hi it's october again and i remembered your last year's gintober THAT I LOVED SO MUCH and i still think abt it sometimes just wanted to say hi and thank you for your service
HAPPY OCTOBER!! Thank you for remembering my silly little Gintober 🥹 I plan to bring it back, but I’d better put my money where my mouth is, huh? I hope you’ll keep an eye out for some more surprises this year as I try to finish what I started ❤️
Even under the blossoming colors of the dawning sky, Astarion does not once look away from the gentle hand clasping his own. He pulls his hand out of your grasp and coaxes your palm open, tracing cold fingers over each line, scar, and callous. He slowly spreads his fingers over yours, an action far too tender to deny allegations of affection from the prying eyes of your fellow campmates. You say nothing, but as you shifts closer to him, your knees touching in the tall grass, he knows.
By the gods, he wonders how he finds himself so lucky after centuries of enduring torment and torture. For a brief moment, he considers a world where one of his siblings took his place instead, and he was still trapped inside that all-consuming darkness. He swallows down the bile that bubbles at the thought.
Astarion fiddles with their hands, tracing over veins and squeezing your tender hand, almost desperate to memorize every atom which hold such love for a man—a monster—like him. You let him take, take, and take. A lesser man would scarcely think twice about abusing that kindness. He wouldn’t have hesitated, either.
But you cared. Despite everything he’s done, everything inside of him shattered beyond recognition, every lie he’s told you to get into your good graces, you still hold your hand out for him. Treat him like he deserves something more than the shitty reality this wretched life has dealt him.
Astarion hopes he can live up to the dreams you have of him. The man you believe he is.
You lean your head in close enough to touch, and his fingers stall against your own. His eyes finally lift to meet yours, and he half expected to be met with a reflection of himself in your sweet gaze. He clears his throat and joins your hands properly, offering you an apologetic squeeze, somewhat embarrassed getting caught up in his own stubborn mind during such a vulnerable moment.
“I never knew,” he begins, slowly, carefully, like any misstep would shatter the illusion, “I never knew that someone’s hands could be so... gentle. I’ve always thought they were tools to take. To hurt.”
He looks back down as your other hand came up to wrap around his, warm and soft. You freely give him a comfort he’s never known before. But does he truly deserve something so precious as this?
“You really are full of surprises, aren’t you, darling? I don’t think I ever truly appreciated your foolish persistence. And yet...” His words fail him. Decades of seductive sonatas and practiced pleasantries provides him no aid in exposing his vulnerability; no way to tell you how he truly feels.
“You don’t have to say anything, Astarion,” you lean in closer, foreheads finally touching. You guide his hand and rest it against your breast, and steady your breath. The flutter of your heartbeat underneath your hands fills in the words neither of you are quite ready to say.
Forcing yourself to do chores after surviving another apocalypse is a weird fucking experience.
Leon Kennedy would be the first person to tell you how important it is to reestablish a routine after a tragedy, but knowing how important it is doesn’t make the reality of it any less jarring. How could anyone reasonably expect him to go from a short-term, high-stakes mission—where every decision was the difference between life and death—back into the mundanity of a 9-to-5 in a matter of days?
No rest for the wicked, he’d say. Gotta keep moving forward.
To him, the strangest part about all of it is actually coming home. No matter how many times Leon is welcomed back as a “hero” and praised for his good work, all pretenses are gone as soon as he walks into that swanky apartment he pays too much rent for each month. There’s still dishes to be washed. Trash to be taken out. Laundry to be folded. When he lived alone, he could easily ignore petty chores for as long as possible—surviving off take-out on paper plates, wearing the same jeans three times a week—but he won’t treat his roommate like a maid.
Sitting on the couch, he smiles as he watches you scurry around in the kitchen, eagerly cooking your first lunch together in maybe three weeks; his first hot meal in what feels like forever. It's not all bad, he thinks, not when you’re around. He doesn’t get much time to enjoy the view of your ass while you stretch over the counter to reach the flour in the cabinet before the buzzing of the dryer calls him back to work.
Leon trudges back into the laundry room alone, but he’s accompanied by a humming cover of your favorite band that carries throughout the house. He leaves the door open so he can hear you while he folds clothes, but the sizzling of pan-fried food drowns out your voice. Smells delicious, at least.
Leon grabs a warm pair of jeans first and mindlessly shoves his arm in the inverted leg to flip it, and immediately realizes how unusual the fabric feels against his forearm. He pulls the pant leg through and flaps it once, twice, in the air before stretching it out by the waistband and scrutinizing it, wondering if his jeans got fucked up somehow.
It takes him a moment to realize he doesn’t own this pair. It’s your laundry.
“Hey, babe?” Leon steps out of the room and raises his voice enough for you to hear, “Want me to fold your clothes?” It takes a moment for Leon to get a quiet “yes, please!” over the noise from the kitchen, but it’s enough.
He chuckles to himself and stands over the dryer, bringing both legs of your jeans together, tucking the middle, smoothing it out over his chest, and folding it into thirds. Simple. Brainless. It’s strange. Leon starts sorting your folded clothes into piles as he grabs and folds one of your work shirts. His folding isn’t perfect by any means, but it’s neat enough to get the job done.
It almost feels like a luxury Leon shouldn’t be able to afford; being able to relax in safety, comfort, and warmth while doing something so mundane like folding clothes when just last week he was experiencing hell.
But Leon forces himself not to dwell on it for long, as he distracts himself with a cat-themed sock from the pile that he’s only seen you wear in passing, turning it over in his hand to catch all of the details on it. He never noticed the fake toe-beans on the bottom of the socks before, and he can’t stop the grin that pulls at his cheeks. Damn, that’s cute. He runs his hand through your clothes in search of its pair, refusing to let it be lonely for long.
He folds everything from raincoats to bath towels; the piles he’s made already reaching his mid-chest in height. How much laundry did you do? It has to be at least several weeks’ worth. Leon thinks of all the late hours he knows you spend working and huffs. There’s some comfort in knowing you’re just as bad as he is with chores.
A soft shirt brushes his hand when he leans into the machine to start grabbing the bottom of the pile. He stretches it and turns it around to face him. It’s an oversized band tee-shirt with a long-faded print. It looks well-worn. Loved. He holds it for a moment longer before he folds it slowly, with more care than he offered to some of your other shirts, making sure to leave the logo visible on top.
There’s not much left in the dryer by the time Leon grabs some of your underwear. Most of them are plain, standard. Some of them are cute, with simple patterns or a lace trim, and he doesn’t think twice about them as he folds them. But his fingers fumble as he reaches in without looking, and catch against a small, thin piece of fabric.
Deep blue, lacy, and risqué. Leon’s breath chokes in his throat as he stares at the thong in his hand for way too long. Thoughts better kept to himself rush into his mind; of watching you saunter while wearing nothing but this to tease him, of snapping the waistband against your skin to hear you gasp, of pulling it down with his teeth to reveal—
—“Leon! Food’s ready!” your voice shocks Leon out of his haze.
He squares his jaw and quickly—sloppily—folds the thong and shoves it between some clothes before he’s tempted to tuck it in one of his pockets. The damn thing’s definitely going to haunt him when he has a moment to himself.
You call for him again, “Leon?”
“Comin’!” He clears his throat and slams the dryer door closed, grabbing the full laundry basket, unsure of how he’s going to look at you after that. And for a while, he forgets about everything else.
Not the gentle whir of the automatic centrifuge nor the soft scratching of pen on paper were enough to cover the light footsteps that carefully approaches you from behind. You smile, but don’t turn from your messy notebook.
You always preferred the peaceful isolation of the late-night laboratory, being able to freely work on personal research projects without having to bump past coworkers or being interrupted by higher ups searching for answers. Still, you don’t necessarily mind this certain distraction.
“Working late again, sunshine?” Leon’s soft words send a shiver up your spine as he rests his head on your shoulder, sliding up and fitting himself naturally against your back, lazily draping his arms around your waist. You wonder how much of your notes he understands—if he can read your handwriting at all, that is. Probably quite a bit; he’s always been a smart rookie.
You hum, but still don’t look at his pretty face, lest it distract you too much in this rare peace. The view of his soft bangs and button nose from your peripheral are enough to have your heart skip a beat anyways. “No rest for the wicked,” you say. “I’m surprised you haven’t gone home yet.”
“Can’t be that surprised; we both practically live here anyways.” Leon huffs dramatically, dragging his fingers across your stomach and squeezing his arms around you in an attempt to rile up some sort of reaction from you.
You should’ve seen it coming, leaving yourself open and vulnerable like that.
You whine his name, affectionate and light as he pulls an uncontrollable laugh from your lips and you nearly crumple back in his embrace. You breathe heavily for a moment and your cheeks flush red with realization. The centrifuge clicks off as you stand in silence.
Leon’s stunned expression definitely matches your own shock.
“Sweetheart…” he starts, but words fail him for a moment as he bares his teeth between a wolfish grin. “You never told me you’re ticklish.”
You swallow, looking at the mirth growing in Leon’s blue eyes and realizing very suddenly how fucked you are, trapped between a man with a very obvious idea and the sturdy countertop. “Leon Kennedy,” you stammer, hands gripping your notebook tightly, “you wouldn’t.”
Leon smiles into your shoulder. “Guess all these late shifts keeping you from me are starting to pay off,” he says. He gently loosens his arms from your waist, watching your subtle expressions and feeling you shift against him with the intensity of a trained hawk.
“Leon—!”
You can’t even finish getting his name out before you squeal like a child, feeling the rough pads of his fingers through layers of clothes as he tickles you mercilessly, pulling laugh after laugh from your pretty lips. Even light strokes has your stomach tensing.
He says your name in the same tone, laughing alongside you.
You drop the notebook on the table as your hands scramble to grasp at his wrists, but you’re not nearly strong enough to pull them away from your vulnerable sides. Your knees buckle and laughter turns breathy as you lean into your cheeky boyfriend while he keeps you giggling in the palms of his hands.
Your eyes water, chest burns, and legs shake. “W-Wait, I—I can’t,” you beg between gasps, “stop, Le—on!”
He stops almost immediately, realizing that maybe mercilessly tickling his partner wasn’t the smartest idea. “Fuckin’ adorable,” Leon coos, peppering kisses on your hot cheeks and holding you tightly against his chest while you rest limply against him.
You heave a sigh, grateful for the way the air fills your lungs again. “This is why,” you take a large breath, “I didn’t tell you I was ticklish!”
“Not bad for your first time,” he says. The innuendo isn’t lost on you, and you pinch his skin with the blunt edges of your nails until he starts mumbling ow, ow, ow and pulling his arm away.
“Cheeky bastard, coming in here and making a mess of me—“
“—yeah, yeah, ‘m sorry.” Leon noses your neck and gently sways you.
You relax a little when you sees his smile, but can’t help yourself from teasing him a little more. “You’re awful,” you pout, “absolutely the worst.”
“Mm, I love you too.”
“Ugh.”
“I’ll tickle the attitude out of you if I have to.”
Otose’s Snack House is crowded with jovial drunkards and familiar faces alike. It’s wild, it’s noisy, it’s messy, and it’s all to celebrate another year with Gintoki. Some are invited while others barge in unannounced, but no matter who crashes his party, cheer and goodwill fills the bar to the brim and spills out into the Kabukicho streets.
It’s almost hard to remember everyone’s names as they pass by, but Gintoki still smiles and raises his half-empty glass in thanks to each and every one. They stuff his pockets with cash and birthday wishes while the few material gifts he receives, namely from Kagura and Shinpachi—he doesn’t bother acknowledging the gift-wrapped stalker-mummy worming along the counter—are tucked safely behind the counter until the party dies. He’ll open those privately.
Otose stands alone at the bar, letting Tama and Catherine enjoy the festivities while she handles the drinks. Gintoki sits in front of her, lost in the noise and excitement behind him while he stares into his pint of beer with hints of melancholy, rather lost after you’d slipped away from the festivities to “take care of something”. She pours a shot of her second-best liquor behind the counter and slides it in front of him without a word. As the bar’s hostess, she won’t let a single customer go unsatisfied, even a leech like him.
He raises his head, seeing the crinkle of her crow’s feet giving him permission to go ahead. Gintoki scoffs lightheartedly and downs the shot in one gulp, letting the alcohol burn through his chest. He slams the glass against the counter and abruptly stands up, not giving the old woman a second glance as he walks out. He doesn’t have to; she already knows where he’s off to.
Kagura hops onto the counter (knocking mummified Sacchan off in the process) and leans towards Otose, cupping her hands over her mouth to shout above the noise of the music and the crowd. She’s the first to notice Gintoki’s sudden absence. “Where’d Gin-chan go?”
Otose sighs and lights another cigarette to hide the smile that tugs the corners of her painted lips, “the fool ditched his own party.”
You stare at yourself in the mirror for several long minutes, twisting your body in different angles to make sure that every ribbon that wraps around your body fits snugly and securely. Your heartbeat rings in your ears as you ghost your hands over your curves, simultaneously admiring your amateur handiwork and feeling awfully embarrassed by it. Silver streaks cross your body, barely concealing your chest and sex as you wove the ribbons through each other and tied it in a pretty little bow against your hip, ready to be unraveled by rough hands.
It took much longer to wrap yourself up than you expected (even with the lingerie’s pamphlet with instructions) but you’re comforted by the hard thumping against the soles of your feet. The party isn’t dying yet; there’s still time. You hastily throw the silk robe over your shoulders and hide your body before you regret your own cheesy surprise.
You kneel onto the floor and rummage through your small toiletry bag, pulling out product after product. You take the time to apply them carefully and lightly to your delicate features, making sure you look as nice as possible for the special occasion.
You cradle a small tube of lipstick in your hand, the sharp pigment reminding you of Gintoki’s eyes. You pop off the cap and twist the lipstick, leaning in close to the mirror with one hand balancing yourself on the floor as you part your soft lips to paint them red.
So close and so concentrated, you don’t notice Gintoki’s looming shadow until his hot breath hits your ear as he traps you between himself and the mirror. “Couldn’t afford a gift, so you’re my present this year, huh?” he teases as you make eye contact through the glass.
You nearly drop the lipstick in surprise, cursing the same loud music that comforted you earlier for hiding his heavy footsteps. You’re nervous, but still try to ignore the way he nuzzles his face against your hair as you rub your lips together and clean the edges.
“You’re early,” you finally say, turning your head to look at him properly as he teases the collar of your robe with his teeth. “Why aren’t you with the others?”
He shrugs his shoulders, his hands wasting no time in caressing you through your miniscule coverage as he rests his chin on your shoulder. “Everyone forgot to pay attention to Gin-san, so I ran away. Now, about my present—”
“You animal!” you smack his creeping hand away from your thigh and roll your eyes, figuring he just got antsy after being surrounded by the growing crowd; as much of a natural-born leader as he is, you know Gintoki prefers his space.
“I do have a gift for you,” you finally admit, “buuut, you have to move so I can get it.”
“Really? Torturing a man on his birthday? How cruel can you be?” Gintoki exaggerates a groan but relinquishes his position.
You shuffle on your knees, turning around and leaning into Gintoki to give him a quick but full kiss. His hand comes up to catch you, to cradle your nape and trap you in his embrace, but you duck under his arm and leave him stunned with freshly stained lips.
“Looks nice on you, Paako,” you laugh as you hop over the hand that tries to snatch your ankle as you rush over to your ‘secret’ hiding spot.
Gintoki falls down to sneak a peek at your ass as you bend over and rummage through the closet for his gift, but you stand up with a wide, victorious smile before he can really see anything. He clicks his tongue. Disappointing.
He watches with faux boredom as you land in front of him on your knees and holds out a small box with both hands like you were school kids on Valentine’s Day. Gintoki pushes himself off the ground and sits with his legs crossed, taking the gift and staring at it curiously.
He couldn’t really begin to guess what was inside. He shakes it close to his ear and hears the shifting, but it might be anything. Maybe you got him a lucky charm so he can win big in Pachinko?! You have plenty of extra luck that you don’t use—
Your arms squish your chest together as you lean in. “Well?” you prompt.
Gintoki flicks your forehead as you crowd around his hands. “I can’t open it if I can’t see it, idiot.” You pout but inch back, close still, but not on top of it. He rips apart the neatly folded wrapping and cracks open the lid, holding his breath as he finally reveals what was inside.
A silver chain sits neatly, shining brightly in the reflection of the ceiling lights. It’s dazzling; he almost doesn’t believe how expensive it looks.
You carefully take the bracelet from the box in one hand and Gintoki’s wrist in the other. He lets you wrap the bracelet around his right wrist, stunned silent by the simple but carefully chosen present. Your fingers, so much smaller than his, are deft as you secure the clasp in place, the cool touch of silver cut through by the warmth of your hands.
“It fits,” you sigh with relief. You look up at him with bright eyes and hold his hand with both of yours. “Do you like it? It was hard trying to find something meaningful,” you gently massage the palm of his hand, “your unbreakable soul, your endless bonds... you’re never alone. Something corny like that.”
Gintoki's brain lags, unsure how to fully process such genuine affection without being obnoxious. He forces himself to swallow down the lump in his throat, but his mouth stays dry. You smile and lift his hand, bringing it to your face and pressing an affectionate kiss against it, leaving another stain in your wake.
“Truth is...” you flutter your lashes and guide Gintoki’s hand down your neck, your breasts, until his fingers catch onto the string keeping your robe tied together. He flares his nostrils and huffs a stream of hot air as he slowly pulls. “I do have one more thing for you, Toki.”
Gintoki Sakata is almost certain that this is a dream; that he’ll be rudely awakened by someone pouring ice-water over his head or chasing him out of the Snack House with a broom any minute now and break the nice illusion he’s currently having.
The string comes undone and the silky seas part, revealing your ribbon-covered body to hungry eyes as it falls to the floor. Gintoki stops breathing, unabashedly zoning in on the thick lines that accentuate yet hides your goods while practically begging to be torn apart.
“What the hell did I do to deserve this?” Gintoki whistles while he ogles you, trying to lighten his own mood, “are the gods finally looking out for me?”
“Not gods; just us.”
The silver bracelet on his wrist chimes as he traces his fingertips along one of the ribbons that crosses your chest and feels you shudder and giggle, exclaiming how much it tickles with a bright red face. He cracks a mischievous grin and smooths his hands over your sides, feeling your muscles tense and hearing you squeal with laughter.
You grab hold of his wrists, and he bumps his forehead against yours. “I’m trying to be serious!” you beg for mercy.
“I thought this was my gift? Shouldn’t I be allowed to do whatever I want?”
You snort. “You didn’t even let me finish!”
“You know I prefer it when you finish on my dick,” he fires back.
You can’t cover your stupid smile fast enough, “Toki, you pervert.”
Gintoki laughs, his hands tugging at the belt around his waist and letting his yukata fall, “I’m not the one practically naked right now.”
“Maybe you should be,” you drop your tone and whisper seductively, looking at him through thick lashes while tugging at the collar of his shirt as you brush your lips against his.
Gintoki’s chest rumbles with a low growl as he nearly tears off his clothes, interrupted only by the fleeting kisses you pepper across his face. He nearly tackles you to the floor as soon as his shirt and pants are tossed into the void, but you stop him with firm hands pressed against his pecs, using your whole weight to press him down and sitting on his lap.
“Let me take care of you tonight, Gintoki.” you lean over him, framing his face with your hair.
Gintoki sighs blissfully as you slowly rock your hips against his crotch, clothed only by his boxers. “You’re eager tonight, huh? ’s that why you left the party early?” His hands come up to hold your hips, squeezing the flesh between his fingers and toying with the soft ribbons, “you want to satisfy me that bad?”
“I wonder...” you kiss down the column of his throat, smudging your lipstick with each mark of affection. You tease the skin above his collarbone in a place you know won’t be covered by his shirt—it’s only fair to return the favor after how many bruises he’s given you.
Your hands rake over his broad chest while you mouth his neck, thumbing his nipples and feeling the stutter of his breath under your palms. You gently pinch them, teasing and tugging them between your fingers as you kiss the multitude of scars littering his chest, red prints growing faint.
You grope his chest fully before sliding your hands down the curves of his abdomen. He sucks in a sharp breath as your hands gently massage his stomach with your thumbs. “Gin-san deserves to be pampered on his special day,” you lift your hips and tease the waistband of his boxers.
Gintoki grabs your face after you suggestively lick your lips, his fingers pressing into your cheeks and tugging you forward until you nearly stumble. He reaches out behind him, snatching your tube of lipstick, and flicks the lid off. “C’mere,” he demands, “pout those pretty lips for me first.”
You part your lips without question, freezing in place as he carefully swipes the product with a steady, experienced hand.
“Perfect,” Gintoki says as he finishes. He taps your cheek affectionately, and tucks an arm underneath his head when you rub your lips together and blow him a kiss in thanks.
Your hands settle back onto his v-lines as you squirm between his legs, sitting on your knees and looking up at him. He stares back, eyes sharper than a hawk’s as you slowly pull his boxers down his legs, letting him kick them off the rest of the way. You swallow down your nerves as you’re left face-to-face with his impressive—yet intimidating—girth.
Gintoki’s hand comes up to rest against your head, guiding your face lower. “That’s a good girl,” he groans, “show Gin-san how much you like it.”
You tuck your hair behind your ear and take his heavy shaft in your hand, giving it a few full strokes. You look up at him through your lashes as you kiss the tip of his cock, smearing lipstick and precum down his length, following a thick vein to his base.
“Toki’s dick is so big and hard,” you praise, your flushed face revealing the embarrassment you feel as you try to remember all of the tips about cockworshipping you once read in one of Gintoki’s dirty magazines.
You press your cheek against his dick while your hand cups the balls Gintoki’s so proud of, gently squeezing and massaging them in a lazy rhythm. “I want to put it in my mouth so badly, please?”
Gintoki curses, gripping your hair and bucking his hips up, egged on by your soft words. The shadow of his dick looms over your face and you gasp in surprise when it seems almost threatening in appearance. “Don’t tease me,” he warns.
You squeeze your excited thighs firmly together—his low voice always gets a rise out of you. You don’t think twice and flatten your tongue, licking a full stripe until it catches against the ridge of his head. You steady yourself by holding onto his muscular inner thigh as you give his tip another kiss before fully taking it into your mouth.
Gintoki hisses as you swirl your slow tongue and hollow your cheeks while your hand alternates between jerking him off and teasing his balls. His toes curl when you moan sweetly, barely controlling his desire to shove his cock down your tight throat. “More,” he rasps, “do it properly before I do it for you.”
The vague threat is enough to get you moving, but Gintoki’s hand guides your face further down his shaft until you manage to stuff half of him inside your mouth, the silver bracelet gently thumps against your forehead with each inch you choke down. He hears your forced breaths through your nose and delights in the scrunch of your eyebrows as you slowly work your mouth, leaving a ring of red at the lowest point your lips reach.
He pets your hair as you bob your head, drool shining your lips and dribbling down his shaft. “I could watch you suck me off all night,” Gintoki teases, rolling his hips into your mouth and catching you off-guard, “fuckin’ love seeing you stuffed with my cock.”
You squirm, seeking friction from your heels as he continues to babble on about how gorgeous you are servicing him, a fan of hearing himself talk. You love it, too. His voice rings in your ears, praising you and sweetening you up while you struggle to take him any further, but still—you try.
You squeeze your eyes shut and dig your nails into his thigh, his dick hitting the back of your throat with a well-timed thrust. You sputter and choke around him, scrambling to catch your breath through your nose.
“Fu—ck!” Gintoki hisses, his dick twitching inside your mouth as your hand quickens. He grips your hair tightly and throws his head back against the floor, hips jerking wildly. “Gonna—gonna—" Gintoki pulls your face off of his cock with a strangled noise, your hand working faster against his length to compensate until he finally bursts.
Cum splatters against your face, squirting across your cheek and landing on your nose, your open mouth, your chest, and hand. You squeeze the base of his dick and carry him through the waves of his orgasm as he lays beneath you, tense and heaving. “You came a lot,” you jest with a smile, “was it that good? ”
Gintoki lifts his head off of the floor, blessed with the sight of his pretty little lover as you lick your hand clean, your lipstick smudged, and face painted in messy streaks of off-white. “The best,” he agrees.
You beam with pride. Gintoki tugs you back over his chest, wiping some of his cum from your cheek and swiping it against your red mouth. You instinctively lick his finger, curling your tongue over the digits and cleaning them. “Gorgeous,” he mutters, “the second-best birthday gift a man could ask for. The first’s the bracelet.”
He kisses you fully, not caring for the taste of his own essence but more than happy to embarrass you at any given opportunity. Gintoki’s grabs handfuls of your bare ass and squeezes it encouragingly, giving each cheek a firm, but loving, spank.
You squeal against his lips, and he slips his tongue into your mouth, eager to tease every corner. You grind against Gintoki’s bare abs, the ridges of his muscles giving you enough stimulation to keep you excited as he devours you, mess and all.
Gintoki’s fingers tease the bow against your hip, slowly pulling it apart and watching it unravel the strands that trace your body, silver sliding off your breasts and falling onto his chest. “My birthday isn't over yet,” his voice carries the promise of pleasure, “I’m expecting a full-course meal.”
You shift closer to Gintoki on the sofa, leaning into his large arm and resting your head on his shoulder. His hand falls naturally to your thigh, giving it an affectionate squeeze, and relaxing further into the couch, gently knocking their knees together. You smile wordlessly, rolling your eyes at the samurai’s dull expression as he flicks his earwax somewhere and sets his other arm behind the couch.
You don’t remember the name of the movie playing on the outdated analog television; it was a recommendation from one of your girlfriends while you were out, claiming that it was ‘the most exciting movie she’s ever seen’. The plot is easy enough to follow and the protagonist and her love interest are attractive, but there hasn’t been anything especially astonishing about it yet.
Gintoki’s nails dragged soft lines up your thigh, clearly looking for something to busy himself with as he sits on the couch to watch the movie like a good partner should. You shiver when he scratches over a particular nerve just above your knee and turns to glare. In the dark, you miss his self-satisfied smirk.
The protagonist giggles sweetly and drags your attention back to the screen. Gintoki probably just wanted to distract you and then tease you about not watching the movie you demanded asked him to watch.
You stay cuddled lazily while watching the main characters enter the honeymoon arc of romance movie relationships the film, camera-captured eye-fucking poorly disguised with bad pickup lines as they move closer, and closer, until their chests touch, and give each other a knowing smile.
You nearly scream as the camera cuts to the next scene and throws you directly into the heat of the moment: bed creaking, breathy moans, skin against skin—everything from your cheeks to the back of your neck flushes. It’s too embarrassing to keep watching, but you’re too afraid to look at Gintoki, whose damn hand is inching dangerous close to your inner thighs..!
Your nails dig into the palm of your hand and your back straightens out, your heart pounding loudly in your ears. This near-pornographic scene is downright mortifying to watch next to Gintoki, who—from how bored he was just a few minutes ago—seems way too into it now.
Gintoki’s hand cups your inner thigh, and you choke as his fingers innocently tap against the exposed flesh, each time closer to exposing the humiliating heat from your cunt as your senses are overwhelmed with sex. You raise your head to look at him accusingly, but he firmly pinches your inner thigh.
“Pay attention,” he reprimands, “you wanted to watch this.”
You try to shuffle to the other side of the couch, but Gintoki’s grip is strong. An exasperated grunt catches in the back of your throat as you try one more time to distance yourself from Gintoki’s insatiable (and infectious) libido. You can’t budge an inch; the hand at your thigh flexed with effort.
He wants to keep you here.
You keep your head low, torn between looking up at this gratuitously long sex scene and staring at Gintoki’s hand as he casually rubs through your increasingly sticky pajama shorts, not enough to have you drooling, but definitely enough for him to tell how aroused you are.
“Did it really take sex in this movie to get you interested in watching it?” you ask bitterly, trying to distract yourself as he firmly presses his fingers into the divot of your cunt but not slipping underneath.
“I’m not the one that’s all excited from watching people fuck. I thought I was supposed to be the pervert.” Gintoki snorts at your accusation, firing one right back. “Now shhh, some of us are trying to watch the movie.”
You huff. Bastard. Acting like he wasn’t the one currently trying to finger you through your clothes.
As the lighting of the movie brightens and illuminates his handsome features, your eyes are drawn to the print between Gintoki’s legs. Your breath hitches and you steer Gintoki’s attention from the bouncing breasts on the screen to stick your arm under his, reaching out and carefully dragging your nails across his bulge.
Gintoki lolls his head back and groans, lifting his hips to press his cock further against your hand. You nearly recoil, but his other arm comes down from the back of the couch and grabs your wrist, planting it firmly against his cock. He gives you a sharp side-eye. Finish what you started.
“You’re shameless,” you bite, palming his dick through his pants, “I just wanted to have a nice movie night with you since the kids are out.”
“Uh-huh...” Gintoki drawls, ‘smug’ written all over his face as he grinds the heel of his palm against your clit. “And that’s why you chose a movie like this. If you wanted to watch porn with me, all you had to do was ask.”
“Ass—ugh!” you choke down your moan, squeezing Gintoki’s large hand between your thighs and straining yourself. You weren’t going to cum; you weren’t going to let Gintoki get to you. You grope his dick and stroke him faster, redoubling your efforts to throw Gintoki over the edge instead.
The movie is left forgotten in the wake of your attempts to hold out longest, the cheesy dialogue drowned out with noises of stifled pleasure. You bury your face against Gintoki’s bicep as your body tries to nudge you into an orgasm with every stroke of his rough fingers pressing the soaked fabric of your underwear. You can’t see the tension in Gintoki’s face as you rub him with a shaky hand; he’s holding out better than you are, but he can’t last much longer either.
The room is suddenly dark.
Gintoki’s hand falters against your cunt, and you lift your head in dazed confusion.
The credits roll against a black background with whatever cheap instrumental music the producers could find. You two look at each other in silence, the competitive atmosphere ruined entirely, and drop your hands to your laps.
You ignore the buzz and the frustration of being unintentionally edged, leaning across the coffee table to grab the remote and turn the television off. You stand up, dust off your shorts, and clear your throat. “That was a nice movie,” you say, voice straining.
“Sure was,” Gintoki replied, closing his eyes with a sigh, and leaning back into the couch.
Gintoki’s unmoving cock sits hot and heavy inside your cunt as you straddle him on his office chair. You rest your forehead on his shoulder and take shallow breaths as sweat marks a slow trail down the back of your neck, into your stuffy kimono.
The seconds feel like hours in this stasis. You swallow and clutch the fabric of his black shirt between your fingers. “H-How much longer?” you carefully ask.
He knocks the lollipop in his mouth to his cheek and speaks with a dead tone, as if he wasn’t currently spearing your pussy in his living room-slash-office, where people could—and have—freely walk in. “Why’d you wanna know?” he retorts, “You’re not giving up already, are you?”
Ugh. This was a bad idea. A terrible, horrible, awful idea to challenge Gintoki in something sexual. Especially when it puts a sadist in a position of control. Especially when you’re something of a masochist.
Your shoulders tense as you hear the slow turning of another page. The immense pressure laying against your walls makes it weakly clamp down. Your thighs are starting to cramp. How much longer?
Gintoki isn’t especially known for his self-control, so why does it feel like you’ll be the first to break?
Your breathing stops altogether as Gintoki adjusts his position on the seat, securing his arm tightly around your waist and unfairly preventing you from wiggling your hips as he shifts. Giving you only the slightest brush of your clit against his pants and the smallest rock of his hips, he stalls.
Still edging you on the cusp of pleasure; still leaving you unsatisfied.
You really regret provoking him. You can’t even recall what you’d said to get him riled up and eager to prove a point; your brain was mushy: too focused on keeping yourself frozen-stiff and trying not to implode.
“Relax.” Gintoki’s words send a shiver straight down your spine and into your cunt.
That’s easy for him to say.
You try to lift your head from his shoulder, but his large hand shifts from your waist to cradle your nape and firmly pushes you back down. Your hips have a brief moment of freedom that you abuse without a second thought, adjusting your hips so his cock isn’t firmly pressing against your cervix.
Gintoki’s hand comes off your neck and lands hard on your thigh. “Stay still,” he grunts as the impact makes you keen, “your big head is blocking my view.”
What he wouldn’t let you see is how he hasn’t gone past a single page since you sat on his cock. He flips through the same panels over and over again, the words and the drawings blur and blending together. His entire concentration is spent keeping himself controlled so he doesn’t blow his load prematurely—but the way you tremble while your cunt flutters around him is driving him up the wall.
The air grows tense as neither one of you willingly admits defeat. Your breaths are strained with a whine every time Gintoki’s dick twitches, tempting you to give in and beg to be fucked. Gintoki’s nails dig crescent moons into your waist through your clothes, itching to pull you down and grind his hips up into you until you sob for mercy.
He’d never admit it out loud, but Gintoki—for all intents and purposes—is not afraid to cheat.
Gintoki startles you suddenly by throwing his long legs up from the floor, leaning back in the chair, and crossing them on the corner of his desk. You squeal with the violent shift, holding onto his broad shoulders for dear life as his cock seems to bury deeper into your cunt.
“T-That’s unfair..! You’re not—supposed to move—either!” you weakly smack his shoulder, shaking like a leaf on his lap. The pressure against your lower abdomen spiked. You know you can’t last much longer.
“I can’t even get comfortable?” Gintoki taunts, trying to provoke more of a reaction so he can claim both bragging rights and your pussy. “You’re the one moved shifted first, you know. If you can’t handle it, you can tell Gin-san.”
“You—”
A series of sharp knocks interrupt their bickering. You freeze. Another knock at the door.
“Boss?” A familiar voice calls out from behind the front door. “Are you in? I have something important!”
It’s Yamazaki.
You blanch and immediately try to pull yourself off Gintoki before Yamazaki could walk in on you, but Gintoki slams you back down onto his lap before you could rise an inch.
“Gintoki, we can’t!” you whisper desperately.
He doesn’t budge. “Suck it up,” he hisses back, “endure it quietly until he leaves.” There’s no way he could hide his erection if you got off of him now. If he’s going to be blue balled, he might as well be buried in your warmth.
Yamazaki calls out again, a little louder.
Gintoki smooths out their clothes and wraps his arms around your trembling body, holding you against him to fool Yamazaki into believing that you two were cuddling. “Come in.” he dryly responds.
You breathe through your nose and square your shoulders, grateful that Gintoki’s arms are at least large enough to cover up most of the tension. You bite Gintoki’s shoulder to keep yourself quiet, wetting his shirt with saliva and tears as you try to relax and play along, but Gintoki is just so big.
Yamazaki walks in, seemingly oblivious to the situation. He greets the head of the Yorozuya loudly but cuts himself off as soon as he sees Gintoki holding you against his chest. “Ah,” Yamazaki covers his mouth with his hand and goes from a near-yell to a whisper, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude.”
“It’s fine. She’s a heavy sleeper.” Gintoki snaps at the Shinsengumi spy, his lips in a flat line and clearly not in the mood to entertain. “What do you want.”
You can hear the hesitation in Yamazaki’s voice. You feel bad for him; whatever face Gintoki’s making right now is definitely scaring the shit out of him. But you really, really need him to leave. Gintoki probably feels the same way.
“I—um—was asked to inform you that Kondou-san requested your help in—"
“When?” Gintoki cuts him off.
Yamazaki shuffles around nervously. “T-Tomorrow.”
“Then bother me later,” Gintoki waves Yamazaki off, all but explicitly kicking him out, “and tell Gorilla to send me a letter with cash in it a week in advance next time!”
“R-Right!” Yamazaki bows his head but lingers for a second too long, staring suspiciously. He can’t help it; he’s trained to see the little details. But Gintoki is faster than he is, and kicks his foot across the table, sending the book flying straight into the poor man’s face.
Yamazaki is quick to apologize as he runs out the door with a new bruise on his head, leaving you in silence as you hear his hasty rush down the wooden steps.
You raise your face from Gintoki’s shoulder, a string of saliva connecting his shirt to your mouth with how hard you’d been biting him. Dazed and shamelessly bucking your hips for friction, you make eye contact with Gintoki for the first time since you started this pointless challenge.
“Toki,” you part your wet lips, “can’t take it anymore...”
Gintoki pushes the chair back and cups your ass, effortlessly lifting you up and onto the table as his chair hits the wall. You watch him tear off his shirt, soaked with your spit and salty tears, and toss it behind him, still writhing uselessly against his cock.
He heaves each breath over you, staring intensely as you stay sprawled out on the middle of his desk, equally flushed. Equally wanting. He nearly breaks the table with how much force he uses to bend over you.
They say a careful eye can unravel the mysteries behind someone’s life by their hands.
Flashy occultists take advantage of the superstitious, promising to read great fortunes of the future through the creases across their palms. But there’s far more to tell than how easy someone’s life will be; the hands are the tools we use to carve our paths in life, supporting ourselves and others. The hand of a ceremonial priestess is very different from that of a poor farmer, yet each carries the weight of their life and legacy.
As you two walked down the crowded Edo streets, you stared at Gintoki’s large hand curled around the bokuto he always kept at his hip, the other hidden from your view inside his yukata. You couldn’t help but wonder what kind of story his hands—always the first to reach out and protect—would tell. You never paid close enough attention to the details before, but you just can’t stop yourself from thinking about it.
“Grow closer to your partner with our limited-time offer!” the baritone of a loud older woman echoed throughout the strip, beckoning people towards the makeshift stand she obviously scraped together today. “Couple’s palm readings! Read the fortune of your future!”
Gintoki walked past the screaming woman without a second glance in her direction, used to the baiting of peddlers who would offer shoddy services for a small fortune. At first, he doesn’t notice you’d stopped to stare in wonder and nearly lost you to the crowd when he turned his head back and realized you’ve gone missing.
He stormed back with irritation written all over his face as he realized where he lost you; how could you fall for such an obvious scam? He really didn’t want to deal with surprise blackmail today.
Before he could get a word out, you grabbed his hands and smiled widely. “Open your hands, Toki! Let me read them!”
“Huh? No way; let’s go.” Gintoki tried to steer you back into the crowd, but you stayed firm.
The old woman chuckled. “Come now,” she clapped her hands together, “shouldn’t you indulge your young wife?”
You didn’t bother correcting her, too busy trying to pry open his hands with your smaller fingers. Gintoki sighed and finally relaxed them, looking down at you, unamused. “It’s coming out of your wallet, not mine,” he warned.
You hummed and ran your thumbs across his wide palms. His hands were heavy; the weight and size of them a testament to the strength he’s honed. These hands that have saved you, saved others, saved himself. These hands that protect. These hands that have taken lives, yet hold yours so securely.
The old woman directed you towards the creases you learned to be the head line, the heart line, and the life line, but the meanings were quickly lost on you.
Your attention focused on the deep-set calluses that line the top of his palm from decades of handling heavy weapons. How many hours of training did he have to go through to develop the sturdy thickness that you now caressed? Your eyes and fingers followed the path down his palm, tracing your nail through the lines.
Gintoki shudders from the ticklish sensation and stares sharply in warning. You offered him an apologetic smile, still drowning out the woman’s words explaining how Gintoki’s life would experience this and that. He wasn’t listening either.
The scars on his hands, both old and new, told stories of struggles and hard-earned battles, of using his own body as a shield. You stroked them, gently massaging the discolored skin.
Gintoki interrupted your ‘palm reading’. “If you’re not gonna read my hands properly, let’s leave.”
You hesitated for a moment and gave his hands another squeeze before setting them down with a bashful laugh. “Ah, I’m sorry...” you chewed your bottom lip, admitting your intentions with a mumble, “It’s embarrassing; I just wanted to admire Gin-san’s strong hands because they’ve always protected me... so....”
You raised your gaze up at him when he replied with silence, and tilted your head at a strange expression on his face. The moment your hands slipped from his, Gintoki grabbed you by the wrist and forcefully dragged you away from the confused fortune teller, who poorly attempted to chase them through the crowd, demanding her service fee.
“Toki, slow down—why’re you in such a rush?” you breathlessly asked, your feet stumbling beneath you as he continued to drag you along in silence. No matter what you asked, he wouldn’t give you an answer. He wouldn’t even open his mouth and sass you off. Did you upset him?
Gintoki steered you between two large buildings a safe distance away from the stand, slipping into the dark, narrow, and dirty alleyway. As soon as you were deep enough to be obscured by shadow, he shoved you up against the concrete wall, slamming his left hand above your head and leaning down, trapping you between a rock and a hard place.
The rough wall bit into your back, the impact knocked the wind out of you. Your eyes flew open as his hand came down right above your head. “Gintoki—”
“Shut up,” he grunted, “or do you want to be found out before we can have any fun?” You looked confused, and he snorted in disbelief. “What would people think when they see a couple embraced in a dark corner of the street, clearly trying to hide from view?”
Your face grew red as Gintoki spelled it out for you. “W-Wait, you can’t be serious,” your hands pressed against his chest, trying to leave some distance while your eyes darted to-and-from the entrance of the alleyway people passed by on their business, paying no mind to what was hidden in the shadows. “We can’t do something perverse here! It’s—it’s dirty, a-and we’re in public!”
Gintoki’s free hand flew to your mouth, clamping over it and muffling your complaints, the force knocking your head back. “I told you to shut up,” he hissed. “It’s your fault you riled me up, groping my hand and saying sappy shit in front of everyone.”
You couldn’t respond, your mind frazzled. He knocked your feet aside and shoved his thigh between them to keep you from squeezing your legs shut.
He slid his hand from the wall to your breast, his large hand covering it entirely. “You just wanted an excuse to feel my hands, didn’t you?” Gintoki playfully accused. He squeezed your tit and pinched your hard nipple through your clothes, grinning to himself when you squealed against his palm. “Did you even realize how lewd you looked back there?”
Gintoki’s hand flexed, the veins across the back catching your eyes as he wasted no time bunching the length of your kimono above your waist, forcing your smaller, more delicate fingers to clutch it. “Hold it just like that,” he ordered, his lips grazing the shell of your ear as he blocked the sight of your body with his own.
Your eyebrows pinched together, but whatever complaint you had fell deaf to his ears as garbled noise. “Sounds to me like you want me to fuck you on my hand,” Gintoki mocked your forced silence.
His hand was scalding as it ran down your pelvis and slipped underneath the band of your panties, cupping your sex. You involuntarily grinded your hips against the palm of his hand, squeezing your eyes shut in embarrassment as you proved him right. Gintoki chuckled, pressing his hand higher against your flushed, wet cunt for you to ride.
You stood on your toes and bit the flesh of his palm in defiance. “You little—” Gintoki pulled his hand from your lips in shock, but as you opened your mouth to gasp or to tell him off, he'd never know, he shoved two thick fingers deep into your mouth and pressed down on your tongue.
“You can be a real smartass, huh?” Gintoki doesn’t relent even as you sputter around his fingers and choke, grabbing and digging your nails into his wrist. He nipped your ear and didn’t let go until you tried to squirm away.
Gintoki shoved his ring and middle finger inside your dripping entrance as his thumb flicked your clit, finger-fucking you in earnest—partially as revenge for biting him, partially because you drove him crazy admiring his hands earlier.
The embarrassing shlick shlick shlick of his thrusts echoed in the alley, long and girthy fingers reaching deep into your pussy. Gintoki grinned against your temple, “you’re squeezing my fingers real tight for someone who was whining about this.”
You closed your mouth around his fingers, sucking them harshly to stop yourself from crying out and drawing unwanted attention to your little escapade. Gintoki’s hard cock pressed against your thigh as he shamelessly grinded himself against you.
He panted and sucked hard breaths next to your ear, your cunt fluttering with the erotic sounds, and you finally planted your feet back on the ground, grinding your hips into his palm, forcing his fingers deeper.
You swirl your tongue around Gintoki’s fingers, trying to distract yourself from how weak your legs were; the dizzying pleasure and knowing anyone could’ve seen you if they had spent a second to really look too much to bear.
“Atta girl,” he praised, rewarding you with a full curl of his fingers and rubbing the rough pads of his fingers against the bumpy texture of your walls, “make a mess on Gin-san’s hands, since you like them so much.”
You pressed yourself further into the wall, clutching your kimono and Gintoki’s wrist for stability. You rocked your hips back and forth against Gintoki’s hand, nudging your clit against his thumb and pressing his fingers harder into your g-spot, using the force to ricochet you into your orgasm.
Your hips stutter as your walls clenched tightly around Gintoki’s fingers, riding out your orgasm with his last quick thrusts. Your mouth fell open and saliva leaked down Gin’s hand, your high-pitched moans unbridled only for a moment before Gintoki sealed his lips over yours and swallowed all of your noises.
Your cum drenched both his fingers and your underwear. You shuddered as he pulled his hand free, the discomfort on your face obvious as you confronted how excited you had just been. You looked up at Gintoki as he peeled himself from you.
Gintoki put his fingers, sticky with your cum, into his open mouth, keeping eye-contact as he sloppily sucked his digits clean, openly rolling his tongue around the ‘V’ he made, spreading his fingers and slurping the dribbles that fell down his palm and wrist.
“Thanks for the meal,” he spoke nonchalantly, wiping the rest on his yukata and turning to walk out of the alley despite your post-orgasmic disoriented stumbling, “let’s go home so I can return the favor.”
Sake pours into the sakazuki in a careful stream, tilting the flask upwards as the pool fills and letting the lingering drops fall from the lip to disturb the settled alcohol. Gintoki watches each of your slow movements with a sharp eye, holding the saucer in his large, clawed fingers as you indulged him more with your precious offering.
“Man or God,” Gintoki says, his words beginning to slur together as the sake warms his blood and quenches his thirst, “you’d give anyone the wrong idea if you continue to serve with a smile like that.”
Gintoki’s fox ear twitches as he hears the faint uptick of the woman’s heartbeat. No matter how long you’ve spent in his little run-down shrine, you continue to be an easy target for teasing.
His wicked grin widens as your cheeks visibly flush, shakily pouring a half-portion into your own saucer and setting the tokkuri down. “Gin-san, please don’t say such things,” you chide behind your embarrassment. “And should you really have so much? Look, your cheeks are getting red!”
He obnoxiously slurps down the sake and holds it out to you to refill it once more. “More,” he demands, “don’t stop until the whole jug’s gone!”
Out of every human that’s come and gone from his domain, you hold the title for the most devoted—or the most stubborn. Gintoki wasn’t entirely sure what the difference was. Even in this desolate mountainside, you always hike up with something to gift him. A cloth and pale to clean, homemade food and drinks, and your wishes and prayers.
He’s long since accepted that you can’t be frightened off—every attempt he’s ever made to dissuade you from returning and letting him fade into obscurity was spectacularly rejected. And so here he finds himself again: sitting next to this (stubborn) woman and enjoying the cheap sake in a mismatched set because you poured it to him with a smile.
His senses are hazy with intoxication after drinking enough to run an entire bar out of business; fundamentally underestimating how the strength of human liquor—like human warriors—came in numbers. He had taken all of the wine he stored (stole) in his shrine after they finished your personal jug. By now, there were only enough bottles to count on one hand.
Gintoki only realizes he’s finished his cup again when you lean over him to pour another shot. He hums with approval and swirls it with a soft flick of his wrist.
In the silence, Gintoki inches closer to you, reaching his right hand out to rest against your thigh. He feels the way you tense at the contact and hears the slow exhale you relax. Your eyes stay glued to the beauty of the full moon on a cloudless night sky. He breathes a laugh at your modesty and gives your thigh a squeeze, the indentation of his claws slightly digging into your skin.
All nine of Gintoki’s silver tails sway and flick behind him, brushing up against your arm and curling around your waist provocatively. You shudder at the feather-light grazes of his fur, but do not look over even to check on how much sake he currently has left. You keep your head high, staring at the stars.
The stars. Gintoki thinks bitterly of his past and of the Gods that abandoned him—that he abandoned—as his woman keeps her attention towards those assholes sitting on thrones of stardust and precious metals instead of the deity she herself chose to pursue.
“Why do you stare off when Gin-san is right here?” Gintoki asks, not caring to mask his annoyance. When you shrug your shoulders and mumble noncommittally, he pinches your cheeks and forcefully turns your face towards his, mere inches apart. A purr rumbles in his throat as you stare at him with blown-out pupils and parted lips, shined with sake. “It’s rude to ignore someone speaking to you.”
Under the moonlight, Gintoki is sure that you notice the predatory glint of a beast that hides in his vermillion eyes. You shiver as Gintoki releases his grasp on your face and grazes two sharp claws across your jaw and down your neck, hooking his finger into the cross of your kimono before you grab his wrist.
“I’ve been paying attention to you all night, Gintoki.” you half-heartedly argue, the blush on your cheeks no doubt worsened by alcohol.
“Kitsune are greedy creatures,” he warns, “you give me an inch and I’ll take a mile.” Gintoki leans in closer and brushes his nose against yours. “You first came to me with offerings of petty change; now I want all of you.”
You look at him in shock, as if he wasn’t seconds from devouring you every time you beamed at him. “You... you—”
Gintoki pulls his hand from your grasp and pushes you down gently into the grass you sat on. He downs his last cup of sake in one gulp with a blissful sigh, licks his lips, and straddles your hips. “Why don’t we give those lazy gods up there a nice show, since you want their attention so badly.”
He leans over and kisses your cheek chastely, whispering in your ear like he’s telling you a dirty little secret, “We can show them just how devoted you are to Gin-san.”
Your breath hitches and you keen into his touch, eyes fluttering as his large hands gently caresses your body through your clothes. You stay pliant in his grasp, and he wonders just how long he’s made you wait.
“Open yourself up to your god,”—he pulls your clothes apart, sharp nails ripping through seams he was too impatient to undress—“show me everything, give me everything.”
Gintoki leans back for a moment and greedily stares at the swell of your breasts, at the softness of your stomach, at the plush of your thighs. He presses his thumb right above your pelvis and shamelessly groans when you jerk against the pressure. “And in turn,” his lips curl widely, and he bares his fangs, “I’ll plant my seed in your maiden womb and bless you with the affections of a deity.”
He rips apart the obi around his waist and lets the monochromatic yukata fall to his feet, leaving only the jade magatamas adorning his neck. They chime as he raises your legs over his waist and slots himself between your thighs, brushing it against your bare chest as he leans down to capture your lips.
You eagerly meet his lustful kisses with your own drunken passion, curling your fingers into his soft silver curls and rubbing his ears with your thumbs. Gintoki’s chest rumbles with a purr as he squishes his pecs against your breasts with the clear intention to feel as much of it as he could. His ears bend to enjoy every little noise that escapes your lips.
He slides two of his fingers against your clit, the pressure of his body on your chest holding you still as you twitch and tug his hair from the strange pleasure. You whine against his lips as he rolls gentle circles around the nub, but his patience is thin and he’s eager to plug you full of his cum. He kisses you deeper as his fingers penetrate your tight pussy, scissoring them as far as they’d go and grinding the palm of his hand against your clit.
“Pretty,” he mumbles as you part with one last lick against your mouth. Gintoki noses your neck and grazes the skin with his sharp canines. “Even if those idiots down in the village or up in the heavens realize what they’re missing, I won’t let them have you. They lost their chance; too bad.”
You rake your nails down his broad back and bury your face against his cheek. You hiccup softly and hold him tighter. “...want you,” you admit with the help of liquid confidence, “I want you to stay by me... I want all of you, too.”
“Gonna mate you,” Gintoki’s voice edges into a growl, likely no more than babble to your ears, but still twisting your hips with every syllable. “right here—right in front of my shrine, right where those assholes can see.”
His fingers part your swollen lips, and in his anticipation, Gintoki’s tails knock over one of the empty flasks on the ground as they fan out and shade you two in your bubble of intimacy. He leans down and brushes his lips against yours, pulling back too quickly despite your desperate chase. “Are you prepared for me to take you, body, mind, and soul?”
You nod vigorously and he smiles, guiding his dick between your folds and carefully pressing into you. Gintoki watches the way your tight entrance struggles to match the girth of his cock, and he slows. Concentrations strains his shoulders as he forcefully holds himself back from recklessly fucking you like a whore, instead slowly feeding you his length inch-by-inch.
“G-Gin-san,” you gasp and clutch at the grass, tearing the soil underneath your fingertips as half of him sits heavy in your cunt, “oh gods, it’s too much—”
Ear twitching at your cry, jealousy spurs inside Gintoki’s drunken mind. His hands slid down your waist, underneath your ass (which he shamelessly squeezed), hooks underneath your thighs, and guides your knees to your chest. He locks his knees on either side of your thighs, securing you into a mating press and bullies the rest of his length inside of you until he aggressively bottoms out.
You fists your hand and bite your knuckles to stop the scream lodged in your throat. Hot, overwhelmed tears blur the corners of your eyes and slide down your cheeks. Gintoki grabs your wrist and slams it against the ground next to your head, laying his tongue flat against your cheek and lapping up the salty streak. “Be as loud as you want,” his chest rumbles against yours. “Let the world and the heavens hear the pleasure Gin-san is giving you.”
Gintoki spares you only a moment of rest before he starts thrusting in sloppy and disoriented movements—how many years has it been since he’s been nestled so tightly in someone? He can’t think with his senses overwhelmed by your trembling and keening, your cunt weakly clenching his cock as he fucks you firmly against the ground.
“Mine,” he growls, knocking the air out of his pretty little mortal, “you’re made for me.” You throw your head against the dirt, stretching your unmarred neck for him to abuse and he dives for your pulse the moment you lay yourself vulnerable before him.
He wets the spot with his tongue and grinds his hips in a small circle, overwhelming your senses before baring his teeth and biting your neck hard. He holds you still as you jerk against him and cry out in pain, a sadistic flutter in his chest enjoying the way you squirm as if you were nothing more than prey. Despite being a deity, the kitsune is still a beast.
You whimper loudly as Gintoki soothes the injury with soft kisses and licks. You rake heavy streaks of red against Gintoki’s shoulder with your free hand, nearly drawing blood as you try to ground yourself while Gintoki aims to send you spiraling into heaven. Your whole body is tense: legs jostling, toes curling, back arching, and cunt pulsing with each drag of his dick.
The base of Gintoki’s dick begins to swell—almost unnoticed at first, but the desperate, speedy thrusts slow down as his growing knot struggles to match such a brutal pace. Gintoki leans down and grits his teeth as he concentrated on fucking you with his knot, forcing you to feel the stretch and give of your entrance with each wet pop. He thrives off your bruised lips pleadingly chanting ‘Gin-san!’ after every kiss he steals while ruining you.
Gintoki’s claws find your clit and furiously rubs it while bullying his nearly formed knot into your cunt. Your hips buck and you pant heavily, eyes rolling into the back of your head as you cum hard on his dick. With your gushing slick, it finally slips through and Gintoki settles his forehead against yours, blissed out while you continue to ride your orgasm. “That’s it,” he moans as his knot locks you together, “good girl. Gonna fuck so many kits into your pretty pussy...”
He looks into your eyes and is surprised to see the heavens reflected back to him as you reel from liquor, pleasure, and love. Gintoki’s throat feels tight as he watches the stars in your eyes pool into the tears that wets your waterline. He holds your face tenderly as his hips uncontrollably jerk, still trying to fuck you. He has no use for the heavens above him now, when he finds it here in his embrace below.
Gintoki’s talks to himself again in his pussy-drunken stupor. “I’ll take care of you,” he promises breathily, nuzzling and kissing everywhere he could reach, “make you into the prettiest wife. Keep you heavy with kids—fuck, your hips are perfect. Can’t believe no one else courted you. Mine now.” His tails go stiff as his voice grows low and dangerous, his teeth bared and body tense as his entire body shudders.
Gintoki cums, his cock shooting load after heavy load that even his knot can barely keep it entirely plugged inside, dribbles of his seed slowly leaking out of your hole. He groans as you raise your weak arms and gently caress the ears on his fluffy white head again, and kisses you fully. His silver tails move excitedly as his knot begins to deflate with the promise of a short refractory period and many more rounds of laying waste to your overstimulated cunt until you finally take.
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