Unrequited Hedonist

24 Bleach || JJK || KnY

[justboredtingz]

Are you ever going to write that one fic of Grimmjow drinking that tea? It's been forever and WE have been waitingg

I promise I will! I’m in veterinary school so this program is taking all of my time but I’ll most likely be writing more over our thanksgiving break :) FEAR NOT SINFUL CHILD I WILL DELIVER!!!

[justboredtingz]

Yes, Your Highness: Alternative Ending || Kenma x Reader

Alternative Ending to part 2.

Decided to do a happy ending for those who aren’t interested in angst. I started from when Kuroo brought the letter, so you can just stop there if you want LOL. No smut unless you ask for it uhuhuhuhuhu but anywho— let’s immerse

"I can't do more," Kuroo murmured, voice rough, eyes flickering with guilt. He rose from where he'd knelt by your side, lingering for one final moment before forcing himself to turn away.

The door scraped open, heavy as stone. The guards outside gave him a bored glance, uncaring as he strode past them, shoulders tense.

"Poor girl," one of them muttered.

Kuroo paused, halfway down the corridor. Another voice answered, low with a snort of laughter.

"Aye. Though with the princess leaving the king's quarters this morning again... can't say who's decision this truly was anymore."

"Mm. Never thought l'd see our king so easily swayed.”

“Not that it matters — once the prince's knight is gone, the prince won't have much left to cling to."

"You think he'll court her after?"

"He won't have a choice. His duty rarely leaves room for his heart."

"Tch. Poor lad."

Their boots faded down the hall.

Kuroo stood frozen, pulse hammering in his throat. A sour knot twisted in his gut.

When he finally forced himself into motion, he moved fast - faster than he had in days.

"You're late," Kenma said softly when Kuroo entered the prince's chambers, barely glancing up from where he sat by the window.

Kuroo shut the door behind him and leaned back against it, dragging a shaking hand through his hair.

"Your Highness... There’s talk among the guards,” Kuroo said grimly. “The situation is more dire than I feared.”

That earned him a sharp glance.

Kuroo paced once, gathering the words, then began.

He repeated the guards' conversation word for word, voice low, each sentence tightening the prince's frame.

When he finished, Kenma rose. "She's controlling him," he whispered, voice trembling.

"She's using this to force an alliance. To trap me."

Though her country held strength, the alliance served her ambitions more than his. It would flood her coffers, bind him beneath her will — and leave his kingdom shouldering the cost. With the way his parents were pushing her onto him, it appeared as if he was the only one who knew.

Kuroo swallowed. “There’s more.” Kenma’s eyes narrowed.

“Before the match,” Kuroo said, forcing the words past the lump in his throat, “she… told me to provoke your knight. To be… bold with her. Said it would ‘put on a show’ for the court. I—” his voice broke. “I didn’t question it. I didn’t think—”

A sharp crack split the air as Kenma’s palm struck Kuroo’s cheek with startling force. The blow snapped Kuroo’s head to the side, dark hair falling across his eyes. He remained still, shoulders tense beneath the prince’s gaze. For all their years as comrades, there were rare moments like this when Kuroo was reminded—Kenma was not just a friend. He was the crown prince.

“Idiot,” Kenma hissed, voice low and seething, his breath unsteady. “You allowed yourself to be used. You let her disgrace my knight before the court.”

“I know,” Kuroo murmured, voice thick with regret, head bowed. He did not raise a hand to defend himself. “I’m sorry.”

Kenma’s jaw clenched, golden eyes burning. “And now…” His voice wavered, then steadied. “Now she means to take from me the woman I’ve come to love.”

The last word left him hoarse — a truth ripped from his chest. For a breathless moment, the weight of it crushed him.

No more hiding. No more silence.

“No,” he whispered, the fire in his gaze flaring to life. “We must go. Immediately.”

He strode to the wardrobe and tore open the doors, yanking out a heavy cloak. “We’ll be stopped,” Kuroo warned. “They’ve posted heavy security. You weren’t to leave. If they see you—”

“Then we won’t be seen.”

Kenma flung the cloak over his shoulders, fastening it with shaking fingers. He grabbed the clasp with trembling hands, forcing the tremors still.

“bring me a horse,” he said coldly.

“Yes, your highness,” Kuroo answered, already moving.

Kenma’s cloak swirled behind him as he swept down a lesser hall, fury driving his every step. His pulse pounded in his ears. She would not win. Not like this.

He cut through a side passage, and froze.

Ahead, through a partially open door, voices drifted, low and intimate. The princess.

“It will all be over soon, my king,” the princess purred. Kenma’s breath caught.

“Once the siren is gone, Your Majesty, the prince will have no choice but to wed me. The alliance will demand it… and so will your council. Our countries united— it is what they’ve wanted all along.”

Kenma edged closer, heart hammering. Through the crack, he saw them — the princess perched on the king’s lap, her fingers trailing along his jaw, lips close to his ear.

“You must stay strong, Your Majesty,” she whispered. “No hesitation. No mercy. The execution must go on. Our future depends on it.”

The king said nothing — but guilt painted every line of his face. His hands trembled faintly where they rested on the arms of his chair.

“Come,” the princess murmured, rising gracefully. “It is time.” She took his hand and led him from the room, both of them passing mere feet from where Kenma stood hidden in shadow.

He waited until their footsteps faded, then shoved off the wall, chest heaving.

That was no alliance. It was blackmail. A leash. And his father wore it willingly.

“Kuroo,” he hissed, striding towards the stables. He nearly collided with his guard rounding the corner.

“Your Highness—”

“They’re leaving. I saw them,” Kenma ground out, grabbing Kuroo’s arm. His voice shook with barely restrained fury.

“She’s using the alliance to force the king’s hand — to force mine.”

Kuroo’s face darkened, “We’re out of time.”

“We ride.” Kenma’s eyes burned. “I will see her safe… or die with her.”

———————-

They moved fast, cloaks drawn tight. The city beyond the palace walls already swelled with noise—voices raised, the creak of wood, the distant clang of iron. The sun hung low, casting a pale gold over the stone streets.

Ahead, through narrow breaks between buildings, they could glimpse the scaffold looming dark against the sky.

“We’ll take the lower gate,” Kuroo said, low and urgent. “Fewer eyes.”

Kenma gave a sharp nod. His face was pale beneath the hood, mouth set in a grim line—but his gaze burned bright, wild with purpose.

There was no room left for fear.

They slipped down side streets, boots striking stone. The roar of the square thickened with every step, a living thing ahead of them. At the final bend, Kuroo slowed, pressing Kenma to the shadows.

“From here,” he murmured. “Carefully.”

Kenma nodded, though his fists trembled beneath the cloak.

Together, they edged into the crowd. The square was packed shoulder to shoulder—merchants, nobles, soldiers, commonfolk alike all crammed before the scaffold. Banners hung limp against the breeze. At the platform’s center loomed the guillotine, its blade gleaming wickedly in the pale light.

A single raised platform flanked the scaffold: the king sat stiffly upon his throne, face pale, eyes darting. The queen beside him looked ashen, hands twisted tightly in her lap.

And there, at the king’s right hand, stood the princess. Her gown shimmered like woven blood, and her smile was slow, sly, as she leaned in to murmur against the king’s ear.

Kenma’s breath caught. “There,” he ground out, trying to control his temper. “They’re here already. Watching.”

Kuroo’s jaw tightened. “We move.”

They pressed forward through the mass of bodies, slipping between merchants and soldiers. The press of heat and breath was suffocating.

On the platform, guards dragged a cloaked figure forward— hood drawn low, chains clinking with every step. The crowd shifted, murmuring with curiosity.

“They’ve kept her hidden—why cloak the condemned?”

“Who is it? Some traitor?”

Kenma’s heart hammered. He knew. But seeing the heavy cloak swaying with your every forced step, rage and dread knotted in his throat.

They bound your wrists to the frame, your body trembling as they forced your neck into place.

Then, with a sharp tug, one of the guards ripped the coak away. Gasps erupted across the square.

“Oh my!— that’s the prince’s knight—!”

“She guarded him for years!”

“Why her?”

“This cannot be right—”

The court Speaker strode forward, voice ringing out over the stunned crowd:

“Let it be known,” he called, “that this woman— once a high knight of our court— is condemned for the highest treason. She has consorted with the prince against royal decree. She acted beyond her station. She seduced loyalty meant for crown and kingdom alike.”

“She loved where she should not… but must she die for it?!” someone cried from the crowd.

Kenma’s breath caught as his gaze raked over you—bruises stark against blood-streaked skin, a fresh gash glistening at your temple. What had they done to you? A sick rush of ferocity tore through him.

The executioner adjusted the blade with grim precision. Then, raising his voice to the crowd:

“Does the prisoner have any final words?”

Kenma’s body moved before his mind could catch up as he shoved through the crowd. Realizing he would never make it to her in time, his voice rose clear, fierce:

“SHE WILL NOT DIE THIS DAY.”

It cracked through the square like a whip.

Gasps erupted.

Kenma tore the cloak from his shoulders where he stood deep in the crowd—golden hair tumbling free, royal crest gleaming beneath the fabric.

“The prince!”

“It’s Prince Kenma—!”

“He’s here—he’s stopping the execution!”

A shocked ripple surged outward— nobles parting instinctively, commoners stumbling aside as Kenma strode forward, determination apparent in his eyes.

“Guards!!! He should not be here!” the princess’s shrill voice rang out from the platform. She rose abruptly, color draining from her face. “It is against the king’s—your ruler’s—orders!”

Kenma didn’t pause. His voice cut through the rising clamor: calm, cold, and sharper than any blade:

“You forget yourself, Princess. You hold no rule here, yet you call for guards as if they answer to you. Then again—” his gaze flicked toward the king, voice twisting with bitter truth “—you may have grown used to giving orders in this court.”

Gasps rippled outward.

The king flinched visibly, face draining of color.

Beside him, the queen straightened in her seat, gaze fixed upon her son; not with fear, but with something softer, proud and fierce beneath the sheen of unshed tears.

And the crowd—

“He’s speaking—”

“The prince!! he’s never spoken to the court like this—”

“Listen—listen well !! this is no small thing—!”

Kenma’s gaze burned toward the scaffold.

“You speak of loyalty and justice,” he called, voice rising now—steady, commanding, the words carrying farther than they ever had in his life, “yet you let this farce unfold. Driven not by law, but by whispers and a king too feeble to guard his own throne.”

His gaze sliced back to the princes, “You would see a knight’s blood spill to serve your ambition” his voice hardened, “but this day, the court will remember where true power lies.”

“LIAR!” the princess shrieked, her mask cracking. “GUARDS—SEIZE HIM—”

“On whose authority?” Kenma’s voice rang back, clear as a bell. “Must I remind you? You rule no crown here. You command no throne. And soon, you shall command nothing at all.”

The storm swelled—cries rising into a roar. Soldiers glanced about, hands faltering on hilts.

“The prince speaks true—!”

“She’s corrupted the king!”

“Down with the false alliance!”

“Release the knight—!”

“Release her,” Kenma commanded, voice low but unyielding. “Now.”

The king lurched to his feet, trembling. “My son—this cannot—”

“You will speak no more, Father,” Kenma said coldly. “Not until you remember you are king, not puppet.”

The queen’s tears slipped free now, but her chin lifted, shoulders straightening as her gaze held her son’s strong and powerful appearance, pride burning through her grief.

On the scaffold, the guards holding you hesitated—trapped now between crown and prince, the weight of the square pressing close.

Kenma took another step forward—cloak fallen, crest bared, golden eyes unwavering.

“Release her—or answer to your prince.”

————————-

A charged silence gripped the air—one breath, two—before the crowd exploded.

“He commands it—!”

“Down with the false alliance!”

The guards atop the scaffold shifted uneasily, hands loosening on your chains. Their captain glanced between the king and the prince, waiting for a sign.

The king swayed where he stood, pallor stark against the gold of his crown. His jaw clenched tight, fingers digging into the arms of his throne—as though sheer will alone could still command the court’s obedience. His mouth opened to speak, to assert dominion— but the rising tide of the people’s fury drowned him before the words could come.

And then—quiet but carrying—another voice rose above the noise. “He speaks as a king already,” the queen said, her voice clear, proud.

All eyes turned.

She stood now beside her throne, shoulders squared, tears drying upon her cheeks. Her gaze burned with fierce love and resolve as she looked upon her son, “You see a prince,” she said to the crowd, “but I see a ruler. A heart unbowed by fear. A voice the court has long silenced—no more.”

She turned, gaze cutting to her husband. “If you will not act, my king—then your son must. And I will stand with him.”

A roar swelled from the crowd.

“Long live the prince!”

“Let him rule—!”

“A king with honor—!”

“No—no !! this cannot be !!” the princess hissed, voice cracking. She grabbed the king’s arm, desperate now. “Do something !! Stop this !” The power she’d so carefully woven was unraveling, thread by thread, before the eyes of the kingdom.

But the king sank back onto his throne, shoulders slumped beneath the weight of his shame.

And then, soft— but so certain it stilled the restless square, Kenma spoke, repeating himself just one more time:

“Release her.”

This time it was not a request. Not a command.

It was law.

The guards moved as one, chains falling from your wrists with a final, ringing clatter. The crowd surged, shouts of triumph, cries of relief. Kenma stepped toward the scaffold, golden eyes never leaving you.

“You are free,” he said softly, voice rough with emotion. His world narrowed to the battered figure before him—the woman they had tried to take from him, and whom he would never let go again.

”…Kenma—” your voice broke.

But he shook his head, a faint, trembling smile breaking through.

“Later. Right now, stand with me.”

He turned, arm steady at your back, as they faced the stage.

The queen had descended from her seat, regal and composed. She reached them in a swirl of velvet, voice low but carrying:

“You have shown more strength in this hour than any crown has lent,” she said to her son, gaze warm with pride. Her eyes flicked to you—softened. “And you,” she whispered, “have shown a loyalty beyond duty. I have watched it for longer than you know.”

She laid a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Stand proudly now. beside him.”

A sob caught in your throat—but you bowed your head in gratitude.

“Guards,” the queen commanded then, voice sharpening. “Remove the princess from my sight.”

The princess was seized, shrieking—her words drowned beneath the surge of the people’s will.

On the throne, the king sat hollow-eyed, crown slipping upon sweat-damp hair. “Your time has passed,” the queen said softly to him. No cruelty, only weary truth. “The court will stand with our son now.”

The king’s gaze faltered—no protest came.

Kenma straightened, voice rising once more:

“No longer will this court be ruled by whispers and shadows,” he declared. “From this day forward, we stand in truth. We stand as one.”

The people roared.

And so, hand in hand, beneath the roar of a new dawn—you stood together.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

History would remember the day the court changed.

The king, shamed before his people, before his son—abdicated the throne within the week. Some said it broke him, though others whispered he had broken long before. He withdrew from public life, the weight of his failure too great to bear.

The queen remained—a quiet but steady presence in the halls of power. In the days that followed, her voice held great sway among the council. And though she never spoke ill of her husband, it was clear where her loyalty now lay.

The princess was returned to her homeland in disgrace. The alliance she had once wielded like a weapon dissolved in a single stroke of public will. It was said her family received her with shame, her ambitions crushed beneath the weight of her own schemes.

And the prince—now king—ascended to the throne not by birthright alone, but by the voice of the people. Kenma ruled with a quiet strength that surprised many. He spoke sparingly, but when he did, the court listened. No longer a shadowed figure in the wings. He had become a sovereign in truth.

As for you—

There was talk, of course. Rumors and whispers—how a knight, bloodied and broken, had stood at the heart of it all. Some called it folly. Others, legend.

At first, you returned not to your former post, but to the shadows of the court—ever close, ever watching. A knight no more, though your blade remained sharp.

But duty has its weight, and kingdoms demand heirs.

In time, Kenma stood before the court once more—voice calm, gaze unflinching.

“I will wed no one but her,” he said. “Let the old blood grumble if it must—this is my choice, and my kingdom will honor it.”

And so you became queen—not by birthright, but by love, by loyalty, by a bond forged in fire.

There were still whispers. There always would be. But when the first cries of your child echoed through the halls, even the harshest voices fell silent.

A new line had begun—a new era, born not of alliance or ambition, but of truth.

Thanks for the idea @multi-fandom-fanfic !!

[justboredtingz]

Yes, Your Highness Part. 2 || Kenma x Reader 🔞

Part 2 to This. I also wrote an alternative ending

(Prince! Kenma x F!Knight! Reader)

I wrote part 1 in like 2020 LOLLLL I’m such a bad person but it’s here now i guess. Anybody still like haikyuu?? T^T. BUT ANYWHO it’s is long ASF, idek the word count because i typed it on my phone lol.

Smut, angst (sorry), no happy ending because i said so, death, just try to immerse its long asf.

You stood behind Kenma’s chair at the long dining table, hands clasped neatly behind your back. Your armor had been freshly polished, gleaming faintly beneath the soft candlelight, though the weight of it felt heavier than usual tonight.

Across from Kenma sat the princess, radiant in a pale silk gown that caught the eye of every courtier in the room, save for the prince himself. Kuroo explained to you how the King and Queen expected Prince Kenma to marry the princess. It was obvious she was the King’s pick for him— She had come from a very powerful country that would be beneficial to have as an ally. The Queen was only worried about him making “beautiful sons” and felt that the princess would suffice.

Kenma sat with a practiced posture, calm and unreadable, golden eyes half-lidded as he absently stirred the broth in his bowl. Every so often, he shifted faintly in his seat and though he never looked directly at you, you noticed the minute tilts of his head, the way his gaze flicked toward your presence behind him.

He was distracted. And you were certain the princess had noticed.

“Prince Kenma,” she spoke with a gentle lilt, fingers folding atop the table. “Are you enjoying your meal? You’ve hardly touched it.”

Kenma glanced up briefly, voice even. “It’s fine.”

His tone was polite but distant. He made no effort to engage further, letting the conversation dissolve awkwardly. The princess’s smile twitched at the corners.

You kept your expression neutral, though your pulse quickened. His disinterest was palpable. And dangerous. It would be concerning for the King and Queen if Kenma did not take a liking to the princess.

Moments passed in strained silence. Then, without warning, Kenma set down his spoon quietly and pushed back his chair.

“I’m done.”

A few heads turned. The princess blinked, her expression flickering with surprise, but before she could respond, Kenma stood fully, “please excuse us.”

“Come,” he said softly, glancing over his shoulder. The single word wasn’t a request.

Your throat tightened. You bowed briefly to all that were in attendance before falling into step behind him, boots clicking softly against the polished floor. He’s really done it for himself. The Queen will not be happy with his manners.

Kenma’s strides were unhurried, but his shoulders were faintly tense beneath the fine fabric of his tunic. You followed him out of the hall and into one of the dim stone corridors that led toward the quieter wings of the castle.

It wasn’t until you reached a small alcove near the outer courtyard that he stopped. Without a word, he turned, golden eyes lifting to meet yours.

He said nothing. Only stood there, leaning his head against your chest piece, faint color blooming high on his cheeks.

“Your Highness…” You spoke softly, cautious, placing your hands on his shoulders. “You know this is unacceptable.”

Kenma lowered his gaze, shoulders drawing inward. “I know,” he murmured. His voice was quieter now, edges softened by something unspoken. “I just—”

Before he could finish his sentence, footsteps echoed faintly down the hall.

The princess.

You caught her silhouette first — emerging just past the columned archway, her gaze sharp and searching. You quickly removed your hands and placed them at your side, Prince Kenma getting the message and sitting up. And when her eyes found you, standing too close to the prince, your larger frame overshadowing his, her expression changed. The smile returned. But this time, it was brittle.

“Your Highness,” she called smoothly, voice cutting through the air. “Forgive me. I grew concerned when you left so suddenly.”

Kenma straightened faintly, face returning to its usual calm. “I needed air,” he said, simple and flat. But the princess’s eyes slid to you again, narrowing ever so slightly.

“Ah. Of course.”

She lingered a moment too long, taking in the space between you both. Then, with an elegant dip of her head, she stepped back into the hall, but not without a final glance, her expression unreadable. Your heart hammered against your ribs.

“She suspects something,” you whispered once she was gone.

Kenma’s gaze didn’t waver. “I don’t care.”

But you did. Because now, you could feel it — the truth of the matter being you and Kenma could never be together. He would never be yours.

You escorted the prince back to his room. He wanted to finish where you had last left off, but you explained to him the circumstances with the princess present in the castle— people might consistently be in and out of his room until she leaves, and it would be fatal for you to get caught in the act. Kneeling and kissing his hand, you let your lips linger a second too long on his knuckles before parting ways. Your heart throbbed in your chest, wanting to spend another night with him.

Sadly, during the princesses visits, you were ordered to move back into the Knights quarters on the West end of the castle, completely opposite from Kenma’s chambers. The King wanted them to have more “private time” while she visited for them to bond, and having you around all the time wasn’t going to help Kenma socialize.

You were left to your thoughts, which always drifted to kenma. Suddenly you felt a slap to your back, almost sending you flying forward, “You’re outta there. What’s goin on?” Kuroo stood there, pulling off his armor to place on the stand.

You adjusted your armor before shrugging it off, making it appear as if it was a minuscule issue, “ just worried about prince Kenma not taking on to the princess.”

He let out a small ‘ah’ before patting your back once more, “Well he’ll have plenty of time warming up to her during our sparring session tomorrow.”

You looked up at him confused, “They’ll be watching our sparring session?” It was rare for royalty to be interested in anything related to the knights, you questioned the reasoning behind this all.

“The Princess asked to king to watch. Sum’ about her wanting to make sure the prince is being well taken care of. Her servant just notified me of this not too long ago.”

Ahhhhhh that’s why. She might want me to be replaced.

You only nodded, letting out an annoyed sigh, “It might be one of those situations regarding me being a woman again.” You said that, but you knew it was more likely related to what she saw earlier tonight. Getting rid of the competition.

However, there has been plenty of times where people assumed Kenma wasn’t being protected enough due to your gender. “A woman can’t protect the prince, they’re too emotional! Too hormonal!”

You wiped your face with your hand out of frustration before thanking kuroo, “Thanks for the heads up. Now I gotta kick your ass to keep my job.”

He let out a laugh before walking off, waving behind him, “Don’t get your hopes up, I’ve been practicing while you’ve been playing maid.”

You ignored his last statement and changed into your sleep clothes.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

The sun hung low in the morning sky as the knights assembled in the outer courtyard, a training ground. The air was thick with anticipation, it wasn’t often that members of the royal family deigned to attend sparring sessions.

You tightened the straps of your armor, jaw set. She’s watching today, you reminded yourself. Play it smart.

Across from you, Kuroo grinned lazily as he adjusted his gauntlets. “Nervous?” he teased. You smirked. “Not a chance.”

But when your gaze flicked toward the viewing platform, your pulse stuttered.

There she was, the princess, seated gracefully beside the King and Queen. And beside her, seated in rigid silence, Prince Kenma. Deep burgundy velvet hung from his narrow shoulders, fastened by a simple gold clasp that gleamed dully in the sunlight. The color made his skin look even paler, the shadows beneath his eyes a little deeper. Beneath the cloak, he wore a high-collared black tunic— tailored perfectly, but you knew he hated the way it felt, too stiff, too formal. Faint gold embroidery traced the collar and cuffs, fine but understated, like everything about him. His trousers were dark and fitted, boots polished to court standards though he hardly seemed to notice them. But it was his hair that caught your eye— tied loosely back with a black silk ribbon, already coming undone from the rough treatment by the wind. Strands had slipped free and now framed his face in soft, uneven wisps. He hadn’t bothered to fix it. And those eyes— half-lidded, unreadable to anyone else. But you knew that gaze. You felt it lingering on you even now, sharp and unrelenting, as though he could tear through steel and bone to find whatever part of you still dared to hope. Your mind flickered back to the previous encounter you shared. The way he rolled his hips and twitched in your hands, his soft moans, those golden eyes almost black with how dilated his pupils were. One night was all it took for you to feel possessive over him. He was your Prince to protect, your Prince to serve.

He looked out of place in the bright morning sun. His posture was straight, but his hands fidgeted faintly in his lap. You sent a small smile, but something flickered in his expression — a silent plea.

Don’t lose, that gaze seemed to say. Don’t give them a reason to take you away.

You gave a subtle nod in return. Then drew your blade. The first few clashes went well. the lower ranked knights standing no chance against you. Men getting frustrated, calling you ‘bitch’ and ‘whore’ to get under your skin, attempting to anger and distract you. Kenma was obviously aggravated by their behavior, but whenever you put them on their ass, he couldn’t help but have a small smile creep to his face.

The next battle finally came, this clash was all speed — steel against steel, your body moving on instinct. Kuroo was good, too good for how relaxed he always seemed.

Blades sang as you met strike after strike, boots skimming across the stone. Sweat dampened your brow beneath your helm, but you pushed harder.

Then — a misstep.

You lunged in low, and Kuroo anticipated it too well — twisting at the last moment, his arm sweeping around to catch you by the waist. The force of it sent you off balance, your back hitting his chest with a dull clank of metal.

A playful murmur reached your ear. “Careful, kitten. Wouldn’t want you to fall.”

You stiffened — not at the words, but at the way his hand lingered at your waist. A touch too familiar. A touch meant for show. He wanted to embarrass you.

Your gaze darted instinctively to the platform.

Kenma’s expression had darkened — not with anger, but with something quieter. His knuckles were white against the armrest, eyes locked on where Kuroo’s hand rested on you.

He couldn’t do that. He couldn’t touch you like that in front of everyone. But Kuroo could. And was making a point to do so.

You pushed away sharply, grabbing his arm and flipping him over your shoulder. Regaining your stance, “Fight properly,” you hissed. You could see the princess unsettled in your peripheral, obviously hoping for Kuroo to win.

Kuroo only smirked, getting up and dusting himself off, before he, too, returned to his stance. “As you wish.”

The bout continued— faster, harder. Your frustration fueled each strike, but it dulled your edge. You didn’t understand why Kuroo was trying so hard. He knew that if you failed, the princess would have you removed. Kuroo feinted left, and in your impatience, you overcommitted. Steel cracked against your pauldron, the blow jarring through your shoulder. You stumbled back with a hiss of pain, blade dropping.

A sharp intake of breath echoed from the viewing platform. You lost. You immediately lose if you drop your weapon. Kuroo was smart enough to hold on to his sword when you flipped him. He was also smart enough to aim for your pauldron, knowing it would disarm you.

The princess rose gracefully, eyes gleaming. “Enough!” she called, voice ringing clear across the courtyard. “The knight is injured and has lost the bout. And—” her gaze flicked meaningfully toward Kuroo, “—I could not help but notice the… improper closeness during the match. How can one entrusted with the prince’s safety allow herself to be so easily distracted? Worse yet — to permit such familiarity in front of the court.”

The King frowned, his gaze narrowing.

You grit your teeth, forcing yourself upright despite the throbbing in your shoulder. “It was nothing,” you ground out. “A scratch. I can continue. And that—” your eyes burned as you glanced at Kuroo, “—was not permitted. I was caught off guard. It will not happen again.”

The princess descended a few steps, her tone all honeyed concern. “Your Majesty, surely you see — this is not suitable. If one so easily distracted and compromised can be swayed in the middle of a simple sparring match…” she trailed off delicately, letting the words hang. “It is evident that a woman should not be protecting the prince. Such… entanglements are dangerous.”

Murmurs rippled through the onlookers. Before the King could speak, Kenma stood abruptly, voice low but steady. “She is not fragile.”

All heads turned.

Kenma was never one to talk, especially in public, and to see him defending you this way made your heart thud against your chest. His gaze did not waver. “She is not compromised. Nor unfit.” His fingers curled tightly around the edge of the railing. “I trust her.”

The princess turned to him, brows arched in feigned surprise. “Dearest prince, I only seek your safety. I know you must be fond of her, but—”

“I will not be guarded by anyone else,” he said, sharper now.

But the King’s voice cut through. “Enough. The princess is correct. We cannot risk it. You are our only son, and it’s important you have someone competent protecting you, ” His gaze settled on you. “You are to step down. Sir Kuroo will assume primary guard duties. The transition will be made within three days.”

The world seemed to tilt.

Kenma’s fists clenched at his sides, his eyes burning with a rare spark of fury — but the King had spoken.

You bowed stiffly, pain forgotten. “As you command.”

Your gaze flicked to Kenma one last time. Beneath the calm mask he always wore, you saw something: helpless fury.

But there was nothing either of you could do now. The princess has won.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

You finished your sparring matches, which went late into the evening. Prince Kenma had left the moment the decision was made, and the princess stayed to watch, her expression showing pure self-satisfaction. You foughtand practiced until late into the evening, letting out your frustrations in battle. Once done, you didn’t remember walking back to the knights’ quarters. Your mind was too loud. The dull throb in your shoulder was nothing compared to the searing heat in your chest.

You lost your position. You lost your closeness to the prince. To your Kenma.

Because of a cheap trick. Because of a moment’s distraction. Because of him. Plus, the princess somehow manipulated your superiors to put you on stable duty— the lowest ranking position in the castle.

You shoved open the heavy oak door, armor clinking as you strode across the stone floor. The moment you began unfastening your gauntlets, a familiar voice called from behind. “Hey—”

You turned sharply. Kuroo stood there, hands half-raised in a placating gesture. “Listen, I didn’t mean—”

Your fist connected with his jaw before he could finish. The impact sent him stumbling back against the wall. He barely caught himself before you advanced, seizing his collar with both hands and slamming him down to the floor. You were pissed. Something predatory came over you. It felt like your prey had been snatched from under you by a weaker predator, all because of one misstep.

You placed a knee to his chest, gauntleted fist cocking back again. “I don’t know what the fuck you were trying to do out there,” you snarled. “But you just cost me my fucking job. I’m on fucking stable duty now.”

Kuroo coughed, blinking dazedly up at you. Blood trickled faintly from the corner of his lip. “I was trying to help,” he rasped. “Make it look good—”

“You made it worse!” You pulled him to your face, trying to make him understand. “I don’t need your help. I never did.”

For a moment, neither of you moved — your ragged breaths loud in the tense silence. Finally, with a bitter growl, you released him and pushed off, staggering back.

Kuroo sat up slowly, wiping his mouth. “…I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I didn’t think she’d use it like that.”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. The words were lodged too deep behind the knot in your throat. All you did was give him one last look of disgust, before retreating to your room.

The sun had long since dipped beyond the horizon when the summons came.

A younger page arrived at your door, eyes wide with nerves. “Prince Kenma requests your presence in his chambers.”

Your heart lurched painfully. You almost refused from embarrassment — but your legs were already moving.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

You entered the prince’s quarters in silence, the guards outside casting you wary glances saying ‘you shouldn’t be here’. You ignored their looks as the door clicked shut behind you.

Kenma stood by the window, bathed in soft moonlight. He wasn’t dressed for court now. Gone was the stifling finery they forced on him. In its place, a loose black tunic hung open at the collar, soft fabric draping across his slender frame. The ties at his neck remained undone, the folds of the garment falling haphazardly as if he’d given up lacing them altogether.

His hair was down long, silken strands cascading freely tickling his shoulders, some pieces slightly tousled, as though he’d run his fingers through them one too many times.

Barefoot on the cool stone floor, he looked smaller somehow — no prince, no perfect image. Just Kenma. Tired. Caged. Alone. He turned as you approached, his golden eyes shimmering faintly in the moonlight.

For a moment, he only looked at you — gaze flicking over your bruised knuckles, the tension in your jaw. Then he stepped forward, reaching out.

His fingers brushed yours before lifting your hand gently to his lips. “I’m sorry,” he whispered against your skin. “For today.”

Your throat tightened. “It wasn’t your fault.”

You quickly knelt on one knee, grabbing both of his hands into yours, kissing each finger letting your lips linger, “ I failed you, your highness.”

Your words hung heavy in the air. It was only yesterday that you were able to touch Kenma in the way you fantasized about. You were hoping for a long future of being able to be with Kenma in this way, but not even a full 24 hours later, everything you envisioned has burned to the ground. You’re awfully aware of the fact that you’re only a knight. And he’s a prince. These events are only a karmic reminder of your place in his world.

Kenma’s fingers tightened faintly around yours. His breath caught, a soft sound escaping him— not quite a sigh, not quite a sob. “You didn’t fail me,” he murmured. “I failed us.”

You looked up at him— at the rare rawness in those golden eyes. It was what drew you in so deeply. The way he looked at you was intoxicating.

Then his hands slipped free of yours, trembling faintly as they rose — one brushing against your cheek, feather-light.

He fell to his knees in front of you, his gaze flicking up to your lips. The breath between you thinned to nothing.

“Kenma—”

But before you could finish, he leaned in, a hesitant tilt of his head, as though asking without words, as though needing permission.

You caught his wrist gently, stopping him.

His eyes widened, the faintest tremor running through him. “Why?” he whispered.

You swallowed hard. The ache in your chest was near unbearable. “If we do this now… it’ll be harder for me to stop. You know why that’s a problem, my prince.”

He blinked, lashes trembling. “I don’t care.”

“But I do.” Your voice broke slightly. “If they catch us tonight, it won’t just be my job they take. And I’d like to be around you a little bit longer if that’s okay.”

He looked down, the weight of it sinking in. He knew they would behead you, but he wanted to be selfish. His fingers slipped from your cheek, curling into trembling fists at his sides. You pulled him into your chest, holding him in your embrace. At this very moment, you could no longer deny it. You have fallen deeply for the Prince before you.

You forced a steadier tone, a whisper. “I’ll come back. On my last night here. I’ll see you again before I go.”

He looked up, desperate, searching your face.

“Leave your balcony door open,” you whispered. “I’ll come to you.”

For a long moment, neither of you moved — trapped in the space between wanting and knowing better.

Finally, he gave a small nod, barely visible. His voice was hoarse. “I’ll be waiting.”

You rose slowly, your heart shattering with every step back. At the door, you hesitated. Without turning, you spoke one last time.

“I will always be your loyal servant, Your Highness.”

And with that, you left — the echo of your own footsteps chasing you down the darkened hall.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

The next two days passed like moving through water: heavy, slow, suffocating.

You were ordered to assist Kuroo in “transitioning” into your duties. You were no longer allowed to guard Kenma’s quarters alone, no longer permitted at his side in public.

Instead, you spent long hours briefing Kuroo on Kenma’s routines, his preferences, his tells. It was a cruel irony; the deeper you spoke of the prince’s quiet needs, the further you felt yourself slipping from him—yet the more you craved his presence.

Surprisingly, Kuroo was subdued.

The tension from your fight had bled out into something softer, an unspoken understanding between you both. “You know,” he said one afternoon as you walked the perimeter together, “you’ve done more for him than anyone here gives you credit for. No wonder you got that nice expensive room right next to his.”

You glanced at him, wary.

He smirked faintly, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Doesn’t mean I’m happy taking your place.”

A bitter smile tugged at your lips. “Doesn’t mean I’m happy leaving it.”

Silence settled between you. Kuroo rubbed the back of his neck, shifting uncomfortably before speaking again “Also… I honestly got lucky during our match. That hit wasn’t actually on purpose…” He trailed off with a small chuckle, gaze flicking away to the side, not wanting you to see his embarrassment.

You smiled to yourself, patting his shoulder. “Knew you weren’t that good.”

You were coming to terms with Kuroo taking over. It reassured you that Prince Kenma would be in good hands.

But you didn’t trust the princess. You weren’t sure if it was jealousy or something deeper, but a warning stirred inside you. There was ill intent behind her gaze, something you couldn’t shake.

Her looks grew sharper with each passing day. Her words more pointed, her smiles thinner.

At midday meal, her voice cut through the hall when Kenma glanced your way.

“Oh, how charming,” she said lightly, her tone carrying just far enough. “Even now, our dear prince is so fond of his former guard.”

Murmurs rippled through the room.

You kept your gaze fixed forward, but the flush burned your ears. Her emphasis on “our” stirred something inside of you. Kenma, to his credit, didn’t flinch. He held her gaze for a beat too long — flat and unimpressed — before returning to his plate in silence.

But the damage was done. The stares lingered.

At another point, passing in the corridor leaving your post from Kenma’s quarters, the princess “happened” to intercept you. “Leaving so soon?” she asked sweetly. “Such a shame. I’m certain the prince will miss your… companionship.”

You stopped, meeting her gaze evenly. Your tone remained polite — just barely. “Of course. And I shall seek his company… when he invites it.” you said softly. “If companionship were so easily arranged… I imagine His Highness would have shown more interest by now.”

Her smile faltered, the faintest twitch betraying her composure.

For a moment, the air between you crackled with tension. Then she gave a sharp little scoff, pivoting gracefully on her heel. “We shall see.” You watched her retreat down the hall, jaw tight — but a small, bitter smile tugged at your lips. Bitch.

The weight of it all built with every hour. And through it all, Kenma grew… bolder. Reckless.

He no longer hid the way he looked at you when you passed. The warmth in his gaze was impossible to miss. And every glance, every flicker of that golden stare, felt like a blade against your ribs.

Stop looking at me like that, you wanted to scream. Before I can’t control myself anymore.

But the words never left your tongue. you quite frankly longed for the next time your gazes could meet. You longed for every subtle touch he gave you, whether it came in passing or through the smallest brush of fingertips beneath a shared cloak or along a tray exchanged during lessons.

And lately, you’d begun to notice the shift in Kuroo’s eyes, too — the way he watched these exchanges with growing wariness, gaze sharpening with each stolen glance between you and the prince.

Still, you waited.

Waited as you taught him everything Kenma-related, waited through each agonizing hour beside Kuroo, waited for the third night to come. For you to finally be alone with the prince again.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

It came.

When the sun set on the third day, the air in the castle seemed different. Thicker. Watching. Your heart had never beat so loud. The hour approached midnight when you slipped into your quarters, hands trembling slightly as you packed what little you needed. Armor off. Dark, soft clothing on— easy to move in, easy to hide in.

A single dagger strapped to your thigh. Not for Kenma. For anyone who tried to stop you. You were willing to do anything to be with him again.

At your window, the sky was black as ink. No moon tonight— a small mercy.

You exhaled slowly, forcing your shaking hands to still.

One last night.

Your gaze flicked to the tower across the courtyard — to the faint sliver of golden light still spilling from Kenma’s balcony door. Open. Waiting.

You pulled your hood up, heart hammering. And without a sound, you slipped into the shadows — toward him. Toward the one mistake you knew you couldn’t stop yourself from making.

You moved like a shadow through the courtyard, slipping between columns and through patches of deeper darkness. Not a soul stirred. The guards had long since grown lax at this hour, too confident in their watch. When you reached the base of the tower, your heart thundered so loud you feared it would give you away.

But still, the balcony door remained open. A single golden sliver of light spilling across the stone. He was waiting for you, and you refused to let your nerves keep you away from your prince. You climbed swift and silent, scaling the outer ledge with the ease of long practice. And then — you were there.

Kenma stood inside, barefoot once again on marble, clad in that same loose black tunic — now hanging even lower on his shoulders, the ties at his neck completely undone. His hair fell wild and soft around his face, golden strands gleaming in the low candlelight.

He turned the instant your boots touched the balcony rail. His breath caught.

“You came.”

“I said I would, your Highness.”

You stepped inside, shutting the door with a soft click. The tension between you thrummed near unbearable. For only a moment, neither of you moved, the air thick with all the words neither dared speak.

Then Kenma moved first. Quick, graceless, a blur of need as he rushed to you. His arms wrapped tight around your waist, face nestling in your chest.

“I missed… ,” he whispered, voice breaking. “Being with you like this.”

You exhaled slowly, arms wrapping around him, fingers threading into the silk of his hair.

“I know,” you whispered back. “I missed it too.”

But when you tried to pull back, to look at him, he clung tighter. “Don’t,” he whispered. “Not yet. I—”

You felt it — the slight tremble in his body, the sharp hitch of his breath. He tipped his head back finally, golden eyes shimmering, lips parted.

“Please,” he whispered, voice thin with desperation. “Please. Don’t reject me— I need you tonight. Stay.”

You tucked some loose strands of his hair behind his ear, making sure to caress his cheek.

“Yes, Your Highness.”

You claimed his mouth in a searing kiss, swallowing the small sound that escaped him. His fingers fisted your tunic, tugging you closer, so close you could feel every tremble, every ragged breath.

When you broke the kiss, he chased after you with a soft whimper, breathless.

“Bed,” you ordered softly, voice rough with restraint.

He obeyed without a word, stumbling back onto the bed and sitting with his legs folded beneath him, flushed, panting softly.

You stalked forward, unfastening your belt, slipping free of your outer layers, eyes never leaving his.

“Take it off,” you commanded.

His hands shook as he tugged the loose tunic over his head, baring pale skin flushed pink with want. He hesitated after, fingers twisting in the sheets — too shy to move further, too desperate to stop.

You crawled onto the bed, straddling his lap, now only in your underwear, fingers tracing up his sides, watching him shiver.

“You’ve been waiting for this,” you whispered against his ear. “Haven’t you, my prince?”

His breath hitched, hips bucking faintly beneath you. “Y-Yes,” he gasped, seemingly wanting to say more but nothing slipping from his lips.

You claimed his mouth again, deeper this time, devouring every needy sound. Your hands roamed down his chest, nails dragging faint lines down trembling skin.

When you reached the waistband of his trousers, he whimpered, head tipping back, eyes fluttering shut.

“Words,” you coerced softly. “Tell me what you want”

“Your hands…” he whispered, voice thin, almost broken. “Please… touch me.”

A faint smile curved your lips. “Good boy.”

You let the praise linger for a beat, then slid your hand beneath the waistband of his trousers, until his aching length was freed into your palm.

The sound he made was sinful — a broken little cry as you wrapped your hand around him, stroking slow, teasing. “My prince,” you purred. “Look at you… so desperate for someone you can’t even have.”

Kenma whimpered, hips twitching helplessly beneath your hand. One trembling hand reached out blindly, fingers catching at the waistband of your panties where they hugged your hip — not in demand, but as though seeking something to anchor himself against the overwhelming heat building inside him.

You leaned in, lips ghosting his ear. “Relax, my prince,” you whispered. “I’ll take care of you.”

With agonizing slowness, you kissed your way down his throat, lingering over every sharp breath, every faint shiver beneath your mouth. When you reached his chest, you nipped at a pale nipple, drawing a soft cry that made your core ache.

But you didn’t linger, not yet. You slid lower, dragging your lips down the trembling plane of his stomach, savoring every broken sound. Kenma’s breath came in ragged little gasps, eyes lidded and hazy with need.

You arched your back, hips raised high, ass shamelessly swaying with each breath as you settled on your elbows. One hand wrapped firm around his shaft, holding him in place as you dragged your tongue oh-so-slowly along the underside.

He lay sprawled across the wide bed, smaller frame dwarfed by the thick mattress. His thighs shook faintly, spread open for you, cock flushed pink and already leaking for you.

The height difference made him look even more helpless, completely at your mercy — just the way you liked him.

You smirked. “My Kenma,” you murmured. “Already so good for me~”

He whimpered, head tipping back against the pillows. “P-Please,” he gasped. “Please, I—”

You didn’t make him wait.

Leaning in, you flattened your tongue against the tip of his cock, swirling slow, deliberate circles until he was trembling beneath you, a broken moan spilling from his lips.

“You taste even sweeter when you beg,” you purred. And with that, you took him deeper, lips sliding down inch by inch, savoring the way his thighs tensed, the way his fingers scrambled helplessly at the sheets.

Your pace was slow at first, teasing — each pull of your mouth dragging new sounds from his throat. His hips bucked weakly, but you pinned them down with firm hands, forcing him to take what you gave.

“Mnh— ah— more—”

You obliged, hollowing your cheeks and bobbing faster, swirling your tongue along the underside of his shaft with each stroke.

Kenma was a mess now — whining, breathless, head tossing back and forth against the pillows.

“F-Fuck— I— I can’t— I’m—”

You moaned around him, sending vibrations straight through his cock, sending him over the edge. He came with a strangled cry, hips jerking beneath your grip as hot, salty release spilled across your tongue. You swallowed every drop, sucking him through it until he was shuddering beneath you, completely spent.

When you finally pulled back, a thin string of saliva connected your lips to his cock and the look on his face nearly undid you.

Kenma lay boneless and wrecked, flushed pink from head to toe. You crawled back up the bed slowly, towering over his trembling form.

“You’re perfect like this,” you whispered, brushing loose hair from his face— A habit you’ve come to develop.

Kenma’s lashes fluttered, golden eyes dazed and half-lidded beneath your touch. His breathing came in soft little gasps, lips parted, skin flushed from head to toe.

He looked utterly wrecked — and so beautiful it made your core throb. You kissed the corner of his mouth, lingering a moment as his fingers twitched weakly against the sheets.

Then you shifted lower, straddling his thighs with slow, deliberate grace. Kenma watched you through heavy eyes, lips parting slightly as you reached between his legs, wrapping your fingers around his still-sensitive cock. He shuddered faintly but didn’t resist, only whimpered softly as you guided him between your folds. “Look what you do to me, Kenma,” you purred.

You rocked your hips with slow, teasing movements, sliding his length through your slick, gathering it with each pass, coating him thoroughly. A faint, broken sound escaped him, not a word, just a quiet little gasp that told you exactly how much he was feeling it.

You smirked faintly.

Lifting your hand, you gathered some of your slick on your fingers — then brought them to his lips.

“Open.”

But even as he obeyed, his cock twitched helplessly against his stomach — flushed dark and already leaking again, betraying just how much your control over him had unraveled his composure. His breath came faster, chest rising and falling beneath you, thighs trembling faintly as he waited for more. You pressed your fingers past his lips, letting him taste the evidence of how badly you wanted him. His cheeks flushed deeper, eyes fluttering shut as his tongue swirled around your fingers instinctively.

“Good boy,” you whispered, voice low and warm, you pushed your fingers farther into his mouth, causing him to gag, filling his mouth with saliva.

Withdrawing your fingers slowly, you rubbed your clit with the spit-covered fingers before leaning in, kissing him softly, tasting yourself on his tongue. Then you straightened, eyes dark with intent. His golden eyes fluttered open, glazed and helpless, silently begging you to keep going even if his lips wouldn’t dare say the words.

“Now,” you murmured. “I’m going to ride you, my prince.”

Kenma swallowed hard, nodding faintly, voice barely a breath. “Okay…” You guided him to lie flat against the mattress, spreading his legs slightly with a firm touch to his thighs. He was compliant, pliant beneath you.

Your hands braced beside his head, keeping him perfectly caged beneath you. Kenma gazed up at you through heavy lashes, breathing ragged but steady — waiting.

You aligned yourself slowly, sinking down onto him inch by aching inch — watching his face the entire time.

A soft gasp left his lips, head tipping back slightly as you took him fully inside you, tight heat enveloping his sensitive cock.

“A— ah—,” he whispered — so soft, so broken.

You didn’t move at first, letting him feel the full weight of you seated deep on him. Then, slowly, you began to grind your hips deep, rolling motions that had him trembling beneath you, eyes fluttering shut

You leaned in close, kissing his parted lips gently, murmuring praise between each languid bounce.

“So good for me… so beautiful like this…”

Kenma whimpered softly, hips rocking up instinctively to meet your movements, though you controlled the pace with ease.

You saw his hands struggle to find a place to settle, you leaned back, gaze warm. “You want to touch me?” you whispered.

A faint nod, lips parted. “Please…” Smiling, you guided his hands to your chest, “Of course, your highness.”

But as you guided his trembling hands to your chest, a faint thought whispered through your mind — Kuroo is standing guard just beyond the door.

“You’ll have to be quiet for me, my prince. Can you do that?” You warned. A shaky breath escaped him. His wide, flushed gaze met yours. He gave a faint, desperate nod.

“I knew you could,” you praised softly. He cupped your breasts reverently, thumbs brushing over your nipples with trembling touches. You rode him deeper then— faster, harder, grinding down in devastating circles that had him gasping beneath you, fingers clutching at your body helplessly.

Every roll of your hips sent new waves of pleasure through him, soft moans falling from his lips as you kept him pinned beneath your taller frame.

You leaned down to whisper in his ear, “You feel so good under me, my handsome prince… I want you to cum one more time, okay?” Your words drag desperate sounds from him. Kenma clung to you now, arms wrapping weakly around your back, hips stuttering beneath you as he chased his release.

“You can do it Kenma, cum for me baby~,” you gave him open mouth kisses along his neck and jaw. You felt his hips began to studder, losing their rhythm. You sat up, placing one palm against his abdomen and the other against his chest, pinning him to the mattress.

You began plopping down on him, riding him hard into his orgasm. Each roll of your hips drew broken sounds from his throat — too loud.

You leaned down again, pressing a hand lightly over his mouth, your voice a low command against his ear.

“Quiet now, remember? You don’t want me to have to stop now, do you? .”

A muffled whimper vibrated beneath your palm as his body arched helplessly, hips stuttering beneath you, chasing release he could no longer hold back. You began plopping down on him, riding him hard into his orgasm.

“You did such a good job puddin, I knew you could do it.”

You rode him through it, milking every last drop as he sobbed softly into your shoulder, body limp and wrecked beneath you. You weren’t sure why he was sobbing— maybe he wasn’t either. But either way you held him close, rocking your hips slow and gentle as he clung to you, tears slipping hot against your shoulder, body trembling with the aftershocks of release and everything he couldn’t say.

Only when his trembling began to ease and you felt him soften inside you did you slow, then still— brushing sweat-damp hair from his flushed face. Kenma gazed up at you through hazy, half-lidded eyes, lips parted, expression dazed and soft.

“You did so well, my prince,” you praised. “You’re safe… I’ve got you.” You pulled him to your chest, his hand finding your breast to hold for comfort.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, tangled together in the quiet, in the darkness, in the inevitable ache of goodbye.

But the hour was slipping away.

You shifted gently, brushing damp hair from his flushed face. “Come,” you whispered. “Let me dress you.”

Kenma nodded faintly, pliant beneath your hands as you helped him sit up, his body still trembling, eyes glazed with exhaustion and too many unspoken feelings.

You dressed yourself first with quick, efficient motions, leaving only your cloak folded at the edge of the bed.

Then you turned to him — guiding him carefully through each piece of clothing. You fastened the soft tunic over his shoulders, pressing a lingering kiss to his bare skin as you drew the fabric closed.

You felt him shiver beneath your lips — one last wordless plea for you to stay, even though he wouldn’t voice it. He knew the circumstances were too dangerous. He wished he could be selfish this time. Silently, you moved to tie the sash at his waist, fingers lingering just a little longer than necessary.

When he was dressed, you traced his cheek softly with your knuckles, voice low, “I should go,” you whispered.

You turned toward the balcony, heart twisting — ready to slip back into the shadows, to steal away into the night before anyone could know. But behind you, his voice broke the stillness — soft, aching.

“Wait.”

You turned.

Kenma stood by the bed, golden eyes shimmering, fingers trembling faintly at his sides.

“One more,” he whispered. “… just one more kiss.”

You crossed the space in two strides, unable to refuse him.

Your hands rose to cradle his face gently — thumbs brushing the flushed curve of his cheeks. His own hands lifted slowly, hesitantly — sliding around your waist, fingers clutching the back of your tunic as though he couldn’t bear to let you go.

You leaned in, noses brushing — breaths mingling. Then you kissed him. Slow. Deep. Devastating.

You poured every unspoken word, every stolen moment, every impossible wish into that kiss, memorizing the feel of him, the taste of him, the way his small frame pressed so desperately against yours.

One of your hands slipped to the nape of his neck, fingers threading into the silken strands of his hair. The other rested at his lower back, holding him close, anchoring him to you, even if only for this fleeting moment.

Kenma melted against you with a soft, broken sound—fingers fisting tight, body trembling as he kissed you back with everything he had.

You let the kiss linger, savoring the last taste of him knowing it would be the last. For this moment, he was yours, and you his. No guards, no titles, no duty. Just two souls clinging to what they could not keep.

Then—

SLAM.

The door burst open.

A sharp voice rang out — cold, cruel, triumphant.

“Well. How touching.”

You tore away from the kiss, heart plummeting. Your hand flew to your dagger as you yanked Kenma behind you, shielding him instinctively.

The princess stood framed in the doorway, flanked by armed guards — and Kuroo.

He stood just behind her shoulder, jaw tight, eyes flicking between you and Kenma. There was no smugness in his expression. No victory. Only grim surprise, and something that looked far too close to regret.

“Arrest her,” the princess said sweetly. “It seems we have a traitorous little siren among us after all.”

The guards advanced.

“No!” Kenma’s voice cracked, sharp with panic. He moved to step forward, but Kuroo caught him around the shoulders, holding him back.

“Kenma, don’t—” Kuroo’s voice was low, strained.

“Let me go!” Kenma fought against him, golden eyes wild. “You can’t—she didn’t—”

You drew your blade with shaking fingers, breath ragged. You wouldn’t go easily.

One guard lunged. You sidestepped, slicing across his arm. Another grabbed at your injured shoulder, wrenching a cry from your lips. Your weapon hit the floor. Cold iron gripped your wrists as they forced you down.

“Stop!” Kenma’s scream echoed. He writhed in Kuroo’s grasp, desperation plain on his face.

“Kenma,” you gasped, “stay back—”

“I won’t let them!”

“You will,” the princess snapped. She stepped forward, her smile venomous. “You’ve already been compromised enough.”

“She seduced you,” the princess continued, voice carrying through the chamber. “A siren’s trick. Wicked and false.”

“That’s a lie!” Kenma choked.

Your gaze caught Kuroo’s. His grip hadn’t slackened on Kenma, but his eyes met yours briefly — filled with something that looked like an apology he couldn’t speak aloud.

“Kuroo—” you started, not sure what your goal was, but he looked away. His jaw worked, but no words came.

“Take her,” the princess commanded. “The King will decide her fate.”

Rough hands yanked you upright, shackles biting into your skin. You locked eyes with Kenma, throat burning.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

“Don’t go—please—don’t—” Kenma’s voice broke. His fists battered weakly against Kuroo’s arms, but the taller man only held him tighter, lips pressed into a thin, bitter line.

They drug you out of his chambers. Legs dragging the ground in dwindled defiance.

“Let her go!” Kenma’s cry followed you into the corridor — raw, anguished, and shattering something inside you as they tore you from him.

Your fate had been sealed.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Darkness.

That was all that remained after they tore you from him.

You weren’t sure how long it had been. Days, at least. Time had unraveled in the stone cell where they chained you to the wall — wrists raw beneath iron cuffs, throat parched from thirst that never eased. They hadn’t fed you. Not once. The guards left only stale air and cruel laughter. No water. No kindness. Only the echo of your own heart, slowing by the hour.

But worse than the hunger, the thirst, or the stench of the dark… was the silence.

No footsteps down the hall. No voice you longed to hear.

Kenma wasn’t allowed to visit. You’d heard it whispered between guards — the King forbade it. The prince had pleaded, they said, begged even, until his voice broke. But the order had been clear. He would not see you again. Not until it was done.

And then there were the ones who came to taunt you. Rough boots scraped across the stone one night — four of them, reeking of alcohol and power left unchecked.

“So this is the siren,” one had sneered. Another laughed. “A woman knight and a weak little prince. How dumb can he be?”

You’d tried to rise, voice ragged. “Don’t speak of him—”

A boot caught you across the ribs before you could stand. Pain flared sharp and blinding.

“Still got fight? Pathetic,” the guard spat. “He chose wrong. You’re no match for a princess’s crown.”

You coughed through the pain, chest heaving, wanting to say something, anything, but nothing came.

The laughter that followed was cold. Another blow followed. Another. Until darkness claimed you once more.

When you awoke again, the cell was empty. Blood dried at the corner of your mouth. Your body ached with every breath.

You had failed him. You couldn’t protect him now.

And yet…

You would not break. Not for them. Not for this. That was when the heavy door groaned open.

“Tch… you look like hell,” a rough voice muttered.

Kuroo knelt in front of you, expression held no smirk now — only weary guilt that aged his gaze.

“They’re moving fast,” he said quietly. “Execution’s tomorrow.”

You didn’t speak. Couldn’t. Your throat had no voice left. Kuroo sighed.

“Prince Kenma tried.” His fingers worked at something in his pocket. “He fought like hell. But the King… “ He trailed off, jaw tightening.

He unfolded a small, crumpled letter. “He… wanted you to have this.”

Kuroo reached forward, hesitated — then pressed the letter gently into your trembling fingers.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice rough. “I can’t… I can’t do more.”

For the first time, your eyes burned with fresh tears. Not for yourself. For the boy who couldn’t come. For the words trapped on the page you barely had strength to read.

Your fingers closed around it like a lifeline. Kuroo stood slowly. He didn’t look away from you this time.

“You were brave,” he said softly. “And he… he loves you. Don’t doubt that.”

Then the door creaked shut once more, leaving only the fading echo of his words… and the thin scrap of hope trembling in your grasp.

Your hands shook as you unfolded it, the paper crinkling beneath unsteady fingers. It was worn thin, smudged at the corners, as though it had been gripped too tightly too many times. As though he had written and rewritten it with trembling hands.

————————-

My knight,

I’m sorry I can’t be there. They won’t let me. I tried. I’m still trying.

I don’t know what I’m supposed to say. There aren’t words big enough for this.

You protected me when no one else would. You made me feel safe when I never was. I should have protected you better. I should have stopped this.

I’m not brave like you. But I will remember. Every look. Every touch. Every moment. I will remember all of it. I won’t let them take that from me.

Please don’t be afraid. You are not alone.

I love you.

- Kenma

——————————

The last line blurred before your eyes. You blinked hard, but the tears came faster than you could stop them. Silent, shaking sobs wracked your chest as you pressed the thin scrap of paper to your lips, holding it there as though you could feel him through it.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

She didn’t know how long she sat there, curled around the letter like a shield against the dark. But when the footsteps finally came, slow and deliberate, she made no sound. There was nothing left to say.

The guards entered in a small formation, faces grim. No laughter this time. No jeers. Only the quiet efficiency of men carrying out a sentence already decided.

“Time,” one of them said flatly.

Cold iron unlocked with a harsh scrape. The chains around your wrists fell to the floor, your skin chafed and torn beneath them. Your legs barely held you as they dragged you upright. The letter was still clutched to your chest. When one guard reached for it, another stopped him with a shake of his head.

“Let her keep it.”

They bound your wrists again, this time with thick cord instead of iron. It didn’t matter. You had no strength left to fight.

As they pulled you through the stone corridors, the air grew colder. Sharper. Above, muffled voices echoed through the halls. A crowd had gathered.

Execution day.

You stepped out beneath a pale, washed-out sky. The square was full — nobles in their finery, peasants pressed shoulder to shoulder, guards at every corner.

At the center stood the scaffold. The wooden platform loomed tall, dark against the gray clouds. The block. The axe. The guillotine immobile to the harsh breeze.

The guards began dragging you forward. Then the first gasp rippled through the crowd.

“That’s—”

“Gods, is that the knight?”

“The prince’s guard—she’s one of the high captains—”

“She protected him for years—what is this?”

More voices rose, a growing wave of shock and disbelief. The faces pressed close to the scaffold were no longer sneering — they were confused. Alarmed.

“Not some siren. That’s the Prince’s Knight.”

But the guards didn’t stop.

You kept your gaze down, feet dragging. The world felt distant, as though you were already watching from somewhere beyond your own body.

“Why is she here?” someone called out. “What has she done?”

The whispers grew louder, uneasy.

“She loved the prince. That was her crime.”

“No—surely they wouldn’t—”

“The King ordered it. No one can stop it now.”

You heard every word. Let them speak. None of it mattered now.

The rough wood bit into your skin.

Your body trembled as they hauled you upright once more. Limbs barely obeyed as they forced you toward the guillotine — its cold, gleaming blade suspended above the block like a silent promise.

You didn’t look. Couldn’t. The world blurred at the edges, your body too weak to hold its own weight.

But then—

A pulse. A feeling.

Your gaze lifted instinctively, and the breath caught in your throat.

Above the crowd, near the edge of the square, half-hidden beneath a hood — golden eyes. Wide, wet with unshed tears. Locked on you.

Kenma.

Beside him stood Kuroo, a hand on his shoulder, jaw tight with helpless anger. They had disguised themselves as commoners, but there was no mistaking that gaze.

You swallowed hard. The weight of your own fate no longer mattered — not when his eyes found yours.

You held that gaze as they dragged you forward. Held it as they forced your trembling body into position. A speaker announced the the crowd your crime, but also spoke of the good you’ve done. Possibly one last effort to save your reputation. It appeared he, too, did not agree with this sentencing. More whispers were heard throughout the court yard. “Is death really the sentence for loving the wrong person?” Or “surely there’s a lesser punishment for such a decorated knight!”

The executioner spoke, “Any last words?” They asked flatly, voice carrying through the hush that had fallen over the crowd.You closed your eyes for a beat, gathering what little strength remained.

Then you opened them — gaze locked with Kenma’s, voice rough but clear.

“Although our love is unorthodox, and quite frankly forbidden,” you said, voice trembling, “I know we will find each other again… in another life. Only if you would have me once more.”

A soft, broken sound escaped him. He quickly covered his mouth to muffle the sound, not wanting to draw any attention to himself. You saw Kuroo’s grip tighten on his arm.

They strapped you down, cool iron biting into your skin. The blade above gleamed sharp and patient.

Breath shaking, you held his gaze, refusing to break.

“I love you, my prince—”

The blade fell.

Black.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

In the days that followed, the court held its breath.

The execution of one of the kingdom’s most decorated knights sparked outrage among the people. Rumors spread like wildfire — some whispered that the prince had wept through the night, refusing food or council. Others claimed they’d seen him wandering the empty halls of the castle in the dark, holding her dagger, clutched tight in his hand.

The king remained silent. But those closest to him saw the cracks. He’d expected to silence a scandal, to prove his rule unshaken. Instead, he had driven his son into a grief so deep it consumed the court itself.

As for the princess — her victory was short-lived. Her part in your execution came to light. She was behind everything. Moving you from your chambers to back the the knights quarters, your placement at the stables, your imprisonment. The king was initially going to banish you, but she pushed for your death. Now, Where once the people had cheered her beauty and power, now they looked with cold, accusing eyes. No matter how many declarations she gave or smiles she forced, none could forget who had truly stood on that scaffold.

And Kenma?

He spoke to no one.

For weeks, he did not leave his chambers. The golden eyes that had once watched the world so carefully now stared hollow into nothing. The princess tried to visit him once. He did not allow her past the door.

Kuroo alone was permitted to see him — and even he could not reach through the prince’s grief.

“She would not want this,” Kuroo told him, voice low.

Kenma only shook his head. “It doesn’t matter what she would want. She’s gone.”

The court moved on. The king’s council whispered of new alliances, new treaties. The princess prepared for her wedding to the prince.

But when the day came, Kenma did not appear.

He vanished.

Some said he fled the castle in the dead of night, leaving only the letter and his crown behind. Others whispered he had been seen in the old forests, seeking the guidance of those who spoke of lost souls and second lives.

The truth was known to none.

But if you listened closely, in the quiet corners of the kingdom, the story remained.

Of a prince who loved his knight.

And who would never love again.

[justboredtingz]

Yes, Your Highness || Kenma x reader 🔞

I’ve had this on my mind for awhile now and I decided I might as well write it so here’s an AU where reader is a female knight in charge of taking care of Kenma. In this story, the reader is bigger than kenma in my head so idk lol 

It was almost sunset by the time you finished your chores around Prince Kenma’s quarters. He sat idly on his bed, waiting for you to finish so you could bathe and prepare him for sleep. The king had only the best knights of the kingdom protect his son. Originally, If you weren’t out on a quest per the king’s commands, you would be standing guard outside the Prince’s quarters during the night. You were even the one to escort him whenever he had business outside of the castle. You’ve had quite a few conversations with the prince, usually during times when he wasn’t able to sleep during the night. However, the Queen realized Kenma had taken a liking to you and ordered you to become somewhat like his personal servant and bodyguard. “He’s never interacted with someone so much before! It might be because you’re both the same age, but I trust you to make sure he is cared for at all times!” Of course, you had no problem with it. He wasn’t a difficult person to be around, especially since he never gave you trouble. In the end, you ended up having to stay in the room right next door to his for safe keeping. Whenever he needed you, you were always there, even when it was just for some company. 

Keep reading

[justboredtingz]

Omg i COMPLETELY forgot about this 😭might have to come back to it.

[justboredtingz]

Every Fxckin Inch🔞 || (Toji Fushiguro x Reader)

Can’t lieeeeeeeeeee im gonna just call this pxrn with a lot of plot. Toji can’t shut up when he’s drunk. Talking you through everything. I wrote this high so if it’s repetitive or something just roll with it LOL

You didn’t expect the downpour to be this bad.

The mission had ended in a bloodied mess. Some cursed spirit with a grotesquely oversized jaw was terrorizing a small town, but by the time the body was ash and silence returned to the woods, the skies opened. Thick, cold sheets of rain poured from above, soaking your clothes down to your bones.

Toji barely flinched.

You, on the other hand, were shivering within minutes.

The two of you hadn’t said much since the exorcism. He’d fought wearing that too-tight shirt again—of course—and you tried not to let your eyes linger too long on the way his muscles flexed and rippled through the cloth with each movement. Even soaked, even bloodied, the man radiated sex appeal like it was a second skin. His dark hair was plastered against his forehead now, and his jaw clenched every time lightning flashed across the sky.

Due to the fact your mission was in the country side, The only place to stay nearby was a rundown inn tucked in the hills, abandoned except for a few part-time staffers and travelers with nowhere else to go. You both looked like hell by the time you got there: wet, shivering, blood-specked. The elderly innkeeper didn’t ask questions. She simply handed Toji one room key, bowed her head, and gestured upstairs.

“One room?” you asked, voice throaty from the cold. You weren’t sure if you were irritated or nervous.

Toji’s lip twitched. “You scared of sharing a bed, princess?”

You smacked your lips, pushing past him, making sure to grab the key from his hand. Rainwater trailed from your clothes in dark streaks across the wooden floors. “You’re not my type.”

“S’that right?” he muttered, following you up the stairs with a smirk across his face. “You stare at me like I am.”

You rolled your eyes at his cockiness, “that would mean I have horrible taste in men.” The clap back drew a small snicker from him— something you wouldn’t have heard if you weren’t listening for it.

Once you reached the room, you opened the door to see old tatami mats, a low table with a flickering lamp, and one double futon pushed against the far wall. There was a kettle on the heater, humming softly. You peeled off your coat with stiff, trembling fingers, muttering curses under your breath for not bringing an extra change of clothes. Your shirt clung to your skin, soaked and translucent, making your bra show through clearly, and Toji noticed.

“You’re gonna get sick” he said lazily, walking past you. He peeled off his shirt by grabbing the collar and pulling it over his head, wringing it out over the sink. You tried to fake like you weren’t watching from the corner of your eye like a fool and just to your luck you turned away too late.

“You keep looking at me like that,” he added, voice low, almost amused, “and I’ll start to think you wanna catch something too.”

Your heart thudded hard. “Go to hell, Toji,” you scoffed.

“We’re living it sweetheart.”

You grabbed a towel from the basket in the corner and disappeared into the small bathroom, locking the door behind you with a sharp click. Refusing to look at yourself in the mirror— knowing your cheeks were flushed red— You took a quick shower, not wanting to hog all of the hot water, and changed into the oversized sleep yukata provided by the inn.

You finally gave yourself a look, tucking your hair behind your ears and slapping your hands across your cheeks. Get it together! Your mind is definitely in the gutter.

When you stepped back into the room, Toji’s eyes slid to you slowly. You walked over and made yourself a cup of tea, feeling his eyes on you every step of the way, before sitting cross-legged at the low table. It was hard not to think about how aware you were of the him being just a few feet away. You glanced up at him for just a second, his unreadable expression unnerved you.

He sat with his back against the far wall, one leg bent, the other stretched out, hair tousled, body still slick from the rain. His black shirt was discarded across a stand sitting by the heater, most likely trying to dry it.

Silence. You weren't sure how much more of this you could take. You tried sipping your tea. It did nothing to steady your nerves. The room smelled like steam and cedar and something warmer now. Him, maybe. You hated how easily he took up space— not just physically, but in the way your thoughts bent toward him even when you were trying to think of literally anything else.

You found yourself peaking at him for the umpteenth time tonight, but this time he was already looking at you. You held eye contact longer than you should have, neither of you looking away.

A gust of wind rattled the window frame again, and you startled slightly-just enough to blink, to breathe. To break the tension, if only for a moment.

"Tch." He pushed off the floor with one smooth motion, standing tall. His voice, when it came, was low and dry, “it’s like you’re testing me tonight.”

Before you could process what he meant, he was already turning away, grabbing a small towel from the same basket before heading to the bathroom. “I’m taking a shower,” he added over his shoulder, voice rough and almost lazy. “Try not to die of thirst while I’m gone.”

The door clicking shut behind him.

You sat there, frozen. Skin flushed, pulse beating loud in your ears. “Asshole..”

And testing him? Hell, maybe you were. Maybe every glance, every breathless second you’d let hang in the air was an invitation you weren’t brave enough to say out loud. Honestly, You were starting to feel as if he knew exactly what you were thinking. And now, with nothing but the storm and your own racing mind for company, there was no hiding it.

Your gaze drifted towards the bathroom door, betraying your will to resist. You pressed your hands to your lap, failing to steady your heartbeat.

You imagined him in there— water sliding down those broad shoulders, over the taut lines of his waist, lower. Your breath caught. It was too easy now to picture how he’d look crowding you against that tile, hands braced on either side of your head, hips moving hard and bruising against you, the heat of the shower nothing compared to the burn of his skin on yours. Thinking of the things he’d say you, how he’d say them.

“Look how needy you are. You wanted me this bad? Now you’re gonna take every fuckin’ inch. That’s it. Good girl.”

The thought hit low, molten, and your thighs squeezed together beneath the table — shame blooming bright beneath the pulse of want that was growing harder to ignore.

After who knows how long, a sharp knock at the door startled you. You stood quickly, smoothing the edges of your yukata, and slid the door open a crack.

An elderly woman stood outside, bundled in a thick wool shawl. She offered a polite bow, her voice warm despite the cold.

“Good evening. We’re preparing dinner for the guests tonight,” she said with a kind smile. “Would you like us to bring a meal up to your room?”

You nodded, giving her a small smile. “Yes, please. For two.”

As you spoke, you heard the soft swish of the bathroom’s sliding door. The sound of bare feet on tatami. Heat bloomed in your face before you even looked.

Toji stepped out — steam curling behind him — with nothing but a dark yukata tied low around his hips, leaving his chest bare and gleaming with water. You could see how the water droplets curved around the lines of his muscles. A towel was draped over his head, half-mussing his hair as he roughly dried it.

The woman blinked. Her gaze flicked upward, lingered for a beat too long, and her cheeks flushed visibly.

“Oh my,” she laughed softly, fanning herself. “You look like you need a good meal tonight, sir. And some warm sake — o-on the house!” She smiled brightly. “We’ll bring extra. The weather calls for it.”

Toji arched a brow, a knowing smile crept across face. His voice was almost amused. “Hn. I’ll take it.”

You could see her eyes dart briefly toward his chest again before she bowed politely and scurried off down the hall, giggling like a she’d become a youthful woman once again.

You shut the door with a sigh and a chuckle, turning back toward the room.

Toji was already lowering himself to sit at the table again, legs stretched out, towel now slung over the back of his neck. Drops of water still clung to his collarbones and shoulders, trailing down his torso.

You swallowed before collecting both of your clothes to set to dry by the heater, “hopefully those are dry by the time we leave tomorrow” you muttered to yourself before taking a seat at the edge of the table, not too far away from him. It was quiet for what felt like forever. Toji sat on his phone doing god knows what while you sat and fidgeted under the table. You wanted to start a conversation, but it appears that this evening, you’re at a loss for words. You’ve never been in a situation in where a man, a man, made you shut up with just his presence alone.

“You always this quiet when the job’s done?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

He turned off his phone and leaned an elbow on the table, chin tipping toward his shoulder lazily.

“You weren’t exactly shy out there in the field,” he said. “Thought you’d be louder when it’s just us.”

You rolled your eyes, but tension eased just a fraction, “Maybe I don’t have anything to say to you,” you waved your hand in a dismissing manner.

“Hm. Didn’t stop you from cussing me out earlier.”

You huffed, “I fear it’s the only language you understand, dickhead.” A faint smile tugged at the corner of your mouth before you could stop it.

He caught it. His own mouth twitched, pleased, “maybe,” he said simply.

The room felt a little less heavy now— still charged, but not suffocating. Another low rumble of thunder rolled through the hills. And then, as if on cue, a knock sounded at the door.

You rose, greatful for the excuse to move, and slid the door open.

The elderly woman stood there with a broad smile, hands holding a large tray. There were two large bottles of sake nestled between plates of grilled meat, steamed rice, pickled vegetables, and thick slices of seared fish.

Her gaze flicked between you and Toji, who was still sprawled shirtless at the table, towel around his neck and hair tousled.

“Ah — young love,” she tittered softly, cheeks reddening once again. “You two enjoy. On the house tonight — looks like he needs the strength.”

She winked, winked! And held out the tray. Before you could stammer a reply, Toji rose smoothly, taking the sake from her hands, leaving you to grab the tray. “‘Preciate it,” he said, voice low, unbothered, flashing her a rare grin that made her flush even deeper. She bowed hastily, muttering something about leaving ‘the couple’ to it, and disappeared down the hall.

Toji shut the door with his foot, “Old woman’s got a hell of an imagination,” he muttered, setting the sake on the table.

You sat down again to organize the food, hands moving slower than necessary. You felt another flush creep to your cheeks, uninvited, as your mind circled back to the old woman’s words. A couple.

Could that work?

The thought made your stomach flip. Ridiculous. Men like him didn’t do couples. And even if they did… you weren’t the type to catch a man like Toji Fushiguro. At least not for more than a night.

You shook the thought off quickly, focusing on the plates in front of you, “You didn’t exactly deny it,” you mumbled. Still, it lingered at the edges of your mind — unwanted, foolish, a little too tempting.

“Wasn’t worth the breath,” he said then, voice low as he reached for the plates, leaving you to pretend you weren’t busy fighting off the heat crawling up your neck.

You prepared your own plate, hoping to take your mind elsewhere. You took your first bite. The food was good, too good. And the sake flowed quicker than you expected. You sat there, eating amazing food, drinking warm sake, sitting across from possibly the sexiest man you’ve ever seen. What did I do to deserve such a night. Not wanting to question your blessing, you started digging in.

At first, you both ate in comfortable silence — or mostly silence. Toji ate like he hadn’t touched food in days, tearing into the meat with casual efficiency, pouring himself generous cups of sake between bites. With how it tasted, you completely understand why.

You tried to pace yourself with your drinks— but the warmth in your belly grew fast, spreading to your cheeks, your fingertips.

“Hey—” you reached for one of the grilled skewers just as Toji snagged it with his chopsticks. He gave you a flat look.

“Seriously?” you huffed. “You’ve already had three of those.”

“Eat faster,” he said simply, biting a nice chunk of it off. You pouted and grabbed at another piece, only for him to lean in slightly, plucking it deftly from your chopsticks before you could claim it.

“Toji!”

“What?” He looked entirely too pleased with himself. “I’m building strength, remember?”

“You’re building a black eye,” you grumbled, pouring yourself another cup. His low chuckle slid beneath your skin, warmer than the sake.

“S’Cute when you’re mad,” he said, taking another bite of the meat. You pointed the middle finger at him and drained yours in defiance.

It didn’t take long before the edges of the room seemed softer, the flicker of the candlelight warmer, your limbs looser. Toji poured you another cup without asking, and this time, your fingers brushed, lingering longer than they should have. You looked up and noticed his eyes were darker now— not just from the low light. He studied you for just a moment before speaking.

“Can’t hold your drink, can you?” he said, voice lower, gaze holding yours. his expression screamed pure amusement, like he got to sit front row to a comedy show.

“S’not true,” you slurred, though the slight sway in your body betrayed you.

“Mm,” he hummed, leaning in a little closer. The towel had fallen off his shoulders now, exposing more skin, more heat, “You always this handsy when you’re tipsy?”

You blinked, only then realizing your hand was resting on his forearm, fingers idly tracing the line of muscle without even thinking. Heat rushed to your face.

“Maybe I just wanted to get a good feel,” you shot back, running your hand over his biceps. You’re not sure what exactly came over you, but you’re already doing it, no point in stopping now.

His grin was slow, lazy, dangerous, “Yeah? Feel all you want,” he said, voice rougher now.

You should’ve pulled away. Should’ve laughed it off, maybe gone back to your drink. But the heat beneath your palm, the easy sprawl of him beneath your touch, was too much to ignore — and the sake had long since softened your good sense.

Your fingers lingered, tracing along the solid curve of his bicep, up toward the slope of his shoulder. The drunken smile sitting on your face had his gaze stuck on you, not being able to look away.

“That expression,” he said after a beat, voice low, eyes gleaming with something darker now. “Makes a man wonder what you’re thinkin’ about.”

“Nothing good,” you half sighed-half whined, unable to bite the words back. You were past the point of caution now— too warm, too loose, too aware of the way his gaze stayed locked to your mouth. A quiet sound— almost a chuckle— escaped him. He shifted slightly, the elbow that was on the table now bracing on his knee, that dark gaze flicking over you again, like he was settling in to enjoy the show.

“No shit,” he said, tilting his head faintly, smirk curling deeper as his thighs spread just a fraction wider.

You swallowed, throat dry. Your hand was still on his skin, now skimming over his collarbone, trailing upward of its own accord. Fingers curling behind his neck, playing with the hairs at his nape.

“Maybe I should stop,” you breathed, voice thin, uncertain even to your own ears. “But the longer I sit here, the less I want to.” You leaned in slightly. “And you’re not exactly helping.”

The look he gave you was pure sin.

“Didn’t plan to,” he reached out, slow and deliberate, fingers brushing yours as he took the cup from your grasp, setting it aside with a faint click— clearing the space between you in one final, unspoken invitation.

He didn’t pull back.

Instead, his hand came to your chin — rough fingers tilting your face up, making you hold his gaze. His thumb dragged slow over your lower lip once, just enough to make your breath catch.

“Now,” he paused, “you gonna keep stallin’,” he murmured, voice low, “or let me do what you need me to do?”

Your pulse kicked so hard it hurt. Mouth parted beneath his thumb, you couldn’t form a word if you tried.

A beat. Two.

Then, as if giving you space to decide, he released you.

You barely noticed the shift of his body, only caught the way he sank back against the floor with deliberate ease. One knee cocked up, the other folded beneath him. His head tipped sideways now, resting against his arm braced on the lower knee, gaze locked on you.— all dangerous, patient ease. Watching. Waiting.

The air felt too thick, too charged to sit still.

Your skin burned everywhere he’d touched, everywhere he hadn’t yet. You swallowed hard, gaze flicking to the futon laid out across the room.

It would’ve been so easy to play coy, to stall. But your body had other plans.

You moved — slow, almost without thinking — shifting to your hands and knees.

A faint gasp left you at how dizzy the motion made you, sake swimming in your veins now for real. But you didn’t stop. Instead, you let it loosen you, hips swaying just enough as you crawled forward— every inch deliberate.

Behind you, you felt the shift in the air, the prickle of eyes locked to your every movement. Heat coiled low, sharp and aching.

Predator and prey. You weren’t sure which one of you was which anymore.

“Fuck,” you heard him mutter roughly, barely audible, and the sound only spurred you on.

By the time you reached the futon and glanced back over your shoulder, Toji was already rising, His hand raked through his hair, unhurried, but with that lethal focus still on you which made you clench around nothing.

He didn’t rush you.

Didn’t pounce.

He stalked.

Crossing the space between you with measured steps, gaze burning hot down your spine. You shivered beneath it, every inch of your skin awake now, humming for him.

When he reached you, he knelt behind you first, big hands sliding slow up your sides, over the thin fabric of your clothes. His palms were hot, rough, making you arch instinctively beneath the touch.

“You got no fuckin’ idea what you’re askin’ for, do you,” he leaned over you, growling low against your ear. The feeling of his muscles across your back make you shiver harder.

“Don’t care,” you gasped, hips pressing back without meaning to. A sharp chuckle rumbled in his chest.

“Good.”

Then his hands were everywhere — one reaching up and dipping into your yukata to grope one of your breasts, making you arch into the touch with a soft cry. The other wrapping around your waist as he pulled you back until your spine pressed flush against his chest in an upright position. His thighs spread wider beneath you as he guided your legs apart to straddle him, his thick member pressing through the fabric. The position left you open, exposed, caged by the heat of him at your back.

“Tch. You been wantin’ me to fuck you all night,” voice rough against your ear, breath hot. “You want me to touch you, yeah? Want me to fuck you?” His teeth caught your earlobe, tugging just enough to make you whimper. You choked out a strained “Y-yes!” Letting your head fall back onto his shoulder. He licked a long strip up the side of your neck before speaking:

“Show me.”

You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Your body moved before your mouth could even form a sound, hips rolling back against him. Your hand slid trembling down your own thigh first, moving your yukata out the way to expose your bare heat. You then traced over the rough line of his wrist still gripping your waist. You guided him lower until his palm hovered just above the heat between your thighs, placing his fingers directly onto your clit.

A low, dark sound rumbled in his chest, closer to a growl than a chuckle this time.

“Fuckin’ knew it,” he rasped, breath dragging hot over your ear. His teeth scraped your neck as he shifted behind you, thighs spreading wider to cage you tighter against him. He began leaving tight circles on your clit, causing your hips to grind in motion with his fingers.

“So fuckin’ needy already,” he murmured, voice thick with heat. “Could see you shakin’ on me the second you crawled over here.”

You whimpered, hips jerking again without meaning to.

“Hold still,” he growled, the command sinking deep. His grip tightened on your chest, locking you in place — helpless against the roll of his hips beneath you, the thick press of him grinding slow between your thighs through too many layers.

“You want it this bad? you’re gonna earn it,” he muttered, words vibrating against your skin.

Then his hand was slipping lower again, dragging up the soaked line of your slit, finger prodding at your entrance.

You gasped— a ragged, broken sound— thighs trembling as you fought to keep from grinding down harder.

“Fuckin’ soaked already,” Toji hissed, voice pure filth. “All this for me, princess?”

“Y-yes… ,” you choked out, words falling apart beneath your breath.

“That’s what I fuckin’ thought,” he growled.

“Toji — please,” your voice wrecked.

“Tch. You’ll get it,” he drawled, teeth scraping your throat again, “Not even in you yet and you’re drippin’ down my fuckin’ hand.”

His fingers circled your clit again roughly, the rhythm relentless. Every roll of his hips behind you drove the thick heat of him harder against your ass, the fabric of your yukata becoming stuck between your cheeks from his grinding. Every filthy word in your ear made your thighs shake worse. Your eyes were squeezed shut, mouth open with breathy moans escaping. You focused on every roll of his fingers and hips, falling completely into bliss.

“Where’s that mouth now, huh?” he rasped, voice dark. “All that fuckin’ talk earlier. C’mon — tell me how bad you want it.”

You gasped again, sobbed out something that wasn’t even a word — too far gone to care.

“That’s it,” he growled, the sound feral. “Fuckin’ lose it for me. Gonna keep you beggin’ till you can’t fuckin’ stand.”

And then — without warning — he pushed two fingers deep inside you in one hard thrust, the sudden stretch stealing your breath, making you cry out sharp.

“Tight as fuck,” he hissed, voice ragged now. He didn’t stop— thrusting deep and quick, fingers curling with every pull, the heel of his palm grinding relentlessly against your clit. You shattered in his grip, body trembling helplessly as he finger-fucked you through your orgasm.

“fall apart for me,” he rasped, feeling the way your walls rippled against his fingers. “Ain’t even gave you my dick yet.”

Another ragged sob tore from your throat — hips rolling harder, chasing every filthy stroke of his hand.

“Bet you can’t fuckin’ wait now, huh?” he growled. “You want it? say it.”

“Want it — please, Toji— ah—! ” you gasped, words falling apart. The way he was talking you through it almost made you cum again.

A sharp, dark chuckle rumbled from his chest.

“Good,” he growled. “Then get ready, pretty girl. I ain’t fuckin’ done with you yet.”

The hand at your chested moved to drag the open fall of your yukata down off your shoulders until the fabric pooled loose at your elbows.

“Off,” he rasped, voice thick with need. You let him strip it the rest of the way, untying the obi, exposing flushed skin and bare beneath his gaze.

His eyes dragged slow over you before a low growl rumbled from his chest.

“Fuckin’ beautiful,” he muttered, already pushing the loose tie of his own yukata open, letting it fall away from his body. His dick stood thick and heavy between you now, flushed dark with need with precum dripping at the tip. Your mouth began to water at the sight. he shifted again, strong hands gripping your hips as he turned you, guiding you both up into a kneeling position facing each other.

One hand shot to your lower back, the other cinching your waist tight as he pulled you forward — until the heavy weight of his cock pressed thick between your folds, not entering you yet, just teasing.

“Fuck,” he hissed through his teeth, hips rolling up instinctively, dragging himself through your slick in one hard, slow grind that made you gasp.

Your thighs trembled, nails digging into his shoulders as your body rocked with him, helpless. “That’s it,” he rasped, breath hot against your mouth. “You feel that? It’s fuckin’ starvin’ for you.”

You were grinding against each other— the thick head of him catching on your entrance this time, enough to make you cry out sharp. “Shit,” he growled, biting down hard on his own lip. “Keep doin that and I ain’t gonna last.” But you couldn’t stop — hips rolling desperately now, chasing every filthy pass of his cock through your folds, the hot slide stimulating your clit with every push and pull, driving you wild.

“So fuckin’ wet for me,” his mouth crashing down on yours. Teeth, tongue, breath. Devouring every broken sound you made. The kiss was intense, wet. You were drooling into his mouth, feeling it drip down your chin.

His hips jerked again— rougher now— and the thick tip caught once more on your entrance, pushing in just the tip before he yanked back with a squelch.

“Fuck—” A full blown moan ripped from his chest. His grip adjusting to grab your ass cheeks, dragging you harder against him with each grind.

“Toji — please—” you gasped, voice whiney, thighs shaking, “Please fuck me! —can’t take it anymore,”

A deep, feral sound tore from his throat— half groan, half snarl.

“Yeah?” he growled, breath jagged. “Ok baby”

His hands were on you immediately— grip brutal on your thighs. He hauled one leg up in his grasp, forcing your body to tip back onto the futon beneath you.

“Right fuckin’ here,” he rasped, dragging your hips beneath him with one hard yank. Your leg wrapped instinctively around his waist, desperate for any hold on him. Your other foot planted against his chest, toes curling against hard muscle slick with sweat, giving him the perfect angle to drive into you.

“Fuck— just like that,” he snarled, grabbing your ankle and placing his other palm flat against your stomach, making sure you couldn’t move it away.“Keep that fuckin’ leg right here. Wanna watch you fall apart on my cock.”

You gasped, body arching beneath him, thighs trembling as you felt the thick head of him drag down through your folds one last time.

Then with no warning, no patience, he lined himself up and drove forward, burying himself into your dripping heat with one swift movement. The stretch made you let out a scream, part of it catching in your throat. He filled you up so full and had you literally soaked— he’s definitely the biggest and best you’ve ever had.

“Fuckin’ perfect,” Toji groaned — voice wrecked now, hips grinding deep. “Takin’ me so fuckin’ good.”

Your foot pressed harder against his chest as if you were trying to push him away as your body jolted — mouth falling open in a broken sob.

“That’s it, princess,” he groaned, rocking his hips into you steadily, helping you adjust to his size. “Keep fuckin’ takin’ it. You’re gonna cum all over me — fuckin’ know you are.”

The way he was looking down at you — hair damp, falling loose around his face, eyes blown black with hunger — made your whole body quake. The sight of him like this, fucking you open inch by inch, forcing you to hyper-focus on every drag of his cock, stole what little breath you had left and forced you into your second orgasm.

“Did you just cum on my cock?” he rasped, rocking deeper still, hips grinding steady working you through it as your walls fluttered helplessly around him. “Haven’t even fucked you like I want to and you’re already falling apart. Gonna ruin this pretty little pussy — gonna ruin it.”

Another few rough thrusts — the thick drag of him stealing a broken sob from your throat. Your foot pressed hard against his chest again, this time actually being able to push him back.

“Tch. Where the fuck you think you’re goin’?” Toji snarled, hand shooting to your thigh, yanking your leg down, letting it drop beside him.

Before you could even gasp, he was moving, grip brutal on your hips now as he flipped you over in one fluid motion, dragging your ass up beneath him as your chest hit the futon.

“Wanna fuckin’ feel you like this,” he growled, voice pure filth now, dragging you back against his cock as he lined up behind you. “Gonna fuck you so fuckin’ deep — fuckin’ ruin you.” At this point he was mumbling, almost incoherent.

A desperate whine ripped from your throat, fingers clutching the futon beneath you as the thick head of him notched deep against your entrance again.

“Hold on princess,” Toji rasped, and then he drove forward, slamming in to the hilt with one savage thrust.

“Fuck — fuck — fuck—” you sobbed, body jerking forward with every brutal snap of his hips.

“You like it when I fuck you like this—” he groaned, pace picking up hard now, hips slamming into yours like a piston. Your ass rippling from the force “You fuckin’ love it. Can feel this pussy fuckin’ beggin’ for it.”

“Takin’ me so fuckin’ good,” Toji snarled — grip bruising on your hips now as he pounded into you with wild, relentless force. “Gonna make you fuckin’ scream for me, pretty girl. Gonna fuckin’ wreck you.”

Your body was already right there, teetering on the edge — too full, too deep, too much.

“Toooojjiiii —” you sobbed, fingers clawing at the futon beneath you as your thighs began to shake uncontrollably. “Yeah — that’s it,” he snarled, grip bruising your hips now as he drove in even harder. “Can feel you squeezin’ me. You’re gonna cum for me again — make a fuckin’ mess all over my cock.”

He fucked you until the pressure inside you snapped sharp and hot, a wrecked scream ripping from your throat.

“That’s it — fuckin’ give it to me,” Toji growled, fucking you through it mercilessly. Your body seized, back arching as a gush of slick burst free, soaking both of you in a hot wave.

“Fuck— look at that,” he snarled, voice breaking. “Squirtin’ for me — knew this pussy was made for me.”

You were shaking, trembling, sobbing, as he pulled out, dragging his

“You think I’m done with you?” he rasped, voice feral now. “Not fuckin’ close.”

“W-wait Toji— I-I can’t— I need to breath—“ you were cut off by a loud smack to your ass before his hands shot under your arms — dragging you upright in one brutal motion.

“On your fuckin’ back— now,” Toji growled — flipping you over again onto the futon.

You gasped, legs falling open instinctively as he shoved your knees up high — pinning them wide to your chest.

“I told you I ain’t stoppin’—,” he snarled — lining himself up again with one rough stroke through your soaked slit. “Till you fuckin’ break for me.” Then he drove forward — burying himself the deepest he’s been, so deep to the point you could see his tip protruding below your belly button. the new angle stealing a fresh scream from your throat.

“Fuuuucckk !!! Ahh !!” you sobbed, body shaking beneath him.

“Yeah — that’s it,” Toji groaned, pace wild now — hips slamming down hard as your slick squelched between you. “Takin’ it so fuckin’ good. Gonna fuckin’ ruin you like this — fuckin’ make you squirt again — fuckin’ know I can.”

beneath him, legs trembling where he pinned them tight to your chest. You couldn’t take it — couldn’t think — every brutal snap of his hips driving you closer to the edge, too full, too deep, too fast.

“You fuckin’ beg for it,” he snarled — sweat dripping from his brow, breath breaking. “Fuckin’ beg for me to make you cum again.”

“Please— please— fuck—” you gasped, voice wrecked, tears slipping down your cheeks as your whole body shook beneath him.

“Good girl— good girl, baby,” Toji growled — hips grinding against your clit again, the thick drag of him hitting just the right spots again and again, stealing the air from your lungs.

Your vision blurred — fingers clawing helplessly at his forearms — as the pressure inside you snapped sharp once more.

“Fuck — Toji— I—!”

Then it hit — white-hot, violent — another broken scream tearing from your throat as your body seized, back arching hard beneath him. A gush of slick burst free between you. Wet, filthy, soaking his cock, your thighs, the futon below. More kept trying to come out of you, shooting up so much it began splattering on his stomach whenever he pulled back.

“Fuckin’ knew it,” Toji snarled, voice pure filth now, fucking you through it. “Look at that — fuckin’ squirtin’ all over me again. Fuckin’ love it. Love ruinin’ this pussy.”

You were sobbing, body twitching uncontrollably, barely able to breathe as he kept driving into you, pace turning ragged.

“Fuck— can’t— gonna fuckin’ cum,” Toji groaned, voice breaking — hips jerking harder, deeper, grip numb on your legs now.

“Take it — take every fuckin’ drop—” he growled. And with one final brutal thrust, he leaned down into the crease of your neck as he drove deep and stilled, a loud, guttural groan ripping from his abdomen. You felt it, the hot pulse of him spilling deep inside you mixing with your own cum, as his whole body shuddered, breath coming in rough, broken pants. “Fucckkk I—” he rasped, hips grinding deep as he emptied himself inside you.

You could barely hear him now — body limp, tears drying on your cheeks, mind swimming in haze. You barely registered it when he finally collapsed forward, bracing his weight on trembling arms above you, pressing soft, broken kisses against your temple, your cheek, your throat.

“You did amazing, princess,” he whispered, voice husky, breath hot against your skin. “Took it so fuckin’ good for me.” Your body was too wrecked to answer, too wrecked to move. The exhaustion pulling you under fast.

You barely felt it when he finally shifted, dragging you gently against his chest, tucking your ruined body close beneath the heavy fall of his arm. “Sleep,” he murmured, which sounded fondly. “Ain’t lettin’ you go anywhere, pretty girl.”

And with that, the darkness pulled you under — safe, spent, wrecked — in the arms of the man who had just broken you completely.

The next thing you felt was warmth — thick and heavy — and the slow, steady rise and fall of a chest beneath your cheek.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~~•~•~•~•~•~

You blinked groggily, mind still thick with haze, only to realize you were tucked beneath the blanket now, soft fabric brushing your bare skin. Clean. Warm. Someone had wiped you down while you’d been out.

A low, steady breath fanned through your hair.

Toji.

His arm was draped heavy over your waist, pinning you flush to his side, his body a solid wall of heat in front of you. You could feel the slow thump of his heart under your palm where it rested against his chest.

You shifted faintly — a tiny whimper slipping free before you could stop it.

Fuck. You were sore — hips aching, thighs trembling even with the smallest movement.

Before you could try to sit up, the arm around you tightened, dragging you back in against him.

“Mornin’, princess,” Toji murmured — voice rough, low, lips brushing the crown of your head as he spoke. “Where’d you think you’re goin’, huh?”

“Toji—” you croaked, throat raw. “I’m— sore—”

“Course you are,” he chuckled, voice warm with something that almost sounded smug. “Fucked you good last night.”

You groaned, burying your face into his chest, cheeks flaming.

“Can’t believe you” you started, voice muffled, but another breathless laugh rumbled beneath your ear.

“Tch. You really can’t hold your fuckin’ alcohol,” Toji teased, fingers tracing lazy circles along your waist now. “Had you beggin’ for it before I even touched you proper.”

That pulled a weak laugh from your throat, even through the soreness. “And you can’t shut up when you’re drunk,” you shot back, voice soft and playful, though your body had no energy to do more than curl tighter against him.

“Hn,” he hummed — nose nuzzling into your hair, breath warm on your scalp. “Guess we’re a fuckin’ perfect match then.” You could hear the grin in his voice — could feel it in the way his arm stayed locked around you, keeping you right there against him.

And honestly? You weren’t about to fight it. Not when his warmth was so good — so safe — wrapped around your battered, blissed-out body.

Not when you could still feel the way his breath hitched faintly, like even now he wasn’t quite done wanting you.

But for now, tucked beneath the covers, wrapped up in his arms, you let yourself drift again, safe in the wreckage he’d left you in.

Lowkeyyyyyyy feeling a domestic chapter after this.

[justboredtingz]

Fireleaf || Grimmjow x Reader🔞

Can’t lie can’t lie can’t lieeeeeee this took way too long to produce (I’m in vet school and shit bout to get HECTIC). But here’s your aphrodisiac Grimmjow huhuhuhuhu

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The apothecary stall had been a last-minute detour on your way home, a place you only visited when you needed something particular. Today, it was a simple intention: You remembered you were running low and needed to restock your usual tea blend before the cold crept too far into your bones. The walls were lined with glass jars of herbs, dried flowers hanging from the rafters, and the air thick with spices you couldn’t name. The old man behind the counter had a fox’s grin, the kind that made you feel like you were already halfway convinced of something you didn’t yet want.

“Something to warm you up?” he’d asked, eyes glinting. When you’d raised a brow, he leaned in closer, voice dropping low. “And maybe a nice young man at home, too, yes?”

The comment landed sharper than you expected. Grimmjow had said he’d be coming over tonight, in that lazy, confident way of his that always made heat curl low in your stomach. He never announces when he was coming, unless he wanted you to prepare yourself, if you know what that means.

You laughed it off, but the old man slid a small cloth pouch across the counter anyway. The faint aroma of something sweet and floral curled into your nose as he told you it was called “fireleaf,” a rare shipment he’d just received. He swore it would “turn the body into an instrument of flaming temptation.”

You rolled your eyes, but your fingers were already closing around the pouch. Curiosity, you told yourself, and you bought it.

When you got home, you tossed your coat aside and set the little pouch on the counter. For a while, you busied yourself with other things, trying to ignore the cute little tea bag. Eventually, your gaze drifted back to it. You picked it up, the faint sweet aroma slipping free as your thumb traced the stitched edges. Warmth prickled at the back of your neck, the thought of what it could do caused excitement to bubble within you.

You ended up brewing the tea, perching on the counter while you waited impatiently for the kettle to warm. By the time the steam curled into the air, your pulse was already racing. You poured, lifted the cup, and the first sip hit your tongue with a deceptive spice, leaving a faint tingling warmth sliding down your throat.

At first, it was nothing, just pleasant, almost ordinary. But within minutes, it felt like your blood had been replaced with electricity. Your skin buzzed, your shirt clung, and every inch of fabric made you feel claustrophobic.

The knock came just as you’d settled on the couch, trying to calm yourself. But knowing exactly who was on the other side of that door only made it worse. The anticipation sparking hotter, pooling low in your belly until it felt like the tea itself was pushing you toward him. You took a deep breath before standing up.

You opened the door to find Grimmjow, leaning lazily against the frame like he thought you would take longer. The look he gave you made it clear he hadn’t come over with innocent intentions, just as he warned before. Paired with the tea already humming through your veins, it sent a slow, liquid heat curling low, slick gathering between your thighs before he’d even touched you, or said anything. You shifted your weight slightly, trying to mask the movement.

“You’re early,” you said, trying to hide your breathlessness, stepping aside.

He didn’t answer, just strolled in, dropping onto your couch with that effortless sprawl of his legs only he could pull off. One elbow braced on the armrest, knuckles supporting his jaw, the other arm draped across the back. His gaze never left you.

Then his nose twitched, almost imperceptibly, and his mouth curved in faint amusement. “Why the hell are you already horny?”

You froze mid-step. “How did you—?”

He tapped the side of his nose, smirking. “I can smell it, sweetheart.”

Oh my god. You’d completely forgotten. Hollows could smell arousal as easily as blood. Brilliant plan, you thought. Get yourself worked up and invite over the one predator who can smell it before you even sit down.

You tried for nonchalance, sitting on your heels next to him on the couch, hands fidgeting in your lap. “It’s… this tea. Old man at the market sold it to me. ‘Said it’d make things more interesting. For you!— well us.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just watched you with that still, unreadable expression that always made you feel like you’d stepped into a trap. Suddenly, his mouth curved wider, a plotting, predatory grin.

“Cute,” he drawled, voice low with mockery, like the word itself was a taunt.

He didn’t bother to say more, just tilted his head in that sharp, commanding gesture that told you exactly what he wanted. Come here.

Heat flushed through you, and you obeyed without hesitation, moving to swing a leg over his lap, your knees framing his hips. His thighs were solid under you, his body radiating heat.

His hand slid to the back of your neck, gripping just enough to guide you down to him. His mouth met yours immediately, lips pressing hard, shaping yours to his as his tongue slid past them without waiting for permission. The taste of him was sharp, clean, mixing with the spice of the tea from your own tongue. He moved like he wanted to savor every inch of your mouth, tongue roaming deep and tangling with yours. He teased you, retreating just far enough to make you chase him before pushing back in. He tilted his head, deepening the contact, his hand tightening at your nape until you were fully bent to him. The kiss was all heat, all tongue, a desperate clash that left you gasping against him.

The strap of your tank slid off your shoulder in one tug of his fingers. He didn’t pause, just broke the kiss long enough to drag his mouth down your jaw then over the column of your throat. His lips were hot, his kisses messy, leaving damp trails over your skin. He sucked lightly at the spot just above your collarbone before his teeth scraped over it, pulling a whimper from your throat before you could bite it back.

The other strap was pushed down lower until your shirt slid over the swell of your breasts. His palm came up to cup one, thumb brushing across the peak through the thin barrier before tugging the fabric down further to bare you completely. The cool air made you shiver, but the tea’s warmth was already thrumming through you, heightening every brush of his skin against yours. His mouth closed over your nipple, the sudden jolt of sensation tore a breathy “mmmgh~” from your throat. His other hand kneaded the soft weight of your other breast, thumb circling lazily until your hips shifted on their own. He alternated between sucking hard enough to make you gasp and licking lazily around the sensitive skin, his tongue tracing circles and flicking at the nub that left you panting, your voice breaking on every sound he pulled from you.

His mouth was sloppy, sensual. The tea’s heat and his mouth were a lethal combination. You were wound so tight that you couldn’t sit still—your hips rocked against him, grinding down over the thick outline in his grey sweats.

A wet heat was spreading fast, soaking right through your boyshorts. You knew it had to be getting on him too, the fabric sticking damp between you with every shift of your hips. Grimmjow broke away from your nipple, his breath rough against your skin as his hands clamped tight on your waist. He pushed you back just enough to glance down between you, his gaze locking on the dark, slick patch staining the front of his pants.

“Fuck,” he rasped, smirk cutting sharp across his face, “look at you makin’ a mess.”

Before you could answer, he dragged your hips forward, grinding you down hard against him. The friction was obscene, the wet drag between you making a sticky, syrupy sound that had your head tipping back. A moan tore from your throat, high and broken, followed by a needy whimper when he kept you there, rocking you until every movement sent another gush of slick spilling out of you.

“Grimm—” you gasped, your fingers curling in his shirt, voice trembling with each forced roll of your hips. “I need you—please—ah! I’m so hot—” The words broke apart on moans as your hands moved restlessly, tugging at his white T up to expose his abs and chest like you couldn’t stand another layer between you. “Please,—can’t take it—” you whined.

His chest rumbled under your palms, a guttural sound that was half a laugh, half a growl. “You’re fuckin’ beggin’ me? Ha! Never thought I’d hear that outta your mouth, sweetheart.” His eyes flicked over your flushed face, showing all of his teeth in a wide smile. “That tea’s got you all hot ‘n messy, huh? Can’t sit still, can you?” His hand gripped your jaw, tilting your head back so he could drag his tongue up the line of your throat, teeth grazing the edge of your jaw.

You couldn’t stop making noise. Little “ah!” and “mmh!” sounds as you rolled your hips harder.

Your thoughts were in shreds, need clawing at you until you couldn’t wait another second. You reached between you, shoving your boyshorts to the side yourself, the air hitting your soaked skin making you whimper. Your fingers worked over your clit in messy feverish circles, the grip on the waistband of his sweats grounding you against the dizzy rush of heat flooding your body.

“Ah!~” you cried, cracking into a desperate plea, your hips chasing the rhythm of your hand as though nothing could fill the ache fast enough.

His smirk was sharp enough to cut. “Shit… you’re desperate—” He inhaled deeply, eyes half-lidded with hunger. “—Stinks so fuckin’ good I can taste it. M’gonna fuck you so good, baby.”

“Grimm—” The plea cracked in your throat, your hands flying down the second he shoved his sweats low. The sight of him springing free made your mouth water, your lips parting before you could stop yourself. “Mmh~ you’re so big— I need it— ammh fuck I need it—” The words slipped out in a dazed mumble, almost like you were already drunk off him before you even had him inside. Your fingers wrapped around the thick length, barely able to circle his girth, pumping him frantically, greedy for the weight and heat in your grip. His hiss cut sharp through the air, hips jerking at your touch, but you were already guiding him lower, angling him against your soaked entrance with a needy whimper, lining him up yourself like you couldn’t stand to wait another second. You dragged the blunt head of his cock through your slick before pressing right into where you needed it most. Your breath caught, body trembling, trying to brace for the stretch —only for him to seize control, his hand clamping hard on your hip. With a sudden snap of his hips, he forced himself upward, the thick tip breaching you before you had time to adjust.

The sudden stretch split a raw moan from your lips, your nails digging into his shoulders as your body bowed forward. The sound only made him grin wider, sharp teeth flashing as he leaned in close. “Thaaaat’s it,” he rasped, savoring the way your walls clenched helplessly around his thick meat. He slowly dragged you down onto him, the tea could only help you so far. “Too fuckin’ tight,” his grip locked you in place. Every roll of his hips pushed you deeper onto him.

Your head tipped back on a gasp, a loud, desperate whine spilling out of you before you tried to force your eyes forward, wanting, needing, to watch him disappear into you. You couldn’t decide which sensation you wanted more, the sight of it or the feel of him filling you, and it left you panting, restless, your moans never quiet for more than a second.

You tried to move, hips twitching, thighs shaking, desperate to bounce, but his hold on you was iron. You instead clenched around him again and again, gripping hard like you were trying to pull him deeper. The slick squeeze of your cunt echoed lewdly between you both, each shallow thrust dragging out a wet, messy squelch that only grew louder the harder you clenched down on him. His jaw flexed, a rough groan spilling as he rasped, “Shit—yeah, grip me like that. Fuck— y’greedy for it, aren’t you?”

“Please—Grimmjow, I can’t take it—need you deeper, need all of it, now—please.”

His grip on your hips turned ruthless, hauling you up before slamming you back down on him, again and again. He wasn’t thrusting—he didn’t need to. Your body was nothing more than a toy in his hands, bouncing helplessly on his cock as he buried himself to the hilt every single time. The movement made the wet, slick sound between you louder, your boyshorts bunched to the side and clinging to your skin. His mouth dragged wet kisses across your jaw, down your throat, biting lightly just to feel you jolt, then soothing the sting with his tongue.

“Ahh—!~ hhn— ngh—” The noises spilled past your lips no matter how hard you tried to keep quiet. The tea made every drag of him unbearable, other senses fading and the only thing you could do was feel.

“That’s all you can do? Just whine and beg?” he groaned, grinding up into you harder. “Can’t think when I’m fuckin’ you like this?”

You shook your head, the admission spilling out in a breathless rush. “No— I—“ a cry broke from your lips, “fuucckkk pleaaaseee grimmjow— hngh—“

“S’alright. Cry for it while you ride me.”

He released his grip, one hand stayin as an anchor while the other pulled your shorts farther to the side to give you more space. You lifted enough to sit at his tip before dropping down again, the impact making a sharp “ah!” escape you. You set a faster rhythm, chasing the friction, the heat. Every time you sank down, he met you halfway, plops reverberating in the room.

“Look at you—” His voice was a strained growl now, his abs visibly flexing as he sat back against the couch. “So fuckin pretty.”

You could barely answer, too wrapped up in the steady, pounding pleasure building low and tight in your belly. Your thighs burned from the pace, but every drag of him inside you pushed you closer.

“Mm~ Grimm—!” Your lungs stuttered, the sensation swallowing the air before you could drag it in. Your mouth gaped open, no sound or breath escaping, eyes rolling back as though you were drowning in him.

“Breathe, baby,” he groaned, beginning to thrust up into you, hips snapping harder, faster, as if trying to force you to breathe. “C’mon, sweetheart—make a mess on me.”

He grabbed at your shorts with both hands, the fabric no match for his strength as he tore them apart in one swift motion, the ruined pieces hanging uselessly at your waist. One arm snaked tight around your middle, dragging your chest flush to his, while the other slid down across the curve of your ass, fingers gripping hard as he spread you open, making more room to drive into you. He held you there, locked against him, as he fucked up into you at a bruising pace. Your whole body seized, thighs clamping around him as your climax tore through you, a choked “ah—ahhh—mmmh!” spilling out while you pulsed around him. Your arms wrapped around his neck, clinging like he was the only thing holding you together.

“Fuck, that’s it—milk me, sweetheart—” he grunted, still driving into you through every aftershock, his voice thick with satisfaction.

Your body was trembling above him, thighs twitching as you clung to his shoulders, every aftershock still rolling through you. It was as if you had lost control of every sense, vision going completely white and ears ringing. This was one of the hardest orgasms you had ever experienced. Grimmjow’s arm stayed locked on your waist, holding you in place as he gave a few more sharp thrusts, groaning low at how you kept pulsing around him.

“Look at you… fuckin’ twitchin’ all over me,” he rasped, teeth flashing in a grin. “Didn’t think you’d break that fast.”

You were still gasping when he shoved you back onto the couch—firm, but not careless—forcing you to catch yourself on shaky arms. He stood, towering over you now, rolling his neck like he was loosening up for a fight. His eyes raked down your flushed, sweat-slick body, caressing his chin as if he’s thinking about what to do next.

“Up,” he ordered, voice a rough growl.

Before you could think, his hands were on your hips, moving you until your chest pressed into the top of the couch, knees sinking into the cushions. He bent you forward, pushing your back into a deep arch, your ass in the air for him.

He gave your ass a firm smack, smirking down at you. “Gonna fuck you like this… see how long you last.”

He lined himself up and drove into you in one solid thrust, the force making you jolt forward with a startled “ahhh!”

He started fucking into you, fast and rough from the first stroke, The sound of his hips slamming into you blended with your wild cries, “Ahhh! Hhhhnnnaahhh!! Mmhhhaaahhh!!” The shift in position had your nerves lit up, every drag inside you hitting deeper, harder, making you moan louder than you thought you could. The couch rocked under you, inching back slightly with every thrust.

“Yeah… that’s it,” he taunted, leaning over you so his breath was hot against your ear. “Let everybody hear you. Let ‘em know you’re mine.”

A particularly rough thrust made the couch legs skid, one catching awkwardly on the floor. The jolt threw him forward—his chest slammed into your back, and you both lurched, him somehow going even deeper. He laughed low, breathless, not even slowing.

You were—moaning, whining, trying to push back against him even though your legs were trembling. He kept up the pace, grunting with every drive forward, and you felt yourself getting dangerously close again.

Instinct had you trying to crawl forward, away from the overstimulation—but he was faster. His arm hooked around your waist from behind, right under your breasts, locking you back against him. His chest pressed flush to your back, caging you completely.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re goin’, huh?” he breathed against your ear.

The other hand slid down between your thighs, fingers finding your clit instantly. The contact made you choke out a high, broken “mmmah!”

“That’s it,” he rasped, rubbing in tight, relentless circles while pounding into you from behind. “Stay right here. Take it.”

You could feel his breath on your neck as he licked along the curve of it, sucking at your skin hard enough to leave deep marks.

You were crying now, tears streaming down your face, every nerve raw from too much, too fast. Your thighs shook violently, the only thing keeping you upright was his crushing grip around your middle.

“You gonna cum for me?” he goaded, thrusts getting even sharper. “Come on, baby—let me feel it.”

Your vision blurred as your climax hit—harder than before, a raw, tearing release that had you gasping out incoherent sounds while liquid splashed hot against his thighs.

“Fuck—there it is—” he groaned, grinding against you as you kept squirting, his hand never leaving your clit.

It was too much—your legs gave out, your head dropping forward. You were distantly aware of him still moving, his voice still low and filthy in your ear, before everything went black.

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When you woke, you were sprawled across his chest, your cheek against the steady rise and fall of it. He was lying back on the couch like nothing had happened, one arm behind his head, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

The smug grin was the first thing you saw. “You fuckin’ fainted,” he said, voice full of amusement. “Thought i killed you. Guess I should be proud.”

Your body still hummed with heat, the aphrodisiac refusing to let you rest. You shifted against him with a whimper, feeling the hard press of him still beneath his sweats.

His smirk deepened. “Didn’t even get to finish,” he drawled. “Looks like it’s time for round two.”

You didn’t even try to play coy, the ache between your thighs flared, and you were already squirming, whining for him again before the words even left his mouth.

The way his eyes lit up told you he had every intention of making you regret this.

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The air was thick with heat, heavy with the sharp tang of sweat and sex. Your arms trembled under you, palms sliding a little against the slick floor, Grimmjow’s grip on your hips from behind was the only thing keeping you up and balanced.

Hours. You’d lost count of how many times you’d come, how many positions he’d pulled you into, how many times you’d thought you were too sensitive to keep going—only for him to prove you wrong. You’re surprised you didn’t pass out again.

Your breath came in shallow, shaking bursts, each exhale breaking into small, involuntary whimpers. You could barely form words; your throat felt raw from the sounds you’d been making. Your thighs shook, the muscles in your core clenching without your permission.

Grimmjow shifted behind you, his chest still rising and falling in deep, rough pulls. Then he bent forward, dragging his tongue in one slow stripe from your tail bone to the nape of your neck. His tongue was hot, the path wet, leaving goosebumps in its wake as he tasted the sheen of sweat covering your skin.

“You taste good, baby” he rasped against your ear, his breath making you shiver harder.

Before you could even process the heat of that, his palm cracked lightly against the curve of your ass, making you jolt and gasp. His low chuckle rumbled behind you as he straightened up, finally letting go of your hips. Without his grip, your arms gave out. You folded down to the floor, cheek pressing against the cool wood, a faint whimper slipping from your lips as your body refused to hold itself up anymore.

“Stay there,” he ordered, though it wasn’t like you could move anyway.

You heard him pad away, footsteps surprising light, and then returned a moment later. Something cool pressed against your lips, a glass of water. “Drink,” he said, and you did, gulping greedily, the cold shocking and perfect against your dry, sore throat.

When you’d had enough, he set the glass aside and scooped you up with ease. Your limbs hung heavy, your head falling against his chest as he carried you toward the bedroom. His skin was hot against yours, still damp from the hours of exertion.

He dropped you gently onto the bed, crouching over you, those blue eyes glinting with satisfaction. “Gotta admit,” he said, voice low but smug, “didn’t think you’d keep up with me this long.”

You managed a weak laugh, your voice a hoarse whisper. “Did I?”

His smirk widened. “Nah, you’ve been fucked good. Can’t move. Can’t talk. I’d say I fuckin’ ruined you.”

You exhaled a chuckle, even in your exhaustion, and he leaned down to press a slow, lingering kiss to your lips.

“Next time,” he murmured, pulling back just enough to let his grin show, “I’m drinkin’ that tea.”

Your eyes flew open, a pale chill replacing the lingering heat in your face. “Grimm—no.”

His grin only sharpened. “Better stock up, sweetheart.”

I will find the time to write one where Grimmjow actually drinks it, but I’m gonna be putting out stuff a lot slower since the semester just started.

[justboredtingz]

This is just prn with no plot i was ✨thirsty✨ oops—

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It had been a long week.

Too many tasks. Too many hours apart. Too many moments where all you wanted was him beside you, arms wrapped around you, voice in your ear, reminding you that the world outside this bed didn’t really matter.

So when you finally made it to bed, finally peeled off your clothes and melted into Suguru’s warmth, you couldn’t stop smiling.

“Missed you,” you mumbled against his collarbone as he hovered above you, nuzzling closer as he tucked your hair behind your ear. His fingertips ran down your arm, grounding you in the moment.

“I missed you too, baby” he murmured, kissing your forehead, then your cheek, then your jaw. “You’ve been running through my head all week. I love you.”

“I love you more,” you grinned, pressing a kiss to the inside of his wrist, where his hand rested beside your face. You tugged gently at his shirt. He understood, sitting up briefly to pull it over his head. When he returned, he took his time. His hands were unhurried caressing your body, lips pressing soft, lazy kisses to the curve of your neck as if he hadn’t tasted you in months.

You arched into his touch, sighing as his lips trailed lower, lingering at the hollow of your throat before returning to your mouth.

You pulled him in by the face, your hands warm against his cheeks as your lips met. The kiss deepened, and you melted beneath it. Tongues tangled, breaths caught. He kissed you sensually, as if he was making love to your mouth.

His hands explored wherever they could reach—cupping your breasts, sliding beneath your back to pull you closer, massaging the soft swell of your thighs. You moved together like instinct, hips tilting up to meet his body, thighs brushing against his sides.

Through the heat of it all, his hand slid lower. He dragged his fingers beneath your panties, teasing the waistband before slipping beneath it. You gasped softly, lifting your hips to help him pull them down, and the fabric slid off effortlessly—your kiss never once breaking.

But when he pulled away and glanced down, his breath hitched.

A line of slick clung to the gusset, stretching and snapping as he pulled the fabric from your legs. His brows raised slightly when he saw the evidence of your need— a thick sheen of arousal coating your folds, thick enough to drip.

“How are you already this wet?” he asked, voice tinted with surprise and heat. Two fingers swiped through your folds with zero resistance, glistening when he pulled them back. He scissored them slowly, watching the string of slick connect and drip down his hand.

You grinned sheepishly, “Um? Because I’m deeply in love with you?”

He huffed a quiet laugh, the kind that reached his eyes. “That so?”

“Mhm.” You batted your lashes, smug and taunting. “Now hurry up.”

He just smiled, then lowered himself between your legs. He kissed your inner thighs first with soft, lingering presses of his mouth that made your breath catch. He pushed your legs up, knees bent and wide, exposing your soaked folds completely to his hungry gaze. You were glistening, throbbing, leaking slick trailing toward your ass and pooling against the sheets.

“God, baby…” he whispered. “You’re dripping.”

He leaned in, tongue dragging a long, slow stripe from your ass to your clit, collecting every drop of arousal. Your hips jerked as you gasped, a hand flying to your face to cover the sheer heat rising in your cheeks.

He pulled up, your juices dripping off his wet muscle, making you gasp at how crude he can be, “you’re so nasty, suguru!!”

He only grinned, mouth shining, before diving back in.

His tongue circled your clit in lazy, teasing loops, pressing just enough to make you twitch, before pulling it between his lips and sucking. your whole body jolted. As he delved into your most intimate area, your hips jerked at the sensation.

“Fuck—ahh!” you gasped, your hands immediately gripping his hair, pulling his bun loose without meaning to. His pace picked up, tongue lapping, lips tugging, switching between firm suckling and light flicks until your legs began to tremble.

You writhed beneath him, hips rocking into his mouth, thighs closing around his head, but he held you open—one arm locking around your leg, the other keeping you pinned.

And then, with a perfectly placed flick of his tongue and one last hard suck, you broke.

Your orgasm rolled through you hard and sudden, spilling more slick down his chin and into the sheets below. He moaned softly as he tasted you, tongue flattening over your clit to draw out every last pulse of pleasure.

When he finally pulled away, his face was soaked with your arousal. He looked up at you, dazed and flushed, licking his lips with slow satisfaction.

“You look a mess,” you teased breathlessly, reaching out to wipe his chin.

“So do you,” he shot back, voice thick and playful, licking at your palm and placing a few kisses.

He kissed you again, deep and messy, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. One hand wandered back down, fingers teasing your still-throbbing entrance.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered against your lips. “I’m gonna take care of you. You can just relax.”

He dipped 2 fingers into your entrance, circling the rim before pumping them deeper, little by little until he was buried to the knuckle. He curled them rhythmically, coaxing soft moans from your mouth as he kissed you deeper. His breath started to stutter against your lips from his own excitement.

“Are you ready, baby?” He breathed out, voice thick with restraint, “ I want to feel you. It’s been so long.”

His fingers began abusing your cunt, your hips rocking helplessly into him.

“Yes—please, Suguru—” you whined, feeling your orgasm building again under his touch. He worked that sweet spot, and soon your moans turned to gasps as your back arched. Your walls tightened around him, and with a sharp cry, you came—again.

He eased you through it, kissing your neck while your body convulsed, whispering sweet things between each kiss.

When your breathing slowed, he finally pulled his fingers free, slick dripping from his palm to his wrist.

“This is insane,” Suguru looked at you with an amused expression, before licking his fingers clean, “I don’t think I’m gonna be able to stay inside of you. Im gonna slip out.”

You giggle, shoving his shoulder slightly, “Boy, just come here!”

He let out a low chuckle, leaning back just long enough to free his cock from his boxers, already so flushed, hard, and leaking from the tip. He stroked himself a few times before lining up. You held your knees open, watching him guide the tip to your entrance.

“Shit—,” He slides inside of your hungry walls with ease, bottoming out in one go. You arched into him from the stretch, even as your body welcomed him so easily.

He groaned low in his chest, rolling his hips into you deeply. His pace was slow at first, working to make you feel every inch.

Wet, lewd squelching filled the room as he moved, each thrust drawing louder moans from your throat.

But he kept slipping out—your cunny too slick to keep him in.

“I told you,” he laughed breathlessly.

“Maybe you’re not doing it right,” you teased, flashing a smug grin.

“Oh yea? My bad princess. I’ll fix that right now.” He adjusted his body, placing both elbows beside your head, his hair falling around your face.

He started to fuck you properly.

Long, deep thrusts that stole the air from your lungs. “Ah—ah—ah—ah!” you cried out with every stroke, unable to breathe, unable to think.

You tried to lower your legs, the sensation too much, but he caught one and pinned it high against his waist.

“No ma’am,” he growled into your ear. “Let me fuck you the right way.”

“Mhm! Yes!” you moaned, barely able to form the words as he used you.

His pace continued, never faltering, consistently hitting your deepest spots.

“Fuck, baby—“ he moaned, feeling the way you clenched around him. He dropped all of his weight on you, pinning you beneath him, his hand still on the underside of your thigh pressed to your side. His pelvis rubbed against your clit with every movement of his hips, never letting you settle. You shattered for the 3rd time tonight, crying out, legs shaking and tears slipping down your cheeks.

“I’m com— ” You choked, clinching around him as you fell apart.

“I know, baby— I know,” he breathed into your hair, “just hold on for me.”

You could feel him twitching inside of you. He moaned, strained, trying to keep up his pace but faltering, before pulling out last second and spilling all over your abdomen and chest in spurts. He rested his forehead against yours as he continued to cum, breath fanning against your face.

“That’s a lot, suguru,” you teased, dazed and giddy.

“Like you can talk.”

As he finished, he collapsed beside you for a moment, catching his breath, before sitting up and pulling you into a gentle embrace.

“Ah sugu you’re smearing it!” You whined. He shut you up with a kiss before speaking.

“Then let’s go clean you up, yeah?”

Before you could argue, he was already standing, arms slipping beneath you effortlessly. You squealed as he lifted you off the bed, but your arms instinctively wrapped around his neck.

“Shower?” you mumbled, nuzzling into his shoulder.

“Shower,” he confirmed, pressing a kiss to your temple as he carried you to the bathroom—still a mess, still tangled up in love, and not in any rush to let go.

[justboredtingz]

Before It’s Too Late || 🔞

Just something for Nanami because he’s every Virgo woman’s dream :)

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apartment smelled of simmered miso and toasted sesame. You’d made everything just the way he liked—salmon cooked gently in soy, mirin, and garlic, laid neatly beside seasoned rice and his favorite cucumber salad. A quiet, lo-fi jazz melody murmured from the Bluetooth speaker. It was peaceful, something you planned for this evening. You were setting a tone, a moment of calm. Because lately, Nanami had looked like the world was trying to grind him into dust.

You heard the familiar clack of the door unlocking, the weight of his steps echoing into the hall, and your heart fluttered. He came into view, tie slightly loosened, sleeves rolled to his elbows, a deep frown permanently etched between his brows. His shoulders sagged beneath the weight of something invisible but heavy. Curses. Stress. Mortality. You saw it in his eyes before he even spoke.

“You’re home,” you greeted softly.

The scent of home-cooked food reached him, and his chest moved with a subtle inhale. His gaze met yours. For a moment, the tightness in his jaw lessened.

“You cooked,” he said, voice low, roughened with fatigue.

“For you!” you said, motioning to the table already set. “You’ve been working so hard lately, so… I wanted to treat you to something special, your favorite!!”

A subtle smile graced his face, something so small you had to look for it. He removed his coat silently, hung it with mechanical grace, then sat. The two of you ate in quiet companionship. Every now and then, he’d glance up at your eyes, your lips, your smile. And he’d pause, like he didn’t deserve this kind of peace.

But you were determined to remind him that he did.

After dinner, you walked behind him, resting your hands gently on his shoulders. “Let me take care of you, baby.”

He gave a small nod.

You loosened his tie first, fingers moving with care. Then the top buttons of his shirt. Then you pushed it down his arms, letting the fabric slide to the floor, peppering a few kisses to his exposed chest. He didn’t resist. He never did with you. He just relished your touch.

“Go lie down for me. On your stomach,” you said, voice honeyed.

He obeyed without question, laying across the cool sheets. You straddled his hips lightly, warming the oil between your palms before pressing your hands to his back. The scent, his favorite, was rich and grounding: cedarwood with a hint of bergamot.

The first press of your thumbs made him inhale sharply. The muscles beneath your hands were stone from stress. Every motion you made was a rolling pressure, easing through tension like smoothing wrinkles from silk. The room was dim, golden with lamplight and the music softened into a romantic hush.

“You’re carrying too much,” you whispered, working along the muscle near his spine. “ I can feel it in your back. I wish you would take more breaks and take care of yourself.”

“I can’t afford to,” he murmured into the pillow.

“… i just miss you Kento. And I want to take care of you.”

He turned his face slightly toward you, eyes open now. Watching you. Softening. He didn’t speak.

Your hands swept along the grooves of his back, the corded tension in his shoulders. After several minutes, he shifted beneath you and sat up. His gaze met yours, unreadable but warm, like something long held back was finally bubbling to the surface.

“I went out yesterday after my mission,” he said quietly.

You tilted your head. “Yeah?”

His hand reached toward the nightstand drawer. Your heart slowed. He pulled out a small black velvet box and held it in his palm—not flashy, not showy. Simple. Elegant. Just like him.

“I don’t know how much time this cursed world intends to give me,” he said, voice raw. “But I realized I don’t want to waste a second of it not being yours.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

“I want you to have something of me… in case the worst happens. But more than that…” He opened the box. Inside was a gold ring, modest and timeless. “I want to marry you. I can’t keep pretending that anything else matters more than this. Than you.”

The ring caught the lamplight just slightly, glinting between his fingers. But all you could see was him, so vulnerable but stead. So loving.

“Will you marry me?”

“Yes,” you whispered, voice trembling. “Of course it’s yes!”

Relief cracked across his features. He exhaled a quiet laugh, something rare and beautiful. He pulled you close, one arm around your waist, the other cradling your jaw, and kissed you.

It wasn’t rushed or desperate. It was slow and full of certainty, the kind of kiss that said mine and forever in the same breath. His lips were warm, working against yours the way they always do— perfectly. You melted against him, fingers curling into the soft fabric of his slacks, your nose brushing his as the kiss deepened.

He held you like he’d never let go. And in that moment, there was no world outside. No curses. No pain. Just Kento. Just love. Just forever, beginning right here in your hands.

He pulled away and gently grabbed your hand, the contrast between his broad frame and the soft slide of the ring over your finger almost making you dizzy. The metal was cool, the band perfect, and it fit like it was made for you. Which, of course, it was.

You stared at it in disbelief, then back at him, those warm hazel eyes finally free of the tightness they’d carried for weeks.

And then your heart just broke open.

You surged forward, cupping his face, and kissed him like you were trying to breathe life into his bones, this kiss more passionate than the one shared only moments ago. Your hands roamed instinctively, his shoulders, his neck, threading into his blonde hair. He groaned softly into your mouth, letting you climb into his lap, his hands sliding under your thighs to pull you closer.

“I love you,” you murmured against his lips.

“I love you,” he replied lowly, breath catching as you began kissing down the side of his neck. “But if you don’t stop, I’m going to—”

You nipped his collarbone.

“—forget I desperately need a shower first,” he finished with a short exhale.

You paused just long enough to laugh. “Then I guess I’m joining you.”

He blinked once. “You sure?”

You stood, eyes burning into his. “Don’t ask dumb questions, Kento.”

That got the smallest smirk out of him.

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The bathroom filled with rising steam as he undid his slacks, folding them with the same neatness he did everything. You were less mechanical, shirt over your head, bra unclasped, everything discarded in a trail behind you.

Nanami’s eyes were on you now, admiring the love of his life. He stepped into the shower first, steam rolling down his back, muscles catching the light like polished bronze. He turned, extending a hand, and you took it, closing the glass door behind you.

The water was hot, cascading in rivulets down your skin as he pulled you under the stream, cradling your back against the tile. His hands gripped your waist, not too tight, but enough to make your stomach flutter.

“I’ve been thinking about this,” he said, voice deep, low over the sound of the water, “since the moment I walked through that door.”

“The shower?” you giggled. “Not me?”

Nanami let out a low chuckle, cupping your cheek and caressing the underpart of your eye, “You, my love.”

His mouth met yours again, but different now. Hotter. Hungrier. His tongue brushed yours pulling a moan from your throat. His hands slipping down to cup your ass, pulling you flush against him. He groaned as your bare chest pressed to his, slick skin to skin, the contact sending a shiver down your spine.

You felt how hard he was already, pressed against your hip, and you gasped when he lifted you suddenly by the thighs, pinning you against the wall.

“Hold on,” he said roughly.

Your arms wrapped around his neck, your legs locking around his waist.

His hips rolled forward just once, teasing, making you gasp. You began rolling yourself against him, leaving your slick across his member. You met him with open mouth kisses now, tongues twirling around each other in a fervent dance.

“Kento—” you breathed, nails digging into his back.

“I love you,” he murmured, kissing down your neck, biting just enough to make your head fall back. “I love you more than anything. And from now on, I won’t let the world keep me away from you.”

Your eyes met his again, so much raw love behind the heat, and you nodded.

“I love you more, my fiancé,” you smiled with the excitement at the title and gave him a quick peck on the lips, eyes filled with both love and lust, “now please— If you don’t fuck me right now I might lose it”

“So vulgar,” A quiet breath of amusement escaped his nose, but he didn’t waste another second.

He aligned himself with your entrance and slid into you almost too smoothly, your slick being built up from the teasing. Both of you groan at the stretch and heat and depth. The water poured over you both, his forehead pressed to yours, his hips grinding into you with controlled force, each thrust precise, each movement a vow in motion.

“Ah!~” you moaned out, tugging on his gold strands from the pleasure. His head slipped to your shoulder as he picked up the pace, loud smacks echoing off of the tile. You already felt your release building, back beginning to arch off of the tile. Nanami was so good at reading your body, he never changed his pace and kept at the same angle until he felt you clinch tightly around him, orgasm ripping through your body.

“That’s it,” he groaned, still thrusting up into you, “give me all you can.”

He adjusted his arms to where his hands gripped the back of your knees, pushing them close to your chest and spreading them apart as far as they would go. The only thing holding you up now was nanami’s pure strength and the grip you had on his shoulders.

“Kent— ah!!~” a moan was forced out of your chest, the new angle making you feel every inch against your walls. Your grip on him tightened as he had his way with you, pumping his member inside of you in a rhythm meant to please you both.

“You feel so good—“ Nanami breathed between thrusts, “ You were made for me. Cum for me again— please— “

With a few more thrusts, you came undone, body feeling limp in his grip. His lips capturing your cries as your body shook around him. He steadily fucked into you, chasing his own release. Your fluttering walls pulsed around him, having him follow moments after, releasing deep inside you with a groan so guttural it reverberated through your chest. His thrusts become shallow, working you both through the remnants of your orgasm, not necessarily ready to let it go just yet.

He didn’t let you go.

Even when your legs were trembling. Even when the water started to cool. He held you there, buried in your neck, the scent of cedar wood and sweat mixed in with the steam wrapped around you both.

“I’m going to marry you,” he whispered again, as if he couldn’t believe it was real. “I’m going to protect you with everything I have left.”

You kissed him softly, tired and blissed out. “You already do.”

Nanami turned the water off, forgetting to actually shower, and grabbed the near towel to wrap around your shoulders first, ever the gentleman— even after fucking you breathless in the shower.

The steam still lingered as you both stepped out, limbs tangled and half-laughing from trying not to slip. He raked a hand through his wet hair, looking almost boyish as droplets ran down the hard planes of his chest. You handed him his towel and stole a long look, biting back a smile when he caught you staring.

“What?” he murmured, brow slightly raised.

“I just never get tired of looking at you,” you teased.

He smiled a way he rarely did for others, only for you. “We have a lifetime to admire each other.” His words dripped like a quiet promise: Now that you’re truly mine, I’ll always be here for you.

You dried off together in the golden light of the bedroom lamp, soft cotton against bare skin, hair damp and clinging to warm shoulders. He tugged on sleep pants; you slipped into one of his shirts, oversized and slouchy, still holding his signature smell as if it didn’t come off in the wash. The ring on your finger caught the light as you moved, glinting and so beautiful, a symbol of the love you share with Nanami Kento.

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When you both finally crawled back into bed, the covers felt impossibly soft. Nanami leaned back against the pillows, chest bare, arms open. You climbed onto him without hesitation, settling on his hips, straddling him lazily as if it were the most natural thing in the world. One of your hands rested over his heart, the other lifted into the air, wiggling your fingers to admire the simple gold band.

“I still can’t believe it,” you whispered, beaming.

His hand slid up your thigh, calloused palm warm against your skin. “This is real, (y/n). I don’t make impulsive decisions.”

“No,” you said, eyes softening. “You don’t.”

Nanami took your left hand in both of his carefully, his thumbs brushed over your fingers, then paused at the ring. He brought it to his lips, kissed it softly.

Then looked at you with everything in him.

“I’m yours,” he said simply.

And you smiled, a little teary-eyed, heart so full it felt like it might burst.

“I know,” you whispered.

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I suggest not reading past this if you don’t want any angst >.>

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The miso was burning.

You didn’t even notice until the sharp scent of char clung to the air, curling into your throat. You moved the pot off the stove with a dull, mechanical hand, turning off the burner as if on autopilot.

Nanami was supposed to be home by now. He had left around 8am as usual, and would usually be back by 6pm, ready to shower, eat dinner, and spend time with you. He would usually text you throughout the day, letting you know if he would be late, or even just updating you about his day. But today was different.

Not a single message.

You told yourself it was just they way his job worked sometimes. You told yourself he was busy, saving lives, doing what he always did: fighting so that others didn’t have to.

But in your gut, deep down where fear has no name, you already knew. You just didn’t have the courage to admit it.

You turned in the news out of habit, the remote still cold in your hand. The footage on the screen was complete chaos: plumes of smoke rising over shibuya station, streets torn apart as if there was a severe drought, entire buildings gutted. Reporters stumbled over their words, struggling to explain what they were seeing. The official statement called it a terrorist attack— mass casualties, structural failure, a city wide emergency lock down.

But you knew better. You knew curses had attacked, a tragic event that didn’t show up on camera, something the news would never be able to explain.

And you knew Nanami had been sent to Shibuya for support.

Knock knock knock

Your focus was dragged from the television in front of you. Glancing at the clock, it was already going late into the next morning. You had spent the entire night up, watching the news and waiting for Nanami to enter through the door.

Three knocks. Hesitant. Not the sharp, clean rhythm Nanami always used if he had forgotten his keys. These were softer. Uneven. Like the person behind the door didn’t want to be there.

You opened it.

It wasn’t him.

It was Shoko.

No cigarette between her fingers. No lazy smile, no sarcastic comment to soften the air. Just her, solemn, empty-handed, and silent.

You knew before she even opened her mouth.

She looked like she hadn’t slept. Her lab coat was wrinkled, smeared with something that might’ve been ash. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, as if the ground was unsteady beneath her. And for a woman who’d once stitched up Nanami’s chest with without dropping her cigarette, that alone said everything:

He wasn’t coming home.

Still, she tried to speak. Tried to find words. Her lips parted, but her voice caught on something, grit or guilt, you couldn’t tell. Her gaze dropped to the floor, then rose again, blinking against the weight in her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she said finally. Her voice was low, raw, like she’d practiced it, over and over, and it still came out wrong.

You stood there, unable to move. A cold numbness spread from your chest down to your hands, anchoring you to the doorway. The weight of the ring on your finger dug into your skin. Shoko saw the glint of the metal, the lamp light reflecting off of it, which caused her cover her mouth with her hand. Neither of you had told anyone of the engagement just yet, wanting to wait for the right time when the world wasn’t as shitty. She decided not to say anything about it, but she immediately reached into her coat pocket and pulled out something small, wrapped in gauze—Nanami’s watch. Cracked. Blood on the band. Still ticking.

“He… he always talked about you when he came to me for healing,” she said, her voice barely more than a breath. “Said you’d kill him if you knew how bad it was. But he kept going back out there. Every time.”

She looked at you, really looked at you, and this time her voice broke.

“You were the one thing he never questioned. And we all knew he loved you deeply.”

The weight of it hit you all at once—Nanami’s absence, the silence where his voice used to be, the unbearable finality that came with Shoko’s presence instead of his. She didn’t say the word dead. She didn’t have to.

You didn’t cry. You didn’t move. You didn’t even blink.

You reached out for the watch with shaking fingers, and when it landed in your palm, it felt like your whole world cracked open.

Your knees gave out.

You clutched it to your chest like you could keep your heart from falling out.

“I didn’t get to say goodbye,” you said, barely audible.

You remembered—

Four nights ago, him sitting on the edge of the bed, holding that little velvet box.

The way his voice cracked when he said he didn’t want to waste time.

The way he kissed the ring on your hand.

The way he pulled you close like part of him knew.

And still he left.

Still he walked out that door.

Still he died—alone.

And now the apartment smelled like burnt miso and the ghost of a man who once said, “I’ll be home soon.”

But he didn’t come back.

And he never would.

[ydotome]

Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez (グリムジョー・ジャガージャック) - Bleach: Sennen Kessen-hen - Episode 33

[justboredtingz]

Exposure Therapy ||

If you weren’t aware, I’m deeply in love with Grimmjow and I needed something domestic for him :)))))

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Early on in your relationship, Grimmjow never necessarily said no to your touch. But he always acted like he hated it. You’d slide your hand into his when the two of you were walking side-by-side, and he’d glance down at it like it was an anomaly.

“Tch. You’re real handsy today,” he muttered once, after you laced your fingers with his.

You just smiled, “I always am.”

Although he complained, he didn’t let go. Didn’t even try. And that was how it always went.

You’d stroke the hair at the nape of his neck when he was sitting beside you on the couch. He’d grunt like you were bothering him, maybe roll his eyes, but he’d tip his head back into your hand without realizing, half-lidded eyes and relaxed jaw giving him away completely, until he noticed your smile.

“Don’t get cocky,” he’d snap, cheeks pink. “I’m just tired.”

Rightttt. Tired.

You would just turn yourself back to what you were watching, not wanting to ruin the moment, “Of course.”

He just wasn’t used to affection. You could tell by the way his muscles always tensed under your touch, how he held his breath the first few seconds when you wrapped your arms around his waist. As if waiting for the impact of some unseen blow.

But slowly, in his own weird way, he started showing you affection back. It came out awkward and clumsy, buried under growls and scowls. Sometimes he’d thump his forehead into your shoulder and sit there for a while, quiet and warm like a tired animal claiming his spot, but would grumble if you would make a peep about it. Or when you were lying together, he’d press his face into the back of your neck, no kisses, no words. Just presence. You’d shift a little, adjusting so his chin rested against your shoulder instead. Then, without warning, you turned your head and gave him a small kiss on his temple. He flinched. Froze. Pulled back an inch like you’d slapped him.

“Wh—what the hell was that for?” he barked, voice sharp but a little too high. You smiled to yourself. “Felt like it.”

His jaw ticked. His face was already going red, and he was clearly trying to scowl through the heat crawling up his ears. He huffed like he was mad, “keep your lips off of me…”

Then promptly buried his face deeper into your shoulder. Not just resting this time, nuzzling. The bridge of his nose brushing up along your jaw, cheek pressing against yours like it was the only place he could be comfortable. “…You’re such a pain in the ass,” he mumbled, the words muffled against your skin. His arms settled around your waist, loose at first, then tighter, like he was daring you to say anything about it. You didn’t. And he didn’t move. Little things like this went on for awhile, but eventually, he was beginning to adjust.

He was used to you clinging to him like a baby possum now. Whether you were latched onto his arm, curled against his side, or casually toying with the ends of his hair while talking to someone else, he didn’t swat you away like he used to.

The growling hadn’t stopped, sure. But the twitching, the jerking back, the defensive tailspin? That had all simmered into begrudging tolerance.

One evening, the two of you ended up at Urahara’s shop.

It wasn’t anything formal, just a casual evening with Yoruichi and the “hat man”, drinks passed around, music playing low in the background. You sat curled next to Grimmjow on the floor like always, tucked into his side, while he leaned back against the wall with that usual I hate everyone here scowl.

You reached over to grab the bottle on the low table and poured him another glass, careful not to spill. Grimmjow side-eyed you but didn’t say anything, just picked up the cup and downed it in one go.

“You spoil him,” Yoruichi said, swirling her own drink.

“She’s domesticated him,” Urahara chimed in, grin peeking out from behind his fan. “It’s only fair she tops off his glass like a good housewife.”

Grimmjow immediately stiffened. “I ain’t nobody’s husband,” he snapped.

You just poured yourself a shot while smirking. “Awww!~ you don’t wanna marry me?~” you faked a sob, “I’m hurt!”

“Tch, shut up woman…” he muttered, grabbing your shot from your hand and taking it himself without a second thought, as if that would somehow cancel out your flirting.

Urahara let out a soft chuckle, leaning slightly toward Yoruichi. “It’s textbook exposure therapy, really. Repeated contact until the subject stops growling.”

Grimmjow froze mid-sip. He jerked turned his head to glare at Urahara—murder in his eyes. Urahara just smiled wider, fan hiding half his face. “We’re making real progress.”

Grimmjow smacked his teeth, “Don’t test me, hat man.”

Urahara let out a soft chuckle before turning his attention to you, topping off another drink for you before you could do it yourself. “ Now now, Careful,” he said, watching you with that mischievous twinkle in his eye. “You’re already getting red.”

“I’m fine,” you said, waving him off with your newly refilled glass. “I can keep up.”

“You really can’t,” Yoruichi teased, already leaning on her elbow like she was expecting a show.

Now Grimmjow could hold his liquor, you’ve seen him down a bottle and still be able to take you both home.

You? Not so much.

By your third glass, you were already giggly. By the fourth, you’d migrated into Grimmjow’s space completely, legs tossed over his lap, head against his chest, fingers lazily drawing circles into the muscle of his forearm like it was your favorite canvas.

He hadn’t told you to stop. If anything, he’d gone suspiciously still. His face was just slightly pink. Just a little warm. Nothing outrageous.

But your eyes were half-lidded now, the alcohol making your body feel slow and warm and bold.

You looked over at Urahara and Yoruichi, who at this point, were arguing about god knows what, obviously not worried about you two. So you looked up at him with a soft, drunk little smile, reached up—

—and gently tugged his face down to yours.

Grimmjow blinked. “What’re you—”

And then you kissed him.

Not a peck. Not one of your usual teasing cheek kisses. A real, lingering kiss. Soft lips pressed to his, one hand sliding down his chest to his waist while the other held onto the back of his neck. He tensed for half a second… then sank into it.

His hand found your waist. His eyes fluttered shut. You could feel it in the way he kissed you back: tentative, searching, just a little desperate. Like he didn’t want to admit how much he needed it.

“WOOOOOO!”

Yoruichi practically cheered.

Urahara clapped like he was at a wedding.

Grimmjow’s eyes snapped open.

He pushed you back like you’d caught on fire, shoving you off his lap and onto the cushion beside him before jumping to his feet— nearly flipping the table.

Urahara didn’t miss a beat.

“Ahh, I see the exposure therapy is working!” he exclaimed, howling with laughter, practically wheezing behind his fan and slapping his knee.

Grimmjow pointed at him like he was choosing his next victim.

“You wanna go, old man?!” he snapped, teeth bared, whole face burning red. “Say that shit again— I dare you!”

Yoruichi leaned back, holding her stomach with how hard she was laughing. “You liked it! You even closed your eyes for a second— ”

“Keep runnin’ your mouth and see how fast I shut it!!”

Urahara waved his fan in amusement, teasing, “Classic case of overcorrection. First the kiss, then the flight response. He’s panicking.”

Grimmjow actually lunged.

You caught his shirt mid-charge, yanking him back down with surprising strength for a giggling drunk. He hit the cushion beside you with a grunt, jaw tight and eyes still locked on Urahara like he hadn’t fully decided not to commit murder.

“Grimmjowww~,” you whined playfully, climbing right back into his lap like he hadn’t just tried to launch you across the room. “drink your damn sake and stop threatening people.”

He stared at you like you were insane, but you handed him a fresh cup anyway. His eye twitched before begrudgingly taking it, knocking it back in one go.

You leaned into him again, grinning against his neck.

“…I hate you,” he muttered. But his arms went around you anyway.

Not tight. Just enough to keep you from falling out of his lap. He turned slightly, facing away from the others so they couldn’t see the furious blush creeping up his ears, down his neck, across the very tip of his nose.

“Don’t say a word,” he hissed sensing eyes on him, mostly at Urahara.

“I think this counts as another step in his exposure therapy,” Urahara said cheerfully.

Grimmjow let out the loudest, most exasperated sigh in the history of Arrancar-kind, and buried his face in your shoulder.

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[justboredtingz]

hii !! tysm 4 doing my ask! i loved the story, it was so cute! ur writing n characterization is actually amazing ur so underrated omg. i’d love more jugram please. ur it’s possible maybe smut with jugram n yandere/stalker reader? but i’d be happy with anything! again tysm i loved it. have a great day !! <33

Thank you anon!!! <3, I enjoyed writing this one, even though I don’t think I’m too good at writing yandere themes. Hope you enjoy!

Obsessiveness, coercion 🔞

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Jugram Haschwalth never locked his door.

A man like him had no enemies inside the Silbern, only subordinates, shadows, and silence.

Except you.

You moved like the dark between candlelight, never noticed, never named. You smiled politely when he passed in the corridor. Always bowed low when he spoke. You wore the same uniform, took the same oaths. But your loyalty had long since taken root in rot.

You didn’t serve Yhwach. You served him.

Jugram Haschwalth.

The man who bore the burden of divine balance.

The man who, under the cover of night, you followed, you worshipped.

You would wait until his aura shifted—when Yhwach fell into his divine slumber and Jugram inherited the burden of command. In those hours, he was gone from his chambers, wielding the weight of foresight and duty like a blade. That was when his room lay still. Unwatched. Vulnerable.

That was when you entered.

You never took much, if anything. Just time. Just his scent.

Sometimes you would kneel at the edge of his bed and murmur prayers to no god, just him. You would run your fingers along the grain of his desk, press your face to his robes hanging by the hearth, lay your cheek against the cool of his pillow and pretend, just for a second, that he was there with you.

That his weight pressed the mattress. That his voice rasped your name. That his fingers moved between your thighs instead of your own.

You left no traces, at first. But desire is a greedy beast.

You couldn’t help but moan, soft and muffled into the fabric he touched daily. And one night, perhaps on purpose, perhaps not, you came on his sheets.

A hot, shaking release. One that made your hips twitch long after your fingers stilled.

The next day, you watched from the end of the war table, standing straight and composed, as Jugram stiffened ever so slightly when the topic of disorder was mentioned. His gaze had passed over you only once.

You felt it. And you smiled.

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He had not confronted you.

Not even after the second time.

Not even after you’d slipped one of your own garments beneath his covers, hidden like a keepsake. That was his mistake. He thought ignoring you would make you disappear.

But you were done hiding.

Tonight, the fortress buzzed with low anxiety. Some mission had gone sideways. A failed skirmish. A loss.

Jugram’s spiritual pressure moved like a thunderhead through the corridors, dense and suffocating.

Perfect.

You were already in his room before he returned.

Wearing his robe. Nothing underneath.

The silk clung to your skin like permission.

You sat in the center of his bed, knees tucked beneath you, his comb resting between your fingers as you slowly ran it through your hair—an imitation of a domestic fantasy that had played a thousand times in your mind.

The door opened.

He stepped in.

He stopped.

Silence.

His expression didn’t falter. Not yet. Jugram Haschwalth was a man carved from self-control. But you saw it, the ripple behind the calm, the deep breath that caught halfway through his throat.

He noticed the robe. He noticed the comb. He noticed the pressed sheets already crinkled beneath your thighs.

You smiled gently, demurely. “Welcome home.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. But his eyes burned. Not with desire, with something else. Something closer to dread. You couldn’t help but smile.

You rose to your feet with the grace of a princess. The robe shifted around your body, gaping open just enough to show the smooth line of your inner thigh. You held the comb like a treasure before setting it down beside his untouched tea tray.

“I wanted to be here when you returned,” you said softly. “You’ve been working so hard lately. You deserve comfort.”

His voice was gravel. “Leave.”

You didn’t. Instead, you frowned.

You stepped toward him, slow and barefoot, your gaze never dropping from his. “You knew. You’ve always known. And still, you did nothing. So now you think it’s okay to try?.”

He exhaled sharply, as if your words slapped the air from his lungs.

“Every time I touched your bed,” you whispered, “you felt it, didn’t you? You tasted the air and knew it had my heat in it. I gave you so many chances to stop me. You let me go deeper and deeper into your world until it started tasting like mine own.”

You reached him. Your fingers grazed his belt, but he caught your wrist.

His grip was strong. Vice-like. The kind of strength that should have stopped you cold.

Instead, you smiled again, “isn’t that love, Jugram? Isn’t that your way of saying yes without having to admit it? You must feel it too, right, my love?”

And then—slowly—you slid your free hand to the knot of your robe and pulled. The silk slithered down your shoulders.

Then your arm.

Then your hips.

And hung smoothly at your wrist still in his grasp.

Now you were Naked. Glowing in candlelight.

Staring up into Jugram’s stunned, pale face with something between madness and obsession .

“You can pretend you don’t want me,” you breathed, stepping forward until your bare skin kissed the edge of his coat. “But your body’s already answering for you.”

You pressed your palm to the hard bulge beneath his waistband. He sighed to himself, ‘my body betrays me..’

“See?” you whispered. “I knew you’d be grateful one day.”

Jugram’s grip on your wrist twitched. ‘She’s unwell. Deranged. A parasite that’s latched onto my silence and called it affection. I should stop this. End it now.‘

It would’ve been so easy for him to shove you away. To strike you down where you stood. To call the guards or set the whole fortress ablaze just to rid himself of you.

But he didn’t.

His chest rose, sharp and stiff beneath his uniform. His jaw ticked. His gaze flicked once, lower, and then snapped back to your face. His eyes, they looked afraid. Not of you, but of himself, “You’ve taken this too far…” he muttered as if he was unsure if he even wanted to say the words.

“You work soooo hard,” you sighed. “You deserve to feel good. Just once. Let me be the one to give it to you. You won’t even have to ask.”

You cupped him gently, thumb stroking the shape of his member through the fabric.

Jugram inhaled, harsh and guttural. Still, he said nothing more.

You smiled.

“Give in, my love” you said, voice honey-thick. “Your body knows before you do.”

You leaned in. Pressed your mouth to his neck. Kissed his pulse. He didn’t pull away. His grip on your wrist slackened just enough for you to slip free.

You slid to your knees.

The robe was gone, no longer hanging off of your wrist pooling behind you. Your bare knees pressed against the cold stone floor. Your fingers worked at his belt, tugging the knot loose. He didn’t move. Didn’t help you. He didn’t speak. His hands stayed at his sides, trembling slightly. What was he thinking? Was he this desperate for release that he would allow someone like you to taint him?

You pulled open his coat and the clasp at his pants. The fabric fell away, and you were staring at the heat of him, flushed and stiff, twitching at the base.

You licked your lips.

“Ahhh~ So pretty!~,” you breathed out happily, wrapping your hand around the base. “I’ve seen this in my dreams. Woken up with my thighs soaked because of you. I love you Jugram!”

You looked up at him. He stared down, blue eyes glassy. Shock. Maybe shame. But he was hard, and at this moment, that was all that mattered. ‘She’s ruined me. She’s gotten under my skin like a sickness that feels sweet. I hate her.’

Your mouth opened around him, tongue sliding across the tip as you sank forward. The weight of him filled your mouth easily, and you hummed low in your throat, pressing your nails into his thighs to keep yourself grounded.

Jugram hissed through his teeth, unable to look away as he watched you.

You bobbed your head, lips wet, breath catching as you worked him. You let spit trail down your chin. Let it drip onto your chest, your eyes almost rolling back. You didn’t care how you looked, your moans of pleasure were proof of how much you were enjoying this. He was yours. Finally.

When his hips jerked the tiniest bit forward, you moaned out a cry like he’d blessed you.

“You don’t need to think,” you spoke between bobs, you couldn’t stop, you didn’t want to stop “Just feel my love. I’ll take care of you. I’ve always taken care of you. I love you so much!~ I love you— I’ll do anything for you!~”

You stroked him with one hand and cupped his balls with the other, tongue laving the underside of his cock. Without thinking, his hand raised. He gripped your shoulder, hard, fingers digging into your flesh as his hips finally gave in to instinct, fucking into your throat in sync with your movements. His breath hitched. His cock throbbed against your tongue. Then he came.

Hot and thick, spilling down your throat in pulses that made him curse under his breath for the first time in years.

He looked down as you swallowed it all, moaning like it was the sweetest thing you’d ever tasted. His hand remained on your shoulder—still clutching, still trembling—as if holding you in place made the shame feel less real. ‘This didn’t happen’, he told himself. ‘This can’t be happening.’

You pulled off with a gasp, face flushed, pupils blown. You looked up at him, mouth shiny and lips parted in something near bliss, using your thumb to clean up the corners of your mouth.

You sighed, dreamy. “Now you can’t pretend anymore,” you said in a singsong tone, rising to your feet. Your voice was soft, sugar-dipped and dangerous. “You let me taste you. You came for me.”

You stepped in close again, flushed skin brushing against his pants as they hung open, loose. You pressed your lips gently to his chest, just over where his heart thundered. He didn’t move.

“It’s okay,” you murmured against him, letting your breath warm the fabric. “No one has to know. Just you and me. One night. One moment just for us.”

You reached up, took his hand, and guided it to your waist. He didn’t pull away.

You whispered into the shell of his ear:

“Come to bed with me.”

Your fingers entwined with his, slow and tender. You tugged him gently toward the mattress, your movements patient, like guiding a wounded man through fog.

“I’ll be good for you,” you promised, voice silken, whispering right into his ear as you stepped back toward the bed. “I’ll lay back. I’ll open my legs. I’ll let you pretend I’m anyone you want—until you can’t anymore.”

He swallowed hard, jaw locked tight, but his feet followed.

You sat on the edge of the mattress and laid back, parting your legs slowly. Your thighs glistened faintly in the candlelight, and your lips curled into a soft, worshipful smile.

“Doesn’t it hurt?” you asked, tilting your head. “Holding all that tension? All that discipline? You don’t have to carry it right now. Let me take it for you. I want it—I want you. All of you.”

He stood over you, the weight of it all feeling like a decision between divinity and damnation.

And you reached for him, tugging him down with both hands. You whispered again, more breath than voice:

“Please, Jugram… just this once. You don’t even have to love me. I’ll love enough for both of us.”

Your lips brushed the underside of his jaw.

And then—

He moved.

His coat hit the floor. Then came his gloves.Then his breath, sharp and uneven as his fingers trailed along your thighs. They moved stiffly at first, unsure. But they were warm, shivering in their hesitation.

You smiled up at him, eyes wide with need. “That’s it,” you whispered. “Let me be your relief. Let me be the reason you fall apart.”

Jugram still said nothing. He wasn’t able to speak, he could no longer fight.

He knelt between your legs. He aligned himself in one slow, shaking motion. His cock brushed your entrance—slick, flushed, and already twitching with spent control. Your breath hitched, legs wrapping loosely around his hips.

“I’m ready,” you whispered. “I’ve always been ready. I was made to take you.”

And he pushed in.

A strangled sound tore from his throat—half gasp, half growl—buried into the crook of your neck. The stretch was thick, satisfying, everything you’d dreamed of while writhing alone in his sheets. He filled you, inch by inch, until he was buried to the hilt.

You clung to him, nails digging into his back. “So warm,” you gasped, arching beneath him. “You feel so good, Jugram—so perfect inside me~”

He was trembling above you from restraint. From a soul being dragged screaming toward surrender.

His hips moved—just once. A single roll.

You moaned with pure ecstasy. “That’s it. Yes! Please— More…”

He grabbed your thigh, lifting it slightly, and rolled again. The next thrust was harder, more certain. Then another. Then another.

Each motion dragged a breathy cry from your lips. The rhythm built faster than he could stop it. He was slamming into you now, the bed groaning beneath the force of it. His hair clung to his temples. His teeth clenched.

And you? You were unraveling. It was if you were being fucked by a god. You’ve never felt so good in your life. You knew you were made to be under him.

Your legs locked around him. Your lips moved at his ear. “I love you,” you whispered between sobs of pleasure. “You belong to me now. No one else gets to see you like this. No one else gets to hear you lose control. You’ve always belonged to me!”

He groaned, low and hoarse. His pace quickened.

“Come inside me,” you gasped. “Mark me. Claim me. I want to carry it—I want you so deep I taste you on my tongue.”

Jugram growled—actually growled—and slammed into you so hard your back arched clean off the mattress. His mouth hovered just above yours, but he didn’t kiss you. He couldn’t. Because if he did, he knew he’d fall.

“You’re sick,” he muttered through gritted teeth. “Twisted.”

You moaned louder. “I know. Isn’t it beautiful?”

His hand moved to cover your mouth, like he just couldn’t hear another word from you. He snapped his hips again. And again. And again. You opened your mouth to lick and kiss at his palm, moaning uncontrollably at the way he moved in you.

Your words came out muffled, “ah! I love you so much Jugram! I feel so good— please!~”

‘God help me’, he thought, ‘I’m going to cum.’

Your cunt clenched around him, warm and dripping. “Give it to me,” you begged, “Ruin me.”

His thrusts turned ragged. One hand still on your mouth, the other gripping the headboard to steady himself, Jugram Haschwalth slammed into you with all the fury of a man possessed.

And then—he broke.

With a hissed curse, he came, hips jerking as he spilled inside you in deep, throbbing pulses.

You cried out with him, pulling him down, holding him as he emptied himself into your soaked, waiting body. Your arms wrapped tight around him, nails dragging down his back, breathless laughter bubbling from your throat.

“See?” you whispered into his ear, voice dizzy with triumph. “You were always mine.”

Jugram continued to stay quiet. Because somewhere in the aftermath, buried between the hot spill of his release and the soft echo of your moans—he realized something awful.

He didn’t regret it.

Jugram’s body was heavy against yours, his chest rising and falling with stifled shame, his skin damp with sweat. Your thighs were sticky, still trembling slightly around his hips. His cock rested inside you, softening, but refusing to slip out—like even his body knew better than to leave you just yet.

You stroked his hair. Long fingers sifted through the golden strands, slow and tender, like he was yours to care for. Yours to soothe. Yours to keep.

His cheek rested against your breast. His eyes were open, glassy and blank, staring somewhere past the curve of your ribs into a place he couldn’t name.

“You did so well,” you whispered, lips pressing against the top of his head. “You let yourself feel something. That’s all I ever wanted.”

You cradled him tighter, one hand stroking the back of his neck, the other drawing lazy circles over his spine.

“I’ll take care of you now,” you murmured. “You don’t have to carry it alone anymore. You can use me, Jugram. You can put it all in me. Your stress. Your anger. Your burdens. I’ll hold it all.”

He didn’t move.

Not for a long time.

You thought he might fall asleep like that, his body caged between your arms, his cock still buried inside you like a secret no one could ever unearth.

But then—

You felt it.

A twitch. A slow shift in his hips.

Your breath caught.

He was hardening again. Still inside you. Still silent. Your eyes widened as his hands slid under your back, gripping your waist.

“Jugram…?”

No answer.

He rose above you, his hair falling over his face, shadowing his expression. His eyes were unreadable. Not soft. Not cruel. Just… hollow.

His hips rocked forward.

Once.

Then again.

Then a third time—deeper, heavier, forcing a gasp from your throat.

“You wanted this,” he said, voice low and flat. Not a question. A statement. A sentence.

You nodded quickly, smiling through the ache as he began to move in earnest.

“Yes. Yes, I want it. I want you. I want—”

“Shut up.”

He snapped his hips harder, making the bed creak beneath you.

Your words stuttered into moans.

“You made me do this,” he muttered, hands gripping your hips tight. “You pushed and pushed and now—”

Another thrust.

Your breath hitched.

“—you’re going to take what you begged for.”

You cried out, eyes fluttering as he fucked you with a rhythm that felt more like punishment than pleasure. But to you, it was divine.

His release from control was everything you’d dreamed of. He used your body like it was his outlet. His relief. His tool.

And you? You welcomed it. Every thrust. Every bruise. Every shiver of resentment and ruin he poured into your skin.

You clung to him, legs locked around his hips again. And in the dark, in the suffocating silence of the Grandmaster’s chambers, where all you hear are the smacks of skin meeting skin, you smiled—

Because he didn’t love you. But he’d wrapped himself in you. Thread by thread. Thrust by thrust. And by the time he realizes he’s tangled, it’ll be far too late to escape.

[justboredtingz]

Toji is probably the best kisser you’ll ever experience and nobody can change my mind

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Toji is a man of many talents, most deadly or destructive. But the one thing he dominated at, the thing that could melt you from the inside out without even laying you flat, was kissing.

Not the kind of kisses that ended sweetly. Not quick or bashful or even romantic.

Toji’s kisses were more of the type that ruined you.

His mouth moved like he knew exactly what he was doing. He knew where to lick, where to touch, how much to tease, how much to dominate. But worst of all—he took his time.

Like now.

His body had caged yours against the hallway wall, one thick arm braced beside your head, the other curled possessively around your waist. The scent of him was dizzying, his pheromones always did something to your senses. Something primal. His gaze flickered over your lips with that smirk you hated, the one that meant he’d been thinking about this for far too long for his liking.

“Hi princess,” he almost purred. And then he leaned in.

God.

His lips brushed yours once, just once, and it was already too much. If lust had a taste, he would be it. Flavored like everything your body shouldn’t crave in a man this dangerous. And when he kissed you again, fully, deeply, your knees gave out.

He caught you, of course. With one hand to your lower back, he yanked your hips flush against his, lifting you so your toes barely skimmed the floor. Your hands fisted in his shirt. You barely had time to breathe before his tongue slid against your bottom lip—teasing, drawing out that tiny moan you couldn’t contain—and then slipped into your mouth with obscene slowness.

He devoured you.

That was the only word for it.

Every stroke of his tongue was deep, wet. He explored your mouth like he was claiming it. and fuck, it was working. He kissed you with no hesitation, no restraint. It was the kind of kiss that made your thighs clench and your hips rock forward against his without permission. It was intense— he knew what it did to you and he wasn’t finished. And through all of his, he never changed pace. He kissed you steadily, taking his time consuming, savoring your mouth, tasting every inch of your tongue.

Toji groaned low in his throat, deep and gravelly, as his hand came up and gripped your jaw—not rough, but firm, holding you right where he wanted you. His thumb traced over your bottom lip as he pulled away just an inch, watching your face, your flushed skin, your parted lips trembling.

“You’re already shaking,” he murmured, dark and velvet. “Just from this?”

You tried to speak, to say anything, but the words dissolved as he kissed you again, harder this time. He angled your head the way he wanted it, tongue plunging back into your mouth with sinful expertise. He didn’t just kiss, he played. His lips sucked gently at yours before dragging away, teeth barely grazing, then plunging back in with tongue and heat and dizzying control that left you moaning into his mouth like you were already halfway gone.

Your hands were in his hair now. Tugging. Scratching. Desperate. You couldn’t stop grinding down against his thigh, chasing any friction at all, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes from how deep his tongue went—like he wanted to choke you with just a kiss. You were sure you could come just from the way he abused your lips.

No one held you like this. No one ruined you so sweetly, so devastatingly, with just his mouth. And you would let him do anything to you because no one kissed like Toji.

Every time he pulled away, you gasped, lips slick and swollen, whimpering just from the absence of him. And then he’d dive back in, letting his tongue drag lazily along yours until your whole body was trembling, arching against him, begging.

“Toji,” you whispered, lips brushing his as your eyes fluttered. “Please…”

“Please what, baby?” he asked, already breathless from kissing you like he’d waited all day to do it.

You whimpered again, nearly embarrassed by how desperate you were, how soaked your panties felt. But you couldn’t stop yourself from rocking forward, hips circling with want. His grip on your waist only tightened, like he knew what you needed, but was going to make you beg for it.

“I want…” Your voice cracked.

Another kiss. A deeper one. You opened your mouth to ask, but he was already on you again.

A wet, open-mouthed kiss that stole every breath from your lungs. You moaned into it, shaking, grinding against the thick bulge pressed between you like you couldn’t stop yourself, like his mouth had cast a spell over you that took control of your autonomic nervous system.

And just when you were about to fall apart from it, from just a kiss, Toji’s hand slipped beneath your shirt, dragging up, rough fingers brushing the underside of your breast— the touch drawing another moan from you.

His lips paused against yours, his breath hot and wicked, and then he pulled back just enough to look into your eyes.

“You keep moaning like that,” he warned, voice frayed with restraint, “and I’ll fuck you against this wall.”

Your breath caught.

His hand slid lower.

And then—

A noise. The faint creak of a floorboard in the other room around the corner. A shuffle of movement, subtle but unmistakable. You completely forgot you’re not the only one home!!

Toji stiffened, nostrils flaring, his jaw tightening like he was about to kill whoever dared exist outside this moment.

But he didn’t move.

He just looked back at you, gaze burning.

“You want me to stop?” he whispered, giving your lips a few lingering pecks.

Your legs were shaking. Your chest heaved. Your lips were bruised, wet, trembling.

“No,” you whispered back, without hesitation.

He smirked.

“Then don’t make a sound.”

[justboredtingz]

hii ! loved ur obsessed!aizen x reader n ur other aizen x reader. the characterization is absolutely beautiful! will b stalking ur page for more. is it okay if i could please req any jugram haschwalth? it can b up to u, i wna leave it open but i’d love if it was with a shy innocent reader. jugram needs sm more love! it’s okay if u don’t do the ask. have a great day !! <33

Thank you!!!! I really appreciate this request I’ve been BEGGING for inspiration lol. This is just some fluff, more so a cute little story. If you want me to continue this, or even do something smutty for him, just let me know! I hope it’s not too boring for you T^T <3

He had first noticed her not for her power, because she possessed none worth mentioning, but for her stillness. She did not command attention the way warriors did. She did not step into a room with intent or ambition. She moved like she barely belonged in the same world, as though her soul had been crafted for gentler things, but was unlucky enough to be stuck in a place not made for her kind.

Jugram had watched her in silence. At first, only with the mild curiosity of a man who noticed everything. But over time, her mannerisms, her smell, her existence, began to anchor in his mind in a way he could not explain.

She worked quietly in the archives— organizing records, copying texts, delivering messages with her eyes averted and her words so soft they were often lost. She bowed too deeply. She never asked for anything. And still, she offered the smallest, most earnest smiles to those who would never return them.

He didn’t know when she became the thought that lingered in his mind at the end of each day. Or when his footsteps started carrying him past the hall outside the archives more often than was necessary. He didn’t know when her presence, one so small, so unassuming, began to unmake the armor he had worn for so long.

Jugram had never known softness. He had only known control, duty, restraint. But in her presence, he began to notice the absence of harshness. She never spoke ill of others. Never raised her voice. When she did speak to him, her tone was only slightly above a whisper, as if she feared she might disturb the air around him by accident.

And perhaps that was what undid him the most:

She was kind to him.

Not because of rank. Not because of power. But because… it was simply who she was.

It unsettled him.

Jugram had turned away, jaw tight. Something in his chest had ached. That was when he first realized it. The pull. She stirred in him what no one else had ever dared to touch.

It wasn’t just infatuation. No, Jugram was too measured, too composed for that. It had became something far deeper and aching— Limerence.

It was the longing to protect. To shelter. To take that quiet, trembling creature and place her somewhere no one could ever hurt her again. Not even the world. And it consumed him, painfully so.

But she didn’t know, or at the minimum she didn’t show it. She was so unaware of what her gentleness did to him. So completely oblivious to the storm she stirred beneath the surface of his skin. If he were to let her know… if he touched that fragile purity even once… he might never stop. He was afraid one touch from him was all it would take to tether her to a fate as cruel and lonely as his own. But the ache only worsened. The more he tried to suppress it, the more his mind betrayed him, latching onto every detail, every mannerism like a lifeline.

He started noticing smaller things. The way she’d twirl her hair only when she was nervous. The way she avoided eye contact when anyone stood too close. The way her fingers curled around the sleeves of her robes like she was always trying to make herself smaller. As if she knew she didn’t belong in this violent place, but stayed anyway, out of duty. Or hope.

There was a shift. A shift so gradual, neither of them could pinpoint when the distance between them started to close. She would find him already present when she arrived at the archives, glancing up only to meet his eyes across the room before they both looked away. He never intruded, only occupied the same spaces. He initially had wanted to protect her from afar, remain a silent observer of her quiet light. But now… now he craved closeness. Craved the sound of her voice when she said his name without caution. Craved the chance to see if her gaze could hold his without fleeing. He began to force proximity. He asked for scripts he never read. Brought her rare ink she hadn’t requested. Left notes requesting updated records that did not need updating. Anything. Anything to stay near her. At some point, she had begun to speak more when he was around. Her voice still quiet, but less hesitant. Her smile less fleeting. Jugram was becoming content, having her like this. Because she was becoming comfortable. With him.

Once, her hand brushed his as she passed him a scroll, and she didn’t pull away immediately. She looked up. Their eyes met.

He saw it.

The same ache that had lodged itself inside his chest now flickering in hers—uncertain, unspoken, but there.

And that was when he knew. This was never going to fade.

No passing fascination could make his heart twist at the sound of her laughter. No idle curiosity could make him wake with her face etched behind his eyelids within the night. No simple affections could bring restlessness to his soul at the thought of these feelings possibly being reciprocated.

That night, he stood outside the archive doors for a long time. Not waiting. Just… breathing. As if preparing to step into a decision he could no longer retreat from.

And then, finally, he entered.

She turned at the sound of the door closing, her hands stilling where they rested atop a stack of parchment. Her eyes lifted to meet his, wide and hesitant beneath the soft fall of her lashes. She greeted him simply, giving him that same soft smile he deeply admired.

There was a tension to his frame, shoulders held taut, fingers curled faintly at his sides, as though he were bracing for something he could no longer postpone.

Silence passed between them. Not uncomfortable, but heavy. Saturated with the kind of anticipation that made the air feel too thick, like the sky before a lightning storm.

He stepped forward. Each stride bubbling more anxiety in his chest, possibly a little more aggressive than he wished.

She took an involuntary step back, unsure of what exactly was happening. She watched him, breath shallow, eyes flicking between his and somewhere else like she couldn’t decide whether to stay or flee.

But then, her lower back gently met the edge of the desk, and Jugram stopped just before her.

For a moment, he said nothing. Only looked at her—as if memorizing the way the light touched her skin, how her hands clutched the hem of her sleeves, knuckles pale with nerves. His gaze traced the strands of hair that had fallen loose around her face. One trembled slightly near her mouth with every shallow breath.

“Jugram.. ?” She exhaled.

He sighed, slow and soft, as if he was experiencing some sort of inner turmoil.

“I do not mean to frighten you,” he said at last, his voice low, laced with control. But beneath the surface, it cracked faintly with something far more human.

“I have been…” he hesitated, eyes flicking briefly to the side before settling on her again, “observing you.”

Her breath caught. She didn’t speak.

“I noticed it first in passing,” he continued, voice trembling just slightly, too soft to notice. “The way you move— quietly. Without demand. The way you smile— even to those who don’t deserve it. I find myself waiting for the curl of your lips. Searching for your presence in rooms I do not belong in. You make me feel… peaceful. As though I am not beyond redemption. As though I might deserve to be looked at the way you look at me.”

His hand lifted, slow and uncertain, until it hovered beside her cheek.

“I tried to ignore it. Tried to remind myself of the path I walk… the fate I have already sealed.” His jaw tightened. “But the longer I watched, the more difficult it became to stay away.”

He brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, fingertips trembling as they grazed her skin. His knuckles traced the line of her jaw before tilting her chin upward—just enough to bring her gaze to his. His eyes searched hers, drinking in every flicker of emotion and something perilously close to trust. And when her breath caught once again, his gaze dipped, briefly, to her lips. The contact was feather-light, with adoration. As if she might disappear should he touch her with anything more than devotion.

“I am not a man prone to indulgence. Nor am I easily swayed. But you…” He paused, voice a breath above a whisper. “You have undone me. Quietly. Entirely.”

He leaned closer, his breath warm against her lips, though he held back, fighting with the weight of restraint.

“I fear that if I do not act on these feelings— if I do not kiss you now, I will live with the regret of not being true to myself. And to you.”

A silence bloomed between them. She stared up at him, trembling now herself—lips parted, lashes fluttering.

Then, as if summoned by instinct, her hands moved. They gripped the front of his uniform, not harshly or with desperation— not even strong enough to wrinkle the fabric— but with the shy, tentative certainty of someone who had been waiting for this moment far longer than she had dared to admit.

His control shattered.

Jugram closed the distance between them, lips brushing hers in a kiss so soft it could’ve been mistaken for a breath. He tasted the fear in her, the wonder, the unshed words. And still, he did not pull away.

Only when her hands tightened slightly against his chest did he dare deepen it, just enough to feel her meet him there in that impossible space between duty and desire.

When he finally drew back, his forehead rested gently against hers, and their breaths mingled between them.

Her voice, when it came, was no louder than a whisper. “I’ve always known.”

He blinked, just barely.

“I could feel your eyes,” she said softly. “Even when I didn’t look… I knew. I just didn’t know how to speak to someone like you.”

His chest ached at that. At the way she still looked at him like he was something too high to reach. A relic, not a man.

But now she was here. And she had not run.

With a tenderness he had not known he possessed, Jugram slipped an arm around her waist, drawing her closer, and brought her hand into his other, lifting it as though to begin a dance. He looked into her eyes—not as a commander, not as a Sternritter, not as fate-bound—but as a man.

And he kissed her again. Lips moving perfectly in sync with hers. Their breaths mingled, shallow and warm, the space between them collapsing until nothing remained but the hum beneath their skin. This was no longer just a kiss, but the start of something Jugram would protect with his life, willing to go against his own duties to keep.

[justboredtingz]

I felt sad so I want everyone else to be sad with me :(

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You didn’t hear the words.

They were said to you, yes. Spoken aloud in the quiet hush of a blood-soaked dawn. Words shaped like knives that pierced through every nerve in your body. Words soaked in ash and fired, clogging your bronchioles, invading your lungs. But they didn’t make sense, not at first. They fluttered against your ears like moth wings. Soft. Insistent. Meaningless. You said them to yourself once more:

“Rengoku… he’s gone.”

Gone.

Gone.

Gone.

Your knees gave out before your heart could catch up.

Your body crumbled as if the thread holding you upright had been severed with a single, merciless snip.

The breath in your lungs turned to glass. Every inhale splintered. Every exhale sliced.

“No.”

It left your mouth like a broke command, as if your grief could make the universe obey.

A statement of denial carved from your own soul.

The crow— his crow— still perched nearby. Feathers soaked in soot, eyes dull with grief. It had delivered the message and lingered, as if mourning with you. As if it, too, couldn’t bear to leave him behind in the sky.

You remember the way he kissed you before he left.

It was different this time. He didn’t kiss you on the forehead and ruffle your hair slightly, something he did religiously before every mission.

No.

He kissed your lips.

Slowly.

Deeply.

Like he already knew. You should have known.

Like he had seen the end and wanted to leave something of himself behind—something that might echo louder than grief, something warmer than ash.

The way only Hashira could.

That quiet knowing they carried in their bones, forged by battle and blood.

They always sensed it—that final thread fraying in the distance, tugging tighter with every breath.

And he… he must’ve felt it pulling.

His mouth moved against yours with quiet desperation, something so unlike him, like he was trying to memorize the shape of your love one last time. Both hands cradled your soft features, thumbs gently caressing your cheeks. He was pouring every unsaid thing, every promise, every regret, every thread of love, into that single breathless moment.

And for a heartbeat, it felt endless.

Like time had bent around you both.

Like the world would hold its breath just long enough to let you stay in that kiss forever. But the world is no keeper of mercy, especially to people like you.

And when he pulled back, his golden eyes burned. At the time, you couldn’t read it—couldn’t see the quiet farewell flickering in his eyes. But now? Now you realize: he was already saying goodbye with a kiss he knew you’d spend the rest of your life remembering.

“I’ll be back before dinner,” he said, smiling through the lie.

You press your fingers to your lips now, as if his were still there.

As if you could hold the memory in place before it slips through the cracks in your soul.

He is ash now.

Char and ember. Smoke rising from a battlefield you were too far away to reach.

You want to scream. You want to set the world on fire for daring to take him from you.

But all you can do is kneel in the dirt,

a hollow thing,

your soul split down the center,

whispering his name over and over like a spell that might somehow bring him back.

“Kyojuro !”

And somewhere, far beyond the wind and the crows and the ruin,

you swear you can still feel the ghost of his gaze.

Faint.

Fading.

But there.

Just enough to break you all over again.

[justboredtingz]

Obsessed!Suguru Geto x reader ||

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He plays it cool around you, of course. That easy, collected charm, eyes half-lidded, a lazy smirk curling on his lips as if nothing in this world could truly unnerve him. But it’s a lie. A beautiful, practiced lie. Because every time you speak his name, every time your fingers brush his arm, every time your smile flickers in his direction, it eats at him. Rots him from the inside out.

There’s no word strong enough to describe it. Obsession feels too clean. Lust feels too innocent. Whatever this is—it’s filthy. It’s grotesque. The way he thinks of you when you’re not looking. The way he fists his cock in the dead of night, murmuring apologies to no one, imagining your thighs trembling around his face. He hates himself for it, almost feeling disgusted for how badly he wants you. He’s a curse user, and yet you are his deepest sin.

But around you, he’s controlled. Almost cold. “You look good today,” he says offhandedly, like it means nothing. Like he didn’t picture you choking on his cock that very morning. You never see the way his jaw tenses. Never catch the way his fists clench when you mention another man. He keeps it hidden, he could never allow you to see the way he yearns for you, that is, until tonight.

Because tonight, you’re in his bed. He finally found the courage to woo you, inviting you over his place, disguising his intentions as a simple movie night. As the night goes on, you only glance at him once, a flicker of curiosity behind your lashes. Your voice is soft when you speak, almost unsure. “Suguru…?” That’s all it takes. His hand comes up to cradle your jaw, deceptively gentle, but there’s nothing gentle in his eyes— Hunger burns there deeply. He leans in like he’s starved, like kissing you is the only thing that’s ever mattered. Then finally. Finally, his lips claim yours, and the taste of you ruins him. He hates how much he needs it, what he’s willing to do just to keep it.

You don’t pull away. That’s what undoes him. Your lips stay pressed to his, unsure but open, soft with trust he knows he doesn’t deserve. One hand fists in the front of his shirt like you’re trying to keep yourself steady, and he groans, so guttural it’s like the sound is being dragged out of his chest. His hand slides down your thigh, hesitant at first, waiting for any sign of resistance. But when you exhale his name again, breathy and warm against his mouth, he loses the last of his composure. The movie plays on behind you both, forgotten. He lays you back gently, like he’s peeling back the edge of a dream that’s becoming reality. And when you part your legs for him, even just slightly, he falls to his knees like a man starved.

His hands slide beneath your thighs as he spreads you open with a reverence that borders on desperation. Patience abandons him. The restraint he wore so well melts away the second he gets a taste.

There’s no elegance in the way he devours you—tongue desperate, mouth open, moaning into your cunt like he’s starved for it. “Fuck—fuck, you taste so good, I can’t—” His voice breaks. He’s rutting into the mattress like an animal, his hips moving on instinct, fucking the air while his face stays buried between your thighs. It’s pathetic. And he loves it. He’s never felt like this. Never let himself.

He cums too fast. Way too fast. Just from eating you. Groans ripped from his throat,his whole body trembling. But even as he finishes, he doesn’t stop. He’s still hard, painfully so, and now he’s above you, panting, eyes blown wide with something far stronger than need. “Let me do it— ,” he begs, voice raw. “Let me fuck you right. Please—I need to feel you around me.”

When he finally pushes into you, he chokes on a breath like he’s just been shot, like the pleasure is so sharp it hurts. His eyes roll back for a second, a filthy moan slippjng out of him as his hips still. “Oh my god,” he moans, so slutty you barely recognize him. His forehead drops to your shoulder, fingers dig into your thighs hard enough to bruise, jaw clenched as he tries to keep control.

And then he starts to move.

Deep, filthy thrusts, slow only because he wants to feel every inch of you squeeze around him. Every sound you make feeds something dark inside him, something territorial. And it only makes him want you more.

You’ve never seen him like this. You’ve never heard him like this. Suguru Geto, the composed, unreadable enigma, reduced to a shaking mess. He’s vocal, so vocal. Moaning openly, gasping your name with every thrust, praising you like you’re divine. “So tight, fuck, you’re so perfect for me. Been dreaming of this—fuck— just like that. Just like that.”

He doesn’t try to hold back. He can’t. His restraint is gone, drowned in months, years of denial and self-hatred and raw, pulsing need. Now he wants to ruin you. Worship you. Keep you. The bed rocks with his desperation, and his voice cracks when he moans, “You don’t know what you do to me… you don’t fucking know.”

And still, even as he fucks you again and again, as sweat slicks his skin and tears of overstimulation sting his lashes—he’s clinging to you like you’re what keeps his heart pumping.

No one should want someone this much.

And yet, here he is.

Drowning in you.

Finally, yours.

Will this become a series? Find out on the next episode of “If She Can Commit”

[justboredtingz]

Obsessed! Sōsuke Aizen x Reader 🔞

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He never meant to leave you behind. That much, he convinced himself of. When Sōsuke Aizen turned his back on the Soul Society, when he abandoned all the familiar corridors and ancient rules of Seireitei, it was strategy. Power. Ascension. You were the only variable he didn’t account for—an ember he expected to extinguish with time, only to find it glowing brighter in the deepest recesses of his mind.

He thought of you often. Every day, in fact. At first, in idle passing, your voice when you scolded him for staying up too late, your eyes narrowing whenever he made a comment too smooth to be innocent. But soon, the recollections became consuming. Your laughter haunted the silence of Hueco Mundo. Your scent lingered in phantom moments. And at night, when solitude pressed upon his mind like a curse, Aizen would sit alone in his throne, eyes half-lidded, hand wrapped tightly around the painfully hard member sitting between his legs— breathless and murmuring your name like a sacred mantra.

He sent Ulquiorra to watch you. Of all the Espada, he trusted him to be emotionless, clinical. He didn’t want your life disturbed, only documented. What you wore. Who you smiled at. Who you visited. How often you laughed. And when the Fourth returned one day with a quiet, “there’s another man present,” Aizen didn’t blink. He didn’t speak. But the temperature in Las Noches plummeted, and the throne room fell into silence. His knuckles went white around the armrest. That night, he didn’t touch himself. He couldn’t. The thought of someone else having your smile, your time, your body, it was blasphemy.

So he sent Ulquiorra one last time. Not to watch. To seize. “Do not harm her,” he said, voice low and calm, but filled with a promise of torment should that order be disobeyed. And when you awakened, dazed in the sterile white void of Hueco Mundo, he stood waiting—still pristine, still polished—but something in his gaze was… fractured.

You didn’t run to him. You didn’t even speak. You just looked at him distain—like all the warmth you once held for him had rotted into something bitter. “You betrayed us,” you said, your voice steady. “You betrayed me.” That was your answer. And it destroyed him.

But Aizen didn’t falter, at least not fully. Not in front of the Espada, not in front of Gin and Tosen. He remained composed, commanding, ever the god ascending. But when it was just you… when the doors closed and you stood across the room refusing to flinch under his gaze… he shattered. Not visibly, not yet. “I think of you,” he whispered, walking closer. “I thought of you every day. I touched myself to the thought of you—every inch of you, every sound you make.” And then, impossibly, he sank to his knees before you, his emotions no longer an abstract concept. They spilled from him, heavy and undeniable.

“Lie if you must— say it, even if you hate me. Say you belong to me, say it was always me.”

Your silence was the cruelest cut. So he rose again, and this time, his voice turned velvet— dangerous and irresistible. “You will,” he said. “You will remember how it felt to be mine.”

He didn’t need Kyōka Suigetsu to manipulate you. No illusions. No lies. He would give you the truth instead. Every fevered thought, every unspoken craving—he would pour them into you. His lips would find yours with the precision of a man who’d memorized exactly what you craved, drinking in your breath like it belonged to him. His hands, used for control and conquest, now trembled as they traced the curves he worships. He would take his time, relearning your body like scripture, whispering your name against your skin as though it could summon the past. And when you trembled beneath him, when your voice cracked in that familiar way, he would take you—over and over—until your body surrendered underneath him, until it betrayed you, until it remembered the man your mind swore it forgot. He wouldn’t stop until your walls broke, moaning for him to consume you, until desire eclipsed reason and all that remained was the truth: you were always his.

Because Sōsuke Aizen does not yearn often. But when he does, it is absolute. And he only ever yearns for you.

Just a little more guilty pleasure until i finish the kissing game for my bleach boys <3

[justboredtingz]

Omg if yall don’t start sending in requests my inspiration will leave my body T^T