell your leaking, begging pussy starting to seep onto your thighs. He took in a large sniff of the room’s thickening air, watching as you shifted shyly at his lewdness. 

“Oh you’ll have to be more brave than that. We’re just getting started.” He enjoyed how easy it was to get you to keening shyness, “You’ve never had anything like me before, and I will not be gentle with you. If you break, then you are broken. And it will be of no concern to me. Do you understand?” 

You tried to nod but were still restricted by his hold on your throat. 

“Good.” He smiled, a pleased, droopy eyed smirk of satisfaction. 

You felt some unfurl against your knee, something wet and heavy. A….tongue?a tongue. A fat, thick, slobbering tongue unfurled itself onto your inner thigh, slid up the soft, sensitive skin already damp with your pre fucked wetness. 

Sukuna was pleased with the flavor, tart and organic, sliding along his lower tongue, he found every lingering drop and followed the trail up to your quivering, dripping cunt. Letting the tip chart up the slit, where the shadows hid you in modesty. You shivered in his arms, making his lower two hoist up your body to be eye level, holding you under your thighs, keeping them parted. He watched your eyes fly open, fear and confusion ruining your whorish expression. He loved to witness the marriage of arousal and fear. Even more tasting how your fear was accentuating your arousal. Your slick becoming sweeter, clearly having resided once deeper inside you, now pushed forward in desperation. In need. 

You let out a strangled, whine, unfamiliar with the feeling of any tongue tasting between your legs, kissing your pussy, wiggling its way inside to press against your hole. You never would have known to imagine one so wide. Wide enough to out do the largest of any cock you had let in before. It made you squirm more, despite his hands holding you in place, his black nails dug into your hips, making you stall. 

“Don’t tell me, no one has tasted you before?” He can see the specific mix of confusion and shame and fulfillment that he has seen before in the fortunate souls who were able to bed him for their firsts. 

“Ungh--n-no---”, You whimpered, the tongue slurping back and forth across your vulva, tasting every inch between your legs, from your clit all the way to your tight butthole. 

“What a waste.”

When the tip of this inhuman tongue circles the pert, puckered hole you whimper again. The sensation is so new, so unique, you've never even thought to touch yourself there, let alone had someone else touch you--- or taste you there. Your eyes begin to flutter, in pleasure, in shame, but he jerks your neck hard. 

“No! Look at me. Your god is pleasuring you, you will look at me.” His talon nails dig into the flesh of your thighs deeper, surely piercing the skin. 

He stood easily, one harsh hand on your ass, stomach tongue circling your clit as he moved, rocking you up and down against it. Your chest slipped against his chest as you faltered, your hands trying to grip his shoulders to steady yourself. He found it endearing how you collapsed against him already. Sukuna wondered if you would survive the night, or if you understood how in over your head you were. The hand on the back of your neck tilted your face upwards to him, making him be the one to kiss you. 

You nearly fainted, two tongues on your bodies, filling you from each end. sending a deep sense of wholeness and satisfaction through your whole body. He kissed like he was consuming you; large, open mouthed kisses, letting you feel his fangs pinch at your bottom lip. You fought your shaking body, trembling in his arms already, to push yourself up to slide your tongue into his mouth. It’s then that you feel that it was forked. Not like a snake, thin and subtle, this was thick and muscular, like two full human tongues joined at the base, wrapping themselves around yours. Nothing about him was as you expected. And that was exactly what you craved. 

He moved to the fire with you, moving onto the floor where a pelted rug sat in the amber, flickering light. Ornate, soft, incongruously well kept pillows littered the area around you, but he did not place you on any of them. He dropped you onto the rug, the hard stone floor underneath unkind to your still damaged body. But the tongue that still worked over your cunt took precedence. 

Sukuna knelt over you, two lower arms keeping your hips level with his stomach so he could keep tasting you. He could watch your stomach twitching in pleasure, you were growing close to your climax. 

“Do you like the way my tongue feels against your asshole, pet?” He mocks you, leaning over you, watching your face scrunch, but noting how you kept your eyes open and trained on him. Following directions well. Good. 

“Answer me.” He did not care for your silence. 

“Yes!” You croaked out, barely able to gasp out the words in time before his tongue circled your asshole again. 

“Let’s see how much,” Sukuna moved one thick finger into your pussy, clicking his tongue, “This won't do, you’ll have to be much looser if I am going to get both inside.” 

The insertion of his finger and his stimulation of your ass pushed you over the edge. Whining into the dimly lit room, you let your eyes close, vision already gone white as you climaxed. Pulsing, unrelenting pleasure destroys every nerve in your body. The horrifying thought emerged that maybe you would wake up. Still in your cabin, still in the village you didn’t belong in, this all having been a bizarre, dangerously sensuous dream. Surely, it must be too good to be true. 

But a hard crack against your cheek snapped your eyes open again, “I told you to look at me, woman. Close your eyes to me again and you will never feel me touch you in passion again.” 

Your cheek burned, in shame and from the harsh contact. How could you let him down like this? Your jaw trembled as his tongue retracted, licking the lips that separated his abdominal muscles, cleaning your climax that had soaked his hips. Despite how mean his words and treatment were, it was undeniable that his lower mouth had enjoyed its meal. You panted against the floor, trying to catch your breath, but Sukuna gave you no respite. He sunk two fingers into your quivering, still spasming cunt. His claws intimidated you, making you anxious he would hurt or pierce you somehow, but you could not imagine a better death. 

After what he had just given you, the kindness he showed you in his kiss, his generosity toward your body, the way he watched you so closely, the way he wanted to ease you into his size. He was kinder than you could have ever imagined. 

Sukuna’s foremost arms manhandled you onto your stomach, flipping you over with a loud thunk. The lower ones pull your hips up onto your knees. Finally, he was face to face with the pussy he had just devoured. Pretty and tight and obviously underappreciated. Slippery and fluttering after the slightest instance of use. Even the air in the room makes them twitch. Surely those village men didn’t know the prize they had among them. Two beautiful, slick holes looking back at him, he couldn’t help but run his thumb over your asshole, feeling it flinch and pucker at the contact.

 Why should his lower stomach have all the fun? 

He leaned forward and slipped his tongue around the rim. You rocked forward against the floor, trying to reach your arms out for stability. Letting his second set of hands hold your cheeks open for him to carry on tasting you from the back, the top set held your arms down hard against the floor. Sukuna loved the taste of skin, of sweat, or soiled, work spent, effort-seasoned body. Both for consumption and pleasure, nothing could compare to the grime of filth of a terrified, well worked body. And you, you were filth incarnate. A perfect dirty, sweet taste for him to indulge himself. He may not have to hunt tonight. 

You stilled yourself, letting yourself give over to his lapping generosity. Your cheek pushed against the floor, turning your face toward the hearth. You watched the fire lick upward, feeling his hot tongue move in time with the flame against you. Twin flames and twin muscles working in tandem. You moaned into the floor pelt, letting yourself melt. 

He removed his tongue, while he could stay for time eternal, he was starting to ache. Moving to lean over your body, claws scraping up your body, one hand pushing your head hard into the floor. His three other hands wandered your body, touching your hips, rounding the flanks of your ass and up to your waist, feeling the backs of your thighs against the fronts of his. 

“How long have you wanted this?” Sukuna leaned down to your ear, you could feel a hardened heat behind you. 

“My whole life, I’ve needed this,” Your voice returned as you had finally regained control of your breath, “I’ve needed you. I begged for you.” 

He rounded his tongue around the shell of your ear, making you shuttering breaths into wimpy pleas. He explored the curves and angles of your ear, feeling you quiver against his body, pushing your hips back against his, trying to fill yourself all on your own. The thin wrapped cloth he wore around his waist bore the marks of his arousal proudly at the front, tandem wet stains above and below. It didn’t matter if you were prepared enough anymore. 

“What did you do then?” Sukuna leered down to you, pushing your face harder into the ground, the other two free hands massaging your breasts roughly, grabbing and twisting and pinching and pulling. 

You could barely get a word out, “I--I wo--oh yes--I--uh.”

He slapped your right asscheek hard, the crack bouncing off the stone walls. 

“What would you do, pet? When your desire was too much? Did you fuck yourself? Did you find someone to fuck you? Tell me.” The hand on your head had gathered your hair and was tugging it back so the roots screamed. 

“I fucked myself!” You confessed, your head being yanked back, craning your neck painfully. 

“How did your fingers compare to my own?” Sukuna mocked you, you could feel his lips curl around your ear, traveling down to your neck. 

“They were nothing!” You panted, his hands on your breasts were moving again, making it impossible to think or feel any shame or restriction, “I would use anything, anything I could find. Candles, vegetables, anything…Nothing compares to you. Nothing.” 

He let go of your hair and you were too weak to really stop yourself from hitting the ground. Your cheek cracked against the floor, making your head swim.  

“What do your people call me, pet?” He asked, lips moving down your back. 

“Nothing. You have no name, just The Creature of the Woods. No words we could form would be fitting for you.”You panted, trying to get your eyes to focus again. 

He moved back up to your face, hunching around your shoulder to find your eyes again, “Sukuna. You, pet, may call me Lord Sukuna.” 

He marked how your eyes, dreamy and glazed as they were, lit up at the title. At the sight of him, wet faced and approving. You really would be the devotee that he could really enjoy. 

You nodded, “Yes, Lord Sukuna. Thank you.” 

He smiled again, fangs on display. 

Perfect. 

All four hands left your body, you fell limp to the floor in a heap, not realizing how much he had been supporting you. You tried to push yourself up, but he put one hand on your back, even just one of his limbs enough to keep you stuck. 

“Stay.” 

You obeyed. 

Sukuna rustled behind you, heavy steps, swaying cloth. He was undressing. And as much as you wanted to turn to see him, you stayed prone and unmoving, wanting to show him how well you could follow his instruction. The heavy steps rounded your body, his large feet came into view, those black rings cuffed his ankles as well. 

“Look up to me.” He ordered above you. 

You moved slowly, hinging your neck up. His legs were bare now, long and thick as the sugi tree trunks that you had traversed to get here. Rippling, nonsensical musculature, a level of growth and definition that made no sense. Like he was crafted from clay purely as an exercise in intimidation and arousal. And it worked on both fronts. 

Above his knees there were two more bands of black, encircling each of his sprawling, delicious looking thighs. Were you to be free to not worry about acting beyond your station, you would want to take a harsh bite out of each one. 

But what sat between, above, at the apex of his thighs, brought a real forth a real gasp. For all his inhuman exceptionalism, for every instance in which his form had surprised you, this was the pinnacle. Two long, thick, leaking appendages. Red tipped, both black ringed at the base and just below the tip. One on top of the other, but a single casing of testicles underneath the lower. His whole body was exposed to you now; the soft dark patch of hair under the mouth on his stomach, trailing downward to the base of his top cock. The shadows of lower pectorals angling downward around his hips, it seemed like every inch of his body pointed toward his dual genitalia. Bones, muscles, ink lines, hair grain, everything. Or maybe you just couldn’t take your eyes off of the dripping, delightful sight in front of you.  Both mouths curled into a sly, evil smile above you. 

“You like what you see?” He coos, but the undercurrent of mocking is apparent. 

Still, you nod feverishly. 

“Does my body surprise you, child?” He runs a hand down his torso, running his index finger over the bottom lip of the still wet mouth on his abdomen. 

“Y-yes.” You feel your own mouth, singular, and now perhaps insufficient, whet at the sight of Sukuna touching himself. 

He tuts above you, shaking his head, looking offended, “You are disappointed in your god?”

“N-no!!” You cry out, moving to your knees, reaching for his thighs, but he steps back and you stumble forward, “No, Lord Sukuna, I would never. You are perfect, I want only to please you properly! Please, forgive me.” 

While falling forward was not the maneuver you expected, now that you land on your outstretched arms, in a low, respectful, reverent bow, you feel that he has once again guided you exactly where you should be. How better for him to understand the seriousness of your apology without you kneeling before him. 

Sukuna watched you slump forward, your desperation to please him bringing you to this level of submission with only a few flicks of his tongues. A weaker man would maybe have felt guilty about how pathetic you had become. But Sukuna was not a lesser man. He was a god among them, and you knew it.  

“Kneel.” His voice was clean and clear, leather and charcoal. 

You looked up from your spot on the floor, rising on your knees to just barely meet his pelvis. Eyes trained up ward as he looked down at you, cocking his head. 

“What are you waiting for? An invitation?” He chided, annoyance and impatience pushed onto you, but his cool demeanor was unshaken. 

 You let your eyes lap down his body, taking in all of the divots and peculiarities. The mouth on his stomach licked its lips, clearly wanting you to continue, if it were to have a mind of its own. Finally you traced his hips down to his first, waiting, expectant cock. It must have been over a half foot long, easily, dangerously. Wide and thick. The residual human part of yourself mourned your jaw for what was about to be expected from it, and then…other parts of you as well. But the majority, the indulgent, devoted, wanton majority of you, couldn’t believe how generous he was being. To actually let you touch him, to feel the sticky arousal against your lips, the beading precum salting your tongue as you kitten licked the head of the top penis. You were the chosen lamb of this new god, and you would do anything he asked of you to keep it that way. 

Opening your mouth to suck him in, you realized how much this task would demand of you. But the taste, the unctuous, musky flavor of skin and sweat drew you in further. You weren't tremendously experienced in oral sex, but for him you would give everything you had, and pray whatever you didn’t succeed in he would give you the guidance and opportunities to improve. You pulled in as many inches as you could manage, feeling him brush the back of your throat, breathing through the gag that tried to push forward. You let the partnering drool that it brought about drip past your mouth, cupping your hands underneath to catch its remnants and slathering it onto the second shaft. 

Sukuna was surprised with your ingenuity. He hadn’t even had to remind you to split your attention. He really was impressed. Maybe even as impressed as he was with how hot and tight your mouth was. Slobbering and choking on him already, and still not down to the base. You would need his help eventually, but for now, he wanted to see what you could manage. 

And you tried. You really did. At least you…think you did? You pushed as far as you could go, and still there was enough shaft to wrap your hand around. And that was just one. You resorted to bobbing incrementally and letting your tongue explore what you couldn’t encase. You wanted every inch, every centimeter, every piece of him. You traced every vein you could reach with your tongue, following the exploratory desire with the thumb of the hand pumping the lower. He really was gorgeous, even here. Especially here. Something about this thought, this acknowledgement in your heart, reminding yourself that he was every bit the myth that you dreamed of and more, made it easier for you to swallow him. The reminder that he was your god, and you had spent your entire life dreaming of this moment, brought your lips to the coarse hair at the base of his pelvis, brought the tip of his cock to the midpoint of your throat, bulging obviously through the skin and muscle of your neck.

 It was what brought one of his hands down hard on your shoulder, and another at the back of your head, keeping his cock buried in you, with no chance of your escape. A long, surprised, genuinely surprised, grunt fell from him. He squeezed hard on your shoulder, steadying himself as you tightened your throat around him, letting the spit fall freely, falling onto his second cock, your chest, even drip onto the floor. He couldn’t believe you had actually done it, without his pressure, without his guidance. No scraping teeth, no weepy eyes. He could have mourned those demonstrations of your effort, but nothing could compare to your sheer desperate desire to taste all of him. Your hand on his lower cock tightened as you choked, but once you remembered to breathe through your nose you resumed pumping. The dual stimulation was perfect, your timing, your pressure, everything. He pushed harder on your head, as though he had more to feed into you, but the nasty, chortling gag, bubbling spit and surging tears was better. 

“Good.” He sighed out, huffing out full, humid breaths. 

He let up and you pulled off to breathe. You gasped and cleared your throat, he chuckled at the sight of you trying to pull yourself together. 

“Too much fo---” He began,but was cut off by you ducking down to take his second cock into your mouth, bobbing fervently, with the knowledge that you could take the slightly shorter length easily. 

“Fuck!” It didn’t become him to succumb to vocalizations of praise so easily but seeing you kneel before him, his first cock resting, hard and wet on your face while you deepthroat his secondary superseded his pride. 

But your pride was fanned, glowing hot embers catching flame and burning into full hearthful fire. You were pleasing him. Maybe even impressing him. You couldn’t stop now. Maybe ever. You could, maybe should, stay like this forever, on your knees, mouth and hands full of him, staying sticky and drooly as many times and as long as he would allow you. One of those multitudinous hands gripped your hair, pushing you down again, the scrape of his nails against your scalp made you shiver, which then made you gag again. But you could tell he enjoyed that. He wanted to see you struggle, and as impressive as you were being, you didn't ever want to deprive him of that.  SO you gagged, letting fat tears roll down your cheeks, letting your nose run, letting both wet the cock that sat on your face. You took it in your hand and let the spit you left there earlier spread onto your face, onto your forehead, your nose, your eyelids, your cheeks, covering your face in your spit, his precum, his scent, anything…everything. 

Sukuna let his chest shutter, the display in front of him was so depraved. You were so nasty and desperate for his approval. As you swallowed his upper cock again he felt your tongue, soft and textured, round around the underside of his shaft before circling the tip. You increased your speed and his hips responded. His hips acted alone, wanting to both stay entirely in your mouth and also seek freedom from the overwhelming pleasure. Your bobbing and his thrusting were not at the same rhythm, and it was leading to him growing close. Extremely close, far too early. You were working them both in an incongruent pattern, and as much as he enjoyed your devotion, he knew what he needed. 

He pushed on your shoulder again, “Stop moving, open your mouth and leave it open.” 

You obeyed immediately, not pulling off his cock, but staying still and opening up as wide as you could, preemptively taking a deep breath. Sukuna took control, and while you never registered that you really had any, he was ready to punish you for taking it from him. So he resolved to fuck your face.

 One cock at a time, top and then lower, top and then lower. One at a time, taking turns, seeing how far and how quickly you would adapt to each, how quickly he could pull them from you and feel you sputter and gasp. He wanted to make you cry, make you crumble. You weren't made of stone, as happy as you were to be had by him, you couldn’t pretend that this didn't affect you. Heavy tears fell, your voice suffered, moans and gasps growing hoarse each pull back he gave you. Sucking both was nearly impossible, but he still held them together and fed them both to you. He, and you, could only manage a few inches. But your active, slippery, devoted tongue lapped at the heads, swirling around them both, sliding in between, hollowing your cheeks. His thighs tensed, having to work hard to keep him from shuttering harder into your mouth, more importantly keeping him solid so he didn't risk showing how well you were doing. 

“Alright.” He gave an even response, measuring his voice closely. 

He pushed you off, and you followed, already missing the feeling of having your mouth full of him, missing the flavor of his pleasure. You licked your lips, savoring the milky lingering that stuck on your chin and the corners of your mouth. 

Sukuna took in a few deep breaths, watching you savor him, having to close his eyes and grip the bases of his dicks hard, not allowing even a single drop of cum to escape. Not yet. If you wanted to be his zealot, then he was to make use of you. It wasn’t every day that a young, healthy, fertile, young woman arrived and passed out in front of his door. He may be a curse, but he knew how to count his blessings.  

“Stand.” He had a new resolve, he had a new motive. 

You stood, legs having numbed themselves in your previous position. You ignored the prickling sensation and swaying of unsure muscles. Now, toe to toe, you got a real sense of his height. He stood an easy two feet above you, probably more. Your head just met the bottom of his chest. You were closer to the mouth on his abdomen than the one on his face. 

You could see now that he did actually have body hair, soft, light mauve-brown across his chest, lining the center of his torso, and resuming again at his pelvis, crowing darker and thicker as it rounded his dual cocks. 

Sukuna watched you study him, admire him, before the influence of him looking down on you brought your face back up. He held your gaze as he separated your legs, enough for a third hand to test between your legs. Feeling the damp, no---more than damp, sopping wetness, the precum saturated hair, now downy wet against his palm. 

“Don’t tell me you got this wet just from sucking me off?” He watched your gaze flutter, answering him, “You really are pathetic, huh?”

“...yes.” You nodded. 

“And you answer exactly when spoken to,” He cupped your face in his upper arms, cocking your shying face to look up at him, “What a good pet you are.” 

Your eyes flew open, your heart surged out of your chest. Had his hand not still been between your legs, you may have buckled and fallen. You really had pleased him. Sukuna leaned forward and connected your lips again. A gentle kiss. Well, as gentle as you could imagine him being. Not a consuming kiss, but a congratulatory one. You closed your eyes and savored the feeling, letting your hands rest calmly on his hips, trying your hardest not to pull yourself closer. 

The kiss deepened, the hand between your legs pushed in two fingers. The sensation of filling did make your knees weak, but he caught you, easing you down onto the floor.  Once again you were completely at his mercy. But had you ever not been? Even before you stepped into the woods, you were always his.

Legs in the air, bracketing his hips, your arms around his neck, his hands easing you onto the floor, filling your pussy, thumbing your clit, pulling one of the floor pillows forward and easing it under your back, hinging you upward so he no longer had to crouch to make your hips level with one another. He kissed you harder, now his tongue claimed your mouth, sliding against yours in swirling, possessive tangles. The lower stomach lapped at your own, sliding along and into your bellybutton, across your pelvis, feeling the soft texture of public hair, tasting your shuttering skin. 

You could feel the heavy, leaking twin cocks pressing at your seams, trying to slot themselves inside of you. You rocked your hips forward and back, trying to align yourself correctly until he stilled your hips. 

“You came to me for one purpose, yes?” He was still kissing you intermittently, his arched nose bumping against your cheeks as his kisses traveled down to your neck, “Whatever I desire to do with you. How ever I see fit to use you? Yes?” 

The two tongues, the two cocks, the four arms, the massive form, the pressing pressure between his body and the floor, the heat of the fire, the smell of sex in the air, all of it. Everything brought you to this question. To bring you to the answer he craved from you. That you craved from yourself. 

“Yes, Lord Sukuna. Anything you would ask of me.” You carded your fingers through the hair at the back of his head, delighted by the soft texture against the sensitive in-betweens of your fingers. 

He pulled off your neck, four blood red eyes looking at you, studying your for any ounce of falsehood, “I need a successor. An heir. To spread my will. And you will carry him. No matter how many tries it takes, you will carry my heir. What greater honor is that?” 

Overwhelming love consumed you. Despite your better thinking you plunged forward and kissed him gratefully. You had been chosen. He wanted you to carry his line. He wanted to breed you. He wanted to use you for his greatest purpose. You’re entire life of feeling lost and wrong, it was because you had been wrong. You were never supposed to be one of them. You were supposed to be here, under him, full and round and working hard to give him as many continuations as he needed. You were blessed. 

Panting breaths through wet smacking kisses filled the air as he guided your hand to his first cock lining it up with your hole, then the same with his lower cock to your second hole. It was daunting to think about, but thinking was no longer your responsibility. He would take you, you knew he would, so you were sure you could handle it. He entered your cunt first. A splitting fullness that was still shocking despite his early entry into your mouth. You gasped and raked your dull, broken nails down his shoulders. 

“Yes.” He seemed wild now, feral and unrestrained, “Yes, open up for me. Come apart.” 

His voice morphed yet again, dark and raspy. Like every word stripped another layer of whatever humanity he still had. Would there be any left by the time this was over? 

HIs insertion seemed to go on forever, breeching into your womb, surely. You could feel the tip of his cock in your throat. Unbelievable fullness, no, not fullness…wholeness. You were finally whole. Tears came to your eyes, not of pain, not even of pleasure, although both were overwhelming. What spilled your heart was the feeling of belonging, or love, or usefulness. You were finally being used, and proving to be useful. You no longer had to lament your purposeless ness. 

A clawed hand gripped your hip, moving opposite him as he began to thrust forward. Each brief moment of less than absolute fullness was agony, but as he drove himself deeper into you, you were proven again and again why believing in your god would reward you eternally. 

Sukuna was feeling his resolve crack. You were so tight, so hot. The soaking velvet muscles of your interior sucked him in just as wantonly as your mouth had, trying to milk him dry already. He had to peel you off his chest in order to kneel to penetrate you better, deeper, with more leverage. Keeping one hand on your chest, so your reaching, wiggling body would stay on the god damn floor so he could fuck you properly. You clearly wanted it so badly and your constant moving wasn't going to make it any better. One particularly pointed thrust brought your voice back. A harsh, clipped shriek. 

“Oh!” A vocal pandora’s box was opened, and you continued babbling, “Oh Lord Sukuna, thank you! Agh--oh---thank you! Thank you--’ts so much ah! Ah!”

He shut you up with a hand at your throat and two thick fingers in your mouth, letting only sinched, garbled gasps come through. He rocked his hips faster, the sharp sounds coming from you much more to his liking. He could feel you quivering around him, and for your efficiency he thought to reward you. A dutiful thumb found your clitoris, circling in such a way that your eyes rolled back and your head craned backward against his hand at your throat. 

“You love this. Being fucked on the floor like a whore. Being bred like the animal you are.” He watched as you nodded fervently, amused by your depravity. 

A clench of your pussy around him made his own head loll back. You really were so fucking hot, both to watch and to feel. A perfect cunt made for him to destroy any way he saw fit. But for now, he wanted only to preserve her, to keep her full of cock and cum until you had given him the succession befitting of a king. Maybe ten, or twenty would be enough. More numbers was always better, and certainly some would die. 

He imagined it, really imagined it. With you underneath him, around him. Your full, round tummy, his fast growing seed gestating within. Your breasts full and swollen with sacred milk. He could taste it already on his own lips and the thought alone made him hungry. 

Sukuna picked you up and moved onto his back, carrying you with him, staying full sheathed inside. This angle was perfect for both penetrating you in both holes and bringing your perfect tits to his mouth. Your ass was even tighter than your pussy, however that was possible. You cried out as he entered you, clawing at his shoulders and neck, one of your jagged, uneven nails even broke his skin. 

Impressive. 

But he pulled you back to his lips, hoping to ease your discomfort. 

You couldn’t believe how much it burned, having him inside of your ass. White blinding pain, that even the sweet pleasure of him against the sweet spot of your pussy and his thumb on your clit couldn’t cover. HIs pace in your pussy was brutal to your ass, although the shared wetness was helping to soothe and smooth the experience. It wasn't until he bottomed out completely, both cocks fully sheathed inside of you, as deep as they could go, both jamming against their corresponding sweet spots that you truly melted. Weepy, whiney blissful agony that made you succumb to every indulgent urge in your body, his hand stopped on your clit, although you hadn’t paid much attention to the pleasure in the seconds since he had claimed your asshole. But the culminations of sensation, of fullness, of friction, of his hot tongue against your nipples, once again you were overcome with joyous sensation. 

You heard once that the French referred to an orgasm as a little death, la petit mort, and nothing could be more fitting for how this felt. You felt as though you lost consciousness, ascended to whatever higher plane existed and found yourself back in this pleasure filled body just as you crumbled against his face. Hugging his head to your chest, where his mouth still occupied itself with your breasts. You were so delirious it felt like there were additional mouths kissing, licking, suckling at your back and your hips. Surely you must be overwhelmed with pleasure. 

Sukune watched you climax, watching your tremble and flex and collapse all in a brief eternity that was enough for him to study every microsecond and all too quick. fHe still lifted and bounced you on himself, letting you ride through your pleasure. After all, he needed his own release to make this worthwhile. But, he was pleased. He had held a superstition that those born of unpleasured women at the time of their conception lived fruitless, less fulfilling lives. And he would not risk such a fate for his brood. No matter how many times he would impregnate you. 

But the vice clench of your cunt, the gentle spray of cum onto his pelvis, the subsequent easy slip of himself into your ass…your orgasm heightened everything. He bounced you faster, tuning out your squeaking, pleading moans. He had a task at hand. And its completion was quick to approach. 

You gave over totally to his hold on you, letting him maneuver and use you fully. Taking the mind melting, overwhelming pleasuring and pain in stride. You fell against his chest as he rocked your hips up and down. You chose to litter his neck and shoulder with soft, sweet, appreciative kisses. You could barely keep your eyes open, but you didn’t want to miss a thing. Your arms wrapped around his neck, rubbing his soft, sweat dampening hair against your cheek. 

The cock in your pussy twitched, the familiar tug that told him his orgasm was approaching, and in a way that would not be stopped. In a quick maneuver, he pulled his other cock from your ass and pulled your hips flush against his, burying himself inside you as deep as he could. You shutter against him, as fucked out as you were. 

“I love you, Sukuna.” your breath fans against his neck, right under his ear, where the cool metal of his gauges preserves the sensitivity. 

He cums. A deep thick filling, load by load, painting the inside of your cunt white, drilling it as deep as possible, to give it the best chance of taking. He lifts and lowers you twice more, each time milking himself of more and more sticky, thick, pent up, extremely virile cum. He holds your neck against him, holding you as close as he can, you richest flush against his, kissing your stomach with his lower mouth, willing it to become a welcoming home for his seed. Feeling your lips on his neck, the genuine love, the care and sweetness you held for him sinking into his pores. Your hair was soft against this palm as he held the back of your neck, it smelled like cool pine air and cedar bark. You, a product completely of this earth, entirely created within the organic materials of this terra firma, and himself, jagged edged and mysticism beyond reason. Or rather, mysticism of only one reason, cursed energy. It felt divine, it felt ordained that something as wholly organic would succumb to something as apocryphal as he. 

He feels the second tug at the thought and if quick to maneuver you up and down onto his second cock before it, too, releases its allotted share of his spend. He would have to make sure both cocks emptied themselves inside of you, as having only one production center for reproductive material and two outlets made his individual loads, potentially, less potent. Or at least, he wondered. Figured it couldn’t hurt to think of it like twice the chances, although logic would call it the same one.

 Sukuna bit down on your neck during his second orgasm. Hard enough to break the skin, enough to make your fucked out self keen backwards in pain, letting a long howl out into the chamber. 

“Hush pet, this is important.” He soothes and scolds in the same tone before lapping up the blood from your wound. 

Your blood is sweet and rich, like a lamb's. Cloying and intoxicating. Sukuna lets the metallic swirl of blood run between his teeth, over his gums, coating his tongue, and down his throat. Having tasted everything you could give, everything he could extract form you without killing you, he finally felt as though he completed his task. You were full, he was satiated. The fire was nearing its end, surely night had fallen again. You would need to sleep, You would need plenty of sleep while you grew his children. 

Sleepily, tenderly you, too, lapped at his neck. Not breaking skin or tasting his blood, but gently, lovingly kissing him. Sukuna gripped your arms and pulled you off his chest, he watched as your dazed eyes struggled to find him. A small, unconcerning, amount of blood dripped from your neck down your chest, rounding the curve of your breast. The softening cock within you twitched again. But he knew you couldn’t last another round. And he likely didn’t have any more cum to give you at this point. Pulling your somnolent form off of him, he tucked his lower arms under your back and thighs, carrying you not to the bed he had placed you in the previous night. But to his own. 

It was larger, the bedding was older and better crafted, the fireplace in there was still roaring, not at a low, dulcet glow like this rooms’. It just made sense. If you were to conceive his child tonight, you may as well sleep beside him. It would likely take more effectively that way. He placed you in bed and watched as you rolled over, pulling the cover around you and snuggling into his pillow, taking a deep sniff. Sukuna moved to his pitcher and wash basin that resided in the corner of the room, giving himself a quick cleanse of anything lingering and sticky. The smell he wouldn;t mind, but the stick and the crust, he could certainly do without. He looked back to you on the bed. You probably felt the same. He moved to you and cleaned your legs, lingering wetness and spit had begun to dry already, but to his delight, no cum appeared to be leaking from you. He had buried it deep enough for it to stand a chance. Good. 

Once you were clean enough, he discarded the cloth and water, joining you in bed. He picked up your arm and slung it over his chest, looping two of his own under you and pulling you onto his chest.   

“You’ll sleep here.” He told you, watching your eyes peak open as he spoke, you were clearly fighting off the sandman, but appeared to be winning, “If this proves successful, you will continue to sleep here so I may observe the development and keep you safe. If it does not, I very well may kill you if I don't believe there is substantial probability of success in the future. Understand?”

He looked down at you, and you were fast asleep. Large eyes, once dazed in pleasure, now wet and closed, peacefully resting against him. A mouse asleep on the chest of a lion, perhaps the kindness he extended you now would not be wasted, and he would be rewarded for his generosity. Perhaps you would really prove to be the missing link in his legacy. Sukuna leaned down and pressed a small kiss to your damp, cooling forehead. 

Only time would tell, he supposed.

ahhhh, to enjoy a cum filled sleep in the arms of your favorite monster. thats the dream. Well, I hope you cuties enjoyed this one. I know I did. As usual, its about 3am and im sure ill make about six edits over the course of tomorrow as I re-read this. but, still, let me know what you thought. I really hope you enjoyed this one. New character, a little different style. and i love to chat/feedback. Anyway, Love you, thanks for reading. see you next time! --Doodle xx.

[plotsignificanthaircut555]

What He's Having (Kishibe x Bartender! Reader)

When a certain asshole at your bar earns himself a spit filled cocktail, Kishibe can't keep himself from requesting to "Have what he's having".

Warnings: SPIT, A LOT OF SPIT, sex, smut, sex on the bar, missionary, cowgirl, lotus, drinking, smoking, flirting, banter, SPIT, talking about kishibe's scar, breast play, female reader, clothes ripping, sex in public (kinda), DID I MENTION SPIT??????, feelings (yuck),

WC: 11.5k Ao3.

“I saw you.” The man at the bar spoke evenly, holding your gaze, delighting in how your eyes narrowed in confusion. 

“What?” You cocked your head, trying to appear nonchalant despite your heartbeat moving to your neck. 

 “I saw you spit in that guy's drink.” a sick little smirk curled the scarred side of his face. 

Your heart stopped, your skin went cold, you saw yourself getting fired, getting yelled at, maybe even arrested. The man’s face was so casual, almost delighted. But there was a danger in his eyes that you couldn’t identify. You didn’t have anything to say, you had given up on playing coy, he caught you, there was no point in trying to lie or hide it. He leaned forward, resting his arms on the bartop. 

“That guy was an asshole. Do I have to be an asshole to get that, or can I just order one from you?” 

Your brain couldn't piece it together fast enough. It was only seconds, but it felt like your thoughts stalled for a whole hour; replaying the sentence over and over again in your head. 

He wants you to---

He wants a drink with---

He wants you--

Oh.

Oh! 

Oh.

He wants you to spit in his drink. 

It had been a shit night. An absolutely shit night. When you arrived at the bar it was packed, the day shift had had almost no time to clean or prep for the night shift. Glasses unpolished, beer and wine fridge totally empty, trash cans overflowing, no clean rags to be found, garnish tray empty. In the first hour of your shift you were busting your ass just to catch up, not to mention serving the seemingly never ending line of customers. It was a Thursday night for god sakes, was there a holiday or something this weekend you had forgotten about? 

To make matters worse, a massive party came in. It must have been a stag do or a bachelor’s party or a birthday…or some other nasty excuse men use to go out and get shit faced and cause problems. As soon as they entered, you and your co-bartender locked eyes, a commiserative look that required no explanation. You both knew your night was fucked. More fucked than it had been already. The volume of the bar sky rocketed, the temperature became humid and sweaty, the general displeasure of the customer base similarly soared. Your regulars became irritated, some of your best customers tabbed out early and left, giving apologetics looks to the both of you as they left. The swarm of rowdy boys circled the bar, whistling and snapping for your attention. Even if they had been the nicest, chillest customers in the world, snapping and whistling was unacceptable in your bar. Their first strike. 

The second strike was the birthday boy practically eye fucking you when you delivered him his vodka redbull. Of course it was a vodka redbull. 

“What's a sexy thing like you doing here? We just came from the strip club, you’d fit right in. I bet if I gave you a referral they’d hire you.” He was already slurring his words, dripping with disgusting intent. 

You set his drink down in front of him, “Yeah? You a big spender over there?” 

He grinned sloppily and nodded, “Oh yeah.”

“I have no doubt.” You pushed off the counter and turned back to the rest of the bar. 

And you heard him scoff over your shoulder, and you thought you heard him mumble in your direction, “Whatever…bitch.” 

But in the interest of the sizable payout that you could get from this party, you swallowed your rage and offered the benefit of the doubt. 

But what was too far, was when the primary asshole and one of his minions started harassing your coworker. Whistling at her as she was shaking a martini, making lewd motions with their hands, flicking their tongues at her. Seeing red you moved to intervene but she stopped you, encouraging you to just let it go and pretend it didn’t matter. Last time you had gotten into with a customer, your manager almost fired you. Even though the guy was being a creep and making all the servers and bartenders uncomfortable, you were the one who was at risk of losing your job. And now your coworker was the one having to endure more of the bullshit because your managers didn’t care to protect you. 

So you decided to take things into your own hands. Covertly. 

Birthday Boy’s next drink would be a special one, one you made yourself, one you made with a very special secret ingredient. Letting a long, gross, frothy string of spit down into the vodka and ice, stirring twice and before topping it with a fresh redbull. It looked identical to any other drink you had made, but you thought you could see it glow radioactive. The hate simmering to the top like carbonation. You passed it across the bar with a marathoner’s heart, sliding forward the condensating drink, your spit likely already commingling with the liquor dewing the glass. The lech before you, none the wiser, accepted the drink. Nasty praises dripping like from his alcohol soaked lips, before taking a long, indulgent sip of his tainted drink. 

Kishibe was in love. He was at the corner of the bar, giving him a perfect view behind the bar. He watched as you talked to the young buck that had already leered at you too many times for Kishibe’s liking, and it wasn’t as though Kishibe wasn’t doing any leering of his own. He was at least being subtle about it. He marked how your body tensed when he spoke to you, the colossal eye roll that you gave when you turned your back. But he could still see you make the drink, he could see you purse your lips, and spit right down into the Collins glass in front of you. He couldn’t contain his delight. Pants responding and shrinking, mouth becoming drooly, his tongue darting out to lick his lips. 

He watched you turn, satisfied with the venom you leeched into your unsuspecting prey’s beverage. He would likely never know you had done this, it wasn’t harmless, nothing even close to kind, but it was your own act of defiance against his harassment. Something that wouldn’t stand to rile him up and potentially escalate to the point of potential violence, but something that perfectly demonstrated how he had preyed upon your boundaries. Kishibe was impressed, he didn’t expect you to go that far.

But Kishibe, sick as he was, couldn’t deny that something else lurked underneath his sense of pride. 

Envy

Roiling, hot, slick envy churned behind his navel. Making his chest heat and his hands go cold. The drink in front of him may as well have been sand. Suffocating, drying sand that would never quench his thirst. Not when he had seen the oasis before him. Were it to have been a mirage, it would have been well worth the journey, to live in the fantasy that he may be able to taste from those illusory, sacred, secret waters that sprung up before him. 

This was the opportunity he had been waiting for. Sitting in this bar, night after night, watching and waiting. It’s not like he was a pervert--er— well—-it’s not like he was desperate. He didn’t struggle the way his peers did to find sexual partners, he had a carefully worked charm that he knew how to flaunt. and minimal as it was, there was always the uniform. And the scar. Even the covetous vanity of youth subsided the day his cheek had torn open. For as the ancient texts said: chicks dig scars. 

You didn’t have an assassin's subtlety, nor were you skilled in timing of stolen glances. You had no poker face to be seen, you couldn’t stifle your reflex curling lips and fluttering lashes away from him as he caught one of your dreamy sidelong glances. He knew you wanted him too. And now he knew you were the nasty girl that he prayed you would be. The little shorts and skirts you wore, the ripped tights, the backless tops, the deep necklines, the occasional bruises around your neck that your shitty drugstore concealer could barely hide. He had prayed on his knees (well, something similar) that it wasn't all just for show, or in his head. And now he had confirmation, he knew that you could be the nasty girl of his dreams. And he couldn’t wait any longer to see just how far he could take you. 

So it was the natural next step for him to call you over after his drink was finished, smiling as you so diligently pulled his favorite whiskey from behind the bar. He didn’t miss the way your perky, perfect breasts bounced and jiggled as you trotted over to him. 

“Need another?” You cocked your head, your heart beat still racing, but no longer in fear, “Sorry it's so loud in here, this one’s on me.”

“You don’t have to do that.” He was touched by your kindness, but he knew once he made his request you very well may revoke this generosity. 

“Please, I insist.” You smiled warmly. 

 Kishibe watched you for a moment, savoring the sight of you before he changed things between you. He swallowed the last of his drink and set it down in front of you. 

“I saw you.” 

“What?” Your eyebrows twitched downward, but you tried to keep your face innocuous. 

“I saw you spit in that guy’s drink.” he watched you carefully, waiting to see how you would react to the empty silence he gave you afterward; if you would try to fill it, or fidget.

Your heart stopped, your skin went cold, you saw yourself getting fired, getting yelled at, maybe even arrested. Could that be considered poisoning? The man’s face was so casual, almost delighted. But there was a danger in his eyes that you couldn’t identify. You didn’t have anything to say, you had given up on playing coy, he caught you, there was no point in trying to lie or hide it. He leaned forward, resting his arms on the bartop. You felt yourself shrink under his gaze, it felt like he could see through you, further than being naked, like he could see down to your bones, to the marrow within it. 

“That guy’s an asshole.” He chuckled, sending a glance over to the asshole, already halfway through your concoction, but he ignored the frustration in favor of charming you, “Do I have to be an asshole to get a drink like that?”

Your brain couldn't piece it together fast enough. It was only seconds, but it felt like your thoughts stalled for a whole hour; replaying the sentence over and over again in your head. 

He wants you to---

He wants a drink with---

He wants you--

Oh.

Oh! 

Oh.

He wants you to spit in his drink.

Your heart thumped hard. A mirrored pulse happened between your legs. It was like your whole body was a bell, vibrating as the hammer of his words struck your core. You let out a shaky breath, a soft, shocked moan sounding off with your breath. 

“What’d’you say?” he cocks his head, watching you closely, “mind giving me something…off-menu?” 

You shivered again, your eyelids starting to droop, your body feeling fevered, hot and cold all at once. You peeked over your shoulder, the rest of the staff seemed occupied, the customers were busy too. Either drawn out by the rowdy party or keeping to themselves in small groups or in tables toward the back. The bar itself was relatively empty, only a pair of women who had been sharing a bottle of wine and had now moved on to their second, and an older gentleman who had been here every night working his way through a sudoku book. He was fairly close to the end by now, it was honestly impressive. And he was always totally immersed, just as all the conversing patrons were, it was almost certain that no one would see. And fuck, even if they would, you couldn’t help the burn that was starting behind your belly. You turned back to him, and he raised his eyebrows, awaiting an answer. 

You had noticed him more than enough times. The older man in the Public Safety Uniform. He was sexy and stoic, and older and mature and minded his business and sat and drank his whiskey without interruption night after night. Minimal conversations, plenty of eye candy. Dark eyes, sexy uniform, sexier scar. You could just feel the mystery coming off of him from his corner of the bar. You had a…proclivity toward older men…maybe you just liked the attention in the past, but this felt different. You would clock his entry into the bar as soon as he crossed the threshold and keep him in your periphery until he left, nodding his head politely at you at the door before departing. It wasn’t like you had some kind of crush on him, you were a grown woman, you didn’t have crushes. But he did wander into your mind after work more than he should. 

With this same look in his eye, dangerous and expectant, almost lazy in his expectation. A twinkle in those dark eyes matching his easy faint smile. You pulled a fresh glass forward and set it in front of him. Kishibe felt the warm pride settling in his chest as he watched you prepare. 

“Neat,” He insisted, leaning forward, making a small partition with his body and arm as he leaned over the counter. 

You retreated from the ice bin, opting to fill the glass with a heavy handed pour of amber whiskey. It was now or never. Your heart raced, but you caught his eyes again, he was practically drooling, observing you like cells in a petri dish, dangerous, mutating, viral cells that could make this night, make whatever relationship that existed between you two into something hot, dangerous and nasty. You stood the chance to turn him into something he could never understand or control. Or at least, he hoped you would. 

You leaned over the glass, looking down into the perfect circle of booze waiting for its finishing touch. If only the liquid knew how you were about to defile it. You took another glance around the room. 

“Look at me.” Kishibe ordered. His voice wasn’t harsh or mean, but it was commanding enough to make you obey. What the hell had you gotten yourself into? 

You gathered the wetness of your mouth, of which there was plenty. Keeping your eyes trained on him, locked on his unmoving black shark-like eyes.  He sucked in a breath when you pursed your lips together, and released it slowly in time with the long, clear line of spit that fell from your lips into the glass. 

Time slowed, but your heart raced. The bar quieted around you, you couldn’t believe you were doing this. Again. But before it had been a quick, nasty bout of revenge, this was embarrassing. It felt shameful and dirty and sexy and confusing. You felt desired and demeaned all at once. 

Kishibe felt his cock push against the front of his slacks as your mouth formed an O, the shine of spit beginning to emerge behind your lips. His eyes trailed down your face to your mouth and paid close attention as the collection of your saliva began to slip. His mouth fell open watching the spit drip down into the drink, foamy, white aerated spit sitting on top of the amber whiskey. Heavier organic matter breaking the surface tension and sinking slowly into the two inches of liquid below. 

He sucked in a breath, his tongue behind his teeth, twisting, desperate for a taste already. You pulled away, but a spider’s silk kept you connected to the drink. Kishibe fantasized briefly about lapping at it, letting it curl around his tongue and following its trail all the way up to your mouth. But he stayed seated and watched you wipe your mouth with your thumb, pushing the drink toward him. You hadn’t stopped looking at him yet, waiting for him to taste his special request. 

“Go on. Don’t waste it, now.” You teased, feeling a bit emboldened by the haughty look on his face. 

Remembering himself Kishibe raised his drink to you, as a thank you. You watched as he took a long, focused sip, as though it was the highest top shelf whiskey in the world. Despite it being mid-shelf-even-for-a-shit-bar whiskey and your spit, he treated it like ambrosia and nectar. 

Kishibe held it on his tongue, the whiskey he knew well, he could parse out every tasting note that didn’t belong. Soft mint, from toothpaste or gum, a soft quinine zing of the energy drink you stuffed behind the counter, menthol from the cigarette he watched you step out for earlier, and then that perfect, intangible, unplaceable taste of your mouth, the collections of your teeth, your tongue, your gums, the fleshy bits that you held behind those big, beautiful lips. He hummed, thoughtfully delighted, swallowing the concoction.

“You can learn a lot by tasting someone.” He looked back at you finally, finding your mouth agape. 

You can feel the heat of your cheeks, the foot shifting embarrassment settling over all of you. You couldn’t believe he really did it, he actually drank it. And he enjoyed it. No! He didn’t just enjoy it, he relished it. He tasted every milliliter, analyzed it and committed it to memory right in front of you. 

If he could have had this packed, sealed, and kept preserved for all eternity, he would open it the moment he left the bar. This taste made him gluttonous, greedy, and selfish. He already felt low burning rage at the knowledge that some other asshole had tasted this before him. But he didn’t let it ruin his indulgence.

“You ‘ought to put that on the menu.” He took another sip, humming again. 

You leaned forward on the bar, not wanting anyone else to be a part of this moment, although the surrounding bar had really begun to fall away. 

“So, you know my name, you come in enough. But despite my manners I don’t seem to know yours.” You could hardly believe it yourself, what you had done for a man you didn’t even know the name of.

“Kishibe.” He extended his free hand to you. 

You accepted, feeling the skin of his palm against yours. His fingers were cold as the wrapped around yours, giving you a firm shake. You shivered a bit, the heat of the bar being sucked away from you by his chilly grasp. 

“Kishibe.” You nodded, trying it on. 

“Mmm, I like the way you say it.” He was flirting now, flagrantly, obviously; with intention. 

Your bottom lip caught between your teeth, “I’ve seen you here before, Kishibe. How come it took you this long to talk to me?” 

He sipped his drink again, smaller, like he was saving it, “Didn’t have anything to say yet.”

“Hm,” you cocked your head, tongue testing the tip of your canine. 

“You don’t like that answer?” Kishibe leaned against the back of his stool. 

Unfettered, you leaned on your elbows filling the gap he left, “I assumed the last few nights that you had just been working up your nerve.”

“You think you make me that nervous, honey?” Kishibe, in a rare sight, bared his teeth with his smile. 

“Do I make you nervous, Mr. Kishibe?” You let your eyes flutter as you spoke, letting his name drip from your lips. 

He hummed at the way his name sounded from you, “No, you don’t make me nervous.” 

He sipped again and leaned forward, now much closer to you. So close you could smell his cologne, so close you could smell the smoke clinging to his jacket. 

“Do I make you nervous?” He watched your eyes bounce around his face, taking in all of his features now that he was closer than he had ever been. 

“No.” Your voice didn’t sound confident, your breath was weak, taken from you by his counter. 

He noticed. Of course he noticed. He smiled like he knew it. 

“No?” He pressed. 

“No.” You steadied, leaning forward even more, feeling his breath on your upper lip. 

He raised his eyebrows, before leaning back so suddenly you almost fell forward. 

“You’re being summoned back.” He flicked his eyes over your shoulder. 

The bar around you was full of life again, you felt as though you had been in a waking dream and were just now coming to. You looked behind you and saw your fellow barkeep rushing their way through drinks and a slowly, but steadily growing line. But the catalyst for Kishibe’s change in demeanor was standing, hips against the bar, waving a folded note at you and whistling for your attention, shaking the ice in his glass as though he would be at your bar for any reason other than to get a drink. You looked back at Kishibe who was putting a pack of cigarettes back in his jacket, one already between his lips. You felt your chest get hollow because he didn’t look back up to you. How on earth had he managed to get you this weak? You shook the last of the trance from your brain before moving to help the rest of the bar. 

Kishibe excused himself outside, taking his glass. He had had to navigate around the ever drunker throng of young men toward the front, who just couldn’t seem to remember how to behave themselves in front of beautiful women who kept bar. Although, he had been worse than they were when he was their age. Maybe he was still worse. 

It was surprising what he could get away with at this age, that he had struggled to in his twenties and thirties. He was finding that the older he got, the more authority he was given, the less anyone seemed to care about the drinking, or the drugs, or the women, or…him, for that matter. And that really was the root, wasn’t it, there were less and less people to know or even care about him in the first place. And those who were still around, hadn’t seen how bad it could get, how bad it did get. Or, if they did, if they heard the stories, the rumors, the mythos at this point, he was often regarded with either fear, which he was fine with, or pity, which he absolutely detested. Only incrementally, and increasingly rarely, was he met with genuine regard or interest. 

But you. With your stolen glances and sparkling eyes. You had noticed when he came and left, regarded him with kindness and returned his curiosity. Looking into the street, he allowed the city lights to bloom into soft focus. He sipped his drink, savoring the taste of you once again. He allowed the liquid to take form; the sliding, muscled form of your tongue against his own. Filling his mouth, being guided by his. Your soft, plump lips against his neck, around his ear, your body quivering in his arms as you pleasured each other. 

“You can’t have that out here.” 

Your voice snapped him back, out of his fantasy. Your hair had fallen a bit more, a soft glow of sweat shone on your breasts and collar bone, they must be working you hard in there. He felt his paints strain again. 

“Your glass. You can’t have that out here. Drinks have to stay inside the bar.” You stepped toward him, from your view it was clear he was not listening to you, “They sent me out here to make sure you’re not walking out on your check.” 

“You come out here to scold me?” He sipped again, listening to the click of your steps toward him. 

You laughed a bit, peeking through the front window to see if anyone was watching before stepping past the doorframe toward him, “Yeah, this is me scolding you. Do you feel reprimanded?” 

“Absolutely,” He nodded, “I’m terribly sorry. I hope I can do something to earn your forgiveness.” 

You bit your bottom lip, having to look down at your feet so you could blush freely. Now that you were both standing, and stepping closer, you realized how tall he was. He must be two meters, you were a terrible judge of height but this was easy to see. You had seen him duck under the front door, but this proximity was something else. You had to crane your neck up to look at him, and when you did you saw the cigarette still hung in his mouth

“You planning on smoking that?” You gestured, clearing your throat.  

Kishibe looked down at you, furrowing his brows, “And get rid of the taste you worked so hard to give me?”

“Mind if I?” 

Kishibe shook his head, taking it out of his mouth and offering it to you, filter forward. You wrapped your lips around the filter, letting your top lip brush against his forefinger. 

“Got a light?” You had left your bag inside and you didn't keep a lighter in your apron. 

Kishibe smirked and pulled an engraved silver zippo from his breast pocket, “Want me to smoke it for you too?”

He held out the flame for you, watching you lean forward, the flame casting gold shadows up on to your face. Highlighting the soft glitter of your makeup, turning the shadows of your face darker. Your lips glossy and puckered around his cigarette. He clenched his jaw tight, feeling his teeth squeak against one another. He didn’t know how much more he could take.  

You inhaled and recognized the difference immediately. You had never smoked a cigarette like this before. It was blended, tobacco leaves and something softer…something floral ground together. It was surprising that someone as…intimidating and tough looking would smoke a blended cigarette. Your brief glance at the package looked unfamiliar.

 “These aren’t Japanese.” You looked at the dart in your hand, the filter line similarly unfamiliar. 

“No,” he raised his eyebrows a bit, impressed with your attention to detail, “They’re imported.” 

“Where from?” You took another drag, trying to mentally compare in your head, see if anything felt familiar. 

“China.” He took a sip of his drink, it was nearly empty “friend of mine would only smoke these. Kind of picked up the habit. They sell them at pretty much every smoke shop, nothing too special.” 

“Is she your girlfriend?” You wondered aloud, feeling strangely, inappropriately possessive

“No…no girlfriend.” He watched as you nodded thoughtfully about his answer, pulling your lips together and looking down the street. 

Your cigarette was nearing the halfway point. If he was going to escalate things, he should do so soon. 

“How long you been working here?” Kishibe tipped his head toward the bar. 

“A few years. It’s a good job, good people. Good enough, I guess. For now” You shrugged, “You work at Public Safety right?”

He nodded. 

“How long have you…done that?” 

“Probably longer than you’ve been alive.” He swallowed down the rest of his drink. 

You wished that hadn’t sounded so delicious. There had to be something really wrong with you to feel yourself get hot at the way he acknowledged the time disparity between you two. 

“That’s rare right?” You fought through your arousal to speak again, “to still be devil hunting at…” You trailed off, not wanting to say something potentially offensive. 

His eyes perked up a bit, a daring smirk finding his lips, “At my age?”   

You laughed a bit relieved at him seeming to have taken it on the chin.

“Yeah, I guess.  Maybe I’m just lucky?” He shrugged again, not wanting praise for lasting in a field like…his. 

“Do you feel lucky?”, Your cigarette was nearing its end, you would have to go back in soon, if you wanted to escalate things, you would have to do so now. 

Kishibe looked down at you, those dark, impenetrable eyes holding you still. You couldn’t read his face, you couldn’t see his answer, you just stayed in his gaze. The space between the two of you felt like molasses, thick and hot and slow. For the second time tonight, time slowed to a halt. 

“I feel lucky now.” Kishibe moved closer, a single step and reach, one fluid motion, cupping your face and ducking down to press his lips to yours. 

His first kiss was almost soft, a gentle test of you would pull away. His lips were softer than you had expected. His nose bumped yours, you let your eyes flutter closed. When he separated your lips you opened them again. He could see what his kiss had done to you. Breathless, wet mouthed, dreamy eyes. 

Kishibe circled his hand around your waist. The second kiss was overwhelming. If you felt breathless before, he was suffocating you now. Stealing air from your mouth with every move of his lips. His tongue moved inside, yours rushed to welcome it. Your cigarette slipped from your fingers in favor of burying themselves in his hair, the back of his shirt collar, his neck, tugging at anything you could reach. You were practically inside of his coat when his hand moved from your back to your ass. Cupping and pulling at the meat, feeling the muscle, the fat, the way it responded to his touch. He must have enjoyed what he felt because he was quick to pull you off the street and loop an arm under your ass, the other arm keeping your back in place, chest flush against his. 

Kishibe lifted you easily, a fast circle to press you against the outer wall of your workplace. Caging your body against his own and the wall, using the brick to press himself against you even more. His firm hands hold your hips solidly around his hips, wrapping your legs around his back. You rolled your hips against the front of his pants, feeling what your teasing had done to him. Feeling the erection that your spit had given him. You couldn’t remember the last time that someone had been so desperate for you. Desperate enough to ask you to spit in his drink, to watch you night after night, to bring you out here because he just couldn’t stand it any longer. It was so hot, so sloppy, so desperate. 

The brick against your back was just as solid as the body in front of you, and just as hard as the cock he pressed harder against you now. You gasped when he finally released your mouth to kiss your neck. Hot, thick tongue swiping up the sweat of your skin that your work and the hot air of the bar had accumulated. 

The taste made Kishibe’s eyes roll back. A perfect aperitif to whet his already hungry appetite even further.The taste of your skin, the alcoholic twinge of perfume still lingering, mixing with the hot salt of work. Another dark groan simmered from his chest, the sexy sound making you let out your own moan, your head lolling back to hit the wall. Kishibe’s hands tightened up your body, holding you firmer against him, right against his throbbing erection. Hot breath on the newly wet skin of your neck, contact transferred heartbeat in his cock against your clothed pussy, you gripped his jaw trying to pull him back to your lips. Your eyes could barely open, but when they did you could catch glimpses of him, sexy, sweaty, and wanting for you. A nasty, sly smile on his face before he opened his mouth to kiss you again. HIs lips were wet, his tongue was quick to map your mouth, soft muscle sliding against yours. Slippery, sloppy, wet, hot. 

“Hey, We need--oh fuck, sorry.” Your coworker pushed through the front door, shoes thumping hard on the sidewalk. 

Your eyes snapped open, you hurried to remove your legs from Kishibe’s waist, pulling your lips off and trying to push him away. Like two horned up teenagers caught kissing in a coat room. But he barely budged, he let you drop your legs, but his thick hands stayed firm on your hips, and he lazily moved his lips to your neck and jaw after you took your mouth away from his. You felt your whole body flush at the sight of your coworker taking in what was happening before her. Her face went from shock, to soft amusement, before a sound inside the bar made her look back. When she turned back to you, annoyance had marred her expression.

“We-uh, need you back in here. It’s getting pretty hectic.” Her irises couldn’t settle on you or kishibe, everything was too embarrassing to focus on. 

This made Kishibe pull off your neck and stand again, giving you his wanton eyes again to which you gave yours apologetically in return. He nodded, thumbing at the smudge of your lipstick on his bottom lip. You hurried inside after your coworker. 

“I’m really sorry, I don’t know what happened to me. I swear all my judgement just went out the window--I’m sorry I left you guys in here.” You moved through the crowd, the heat and passion of the moment had been doused with cold water, leaving you shivering in your apologies. 

“Its okay,” She waved your apologies out of the air and lifted up the bar top to let you slide in past her, “Just…not really what I expected when I came out to get you. Did you even get that glass back?”

Embarrassment shot through you again, but looking up at her face, you saw no judgment, only a cheeky smile. She confirmed your suspicions with an easy laugh. 

“Oh come on, it's fine. I mean maybe next time pick a lull, but it's not like I’ve never slipped away for a quick kiss or anything.” She popped open two beers for the customers to her right.  

You swiped the card of a customer to cash out, “You have?” 

“Sure, loads of times.” She winked at you, “Plus, that he’s hot. Public Safety man, not bad. Fix your lipstick by the way.” 

You looked to the bar mirror behind you, seeing the corners and edges of your lips had been nearly totally smudged off. There was even some of its pigment on your neck, carried by his mouth, down onto your skin. Fuck, you didn’t know how you were going to make it to the end of this shift. Would he still be around? Was this it? You hadn’t seen him come back in from outside yet, maybe he left. Maybe this all really was a ploy to get out of paying his tab. Lipstick reapplied and cleaned, you rejoined the bartop, busying your worried mind with slinging drinks and cleaning as best you could. Choosing to not worry about something as trivial as when/if you were getting laid next. 

The impending rush was too hectic for you to even see Kishibe slip back inside. He did so intentionally, so that he could work his way around to the back of the throng of boys who had been harassing you all night. Perfectly timed so the leader, whether he be the birthday boy or groom or whatever bullshit reason was that he led everyone out here, ran shoulder forward into Kishibe on the way back to his table. His volatile temperament erupted in a single second. 

“Hey man what the fuck? Can’t see anymore, old fuck? I spilled my drink, you’re fucking buying me another--” Kishibe caught his arm hard, right at the shoulder, pressing his middle finger and thumb into the cavity between the clavacle and the humurus, pushing hard. 

“Ow! What the fuck old man. Let go.” Kishibe pressed harder, now pulling him forward. The joke of a man struggled to resist, but was unable to get away. 

Kishibe’s tone could have iced over the hot, crowded bar, “You’re gonna get the fuck out of here. Take all your asshole friends, cash out at the bar, you’re going to overpay, because those girls deserve it after all the shit you put them through. And you’re never going to bring your dumbass friends back here again.” 

Kishibe was pressing his fingers hard enough that they could have met in the middle of this dumb asshole's ball socket. Wincing in pain, the alcohol was clearly softening the intensity, because the fucker managed a shaky laugh. 

“And why the fuck, should I do what you say, old man, huh?” He scowled. 

Kishibe pulled tighter, a single, thin bladed knife emerged in his hand, invisible to anyone around them, guarded by his palm. He pressed it against the soft flesh under his jaw. 

“If I see you back here again, I’ll kill you. A lot of devils on this side of town get hungry at night. Lucky for you, asshole is their favorite meal. They might eat you fast. And I’ll probably get a commendation out of it.” Kishibe slid the blade, making a thin cut, letting the blood bead up and slip down. 

There it was, that electrifying fear in his eyes that he could only get in moments like this. Moments in which he had all the power in the world. In which he was god, and he could decide who lived or died. He pressed a bit further, just enough to feel the blade slip past the split of skin. The asshole couldn't even speak, just choke in fear and agony before Kishibe let go and pushed him back. He watched as the low life stumbled back, with his hand to his neck, finally finding his voice and stumbling back to his friends. It only took about fifteen minutes before the whole group cashed out, generously, and left the bar. Not another nasty word or joke was spoken, two of them actually apologized. Not looking you in the eye. 

Your shock waned when you saw Kishibe back at his stool at your bar. You knew he had something to do with their quick exit, and although you were curious, you were also sure it was better if you didn’t know. The remaining half hour until close would be a breeze, even the other patrons shared the bar staff's relief to have them gone. A collective held breath was released and people felt free to enjoy themselves again. 

 “This one's on those guys.” You set a tumbler in front of Kishibe at the bar, Kishibe cracked a smile, accepting the rocks glass. 

“Did you add my favorite ingredient?” Those dark eyes, in the colored lights of the bar, looked even more dangerous than in the alley. 

You sucked your cheeks in, a saucy blush coming over your face. You peeked over your shoulder at the rest of the bar before leaning over and spitting slowly down into his drink. Kishibe sucked in a tight hiss of air as he watched you. You licked your lips, letting any clinging strands of saliva untether themselves, before flicking your eyes up to him. 

“Perfect.” He marveled, his voice low, thoughtful, accepting the perfected drink and sipping gratefully. 

You busied your hands with polishing the glassware that had been cleaned already by the kitchen staff, and replacing bottles that had been depleted, as well as their back ups for tomorrow’s staff. You were off tomorrow, you were hoping that would come as welcome information tonight. 

“So,” You watched him carefully, the events of the night replaying in your head, the man in front of you who had been silent and passive until less than two hours ago and was now enjoying the taste of your mouth both directly and indirectly, “How often do you hook up with bartenders?” 

Kishibe chuckled, “not as often as I’d like. But, maybe that’s changing.”

“Maybe it is.” You nodded. 

A loaded, flirtatious silence settled between the two of you. He was so uninhibited in the way he looked at you, so unabashedly staring. You could practically feel the hands he imagined on your body, just as they had been out front. Needing a break from his intense gaze, you looked back at the bar. Things were dead compared to just ten minutes earlier, only a few regulars, your coworker was already counting out the first drawer in preparation to close. When you turned back, he looked up from where he had obviously been looking at your ass. 

Putting his hands up, the sarcastic universal symbol for “you caught me” 

“When are you done here?” He moved his hand over the top of his glass, leaning toward you again. 

“Bar’s almost closed, maybe like thirty to an hour to clean up.” You tried to mentally estimate how quickly you could reset the bar, sweep, clean the bathroom, and take the trash out. 

“So,” You watched him carefully, the events of the night replaying in your head, the man in front of you who had been silent and passive until less than two hours ago and was now enjoying the taste of your mouth both directly and indirectly, “you’re like a weird pervert, pretty handsy. So, how often do you make out with bartenders in alleys and drink their spit?” 

Kishibe chuckled, “not as often as I’d like. But, maybe that’s changing.”

“Maybe it is.” You nodded, grinning. 

A loaded, flirtatious silence settled between the two of you. He was so uninhibited in the way he looked at you, so unabashedly staring. You could practically feel the hands he imagined on your body, just as they had been in the alley. Needing a break from his intense gaze, you looked back at the bar. Things were dead compared to just ten minutes earlier, only a few regulars, your coworker was already counting out the first drawer in preparation to close. 

Kishibe looked around the bar as well. Only a few patrons remained, a couple that probably should have left before they started dry humping each other in a booth, another man at the end of the bar who was signing his last receipt, and another woman who had been sat at the bar, who was on her way back from the bathroom. It felt cavernous in here without that suffocating group taking up too much space and attention. Maybe he was drunker than usual, maybe you really were just that hot, maybe the hot rush of threatening that asshole was still tickling his nerves, but Kishibe shed his trench coat, setting it on the next stool. 

“Alright, what’s first?” He started rolling up his sleeves. 

You laughed, thinking he must be joking. He pulled his sleeves up his arms, sinewy forearms moving with every micro adjustment of his hands. 

“You’re gonna help me close the bar…” You shook your head, eyebrows pulling together. 

“Why not?” He fastened his other sleeve, “send your buddy home.” 

“You’re going to help me close the bar, just for a date?” You laughed again. 

“Who said anything about a date, I’m just being helpful.” He took the warm rag from you and started to wipe down the bartop where he had been seated, long clean lines, no streaks, no spots missed, pretty good technique. 

It didn’t take much convincing to get your coworkers to bail. You told them that you felt bad for missing the rush and being so distracted, it was the least you could do. Neither one of them argued too much, grateful for the early release from work. Once the bar was officially closed, they and the remaining patrons left quickly. You waved goodbye to your coworkers, locking the front door behind the last one, wishing them both a good night. The heavy thunk of the lock in the door echoed through the bar, the jukebox hadn’t been programmed for anything, leaving you in silence. You turned back to the bar and saw Kishibe lifting the barstools onto the bartop, setting them on their cushions safely. He looked good like this, tie loose, greying hair missed by your hands, still not totally back in its place, working overtime for your attention. You could get used to having him around. 

You moved around him, toward the back of the bar, and passed off a broom.

“You sweep. I’ll get the bar done.” You cracked a flirty smile and he accepted your instruction.

He busied himself with sweeping while you counted the final drawer, reset the bottles, capped everything and left the slow pours to soak overnight. He swept the floors, pretty poorly but hey, it was a bar not a museum. He was preoccupied by watching you stretch up for the highest shelves, watching as your body lengthened itself into lithe, long shapes. He’s never had a job like yours before, so it was fun to pretend to be working an honest man’s career, although with his height the boom was a bit of a strain in his lower back. Even when he offered, he surprised himself. Cleaning a bar for a lay was something his younger self never would have entertained, too much effort, too generous of him; trying to earn his way into a bed wasn’t his style. But he needed you alone, he craved you privately. 

It didn’t take long until the place was clean. As clean as it ever was, really, reset enough to not agonize the opening crew at least. Kishibe had moved from sweeping to gathering the trash bags from the various bins and taking them outside for you. All things considered, he wasn’t the worst bar back you had ever had. On his last trip out, you snuck over to the jukebox, flipping through the LPs until you found something suitable, a brass heavy, Taeko Onuki track from the 70s that you favored. You watch the discs rise and fall, the decorative trio in the center begins its dance, like a woman in a music box, spinning around and around, swapping places and twinkling in their private dance floor. You hadn’t heard him reenter, nor had you seen his reflection as he approached behind you. Not until his hands moved over your hips, pulling you into his body, did you realize he was there. The soft hair on your arms perked up as he brought his nose down the side of your neck, before pressing a single, soft kiss to the spot behind your ear. 

“Anything else,” you felt his eyelashes against your skin, “boss?” 

You giggled, “No I think you’re set to go home, thanks for all your help.” 

You had to steady yourself with one hand on the freshly cleaned glass of the jukebox’s face. He slithered one of his hands from your hip across your waistline, splaying his hands across your stomach, pressing your further into his body. You could feel him awakening behind you; heavy and hot against your back. 

“Are you sure there’s nothing else I can do for you?” He let his forefinger slip under the edge of your shirt. 

“Well…” you let your head fall back against his breast bone, inviting his hand to explore your body more. 

He accepted your invitation gladly, his palm slipping completely under your shirt, sliding up your stomach, up the the hard underwire of your bra, where it connected in the center, he could feel the soft tug of lace, something hard in the center, a jewel or charm, maybe the center knot of a bow. You shivered as the tip of his forefinger brushed against your perked, touch desperate nipple. You sucked your bottom lip between your teeth and turned around in his grasp, ducking under his arm toward the bar. 

“Need a drink?” You tried to sound jovial, maybe even sexy, but it came out a little shaky and nervous. 

Kishibe was stunned for a moment, one second he was centimeters away from finally touching you, kissing your neck and taking you right here against the juke box, and the next you were back behind the bar pouring two shots before he even responded. You were nervous. He should have expected this, this much build up could kill the excitement of a moment like this. It was hard to maintain impulsivity over multiple hours. He was going to have to win you back over. This was proving to be more of a chase than he expected, but he was never one to shy away from a challenge. 

KIshibe walked over to the bar, pulling a stool from the bar top and taking a seat in front of you, “What are we drinking?” 

“Whisky.” You chirped, a bit too eagerly, finishing your pours and passing one to him. 

Kishibe accepted and clicked his glass against yours, watching you swallow it down quickly to pour another. You felt the burn ravage your throat, the soft fuzz surrounding your head, making you feel more grounded and more loose all at once. 

“You feel more comfortable with me behind that bar?” Kishibe posed, watching you fill his glass again. 

“Maybe it’s just my instincts. You were just a customer until tonight.” 

“Just a customer?” Kishibe clicked his tongue, “You treat all your customers like this?” 

You sucked your cheeks in briefly, circling around the bar. He swiveled the stool to make space for you. You moved into his lap, he wrapped his arms around you, keeping you secure on him. 

“You know I don’t. This is just for you.” You leaned in like you were going to kiss him. 

His eyes slipped shut, waiting for the contact of your lips. But it didn’t come. You pressed past him to get your shot glass. You took your shot, accidentally letting some of the whiskey slip down your jaw and neck. A soft medicinal burn followed the trail. Soothed by Kishibe’s soft, wide tongue catching the drop at your breast bone and trailing it up to your lips again. The taste of the whiskey against your lips was more potent than the special cocktail that had brought you together. But titillated him the same way. Your tongues found each other again, for the first time since the exterior of the bar. He had spent the evening sampling the taste of your mouth, but there was nothing that compared to the feeling of your tongue sliding against his. 

These kisses with him were different than you had had in the past, especially when kissing someone for the first time. It seemed you moved together without focus, allowing yourselves to melt into the sensation without consideration. You slipped your tongue against the side of his mouth, and felt him shiver under your touch, a soft whine escaping him. You were surprised to see him so reactive, so you moved your tongue again, this time feeling the faint raised line that was seemingly connected to the shiver in his spine. His hands tightened around your thighs, gripping harder than before. 

“Careful now.” He warned, tight breath being drawn in between his teeth.  

“Sensitive, huh?” Your lips still brushed his as you spoke, “Now who's nervous?” 

“Don’t flatter yourself baby,” Kishibe used his little finger to underline the scar on his cheek, “Never healed quite right. Nerves are still fried.” 

“Hm, yeah?” You leaned in closer, “So you're extra tender here?” 

Your tongue slipped out and onto the corner of his mouth, tracing back towards his jaw slowly along his scar. His hands moved up and tightened around your biceps, he shifted in his seat, drawing in shaky staccato breaths. His hips jut up to press tighter against you, letting you feel his clothed erection. Even packed into suit pants he felt big. Your tongue reached his neck and you planted a big, wet, open mouthed kiss right to the corner. He was grinding you against him now, gripping your ass hard and moving you back and forth against his lap, or maybe you were moving on your own. Both of you were already feeling so desperate, the air in the bar had become thick and humid, tension settling around you like a fog. 

The kisses turned, heavier, more intense, hands began to wander freely. It was a bit awkward with both of you piled on the stool, or at least it should have been. He was strong enough to keep you in place with little effort. But even he grew tired of how cumbersome it was proving to be. Before you could register he stood up, he had you sat on the bar top, his body between your legs, hands already starting to pull your shirt up. 

The Jukebox’s discs had changed to its regular rotation, but this was everything but. Your shirt fell to the floor. His shirt buttons seemed to melt under your fingertips, letting the white fabric fall to the side tie joining the heap of clothing on the ever-sticky bar floor. It didn’t matter that it would probably be ruined, it didn’t matter that the barstool hit the ground hard enough to break, it didn’t matter that the bartop was freshly cleaned, nothing else mattered. Kishibe was right about your bra, a dark eggplant/burgandy lace with a white jewel in the center. The pride of his correct assessment was outweighed by the burning joy he felt when he shed it from you, eyeing your bare chest. Drooling at the curves of your breasts, the contrasting shades of your nipples. He was quick to join you atop the bar, laying you on your back and bringing your chest to his mouth. 

He was a biter, you discovered. Leaving bruising bites on the soft fleshy parts of your tits, sucking hard on your nipples, balancing his affection with a groping hand to the opposite breast as his mouth. Your fingers tangled in his hair, grabbing and pulling when he bit too hard, scratching affectionately when he sucked just enough. You couldn’t stop squirming underneath him, undulating your spine further against his face, feeling his strong curved note hard against your sternum.

“Kishibe…” You panted out, scratching your nails up his back, “Please…I can’t wait anymore, please.”

He let go out the tit in his mouth, his tongue dragging across your nipple, making you keen back again.

“Yeah, baby?” His shark eyes were more predatory than you had seen before, “You need it?” 

He was still in his suit pants, you still wore your shorts and tights, But his hand traveled down your waist to press between your legs, “You want me to fuck you right here on your bar? Where anyone can see you through that window? Nasty girl.”

You couldn’t respond, you just whined at the press of his fingers right on your clothed clit.

“Of course you do.” Kishibe tutted, although the hard wood of the bar was growing painful against his knees, he would persevere, moving his hand to his own button and undoing it. 

You followed suit undoing your own button, uninhibited by his taunts. You knew that glass wasn’t see through on the outside, the tint was too heavy, especially at night, especially with most of the interior lights out. You knew the security cameras only worked on the outside. And even if any of those things hadn’t been true, it wouldn’t have mattered, you were too fucked out to care anymore, you needed him. You needed him inside of you. You needed this man, and you needed him now. 

Kishibe, clearly, wasn’t about to be denied either. Once your shorts were discarded, he ripped through the middle of your tights, long runs going down your legs, making you gasp out. He had only freed himself from his pants, but they still hung low on his hips. He pulled his heavy, already leaking cock forward. You barely caught a glimpse of the massive thing, red tipped and angry, before he moved over you again, kissing you so hard your head pushed down against the bar top. Or it would have, if his free hand hadn’t raced to protect your skull from the impact. Mouths connected, bodies flush, he ran the head of his cock against the gusset of your panties. 

“So wet…” He mumbled against your mouth, using two of his fingers to slip your panties aside, moving the tip of his cock between your damp lower lips. 

Your whole body rolled with goosebumps, with electrifying pleasure. He pressed inside of you, your muscles already tightening, sucking him in further. Two crass, fulfilled moans were expelled as your bodies were joined. You clawed at his back, pulling him closer, and arching your back up as he penetrated you. 

“Fuuuuuuuck!” You cried out, panting and whimpering into his shoulder. 

He couldn’t believe the heat, the tension, the soft, perfect separation of your muscles he now buried himself into. The hand under your head pushed against the bartop for leverage, using it to pull himself back out before pressing into you again, deeper. He must have been eight or nine inches long, pressing up into your cervix, almost up into your womb. You couldn’t believe how full you felt. When he pulled his hips back again you felt a small collection of tears forming at the feeling of emptiness that followed. But it wasn’t for long, his hips hinged again, leading his long, fat cock back into you. He struggled momentarily to set an even pace, never wanting to leave the perfect heat of your cunt, but somehow, he managed. 

With his thrusts even now, you resumed your kisses on his neck, letting your teeth pull at the thin skin, praying you would leave marks on him. Wanting to never let him forget this night, you prayed you wouldn’t. You knew you would never forget the feeling of wholeness that being full of him gave you. Your thighs shook around his hips, the runs in your tights growing and stretching downward. Kishibe pushed down on your head, trying to keep you from sliding across the waxy, freshly cleaned bartop. The power of his thrusts was knocking you forward slowly so his arms strained to keep you in place, biceps bulging deliciously in your periphery. It seemed every part of him was cultivated to keep a body in place, the thought made you shiver, but another hard push against your g-spot made you forget. 

Kishibe fucked in to you, fighting to get his lips on yours, on your jaw, on your neck, your shoulder, your forehead, anywhere he could reach. Your nails drew harsh red scratches on his back, but they were barely worth registering to him. Your tongue found his scar from the inside again as your mouths connected, making his hips shake into you. 

“Careful old man, don’t hurt yourself now…” your voice fluttered, ruining your attempt to sound cocky. 

KIshibe bit down on your neck making you whine again, the snap of his hips into you was more confident, unshaken, and mean. He fucked mean. Brutal pacing, so deep you worried it would hurt, but the pain never came. Just mind melting, vision whitening pleasure with every thrust. Your sharp, whiny moans filled the bar, commingling with Kishibe's hard grunts of effort and shaking breaths. You wanted to turn over, you wanted to ride him, but as small as the bartop was, changing positions would prove difficult. But you wanted to be in charge now. You tried to push his shoulders, but he didn’t move an inch. 

“Kishiiiii---”You tried to catch your breath, “Kishi, please, let me on top.” 

He never wanted to stop, but the sweet sound of your begging, the sweet honey of your voice pleading this nickname, burst through his fuck-filled mind. He pulled out, moving onto his knees and watching as you slid yourself forward. He caught a glimpse of your puffy, swollen pussy, he thought he would faint. All the blood rushing from his brain to his already solid and swollen cock. You switched places with him, moving him onto his back on the bar. Now you could see his cock. And you couldn’t believe how that had been inside of you. Long, sure, but fucking thick, veiny and uncut, head swollen past his foreskin, and leaking. Or at least you thought it was leaking, although it very well could have just been your own creamy wetness that coated the outside of his cock. 

“Don't just stare at it, baby, come on. You wanted to ride. Show me what you can do.” Kishibe put one hand behind his head, grinning proudly at the way you gawked at him. 

You climbed over his lap, leaning over him so your tits hang in his face, reaching back to take him in your hand, kissing his tip to your pretty, fluttering hole. The proximity makes you squelch out another stream of wet lubrication, dripping onto his pelvis now. Kishibe leans up to mouth at your nipples again, just as you sit yourself on his cock. A tit-muffled moan just barely escapes his lips. His other hand wraps around your back, now sitting up with you, helping you to move your hips up and down on him. You were supposed to be the one leading the charge, but once again you find yourself at his mercy. 

“Fuck---fuck----fuck---fuck.” Is all you can choke out as you ride him, the new angle makes it feel like the head of his cock is nestled just behind your navel. 

He has grown more vocal like this as well, “That’s it--that’s it, baby---ugnh---good girl.---Yes, baby----Just like that, fuck---take that cock baby.” 

You ride faster, push harder, his big hands tighten around your jaw and the back of your neck, those burly arms flexing again, making your clit quiver again. His grip tightened, pushing your cheeks in, his thumb pushing against your teeth hard. You could see a red flush coming over his shoulders, climbing down to his chest. 

You whimper again, his rough treatment making your thighs shake around his lap, quads burning from effort. 

“Spit.” He commands, opening his mouth and jerking your face to align with his. 

You do. No longer letting the drool fall from you freely like you had when serving him before, spitting hard into his mouth, seeing the clear, frothy liquid onto his tongue. He swallows it down, and rushes to lap at your chin, where some has collected, then pushing it into your mouth. No whiskey diluted aperitif could have prepared him for the sweet, singular sensation of having your spit in his mouth directly. His eyes rolled back and he felt himself lose control. You can barely raise your hips anymore from how hard he is holding you, how intensely he kisses you. A corner had turned within him, he had changed. Kishibe’s hands leave your face and grip your hips hard enough to bruise, lifting and lowering you on his cock over and over.  You gave over to his guidance, no longer riding, just being used. Letting him use you like his own personal fleshlight, chasing his high. Your sweaty skin was sticking together, wet slapping and squelching filling the bar, drowning out the music. You try to steady your hands on his shoulders, fighting to stay conscious and upright. The coarse hair at the base of his pelvis grinds against your clit perfectly, the unending penetration starting to make you mind melt. You couldn’t catch your breath, you needed a break, you needed more, you needed to adjust your hips, you needed to fall back against his chest, you needed…you needed…you---

A long, high pitched, voice breaking cry spills from you as you cum. Your body shakes, you clench up around him, making him dig his nails into your hips, trying to keep his momentum, but the evil suck of your muscles starts milking him before he even realizes what's happening. He bites hard on your shoulder to keep the embarrassing half moan half scream from sounding. It comes from you instead, the bite making your orgasm resume and spill into aftershot as he empties himself into you. You feel the twitching pulse on the underside of his cock, spurt after spurt of hot, thick, pent up cum. 

Your bodies still and melt together, you slump against his shoulder, he holds you against his chest. The fevered slap of skin and breathy, nasty moans echo briefly through the bar before dissipating and giving way to the soft pants of you trying to catch your breath. One of Kishibe’s hands smooths your hair in the back, and he pulls off to face you, tucking some hair behind your ear as he marvels at you. 

Lips swollen and kiss bitten, hair loose, cheeks wet and sticky. He runs one thumb under your eyes, collecting a fallen, pleasure filled tear. You look so beautiful, better than the furthest reaches of his imagination. He feels himself twitch inside of you again at the sight of your post coital, fucked out face. The face he worked so hard for. He leaned forward and kissed you sweetly, no clash of tongue, no biting lips or grabbing hands.

When he pulled back, you took your turn to admire him. A heavy blush over his cheeks, sweat collecting on his forehead and nose, eyes consumed with blown pupils, dark purple bite marks starting to emerge on his neck and shoulders. You ran a finger over one of his eyebrows, moving a piece of hair off his forehead. 

 “You feel okay?” He spoke in a voice you had never heard from him, soft, gentle, like telling a secret and also like confession. 

You nodded, dreamy eyes fluttering closed, “Mhm, you?” 

“Great.” He kissed the top of your shoulder. 

You rested against his chest again, not wanting to feel the emptiness that soon would come. Wanting to feel filled and plugged up completely for as long as he would let you. His still hard cock keeping his cum locked inside. Only then did you think about the possible effects of what you had done. 

“We probably should have used protection…” You slumped your chin against his shoulder, yawning at the idea of logistics. 

“I got a vasectomy in the seventies, nothing to worry about there.” He soothed a hand over your back, feeling the damp skin growing cold in the bar’s air conditioning. 

You nodded sleepily against his neck, leaving soft kisses along the juncture of his neck and shoulder. 

“Stay awake for me, baby, I still gotta get you home.” He hates the idea of leaving the warmth of your body, of returning to his apartment alone, drinking himself to sleep and waking up to another bloodshot day of work. 

You yawned again, sitting up and nodding. He helped you off his lap, setting you back down on the bar and adjusting himself into his trousers. He handed you your shirt and you slipped it on, forgoing your bra, opting to just carry it beside you. You found your shorts on the floor, bending over to retrieve them, giving Kishibe a devastatingly hot view of your leaking, sticky pussy from the back. He nearly falls to his knees and buries his face between your legs to clean up his mess, but clenches his jaw to restrain himself. You slide them on as he buttons his shirt. You grab a rag from behind the bar and wipe down the sweat puddles and…other puddles that had collected under your bodies on the bar. Kishibe pulls his coat on, watching you return to work on shaking legs. Once you were done cleaning the bartop, he replaced the barstool to join its others, upturned onto the bar. You grab your purse from behind the bar and join him in the lobby once more. 

“Alright, how far is your place? I’ll walk you home.” Kishibe looks down at you, seeing your sleep filled eyes.  

“Thanks, I live upstairs if you wanna come up and crash.” You stretched your arms up heading toward the back where the back door led out to an external stairwell that led to the apartments above the strip of buildings where the bar was located. 

“You live upstairs?” Kishibe stood in shock as you went to the light switch toward the back door. 

“Yeah!” You smiled back at him. 

Kishibe was still in shock as you turned the lights off, and as he followed you out, “You live upstairs and you still chose to fuck on the bartop?” 

You shrugged, locking the backdoor, “why not, it was hot.” 

Kishibe shook his head, blinking a few times. 

Young people….

“Come on, old man.” You lead him to the stairs, to your apartment, leaving the bar behind, dark and dormant, still buzzing with the electricity of new passion. 

Inside the jukebox changes its disc, letting a gentle love song coat the empty bar. 

I HOPE YALL ENJOYED MY FREAK NASTY SHIT!!! i missed you guys, im so glad to be done with this, it took me like five rewrites, and its midnight and im not re-reading it again so if theres an insane typo or whatever, ill fix it later. Love you, thank you, Bye --Doodle xx

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New nastiness up for all my Kishibe Fuckers!!! this ones been rattling around in my head for a while and was written and rewritten probably five or six times in total. If you give her a read you let me know what you think! I always love hearing what y'all think! <3 <3 <3

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Mean (Kishibe x Reader)

NASTY SMUT, MDNI, 18+ ONLY

Warnings: BDSM scene please take that seriously if that is not something you are into, see you next time. Slapping, spitting, restraints, TRAMPLING, heels, impact play of multiple forms, puppy play, degradation, name calling, biting, finger sucking, panty sucking, blindfolds, discussions of loss, grief, blood, poor self image. Not safe nor sane but Consensual!

Kishibe craves your cruelty. He needs you to be mean, to hurt him, to treat him the way he knows he deserves. Because what else could a man like him ever deserve?

Kishibe needed you. He needed you when he woke up this morning. When he looked at himself in the shower and saw his bruises had faded to nothing. He paged you as soon as he got into work. The direct one way line, the pager number that was only for you. Kishibe needed you. And he needed you to be mean. Really fucking mean. That’s why he came to you again and again. He trusted you, well—enough, at least with his body, his most expendable resource. It barely belonged to him anymore. It may as well have been as much property of Public Safety as the knives in his holsters, or the uniform he wore. He came to you when he needed to remind himself that the sensations still belonged to him. That he hadn’t become ash, urn entombed government property just yet. Week after week he walked to your place, although office was likely a more correct term for it. He didn’t know where you lived, he didn’t even know your real name. But he knew the walk there, the flickering neon sign above your building, the deep purple lacquered door. He entered the space, the heavy smell of incense and perfume filled his nose, softened his muscles, wiped his mind clear. 

“Welcome back, old dog.” Your voice filled the space, despite its softness. 

It brought chills to his neck, he had to duck under the door frame and hadn’t quite brought his head back up to look at you. He felt the crack on his cheek from the back of your hand before he caught a glimpse of your face. 

“Can’t believe you would show your face back here again.” You spat at him, wet saliva hitting the buzzing reddened skin of his cheek. 

He nodded, already feeling his breathing getting slower, harder, wetter. He could feel himself slipping away already.  

“Take your shoes and coat off, where the fuck do you think you are? Tracking mud and shit and blood onto my floor.” You hissed again, taking a seat in the upholstered wingback armchair you favored. 

Kishibe removed his jacket and hung it near the door, in the hook you kept open for him. He made sure to keep his eyes on the floor as he moved. 

“Shoes, too.” he heard the crackle of a freshly lit cigarette and felt his back tense with remembrance, he hurried off his shoes, setting them neatly by your door. 

“Stay down.” You instructed, your voice holding smoke. 

Kishibe froze in his crouched position, keeping his eyes locked on the pairs of shoes by the door. Your heels clicked toward him, devastatingly needle thin stilettos, black as oil, red bottoms pristine. These heels had never seen a sidewalk or city street, they were solely relegated to inside the walls of your office. The clicks stopped next to him, he could see the immaculate shine of the pointed toe, overhead lantern light warping in their reflection, making oblong amber blooms. 

“Hand.” 

He hesitated. 

“Kishibe put your goddamn hand on the floor.” Your voice was stern, unwavering, and positively filled with hate, “I won't ask again.”

The use of his name made him crumble, he put his left hand on the cool wood floor, spreading his fingers wide. You pressed the front sole of your shoe onto the back of his hand, not yet using the heel. Rolling his knuckles into the floor, feeling each bone in his hand individually, feeling the ligaments shift between bones and skin, the pressure of your foot growing harder. Kishibe clenched his jaw and tried not to let his eyes close, knowing what would come if they fluttered shut. But your pressure, rolling ligaments across the metacarpal muscles, made him hiss, and his eyes squeeze tight. It was precisely then that you drove the point of your heel into the groove of the back of his hand, between his middle and ring fingers. His eyes shot open, looking at the point driving into his skin, threatening to break the skin, break through the fine sinews of muscle, the fragile bones of his hand. He hissed as you stepped harder, his hand strained under your foot, fingers flexing off the floor, begging for mercy. But still you pressed harder, letting your weight drive the spike further into the gaps between his bones, waiting for him to yelp. But he did not, he knew better. He groaned and hissed and writhed, but took it. He gasped when you pulled off, the indention already abbrased and blooming red underneath his fine skin. 

You drug your heel down his long middle finger, feeling every groove and valley of the winkles of the skin that encased his fingers. Kishibe turned his face up to you, eyes trailing up your smooth, long legs, he just barely saw the hem of your skirt when he was slapped again, his face recoiling back down to the floor. 

“Don’t fucking look at me.” You pressed your heel into the back of his hand once again, right in the center, sharp and precise.  

This did make him grunt, not quite a yelp yet, but the surprise and the combined fury of your hand and foot at once making his mouth water and his vision go white. The harder you pressed, the more he was brought onto the floor, his knees slid out from under him, his chest and stomach meeting the floor along with his forehead. He pressed into the wood, as though it would take him and suck him into itself, alleviating the deliciously hot pain searing into his hand. It only made you press further, watching him writhe beneath you. You let up slightly, listening to him draw in a shaky breath. You moved your foot off of him, studying his body now prone on your floor. You caught him then, pressing his hips hard into the floor, trying to find some kind of friction, some kind of press to relieve the erection you knew had been awakened just from his walk over, and grew harder with every step you took. Your silence and lack of movement tipped him off right away, his hips stalled, and he squeezed his eyes shut, anticipating what would come next. But instead of moving right away, you let him sit in anticipation, taking a long, thoughtful drag of your cigarette, watching him fight to keep still. But the ache, the discomfort, was too much, you saw his hips shift again. Full, hard cock begging to be freed from between hard body and harder wood. You crouched next to him. 

“You wanna fuck the floor?” You blew smoke out into his face, filling the gap between his neck and floor, he stayed still as he could, eyes fixed on the floor, following your instruction not to look directly at you. 

He shook his head. 

“Out loud, pleeeeease,” You hissed out the last word, “I can’t hear you when you mumble like that.” 

“No.” 

“No, what?” You leaned close to his ear, the black piercings mirroring your own face, stretched out and distorted, back to you. 

“No, I don’t want to fuck the floor.” He spoke through gritted teeth, both palms on the floor sweating, making it harder to keep a steady grip. 

“Hmmm.” You thought for a moment, taking another drag. 

You leaned in to him, using your cigarette free hand to guide his chin to face you, “I don’t believe you. And since you want it so bad that you can’t even help yourself, I think I’ll let you. Just this once.” 

Kishibe cringed at the humiliating thought, “…please don't make me..”

“Fuck the floor Kishibe. Now.” You stood up. 

Kishibe groaned at not being able to see you anymore, he should have looked harder, but he was too distracted, he didn’t appreciate what he had when he had it. He never did. That’s why he was so unhappy in the first place, he could never appreciate a good thing in the moment, only wishing for it to come back after it had been stolen from him. 

“Now.” You commanded again, clicking your heel hard on the ground, “while I'm still feeling nice.” 

Kishibe steadied his grip on the floor, pushing down the rising feelings inside of him, and pressed his hips into the floor of your entryway. It was a sweet shame, digging his covered cock into the hardwood again and again. Grinding himself against it, wishing it was your pussy instead. Praying that if he did well enough you might let him inside. So he fucked himself into your floor, listening to that nasty voice in his head that reminded him how badly he wanted this. How sick he was for needing this. How far gone he really must be if he craved this treatment over and over again. 

You watched him pump his hips into the floor, groaning when his cock would snag or press too hard.

 He really could be so sensitive. 

“You like that?” You mocked him with a little laugh, inhaling your cigarette’s offerings once more. 

“Yes.” He couldn’t help the moan that colored his words. 

You only smiled because you knew he couldn’t see you, furrowed brow and tight shut eyes, “say thank you.” 

“Thank you.” He nodded, pushing his hips harder, breathless and desperate. 

You circled around to his head, listening to the sweet sounds of exertion and humiliation filling your space. He began to fuck faster, his hips moving in a semi circle slide that let him drag the length of his cock along the floor, rather than have it mashed into the hard surface over and over. You slid the point of your toe against where his forehead met the floor, and he lifted his face to you. Eyes big, mouth open and wet and panting. 

“Open your mouth,” You pressed into his bottom lip, moving your shoe into his mouth. 

He was quick to slide his tongue across the patent leather of the front of your shoe. His dark eyes rolled back, you watched him lick your shoe, his fat tongue flopping out but careful not to touch your skin, staying against the sole and the toe of the heel. You hummed, you had trained him so well. Or you thought you had, until his hips stalled. He let himself become distracted. Too busy tasting your shoe, inching too close to the skin of your foot for your liking.

 That wouldn’t do. 

You pulled your foot back quickly, letting the heel drag on the floor loudly, letting him know that you caught him. 

“No, please, I'm sorry. I’m sorry.” He sputtered out, trying to resume his grinding to show you how good he could be. 

You step hard on his hip, killing his momentum, keeping him from moving further. 

“Uh-uh.” You pressed harder, letting your full weight press on his lower back, “I gave you an order. And you couldn’t even do that.” 

He winced as you stepped up and onto his back, letting your heels drive into his pressure points.  

“What kind of soldier can’t take orders? Huh?” you shifted your weight, letting your right foot press harder. 

“Agh!”, he cried out, no longer holding his voice behind clenched teeth. 

“What kind of dog,” You squatted down over him, moving your center of gravity closer to your feet, to his aching, pin struck back, “doesn't obey its master, huh?” 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’ll be good.” Kishibe’s hands were balled fists by his head, the muscles in his back were straining against your weight, making you shift and sway. 

He’s begging now, a pathetic, stomach churning sound. You stand, making him wince and whimper again as you step off and back onto the floor. He pants under you for a moment, trying to savor the sweet relief of relentless pressure giving way to trembling, buzzing skin now.   

You watch him for a moment, enjoying the sight of a killer of his stature whimpering at your feet, “Stand up, old dog.” 

He’s quick to his feet, his inhuman recovery assisting him even now. For the first time since his arrival tonight his full height is on display for you. He really does tower over you, all 195 cm or so giving him a clean head and shoulders above you. But still he cowards before you, keeping his dark eyes turned down, along with his face. There is no killer’s confidence to be seen here, there is only a man. A very damaged man who needs you. He needs your help. He needs to be put in his place by someone, that’s why he comes to you. You hold all the power here, he needs that.

 He needs to have someone treat him like every bit of the disgusting dog he is and always has been. He has given everything to killing devils; his body, his youth, his life, innumerable years, all his friendships began and ended within the parameters of devil hunting. There is nothing more to him than that. And that is nothing to hold dear. It's only pain, it's only hurt, it's only blood on his hands and dead friends and loneliness. And rot, then endless, unending rot of his soul and his self. 

You studied him as he stood before you, deep, humid breaths leaving his wet, defiled mouth. Your cigarette was far past its end, far past the point of hissing on the filter, fully extinguished. You flicked it at him, it fell at his feet, and you moved back to your chair, crossing your legs in front of him. 

“Take your shirt off.” You cocked your head at him, resting it on your fist. 

Kishibe undoes his tie, dropping it beside his feet. He begins buttoning his shirt, pain shaking fingers scrambling, rushing down the column of buttons. 

“Take a breath.” You ordered. 

He does, deep, trying to keep his head on straight.  

“Now go.” 

He resumes his unbuttoning, hands sturdier, moving one button at a time. He reveals his chest to you slowly, scarred and flushed. You were familiar with the map of his body, the visible muscles that age did not seem to yet touch. The carved abs, the v of his hips, the decades cultivated pectorals. You enjoyed his hard, weathered body. He really was beautiful; the soft, dark hair under his navel leading into his pants, the one nipple ring a memory from another time, the scars on his sides from swipes that just barely reached, and the ones that made it much deeper. You enjoyed inspecting him, and the way he shifted under your gaze. For a man as beautiful as him to be this cautious being admired was curious to you. His shirt joined his tie beside his feet. 

“Turn.” you drew out another cigarette and lit it. 

He turned for you, letting you look him up and down. Facing away from you, he felt the heat rise in his face. Even in the dim light of your office, and with a body like his, he still felt uncomfortable being studied so closely. You approached him from behind, he heard you click against the floor, and felt you inch toward him. He could feel the heat of your body, the energy radiating off you, the sultry sweet smell of your skin, the sickly stuffy smoke cloud that followed.   

“You think you deserve to still be here?” he felt your breath on his neck and shivered.

“Answer me.” You barked at him. 

“No.” he answered, turning his face to try and see you. 

“Then what the fuck are you still doing standing?” You hit the back of his knee making him kneel, knees thunking to the harder wood in a horrible sound. 

The pain shoots up to his hips, but he swallows the agonized groan. The momentum makes his head fall back, finally able to see you fully. You were so beautiful, so vicious, looking at him with so much disgust, so much sickening pity and disgust. He felt his cock twitch at your distain. His mouth fell open, only desire pulling his jaw downward. You grabbed it, holding it hard in your hand. 

“You want a kiss?” You cocked your head once more. 

He nodded, lips starting to quiver. 

You slapped him hard once again, not letting him recoil, catching his cheeks again. 

“You think I want to kiss you?”  You leaned in to him, keeping his eyes locked on yours, he could see the rotating firelight behind them. 

Kishibe’s brows furrowed, he didn’t have an answer. You pressed your body against him, moving a hand down his bare chest, enjoying the peaks and valleys of his chest and stomach. You reach the waistline of his pants, not touching the prominent bulge in the front, but gripping him by the belt. You let him rest his head against your breasts, allowing him to indulge for just a moment. You leaned down to his ear, letting your tongue slide across the shell. He moaned at the feeling, wanting to grip you tighter, wanting to pull you closer, wanting to move you onto your back and take you right there on the floor, to have you entirely at his mercy. His body begs for you. But his mouth stays quiet. 

“You think I want your old cock anywhere near me?” You hissed right in his ear between nasty, wet licks. 

Kishibe whimpered, his face scrunching in shame and pleasure at once, “..no.” 

“That’s right.” You spit on his cheek, “I don’t need your dirty fucking cock. You’re so used up and desperate for it, you’ll come all the way here just to pay someone to touch your nasty shriveled dick.”

Kishibe watches as you move around him to the front, keeling to face him. He feels your saliva drip down his cheek, his jaw, his neck. 

“You were made to be used. But you’re not even good for that anymore, are you, huh?”

Kishibe nodded, shying away from your look. He didn’t see when you reeled back and slapped him once again. 

“Fucking, answer me.” 

“No!” Kishibe stayed turned to the side where your slap had directed his face. 

“That’s right, Kishibe. Nobody wants you. These girls you go after, you think they want an old man like you?” 

“No.” Kishibe shakes his head, you were giving him exactly what he needed, what he knew. 

You grabbed the back of his neck, tilting it back, “No. That’s right. You’re only good enough to take my spit.” 

Pulling his head back, his mouth falls open, tongue falling out, reaching for you. You gathered spit in your mouth and shot it right onto his tongue. He draws it into his mouth, savoring the smoke latent flavor, letting the tobacco sting on his tongue. It burned at the taste, his cheek burned from the slap, his hand still stung, echoed in his throbbing back, his knees were growing pained. Every inch of him hummed and simmered with your abuse, your pain. His cock was weeping, precum seeping into the fabric of his pants. His mind felt fuzzy, the whole evening making him feel lost, the room around him dissolving. Every hit reminded him where he was, what he was, and exactly where he deserved to be. 

You sucked in more smoke watching him shiver at your taste, his body starting to sway. You brought the cigarette to his lips, making him take a reluctant drag, the smoke covering your taste he had worked so hard for. He whined, his eyes downturned as they met yours, showing you how sad he was to lose it, but he accepted, taking a large puff, mourning the spit he swallowed and the taste that left him. 

“Kishibe.” You pulled him from his dizzy, pleasure and pain filled mind, “Kishibe.”

“Mhm.” He made eye contact with you, trying to ignore the ringing in his ears.  

“More?” You put a firm hand on his shoulder, keeping him steady. 

Kishibe caught his breath, despite its shaking. He looked at you, your neutral face, not gentle but not chiding either. He looked at the shape of your lips, the lipstick atop it, the way your eyes studied him. He nodded. 

“Yes?” You raised your eyebrows. 

“Yes.” Kishibe nodded. 

“Okay.” You nodded, releasing his shoulder, letting him hold himself up again, “Then get on your back.” 

Kishibe feels his body electrify, this was what he had been waiting for. He slides his legs forward, laying his back against the floor. He felt something round and metal clunk against the back of his head. He forgot. He slid his body down, eyes tracking you as you moved to the chest of drawers along the opposite side of the room. He watched your body. Its smooth and confident movements, nothing unnecessary and so enticing, hypnotizing him. When you pulled forth the thick leather bands, buckles on either loop he put his hands up, on either side of the floor secured metal ring that sat above him. You turned back to him, grinning wickedly. 

“Eager today. You must have done something very bad.” You straddled his lap, just above his hips, above his groaning, aching dick. Sitting prettily on his lower stomach, your skirt hiking up further on your thighs, showing him the soft, plushy flesh of your hips and thighs, not enough to see the cleft of your pussy, the sacred meeting place of your long, torturous legs. But he could feel her warmth, the damp heat that transferred onto his skin. 

Kishibe nodded, not shy about how badly he wanted you. He loved you. Closest he had come to loving anything, probably. And he knew you liked it when he showed you how much he wanted you. How good he could be, only for you. 

You leaned over his body, not caring about how lucky he was to have your breasts so near to his face. On other occasions you would have made him close his eyes, or blindfolded him, to limit his indulgence, but hell, you could throw your dog a bone now and again. Tits in his face, you looped his wrists into their leather straps, tightening them until you saw the skin pinch and heard him hiss. Bone aside, a tight leash makes for less accidents. The o-ring slotted perfectly into the shackle on your floor, sturdy and unmoving, it was attached to the foundation, even a man as superhumanly strong as Kishibe couldn’t pry up the floor. You had learned this was the only form of restraint that would work on him. After the first session where he ripped two different hooks from your ceiling, you had it installed, all under his billing, obviously. And he looked better on the floor, anyway. 

“Pull.” You finished your binding. 

He pulled his arms hard, veins emerging from his arms, biceps rounding and straining. Not even a creek. Perfect. Kishibe couldn’t even contain his delight, a sick smile cracking across his face, his scar creating a second, sidelong smile. You let your hands slide down his arms, feeling the skin, the muscle, the joints, the bones, the soft hair of his forearms, the coarser collections under his armpits, feeling your way down to his chest. His breath hitched, his hips jolted upward, but your body above them, pushed him back down. 

“So sensitive.” You rolled your eyes at the way his long lashes fluttered as you touched him, at how  his nipples perked up as your hands grew close, at the gooseflesh your fingers left in their wake, “So desperate for someone to touch you.”

He nods along with your mocking. 

You lean closer forward, letting your hair fall against his face, your chest press against his, letting your body weight press him further and further against the floor, still not letting your hips slip down to meet his. 

“You just want someone to touch you, you don’t even care if they're using you.” You let your lips fall towards his, inching closer. 

Kishibe’s eyes scan over every inch of your face, praying that this is the time that you won't pull away, “No, I don’t.” 

“No.” You shook your head, mirroring him, “you don’t care.” 

“No.” he repeats. 

You let your lips just barely brush his as you speak, “You’re pathetic.” and pull away just as his chin inches upward to try and close the gap.

He cruses in frustration, an angry, heated cry that makes his voice break. You watch, face unmoving as his arms try to pull at the restraint, almost out of his control, tugging hard, making the skin of his wrists pinch and pull as he does. Your face is stone, unfettered and unfazed by his upset, he so desperately wants to reach for you, to touch you, to kiss you, to be kissed by you, so much time has passed in anticipation he feels dizzy again. He’s been denied too many times. He feels delirious. He feels drunk. He feels high. He feels sick. He needs relief. 

“Fuck!” He tried the restraints again, knowing they are immovable, “Yes, fuck, yes, I’m pathetic, I’m sick, I need you to use me. Use me, please, please, fucking use me, please.” 

Another hard crack on his scarred cheek shuts his babbling, pleading mouth. You grip his face hard in your fingers. 

“You wanna be used?” You bark at him.

Kishibe stays silent, delirium has spread to his brain, no longer to think about anything except your fingers pinching his face. His eyes roll back at the harsh touch, his hips buck up once more, rocking your forward this time. You may have really broken him this time.   

“Huh?” You snap again, jerking his face closer to yours, his upper back coming off the floor, arms bending unnaturally behind his head.

“Yes!” Kishibe’s voice may have found him, but his mind, his ego were long gone, “Yes, fuck, please use me. I’m pathetic and disgusting please. Fuck me, baby please. Fuck me, mommy, please.” 

Oooooooh, yes. The magic word. 

So beautiful in your ears, you nearly cum right then and there, right onto his stomach. Sick fuck would probably love that too. He may even cry in joy, or in envy. His sputtering, breaking voice, begging you, pleading with you to use him. Use him solely for your pleasure, and he can lap at whatever remains. Begging for his mommy to help him. Oh, how perfect. 

“Shut the fuck up!” You shout at him, letting his head fall hard back onto the floor, the crack it makes against the wood is no concern of either of you. 

You move off his lap, and his begging starts again, even more pathetic somehow. As though he had some untapped miserable pleading reserves locked away that even he didn’t know he could access. 

“Please! Please, I’m sorry, I’m sorry mommy, I’ll be good. I won't argue anymore, I’m sorry, Please touch me, Please. I’m a dirty dog that doesn't deserve your touch, I know. Please, Please. Pl-” The least please falls from him unfinished as he feels a single tear starting to sting the outside of his eye. 

You watch his heaving chest, tension taut stomach buckle at the revelation that he had begun to cry. Crying did not happen easily for Kishibe. It usually took a lot longer than this, and a lot meaner treatment, sometimes hours worth of degradation. Poor bastard must have really had a hell of a day. 

Writhing against his restrained arms, he whimpers in defeat, resigning himself to the idea that this very well may be one of those sessions. The sessions where you bring him to an agonizing edge without any release. You round his body to his legs, finding his belt and undoing it. He pants as the tight leather is removed from his hips, even the only mental relief, is still enough to make him moan. You weren’t shy with your nails on his hips, letting them dig angry red lines into his skin as you removed his belt and undo his pants just enough to reveal his wet, buldged  underwear. 

“Such a fucking mess.” You hiss at him, shaking your head disapprovingly, hoping it will cover the way your mouth waters already, “fucking filithy.”

You don't even get his pants all the way off before you stand over him again. Letting his cock flop out from the zipper of his pants, not caring if the metal teeth bite at his hard, desperate shaft. This would be the quick, desperate, only for your pleasure fuck that he needed. You reach under your skirt and pull your panties off, sliding them down your legs, the black lace bunching as you did so. Kishibe can't stop watching, mouth drooling, getting whiplash from being stripped and now trying his hardest to see even a glimpse of your perfect pussy. 

“Yes, use me.--agh fuck-- Use me. Use me. Ple--” You shove your panties into his mouth shutting him up. 

“I’m so fucking tired of hearing you talk.” You straddle his stomach again, letting the wetness from your pussy only be felt by the hair on his lower stomach. 

He keens back, the sudden drop of your body on him and your hand pushing lace further into his mouth sending him reeling. He can taste your wetness, the way it's collected in the fabric, sunk in and saturated into the dripping lace and cotton. His tongue works over every inch, trying to suck out every last drop of your pussy slick that he can. 

Grinding against his body, you let your clit drag along his happy trail, you can feel the heat of his cock against your ass, making sure to remind you that it is ready and waiting for you. Begging, more like. The sweet sting of his hair against you, prickling at your most sensitive organ, the organ of your body used solely for pleasure, its only purpose to feed you, make you feel good. Just like the man under you. Serving no purpose other than to make you cum. You cock your head down at him, watching him struggle to keep his eyes from closing, hard arms struggle against their binds, gasping breaths leave his mouth through flimsy, wet fabric as you inch closer and closer to his quivering pelvis. Without warning, without prep, without fear, you mount him, letting his desperate, already leaking cock inside of you. You feel him slide through your muscles, slip into the tight rings that you know are so covetous. 

You don’t penetratively fuck all of your clientele, but Kishibe, oh Kishibe, you can’t deny him anything. He’s too raw, too honest, too damaged. You know it cliche, to want to fix a man who is broken beyond all reason to repair. But you can’t help yourself. Feeling him fill you completely, and then some, his long, thick, angry cock pushing into the deepest, most untapped parts of your body. Short of killing you with his own hands, you two could never be closer. You wondered how the devils and men he killed felt in that final moment. If they could ever comprehend the reality that laid before you now. The man who destroyed their lives writhing beneath a woman like you, begging for comfort, begging for pleasure, begging to be useful. 

You sank your hips down completely to meet his, your ass clapping down onto his still clothed legs. Both of you couldn’t help but keen back. The perfect meeting of two. Wet and whole and succulent and slippery and snug and dangerous. The breath in the room was recycled, hot and humid and laced with smoke and spit. You would need a respirator to take a clean breath in a room like this. One rife with sex and thick with yearning as this. When your hips pull away and meet again you both reel back in its decadence, feeling the weight of your previous dance pull you further together. Despite your best efforts to remain detached, you can’t help but paw at his chest, digging not your nails but your fingertips in, feeling his skin, his muscles, his bone, his heart underneath, as though you could pull it outward to feast upon if you wanted. You wonder if he would let you devour him. Only until you remember that he would. He would let you in a moment, in a second, were you to ask him. 

You raise your hips again, feeling him exit you to the edge of the head of his cock, before sliding back down, your hands at his chest giving you the leverage to rise and fall completely. WIth this new found leverage you can set a perfect, nasty pace. Driving yourself up and down on him again and again, a brutal, lip gnawing, back arching pace. You are using him, just as he begged so prettily for. Using him for your own pleasure, using him to reach the high you deserved. Putting so much work into his own release, which you recognize was the reason he came back to you, you still deserved your own victory for your efforts. 

“Agh--yes, fuck, baby, uhhh” Kishibe couldn’t stop his messy mouth, begging you for kindness, begging you for softness only to be met with your fingers shoving your panties further into his mouth, muffling his pleas. 

“Shut up shutupshutup.” You hissed through clenched teeth, moving your hips faster and faster, pushing your fingers in further to his mouth, relishing the feeling of the lace between his tongue and your fingers. 

Kishibe’s eyes rolled back, the whites showing themselves to you before they closed completely, resigning himself to the hardwood with a sturdy clunk of his skull. Drooly mouth and flushing chest, helpless beneath you with his arm stuck behind him. His hips can only thrust upward, hoping to meet your messy, sloppy thrusts back down upon him. Rarely does he match your rhythm, his thrusts erratic and unsynced to your own. A reminder that as good as it feels to be joined together, you are not some kind of divine set of missing pieces. You are not destined, nor ordained together, you are simply joined together in circumstance, that any divinity or godliness would abhor. You are doing nothing for the believers of fate or soul mates. Neither one of you would ever be anyone’s soulmate, nor would you find your missing piece in the arms of another. You were both missing things too large, too hearty to be completed simply by the union with another. It wasn’t that simple. Life wasn’t that simple. Nothing was. But you both knew that. 

And riding him now, you didn’t know a thing. Except the sweet sting of him stretching you open, the harsh push of his cock head at your g spot, the hissing, nasty roughness of your clit against the tuft of pubic hair at the base of his pelvis. You could only watch the show he was putting on for you, writhing body, sweating face, struggling arms and hands clasping around nothing, wishing they could pull your hips against his, pull you closer, have you tighter, feeling you everywhere. You pulled your top off, letting your pressed, heightened, pushed up tits fall free in his face. Letting them flop openly up and down as you rode him. He let out a disgruntled, restricted noise of yearning. The crack of his throat letting you know just how badly he wanted to feel the bouncy fat of your tits in his palms, against his face, along his tongue. 

“You wanna feel, Old dog? Huh” You teased him, feeling yourself up, cupping your tits, pinching your nipples in front of him. 

Muffled by your panties in his mouth, grinding his teeth hard enough to rip the flimsy fabric you could barely make out the “mhm” but you could see the feverish, delirious nod. 

“Yeah, baby?” You pressed forward, letting your freed chest hang in front of him, putting one hand behind his head. 

He spit your panties to the side, tongue reaching for your sweat, soft skin. 

You slotted two fingers into his mouth instead, which he was quick to curl his tongue around. 

“You’re so fucking dirty.” You reminded him, stealing back your spit soaked fingers and using them to circle your hungry, aching clit. 

“I--I I’m gonna..” Kishibe couldn’t take the sight of you, bare before him, touching yourself on top of his cock. 

You slapped him hard once more, spit and slick soaked fingers leaving his cheek sticky, “Not yet, don’t you dare cum.” You moved your hips harder, faster, nastier, dirtier. 

Of course your hard treatment spills him over completely, filling you, painting your walls white. Spurt after spurt of hot, thick, pent up cum into you. You can feel him twitching inside of you, and even if you couldn’t you can see the way the veins in his neck make themselves known, emerging one after the other in his strain. The way his mouth falls open, into a full capital O, against his wishes, against his better judgement, against his knowledge of what will come after. He simply can't help himself. You’re too tight, too wet, too hot around him. He needs to fill you, he needs to spill himself free. The hour of torment leading up to this moment, the slaps, the floor, the abuse, the disgust, the way you had worked him up so much before even laying your hands on him. He needed you before he even got to the door. He needed you before he even knew you.  He needed you before he even knew what he was missing. 

“Oh, kishibe…”You shook your head, slowing your hips only slightly, just enough to let him catch his breath. 

“I’m sorry, i’m sorry ---agh, i--”Kishibe’s head rocked back, still against the floor, barely able to find new ground to traverse behind him. 

But only to just catch his breath, because you sped up once again, not caring for his overstimulation as he panted and pleaded. His chest grew red, the drool from before dried and migrated to his tear ducts, starting to well at your devious, devastating hips. You weren’t done yet, you dropped down on him again and again, circling your clit with a renewed fervor, desperate to join him. Kishibe couldn’t form words anymore, barely able to keep his eyes open, the sight of you too much when combined with the feeling of your trembling walls closing around his cock. The white circle of creamy, hot cum on his cock that peeked back at him every time you rose your hips before slotting them back down. He thought he might die. And of all the devils that had threatened his life thus far, you didn’t scare him in the slightest. He knew death at your touch would be right, maybe just even. 

“You think you can cum in me without my say so? Huh?” You smacked one of his thighs hard, making his drooping eyes snap open. 

Before he could speak again you pulled off him, sliding your cum leaking, oozing push across his bare chest. 

“Huh?” You shouted again. 

He shook his head, not willing to risk the words that would only anger you further. 

“That’s right. And sense you made the mess. You’ll clean it up.” 

That was the last thing he heard before you straddled his face, plopping right down onto his mouth. The positioning wasn’t graceful by any means, your knees were pressing his arms further against the floor hard, painfully so. But his tongue went to work anyway, burrowing itself into your hole, pulling out the globs of sticky spent that he had left there so carelessly. So selfishly. He couldn’t breathe, nose and mouth both covered completely by your pleasure swollen lips. He didn’t deserve to still draw breath. 

Your hands pulled at his hair, the natural silver and the bleached strands cording through your fingers, exposing the darkened roots. The dark underneath him. You tugged harder, wanting to guide his hungry tongue up to your clit. But the bastard was too focused on your previous instruction, sucking his load out of you like he could render you completely untouched once more if he just worked hard enough. Realizing your tugging was useless, you rocked your hips against him, feeling the hard bridge of his nose grind against your clit, all while he licked at every inch of your vulva, from cleft of pussy lip down to the tight rim of your asshole. Finally, finally, you were feeling the build to the climax you had worked so hard for. You gasped up into the humid air, your back curving, pushing against his tongue harder. You can just barely hear him groaning underneath you, between hungry slurps. 

The moans grow faster, louder, higher, you can’t stop the way your hips ride his face, you can only tug for support at his hair, and hold yourself upright as you finally tip over into your orgasm. 

He feels it too, the quivering of your pussy against his tongue, the way your hips can’t move anymore, your thighs shaking against his arms. Even with his ears covered, he can hear the sweet break of your moans, the delicious honey dipped sounds of you in ecstasy. He feels his chest warm with pride, his body relax, his sensitive, over used, abused cock even twitches with interest. 

Kishibe still slides his tongue gently under you, cleaning your release in real time. Every swipe of his hot tongue makes your body twitch. The glimmering euphoria falling blissfully away. Letting the dimly lit room around come back into your purview. You cast a look down to the man below you, and see his droopy, exhausted eyes. You stand slowly, Kishibe takes his first full breath in dangerously long, letting his lungs fill completely. Already mourning the loss of your weight above him. He licks his lips clean, letting his eyes close, righting his mind, and letting himself lay in his own bliss for a moment. It’s over, he knows that, so like the last, perfectly constructed bite of any meal, he savours fully. 

You stepped away from him, studying his breaths, watching as his lungs and stomach expanded completely without hindrance. He was fine. The bruises would heal in a few days, there would be no lasting damage. He really wanted it harder and harder each time, you were starting to worry it would take a toll on him eventually. You don’t want to truncate his already stolen life. No matter how badly he may want you to. You pull on a robe, soft satin that cools your fevered skin, letting out a sigh at the feeling of your muscles relaxing and growing sore from your exertions. You turn back to Kishibe on the floor, he has not moved, still in his closed-eye bliss, savoring the end of your session. You kneel next to him, sliding your kinds, kindly this time, up his arms and undoing his binds. He moans a bit at your touch, he really is so sensitive. Your fingers are soft over the indentions in his wrists, massaging the angry, reddened skin. He opens his eyes now, starting to sit up and you help him, offering support that is more energetic than it is physical, moving on hand down his back, feeling where your heels had pressed in hard, still not bounced back to smoothness completely. He breathes heavily, the move to sitting making his head spin slightly. 

You hold his neck, not pressing hard to guide him, but holding firm to support him were he to topple forward or back. 

“Kishibe.” You pose softly. 

He hums in response, moving to tuck his flaccid cock back into his pants. 

“You’re okay? Does it hurt too much anywhere?” 

Kishibe lets out a sigh before looking at you. His wall hasn’t completely gone up yet, his black eyes have not yet become still and unmoving, they are instead unending and fluid, as though they could draw you in further and further, in perpetuity into the universe. 

“No, baby. I’m okay.” He gives a small smile, or at least one edge of his mouth does. 

“Okay.” You nod, giving a soft smile back, and stand to retrieve the water glasses. 

“Got anything stronger?” He raises his eyebrows a bit, but accepts. 

“I’ll fill your flask, but drink that first.” You sip your own, happy to see his personality is unbruised. 

He sips, watching you as you dig in his coat pocket and find the silver flask he always carries. You look so much softer when you aren’t working on him. You cheeks fuller, your figure plusher, like he could rest on any part of your body and sleep sounder than he had in decades. He wondered what your bed felt like, if it smelled like your perfume, or if it had a scent completely unknown to him, its own atmosphere untouched by clientele, completely your own.

“So, long day today?” You asked, filling his flask with the bottle of whiskey you kept on hand for sessions, but was exclusively reserved for your current company. 

Kishibes soothed his thumb over each wrist, sipping the water down again, and hummed in affirmation again. 

“Lotta devils, not a lot of hunters, same old story.” He shrugged. 

You nodded, you would never know all of the complexities of his work, but you knew enough to count yourself lucky for that. You didn’t want to know the horrors of the place you called home, as long as you knew he was out there watching your block, you considered yourself safe enough. You screwed on the top of the flask, tipping it once to make sure it was sealed. And you poured two glasses over ice, the flask would be for his trip home. You brought it to him, alongside a warm, wet towel. He accepted the drink gratefully, swallowing the last drops of his water before indulging. 

“Want me to, or you want to?” You offered him the rag. 

“You.” Kishibe put his hand around yours and pressed the rag to his chest, your hand in between.

 Your hands together cleaned any lingering bits of filth from his chest, his stomach, his hips, his face. You worked carefully over his cheeks, it’s long scar getting reverent attention. Kishibe let you wash his face yourself, but watched you closely. Feeling his breath return, the aches setting in to his muscles, his joints, his jaw had started to ache, his back would need some time to heal. You ran the damp cloth of his bottom lip, seeing where he had bitten it raw, giving a tender dab of warm water. 

“I’m sure the whiskey will keep it clean, huh?” You hoped he would laugh. 

He didn’t but he smiled. Kishibe was more focused on how your eyes had changed. Full and big and soft and wet, the sharp analytical gaze that you kept during your session had faded completely. You really were so beautiful. He touched your wrist softly, stilling your hand on his cheek. Your lips part briefly, two sets of eyes meeting. THe collar of your robe has slipped from your shoulder, his chest was still bare. Your hand with the rag falls off his face, landing between your bodies. Kishibe’s other hand cups your soft cheek, running his thumb on the plump skin under your eye. 

“May I?” He asks, a secret. 

You nod just barely, not wanting to break the line of gaze between you. He leans in, letting his hand round your face to the back of your neck and pull you to meet him. Kishibe kisses you, soft at first. Just lips touching, then pressing enough to feel the teeth held behind. Your hands find his shoulders, pulling yourself closer to him, he moves you to the side, one hand holding your back, the other keeping your head in place for him to kiss you again, this time daring to open his mouth, wet tongue sliding against yours, waiting for your say so to progress. You give it, opening your mouth and letting him inside. Your tongues move together, old lovers desperate to meet one another once more. He holds you close against his body, you keep your hands on his shoulders, his neck, wanting to keep him here with you as long as you can. He moves you back to your original seated position, letting his lips break from yours with a soft peck. 

You feel butterflies looking at him afterward, even now his kisses still surprise you. How tender he can be, how passionate he is. Kishibe really is unpredictable, you can never quite place what he is thinking. But when he kisses you, you at least know how he feels about you. He kisses you like he loves you, and for that one moment he may. You may love him right back. 

“Kishibe, do you want to st---?” You hadn’t thought about the words before you spoke them.    

“Same appointment next week?” He interrupts you, his wall has gone back up, you lost him. 

You knew better than to ask for more. You were a professional, and you wouldn't lose out on one of your best customers just because of the occasional incredible kiss. This was enough. Having him here, giving him the release and the security he needed, only for an hour or two at a time was enough. 

“Of course. Next week, same rate. Page me if you need anything specific.” You nodded. 

Kishibe kissed the side of your head, “Sure. Thank you.”

He stood, finding his shirt on the floor and began to dress himself. You sipped your own drink, watching him.

Wow can you believe it, I wrote ANOTHER fic about a big bad killer begin a little freak who wants to be slapped around and dominated. I wont rest until ever brutal anime old man is made into a sniveling, weak bitch. I hope y'all liked this nasty little treat! Back on my kishsibe bullshit. Enjoy, Love Y'all, keep it freaky. --Doodle

[plotsignificanthaircut555]

Afterlife (Toji x Reader)

MDNI 18+ Only

Toji needs to get out. He can't reckon with the damage he's doing to his son. To his life. He calls the one person in the world he can trust, Shiu. Shiu directs him to the one fixer he trusts with a job this important, You.

wc 12.3k ao3 masterlist doodle's picks

Warnings: rough sex, kissing, fingering, slapping, spit, toji's pretty pathetic and then kinda mean, table sex, faking death, blood but like not in a sex way or like a lot, blood drawing that's it, toji is complicated and soft despite his best efforts, Background toji/shiu, also background shiu/you, just a ful little extra.

(My partner and I watched Breaking Bad and played Cyberpunk 2077 in very quick succession and this was born! I'm also putting off my multi part Nanami fic because im at a sticky spot, but she is still COMING!!!)

No sane person chooses to wipe themselves from existence. Effectively killing one’s self, without truly ending the life attached. Just the history, the future of that life. No longer being known, or ever having been known. What is a life that’s known? A series of labels and attachments, relationships both personal and professional. The intangible part of life, of perception, whatever that thing is that makes up the life as we experience it, would remain, privately. But Toji could not live any longer. Not like this. 

He had been a good husband. He knew it. She knew it, and showed him as much. She had taught him exactly how to be a good husband. Being a father came less naturally to him. But she had been there to guide, with her unending patience and pragmatism. He wished he could say he was a natural parent, that it came easy to him. But since he was on his own, he could feel how poorly he was doing. The already tangible difference in his son without his mother, Toji would ruin him. And once the money ran out, not that they were exactly wealthy before, and he returned to his tried and true methods, he realized that he wasn’t fit to raise anything. Let alone care for and nurture. It took him two years to realize how he could never be the father Megumi needed. In that time he did his best to find a suitable mother. He found Kuyomi, who was already a mother, but willing to embrace a son that wasn’t her own into her family. Tsumiki and Megumi got along well, both curious children; Tsumiki, a leader and caretaker, and Megumi, an inquisitive growing mind. They were a good pair, they would be good for each other. 

He knew that when he didn’t come home, Kuyomi would be frightened. Maybe even angry. But his second wife was resilient, she knew how to make do and keep going. The house was paid off, she could keep her job, the kids could walk themselves to school. It wasn’t going to be easy but he had to remove himself from this family. They would be starting middle school soon, and the window was closing on the time before Megumi would be able to forget him easily. Tsumiki would have flashes of memory but hopefully she would forget too. He had to go now. Tonight. He made the call. 

Somewhere in Tokyo, a phone rings, only to be answered and hung up.

Shiu Kong only had your phone number for one reason. Anyone who had access to your direct line only had it for one reason. To vanish. You were blessed with a special gift. Nothing magical or cursed. Something, beyond that, something that was destined. You had a calling. And the skill set to back it up. You could make anything disappear, anything or anyone. The latter was your true calling. Your true passion. FInding the exact manner and location for someone to completely fall off the grid, supplying them with everything necessary to start a completely new life. It made you feel like god. No. No, it made you god. Deciding who is lost into the cracks of society, using all their tools against them, their precious processes of documentation and surveillance as props for escape of a lifetime. Each lifetime. Shui had called upon your services before, specifically your…disposal services. Both post mortem and object focused vanishings. Tonight he caught you up late at work, running a series of false identification numbers to check for matches and current users. 

“Got a package for you.” You could see him on the other end of the phone, the sound of city rain dappling the awning he stood under outside of some building in the shady, crowded but discrete areas in which he was observing something…someone…who really knows. 

“Yeah? Is it big?” You can’t help but flirt a bit, Shiu was sexy, especially when he needed something from you.

You had worked with him for years, fixing whatever he needed to be rid of: evidence, vehicles, weapons, CCTV footage, bodies, people, whatever. He was a living link between the broken, who desperately needed help, and the fixers, like yourself. Your talents made you dependable and your discretion made you irreplaceable. You had indulged in each other socially, a few nights spent together seeking the confidence and understanding that could only be provided by each other. You could hear his own flirting tone lying beneath his work voice, strong and sexy, even and controlled.  

“Mmhm,” He pulled in a line of cigarette smoke, “Needs Priority Shipping. Overnight, if possible.” 

Overnight? 

That was an ambitious timeline for any disappearance, especially one of the weight that was being alluded to. You stilled your keyboard busy hands, the call now holding all of your attention, your sliding plastic phone tucked between your cheek and your shoulder. 

“Overnight, hmm…that won't be cheap. The rate of stamps being what they are.” But you couldn’t deny the adrenaline beginning to itch through your veins toward your thumping heart. 

He exhaled his lungful of smoke, you could smell the wet warmth of his breath through your receiver, “Understood. How soon can I have it picked up?”

He sounded terse now. No one liked talking about the finances of disappearance. Scrubbing an entire existence from human record was expensive. Hours of work, crafting new documentation, falsifying medical records, employment records, the potentially endless travel, supplies, not to mention your own personal risks. You clicked your tongue, running a quick series of mental calculations before answering. 

“Well if you already have it wrapped then it can be picked up in an hour. It’s late but I should be able to have it sent off before tomorrow evening.” You leaned back in your desk chair, awaiting his answer. 

“One hour. Good.” Shiu was always beautifully concise. 

“Will you be accompanying your package to its retrieval?” You cocked your head, although he wouldn’t see your coy expression, you hoped it translated through your phone lines. 

His low chuckle told you it did, “I’ll see that it gets sent out properly but I think it's best if the reception remains a surprise. Don’t you?”

“Good man.” You smiled, “Will you be needing to sign off upon its deliverance at its destination.” 

“Notification is good enough. No signature required.”

“Understood. One hour.” You clacked your phone shut, setting it down upon the desk in front of you. 

You carefully removed the SIM card from the plastic spring loaded pocket in which it had resided all of two hours since you had programmed it, and split it in two. 

Fifty minutes later Toji stood in the only memorized, never written down, location that Shui had brought him. A small underpass where a rarely used frontage road passed below a slightly less used highway that roared above. It had taken nearly the whole hour since the call to drive out here, he had less time to pack than he expected. Even less time to say goodbye, so he opted not to. Slipping out while the children were still sleeping, not willing to risk lodging any memories of emotional departures in their still impressionable minds. 

The smell of the rain and Shui’s smoke surrounded him, they gave him something to link himself to while he still felt foggy. Since he had decided to depart he had felt like he was in a dream, not alive but not yet dead. The truck that arrived was weathered, a faded, sun bleached flower delivery advertisement had once been painted along the body. He could barely make out the slogan underneath the bouquet. 

24 Hour Flowers

Discounts, Deliveries, and Disposals. 

Disposals. An odd thing to put on the side of a real truck, but fitting for its true purpose. 

“Alright Zenin,” Shui nodded towards the truck, “Here’s where part ways.”

“Zenin…” Toji groaned. 

“Indulge me one last time, huh?” He shrugged, the thin smile on his lips was jovial despite the tug at his heart. 

Toji nodded. The driver, a short man in thick glasses, gave them a look to get things moving. Toji opened the sliding door to the back and slid it open, crates and petals littered the inside. The bag he brought with him looked even smaller inside than it had in the open air. He looked back to Shiu, offering his hand forward. 

“Thank you, Shiu.” He felt true gratitude for his partner, in a way he may never have before, despite the many favors and jobs he had helped Toji with. 

“Sad to see you go, Zenin.” Shiu had snuffed his cigarette against the wet side walk with a hiss, clearing his hand to shake Toji’s. 

Both men nodded as their hands raised and lowered, one clean shake to celebrate the end of their work together. 

“I’ll keep an eye on them for you. A distant one, can’t promise I’ll do much about it. But I’ll keep an eye.” Shiu wasn’t even sure if he meant it, but he was compelled to say it nonetheless, “She’ll get you where you need to go. I hope we don’t meet again.”

Toji feels the twitch of a smile at the corner of his mouth, “You know it freaks me out when you act sweet on me.” 

Shiu rolled his eyes, but smiled the same, sliding the van door shut. Toji would never see him again, probably the closest thing he had to a friend, his family, all gone. He was gone now. Toji Fushiguro was dead. Toji Zenin had already been dead. 

Shiu watched the van turn and race back the way it had come, flinging puddled rain up into the air. He forced himself not to think about never seeing Toji again, it would be put aside with all the other parts of his job he chose not to think of anymore. Some things were simply events, necessary happenings that he had no control or investment in. Those things were not for him to dwell on. He turned and made his way back to his car.

It was forty past the next hour when your delivery driver arrived with your cargo. You buzzed in the van to the garage, watching it pull in on your security camera. Its lights dimmed as you stepped away from the monitor, heading down stairs to begin. You entered the garage right as the van door was pulled away. A man in his early thirties stepped out, his hair still wet from the rain outside, a vertical scar along his lips, dark green eyes. It’s such a shame when the pretty ones make such a habit of ruining their own lives. He had a tan work jacket over a dark grey t-shirt, and a clean(ish) pair of loose pants. You looked him over for a moment as the driver unloaded the single duffle bag that your client had brought with him. He watched you just as closely, clearly catching your reaction to the state (or absence really) of his luggage. 

“Traveling light. Good call, makes things easier.” You nodded, “I trust Kong got you up to speed?” 

“Yeah.” His voice was low, casual, you wondered if it ever took on a tone of sincerity or desperation. 

The driver took his leave and van out the back. The two of you stood in the garage and listened to the hums and squeaks of the gate shutting behind him. Toji looked over the space, the deceptively normal, boring even, mechanic’s garage, tools and dust scattered around, cans and trash serving as totems for the perceived workers to have indulged in between jobs. He wondered if this place was an actual functioning garage or if it was all a perfectly dressed ruse. He looked at you, the casual clothes, the soft, jovial look in your eye. You didn't look how he expected a fixer to look. No fixer he had met before was so…like you. 

“I was expecting a flower shop.” He looked around. 

“A flo-- oh! The van, yeah, better to not have the cargo vans be branded, harder to trace. They’re all something vague and easy to forget, come in and out for ‘maintenance’. Nothing gets back here. You’re safe.” You smiled, and turned back toward the staircase that led up to the “office” of the garage and up even further to your loft, “Come on up, can I get you anything, coffee? Tea? Beer?”

It would probably take years before he lost the assassin’s wary way, maybe never depending on how well behaved he was in his retirement. The office, again, was normal. Papers and appointment books scattered about, a small looking security monitor, if he didn’t know better, if Shiu hadn’t been the one to send him here, he may have even believed it. You opened a small mini fridge from under the desk, retrieving a beer and passing one to him as well, pulling a desk chair over. 

“Have a seat.” You pulled a folding chair off the wall and set it up for him across from yours. 

He sat in front of you, the can cold against his palm, watching you take your seat on the wheeled stool tucked away by the leaking water cooler in the corner. The crack of the can’s breakaway made him blink down to the drink in his own hand. 

“Not a drinker?” You hummed curiously. 

“Not often, but not never.” He popped his own tab, listening to the crack, the hiss, the bubble. 

You took a sip, the refreshing and starchy tastes easing your tongue and mind at once. You pulled a small legal pad from the desk and flipped a few pages of notes back. 

“Okay, so, logistic wise, you’re not being tailed or even investigated right now, so that’s good. No heat is better. Last tip under your name was give or take seven months ago, also good. No one has reported you missing yet, either. How long would you say that will last?” 

The beer was sour against his tongue, “Dunno. Few days.”

Toji didn’t miss the surprise and subsequent judgement that came over your face. 

You nodded, “Okay good. Gives us more options.”

“Didn’t Shiu tell you, I have to get out tonight?” His face crinkled in confusion and a bit of annoyance, he wasn’t here to stop over, he needed to get the fuck out. 

“He did. But he also told me you want to stay in Japan.” Your tone was warning, reminding him that he had no powers of negotiation here, “If we went international I could have you on a plane with a new identity, new job, and new apartment waiting for you before the sun came up.” 

He clicked his teeth, his eyes rolling back, “I’m staying in Japan.”

“You’ve made that clear. Disappearing locally requires more…logistics.” You nodded, returning to your notes. 

A tense silence holds between you, he's clearly unhappy with this arrangement. Whether it was you or the circumstance or the timeline, it didn't matter, everyone who came through your door was unhappy, you could work past this. But you couldn’t work past cold feet. 

“I gotta say, if you’re staying here because there are things you have to finish or keep your eyes on from this life, that time has passed. Once you called me, once you came here, that life is gone, it's over. You’re dead already. As far as your family, your son is concerned, you will have died last night. There isn’t any going back, or any watching from afar anymore. Not only does that kill you in this new life, but that kills me, kills Shiu. And I don’t let my work be discovered. I’m sure you know what I mean when I say that.” 

You stared at him intently, making sure the severity of your implication was not lost on him. You would kill him before he tried to reintegrate into his old life, whether it be through contracts or trying to contact his family, his child, you wouldn't let that happen. It’s not personal, and sure, his position as a father did make you hurt for the kid, but you wouldn’t be ruined because of some deadbeat dad having a change of heart. 

“Fine. How long’s  all this going to take you?” He leaned back in the chair, the wood creaking under his weight. 

“Not long. Not like you have anywhere else to go, though, huh? So maybe just be patient and help me out with these notes?” You tapped your pen against the pad, trying to remain jovial despite his growing arrogance. 

He grunted with a nod, gesturing for you to continue. 

“Phone’s busted, right? SIM card snapped and disposed of?” 

He nodded. 

“No goodbyes, no one to follow up with when you're out of here. We can take care of them for you, if you need the help?”

“No. No one.” 

You nodded, “Okay, I need your driver’s license.” 

He lifted his hips enough to pull his wallet from his back pocket, you tried not to linger too long looking at the motion of muscle underneath his shirt. He extracted his license and handed it over. You pulled a small metal bin from one corner of your desk and over it, you cut the plastic card into strips. With a cigarette lighter on your desk and a cotton ball that had soaked in a disinfectant you started a small fire inside of the basin. You watched as the edges of the strips charred and curled, the ink blotting into circles and beginning to melt. 

You stood up, walking over to the opposite side of the room and pulled down a backdrop, a pale blue backdrop. 

“Mind standing here for me?” You tapped a small taped X on the floor with the toe of your shoe. 

Toji was watching the flames consume his identification but turned at your voice, standing and joining you at the back drop. 

“Here, please.” you tapped the X again, he moved into position. 

You pulled a tripod and camera forward and aligned it about six feet away from him, angling it properly. 

“Smile if you like, nothing too big, no teeth. Up to you!” You smiled hoping he would join you, he did not. 

You snapped the photo and checked the results in the display window. Looked sterile and personality less, how very government issued of you. You snapped the camera closed. 

“Looks good, tuck that backdrop back up for me?” You asked him while you pulled a laptop forward and began to upload the photo. 

He tugged the line down and watched as it rolled itself back up, he couldn’t help the confusion at how casual this all felt. He wasn’t sure what he had expected, some kind of pristine, shady facility that thrived underground that could whisk him away unheard of. More aligned with the style of Jujutsu, that, but this was the real world. No flashy powers, no disparities. 

“Blood or teeth?” You asked, taking your seat and sipping your beer again. 

“Excuse me?” The instincts of the assassin were tripped once again. 

“About a week or so from now we will light a car on fire, inside of that car they will find a few of your personal effects and some of your recognizable genetic material. Which can either be blood or teeth. It;s up to you. I know teeth sounds harsh, but the car won't get hot enough to burn the bones, so even just one will be enough for identification. Blood, we’ll have to take a lot more, a lot of it is going to get lost in the blaze, so more quantity to work with, more likelihood that it gets found.” 

“Don’t they need to find a body?” Toji questioned, unsure of the level of detail you were expecting, and surprised at what he was learning. 

“They will, we already have it, were sort of fudging the numbers a little bit. But with car fires the time of death becomes kind of hard to find, no tissue to date, nothing like that. And the teeth, or blood, will be enough for them to tell who, and they’ll pair it with whatever date you had been missing and they’ll take an easy win. That’s why it's good you’ve been on such good behavior recently.” You assured him evenly, maybe you should try and give this part of your schpiel a little more sincerity, but what is the point? It’s not like it would make a difference with these types, anyway. 

He took a seat in the chair again, letting what you said wash over him, “Okay, blood then.” 

You tried not to look disappointed, teeth were just so much easier. But harder to…source…so you understood the choice, so you nodded. 

“Great. I’ll get set up upstairs, you drink two more of those incase they wanna test your blood, there's more in the fridge, help yourself. And then I'll bring you up to start, okay?” 

He nodded, taking a larger sip of the beer in front of him, watching as you slipped into the hallway and based on the creaking, up a set of stairs. He looked back at his ID curling and burning inside of the bowl on your desk. The yellow-white flame licked at his photograph, the one you were no doubt replacing upstairs. He watched the fire encircle his own face, the liquid you had added beginning to bubbled the plastic, he watched as his own face boiled and burst, before being eaten away by the fire. 

How fitting. 

He had finished his third beer by the time you returned. He felt fine, a collective thirty or so ounces of beer wasn’t going to affect him yet, but the night was catching up with him. The hours spent in the van, the sleepless final night he shared in what was his home. His eyes were beginning to feel heavy, but he knew it wouldn’t be over soon. You descended the stairs, they creaked under your feet, letting him know you were returning. 

“Took a while.” He complained, gesturing to the empty cans in front of him. 

“Short notice means setting up takes longer. But as I understand your time is not exactly a commodity right now.” You looked him over, taking into account his tired eyes, “Let’s go ahead and get started.” 

You led him up the narrow staircase, he had to side step in to follow you, and you took in  a breath before letting him into your loft. The door creaked as you pushed it aside, the dim lighting of the staircase now overtaken by the cool, computer light of your studio.

Toji took in all in with a single turn of his head, the three tower computer set up along the back wall, where you had been creating a new identification card on one monitor and looking over surveillance feed from around the city in another, the disheveled bed under the small, single window to the side, the kitchenette opposite, with a small fridge, a stove, and a sink, one small door behind that contextually he assumed was a bathroom. 

“Welcome, make yourself at home.” You shrugged, knowing you didn’t have much to show for yourself despite your substantial earnings from your business. 

He followed you in and watched as you pulled your desk chair out towards a small rolling table and an IV tower that you had presumably set up while he waited. 

“Have a seat, the sooner we get this started, the better.” You tapped at the back of the chair, beckoning him forward. 

“Quite the set up, you go to medical school?” He removed his jacket before taking a seat. 

You took his coat and laid it over the bed, out of the way, thankful for the distraction from the show he and his arms were putting on. You rolled a stool over to the right side, where you had set up the tower, and pulled on a pair of clean latex gloves. 

“Not allergic to latex?” You kept your hands off him. 

“Nope, not a fan though…” He gazed over at you from under his thick lashes. 

“Funny guy, huh? Shiu never said you were funny.” You ripped open the alcohol swap and gestured for him to present his arm. He laid it on the arm rest, you could already see the veins along his bicep and forearms.

“Shiu doesn’t have a sense of humor.” Toji settled back in his chair, laying his arm out for you.

You cleared your throat, “Is that comfortable? Gotta do this a few times so it’ll be better if you’re comfortable.”

“It’s fine.” 

You nodded, wiping down the juncture of his inner elbow with the alcohol pad. You tied the rubber tourniquet about four inches above his arm, the main vein beefing up, presenting itself for you.

“You’re not a fainter, are you?” You teased. 

“I’ll be fine.” You thought you saw the side of his lip curl up. 

Retrieving your needle you attached the back to the vacutainer and pulled off the plastic sheath. He winced a little bit at the sight of it. You aligned it with the most prominent vein. 

“Just a little pinch, okay?” You soothed, before pressing in. 

The vacutainer began to fill, you pulled one line of tubing forward and attached it to the back, watching as the blood carried itself up the line and into the bag. Toji watched too, as his blood left him, climbing its way up to its next purpose. Maybe that's exactly what he was doing. You rolled back, peeling the glove off your hands. 

“Alright, that’s all for now. Bag fills in about ten minutes, we’ll do two more after this.” You stood up, “I’m gonna keep working on your new card, You need a coffee or anything, you let me know. You feel like passing out, you let me know, okay? We can take breaks.” 

He nods and you pass him back to your computer, taking a seat and watching how the new ID was coming together. 

You changed his bag after about ten minutes, you made coffee during the filling of the second. Tomorrow morning a driver would pick up the blood and bring it to the disposal site, two local vagrants waiting on quick money would light the car on fire after it was loaded with the blood and the body by Shiu’s guys. They were hand chosen not to be the type to look inside. You brought him a cup of coffee, sitting with him as the next bag filled. 

“You mind the cold?” You asked, sipping on your own cup of coffee. 

“Don’t prefer it but I’m not being picky.” He shrugged, not having the energy to do much but lean back against his chair and raise his cup to his lips. 

“It’ll take more time to get you all the way up to Hokkaido, but people are less prone to asking questions up there. Gets you out of the way, ‘bout as far as we can still in Japan, if you change your mind and go international, you can also jump ship to Seoul and leave from there.” 

“I’m not going international.” He fussed tiredly. 

“Or we keep you in the Kanto region and take you down to Kanagawa, find you a coastal town, you can fish or whatever you like to do. Maybe we get you a boat, less documentation needed for a aquatic residence.”

He thought for a second, picturing a life on the water, sun leathering his skin, salt cracking his lips, stinking like fish and shit. He thought then of the cold in Hokkaido, the brutal winters, wind whipping his face, snow piled high above his head, and isolation.  

“Nowhere in the middle? Either next door or the tip of the fuckin country?” He groans, his head rolling over to face you. 

“Just ideas. I had a great farm picked out for you in Arizona before I knew all your specifications.” You rolled your eyes, looking up to see the second bag almost full, “Let's take a break before the last one. You need a break.”

He didn’t argue, he didn't flinch when you pulled the needle from his arm and disposed of the used equipment in the trash. 

He stood up on weak legs, “Mind if I…”he gestured to the bathroom. 

“No, go ahead.” 

He retreated to the bathroom to relieve himself. He hadn’t done so since his departure. Afterwards he looked at himself in the mirror, maybe it was the bloodloss, or maybe it was the reality of what was happening finally catching up to him. But he looked…scared. It was unfamiliar to see his own face turned up in fear like this. The muscles bringing together the expression felt weak. Fuck, he felt weak. 

A knock came at the bathroom door. 

“Toji?” your voice came muffled behind its wood. 

“Hm?” 

“Don’t faint on me in there. If you’re gonna pass out, at least lay down. I don't get paid if you hit your head and die before I deliver you.” Your half hearted chuckle barely made it past the door. 

The attempt at keeping things light. It should have annoyed him, it would have annoyed him, but it was…kind of you to try and keep things transactional. He exited the bathroom while you were still standing next to the door, he looked down at you, your wide, gentle eyes looking up at him without pity, without fear or malice, just…looking at him. 

“The cans clear if you need to…” he can’t stop his big mouth. 

“I’m good, Just wanted to make sure I didn’t take too much. You sit back down, I made some food, should help you get your strength back up enough to get the last bag.” 

He did just that, you brought over a bowl of some very aromatic soup for him, and one for yourself, along with a few more beers. You took your seat next to him and began to eat. The soup was good, a little simple but as he began eating he realized it had been nearly a full day since he ate. 

“How long have you been getting rid of people?” He asked between slurps. 

“A while, ten years or so. Not very frequent work, but even the downtime pays well, so.” You shrugged, mouth full 

“Ten years…what the hell, you start at like fifteen?” He scoffed, opening his beer, the can’s crack sounding his surprise. 

“Nineteen. It was this or university, and this was a lot less expensive.” You remember the day you left, the day you chose this, your first time helping someone disappear, it felt like yesterday and a lifetime ago all at once, “better than going into debt or barely making an entrance exam.” 

“I didn’t do university either. I got into…my business…pretty young, it’s not easy. Got out for a while but this life has a habit of bringing you back.”

“You mean your wife?” 

His heart pumped in his ears, of course you had done your research, and since you had you should know better than to bring her up so easily. 

“I’m sorry about what happened, death’s not exactly fair with his selections, is he?” 

Toji sipped his soup, not looking at you, trying to decide if he would give in and blow up or if he would be able to quell the blood pounding in his ears. 

“What was she like?” you pressed further. 

The blood stopped, the anger stopped, in a millisecond he decided. 

“She was incredible.” He sipped his beer, “Smart, patient, beautiful.” 

You smiled, watching the images of her play behind his eyes, memories you would never know. A type of memory you would never have for yourself, most likely. Toji couldn’t hear the waver in his own voice, if he had he may have been too embarrassed to continue. 

“She could…always wrap the perfect present. The perfect cut of paper every time, the scissors would do that slide thing where they kind of hiss and glide through the paper. And she always folded the corners in so they made these perfect, clean triangles on the sides. When our son was young she would put a ribbon on the inside that he could just pull and it would all fall apart like…magic. She made that magic for him…for--for me. She was…she was incredible.” He looked down into his nearly empty bowl, the residual steam misting his face, stinging his eyes. 

Your own eyes stung, the portrait he made so intimate and reverent it brought tears to your eyes, “She sounds incredible.” 

You had done this enough times to know this was a unique case. A lost love wasn't uncommon, a lost job, a bad breakup, severing ties with family, whatever it may be. But this was love, that love was uncommon, the kind of love that held onto details like that with years in between wasn’t something you saw in your line of work. Your heart ached for the man before you. 

“How did you get that scar?” You wanted to offer him a redirection for him to tell you to fuck off or to change the memory before his eyes. 

Toji blinked a few times, clearing the steam and tears away. 

“Fucked up family, fucked up kind of punishment.” He finished his soup. 

You nodded, “Zenin clan’s no joke. Guess you don’t wanna go back to Kyoto?”

He raised his eyebrows at you. 

“I’m kidding.” you stood up, taking both bowls to the sink and dumping them there, “Still feeling shaky or ready to keep going?”

It was nearly three, you didn’t have a lot of time before you had to really pull the strings. If he was going to get any sleep he would have to do it soon. 

He nodded, finishing the beer, “Let’s go.” 

You hooked him up again, setting a water next to him and returning to your computer. Your list of available residences wasn't massive, but it was varied. It was easy to disappear into a city, but the increased collection of cameras and sorcerers alike proved dangerous. Hokkaido was off the table, Kyoto was too populated, Osaka was interesting but your contact there had gone quiet for the last few weeks, still paid his rent so it was likely just personal. You sighed back into your chair, stealing a glance back at him. His hair had dried, but stayed down, his features seemed softer in the light of your room. Maybe it was the story about his wife, or the blood loss, but he seemed…gentler. Not the career killer that you had read about before his arrival. 

“You said,” He spoke up, maybe feeling your eyes on him, “There was a farm?”

“United States, about fourteen in flight hours out of your specifications.” You sighed, looking over the listing on your other monitor. 

“A farm, I’d like a farm.” He sounded drowsy. He would need to sleep after this. 

You hummed out a response, an affirmative one, you looked over your listings again. One illuminated itself to you finally, a small house in the mountains of Tomi, in the Nagano Prefecture. A long abandoned family home high enough in the mountains to be kilometers away from any of the village centers, acres away from the nearest neighbors. It was once a farm, it would be hell bringing it back to life, but not impossible. For a guy like him, it would probably be a dream. Nothing like the countryside to die in. You could smell the grass and the fresh air, the crispy winters, the nearby river. This was it. 

You stood and pulled the last bag free, bandaging Toji’s arm, and helping him toward your bed. He let you slump him back, feeling the weight of loss internal and external bringing him towards sleep. 

“Get some rest, I found your spot. I’ll wake you when it's time to go. Trucks get here in about five hours.” You laid him out, he hummed, barely still awake. 

“Don’t you need---” He mumbled. 

“I’m good, you’ll be okay. Sleep.” You let him go, watching your bed sink under his weight. 

You returned to your computer, finalizing the details of his new identity. He would be Ko Ueda in his new life, meaning happiness and peace. He deserved that much. You wished it for him. The details came together well. You managed about forty minutes of sleep at your desk before waking with a start and putting on a pot of coffee. Your death cover team was right on time to retrieve the blood, along with a spare t-shirt he had packed. 

The man of the hour slept soundlessly in your bed as you printed his new documentation. School records uploaded into local Nagano servers, a few bumps and bruises in their medical files, a broken arm, a split lip, things like that. You gave him a few parking offenses, just for some real life. This was the fun part, creating a new life from nothing. Conjuring forth the history of an existence that no god, other than you, had. Ko Ueda was completely your own to muster. You didn’t use any of your flashier tricks, marital record, subsequent death certificates or divorces, you kept it simple. He wasn’t going to be too far, after all, you didn’t want to raise any alarm bells for the bureaucrats who did care about their jobs enough to keep track of those records to notice. Once the documents were alive both physically and digitally, you memorized your route to Tōmi, to the house that was now his. You burnt the notes you made last night in the same basin that held his license’ ashes. Only then did you wake up. 

You weren’t sure how you wake a guy like this without getting grabbed or slugged. He had slept harder than you expected. Soft snores reminding your working mind that you weren’t alone tonight. You approached the bed carefully, not wanting to spook him awake. His lips were parted in soft breath, eyes shut and still in a dreamless sleep. But you noticed the slight pinch of his brow, he may not have been dreaming, but he was feeling. Maybe feeling was all dreaming actually was. You marveled at him for a second, taking in his sharp features, now laid before you. When was the last time anyone had seen him this still? He was beautiful, you chose only now to realize it fully. How handsome he was, the threatening nature of his appearance softened into allure by sleep. You wondered about his wife, if she only saw this side, if she knew both and loved them equally. You wondered what you would have preferred, both for her and for you, were you to be in her position. Time is still moving, you have to leave soon. So you opted to grip his shoulder. 

“Alright big guy, go time.” You shook him softly, his eyes blinked open easily, he didn’t seem startled, he looked right at you, taking you in, no doubt remembering the connection that brought him here. 

“Good morning.” You chirped, “I made coffee if you’d like any. We’ve got about five hours ahead of us.Getting up those mountains aint easy, I hope you don’t get car sick easily.” 

He sniffed as he sat up, taking it slowly, his body still wary from its having been drained the night before. Toji took in his surroundings, putting together the pieces of the last two days. He ran a hand over his face and nodded, getting up from the bed. 

“You sleep at all?” He stood, feeling the stretch in his back. 

“Got a few minutes, had to work out some of the nitty gritties so couldn’t get all my beauty sleep, like you. But…we’re all set.” You shrugged, pouring more coffee into your mug, offering him one, which he denied. 

He made his way to the bathroom while you packed your own bag, just an overnight bag for the drive, some toiletries, your work computer, the deeply encrypted one that was a total pain in the ass to use but was virtually uncrackable were it to be taken from you. 

“Come downstairs when you’re ready! We’ve got about ten before we have to head out.” You called to him from over your shoulder, pulling on your bag. 

He met you downstairs with his jacket donned, hair a bit wet from what must have been the fastest (and also uninvited) shower of all time. You stood before a large delivery truck, the interior of which was deceptively small. It was unlabeled, a vaguely industrial road shaped paint job featuring lined roads and a bird that could be a moving company’s or a repairman’s.  

“Alright, you’re in the back, at least till we get out of the heavily camera-ed areas. We’ll see about getting you some time up front once we’re in the sparse parts. It’ll be about five hours up to the house, that’s if the mountains are kind, which they usually aren’t. Again, I really hope you don’t get car sick.” You popped open the back, gesturing to two crates which were merged together in the center to form some kind of trunk. Or coffin. At least Toji felt like it was a coffin. 

“That’s it? Just lay and wait? To what, get caught? Till some traffic cop stops and searches?” He didn’t want to get in that box, just looking at it was making his stomach turn. 

You sighed, you expected as much as him, “you’re not going to get searched, it’s going to be fine. Just lie down and take a nap or something. Count to a million, hum quietly. It doesn’t matter.” 

“You think anyone cares if I’m sitting up front?” 

“Not yet they don’t but once you’re reported missing every second of footage with your face in it is going to be studied and I’m not risking even the top of your nose being spotted in my trucks. You’re not in charge here, Fushiguro. I am. Get in the fucking crate.” You could feel the vital seconds slipping away like ants in your blood. 

Finally he stepped inside, lying on his side and letting you close the lid over him. Darkness consumed the small space. The wooden crate lid had a small hole where he could see the ceiling of the truck bed. He heard the sound of you entering the cab, the door slamming shut, and the engine purr to life. His shoulders pushed against the sides of the box as he moved onto his back. The last thirty hours have whirred by in an instant, the call, the van, the blood, the loft, and now he found himself running away from everything with only one thing on his mind. Megumi. The boy had been sleeping when he left, dark hair matted on his head, curled in his cot, his little fist tucked under his chin. Toji had smoothed his thumb over the furrow in his tiny brows, frustrated even in sleep. He wondered what else his son would carry into his life from Toji. Would he be angry, or lonely the way he had been. No, Toji could already feel the energy coming from the infant, he knew he was gifted. He wouldn’t know the denial and ostracization that his father had lived. Good, he would be better for it. Better than he was. 

You spent most of the drive on the phone, coordinating with your suppliers about the state of the house, how to stock it, what you would need. You got the power and water set up before your arrival, you heard from your car burn team about their set up, all happening perfectly. In a few days, the man in your cargo would be dead. This limbo was the strangest part. The space in between the life left and the life that would continue gave you vertigo. The sloping curved roads of the mountains didn’t help, you felt yourself getting dizzy and having to focus that much harder on the roads in front of you. The midday sun was starting to slip downward when you arrived at the farmland that was to be his refuge. The house took shape before you, over a fenced hill, tucked back where the treeline gave it a backdrop, something to blend into. You pulled up along the side of the property, cutting the engine and taking a breath, righting your equilibrium. 

Toji felt the truck halt, he must have fallen asleep at some point, anything was better than white knuckling the boxes’ sides to try and steady himself as he felt every rock and tuck of the trailer. He looked through the small hole and watched the light cut through the darkness as the door clunked and creaked open. He pushed against the top, sitting up, ignoring the ache in his back from being stagnant with no support. 

“Alright, come on out, stretch a bit.” he walked past you and out the back doors, not really waiting for your permission. 

Toji winced at the change to open daytime light, after his eyes adjusted, he took in the land around him. The mountain air was crisp and clear, the early fall chill more present at this altitude. He could see some resilient asparagus plants in a fenced grow area on one side of the house still fighting forward. The house, his house. Clearly it had once been a home, it was in good condition, the paint job on the outside could use a refresh but the structure was solid, unmoving. A big change from the small townhouses and apartments he had grown accustomed to in the city. It felt cavernous, like a taunting labyrinth beckoning him forward into docile ruin. What he did not see was anyone else, no other houses, he couldn’t hear vehicles, or children yelling, or pinging electronic advertisements. The silence drilled at his ears.

 Toji watched you walk to the front and unlock the door, stepping inside without inviting him. Although he didn’t need an invitation. This was his now. He followed you in, looking over the entryway, a neglected snake plant drooped in between the front and inner screens. He pressed further inside looking into the hallway, screens hiding the rest of the house's contents, all for him to discover. 

“Two bedrooms, one large one on the upper level with a bathroom across the hall, and one on this level with a bathroom attached. Both have sleeping mats already. Bathtub downstairs, the water is on. They said on the phone it may take a moment or so for it to run clear, so don;t just drink straight from the tap like a dog, okay?” You swiped your hand over one of the kitchen counters, leaving the trail of your finger in the spread of dust, “There's enough food stocked for two months, a chest freezer with fish and a few steaks. There’s a cellar for whatever you like, wine, rice, hobbies, whatever. Do you cook?” 

“Not really.” Toji took in the kitchen, it was sparse but had a working stove and refrigerator, he opened one of the cabinets, seeing a few plates and cups inside, a sick gluttonous shame started to sink in. 

“Well you should learn. I can bring cookbooks if you’d like on my next stop.” You leaned against the counter. 

“Next stop?” Toji cocked an eyebrow, turning to face you, “you’re coming back.”

You smiled, “Yes. In sixty days I’ll be back to talk about rent, utilities, all that fun annoying stuff.”

“I thought…” 

“That I was just giving you a house and bankrolling your power and water? And why on earth would I do that?” You popped your head to one side, trying to keep this from getting more awkward than it was, “This is a safe house. Safety is expensive, safety like this…that's a luxury. What you and Kong have already paid is your extraction and settlement fee, but if you want to keep living here after two months, you pay again. Understand?” 

“So you’re what? My landlord?”

“Basically.” You nodded, crossing your arms, “I’ve gotta keep an eye on you somehow, how else will I know if you decide to fuck me over and hop back on grid.”

Toji lowered his eyes, now understanding more of why you cared so much about this. And the levels at which you benefit from people ruining their own lives. 

“Kinda fucked to take money from people with no other options.” 

“You’re literally a hitman.” You rolled your eyes.

“Still, a landlord…that’s dirty work. Didn’t expect you to be so heartless.” He leaned on the counter catty corner to you, having traversed the kitchen over to you. 

“It’s not my problem if you were to stupid to understand how this was going to work. Maybe ask more questions in the future.” You stared right back at him, unmoving, unafraid, “This isn’t the kind of contract where you get to decide what happens now. Now you do what I say.”  

Toji watched you not so much as flinch at his approach, the way your eyes were so cocky back at him, calling him stupid, pretending to be so much better than him when you were the same kind of bottom feeder that he was--is-----was. He drew closer. 

“Then why don’t you tell me what I do now.” 

“Ko Udea, 28, born in Sendai, moved up here after inheriting the house from your late grandmother. Tend the land or don’t. Get a job in town, it doesn't matter. Just make enough for me to not lose money keeping the lights on, got it? I’ll be here every two months to drop off food, supplies whatever you need, and to collect. You need something from outside the town, you wait until I’m back, give me a list and it’ll be here next time. You need something faster than that, it doesn’t matter. There’s a shed at the bottom of the hill, you’ll find seeds, fertilizer, and the irrigation controls. You wanted a farm, I got you a farm. Don’t leave the doors open in summer, even if the heat inside is too much, you don’t need a house full of grasshoppers” 

“Ko Ueda?” Toji laughed, “Kinda…hopeful i guess.”

You rolled your eyes, pushing off the counter, your shoulder brushing against his, “Come on, I’ll show you the rest of the house.” 

You led him around, showing him the bedrooms, the bathrooms, the den, and the extra room that had been used as an office, too small for a real bedroom, no closet either. But you felt his eyes on your back, your hips, he wasn’t paying attention. The furniture was terribly dated, but it fit the grandmother narrative, dressers and bookshelves sparsely filled. 

“If you want books I can get you some on my next trip.” You gestured to one of the emptier shelves. 

“Not much of a reader.” 

“Shocking. You play cards?” 

He shrugged but nodded. 

“You play solitaire?” 

“No.” 

“I suggest you learn, be a while before anyone is up here again, helps pass the time, especially in winter.”

Toji pictured it, the fireplace warming the house, snow piled outside, dead crops, and him, totally alone. He looked at you again, your back turned, realizing he didn’t know the next time he would see someone else other than you, the next time he could. 

You led him back into the kitchen, pulling out the file folder with his forged documentation, “This is you now. Everything that makes you a new person. Read through it, memorize it, store it somewhere if you need it.” 

The sun was dipping, inky purples taking over the sky, just shimmers of pinks and oranges at the horizon line. He studied it at the counter, huffing his displeasure every once in a while, you sighed at the darkening window. The two nights of no sleep were catching up to you, the prospect of driving back was becoming draining just to think about. It would be an hour’s drive to even get into town where you could get a decent meal and a cup of coffee to keep your road weary eyes open. 

The thought of food made your empty stomach twist and groan. 

“Hungry?” Toji piped up from the counter. 

“Keep reading.” You looked back at the window, watching the light fade. 

“You could stay, have dinner at least before you drive back.” His eyes licked over you, seeing the exhaustion taking its toll over you, weighing out his options. 

“I gotta leave soon, I don’t have time for you to figure out how a kitchen works.” 

“Then you cook. Give me one last decent meal before I’m on my own.” 

You looked back at him, a stupid smirk all too pleased with himself over his features. Green eyes twinkling with manipulation and ulterior motives, but you were hungry. And you were tired. 

“I don’t bite.” Toji’s smile widened. 

You sighed, your stomach twisting again, “Fine.” 

He stayed at the counter while you cooked. Nothing fancy. Eggs, rice, carrots and broccoli. You saved the meat for him later, figuring it would be a more familiar cook than anything else for him. He watched you tut about the kitchen, the practiced way in which you moved in the space, confident and smooth. He watched your arms as you stirred and cooked the eggs, the soft skin catching the sunset light, illuminating the soft sheen of sweat that popped up from the kitchen’s heat. He watched your neck glisten, muscles underneath shifting like dancers. He watched your hips as you checked the fridge door closed, the jiggle of your ass as you moved. Leading down to your legs, long and shapely, your jeans hugging the meatier parts of you. The smells in the kitchen gave his drooling mouth the perfect cover. 

“Say thank you.” You gave him his plate, already starting to eat,, not waiting for manners of politeness from him. 

“Thank you.” He said smugly, joining your feast. 

You didn’t expect he would talk, you didn’t even know if you wanted to. The food was fine, the frozen ingredients were a bit mushy and the rice was rushed, but you were happy to have something to fuel you. 

“You always make a housewarming meal, or am I just special?” He said with his mouth full. 

“You asked me to cook.” You shrugged. 

“But you didn't have to. You could tell me to fuck off and turn around back to the city. What’s keeping you here?”

You set your chopsticks down, “You looking for an answer here, Fushiguro?”

“Ueda, please.” he teased. 

You stared at him, waiting for an answer to your question. 

He looked back at you, the glint of oil on your lips, the same oil in his mouth, “Just wondering if I’m special, is all.”

“You’re something…” You rolled your eyes, annoyed at your younger self for indulging this kind of behavior enough to still feel heat climb in your cheeks at a dumb remark like that, “Just eat.”

He watched you fight the smile he brought out of you.

“I think…you’re warming up to me.” He said again, not touching his food anymore, too interested in seeing how far he could take this, “I think that maybe even…you like me.”

You can’t help but laugh, “What's the play here, big guy? Think you can flirt yourself into a discount?” 

“Maybe. Maybe I like ya?” He picked his chopsticks up again, “How often do you stay and eat dinner with your clients?” 

You hesitated before answering, the truth would only help his case but it's not like he really knew any better, “Sometimes, if I feel bad for how poorly prepared they are to be alone.” 

“Ouch.” he was not put off by your answer. 

You blew him off, picking at the end of your plate, “Finish up, I'm not doing the dishes too before leaving.” 

Toji looked to the kitchen window behind you, seeing the deep dark sky that the city's light pollution can’t dilute, true rural open blackness, “I don’t think you’re going anywhere this late. Those windy mountain roads aren’t safe when it's this dark.” 

You look at him, hard, your jaw set, the inside of your cheek clenched between your molars, “So that’s your game? Try and keep me here until it's too dark to drive, as if I don’t know these roads well enough to get down.”

Toji leaned back in his seat, a nasty ease settling over him, “Just don’t want my deliveries to dry up is all. That's a big truck with nothing in it, prone to tipping. Especially on the…curvier…parts.” 

He wasn't talking about the roads, his eyes directed down your shirt told you that much. But, he did have a point, without the supplies you had in the back, that trailer was going to rock a lot more than it had on the way up here. Even navigating around a car coming up the mountain at the same time could tip it. You didn’t like the idea of plummeting down the side of a mountain, but you weren’t too crazy about staying here overnight either, not with the way he was looking at you. No matter how…regretfully charming he could be. This flirtatious switch in him could have come out of nowhere, but you knew the steps. 

“I’ve seen this before.” You leaned back, mirroring him, “Sixty days is a long time. No one up here to pick up, balls might get a little full here all alone. Wanna drain em one last time before the real isolation sets in.” 

“Well I wasn't thinking that but if you’re offering.” The smile that splits his face should have cut his cheeks open. 

“I’m not.” 

The smile fades. 

“Toji, you think you're the first one who's ever tried this before. Sixty days of no touch will make anyone wanna fuck anything. My personal standards aren't exactly hinged on the idea of being the only living thing in the area.” You stood up grabbing your plate and dumping it in the sink, moving around the counter, but he grabbed your wrist. 

“Oh come on, it’s not like that! You helped me out, I wanna say thank you. You told me to thank you.” he tugs you closer to him, making sure to catch you in his stare, not letting you leave. 

Fuck, you had your convictions, you did. You never gave in when clients propositioned you, it's not like it happened often but it had happened before. But Toji wasn't like any client you had ever had. Big and broad, body trained to excellence, the ease of his motions, the curve of his waist and back. He was gruff and crass, and honestly kind of a dick, but you still felt your heart pain for him, for what he had undergone, for the way he spoke about his wife, his son…there was something under…all of that that you couldn't deny drew you in. physically it drew you in, your arm had bent, you had stopped fighting his grasp. His hand was moving up your arm, feeling the soft hair on your forearm, the crease of skin at your elbow. His hand was warm, softer than you expected, old calluses along the top of his palm that had healed, the time being a father changed his weapon hardened hands to ones fit to warm and administer baby lotion. 

“One last favor.” he scanned over your body, back up to your eyes, “stay tonight. Leave tomorrow.”

You couldn’t help it, you had been bluffing all through dinner and you had to fold. You let him pull you in, and onto his lap, you let him grip your face and pull you in to kiss you. You let his tongue enter your mouth and taste your own. He let you move your hands under his shirt. He let you kiss him back even harder. He let you move to straddle his lap, and listened to the groan you let out at the stretch. He let you rock yourself back and forth in his lap, and you let his hands guide your movement. 

Toji was quick to remove your shirt, pulling it over your head not caring that the angle strained your neck a little when he whipped it off. His hands traced the line of your spine, held your hips in place over his hardening crotch. He fought to keep his hips tied to the chair, not bucking up like some over eager idiot. His kiss was overwhelming, like being consumed rather than kissed. His tongue was hot and thick in your mouth, you worried you would choke, but you couldn’t fight it. You didn’t want to fight it. You lapped your own alongside, tasting the roof of his mouth, feeling the scarred texture of his lips across yours. The scar’s roughness titlated your neck as he made his way from your mouth, biting, nipping, teething at your skin, like he hadn’t just eaten. It made you pant, it made you yelp, it made you wet. 

“Take your fucking belt off.” You grunted out, tired of reaching between the two of you to try and unbuckle it. 

“Get on the table.” He bossed right back. 

You separated briefly, enough for your both to shed your pants, and for you to start to remove your bra. He took over, turning you around and unclasping it, his other hand racing around your body to feel the weight of your chest drop into his waiting palm. He pushed the dishes to the side, not caring about how they clattered to the floor, probably broken. He pressed his hips against your ass, caging you in between himself the the edge of the table.  

“Fuck, you think I didn’t notice these tits first time we met? You think I just wanna fuck cause you’re here?” Toji pushed you to bend over the table, both hands pawing at your chest hungrily, squeezing your nipples until you whined, “Selling yourself short, I think. I think you know you’re sexy and that’s part of your game.”

You felt your skin getting hot, your arms holding yourself up were getting shaky. His words were making you drip onto your thighs. You gripped the edge of the table hard, moving your hips against his, trying to get the right angle for him to be inside.  

“Shut up, Toji,” You whimpered, sounding more pathetic than you wanted to. 

“That’s right, say my name, baby.” He trailed his tongue down your neck to the slope of your shoulder.

He looked at the movements in your back, the way you were already shaking, the muscles hot and tight under the skin. He moved one hand down to your ass, feeling the soft, perky fat, pulling you open for him to see your hole fluttering, begging for him. 

“Pretty.” He spit down against it, two fingers spreading merging with the wetness that was already there, teasing your clit before he pushed them inside of you. You panted at his insertion, your walls clinging to his knuckles, not wanting to let go. He started a brutal pace, not giving you any time to breathe before pushing them deeper inside. 

“Been a while, huh, baby?” Toji teased you, his other hand holding you in place by the back of your neck, “When was the last time someone fucked you like this.” 

You didn't answer, he was pumping his fingers too perfectly, hitting every spot, every groove you could have wanted him to. He spit again, letting his saliva wet your ass and join the drooly mess between your legs. You could hear the squelching of him finger fucking you, the sound of his skin and yours meeting, your cheeks burned in pleasure and shame, but still you moaned for him.

“Whoever he was, must not have opened you up right, you’re so tight…” He leaned over your back, getting close to your ear, “It wasn’t Shiu was it?”

Your eyes shot open, where they had been screwed up tight together. That was enough for Toji to know he had hit a nerve, deciding he should hit more, he added a third finger. The stretch made the dim lights bloom, made you crumple further into his hold, made you whimper out some kind of bastardized portmanteau of his name and something like ‘soooo goood’. 

“You fuck him, too?” Toji hisses in your ear, not afraid of his canine teeth tugging at its edges.

You stay quiet, but he pushes his fingers in hard, deeper, making your knees wobble, barely able to keep yourself up. 

“Answer me.” 

You nod, begging for relief, for him to stop pressing deeper. He does, going back to his original, still ruthless pace. He lets out a mean laugh. 

“I should have known,’ He pushed you down so your chest was flush with the table, keeping you in place with one big hand in the middle of your back, leaving you with nothing to do but take it, “Feels like his skinny dick didn’t do you any favors back here.” 

Toji looked at your pussy, swallowing his fingers, the ripple in your ass as he pumped his hand, he noticed the shake in your knees, the way your hands flexed, your moans went up in pitch. 

That same mean laugh sounded again above you, “Gonna cum? Damn, it has been a while.” 

He wasn’t one to talk, his cock was standing upright at attention, begging, weeping to be involved. But nothing prepared a pussy better than an orgasm or two. He would have to opt for one, too fucking turned on to wait.

The relentless pumping of his fingers, the gradual build up of tension between you, the taunting, nasty way he spoke to you, it all was bringing you right to the edge. He moved his wrist slightly to mash his fingers right up against your g spot, watching as your whole body lept, forward. You screamed out into the empty house, rocking your hips back against his hand, wetting his wrist. 

“There you go, pretty girl.” He pumps through the crest of your orgasm, letting up when you finally slump limp against the table, weak arms no longer fighting. 

Toji removes his fingers and wastes no time licking them clean, swirling your climax against his tongue, watching you pant against the table. The surface is cool against your flushed cheek, you turn your face to look at him, watching him savor the taste of your cum, cleaning himself off. He catches your eyes, and you can see the spark of danger latent in his gaze. He pulls you by your hips onto your feet, turning you around and picking you up to sit on the table. You pull his shoulders to you, craning for his mouth, kissing him hard. You taste yourself on him, you taste the salt and sweet of your combined tastes, his spit, your cum, and that intangible taste of togetherness. You loop your leg over his hip,feeling the shaft of his cock move between your folds. His mouth falls open, hot, desperate breath filling yours. He grips your breast again, squeezing it as his other hand aligns himself with your entrance. The stretch of him pushing into you makes your head loll back. He pushes into you completely, heavy balls smacking against your ass. 

You both cry out, “Fuuuuck” in the space between your mouths, shared breath giving way to shared words.

He fucks into you at a devstating pace, making you cry out in staccato moans. Toji’s hand bruises your hip, pulling you in to meet his thrusts, you wrap your hand around his neck using it for leverage to fuck yourself. You look between your bodies, seeing the muscles of his body straining, the dark curls trailed from his stomach to his pelvis, wet and sticky against his skin from your fluids. The sight alone makes your eyes roll back. His other hand trails up your back holding your neck, bringing it to his mouth again. Sloppy, wet smacking kisses fill the air of the kitchen, alongside his hungry, animalistic grunts and groans. He pulls all the way out and pushes back in in the same breath, as deep as he can. 

“T-T--Toji…Fuck. Yes fuck, please.” You whimper. 

“Take it, take it, take it, fuck, take it.” He mantras, pushing you down on your back and leaning over you. 

The new angle allows him even further inside, your back arches up and you hook your arm over your head to hold on to the edge of the table. He watches you tremble under him, your breasts bounce and your jaw dropping open. Keeping pace, he slides a hand up your stomach, between your breasts, hooking two fingers into your mouth. You're quick to swirl your tongue around his fingers, he grins at you being the exact obedient slut he expected you to be. He pushed his fingers further, marking in his head how you didn’t gag. Pulling his fingers back he gripped your cheeks, pursing your lips and spit down right onto your mouth. 

“Swallow it.” he tells you, a dark, vicious look in his eye. 

You do, and fuck its incredible. Both your tasting and his watching send you both into a renewed fervor. He hikes one leg up on the table, new leverage allowing him to press against your g spot everytime. Your nails rip down his hip, praying he would ease up, but also praying he would never stop fucking you. He hisses at the scratches, the hand near your head giving you a harsh smack before moving down to circle your clit. The one-two punch of pain and pleasure sends you keening backwards into orgasm once again. You writhe under him, calling his name into the dark of the kitchen window behind you. 

The way you clench around him has him shaking. He’s a sturdy man, knows his body well, but the way you feel inside might have him questioning everything. He holds down on your stomach, circling your clit with his thumb, trying to last through your orgasm. But all too soon, the lick of pleasure behind his belly button is too close to avoid. You can barely raise your head when you feel him twitching inside of you. 

“Toji--fuck…” You plead weakly, wanting to feel his pleasure as wholly as you have felt your own. 

He looked at your wet face, your pleasure hazed eyes, the hair sticking to your forehead and it pushed him over the edge with both hands. He buries himself inside of you, balls nestled between your bodies. He scoots you forward, making him deeper inside of you, ignoring the way you grind away, over sensitive and sticky. His orgasm is enveloping, making him see white and fold over you completely. Arms caged around your head, his chest crushing yours. You feel him pulse inside, painting you white from the inside. 

He stays draped over you for a moment, catching his breath, relishing his last orgasm for the foreseeable future. You, and your lungs, really, are not willing to wait until hes had his retrospective fill, you tap his shoulder. 

“You're crushing me, big guy. Let up.” You push at his shoulder and he follows your instruction. 

He removes himself from inside of you, sitting in the chair he had pulled at the counter, leaning back blissfully, running a hand over his face. You sit up, still on the counter, feeling the harsh treatment and the hard surface settle painfully into your back and neck. You move your neck side to side trying to catch the building tension early, not realizing your spread legs put on quite the show from the man before you. 

Toji watches as his thick, white cum oozes from your pussy. His hand has stopped at his mouth, running a finger over his lips at the intoxicating sight before him. You catch on to his ogling and cross your legs. 

“Sorry about the counter. Cleans up easy, I'm sure.” You found yourself covering your breasts and body with your hands, unsure what to do now.  

“Nothing to apologize for.” Toji stands, legs shaking, sturdy as can be and moves your arms, “Nothing to hide from either.” 

He leaned in and kissed you again, still overwhelming but not as desperate or intense. You brought your hands up to his hair, feeling the shaved, soft hair at the back of his neck give way to longer, thicker strands. You feel the soft hair on his arms, his shoulders, his chest, mapping him out as he kisses you. 

“And you said you didn’t like me.” He mumbles against your lips smugly. 

You pushed him off, moving off the counter, “ I didn’t say I didn’t like you, i asked if you were trying to fuck to get a lower rent.” 

Toji follows you walk down the hall toward the bathroom, leaning his head against the wall when you stop at the door, looking over your naked body, “And?” 

“Not a chance.” You roll your eyes shutting the bathroom door between you. 

When Toji woke you weren’t in bed. You had fallen asleep next to him, he followed you soon. But as the morning light peeled his eyes open, you were nowhere to be found. You must have slipped out before light. He felt strangely frustrated by this, not that it mattered. Not that you, even, mattered. It just was…disrespectful. He didn’t bother dressing as he moved down the stairs into the kitchen. A still steaming cup of coffee sat on the counter, with a small note. 

See you in 60 days.

Full amount. 

Good luck, Big Guy. 

XX

Toji smiles, setting the note aside, looking out the window at the land that was now his. Unending potential, no divine purpose, only his to mould as he sees fit.

THANK YOU for reading!! I hope you enjoyed this one! It was super fun to write and a great exercise. I'm loving the fixer x criminal dynamic right now, so desperate, so delicious. I hope you guys enjoyed it too! Let me know what you thought if you liked, I always love hearing it! -Doodle

[plotsignificanthaircut555]

Breaking the Surface (Sex Pollen Kishibe x f!Reader) MDNI

Due to dwindling devil hunter numbers, you accompany your former mentor, Kishibe, in a run of the mill Devil acquisition. Upon encountering the devil, you both begin to experience some...side effects.

wc: 12.9k Ao3 Masterlist

Warnings: SEX POLLEN AND THEREFORE DUBIOUS CONSENT!!!! (if that is not your thing, please be on your way and we will see you in the next one, love you), enemies to fucking, mean Kishsibe, smoking, drinking, aphrodisiacs, age gap (like late 20s/30s and 50), kissing, spit, sex in an alley, blood (both Devil and Human, but not that much), hypnosis, sex marathon, doggy, missionary, sex marathon, cum, a lot of smell/scent stuff again.

What a joke.  

The thought hung between the two of you, Kishibe in the driver’s seat, and you in the passenger, grumbling out the window. The disgruntled huff rattled in both of your skulls, throbbing against the increasing headache. Neither of you wanted to be here. Or rather, neither of you wanted YOU to be here. Makima bade you join him on what should be a simple execution with little to no complexity. Kishibe was the top of the top, with literally no need for backup taking down a middling level devil. You were perfectly capable, but not even really exceptional, but not a rookie who needed more demonstration either. But, instead of getting your own assignment or group to lead, you were stuck basically being the audience and late report filer for today’s excursion. Your day would consist of standing around, trying to stay out of the way, while he did all the real work, and you’d have the paperwork while he drunk himself stupid back at home. You sighed out, feeling the tension in your head building, the pencil callus on your middle finger already aching. 

“How much further?” You huffed, glancing at the time, disheartened to find it was already approaching mid afternoon. 

“Why, you got something better to do?” Kishibe’s eyes stay locked on the road before you. 

“Better than watching you kill a devil barely half my threat level? Yeah, anything else.” You roll your eyes, squinting as the late morning sunlight peered over the drop down visor.  

He didn’t respond, just carried on driving as if you hadn’t even spoken to him. 

You roll your eyes again and remember Makima's instructions when you had complained, “You’ll go in as a team, numbers are slim right now so everyone pairs even if their ranks don’t align. No one goes alone.” 

Public Safety was scrambling, for personnel, for intel, for quality hunters. Hours had become brutal, late nights bleeding into early mornings with barely time for a shower at home. The office floor was growing more barren every day. Chairs which had once been home to colleagues now sat empty, pushed into desks with dust collecting personal effects that would eventually be collected and trashed by the custodial crew. Everyone was on a razor edge, feeling the impending fate breathing down their necks. Irritability was at an all time high.  

“—total bullshit.” You mumbled, shaking your head and pulling at the skin of your fingers. 

“I didn’t remember you having such a shitty attitude before.” Kishibe took a smooth right turn. 

“It’s been a long time since you were my teacher, Kishibe. A very long time. And I have a perfectly fine attitude, when my time isn’t being wasted.” 

Kishibe grunted in response, taking another turn and stopping the car. 

“Get out and fill the back right tire. It’s getting low.” He commanded, voice passive. 

You looked around the windows realizing you had pulled into a gas station’s air pump. The dashboard didn't even have a tire pressure warning. Was he just trying to piss you off?

“It’s your car.” You settled into your seat further. 

“You’re under my instruction.” 

“What?” You rolled your neck to face him with lidded cold eyes, “ Your old knees can’t get that low anymore, maybe you ought to take a back seat on this one, huh?” 

“So which is it, am I a decrepit old man who can’t do anything alone or am I too good to be wasting your precious time as my caddy?” He glared at you, watching your face contort in indignation, the squeak of your teeth grinding egging him on, “I’m just confused, your story’s inconsistent.” 

“Fuck, fine!” You took off your seatbelt and got out, circling to the back of the driver’s side and unscrewing the valve cap and attaching the hose.

Air hissed rhythmically into the tire, which inflated itself. It was barely flat to begin with, he was just proving how easy it was for him to do whatever he wanted. He had always been an asshole, even beyond the time you had known him. Your months training under him were grueling. He pushed you hard, kicked your ass harder. But it was effective, you learned to take a hit, how to avoid taking said hit. For a while you found yourself admiring him. His power, his speed, his agility and experience. In your early days as a devil hunter, you had found yourself drawn to him. Wanting to know about whatever tragic backstory had scarred him, damaged him so that he became so callus, so vicious. Secretly wondering if you did well enough, or lingered long enough after hours if he would confide in you. Maybe he would even---- no. You didn't allow yourself to finish that thought, at least not often. He may be handsome and fit and strong, but he was mean and probably certifiable. He was one of those guys who was born an asshole and despite his heavily borrowed time, he would one day die an asshole. 

The day was not starting well, at this rate it would be a miracle if you both held out long enough to actually face the devil. The pump began to beep, alerting you that the tire was full. You reset the machine for the next user and walked around the car and slipped back into your seat. Kishibe looked over at you boredly. You got your hand coated in whatever car road gunk, now turned them ashen and tried to brush off the bulk of it onto your pants, feeling the ickiness of it sink into your palms. 

“Gonna get dirtier than that, you sure you're up for it?” Kishibe mocked your disgust, starting the car and looking just barely backwards to back out of the pumping station. 

“I don’t remember you offering to get your hands dirty.”

Silence settled between the two of you. The drive continued, the car hummed, the radio was barely audible. Some  You turned your attention back to your cuticles, allowing the sound of wind rushing past the cracked windows to fill the silence. 

A dance pop song played on the radio, something about a woman begging her cab driver to get her to her booty call faster, before she changes her mind. Being desperate and touch starved was a feeling you knew well, especially as of late. The late nights had recently cost you your most recent in a string of casual lovers. One too ‘sorry, stuck at work.’ flake outs too many. You couldn’t blame them either, it wasn’t like you were all that present when you did manage to make it to your dates. Dating outside the company would always carry this barrier, between yourself and civilians. But dating within the walls of Public Safety carried all the traditional “don't shit where you eat” consequences, with a perfect cherry of “they, or you, will die horribly and leave the other to mourn” on top. You knew getting into Devil Hunting would make your life harder, potentially even shorter, but not getting laid? You’d rather be torn apart by the next devil you saw than forgo a good, consistent fuck. Or maybe you were just annoyed because your lover ex lover, as of late had dumped you, it meant you wouldn't be having sex this week, making this the fifth week in a row for you. Over a month of no sex. You can’t remember the last time you had gone without this long. The distraction of work kept your day-mind occupied, but when you’d return home, for however briefly, you found yourself starving for the touch of someone else. You were an effective partner for yourself, you knew your body well and particularly how to orgasm quickly and quietly, aiding your slip into sleep. But it wasn’t the same, you couldn’t lose yourself in the same way you could when you were with someone else. The way your mind would be consumed by the wholeness of the act; their movements, their body, the smell, the sight, the sounds. You’d find yourself stuck in your own head, barely rubbing out an orgasm before rolling over and falling asleep. It had been too long. Far too fucking long. 

Even thinking about how much you craved sex began to make you wet. You felt the tug behind your navel, alerting your attention lower. You fidgeted in your seat, the sun in your eyes once again, the heating of your skin making your suit jacket feel restrictive and stuffy. 

Kishibe noticed your wiggling. He watched out of the corner of his eye as you unbuttoned your jacket and tried to shrug it down your arms. Between the seatbelt and the cramped passenger side it was an awkward little dance that finally got it off you. He stayed focused on the road, praying the traffic would lighten so he wouldn’t be stuck in this ever heating box with you. You lay your jacket in your lap and adjust your seatbelt, not realizing how it found its place right across the center of your chest. Kishibe’s eyes didn’t even hesitate before peeking at the cleft between your breasts. Your shirt's fabric pulled tight, making the gaps between the buttons stretch, giving him the faintest glimpse at your skin underneath. A few rapid blinks cleared the image long enough for his eyes to turn his attention back to the road. He swallowed, tilting his neck to onside until it cracked. 

He needed a cigarette, he needed his flask out of his coat pocket, he needed something to stimulate him. Something to consume his mind other than the growing, burning thoughts. It was just the nature of the assignment. It was infecting the air of the car, shaking you both with its humid imagination. 

The Lust Devil. The Devil grown from the fear and shame of sexuality, ranging from infidelity, adultery, sexual violence, to personal repressive shame, etc. attraction and sexuality was a sensitive topic for nearly everyone alive, making its corresponding Devil powerful. Although, from the intel gathered by the information sector, its raw power wasn’t extensive. Its defensive power was harder to get an idea of, the previous reports that had been filed had been vague at the most helpful and fully redacted at the least. Hence why the top devil hunter was tasked with its capture. It had most recently been spotted in one of the shadier clubbing districts that Tokyo had to offer. Not a lot of tourists, nothing flashy, just a strip of bars, pachinko parlors, a few behind-the-false-wall establishments that were illegal, but documented. Likely favored by police or lawmakers in the area who could be bought out to turn the other way. Corruption was rife, making it the perfect breeding ground for devils. The sun was beginning to sink, the early afternoon was stretching, inching toward sunset. Finally Kishibe pulled the car into a car park six blocks from the suspected nest. He turned the key, plunging the car into silence. It felt suffocating, at least the awkwardness of the drive had been somewhat mitigated by the ambient car noise and the radio. You both hesitated for a moment before you moved to unbuckle your seatbelt. The click of the belt covered his sigh as he followed suit. You both exited the car and began to make your way out to the street. 

The air had been sticky but an evening chill tingled the back of your neck, cooling your cheeks, which you realized had been burning. He reached into his breast pocket, retrieving his flask, unscrewing the cap. You rolled your eyes at his dependence, redressing yourself in your uniform jacket. He took a sip, your eyes crept over, watching the way his throat tightened. The stubble running down his neck was getting lighter, as was the scar from lip to ear. When you had met him, it had still been pink at its deepest points, the cross hatches where staples had once been were more pronounced, which now were faded and pale. You watched as his adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed whatever vice he had stashed away in advance. When you looked back up to his face he was looking back at you. He extended the curved silver flask to you. You accepted, taking a sip, trying to ignore the thoughts about the stick of his lips still lingering on the spout. You took another quick one, letting what you now knew was whiskey scorch down your tongue and throat. It was harsh and spicy, scouring down through your chest, spreading its warmth, bringing you closer to your center. You let out a long breath and handed it back and continued walking silently.

The crowds hadn’t yet died down. Throngs of people bustling in and out of buildings, waiting for crosswalks, car horns, wind, the taste of the whiskey, your senses were sharpened by circumstance so it all washed over you. Ordinarily you would have found yourself pushing through crowds, but Kishibe, at his imposing height and build seemed to create space for the pair of you. The uniform helped, that black tie and jacking becoming symbolic for people to know to leave Devil Hunters to their work, not try and engage, and certainly to not get in the way. It wasn’t long before you reached the cross street of the last reported sighting. There was no guarantee the devil would still be there, or even in the area, but you would have to start somewhere. Your left thumb had been subconsciously clawing at the cuticle line of your ring finger, it wasn't until you felt the wetness on your fingertip that you realized you had broken the skin. You pulled your hand out of your pocket and watched the blood on your nail bed bead up until the surface tension broke, making it drip down your finger. It felt auspicious, something about it made your stomach twist. Trying to put it to the back of your mind, you wiped it across your pants and pressed forward. 

Kishibe noticed your delay, and it pushed him over the precipice. The car ride, the attitude, the tire, was whatever, but you were in the field now, there wasn’t room for more of your bullshit. He gripped your arm, pulling you to the side further from the street, a hushed scold coloring his tone.

“You going to make it?” He scoffs. 

“What?” You tried to tug your arm back, his strength making your attempt look foolish.  

“You’re off your game.” He squeezed your arm harder “You can’t do anything if your mind isn’t here. Whatever problems you have with scheduling or pairing, just deal with it tomorrow. But I need you here.”

He was right, you had let too much of your external frustration seep into the task at hand. Letting your personal gripes influence work would get you killed, you had seen it first hand. Before you could tell him he was right, he spoke again. 

“If it’s a problem with me, I don’t care what you think I did. I don’t care that you think is a demotion to work with me. I don’t care. I chose you because I trained you well, you have experience, and I trust you. But it isn’t your choice. You do the job you're given, got it?” 

“You--” Your brows wrinkled, “you chose me?” 

“And regretted it nearly immediately. What the fuck happened to you?” He bit. 

“I--”, you were speechless, your callus complaining in the car ringing in your ears, the selfish indignation with which you had entered the mission, “I didn’t realize, I’m sorry.”

It was such a stupid thing to say, but it was all you had. The truth was you had missed working with him, but the stress of the job had become so overwhelming, and the years had stretched on with less and less contact, it became really easy to forget that he had been a good partner. 

“Don’t apologize to me, just fucking tighten up.” He scoffed, releasing your arm and straightening his back, “Just do your job, don’t die, when we get back and I'll rescind my request.” 

He started to turn to continue the walk but you reached out to stop him. 

“Captain wait,” You started but a crash from the alley closest to you stopped you both in your tracks. 

Stepping in time with one another you rushed to the opening of the alley, peeking around the edge of the bodega on one side and seeing nothing but shadow and the colors of sunset. Deep reds and oranges filtering over the tops of the dumpster, stretching back and back further. Two fire escapes were nearly touching about eight feet above your head. This alley didn't have a dead end, it looked to stretch at least a block and a half back, with two internal alleys stretching perpendicular about twenty feet back. It was a tight fit, but pretty standard. The time for discussion was over, you had to get to work. 

Kishibe stepped into the alley first, his dark eyes sharp and locked on the intersection between internal alleyways. You stepped in behind him, taping off the exit, indicating to any wandering pedestrians that there was a possible gas leak. Why devil hunters needed such benign sounding rouses, was above your pay grade, but still never quite made sense. You followed behind him closely, but far enough back that you could see around his broad frame. For a man as big and tall as he was, his steps did not make a sound. You couldn’t even hear the rustle of his jacket as he pulled a twenty centimeter bowie knife from his chest holster, it seemed to just extend from his hand silently. You pulled your own, smaller, but much thinner blade, from an internal pocket in your coat, along with a spool of razor thin wire. He stopped silently and you stopped not even a foot behind. If someone were to see your bodies in profile, they would see the two of you made the same shape, a light bend in the knees grounding your feet, torsos leaned forward, eyes and ears open, hands tight around your weapons of choice. You slipped on a pair of thin sheepskin gloves, something that wouldn't be penetrated by the sharp wire.  

Kishibe put his unarmed hand behind his back, showing you his palm. A signal he had taught you to mean Target Present. You took in a silent breath, he did the same. Finally you could hear the soft rustling of the devil. No, it wasn't rustling. It sounded almost like it was…talking? Like hearing a whispered conversation happening two rooms away, you can hear that there is talking, but you can’t hear what it is or even make out the voices. This didn’t sound like a voice, more like a collection of voices. It was just barely audible over the road noise and wind. But he could hear it, and now so could you. Whatever you were going to kill tonight was right behind the corner. You pushed your now gloved index finger into his palm softly. Your way of telling him I’m ready. 

There hadn’t been an alley to your right in over a block, so it was likely there was a dead end at the end of this corner.

 What Devil would corner itself? 

Before you could express your concern Kishibe stepped forward again. Then once more with his inhuman speed. Your body followed, attaching one end of your spool to the corner's edge and rushing behind him to line it along the opening, quick to attach the other side and duck underneath. He moved so fast you could barely see the Devil in front of you. It was so much…smaller than you anticipated. Only a few feet tall, thin and lanky. It was a deep grey/blue, shiny and goopy. You couldn't study it too long before you strung another line to the first ducking down to create an identical nearly invisible block a few feet lower. 

Kishibe was making quick work of rushing and slicing where he could. The Devil seemed to be making little effort to fight back, just hopping from one spot to the next. It was fast, too fast, it seemed as though it was apparating in different spots rather than moving. Left and right, behind, in an unpredictable rhythm that had Kishibe pivoting sides more than doing any damage. He was usually silent when fighting, but you heard the huffs increasing in volume as he struck out. You watched closely, trying to decipher some kind of pattern in its movement. 

Behind, right, behind, left, right, behind, left, behind….

When it struck you. Why wouldn’t it just go up?

The alley wasn’t covered, the area had only a single fire escape on the left building’s wall. You estimated it was only nine or so feet above you. From there it would be a swift jump/climb for the creature to escape to the rooftops. 

It doesn’t want to escape. 

“Kishibe!” Your voice clawed out of your throat, with no permission of yours. 

Kishibe lunged to the right, finally catching the end of the gelatinous tail, lobbing off a few inches. The Devil, now trimmed, jumped to the left. Kishibe’s eyes were fixed in the way the tail’s nub was stuck to his blade. Only for a moment, a split second of distraction considering his arsenal. Deciding between using a different blade or sticking with this one. You rushed the creature as soon as you saw his stutter step, closing in on the fighters. Just in time for it to unfurl a long, proboscis tongue. It uncoiled itself vertically like a butterfly would, taking only a fraction of a second before expelling a fine mist over the both of you. Kishibe squinted, not wanting to close his eyes completely in case of a follow up attack, but you couldn't help it, the sting in your eyes, making you squeeze them shut. It made you cough. It tasted like nothing, but the inhalation was jarring. It felt like steam, it smelled like…ambergris, or sweat or lilac. Something warm and rich and deep. Not bad, just full. And organic. 

“Don’t breathe in.” Kishibe commanded, breaking his own instruction by extension. He could feel whatever the liquid was on his lips, on his tongue, tingling the buds as the sank in. 

Finally the amalgamated voice joined into language, or perhaps the mist granted you a level of understanding you didn’t previously possess. 

Too late. 

Kishibe didn’t allow it to continue its speech, bringing his blade down through the eye of the Devil, further and further until the thing was nearly bisected. It twitched briefly before stilling itself, blood pooled around its body. 

You both had the same realization. 

“This wasn’t it.” You vocalized for both of you, no Devil would have gone down that easily, or cornered itself. 

“No it wasn’t.” Kishibe sheathed his knife, his flask found his hand, “This is just a piece of it. Probably not a very big one.”

You sighed, looking down at what remained of the bait that you had so easily fallen for. A Devil that could split itself into smaller, independently functional parts. It was horrifying to imagine the magnitude of what a power like that could do. The thing looks even smaller now split and limp on the ground, it could be useful  to try and bring it back with you, give the lab team something to study. You saw plasma or some kind of internal fluid spreading out further, faster and thinner, than the blood was. You crouched closer, trying to examine the opalescent liquid. 

“Don’t get too close.” Kishibe warned, using the upper arm sleeve of his coat to wipe blood from his face. 

You felt the dew on your own face, swiping one finger across your cheek, looking at it. Shiny, thin, with a small iridescent sheen. It was the same. Whatever sap was leaking out was the same thing the Devil had sprayed you with. 

“Flask please.” You asked. 

Kishibe handed it to you wordlessly. You dumped its remaining contents onto the asphalt. 

“What the fuck—“, he started but you tuned out. 

You tried to scoop as much of the fluid up as you could into the now empty flask. You couldn’t really get that much but even a few milliliters would be enough to study. Your heart began to pound, thoughts of poison and infection raced through your mind. If whatever that was was going to try and kill you, gathering some of the source would be the quickest way towards inoculating yourselves. 

“We have no idea what that shit was that it sprayed at us. We need a sample.” You stood up from your crouch handing the flask back to him. 

“You could’ve let me clear it first. That’s just wasteful.”, he took it back snappily, shaking his head. 

You rolled your eyes, of course he would find a way to complain about you potentially saving both of your lives. 

“Whatever. If you get sick and need this, I hope you live long enough for me to say I told you so.” You removed your gloves, “We have to be close to the nest, why else would it send out a scout?” 

Kishibe cleared his throat and blinked a few times. His head was starting to spin. That swimming, swirling feeling he usually only allowed himself once he was back home and there were no more devils to fight, no more choices to be made, only thoughts to silence and sleep to wait for. He hadn’t drunk nearly enough to be that drunk already. Usually when he was drunk his mouth felt dry, but now he was close to drowning. Swallowing down excess saliva over and over. This was something else.

Your heart was still racing, your mind chasing it down. You were starting to sweat, clammy hands and cheeks chilled by the wind that leaked into the alleyway. You felt on the verge of a panic attack, you were starting to panic when you felt it. A lick of yearning pulling at you. A pulse emerging from your clit. Your panties all too quickly became wet. Your nipples peaked and strained against the fabric of your bra painfully. Your mouth whetted itself, your tongue feeling loose and floppy among so much moisture. You no longer cared to examine the body of the Devil crumpled beneath you, you looked up to Kishibe. His eyes were darker than you had ever seen them, they seemed to be endless pools of abyss, begging, pulling, thralling you into them, into him. You had never noticed quite so closely the details of his face; high, pronounced cheekbones, hollows so symmetrical that even the long healed gash on his left cheek couldn’t take away the beauty. 

You had seen a picture once, of him in his 30s. It was buried in some file, it wasn’t a great picture, he was bloodied and bruised, you hadn’t read the whole report attached but you could assume it was some kind of incident report. In this moment, in this alley, with whatever drug was now being carried by your bloodstream, you saw him for the younger man he was once. The same man he had always been. Only for a moment, his hair fluffy and dark, skin supple and bouncy, lips not yet wrinkled by time, full and wet. Those same lips faced you now, years of smoking seemed to have skipped aging this part of him. The eyes never change, the ones in the picture had been just as cavernous, just as unreadable. Like a shark, catching the wounded, wiggling fish it had traced for miles. The black iris and pupils bleeding together, stark against the white sclera. No wrinkle or bag in their periphery would ever make those eyes less terrifying to be caught in. Those shark eyes held you steady in their gaze. 

“What?” You asked, panted, actually. 

He didn’t answer, just looked you over, taking in every inch of your body. 

“Kishibe, what?” 

He cocked his head just barely, that god awful neck crack sending a jolt straight to your flooding panties. 

“Stop looking at me like that. What is it?” Your cheeks burned, everything burned, you needed to loosen your tie or take your jacket off or fuck take everything off. 

“Do you feel it too?” His voice was different, rough, strained. 

Your blood fell cold again, despite the burn in your cheeks. Piece of the puzzle were falling together, but fuck you didnt have it in you to dare look at the whole picture yet. Your brain was starting to fuzz, boundaries of station and taboo blurring together. 

You looked up at him with concerned eyes, pulling your jacket down your shoulders and dumping it onto the dirty ground without a second thought.  “This isn't good. I feel…sick…”

But that wasn't the right word, you felt your body aching, heating and cooling too rapidly to maintain, shivers and sweats commingling into an internal hurricane. 

“What do we do? Do we just---” You couldn’t speak the lewd ideas out loud, shame clogging your throat, making it hard to breathe. 

He took one carefully measured step toward you. He wasn’t sure what to do either, he didn't have enough blood in his brain for reason, too much of it had fled to his cock. Which now strained against his pants so hard that he worried for the integrity of the button. You looked so concerned, but so good, the grime of combat appeared a better enhancement than the finest makeup in the world. Your eyes were large and wet, not crying but filling with moisture the same way his mouth was still drooling. You saw how you shifted your weight, a small gasp escaping you as--he speculated-- the inseam of your pants pressed too closely against  you. Fuck he wanted to give in, to take it away, he wanted you, he wanted you so badly he thought this might actually be the thing that finally kills him. 

You shifted again, uncomfortable under his gaze. You pulled at the knot of your tie, tugging it loose, praying it would give you some kind of relief. It did not. You undid your top buttons, hoping the evening air would cool your neck. He could see the sweat beading along your neck, for a moment he tasted the salt and sweetness on his still stinging tongue. Kishibe groaned, this was not helping his situation at all. His dick strained further, his heart wasn't even aching any more, it was spasming. Painfully. Was he having an actual fucking heart attack? 

“Okay fuck it.” He gasped out, he felt lightheaded, this was happening too quickly“This will get worse before it gets better, I need to fuck something, now, and I don’t know how long I can hold out and I know you feel it too.”

He said it. It was actually out there, hanging in the space between your two overheating bodies. Even just hearing him speak those words aloud you felt a microsecond of repose, only to bring the intensity of sensation all crashing down on you once more. It was too much to bear, you sunk to the ground. You thought you might vomit, or faint, not from repulsion, obviously not, just from the overwhelming feeling of your own blood pulsing against your ears. You keeled over onto your knees, trying to fight your body. 

Kishibe’s bad knee cracked as he crouched down to your level, one tentative hand finding the space between your shoulder blades. You moaned at the firm, warm pressure of him touching you. A broken, weak moan. One that sent him ailing once again. 

“It’s some kind of aphrodisiac…”His hand moved up and down the line of your spine, not daring too low, or too high, staying contained in the benign, sexless rectangle of your shoulders, “But a strong one.”

You nodded, his words sounded like you were underwater, you could barely make them out, the sensation of his hand on you was too distracting. 

“So what? Is it some kind of trap? A distraction?” You pled. 

“Maybe.” Kishibe’s hand stilled, he moved to sit beside you, no longer able to keep himself on his knees, “pretty good defense. Keep your opponent…” his eyes flicked down the front of your shirt, then back out quickly, “occupied. Then attack.”

Your eyes flashed open, hoping to find his face again,“So we have to move. We can’t stay here.” 

“Can you even stand?” Kishibe avoided your eyes, leaning his head back to the night side, showing you the full length of the side of his neck. 

Drool fell from your lips, you could feel the sensation of his stubble against your tongue, the thin skin under your teeth, the muscles against your lips. Your pussy pulsed again, reminding you of the cause of your wandering mind. You looked down where your spit had pooled and saw it was laced with blood. Not a lot, but more than none. Whatever this was, it was doing something to you internally. Something bad. Kishibe’s hand, once on your back, gripped the back of your neck and turned you to face him. His face was deadly serious. A blood vessel had popped in his left eye, a small red moon surrounding the dark planet. This wasn’t some avoidable awkwardness, or some traversable terrain with no consequences, this was becoming life or death.

“Do you trust me?” He had brought your face so close to his own, you could smell the tobacco on his breath, the whiskey, something sweeter. 

“Yes. Kishibe please…make it stop.” You finally begged. 

He kissed you hard, the traces of blood in your mouth invading his own. You pulled him in by his shirt, scooting yourself closer to him, the gravel underneath you digging in its teeth, making holes in your pants. He was already undoing the fly of your pants when you took your first breath. You wanted to feel him, his body, his heat, anything, you ripped through his buttons, a few of the poor bastards making their new homes amongst the garbage surrounding you. If your younger self could see you now, in the arms of your mentor, surrounded by filth and death, about to cross every boundary she knew kept you apart, she would…honestly, you probably would be elated. Pervert. 

“Open your mouth more.” Kishibe bossed. 

He spoke in sharp, clear commands when you would work together, but still you were shocked his voice in this situation would feel so familiar. You followed suit and obeyed, opening wider, welcoming in his tongue. You grabbed at his chest, his side, his back; you didn't hesitate before digging your fingers into his skin, feeling the muscle, the skin. You pulled him closer. He had one arm wrapped around your back, the other finally unfastened your pants, making no delay in slipping two of his thick fingers inside and under your panties. 

“Oh….. fuck…” He shuddered, pulling off your lips, his head and eyes rolling back in time. 

You were so wet, if your pants had been any color other than jet black, how wet you had become would be so visible it would look as though you were incontinent. He felt your sticky arousal coat his fingers. Slipping into the wrinkles of his knuckles, where the skin made room for joints to move, part of him hoped they would never leave. He hadn’t even thought about how careful he should be with you. You were strong, an excellent hunter, great speed, regularly taking devils and beasts twice your size down in a single afternoon. But this was different,he knew that and he still couldn’t stop himself from plunging both his middle and ring fingers into you hard. You cried out, your recent break in sexual contact leaving you unprepared for such immediate insertion. In a flash the hand that had held you up by your back had dropped you, and now covered your mouth, pressing you against the pavement. Your eyes flew open, pebbles and debris digging into your back. But nothing was worth feeling except for him inside of you. His thumb brushed against your clit and your hips jerked up. He fed your pussy his fingers again and again, keeping a steady pace. You pushed your pussy harder against his hand, grinding your clit against his palm. 

“Fuuuuuuuck, Kishibe.” You crooned against his hand.

“That’s it baby, open up.” He spread his fingers inside of you, “I don’t want to hurt you.” 

You opened your eyes, surprised at the affectionate name, but were stopped when you found him watching the place where his fingers entered you. After a moment of blissful watching he looked back up to you, his mouth hung open in a permanent state of breathlessness. His tie hung loose but still knotted around his neck, his lips were already swollen. Pink and perfect, your spit and his combined reflecting the moonlight back at you like a blue light.  You pulled him down to kiss you again, this time moving your tongue into his mouth. With your free hand you unbutton your own shirt more, stopping at your navel when you feel pressure start to build behind your womb. You tried to pull off his lips to warn him what was to come, but he held you in place. 

You came with no warning, quicker than you may ever have, a hearty whine ripping from your throat. He gasped, looking down again and seeing your cum trickling down his wrist. He looked back up to your eyes, a smile on the corners of  his open mouth. Before you could speak he kissed you again, moving his body over yours, before pulling you up to your feet. Your legs shook like a foal, but you didn’t need to count on them because Kishibe turned you and pressed you against the brick closest to you. The corners of the grout lines dug into the skin of your chest and your face. Kishibe’s lips had moved to your neck, teeth and tongue joining to worship your skin. One hand dug its nails into the brick in front of you, the other reached backwards to try and touch him. You felt the fabric of his shirt, hanging loose to one side, you felt part of his belt, he wouldn’t stop fucking moving. 

“I want to touch you, stop.” You wanted to sound stern, but his lips behind your ear made you whimper your instructions, “oh kishi…”

Your eyes rolled back and you pressed yourself against the wall harder, sticking your ass out. Kishibe blindly found your hand between your bodies and guided it to the front of his slacks. You gasped, he moaned into your neck. 

Finally. 

Your hand mapped his length, and his…girth. It wasn’t the longest dick you had ever encountered, but jesus christ it was the thickest. That was why he had said he didn't want to hurt you, you realized. This thing could do some real damage. You could feel his heartbeat through his pants, he shuddered against you, pressing you into the wall further, as your hand found the end, circling over the tip of his cock. 

“You’re not going to make me cum in my pants like some teenager.” He gripped your hair.

You gasped at how rough he was being. You usually had to beg for this kind of treatment. His breath was hot and damp on your neck, you circled his wet tip again. 

“You sure about that?” 

He released your hair to rip your pants off your hips, down to your knees, “Positive.” 

His belt jingled and you heard the unzip of his fly, a moment later you felt the engorged tip pressing between your legs. Fear flashed through your body, making you gasp again, tears slipped from your waterline, but your body pushed your ass further into him, sliding his cock further, so it was nestled perfectly against your folds. You shivered, the anticipation of the real point of no return, coning at you fast. You whimpered out a small, scared cry. 

“Please Kishibe, please…” you begged, “be gentle with me.” 

Kishibe stopped, the pulse in his heart lurching at how pitiful you sounded. A twinge of…maybe remorse(?) causing hesitation. He never intended for this to happen like this. You didn’t deserve to be rushed through fucking in some back alley, just steps away from an open metropolis. You deserved a bed, and privacy, and time. He would be lying to himself if he had never imagined a night with you. He knew better, he knew the nights he had spent alone, imagining just how to draw out these exact sounds from you. How he would find you alone at the bar, after some not technically mandatory, but certainly expected social time with coworkers, bring you back home and finally have you all to himself. He would indulge himself in fantasies of your body, how it would feel under him, how your hips would strain to straddle his lap, how your breasts would look freed from all bindings, no clothing to keep him from the decadence of your figure. He would have been kinder, he hoped at least.  This wasn’t anything like he had imagined. Maybe it was loss that pulled at him now. Mourning for the first night he hadn’t even realized he valued so heavily. He chose then that, despite the circumstances, and despite his arousal plagued mind, he would try his hardest to give you something closer to what you deserved. What he deserved. 

Despite the burning desire taking over his body, he slowed, moving your hair off your neck, laying tender kisses among the still indented bite marks and blooming bruises he had already laid. 

“I’ll be gentle. I promise, I’m going to take it away, okay?” He didn’t have to turn your face this time, you craned your neck to meet his lips again. 

This kiss felt different, kinder, more unified. But the bliss was supreme only momentarily, when he finally began to enter you it was immediately surpassed. You weren’t sure if it was the effects of the aphrodisiac or if it was just him, but the pleasure overwhelmed your every sense. The moon bloomed, taking your vision over completely, pleasure blinding you. A long, howling moan was released into the night sky. It was unclear who sounded it, but it didn't matter. He pushed further into you, until he was fully inside, his hips flush with your ass. You were panting, gasping, no longer kissing him, desperately trying to relax to allow him inside of you, you were gripping him too tight, he couldn’t move. 

Kishibe was struggling, you had a hold on him so tight, too tight. His back was hunched at an odd angle because of his height, he couldn't have access to your neck or lips and stand up straight. He couldn’t stay immobile like this, the strain was already becoming too much. 

“I’m sorry, I have to.” He grunted, pulling his hips back, forcing your muscles to let him go. 

Your body shook, choppy whines came from you as he thrust into you again. You were gripping the wall as hard as you could, digging your nails into any textural abnormality you could find. Your cheek stung against the brick as your face scraped against its rough surface. 

“I know. I know. Breathe, baby, breathe.” Kishibe couldn't stop his hips, which carried on finding their pace, but he tried to give you soothing words to take some of the pain away. 

 His increasingly powerful thrusts made it hard to get a steady breath, but you focused on breathing deep and not holding it or hyperventilating. After a few deep breaths, you could feel your pelvic muscles softening, the lubrication of your previous orgasm, the mess of arousal brought about by the Devil’s poison, and his pre cum soothing the stretch. The pain wasn’t gone, but it was being overshadowed by the bliss of being full of him. You weren’t even out of your clothes, your pants were around your knees, your shirt hadn’t even been unbuttoned completely, the fabric of your bra caught on the texture of the brick, your jacket had been discarded…somewhere… but it didn't matter. You were full of cock, his cock, and suddenly it was clearer to you than ever before that this was where you belonged, wet and oozing, limp and drooling, ready for him to use you how he pleased.

Once you had relaxed, Kishibe could finally get some real rhythm going, finding his hips pistoning on instinct rather than by his input. The friction, the wetness, the sweat, the smell, the sound, he was hypnotized. He no longer cared about a passerby hearing you, or if the real Devil was waiting in the shadows to ambush you, he didn’t care about anything. Anything except feeling your pussy around him every second for the rest of his life. He needed this, he needed you. He had always needed you. He bit hard on the back of your shirt collar, trying to stop the moans and grunts from escaping him. His last fuck had been some random pickup two weeks ago, she was fine, sexy, didn’t ask a lot of questions, and that was pretty much all of his criteria these days. But sex with her felt like a sneeze compared to this. He began to wonder if he was actually a virgin all the time, and this was what sex actually was.

“Harder Kishi, harder….please.” you begged, deepening the arch in your back, begging for his fat tip to kiss the wall of your cervix. 

You weren’t as tense now, still tight, but not dangerously so, he could go full force and not hurt you, and fuck was he ready to. Kishibe bent you further, one hand on your hip, the other on the back of your head. He pulled all the way back so that just the very tip was pressed against your hole. In the same moment, he gripped your hair, pulled your head off the wall and snapped his hips forward, your hands kept your shoulders from hitting the wall too hard, his hold on your hair kept your face safe. But nothing could have prepared you for the burst of pain/pleasure that filled your nervous system. Without any time to prepare, he repeated this action. He found a new rhythm, brutal and fast. Out to the tip, in to the base. You didn't even realize the volume of the choked cries you were letting out until his hand found its way to your mouth again. One finger pulling at the corner of your mouth, making your gag. 

“Shut up.” His stern voice was back, the gentility had vacated when he felt himself bottom out,“you want anyone off the street to come back here and see you like this?”

Both you and he didn’t miss the way his hypothetical made your pussy clench around him. 

“Or maybe you would?” He snapped his hips again, deeper, sending you gasping, “You want everyone to see what a slut you are, huh?”

He was a man possessed, nothing that came out of his mouth had crossed his mind before, and yet it felt truer than saying his own name. He continued:

“Everyone should see me fucking you, so they know. Your perfect little hole is all for me. I can’t believe you had this the whole time and you kept it from me.” He brought his hand down on your right ass cheek, “How dare you. This pussy was made for me.” another spank, “This pussy belongs to me, understand. Your body belongs to me.” he spanked you again, on the same exact spot. 

You screamed at the third spank, the skin was so hot, you could already feel it welting. Your wetness was spilling down your legs, his harsh hands and possessive words making you wetter with every syllable.  

Another spank came, “Say it. Who does this pussy belong to?”

“You!”

A kind rub over your cheek brought down your defense, before he spanked again, even his own palm starting to sting, “and who does your body belong to?”

You cried out again, his hips relentless as he tortured you, “You! Kishibe, you!” 

“Mmm, good.” He smoothed a hand over your wounded cheek, only to dig his nails into the sensitive meat, lean into your ear and speak again, “and who do you belong to?”

“You! Kishibe you, I belong to you.”

He dug his nails in harder, “Who?”

“You Kishibe, you!” You tried again, only to see him raise his hand out of the corner of your eye. 

“Captain!” You tried again. 

The hand cracked against your skin, “Wrong again.”

Your legs were barely hanging on, the assault on your ass making your knees shake and your arms scrape down the wall.

“Who am I?”

It hit you. 

“Master.” You sighed out, knowing you had gotten it, the name he felt most suited him when he had this much power over someone, “I belong to you, master.” 

Pride blossomed in his chest, he brought a non threatening hand down across your aching backside, petting your hip softly, feeling the down hairs at the base of your pelvis grow coarser as he parted your center, his middle finger finding your clit. 

“That’s right, baby. Good.” He circled your twitching clitoris. 

Your legs shook harder, ‘Master…master I can’t I ca--”

But you did, you came again, spasming around his cock, which he buried deep inside of you for you to ride out your climax, still petting at your clit. He continued until you gathered the strength to pull his hand away. 

“awh..”He cooed in your ear, “can’t take it anymore, can you?” 

You shook your head. He began moving his hips again, pumping into you again and again, “Poor girl, can’t keep up with the old man, huh?” 

These taunts seemed not of his own creation, but he still couldn't stop them.

“How long have you dreamt of this? Years? And look at yourself, was this what you imagined? Pants around your ankles, surrounded by trash, falling to pieces after barely getting started?” He mocked, “How disappointing, all that time to prepare and still you can barely keep up. Looks like I got to you too late.” 

But that was when you heard it. He heard it. The words were not his own. The voice, it was covered, influenced…filtered in some way. Coming from his desperate mouth, but not his. He noticed it too. It was getting closer, the real Lust Devil, not one of its parts. There was no telling how little time you would have before its arrival. He stilled his hips, against every screaming cell in his body that wanted to continue. 

“Stand up.”he ordered, and despite your trembling legs you did, “we have to move now. Break the wires.” 

In a Devil hunting first for you, you pulled up your pants, lamenting the amount of liquid arousal that would now find its home in your panties, and donned your gloves to remove the razor wire from the alley’s opening. Adrenaline and endorphins keeping your hands steady, you felt empowered, more so than you had crumbled on the floor in pain prior to this whole endeavor. Maybe the two orgasms had worked some of the effects to the back of your mind, hitting snooze on the incline, however brief. Your watch read 7:58 pm. 

“Should we—?” You started, feeling like maybe this was your chance to take this thing down for real. 

Kishibe, who had now tucked himself back safely inside his slacks, still achingly hard, rushed past you, grabbing your hand and turning the corner towards the exit. 

“Nope. We are in no condition to fight.” He pulled you along, you could barely keep up with his leggy gait. 

“But I feel like—…”

“Fine! I’m in no condition to fight. Come on.” He tugged you further towards the street. 

You kept your eyes on his back, the street lights in front of him giving him a corona of light, making him seem deific. You heard scuttling, shambling behind you, growing closer. The voice returned, or maybe it had always been there? But now you heard your own voice, and Kishibe’s, your pants and grunts together, his nasty taunts, your pleading begs. You had joined whatever collection this thing was creating. You didn’t dare look back. You knew about Sodom and Gomorrah, about Orpheus and Eurydice, you knew better than to look back when you were so close to salvation. 

Kishibe pulled you both out of the line of the alley, and you both burst into the night street. He stopped a few steps from the alley’s entrance, in the open light of the street, you bumped into his back, but he was quick to physically guide you to his side instead, keeping one arm around you, still desperate to have you close. The beast didn’t venture into the light. It stayed eight or so yards from the entrance, away from prying eyes. It made no sound or retreat, but it made no charge either. And that was good enough for Kishibe. He tugged you along, pulling you past the much smaller crowd, and back in the direction of the car. The ache was building again inside of you, how could it be asking more from you already. He hadn’t even cum once yet, by your own mental calculations he was probably running on pure adrenaline. 

“Kishi?” Your voice was still hoarse. 

He kept walking. 

“Kishi, baby?” You tried again, slowing your pace just slightly. 

He tugged you further, still not waiting for your question. 

“Kishibe, what’s the plan?” You got tired of waiting for his permission, you stopped, “you can’t drive like this, I can’t either. It's at least thirty minutes back to the office, and I don’t think we can do much there!”

“Fuck!” He stopped and turned to face you, coming close, his voice threatening, “I’ll fuck you right here if we don’t find somewhere else. 

His other eye had a small hemorrhaged vessel as well. Two identical spots in either eye. Your heart burned at the sight, at his desperation. He needed you, he needed you to find somewhere where he could relieve himself, where he could have you at the fullest with no interruption, either from peril or from prying eyes. You flashback through your entrance to the area, what had you passed, what had you seen? There was something, there had to be, or else you wouldn’t feel so sure of it. You just had to remember. Fuck! Your mind was still scrambled. He was growing restless, his grip on your arm growing tighter and tighter. He inched closer and closer, you became aware of the passersby, witnessing you bruised and scratched in the grip of a much larger, desperate man. It wasn’t a good look. 

Wait..

“A love hotel! We passed one on the way here! It had a lit up sign in the front window!” You finally remembered. It couldn’t have been more than a block away. 

He groaned, picturing the check in process and the seedy room,. But fuck, if he was ever desperate, it was now. 

“Find it.” He ordered, letting you lead the way. 

You took his hand and led him down the sidewalk. You were right, it wasn't even three full blocks away. A tall building, a large neon flower in the window, a white awning hanging above.. 

“Just, don’t talk, okay?” You told him as you walked inside he rolled his eyes but followed you.

A bored looking clerk sat at the desk, he had a pair of bulky headphones plugged into a walkman on his desk. A chime rang out as you entered, but the music must have been too loud, he didn't flinch. He didn't move until you approached the desk. He ripped off his headphones as though you were his boss catching him slacking off, but his frightened eyes grew suspicious as he took in the pair of you. Your shirt was buttoned wrong, your tie was lost somewhere, as was your jacket. Your cheek was bleeding, bruises on your neck unhidden by the haphazard collar. Kishibe looked no better, blood on his shirt, which was missing quite a few buttons, tie still on, but barely, his hair was a mess. His usual stoic scowl had been replaced with a harsh glare trained directly at the clerk, his foot tapping like a caged animal.  

“Excuse me, hello. We would like to check in.” You tried your best to sound casual.

“Um…” The clerk hesitated. 

“We’re…”You thought on your feet and said the first thing that you could think of, “Engaged! We just got engaged, I mean. And our..in laws! Yes, our in-laws are in town and we don't have a lot of privacy and we just want to…celebrate.” 

The clerk eyed you both again, analysing you and Kishibe individually and no doubt trying to parse together how you would fit as a couple. 

“We would like an overnight room.” You continued, trying to remind him of the actual task at hand. 

Kishibe was stunned by your plan, by how bold it was, and how poorly you were pulling it off. You worked at a secret (ish) organization, for fuck’s sake. But he was amused by your efforts, so he doubled down with you. 

He wrapped a big arm around your shoulder, leaning over the desk, “Maybe something with a tub.” 

The clerk nodded, whatever was in front of him was none of his business, he saw plenty of strange pairs come through the lobby. And anywhere there was no way he was getting his ass kicked by this guy at his current pay rate. 

“Yeah…okay,I just need a credit card to put on file.” He finally explained. 

Your wallet was safely tucked in the car, you didn’t have anything. You hadn’t even considered this part, how could you have not thought about this? Kishibe pulled a leather card carrier from his coat pocket, not a credit card but his Public Safety clearance badge and slapped it down on the counter. 

“How’s that card work?” He hissed. 

The clerk scanned it briefly, sighing, probably lamenting the admissions given to government workers and retrieved a key from the corkboard behind him and handed it over. 

“Whatever man, just don't break anything.” He had checked out of the conversation the moment Kishibe had approached, he put his headphone back on, “Fifth floor. Check out is at 10am.” 

Kishibe took the key and his badge and pulled you toward the elevator. 

“Thank you!” You waved to the clerk, just barely getting it out before the elevator doors closed. 

You had half expected Kishibe to pounce on you the moment they did, but he stayed still. Watching the numbers above the door illuminate and dim. 

“So when’s the wedding?” He finally spoke at the illumination of the third floor. 

“Shut up, it got us here, didn’t it?” You laughed. 

“Right, it was your stellar in-law cock block story that got us up here, and not the government issued free pass badge.”, He cracked a smile. 

You both laughed, the chime of the elevator alerted you the doors would open on the fifth floor. The tag on the key was for room 5102, close to the elevator. Kishibe pressed you forward by your waist, leading you out of the elevator and down a few doors to the room. He unlocked the door and you stepped inside. The room was fine, a large king bed placed in front of a boxy, but relatively new tv. A radio clock on one night stand, a lamp on the other. The door shut and locked behind you, Kishibe fasted the chain lock, the dead bolt, and the handle lock, then turned back to you. He saw the abrasion on your cheek, the blood beginning to dry. He took your face in his hands, running his thumb along the outside of it. Guilt pulled at the back of his brain, but fuck he couldnt hold out anymore, he circled his other arm around your back and pulled you in to his mouth. Without the urgency, without the danger, he could kiss you and feel like he earned it. He kissed you deeply, tilting your head back, tasting your mouth, pushing you back toward the bed. You melted in his arms, finally feeling them for how sturdy and safe they could be. Your tongue pushed against his, his hand frond your hair, you found the front of his pants, unbuttoning them quickly. Where his belt had gone was a mystery, but none of your concern. You pushed them off his legs until your knees met the edge of the mattress. You tugged at the rest of your shirt buttons, pulling it off of you and tossing it aside, your tie followed. He finally let you leave his kiss to pull his own shirt over his head and off, his coat seeming to have disappeared. You both shuffled out of your pants and underwear, You reached behind to unclasp your bra, shrugging it down your arms. The process taking only seconds but feeling like a frigid, isolated eternity separated from him. It was like you were magnetized, pulled together by a gravitational force that took everything in you to resist. He stood in front of you, bare, studying your figure, trying to commit every inch of your body to memory. Every freckle, every scar, every bend and shadow of muscle, every fold, everything. He couldn’t believe how lucky he was, to see you in your truest form, wanton and waiting. He thanked whatever evil caused this Devil’s creation, and cursed himself in the same breath for doing so. But trailing his hands up your curves, to take hold of your full, perfect breasts, he found himself brought to his knees before you, a zealot at the altar of you. You let him push you back onto the bed, the cushioned mattress underneath you was nirvana compared to the grit and gravel he had taken you on before. Your legs spread themselves, no longer needing your guidance, no longer held together by your barely removed pants. Kishibe’s wet tongue moved up your leg, he could taste your sweat, and he reveled in it until he found his next vice, your legs were still coated in the arousal that leaked from you, sticking to your skin under your pants and now coating his tongue, destroying his mind. Or what was left of it. 

Tasting you brought him higher and higher, cleaning your soiled thighs, swirling his tongue over the top of your knee, flattening the soft hairs with his tongue, spit laying them flat in his wake. Your hips jerked up as he joined you on the bed, agile body moving between your legs. He pulled your legs further apart, not bothering to look at your face. No, his eyes were fixed on your pussy as you spread open for him. Your perfect, drooly, needy cunt parting itself, drawing him forward. He made no effort to stop the line of saliva that dripped from the corner of his mouth, he didn’t even feel it. He didn’t feel anything, anything except hunger, except want, except need. Perfect folds and layers, ready for him, begging for his touch, you really were made for him. In a single look he forgot every piece of fine art he ever saw, every inch of his earth that any numb skull could have called glorious, he knew glory now. True glory. And he needed it to be his, to claim it for his own. 

Kishibe had moved to his knees, hands firm on your legs to either side of him, hunched over your body, you felt shy under such an intense stare, right to where you were most vulnerable. You reached up and brushed your fingertips over his cheek and back around his ear bringing his attention back to your face. 

“Kishibe…”You moaned in a whisper. 

You looked so desperate underneath him, the pillow lucky to be graced with your hair, him, even luckier to bear witness to such beauty. Your mouth hung open slightly, pupils blown out under heavy lidded eyes. Your breasts rising shakily with panting breaths. 

“Please, I can’t wait anymore, Kishibe please,” You begged, tugging him by his neck, “Fuck me.” 

The jolt that sent through his body could knock out every electrical grid in Japan. He pulls your hips down to him, then lifts them to be level with his own. Holding you up with one hand, his other aligns his cock with the hole he could now picture with perfect clarity. His dark eyes caught yours, he watches them fly open as he penetrates you. Finally able to take you how he needs, he is able to slide into you deliciously, pressing against your g spot. Your back arches up under his hand, but he follows, not able to stand being parted from you. It would take an act of God to remove him, at this point. Your tight walls tremble around him, working their hardest to allow him inside. It was bizarre, impossible, inhuman. You subconsciously press against his stomach. Pushing him away, unable to handle the deluge of pleasure and pressure he is causing.

He grips your hips harder, bruising them, and presses into you more, “where do you think you’re going.” 

You whimper as he presses against your cervix, grabbing at the bed sheets, trying to leverage your hips back, but finding the bed is blocking your escape. And still your legs wrap around his hips, torn between trying to pull him inside further, and trying to free yourself.  One of his rough hands leaves your hip and he takes your hand in his, interlocking your fingers. You melt back down into the bed, giving him the room to pull his hips back. Kishibe leans over you, laying you back on the bed, blocking out the still illuminated overhead light with his shoulder as he thrusts into you again. He squeezes your hand harder with every thrust. His lips find your neck again, your hands wrap around his neck, tangling in his soft, white hair. He fucks into you fast, pushing himself, and your poor body to their limits, you have no choice but to hold on and succumb to the waves of pleasure. 

He kisses you again, lips hot and swollen, “So good.” 

He repeats it like a mantra, again and again as he bottoms out inside and pulls back. He can’t do anything but repeat it. The friction, your lips, finally having you for himself since this whole ordeal began, he can’t last. 

The praise, the feeling of him inside, the relief of a bed under you, the feeling of his pelvis rocking against your clit, it all becomes too much and you feel yourself tighten around him. You know he feels it too because he grips your hand and breaks the kiss to cry out in delicious agony. 

“Don’t--.”Is all he manages to let out before his climax blinds him, the lamp light blooming white and over taking all his senses. 

The obscene sounds he makes and the sight of his pleasure scrunched face push you to follow him, cumming for the third time. 

His cock pulses inside of you, painting your insides with his cum. He feels like it will never end, he doesn’t want it too. Kishibe wants to see your tummy swollen, a trail of cum dripping out from between your legs, your face covered in it, your tongue full of it. He wants you full, inside and out, marked as his, full of him, for all to see. He wants you round and pregnant, showing off everything he has done to you. He wants to see you helpless and bred, full breasts ready to be fed from. 

He’s losing his fucking mind. 

He had never wanted children in his life, he made medically sure of it nearly two decades ago, but right now if he could stitch it back together himself he would. Coming back to himself, he sees you panting below him, and nearly cums again. Your mouth hinges open, and your tongue flops out. 

“Spit.” You huff. 

His face must have betrayed his surprise. 

“Please, I need it, please,” You please, “Spit in my mouth, please, Kishi.” 

He takes your face in his left hand, tilting it back, extending your mouth even more with his thumb on your chin. He lets a full, slow string of saliva fall from his mouth into yours, watching it slip down your tongue. You lap it up eagerly, leaning up to lick some stray fluid off of his chin. Your pussy squeezes him again as you move. You keen back happily, the taste of him in your mouth, and the feeling of him inside of you bringing you a blissful feeling of balance. 

“Nasty girl…”He chides, leaning back onto his knees, watching your eyes flutter closed. 

A smile upturns your perfect lips, “mmmmmhm.”

“I have to pull out now.” He warns, you let out a long, displeased whine as he does. 

Coming down from your own high, you catch your breath on the bed, only reopening your eyes when the bed sinks next to you, you turn your neck to him. His flushed, bruises on his neck, his chest, scratch marks on his arms and chest, the two red bursts in his eyes, you hadn’t realized you were so rough on him. He looked over your figure, seeing the abrasions on your chest from the brick, the marks of his teeth, the bruises his hands left on your body, the cut on your cheek. A Pair. 

You brush a disarranged hair off his temple, gentle fingers feeling the sweat cooling on his brow. 

“How do you feel?” You whispered, voice hoarse. 

He moves onto his back beside you, taking your hand in his, kissing the back, and bringing it down to his chest, over his heart. You could feel the rhythm steadying itself.

“Coming down.” He studies your face, “How do you feel?”

You nodded, “Good, a little sore.” 

“Do you think it’s over?”

You shrugged, “I feel better? Less like I am going to die, which is good.” 

He nodded, his mind was clearing, the virus releasing its hold on him. He tried to remember his usual bedside manner,“You should probably…you know…”

You smiled again, moving carefully to sit up, “I didn’t expect you to be so diligent about UTI avoidance.” 

He leaned up on his elbow, “You don’t know me as well as you think.” 

“I like what I’m learning.” You flirted, standing and walking to the small bathroom. 

Kishibe watched your behind sway as you left him. Once the door was shut behind you, he fell on his back staring up to the ceiling. Everything that had transpired tonight flashed through his mind, his cock had hardly softened but now it ached again. Would this ever be over? And when it did, what would become of you two. The poison still plagued his mind, it was a logical jump to assume it was still affecting you too. He didn’t know how to be around you after this, he couldn’t even begin to picture the logistics of bringing you back to work, seeing you everyday and knowing everything he knew now. He wanted to know what you thought, if you felt differently about him, if this was a bizarre, horrible accident that ruined any kind of real feeling that could have existed between the two of you. He couldn’t bear waiting anymore, he had to be close to you again before this ended. He stood, joints clicking, dick hard, and crossed to the bathroom door. He knocked.

“Yeah?” your voice rang from the other side of the door. 

He hesitated, pressing his forehead against the wood, fighting back the words that were about to come out, “Can I come in?” 

You were silent behind the door for a few seconds, he wasn't sure how he expected you to respond. 

“Sure, it’s unlocked.” Your voice came again. 

He turned the nob and opened the door, you were standing at the sink, cleaning the cut on your cheek. 

“Got lonely in there?” You smiled at him through the mirror, and it warmed his fearful chest.  

Kishibe wrapped his arms around your waist, holding you from behind as you carried on dabbing a cool cloth on your face. He hummed an affirmative response, against your neck, smelling deep the smell of your skin. He occupied himself pressing kisses to your neck and shoulder while you finished. His eyelashes tickled behind your ear and you caught his eyes in the mirror as you giggled. 

“You’re clingier after sex than I expect.”

He kept your gaze in the mirror, “Expected, huh? Thought about this before?” 

Why lie, call it exhaustion, or maybe the poison was still working on you, “Yeah.” 

He didn’t flinch, still looking at you through the glass, “Me too.” he confessed. 

You turned in his hold, the reflection no longer enough of a view for you, you had to look at his face, his real face. 

“So why didn’t we ever…?” 

He shrugged, “Didn’t seem right,” but that wasn’t the full truth, “Didn’t want to lose you.” 

You were touched by his admission, his vulnerability. Certainly the influence of adrenaline crash and hormonal endorphins racing through both of you. You felt your throat tighten, your tear ducts start to burn. Sex always complicated things, especially when jobs and feelings were involved. Depending on how the morning played out, this could be the last time you had the chance to be exposed and alone with him. 

“I don’t want to lose you either.” One hot tear fell from your eye, stinging your freshly cleaned cheek. 

Kishibe wiped the tear away, his face still as unreadable as ever, “then you won't. Not yet.”

“What do you want? From all of this, I mean.” You asked him, not accusation or malice in your voice. 

Kishibe sighed, smoothing your hair and holding your face, “I want to enjoy being here with you, while we work this out of our systems. Tomorrow morning I would like to drive you home, so you can rest. We will file the report, be only as honest as we want to be, give the sample to the lab, clock out, and then figure it out from there.” 

Then he moved his hands down to your shoulders, pulling you even closer and kissing you hard. A kiss that was devoid of the Devil’s influence, no hungry, tasting tongue, no hot, fevered breath.  Just his lips sealed to yours, your body pressed against his, and a promise to try. When he pulled away he spoke again, 

“But right now I want us both to get in that tub.” 

The night didn’t end there, the waves of fervent arousal lapped over both of you again and again, but the tide had gone out. The coast was cleared, leaving a sparkling landscape on which the both of you could relax.

Epilogue

The bath had been the perfect remedy for your bruised and abused body. It soothed Kisibe’s aching joints. He washed and rinsed the debris out of your hair, you cleaned the blood off of his hands and neck. His fingers worked over you, bringing you a slower, gentler climax. Back in the bed, clean and dry, you reciprocated his generosity. Sucking, kissing, swallowing everything he had given to you so brazenly before. Laying together in the dark, sleep was hard to find. Whenever you thought it would overtake you, bringing you back into an embrace to pleasure yourselves and each other. Eventually, morning came. Whether you had woken up to the sunlight, or you were too engaged to realize it had come up, was unclear. 

You left the hotel in the early afternoon, returning to the car which had a citation for exceeding the parking meter. Kishibe drove you back to your apartment, pulling up and parking outside. 

“Okay.” He turned to you, the light of day illuminating complexities that hadn’t yet been considered, “They won't be expecting us back until tomorrow, anyway. So you should try and get some sleep.” 

You nodded, “Yeah. Thanks for the ride.”

“Anytime.” 

“I meant the car.” You teased. 

He chuckled. You didn’t want to get out, you weren’t ready to be done. Tomorrow would mean talking about what happened, reports had to be filed, incident reports, lab tests, possibly declaration of relationship forms. You gnawed on your lip. Kishibe watched you closely, seeing you weigh out each thought, waiting for the perfect way to phrase what you were after. 

You met his eyes, the devious flicker in your eye that he now knew the motivations of intimately shining at him once again,“You wanna come upstairs, take a nap and fool around a little?”

Kishibe sucked in a breath through a sly smile, his exhausted cock already jumping forward at the chance. 

“Absolutely I do.”

Thank you for reading!!! I hope you enjoyed, I really enjoyed writing this piece and I hope that comes through!! Fuck I want this man so bad. literally so bad. Let me know your thoughts, I always love hearing what you do/dont like. Anyway, thanks again! See you next time! - Doodle <3

[plotsignificanthaircut555]

Fever (Sex Pollen/Aphrodisiac Choso x f!Reader)

SMUT, MDNI, 18+ ONLY

8k words. A curse with a strange and intimate defense mechanism has done something to Choso, with Shoko busy with more pressing matters, his healing becomes your soul responsibility. And like any good, young doctor, you're willing to do anything to help your patient. ao3

not, not made while listening to Disease by Lady Gaga.

Warnings: (This is a SEX POLLEN fic, which always carries a degree of dubious consent, I feel I have clarified a lot of of the grey-er areas, but if that is not your thing, this is your heads up, see you in the next one <3.) Sex, premature ejaculation, kissing, oral (f receiving), probably a lot of really dumb sounding attempts at medical jargon, smoking, discussions of ovulations/menstruating, Virginity loss (choso), BLOOD, some scent stuff, feelings and some stuff about conception. Choso is pretty pathetic, but i feel like you probably knew that.

When you woke up this morning, you could feel it. That dull, barely there ache in your lower back, telling you that your cycle was nearing. You weren’t the best at manually tracking your cycle but you had enough lived experience menstruating that you knew the sign posts. Brushing your hair and washing your face, you found your skin was smooth, any dullness you would have usually fussed over seemed to have righted themselves and been replaced with a bouncy, full glow.

When dressing, you found your breasts felt fuller, filling out the cups of your bra, almost to the point of spilling. They felt heavy, the lace pressing against your nipples for a sweet sting. Your hands stayed holding your breasts, tracing your areolas softly, sucking in a sensitive breath. A glance at the clock tells you there's no time for you to rub one out before you have to leave for work. But you feel a tingle of excitement knowing you’ll come home to your vibrator and whatever naughty media you can get your hand on. There’s supposed to be a new sexy, vampire show your friends hushedly told you about. Maybe tonight? You have a bottle of red you've been waiting to open, why the hell not! Some wine, maybe a long bath….your eyes travel to a candle on your nightstand. You can light candles for your own masturbation, right? Wow, you’re quite the romantic. 

The excitement of your evening of solo pleasure carries you through the rest of your morning routine. You pour yourself a coffee, you make sure to grab an umbrella, the forecast predicting rain for the next few days, and double back to plug in your favorite vibrator(s) before heading out. As expected, it's already drizzling, light grey clouds spilling their contents all over the city streets. The cool fall air wets your face, but you don't mind. You had gotten yourself a bit worked up inside, so it was nice to have something to bring you back down to reality. You still had a full work day ahead of you. Your walk to work was quick, a subway ride even quicker, the manager that met you with a car to carry you the rest of the way to Jujutsu Tech was punctual and polite. She was pretty new, a young woman, probably not even 25, but she was a great driver, and made a few jokes here and there that made the usually long drive feel clipped. Arriving at the school, you were quick to thank her and head inside. She was cute, you found yourself thinking as you turned away from the car. 

Young and funny, a sweet face, a good body, how old did she say she was again? 

Oh geez, whats going on with me? 

You shake the inappropriate thoughts from your head, and mark the doorframe as your own compartmentalization threshold. Within these walls you must remain an absolutely iron clad professional.There can be no mistaking it, no distractions, and no anticipation. Students pass quickly to their classes or from the breakfast lines, some wave or bow in greeting at your pass. You're quick to return their gestures. You make your ways down to the hospital floors, making a quick stop by the lounge to refill your coffee. The school grounds took on many purposes, education, training, treatment, triage, conference, protection, archival, morgue…etc. Your business primarily took place on the lowest levels, being the medical wing, the labs, and the morgue. You never had the chops to go into the field after your graduation from Jujutsu High School. Opting instead to apprentice under Shoko Ieri, the reverse cursed technique wunderkind, just two grade levels higher than you. The absolute chance of a lifetime. She was a terrible teacher, truly awful. Too genius to make her lessons practical. But thankfully you weren’t some talentless schmuck, you could hold your own against genius. You learned fast, were excellent with your hands, and eventually Shoko brought you in full time as her second in command. If she was the head of surgery, you were the school nurse. Where she was tasked with reviving fallen sorcerers and performing bizarre autopsies, you mostly reset broken fingers and administered stitches. 

This last year had not been kind to your practice. Far too many familiar faces meeting you in the chilly, sterile basement morgue. Shoko was taking on more and more…experimental (?)  projects. Ones with more weight, more stakes. Especially now. Which meant you held things down more and more. But once you reached the stainless steel double doors leading to the main hall of the medical wing, you knew she was here. You could smell the cigarette smoke, and the lilac perfume she swears covers it. The first exam room light was on, the door cracked, white light seemingly unbroken between the hallway and door frame. The light never changed down here, it was as steady as the tile, and just as cold. 

“Shoko?” You peeked around the cracked door. 

She was prepping the room; someone was coming in. Her words spilled immediately as though they had never had a beginning, she had simply always been talking. 

“Big one coming in. Associate Manager just called, they’re on their way back. Apparently it’s nothing broken or bleeding, but they couldn’t explain any more than that. Go figure.”

The possible orders of procedure began listing themselves in your brain. Shoko exited the room and you followed closely, her heels and yours clacking together in perfect time. 

“Choso, the half curse from Shibuya. Apparently something hit him, or bit him?” Shoko wasn’t often without the right information so her irritation was growing at every reminder, “whatever, we have his blood samples and the remaining curse womb death paintings, if—god forbid— anything serious needs to happen.” 

Viles clinked against one another as her gloved hand searched the refrigerated cabinet of samples taken from each sorcerer. You wondered whose blood was next to yours in there. 

“Can’t you just…fwoo?” You tried to imitate her stupid circle gesture she always made when trying, unsuccessfully, to get you to master reverse cursed technique. 

Shoko turned to face you, “well that’s just it, I won’t be here. I have to get back underground before anything changes. This is your pop quiz, okay?” 

Finally, the intensity dawns on you. You truly had no way to know what would be coming through those doors. A half second later, it dawns on you that none of the supplies she has been gathering are even for you! Every second you spoke was another second you lost to prepare, valuable seconds. 

“Oh shit.” You mumbled, quickly turning back to the labs, scanning your brain for relevant material to gather. Allergy lists, blood, most recent labs, gauze?? 

“I see you get it now, try and be a little faster if the guy’s dying, okay?” A cigarette has manifested between her lips as she heads down the hallway you had only just entered, “call me afterward and update. Bye!” 

And just like that she was gone, the doors swinging shut behind her, but you don’t see them zip up their seam. You are already turned away and heading back into the lab. Pulling anything potentially useful: pain relievers, antibacterial salves and ointments, gauze, anything you could think of. You didn’t know Choso all that well, but knowing sorcerers was a mixed bag anyway. It often felt the ones you did know, were the ones you lost. But he had been in and out plenty of times in the last month, rounds and rounds of testing with Shoko, with assistance by you. He was quiet, kind of emotional, but a great help to your cause. Not to mention he had been quite the looker. Dark, gloomy eyes, excellent bone structure, a body that looked carved in marble. You quickly chastised your body for wasting valuable seconds even thinking about anything except preparing to help save his life. 

 His strange position as both a half curse and a turn coat made him even harder to anticipate. His blood wouldn’t likely be the problem, as it is nearly entirely regenerative. How would that work for infection? Before you can wonder too much, the subject of your mystery arrives with his smaller, too grizzled looking younger brother in toe.

“I don’t know what happened! I’m really sorry, he looks like he’s going to faint. But he walked all the way here. He won’t let me touch him.” 

There was blood, but only streaming from the amorphous block shaped marking across his face. It was hard to tell what shape it had taken on, his face was so flushed. He was panting, the glowing blood spilling into the floor, seeping into this clothes, onto Yuji’s shoes. 

“It’s okay, Itadori. Did he get hit with something or by someone?” You kind of sheep dogged Choso towards the exam table with Yuji’s help, finally getting him to lie down, which caused him to ground and sit back up. 

“This big weird curse squirted some goo or some gas or something on him, but it looks like it sank in, I can’t see where it even hit him. Its was like POOF! And then like nothing! And then…” Yuji’s voice was high and shaking, he sounded every bit the child he was, it was easy to forget both how young he was, and how novice he was to the world of jujutsu. 

Choso groaned again, shifting uncomfortably, rolling onto him back and then his side. You watched the concern wash over his younger brother’s face all over again, big brown eyes unable to look away from his ailing brother. You placed a hand on the top of Yuji’s back. 

“Are you hurt at all?” 

He shakes his head. 

“You did a great job getting him here, Itadori. He’s in good hands, I promise you I’ll do my best to get him right as rain, okay?”

You weren’t completely sure, mystery curse-related ailments were more Shoko’s jurisdiction, but if she trusted you, then you must be more than capable!

“You should head back upstairs, get some rest. I’ll have someone bring you when he’s ready for visitors again, okay?” You have an easy, warm smile, hoping to soothe his anxieties. 

Whether it worked or not, you couldn’t tell. But Itadori nodded, and giving one last look to Choso, turned to head back upstairs. Looking back down at the writhing man on your exam table you weren’t sure how to start, it seemed like every muscle in his body was tensed. He had to relax before you could begin any kind of testing. He was too flushed, his blood pressure, even for him, must be skyrocketing. 

You bit the inside of your cheek, “Choso, do you know where you are, can you hear me?” 

He nods wearily, not uncurling from his core. 

“Choso, do you think you can sit up, for me?” You attempted, bringing your hands close to his back. 

“Don’t touch me!” He barks, heavy pants follow. He rolls completely onto his side away from you, groaning. You can see  the line of sweat drenching the back of his shirt, “I’m sorry, but-- please, please don’t touch me.” 

“Okay, can you try and sit up?  I have to assess you so we can figure out how to make it stop.”you urged.   

He doesn’t respond, doesn’t start to move, he stays still, fully tensed, desperate pants through gritted teeth. You watch the sweat bead up at the back of his neck, those beads begin to fall and merge together, falling under the collar of his shirt. You moved away from him, getting an instant ice pack from the refrigerator, breaking it, and feeling the cold spread across your hands. Returning to his back, you wrap the cold pack in a thin towel, taking in a breath. 

“Don’t.” He gasps out, “please, just hand it to me.” 

You were shocked he was still so aware of his surroundings. Against your wishes you passed him the cold pack, his hand snatches it from you without making any contact with you. You can barely see his face, but you see the muscle in his jaw pop as he pressed the cold pack to his forehead. 

“What are you feeling, Choso? I can't stop it if I don’t know.” You don’t mean to sound so irritated when you say it, you aren’t irritated, you’re worried. 

“Hot. Really hot.” He sighs, moving the cold pack to the side of his neck. 

“Okay, and did it start right after you made contact?”

“What?” 

“Yuji said a curse attacked you, it had some kind of defensive response, and it put you into this state? Do you have any idea what kind of curse it may have been?” You were gaining your confidence back, steeling yourself against the immediate shock that had set in since his arrival. You were a doctor for fuck’s sake. 

Choso nodded his head, “yes. Maybe? I don’t know, I blacked out. It was out of it for a few seconds and then Yuji was shaking me.” His breathing was starting to even out, maybe he was calming back down. 

“Okay, and that’s when the fever started?” You couldn’t yet place what the cause of the fever would be. Some kind of poison? Or venom? 

Choso nodded, another groan, pulling him further, prone on the table. He seemed to hate this position, choking out a gasp as he pushed himself up and sat up facing away from you.

“Choso if you’ll just let me take your vitals and a blood test I can probab—-“ you reached out and touched his shoulder. 

His body shivered, he let out a long, low moan. 

He didn’t have to tell you to not touch him, you pulled your hand back so fast you lamented your reflexes had never been so sharp and would never be again. 

He was frozen, you were frozen. You came back to yourself first. 

“I’m sorry, I know you sa—.” You started to panic ramble 

“You should go. Please go.” Choso’s hands gripped the edge of the table so hard his knuckles went from tan to pink to white.   

This was too much, he needed help now, the cold pack had melted completely, faster than you had ever seen, no longer offering its menial relief.

“Choso, I’m your doctor, I can’t leave you. It’s my duty to help you. Please just be honest with me about what you’re feeling, and I can help. I promise I’ll do everything I can to help.” You began to curve around the table to face him. 

His neck was red and wet, muscles straining underneath like angry snakes. He can’t meet your eyes, his mouth is open, panting to pull as much breath as possible, lips wet and drooly. You're too busy scanning his face to see the way he covers his lap with his hands as you approach. 

“Please, let me help.” You reach your hand out to touch him, even with your gloves on and inches away you can feel the heat radiating off his body. 

Finally, finally, he looks at you, urging his body upward into a sitting position. His pupils are huge, brown irises having been consumed by two large, desperate black holes. There are tears in his eyes, dripping into the blood on the bottom half of his face. 

“It hurts. It’s so hot, and everything is so tight and sensitive. I can feel…everything, so much, fuck, it hurts.” He pleads, finally crumbling under the agony. 

You nod and start to mentally run through treatments for the symptoms as he lays them out. Your main concern is his heart, it’s used to overproducing and pumping at will, but this isn’t at his will, and this isn’t in his routine. This is entirely unpredictable. You’re in your head when Choso stops talking, he watches you closely, the drool along his bottom lip starting to build into a drip. He watches you, as you think a million miles away from him, but so close. He isn't sure if you have ever been this close, you have checked in on him hundreds of times, helped him through his training, you have always been so kind to him, even with his…less than glowing personal history, brief as it was. He can smell your perfume, he had smelled it before, soft and light, but this was something different. It smelled so much stronger, sweet and full, enticing, hypnotic. 

“You smell different.” The words leave him before he can even think better of himself, and once he does the words can't stop, “Good. You smell good. Really good.”

He leans closer to you, pulled in by the smell coming from your neck. You don't stop when he comes closer, he doesn’t stop himself when he presses his nose against your neck and inhales. Your body goes completely taut, you can feel the tip of his nose on your neck, you aren’t sure what to do.

“C-choso?” 

One of his big hands moves your hair off your shoulder, then settles on your waist, he pulls you closer, inhaling at your neck again. His other hand finds your hip and pulls you in. 

“You smell so sweet.” he mumbles into your neck, you can feel his lips move against your skin, “You feel so good.”

The blood from his face was slowing, the mark shaping itself back into a smaller line, you could feel his pulse slowing. The back of your mind flickered alive, a sneaking thought, something you had never imagined to be true, or to be presenting itself now. A defensive countermeasure some high ranking curses employ in order to redirect the attackers focus. Preying upon the most carnal needs, most commonly manifesting itself as prolonged, continuous sensitivity and sexual arousal. You had only ever read about it in the abstract, you never imagined it was something that was still active, let alone could manifest this intensely. Choso’s hands tighten on your hips. Your throat starts to tighten, you are paralyzed as to what to do, the ethics of helping and not helping racing through your mind.  

You press his shoulder, “Choso. Just a second, you don’t know what you’re doing.” 

He pulls back, suddenly, eyes wide with surprise, unsure of how he had found himself buried in your shoulder, how he had let himself succumb to whims that plagued his mind. He felt his throat closing, his heart racing, the heat in his body rising again faster than before. He felt pathetic, like some animal, some curse, that can’t control himself. And to you, who had been nothing but kind and accommodating with him since he first joined. He stands suddenly, putting as much distance between your bodies as he can. From your smell, from the feeling of your skin, from your soft hair between his fingers. 

“I-I’m, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. Please, go.” He heaves out, “I don’t know if I can control myself.” 

“What you're experiencing is an apex aphrodisiac. It won’t end until it has been expelled from your body, which will probably happen over time. But I have no way of knowing how long the effects will last. It could be hours, Choso, days, even.” 

Some deep ache in his abdomen causes him to double, gripping against the counter top so hard you hear the laminate begin to split. 

“I can hook you up to an IV, keep you hydrated and locked in here until it passes, but there’s no guarantee you can last it. Your internal body temperature keeps rising, and without someone here to keep an eye on you, there’s no telling what that fever will do to your brain. Not to mention your heart.” 

He fights your eyes, glaring instead at his hands in front of him, hands that had been attached to you so recently. Hands that burned against any sensation that wasn’t you. He’s swelling between his legs again, it aches, it's hurting, it's dripping onto his leg. He could hear his molars creaking against one another as he grinds them in a desperate attempt for restraint. You approach so carefully, he doesn't notice you until you're close enough for him to smell that intoxicating aura again. His eyes flutter closed, relief beginning to spread through his body, strained muscles loosening just barely. 

“Or…” You stride forward so carefully, not wanting to scare the desperate, hurt animal caught in a trap in front of you, you see his shoulders slide down his back through the damp fabric of his shirt, “I can help you now.”

Choso’s head whips around so fast that the room spins. He worries that this fever may actually be cooking his brain. Surely there was no way you were actually proposing this, he had to be hallucinating. The arousal plaguing his body had finally taken over his mind and shifted  his reality to fit its sick fantasy.  

You nod at his shocked face, trying to stay as even and professional under the circumstances; God, as if there were any chance of that happening. 

“Choso, listen to me, from what I’ve read, the quickest way, and the only guaranteed way to find any kind of repose, is to…” You blush at your words, the impending reality starting to illuminate far too realistically to be called fantasy, “oh god, I don’t know how to say this. By briefly…succumbing… to the urges, it could rid your body of whatever lingering material is causing you to feel this way, or at least offer some alleviation while your body fights the infection. Like scratching an itch? You shouldn't, cause you may open the wound, but it helps you deal with the pain and discomfort.” 

A thousand thoughts pass between the two of you, nothing spoken. He studies you carefully, desperate for any sign of a practical joke, some ill timed faux solution at his expense. Part of him looked twice as desperately for any sign of attraction from you, something that would show him you have felt the same way as him. That you have wanted this, before it became…medically necessary. 

“You think having sex with you will make it stop?” He says bluntly. 

You blush furiously, feeling embarrassed for even saying it, “It may. But of course, it’s up to you. If you want the IV, we can wait it out, you don't have to decide now. If it’s…me I can-” 

“No!” He shakes his head furiously, “no, it’s not you. I mean it is! Fuck, I mean…”

He can barely think, let alone try and string together the way he feels and has felt. The feelings that he never dared to explore. 

“I didn’t want it like this.” He finally sighs out, resigning himself to a seated position on the floor. 

“You…?” You didn't get it yet. 

“I wanted this, you, but I never wanted it like this.” He presses his back hard against the wall, eyes pulled tight together, blood trickling onto the floor again. 

You got it then. You hadn’t known, never even thought that he would look at you like that, that he would hold feelings for you so privately. He had been so quiet, so brief, so polite. Your heart ached for him, he was so sweet, you had always thought so. Even as brief as his time here had been, you thought it was sweet how dedicated he seemed to fixing his mistakes, to training Yuji, to helping the cause. It had crossed your mind, recently even, how handsome he was. Seeing him in this state, entertaining the idea of fucking him, you found you were heating up, yourself. Your legs squeezing together as he lay before you, so desperate for you. 

“I know it's not what you imagined, but I’d really like to help you.” You join him on the floor, looking up at him from under your dark lashes. 

You lean closer to him, he can smell you again, he can see your lips part, he clears his throat “I don’t just want to scratch the itch.”   

You shake your head, “Then let me help you, let me get it out of you. Choso, please.” 

You lean closer to him, you want to help him. The ache between his legs is getting too much to bear, he is too hot, his clothes are too tight, your smell is overwhelming him. Or maybe that's the fever, maybe he’s losing his mind. He scans your face, it's so beautiful. You are the only person he would want to help him. Maybe this was preordained, it was fate that brought him in here to you, so you could help him. So he could finally be with you, if only for a moment. If only once. 

“Okay.” He nods, one of his hands gripping the back of your neck and pulling you in to meet his lips. 

He can’t help himself, he kisses you with every ounce of himself. Every moment of his century in stasis, every ounce of remorse for the people he has killed, every sleepless night ruminating on his place in this world that barely half of him even belongs in. Your lips on his feel electric, sending the synapses in his brain into overdrive. His tongue wiggles past your parted lips, tasting his first of a mouth besides his own. He moans unabashedly at the taste of you.

It's only then that you even think of him being inexperienced, potentially even a virgin. But the time to discuss that has passed, you can barely get air, let alone a moment to talk. His hands are quick to find your bare skin under your shirt. You feel him trembling, his hands shaking as he kneads the flesh of your sides. The taste of him floods your mouth, copper twinged from the blood on his face, but making your lips and tongue tingle with excitement. His hand finds your bra, taking your right breast into his hand and squeezing hard. You cry out, remembering your hypersensitivity due to your own hormone filled body. He pulls off to look at you, heavy blush in his face, spit connecting your lips. 

“I’m sorry,” you swallow, “I--”

“You’re ovulating.” He finished for you. 

“How di--” 

“You smell different.” He leans into your neck again, inhaling deeply from your pulse point, “I can smell how bad you need this. Just as bad as me. Your body is begging for me.” 

It was like a switch had flipped, the gentle, polite, shy man who had stumbled in was gone. Choso’s teeth found your neck, just scratching before he licks a long stripe from the crook of your shoulder to behind your ear, he squeezes your breast again, just as hard, making you keen back, pressing further into his hand. He decides he has had enough on the floor. He scoops one hand around your back and pulls you up with him, laying you down on the exam table before him. In a flash his shirt is gone, and you are slower to follow. But you remove your coat and your top, leaving you in your bra. Choso attaches himself to your neck against, biting, kissing, sucking, licking, anything he can. One hand holds himself up above you, towering over you more like, the other tugs at the button of your pants. 

“Have you done this before?” He asks you, just as he gets them open. 

You nod, feeling his hair soft against your face.  

He hums, “You’ll have to show me what you like. I promise to do my best. I’m a fast learner.” 

Your heart nearly bursts at the thoughtfulness, “This is about you, Choso. Let me.”

You finally touch him back, moving your hands over his torso, feeling the muscles straining, the heat from him spreading to you. You sit up, slotting your mouths together again, desperate for his kiss and grab for the tie of his pants. He hisses as the fabric brushes past his throbbing, blisteringly hot erection. Finally you undo the knot and his pants are quick to fall to the floor, leaving him naked over you. His tongue moves across yours, massaging, tasting, combining flavors with you. Your hand blindly finds his cock, you take it into your hand and Choso howls, separating your lips. He presses his forehead against yours, his eyes screwed up tight. You look between your bodies, to where you're holding him between your still clothed legs, just in time to see the last spurts of cum spill from him, and onto the table. You can't help feeling a little disappointed, having gotten worked up yourself, only to have it end before he ever entered you. But you’re quick to push it away, this isn't personal, it was to help him. Choso catches his breath above you, before looking down to meet your eyes. 

“Do you feel better?” You ask, but you aren't able to finish before he kisses you again, his previous passion now turned up to eleven, his mouth is hotter, he pushes his tongue deeper, his teeth clash against yours, his hand returns to your waistline as he moves to keep undressing you. 

His cock in your hand hasnt retreated, if anything it seems completely unchanged, still raging and red tipped. 

“Choso…?” You whimper against his hungry lips. 

“Please, I need more. Please.”He sounds desperate, almost as if he is begging you

You nod and help him out of your pants, uncaring as they slide though the cum and onto the floor below you. Your heels clatter to the floor as Choso scoops you cup and lays you on your back, folding your legs up. 

“Fuck you’re perfect. I've wanted this for so long. You have no idea.” His voice is low enough he could be talking to himself, were it not for him looking directly at your panties, wet and clinging to your swollen lips, “You’re so wet already. You’re so nice for helping me. Thank you.” 

He slides one thick finger along the part of your lips, still shrink wrapped to the soaked cotton, you bite your lip. The mark on his nose has shifted again, back to the black bar you had grown familiar with, just barely beading up at the very edges. The blush on his face and neck has deepened, it seems his blood is redistributing properly again, aside from his cock, which has made no signs of softening. It still throbbed in your hand, which you kept in a steady, tentative rhythm as he explored you further. His finger slips inside the gusset of your panties, feeling the wetness first hand. 

“You’re so warm inside,” He marvels, again, likely to himself. 

He had come across pornography in the time since his awakening. In his journey to understand the urges of his body, and the innate knowledge that resided within the vessel he now inhabited, he had learned about sex, both for reproduction and for pleasure. He dabbled in masturbation, it was hard not to when discovering the body of oneself. He had watched plenty of movies in the brief instances of down time, many of which outlined the inner workings of sexual relationships on an emotional level. But nothing could have prepared him for the sight of you, writhing and wet beneath him. He explored your pussy further, the nub of your clitoris against the pad of his finger enough to rouse more cum from him, which lubricated your pumps along the shaft of his cock. It was brief, but the second orgasm made him crumple against your leg, pressed against this shoulder. 

This time you smiled, feeling his warm cum slid down your wrist, “Are you always like this?”

You watched him pant his way through the climax as you brought your messy hand to your mouth, licking it clean, and tasting him. He was sweet, how fitting. He watched you feed yourself his cum and nearly gave you more, drool slips from his mouth and down your leg. You feel it slide down your skin, still too far from your begging pussy, you wanted to feel him there, his mouth, his spit, his cock. The taste of him filled your mouth now, you looked over him carefully as he came back to himself. 

He shook his head, answering you, but looked down at you, meeting your eyes, “my blood goes where i want it, as long as i need it there. No waiting, but I don’t usually cum this much.” 

He was so crass suddenly, you felt your pussy clench, aching to be filled by him. Your body had heated so much, the lace of your bra digging in far too tight, your panties now feeling restrictive. Your clit throbbing along with your racing hard, just barely having been brushed by him. You squirm, hoping that he sees how desperately you need him. And you need him, more than air, more than water, more than anything. The room becomes all there is in the universe, only for the two of you, complete privacy, a perfect oasis for him to fill you over and over and over until the end of time. And he was the perfect one for the job, to go endless rounds, no need for sleep or rest, no refractory periods. He could keep you full, used and full. 

It appeared that the curse’s effects were contagious. You would later speculate that when you ingested his cum, some fraction of the aphrodisiac entered and took host in your body as well. 

Surely that must be the case, what else could explain what you said next. 

“Cho, please, I want you to cum inside, please fill me up. I want it inside, Choso please! I need it, I need you. Please.” you begged, you could barely hear your own voice, but you could see the effect your pathetic keening had on him. 

He tore through your panties in a second, your bra was relieved of duty, likely permanently as he seemed to cut through it just by pulling. The exam table’s icy surface seemed to sizzle against your overheated skin, he moved both your thighs over his shoulders, hands under your buttcheeks, using his thumbs to hold you open for him as he licked a flat tongue over your vulva. You cry out, not caring if your screams travel through the basement floors and up to the populated floors. One lick from him has you cumming so hard your vision goes white. He doesn't stop. Kissing and slurping over and over, you're quivering and shaking, but he can’t stop. The taste of you is too much to give up, even for a second. So sweet, so uniquely you, so intimately for him to enjoy. At this point he holds you up by your hips, as though you are attached to his mouth, your legs wrap around his head, you can't do much else but try to breathe through the intense waves of pleasure that he continues to give you with every flick of his tongue. 

“Choso, please!” You finally cry out, “Please, I need you inside. It's too much, please, baby, I need you.” you pull at his hair, hard enough that you’re sure a weaker, more inhibited man would have wailed. 

But he flicks his eyes up at you pleadingly, not wanting to give you up yet. But seeing your desperate, tear stained face, he relents. He lays you back down, allowing you time to cum down as he wipes a hand over his wet face, using your cum to pump his still aching cock. He squeezes the base, trying not to look too closely, knowing he couldn't cum too soon…again. You gather yourself, pussy weeping onto the table below, but already aching for him again. 

“Lay down,” You tell him, moving onto your knees ungracefully. 

He obeys, laying where you just had been, helping you to move over his lap, settling you just above his standing cock. You keep one hand on his chest, the other grips him again and carefully aligns his tip with your gasping hole. You find his eyes again, as if now is the time to reconsider, but he meets them. He gives you a small nod through hazy eyes, his hair is sticking to his head and his neck, the top of his chest is blotchy and flushed, your wetness makes his chin and jaw shine under the light. He looks beautiful, how could you not have seen it sooner, how magnetic and enticing he was. 

“Please, I want to cum in you,” He begs, breaking you out of your admiration, “Please let me give you my cum, please. Please.” He squeezes your thighs, urging you down. 

You sink down slowly, the feeling of finally being connected, sending you both into fits of pleasure. You can’t stop your hips, as soon as they fall fully and meet his, you fuck yourself back down onto him, starting a pace riding him that would normally be laughably advantageous for you. You just cant stop yourself, the tip of his cock kisses your g spot perfectly, fucking even deeper into you than you thought possible, no vibrator or partner you’d had before had ever made you fee like this.The stretch hurt so good, as you moved over him again and again.  

Choso was just as bad, an absolute mess underneath you. He had no idea what he was in for. Your pussy was so much hotter and tighter than he imagined, it felt like his cock would break off, but he never wanted it to end. He could feel every hitch of your breath though the snug walls flush with his dick, he could feel your heart beating, he thought he could hear your blood moving through your body. He couldn't keep his mouth shut, whimpering, whining, gasping, begging you for … more, … or slower, …  or simply just please. 

please. please baby please. more. fuck. yes more. just like that. fuck. please please please please pleasepleaseplease. too fast, it's too much. too much. fuck. please. don’t stop. please please, don't ever stop.  

He watches you ride him, your breasts bouncing with every lift and drop of your hips. He pushes himself up with one hand, using his knees to move you with him. His shift into a seated position pushes him even deeper inside of you. You arch your back feeling him press against your cervix, whining and pulling him closer to you. He brings your breast to his mouth, biting, sucking, swirling his tongue around your nipple. You struggle to ride him like this, but you grind down on him regardless, the friction of his public hair against your clitrois combined with his work on your nipples, more than enough. You aren’t sure how you’ll ever be able to go without this feeling. You paw at his back and shoulder, wanting to keep him close forever. He coos in your ear something unintelligible about just relaxing and letting him take care of you. 

“You’re so good to me, baby. Let me take care of you. You want to be full, right? Let me fill you up. Thank you.” He coos, moving your hair off your neck and letting him return to his new favorite place, your neck. 

He carries on fucking into you, your clit grinding against his pelvis, his lips on your neck, his other hand holding your flush against his chest. You feel your eyes roll back, your kiss along his head, relishing the sound of him going back and forth between whining and praising you. Your skin is blooming, your thighs are shaking, you feel the swirl of building pressure in your abdomen. 

“Cho….” you whine. 

He carries on pumping his hips, grabbing at your ass, digging in his nails. 

“Me too,” He chokes out, bringing your lips to his as he fucks you both to your peaks. 

A vastly different type of orgasm descends upon you both. Profound and all encompassing. His mouth stays on your as long as he can stand it, leaving humid breaths on your lips before he pulls off moaning and tossing his head back. You feel fat tears roll down your cheeks, Choso buries himself as deep as he can into you, spilling shot after shot of cum into you, you feel him pulsing inside of you. He rakes his nails up your sides, sending you trembling. You whine out, Your body swirls and melts into his. He collapses the pair of you back onto the table, keeping himself sheathed inside of you, not allowing any of his cum to escape you.

 You pant on his chest, pressing your ear to where you can hear his heart beating, it's fast, but not nearly the frenzy it was when he first arrived. His big arms encircle you, your bodies feel warm and hot pressed together, but you can feel the chill of the basement air on the sweat of your back, you feel your own heart slowing as you catch your breath. Your own heart rate is steadying as well, at some point the surrounding area had come back into your view, he had stopped bleeding, and both of you felt the effects of the aphrodisiac leave you.  

Choso lies beneath you, feeling your weight against him, feeling your body tremble in his arms, his cock still feeling the quivering, fluttering walls around him, taking his cum, pulling it deeper inside. He was told early on that biological children weren't in the realm of possibility for him, but he already had his family; his brothers, and the ones they loved. But now, with you rested on top of him, he felt sad knowing despite the timing, and despite his efforts, he would never-- could never give you your own. He realized the curse’s effects had lifted, either from time or sweat or exertion they had been exorcised from his body, and with them went his sureness that this had been a good idea. 

“Choso?” You spoke softly, conspiratorially. 

He hummed in acknowledgment. 

“Do you feel better?” You raised your head to meet his eyes. 

He looked down at you, seeing your warm, kind eyes worrying about him. Surely this couldn’t have just been for today?  

Choso nodded, his dark eyes crinkling at the outer edges in a soft smile, “I think it’s over. My heart is still racing, but I don't think that's the curse anymore.” 

You leaned forward, feeling brave, and a bit anxious from how quiet it felt now that the screaming and moaning and panting had stopped. Connecting your lips again, now that the worst had passed you felt no need to hungirly attack his mouth, neither did he. You gave him the sort of kiss you would have given him if he came to you with his feelings and had taken you out. You weren’t the sort of people to be able to go out very often, but whatever date it may have been, wouldn’t have been as successful as this bizarrely unorthodox first encounter. When the kiss was over you tried to move off of him, but he held you down, pumping his softening dick into you once more. You let out a high shaky breath, almost giggling. 

“I meant it when I said I didn't want to just scratch the itch with you.” Choso cups your face in his hand, making you look at him, “I know I’m not your best choice for…someone to be with…I can’t give you a family or guarantee you a future. But I will keep you safe and treat you well.” 

You feel your heart swell at his admission, and more so at the look in his deep, sad eyes, a look that wants nothing more than to be understood, and cared for. 

“Well, I don’t know about forever, but how about after we clean up here. You and I go to dinner and we figure out where to go from here. I like you a lot, Choso. Like, a looooot.”

You punctuate your sentence with a clench of your pussy around him, making him gasp and grip your hips again. You start to laugh and he swats at your butt. 

“I’m serious. After this we have a lot to talk about, but I know that I’m glad we did this.” You suddenly feel shy, despite how bare you have already been. 

Choso smiles again, a contemplative smile, but an honest one, he holds your hips again, “Ready?” 

You nod and move with him as he guides you off his lap, moving to the side so you can lie next to him. He keeps one hand on your waist, not wanting to be parted from you yet. You push some of his hair back on his head, tracing your finger down the slope of his nose, then over his top lip. Choso soaks in everything you give him, sighing blissfully occasionally, so unafraid to make sounds and show you how he feels about you. You're inexperienced with men so open, and so willing to express it abstractly, or at all. You find that Choso makes you nervous, the enigma of his shy, stoic nature, and his desire to be known and understood, compounded with a half curse’s worth of shamelessness. You smile at him again sitting up on the table. 

“I’m willing to bet Shoko has at least one cigarette in here. I know it's a bit cliche, but I can dig around for it if you’re interested.” You stretch a bit, already starting to feel the lactic acid building in your body. 

“I’ve never smoked before.” He shrugs, leaning on his elbow. 

You sit up, not worried about covering yourself and begin rummaging through drawers. You found a pack in the second one you opened, slipped one out and then had to search for a lighter, which proved harder to find. But a long forgotten box of matches sat in the bottom drawer of the desk. Choso watched as you searched, admiring seeing your body in so many shapes, at so many angles. It was so beautiful to see the human form so relaxed and unposed, he had to fight the lump in his throat back down, so as to not disrupt you with his emotion. YOu climbed back up to the table and lit the small, thin cigarette. You inhaled and blew out a plum of soft grey smoke before passing it to him. He followed your lead, feeling the smoke slide down his throat, burning on the way down. He quickly exhaled, not wanting the taste to overpower yours on his tongue. 

“Not for you, huh?” You took another drag. 

He shook his head, “Maybe another time.” 

You hummed to yourself, taking in the room around you. Choso had no interest in the room, only to watch you leisurely inhaling and exhaling. He thought that all the movies he had seen had gotten it wrong, that while he didn’t know exactly what it was he was feeling, he knew that no one could have ever felt like this. You turned back to him, another beautiful smile coloring your face. 

“There is a locker room down the hall, we can get cleaned up.” 

“Together?” He reaches for you. 

“Sure, Cho.” You leaned in and kissed him again, your fingers under his chin tilting his face up to you. 

You got up from the table, haphazardly draping your coat around yourself, avoiding as much of the cum that had pooled as possible. You offered him his, mostly, unstained trousers. Which he shuffled in to. You discarded the cigarette and hung on the door, turning back to face him. He was still watching you, picking up left over clothes, brushing his sweaty hair back. 

“Coming?”You flirt. 

He feels his face heat up and nods, watching you leave down the hall. He grabs the last of your discarded clothes, replaying the events of the last few hours in his mind. 

“Cho…” he whispers to himself, a little celebration, before following you down the hall. 

Your evening with your vibrator was long forgotten as you made your way to the locker room, with something far more enticing catching up closely behind. 

I hope y'all enjoyed!!! I really hope i can keep this moment going and get out some of the ideas i have had over the last two months! Cause i've been thinkin big thoughts!!! I cant believe there are almost 200 of us on here, I'm so flattered and grateful! Thanks for indulging me with this one. Love you, see you next time! -- Doodle. <3

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These are my personal favorites of my fic collages!

Which one is your favorite?

1 Sleepover with Drunk Nanami

2 Fever

3 Long, Lonely Layover

4 Cherries

5 the Ternion Triology

6 Paper Thin Walls

7 Bad Influence

8 Honey Cappuccino with Cinnamon

9 Anniversary

10 Equivalent Exchange

Voting ended onDec 15, 2024

Masterlist, incase these made you curious! :) Doing the collage is is always the part I save for last, both as a little reward, and so it is comprehensive of the piece! I always want them to be interesting and dynamic, and give you a little taste of the vibe of the fic! I would love to see what you guys like the most! I hope you guys all enjoyed the new Choso fic, and Thank you all so much for engaging with me and my work!

[plotsignificanthaircut555]

Long Lonely Layover (Nanami Kento x Reader)

Sitting at a bar in the Paris airport you’re approached by a handsome stranger on a similarly long layover.

warnings: SMUT, MDNI, 18+ Only. kissing, sexy, doggy, oral, getting right nasty up in the bathroom, public sex, standing sex, standing oral, talk of contreception (keep it safe yall), emotions after sex

6.7k words. Ao3 I really hope you enjoy this one, I hope was super happy to write for this big beautiful man once again. Kind of plus size coded reader(all my readers are pretty mid/plus sized coded.)

Your eyes flicked up to the bottom right corner of the news broadcast in front of you. There was a little animation card that showed the weather, the date, and the local time. 

Charles de Gaulle Aéroport, Paris. 12:22 pm

The broadcast changed to a commercial, some beautiful woman biking through a sunlit trail, a glass bottle of wine in a stylish backpack that was apparently the product for sale. How you craved to be that woman, you wanted to feel the sun instead of these harsh, artificial lights above you. You wanted to open a bottle of wine in some gorgeous Parisian park, not pay a massive up charge for each pour, as you were now. Your last flight had brought you here nearly an hour ago, you didn’t board your next flight for another two and a half. A four hour, cumulative, layover. Just enough time to drag, but not enough to fully leave the airport, stretch your legs, and enjoy some local sights. Especially with how long customs could take. You sighed, daring to check the clock display once again. 

12:23pm 

Fuck. 

The airport bartender hovered the bottle of white wine above your glass, you nodded, and he emptied its contents. In your defense, the bottle had already been opened by another patron before you sat down, you just drank the remaining two glasses worth. Taking a small sip, deciding it may be better to start savoring these— you have a long afternoon ahead of you, you scanned the airport terminal for a duty free store that may sell books. You could pick up a saucy paperback or a mystery thriller and breeze through the next few hours. No luck, you would have to close out and wander through the various hallways and levels in search of one. You took a larger sip of your wine, feeling confident in your next plan. Before you could catch the bartender's attention, a voice came from your side. It sounded like French, someone was speaking to you in French— in the Paris airport, a likely place for that to happen. But the tonality held something else, something richer and augmented. You turned toward the voice and found an apologetic looking blonde man. He was tall, even from your place on the barstool you could tell, and he was, broad shoulders, the black and burgundy pinstripe blazer that housed them looking like dark brick you’d find in one of Paris' many gothic style buildings. Catching yourself, you looked up at his eyes and saw him gesture his head toward the stool next to you. 

“Puis-he m’asseoir ici?” He asked, presumably again as you had completely missed what he said earlier. 

“The seat? Oh! No- yes! Wait no, no one is sitting there, yes you can sit here.” You didn’t know a lot of French, but this was a common enough phrase that after some embarrassing mental flip flopping you were able to answer. 

He softens, and pulls the suitcase slung over his shoulder and sets it down next to the stool,

 “Merci.”, he smiles softly, “or—I suppose—Thank You would be better, here.” 

You smiled in awe, “English and French. Very impressive.”

Nanami blushes at your voice, or maybe it was your smile, pretty, perfect teeth shining at him, your cheeks curling upward, he thought he felt his heart leap. He shrugs a bit, an attempt to downplay your compliment. 

“My French isn’t very good. Mostly yes, no, is that seat taken? Can I get that coffee or that pastry? ” He adds, pointing to the imaginary bakery case before him, “The English is okay, I do a lot of business over the phone so I get more practice.” 

“Better than mine! French slipped through my education totally. Spanish a bit, but mostly just English.” You shrug, eyeing him carefully as he slid into the bar stool next to you, making himself comfortable. 

He was brutally handsome, a long, sloped nose stopped just before a pert Cupid’s bow, tan rose colored lips stayed slightly parted as he listened to you. But his eyes, amber and honey, outer irises deepening to an oaken, whiskey brown, they took your breath away. You couldn’t look at them very long, finding yourself unable to form thought, and quickly blinking away. Small scatterings of freckles lined the tops of his hollowed cheeks, and the line of his nose, such a lovely detail on an even lovelier man. His hair was clearly styled at some point, but was quickly losing its hold, sandy blonde strands falling in front of his eyes as he read the menu in front of him. 

Nanami could feel you looking at him, the skin of his neck was heating up, he wanted to take off his jacket, but that would be too obvious. He hadn’t noticed you when he approached the bar, he truly needed a drink after the turbulence on his flight in from Tokyo, 14 hours of travel so far, 8 more to go. But when you turned your face, observing the terminal around you, he stopped in his tracks. You were gorgeous, truly gorgeous, the details of your face reminded him of an oil painting, all soft lines and creamy textures. There was one seat open on the bartop, directly next to you. Maybe he should have been embarrassed how quickly he had rushed over to you, but you didn’t seem to notice him catch his breath, or his hurried approach when you spoke to him. And now he could feel his heart drumming in his chest as he struggled to read the menu in front of him. His French was fine, he had to use it more often than he expected when he joined the French club in university. The bartender approached tentatively, you assumed he was also a bit intimidated by the Adonis that had joined the bartop. Nanami assumed it was because he could see him sweating already, confirmed by being served a glass of water nearly instantly. 

Nanami scans the menu quickly before he darts his eyes over to your half full wine glass,he turns to you. 

“Sorry,” he starts, god this is embarrassing, “which wine is that?” 

“It’s the Amici Olema. Do you want to try it?” You were taking a chance here, sliding your glass towards him.

This could be taken as a moment of generosity from a kind stranger, a massively inappropriate imposition, or as flirtation. You weren’t even totally sure which one you intended it to be, yet.

His blush darkened, and his breath hitched. Nanami tried to control his trembling hand as he graciously accepted your offer. The glass was sweating a bit from the chilled wine condensating. He could see where your fingers had been before, there was the slightest sheen on one lip of the glass, where your lips had been. He restrained himself from putting his mouth in the same spot, opting to taste from the opposite edge instead. The wine was delightful, tart and cool, there was a subtle peach note on the back. Nanami hums happily, his eyes closing blissfully, allowing it to linger in his tongue before returning your glass. He nodded toward the bartender asking for a pour of his own. You looked down at the glass in front of you, one shared between yourself and this handsome stranger. His pretty pink lips against the same glass as yours, a small smudge showing you exactly where he had sipped. The popping of the fresh wine bottle woke you from your lingering fantasy.

“Thank you for the recommendation.” He raised his glass to you.

You tap your glass against his, “I’m glad you like it….” 

You raise your eyebrows indicating you were wanting to add his name. 

“Kento Nanami.” He replied offering you a wide closed lip smile. 

You told him your name in return. Sipping your glasses in sync. There was something exciting about knowing you were tasting the same thing. The same tartness that slid over your tongue, was coating his as well. The thought made you cross one leg over the other. You pray you were being subtle enough. 

A thick silence blanketed the two of you. The noise of the airport hummed and buzzed around you. Boarding calls and codes run out from the loudspeakers in various languages, often repeated one or two times. Your fingers slid over the menu, you were starting to feel the effects of four glasses of wine, you should probably eat something. The bar menu wasn’t expansive, mostly appetizers, a few salads, a few  questionable sounding sandwiches. Nothing was making your mouth water but you could already feel your stomach growling.

“Are you hungry?” You to your left again facing Nanami who had now adorned the cutest pair of reading glasses fuck he was too much , “I’m hungry but I’m not starving and these flatbreads look pretty big. Would you want to split one?” 

“Only if you let me put it on my tab.” 

You started to protest but he raised his hand.

“For the great wine recommendation.” He finished, those honey eyes catching yours and making you swoon. 

You sighed out, barely containing your smile, “well if you insist, how can I say no.” 

He ordered with the bartender, and you dipped your wine positively smitten, his French was clean and lilting. The smallest hint of his home accent lingered, his pronunciation of the swirling language was nearly perfect. Under different circumstances this would be a very good date. You chastise yourself in reminder that this is not a date, this is just benign, unintentioned human kindness that bears no flirtation and you should be sick with yourself for even entertaining the idea. 

That is, until he removed his jacket. He leaned back in his stool, pulling the blazer away from his body. Giant, ropey biceps in a barely fitting black sweater. This guy was trying to kill you. He hung his blazer in the back of his chair, back muscles stretching the fabric even further. Thankfully, his turned body gave you solace to chug your ice water, knowing it wouldn’t satiate the thirst you were feeling. 

Nanami seemed to be unaffected by your gawking, adjusting his glasses and checking his watch, sighing at the slowly ticking time. 

You needed a second to gather your voice back, “long layover?” 

“About two and a half hours.” He removed his glasses and squeezed the bridge of his nose. 

You nodded, “mine too. It’s a beautiful airport to be stuck in, but…it’s still an airport.” 

He let out a laugh, his smile showed two small dimples on either side of his lower lip. 

“Do you travel often?” He asked, taking another sip of his wine. 

“For work, yes. I’d like to do some more traveling on my own. But this works for now.” You shrugged.

He nodded, knowingly, “what do you do?” 

You told him. Your job was a little complex to explain but he listened closely and seemed to relate. You two began talking about your respective careers. You learned he worked for a Japanese finance company that had a few international offices in the United States, Denmark, Argentina, and the UK. This was his first time traveling internationally for this job, being sent out to settle the last few details of a contract. He asked good questions, he listened closely to your answers. Minutes ticked by, the food arrived, more glasses of wine being poured, the stories shared became more intimate and detailed as you two grew closer both emotionally and physically. Soon you two were nearly interlocking your knees, the flatbread completed, a new bottle of wine nearly half drunk, your cheeks flushed, his glasses discarded, folded on the table.  

You slipped your cardigan off your shoulders, leaving your arms and collarbones exposed to him. The wine had heated your skin, Nanami’s eyes flicked over your form quickly before returning to his wine glass. 

“So your wife must hate being apart now that you’re traveling more.” You baited him. It was an obvious ploy on your part, the wine had numbed some of your finesse. 

Nanami smirked, immediately catching you out, “I’m not married but that was very clever. Very subtle move.” 

You laughed with him, his mix of teasing and praise sent your head fluttering. He continued,

“I do prefer my move of not-so-subtly checking if you were wearing a ring, which I did earlier when I asked about the wine.”he sipped the shallow pour still in his own glass, “you don’t wear a ring. But plenty of people don’t, are you with someone?” 

He had begun to lean in conspiratorially, as though your relationship status and your sharing of it were top secret information. But you could see the small flecks of gold in his irises now, the small beginnings of lines around his eyes, the pores along his nose and cheeks. You shook your head, catching his eyes directly. You both lingered in this moment; neither of you were beholden to someone else, the acknowledgement of shared chemistry hung between the two of you, the ticking clock of your coming departures ticked away in the back of both of your minds. Nanami watched you closely, your lips parted slightly, eyes drinking him. He would normally feel anxious being observed so closely, but your gaze was so warm, so inviting, he felt nothing but total elation. 

His gaze was so intense, you felt so seen by him. Maybe it was the wine, more than likely it was the company. The serendipity of this moment. You weren’t one to believe easily in fate, but you were inclined to believe something beyond had brought this man to you. One as beautiful, as charming, as engaging as Kento. You checked the television’s clock briefly. Only one hour left until your flight starts to board. Only one hour left before you never saw him again. Only one hour. 

“Can I ask you something, kind of crazy?”  The words slipped from you before you could think rationally. 

Kento had noticed the time as well, counting down the remaining fifty-nine minutes until your separation. He had donned his wire framed glasses again, wanting to memorize every inch of you in perfect clarity. He raises his eyebrows at your question, heart pounding in private hope. Could you? Would you? 

“Please.” He answered, leaning closer, his knee sliding against yours, “ask me anything.” 

You flicked your eyes down to where his body touched yours, you hadn’t yet felt him touch you, but even the brush of his clothed leg against yours had your throat tightening. 

“I’m not one to…ask this sort of thing, but since I’ll probably never see you again after this, I won’t have to bear the shame.” You swallowed hard, begging your courage to stay with you, “you’re…incredible. I’ve never met anyone like you. You’re smart and funny and so charming and you’re…fucking stunning. I would be so remiss if I didn’t ask…” 

Your words were failing you, your heart racing, you scanned his face for any sign of coming rejection and your throat caught, closing it off from more words. 

Fuck. You were caving in. This was so embarrassing, so presumptuous. You had ruined what could have been a good memory. 

Fuck

Kento gave you another moment to see if you would finish your question. When it was clear you were psyching yourself out, he watched as you sighed frustratedly. How sweet.

Nanami put the toe of his shoe under the foot rest bar of your barstool and pulled your seat closer to him. Your eyes shot open, embarrassment quickly turning to confusion. Nanami put his arm around the backrest, just barely brushing over your back as he did. Bringing you back to look at him, he smiled wider at your sweet, blushing face. He moved a piece of hair out of your face, fingers lingering on your soft skin. His touch was electric, enticing, you wanted those fingers in your mouth, on your body, anywhere, everywhere.

“I would be honored to find somewhere private where we can pass the rest of this layover.” Nanami’s eyes had grown darker, full pupils and focused, “if you’ll indulge me.” 

In a flash the tabs were paid, both by him, drinks were finished, bags were grabbed, and you had quickly located the closest empty room with a locking door to you. Nanami’s hand on your lower back ushered you inside quickly before shutting and locking the door behind him, pulling on it once to guarantee you wouldn’t be interrupted. You set your bag on the ground, next to his own carry on, and stood back up. Facing him directly, now in total privacy, in the motion activated light of this family restroom the ticking clock faded, the crowd of the airport was forgotten, it was only him and you. Nanami looked at you, head to toe, before taking a few careful steps toward you, as one would approach a centerpiece in a well curated museum. Thoughtful and admiring. He stood chest to chest with you, although as a tall man he stood quite a bit above you. He hadn’t yet removed his glasses, they sat perched in his nose, intending the skin on either side. You could smell his cologne, something subtle and herbal. Bergamot and cedar. His large, warm hands came to cup your face, yours covered his.

“I’m usually much more of a romantic. I hope you’ll forgive me.” Kento leaned in, his lips barely brushing yours in apology before kissing you. 

From the moment your lips touched, you were gone. He tasted like the wine you shared, his lips were soft and hungry. It took no time at all for your tongue to find its way past his lips. His hands flew from your face to your waist, up your back, down to squeeze your hips. Yours similarly wandered, across the downed of his back, up his arms, tugging at the cropped hair at the nape of his neck. The bathroom quickly filled with the wet, smacking sounds of your kisses. You removed his jacket, and your own. Soon your shirt was discarded on the floor. You didn’t even have time to lament not being able to wear something nice before he pulled your comfort focused sports bra over your head, your breasts falling freely. He watched them bounce freely before settling, his mouth watered. You covered yourself shyly. 

“Don’t stare…” you weren’t sure where this bashful side of you had come from, surely he was pulling it out of you. 

He moved your arms, baring your chest to him again, before moving onto his knees before you. His hands traveled up your body, pawing at your breasts, cupping and squeezing them. 

“You’re right, we have so little time.” Nanami looked up at you wickedly, something devious and titillating behind his amber eyes, “and I have to get you ready.” 

Before you could inquire further he began to pull your comfy travel pants off of you, untying the drawstring easily, stretching elastic, not your sexiest apparel but here he was down on his knees begging for you. You realized he hadn’t yet removed his sweater so you tugged at the back of the collar. He pulled the black knit over his head, in a second. You took the opportunity to slip off your sneakers and removed your pants fully. His body was just as incredible as it seemed, he truly was something out of myth. Gladiatorial build, masses of muscle cut lean under his fair, even skin. The freckles on his face littered his shoulders and the tops of his pecs, his abdominal muscles were further contoured by a tan colored happy trail leading into his still belted and buckled trousers. You moaned at the sight of him, making him smirk (and blush). He returned to his spot between your legs before looking back up at you. 

“Do you trust me?” He spoke, voice rough with arousal. 

You nodded desperately. You did. Anything he wanted from you, you would have given him at this moment. It wasn’t until he moved one of your thighs over his shoulder and snaked the paired hand up your back to support you, that you figured out why your trust was necessary. Immediately your blood ran cold, anxiety shadowing your arousal. He looked like a strong guy…but you were a fully grown woman: tummy, thighs, breasts, and arms to show as much. Never did you think someone would even attempt to support your full weight like he was implying. 

“Kento…wait..I’m-“, you protested, trying to move to stand on your own legs. 

His grip was iron as he kept your leg on his shoulder, he was at eye level with your pussy, hypnotized by the sight of you wet and waiting for him. He would not be denied. 

“I regularly bench more than 180 kilos, you’re a warm up. Please trust me.” 

His voice was so flippant, as though lifting your entire body over his shoulders was the most obvious feat in the world. Your reservations held strong until his pleading eyes looked up at you again, his mouth watering, hair disheveled, he looked so hungry. You couldn’t bear the thought of depriving him.

“Please.” He asked again, giving your leg on his shoulder a soft squeeze. 

You nodded again, and he slung your other leg over his shoulder in one perfect lift. You now sat on his shoulders with your back against the wall, his hands holding your waist and hips. Finally, after three excruciating hours of build up, Nanami finally tasted you. If he weren’t already on his knees they would have buckled. You tasted better than he had imagined, so wet for him already, your pretty moans still reaching his ears even through your legs against his head. Your hands found his hair, gripping onto him for stability, taking your nail across his scalp as he lapped feverishly at your cunt. He didn’t realize he was making deliciously primal grunting sounds as he gorged himself on you. His moans sent vibrations into your core and up through your body. You rushed to cover your mouth as he shook his head side to side, tongue flicking perfectly at your swollen, throbbing clitoris. 

“Fuck!” You panted, not caring how hard the back of your head hit the bathroom wall, “you’re so good at that, fuck, Kento—ah!”

Nanami smiled, drunk of your taste, your sounds, the feeling of your body on his shoulders. He was losing himself completely, he could have stayed like this for eternity. Pleasuring you could become his life’s purpose, his calling, he could be the devotee at the altar of your sexuality and die a happy man. But he was all too aware of the ticking clock that would rip you away from him. Luckily, he was a man who thrived under a deadline. 

Nanami sucked hard at your clit, alternating between pushing his tongue deep into your hole, and circling it around your clit. You couldn’t believe how good it felt, in just a few minutes he had solidified himself as the best loved you had ever had, and it wasn’t even close. 

But you were, you could feel your impending orgasm rushing toward you like a speed train. You whimpered into your palm, trying to warn him, (or warn yourself?) about what was to come, but he could already feel it. Your hips were shaking against his face, legs clamping down against his ears. Like a true expert, he didn't change a thing, his patterns and devotion bringing your orgasm crashing down around you in seconds. 

You cried out into your palm, the other hand gripping the back of Kento’s neck to hold him in place. He was happy to relish in your climax, sucking in everything you released onto his eager mouth. When you couldn’t take anymore, you pushed at his forehead, whimpering. 

“No more, no more. Please.” 

When his mouth was no longer attached to you he sucked in a breath, coming back to himself. He squeezed the flesh at the top of your thighs, right where they met your hips and tummy, coming down from his own haze he pressed soft, intentioned kisses to the insides of your legs. He turned his eyes back upward, his pleasure drunk eyes and dripping mouth making you swoon. Nanami eased you off his shoulders carefully before lunging to kiss you again, it was so dirty to taste yourself on his tongue. 

“You taste like heaven. I don’t know how I’ll go without now that I’ve had you.” He uttered against your lips, tongue still charging forward against your own. 

You mewled at his praises, “you’re so good. Too good. You do this a lot?” 

Hot kisses fill the gaps between words as you bring your hands to his belt, unbuckling and pulling at the waistband of his pants. Kento shakes his head, pulling off from the kiss to look you in the eye. 

“I’ve never done anything like this before.” He was as shocked as you were.

He wasn’t usually social, let alone pulling people who were essentially strangers into private corners to have sex with. You had brought something out of him he hadn’t even known existed. Something primal and desperate, something passionate and consuming. You were touched at his admission, and awestruck by his natural skill and the situation you were in. You kissed him again, finishing the removal of his belt. His hands trembled with enthusiasm as he helped you remove his pants. You couldn’t help yourself, you reached past the fly and palmed him through his briefs. Fuck. 

He was big, thick and full and so hard it was a miracle he wasn’t in tears. You moaned at the heft of it in your hand, which only caused the caged erection to pulse more. You wanted to taste him,to feel the weight of it in your mouth, to  know every inch of this man before he was gone from you. Kento groans at your hand stroking him through the fabric, indulging briefly before putting his hand over yours, training his eyes back to you. He looked disheveled and desperate, hot mouth hanging open to catch his breath, eyes hazy and drooping. 

“We don’t have enough time….” He mumbled, his forehead pressing against yours, eyes screwed shut he huffs out as you squeeze him, “I don’t have a condom…I’m sorry.”

“IUD.” You assure him, desperate to feel him raw inside of you, to feel him pulse and grow and cum.

He grips you harder, eyes opening wide, “Are you sure?”

You nod, practically lapping into his mouth for another sloppy kiss. He removed his cock from his briefs, not pulling his pants down or away and stroked himself a few times, each one eliciting another moan into your open mouth. Holding you close against him, Nanami allowed himself to luxuriate in the feeling of your body pressed against him. Trying to remember the heat, the weight of you in his arms, the smell of your perfume, the way your hair felt in between his fingers. He ignored the ache in his heart as he struggled to imagine how he would be able to let you go now that he held you. He couldn’t bear to think about that yet. Not while he could have you now. 

“Brace your hands against the door, please.” He ordered against your lips. 

You nodded before turning and placing your hands in the form of a standing push up against the locked, all too thin door of the restroom. You shivered as you felt Kento’s hands outline the form of your body, nearly crumbling entirely when you felt the tip of his cock brush against your ass. He leaned in close to your ear, moving your hair to one side, one of his hands interlocking with yours against the door. His chest pressed against your back, radiating heat. His breath tickled the tiny hairs on the shell of your ear.

“I’m sorry this isn’t more romantic. You deserve to be worshiped and spoiled properly, I’m sorry I can’t give that to you now.” Kento’s tongue trailed up the side of your neck as his unentangled hand aligned himself with your sex. 

When Kento Nanami finally entered you, it was inhuman the speed at which he rushed to cover your mouth, stifling the cry that came from you. 

He shushed you hurriedly, “You sound so beautiful but I can’t have us interrupted. Bite my hand if you need to.”

He filled you so completely, thick and deep. He was so big, you felt your velvet walls throbbing around him already, beating in time with your frantic heart. His hand kept yours locked against the door, fingers interlocked sweetly, despite the firm grip. His other hand held your hip in place, he pulled out nearly to the tip before filling you completely again, somehow deeper than the previous. His cock head pushed right up against your cervix making your eyes roll back and you whimper pathetically against his palm. After another thrust your arms started to shake, barely able to hold yourself up against the door. Nanami, of course, noticed.  

“Here, hold your arms like this.” Still sheathed inside of you he moved your arms in front of you, folded together as though you were sleeping, and pressed you further against the door, body now flush against the cool metal and wood. 

You buried your head in your arms, every thrust of his sending you further and further into total euphoria. You tried so hard to be quiet, keeping your mewls muffled against your arm, but it was so difficult when he really started to thrust, setting a delicious rhythm that even your best toy could never achieve. 

Nanami’s teeth were threatening to pierce the skin of his lip, the groans and grunts he held back threatening to erupt. You were so tight around him, if he had had any thoughts left he would have worried his cock would snap off. He palmed the flesh of your ass, spreading you out to watch your walls stretch and cling to him as he thrust in and out. He nearly came right there, eyes rolling back, a throaty huff leaving him, he couldn’t watch anymore or he would lose himself completely. He found solace in pressing his forehead against the connection point of your neck and your shoulder, whispering to you in a long stream of praises and promises. 

“You feel so good. You’re taking me so well. I would have taken you out first, if I could have. The nicest table at the best restaurant I know, you deserve it. Fuck. Fuck, anything you wanted. I should have had you in a beautiful bed, you’d look so gorgeous splayed out for me--agh, fuck you’re getting so tight. You’d like that, huh?” He shuddered as you clenched around him, body shaking, resolve crumbling. 

His words were growing more and more nonsensical, sounds paving through thought to fill the small bathroom. Everything about him felt engineered to make you cum, and you were so fucking close, you could feel his cock twitching between thrusts, he was getting close too. You raised your head from your arms, he seized the chance to press his forehead against your cheek, his lips meeting your skin anywhere he could. Your ear, your cheek, your jaw. You felt spoiled, you felt ravished, you worried you may never be able to fuck another person. No one would have you again, no one could make you feel like this, only him. Only him. There was only him. 

“I-I can’t last…I--” Nanami pleaded in your ear, his whisky voice dowsing you in pleasure, your eyes rolling back, mouth dropping open into a silent scream. 

Your second orgasm was summoned in full force, tipping over the edge and arriving all around as Kento sounded the most delicious, salacious moan directly against the skin of your face. His hips jerking beyond his control, his own orgasm being pulled from him by you and your fluttering cunt. He pushed in as far as he could, tip pressing against your cervix. His hands held your hips so tight you knew he would leave bruises, you silently prayed that they would never leave you, that you had been marked by him forever. Your breath returned to you in choppy, pitched up gasps, he was quick to wrap his arms around your waist, catching you before your legs could fail underneath you. He was still filling you, spurt after spurt of white painting the inside of you as you trembled in his sturdy arms. Panting together, folded together, coming down from a simultaneous climax you and Nanami shared a moment of singularity, joined together completely, with no sense of time or place, nothing existed outside of the pair of you. And the pair itself held no boundary, no ego, no sense of self.

The bliss was quickly chased away by the remembrance that after this, you would never see him again. A dual continental moment of chance led you here. However distance, logic, and responsibility would rip you apart. Despite the ache in his heart, Kento was the one to break the embrace, kissing the bare flesh of your shoulder blade as he pulled out and slowly set you back onto your own feet. His hands didn't leave you until your colt legs had grown into a firmer foundation. At which point you felt a chill surrounding you, embarrassment, fear, but above all of that: a profound and perhaps overinflated sense of loss. Nanami shuffled behind you, the sound of a zipper, the retrieval of his discarded sweater. You couldn’t turn to face him yet, you didn't want to see the denouement, for it to truly be over. 

Fabric brushed against your tricep, calling your attention back into the restroom. 

“Your pants.” Nanami’s voice was gentle, so different from the raw honey depth you had just experienced, You turned on an inhale, accepting your clothing back. 

He watched you start to redress, with every inch you pulled up your pants, covering your shapely naked legs, he sank further. He didn’t expect to feel so empty, truthfully he hadn't expected this at all, he meant it when he told you he hadn’t ever done anything like this before, he had the occasional one night stand but always in more formal, organized scenarios. He didn’t think himself capable of such raw passion, such chaotic intimacy. He wasn’t ready to forgo this new streak in himself. 

He was dressed far before you, now focusing the entirety of his energy mourning the loss of the sight of you. You found your bra on the floor, and by donning it, sealed the sight of your round, smooth, perfect breasts away from him forever. Your shirt went over your head and covered the expanse of your bare stomach, the early stages of finger shaped bruises on your waist no longer for him to admire and take pride in. When you were dressed again you turned to face him, scared eyes softening at the sight of him. 

“This was…” You started, unsure of how to finish. 

Unexpected? Sudden? Life changing? Mind blowing? Emotionally irresponsible? 

He nodded, knowing whatever you chose to fill that blank, he was feeling too. He took in a long breath before closing the distance and pulling you into a long, deep kiss. His arms wrapped around your back, one hand tangling in the hair at the back of your head. No clashing tongues, no biting lips, no frantic hands grabbing whatever they could. Just his swollen lips joined with yours. Your eyes were closed but you could feel the sting of tears starting to build. You fought them down and focused instead on memorizing the feeling of his kiss. When he finally pulled away he held your face in his hands, brushing one cheek affectionately with his thumb. Those golden brown eyes beheld you so kindly, so tenderly for a second or so…had it been eternity, it wouldn't have been long enough.

 Nanami’s watch glinted under the overhead lighting, flashing lightly in his eye, alerting him to the time: 3:03pm, his flight had begun boarding. He sighed, looking back to you. 

“Listen…”He started, eyes boring into you, “This was…incredible. You are incredible. I don’t want to go, my flight is boarding. Its the last one out tonight or else I would miss it, I promise.” 

You laughed a bit, your smile returning. He separated from you to dig through his bag before pulling a business card out for you.

“I know this is unlikely but, if you’re ever in Japan, I would love to see you. Please, reach out.” He gazed at you hopefully, however not expecting an answer. 

You nodded, watching as he picked up his bag and peered in the mirror, brushing the front part of his hair back in an attempt to look less like he had just fucked in the family bathroom of an airport terminal, it was not successful. He moved to the door, unlocking it carefully, before stopping himself. Kento turned back to you, chuckling in spite of himself. 

“I don't want to go.” he repeated, just barely audible to you. 

This time you traversed the gap between you, kissing him once again. He struggled to hold you again with one hand holding his bag, but he managed, indulging fully in your lips for the last time. 

“Thank you for this, Kento. You are really something amazing.” You brushed some of his hair back from him after separating your lips, “If I am ever in Japan, you’re my first call.” 

He smiled down at you, unable to resist pecking your lips one final time before opening the bathroom door and peeling away from you. When the door closed you took in a long breath. You were thankful for how it had ended, you were far more thankful that it had happened at all. He was already becoming a fond memory you would treasure forever. One day you would remember him as a testament to your youth, to being exciting and risky. But for now, the smell of his cologne still lingered in the room, the sound of his moans still rang in your ears.

You made your flight just before the gate closed, having taken too much time in the bathroom trying to cool your flushed face, smooth your mussed hair, rid yourself of the smell of sex that seemed to stick to you. You didn't miss how the flight attendant rolled her eyes at your approach, scanning your ticket and allowing you to enter the bridge. Luckily your employer had sprung for a first class seat, so you didn’t have to rush the length of the plane in order to find your row. You were grateful to find an empty spot in the overhead bin only a few rows ahead of where your seat should be, quickly stowing it away before moving between the aisle apologetically. You were thankful you had chosen an aisle seat so you wouldn't have to ask whatever poor sap was sat next to you to get up so you could sit down. Finally you arrived at the row and seat number that matched your ticket. Raising your head from your triple check of your seat number you saw your seatmate. A broad, beautifully built blonde man in a black knit sweater whose cum was still sticking to your legs. He gawked at you, you felt your mouth mirroring his in a surprised O. 

“This is your seat?” Was the only thing you could think to ask. 

Before he could stutter out an answer the flight attendant who you had already wronged interjected, “Ma’am, please find your seat and sit down.” 

You nodded, still in disbelief staring at him as he stared back at you. You took your seat next to him, your shoulders touching. Such a small touch felt electric as though he hadn’t been inside of you just minutes earlier. Neither of you could say anything yet, stunned, elated silence settling in the inches between your seats. Without having to say a thing, Nanami reached across the arm rest and picked up your hand, closing it in his. You turned to meet his eyes, which were somehow more brilliant and inviting than they had been. It would take eight hours and some change before you reached New York City, eight more hours with him. Eight more hours. 

ooooooooh! maybe a cheeky part 2? :P who knows!!! I really hope you guys enjoyed this one! Thank you so much for reading, and for all of your support with my writing, it makes me so happy. Love as always, --Doodle.

[plotsignificanthaircut555]

Ternion Part 1

Kishibe x Reader x Aki Hayakawa SMUT, Angst, Fluff, MDNI, 18+ only ao3

(this part is mostly Kishibe x Reader. Part Two will mix it up more) 9.2k words.

The Public Safety Office is notorious for breeding all kind of salacious office romances. You just happen to be carrying on two at the time. But what happens when the wild card Captain Kishibe finds out you have started seeing the tragically handsome Aki Hayakawa? Will you have to choose? Or maybe the three of you can find some kind of…arrangement?

Content NOTES: SEX/SMUT, kissing, spitting, riding, jealousy, fighting, cursing, teasing, Kishibe is kind of a dick in general but it’s because he’s got FEEEELINGS, lots of pining in general, y’all already know we’re gonna be smoking and drinking coffee, again this is the start of a two part-er so bear with me here. There’s a lot of fighting in this part, we have to build the tension, gang. Okay bye I hope you enjoy.

Okay what is it?” You had finally had enough, you pulled off Kishibe's lips, using your hands on his chest to push away.

You two had been making out hard for about ten or so minutes. This wouldn’t be a problem, except you were just kissing. He hadn’t made any effort to remove your shirt or grind you down on his lap which you were so prettily perched on. He hadn’t even snuck his hands under your shirt to undo your bra with one move of his thumb, one of his favorite moves!

The man underneath you cocked his head, playing stupid.

“What d’you mean?”he huffed out, eyes betraying nothing.

“I mean you’ve been over for a half hour and you’ve barely put your hands on me. I’m in your lap, doing some of my best work and you’re not even hard. What’s up?”

It’s like he was bored, not really bored, but he was— distracted. He clearly had something on his mind and it was interfering with your ability to get laid, and you would not, could not, stand for that.

The pair of you were folded up in the large recliner in your small apartment's living room. He had come over, like he did pretty much every Thursday night for the last four or so months, bringing a bottle of wine for you, and nearly 45 years of sexual experience to keep you blind with pleasure. It wasn’t terribly long but it was long enough for the two of you to develop an exciting and standing casual arrangement. No strings attached, just incredible sex and some camaraderie between colleagues. You liked things this way, and he did too, or he seemed like he did. Usually. Tonight he was just off, from the moment he showed up at your door you could tell something was bothering him, something was almost always bothering him so you figured it was he would forget about it once you got your lips and hands on him. Usually this would have been enough, but here you were: grinding away, kissing his neck in all of his favorite spots and he was giving you nothing.

Kishibe clicked his tongue, clearly annoyed. Kishibe pretended he hated when you got bratty, usually he’d show you just how much by railing you into the mattress or spanking you until you cried, but instead he just rolled his eyes and huffed. You didn’t care for his bratty side either, so you started to move off of his lap. Before you could stand, he gripped your hips, hard, holding you firmly where you were.

“Are you fucking him?” He growled out, large hands gripping the flesh of your hips.

“You’ll have to be more specific.” You shot right back, excited to finally get him talking to you, and touching you.

“The kid.” He specified, his shark eyes meeting yours in a new, predatory gaze.

You raised your eyebrows, you were starting to get annoyed now. If he was going to ruin your night’s plan of mindless sexual bliss he could at least make it concise.

“That’s an insane follow up. Kishibe, who the fuck are you talking about?”

“Hayakawa. Are you fucking him?”

Oh.

“So what if I am?” You crossed your arms.

“So you are.” Kishibe’s lips were so tight, you could practically hear his teeth grinding.

“Occasionally.” You shrugged.

“Does he know you’re sleeping with his superior?” He meant it in the technical, work hierarchy sense, but something in his tone begged you to infer something more malicious.

“You’re technically my superior, too, so I figured that wasn’t exactly something you wanted too many people to know.”

It wasn’t against the rules for you and Kishibe to be sleeping together, it wasn’t against the rules for you and Aki to be sleeping together either. Devil hunters hooked up all the time. Everyone either knew about it or was actively participating. But there were definitely more murmurings when there were such wide gaps in age and positioning, such was the case with you and Kishibe. He was twenty years older than you (give or take)and of course he had a…reputation. It went smoother in people’s minds for you to say you were sleeping with Aki: nearly the same age, the same job, compatible demeanors. People would be happy to know you and Aki found comfort in one another. Kishibe was a wild card, a mad dog, unpredictable, a recipe for disaster and heartbreak. You knew this, because you had told someone, you told Kobeni one night at the bar and her reactions played out exactly as expected. Saying Aki was totally fine, good even, you both deserved something nice. But you should be careful with Kishibe, that he would probably be too emotionally unavailable or just generally bad news, and at the very worst actually dangerous. You explaining to her that it was purely physical didn’t do much to soothe her anxiety, but rarely anything did.

Kishibe repeated himself underneath you, “Does he know? About us.”

“Not specifically. He knows I’m sleeping with someone else.” You confessed.

Kishibe started to sit up, and you let him, climbing off his lap and standing up next to the chair. He stood up and walked to the kitchenette to pour himself a drink. You stood and watched him.

“What’s the big deal, Kishi?” You couldn’t help the little laugh that escaped you. He was being so dramatic.

He stayed silent and gulped down a heavy pour of whiskey, and went to pour himself another.

“I honestly didn’t think you would care. Especially not this much.” You rolled your eyes, still watching him with your arms crossed.

“Then why didn’t you mention it until now?” He finally replied to you.

“I didn’t think it mattered. You knew I was seeing other people. I know you’re doing the same. Why does it being Aki matter so much?”

He tsked, “so familiar.”

You laughed again, “Kishibe, come on. Are you seriously upset about this?”

He swallowed his drink whole again and cleared the bottle into his glass. You sat down on the recliner in a huff.

“Jealousy isn't a good color on you.” You picked at the edges of your fingernails. Any arousal you had been feeling before was long gone, leaving you instead with irritation.

“I’m not jealous.” He groaned.

“Right. Of course not.” You shook your head.

“I just think it’s stupid.”

“You think It’s stupid or you think I’m stupid?” He caught your attention now. Standing up from the chair to face him again.

He turned to face you again, the studio suddenly felt cavernous with the space between you.

“I think you’re being stupid. I don’t think you are stupid. I just expected more from you.” He shrugged, leaning against the shitty laminate countertop.

He went too far with that one.

“You’re scolding me now? Like I’m a child? Where do you get off talking to me like you have any say in what I do?” You challenged him, imploring him to revise what he had said, for his own sake.

Kishibe stood firm, “I just didn’t think you were the type to go with a kid like that.”

“We aren’t going together. We’ve had sex a few times. It’s casual, like we’re casual. Sex doesn’t mean we’re going together. Don’t make it so obvious you were born in the 40s.” You shrugged, annoyed at this point, how dare he talk to you like he was in charge, like he had any claim to you.

Kishibe left the counter and walked towards you. Closing the distance rather quickly for a half drunk. He was so close now you could smell his cologne, you usually loved the smell of his cologne. It was comprised of dark, earthy scents: tobacco, vanilla, cognac. But now it was overwhelming, and you wanted to pull away, but you stood your ground.

“Isn’t he a little…green…for your tastes?” He cocked his head to the side, eyes scanning you closely.

He was sizing you up, seeing if you would jump to defend Aki, or if you’d fawn and flatter him instead. You chose neither. Despite having to look up at him due to his stature, you sacrificed no command over the exchange.

“I think I can make that call for myself.” You mirrored the angle of his head and leaned a bit close.

You saw the scarred half of his mouth twitch slightly and his eyes begin to dilate, fixing onto you,“Thought you needed someone who knew what they were doing? Someone who knows where everything is, knows how to make someone else cum. Does he?”

His voice was starting to align with the way he would talk to you when he was talking down to you in bed. When you’d let him boss you around and you’d do whatever he said. You couldn’t fight the fact that he was sexy like this, voice dripping, leaning over you, using his full height to his advantage. But he was also being a dick. You could deal with him being a dick most of the time, but this was different. Was he actually judging you? Or was he actually just jealous?

The truth was Hayakawa was great in bed, he was attentive, efficient, good kisser, better with his hands, in the few encounters you had, you slept soundly in his bed after one or two orgasms and often woke up to coffee ready.

But Kishibe was just…on another level, and the asshole knew it. He was right, his experience and his edge made him an exceptional lover. He could have you cumming three times over without even taking his cock out. His tongue was wicked, his fingers were thick and long, but it was something beyond all that, something intangible; like he could see right through you, some clairvoyance that showed him the perfect way to take you apart. But Kishibe almost never slept over, he would lay with you for an hour or so afterwards, smoking and chatting, but if it wasn’t leading to another round, he would redress and excuse himself. On the exceedingly rare occasions he did sleep over, it was you who made coffee or breakfast, only to have him kiss the top of your head and leave before partaking in any of it.

You didn’t want him to be your boyfriend. You didn’t want a boyfriend period. But sometimes you wanted a bit more intimacy than just sex, you wanted him to hold you, sleep next to you, to kiss you when he woke up the way Aki did. When you were with Aki it felt like you were indulging in a shadow of a relationship, when you were with Kishibe you felt exhilarated and alive, but not necessarily cared for. It was the reason you had them both.

But you weren’t about to let Kishibe know that. Leaning into him coyly and batting your long lashes up at him, fingers toying for his loosened tie. An interested smile sat on his lips, which he parted slightly as you inched closer.

“Mmmhm. And I can ride him without worrying about him going into cardiac arrest.” You pushed him away hard, passing him and retreating to the kitchenette.

“You’ve really got quite the mouth on you, kid.” Kishibe was stunned. Furious and stunned.

“And it’s such a shame you won’t be getting to enjoy it tonight.” You said into the refrigerator, looking for the bottle of wine he had brought over earlier, “if that’s all, you can go.”

Kishibe realized he was losing the battle. He was annoyed about Hayakawa, he wanted to address it, but he didn’t expect the conversation to go so poorly. He really fucked this up, he hadn’t intended to go so off the rails.

He found out this morning; he had seen you and Hayakawa talking, it was so subtle that anyone else wouldn’t have noticed, but Kishibe knew you. The way you had smiled at the dark man, the way Aki had moved some of your hair over your shoulder and given you a light squeeze, the way the kid’s eyes watched your mouth so closely. He knew instantly you had fucked. Or, worse, have been fucking. He felt that ugly green monster start devouring his stomach at the thought of Hayakawa knowing how you felt inside, how you sounded when you were full, the way you kissed, the way you tasted. Kishibe hadn’t ever been a jealous man, a persistent one, sure, but never envious. And never for someone so…young. It preyed upon a deep seeded insecurity in him. He knew that if it were hunting, he could kill every devil in sight and Hayakawa before the kid could even blink. But sex was one of his skill sets that he kept, for lack of a better term, close to the belt. He knew he had a reputation for being good, and experienced, but age and time came for everyone eventually. Were you seeing this kid because he wasn’t satisfying you the same way? Did you need more from him and he couldn’t give it? What the fuck was Hayakawa giving you that he couldn’t?

Fuck.

It had buzzed around in his mind all day, he knew he was seeing you tonight and he had tried to knock the thoughts free before he came over, to no avail. Now he had let his temper get the better of him and you were shutting him out.

You found the bottle and were peeling the foil when Kishibe approached behind you. You were familiar with his move set by now that you practically felt his fingers ghost over your neck and move your hair to the side before they did. You were annoyed, but you let him press his lips to your exposed neck, his other hand moving over your waist and hip.

“I’m sorry. I was out of line.” He mumbled.

“You’re an asshole.” You corrected him.

“I’m an asshole.” He nodded, his stubble scratching the tender skin of your neck.

“And I’m too good for you.” You added.

“Far too good for me.” He had both of his hands on your hips now, he was winning you back over.

A small moan slipped from your lips when he kissed just behind your ear. You set the corkscrew and bottle down on the counter, opting to grip the edge instead. Kishibe’s hands gripped your hips and pulled you closer against him, kisses moving down the side of your neck and across your shoulder. You shivered, his lips were kiss bitten and swollen, reminding you of why he had come over in the first place. You could feel yourself falling under his spell already, this was so like him. He could fuck his way out of anything if you let him. You didn’t want to let him off the hook, you wanted to make him apologize, to make him explain himself, but you could already feel the ache building inside of you. Kishibe slid his hand underneath the hem of your shirt, his calloused fingers pressing against the soft skin of your lower stomach.

“Come on, baby. Forgive me already.” He mumbled into your hair, “said I was sorry.”

The back of your head hit his collarbone, “you don’t get to come here and cause problems and then fuck me until I forget.”

He shook his head, he was barely listening at this point, too focused on moving his hand up your abdomen toward your left breast.

“Kishibe…” your voice fluttered, you were trying so hard to remind yourself to stay strong, “I’m serious…”

He nodded his head, now fully not listening, his hand had reached your breast and was working its way under your bra, twirling his index finger around your nipple.

You were done for, you shuddered back against him, a wanton moan leaving you as his hot tongue swiped up your pulse point. Kishibe couldn’t hold back the pride he felt, just barely touching you and already you were trembling. He grabbed a fist full of your breast with his right hand, moving his lips up your neck, across your jaw. You rushed to turn your face to meet his mouth, immediately your tongues tangled, settling into their rhythm from before. His hips trapped yours against the counter, he tasted like whiskey, he smelled like leather, his mouth was so warm and inviting. The length that rested against your lower back was growing, Kishibe’s arousal had been resurrected. His kisses were hot and hungry, his tongue exploratory and eager, his hands wandering and groping freely.

“Say you’re sorry,” you groan against his lips.

“I’m sorry.” Kishibe does so instantly, gripping your other breast harder than the first.

“Say it again.” You turned your body further, trying to face him.

“I’m sorry.” He muttered again, his hand now removing your bra although you didn’t even feel him unclip the clasp.

Your own hands went to work unbuttoning his shirt, and pulling it from his work pants. When they found his belt you finally hear Kishibe moan. A fluid, throaty sound that sent heat to the tips of your ears. He removes your own shirt, grasping at your chest with both hands freely. The only sounds in the room are the hot breaths stolen in between fevered kisses, the jingling sound of you removing his belt, and the shuffling of fabric between your grinding bodies.

“Come here.” Once he had been freed from his shirt, his belt, and you had started your work on his zipper, Kishibe hooked his hands around the back of your legs. He picked you up easily, one arm under your butt and the other supporting your back, a hand wrapped around the back of your neck.

He walked the two of you back to your bedroom, not needing your direction, laying you out on the bed. You rushed to rid yourself of your remaining clothing, leaning on your elbows to watch him do the same. Kishibe was an imposing form, tall, and built. Intricate patterns of scar and muscle made up a tapestry of his personal history. There were fresh and early stage healing bruises along his side and hip.

He removed his pants, and your mouth started to water at the reveal of his hips and thighs. It was such an intimate part of the body, especially on a man. More private even than the genitals themselves, maybe. Serving no overt sexual function but still remaining spots seen rarely and only by those privileged with a whole form. Seeing a lover, or anyone undressing is an act of trust that you relished in. You watched closely as the muscles strained and flex, rippling over one another, skin stretching and folding with every move. You were familiar with how he moved, the choreography of his body when he fought, practiced technique with the perfect amount of finesse, here in the privacy of your room he moved with the same type of refined confidence.

Now cleared of all barriers between yourselves, he approached you, spreading your knees apart with his hands. The cool air hitting your dampened center sent a shiver through your body. Kishibe watched you twitch, hole clenching around nothing already as your lips parted. You were already so wet for him, so ready, so desperate. He truly had you right where he wanted you. A wicked smile curled across his face as he knelt before you on the bed. One of his hands began to palm his cock; hard and heavy between his legs, standing at attention, a bead of precum building at the tip.

“Look at you,” he marveled at you exposed to him on your back; nipples peeked, skin flushing, pussy dripping onto your bedsheets. You looked completely fucked out already, “you need my fingers, baby? You want my cock? Ask me, baby. Tell me what you need.”

You whimpered watching his body react to his own touch, abs clenching, cock jumping, breath increasing, “Kishibe fuck me please…I need you inside.”

He clicked his tongue again, his unoccupied hand moved your leg onto his chest, bringing your ankle by his neck, and your thigh pressed up against his hip. He wanted your skin on his as much as possible, despite his desire to extend your restlessness, he ran the head of his cock up and down your slit. He bit back the shaky moan that threatened to leave him as your wetness started to suck him in. You couldn’t keep yourself from rocking your hips in time with his movements, carving the feeling of him sinking inside of you.

“Kiiiiiishi.” You pleaded again, you should have cringed at the pathetic sound of your own voice, but you couldn’t care.

Kishibe put one hand next to the side of your head, leaning down to you, your leg bending with him to open yourself more for him, “you want this dick? You want my dick? You want me to fuck you?”

This should have raised alarm bells for you, a clue that maybe your earlier argument wasn’t yet settled for him. But in this moment, with him so close, just barely not penetrating you yet, his lips nearly on yours, the thought never entered your mind. Instead you nodded messily, affirming his possessive dirty talk.

“Yes, Kishibe, I want you so bad. I need your cock. Please. Please.” Your begging was getting more weak, Kishibe was dripping already, coming far too close for not even having entered you yet.

When his tip breached past your hole, you and Kishibe moaned together, your sounds of pleasure merging in the air into a singular divine sound. He had one hand gripping your thigh tightly, pushing it as far back as your hamstring would allow. You dug your nails into Kishibe’s forearm by your head, bracing for the feeling of his cock remolding your walls to match its shape. But it didn’t come. Opening your tightly shut eyes you found Kishibe staring down at you, scanning your face closely.

“Wha—“ you started to protest.

“How does he fuck you?” The older man spoke in a low, measured voice.

“Are you fucking—-“

He cut you off again by pushing more of his length inside of you, “this deep? Deeper?”

Kishibe pushed deeper into you slowly, watching you for an indication of answer.

Your back arched up as he pressed deeper and deeper inside of you, his seemingly endless entrance leaving you barely any thinking power to process his question. Kishibe pulled his hips back, pushing your thigh into a deeper stretch. Only a few inches of his cock remained buried inside of you. You wanted the full length so badly you felt hot tears start to sting in your eyes.

“More like here right?” Kishibe mocked you, barely pushing in and out of you in shallow, sloppy thrusts.

It was cruel of him to be making fun of Hayakawa like this. Something so personal. Nor was it fair to you. But you wanted him so badly you couldn’t think straight. You couldn’t think about Aki right now. You could think only of him.

Kishibe pushed deeper into you, the arch in your back, and your heaving breasts beckoning him closer, “tell me whose pussy this is.”

You mewled in response, only for him to respond to your insolence by slapping the outside of your thigh. The tip of his cock pressed so hard against the wall of your cervix, you wanted to squirm away from the sensation, but Kishibe held you still.

“Now. Who owns this pussy?”

“You! You Kishibe, fuck— you.” You could barely get out the words as he hammered into you relentlessly.

Kishibe’s big hands moved over your face, moving sweat of your hair out of your eyes, his taunting voice cooing at you.

“That’s right, girl. You need this big cock, you need someone who can treat this pussy right. Who knows what she needs.” He rocked into you again and again, alternating between filling you completely and leaving you empty.

Your hands battered his shoulders limply, non verbally begging him for more. Kishibe had turned your brain to mush, you couldn’t think in sentences, only feelings of pleasure jolting through you.

“What’s wrong, baby?” He cooed down to you in mock kindness, “nothing to say now that you’re too of cock full to think?”

You shook your head dumbly, or attempted too while one of his hands was still holding your jaw in place. He squeezed the sides of your face lightly, making your mouth open. Knowing exactly what was coming you stuck out your tongue eagerly. Kishibe gathered spit in his mouth, letting it run from his lips to between yours. His saliva was warm, it tasted only like him, a taste combination entirely his own. Purely Kishibe. You swallowed it down after letting it linger on your tongue for a moment or two. His hips stalled briefly as he felt your walls clench around him. His head hung above yours, his hair brushing against your own head as he leaned down to kiss you again. He pressed deeper into you, although not thrusting, as his tongue slithered against yours. Your hands found the back of his hair, tugging lightly at the cropped undercut, pulling him closer. He pulled your leg up over his hip, and around his lower back, keeping his hand gripped around the flesh of your thigh. In one perfect move he rolled onto his back, bringing you with him, propping you up on his lap before you had time to gasp.

“Cardiac arrest huh?” Kishibe swatted your ass, urging you to move your hips, “you think you’re funny now?”

Getting your bearings back you steadied your hands on his chest, starting to move your hips up and down his length. He tipped his head back underneath you, reveling in the show you put on for him. He loved watching the muscles in your thighs flex as you rose yourself up and back down on him. How the meat of your stomach would move with every lurch, your breast following suit. You were so beautiful. So uninhibited, so unashamed. How ever had he gotten so lucky? To find himself below you in such bliss. Kishibe tucked one hand behind his head to watch you and kept the other on your hip, offering support more than actual guidance in your movement. His cock had an upward curve in it, meaning when you rode him its head nestled perfectly against your g spot. Your body moved on its own, bouncing in a perfect rhythm, fucking yourself on his length, it felt so good, but you needed more.

“Kishi, please.” you grabbed at his hand, trying to pull his fingers off your hip, “Please, baby, ah, touch me.”

He let out a low whistle, “I think I should keep you like this. So desperate for me. Just me. I like you like this, girl.”

You whined, tears returning to your eyes, “Don’t do this kishi…ah..wanna cum. Please.”

“Show me how Hayakawa likes it. How do you fuck yourself for him?” He clicked his tongue, gripping your hip harder, indicating he wouldn't be touching your aching clit anytime soon.

You stilled your movements, now more annoyed than desperate, “You’re still thinking about him, right now? You’re literally inside of me and you’re thinking about Hayakawa?”

Kishibe chuckled lowly, pulling your hips up and down again, slowly, testing his luck, “I was just curious about what he gets to see that I haven’t.”

“You’re not funny, Kishibe, I was so close.” You smack his hands away from your hip and pulled off of him, feeling the ache in your legs now that you didn't have the momentum to keep you going.

Kishibe groaned as you removed him from inside of you, his now soaked erection flopping onto his abdomen. He reached out for you but you smacked at his arm, “Baby come on…I was teasing.”

“I told you, it's not funny, it’s mean. You’re being mean. What’s your fucking problem? Why do you have to be such a dickhead all the time?” You stood up from the bed, retreating to the bathroom to clean up the lingering mess between your legs.

Kishibe didn't know why he had said it, any of it, or why he had continued to push. He just couldn't get the image of you and Hayakawa together out of his head, seeing you above him he couldn’t stop picturing the younger man touching you in his place. He moved his hands over his face, hearing the faucet in your bathroom start running. He was pushing you away, he couldn't stop himself from wanting to avoid your rejection. It was one thing to share you with whatever nameless, anonymous sexual partners you could find in your own time, but it being someone he knew was eating away at him. He felt like a fucking teenager. Immature, ego fueled self sabotage taking over when all he truly wanted was to have you to himself. But he couldn’t ask that of you.

Kishibe slung his legs over the bed and stood, knees clicking, to join you in the bathroom not bothering to clothe himself. Entering the bathroom with a light knock he caught your eyes in the mirror, you were pissed. He figured it was best to let you speak first, he was clearly only driving his foot deeper into his mouth.

You were pissed. You were angry and unsatisfied and embarrassed. You really thought this was working, you liked Kishibe; you liked how hard he was to crack, you felt honored he had let you so close to him, he was good in bed, interesting, handsome, funny—in his own way, and you learned you really did like spending time with him. It had started so easily, and continued naturally, very little discussion necessary; you kept things neat and discreet without reveling too much in the excitement of a secret romance. You had looked forward to seeing him, often scheduling other plans around him to make sure you could see him each week or at least every other week. You felt like an idiot. You knew he was unpredictable, but this sort of reaction to simply overhearing the idea of you sleeping with another coworker was unacceptable. You splashed some cool water on your face; ridding your skin of its pleasure induced flush, and the taste of him from your mouth. When he entered the bathroom behind you, he looked as stoic as ever, but his eyes were wide and careful; like he was watching a dangerous animal move before him. You sighed, placing your hands on the basin of the sink, the stone giving you the resolve to speak your mind.

“What do you want from me, Kishibe?” You sighed out, exhausted at having to continue fighting with him.

He stayed quiet until he realized you were truly going to wait for him, “I don—“

“Do you want me to stop seeing him?” You speculated this was exactly what he wanted.

He looked back at you through the mirror, desperate to try and read what you wanted as though it would appear on your face.

“Do you want me to stop seeing everyone that isn’t you?” You gripped the sink tighter, as though if you cracked the porcelain you could stave off the hot tears building in your eyes, “we agreed this wasn’t serious. That it was casual. That we were welcome to see other people. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“It’s what you said you wanted.” Kishibe answered you finally.

Watching his shoulders raise and droop in the mirror you had to turn yourself around. Needing to look him in the eye.

“And you agreed. You don’t get to act like this is something I’ve done to you. If you wanted something else you should have said so.” You were taken aback by his assertion.

“I didn’t know what I wanted. I knew I wanted to fuck, and that I wanted to fuck you. I didn’t know how long it would last, I didn’t want to push my luck.”

“So what do you want now? Because I don’t want to guess anymore. I’m so fucking tired of trying to read your mind.” You leaned back against the bathroom counter, the cold stone chilling your body quickly.

“I don’t know.” Kishibe started to stammer again but you stopped him.

“Then I think you should go. Until you know what you want, I can’t keep talking about this tonight.” You were steadfast in your verdict, and there would be no changing your mind.

Kishibe wanted to argue back, to tell you that he wanted you to himself, all to himself, that he hated seeing you and Hayakawa this morning, that he hated how he acted tonight even more. But he couldn’t. So instead he turned back to your bedroom and began to redress himself.

You followed him, wearing your black bathrobe, the intimacy of being naked with one another was gone, there was no room with all the tension and anger inside of the room. A few stray tears slipped from your eyes as you tried not to watch him get changed. No words passed between you, once again the only sound in the room was the sounds of rustling clothes and the jingling of his belt. But now the sound felt so foreign and so strained.

He buttoned his shirt and threw his tie into his pocket rather than tying it. And when he was fully dressed he looked back to you, his heart lurching at your tear stained face. Your eyes were red, the sides of your nose and the apples of your cheeks flushed too. He had done this, he felt sick. He approached you carefully and took your face in his hands, to his surprise you let him. He moved his thumbs over your wet cheeks, you looked so sad, big eyes wet and full looking at him. He wasn’t sure what to say, what he should say, if you wanted him to say anything. So he kissed the top of your head softly.

You allowed this, it was ritual for him to leave your apartment with a kiss on the head. Although it was usually in better spirits. You looked up at him as he pulled away, catching his dark, sad eyes.

“I’ll see you later?” He was asking, not telling.

“I need to know what you want. And I can’t guess. You have to tell me when you figure it out.” You finalized your instructions, the skin of your forehead tingling at the lingering feeling of his lips.

He nodded before leaving your bedroom, pulling on his coat, and leaving out your front door. Once you heard it shut behind him you collapsed into your bed, exhausted and devastated. The sheets still smelled like him, you couldn’t restrain yourself from burying your face in them, sniffing up every lingering note. The night's events replayed in your mind over and over again, the kissing, the first fight, the sex, the fights reprise, the look on his face when you told him to leave. It was miserable. You were miserable. So miserable you couldn’t even bear the thought of completing solo, night and orgasm both ruined all because of some thirty year old ego trip. It wasn’t fair, why couldn’t you have your cake and eat it too? Surely he was sleeping with other people in the department. He was definitely picking up women on the nights he was out of town, or in town but not with you. Right? Surely he wasn’t just sleeping with you. Although , he hadn’t ever mentioned seeing anyone else. When you and Aki had started sleeping together, you had told Kishibe that you were seeing someone else purely from an informative, healthy sexuality practice place, not as a brag or as a confession. And he had yet to do the same. You had just assumed he was private about this sort of thing. He had asked that you remain discreet. Or wait…it was you who had mentioned keeping things quiet between the two of you. But he had agreed.

You sighed into the sheet fabric. Work was going to be awful tomorrow. In any other job you would have called in and avoided the situation completely. Devil hunting didn’t offer the luxury. Usually your work day after a sexual encounter would be one of your easier days x the post course bliss leaving you relaxed and affable, flirtatious glances fueling your hours until it was time to go back home for the weekend. You had planned to call and talk to Aki tomorrow, inviting him over this weekend, but it felt strange to do so now. Everything felt strange now.

You rolled onto your back looking up at the ceiling, praying sleep would win over your troubled mind soon.

At some point it had. Because when your alarm clock sounded, you woke up alone.

You sat inside your shared office for three; Kobeni’s desk, your own, and one desk currently unoccupied, although it had been home to two or three devil hunters you had met over the last year. All of whom were now in the ground. All you wanted was to get through the day, keep your head down, and hopefully not be assigned to leave the building with either of your current fixations. There was some truth to the old adage of not “shitting where you eat”, you were finding.

Kobeni worked quietly at her desk across from you, her big brown eyes frantically searching over her latest report, checking carefully for any mistakes. Soon she would ask you to read over it, to then revise it and have you read it again. Usually you wouldn’t mind double checking her work, but today you could already feel your shoulders tensing up in annoyance. You had your own report to work on, you had your own stressors today, you didn’t have the mental capacity to share hers.

You focused on your own report in front of you, circling miss types and rebooting down data that had previously been correct, but was now outdated. A brown paper to go coffee cup clunked down onto your desk. You followed the gifting hand up the black suit jacket sleeve and found Aki Hayakawa standing above you. His navy eyes were warm and still as they looked down at you. His face was as neutral as it always was, but you had learned to recognize the light shimmer of excitement in his eyes when he looked at you. Usually it made your knees weak, but now it just made your heart ache. He was so handsome, his skin was smooth and dewy, his features were angular and well proportioned. He had his hair pulled back, as always, his bangs hanging freely in his face. You already knew how it felt to run your fingers through his dark tresses, how his lips felt against yours, plump and full, his taste, his smell, the sound of him in ecstasy.

But this, this exchange of coffee in your workplace after the events of last night, you felt embarrassed. No, not embarrassed, guilty. His intense, focused gaze that you had started to covet now had you feeling hot and anxious.

“If it’s…not right, I can drink it instead.” He broke up your spiral, you saw the shift in his eyes, he looked nervous himself.

“No, t-thank you.” You took a sip of the steaming drink.

It was perfect, bitter and dark with just a touch of vanilla. He had paid attention to you making it in the morning, he had paid attention to everything. You saw him smile briefly. He looked through the side of his eye at Kobeni, then back at you, turning his body away from her, leaning in conspiratorially.

Aki cleared his throat before speaking in a low, barely audible voice, “could I-uh…”

His eyes flashed backward briefly, again lowering his voice further, “could I maybe, see you tonight?”

You looked up at him, your eyes wide and sympathetic.

“Uh…”

“I’m going to…uh….i have to…um…go?” Kobeni stood up suddenly, paper crinkling in her hand and left the room, a tornado in her wake.

You stood up to meet Hayakawa, meeting the line of his broad shoulders. You had to turn your face upward to look him in the eye. He was so tall, so handsome, so kind, and looking at you so gently.

“I would really like to see you tonight.” His voice was smooth and low, he reached for your hand, brushing the back of your palm with his thumb.

Your breath was becoming thicker, his hand in yours felt so right, his long, slender fingers interlocked with yours. His shirt was clean and crisp, you could smell his detergent, and his cologne, he always smelled good. He was too good.

“Aki….”, you tried your hardest to resist swooning against him, “I don’t know…do you think we’re moving a little fast?”

“Too fast?” He brought your hand up to his lips, kissing the back of your hand softly, “it was just a cup of coffee, I can throw it out if you’d like?”

You laughed a bit, rolling your eyes playfully, “it’s not the coffee, Aki. Thank you, it’s perfect. You’re sweet. But don’t you worry about getting too involved with me.”

He raised his thin eyebrows, “why should I be worried about that?”

Your breath shuddered as he kissed your hand again. His dark blue eyes were nearly all iris as he watched you. He wanted to be kissing you instead, but he could settle for the feeling of your skin. Hayakawa’s mind was rerunning your last encounter for him. Just last night he had recollected the feeling of your body on his from the previous week; how he had kissed your neck, his face against your breasts, reveling in the memory of your mouth on his cock as he had stroked himself. His fingers traveled up your wrist, moving in a circle around the bones and joints, starting to migrate upwards.

“Aki…”you moaned lightly, “we can’t do this here.”

“Then let me come over tonight.” He moved your hand back down to your desk, you’re finally able to breathe out and catch your breath, “please.”

He was already winning you over. After last night’s nightmare you were so flattered to have him fawn over you like this, for him to be so upfront with his desire for you. Your fingers curled around the still-warm coffee cup, the gesture melting the lingering ice of your heart. You nodded slowly.

“Come over tonight.” You leaned in closer to him, your chests nearly touching.

Aki smiled above you and nodded obediently.

“I need to pull away now, or else I’m going to kiss you.” He said, not yet pulling away.

“Sounds like you should.” You flirted staying just. A few centimeters from his lips on yours, “it would be terrible to be caught like this.”

Aki’s eyes scanned you over and over, moving frantically between your eyes and your mouth. Just as he started to lean in a hair or two there came a knock on the frame of the office door. You quickly pulled away and sat back down at your desk. He straightened his already straight tie and turned back around to face the door.

“Captain!” Aki stood at his full height, back straight as an arrow, “Good morning, sir.”

Your eyes blew open, looking up at Kishibe standing in your office doorway.

When did your office become so popular?

The muscle in Kishibe's jaw emerged tightly, and although you couldn't from across the room, you would have sworn you could hear his molars crushing against one another. The vein in his forehead threatening to burst all over the pair of you.

“Hayakawa.” Kishibe greeted sternly, “Good morning.”

“Good morning Captain.” You followed up, raising to your feet respectfully.

Your palms were wet with sweat, your pulse was beating out of your neck, your knees were trembling.

This was bad. What had he seen? We haven't even kissed yet, he couldn’t have seen anything. What did he think he had seen?

“Good morning.” Kishibe addressed you then looked back to Aki, “Hayakawa, don’t you have your own office?”

Hayakawa was unaware of the reason for Kishibe’s nastiness toward him, but he also didn't know any better than to just assume it was the mentor’s usual bad mood, “Yes sir. I was just stopping by to say good morning to Higayashiyama and---”

“Where has Kobeni gone?” Kishibe interrupted.

“She’s turning in her weekly numbers.” You answered, “You just missed her.”

Kishibe thought about what to do next, squinting at the boy, sizing him up. He supposed he could see what you were attracted to, Hayakawa was a handsome guy. Tall, not as tall as himself, lanky but still carried a reformed build, big hands, big eyes, dumb little ponytail, but he guessed the long hair was probably a draw for you. At one time Aki had reminded Kishibe of himself; determined, deadly, confident. At the current moment all Kishibe wanted to do was take the younger man's long, thin neck in his hands, choke him until he passed out and take you right here in front of him. But he got another idea instead.

KIshibe entered the room a few more steps, leaving the doorway open.

“Hayakawa, mind leaving us to talk?” He tipped his head down toward you as he spoke, not really looking at the man he was instructing.

Aki hesitated slightly before looking at the pair of you and nodding, “Yes sir.”

You caught his eyes as he bowed and left, he looked a bit confused, but not nearly as much as he should have been. You liked Aki, he was an observant guy, but was failing to pick up on the subtext of the moment, the dramatic irony of it all was killing you.

“Shut the door behind you.” Kishibe added, still looking down at you.

The door clicked and Kishibe relaxed slightly, turning his gaze to your cluttered, busy desk. He plucked the coffee cup from the mess, the impression of your lipstick still clung to the lid.

“He bring you this?” he asked, turning it side to side in his hand, examining.

“Yes.”

Kishibe brought it to his mouth and took a long sip, humming as he set it back down, “Kid pays attention.”

You crossed your arms, “This attitude isn't helping you out of the dog house.”

“You kicked me out last night and then I found you in here sucking face less than ten hours later, and I'm not allowed to have a reaction to that?” He tutted.

“We were not sucking face,” you hated how whiney your voice was coming out, you felt so adolescent angry with this whole situation, you could barely take yourself seriously, “He brought me coffee and asked to see me tonight. Which is more than you ever do.”

Kishibe put his finger in your face, “That. That right there is what I don’t fucking like.”

“What?”

“I’m not competing with this kid for you. So don’t throw around gestures like points, I don’t want to be playing some stupid game for who you like best or who is falling out of your favor. I fucking knew it, you’re too analytical not to be keeping score.” he moved to the office door and locked it, looking briefly out the small window to see no one in the hall.

“I-I dont do that…”

You did do that. You could already hear your voice from last night quantifying their treatments of you and weighing them against one another. He was right, it wasn’t fair for you to make them unknowing adversaries.

“Yes you do. And when I tried to play into your little competition, you got all upset and kicked me out. So maybe I'm not the only one who needs to figure out what they want from this.” He sighed out taking a seat in the unoccupied desk’s chair across from you. “Are you seeing him tonight?”

You sat in your chair, collapsed more like, your head falling back against the headrest, “Yes. No. Maybe…I don’t know, Kishi.”

You took your hands and rubbed your temples, when had this all become so messy. Your eyes were closed but you heard Kishibe roll his chair over to you. His larger hands took over rubbing the sides of your head. The pressure of his fingers was perfect, you could smell the smoke from his cigarettes clinging to his clothes, you let out a sigh.

“I came in here to apologize for last night. I know I acted like an asshole. And I just acted like an asshole again. I don’t like seeing you with him, it makes me…jealous. He’s a good kid, probably better for you than I am.”

You opened your eyes to find him not looking right at you, but looking over the top of your head. He was confessing his feelings to the back wall of your office, instead of to you. You watched his mouth carefully as he spoke, his famous scar bending and tugging as the words left him.

“I don’t want to compete with him, because I don’t think I'll win.”

Your heart pulled hard, bringing your throat down with it. You reached for his face, your fingertips brushing his jaw and bringing his eyes back down to you.

“Kishi…” you were so moved by his vulnerability. You knew it didn't come naturally to him, he was a sensitive man but not one to show it freely.

He leaned into your touch slightly, removing his own hands from your head and placing them on the tops of your thighs. You stroked his thumb across his cheek, feeling the subtle texture of his skin under the pad. He took in a breath, trying to steady himself for his next admission. His usually rough and even voice was softer.

“I can’t stand in the way of what you want. It wouldn't be right. But you asked me what I wanted, and I want you. And if you want him too, I can accept that. I like what we have, I don’t want to ruin it by making you choose.”

You were shocked. You were delighted. You felt guilty. You felt elated. You were confused. All the feelings washed over you at once, he was offering you everything you had wanted. You could keep seeing him and keep seeing Aki, but you felt your heart tugging at his dark circled eyes. He hadn't slept last night, clearly agonizing over your fight, thinking about what he wanted and what you wanted. He was leaning over to meet your eye line, his hands still on your legs, waiting patiently for your response. You opened your mouth to answer him when there was a knock at the door. Kishibe retreated from you, pushing his chair back to the desk and standing up. You stood as well, walking to unlock the door. Kobeni stood outside, white knuckling her new freshly printed report.

“Sorry! I just need my…”She trailed off seeing Kishibe in the room, adjusting his coat, “Oh! Captain, hello.”

Her mind raced behind her frantic eyes as she realized she had just interrupted you and your kind of boyfriend, her own superior, alone in a locked office. Her skin went cold, heart pounding out of her chest.

“I-I’m sorry. I didn't.. I just want..I’ll go..” before you could stop her she had turned on her heels and raced down the hallway again.

You sighed against the doorframe, “I feel bad, this is her office too and I’m kind of treating it like a speed dating booth today.”

Kishibe chuckled behind you.

You turned to face him and took a few steps forward, “You’re sure?”

He nodded, “About you, I’m sure.”

You smiled, relief flooding your body, balming over the lingering frustration of last night. You stole a glance at the open door, seeing no one, you crossed toward him and wrapped your arms around his middle. He returned your hug, smoothing your hair.

“Can I see you this weekend? Make up for last night?” Your ear was pressed to his chest so his voice reverberated from there as he spoke.

You nodded into his shirt, his smell coaxing you into a calm that only he could. Kishibe brought one hand to your face, turning it up to look at him.

“Call me when you’re free. I’ll make the time.” He assured you before leaning down and pressing his lips to yours.

Feeling his lips again sent glitter down your bloodstream, sparkles of elation fueling your heart to race and your skin to warm. After a moment or two he pulled away, the soft sound of lips leaving each other filled the empty office for a single second. You released him and stepped back.

“Alright, Kid. I’ve been late to my next meeting this whole time, so I do have to go. But I’ll see you later.” He smirked on his scarred side and moved toward the door.

“See you.” You smiled watching him leave and sat back at your desk.

The satisfaction of getting exactly what you wanted shifted in your stomach, curdling slightly as you picked up Aki’s gifted coffee cup. You would see him tonight, should you tell him? He deserved to know what else was going on, but you may not be able to handle another fight about your sexual exploits.

What were you going to do?

Aki figured your meeting with the Captain couldn't have lasted more than the thirty or so minutes he had been gone. He wanted to finalize your plans for the night, he was thinking about what he should cook for you, if he had time between work and meeting you to run by the supermarket and take a shower. Running the potential schedule over and over in his mind while walking back toward your office he watched Kobeni run from the door just as she had when he arrived. Stalling his movements lightly, he approached carefully. He could hear your voice, but not make out the words quiet yet. Carrying on his steps were quiet as they neared the open office door. Slowly, he peeked his head in, just in time to see you wrap yourself around Kishibe, the taller man leaning down to kiss you. His breath caught as he watched you kiss him back. He stayed watching until Kishibe pulled away, those dark eyes flicking up to meet his own. He had seen him. The two men looked at one another for a moment, now both informed of exactly what had been going on. He watched as KIshibe’s hand moved over the back of your head, smoothing your hair, his lips curling into a small smile still eye locked with Aki. Hayakawa was the first one to break the exchange, turning and walking down the hallway, his hand brushing over his face and rushing into the mens room.

What the fuck. What the FUCK. What the fuck.

Millions of questions flooded Aki’s mind:

How long has this been going on? Why didn’t he say anything to you? Why haven't you told him? Had you told him and he just didn’t put it together? Why had Kishibe looked at him like that? And the most pressing question of all.

Why was he so fucking hard?

[plotsignificanthaircut555]

Bad First Impression

dealer! reader x first time stoner! Choso SMUT, 18+ MDNI

Choso makes a really bad first impression on you after catching you selling to his younger brother. When he finally apologizes, he reveals he has never gotten high. You two change that. and then....ya know....

8.9k words of pure filth. I wrote this because I was horny and high and reminiscing about my dealing days. support your local drug dealer. Enjoy. ao3

content warnings- SEX, drug use, subby choso, kind of in charge reader, choso has a tongue piercing because i made it up, riding, eating pussy, a lot of talk about spit, like a lot, also a lot of talking about smell, again its nasty (im kind of on my high horse about weed, sorry, )

You met Choso a few weeks back. The air was hot and thick inside of the long ranch house. Bodies packed together, music blaring, lights of all colors and strobe speeds dancing through the space. You had been invited by the party's hosts to help “supply” the partiers with anything and everything that could keep them going all night. You didn’t deal in anything that hard, mostly weed, mushrooms, you could get acid easily if it were requested of you, occasionally you helped distribute the stray gram or two of coke for nights like this. But you tried to cap your work in hard drugs there. That night you were only holding ten or so pre rolls, and a quarter of unground flower, ready to help any first timers learn the process of smoking all the way from the beginning. You had already sold the single gram of coke you had been asked to bring with you, mostly to the wilder of the pair, who was currently grinding so hard with his boyfriend, the other host, that you were beginning to worry they’d lose their clothes soon. A few other lines had gone out earlier in the night, their users sweating away on the dance floor in front of you. You didn’t partake yourself, but you enjoyed seeing the results of your labor in their smiling, energized faces.

You kept to the side for now, sipping a warm light beer out of a flimsy solo cup. A hand tapped your shoulder and you turned to face a fresh faced girl with a cute auburn bob.

“Hey you’re the …..dealer….?” She kept her voice low when she uttered the street name of your profession

You matched her hushed whisper, “yeah. But you don’t have to whisper. Everyone here is already pretty fucked up. Anyone undercover would certainly have incriminated themselves.”

You were intending to make her laugh and put her at ease but she looked a bit panicked, smiling wryly with big wild eyes.

“I’m joking, babe.” You smiled at her, “what do you need?”

She giggled a bit, exhaling her anxiety, “I was hoping you had some more pre rolls for my friends and I?”

She gestured behind her to a pink haired guy and a taller black haired guy standing off to the side. The two of them were watching her nervously, but trying to remain cool, turning away quickly when you looked, one of them even whistling to convey his faux nonchalance. These kids are freshmen for sure.

“Sure.”, you nodded at her friends and at her before opening your bag and pulling the jar of pre rolls you kept sealed, for maximum freshness.

You picked through them briefly, “how many do y’all want? Are you guys pretty heavy smokers or still getting the hang of it?”

“We’ll-uh— I guess just whatever you smoke? I’m sure that’s good.” She shrugged, clueless.

No chance they could take what you take.

You pulled two of your lowest level strains. These kids were for sure just figuring out what they liked and you didn’t want them greening out in the middle of the party. Both because you had your own memories of over serving yourself and spending the subsequent eighteen hours truly and utterly miserable and you didn’t want to potentially cheat yourself out of three eager new customers.

“Why don’t you start with this, I’ll give you the second one as a freebie for your first time. it’s Zelato, mid strength hybrid strain, you won’t be too up but you won’t be couch-locked either. I think you guys will like it. If you do, you come back and see me, okay?”, you offered her the two pretty pink pre rolls along with your contact info and she gave you a clean crisp bill in exchange before fluttering back to her friends.

You watched the trio excitedly hurry out to the backyard, like kids on Christmas wanting to play with a shiny new toy fresh out of the box. You liked the job, you enjoyed gathering more and more knowledge about strains and terpenes and sharing what you had learned with your customers. Patients felt like a better term, but it also felt a bit self congratulatory. But it felt true, you loved how natural weed was, it made you feel more like a botanist or a healer than a pharmacist. Still helping people manage anxiety, pain, depression, or just to have a fun night and relax, but without all the side effects and the regulation.

You hoped she and her friends would call on you again. They seemed nice and like they could use someone like you. Especially if they were already experimenting with drugs and partying, it helps to have a dealer you can trust. One that isn’t just wanting to make money, but wanting to educate as well.

You were considering heading outside to smoke a joint of your own, a treat after a job well done. You would probably bail soon, the party seemed to be declining from its apex, and soon your services would no longer be needed. Before you could turn to head to the back yard you felt a strong hand clap around your shoulder. This was so different from the timid shoulder tap of your earlier customer, it almost made you laugh. You didn’t laugh, however, at the grip that stayed on your shoulder, pale knuckles clasped tight around your bone.

You followed the hand up the arm and finally turned to face your assailant. Dark, angry eyes ringed with smudgy purple eyeshadow met yours. A large black bar was tattooed across the bridge of his nose, in the dim, colored party lights you thought it almost looked red. His dark hair was messily tied up in two knots on either side of his head, you thought you could see piercings up along the sides of his ears and he was irate, staring right into your eyes, his lips were moving but you were so stunned and the music was already so loud, you couldn’t hear what he said. You found yourself opting to watch his mouth move for a moment, admiring the fullness of his lips, and the wicked snarl they held.

He was hot. Like really hot. But who the fuck did he think he was grabbing you like this?

You came back to your senses and smacked at his wrist, “back off, dude.”

“Did you sell drugs to my little brother?” He repeated, and this time you heard him. His voice was rough and low, he didn’t release your arm, instead gripping tighter.

“I don’t know who your brother is, I don’t know who you are. Get your fucking hand off of me, asshole.” You gripped his wrist tight and tried to pull it from you. Your touch was like nothing to him, this guy was strong.

He didn’t let up, gesturing behind him with his other hand to the pink haired boy from earlier, red faced with embarrassment,“The fucking kid that you sold drugs to. He’s not even twenty and you’re trying to dope him up?”

“Dope him up? What are you, ninety? Get the fuck off of me” Finally you pulled his hand off of you and pushed him back, hard.

“He’s still a kid, he doesn’t need your shit. Stay away from him.”

He had stepped too far by insulting your craft.

“I never even spoke to your brother, his friend is the one who bought it. Take it up with them if you have a fucking problem.”

The boy, the brother you now knew, and his two friends rushed up, trying to deescalate the quickly rising situation. People around you were starting to take notice.

“Choso, come on relax, we were just experimenting a little. It’s not anything crazy! Everyone smokes weed in college!” Little Brother tried to laugh off the stakes of the situation but his trembling voice betrayed him.

The man in front of you hadn’t stopped glaring at you, he seemed to be calming down a bit, but you could practically hear his blood boiling.

“Yuji, I told you not to come here. You’re here to study, not to mess around and get high.” He barked at his younger brother, who seemed to crumple lightly.

You were seeing an opportunity for a somewhat graceful exit so you started to withdraw, “sounds like this is a family affair, so I’m gonna head. Fuck you, don’t grab random women you don’t know. Kid, your friend has my card if your cop brother decides to let up.”

With your last comment you glared back at the older brother, before turning and leaving the party, Choso seething in your wake, anger now directed at the trio instead of you.

You figured that would be the end of it. That asshole ruining your night and probably never getting another sale out of those three. It was a week later that you got a message from the girl, Nobara, who you had spoken to. She wanted to buy again and you set up a date with her to come by your place and pick up from you. She seemed apologetic in her texts, but you couldn’t blame the girl, you were just thankful she reached out again.

It wasn’t until you opened the door that you realized why she had sounded so sorry. Swinging open your front door you were met with the same asshole who had been bouncing around in your mind making you furious again and again, it was a set up.

“Fuck off.” You slammed the door in his face, locking it loudly.

He knocked before speaking through the thick wood of the door, “I’m here to apologize.”

Yeah, right.

“Don’t care. You can go.” You were already retreating from the door, pissed that not only did you have to see this clown again, but you wouldn’t be getting the money from the deal you had lined up.

“Please let me apologize. I was way out of line. Yuji asked me to come here. Yuji’s my brother, from the party, please I want to apologize.” His voice came muffled from the other side of the thick wooden front door.

He sounded…..desperate. Embarrassed, maybe even ashamed. It wasn’t okay that he grabbed you, yelling at you without even knowing what had happened, but you couldn’t help but think he sounded genuine.

Kicking yourself already, you unlocked the door and opened it. He looked pitiful; big, brown eyes that once were so angry, now turned down giving him the look of a hurt dog. You could see now, in the light, that he had dark bags under his eyes as well, he looked like he had barely slept. His hair was down instead of pulled up like the other night, it hung in loose waves, stopping right at his shoulders. The black tattoo across his face was somehow less threatening, it looked almost like a bandage. The makeup from the other night was present again but softer somehow. You should have been so mad, you should have yelled at him for putting his hands on you and demeaning your work. But seeing him like this, you couldn’t help feeling bad for him. You opened the door and he looked down at you. He was taller than you remembered, a head or so above you. You met his eyeline and leaned against your door frame, crossing your arms in an attempt to maintain your cold demeanor despite how quickly you were forgetting why you had been angry.

“I never went to college.” He blurted, your face must have betrayed your confusion because he elaborated, “I don’t really know how it’s supposed to work. I guess drugs and parties and whatever are part of it. I overreacted. I want to make sure Yuji has a future and a good one, he was the one who deserved to go to college and I didn’t want him to mess up his chance. But that’s not fair. He deserves to have the full experience and I can take that from him.” He huffed out the last part quickly.

You raised your eyebrows. His admission was wandering and full of half offerings that you could piece together to create a clear-ish picture of an older brother pushing his younger brother to try his best and remain undistracted. You could empathize with that, but it doesn’t give him a pass to put his hands on you.

“I told him not to go to that party, I know the guys who were throwing it and I don’t want them taking advantage of him. Yuji’s a really great kid and he’ll go out of his way for pretty much anyone, and I didn’t want to see him get involved with people who don’t care about him. So I went to the party to bring him home, but when I saw him and his friends smoking I figured they had already started working him over and I took it out of you instead of them. I should never have grabbed you like that, or spoken to you like that. I’m sorry.” The words spilled out of him like a boiling over pot, fast and bubbly, quickly falling back to a simmer once out.

Choso looked lighter, still hanging on anxiously at the prospect of forgiveness, but lighter after bearing part of his soul to you. His hands that had been clenched into fists at his sides now hung freely, shoulders dropping slightly with less tension pinning them back. You felt lighter too, clearly the other night had been a misstep, and he obviously felt terrible.

Now that you felt saited in your week old anger, you could finally allow yourself to acknowledge how hot he was. Your anger towards being harassed had distorted your memory of him, he was tall and toned. You would have guessed he was a swimmer or did some kind of daily work that kept him in such incredible shape. The T-shirt hanging loosely over him was cropped enough to end right at his hips, a small sliver of skin peeking out underneath. He wore a simple pair of dark jeans and boots, nearly identical to what he had been wearing at the party. In the daylight you could see he did have a few piercings in each ear, hoops through his earlobes, silver barbells riddling asymmetrically along each ear's cartilage. His nose was strong and structured, lips full and pouted. You had never seen a tattoo like his before, obstructive and obvious right across the bridge of his nose, pure blackout work.

God that had to hurt.

“Why didn’t you go to college?” You pried, resting the top of your head on the doorframe as you looked up at him.

He looked surprised but shrugged, tucking his hands into his pants pockets, “Families are….complicated, I guess. When our parents died, I wanted to be there to look out for Yuji. He was always special, if either of us deserved to have an education, he would have been the one to do something with it.”

You couldn’t help but feel moved. This guy had quite the sob story, dead parents, a younger brother he was the caretaker of, it was noble for him to have sacrificed his own aspirations to support those of his brother. You admired it. A silence settled in between the two of you, wind rustled the trees outside of your house, you could see the chill set over Choso, he had turned his gaze to the ground, jaw set, hands still in his pockets.

“You want to come inside?” You opened the door more, allowing him to see inside.

He cocked his head a bit at you. You couldn’t blame him, you had told him to fuck off the moment he got here, and now you were inviting him inside. Still confused he nodded finally and you moved aside to let him in. He stepped in tentatively, as he passed you you could smell something metallic and organic, like wood stain or metal grease. He stood awkwardly in front of your door as you closed it.

“The smell is kind of…intense in here.” He cleared his throat.

“Right, I’ve gone a little nose blind to it. I hope it doesn’t bother you too much. Would you like anything? Water, coffee, I don’t know if you like tea. I have some beer or something like that if you’re feeling like drinking at 2pm.” You offered, realizing you didn’t actually know why you had invited him inside. Sure, he had looked cold but really you didn’t want him to leave yet.

“Coffee, if you have it.” He perked up a bit.

“Always.” You walked over to your small kitchenette.

You lived in a one bedroom. It really should have been considered a studio, but technically your bedroom did have a door. The living area, entryway, and kitchen were basically all one large room. You had a brown couch along the wall next to the door facing the tv, an afghan blanket draped over the back, a low coffee table in the middle covered in various hobbies of yours: books, your bong, half done crafts. A two chair dining set sat mostly unused against the far window across from the front door, you never sat there unless you were working, you took nearly all your meals in front of the tv. A bad habit you knew you should avoid, but just couldn’t bring yourself to break.

Your bedroom was off to the left, with the bathroom attached behind the door. It was a pain to have guests over, knowing they would have to walk through your bedroom in order to use the restroom. But it was a good incentive to keep your room tidy! You were suddenly thankful your anger had fired you up to do some cleaning this week, grumbling to yourself while folding laundry, “another thing-s” and “if he fucking tries again-s” leaving you as your scrubbed the bathroom and made your bed.

Choso was still standing, watching you, hands in his pockets.

“You can sit down if you like,” you nodded towards the couch, pulling two mugs down from where they hung above your sink.

You heard the sounds of his clothes rustling, some jewelry jingling, and the creek of your old couch adjusting to new weight. You tried to stay focused on pouring the coffee, pulling some sugar packets from a small drawer beside your coffee maker.

“Black is fine for me.” He piped up from the couch, he was sitting so stiffly, hands folded in his lap, back straight, thighs rigid as if just his presence would break something.

You dressed your coffee how you liked and grabbed his black cup and brought them over to the coffee table, sitting next to him. You sipped your coffee, watching him take his time doing the same.

“So if you didn’t go to college…” you started carefully, “how do you know Geto and Gojo?”

“Geto and I used to work together. Before he went back to school. He’s not a bad guy, neither of them are.” Choso held his mug close to his lips, he was being so honest, you got the sense he struggled with hiding his feelings. Hence the temper.

“Earlier, when I said I didn’t want Yuji around them. It’s not about them. They’re fine guys. I just don’t want Yuji getting distracted.” His voice was even and firm, he really did sound like someone’s parent.

“I get that. Those two…they’re kind of their own breed. I know what you mean.” You leaned back a little on the couch, letting one leg cross over the other.

Gojo and Geto were intense, and they had a reputation for throwing wild parties and nearly getting kicked out every year. You let the camaraderie of shared secrets hang between the two of you before pressing further.

“So I take it you and Yuji had a talk about casual drug use?” You couldn’t help but smirk a little, taking a mental tally of the bong on the table, the joints rolled and packaged on your dining table, the bag of flower tucked beside your tv.

Choso let out a strangled laugh, clearly an unfamiliar sound for him, “yeah he uh…he kinda let me have it. I know I made an ass of myself, but I didn’t realize how much I had embarrassed him.”

You joined his laugh thinking of the smiley, awkward kid laying into his much more intense older brother.

Choso turned his body toward you, “look, it’s not you. It’s not even the drugs. I just don’t want him losing himself to anything before he has the chance to figure out who he is and what he wants. I don’t want him stuck with something when he’s just barely starting his life.”

You couldn’t stop the laugh that left you. Quickly it progressed to a fit of laughter. Choso was not laughing, he was watching you laugh at him. Something serious that he had shared with you, a real fear and concern of his that you were now cackling at. You could see the hurt in his face start to give way to anger again, and you came down from your fit.

“I’m sorry, I really am. I get what you’re saying, but don’t you think you’re kind of overreacting. It’s just weed, he’s not shooting up in alleyways. He’s not dedicating his life to anything, he’s just relaxing and having a little fun with his friends.”

“It’s my job to make sure he stays focused and I don’t see how smoking is going to help him.” He crossed his arms, starting to get agitated.

“Seriously? A little weed, a big cup of coffee, and you feel like you could knock out all the work you’ve been putting off for weeks. It can help you get rid of all that noise in your head that makes little tasks feel big and scary. You know what I mean?” You were a little on your soapbox now, but when he shook his head silently it dawned on you.

“You’ve never tried it?” You marveled at him. He had to be 26 or 27, and he hadn’t tried it once?

He shrugged again, “I don't really have a lot of free time, I guess?”

You gasped happily, suddenly all the anger was erased under a new beautiful light of discovery.

“Choso, you have to try it. If anyone needs it, it’s you. All that responsibility, you’ve got to be stressed out, give yourself an hour or two to get away from it. You’ll love it.” You had moved onto your knees now, energy shooting up your body.

“I don’t know…”He was smiling despite himself, hesitation in his voice but excitement leading the charge.

“ If you try it, and really try it, right now and afterwards tell me you hate it, we can forget all about this and we’ll be square and I won’t sell to Yuji and his friends anymore.” You offered already thinking about whether a joint or glass would be better for him, “but if I’m right and you like it, I get a new customer and you get completely forgiven for the other night.”

Choso looked into your winde, eager eyes and felt his reservations melt, how could he say no.

“Okay. Just a little.” He agreed, finally cracking a smile onto that stern, beautiful face.

An hour later, one coughing fit from him attempting to use a bong, and half of a joint later, you and Choso sat side by side on your couch beautifully high. Smoke hung thick in the room, his head was leaned back against the back of your couch, his ropey neck on full display, adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed again and again trying to wet his dry mouth.

You rested your head on your wrist, watching him grapple with the high for the first time. You had turned some music on, something low and vibey, just to keep up the ambience and avoid any paranoia brought on by old house noises or -god forbid- silence itself.

“Did you want some more water?” You offered, gesturing to his mostly full cup that he had kept forgetting about.

He sat up slowly, “Yeah, that sounds good.”

Leaning forward, he grabbed the cup and drank it down furiously, wayward droplets spilling out of the sides of his mouth. You watched closely as the little stream of water slipped between his lips, down the side of his chin, across the cut of his jaw, and down the column of his throat, passing the chain he wore and trailing underneath the neckline of his t-shirt. Your mind raced before you could catch it, you imagined how it would feel to slide your tongue up its wake, the cool water contrasting against his hot, flushed skin.

Quickly blinking away the fantasy, you saw he was looking back at you. He had been watching you, his dark brown eyes moving all over your face in an unreadable expression.

Could he read your mind? Could he tell how you had been imagining him?

He finally blinked and looked away, drawing in a breath and leaning forward to place the glass back on the coffee table, “Sorry.”

Before you could brush away the apology he continued.

“So how long have you been…..doing this?” he settled back down against the couch, the weed soothing any lingering nerves.

“A couple years, it's a good way to keep myself in school and avoid any debt. Plus you get to make your own hours, it's flexible.” You shrugged, “and, I don't know, I guess I like that it helps people. To have fun and relax or like, helping them just get through the day. I like that I can help people feel better.”

He looked surprised at you, and you shrugged again, feeling your face burn slightly.

“I get it's a dumb thing to say, and I know I'm really patting myself on the back here, but that's why I like it.” you pulled slightly at a loose thread on the hemline of the couch cushion underneath you, avoiding his gaze, avoiding his judgment.

“I dont think it's dumb. I know what you mean.” the sincerity in his voice was so simple, as though thinking anything else hadn't even crossed his mind, “I already feel more relaxed than I have in years. I didn’t know it was like this, so you helped me. I like that you want to help people.”

You smiled, you couldn't believe this was the same guy you had met so poorly the other night. He smiled back at you, a crooked, unpracticed smile that seemed as shocking to him as it was to you. You let the smoke linger between the two of you, both inside and outside.

“So obviously you know my job, but what is it you do?” you scooted a little closer on the couch.

He slumped a little, “a couple things, I do tattoos, piercings, that sort of thing..I’ve been working at an auto shop for the last few months, on days where I don't have appointments.”

“Do you do your own?” you asked, you had only seen the one across his bridge, you weren't sure if he had anymore.

“A few. I didn't do this one,” he gestures to his nose, “Not the one on my back, but a few others, yeah”

“Do you like it?”

“I do. I always liked to draw,” he stretched to scratch the back of his neck, “a buddy of mine let me into his shop a few years ago. I only started the car stuff when Yuji went to school, it's a good skill to know, helps me feel useful.” he shrugged, “I like working with my hands, it keeps me out of my head.”

“Are you in your head right now?” you asked, hoping being with you was relaxing him as much as the weed had.

“No.” He smiles just to himself, closing his eyes and taking a few deep breaths, enjoying how clear and simple his usually racing mind felt, “I kind of forgot it's supposed to feel like this.”

You laughed a bit, “It can be.”

He laughed too, a calming, easy chuckle.

“I’m glad you came by today, Choso.” You said softly

“Me too. I know I said Yuji asked me too, but I wanted to come and apologize. I was out of line, the over protective big brother act is so lame, I know. We’re just…all each other has.”

He suddenly was struggling to find the right words, he didn’t usually talk this much. The drugs had made him chatty, you had made him relaxed. Choso realized he hadn’t been alone with a woman in months, going on a full year. He spent nearly all of his time working, rarely went out with his few friends, and almost never went out on dates. He hadn’t even thought of being interested in a woman in weeks, choosing to rely on himself whenever the rare sexual urge did arise. He wasn’t a man without libido, but he was usually so focused—stressed out— sex just kind of lost priority. But here, sitting next to you, nerves hazy, voices soft, it was quickly climbing back up his priority ladder. He hadn’t noticed the first night how beautiful your eyes were, now they were slightly lidded and sensual as they looked over him, pupils wide and hungry. Your lips were full and shapely, a little dry from the smoke, but your wet tongue would dart out occasionally to moisten them again. His neck grew hot thinking about how soft your tongue looked. He bet you tasted so good, the lingering taste of coffee and smoke in your mouth, sliding your soft tongue against his, running your skilled hands over his body. He had watched you rolling the joint earlier, it was so routine, so ritual for you, but it was so intricate. You had clearly perfected it, nimble fingers filling, rolling, and sealing the flower inside of the pretty pink paper. Looking at them now, he wanted to put them in his mouth, to suck on them, to feel them tangle in his hair while you rode him right here on your couch.

He thought he would burst into flame when your fingertips touched the top off his hand, derailing his perverse train of thought from continuing.

“Choso?” Your voice was so soft when you said his name, it sounded right coming out of your mouth. You liked the way the letters tasted, he liked the way your tongue slipped around each sound, directly into his ear.

“Thank you, for giving me another chance.” He said finally.

Neither of you were sure when or how, but you had become very close. You could smell the sting of tea tree oil on his skin, now identifiable, and see every little crack in his glossy lips. You were staring into his bottom lip, as if summoned he drew it in, whetting it before releasing it again. He could see you watching him, he was watching you right back, he could feel your hot breath against his face, he could smell your shampoo, he could see the small coffee stain on the corner of your mouth, he wanted to be the napkin or shirt sleeve you’d use to wipe it away. Before he realized it, he was leaning closer to your lips. Your heart raced as he came closer, you weren’t sure how you had gotten here, just minutes ago the conversation was so benign and so casual, and now there was this…heat… between the two of you. You watching his mouth, him watching yours, you felt the electricity in your body ignite. The fingers that had been on the back of his hand trembled slightly as he leaned forward. He was moving so slow, being so careful to not push you. You gripped his hand tightly and pulled him closer, connecting your lips.

Your eyes were closed tightly, or else you would have seen the way his flew open before rolling back in his head. The same hand that had first grabbed you a week ago now moved up your arm and up to your jaw, pulling your lips harder against his. His kisses were hungry and desperate, yours were just as fevered as you felt his spit combine with yours.You moaned, lips parting enough for him to slip his tongue inside of your mouth. To your shock and delight you felt a small metal ball slide against your tongue, his tongue was pierced. You shivered, already thinking of how that cold metal would feel along your body, across your nipples, flicking against your clit. You thought you might faint as he pulled you over his lap.

He was faring no better, his hand pulling at you desperately, your jaw, your hair, your waist, your back, anywhere he could reach. He felt clumsy and a little pathetic, but he was too desperate to care. You were so hot, you smelled so good, your lips were so soft, he couldn't stop himself if he wanted to. When you finally did pull away, needing to catch your breath, he followed your lips eagerly, opting to kiss your chin or the underside of your jaw instead.

“Choso” you whimpered, pulling lightly at the hair at the back of his neck.

He continued kissing along your neck, moaning happily at the feeling of your nails against his nape. The sun had set outside, leaving the two of you in warm lamp light, the amber auras setting the deep brown of his eyes ablaze as he gazed up at you. Once your breath returned he moved one hand over the side of your face and pulled you in for another, softer but still passionate kiss. You relaxed into him, moving your hands over his chest, feeling the taught muscle and pleasure heated skin.

“I want you to tell me what you like.” He muttered against your lips in the form of a lover's secret, “I want to make it up to you. I want to please you.”

You felt yourself start to drip at his words, so devoid of the ego you were so familiar with in other men. A fast learner, too, his hands were carefully tracking your reactions, already finding erogenous zones that you usually had to demonstrate, tongue matching pace with yours. Kissing him deeply, tongues tangling, saliva and moans losing their origins points in the mess of shared wetness, you rocked your hips against his. He jerked up, unwillingly, a long, throaty moan leaving his lips as he threw his head back against the back of the couch, his hands on your hips gripping tighter.

“Baby….fuck”, he was getting hard so fast just from kissing you, it was embarrassing.

“You feel so big, Choso.” You rocked against him more, grinding into his erection over and over.

He blushed, the bar on his face doing nothing to hide the deep red settling across his cheeks. Feeling emboldened by the effect you had on him, you pulled your shirt off, leaving you bare chested on top of him. He was awestruck at the sight of your nearly naked body, his shock only growing when you grabbed his hands and brought them up to your breasts,squeezing them through his hands.

“Touch me here, like this.” You showed him how you liked to be squeezed and groped, all while keeping up your gyration on his lap.

He followed your lead immediately, mouth watering at how your breasts moved in his hands as you moved. He wanted to put them in his mouth, he wanted you completely naked, his own clothes felt so stiff and tight now. Choso removed his hands from your chest in a flash to quickly remove his own shirt before putting his hands on you once again, groping and squeezing the mounds freely. You moaned both at the sight of him bare and at how well he was following your directions.

“Fuck Choso… you look so good.” You marveled at him through your heavy lashes.

He was so toned, so well cultivated. His body was like that of a swimmer or a rock climber, lean and muscled, clearly focusing on mobility and functional strength above vanity. Tattoos littered his body, classic things, sigils and birds and quotes you couldn't quite read. All in due time.

In a move surprising you he sat up, abdominals rippling, keeping one strong forearm around your waist to hold you firm against him and he brought one of your nipples into his mouth. Even the fatty flesh couldn't muffle the haughty moan that escaped him, nor could it hide the way his eyes rolled back in his head. Your hands pulled at his hair, bringing him as close as possible, letting loose mewls of pleasure at his sucking. His tongue piercing circled around your areola, teeth quickly following to bite lightly at the rising peak. His dark eyes, now almost entirely black from blown out pleasure, looked up at you. The pornographic display in front of you was enough to have you whimpering already, the feeling of him so solid and throbbing underneath your hips wasn't helping, or was it, you supposed it depends on the goal; Longevity or absolute pleasure. Choso moved his mouth over to your other breast, repeating the same routine of circling and biting and suckling, he was completely blissed out, barely registering anything beyond the taste of your skin and the weight of your body on his. When you pulled at his hair to get him to face you again, you had to pull harder than you expected to get his attention. When you finally did, his head tipped back dramatically, a drunken smile across his wet, swollen lips.

“Take your pants off,” you whimpered breathily, “please.”

You stood up in front of him, feeling a slight ache in your hip hinges from your previous position and quickly rid yourself of your pants. He did the same, removing his belt, and kicking his shoes off before pulling his jeans off and tossing them aside. You stood in front of each other, in only your panties, him in black boxer briefs, length straining against the fabric. Breathing hard, you took each other in, it was so simple, but so sexy to be just standing before each other nearly completely naked. Not touching, not distracted by embracing hands or mouths, just taking a moment to appreciate the unguarded form of one another.

He was so taken by you, the swell of your hips, the curved lines of your silhouette, scars and lines and tattoos adorning your skin in a completely unique and deeply personal pattern. He liked the panties you were wearing, he wanted to keep them, maybe you would let him. They were a dark purple mesh fabric, his favorite color. There was no way you could have known, but it felt like fate. Your neck was starting to show little bruises from his kisses earlier, soon they would be purple too, he couldn't wait to see. Finally, he stepped toward you, his strong hands finding yours, bringing them to his body just as you had earlier. Your hands followed down the lines of his body, the muscles so hard under your touch. He moaned at your touch, chills rocking through his body, he was so reactive for you, every twitch of your fingers being amplified through his body like an electric current.

“You want to stay out here, or do I get to see your bedroom?”

“I’m a little partial to riding you right here, what do you think?” you flirted up at him, pushing on his stomach lightly, he was practically drooling.

You had chosen his exact fantasy from earlier and once again he found himself thinking that it was impossible you could have known, but it had to be fate. He kissed your lips again, the fever from earlier returning as you pushed him back down onto the couch, following him closely to keep your lips connected. Before you could move to straddle him, he gripped your hips.

“Please. Wanna taste you first, please baby, please.” He begged. He sounded so good when he begged.

You weren't one to argue with someone asking so nicely, so you did as he asked, sitting where he had been earlier, loving the feeling of the warmth he had left behind embedded in the cushion. Choso moved between your legs, his hands sliding up your thighs and pulling your panties away from your aching sex. He couldn't stop himself from bringing the panties to his face and taking in your scent, he didn't care if it made him a pervert, he loved the smell of a good, wet pussy, and yours may be the best he had ever had. Your jaw dropped at the unabashed display, catching his eye as he exhaled luxuriously.

“Fuuuuck, can I keep these?” It was like he was high all over again, one hit of you knocking him on his heels more than your highest testing strain ever could.

You nodded slowly, too shocked to speak. You didn't even care that you liked that pair, they were comfortable and sexy, nothing could compare to the thought of Choso keeping a pair of your used panties for himself.

He set them on top of his pants on the floor, before resuming his migration across the sensitive skin of your inner legs. You could feel yourself dripping onto the couch, you didn't care, you were too turned on to care about anything except him. Lying on his stomach on your couch, he was finally face to face with your bare pussy. He could feel himself starting to rut into the couch cushion, aching cock desperate for relief. Finally, with one last cautious look up at you, Choso slid his fore and middle fingers between your lower lips, separating them slightly to look right at your weeping folds. Even the light brush of his fingertips separating you had you ready to arch your back, you were so wet, his long tongue swiped up your slit, and a strangled gasp ripped itself from your throat.

One hand flew to his hair, struggling to decide if you wanted to push him away or pull him in deeper, opting to just pull. Choso was completely lost within you, your taste, your smell, the feeling of how wet you had gotten already, he wanted to drink up everything you had. He moaned into your dripping pussy as you pulled his hair harder, loud squelching and slurping sounds filled the room alongside your gasping, frantic moans of curses garbled with his name.

“You taste so good, baby,” he complimented, his round tongue piercing flicking so deliciously against your clit as he spoke, “I knew you would. Fuck, you’re too good to me.”

You could barely hear him. Too fixated on rocking your hips against his face, trying desperately to amplify the pleasure he was giving you. Choso kissed your pussy with long, flat tongued laps, his piercing circling your clit in a delicious rhythm that had you wailing. You had never been so thankful to live alone, one of your hands left his hair so you could bite hard on your knuckles, a foolish attempt to stifle your moans. Wisps of his bangs fell in his face, blocking you from his eyeline, he attempted to blow the strands out of his way, needing to see you struggle to quiet yourself. You were putting on such a beautiful show for him, panting and moaning above him, showing him exactly how good he was making you feel, he didn't want to miss a second of it. Breaking away only momentarily to brush his hair away from his face, only to have them fall back in their place, Choso huffed in frustration, his hot, irritated breath sending tingles across your slippery folds. You looked down at him, feeling him pull away briefly to pull a black hair tie from one wrist and hand it to you. Your instructions were clear as he dove back in, once again devouring you; you pulled his hair into a small bun, tying it quickly and returning your hand to cover your mouth. His own hands were clasped around your thighs, bringing them into his ears and diving in even further.

The lower half of his face, from top of nose to under his jaw, was shimmering, he was losing all sense of himself. He wanted to die between your legs, he wanted your thighs to crush him, he wanted to drown in your cum, he wanted the last sound he ever heard to be your squeaking whimpers of his name. His cock was pulsing against your couch, swollen nearly to the point of pain, with every lap it was getting harder. He didn’t think he would ever stop, your hands in his hair, nails against his neck and shoulders, your smell in his nose, your taste on his tongue, he could have stayed there forever. It wasn't until you started to pull him away by his roots that he finally came up for air again.

You shuddered as you peeled Choso away from your pussy. A thin, glistening string of spit and your arousal joined his wet lips to your sex, it was so erotic. He was panting as well, eyes wild with pleasure, damp face, swollen lips, looking to you for why you would have deprived him of his meal.

“Please, Choso, please let me fuck you,” you begged.

He protested weakly, “But I want you to--”

“Please, baby. I need you inside so badly.” You pointed out, moving your hand over the side of his face.

He pressed his cheek into your palm and nodded, sighing hard trying to catch his breath. You pulled him up to you, he followed, crawling on his hands up to your lips. Your kisses were now wet after his pleasuring you, you could taste yourself at the deepest part of his mouth you could reach. Choso ground his erection into you, sliding his length across your slick pussy and panting into your mouth. Gathering all your strength back you sat up, moving to assume the position from before. In the movements, he had finally freed his aching cock, gripping it hard at the base as you climbed over his lap. You slotted your lips against his over and over, tongues tangling, hands moving over hot, prickled skin. You rocked your hips up and down your slit, drenching him and building your anticipation. Choso pressed his forehead against yours, you could feel the sweat of his skin and the sweat of yours combining in between your skin. He angled his now dripping cock right at your entrance, you hissed as you made your way down his length. Moans escaped both of you as your tight walls sucked him in, head still pressed together, his hand bruising your waist. It had become so intimate, he filled you so entirely, pushing hard against the barrier of your cervix. You started to grind against him, moving your hips up and down, whimpering pathetically, arching your back. Your hands settled on his shoulders and stomach as you rode him faster and faster.

“Fuck, yes, you feel so good. Thank you.” Choso’s eyes were locked on your bouncing breasts. He leaned forward and caught one of your puffy nipples in his mouth again, sucking hard.

The feeling of him so deep inside of you, your increased sensitivity from him eating you out, and now his hot mouth teething and pulling at your chest had you so close already. You were almost embarrassed, but you couldn't keep yourself from bouncing more and more, grinding right up against his pelvis. Your hands moved up the back of his neck, keeping his head buried in your breasts, he switched to suck on your other nipple, moaning against your hot skin. One of his big hands squeezed at the fat of your ass, he couldn't get enough of you; he wanted to keep his hands and his mouth full of you, his cock buried inside of you forever. Your moans rose in pitch quickly, the hair at the base of his cock rubbing right against your clit. You pulled away, arching into his hand on your lower back, and humping against him even faster.

“Cho-Fuck baby, I…” You mewl out.

“Cum, please cum for me, baby. Make a mess on me please, cum on my cock, pleasepleaseplease.” he babbled, holding your hips in a bruising vice and helping you to raise and lower yourself.

He planted his feet on the ground, thrusting up to meet you halfway. You were so tight and hot, he could feel your wetness dripping down his balls, he could taste your sweat on the backs of his lips. Your cries started becoming intense and your body was shuddering against him, you could barely string together any thoughts beyond your desire to cum. FInally it all became too much, the hot pleasure that had been building all bursting out from you at once.

“Choso! I-- I--I’m cumming!” You cried against him, his thrusts under you were relentless, not stopping even as your orgasm peaked and valleyed before him.

“Fuck baby, yes. More more, please, fuck please, im--,” Choso’s own orgasm ripped through his body with nearly no warning, finally slowing his thrust, opting to press as deep as he could and dropping his head back against the couch. He moaned your name scrambled with curses and his throaty raspy groans.

Coming down from your shared high, Choso thrust up into you a few more times, shuttering at the feeling of spilling long spurts of cum inside of your hot, wet walls. You stilled your motions completely, hips aching, sweat dripping down your body, you pressed your head against his again, trying to catch your breath as quickly as possible. Choso kissed your jaw, your neck, your lips, your cheek, your temple, anywhere his lips could reach, sturdy hands massaging your hips and ass as he did. You smiled down at him, his face was tinted pink, his eyes were wet and full, he looked so fucked out, and so beautiful. The bun you had styled for him was barely hanging on,his bangs now stuck to his damp forehead. You dipped your head down and kissed him, the kiss now lazy but just as wet. Slippery mouths joining again and again as he rubbed your back. Once you felt you could move again, you moved off of his lap, his softening cock sliding out of you and flopping against his stomach. He panted in recovery once you had taken your place on the couch next to him, he pulled your legs into his lap, wanting to keep as good a hold on you as he could while still inside this bubble of intimacy you had created. He moved the back of his knuckles up and down your shin, turning his face toward you and gazing at you.

“That was…” He started, trailing off as words failed him once again.

You nodded blissfully, reaching over to grab his hand. He kissed the back of your hand.

“You’re….” this time he found his finishing words, “wow.”

You chuckled, “You too. I’m really glad you came over.”

“Me too.” he laughed a bit as well, gesturing to the half joint on the table, “You’re a bad influence on me.”

“I think you liked it.” you sat up taking the joint between your fingers and taking a lighter from the table.

You held the pink joint in between your lips, lighting it and puffing once before passing it over to Choso. He accepted and took a hit, then another, exhaling happily.

“I did. I do.” he answered finally.

You took the joint back, sitting up to his eye level as you puffed.

“I hope you don't think I’ll be giving you a discount because of this, I’m not that kind of dealer.” you joked.

A flirtatious smirk pulled at his lips, “If you had let me finish making you cum in my mouth, I think I could change your mind.”

You rolled your eyes, already feeling your pussy dampen and your nipples harden at his candor. He slid one arm around you, pulling you close and kissing your smoke warmed lips.

“Could I, maybe, come over again?” he asked against your lips, “Without needing to apologize to you for making a total ass of myself?”

Your heart squeezed, you had not yet started to worry that this was a one and done, his expert work leaving you already craving more. Everything that had happened was so unexpected, you started the day still seething from the first impression, but he had melted your icy demeanor instantly. You did want to see Choso again, you wanted him to make you feel like that again, you wanted to spoil him the way he had spoiled you. You wanted a chance to show him how good he had made you feel, and now you had the chance. You knew his situation, you knew yours, it was incredibly likely that this would be temporary, but even one more chance to share a night with him was enough for now.

I hope you guys enjoyed! As always, i did! Remember to use drugs responsibly and not give in to peer pressure, unless you think itll make people like you, then succumb. (im joking). alright bye! -- <3 Doodle

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Help to Sleep

Kakashi Hatake x Reader, SMUT. MDNI 18+ only. Ao3

6.8k words, kind of a shorter one but im trying to be more concise. also this one won the poll but the Higuruma fic and the Jiraiya fic will also be posted soon! thanks to everyone who voted and I hope you enjoy. tags: thigh fucking, biting, a lot of talking about smell, kakashi is tired and desperate and loves you so much.

When you met Kakashi he wasn’t a sound sleeper. He would get up periodically throughout the night and excuse himself from bed to sit in the living room reading or cleaning, trying to lull himself back to sleep through monotony. As years removed him from the prescient danger of working in the anbu and moved him to a technically safer position of teaching, he found himself able to sleep feeling safer, sleeping harder, dreaming more, unafraid of being caught unprepared. He could still rouse himself at the slightest shift or change in your shared home, but these days, you would find him sleeping so peacefully, so still, that you felt compelled to check under his exposed nose to see if he was still breathing. He always was. He would often then be awoken by your approach and take your trembling hand in his and press a soft kiss to the heel of your palm, touched by your concern for him. Sleeping next to him was like sleeping next to a large, warm dog, slobber included. As selfish as it was, sometimes you wished he would keep his mask on during sleep, just to have another barrier between you and his drool. His bare, strapping arms would wrap around your shoulders, holding you tight to his warm, broad chest and not release you until he had woken the next morning, pulling you with him in every readjustment and every toss and turn. You would never admit this to him, but he had recently begun to snore, a soft, rattling breath inhaled and exhaled in little huffs. You knew he would take it as an example of his rigorous assassin’s training slipping away from him as age and direction had led him down another path, so for now it was a secret only for you. And you were honored to know something about him so intimate, so private, something he, himself, didn’t know. 

You had never known bliss like being held in his arms, pressed right up against his naked torso. Kakashi never slept with a shirt on, citing his own body heat became overwhelming for him if he did. Once you two had gotten more comfortable as a couple, sharing beds over and over, he began sleeping with nothing on period, encouraging you to do the same, again blaming his body heat. You were happy to oblige, slipping between the sheets with him completely bare, his hands glued themselves to your soft, exposed skin. They were rough, his gloves did their best to protect the thin skin of his hands from callusing and blistering, but they could only do so much. His long fingers were textured and bubbled in places, the palms themselves bearing small nicked scars from the wayward kunai or shuriken, but they felt like butter on your body, sliding so smoothly down your side, from rib cage to hip. Tonight was one of these nights, where his hands grabbed you freely, squeezing every curve of flesh he could reach, his lips ghosting over the back of your neck. 

“So beautiful…”, he would whisper before sliding his tongue up the outside of your ear. 

By this point you could feel him becoming harder against your ass, you pressed your hips against his, rocking slightly to stimulate his growing erection. Kakashi was a grower, starting contained and unimposing but expanding and lengthening into a wondrous, full staff that never left you unsatisfied. His hands would get hotter, press harder, squeeze tighter, as you pulled this transformation from him, bruising the outer part of your arm, your hip, your breast, wherever he was using for leverage to rut his cock against you. You raised your arm to cup the back of his neck, wanting to have as many points of contact as possible with him. He continued kissing your neck, up to your ear and down to your shoulder. 

You wanted to be concerned about how late it was, he had gotten home only thirty minutes ago, after being away for four days. You knew he must be exhausted, you saw the fresh healing bruises on his arms and torso when he disrobed earlier. You wanted to help him relax however you could, allow him to turn off his busy genius’ brain for a while and just feel good. You lifted your top leg slightly, his now engorged cock slipped against your other thigh, and closed your legs again, encasing him between your legs. Kakashi shuddered a groan out against your neck, burying his head further into the juncture between your throat and shoulder. 

“Thank you.” he mumbled, so grateful to be understood so wordlessly by you. 

He hadn't even had to ask but you had read his mind. He wanted the mindless, thoughtless expressions of intimacy that he had only ever known with you. Acts so primal that they held no space for thought or distraction. It gave him a break from how loud his mind usually was, his hips moved on their own to slide against your dampening pussy. Your slick was coating your outer lips and inner thighs, giving him a perfectly lubricated gap to fuck himself into. You loved him like this, so mindlessly desperate for you. You may be the only person in the world to have ever seen him like this. You blushed at the thought. He whimpered and grunted against you, moving his hips faster between your thighs. You felt every inch of his shaft sliding against your slit, his fingers clenching the flesh of your hip; clean, trimmed fingernails leaving crescent shaped impressions in the skin. 

“Baby please…can I? Please, love?” His voice was husky and rough, his lips dampening the skin of your neck. 

His nose was filled with your smell, your hair was in his face, your legs were so tight and wet around him, he needed to cum so badly. His every thought was about you, how good you were to him. How lucky he was to find someone like you. How much he loved you. He was becoming drunk on the feel of you, the smell of your perfume, your shampoo. He could smell himself on you, his laundry soap, the earthy soap in your shared shower.  Feeling you nod finally, Kakashi bit into your pulse point, his long canine teeth burying themselves into your flesh. You gasped at the sensation, your back arching pressing your ass back to meet his thrusts. His movements were becoming frantic and jerky, his building orgasm turning his brain to mush. The build erupted on itself, his teeth bearing down on your neck even harder, long white ropes of cum spurted from his cock, coating your legs and the sheets in front of you. He had been so pent up, it seemed that he would never stop spilling out. A pool of his cum gathered in front of you, you fought down the sense of jealousy, longing to have his cum buried deep inside of you rather than spilled on top of and beside you. But you’d have your chance soon, he needed this. And you were happy to be what he needed. 

Kakashi stilled his hips, releasing his clamp on your neck and he licked the raw spot, already starting to bruise. He should feel apologetic, but he couldn't bring himself to feel anything but pride, the way you panted in his arms, supporting his shivering body. You had been so good for him, so generous with your body, your time, your love. He loved you so much, his heart stirred in his chest as he struggled to catch his breath behind you. 

“I love you.” You sighed, gripping his arms as they wrapped around you, pawing at your breasts.

“I love you, too.” He brings his face around to where you can turn back to reach and kisses you deeply, sliding his tongue against yours, reveling in the feeling of your mouth so hot and wet for him. 

Taking his time to kiss you, relaxing after his efforts, Kakashi finally roused himself to change the bed sheets and you cleaned your legs up in the bathroom. By the time you returned to the bedroom he was covering the bed in the comforter once more, tucking it in the sides and pulling it back so you could get in. He slid in next to you, still naked, the new sheets cool against his flushed skin. You laid on your back, Kakashi opting to lay his head in your chest and wrap his hands around your waist. Every once in a while he would press wet, open mouthed kisses to the outer flesh of your breasts, or the space in between. His mind (and balls) finally empty, he could feel sleep descending quickly as it always did when he was with you. Your hands moving through his silver hair were a tactile lullaby, pulling him deeper and deeper into his dream. You started to nod off above him as well, his heart beat syncing to yours. Tomorrow morning there would be work and reports and lessons and reassignments, but tonight there was just the two of you. 

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Anniversary

Kishibe x Reader smut. 18+ only MDNI. AO3

7.5k words

You and Kishibe have been hooking up casually for a long time now. A year, exactly. You don't realize it, but he does. When he invites you over tonight, you start to get the feeling he has something else on his mind.

Content Includes: penetrative sex, oral sex, (he eats it from the back because I said so), uncomfortable conversations about the nature of relationships, choking, smoking, spanking, orgasm denial. it's nasty, hot, and wet idk what else to say. Kishibe may be OOC but i think hes more of a romantic than people think

It started so casually. You had been at the bar, too focused on the book sat open in front of you to see him moving to the seat one away from yours. Not that you would have minded, the reason you had come to the bar to read in the first place was to avoid being bored out of your mind at home. He opened the conversation, asking what you had to drink and if you wanted another. His intentions were clear from the jump, that’s what Kishibe was like: direct. He never seemed to have interest in ambiguous flirting. He spoke to you clearly and asked questions with easy answers. Even answered a few of your own. That night when he invited you to his place after last call. The sex had been excellent; he was focused and skilled, rough and passionate enough to keep you cumming over and over, but it wasn’t intimate, you could both feel the veil between the two of you. You hadn’t expected to see him again when you finally broke out of the post coital haze and back into your jeans and shoes. 

“You don’t have to leave. You can stay the night if you want.” He offered, sitting up against the headboard, a cigarette bouncing lightly between his lips as he spoke. A small burgundy bruise was beginning to form at the juncture of his neck and shoulder, your handiwork, you likely had a few of your own. 

You finished lacing up your final shoe and stood to grab your bag, “That’s okay, I’ve got an early morning. Thanks for this.” You knew it sounded like a cliche, but you really did have an early start to your day. Even as the words exited your kiss bitten lips, you felt the dread of tomorrow’s workload creeping up on you. 

Kishibe left the bed, sheets still rumpled from rolling around together. He stood before you, still naked, and crossed the room to you. You expected he was getting up simply to lock the door behind you after you left. To your surprise, he took your face in his large hands and kissed you. Not the teeth clashing, tongue tangling kiss of before, but a romantic goodnight kiss. 

“Be careful getting home.” He said, still holding your face, he released you and let his arms fall to his sides, “if I see you at the bar again, think I could bring you back here?” 

“I’d like that.” you were still a lot shocked by the kiss.

You left him that night, and found yourself frequenting that bar more and more. He did find you again, and again, and again. You’d drink together, talk for an hour or so before he would invite you to join him back to his place. Eventually you did start to spend the night, but only on nights when your sessions of pleasure had extended later than was safe to walk home. After the fourth or fifth time you had invited him to your apartment, saying your place was actually a lot closer than his (it was barely a four block difference, just in the other direction). He had slept in your bed, or tried to, smoked on your patio, even showered at your place once or twice if he was running late or met you afterwork and was still grimy. 

Kishibe was not your boyfriend. You were not his girlfriend. You didn’t go out together, the only time you could be seen out together was meeting at the bar and sitting side by side before leaving to one of your homes. More and more often you two would cut out the pageantry of meeting elsewhere and meet up directly at the home of whoever made the call. You knew he worked at Public Safety (the uniform and overall demeanor gave him away), and he knew the rough outline of your job. You didn’t have any complaints, you didn’t think he did either. He was a good fuck and a nice man, you got the sense he wasn’t really that nice of a man, but he was always nice to you. Ample orgasms, warm body to sleep next to, good conversationalist, if a bit reserved. You would often go weeks without seeing each other, before he would call you, voice already dripping whiskey through your phone’s receiver. Or you would call, too much on your mind, body begging for the clarity you’d get after the three or four orgasms he would give you. 

So tonight, when he called and asked you to meet him at a hotel, you were surprised. Of course you still agreed, changing quickly into underwear you felt sexier in than your laying around the house set, refreshing your hair, and packing a small overnight bag with a change of clothes and some toiletries.  It wasn’t until you were standing outside the room number he told you over the phone, in a much nicer hotel than you had expected, that the peculiarity of the situation really started to press on you. Suddenly your jeans and sweater felt sloppy, you wondered why he hadn’t just asked you to meet him at his place. One knock was all that was needed for him to swing the door wide, tie already removed, too few buttons undone on his work shirt, jacket missing. It was rare to see him smile, but here he was, scar crinkling and lips wide. You blinked in surprise at his quick welcome. 

“Hey kid,” he said, his smile easing down as he moved to the side allowing you to step into the lavish suite. 

“Hey.” You stepped inside, you didn’t hate the nickname, you were 20 years younger than him (give or take). In fact, something about it ignited a pulse inside of you that you didn’t care to examine that thoroughly. 

The suite was large, a sitting room with a patterned couch and coffee table comprised the main area, a door behind led to the bedroom, you assumed, and the bathroom was by the entrance. Even just on a side peek, you could see a large bathtub inside. The wall furthest from you was mostly glass, which appeared to let out onto a balcony, overlooking the city. Kishibe had drawn the curtains mostly out of the way, dark fabric fluttering in the window from the open sliding door. You’re sure your face betrayed your awe.  

“Don’t get used to this, alright?,” his breath was hot on the back of your ear, head moved right behind you, one of his hands slipped your bag off of your shoulder, “I got an extension on a job, and they put me up in here.” He set your bag down next to the coffee table, you turned to face him, still trepidacious. 

“So you called me?” 

“Yeah. Seemed like a waste to be here all by myself. You like it?” 

You took another look around the suite before nodding. This was by far the nicest hotel you had ever stayed in, used to mid range single rooms and crappy motels. 

“Why me?” You don’t even really know what you meant by the question, if it was only about the hotel, or if maybe this was a large inquiry about the nature of your relationship with him. 

He laughed, “Come on, kid, it’s not a proposal. I just like having you around. That so hard to believe?” 

He pulled a cigarette from his pack, holding it between his lips before gesturing to the patio behind you, “want a smoke?” 

You did. You needed something to ground your swimming head. You stay stiffly on the rattan patio set smoking your cigarette carefully, not wanting any ash to sully the pristine terrace. In juxtaposition Kishibe seemed completely relaxed, long legs stretched out in front of him, leaning against the back of his chair, not caring where his ash may fall. A small ashtray sits on the table between you, the summer night air is thick and sticky, if it weren’t for the soft breeze from being so high up, you would be shedding your top layer already. 

“Relax.” Kishibe exhales the result of a long drag. 

You do. Your shoulders loosen, your spine releases, muscles softening. You take a drag and allow the tobacco and nicotine to soothe your racing thoughts. He looks so good languidly smoking and watching you. He catches you staring and pats his leg, a practiced move you have come to recognize easily. You stand and move to sit on his lap. Immediately he wraps one strong arm around you to support your back. Your own find a home around the back of his neck. His hand moved up and down your back soothingly.

“I didn’t know you were so inflexible.” He teases. 

“Excuse me?” you laugh lightly at him preparing to joke about him knowing how flexible you really could be. 

“Didn’t think a change of scenery would rattle you so much.” his hand on your back sneaks under your top to trace lazy circles on your skin, you feel your body immediately relax under his touch, “You’re never this quiet.” his lips were right against your neck as he spoke, starting to trail hot kisses along the column of your throat. 

You could already feel yourself fighting the urge to rock your hips in his lap, getting wetter from his touches, the buzz in your head of nicotine adding to the haze of pleasure. You moved a hand from his neck down to the front of his shirt, undoing buttons and sliding your hand inside to touch the hair along his chest. His hand on your back traveled down to cup your clothed ass, your head tilted back allowing him better access to your neck and you could no longer keep your hips from rocking against his lap. 

“Guess it was foolish of me to think you’d like something special for our anniversary.” 

Every cell in your body stopped suddenly. Hips stilled, hands immobilized, moans halted despite Kishibe continuing his migration across your throat. You started to push him away, but before you could stand he gripped you tighter. 

“Don’t tell me you forgot.” His tone was joking, no, teasing. Was he fucking with you? 

Mentally you flipped through your calendar, it hadn’t been summer when you met him. It had been spring, right? It was warm, but not so warm, he had had his coat on. But then you remembered, it was summer. Last summer, exactly 365 days since he had taken you home that first time. He was right. You immediately felt guilty for falling short, but did you really need to? Why would he have even remembered a thing like that? What did dates and anniversaries mean when you weren’t together, when the only thing you did was fuck.

Was that all you did? Yes, right? 

So what if he kept a copy of a book you lent him on his bedside table at his place, small scribbles on slips of paper tucked in between the pages? He wasn’t a very sound sleeper anyway, you just assumed he kept it there for a quick way to lull himself back to sleep on rougher nights. Sure you always made sure to grab an extra bottle of his preferred whiskey for your pantry in case he decided to stop by when you were unprepared. But that was just to save yourself or him a last minute trip to the liquor store. That wasn't a relationship, not even close. You hadn't discussed families or dreams or personal histories, at least not a length. The spare clothes you kept at his place were for convenience, you started smoking his brand of cigarettes when you had run out of your own and bummed one off of him, he started making coffee for you himself instead of walking to the convenience store to save money, not to extend his time with you in the mornings.--Oh my God. 

You couldn’t stop yourself, suddenly every behavior became so loaded, carrying so much intimacy where there previously had been none. But there wasn't none, you just hadn’t paid close enough attention. He had never asked you to be his girlfriend, or even on a date. You didn’t even really eat together, sharing a coffee in the morning and drinks at night. Once or twice you had shared dinner or a late night snack, but never beakfast. Your mind raced examining and reexamining how you had gotten to this point with him, and if you were about to ruin it in your obliviousness. 

Whether it was the sound of your pounding heartbeat or the fact that you had gone mute, Kishibe finally removed his lips from you, his dark eyes patiently scanning your face. He brought his cigarette to his lips and puffed, exhaling through the side of his mouth still waiting for a response from you.

“But…we’re not dating.” was all you could manage. 

His head cocked slightly, brows twitching inward, you could tell he was amused by this whole situation-- whereas you were reeling “no we’re not, but it’s nice to celebrate milestones, isn’t it?”

He fished his flask out of his pants pocket, having to lift his hips, you on top of him, to do so. You knew how strong Kishibe was, you were intimately familiar with how easy it was for him to move you, throw you, fold you, however he wanted. Him arching into you brought his groin up to yours, you could feel him starting to get hard underneath his pants, you sitting on his lap often had this effect on him. Once he had retrieved his flask he held it up to you, you unscrewed it for him, allowing him to keep his other arm around your hips, once again starting to move under your shirt tipping his head back to drink. 

“Kishi, we don’t have an anniversary to celebrate. We aren’t together.” You weren't even sure what point you were trying to get across, whether you were trying to offload the guilt you felt for potentially undervaluing something that could mean a lot to him or just trying to remind yourself and him that you two had never had a conversation about the nature of your relationship. 

He was starting to be less amused, “You don’t feel like a year of good sex is worth celebrating? Guess it wasn’t as good as I thought. Although I don’t hear you complain, much.”

He tipped his flask toward you, punctuating his joke. Was he really messing around about this? 

You nearly accepted, desperately wanting the whiskey inside to bring you back to your senses, but you shook your head, opting to press forward through the discomfort, “Of course it's good. But aren't anniversaries for people who ...I don’t know…belong to each other?” 

You were a smart woman, educated, quick, employed well, you were fucking verbose but in this moment you couldnt string an articulate thought together for the life of you. Words felt jumbled, either too heavy for your casual situation or too dismissive of the ounce of vulnerability he was offering you. Did he mean for this to be the next step? Did he want you to be his girlfriend? Did you want that? How much would it really change? Before tonight everything had felt so simple, relationships were complicated and required patience and expectations, something you weren't sure either of you had time for. What if this was how this ended? What if you began to resent each other and you---

Kishibe tapped his fingers on your temple, “Get out of there. Come back.”

That had jostled you out of your spiral and back into your body, he was still so solid underneath you. Your silence does not seem to have scared him away yet. But he looked thoughtful, observant to your fluctuations, he was paying close attention to you, as though reading your thoughts as they were transcribed onto your forehead. He looked so sincere, eyes soft and warm, his usually furrowed and frustrated brows, relaxed.

“Belong to each other, huh? Look kid, I don’t usually keep up with one person this much. And forgive my assumption but, you don’t either. I like the nights we have together, I like the mornings too. You haven't told me about seeing anyone else, I don't mind if you have, but it certainly doesn't feel like you have been.” Even when he was being sincere he was a cheeky shit, “You don’t have to be my girl, if you don’t want to. Probably shouldn't be stuck with an old man like me, anyway. But I haven't just been wasting time with you the past year.”

Your heart surged, you hadn’t even realized it but you felt it too. Each encounter cracked through your barriers more and more. Even as recently as last week he had stayed at your apartment for two hours after waking up sipping coffee on your patio while you did the morning crossword. It was so domestic, you hadn’t clocked it then, as it was part of your routine. But that was exactly it, it was your routine and he had assimilated so seamlessly. How could you have been so blind?

“Kishi…” you brought your hands to the sides of his face, mirroring his first send off to you, “who knew you were such a romantic.” 

His scruff was rough against your palms, and scratched lightly as his smile rose to his cheeks, “Whaddya say? I like belonging to you, you want to belong to me too?” 

You couldn't deny you were nervous about what this establishment could change about your situation, but you want that so desperately. You had been on your own for so long, you couldn't remember the last relationship you had had. You were out of practice, but so was he, maybe you could figure it out together. 

“I guess happy anniversary.” You smiled leaning down to him and pressing your lips together. 

The hand he had kept on your back pulled you close to his chest, his other hand had abandoned his flask and now gripped your thigh. His mouth tasted so familiar, smoke and alcohol with the undernote of his mouthwash. You were so used to his taste, you rarely even noticed anymore, but with the new perspective this conversation had given you, you reacquainted yourself with what you had been taking for granted. Kishibe has always been a good kisser, directing your mouth against his, lips soft and warm, tongue agile and skilled against yours. What you hadn't realized before was that Kishibe may be the best kisser you had ever known. His teeth seemed to disappear, allowing your tongue ample room to explore his mouth. He knew just when to suck lightly on your bottom lip, when to allow you a quick breath while keeping you breathless against him. His hands wandered freely, one now tangling in the hair at the back of your head as the other slid down the back of your pants to grip the flesh of your ass. The feeling of his calloused hands on your body ignited your nervous system, you felt effervescent. Like champagne just before being popped, fizzy and sparkly. You were panting against him now, pulling away to shift your legs to straddle him in his chair which could just barely fit the pair of you. Your hands cupped his face, rounded his neck, mussed though his hair. You wanted to touch every part of him, feel how new he felt in the wake of your shared confession. Your hips rocked together, he was getting hard again, you could feel him right up against your core. You must have been radiating heat, the way he shuttered. 

“If I knew this is how you’d respond, I’d have asked you to be my woman a long time ago.” Kishibe slid his tongue into your mouth again, now running his hands up and down from the small of your back, to the back of your neck. 

His woman, His. When was the last time you had even entertained the idea of belonging to someone. You were filled with excitement, feeling yourself start to drip into your panties at his possessive words. You started to finish your earlier job of unbuttoning his shirt. Kishibe had an incredible body, caveat of age sure, but also for anyone. Strong muscles built over years, decades, of careful cultivation. He wasn't a cut as maybe he once had been, but the muscles in his abdomen were still clearly visible. Scars littered his whole body, obviously the most apparent being the slash from lip to ear you had felt against your own lips many times, but his torso and back resembled a spider's web, pale lines crossing and crisscrossing, so much pain embedded just under his skin. You found your eyes began to sting with unexpected tears as you beheld him. Breaking the kiss and allowing your hands and eyes to scan over the topography of his body. This was from your first time seeing him shirtless, you had observed his scars while laying together in bed, or in the mornings when he hadn’t yet gotten dressed for work. You wondered about each one, what sort of devil (or man) had marred him, leaving him with another etching. 

“Don’t start getting sentimental over me,” Kishibe slid his hands down your waist, once again knowing exactly what you were thinking looking at him, “I’m not gone yet. You can mourn me later.” 

His dark humor usually lightened you, but this one held a specific truth that you had not yet acknowledged. He was a devil hunter, he fought for his own life near daily. You didn’t know a lot about devils or devil hunting, but you knew it was rare for devil hunters to have survived so long without retiring. There was a very real chance that he could die on you, leaving you heartbroken and alone. But you were too far gone now, you didn’t know how this would end either in tragedy and heartbreak or something more hopeful, but you couldn’t control that now. You could only celebrate being here with him now. 

“That’s your big plan, huh? Get me all obsessed with you just so you can leave someone behind to cry at your funeral?”, you wanted to tease him back, meeting him on his own morbid level. 

He sat up pulling your chest flush against his, “Awe, you’d cry for me?”

“You’re sick.” you giggled kissing him again. 

“Mmmmhm” he mumbled against your lips, finally gripping you tightly to him and standing, his inhuman strength making your full form nothing for him to carry easily. 

Kishibe carried you inside, lips still against yours and brought you into the bedroom you had speculated about earlier. “Switch on the wall, hit it for me” he instructed through desperate kisses. 

Your hand flew out quickly groping the wall by the door frame before finding the rocker switch and pushing the top half, illuminating the space. Kishibe always wanted the lights on, wanting to see you come undone underneath him, see your body writhe and flush under his tongue, his fingers, anything. He had to see you to know it was real. He laid you down on the bed, the duvet was plush and sank lightly under you. This really was a nice hotel. The bed was big with a mattress that perfectly combined support with a soft spongy bounce. You moved back toward the center of the bed, enjoying the luxury as Kishibe stood at the foot of the bed, removing his shirt and pants. You shed your own top and wiggled out of your pants, leaving your bra and underwear. Kishibe liked taking them off himself. 

Standing at his full height in front of you, nearly six foot and five inches wearing only his boxers, your heart began to race. The way he looked down at you, with hungry eyes, pupils dilated in lust, lips parted already breathing heavily. He was already leaking against his boxers, a wet spot forming in the dark fabric.

He palmed himself, taking you in, resting on your elbows in barely anything. You had worn his favorite bra of yours, a sheer black underwire unpadded bra, so simple but so classic, he could see your nipples hardening through the material. Your panties matched, barely held together with the thin material, he could tell you had chosen this specifically for him. You had. You knew he liked you in black, and just barely covered. Desperate under his gaze, you moved forward to sit with your knees underneath you. Putting on a little show of crawling toward him, your position on the bed brings you much closer to eye level with him. Locking eyes you moved your hands down the expanse of his shoulders, he was so broad. His muscles twitched under your soft hands, a small groan leaving his lips, Kishibe tended to be quieter than you had expected. Dirty talk was one thing, but allowing himself to moan freely was difficult for him, it felt too vulnerable, too weak somehow. But this was different, things had changed, vulnerability was already present, he had already put himself out there to be rejected and hadn’t been. He felt lighter under your hands, in your gaze. An ever wandering hand of his found its way into your hair, pulling you into another deep kiss. 

“Love that pretty mouth,” he spoke hot against your lips, “show me how talented you are.” 

Your anxiety was shed at his instruction. This was how it had always been with him, he told you just what he wanted and expected you to do the same. Your kisses moved down the his throat, lips becoming raw against the rough texture of his stubble. You liked dragging this part out. Just before giving him what he craved, seeing how far you could push him towards begging. Of course he never did, and likely never would, he was more patient than you and more prideful. But you always tried. You run your tongue down the length of his torso, your own hand replacing his on his clothed erection feeling how swollen and hot he had become. His hand stayed in your hair, gripping the roots tightly as you teased him. Even breaths left him, but the hand betrayed his urgency, he wanted your mouth so badly, he was starting to consider begging when you pressed your face against the precum leaking through the fabric. Hot tongue flopping out to taste him. 

“You’re filthy.” He remarked with a pleased smile coming over him. 

You didn't respond, just nodded, feeling the combination of your saliva and his precum spread over your cheek. Finally you removed his boxers, his painfully hard cock springing free before you. Kishibe is a big man, tall, broad, big hands, big feet, he took up too much room in your bed, he ducked under doorways and struggled to find pants long enough, and his cock was no exception. Around eight inches in length, heavy balls underneath that were more sensitive than he let on, you needed two hands if you wanted to completely encircle his girth. No wonder he was so arrogant. Glistening pleasure leaked from the tip already, goading you to slip your tongue around his head, dipping it into his slit to collect his offering. His taste was as perfect as the rest of him, so unique to him, you could never get enough.  You let a moan loose as you brought him into your mouth, overproducing saliva to give your hand pumping the rest of him more lubrication. Kishibe groaned above you, head tipping back for a moment as he sank into your hot mouth. His hand as the back of your head was encouraging, pushing slightly but allowing you to go at your own pace. Not wanting to miss out on the sight of you sucking him off, he rolled his head to the side, half lidded eyes looking down to watch. You were skilled at pleasuring him with your mouth, moving your hand and mouth in tandem, leaving even an inch untouched. Your tongue swirled around the head, causing him to shudder. You pulled off from him, still working your hand up and down his shaft as you slid under him to tongue at his balls. HIs abdominal muscles jumped at the sensation of your sliding your tongue along the seam before sucking one ball into your mouth and then the other. 

“Fuck girl….” his voice was shakier than it had been before so his words became dirtier and more possessive, him trying to tip the scales back in his favor. You nodded under him, balls still in your mouth before moving back up to take him into your throat.

Having warmed yourself up, you could now take him much deeper into your throat, encasing the whole of his length. Both hands were now at the back of your head as he tugged your hair, pushing you down further. You kept your tongue flat along the underside of his shaft, tightening your throat around him and opening your eyes to meet him. A blush has spread from his neck across his shoulders and chest, he watched you closely, eyebrows pinching together as you gagged on him. Drool pooled and slipped from your lips, his cock leaving little room inside your mouth for anything else, it dripped onto the bed underneath you. Slowly you started to back off of his length, his hands no longer holding you in place. Instead they cupped either side of your face as you found your breath again. Kishibe ran a thumb across your bottom lip, collecting the spit there and spreading it further down your chin, your jaw hinged open following his silent directive. Leaning over you, collecting his own spit and releasing it into your open, waiting mouth, you moaned and swallowed gratefully. 

“Good girl.” He praised you, making your heart shimmer. He pushed your hair out of your face with one hand, stroking your cheek for a moment watching you bask in the golden light of his affection. But he could only be so generous for so long,  “Bend over.”

He joined you on the bed, mattress sinking under the addition of his weight, his hands staying on you however they could. You moved onto your  knees, turning around, shivering as his hand skimmed up the back of your leg. Calloused hands leaving gooseflesh on your soft, pleasure heightened skin. You posed yourself onto your hands and knees, back arching to lift your ass prettily. You always felt so pretty under his touch, no room for insecurity or self doubt when he was spoiling you like this. Kishibe moved behind you, hands moving up your back pushing you down into a deeper arch, face against the bed. Once he had you in his favorite position, he looped his thumbs under the delicate fabric of your panties, slowly sliding them down your legs. You had soaked them so thoroughly you could actually hear it as he pulled them away, pooling them around your knees. Now bare to him, the chill of fresh air hitting your core, you shivered again. One of his long fingers dipped between your folds, sliding up and down, playing with your wetness. 

“I don't even have to stretch you out, do I? She’s already crying for me.” you could hear the wicked smirk on his face without seeing it. 

“Kishi, please…Don’t tease.”You whimpered, pressing the side of your face into the duvet, peeking at him behind your lashes. 

He gave a small slap to your bottom, watching the fat jiggle, “Don’t get bossy, Kid. You know I’ll take good care of you.” His thumbs pulled your lips apart, showing him how wet you were, “You got this wet just from sucking my cock, huh? You really are such a slut.”

Your face burned, embarrassment daring to creep up but being cut short by the feeling of his fat tongue licking you from clit to hole. Your eyes rolled back, a throaty moan leaving your lips at finally being touched by him. He hummed at your taste, dipping his tongue into your hole to pull more from you. One of his hands moved up your back, keeping you pressed against the mattress as he ate messily. Wet slurping and lapping filled your ears, your whimpers and moans filling his. Eating pussy from the back was his favorite, yours too, he was so skilled with his tongue, unafraid to get drenched in your juices. His facial hair scratched your outer labia and the skin of your inner thighs, the light needling only adding to how fucking good it was. He slid his tongue up and down you all the way from the clitoris to your asshole. Convinced you wouldn't move from where he had posed you, his hand left your back and helped to spread you apart for him. He watched you twitch for a moment, both holes clenching around nothing, desperate to be filled by him. If he were a kinder man, he would show mercy and shove two of his thick fingers into your pussy, but he wasn’t a kind man. He loved watching you clench and pant, sweating under the absence of him inside of you. He wanted you whimpering, begging, maybe even crying before he filled you. 

“Kiiiiishiiii baby please…” You mewled out, burying your face into a duvet, muffling the sound of your begging. 

He resumed circling his tongue from your cunt to your ass, one finger circling your clit in time, “You know better than to cover up those pretty sounds. If you want something, ask for it.” 

You huffed out, moving your head from the bedding and back to look at his face buried in you, “Please, baby please fuck me, I need it inside. I need you Kishibe, please.” 

You could feel his lips curl into a smile against your folds, little shit was enjoying this too much. He hummed, vibrations resounding inside of you, “Cum like this, and then you’ll get my cock.”

You whimpered, as good as it was you knew you needed something inside to cum, “But…Ki--”

“I’m not asking.” He slurped loudly against your pussy. 

Of course he was an expert in your body, he knew you needed the joint internal and external stimulation in order to orgasm. He knew he was setting you up to fail, he wanted you to fail. He wanted to hear you completely fucked out, on the precipice of a release that couldnt yet cum when he finally pushed himself inside of you. Further emphasizing that he wouldnt be using his fingers to fuck you, he wrapped his own hand around himself, squeezing tightly. He didn’t want to cum too soon, the way you had sucked him earlier he had nearly spoiled it right then. Any other night he wouldn't have cared and cum right in your mouth, watching you swallow him down like the good girl he had made you into. But tonight he needed to cum inside of you, he ached to feel you spasm around him and milk his dick for everything he had. He carried on eating you out, feeling his regular drunkenness give way to the intoxication pleasuring you. You whimpered under him, rocking your hips back against his ever moving tongue. 

“Kishi ...please I can't…please. Baby please.”You felt tears slipping from your eyes, you wanted to cum so bad, the bastard behind you knew exactly what he was doing.

Raising his head from your pussy, Kishsibe looked at you crying and whimpering for him. Your lips wet and puffy, mirroring the set right in front of him. 

“Oh baby…you givin’ up?” He teased, how he was able to look so smug while literally covered in your juice was beyond you

“Yes fuck I give up, please fuck me please. I need it so bad, I need to cum please.” You didn't care to hide how desperate you were, you worried you might die if he wasn't inside of you in the next few seconds. 

Kishibe gave you one last long lick end to end before straightening up, his lower back aching more than he wanted. Overcome with excitement at the prospect of finally being filled you raised your upper body onto your hands, only to be immediately pushed back down. 

“If you’re able to hold yourself up, maybe I should keep going until you can't.” Kishibe warned. 

A broken cry pushed from your throat. You couldn’t keep going, you couldn’t be held back from your release any longer. Tears flooded down your cheeks and you begged him not to, promising to be good and do whatever he wanted. He had done it, he had completely wrecked you. Leaning over you, cock brushing against your heat so deliciously, Kishibe kissed the side of your face, not stopping himself as his tongue lapped up the salty tears staining your cheeks. Big hands on your back unclasped your bra, sliding it out from under you and groping your chest. 

“There she is” His voice was so hot against your ear, rough and dripping with eroticism, “There’s my girl. And who am I?” 

“Master.”

He gave a smack to your ass, “That's right, baby. Now be good and take Master’s cock all the way. I don’t wanna hear any of that bullshit about it being too much or too big, Okay?” 

You nodded quickly, probably too many times but fuck you could barely think. Another slap to your ass brought you back to attention, “Yes, Master!” 

He hummed with pride. Aligning himself behind you once more, sliding his cock head up and down your slit. Anticipation nearly becoming too much, your whimpers increased before he mercifully slid inside of you. The combination of your natural lubrication and his spit allowed him to ease in with barely any effort, you were still so tight around him. He was so big, it felt like he was splitting you open. A gravelly moan rang out from him, coming directly from his chest as he became fully immersed in you. The force of his thrust rocked your whole body forward. One hand holding you down by the back of your neck, the other gripping your hip. You cried out his title as he pulled back nearly all the way before pushing in again. Finally you felt the white hot coil of orgasm building rapidly in your lower belly. 

“Fuck! Fuck Master, “You wailed, “Yes! I’m so close, Fuck, thank you, master!”

The hand on your neck moved to grip your hair, pulling it back harshly, forcing you to arch all the way back as he continued to bully his cock up inside of you, “You had your chance to cum, already. You’ll wait for me.” 

His voice was so husky against your ear, hair gripped tight in his grasp, you had to focus all your energy on not cumming despite how close his postponing cock was bringing you. Wrenching your head to the side Kishibe kissed you, rough and hot, swallowing down your moans before they could leave you. Your hands struggled to find somewhere to land alternating between gripping his thigh and traveling up to his neck and hair. The upright doggy position allowed him so deep inside of you, his free hand moving over your bouncing breasts and down to press on your lower stomach, feeling himself inside of you. He was so fucking cruel, you cried out, breaking the kiss, head falling back on his shoulder, eyes closed in blinding pleasure. You could still hear him grunting in your ear, his lips needed you and found their next best option, the side of your neck. Knowing exactly what he was doing he pushed harder, his other hand wrapping around your waist to pull you flush against him. 

“Stop Kishi, please. It’s too much.” 

His gripped your throat tightly, “I said no fucking whining. Did I already fuck every thought out of your head or can’t you remember?” 

You strained to look at him with pleading eyes choking your words past his grip, “I-I’m sorry, Master”

His hand around your throat had made you tighten around him, he was so close, he had wanted to drag this out more. Wanted to remind you who was in charge. But he felt himself faltering, hips shuddering, balls tightening. Kishibe released your throat allowing you to catch your breath, he stopped holding you upright and you fell forward, falling exactly into your previous position: face against the mattress, hips high, ass out. His grip on your hips was bruising, tomorrow morning he would be tracing those bruises as you stood making coffee in the suite's kitchenette. But right now you were made to take his cock, he could be gentle with you another time, not now.

“Touch yourself, cum.” He commanded having to focus all his energy on keeping his thrusts deep and even. Your hand flew between your legs, circling your achingly sensitive clit. His work earlier had you already twitching. 

He thrusted deep and jagged twice more before he felt your walls tremble around him, the sound Kishibe makes when he cums was almost always uniform, a low howl that erupted from his throat as he pressed right against your cervix. You joined him in his orgasm, the pair of you singing a private duet that only you would ever hear. You could feel his hot cum filling you, your orgasm covered you like being caught in a sudden rainstorm. Drenched in pleasure, your mind existed only for thoughts of him. His lips found your shoulder, still deep inside of you, Kishibe grew softer, both his cock and his treatment. 

“Good girl,” he spoke against your sweat-dampened skin, “did so good, baby.” 

You let out a strangled sound, still barely recovered from your mind melting orgasm. Another whimper left you as he removed himself from inside of you. You stayed on your stomach, but allowed your legs to relax, now laying totally prone. Kishibe moved next to you, catching his breath and allowing the feeling to come back to his lower half. You lay together panting, allowing aftershocks of pleasure to ebb and flow over the next few moments. Turning your face to look at him, you placed a hand on his chest. He took it and pressed the back of your hand to his lips. When you had finally regained your composure, you swatted his chest lightly, truly nothing compared to his brutal treatment. 

“You’re such an asshole.” You chuckled out, you slotted yourself against his side, draping a leg over his. 

“You love when I’m mean,” he rolled his eyes, “I can feel it, so don't try to lie. You get so tight when I push you around.”

He was right, you loved it. You loved-- no. not yet. You couldn't yet say that you loved him, that would be too much. But you knew it, and even if it was just for yourself, for now that was enough. 

“So now that we’re going steady, do I have to take you to breakfast?” he absentmindedly ran his fingers through your hair, dull nails scratching your scalp making you purr. 

“ ‘Going Steady’? Jesus, you are an old man.” You teased him through blushing cheeks. 

You tried to be careful when you poked fun about his age, but you saw the small curve of his lips that let you know you were off the hook this time. He pulled you closer to him, rolling his eyes again. 

“Big talk for someone who begs to cum around this old man’s cock like it's the only words she knows.” he tapped your temple once. 

You leaned up to face him, finally ready to ask him the question that had been burning since you had first arrived in the lavish suite, “Are you really on assignment or did you rent this room yourself?” 

If you didn’t know better you’d think he was blushing. But you do know better. Kishibe rested his head against the pillow and turned his gaze from you to the ceiling, “Maybe I wanted to do something nice for you.” 

You could help smiling widely at him, you had found him out, “I knew it! You are a romantic…awe all this just to ask me to be your giiiiirlfriend?” you elongated the title to see if you really could draw the blush out of him. 

He smacked your ass hard once, “Shut up, I told you not to get used to it! You’re not getting this again if you keep talking like that.” 

You ass still stung a bit from his harsh treatment earlier, so you snuggled back into his neck, kissing underneath one of his ears. His big arms wrapped around your back. Soon you would fall asleep, he would separate from you and go to have another smoke on the patio, tomorrow morning you would wake up together and he would treat you to breakfast. He could already feel your breaths growing relaxed, sleep starting to win you over and although you couldn't see it, he was blushing. 

[plotsignificanthaircut555]

Sleepover with Drunk Nanami

Nanami crashes on your couch after a drunken meeting on a rare night out.

Warnings: SMUT, MDNI, 18+ ONLY. fem! Reader, Soft Nanami, drunk Nanami, slow burn (sorta? Does nine hours count?), discussions of consent, Gojo is in it also lol.

Word count: 13.9k, Ngl this one kind of got away from me 🤭🫣. Don’t have sex with drunk people! let the tension build until that consent is sober and enthusiastic.

This was inspired by the song Get Up by Ciara, and my being very horny. I haven’t written fanfic in almost ten years, so here’s what I have for you. This was so fun to write, I really hope y’all enjoy it. I am so obsessed with this man its actually insane.

Clubs were not his preferred way to “cut loose”. He hated the claustrophobic proximity, the overpriced drinks, the flagrants displays of affection, most of all the inability to hold a conversation. Resounding bass and artificial light blaring against his skull was sure to culminate in tomorrow’s headache. Nanami couldn't be bothered to entertain the idea of joining his coworkers to dance and drink as they so often invited him. He much preferred to keep his own company, drinking at home, indulging in the occasional (and strictly, personally regulated) cigarette, and reading in the bath. Although the last two weeks he found himself working around the clock. It seemed that as soon as he crossed his own home’s threshold he was back to work in some capacity or other. He couldn't remember the last time he had been able to turn his brain off completely in between shifts. He hated working, period, let alone working outside of his normal hours, but the work needed to be done, and as the days trudged forward, his work life balance compounded into a singularity designed specifically to siphon any free time he could find.

But that had ended this afternoon, completing a mission’s adjoining paperwork and being released for a three day leave in between assignments. Returning to his small office, he begins to retrieve his coat and pack his bag to depart and return home to finally relax. Already feeling his shoulders unknot themselves, Nanami allowed a blissful sigh to leave his lips. No sooner had he begun to draw in the following breath than had the rapping of angular knuckles against his door frame rung in his ears. Raising his eyes, Kento sees long time (reluctant) friend and daily annoyance, Satoru Gojo, strolling casually inside and plopping across the desk from him.

“So what time should I pick you up?” Although Kento could not see his eyes behind the famous black blindfold hiding them, the blase demeanor and entitlement dripping from his question was apparent.

Already feeling the vein in his head begin to pulse, Nanami sighed out, “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Come out with us tonight. You’re off the ne t few days. I’m sure even you can recover from one night out in that time. Everyone is goin, Suguru, Shoko, yours truly…even Ijichi said he would come,” Gojo allows his smile to lure in the other man, “So you have to come.”

A familiar feeling rose the skin on the back of his neck as Kento heard his familiar train of thought, Absolutely not. I’m exhausted. I have to decline. Don’t wait up for me, but before the reluctance to break his own routine won over, his shoulders softened, “Okay.”

Gojo snapped to attention, his planned seduction now moot in the face of Nanami’s quick acceptance. He hadn't said yes to going out in two months, and the last time he had joined the group, he left less than an hour in claiming a headache and calling a cab.

“For real?” Gojo couldn't help himself, he was waiting for this to be a joke.

“Yes, 9:00 you’ll pick me up. We’ll go out. I could use the break. Thank you for the invitation.”

Gojo was beside himself, feeling his lips stretch from ear to ear, he rose to his feet and began to head to the door. He had to limit the time for Nanami to come to his senses, fearing this may all be some bought of madness from the usually grumpy man.

“See you then, wear something I like.”

Idiot always had to have the last word. Nanami lowered himself into his desk chair, taken aback by his own enthusiasm, a small smile creeping across his lips. He wasn't sure what had come over him, but he couldn't say he was upset by it, it had been a long time since he had tried to meet his friends like this. He wasn't social by nature, and he was grateful to have people who understood that, allowing him his space but still continuing to include him in their extroverted fun. As much as Gojo’s refusal to allow him peace took its toll, Nanami was pleased to have someone so insistent on pushing his social limits. Although he would never tell him that.

These are the circumstances that lead Nanami to drinking as much as he had, to loosening his tie eventually to the point of hanging on either shoulder, to laying his jacket along the barstool of the hightop table he and his friends occupied. Dancing, actually dancing inside of the group of people gyrating together on the club’s designated dance floor. Eyes closed, hair sticking to his forehead, Kento felt the weight of fall away and the warm embrace of intoxication take over.

Gojo laughed over his dark sunglasses, nudging Geto’s elbow with his own before tipping his head to their large, very uncharacteristically drunk friend. They watched in shared admiration, laughing to each other, remembering fondly the stiff demeanor their friend had always carried. Since they’d known him they had seen him get drunk countless times, but drunk enough to dance? Only a handful. Drunk enough to have undone his top three buttons and reveal a growing flush down his neck and shoulders, maybe twice.

“He really needed this,” Geto praised Gojo lightly, it was him who always insisted on inviting out Nanami once again, despite the likely improbability of it happening.

Gojo smiled warmly before laughing again, this time to himself, he didn't want to reveal how easy it really was. How little he had had to push to get him out, he let the praise wash over him as he admired the usually stuffy man’s catharsis. Shoko returned then from the bar, two shots for herself and one for Ijichi who followed closely behind her, already starting to stumble himself.

That’s when Nanami saw you. Finally opening his eyes, pupils adjusting to the dim light, you appeared to him like a vision. And a vision you were, long legs wrapped in a skirt, a top lightly grazing the hemline at your waist, arms full and strong, hair styled specifically showcasing care and effort as well as routine. Engaged in conversation with a friend of yours, both laughing and allowing the atmosphere to relax you, Kento didn't realize his body had stopped dancing as he now stood dumbly in the center of the dancefloor. With soft pushes and thoughtless instinctual movement, he moved to the outskirts of the dancefloor, although still within sight of you. His breath caught in his chest, his hands ran cold, becoming clammy quickly as he watched you share a shot with your friend, head tipping back and revealing the full column of your neck to him. He felt his face flush further than the alcohol could.

Soon enough his back found the table that Shoko currently occupied, digging in her discarded coat’s pocket for her lighter, cigarette hanging loosely between her lips. Cooly placing her hand atop a few rattled glasses knocked around by his collision, she inquired as to Nanami’s dreamy state, “something got your attention?” her laugh broke through his haze just as she followed his eyeline to you.

“She’s pretty, you know her?” she was finally able to fish her lighter from the correct pocket.

Nanmi shook his head, still not able to tear his gaze away,” do you?”

“Never seen her before.” She observed the dumbstruck look in Nanami’s eyes weighing whether her input was more prescient than her desire for a smoke break, “You should try to talk to her. Who knows when we’ll get you out again. Make the most of it.”

With that she headed back towards the smoker’s patio, leaving Nanami with her words bouncing between his ears. When was the last time he had flirted with someone? When was the last time he had been on an actual date? When was the last time he had gotten to take someone home? When was the last time he had shared a bed with someone? When was the last time someone else had made him cum, not just himself between disgruntled days and nights working too much with little output? He had a break, he had come out, hadn't he? As he had gotten ready tonight he chastised his own mind for indulging in fantasies of meeting someone, But he didn't think he would find someone so ... .magnetic.

He wasn't even sure how long it had been since Shoko had gone outside, Kento snapped back to himself when he saw you set your drink down- nearly finished- and head into the throng of dancing bodies. His body moves before he can consciously decide how best to approach you; feet escorting him to the dance floor, hips following the beat and loosening the rest of him. His hands moved upward around his shoulders imitating a boxer’s stance, the alcohol clearly influencing his dancing style. Pressing forward he found himself just to your left. It was as though you had your own kinespheric bubble surrounding you, people danced near you but not on you. He felt invited in by this space, as though you had saved it just for him. He watched your body move, circling your hips and allowing your neck to follow the melody freely, your arms raising above your head as your eyes fluttered between completely closed and mostly closed. Your lips were parted beautifully, lip gloss catching the light so beautifully.

Maybe it was just chapstick, or it was lipstick, he had no idea, but just seeing the glint along your bottom lip made his mouth water for your kiss.

Would you use your tongue right away, or would he need to draw it out of you with his? Would you want him to guide you, or did you want to lead him yourself? He found his heart quickening at ever new possibility. When you finally allowed your eyes to open, they found him almost instantly. Locking eyes with you finally, Kento thought his skin was going to burst. Heart quickened, hand clammy, breath quick he searched for any reciprocation in your own eyes.

So when your eyes crinkle, following the line of your smile, so clearly directed right at him and only him, Kento can't resist but bring his hands to the sides of your hips.

The blonde man had been watching you since you got here. You noticed, Sophie noticed. As soon as you left the bar and staked your claim on an open hightop bordering the crowded but lively dance floor, she had jutted her chin toward him on the other side of the floor.

“Got one already.” she said impressed with your efficiency.

You turned to briefly meet his gaze, in just a second his gaze was so intense you could tell his eyes were honey brown and they were trained on you and only you, “oh come on. I’m sure he’s just checking everyone out.” you dismissed, still feeling the hot eyes on the back of your neck.

“He’s still looking at you,” Sophie marveled, “still looking…still…wow I don't think hes even trying to hide it.”

You knew. You could feel it, your heart raced. You had just barely looked at him but you had seen enough to see how attractive he was. A tall, broad frame, well cultivated outfit, neat, well styled hair, confidence and stability oozing from every pore. So clearly unabashedly interested. God, he was your type. Before you knew it most of your drink was drained, the nerves of being observed having made you suddenly parched. The liquid confidence settling in your system motivated you to pull Sophie to dance. You two found an open bubble in the sea of bodies and allowed yourself to release your lingering thoughts of the watcher.

That is, until you open your eyes once more, finding a pair of honey brown eyes begging for yours. It was him. He was less than two feet from you, he had sought you out. You couldn't help yourself, his interest and obvious enthusiasm brought a curl to your lips. Your smile locking him into a stare, you didn't flinch when you felt large, strong hands on your hips. It felt right, looking into his eyes the idea of not feeling him touch you felt preposterous. Your hips still followed the music, his soon joining their routine. His hands, once brazen, now stayed still and solid against your hips, moving with you, but never straying from their position. Emboldened by his sudden demure approach,wanting to reciprocate with just as much interested you turned, facing your back to him and pressing the curve of your ass against his hips, you thought you hear a soft groan exit his mouth. Once you had turned away from him, a bit of tension is relieved. You feel braver not looking him directly in the eye anymore. You grip onto one of his hands and trail it up your body, leaving the other gripping your hip harder and harder. Soon your back was fully against his chest, the music carried your pelvis, joined against his, everything else fell away as you guided his right hand across your body, side, hips, stomach and ass. His body felt so solid against yours, it was so solid against yours. He was an imposing figure, six foot or more, strong and cultivated build demonstrating both his personal strength and his own discipline. How you could have not noticed him here before was beyond you.

Nanami was hypnotized. From the moment you had looked him in the eye, he was hooked. Now that your body was flush against his, ass grinding into the front of his slacks, he couldn't think about anything else. He breathed hot against your ear as your fingers curled around his, sliding his fingers up from your hip to your stomach. It was so intimate, your leading his hand along your body, showing him exactly where you wanted his touch. You had your head cocked to the left, opening the side of your neck to him and moving your hair just under his nose, the smell of your shampoo was thrilling, he longed to run his fingers through your hair, to ruin your styling and pull. He wondered if you would let him brush it for you, wash it for you. He could learn exactly how you liked your routine, learn to style, learn to braid, anything to keep this smell close to him.

Behind his eyelids he wondered about your body, how your breasts would look, how your skin would flush through excitement or exertion, how wet you would get, how you would taste. He wondered, too, about your kiss, again thinking about how much tongue you would use, and if you would want to be in charge or him. A soft moan escaped his lips as he thought of your tongue sliding against his, directly against the shell of your ear. As if cued you spun around again, your leg slotted between his, allowing you both to move as one, grinding unashamed as your arms wrapped around his neck.

“You can touch me yourself you know,” You could barely hear the music but Nanami knew exactly what you had said, “Or do you just like being told what to do.”

Your flirting sent a shock directly down his body, feeling his cock swell against the inside of his slacks, he slid his hands up the curves and folds of your back, your skin was so soft, he saw your lips part as he touched you. You were so reactive, he couldn't hear the caught breaths of the soft moans over the club’s speakers, but he watched as your eyes fluttered and your knees pulled tighter around him. One hand traveled down to the side of your leg, brushing down the side of your hip and ass to grip your thigh. The front strands of his hair had loosened and now hung freely in his face, a dark blush settled across his freckled nose and cheeks, one of your hands moved down his shoulder and onto his chest, he wished he had been more reckless and undone a few more buttons for you, he longed to have your fingers on his skin. But for now they held the collar of his shirt in their grasp, he longed for your eyes again, and as if you had read his find they met his own. He prayed you couldn't feel the way the eye contact had made his dick twitch, the blush deepening at the shame of being so crass in his attraction to you. Pulling him somehow even closer, he could feel your breath on his neck, he was panting a bit from the exertion of dance and the intense sexual tension. The song was beginning to end, and the DJ was already beginning to blend it with the introduction of the next song.

Seizing his opportunity, Nanami finally spoke his first words to you, “Can I buy you a drink?”

You nodded, smiling at him, he wanted to make you smile again and again, the warmth of your gazing making the stuffy club feel icy by comparison.

“Thank you!”, you moved a hand down his arm to join your hands together. Guiding him over to the bar. Your hand in his felt electric, you both could feel it. His large, work roughened palm against your own. They had fit together so naturally.

As you made your way over to the bar the music became less and less overwhelming, the pressing of bodies became less insistent. You turned your head to find Sophie, chatting to a few friends she had planned to run into, she caught your eye before giving you a knowing look and a thumbs up. You smiled and winked at her before turning back to the man behind you. You caught him at the end of turning his head from what looked to be a group of his own friends. All of whom were looking at the pair of you. One, particularly tall man with dark glasses was giving an encouraging thumbs up mirroring Sophie’s. You caught yourself wondering if your friends would get along, if he would get along with your friends, if you would get along with his. You didn't even know this man's name, you had barely spoken to him, and here you were ready to merge friend groups and make brunch plans. What the hell was going on tonight?

Finally reaching the bar right as two seats opened up, you both sat, giving your exhausted legs much needed refuge. The air between you two suddenly became thick, without the immediacy of movement you found yourself suddenly worried about how to engage him again in the heat you had just had.

“What do you like to drink?”, he started right as you offered a question of your own,

“So what’s your name..”

You both laughed for a second, the acknowledgement of shared nerves taking a little pressure off. His smile was reserved, seemingly unpracticed. But his eyes betrayed his warmth, you could see.

“Kento Nanami,” He answered your question first, fighting the urge to hold out his hand for a chaste and professional handshake. He lifted his eyebrows to signify it being your turn to answer, you told him your name, and his smile returned again, “That's a beautiful name.” he repeated it back to you, ensuring his pronunciation was correct, when in actuality he could have rolled your name in his mouth a thousand times and never tired of the taste.

“I’d love a gin and tonic,” You offered, answering his question, “Or whatever you’re drinking.”

Drinking, he was drinking. Suddenly he was aware of how much he had been drinking. Skin hot and red, probably sweating all over you, stinking of booze. He felt the embarrassment move throughout his body as he replayed his invitation to buy you a drink. Were you just being nice to him? Wanting to find a polite way to get away from him and return to your friend? He had been so casual, so unhindered.

God, he was an idiot

“Sorry to take you away from your friends, I understand if you want to go back.”He wanted to offer you an out, feeling himself try to straighten up and will the drunkenness out of him before he embarrassed you or yourself further. But to his surprise, you cocked your head to the side, eyes narrowing to assess his change in demeanor. You could see right through him.

“Don’t get shy on me now, the nights just starting,” you offered a new, slyer smile, “isn’t it?”

He nodded slowly, the bartender finally rounded the bar top to take your orders. Nanami ordered your drink as well as one of his own, you added on the desire for some ice water. Once the drinks were down set, you offered him a little cheers, tapping your glass against his before sipping. The drink was cool and refreshing, the perfect remedy for the heat rising in your neck and face.

He was so handsome, from his carved cheekbones speckled with freckles, you wondered if they were anywhere further down his collar. His bottom lip was full and plump, parted slightly as he tasted his drink, with his face profile to yours you could see a small pink circle on the side of his nose.

“Do you wear glasses?”, you asked.

Nanami’s brows twitched slightly together, “I do.”

“You have those little impressions on your nose. From the bridge of your glasses.” You answer, without him having asked how you could tell, “I bet you look handsome with your glasses on.”

Nanami cursed himself for leaving his glasses in his coat pocket across the bar. He’ll never make that mistake again. Bringing the chilled glass to his lips, attempting to cover his smile. He feels so seen by you, the way your eyes move over every inch of him, he doesn’t know if he’s ever been observed so closely. It’s exhilarating, it’s terrifying. You’re terrifying. You’re exhilarating. You’re still looking at him. You’re looking at him expectantly. You asked him another question and he missed it. He scrambles through the last few seconds searching for what you may have said to him, and how he possibly could have missed it.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“I asked if those were your friends over there.” You pointed over his shoulder.

Nanami turned quickly, oh god too quickly, his head spinning a bit as his equilibrium struggled to catch up. Gojo was waving at him, gesturing broadly in unintelligible charades. Nanami felt his frustration flare up at both having been distracted from you and also having to once again decipher another one of Satoru’s riddles. At the meeting of their eye line, Gojo began to move over to where the pair of you were seated, Geto and Shoko sharing the weight of a stumbling Ijichi. The head vein began pulsing again, he ought to name it after Gojo the way he sets it off. Panic set throughout his body, he didn’t want you to meet his friends— or maybe he didn’t want them to meet you. Not yet. He didn’t want to risk ruining what hadn’t yet really started. Suddenly feeling very territorial of you, he turned back, once again sending his head swimming.

“Yes. Those are my coworkers. I’m not—“

“Nanamiiiiin. We gotta take Ijichi home, he’s already thrown up twice. It’s gross.” Gojo was already halfway through his sentence before reaching the bar.

You assessed the new crowd of faces. Odd faces, all so well built and specific. Between the tall man in the darkest sunglasses you had ever seen in an already dark bar, the lithe woman with purple eyeshadow and the most perfect beauty mark, and the embodiment of tall dark and handsome— you wondered what exactly Nanami did for a living. Was there some kind of work force that employed only the hottest people you had ever seen. It took you a second to notice the younger, far drunker man with his arm slung around the black haired man with the gauges. The white haired man was still talking to Nanami, maybe arguing, but they spoke too softly for you to hear specifics. Both were cut off

“So do you want a ride home or are you good here?” Gauges asked eyes moving between you and Nanami coolly, before readjusting his hold of the nearly asleep fourth man.

The woman tapped on her phone, seemingly uninvested in what was happening, now barely holding onto their friend.

The white haired man cut in before Nanami could answer, “you hit those drinks pretty hard, Nanami. We don’t want you getting taken advantage of.” His face turned toward you and although you couldn’t see his eyes, you felt them.

Wow, like really felt them, he was sizing you up, it was clear. It was confusing, his inflection was teasing-almost joking, but his energy was severe.

Nanami was seething, mortified by the intrusion and Gojo’s crass assertion, “I can get myself home.”

It would have sounded more convincing if the slurring of his voice hadn’t married the words myself and home into a mess. You noticed, realizing for the first time that you were much more sober than him. His friends noticed too.

Nanami cleared his throat before speaking again, “I’m a grown man, I don’t need you to babysit me, Gojo. I’m enjoying my evening. Please take Ijichi home.”

Gojo didn’t seem convinced, turning his face back to you and finally sliding the sunglasses down his nose to reveal the bluest pair of eyes you had ever seen. They nearly glowed in the dim club. This gesture caused the others of the group to stiffen up. The woman finally putting her phone down, Gauges eyeing him carefully, even Nanami drew in a tense breath.

“We quite like our friend Nanami, we wouldn’t want him getting hurt.” He spoke directly to you, between his height and your seated position he leaned over you slightly, “are you someone we can trust our friend with?”

Nanami was about to cut in but before he could you met those azure eyes with yours, “I quite like your friend too.,” you copied his inflection, “ I understand why you’d be wary of some stranger taking him home. Since you have your hands full, I’ll watch him for the night. If he decides he needs a ride home, why don’t I call you directly?”

Nanami felt his jaw drop, looking between you and Gojo carefully. He caught Geto’s eye, seeing him smile lightly. No one talked to Gojo like this. Shoko chuckled softly, impressed with your lack of fear in the face of their “strongest” friend. There was no way for you to know the risk you were taking, but it was thrilling nonetheless.

“That is, if he would like to join me back to mine?” You continued, looking away from Gojo and back to Nanami.

“I’d like that very much.” Nanami answered quickly, in any other situation he would be embarrassed at how eager he sounded, especially in front of his friends. But you wanted to take him home, you wanted to keep talking to him, he could see where you lived, maybe you would let him kiss you, or touch you again.

“Give me your phone.”

The request snapped Nanami from his fantasy. Gojo held his hand out expectantly. To his surprise you handed over your cell phone. Gojo typed quickly, “This is my phone number and where Nanami lives. If I don’t answer, stick him in a cab to this address. Okay?”

“Okay. It’s nice to meet you, Gojo.” You attempted to ease the tension created, “I promise you’ve left him in good hands and I’ll return him to you in one piece.” You smiled warmly at him, cutting through the attempts at intimidation, even offering a small wink to Nanami over his friend’s shoulder.

You didn’t back down, you understood why anyone would be concerned about leaving their drunk friend with a stranger. It was a testament to how much he cared, he seemed completely sober himself. Playing DD, you assumed, was not a role he took lightly. You respected his protectiveness, you had done nearly the same on many occasions. If this is what Nanami’s friends were like, you would definitely fit in. You glanced down at where Gojo had written in the notes app of your phone. A string of numbers— his cell, and an address, Nanami’s, and below that another line, just for you.

Be nice to him, he’s more sensitive than he looks :)

Yeah, you would get along with this one. You smiled up at him and Nanami both before the dark haired man slung the full weight of the now completely passed out bespectacled man on his back in an attempt at a piggy back, and smiled to you warmly,

“We’ll see you tomorrow, Kento. Have a nice night.” Before turning and leading the group toward the exit. Gojo handed off Nanami’s jacket before pushing his glasses up his nose and turning around to follow.

With no more company, the two of you were once again alone. Nanami struggled to collect his thoughts before you soothed him, “Your friends are nice. They seem to really care about you. How long have you all worked together?”

“We all went to high school together.”

“And you’re still friends? That impressive, I barely keep up with friends from that long ago.”

“We’re, sort of, stuck with each other.” Nanami started, caught in the trap of having to figure out some way to explain his job without, actually, explaining his job. Thankfully, you cut that conversational thread and moved forward.

“I hope I wasn't too forward. You don't have to come back to mine. I felt like we were just getting to talking and I didn’t want to cut it short yet. But please don’t feel obligated.” You wanted to assure him that he could proceed however he wanted to. Despite how hopelessly attracted to this man you were, you recognized your responsibility as the more sober party to remain respectful.

“No I want to!” He blurted, not thinking about his volume, quickly standing.

You laughed, “I didn’t mean now! If you want to stay and have another drink, or dance more, that's good too.”

His resolve was starting to crack, it had been nearly an hour since he first saw you enter the club. He wanted desperately to be alone with you, suddenly the club was too hot and too crowded and too loud. Everything was overwhelming, and the only thing he wanted to overwhelm him was you.

Still standing he stepped in toward you a sudden surge of confidence lowering his voice and causing his head to dip down to meet you at eye level, “I would, very much like to join you back at your place.”

His voice was dripping with want, the eroticism behind his words lidding his eyes and sending chills down the side of your neck. You let out a small shaky breath before standing up, chest nearly colliding with his, sending him back up to his full height.

“Let me tell my friend I’m leaving. Stay here.”

You nearly ran to find Sophie and your mutual friends at a table of their own. Leaving Nanami to settle his tab and wait patiently at the bar for your return. Your heart was beating so fast you could barely hear the music. When you finally found her, you pulled her close to speak directly into her ear.

“I’m taking blondie back to mine. You all good here?”

She gave you a taunting oooh before smiling, “you really do work fast. Next time lets see if you can last two full hours before taking someone home.”

You rolled your eyes before giving her a tight hug and grabbing your jacket, “love you, text me when you get home.”

Waving to your other friends you turned on your heels and saw Nanami still standing at the bar patiently at the bar patiently. He hadn't pulled out his phone to pass the time, he simply waited, just as you had told him. God, if he could follow benign instructions like this so well, you can only imagine how well he would do with something more salacious. You had to relax, you knew nothing would happen tonight. He would come over and crash, and that was enough for now.

Nanami counted to six in his head over and over, trying to measure his breaths as though if he increased his oxygen intake he wouldn't be drunk anymore. The sides of his vision were fuzzy and dreamlike, ears hot, tongue a bit dry, all his physical indicators of intoxication were present. He paid his tab, the only things on it were your and his brief shared drink. Realizing that since Gojo( maybe Geto?) had purchased the earlier rounds, he actually had no way of knowing how much he had had tonight. What had he gotten himself into? His attempts to sober up proved inefficient because just as quickly as you had left, you were standing in front of him once more wearing your jacket and sliding your purse over your shoulder. You still looked so beautiful,

“Ready?”

He nodded, “Ready.”

And now he sat in the back of a cab, behind the driver, you on the other side. Had he remembered to open the door for you? Had you two waited outside for the cab to pull up long? A window had been cracked allowing fresh, night air to brush past his face. Your thumb ran over the back of his hand. You were holding his hand. He looked down to confirm that your fingers were interlocked with his resting on the middle seat between the two of you. They looked good like that, his long fingers laced with yours. How long had you been holding hands? Eyes wandering he saw the skin of your thigh where your skirt had ridden up, he wanted to feel your leg against his, the space between you in the backseat suddenly feeling cavernous.

“You’re so far away.” he mutters, not really intending to say so out loud.

Without saying anything you giggled and scooted closer to him, moving your joined hands into your lap and your leg right against his. You tipped your head up to look at him, he wanted desperately to kiss you. Just as he began to lean into your lips you stopped him with your fingers.

“Not yet.” was all you offered him as conciliation.

He nodded, lips still restrained by your fingertips. The faint smell of the lime you had squeezed into your drink still lingering. Even just having his lips on your fingertips sent his body into a frenzy. But he was a patient man. Drunk or not, he knew how to wait for what he wanted. Still, he allowed himself to indulge a little, he kissed your finger tips before pulling back with a sigh, nodding silently.

The rest of the drive was quick, or at least it felt quick. You lived in an apartment building and when the cab pulled up outside, you handed over a few bills before sliding out of the door closest to you. Nanami began to move toward his before it opened suddenly. You had opened his door for him and were now offering your hand to help him out. He stared up at you entranced, he felt romanced by you. It dawned on him that he had truly let himself be “picked up”. Taking your hand he exited the car and tried to think if he had ever had this happen before. Women approached him sure, men too, but whenever he allowed himself to spend the night with someone they had always come back to his place. It allowed him a sense of control, and thus comfort in a vulnerable situation. Vulnerability did not come naturally to him, not now anyway. He wasn't prudish or uncomfortable with casual sex, but he liked to remain the organizer of them. Much like everything in his life he liked it to remain under his control. But tonight, you had steered him right to your door and he was so willing, it dawned on him only once that maybe he could have gotten himself in a dangerous situation. He barely knew anything about you, he knew your name, and now where you lived, but the rest of you was a mystery to him. And yet here he was, following you down the hallway to your apartment door truly not caring what could be on the other side as long as it meant more time with you.

You hesitated at the front door, holding your keys in one hand, aimed at the lock.

“I want you to know I’ll call your friend whenever you like. If you decide you want to leave, you just say so and It won't be a problem. You won't hurt my feelings and it doesn’t have to be awkward.” It felt redundant at his point, but you couldn't shake the discomfort of having taken him home in this state. He had nodded off briefly in the cab, holding your hand tightly, before coming too and staring at you with wide eyes. You nearly backed off then and redirected the driver to the address his friend-- neigh, Bodyguard-- had written down. But then he had wanted you to come closer, and tried to kiss you. You knew he wasn't thinking clearly, but still he sought you out.

Gnawing the inside of your lip you looked up at him nervously, waiting for his response. Nanami looked down at you, his already drooping eyes still warm toward you, “I really like you. I think you’re beautiful. I bet you're a great decorator, can I please see what you’ve done to your apartment?”

His response made you laugh again. He Hadn't really answered you, but it was clear what he wanted. You weren't sure if he was intending to be funny, but nonetheless, the anxiety you had just felt slipped away once again and you turned the lock, leading him inside. You liked your apartment, it wasn't the nicest place available. But it was a two bedroom you could afford by yourself, with a good sized kitchen and small personal patio. Frankly, you were lucky to have even found it. You were a good decorator, and you were proud of the job you had done with the interior. A large, well managed and organized bookshelf along one wall with a recliner and side table, art along the walls you had collected since first moving away from home. A medium sized brown couch that was perfect for movie nights with Sophie or an afternoon nap. You had made a home here, and you were thankful for the chance to show it off.

“Wow…” Nanami’s voice sounded nice inside of your home.

“You like it?” you began to shed your jacket, hanging it on a tree rack by the door and clicking on a few lights. You offered to take his coat.

“It’s beautiful, so warm.” Nanami began to slip his jacket down his shoulder, suddenly realizing he didn't actually remember putting it on, “you did all of this yourself?”

You barely heard his question, distracted by the way his shirt stretched over the muscles of his back, “Uh.. yeah. I moved in about three years ago. So it's been a process but I’m pretty proud of how it turned out.”

You turned to hang his coat next to yours, even they looked cute together. He removed his shoes carefully, still stumbling a bit before he took a few steps into your apartment’s main room.

“Why don’t you take a seat.” you gestured to the couch

He sat gracelessly, cushion sinking more under him than he expected. His couch at home was pretty stiff, yours was soft and pliant under his weight. He steadied himself again, feeling embarrassed suddenly.

“I dont usually drink like this, I drink.. Just not so….like this?” He attempted to save some face in the wake of his stumble.

You stood by the edge of the couch before moving into the kitchen area.

“Are you hungry? I could make us something before bed.” You offered, more needing an escape from the building sexual tension than feeling any actual hunger.

“Oh I couldn’t put you out like that…” He started, feeling his limbs get heavy with comfort as the softness of your couch lulled him to lay down. It wouldn't hurt to just lay down a little, right?

“It's no trouble, really! We may feel better in the morning if we eat something now.” you called from behind him. Your voice seemed further away somehow as he pressed his cheek against the soft suede beneath him.

The couch smelled so good, like incense and home cooked food. He wondered if you had a pet he hadn't yet seen, or if you wanted one. Were you a dog person? Or did you prefer cats? Maybe you were one of those people into reptiles, he could learn to love one if you wanted him to. In this state he would do anything you asked him. Which was precisely why he wasn't getting the one thing he wanted from you, he buried his frustrated expression further into the couch. A small groan exiting his lips. Your hand brushed the back of his neck, rousing him back to attention.

“Kento, honey? You still with me?” your voice was so sweet saying his name, he wanted to hear it again. Once he looked up at you he saw you had a glass of water in your hand offering it to him, “Are you good to sleep in these clothes or should I look for something for you to wear?”

He was still in his dress clothes, not his work dress clothes, but not exactly lounge wear. His button up was stiff and pants had been well tailored, hell, he was still wearing his belt, “thank you.” he accepted the water, and by proxy your offer.

He was left alone in your living room. Slurping down the cool water he tried once against to regain his composure. Had he fallen asleep again just now? You seemed to have abandoned the idea of eating so he must have drifted off. This job really had run him ragged.

“They still may not be the right size, but they’ll work for the night I think.” You returned from the side room, presumably your bedroom, with a pair of black sweatpants, “They used to be my brother’s, but they've got some paint stains from when I redid the bathroom. Sorry I don't really have anything else.”

He accepted them graciously, setting the water down on a coaster before standing, “Thank you, this is all very nice of you. Letting me stay the night like this, I'm really not usually like this…”he started to repeat himself.

“It's really no trouble, it's been a long time since I let a man as handsome as you sleep on my couch.”

The couch. So he wouldn't be joining you in bed tonight. Part of him had hoped that even though he wouldn't be sleeping with you tonight, he could at least sleep in your bed, “The couch, huh?” His half awake state allowed the thought to slip out half formed.

“Mhm, the couch. You two seem to have really hit it off. I'm certain the drool puddle wasn't there when I left.” You pointed to a small wet spot on the cushion where his face had been.

Once again the embarrassment of his current state shot through his body like electricity, so he had fallen asleep again. He hung his head cringing at himself, “Oh jesus…I cant believe this.. I’m--”

You cut him off, “You really don't need to be sorry. I like having you here. And tomorrow morning maybe we can have coffee and talk some more. I hope you don't think I was just inviting you over to fuck you.”

His breath caught, “No, I- well.. I thought you--”

“I, of course, want to fuck you. And I don't really see any point in hiding it anymore now that you’re here. But it’s just not going to happen tonight. And I don't think I'll get a wink of sleep next to you when all I can think about is that. Does that make sense?”You were tired, you didn't want to be coy and demure anymore. You wanted to be frank and upfront about how you felt and what you wanted. Nanami nodded understandingly, although still a little surprised at your confession. You continued, “So, you’ll sleep here. I’ll sleep in my bed. I usually wake up at 8, the door to my bedroom is unlocked. If you need anything during the night, please don't hesitate to wake me up. The bathroom is the door behind you, you can change in there.”

Nanami was awestruck by your instructional tone, it sent his mind in a thousand directions; thinking of you telling him house work that needed to be done on the weekend, to you telling him exactly how to please you. He wanted you so badly, pants growing tighter, breath getting heavier. You stepped forward, nearly right up against his chest.

“I hope you're not too disappointed that I won't take advantage of you tonight.” Your voice soft.

“I respect your self control.” His eyes were locked on your lips, so plump and soft looking.

“I’m going to bed,”You leaned in closer, so close he could smell your perfume again, still as hypnotic as it was in the club, “Goodnight, Kento.”

You pressed your lips against his cheek. His body shuddered as your lips lingered there before you pulled away back on flat feet. Trying desperately to regulate his racing heart, Nanmi looked at you desperately.

“Goodnight.”

You turned back to the side room hitting a wall switch to extinguish the kitchen light before closing your bedroom door and leaving him in your dimly lit living room. He could still feel your lips burning on his cheek, he stood for a few seconds not wanting any other sensations that could potentially dull this one. Finally, he shed his pants, folding them haphazardly and setting them on your recliner. He sweatpants you had given him fit okay, the drawstring was broken so they hung pretty loose around his hips, showing just the elastic of his briefs. He undid the rest of his shirt buttons and folded it to stack atop his pants. He hoped you wouldn't mind, but he never slept with a shirt on. Honestly, he didn't usually sleep with pants on either, he already ran hot but sleeping was an entirely different story. Sleeping fully clothed almost always culminated in him waking up in a pool of sweat as though he had just broken a fever. Laying on his back on the couch he pulled a throw blanket over him, mind racing with thoughts of tomorrow.

In your room you stared up at the ceiling of your bedroom. You had returned to your room like every night, put on an old t shirt and shorts as you always did, washed your face and brushed your hair as though it was any old night, turned on your white noise and gotten into bed as if there wasn't the most attractive and charming man you had ever met settling in to sleep on your couch at this very moment. The nights events played and replayed in your mind on a loop, the intensity of his gaze across the floor, the way he had materialized right in front of you, the feeling of his body pressed up behind yours, his hands on your back back, his hand in yours, him asking to kiss you in the cab, him snoring softly on your couch, the way he had looked at you as he said goodnight. You had never felt so pulled toward another person before. It was far from a perfect night, on a perfect night you’d be fucking each other blind until the sun came up at this very moment. On a perfect night you wouldn't have even been in that club, you would already be his, spending romantic evenings reading and cooking. You wondered if he liked to read, what his favorite meals were, if he wanted pets, if he would want to move in here or if he’d ask you to move in with him. You recognized the street name of his address, he lived in a far nicer part of the city than you did. You wondered what his place looked like, if he had decorated it personally or if he had help. God, you haven't even asked if he had a girlfriend. You checked for a ring while you were dancing, but you got so caught up that the idea of a girlfriend hadn’t even crossed your mind. You rolled onto your side trying to relieve some anxiety, he didn't have a girlfriend. You met his friends, they were intense, sure. And sure, one of them had lightly threatened you, but it didn't seem like the threat was rooted in a fear of infidelity. It seemed like the threat came purely from a safety standpoint.

Were you being irresponsible? Was it smart of you to have brought him here so easily? You rarely brought hook ups here, almost always opting to follow them home and politely excuse yourself in the morning. You found yourself bending so many of your usual rules for him, giving your information to his friends, leaving the club so quickly, bringing him to your apartment. Nanami was so big and looked so strong, it probably wouldn't take a lot for him to overpower you. You had practically offered yourself to him on a silver plate. And yet, you couldn't bring yourself to be afraid of him. You couldn't say that you knew him well enough to know he was safe, but you just…trusted him. And you felt that he trusted you too.

Your lips still tingled from kissing him. It was just a goodnight kiss, a simple gesture intended to convey continued interest but the end of the conversation around sex. You could call it chaste, even. And yet here you were, lips feeling electrified from a mere two second kiss on the cheek. Whatever product he uses in his hair smelled incredible, like honey or tobacco or sandalwood. Something organic and masculine. The soft sound of surprise he had let out when you touched the back of his sleeping neck resounded in your ears. His voice was so pretty, your mind attempted to conjure what he could sound like when he climaxed. If he would let out a low, husky groan, or if he would whine and beg you for more. You felt your pussy dampen at what your imagination offered you. Thoughts of him were consuming you, seconds moving by glacially as you begged for sleep to take over and bring the beautiful, sober light of day through your bedroom window. When it finally did your dreams were abstract but they were blue and honey and blonde.

Nanami could already feel his head pulsing before he opened his eyes. Oh God. When he finally did manage to pry his eyes open, he found himself not looking at his bedroom wall. He wasn't in his bedroom at all. He wasn't in his bed. Where the fuck was he? He sat up slowly, head pounding and back aching. He took in his new surroundings: he was on a couch, there were his clothes folded on the chair, he remembered taking them off, he looked to the coffee table and saw a glass of water mostly untouched with two small painkillers next to it. It must have been left there by you. YOU! This was your apartment, he had slept on your couch in your apartment! Memories of the previous night came screaming back against his aching head. The club, the shots, meeting you, dancing, you taking him home, you taking care of him-- oh god he was so drunk. Had he really fallen asleep twice? He was mortified. He didn't know if he could face seeing you. He remembered Gojo’s threats and his cheeks burned both in embarrassment and rage, where does he get off acting like some kind of guardian over him. Then again, if he was that drunk then maybe he needed it…maybe just not that one. He stood up on shaky, sore legs, even these pants weren't his. He needed to leave before he embarrassed you or himself any further. This was a mistake, he can't believe he let himself get so carried away, you must have thought he was some drunken fool who cant take care of himself. Maybe he was a drunken fool who couldnt take care of himself.

He unfolded his pants and wracked his brain for whether you had told him which door was your bathroom so he could change back into his own clothes. Just as he was trying to remember which door you had said led to the bathroom, you emerged from the side room yawning.

“Good morning!” You stretched a bit as you walked into the kitchen, “I hope you weren't planning on running off before I got out here. I set the coffee to make enough for two and if you don't drink part of it, I'll be buzzing for the rest of the day.”

The lilt of your laugh brought it all back. He knew exactly how he let himself get carried away. You were magnificent, even more beautiful in the morning light, hair undone, legs exposed under your sleep shorts, what appeared to be a well loved sweatshirt hanging off your shoulders. You took his breath away, he couldn't believe you were actually real. Not some dream his drunken state had conjured to torment him.

You were so grateful to have your back turned on him, it was stupid of you to assume he would have slept in that button up, and you hadn't given him a shirt to wear, despite having an extensive collection of oversized t-shirts that would certainly have covered him. But seeing him shirtless in your living room just for the duration of your walk from bedroom to coffee maker was enough to nearly make you falter right then and there. He was so, fucking, built. How does one even get a body like that, did he live at the gym? He hadn't really explained what it was he did for work, was he a trainer? You weren't really a big gym person, but you could be convinced to start going if it meant watching him huff and puff and sweat.

“Good morning. I don't know where to begin…”, His voice was the same as the previous night, low and smooth, but this morning it was more reserved, more even and controlled, “I can’t thank you enough for helping me out last night. I really can't believe my own behavior. I’m truly sorry.”

You turned to face him, you were expecting some kind of hangover induced remorse, but he sounded genuinely apologetic, as though he had imposed himself upon you rather than having been invited as a guest.

He continued, “I know it doesn't mean much, but I don’t go out very often. I had had a rough few weeks at work and my friends wanted to help me loosen up a bit. Apparently I did a little too good of a job with that part. I'm so sorry to have put you out, I hope your night wasn’t ruined by having to take care of me. I'm grateful to you, I'm just so…”

“How do you take it?” you cut him off before allowing him to apologize to you once again, turning back around to the two cups of coffee you had poured.

“Excuse me?”

“Your coffee,” you opened the fridge to see if you even had any milk to offer him.

“I--”

“I have sugar, or honey if you prefer, and then I don't have any cream but i do have oat milk. I usually take mine with one sugar. How do you take yours?”

Nanami was beside himself, mid flagellation, completely shut down and now once again having to ask something of you, “One sugar is perfect.”

You dropped about a teaspoon of sugar into each mug, giving them both a quick stir before setting the spoon in the sink and walking over to the couch to meet him. Getting close you saw that his freckles did extend down onto his shoulders. Small scatterings of cinnamon dusted on fair, even skin. You handed him one mug, your favorite mug actually, it was dark blue and hand thrown. You had bought it at an art fair when you first moved to town, you’d tell him that story eventually.

“I don’t want you to apologize to me. I’m glad I met you last night. And I’m glad you stayed over. And I'm especially glad you're still here now.” You took a seat on your usual spot on the couch, to the right of him. He was still standing, body facing the kitchen but face watching you intently, now holding his mug but not drinking. You patted the spot next to you on the couch. He sat down, silence fell between the two of you as you sipped your coffee again. He followed suit, the steaming drink already starting to soothe his hangover. He couldn't help the soft moan the escaped him, drinking down the relief of caffeine.

“Taste okay?” you checked in.

“Its perfect. Thank you.” he felt himself loosen up, his brain choosing to be kinder and remind himself of the parts of last night that had gone well. Making you laugh, making you smile, dancing with you, the smell of your hair, your lips on his cheek. You were sat facing him, back against the arm of the couch, legs curled in front of you, he sat up right with his feet planted on the ground, allowing his poster to relax a bit and lean against the back of your couch.

You took his relaxation as an opportunity to take him in. So this was what he was like in the morning: shyer, a bit stiffer, still so fucking handsome. His brown eyes were still a bit droopy with sleep (and likely a bit of light sensitivity), a light impression of the hem of your couch cushion had imprinted itself on his cheek, his hairstyle had fallen and his blonde strands now hung loosely in front of his face. And he still hasn't put a shirt on. His torso was like something in a museum. Strong, broad shoulders sat atop full, muscle built pectorals. The hair there was light and looked soft, it became darker and coarser leading down his toned stomach. You longed to run your tongue over every inch of him, but chose instead to sip your coffee and gawk somewhat openly. Finally the silence became too much and you spoke up again,

“When do I need to have you back to your bodyguard?” you teased sliding your knee to bump against his.

“My-- oh, Gojo, don’t worry about him. He’s likely forgotten all about it.” Nanami tried to cover up the hopefulness in his voice. “Do you have anywhere you need to be today?”

It was a Friday, it was plausible you would have to go into a job today, but he didn't know what you did for work so it was equally plausible that you, like him, were off. To his delight you shook your head, smiling coyly over the rim of your coffee cup, leaning back against the throw pillows he had arranged to rest his head last night. Feeling more confident now that he had shaken off the initial mortification, Nanami scooted closer to you on the couch, setting his mug down on your coffee table. He moved one hand to gently take your mug and place it on the coffee table beside his. He then put his hands at the top of your knees and pulled you closer to him, so you were nearly sitting in his lap.

“So I have a question.” He kept his hands on your legs as he spoke.

“Mm?” you were too stunned to form any actual words.

“Last night, you said something to me. Something about wanting to wait until this morning to fuck me,” he shocked himself at his boldness, “how do you feel about that now?”

Your eyes were wide, pupils nearly all encompassing as his hands touched your skin, this was the most you had touched since the dance floor. His fingertips felt like they were burning you, but the way a hot bath burns your skin just before it becomes relaxing.

This was it, you met his eyes, flicking down briefly to his lips, then back up,“I am still, very interested. What about you.”

Nanami moved one hand over your shoulder, to the back of your neck, leaning in so close you could feel his breath on your lips and he spoke, “I can't believe you made me wait all night.”

He pushed his lips to yours, finally feeling the kiss you both had waited so desperately for. His lips were so soft, the coffee you prepared lingering on both of you. His hand on your neck rose to tangle in your hair and yours reached out to find his neck, his shoulder, his hair-- fucking ANYTHING. He leaned over you slightly, catching a momentary moan and sliding his tongue between your lips, he found himself moaning, feeling your tongue slide against his. Your hands were on his back now, feeling the muscles flex and retract at every turn of his head or readjustment of his hands. The hand not on your head how found your waist, sliding up and down your form savoring every roll and bump and divot his fingers could find. Finally, fucking finally he could touch you, his lips slotted against yours over and over, allowing your tongues adjust and readjust, it was messy and desperate and so passionate, Nanami kissed you like he would never kiss you or anyone else every again. Like a man who knew he could die tomorrow and never again know the warmth of a kiss this intense. You pulled away briefly for air and before his hungry lips could pull you back down you started to remove your top. He met your hands half way and finished the motion for you, you hadn't put a bra on since waking up, opting instead for the thick sweatshirt instead. Your chest was now as exposed as his was. As desperate as he was to have your lips on his again, he took a moment to admire you. Your breasts were full, and round enough to fit perfectly in his grip, nipples hardened already in your exhilaration, still so reactive for him. He wondered if you were wet already, and if so- how wet were you. He couldn't wait to find out. He was staring, lost in his thoughts of how best to appreciate everything you were giving him. So much care, so much trust, your beautiful body. He wanted to know how best to show you what it meant to him.

You squirmed uncomfortably under his gaze. Since you shed your top he was staring at you. You didn't mind it at first, but it was starting to make you self conscious. You weren't insecure about your body, but the intensity of his gaze, how you could nearly hear his mind racing, made you desperate to know what he thought. Finally he broke his gaze away from your chest, raising up one hand to hold your right breast firmly, he looked deep into your eyes moving to kiss you again, softer and more intimately but still just as passionate as before.

“So beautiful…” he said in between kisses, “Even better than I imagined. You’re so beautiful.”

You moaned against his lips as he massaged your chest. He redirected his kisses down the side of your neck, across your collarbone and right to the breast held in his hand. He kissed around the nipple before finally taking it into his mouth. A haughty moan was pulled from you as he sucked hard, eyes flicking up to watch you arch under his mouth. He moved to the otherside, and your hand took refuge in the short hair at the back of his neck. The cropped undercut left little to grip, so your nails dug lightly into his scalp. He moaned around your nipple, eyes rolling back slightly, and hips jutting into the couch involuntarily.

You marvel at his reaction, letting out a small chuckle before moving your nails across his hair again, “You like that?”

He nods wordlessly, mouth still full of you. He knew he was kissing hard enough to bruise, he didn't care. The taste of your skin, the feeling of your body under his, of your fingers in your hair had him feeling drunker than last night. He couldn't get enough of you, he was truly insatiable. He began to move to return to the first side of your chest when you pulled him back up to your mouth, kissing him hard.

“‘Need you.” you pleaded against him

“Need you too, so fucking bad.” He agreed, leaning back upright, and bringing you with him.

You pulled off and stood up quickly, your boobs bouncing as you moved, he would have been embarrassed of the sizable tent growing in the borrowed sweatpants, if he had had any remaining brain power to think about anything other than fucking you. But he didn’t. He stood up and followed you into your bedroom. You had a queen bed, a small wardrobe, a vanity table that appeared to double as a work desk and maybe moonlighted as a craft station. He couldn’t wait to find out what clothes went in what drawers, maybe eventually you would let him keep some of his work clothes here so he could spend the night on weekdays. You turned to face him before reaching the bed, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him down once again to kiss you. His hands fell to your exposed waist, the skin so soft and supple, they teased along the topline of your shorts, lingering to be told the next move. Without him having to ask, you nodded against his lips, and his hands dipped underneath the waist band, finding not underwear but only skin. His hands gripped into the meat of your ass, pulling moans from both of you. Your own hands had slipped down his stomach and began to remove the second hand pants from him as well. Finding the tangled up positioning complicated, you both pulled away briefly to remove the last of your clothing before you led him in climbing on the bed. He followed suit, ogling openly at how your body curved and folded and stretched with every motion. You were nearly serpentine the way your hips shifted climbing onto your bed. His cock was so hard between his legs, pre cum dripping onto your comforter as he followed your crawl. As you turned onto your back, he was right behind you, moving himself between your legs to meet your lips once more. A hand started on the back of one of your thighs, causing you to shiver deliciously.

“You're so sensitive.” He praised, sliding a finger feather light from your ass to the back of your knee.

You mewled unabashedly, proving his point. Finger trailing back down, his hands now gripped both of your thighs, he was on his knees before you, parting your legs further to finally, FINALLY look right at your glistening wet pussy. He nearly fainted at the sight. Lower lips parted to reveal the most beautiful, most delicious looking pussy he had ever seen. He couldn't stop himself, he leaned right down and planted a kiss directly onto it. His eyes rolled back in his head at the sensation, the taste, the smell, the feel of your pussy lips against his mouth, soft pubic hair brushing his nose and he gave a long lick from bottom to top.

“Thank you,” he was so grateful to you. For last night, for taking care of him, for being here this morning, for being here at all, he couldn't believe he had found you like this, and he planned to make the most of his chance.

Never in your life had you been thanked by someone eating your pussy. But here was Kento Nanami devouring you like he hadn't eaten in weeks and whimpering gratitudes into your wetness. You hadn't had time to even realize his intentions before he pushed his tongue between your lips, and once he had your brain had short circuited, causing you to assume the initial “thank you” had been all in your head. It wasn't until it was a mantra he clung to while increasing his ferocity that you realized he really was thanking you. Your hands flew to his hair again, this time pushing back the longer strands in the front that had gathered in his face. You pulled hard when he first sucked your clit into his mouth, the moan he let out sent vibrations up your body and added to the pleasure he was already giving you. Your legs were over his shoulders, your hands in his hair, his mouth was taking you apart one lap at a time, one of his hands found your breasts again, there was so much sensation it was like he knew precisely how to make you unravel before him.

Nanami didn't even realize he was rutting his hips into your mattress, his body desperately seeking friction to his painfully hard cock. He didnt think he had been this hard in years, he couldnt think at-fucking-all. The only thing on his mind was how good you tasted, how pretty you sounded above him, he wanted to hear you say his name, he wanted to make you say his name. He brought his free hand up and slid two of his fingers up and down your folds, getting them thoroughly wet before stopping them just in front of your already clenching hole.

“Do you want these?” his voice is even lower than before, mouth pornographically drenched in you.

You nodded helplessly, just looking at him between your legs threatening to make you cum. He gave a rough squeeze to the breast he held, “No.” he corrected, “ask me.”

You knew what game he wanted to play now, you knew he could tell how much wetter you had just gotten at his darker tone and rougher grip, the tiny showcase of his strength already sending your mind reeling to know how rough he could really get with you. But not right now, now you needed him, any of him, inside of you more than you needed air. So you’ll play along.

“Please, oh fuck please Kento, please put your fingers inside me, i need it. I need it so bad, please.”

More than pleased with your efforts, he slides his fingers into you, they go in so easily, youre so fucking wet. He resumes his meal, already itching to taste you again, now using his fingers to draw even more wetness out of you and onto his tongue. He curls his fingers slightly upward and your moans raise in pitch. He’s hit it, if he keeps this up you’ll cum in no time. You're panting, your moaning, you’re nearly screaming and Kento continues to thrust his long fingers into you, hitting your g spot with inhuman accuracy. You can feel it, you’re nearly there.

“K-Kento i’m..oh fuck i..I’m cumming of fuck I--”, a half scream-half moan rips through your lungs robbing you of the end of your sentence as he pulls your orgasm out of you. You're shaking, you’re pulling his hair, you’re repeating his name over and over until it's completely garbled in your mouth. He takes everything you give him, holding your hips down firmly so you stay connected to his mouth, not letting up with his fingers until he's satisfied you’re through the totality of your first climax. He continues lazy licks as you come down from your high, slowly easing out his fingers and sucking those clean as well.

From your spot on your back you look down at him still panting and dazed from cumming harder than you thought possible with another person. You and your trusty vibrator had made some good memories, but you never expected someone could make you cum like that on the first try. He knew it too, he could see it on your face as he savored the remnants of your cum on his fingers. You moved your hands to his shoulders, weakly pulling, urging him to come up to you. He followed your lead and moved his body over you. You could finally see how fucking hard he was. And how fucking big he was. Just by looking you had to assume he was seven or eight inches long, and he was thick, thicker towards the head than at the base, two pretty veins wrapped around him, the tip was so pink it was nearly red, sticky with precum and still weeping. It curved upward, wanting to rest against his lower abdomen, and the darker blond hair there that grew at the base of him. He clearly kept it groomed, it not being too long or unkempt, but you were grateful it was there. The monstrous thing would probably only look more intimidating without it.

He could see that you were doing the same mental calculations he had seen in every partner he had ever had, and he tucked away the immature arrogant pride and chose to instead kiss the side of your mouth, along your jaw, and up to the shell of your ear,

“It’ll fit, you're already so wet for me, and if it doesn't fit all in one go, that's okay. We can work our way up to it. Trust me.” He kissed your neck soothingly, and that was all you needed. You could already feel yourself dampening again, you wanted so desperately to please him, had just made you cum so hard, you had to at least try to settle the score. Finding his lips once again, you pulled him into another desperate kiss, this time trailing your hand down and wrapping your hand around his cock. Using his already collected precum to coat his shaft, you moved your hand up and down a few times, trying to find the right rhythm before his hand gripped your wrist sternly, forcing you to look him in the eye,

“I nearly came already just from eating your pussy, if you touch me like that I’ll cum right now and I have to be inside of you at least once before then.” he moves your hand away from him and above your head. You keep it there, although direction is ungiven, and he seems pleased by this. He moves to his knees between your legs, Wrapping your legs around his waist, he grips his desperate cock and slides it against your pussy, collecting as much arousal as he can. He doesn’t want to hurt you, he knows how big he is, he knows if he bottoms out without enough prep it won’t feel good for you the way it would for him, he wants you to feel good. He wants you to make that sound again. That pretty scream of his name and pure pleasure. You watch him as he becomes laser focused on the point where you'll be connected in mere moments, you feel honored, in a way to see him like this. He’s being so attentive, so thoughtful and he's making you feel so good. Your hand reaches up and touches the side of his face, and he leans into your palm, nuzzling into it.

“I trust you, Kento. Please, baby, fill me up, I need you so bad, please fuck me.”

He presses a kiss to the heel of your hand, the light breaks in your voice making cock twitch in his own hand, he can’t wait any longer, he begins easing himself inside. He tries, he really tries to go as slow as he can, but hes so fucked out and desperate he cant control his movements as well as he usually would. Feeling him push inside of you, you’ve never been so full in your life, he stretches you so nicely, a slight burn but the combination of foreplay and your first orgasm soothe any pain or anxiety you may have had. His eyes are closed, his brows are furrowed, lips parted and still wet. He looks so beautiful like this. You think he's finally gotten all the way in as he stops his movements, you couldn't be more wrong, his hands lift your hips up slightly, more aligned with his pelvis and he slides back out an inch, before pushing the rest of his length inside of you. You feel him against your cervix, you feel him along every inch inside of you.

Looking down at you, he finally opens his eyes, you look so beautiful filled with him. Mouth dropped open, a warm flush settling over your chest and neck, one hand gripping his arm tightly, the other buried in the blanket beneath you. He wants to keep you like this forever, he attempts to push even deeper, seeing how far you can really take him. Gasping your back arches away from his grasp, but he pulls you back to him.

“Just like this, take it all. Look at you, such a good girl for me. Taking every inch.” His praise coaxes you to relax again. He's so deep inside of you, it feels amazing, “You think I can move now, baby?”

You nod desperately. He starts a slow thrust, opening you up little by little. He's hitting every spot inside of you, you don't know how but you can already feel another orgasm building from just the first few thrusts.

“How do you expect me to fuck you properly, when she wont let me go.” he teases above you, sliding his fingers in a V shape along your innermost fold, right where you’ve gripped around him so tightly.

“‘Mm sorry.” you gasp out barely registering the conversation.

“Oh fuck,” he sputters, finally able to pull completely out before diving back in.

Youre finally warmed up enough for him to fuck completely. He pulls on your legs to place over his shoulder as he deepens his thrusts. Your moans are syncing with his, his movements are starting to become jerky again, trying to control himself as much as possible, Kento brings a thumb to circle your clit making you see stars behind your eyelids, when you open your eyes the only thing you can see his him, gripping onto you leg firmly, staring intently at how well you’re taking him, watching himself move in and out of you. He feels you start to grow tighter around him before you can even start to whimper out,

“Fuck, fuck, kento I---aughhh.” you came around him with no warning,the feeling of you pussy spasming and tightening around him is nearly enough for him to lose his own. He releases a deep moan.

“Where can I cum, please baby, fuck where do you want me to cum, i’m so fucking close.” he can feel the sweat dripping down his face, he’s so dangerously close to blowing it inside of you. He wants to so badly, but he needs to hear you want him to.

“Inside, please, inside me, i need you to fill me up, please fuck.”

Music to his fucking ears, he carried on with his thrusts as you continue begging him to cum inside of you. Your wicked tongue is so dangerous, anything you asked of him in this moment he would do, as long as it meant he could stay like this forever. His thrusts grow shorter, faster, more frantic, he’s truly rutting against you, so deseperate for release the only word on his lips is a repetition of “fuck” and your name. It sounds so good coming from him, like he was born to say it. Finally, he lets out a long strangled cry, coming from low in his belly. You can feel his cock twitch inside of you as his release covers your inner walls. He thrusts a few more times, emptying himself completely before stilling his movements, still locked inside of you.

Heavy pants fill the room, cutting through the thickened air. Nanami collapses over you, resting his head on your chest, the sound of your heart quickening underneath him cutting a smile into his face. You brush the front of his hair off his head once more, cycling your fingers through the sweat-dampened strands. Contented, satisfied sighs escaped both of you, neither of you spoke, neither of you wanted to, not wanting anything to break up this bliss of this moment.

Morning light dripped through your window curtains, golden rays illuminating his features, the freckles on his cheeks, the soft wrinkles by his eyes, a small scar cut into the arch of one eyebrow. He really was beautiful, you wondered how many people had gotten to see him like this. A man of his stature, his strength, completely unguarded. One of his large hands found yours, bringing it up to his lips, kissing your fingers, so sweet, so intimate. You really could fall in love with him. Finally, he looked up to face you, eyes catching the light and turning gold, he winced lightly, still feeling the sensitivity of his hangover. You flattened your palm in the path of the sun’s beam, offering his tender eyes solace in the shade. The gesture is short lived as he moves up to press his lips against yours again, his still buried cock shifting and igniting your inner nerves once again. Feeling you begin to tremble, Nanami wills himself to pull out and move onto his back next to you, one large arm wrapping around you, desperate to not be parted from you for even a second. You rest your forehead against the side of his neck snuggling up to his side. His smell fills your nose, the lingering cologne that you first smelled on the club’s crowded floor, mixed with something so uniquely and naturally him. You felt his lips press onto your forehead, arms pulling you tighter to his side.

Kento was the first to break the silence, “would you want to have dinner with me tonight?”

Your lips curve warmly already imagining how handsome he’ll look like in a nice restaurant, candlelight flicking over his face, maybe he’ll even wear his glasses.

“I’d love that.”

Author’s notes:

Okay thank you guys! I hope you enjoyed!I know I did, I know I said it earlie but I haven’t written in forever so I would love to hear some feedback! Don’t be scared, I know I can take it!

it’s up on Ao3 too.

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[goodluckrob-deactivated20221110]

[seeklight-deactivated20210703]

This is the easiest way to piss a conservative off though… Like ask for a specific source and they FLIP

[crownsforusall]

That boy short-circuited

[madeline-kahn]

Rachel McAdams as Annie in Game Night (2018) dir. John Francis Daley, Jonathan Goldstein

[gahdamnpunk]

Say it louder for those elitist ass expensive ass seats at the front who refuse to see the problem