NB: Some fics contain mature themes, explicit sexual content and dark content. Appropriate content warnings and tags have been used, so please make note of them!
Characters: Hoshina, Narumi, Kafka, Reno, Mina (for now!)
አMonster Hunter Wilds Masterlist
Includes series and stand-alone fics.
Genres: Romance, humour, smut, fluff.
Characters: Olivia, Erik, Hunter.
Fire Force
Friday Night Fire Fight
Synopsis: [Obi Akitaru x Scientist Reader] A chance encounter with the charismatic captain of the Eighth Company leaves you more than a little enamoured. Obi Akitaru is nothing less than thorough in his own pursuit of you.
Contents: Romance, smut, humour, fluff, angst.
Link
አOriginal Writing/Reflections
Vanishings
Songbirds
Poetry Appreciation: In Detention (Chris van Wyk)
Thanks to @tsukimefuku for creating this beautiful masterlist post for me! Credit to @strangergraphics for dividers.
Imagine Gintoki whenever itâs one of those night where heâs drinking to cope and seeking comfort heâs going at your place
I can totally imagine this!
While I'm still in the stages of Gintoki-discovery, LOL, I do know that trauma and sadness runs deep for his character, and that his state mind is often improved by seeing those around him happy and living full lives.
So I really like this idea, of him having those special connections, and one with you that helps him get through dark days, where the drink makes him remember too much, instead of the intended effect.
Being able to pull him inside, give him a safe haven, a place to simply rest and be, to listen and be heard in turn, while he takes full advantage of that spot on your lap that he knows is his ...
đ„șđ„șđ„șđ„șđ„ș
Damn, I would TAKE CARE of this man, not that he needs it, LOL.
I love your Gintama content there arenât a lot of Gintama writers here
Thank you! I've only started watching the series recently, and I absolutely love it! I'm sure my appreciation will grow the more I watch. I'm trying not to binge it right now, and watch a few episodes every day, LOL.
There are indeed few Gintama fics out there, but I will definitely be hit with the writing bug the more I watch, and get into later arcs!
Thank you so much for sending this, it really feels like there are few in the fandom on here, lol.
Contents: Humour, crack, suggestive content, foul language, nudity, sweaty fanservice, some very grimy men.
Dividers by: @pixopix
Narumi
Ariake Base in summer was a veritable sauna.
Situated alongside the bay, humidity weighted the air, painting the tarmac slick. Shady nooks offered little respite for the officers released from active training or field operations.
Within one of the rooms off the main motor pool, you shrugged off your lab coat, fanning at your neck while attempting to follow the rapid-fire analysis of that day's operation, presented by Kurusu to Vice-Captain Hasegawa and the platoon leaders.
Even in this air-conditioned bliss, it was hard to acclimate, having come from outside.
Your brief, half-formed thought on the possible location of the Captain was answered a moment later when the door slammed open against the wall, bouncing off with the force.
Narumi stood outlined in the doorway, hands on hips, glowering straight across at Hasegawa as if he'd done him a personal wrong.
A deep silence fell, as you all took in the state of him.
Most officers wore the standard issue underwear, consisting of a vest and tights, beneath the combat suit.
Narumi, it seemed, had eliminated that particular modesty.
The suit was unzipped all the way down to his groin, broad shoulders pushing apart the protesting edges, a wide swathe of bare, glistening skin visible.
The aggravated rise and fall of his chest only served to draw every eye to the way the zipper had lodged on either side of his nipples, pushing them to pert peaks, while the wall of muscle that formed his abdomen carved a perfect 'V' down to where the suit closed once more.
Ignoring, or perhaps not aware of the attention he had drawn, Narumi marched straight towards his second in command.
"Hasegawa."
"Captain Narumi?"
"Tell me what the fuck is up with this suit."
"I'm not following."
Coming to a stop right before him, the Captain gestured downward with an angry stab of one gloved finger.
"It's practically dragging my balls to hell!"
A harsh hacking noise sounded as Shinonome choked on her water.
Hasegawa pinched the flesh between his brows.
"What on earth are you - "
"Here, see!"
Suddenly, everyone was scrambling to look busy as Narumi grabbed the lower unzipped edge and tugged it away from his abdomen, jerking it back and forth so violently that the thickening trail of dark hair leading down to unchartered regions was actually visible.
"I'm out there, trying to move faster than some fucking kaiju's signal flow, and I can't. You know why? Because it feels like my dick's about to be squeezed right off and my ballsack's glued to my thigh!"
Calm and collected where everyone else was now covering their eyes, or red in the face, Hasegawa frowned and shook his head.
"Has it ever occurred to you that this is your fault? If you just wore the underwear - "
Narumi swept his hair back, glaring daggers. All that this served to do was emphasize how his pectorals nudged their heavy way past the confines of the suit, a sparse scattering of coarse hair over the ripple of scar-lined skin.
You tried to avert your eyes, but somehow, they didn't seem to be listening to your mental command, especially when he reached down into the suit, slid a hand between his legs and jerked, hissing with a grimace.
"That's better. Don't like the damn underwear. Even worse on a hot day. You think I wanna feel like I'm hate-fucking a sauna?
"Watch your language!"
"Might as well dip my junk in a Flaming Cheetos packet and - "
Quite suddenly, Hasegawa was no longer the subject of the Captain's ire.
Narumi had turned rapidly, and his gaze had fallen on you.
Wrenching your attention away from the visible bulge across the upper crease of his thigh, you sat up straight, eyes widening as he approached.
"Oi, you!"
"Sir?"
"You work in tech, right? Fix this!"
"Fix ... hold on, Captain, that's - "
He was standing right before you now, hands on hips, and from this angle, every ridge on his abdomen, the lean planes of his long legs, the swell of each bicep, was clearly visible, along with the translucent trails of damp that were still snaking their way down his chest to darken the folds of the suit.
The domineering expression had not wavered, and you registered, vaguely, that he was pointing at his crotch again.
"How am I supposed to be Number One when this goddamn suit is wrapping my balls like they're under a Christmas tree?"
You could see, from Shinonome's expression, that this particular turn of phrase had given her some rather vivid visuals.
From his chair a few feet away, the looming form of Hasegawa rose, an ominous gleam in his eye.
"Narumi."
Hurriedly, you waved your hands.
"I have a solution!"
The Captain paused, one short, quizzical eyebrow raised.
"Huh? You do?"
Flipping your datapad around, tracing across the surface, you tried to ignore the ample body heat transmitting across the small gap between you, the strong, musky smell of sweat more intense at close quarters.
"A while back, there was an axillary codpiece developed for just such a situation. Its manufacture was scrapped, because the underwear seemed more convenient, but we still have the early production prototypes."
He stared down at the schematic displayed on the screen, before tapping it with one finger.
"Order up. I want one, first thing Monday. And make sure it's the right size, you hear? I ain't tucking shit back every time I blow up a kaiju - "
A firm swat to the head interrupted him as you tried in vain to process this last statement.
"Stop harassing the techs and go have a shower."
Muttering under his breath, Narumi gave you a brief, surprising nod of thanks before making a bratty concession to Hasegawa's request and pulling his zipper up by a mere two centimeters.
"Fine, fine. I'm going."
As soon as he was out the door, the Vice-Captain lowered his voice, leaning slightly towards you.
"Make that an order for two. But don't tell the Captain."
Hoshina
The Vice-Captain of the Third Division was something of an enigma.
Hoshina Soshiro wore his smile as both a weapon and shield, inscrutable, playful, dangerous if provoked.
He was the image of a model officer, uniform always pristine, hair combed to a neat, sleek shine, evidence of care and routine in the way his swords were maintained and his record books and reports always updated in neat, sloping handwriting.
So, today was certainly an anomaly.
It had started with the interruption of the training camp he had been overseeing, situated in the foothills of Okinawa, a chance for the recruits to familiarize themselves with the warmer climate and dense foliage when fighting kaiju.
The collection of honju that had been rounded up for practice had attracted an unforeseen obstacle, one rarely seen in these parts: a pack of mole-type kaiju.
Smaller than usual, and densely armored, they were proving to be an irritation. While not particularly strong, they were fast, armed with razor-sharp claws, and had the nasty habit of ambushing the officers when they least expected it.
As the other platoon leaders were on duty back at base, Hoshina was the sole commanding officer present for a relatively small unit, and had taken it upon himself to be on watch the majority of the time, with a few hours of sleep snatched in-between.
Hence, the current situation.
Clad in one of his fitted compression shirts as concession to the sweltering weather, a fine, few-day's growth of stubble tracing his jaw, hair slicked back from his forehead, Hoshina presented a very different entity.
The scars on his arms had grown slightly more visible with the tan he'd picked up over the past week, mud and dust now a permanent fixture on the baggy camouflage trousers held up around his lean waist by an old belt.
Out here, it was ever more evident just how fearsome the Vice-Captain truly was, sleep deprivation only seeming to render him harder at the edges, sharper tongued, violet eyes cutting the gloom.Â
Today was the last day of the camp, with the local base a day's hike from where they had been air-dropped. All the honju had now been neutralized, and it was time to head back.
Something seemed off about Hoshina, though.
His fingers twitched at his belt, as if aching to unsheathe his swords, his posture tense, shoulders set as if about to enter battle.
Just as the last recruit had bagged their belongings and was ready to receive marching orders, he spun lightly on his heel to face your unit.
"Change of plan, officers."
"Sir?"
"We head back to base as intended, with a little addition. We use a tactical retreat to lure those bastards in and take 'em out."
There was a stirring among the others, heads turning, anticipation building in the ranks.
Hoshina raised a finger, eyes open in a rare display of cunning charm.
"Now, listen close. You lot are gonna act as my bait. Fire rounds into their joints to slow 'em down, then keep drawin' 'em back to the moving core of the unit. Ten minutes out, ten minutes backtracking. Never lose sight of the main corps. I'll handle the rest."
It was testament to how much faith each of his subordinates placed in him that not one you questioned the idea of him handling them all.
Within the first stage of the impromptu operation, you had ample proof that your commanding officer was more than capable.
The mole-types had been waiting for a mass-movement, as Hoshina had anticipated.
Rifle braced and ready, your remotely-monitored suit now zipped securely, you took a moment to register that Hoshina had not completely donned his.
The suit lay, bunched around his waist, leaving arms and torso unadorned by any protective material, besides his standard-issue shirt.
"Sir?" you queried quietly, "are you not suiting up?"
He regarded the trees around you for a moment before shaking his head.
"Nope. Better like this. I can feel 'em coming."
A chill passed briefly through you, one that had nothing to do with the danger the impending kaiju posed, accompanied by what you recognized as a frisson of excitement.
The unit began their steady march through the trees, Hoshina at the epicenter, and it wasn't long before the kaiju made their appearance.
Your squad took first initiative, a burst of speed away from the main body, elbows braced against the recoil of your rifles as you aimed for the weaker joints, as you'd been instructed.
The kaiju struck back with ferocity, following you as you retreated, allowing themselves to be drawn in.
Gritting your teeth as roots rose like snares beneath your feet, you realized just how taxing this was going to be. The foliage would work against you, however you looked at it, and you had to keep such careful watch for those scathing claws -
Above you, the sound of boots striking bark.
Before you had a chance to register the movement, he was among you, blades flashing like the teeth of some long-extinct predator.
Hoshina was a blur as he dodged, weaved, spun between the flailing limbs of the kaiju, trailing vivid steaks of blood and viscera in his wake.
This was wholly unlike his refined technique back at Tachikawa, finesse substituted for something far more primal.
Within minutes of arriving, he was gone.
It happened, again and again.Â
Unfailingly, using the environment with an instinct that verged on animalistic, Hoshina struck.
Tree trunks and branches transformed from obstacles to leverage, the dense canopy above a haven for the swift plunge of his swords.
He was in a zone of some kind, far-removed from anything familiar, strength and speed only seeming to grow as the going got tougher.
The suit remained unzipped around his waist, large darkened patches of sweat, edged in salt crust of long dried exertion, spreading across his back, across his chest, down from his armpits.
You saw droplets fly from the edges of his hair as he pivoted, powerful sweeps of his arms driving through kaiju carapace.
Mud tracked over his skin in damp, grainy patches, across his cheeks, neck, dampened forearms, their veins standing out even in the gloom beneath the trees.
Again.
It was your squad's turn at playing bait.
The kaiju striking at you stumbled to the side, two swift severing strokes making short work of its front limbs.
Hoshina was crouched before you, one hand laying itself on your stomach, palm flat, warm and vital, giving an almost gentle push as a signal, and you realized that he wanted you to prop your rifle on his shoulder.
Some of his own instinctual purpose seemed to have filtered through to you, and you complied immediately, sighting down the barrel.
The support gave new accuracy to your shots, taking down two of the kaiju that rushed your position, straight through the exposed cores.
The third and fourth stood no chance.
They were now within his range.
He pivoted, passed between them, slicing right down the centre seam of their armour, spilling them out in steaming piles on the forest floor. The steely edges of their claws against his arms did not slow him down.Â
Sliding to a stop, he flicked his blades, sheathed them.
His chest was now heaving from exertion, violet hair in slicked, tangled disarray, eyes tracking the perimeter. Sweat was trailing down the sides of his face.
A rapid turn of the head, as if flicking away an insect.
Then, an action so wholly incongruous with his regular behaviour that it almost rendered you immobile: his tongue darting out to catch the rivulet that had bypassed one eye, then a longer, swift lick along his bicep, catching the steady trickle of his own blood.
You caught his eye as he turned, ready to make his way back to the column, and he grinned, warm, fierce, lighting an answering fire in your chest.
"There's just a few more. Think they'll want a taste of me?"
One coherent thought remained as you followed him back: that your duty-bound, proper and collected Vice-Captain had clearly enjoyed every blood-drenched minute of the wild hunt that he'd set you on.
You wondered if his hunger for battle had always run this deep.Â
Hijikata
The explosion rocked the foundations of every building in the vicinity, and for a moment, you were suspended in a weightless sphere of disbelief.
Shelves, files, a keyboard, the custom mug you'd received as a gift from your mother, all slid past your half-bemused eyes as you dimly registered the terrible ringing in your ears, the dust, the disorientation, the distant wail of sirens.
It occurred to you, when you returned to consciousness, that your office was now open to the elements.
One wall seemed to be missing.
Saved you the trouble of redecorating, really. That painting of a dancing fish your boss had brought in was a little more avant garde than your tastes allowed for.
It lay somewhere in the road below, frame shattered.
Good.
Come to think of it, the road was a long way down, and your leg didn't seem very keen to hold your weight.
Was that blood?
Why, yes, it was.
Better not to look too closely.
Still, there was that dilemma of how to get down, and it was beginning to seem more pressing by the minute.
Somewhere to your left, a man's voice, calling out over the shift and screech of metal and concrete.
âOi, you! You hurt?"
Oh, he was handsome.
Unfairly so, for such a situation. After all, here you were, half buried under the remains of the upstairs cleaning closet.
Your would-be rescuer had now emerged into the remains of your office, dusting himself off.
Dark hair fell across a deep set, intimidating gaze, the remains of some kind of uniform jacket barely hanging onto broad shoulders, something that looked suspiciously like a bottle of mayonnaise protruding from one inner pocket.
He set aside the jacket with a put-upon sigh, as if it had personally offended him, and rolled up his sleeves.
What nice arms, which you definitely shouldn't be looking at right now.
"Can you talk or what?"
Nice voice too.
Deep, gravelly, a smoker's husky intonation.
Clearing your throat, you managed a reply.
"I'm not in good shape, I guess. My leg."
He regarded you for a moment, shadowed eyes inscrutable. Then, he rose, squatting on his haunches close by.
When he touched you, it was a lot gentler than you'd anticipated, rolling up your pant leg to expose the gash there.
His fingers were warm against your skin, surprisingly comforting.
"Hmm. Not broken. But you can't put pressure on this."
"Then how am I supposed to get down?"
This close, you could see the dust that had settled over his clothing and hair, the tears and grimy smears on his once-pristine white shirt.
The heat of the day was intense, so much so that he grimaced for a moment before tucking one finger behind the stifling cravat he sported, tugging it loose.
The movement exposed the strong line of his throat, moisture building at his clavicle.
"I'll have to carry you down."
"What? This office is four stories up. You'll never - "
"I'll make it. Don't think you can give me orders."
With this surly reply, he placed both hands under your elbows, lifting with an ease that put paid to your earlier doubt.
This man was strong, unusually so.
You could sense it in the bunch and shift of muscle beneath the sleeves of his shirt, the sturdy shoulder offered for you to put your weight on.
Once you'd acquired adequate balance, he turned away from you, crouching slightly.
"Get on my back."
"Huh?"
"How the fuck else will I carry you down? Between my teeth?"
"Right, right."
It wasn't that you weren't paying heed to his impatient tone, you were a little more preoccupied with the looping of your hands somewhere beneath his chin, the clinging damp of his shirt against his skin, turning translucent in patches with sweat.
"Aren't you hot in that?"
"Yeah. Gotta deal with it somehow."
He shifted, and suddenly your knees were lodged somewhere against his sides, the solid lines of his torso trapped between your thighs.
With a grunt of effort, one that reverberated through the close proximity of your bodies, he swung himself with frightful agility over the ragged lip of the fourth floor, where you were currently situated.
Breathing hard, you closed your eyes, not willing to scope the distance between you and the ground far below.
"Try not to crush my windpipe."
"Oh, sorry."
He half-glanced over his shoulder.
"Stop worrying. I got you."
The reassurance was delivered with gruff aplomb, an easy, quiet confidence that you couldn't help but believe.
Hand over hand, gripping the unstable, jagged edges of rock, jutting metal pipes, sweeping shattered glass away so that his fingers could find better purchase, he made a slow, but controlled descent, with you hanging on for dear life.
He was breathing hard by the time you both reached the respite of the third floor, letting go of the ledge to land heavily below.
Catching you as you almost tumbled from his back, he steadied you at the waist, mopping off his brow with the other arm.
He blinked against the sting of sweat in his eyes, cursing under his breath.
"Can't do it like this," he muttered.
Before you had a chance to ponder that, he'd taken a step away from you, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt.
"What are you doing?"
"Can't climb with the shirt."
"Oh, of course."
You were certainly not about to complain about this turn of events.
The shirt was shrugged off with careless frustration, peeled away from where it had been sticking to his arms and back. Beneath it, the sizeable curve of biceps, the play of sinew between forearm and elbow.
His back and shoulders were wide, well-muscled, the skin slick and slightly freckled, marked with numerous old scars.
Ah, of course.
You should have known from the uniform.
He was Shinsengumi, and quite high in the chain of command, if you recalled correctly. His face had seemed awfully familiar, and you knew you'd seen it on television before.Â
It had taken your memory a while to catch up, and quite frankly, who could blame you?
"Uh, Mister ... "
"Hijikata."
"Mister Hijikata - "
"Look, lose the 'Mister'. We've got more important things to deal with here."
"Right. There's another passage around this floor. Leads to a ramp out back. That might save you the trouble of climbing all the way down?"
He hummed in acknowledgement, rolling one shoulder, then the other.
"Worth a try. Show me the way."
Once again borne aloft, this time with nothing separating you from the bare skin of his back, you helped him navigate the littered and crushed landscape of the building that had once housed your workplace.
"So, what happened, Hijikata? Was it a gas leak?"
"Nah. Some moron decided to test out an Amanto weapon. They've had it stored at the museum, and whoever tried it didn't realize it wasn't inactive."
"That's - "
"Dumb as fuck, is what it is. Some people haven't learned shit."
You couldn't help but agree, but your conversation was cut short by another obstacle: the pathway you'd described had collapsed halfway across, and the only way down was via more climbing.
"Ah. So this is out too."
"Not completely.."
"But - "
"Look."
He was pointing, tracing out a track in the air with his finger.
"It's actually easier to climb down from here. More staggered."
It didn't look much easier, but you weren't going to question him. He was the one doing the climbing after all.
Part way down to the next level, a sharp steel strut, deceptively angled, ripped his pants, scoring a scrape along his thigh.
"Hijikata! Are you okay?"
You'd heard, then seen the rip all too clearly.
He swore under his breath, tugging himself free. This only served to exacerbate the issue.
A flap of his trousers tore, all the way from knee to groin.
"Fuck!"
Uttering another litany of curses, Hijikata dropped the last few feet, and you clung to him tightly before easing away to check if he was injured.
Seeing the damage, you breathed a sigh of relief.
"Oh, good, you're only scratched."
His head raised slowly, the look in those dark eyes verging on murderous.
"My pants are fucked."
"Okay, but your leg is not."
"I won't be able to wear these."
"Then take them off?"
"And climb down naked?"
"You'll still have your underwear on!"
"I'm the Vice-Commander of the Shinsengumi. If they catch me on camera after I get us out - "
"Then you'll look brave, sweaty and muscular?"
He shot you a sour glance and you raised both hands in surrender.
"I'm just reporting the news."
"Report, my ass."
"I just might."
"I'll leave you here."
"All right, sorry."
Scowling, he blew out a breath, before getting to his feet once again.
He started to unbuckle his belt, and the idea that you probably should look away did briefly cross your mind.
The idea was ignored.
With a brisk shove, the ruined trousers dropped to his ankles, kicked away in aggravation, revealing the ripple of thighs you knew had been honed through hours of sword work.
Long, lean, powerful, tapering at the knee only to widen again to calves that you could now appreciate the heft of, Hijikata's legs were nothing to sniff at (as was the rest of him).
The dark hair on his thighs was more sparse, thickening down the shin. Here were more scars, not as deep as those that decorated the ridges of his abdomen, as if he'd always been cavalier with the rush of his attacks.
Sweeping back his hair with one hand, Hijikata closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.
When he glanced at you again, you could see some form of resolve building there.
"Let's get this over with.â
The final stretch of the descent loomed, and this time, you were hard pressed to focus on staying alive, and restricting your movement, when the man carrying you down was doing so in a largely unclothed state.
Without the barriers of simple modesty, Hijikata shoulders rolled beneath you like the shift of smooth rock beneath earth, sweat tracing through dust across his back, chest and temples.
Those large, capable hands were as steady as ever, feeling their way, inch by inch, across the safest nooks and niches.
The only sign of the strain he must experience showed in the taut lines of arm and thigh, veins rising to prominence against skin, the heave of his chest beneath your palms each time he navigated a particularly tricky gap.
Even as focused as he must be on the placement of hand and foot, he never neglected to check on you, pausing at intervals to cast a look over his shoulder, or to abruptly nudge your legs into tightening their grip.
Eventually, beyond all expectation, you both reached the road below.
Fortunately for Hijikata, there was no camera crew waiting.
You let go of him, and he dropped into a squat, panting freely, all reservations apparently forgotten as he spreadeagled in the road in his grimy, forest-green boxers.
"Hijikata ... thank you. For getting me down."
"It's my job."
"Still. I owe you."
He took a moment to reply, catching his breath.
"Damn it. Left it up there. Coulda used it about now."
"You mean these?"
You produced a slightly squashed pack of cigarettes from your own pants pocket. He turned his head, staring across at you.
"Where did you get those?"
"Your jacket. I thought you might not want to leave them behind."
Still lying supine, he reached out one hand, fingers making a grabbing gesture.
You placed the cigarettes within them, before realizing your glaring oversight.
"Ugh, forgot the lighter."
"Doesn't matter."
He tugged a bent cigarette free and tucked it between his teeth. You heard a slight sucking noise.
Ah, so not just an addiction, but an oral fixation.
Interesting.
Perhaps this additional discovery would shed more light on this increasingly strange enigma of a man.
"I also found this in your jacket. You had it in an inner pocket, so I assumed it was important. Is it evidence in a case of some kind?"
This time, his head snapped towards you, and he sat bolt upright in the street.
You'd produced the bottle of mayonnaise you'd found along with the cigarettes.
Before you had a chance to register his actions, he'd scrambled towards you, snatching the bottle out of your hands.
It was also somewhat dented, the plastic top smeared in dust, but none of this proved any deterrent to Hijikata who twisted it open and proceeded to squeeze the condiment straight into his mouth.
After a whole minute of gratuitous chugging, he let out a deep groan of relief, slamming the bottle down as if he'd just had a taste of the finest whiskey since the Amanto Invasion.
Here he was, the strong, dutiful, surprisingly kind officer, who'd in all probability saved you from a crushing fate, drinking mayo on all fours in the street in his underwear, like it was a gift from the Gods.
When he'd finally regained his senses, the hooded eyes met yours once again, as if you were now party to some soul-deep connection, bathed in the tangy off-white substance still present at the corners of his mouth.
"Thanks for ... saving my mayo."
Vaguely, you registered that the current situation might be largely off-putting to most.
You dabbed at his lip with a corner of your sleeve, smile growing.Â
"My pleasure, Hijikata."
Gintoki
"Yorozuyaaaa, at your service."
The drawling voice came drifting over the counter, and you straightened from behind the display, where you'd been arranging a tray of croissants fresh from the oven.
With the opening of a new station nearby, the lunchtime rush at your small cafe and bakery had increased exponentially, and while it was good for business, today promised to be challenging when two of your small staff had called in sick.
Someone had once handed over a small card with the details of an odd-jobs agency on it, and you'd rifled through your drawer to locate it before calling the number.
It was just for a day, after all.
Here, it appeared, was your helping hand.
A tall man with wavy silver hair, questionable posture and a decidedly unmotivated gaze, with a wooden sword at his belt, and a short, bright-eyed girl, her vivid hair set in two buns and one finger lodged firmly up her nose.
The man raised a lazy hand in greeting.
"Sakata Gintoki here, and this is Kagura."
Hurrying over to the other side, you made your own introduction.
"Ah, welcome to Flour Power. I'm the owner, the one who contacted you yesterday."
Kagura pointed at your sign above the door.
"I like the name! Very strong. Are you gonna crush all the other bakeries? I can help you."
"I certainly hope so! But we're a small operation right now, which is why I needed someone else on board."
Gintoki leaned towards you, one hand over his mouth.
"Hey, just a head's up. Don't tell Kagura you want to crush the competition. She'll take that literally."
"Oh ... right."
Now that you were closer up, you could see that these were no ordinary odd jobs folk.
Kagura had the air of a smiling baby tiger, right before it disembowelled you, and Gintoki's wooden sword did nothing to detract from the clear definition of his visible arm, the grace and power of a seasoned swordsman disguised under a lackadaisical air.
Perhaps customer-facing interactions might not be their forte, but you could certainly use the help backstage in the kitchens.
This was where you led them, apologizing profusely for the temperature inside.
The central cooling unit was under repair, and the heat of such a day would be magnified by the ovens, but neither Gintoki nor Kagura voiced any objections. They'd evidently worked under worse conditions before.
After setting them on the basic tasks of mixing and kneading (ensuring, of course, that they both washed their hands first), you made your way back to the front of the shop.
The lunch hour rush had become increasingly hectic, also due to the demands of customers. Many of the new faces were not quite so friendly, and some were quick to pass judgement, or comparison to other bakeries in the area.
Not that this cut too deep.
Developing a thick skin was part and parcel of being in business, but the comments sometimes stayed with you.
As the bell above the door began to ring more frequently, you heard an almighty crash from the kitchen.
You supposed that things had been going too smoothly to believe, either way, considering the brand new hands on board, but you sincerely hoped the damage wasn't too bad.
Uttering a quick apology to the impatient faces across from you, you ducked back into the kitchen.
It was quite the sight.
Kagura had apparently decided that the mixer wasn't doing a fast enough job, and had taken it upon herself to combine the ingredients by hand. In doing so, she had grossly underestimated her own strength.
A thick layer of batter coated almost every surface, including Gintoki, who, you now noticed, had taken off his shirt and yukata, and donned the apron you'd provided over his bare chest, as concession to the heat.
While you'd noticed his physique when he'd first entered, nothing quite prepared you for the naked breadth of his shoulders and biceps, the apron barely able to sit over the stretch of his pectorals.
All of this, now covered in pink cake batter.
He was in the process of cursing at Kagura, but paused when you entered, reaching one hand up sheepishly into hair that was now a lot less voluminous, plastered to his forehead and the nape of his neck with sweat.
"Look, I apologize for this. We'll get it cleaned up in no time. I'll make sure Kagura doesn't do her own thing, okay?"
"Can you really clean this up? I've got so many in the queue out front, so I won't be able to - "
"Nah, we'll handle it. Kagura, get off your ass and start the mixer up again."
She was sulking a little, but complied, shooting you a muttered apology.
As you made your way back out, a loud voice called out their irritation from the counter.
"Are you alive back there? I've got a shift in half an hour!"
"Coming, coming!"
The customer you'd kept briefly waiting was tapping her fingers with an unnecessary show of impatience.
"About time! Thought I'd just leave instead of coming to this shitty place again. No better than the last time I was here."
"My apologies, ma'am we've had an incident in the kitchen, and - "
"Stop with the excuses and just pack my order. I don't have all day."
Biting down your response, you began to do as bid, but not before Gintoki poked his head around the doorway.
"Oi. Don't be so fucking rude."
"Excuse me?"
Turning rapidly to hush him, you heard a stir amongst the customers as he pushed through into the room fully.
He'd obviously tried to clean up as best he could, but there were still traces of batter dried in stripes and patches on his forearms, cheek and the burgeoning skin of his chest, right beside the borders of the apron which sat alarmingly close to his nipples.
His hair had been swept all the way back, sweat glistening on forehead, shoulders and back as he came forward and leaned over the counter.
The apron now bunched all the way forward, barely holding together.
More than one set of eyes glanced nervously at the strings which held it precariously in place, including the irate woman, who had now adopted a dumbstruck expression.
"I said, don't be fucking rude. She's handling this place all by herself, and we're just hired for the day. Wait in line or go somewhere else."
The woman's mouth opened once, then closed again.
Gintoki reached down and snatched a strawberry cupcake from the display, cramming it whole into his mouth. The icing smeared across the sides of his face as he chewed, all while meeting her gaze with an unblinking intensity.
"Yeah. Fucking delicious. You'd be real stupid not to buy this shit. Don't make all her hard work go to waste."
He wiped the sugary crust off with his fingers, pointedly and loudly sucking each one in relish, before slapping a hand across the apron to clean it and loping back into the kitchen.
"Please wash your hands, Gintoki," you called faintly after him.
"Yes, ma'am."
Payment and parceling proceeded in complete silence after this exit. It seemed, however, that word of Gintoki's antics had gotten around.
The bakery was even more crowded within the hour, the audience mostly craning their necks to see past you into the kitchen.
Kagura emerged at some point to assist you at the till, a stick of konbu between her teeth.
She had even less of a filter than Gintoki, if that was to be believed.
At one point, you'd cleared your throat.
"Kagura, why'd you leave the kitchen door open?"
"Huh? Aren't all these aunties here to check out Gin's ass?"
From the kitchen, a lazy protest, even as he heaved bags of flour over his shoulders, trapezoids rippling beneath a glorious sheen of sweat and the melted butter that Kagura had managed to spill on him half an hour ago.
"Kaguraaa, I'm gonna call my union. This is super objectifying, ya know?"
"You don't have a union. Now bend over more so they can see your silly butt."
She shot you a sideways look.
"Hey, you make cupcakes with konbu in them?"
"Uh, not right now, but ... I'm open to trying new things."
"You hear that, Gin? She's open to trying new things," Kagura shouted towards the back.
"Now, just hold on - "
"Oh?"
Gintoki popped into the room once more and a few of the customers present began to fan themselves as he leaned one elbow on the counter and eagerly wiped his face, smearing almond cream across his damp forehead.
"So, have you ever thought about a nice, big chocolate log, maybe with some fruit pieces, and then you take it, like this, and shove it deep into a strawberry sponge, and drizzle it with strawberry syrup to keep things moist, 'cos the sponge dries out real easy, and -Â "
"Um, Gintoki?"
"Yeah?"
"I'll ... definitely look into your suggestion later, but maybe help me with these boxes?"
"Ohhh, how'd I miss these? But this convo isn't over, you hear?"
"Of course!"
You turned back to the man at the till who's face was presumably as heated as yours currently felt.
"Would you like some coffee with that?"
"S-sure."
Later, when the store had been closed for the day (in the face of more customers eager to spy the attractive kitchen employee who'd managed to spill ever-more indulgent sweets all over himself), you breathed a sigh of content and undid your own apron.
Turning, you beheld the sight of Gintoki and Kagura, both in dire need of showers and clean clothes, but waiting all the same, faces bright with anticipation.
Uttering a small laugh, you pushed off the shelving behind you.
"Let's get to work then?"
"Oh yay! Gin, you hear that? Nobody's ever made seaweed cupcakes for me before!"
"She's making my chocolate log first! Hey, look, there's still some melted butter on my chest. Wouldn't wanna waste that - "
CW: mature themes, smut, MDNI.
Title: Unfiltered
Pairing: Hijikata Toshiro x f!reader
Summary: An interminable meeting finds Hijikata in rare form, after which he initiates an impromptu follow-up meeting with you, seeking to have you unwind together in the best way you know.
Word count: 6.4k
A/N: This is a two-fic collab born from a conversation with @rahuratna about how each of our Gintama faves would be rendered irresistibly unfiltered when the person they desire unravels them lol. Don't miss her scrumptious take on Gintoki here!
dividers credit: @/starrliqhtt on Tumblr
The seeds of your encounters with Hijikata are often sown long before you find yourselves immersed in them.
Todayâs instance is no exception, finding its inception sometime in the middle of a meeting that carries all the hallmarks of being uniquely boring, if only judging by the few scattered words that do manage to permeate your drifting thoughtsâterms like âopticsâ, âpublic relationsâ and âdamage controlâ, the kind that allude to an assignment that is less concerned with public interest, more interested in preserving the publicâs perception of order onto which the top brass of the shogunate still clutches to save face.
Itâs hardly the kind of work worthy of summoning all the top-ranking Shinsengumi officials here on palace grounds.
And yet, here they all are.
This meeting room is one of the more modest among those nestled on this end of the administrative wing. Todayâs attendees consist of two dozen people, split evenly between city administrators such as yourself sitting across from Shinsengumi officials, all of whom are kneeling in seiza on the tatami mats and arranged around a U-shaped set of low, lacquered tables, with the leaders from each group seated at the head.
Your eyes mindlessly drift, taking a well-worn path that betrays a frequent habit of yours whenever youâre stuck in interminable meetings like this, finding the second seat on the opposite side, predictably occupied by Vice-Commander Hijikata Toshiro.
Your attention is first drawn to the recurring motion of his hand near his lap, as he restlessly fidgets with his signature lighter in a way you now recognize to telegraph a most dire craving for a hit of his tobacco.
After a moment, your gaze slowly ascends, and your eyes meet.
And this is where it starts in earnest, with this flicker you perceive in his eyes even from across the room, igniting the wordless interaction that follows.
Subtle is the spark that passes between you two, the kind that transfigures Hijikataâs steely eyes into something more vibrant as they briefly widen before narrowing in curiosity, capturing your gaze, holding it there.
A warming sensation prickles your cheeks as you realize youâve definitely caught him staring.
As if to confirm your contemplation, Hijikata leans back ever so slightly, reclining just far enough into a posture that speaks more of unfettered amusement than strained formality, and you catch it now, the sly twist of the corners of his mouth upwards, the crinkle at the corner of his eyes, the hallmarks of an unscrupulous smirk.
You tear your gaze away for the time it takes to throw a cursory glance around the room, ensuring that no one is privy to this silent yet charged exchange.
Fickle things, your eyes are, betraying you with another uncontrolled glance back towards him.
You canât decide whether to be more timid or indignant at the fact that the Vice-Commander has yet to turn away, something unwavering in his gaze cutting through the haze of utter boredom. He overtly surveys you now, gliding over your face and the bare skin of your neck, charting a course that is as unmistakable as it is familiar to you, as if to map where he envisions his touch to land.
The echoing crack of your wooden table under your tightening grip jolts you back to the present, a sound so noticeably sudden that it causes your colleague, who is seated beside you, to turn to you with his eyebrows furrowed in concerned curiosity.
You meet his glance with a showy fanning motion of your hands, after which you carefully bring your water cup to your lips to take measured sips. You hope that your act, punctuated by a reassuring smile and a dismissive wave, will be enough to assuage him.
You have the presence of mind to wait until your colleague has returned his attention to the speaker at the front, the wisdom to hold off until long after youâve swallowed your sip of water before yielding to the inevitable urge of allowing your gaze to wander over to Hijikata once more.
Sure enough, there he is, still fixing you.
A tremor of restless energy compels you to pull your shoulders back and lengthen your spine.
Reflexively, you reach for yet another sip of water and itâs no longer than the time it takes for you find the bottom of your cup that you recognize that there is no distraction in this room suitable enough to ward off the images being conjured by your treacherous mind, of the vivid imagery of Toshiro in various states of undress, of his hands sliding down from your waist to your thighs, of his lips drawing constellations over your neck.
A droplet of water escapes from your lips in your inattentionâyour tongue instinctively flicks out, licking it before it drips down to your chin.
An abrupt clattering noise reverberates from across the room. Your eyes track upwards, finding Hijikata in the process of retrieving a lighter heâs apparently just dropped beside him. It doesnât take long for his eyes to flick back to yours, and when he does, you find his features to be slightly more diffident, ears reddening despite his marked efforts to remain unreadable.
It doesnât help your cause to see him affected like this; it surely doesnât temper the sensations you associate with the way his eyelids lower over the distinctive glint in his eyes, the one you find whenever heâs determined to read your every micro-expression as he seeks to unlock you at the deepest levels.
You set your cup down abruptly, the motion sorely lacking the grace you had in mind. Ultimately, itâs what little remains of your self-preservation that urges you to return your attention, such as it is, towards the speaker. You try to lose yourself in her voice, to feign understanding of details that have long since evaded you, latching onto any words that can cut through the thick cloud of distraction.
The meeting drags on, dull and droning on the surface, with a thick tension brewing underneath its current and between you and the man sitting just a few feet away. The room and its context quickly fade, taking a backseat to the vivid visuals that surface at the top of your mind, spreading like wildfire in a drought.
Just as you find the air to hit its precarious peaks, a sudden smattering of ragged applause, followed by a shuffling of people around you, serves as your first signal of the adjournment of the meeting, and by extension, your cue to get the hell out of here.
You distantly gather vague context by picking up on the surrounding chatterâsomething about specifics to be finalized later, about some of the Shinsengumi leads to follow up with members of the administrative team with some specifics of some kind. You make a mental note to get the lowdown later this evening once youâre of a sounder mind.
A sounder mind would not peer up towards Hijikataâs seat with the intent of granting him one final glance, but you do, only to find it empty. A good thing, you think, realizing that heâs likely zipped off somewhere to burn through a pack of Mayoboro smokes.
As for you, you find yourself briefly squeezing your eyes shut, allowing the pressure to paint glittering embers on your eyelids as you shake your head and step out into the hall, intent on disappearing into your office and figuring out how you were going to get this newfound pent-up energy out of your system.
âSomeoneâs in a hurryâŠâ
Itâs just as you turn the next corner that the familiar, deep, gravelly voice erupts from behind you, causing you to stop in your tracks.
You turn around to find Toshiro leaning with his back against the wall, exhaling a plume of smoke from a freshly lit cigarette.
With his jacket long discarded and his sleeves rolled up, he casually runs a hand through his hair to push it back above his brow, leaving it disheveled in a way that softens his otherwise stern features.
âYouâre not supposed to smoke in here, you know,â you say, your intended defiance not quite holding your tone.
A tilt of his head reveals his hooded eyes, along with the corner of his mouth just as it lifts into a smirk as he peers your way and draws in a slow, measured drag. He holds the smoke for a beat before exhaling it in a thin stream, allowing it to curl upwards, as if to make a salient point before responding:
âAnd if I put it out, what will you offer me in return?â
Itâs a familiarly playful arrogance that laces him, carrying a nonchalance that perfectly complements his current appearance, lending him the roguish charm youâve come to cherish as the most authentic version of him. This is familiar territory to you; this you can deal with head-on.
âYou break a rule, and yet Iâm somehow supposed to reward you for it?â you ask, crossing your arms across your chest.
At this, Hijikata scoffs, slowly closing the distance to your side of the hallway with purposeful, long strides.
âIt certainly wouldnât be the first time.â
âIf I didnât know better, Iâd think that Iâm being propositioned by the Shinsengumiâs second-in-command, on shogunate grounds, no less.â
âThatâs your interpretation,â he rebuts, still showing no signs of halting his approach.
It's your turn to scoff.
âThat would sound much more credible if you hadnât spent the entirety of that meeting staring at me like youâre starving.â
He finally stops just before you, close enough that you slightly tilt your chin up to make up for your height difference, leaving only inches between you as he peers down at you with an unreadable gaze.
Your breath wavers as you await words of denial that never come, and your newfound proximity grants you a view into Toshiroâs details. Itâs your turn to examine him now, not unlike he did earlierâyou take in the way his veins ripple to the surface of his exposed forearms, to the line that draws from his Adamâs apple to his chiseled jaw, to his gunmetal blue eyes, shadowed by weariness, yet holding a fiery intensity within their depths.
You lock eyes for a beat, and you notice him draw a sharp breath before a self-satisfied smile forms and stretches under your scrutiny.
Youâre interrupted by the sudden sonorous noise of other attendees spilling out of the meeting room, along with sounds of approaching chatter and footsteps down the hall.
Hijikataâs eyes narrow as he breaks your gaze to turn to the side, and it all but rips you from the moment, as your mind is flooded back with the reality of your roles, of the countless unfinished tasks you have yet to tend to, of every mundane obligation waiting for you that youâd just really rather disregard right now in favor ofâ
The incomplete thought dissolves as he turns back slowly, his eyes finding yours once moreâwhat passes between you is all that is required.
Mere seconds later, you find yourself with your back firmly meeting a hard, wooden surface with a muted thump that makes you realize how little space there now remains between yourself and Hijikata.
He cages you with his arm extended above your head, crowding you now, enough that the broad expanse of his chest fills the entirety of your view so you don't see but do hear the distinct click of a closing door just as the boisterous, unsuspecting voices approach before receding into the distance.
Only now do you situate yourself, realizing that Toshiro has quickly guided you both into what you recognize to be a storage closet.
Itâs cool and mostly dark here, with the roomâs sole source of light emanating from a dim light bulb in the top corner, casting long, wavering shadows. But itâs not so cold that you canât feel the quiet warmth radiating from Toshiro, a silent invitation for you to inch closer. And itâs not so dark that you canât perceive the wild state of his eyes, steely blue pushed out by his expanded dark pupils.
It occurs to you, as he tilts your chin ever so slightly with his free hand, that his cigarette is now long gone, discarded goodness knows where, his mouth now freed.
You canât tell who moves firstâyou feel Toshiroâs lips slant yours before you can truly wonder.
Your hands reflexively find his hair, fingers carding through his soft locks as you lightly tug him down towards you. He yields to your guidance, to pressing himself further into you as his tongue slips unchallenged past your lips, gliding over yours, and goddamn if this isnât an inhibited craving finally fulfilled, this distinct taste of tobacco and something minty that briskly laps at you, electrifying you.
Itâs a satisfaction that finds form in a moan, one which Hijikata swallows effortlessly, and follows with a groan of his own that extends into a rapacious growl.
One hand finds the small of your back, further pushing you into him; the other moves to your front, fingers quickly finding the ties at your waist. When he makes even quicker work of unfastening them before guiding the sleeves of your kosode down your arms until they pool at your elbows, he does it without breaking contact.
You distantly sense your layers as they loosen and slip away from you one by one, until you finally feel Toshiroâs cool, sword-calloused fingers dragging over your warm skin. By the time his hand reaches underneath your camisole, trailing from your waistband, over your stomach, all the way up to your breasts, where he kneads them through your brassiere, heâs humming into you, the vibration rippling and burning pleasure paths down through your limbs.
âToshiâŠâ
His name melts into a gasping whimper on your lips as his slip off to the side, greedily forming bruising, saliva-slick marks over the expanse of your neck. Your hips tilt forward, and your head falls back, lightly hitting the crate behind you, granting him better access to your sensitive spots, which he wastes no time to exploit by hoisting you further up into a half-seated position that leaves you a gasping mess as you attempt to catch your breath.
Hijikata reaches behind you, unhooking your bra in a single, swift gesture, and he emits a low groan when your breasts spill out. Your nipples harden into points in their newfound exposure to the cool air, immediately luring him. Your eyes meet as his fingertips brush over one of your breasts before he cups its entire fullness in his hands before giving it a gentle but firm squeeze. His gaze remains on yours, even as he leans down and closes his mouth over your nipple.
Here is Toshiro as you know him best; passionately pent-up, charmingly impatient, nearly to the point of being carelessly cavalier but not quiteâwhen his teeth inadvertently scrape your delicate flesh, causing you to hiss and yank onto his hair hard enough to pull him off, you immediately perceive the concern in his apologetic eyes as he seeks to read you. His mouth opens, but you pull him back down before he can verbalize anything, wordlessly appeasing his concern by granting him the chance to make amends. He takes you between his lips once more, quickly finding the affected area and soothing it with slower flicks of his velvety tongue.
He groans when he switches to your other breast, finding a careful but no less ardent rhythm, his hands roaming, exploring you as if to memorize your curves. His mouth soon follows where his fingers trace between the valley of your breasts, down to your abdomen, then lower to your navel.
In this new configuration, your hands finally find enough room to slide from where theyâve barely left his hair, down to his shoulders and up to his collar, undoing the loosened knot of his neckband.
The air in what was once a cold, dark cupboard now buzzes with a lively energy, intertwined with the thick tension that has coiled between you all afternoon.
A small group seems to have halted somewhere in the hall, their comfortable chatter announcing them, emanating from not too far beyond the door, words reduced to an indecipherable murmur.
âToshi!â you gasp, unsure what it is exactly youâre trying to curtail until you realize whatâs happeningâthat his hands have now slid far enough down your bare thighs and are now prying them apart.
And that heâs now on his knees.
You recognize what this is as soon as you look down to find Hijikataâs pupils, wide and delirious as he peers up at you from under the cover of the dark, midnight strands that now fall over his brow.
âToshiro!â you squeak out in a half-whisper, with more insistence this time.
âHmm?â
âThere are people right outsideâŠâ you murmur.
âThen youâd better keep it quiet,â he mutters, even as he gives what is undoubtedly, this time, a deliberate scrape of his teeth over your inner thigh, ripping a hard gasp from you, your stomach clenching at the ardor of his movements matching your tone.
Itâs clear to you now that he visibly has no intention of stopping here.
You feel the friction before it registers, the sensation of his flattened tongue languidly dragging over and across the thin, soaked fabric of your underwear.
A whimper spills from your lips in a staccato, filtered through your shaky exhale as the entirety of your being trembles through the fiery flash of pleasure that traverses your spine. One of your hands finds his hair, feeling the heat behind his ears once more, as the other grips the side of the crate onto which youâre leaning, and for the second time today, you hear the sound of wood creaking under the pressure of your fingertips.
âYou were right,â you hear him murmur suddenly under his own bated breath, âI am starving.â
Toshiro's fingers hook into the band of your underwear and slowly pull it off your slick skin with a faintly audible rasp.
âAnd itâs obvious you are tooâŠâ he adds, his voice a soft rumble, a flicker of mirth playing in his shadowed gaze.
You take in the gravity of his words over your sensitive skin. The coolness of the air tingles you, quickly chased by the ghosting warmth of Hijikata's breath as he approaches you.
Someone laughs loudly on the other side of the door, clearly oblivious to the wild events unfolding over here on this side. The prospect of the risk carried by this alone makes your heart race, sets your cheeks aflame.
âIâve been thinking about doing this during that useless meeting." You feel Toshiro's words more than anything.âEven before then,â he adds.
âSo show meâŠâ the words escape you as you feel yourself surrender to the incandescent moment.
âHmm?â
With your palm pressed flat against the crate, you steady yourself and lean forward to get a better look at him.
âStop telling me, and show me, Hijikata-san,â you murmur playfully.
He lets out a scoff, but you both know itâs all the encouragement he needs.
Toshiroâs hands slide under your legs and grip up your thighs. His warm breath is followed by the softest, sweetest touch of his hot tongue, reaching exactly where you desire him the most, with a few slow licks, followed by a deliberate suck, with light nibbling in between.
Your core jolts in a delicious throb, the wood creaks again, and your grip tightens over his hair, pulling him closer, aided by your legs as they drape over either one of his shoulders, pressing him in.
The world as you know itâfrom the pile of paperwork waiting in your office, to the fading chatter outside, to the potential consequences of being caught in such a precarious predicamentâall of it fades down to the dexterous flicker of Hijikata Toshiroâs tongue between your folds.
The small space gradually fills with the sounds of your panting, of his mouth working over your slick, of the occasional thrumming tones of his approval that come vibrating where his tongue seeks to undo you.
A coil of pleasure tightens within your belly, whipping up to an almost violent desire. Toshiro seems to detect this, responding in kind, doubling down his focus on the small bundle of nerves, his breath ragged as he echoes each of your sounds by emitting his own that reverberate through your core, as if to respond to you.
You launch into a slight sway, gently rocking into his face he eats you out properly, devouring you, spreading you all over, leaving no daylight between his hunger for you and his hunger to please you.
âToshiâŠâ Your mouth falls open in a ragged whimper as you arch into him.
He pulls away from you and lets out a rich and smooth chuckle, his breath ghosting your skin. He holds there long enough to pique your curiosity, despite your best attempts not to peer at him, not now. Your vision is blurred at the edges, but the subject of your focal point could not appear any clearerâwith his lean yet muscular shoulders and his hair caught between your fingers and his strained, handsome face buried between your thighs.
He holds your gaze for a moment, his chest rising and falling in a shuddering breath.
âShow me,â he murmurs darkly, echoing your own words from moments prior, before pulling you forward, pressing you with renewed vigor against his tormenting tongue.
Your entire body tingles at the resumed contact, at his words, at the impropriety of all of this. You involuntarily move on his tongue, chasing the friction that is sure to have you come undone messily.
And you do feel it building, the sweet salvation of impending release, but only for the brief moment it takes you to gasp out, your hips jerking forward as you tighten like a vise around his dexterous tongue, spilling all over him with a quiver.
A deep vibration travels from Hijikata's chest, escaping through his lips, causing your gut to tauten. If you try to muffle the sounds that threaten to escape your own lips, Toshiroâs control over his volume appears to be slipping, successive husky hums leave him and go straight to your core as he keeps his mouth on you, unrelenting in the slick strokes of his tongue as you ride out your climax, leaving you limp and shaking.
An extended, radiant moment passes before he finally detaches from you, and you watch him watch you as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, with discernible relish and contentment. The visual of his saliva mixing with your arousal sends tingles along the length of your spine all the way down to where you can still feel the phantom touch of his lips.
He rises and crowds you once more, hands skimming up to your hips, fingers squeezing there.
âHowâs that?â he asks, something ardent, more affected, having replaced the audacity that has carried him this far.
Impatiently insatiable, Toshiroâs lips find yours before you can formulate a response, your taste still on his as his hands cradle your face gently, with a softness that contrasts the rock hardness of him that now presses against your core. The sensation makes you pull back just enough to get your words out.
âAsk me again once Iâve had my fill.â
You feel the palpable shift in energy, several daysâ worth of pent-up tension having now loosened within you. Thereâs something about perceiving this subtle vulnerability in Toshiroâs demeanor, of having him anything less than his usual guarded self, that blooms within you, seeking to transform into a spirit of instigation.
Youâre all warmed up nowâyour body hums with readiness as you feel yourself fully charged, grateful for what has been but ready for what this needs to be: a quick, proper fuck in a closet.
You slide your hands over Toshiro, clammy fingertips gliding over the furnace-hot surface of the planes of his chest as you undo his vest and unbutton his shirt. Your own impatience bleeds through the rush of your movementsâas you unfasten his belt, it audibly rattles, nearly breaking the button of his trousers as you undo them with eagerness.
Toshiro helps you by lowering his pants and underpants from which the hardened length of him bobs out, long and thick and the bead at the tip glistening in the low light.
Your toes curl and your mouth waters at the sight.
Your hands move before you can command them, grasping him roughly, only to then move languidly over the expanse of his length, stroking him as if you have all the time in the world. It elicits a strangled groan that he tries but fails to bury into the side of your neck, his hands sliding down to your thighs and pressing hard into your skin.
âNot today,â you feel the rasp of his throat against where your pulse flutters as he speaks, âI wonât deal with your teasing.â
Turns out it's his impatience that currently trumps yours.
A breathless laugh escapes you as he flips you over in one swift and sudden motion, and itâs now his back hitting the crates, with you half-seated across his lap. You yelp at the sudden sensation, at the weight of his erection leaning heavy against your inner thigh.
Effortlessly, he lifts you by your hips, inching you closer above him, lining you up to him. His head slides and presses into you, catching in your folds. You whimper at the friction, he shudders and slips a contemplative whisper.
âSo wetâŠâ
Someone drops something outsideâit lands with a clattering noise on the floor before rolling what sounds to be close enough to the door.
Hijikata lets out a guttural grunt and slowly releases your hips, allowing gravity to pull you down towards him, pushing you further onto him.
With two palms pressed onto his chest, you brace yourself as your muscles part and clench over his length, brushing against the ripples of its thick veins with every inch.
This newfound angle grants you such a better view of him, of how Toshiro strains to keep you both balanced while guiding you to join together, of the way the muscles of his abdomen ripple as he exhales heavily, holding your gaze.
âYouâre so tight, damn it,â he grits out, a prominent tension driving the cords of his neck to stand out.
Part of you is thankful that youâre close enough, by the time he bottoms out into you, to swallow each otherâs soundsâthe harsh moan that grates the back of his throat melding into yours in the same way your tongues join together, keeping your sounds of pleasure somewhat contained.
But another nascent part of you yearns to hear more of Hijikata Toshiro in this wrecked state, to revel in the sounds that slip his usually tightly held control.
So you set a plan in literal motion, moving before he gets a chance to, lifting yourself until he is just barely lodged inside of you, before grinding yourself back onto him.
You let out an involuntary cry at the sudden rush of pleasure blooming from your core, quickly burying your face into Toshiroâs shoulder, muffling your sounds there, catching the end of his drawn-out groan.
Heat creeps behind your ears, along with a pounding pulse of unfettered greed unfurling like molten lava in your veins, drowning out any remnants of reason.
You need more.
When you next clench around him, itâs absolutely deliberate. He knows it by the mischievous look you throw him right before you speak.
âYou like that, Toshi?â
âYouâŠâ he hisses the beginnings of a warning, or a threat, or a promise as his hands hold and squeeze you at your hips with the kind of pressure that is sure to leave a mark.
You know Hijikata all too well by now, decoding him throughout countless encountersâthat he craves control only as much as he does the chase to make you surrender it, and that it is precisely this that holds the key to having him lose it.
âAre you done pretending that it will be any different this time?â he drawls, readjusting himself, pulling him with you, âThat youâll be able to ride me for more than a minâ?â
You move to draw back, seeking to exploit this moment of distraction, but this is not a man who is fooled twiceâhe catches you on your next attempt at setting the pace, holding you up before you can drive yourself forward again, holding himself just at your entrance, rubbing against you without entering.
You writhe at his relentless retaliation, squirm at his teasing, moving to clench around him, pushing him out instead.
His eyes are lidded, pupils dilated in a determination akin to what youâve known him to carry in battle. You feel an ache building at the hollowness you want him to fill, but you hold the line, because to know what Toshiro wants is to know what to withhold.
He teases himself there, long enough to start sweating himself, visibly getting worked up at his own hands. This is where your edge over him shines nowâwhile you do have to combat the sensitiveness induced by your first orgasm, he is far more pent up than you currently are, and you are capable of waiting him out.
The idea that youâre not exactly operating on even ground must be something he quickly realizes because the next time Toshiro inserts his tip into you, he pushes himself all the way in, fully sheathing himself into you in earnest.
Heat erupts within you at the swift, delicious stretch, your hips flush against his, peering down over him as he watches you, labored and visibly aflame. He draws out again before pushing right back in, and his pace settles into a steady, intentional cadence. Pressure builds up again, hot and urgent. Your name spills from his tongue, in a tone that makes it sound like youâve wound him.
âSo tight, so wet,â he says urgently, between hisses and ragged breaths.
Hijikata fucks like he fightsâhis is a practiced dance underpinned by honed intuition. Heâs a lot to take, so much, but never too much, sliding in deeply but hitting all the right places, building up to a pressured stretching without ever bruising you.
You love this. He loves this, and you know that he does, and yet heâs still not loud enough for you.
You lower your face down to his, taking his lower lip between yours before giving it a sharp bite. At this, he hisses.
âOi,â he mutters, his body jolting at his next thrust.
âMhmm, ToshiâŠâ you murmur against his lips as you clench around him with renewed purpose, intent on coaxing him to render him more vocal.
He groans into your lips.
You wrap your arms around his neck, inching your lips right before his ear, nibbling along coils of cartilage and soft skin, lightly tickling it with your breath before you speak.
âShow me, Mr. Vice-Commander,â you say, snagging onto what is now the refrain of your encounter.
Your words are gasoline to his fire, his pace is punishing now, his grip iron solid on you as he drives you over him, impaling you with renewed purpose, his eyes furiously wild.
The crate beneath you both rhythmically squeals in rackety protest. When Toshiro accidentally slips out of you, he peers down, admiring the shiny slickness you leave on him, before aligning himself and sinking back into you.
There's only this, only you, and heâs close now. He's so close, and you can tell by the faltering in his rhythm, by the frantic gasps slipping his lips. Seeing him like this only further precipitates your release.
âIâll show you⊠you minx,â he mumbles between pants.
Something untwists in you as he groans into your ear like this. You feel your body tense around him as you buck your hips in your newfound eagerness to hear more out of him.
âYou take me so well, I want to get lost in you.â
You can feel him hang on by a thread, as his hand travels down to thumb the bundle of nerves where you meet, rubbing at it with resolute intent.
You bring a hand down to cup his cheek, your thumb sliding over the hinge of his jaw, coaxing him.
âUseless fucking meetings,â he whispers, his eyes glassy from lust, his phrases cutting off. "âŠtouch you like this, inside you like thisâŠ.â
âYes, Toshi,â you keen, hot and restless at his candid words, at his frenzied tone, writhing over him as your inner walls tighten precariously.
He reaches up and slips his fingers into your hair, holding your head in place, anchoring himself as he bucks himself up into you. His lips find the side of your ear, his turn to speak into your depths, into which he spills incoherent words, growing more raspy and breathless.
Hijikata grunts into your ear, it trails off into a moan, and the vibration travels down to your core, causing you to arch into him in a way that has him impaling you in the perfect spot, aided by his thumb stroking at you over and over. You squeeze your thighs around his waist, greedy in your pursuit for more friction.
âShow meâŠ" he pleads in a rough whisper that cracks into the sensitive pulse point beneath your ear as he drives into you with more force, "Come for me, show me.â
The desperation in his tone is delectable and sends the final shock to crater your system. You grab onto his shoulders with bruising pressure as the coiling pleasure twists tight at the base of your spine, spreading outwards. Your orgasm finds you quick, you gasping and spasming around him, white-hot pleasure nearly blacking you out.
Toshiro still maintains his pace, and you hear him still, murmuring nonsense into your ear, punctuating every few words with a deep, rough thrust.
âYou come like a fucking dream,â he furiously grits out.
You sense his release chasing yours, feeling him twitch and jump a few times within you before you feel him spurting inside you with a guttural growl.
His fingers now press where they previously rubbed you, and he falls back, panting with ragged breaths as he groans through the twitching aftershocks of his pleasure. Your thighs tremble still as you slump against him in earnest, and he holds you there, all pent-up energy expended, as you both catch your breaths.
The stretching moment of silence in the room is broken by the sound of another faint voice emanating from outside in the hall.
âHave you seen the Vice-Commander?â
Hijikata groans against you, and you snicker.
âDuty calls, Hijikata-san,â you playfully whisper into his ear.
âTch! Duty can wait," he mutters into your nape.
âYou know damn well it canât. Go, before they launch a search party and find more than theyâve bargained for.â
He latches onto you for a few more moments, tracing distracted circles over your spine, anchoring you where he still impales you, desperate to extend the softness of your postcoital bliss.
An extended moment passes before he begrudgingly loosens his grip, allowing you to raise yourself onto your knees, and you both shudder at the friction engendered by the abrupt movement.
Hijikata stands on his feet, lifting you as he flips you back to your original position, gently seating you against the crates. You fondly watch as he fumbles to tuck himself back into his boxers, visibly seeking to regain a semblance of his composure.
You think he must catch on to your amusement because when Hijikata looks up, his dazed expression gives way to a subtle air of bashfulness lingering in his eyes where his usual sternness falters.
Here goes another wordless conversation, not unlike the one in that meeting that ignited this little situation you find yourselves in.
His head tips from side to side in quiet resignation, and he huffs out a quiet laugh as he fishes a handkerchief from his vest pocket and helps you clean your combined spend from between your legs. You help him back into his uniform, smoothing the rumpled fabric and combing his hair back in place with your fingers as he helps you back into your clothes, each of your lingering movements seeking to stall just enough to extend the moment.
âKeep the neckband on today, sir,â you say as you tighten it back into place. âI might have left some marks...â
At this, Hijikata grunts, opening his mouth to retort, but you run a deliberate finger over your own neck where you suspect him to have left some marks of his own, just like he often does. You know your assumption to be correct when you witness whatever protest he was intending to make die on his tongue, as he opts to fish a Mayoboro cigarette from his vest pocket instead.
You tug at said pocket, drawing him closer to where youâre still propped up against the crates, and you reach for where you know him to keep his lighter. Hijikata fixes you intently as he lets you light the cigarette he's slotted between his reddened lips before you return the lighter to his vest pocket, patting him once on the chest before kissing him on the cheek.
The ember at the tip of his cigarette flickers over the hitch of his breath as a flush spreads across his face. His gaze darts away for a moment, and it's not lost on youâhis attempt at hiding behind the pretense of blowing wisps of smoke off to the side.
âIâll clear the hall,â he says, his tone striving for a touch of formality. âI'll text you when the coast is clear for you to leave.â
You acknowledge with a nod, but Toshiro remains here, a deep line etched between his brows, as he appears to hesitate.
âWe have some perimeters to secure for that damn Shogun parade. I need to coordinate with someone from your office.â
âOf courseâŠâ
âI'll have some plans drawn out. Theyâre a bit intricate.â
âAlright.â
âI was thinking of coming by myself,â his tone dropping as he angles himself closer, âTo show you.â
âMy, my, Hijikata-san,â you murmur, matching his tenor. âTwo follow-up meetings in one day?â
âI didnât specify today, but if thatâs what youâre cravingâŠâ
His words spark a pleasant warmth within your chest, amplifying the vestiges of desire that still hang heavy in the space between you. âIâll see if I can fit you in.â
He scoffs, giving you a once-over before turning towards the door. âI think we've both established that you can.â
Summary: On a rainy day, Gintoki seeks comfort in the familiarity of your home, and you. If he gives over control, then that's only part of the pleasure ...
Contents: Romance, smut, role reversal, explicit sexual content.
WC: 3516
Dividers by: @starrliqhtt
A/N: A two fic collab, courtesy of my many conversations with @pmpmyread , about how our Gintama faves would respond to having their lovers take control and unravel them in the bedroom. Find her delicious Hijikata fic here!
You're not sure what compels him to keep arriving like this at your door, no explanation given, one hand grasping the frame above your head as he toes off his boots.
A stray seeking shelter from the rain, is what you teasingly wish to call him, but you watch the slow raise of his eyes to yours, and you know that no charity will fall from your lips tonight.
He takes his time, moving close enough for you to register the vital heat of his body, the warm, sweet wash of his breath over the side of your neck, the way his yukata brushes the front of your own robe.
Then he is moving past you, drawled greeting snaking over your ears as he invites himself in.
Well, not quite.
You've allowed him in enough times that it now goes unspoken.
Your home is his domain too, and he leaves his mark on it, because his marks lie on you, from lips, to hair, to throat, to the softness of your thighs, and the flesh of your hips.
It's a landscape he's traversed with familiarity, but you try to keep your thoughts away from that for now, because he really has come in from the rain, and even though he's making his way dutifully for the towels, he's left traces of damp on the floorboards.
You manage to reach the towels before he does, snatching one from the pile. Before he can protest, you've started to dry off his hair a little more vigorously than you should.
"Ow."
"Stop dripping water on my floors."
"Come on. It's not that - "
"I could go fishing in the lakes you've created."
"But you like me wet."
You snap the towel down and away from him, raising an eyebrow.
Oh, there he is, your first clear glimpse of the evening.
Beneath the thoroughly disshevelled peaks of silver hair, eyes that you know turn amber in the sun, now darkened beneath lowered lids, the slow curve of his lop-sided smile, the harder angles of cheek and jaw that could turn him from nonchalant wanderer to warrior in an instant.
With Gintoki, it's all about choice, and your freedom to make such choices.
You're the one who let him in, and here he's lodged himself, a stubborn stone in the seams of your life.
He'd never stay if you didn't want him to.
He does know that you want him, though.
It's in the way you touch him, lingering on the solid lines of chest, arm and abdomen. It sighs across the breadth of him, in the passage of the towel. It rests briefly on his cheek and lips, as you dab moisture off those areas too, rather unnecessarily, in feigned innocence that fools nobody.
He allows you, indulges you as you play your role on a makeshift stage of your own making. He'll hand you this luxury, and other better luxuries, as a reward after all.
"I'm still kinda clammy."
"You know where the bathroom - "
The sentence isn't given a chance for completion as he begins to strip right there in the hallway.
The sodden yukata is off the fastest, shrugged away, tossed towards the back of a nearby chair.
It misses, lands in a heap on the floor.
Your eyes are far too occupied with what comes next to lend much attention to its plight.
He unbuttons his shirt, fingers flicking aside hidden hooks with long practice. The length of his throat, the slight sheen of water dampening his clavicle, the shift and slide of muscle beneath fabric, all visible, and with a rustle, a quick tug sideways on either end, the shirt has been shrugged off.
You take a step back, and he takes one forward.
"Gintoki - "
"I'm cold."
"I can run a bath for you."
He pauses, a moment of supreme attention, his eyes traveling from the way your hair curls around your ear to the silky folds of your own nightrobe, held fast with a clasp between your breasts.
His glance is always frank in its assessment, in its desire. There is nothing he needs to hide from you.
Gintoki wants you too, something else he is fully aware of. There are no nuances here, just your need and his.
"A bath? Sounds good. Don't worry, I do know where the bathroom is."
He tilts his head, taps you lightly under the chin, turns away, and you can't help but watch the bulge and shift of his shoulders as he stretches his arms leisurely over his head.
When he reaches the end of the corridor, right before the bathroom door, he reaches down, casually unbuckles his belt, unzips his trousers.
The dark edges hang free on either side of his exposed pelvis, and even though you can't quite make it out in the dim light, you're well aware of the slightly coarse trail of pale hair that roots down, towards other places you have seen.
"I'll have the water run in ten minutes. You joining me?"
He doesn't wait for an answer, and disappears within.
The sound of water running echoes down towards you, and though you busy yourself briefly in the kitchen, you know exactly what is about to occur within, through that entry rimmed with gold from muted lamplight.
He's going to sit on the edge of the tub, slumped slightly, watching the doorway. The tub will fill slowly behind him as he yawns, stretches again, runs his tongue along his teeth, reaches up to scrub fingers through his hair.
Then he'll pout slightly, stand, swaying, dropping his trousers in one swift push. He'll drag one ankle through, fighting with the clinging material as if it's a piece of sticky tape, before successfully kicking it in the general direction of the laundry basket.
His boxers will follow, peeled away nonchalantly from the curve of his buttocks, sliding down the powerful heft of his thighs ...
This is the point at which your desire gets the better of you.Â
You turn your back to the kitchen counter, palms resting briefly against the cool surface before pushing off it.
The bathroom door still beckons, a light waft of steam revealed.
He is exactly as you pictured, wholly comfortable in his nudity, rubbing traces of soap off his chin as he readies the scrubbing cloth.
"Hey. Want me to wash your back? I'll wash yours if you wash mine."
It's the same dry joke he always makes, but you know he's not trying to amuse you.
Gintoki likes the routine you have together, even if he doesn't put a name to it.
You shrug and slip into the room.
"Don't forget my - "
"Ticklish spot. I know."
He grins, and you laugh, allowing the robe to fall away from your form.
Gintoki doesn't look away, lingering on your shoulders, elbows, the dip of your waist, your thighs, the way you reach up to bind and cover your hair. He beckons you over.
"Don't take all day. My back hurts."
"Age catching up to you?"
"Okay, you try carrying Sadaharu around all day, on your shoulders."
"Why on earth - "
"He had a thorn in his paw."
"Aren't you the sweetest."
He grunts in indignation, obviously having had enough of your teasing, because those large, warm hands are on your shoulders, and he tugs you closer, until he's situated right behind you.
"Lemme show you how sweet I can get."
"As a strawberry parfait?"
Warm breath traces the side of your neck, and then, the slow, full press of his body against the length of yours.
When he speaks, his voice drops to a lower baritone, the rumble of it a secret known only to you.
"I'm sweeter than that."
Inhaling sharply, you take your lower lip between your teeth as he works up a lather on the washcloth.
"Gintoki, stop."
"Huh?"
"Bedroom."
"Damn, you're bossy toni - "
You cut him off, lips sliding firmly into place over his. He utters a small sound of surprise, immediately responsive, leaning into you with a need that is always intoxicating.
Your hands move up, up, across the swell of his arms, along his shoulders, tracing the broad width of his neck and into his hair.
He breaks for breath, panting, pressing further forward so that you can feel the hardness of him against your thigh.
"Gintoki - "
"Yeah, yeah, bedroom. On it."
Your laughter trails you into the room in question, his arms lifting and bracing you from beneath the thighs.
"Hey, you're lighter than Sadaharu."
"And I know what you have in common with him."
He deposits you flat on your back across the bed, rather unceremoniously.
"In common?"
"You both like to be scratched behind the ear."
He stops dead, eyeing you in the way he did when you were acting, as he calls it, 'dangerous'.
You smile coyly, leaning back on your elbows, crooking a finger.
"What, you're scared now?"
"Frankly, yes."
In lieu of reply, you reach up, fingers trailing over the outer edge of his ear, an echo of his own temptation in the bathroom earlier.
He remains very still, muscles coiling on the verge of action.
Ears, the bridge of his nose, the length of his forehead, you traverse them all, ending your exploration with a light, but firm grip within the soft, messy tangle of his hair.
"Oi, you - "
You didn't give him a chance to go further, grip tightening, tugging him down to you once again.
This time, his lips met yours with a soft groan, tongue prising your mouth open, tasting you with relish, being tasted in turn.
You hold him there, back rising off the bed to press into him, thighs falling open beneath the downward shift of his body.
Tongues swirl and dip into each other, warmth smeared over your lips, across the sides of them as the kiss grows messier, more desperate.
Gintoki bucks against you, harder than he was before, drawing a small gasp from you.
He seems to like that, because he does it again, and again, his slick length finding its unerring path across your abdomen.
His height has rendered him a little further above where he needs to be, and so, grasp still firm in his hair, you guide him, pushing him further down.
Tugged lower, he lets out a sound that has you pause, a soft, half-groan, on the edge of pleading.
Oh, he likes this.
So did you, come to think of it.
You like every new facet of him that you learn of, every scuffed page in the well-thumbed book of his life that he'd invited you to be part of.
It was a privilege, that you got to see him like this, unwound until he didn't have any defences left.
Before you had a chance to turn the tables, Gintoki took initiative himself. Hands curling around your waist, so big, so warm, he swaps places dizzyingly fast, lifting until he is lying prone, and you are hauled upright to straddle him.
His eyes gleam up at you, and in the light from the bedside lamp, he looks like some kind of spirit of the night that had wandered into your bed, wild, playful, the ripple of unyielding strength beneath supple skin, marked with old scars.
"Come on, ride me."
"Thought your back was hurting."
"Well, if I could lug Sadaharu around all day, my back could probably hold out. Bounce on it all ya want, not gonna do me any damage."
"Is that so?"
Taking him up on his challenge, you pass a hand between your bodies, grasping his firm, heated erection. He jerks forward in your grasp, but you have other plans for him.
Gintoki is heavy in your palm, a slight lean to him, not overly long, but thick in a way that made every entry feel like you were being stretched anew.
It seemed that you needed to re-acquaint yourself with every vein and ridge on him, and as far as you were concerned, there was only one way to accomplish this.
Settling over him, now that both of you are aligned correctly, you begin to rock against him, sliding along his length until the tip is just about to breach you, before falling back and repeating the motion.
His eyes are fixed on where your folds part, embracing him on either side, the sheen on your inner thighs that has been slowly building since before you'd taken your clothes off, serving to make your movements easier.
"Hmm ... so worried about puddles on your floor, and look how wet you are."
If he wants to be mouthy, you have no choice but to respond.
You slow your pace, pressing harder against him, massaging his flesh with yours, all while still denying him entry. Hips working purposefully over his, you give him a prelude to what you intend for later.
His eyes have glazed over, seemingly mesmerized by the sight of you on him, hands gripping you tighter.
Pleasure was building with every stroke, mounting to a gentle pressure that threatened to spill all over him.
You yelp slightly as a hard smack stings your buttocks.
Gintoki is now red in the face, breathing hard, sweat beginning to bead his brow.
"Oi, don't come without me. So fucking rude."
A breathless laugh escapes you, truncated as he drags you down towards him. Mouth beside your ear, he holds you in place.
"Put me inside you."
Half-complying, you closed your eyes briefly, allowing his tip to penetrate just past your entrance.
God, even with only this much inside, the stretch is so good.
"There, you're inside."
"You wanna play like this?"
You lean down, kiss him lightly, teasingly.
"Say 'please'."
"I'm gonna - goddamn vixen. Please."
A sudden sharp exhale as you take him all at once, a downward plunge of your hips as he slides home, that burning stretch eased by how wet you are for him.
Gintoki's whole body draws taut, mouth falling open, hands now clutching convulsively at your hips.
"Fuck. Fuck."
It was your turn to whisper to him, a promise laced with subtle mischief.
"Is that another command, sir?"
"God, you're so tight, so fucking hot - "
You drag a palm down his chest, reveling in the ripple of his abdomen as he fights to maintain control.
It isn't as if you are entirely unaffected.
Gintoki fits so perfectly inside you, that intoxicating blend of hard with yielding edges, solid enough to pierce and fill you, flexible enough to reach places inside you that send bursts of silver-flamed heat running through your body.
Fingernails sinking slightly into him, you anchor yourself before allowing him to slip further and further out, until just the tip is within once again, then sheathing him fully.
In spite of the heat building between you, your movements are controlled, within the bounds of awareness of how good you can make him feel.
Riding him with intent, just like he wants, rising to an upright position once again, you brace your knees on the bed and do as you please with him.
He is harder than ever inside you, the heat of him threatening to brand you with familiarity, pearly white traces building along his cock from your mingled arousal.
The way he watches you ignites like a forest fire across your skin, drinking in every lift and drop of your hips, the way he sinks so deep inside, the undulating of your body as you work up a rhythm.
Pausing in your movements, you placed a hand right above where you are joined, tilting your head back as you squeeze him inside you, muscles fluttering on the release.
He rises spasmodically beneath you, heels digging into the bed, a sound somewhere between a growl and a sob tumbling out of him, uncontrolled.
Nipples stiff and peaked beneath your wandering fingers, arms and thighs rigid and trembling, you know exactly how much he is holding himself back.
Gintoki can give as well as he takes, and there is beauty in that symmetry.
You start up your motions again, still steady, making an erotic game of it.
He is still transfixed by the sight of you, the way your hair has come undone, the bounce of your breasts, the soft, wet slaps of your skin against his, the way you ride him just the way he likes.
The next clamp of your walls around him catches him unexpectedly, as you intend. He utters a breathy moan, higher than the low, raspy sounds he'd been making before.
"Hnnnn, don't - I'm gonna - "
A finger over his lips, softer than the harsh buck of your hips.
"You won't. I've got you."
Power, ah, that was it.
He'll let you have this battle, laid out for your pleasure, because he knows you'll let him ruin your body as you do his.
You bait him with guerilla tactics, drawing him into your petal-soft heat, lulling him into the known dance of lovemaking, trapping him in your predatory vice, and he responds every time as you desire.
His hands never know where to settle, from grasping like a drowning man at your thighs and waist each time you grip him, to winding his fingers in the bedsheets above his head, grip white-knuckled, biceps and shoulders rolling and tensing.
The sounds he makes, however, are what drives you to distraction.
All pretense of holding back has deserted him.
Each scrape of your nails through the short, coarse hairs of his chest, each slow drop and squeeze around his cock, each playful tug on his hair has him whimpering, crying out, begging in fits and starts, low guttural moans torn from his throat before they're fully formed.
"Aaaah, fuck, I can't - killing me with that - hnnng - pretty, wet pussy, I - if you keep fucking going like that - "
You respond with a circle of your hips, the sheet beneath where he pierces you now thoroughly soaked.
This proves to be your undoing, surrendering to him in the hubris of your own climax, as the curve just below his tip strokes against that place inside you.
Every nerve in your body thrums to a white-hot, lancing stand-still, sweat tracing down the quivering curve of your spine, one last grasp of his flesh within yours.
These final throes prove too much for him too, and his arm comes up, circling your waist hard, trapping you against him as he howls out his own pleasure, broken and rough-edged.
For a few minutes you lay motionless, slumped against him, both of you breathing as if you'd just run a hundred miles.
Turning your nose into the side of his neck, damp from his exertions, scented intoxicatingly with his sweat, you manage to speak.
"Probably ... woke up all the neighbours."
He has one hand cast backwards over his eyes, hair standing in wild tufts from your repeated tugging.
"Your fault."
"Okay, it is my fault."
"Probably ... packin' their stuff. Must think ... world's gonna end."
"Oh, come on."
"Fuckin' me like it's our ... last day on earth. Woke the dead with your ... witch pussy."
You're laughing now, shoulders shaking with breathless mirth, because Gintoki's mindless pillow talk, right before he drifts off, is always priceless.
"Then you've got what? A warlock cock?"
He sniggers as you tug his hand away, revealing his sex-dazed expression.
"Warlock cock. I like that."
"You would. Hey, don't fall asleep. The sheets are in a state."
"Hmm. Nah. Let's sleep here. In our puddle."
"No. Bathroom. Now."
As you drag one of his heavy arms across your shoulders and pull him out of bed, it occurs to you that thios must feel something like carrying Sadaharu's dead weight around all day.
A mess of soft, pale hair pushes against your cheek, a decidedly fake snore reaching your ears as he pretends to fall asleep.
Eyebrow twitching in annoyance, you can't help but feel a simultaneous rush of deep affection.
'Warlock cock' or not, Gintoki has certainly woven some kind of enchantment over you, one that has little to do with each occasion you happen to fall into bed with him.
It's in the tramp of his boots on the cobblestones outside, the way his head falls with perfect timing into your cleavage after a long day, the walled distance in his eye when something jogs darker memories of times long past.
As with most parts of his life, you've been allocated your own precious niche, tucked somewhere between the demarcation of lover and friend. It's a space you have no choice but to occupy, because he chose to have you there.
It means that even if you decide to end this, he'd be at your side the instant you needed help, because the people he chose mattered far more to him than he ever let on.
It was worth it, that burgeoning, unspoken warmth you always felt at the mere sight of him, fluttering in some secret space of your own.
It was well worth it, you tried very hard to remind yourself, as he almost dragged you face first into the toilet on your way to the bathtub.
Synopsis: [Hoshina x Reader] Someone informs Hoshina of your not-so-secret tea stash. It's now only a matter of time before you're in over your head, where the alluring Vice-Captain is concerned.
Part 1, Part 2
Fox Hunt
Synopsis: [Hoshina x Reader] With the emergence of highly intelligent and evolved kaiju, Hoshina has his hands full after being tasked with heading a newly formed investigative unit.
Complex and twisted as these cases turn out to be, your role as the teamâs assigned forensic analyst is a crucial one ⊠along with concealing your growing infatuation with the charming Vice Captain under a polished and professional exterior.
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6 Part 7
8 Days of the Week
Synopsis: [Kafka x F!Platoon Leader Reader] As a platoon leader of the First Division, youâve earned something of a reputation with your strict, harsh nature and hard edges. All of this is threatened, however, when Hibino Kafka is assigned to you for physical training.
How are you supposed to maintain your composure when the most attractive man youâve ever met comes crashing through your atmosphere like an asteroid, leaving a heart-shaped crater in his wake?
Contents: Romance, humour, fluff, crack.
Part 1
Let Loose
Synopsis: A Kn8 series in which you convince your lover that holding their desire for you at bay is entirely unnecessary. You want all they have to give. [Kn8 x Reader]
Contents: Romance, humour, fluff, explicit sexual content, developing relationship, smut with feelings.
Narumi: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3
The Gamer's Guide to Making Friends
Synopsis: After overhearing a charged conversation, Gen takes it upon himself to help Soshiro with his family troubles ... and forges an unlikely bond along the way.
Synopsis: After an operation goes terribly wrong, the Vice-Captain is transformed into a little cat-kaiju hybrid. The 3rd Division, together with Hoshinya, set out to try and regain his human form!
Synopsis: After his recent appointment as Vice Captain of the Third Division, Hoshina lets exhaustion get the better of him after a mission, and falls asleep on your shoulder.
Contents: Fluff, angst, character study
Pie in the Sky
Synopsis: Hoshina suffers a grave betrayal.
Contents: Angst, humour, crack.
The Game
Synopsis: Hoshina lets you sneak up on him.
Contents: Humour, fluff, character study, short drabble. [Slight Hoshina x Reader]
Oh Captain, My Captain
Synopsis: Narumi starts to find mysterious love notes placed around the base that seem to be from a secret admirer.
Contents: Humour, fluff, crack, mystery.
Closer
Synopsis: Since you've embarked on a relationship with him, it's only a matter of time before Soshiro starts ticking up your cuteness aggression meter. [Hoshina x Reader]
Contents: Romance, humour, (extreme) fluff.
He's a 10
Synopsis: When Narumi receives news that Numbers Weapon Ten has abandoned Hoshina, and will only agree to be worn by him, he really should have been more suspicious.
Contents: Humour, crack, crack and more crack.
Spring Comes Softly
Synopsis: Vice-Captain Hoshina isn't one to wear his heart on his sleeve, but you're nothing if not perceptive. [Hoshina x Reader]
Contents: Humour, fluff, romance, angst.
Unravel
Synopsis: When the tentative dance of mutual attraction reaches its natural culmination, you come to understand that knowing Hoshina carnally is to know his truest self. [Hoshina x Fem Reader]
Contents: Romance, sexual content, developing relationship.
Sweet Tooth
Synopsis: You're ready to ring in the New Year with Soshiro, but your curiosity gets the better of you when you spy the package he's been awfully secretive about ...
Contents: Humour, romance, extreme fluff.
Watch Over Me
Synopsis: You're hurt during training, and Hoshina's words soothe more than any balm. [Slight Hoshina x Reader].
Contents: fluff, hurt/comfort, humour.
Dressed To Kill
Featuring: Hibino Kafka's Shirt, Ashiro Mina's Stockings, Hoshina Soshiro's Belt and Narumi Gen's Sweatpants.
Spray Job
Synopsis: Hoshina's car is involved in a mix-up, and ends up with an ... unusual spray job.
Contents: Crack, humour.
Two-Finger Salute
Synopsis: You'd never equated flirting with psychological warfare, at least, not before Soshiro Hoshina. [Hoshina x Reader]
Contents: You'd never equated flirting with psychological warfare, at least, not before Soshiro Hoshina. [Hoshina x Reader]
He's got LEGS!
Synopsis: Hoshina is sighted in a pair of shorts and the internet will never be the same. The brave members of the Third Division save the day!
Contents: Crack, humour, fluff.
Praxic Blades
Synopsis: Multi-character x Reader fic, featuring Hoshina!
A Small Victory for Love
Synopsis: You find Hoshina, working late in his office.
Contents: Romance, fluff.
Heat Sink
Synopsis: Inspired by a highly suggestive art by @radish-breath , involving Narumi gaming while gifting us a 'full frontal' view.
Synopsis: Multi-character fic, featuring Narumi and Hoshina! A series of one-shots, in which your lover finds supreme pleasure under the benediction your erotic praise.
Contents: Explicit sexual content, romance, humour.
Sledgehammer
Synopsis: In which Gen returns exhausted from his day, and grants you the benefit of his ... full body weight on top
Contents: Romance, humour, explicit sexual content.
A Model Officer
Synopsis: Hoshina shows up for a standard photoshoot with some reluctance ... but things don't go quite as he expects.
Synopsis: Even the strongest soldiers can fall prey to hurt feelings and self-doubt. x Reader, featuring Narumi and Hoshina
Contents: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Fluff, Romance.
A Sweet Repast
Synopsis: An evening with Soshiro takes an unexpected turn when he agrees to try something new ... [Hoshina x Reader]
Contents: NSFW! Romance, established relationship, explicit sexual content, oral sex, face-sitting, rimming, anal play (all male receiving).
Fearful Symmetry
Synopsis: In which a field test for speed results in an embarrassing situation, when Numbers Weapon 10 blows your shirt into oblivion while taking off at close range.
Contents: Humour, romance, Hoshina x Reader, suggestive themes.
King of Hearts
Synopsis: Part 1 of a Kn8 super-fluff short. Narumi seeks affirmation as your lover with a small gift he's custom-made for you. [Narumi x Reader]
Contents: Romance, humour, extreme fluff
King of Diamonds
Synopsis: Part 2 of a Kn8 super-fluff short. After the battle with no. 10, Soshiro resolves to open his heart to you with more effort. [Hoshina x Reader]
Contents: Romance, angst, super-fluff.
Enter the Ho-Tang
Synopsis: Based on the Kn8 Relax chapter that gave us Rapper Hoshina. In which Hoshina embraces his career as a rap artist with some ulterior motives ...
Character Headcanons, Analysis and Appreciation
Contents: Extreme crack, humour, my questionable lyrics.
Kn8 Kiss Headcanons
Gen Narumi
Kikoru Shinomiya
Kn8 B-Side manga
Hoshina Angst/Romance
Kn8 Swords and Sorcery Headcanons
What it would be like to wake up to ... Kn8 characters
As they breathe their last, the character's thoughts are of you ...
LOL, guys, I made the mistake of posting Chapter 7 instead of 8 for my Detective Hoshina fic.
I will leave the re-post up, for whoever found it through there (and requested to be tagged, as a reminder to myself), but boy, please bear with me. I am so scatterbrained. Completely forgot I posted that chapter.
