When you try to scramble away because the sensation is too intense, it doesn't signal an end—it triggers a primal instinct to chase, pin, and reclaim. Featuring: Kishibe, Katana Man, Angel Devil, Aki Hayakawa, Eldest Immortal Brother, Joey, and Aldo.
༻18+ 𝑴𝒊𝒏𝒐𝒓𝒔 𝑫𝒐 𝑵𝒐𝒕 𝑰𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕༺
Kishibe
You’re scrambling up the mattress, the friction of the sheets burning against your skin as you try to escape the relentless, heavy snap of his hips. Your breath is coming in broken hitches, and you try to sweet-talk him through the panic. "Kishibe... baby, please, just a second... it's too big, you're hitting so deep," you whine, your voice cracking.
He doesn't give you a single inch. His hand wraps around your ankle and he yanks you back down the bed until your spine hits his chest with a wet, fleshy thud. He doesn't just enter you again; he lunges, burying himself to the hilt while his other hand fists in your hair, pulling your head back to expose your throat. "Running? From me?" he rasps, his voice a gravelly, whiskey-soaked vibration against your ear. "I’ve spent my life hunting things a lot faster than you, princess. Stay with it."
He begins to rutt with a blunt force that turns your whimpers into incoherent sobs. His mouth is everywhere—sucking and marking up the column of your neck, leaving bruises. You can feel every ridge of him, how impossibly big he feels as he claims the space you tried to vacate. When you push at his thighs, he just grunts, his dirty talk turning into a stream of filth. "Look at that pussy... sloppy and wet, just soaking my balls while you try to crawl away. You’re going to take every goddamn inch until I'm drained. Don't you dare move." He doesn't stop until he’s shooting blanks and you’re a trembling, ruined mess.
༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺
Katana Man (Samurai Sword)
You’re clawing at the headboard, your body jolting with every sharp, merciless lunge of his hips. The friction is becoming unbearable, the sounds of his skin hitting yours loud and wet in the quiet room. "Ahn! Katana, ease up," you huff, trying to writhe out of his reach.
He doesn't let you gain an inch. His eyes, narrowed and dark, stay riveted on the way your body handles him. He pulls back until he’s nearly out, only to lunge forward again with a sharp snap that sends a spray of slick across the rumpled sheets. "You’re not going anywhere until I say you’re done," he sneers, his voice rich with disdain. He hooks a hand under your chin, tilting your head back until you're forced to witness your own undoing. "Too much? Good. I want you to feel every bit of what you asked for. Keep taking it."
He mocks your desperate attempts to scramble away, his dirty talk a stream of ruin that leaves your pride as frayed as your nerves. Every time you try to plead, he answers by targeting your sweet spot with a punishing accuracy. "Look at you, trembling like a leaf. You're so goddamn wet, it's pathetic," he murmurs, his fingers digging into your hips to spread you even wider. He fucks you with a heavy, unrelenting power, bottoming out until your vision sparks and your mind finally goes static.
༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺
Angel Devil <- I love him sm
You’re trembling beneath him, your hips twitching in a desperate, failed attempt to offset the deep stretch of his entry. Every time he sinks in, you whimper that he’s "too much," that the sheer volume of him is erasing your ability to think. Angel doesn't pull back; he just leans his full weight onto your back, his wings heavy and soft as they pin you down.
He lets out a lazy, melodic chuckle. “Oh? Am I a bit too much for a fragile little human?” He mocks, his voice a low, teasing silk. He doesn't bother with a frantic pace; he prefers a slow, mechanical grind that targets your spot with a cruel accuracy. You try to sweet-talk him, gasping, "Angel, please... just a little slower, I can't—mghn," but he just ignores you. His halo glows with a yellow, dim light as his tail snakes around your thigh, cinching tight to anchor you in place.
"Look at you, trying to run when your pussy is practically swallowing me whole. It’s cute, really," he murmurs, reaching around to shove two fingers into your mouth, hooking them over your tongue. He begins to throat fuck you with his fingers, his movements a rhythmic, unyielding counterpoint to his lower half. "Stay with it. I want to feel you go limp under me." He doesn't stop until your body is literal mush, your cum dripping down his thighs as he watches your eyes roll back in total cock drunk haze.
༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺
Aki Hayakawa
You push weakly at his abs, your voice breaking as you sob that he’s bottoming out, that it’s just too much for your body to take. Aki actually freezes. For a heartbeat, he folds; his jaw tightens and he looks down at your tear-stained face with a flash of worry. “I’m sorry—did I... am I hurting you?” He eases back, his breath coming in jagged hitches as he lets you breathe for a second.
But the way you clench around him while you’re trying to recover—the wet, suctioning sounds of your pussy gripping him—is what breaks his last thread of discipline. The carefulness in him vanishes as he drags your legs back over his shoulders, his eyes turning dark and focused. “God, you’re so tight... I can’t help it. Don't run from me.” He slams back in, sudden and deep, his pace turning into a relentless, high-friction assault.
“Just take it for me, sweetheart. You’re doing so well,” he whispers, his voice dropping into that low-voiced praise that makes your toes curl. He begins to suck on your breast and collarbone, his mouth leaving a trail of wet, territorial marks. "You're so perfect, so fucking pretty when you're taking all of me. Stay right here and let me fill you up." He fucks you with a worshipful pace, his praise turning into a stream of nasty detail about how much of his cum he's going to pour into you. Your coils, once neatly defined, are now a beautiful, frizzy halo against the pillows, roughed up by the friction of your head tossing back and forth. He doesn't let you move until you're completely overstimulated, your body twitching against his as he finishes deep inside.
༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺
Oldest Brother (I have yet to see his name in the manga).
Your vision sparks, white light dancing at the edges of your consciousness as he bottoms out with a rhythmic, plap. Every time he moves, you feel the sheer girth of him stretching you to your absolute limit, a thick, invading force that leaves you breathless. "Fuck, just slow down for a second," you pant, your fingers clawing at the sheets
He lets you rest for a heartbeat, his eyes tracking the way your chest heaves and the way your lips part. He stares with a strange, quiet focus—like a scientist observing a breaking point—before he snaps both of your wrists above your head with one hand, his other hand coming down to deliver a sharp, stinging slap to your thigh that echoes in the quiet room. "I didn't give you permission to move," he murmurs, his voice flat and unbothered. He enters you again with a slow, deep stretch that makes your back arch off the bed.
When you continue to whine, he doesn't ease up; he leans down to kiss you, his tongue sliding deep into your mouth to swallow your moans. His other hand wraps firmly around your throat. He swallows your whimpers, his dirty talk a symphony of detached filth against your lips. "Look at you gushing every time I hit the back. You're so goddamn wet, you're sliding off me," he whispers, his thumb stroking your pulse point. "Stay with it. I want to feel your walls clench until they give up." He fucks you until you're to spent to do anything but take him, making sure every drop of his cum stays buried deep inside you.
༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺
Joey
Joey loves it when you run. To him, it’s not a protest; it’s an invitation to be even more reckless. The second you scramble for the edge of the mattress, he lets out a breathless laugh. Before you can even reach the floor, he’s on you. He hauls you back into the center of the bed.
"Look at you go! You’re like a little rabbit, aren't you?" he sneers, his eyes blown wide with a manic glint. You let out a broken whine, "Joey, wait... you're relentless. Please, it's too much... it feels like you’re gonna split me open," but the admission only fuels his fire. He slams back into you with a impact that steals the air from your lungs. The sounds are debased—the wet, heavy slap of his thighs against yours and the sharp, stinging spank he delivers to your hip every time you try to arch away from the depth.
"Don't you dare close those eyes," he commands, his voice dropping into a breathy rasp as he leans down to catch your bottom lip between his teeth. "I want you to watch what I'm doing to you. You’re soaking the sheets, your pussy is literally screaming for it, and you’re still trying to play the shy, pretty girl?" He begins to suck and mark up your chest, his teeth grazing your collarbone. "You're taking all of it. Every inch. I catch you crawling away again, I’m tying you down." He doesn't stop until he's completely drained, making sure your only reality is the crushing weight of him and the wet, beautiful disaster he’s made of you.
༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺
Aldo
When you try to push him away because the sensation of him bottoming out is too intense. Aldo doesn't pull back—he collapses his full, trembling weight onto you. His hands aren't gentle; they’re frantic as they cup your face, his thumbs bruising your cheeks to keep you looking at him while he devours your mouth in a messy, desperate kiss. "Please... don't leave me yet. I need this," he whimpers, his voice thick with a needy obsession that borders on the fanatical.
You try to soothe him, gasping, “Aldo, baby, just a little slower,” but the plea dies in your throat; he doesn't care about the pace, only the desperate, soul-searching depth of the connection. He’s fucking into you with a frantic hunger, his hands sliding down to your thighs to squeeze and knead the soft flesh. “You’re so pretty... so fucking perfect for me,” he groans against your lips, the friction of the make-out turning messy as his spit slicks your chin. He ruts into you with a heavy, clumsy power. His voice is a broken, needy rasp—a string of "I love you" and "I'm going to ruin you if you ever try to leave," ensuring that every inch of you is marked by his obsession.
He doesn't yield, even as the intensity pulls a broken, high-pitched sob from your throat. He simply drives deeper, his hips grinding into yours with a frantic, high-velocity pace that leaves the sheets soaked and your brown skin gleaming with a slick coat of sweat. He claims every beautiful inch of you, his hands holding you close as he fucks into you with a blunt, loving violence designed to ensure that even if you tried to run, your shaking legs wouldn't have the strength to stand.
You and Yoshida hit the road, headed toward a night you’ll never forget.
contains fem reader and hirofumi yoshida in an established relationship, fluff, smut, smoker reader, road trip, motel room, pool sex, and loss of virginity. 3,626 words. inspired by bleachers’ song, rollercoaster. here is an entire playlist.
hellooo, it’s been a while! this is my dreadfully late gift to @blueparadis for snow’s gift exchange. I decided to align it with valentine’s day as a nice treat, but it’s actually long overdue from the holidays (´ . .̫ . `) bella, thank you for being so, so patient with me, and happy valentine’s day, baby! and thank you to dear violet for beta reading this fic! 🖤
He’s overdosed with burning rubber, shifting cities, and a fine lady in his passenger seat.
Digits of varying uses illuminate the dashboard, the clock reading a little past twenty-two. Rush hour has long passed, and apart from the occasional truck or blinding headlights on the opposite side of the road, the expressway is desolate.
You’ve quieted too—Yoshida glances to see if you’ve fallen asleep. But you’re watching another worn out city pass from your open window, your hair restless in the wind.
He was the one who received a call from Public Safety that morning. Briefed on a feral devil playing havoc with the peace of a rural town, he reached frantically for the nearest pen and paper napkin and jotted away. The final question: “Are you willing to take the job?” And he responded, “I’ll let you know once I’ve talked to my buddy.”
(Private devil hunters didn’t have buddies. But youthful rebellion defied most things.)
“That’s sudden,” you said matter-of-factly on the other line, static singing in the background.
“It is,” he replied, eyeing the paper napkin scribbles in his hand as he held the phone. “We won’t be alone though—devil hunters from Public Safety will be coming too.”
“That serious, huh?” you leaned against the wall where your phone was attached. “Will we be driving there ourselves?”
“Yeah,” he answered. “It’s a twelve-hour drive. What do you think?”
“Half a day,” you said, tipping your head back in contemplation. “Have you ever driven that long?”
“Not at all,” he said. “And I don’t think Tako could take it. If we’re going, we’ll have to make a stopover at some point.”
He named his car Tako. Compact, secondhand, and certainly not up with the times—but Tako was “beautifully flawed, just like you,” in his exact words, and you grimaced with every reminder. You’d accepted your fate of third-wheeling him and his car, but jealousy lingered.
You emphasized your eye roll while he couldn’t see you. He seemed to care more about Tako’s well-being than his own.
“Hmm . . . did you say they needed us there tomorrow?” you said, preserving a casual tone to keep him oblivious.
“I did,” he took the bait.
“All right . . . if we take this job, we can leave this afternoon, then check in somewhere later at night.”
“Sounds good to me. We’ll continue our trip in the morning and arrive there by noon.”
“So it’s settled,” you affirmed. “We’re taking the job.”
“We are,” somehow, you could sense his smile growing on the other end. “What time do I pick you up?”
“Maybe at . . .” you glanced at the wall clock hanging above your fridge, “four.”
When he arrived at your block, you were standing on the pavement, clutching the strap of your duffel bag from your shoulder. You tossed your bag into the backseat and rode shotgun, chirping, “You ready, Hiro?”
Early into the ride, the fresh breeze rolled into your lungs, ejecting the smoke you’d put in them beforehand. The wind weaved with your hair, and the sun glimmered against your skin while it set. Amidst a red light, you faced him and asked, “What were you doing before you got the call?”
He was leaning against the steering wheel, watching the countdown before he looked at you. He smiled and answered, “I was thinking about you.”
Out of reflex, you chuckled airily and faced the other way. “Weirdo.”
The light flickered green as he yelped, “Ouch!”
When the sun sank, cars poured in. Entire roads were eager to go home while you were just leaving yours. You sat in traffic as your stomach gurgled, marking the first stage of your regret for the spontaneity of your travel.
“Got any food in here?” you asked, facing Yoshida’s direction for the umpteenth time after staring out into the dreadful sea of vehicles enveloping Tako.
“None,” he answered curtly. His right hand was holding the steering wheel—or rather, gripping it. He rubbed his mouth, now dropped to a frown instead of its bright state, before resting his arm on the window.
You sighed and faced your window again, your fist pressing your cheek. “I should’ve prepared some before we left.”
Yoshida responded with silence. He never relied on words when he was displeased, trusting the quiet to speak for him. Time continued to pass, but the traffic did not.
“I’m thirsty. Do you have any water?” you asked again later.
“I don’t,”
“Ugh,” you threw your head against the headrest. “When will this end?”
“I’m upset too,” he said calmly. “I gotta pee.”
“What if you peed outside?”
“And got myself arrested?”
You scanned the small space for something useful, finding an empty soda bottle in the pocket of your car door. “What about in this bottle?”
Yoshida scowled as you held it up to him. “Baby, please.”
Your body was in a state of drought and famine; nothing to come out of your mouth would be of any help.
Tako wriggled free of congestion thirty minutes after your exchange. Yoshida stepped on the gas pedal harder than usual, and you failed to resist screaming out of your window, “Finally!”
He parked at the first fast-food restaurant in sight. As you unbuckled your seatbelt, he turned the car off, yanked the key out, and hurried to leave. “Wait, what’s your—”
“I’ll have a burger,” he said before he slammed the door and bolted to the establishment where his savior awaited—the bathroom.
You ordered large burgers, fries, and orange juice in pairs. You moaned as soon as the flavor set in your mouth, barely chewing before you swallowed your first bite. He ate slowly in the driver’s seat, watching you with amusement. You devoted your attention to your meal and your meal only, but you fed him fries every so often.
“I’m packing us food next time,” you said before taking another mouthful of your sandwich.
“I’m using the bathroom before I hit the road,” he answered with full cheeks, licking the mayo off his fingers.
You continued your journey content and relieved at last. The night was getting quiet, but with your tanks refueled, it was your time to disrupt the peace.
The last set of songs on the radio station were ones you and Yoshida knew. Yoshida’s palms banged the steering wheel to the beat, and you tapped on your door from the outside as your arm hung from the window. You replaced lyrics you didn’t know with gibberish that made him giggle. You screamed the ones you knew together, pointing fingers at each other whenever the word “you” appeared within the lines. You sang your voice and heart out, and finally, you ran out of breath.
You panted with laughter as the radio announcer bid goodnight. And then you fell into silence, the kind that reassured you were both fulfilled.
A cigarette burns from your hand now. It’s been six hours since you departed, and it would take six more to arrive at your destination.
Yoshida reaches for your thigh and gently squeezes. “Should we call it a night?”
In his momentary glance at you, he spots hypnosis in your eyes, likely from watching the world go by through your window. “Yeah,” you say. “Let’s get some rest.”
Relief hits your numb butt once you step out of the car and into the open parking lot of a standard motel. The night is crisp and silent as you and Yoshida carry your bags separately and amble toward your temporary abode.
𝟮 ︱ 𝖬𝖮𝖱𝖳𝖠𝖫 𝖡𝖮𝖣𝖸; 𝖳𝖤𝖭𝖣𝖤𝖱 𝖲𝖮𝖴𝖫𝖲
You request a room with two beds only to learn after that it was futile.
The room leans on vintage wallpaper, clean white sheets, and warm light from the wall lamp between your beds. It’s as out of style as it could be, but it’ll do for the night.
Yoshida uses the bathroom after letting you go first. He comes out likening your current appearance: in fresh sleepwear and a small towel dabbing his wet face, his hand pushing his long fringe up.
You’ve cleared your bed of your things to sit on the edge and face his. He mirrors you, bouncing on the mattress when he plops down and opens his arms to you in invitation. You lurch forward willingly, and his arms lock over the small of your back. It occurs to you that your separate bed would be useless for the night.
With the lights off, you lie together. It’s as if any space where you don’t share one breath and heartbeat is senseless.
The outdoor light seeps through the curtains of your window, allowing the wall clock in front of your bed to reflect its numbers. It’s past midnight. His fingers thread through your hair. You shift your head closer to his chest, pushing your ear to hear the life inside, speaking in calm, steady tones.
You play with his hand, pressing your palms together, studying the lines etched and tracing them with a gentle finger. It tickles him, the faintest sensation left in the wake of your touch, and he indulges.
“Aren’t you sleepy?” you speak against the creases of his shirt, cheek pressed to the fabric.
“It wore off.” His arm folds under his head as he eyes the ceiling. “What about you?”
He seems to hold you tighter, lightly bracing your shoulders. His staying awake means you won’t be listening to his soft snores, or staring at his ajar mouth with quiet adoration.
“I dunno,” your arm rests across his stomach. “I’m never sleepy when we’re out of town.”
For a moment, he’s soundless, only the mild strokes of his palm up and down your shoulder. “That pool outside . . .”
He pointed it out earlier when you passed it on your way to the room. It was cyan in all its stillness, illuminating in the dark. You know what he’s hinting at.
“Won’t we get in trouble?” you ask, looking up to see his face, only to find his eyes veiled by an overgrown fringe.
But through the dark strands, you find mischief glinting back at you. And it tugs the ends of his mouth up as he entices, “Aren’t we used to that?”
𝟯 ︱ 𝖨 𝖥𝖤𝖤𝖫 𝖸𝖮𝖴𝖱 𝖤𝖭𝖤𝖱𝖦𝖸 𝖱𝖴𝖲𝖧𝖨𝖭𝖦 𝖳𝖧𝖱𝖮𝖴𝖦𝖧 𝖬𝖤
Only as you stand a few inches away from the pool do you remember that you’re on official business—not a vacation.
You didn’t pack any swimwear. So instead of taking a dip, you and Yoshida stand awkwardly hand-in-hand in your pajamas, wary faces reflecting in the water when you lean forward with caution.
“Do we just . . .” he starts, but never finishes. You glance at him, thinking how ironic it is that he’s apprehensive now when he had gotten the idea moments ago.
But you’d already taken the steps to arrive at this point. You got out of bed, stepped out into the studded, cool night, and strutted on the concrete leading to the pool. Why turn back now?
You drop his hand, failing to notice the confused look he gives you before you pull your shirt out of your head. You look at him once the shirt meets the ground; framed by his dark strands are two astounded eyes. You grin devilishly at him, thumbs sliding beneath the garter of your pajama pants.
Yoshida’s mouth hangs open at your overt choice of stripping. His eyes skim your back as you stray toward the pool, taking in the shade of your skin, the hook that keeps your bra in place, and the fabric that bends to the shape of your hips going downward. He flushes, urgently looking away.
“Hey,” you glance at him again, your feet submerged as you descend the steps of the pool, and lilt playfully, “Don’t back out now.”
Tiny smooth stones press against the soles of your feet. He shuts his near-dry mouth, then swallows. Your uncovered state is nothing he’d quite seen until this point. But it would be foolish to spend the rest of the night gawking in a moment dedicated to you and him.
The uncanny warmth of his body radiates as he peels his clothes off, t-shirt and sweatpants meeting your pajamas on the ground. He follows into the pool in a pair of loose boxer shorts.
Icy water engulfs your shoulders down. You shudder, wrapping your arms around yourself. “It’s fucking cold,”
Yoshida catches up with you soon, his arms sliding around your waist from behind. “Will this do?” he asks, holding you to his chest. His skin is damp but warm, and your head slots perfectly under his chin.
“That’s perfect, Hiro.” You tell him softly, settling into his frame. Your hands rest on his folded arms; your heels press against his feet. In that cozy stance, he proceeds to waddle.
You giggle as you sway together, the water sloshing. Soon, you break free of his grasp to splash him, and his arms cross over his face to defend himself before retaliating with bigger splashes. You chase after each other in the pool, noisy spurts from flailing arms on opposite ends. You don’t surrender until water enters your nose and mouth.
As you cough relentlessly, he approaches with wry laughter and asks, “Are you okay?”
He wishes he’d stayed far when you answer with the biggest splash of water shoved into his face. He backs away with his face in his hands, the ugly taste of pool water in his mouth, and the painful feeling of it in his nose. He coughs it out, just like you, but mixed with a sense of betrayal that soon translates into more eager playfulness.
He turns to you again and scoops you into his arms with a wide grin. “Should’ve seen that one coming,” he says as you giggle and try to wriggle free of his grasp, but to no avail. You give up and let him lift your feet off the pool floor, your arms wrapping around his neck.
His hair is soaked and flopping over his eyes, making it hard to see the affection held for you under it. You smooth it back with a gentle hand so you can admire him.
You often craved a clear view of his face—his hair usually concealed half of it. You wanted to see him, and you wanted to be seen by him. It had become a habit to push his hair back whenever you felt like it, and he’d always thought you never noticed how his heart fluttered over it.
But you always have. You feel it when your hand moves from the back of his head to the peak of his neck, where his drumming pulse resides. You see it in the expansion of his dark pupils while his glimmering gaze fixes on you.
His forehead is exposed, droplets dappling his cheeks from your childish frolic. His breath warms your face as you inch toward his lips. He welcomes your kiss with a knowing tilt of his head, a parted soft mouth, and a light squeeze of his arms around your body.
Yoshida numbs you from the rest of the world by filling all your senses, starting with the small noises of his moving kiss, progressing to the nudge of your back against tile and stone. A gasp enters his mouth after the impact, and he swallows willingly.
His warm lips brush your cheek, sliding down your jaw and lowering to your neck. He opens his lips to the curve that links your shoulder, hard teeth grazing your skin. It’s new, and it’s admittedly scary, but you tilt your head in flowering welcome.
“Is this all right, Hiro?” you ask softly, lacking breath. He leans back, leaving your skin cold to meet your shy gaze.
“If you’re not sure, we can stop.” His words reassure with sweet undertones. You realize from his calm that he’ll accept any direction this goes.
You’re in a pool of heat now. Your breath has strayed from its usual pattern, and you take pleasure in his keen grip. You’re passionately aware that under your skin is a beat attuned to his doing, his intimate intentions. You know it’s under his skin, too. With him infecting your every nerve and vein, you come to a decision.
“I want this,” you whisper, hand gliding over the back of his head. “Do you?”
Yoshida’s gaze glimmers with intent, struck by a wave of certainty. “I want you more than anything.”
You find confidence in confirming. You reach for the lock of your bra and unhook it, paying rapt attention to the growth of his eyes as they set on your naked chest. You toss the piece behind you to the elevated floor.
Flushed but resolute, he reaches forward and cups your breasts, cutting your breath midway. He massages the plush with firm but gentle hands, and a slow current of ecstasy cascades through your clenched body. He leans past your neck to take your nipple between his lips. Your mouth slacks in pleasure, echoing a shocked whine as you tip your head back.
His tongue’s motions jolt and relieve you at once, your chest lifting and falling against his face with urgency. Underwater, your pelvis aligns with his crotch. You press further into each other naturally, two sensitive parts rubbing in heated motions.
Yoshida’s eyes flutter up at you before he pulls back, the taste of your skin lingering on his tongue. He leans toward your ear and whispers, “You drive me insane,”
His fingers slide into your panties, and your back arches when he begins to stroke in the raw. A warmth scatters to your stomach, rising to your chest.
He leans back to heed the pleasured twist of your face. He drinks the pinch of your features, the rapid tumbles of your sounds. Livened, his two fingers ease into you carefully, but the pain of it only helps your cries.
“Should I stop?” his voice carries concern from the strain of your fingers digging into his back. Truthfully, he doesn’t want to. And you know this—you can tell from how his fingers continue to nudge their way in, stretching you further. You don’t want to, either.
“No,” you gasp out, indulging in his motions, “Don’t stop.”
He’s delighted, and it translates to the intensity of his fingers’ thrusts, so long and slender. His lips brush over your ear. “You take it so perfectly,”
As graceful as you are in absorbing the bliss of his advances, you still want more. “I want you, Hiro. I want to feel you.”
He’s been hard, clenching tight. A fever that burns even in water, spreading beneath his flushed skin. He tugs his boxers down, holding his length to your cunt after pushing your panties aside. He takes the need that’s been weighing on his stomach, and he slides himself in with a smooth stroke.
“Fuck,” he moans breathlessly, throbbing against the squeeze. “Oh, fuck. You feel so good.”
You clutch his back desperately, fingers digging into shoulder blades. “Hirofumi,” you shiver, cunt clenching around his girth. He rocks his hips in a steady rhythm that melts you from the inside and renders him weak.
He leans toward you as you wind each other tightly, his head dipping into the bend of your neck, scraping your skin with his teeth. You sense your blood concentrating on the chafed spot under his lips. His pace picks up, and your fist curls in his hair.
He lifts his head to admire you again. Your vision is in motion blur, coming from a light head that hasn’t gotten sleep, but your narrow gaze keeps the sight of him intact. Your fingers skim his parted mouth, brushing over the mole underneath it. Your rushed breaths fog the gap between your faces, but you look past this, leaning in for a sloppy kiss.
You take his taste into your mouth and lose yourself in the seconds, the rough scrub of your skin against the wall, and the mind-melting pure ecstasy. Your lips no longer push with his own, parting entirely to moan. “Ah,”
Your head falls back, reaching for the sight of twinkling stars. Right below, your body jerks with the repeated motions of his hips, and your cunt constricts around his length, urging him.
“Fuck,” he pulses on as you squeeze him, beating furiously amidst rapid movement until you loosen and he reaches his high. With a swift tug, white blends with the water of the pool.
The high subsides with heaving chests and hot faces. He lets your feet meet the floor slowly, running his palms up to your hips afterward. Your arms loosen around his nape but remain entwined, and you lean in to kiss warmly.
“Are you all right?” he asks gingerly, hazy eyes setting on you. He rubs your hips, squeezing with care.
“Yeah,” you breathe out. Tired, sore, but utterly content and comforted. “I’m perfect. What about you?”
“You are perfect,” he grins, barely apart from your face, making your chest bubble. “Geez. You’re too pretty.”
“Stop,” you giggle, hitting his back lightly. “Just answer my question.”
His smile softens, and his answer is earnest. “I feel great, honestly.”
“Yeah?” you ask, drawn by his gleeful demeanor.
“Yeah.” He answers, affection carved into his lingering gaze. “I’m in love.”
You laugh lightheartedly. “So am I. Deeply.”
Satisfaction blossoms in his chest, his smile bending toward a playful smirk. “Way into it?”
You nod, instantly giving yourself away. “Way into it. I think you’re perfect for me, Hiro.”
“Of course I am,” he leans in, bumping his forehead into yours. “No one else can have you but me.”
With a smile seemingly permanent, you kiss his lips. “There’s no one else I need.”
Your head rests on his shoulder as he carries you back to the room with reverent adoration. After a brief and shared shower, you dry yourselves, lie together, and fall asleep.
you're flat on your back on the bed, sheets twisted beneath you, legs splayed wide as aki settles between them. his body looms over yours, all lean muscle and intent, cock nudging at your entrance before he pushes in, slow at first, letting you feel every thick inch splitting your pussy open. a gasp escapes you, back arching off the mattress, but he doesn't give you time to adjust. with one hand, he captures both your wrists, pinning them high above your head against the headboard, his grip iron-tight, unyielding. your arms strain, fingers flexing uselessly as he holds you there, exposed and helpless under him.
his free hand slides up your throat, fingers curling around your jaw in a firm hold that tilts your face up to meet his gaze. those dark eyes lock onto yours, piercing, demanding. he thrusts deeper now, burying himself to the hilt, your walls clenching around his length as he fills you completely. the stretch burns so good, heat pooling low in your belly, but it's his voice that hits you hardest, deep and breathy, rumbling right against your ear as he leans in close, lips brushing the shell. “eyes on me,” he growls, the words vibrating through you like a command etched in stone. “don't you dare look away while i fuck you.”
you try to hold his stare, pupils dilating under the intensity, but the pleasure crests sharp when he pulls back and slams in again, cock dragging along your inner walls. your gaze flickers down to where your bodies join, watching the way he disappears inside you, slick and glistening. instantly, his rhythm falters—he slows to a torturous grind, hips circling lazy and deep, just enough to tease your clit with the base of his shaft but not enough to push you higher. “bad girl,” he murmurs, voice a low rasp that sends shivers racing down your spine. his thumb presses into your cheek, forcing your head steady, eyes back on his. “look at me. now.”
your breath hitches, frustration mixing with the ache building between your legs, pussy fluttering around him in protest. you force your eyes up, locking onto the hunger in his expression, the way his brows furrow with focus. he holds there for a beat longer, grinding slow, letting the denial sink in, his cock throbbing inside you, unmoving except for those deliberate rolls that make you whimper. “that's better,” he breathes, but he doesn't speed up yet, drawing it out until you're squirming, wrists tugging against his hold. “keep them on me, and i'll give you what you need.”
finally, when your gaze steadies, unwavering, he rewards you. his hips snap forward, hard and deep, the force jolting your body up the bed. “that's it... good,” he praises, voice dropping to a satisfied rumble as he sets a punishing pace—thrusts that punch the air from your lungs, his cock hitting that spot inside you over and over. pleasure sparks white-hot, your moans spilling free, but you don't dare break eye contact, not with the promise of more in his stare. he grips your jaw tighter, thumb stroking your lower lip as he fucks into you, relentless now, the wet sounds of your arousal filling the room.
every so often, your eyes threaten to flutter shut from the overload, lids heavy with bliss, and he catches it—slowing again without mercy, that grind resuming, his breath hot on your neck. “bad girl,” he warns, nipping at your earlobe, hips rocking just enough to keep you on the edge, cock pulsing against your g-spot. “eyes. on. me.” you obey, snapping back to his face, and he grins, feral and approving, before driving in harder, faster. “good, just like that. take it all while you watch me ruin this pussy.”
the cycle builds the tension unbearably, your body trembling under him, wrists raw from the pin, jaw aching from his hold. but each reward thrust sends you spiraling closer, his growls mixing with your cries, eyes never leaving his as he claims you completely, pushing you toward that shattering release with every obedient stare.
you’ve always had a soft spot for denji, the way he devours life with that unfiltered hunger—food, fights, affection, all of it. but lately, something’s shifted. ever since he started eating properly, not just scraping by on whatever junk he could grab between devil hunts, his body’s filling out in ways that make your breath catch.
he’s always been wiry and tough, but now? broader shoulders straining against his worn-out shirts, arms thickening with muscle that flexes when he reaches for another bite, thighs solid under his jeans. it’s like watching him bloom, and god, it turns you on more than you expected.
you’re in the kitchen of your shared apartment one lazy afternoon, sunlight slanting through the window as denji sits at the table, demolishing a massive stack of pancakes you whipped up. syrup drips from his fork, and he groans in bliss with each mouthful, cheeks bulging slightly as he chews. “man, these are killer,” he mumbles around a bite, eyes half-lidded in pure satisfaction.
he’s shirtless today, too hot for layers, and you can’t stop staring at the way his chest has broadened, pecs defined now, abs peeking through where they used to be hidden under a layer of survival-scrawniness.
you lean against the counter, arms crossed to hide how your nipples tighten under your tank top, heat pooling between your thighs. “denji,” you say softly, voice laced with that affectionate warmth you know he craves. “you look… different lately. bigger. stronger.”
he pauses mid-bite, fork hovering, a smear of syrup on his lip. his eyes flick up to yours, golden-brown and curious, but there’s a hint of confusion. “huh? what d’ya mean?” he swallows, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and you watch the corded muscles in his forearm ripple. he’s oblivious, just shoveling in another pancake like it’s the best thing since sliced bread—because to him, it probably is.
you step closer, emboldened by the way his skin glows with a faint sheen from the warmth of the day. your hand reaches out, tracing the swell of his bicep as he sets the fork down. it’s firm, unyielding, and you squeeze lightly, feeling the power coiled there. “this. all of you. ever since you’ve been eating like this, real meals, you’ve bulked up. your arms, your chest… it’s sexy.” your voice drops, husky with the truth of it, fingers trailing up to his shoulder, then down to brush his collarbone.
denji’s face flushes instantly, a deep pink creeping from his neck to his ears. he’s not used to compliments like this, not the ones that make his cock twitch in his pants. “s-sexy? me?” he laughs it off, but it’s nervous, his free hand rubbing the back of his neck as he shifts in his chair. his eyes dart away, focusing on the half-eaten plate, but you see the way his chest rises faster, the subtle bulge starting to tent his jeans. “i didn’t even notice, y’know? i just… love eatin’. feels good to have a full stomach for once. didn’t think it’d change shit like that.”
you smile, affectionate and teasing, sliding onto his lap to straddle him right there at the table. his hands come up instinctively, gripping your hips with that newfound strength, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh above your shorts. “oh, it’s changed everything,” you murmur, grinding down just enough to feel his hardening cock press against your pussy through the thin fabric. he’s thick already, the outline clear as you rock slowly. “look at you all powerful. makes me want to climb you every time i see you lift something heavy or just… exist like this.”
his flush deepens, breath hitching as you lean in, lips brushing his ear. denji’s always been straightforward, no games, and now he’s putty under your words, his grip tightening on your ass, pulling you closer. “shit, you’re gonna make me hard just talkin’ like that,” he groans, voice rough with that boyish edge that contrasts his building bulk. but there’s no hiding it—his cock throbs against you, fully erect now, straining for friction.
you kiss him then, slow and deep, tasting the sweet syrup on his tongue as he moans into your mouth. your hands roam his chest, palms flat against the warm, solid planes of muscle, thumbs circling his nipples until they pebble. he bucks up, chasing the pressure of your core against his length, and you gasp at how full he feels, how his strength lets him control the rhythm without even trying.
“denji,” you whisper against his lips, nipping the flushed skin of his jaw. “you’re so fucking hot like this. strong enough to pin me down, fuck me senseless.” the words spill out, affectionate heat fueling the dirty edge, and he whimpers—actually whimpers—his face burning as he thrusts up harder.
“y-yeah? you like it?” he’s seeking reassurance, even as his hands slide under your tank, cupping your tits and squeezing with greedy fingers. his thumbs roll over your nipples, pinching just right, and you arch into him, pussy clenching emptily.
“love it,” you affirm, grinding faster, the seam of your shorts rubbing your clit in delicious sparks. “eat all you want, get even bigger for me. i’ll ride every inch of you.”
that does it. denji stands abruptly, lifting you with him like you weigh nothing, his arms bulging as he carries you to the counter. he sets you down, yanking your shorts off in one rough pull, exposing your slick folds. his eyes darken at the sight, cock bobbing free when he shoves his jeans down—thicker than before, veined and heavy, pre-cum beading at the tip.
he steps between your legs, rubbing the head along your slit, coating himself in your wetness. “gonna fuck you now,” he says, voice low and flushed with need, but there’s that affectionate gleam in his eyes, like he’s doing this to please you most of all. “wanna feel how tight you are around me.”
you nod, wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him in. he thrusts deep in one go, stretching your pussy with his girth, and you both moan—yours high and needy, his a guttural rumble that vibrates through his chest. he’s stronger now, hips snapping with controlled power, each plunge hitting that spot inside you that makes stars burst behind your eyelids.
“denji—fuck, yes,” you cry, nails digging into his shoulders, feeling the flex of muscle under your touch. he pounds into you relentlessly, the counter creaking, his face still pink from your earlier words, but now it’s mixed with raw lust.
“shit, you’re squeezin’ me so good,” he pants, one hand bracing beside you, the other thumbing your clit in messy circles. his pace builds, cock dragging against your walls, and you clench around him, chasing the edge.
"cum for me,” he urges, affectionate even in the heat, leaning down to capture your lips. “wanna feel you milk my dick.”
you shatter, pussy pulsing around his length, waves of pleasure ripping through you as you gasp his name. denji follows with a choked groan, burying deep and spilling hot cum inside you, hips jerking as he fills you up.
he slumps against you after, breathing heavy, that flush still lingering as he nuzzles your neck. “guess eatin’ more ain’t so bad, huh?” he mumbles, voice soft and content, already eyeing the pancakes like round two might be next. you laugh, holding him close, utterly turned on by the man he’s becoming, one delicious bite at a time.
