Secretary
Yami Sukehiro x f!reader
Cw: nsfw, oral (reader receiving), orgasm control
The scratching of your quill was the only familiar sound in the cramped alcove of the Black Bulls’ headquarters, yet the familiar rhythm did little to ease the erratic thumping of your heart.
You were drowning in a sea of parchment that included reimbursement forms for pulverized stone, invoices for countless magical repairs, and a particularly scathing letter from the Magic Parliament.
Ugh. These Black Bulls.
The stress had reached a fever pitch minutes ago when, in a fit of shaky-handed abrupt frustration, you’d knocked over the heavy crystal inkwell. The dark fluid had blossomed across the desk like an ebony bloodstain, soaking into the front of your thin white blouse.
Now, the fabric clung to every full, heavy curve of your chest, nipples perked and shamelessly outlined by the indigo-stained silk.
Lovely. What's better than being stressed and damp.
The real joke was you didn't have time to change... pft, you barely had time to breathe.
The air started to feel heavy then, saturated with the smell of old dust and the faint, metallic tang of the squad’s lingering mana.
Your vision was starting to blur at the edges, numbers swimming around the page, when all of a sudden, the floorboards in front of you groaned and sank inwards.
A shadow swallowed your desk completely snuffing out the flickering candlelight and replacing the scent of old paper with the sharp, musk-heavy aroma of cheap tobacco and sun-warmed leather.
You didn't even have to look up to feel the oppressive gravity of Captain Yami.
He didn’t speak right away. Just stood there filling the entryway, cigarette cherry glowing dull orange in the gloom like a tiny ember of hell. Smoke curled lazily upward, almost taunting.
“Yer' still at it,” he finally said, voice rolling out low and thick with sarcasm. “Sunrise to now. You look like someone fucked your entire week and forgot the lube.”
You didn’t look up. Kept scratching.
“Someone did. That someone is currently blocking my light and smelling like an ashtray had sex with a saddle. If I don’t make these numbers behave, Julius is going to hang my head in the royal gallery next to your wanted poster. With a little plaque that says ‘Here lies the woman who tried to teach Yami Sukehiro fiscal responsibility.’”
He snorted; a thick plume of grey smoke drifted over your shoulder and curled around your neck like a languid noose. Then he stepped closer. Close enough that the heat radiating off his frame pressed against you like an open furnace door. His cape was hanging open, rippling pectorals rising slow and steady, the faint metallic clink of his belt buckle brushing the front of your desk like he was daring you to notice. He towered over the desk, placing one calloused palm down onto the wood before leaning in and over you.
“Julius wouldn’t care if you turned the whole kingdom into a gravel pit. He’d probably commission a statue of the crater and call it avant-garde. But you?” Another slow drag, the cherry flared as ash snowed down onto you work. “You’re rattling so hard I can hear your damn heartbeat from the hallway. It’s annoying as fuck. I came in here for a quiet smoke and instead I get a front-row seat to your private meltdown.”
You finally snapped your head up, hair whipping across his scarred arm like a challenge.
“Oh I’m so fucking sorry, Your Majesty of Brooding. Is my very important attempt to keep this squad from financial ruin interrupting your sacred ‘lean against the wall and look mysterious’ routine? Should I pencil my nervous breakdowns in after your third pack of the day, or do you want me to just scream into a pillow so it doesn’t bruise your delicate ears?”
His grin unfurled around the cigarette sharp as hell, all teeth and smoke.
“There she is. Knew that razor mouth was still kicking under all the prim little spreadsheets. Keep talkin' like that and I might actually start enjoying your company, rabbit.”
You shoved the chair back hard—fuck this, fuck him, fuck the whole goddamn national debt—but with one quick sidestep his hand slammed down on the armrest with enough force that the wood let out a sharp, protesting creak.
You were pinned.
Chest heaving against the ink-soaked blouse.
“Sit. Your. Fine. Ass. Down.”
The words landed heavy. You glared up at him with your pulse hammering visibly in your throat, and he just leaned in until his face eclipsed everything else. Dark eyes tracking the frantic flutter at the base of your neck, the slight sheen of sweat forming on your chest, the way your soft lips parted on a half-formed curse.
“You’re wound so tight I’m surprised your ribs haven’t cracked yet,” he murmured as he dropped his voice into that throaty, gravel-deep register that always made your thighs clench. “If I let you keep going you’re gonna pop something important and bleed all over my already disgusting reports, and I’m not in the mood to play coroner today. So we’re handling this my way.”
Before you could spit another barb he grabbed the chair arms and yanked hard, dragging you and the whole chair forward until your knees slammed into his thighs and your ass was almost fully off the chair.
He kicked a low stool over with the toe of his boot, dropped onto it so hard the legs groaned in surrender, then forced your legs apart in one smooth movement with his own massive ones.
Rough trousers scraped the sensitive insides of your thighs as your skirt rode up in slow, inevitable defeat.
“Captain, if you think for one second—”
“Shut that pretty, filthy mouth for once.” One huge hand wrapped around your jaw, tilting your head back until you had no choice but to meet his unblinking eyes.
“You need to surpass your goddamn limits, rabbit. But you fight with ink instead of magic, so we’re burning all that frantic energy out slow... Real slow.”
The way he smiled after that should've been fucking illegal.
He hooked both massive hands under your thighs, letting his fingers sink deep into plush, generous flesh, engulfing you with deliberate care—then hauled you upwards inch by inch until your soaked cunt hovered right at the level of his mouth. The drenched lace of your panties clung transparently to the swollen folds; and no, of course, he didn’t rip them off you.
The brute peeled them off with torturous patience, first pulling them up taut, then sliding them down, but not before letting the soaked fabric drag over your clit in a slow, slick glide that made your hips jerk and a traitorous hiss escape between your teeth.
He paused above you, hot breath ghosting over your exposed sex in rhythmic exhales. He closed his eyes, and savored it for what felt like hours.
In the end, the first real touch wasn’t even his tongue. It was just the barest brush of his stubble against the crease of your inner thigh.
You sucked in a breath and he felt it, felt the way your muscles tensed under his palms.
“Look at you,” he mumbled against your skin, husky voice vibrating through every nerve. “Talkin' all that big shit, n'you’re already tremblin' just from my face being close. Pathetic.”
You laughed low and edged with pure defiance. “Says the man who dropped to his knees faster than a rookie knight at knighthood ceremony. Who’s pathetic now, Cap'n? The guy who gets rock-hard at the smell of stressed-out pussy, or the girl who’s about to make you work for every moan?”
His eyes flashed, pleased this time.
“Keep running that mouth, smartass. I’ve got all night.”
Then he leaned in slow—agonizingly slow, and finally touched down.
At first it was just the flat, scorching width of his tongue pressing against your entrance in one long, unhurried drag upward.
That single, heavy stroke parted your folds and collected every drop of arousal on the way, ending with the most perfect, barely-there pressure against your clit before retreating.
It was perfect. And you had to hold yourself back from moaning out loud.
This big bastard knew exactly what he was doing.
You couldn't stop your hips twitching forward instinctively, but he tightened his grip on your thighs, holding you exactly where he wanted you. He grinned as he exhaled, catching your gaze before he leaned back down and took you in his mouth again. Even slower. The second pass took forever. He flattened his tongue and dragged it up again, letting you feel every budded ridge, every deliberate press. When he reached your clit he stayed there this time, resting the broad heat of the thick muscle against it, this time letting the warmth seep in until the curve of your belly started to quiver and your breath came in quiet pants.
“You’re shakin' already,” he purred, lips brushing and kissing your slick folds as he spoke. “Haven’t even really started and your greedy little cunt’s already clenching like it’s trying to pull me in. Tell me again how I’m the pathetic one?”
You gripped the arms of the chair so hard your knuckles cracked.
“Fuck you,” you breathed, but it came out more moan than curse. “You’re enjoying this too much, you sadistic bastard.”
“Damn right I am, rabbit.” Another long, lackadaisical lick from bottom to top, ending with the faintest swirl around your clit.
“Watchin' you fall apart slow is better than any cigarette.”
The man took his time, like he did with everything else.
His tongue worked in long, swirling laps that covered every inch of your heat kissed skin. Tracing the outer lips first, then dipping just inside your entrance to taste deeper, then retreating to circle your clit with pressure that never quite gave you what you needed.
Every time your hips tried to chase his mouth he pulled back just enough to make you whine, then rewarded the sound with another slow drag of his tongue.
Minutes passed like pure, drawn-out torment. The wet sounds filled the cramped alcove and your mind followed suit. All you could hear was the slick glide of his tongue, and the low rumble in his throat when you cursed him, and now, your own ragged breathing and half-muffled pleas you refused to fully voice joined the fray.
The sensation was endless. His stubble scraped the tender skin of your inner thighs with every pass, leaving faint marks that burned sweetly. His hands never loosened either. His thumbs pressed deep dimples into your flesh, holding you spread and vulnerable.
When he finally focused on your clit, it was merciless in its patience. He sucked the swollen bud between his lips gentle at first, just enough suction to make your toes curl, then released it with a soft, wet pop.
Again.
And again. Each time a little firmer, a little longer, until your knees were trembling uncontrollably and your curses had turned into broken, breathless laughs.
“Still think you can out-talk me?” he murmured against you, voice wrecked and smug. “Or you ready to admit you need this as bad as I want to give it?”
You glared down at him chest heaving, blouse askew.
“Make me cum so hard I forget how to count coins, you overgrown smoke stack. Then we’ll talk about w-who needs who.”
He growled into your folds and the grip on your thighs turned punishing fast as his fingers dug in harder until the ache bloomed into something almost sweet. He quickly anchored you a little higher, hips canted exactly where he wanted while his shoulders rolled forward, spreading you wider against the chair. The weak candlelight caught the sheen already coating his chin and the dark stubble framing his mouth; his pupils were blown so wide the irises had vanished, leaving only hungry black staring up at you.
“Challenge accepted, rabbit.”
And then he shifted tactics entirely.
First came the heat of his open mouth sealing over your entire fucking cunt and enveloping you fully. His lips were pressed firm against your outer folds, the faint suction of his breathing pulled your swollen lips inward in tiny pulses. You felt the soft inner skin flutter towards the roof of his mouth, then the slow drag of his tongue finding its place and resting just beneath your entrance, letting your own arousal drip onto it in slow beads.
He hummed once, deep and satisfied, and the vibration rolled straight through your spine, making your walls clench hard enough to force another trickle down onto his tongue. He swallowed it deliberately, the motion of his throat visible even from your angle, Adam’s apple bobbing as he took you in like fine liquor.
Then he tilted his head—just enough.
The bridge of his nose settled against your clit and pressed while his tongue finally moved, but not in long licks. Instead he curled it upward against your entrance, each curl stretching and pressing you open a fraction more, letting you feel the thick muscle flex and retreat, flex and retreat, never fully withdrawing. The rhythm was hypnotic: press, hold, release, press, hold, release. Paired with the constant grind of his nose against your clit, it built a deep, deep pressure that radiated. Everywhere.
Your breathing fractured. Sweat slid down the valley between your breasts, basically re-soaking the ruined blouse until the fabric turned nearly transparent. The chair groaned beneath you every time your hips rolled; the wood was slick now from where your arousal had dripped past his mouth and pooled beneath you.
He reveled in it.
One scarred hand slid up the outside of your thigh, over the soft swell of your hip, then higher—cupping the heavy underside of one breast through the wet cloth. His thumb brushed once across your nipple, so delicately, then pinched just hard enough to make your back arch and your cunt flutter around the slow curl of his tongue still fucking its way inside you.
“These are fucking obscene,” he growled against you, voice muffled. “Been thinkin' about getting my teeth on 'em since you started snapping at me 'bout budgets.” He rolled the peak between thumb and forefinger, lazy circles that matched the lazy rolls of his tongue, then dragged his palm down again, returning to grip your ass and lift you higher against his face.
The new angle changed everything.
His nose ground even harder against your clit now with constant pressure while his tongue stayed buried, curling against the front wall over and over and over again.
Your thighs started to shake in earnest. The muscles burned from being held so wide, your calves cramped as your heels dug into the flexing muscles of his back. Every inhale dragged your chest against the damp blouse, scraping your nipples raw with friction. The alcove smelled overwhelmingly of your sweet-salty arousal, the faint iron of your own sweat, and the lingering smoke that clung to his hair even now.
With the most devious grin known to man he pulled his tongue out of your drooling cunt, inch by torturous inch, letting you feel every ridge and subtle flex until only the tip remained. Then he replaced it with two thick fingers without any warning.
His knuckles dragged along your walls as he pushed inside, curling upward to hook against that swollen spot while his thumb took over the pressure on your clit. He didn’t pump them yet. He simply held them deep, flexing them in the same rolling rhythm his tongue had used—press, hold, release, repeat—while his thumb circled in slow, firm sweeps that matched the tempo exactly.
Your head fell back against the chair just as a broken moan tore out of you, finally unfiltered.
And he watched your face the entire fucking time, eyes never leaving yours, even as he leaned in and dragged the flat of his tongue once more over your clit in a single, devastatingly slow pass, tasting the fresh gush that followed the stretch of his fingers. Then he sealed his lips around the bud again, gentle suction this time, while his fingers kept that slow curl up inside you.
The combination was unbearable.
Your body locked, every muscle going rigid at once. Your thighs clamped around his head so hard he groaned in approval; your fingers knotted in his hair and yanked until strands pulled free. The orgasm built like a slow-rising tide rather than a sudden crash, starting deep in your core, spreading outward in heavy, pulsing waves that made your toes curl and your vision start to tunnel.
He didn’t speed up even then.
But he felt the exact moment you teetered right on the razor’s edge.
And he pulled back.
Fingers still buried but frozen. Thumb lifted away. Lips parted just enough for cool air to kiss your throbbing clit.
You snarled through gritted teeth, voice cracking. “You… you fucking prick. I was right there. Don’t you dare stop now. You’re having way too much fun with this, aren’t you? Making me shake like some pathetic mess while you just sit there looking smug.”
His eyes darkened with delight. He loved the bite in your voice.
“Smug because you look s'good when you’re pissed n' dripping,” he growled against your folds. “Keep going. Tell me how much you hate it. I wanna hear it.”
You were trembling so hard your voice came out uneven. “Y-you keep getting me so close and then backing off… it’s driving me fucking crazy… I hate this… h-ate how you can just hold me right here…”
He groaned low and animal, the sound reaching straight into your ears. Then he finally gave in.
His fingers curled hard against that perfect fleshy spot. His thumb pressed down on your clit with firm, relentless circles while his mouth sealed over it all, sucking with ruthless pressure. His tongue flicked quick and merciless right where you needed it.
You broke with a ragged cry.
“F-fuck—yes—y-you bastard—shit—”
The orgasm slammed into you like a breaking wave. Your back arched violently, heels kicking into his back as thick pleasure crashed through you again and again. Your voice splintered into breathless, furious sounds between gasps.
“You smug asshole… f-uck—yes—”
He didn’t let up. He rode every wave with you, sucking deeper, fingers flexing in time with your stuttering curses, thumb grinding tight circles under his tongue that dragged the climax out longer and meaner. A second, sharper crest hit right behind the first, ripping another broken shout from your throat.
“Y-you love this… don’t you… getting off on me while I curse you out—fuck—Yami–!” you sqealed.
His groan vibrated through you like thunder. His grip turned bruising, possessive. Every gasping insult seemed to spur him on, like your anger was exactly what he wanted.
The aftershocks kept rolling through you — again. And again, sharp little jolts that made your hips twitch and your voice crack into shambles.
“You’re… too much… you bastard… h-how can just do this to me…”
Only then did he finally ease off, fingers slipping free with a wet sound, lips placing one last slow kiss against your oversensitive clit that made you sigh and curse again.
He lifted his head, resting his forehead against your quivering thigh, breathing hard. His chin and throat glistened. His eyes, still dark and feral, locked on yours with raw satisfaction.
“Goddamn, rabbit,” he rasped, voice thick and husky. “You cum cursing me out and it’s the hottest thing I’ve heard in years. That fire while you’re shaking apart? Fuck. I want more of it. All of it.”
You laughed hoarsely, glaring down at him with glassy, fire-filled eyes.
“You’re a monster,” you panted. “A smug, infuriating monster."
His grin was slow, and dangerous.
“Forget how to count coins yet?”
You laughed, triumphantly.
“Almost.” You licked your dry lips, eyes half-lidded. “But I’m a thorough woman. You’ll have to run the numbers again. And again. Until the ledger’s completely blank.”
His fingers curled into your waistline, nails digging into the soft flesh of your hips as he pressed closer, the heat of his breath a live wire against your skin.
“Round two it is, then.”
He leaned forward, breath already ghosting hot over your oversensitive core once more.
“Hold on tight, rabbit. We’re just getting started.”
