Genma, with bone broth chili oil and extra garlic. I’ll DM YOU.
You knew the rules of the arrangement when you agreed to them: no commitment, no feelings, and most importantly, no expectations. But when Genma Shiranui bleeds on your couch and gets possessive with his touch at the local izakaya, those boundaries begin to blur into a domestic trap. You willingly walk into his snare, letting yourself fall for the illusion of his devotion in the dark, learning the hard way that he is more than happy to claim your body while keeping his heart completely out of reach.
Order up for Moni's Genma as part of my 200 special + special edition in honor of @genmaweek2026! Enjoy it 🤍🍜 | Word Count: 4.9k | Warnings: mdni, afab, fwb, angst, unrequited love, emotionally unavailable/terrified of commitment Genma, short mentions of blood, sloppy make-outs, light dry humping (squint your eyes), implied fingering, implied internal ejaculation, no "happy ending" 'cause he didn't do anything wrong. Readers are free to scroll past if these specific character interpretations or themes do not align with their comfort levels. | Proofread the best I could; long live repetitiveness & redundancy 😭
Happy b-day, Senbon daddy! Genma week - day 7, here we go!
𝐃𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐚𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐲. 𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐞!
Blood tasted like rusted iron, but it smelled like old copper and damp earth when it ruined the fabric of your couch. Genma had skipped the hospital again. He occupied the space, your space, with the lethargy of a stray cat that knew exactly where the warmest corner of the house resided. You pressed a gauze pad against the gash cutting across his left oblique, applying enough pressure to make him hiss.
The senbon resting between his teeth shifted from the right corner of his mouth to the left. You could see his jaw stiffening every time you touched his wound, his breath hitching, how the metal clamped in his teeth was the only unbreakable thing keeping him from losing his mind to the pain. But instead of pulling away, he leaned his weight into your space, his broad shoulder pressing against your chest as you worked the needle through his skin.
The arrangement had always been framed as a convenience. Two people unwinding the tension of their occupation in the seclusion of your apartment, or wherever you happened to be. Your release together did not need an established place, just two needy people ready to go for it.
Genma had never been deceptive about the extent of your little fuck-buddies deal. He had laid his boundaries out plainly from the very first night he cornered you in a darkened hallway, his mouth bruising the sensitive skin of your neck before pulling back just far enough to issue his warning: he did not do commitment and was not looking to be kept. No feelings involved in it at all. And you? You had accepted those terms without hesitation back then, treating it exactly for what it was, foolishly assuming you were immune to him.
Yet, the boundaries blurred into a domestic trap whenever he showed up like this, shedding his flak jacket and his defensive sarcasm at your front door. A man who wanted a casual distraction would not trace the faint pulse beating at your wrist while you tied off a suture. He would not commit the layout of your kitchen to memory, nor would he replace the burnt-out bulb over your bathroom mirror without being asked while shirtless, straight after fucking your brains out for hours. Your sober mind fought a losing battle against the risky hope blooming behind your ribs.
"You missed a spot." Genma's voice carried a low vibration that traveled directly into your collarbone. He always hit the spot, even when he was not touching you.
You dropped the bloodied needle onto the paper towel sitting on the small desk beside your couch. "If you want thorough medical care, the hospital is three blocks away."
His gaze drifted upward, pinning yours with that hooded weight that stripped the air from your lungs. He lifted a hand, and you could see his split knuckles. You followed his movements as his rough thumb brushed a lock of hair that had slipped from your clip, tucking it behind your ear. His fingers lingered against the curve of your jaw for a second longer than necessary, the gesture carrying an unearned tenderness.
“Where's the fun in that? I prefer watching you get all flustered when I bleed on your floor.”
You tried to build a wall of biting sarcasm to match his own, but the retort withered in your throat. You bit down hard on the inside of your cheek, using the jab of pain to wrench yourself back against the treacherous urge to lean your weight into his palm. For a sickening second, you were caught in the gravity of his stare, stripped of every defense you had honed against his well-oiled game. You craved his deadly allure on most days, even though you knew you shouldn't—at least, not the way you had been for the past few weeks
He shifted the senbon in his teeth again, the metal needle clacking against his teeth and breaking the moment.
Genma dropped his hand, the heat barely vanishing from your jaw before you were already missing it. He let his arm fall, resting his wrist flat against his thigh. He did not retreat from your space—his broad shoulder remained wedged close, his torso acting as a wall while you grabbed the medical tape to finish his bandage—but the shift in his demeanor twitched in your gut like a recoil.
The boundary between you worked as a silent law, a line you had considered breaking until the thought frayed. Having him here, bleeding into your upholstery rather than a ward, only sharpened the temptation. He never truly surrendered his guard, clinging to his deflection to keep you at a safe distance while still being able to claim you whenever he wanted. His intentional choice to seek out your hands over a stranger's tools gnawed at your restraint, and you had debated crossing those boundaries more times than you cared to admit.
He tilted his head back to study a water stain on the ceiling, his gaze adopting a blank aloofness. The uneven heave of his chest smoothed into a controlled cadence as you pressed the final strip of adhesive down, your thumb dragging over ribs that suddenly felt like they belonged to a stranger. He had rebuilt his nonchalant armor in the middle of your living room, leaving you to pack away the medical supplies with hands that refused to steady, fully aware he had already abandoned the intimacy while sitting right in front of you.
You reached for the lid of the medical box, working faster, pretty much desperate to gather the bloodied supplies and put some actual distance between the two of you. But you didn't even make it a single step.
Genma caught your wrist, his grip burning with feverish heat against your skin. You barely had time to blink before his other hand found the back of your thigh, his rough fingers digging into the soft skin to drag you effortlessly across the cushions until you were straddling his uninjured hip. The sudden friction of your bodies colliding stole the breath straight from your lungs, crushing his detached facade in an instant. Genma knew well how to play the hot and cold game. Way too well.
"Genma," you managed to caution, your hands dropping to his broad shoulder to avoid pressing on his fresh bandages. "You're going to tear—"
"Mhmm," he interrupted with a dismissive exhale, “Don't care.”
He didn't give you a chance to argue. His hand abandoned your wrist, sliding up to sit at the nape of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair to pull your mouth down to his. He kissed you as if he were starving, craving the taste of your lips, your tongue against his. He tasted like every dangerous thing you tried to avoid: stale smoke, blood, and the bitter reality of an avoidant man. His kiss was not a gentle collision, but his territorial claim. His tongue swept past your lips to map your mouth with the kind of desperate impatience that cracked your remaining restraint.
You chased the moment instinctively, your hands finding the knot of his bandana, yanking the dark fabric loose, and letting it drop to the cushions so your fingers could finally dig deep into his messy brown hair. A raspy groan tumbled from his throat. His left hand traveled higher, pushing past the hem of your shirt with a familiarity that was second nature. Calloused fingertips dragged up the bare skin of your spine, tracing the tense muscles before his palm settled flat over your ribs. His thumb stroked the underside of your breast, a foul touch that made a whimper break against his mouth.
Genma tore his lips away, pulling a gasp from your lungs, but he didn't retreat. His mouth dragged down the line of your jaw, zeroing in on the pulse jumping at your neck. His hands abandoned your ribs, dropping to grip your waist. His thumbs dug into your hip bones, adjusting your weight on his lap to guide your ass down, forcing your center to rock directly against the bulge straining beneath his uniform pants.
You gasped, your spine arching the moment his open mouth clamped over your collarbone. He sucked hard, his teeth scraping the sensitive skin to leave a bruise while his large hands set a punishing rhythm beneath you. Your hands slipped from his hair, flattening your palms high against his strong chest to deliberately avoid his bandaged side.
Your fingers dug in hard, pulling him closer despite your better judgment. His hips rolled upward, his clothed cock almost bursting out of his pants. Even injured, Genma couldn't control his heat.
"Genma," you managed to gasp out, your nails biting harder into his uninjured shoulder. "We... rea—" A shameful whine wrecked your sentence the second he snapped his hips up to meet yours for the second time, his way of telling you to shut up and enjoy. "—really shouldn't."
His teeth caught on your neck to swallow whatever protest was left.
"You took care of me," he murmured directly against your skin, his breath fanning over the mark he had just left. "Let me return the favor."
And you allowed him to. Like you always did.
Genma kissed you the way he fought—taking every inch of ground without offering a single piece of himself in return. And that was the tragedy of it. The way his fingers bruised your hips, the desperate slant of his mouth against yours, how his cock seemed to be made to perfectly fit your cunt even when he wasn't fucking you, the way he pulled you so flush against his chest that you couldn't tell which heartbeat belonged to whom. It felt like devotion. It felt like love.
But you knew the moment his blood dried, he would retie his bandana, tap the senbon against his teeth, and walk out the door without looking back.
The izakaya whirred with the overlapping conversations of off-duty shinobi, friends gathering together after work, and weary merchants unwinding in the hazy corners, the walls sweating salt, grease, and cheap sake. You sat wedged into the corner of a booth, nursing a lukewarm cup of tea, attempting to maintain a stern bodily barrier between yourself and the man sitting beside you. Kakashi occupied the opposite seat, completely uninterested in whatever was happening around him, tracking the text of his novel and serving as an inadvertent buffer for the evening. Beside him, Raido signaled a server for another round of yakitori, while Hayate sat at the outer edge, suppressing a rattling cough into his fist as Yugao rubbed slow circles into his back.
Above the sticky surface of the table, Genma played the unbothered colleague. He leaned forward, gesturing with his chopsticks to answer a sarcastic comment from Raido. His signature drawl was back in place, leaving no trace of the hurt Genma who had sought you out in his agony just days ago.
The influx of people and the loud conversations offered the perfect cover. Beneath the table, he refused to let you retreat.
The cramped seating provided a convenient excuse for proximity, but the way his knee dropped outward was a purposeful choice. The fabric of his uniform pressed flush against your thigh. He did not pull back, nor did he offer a lazy apology for the lack of space. Instead, he reached across the sticky wood to pour himself a fresh cup of sake.
"Alcohol inhibits the clotting process, Shiranui." You kept your voice low, leveling a pointed glare at his glass. "Those stitches are barely a few days old. I didn't spend my evening patching you up just for you to delay the healing process purposely."
Genma paused with the rim resting against his lower lip, a charmed purr vibrating in his throat. "Sake is the finest anesthetic we have. If the liquor numbs the nervous system, I don't care how long it takes to heal."
"That isn't how human anatomy works."
"It works for me."
“Don't expect me to take care of you again.”
His eyes crinkled at the corners, that knowing smirk tugging at his lips. "I seem to remember you didn't mind doing it in the first place," he dropped his voice so that only you could hear it. His gaze flicked toward your collarbone. "In fact, if I recall correctly, you were pretty eager to get your hands on me."
Across the table, Raido set his empty glass down with a thud, drawing the attention of almost the entire booth. "Are you two going to bicker all night? Once you start, there's no ending to it.” He stretched his arm to grab the bottle that sat in front of Genma, “Always arguing like a couple.”
Hayate let out a raspy chuckle, burying another cough into his sleeve. "Don't curse her with that, Raido. Genma's idea of commitment is staying in the village for a full week. The man would break out in hives if a woman ever asked him to leave a toothbrush at her place."
The ambient noise of the izakaya seemed to drop away. Beside Raido, Kakashi turned a page of his novel, though his eye flicked upward subtly enough to analyze any mood changes in the booth.
Under the table, the illusion of polite distance broke. Genma’s free hand abandoned his lap, his fingers catching slightly against the fabric of your skirt as he mapped the curve of your knee. His palm pushed upward with such arrogance, gripping high on your inner thigh. His thumb pressed firmly into the soft muscle, settling close enough to your center that the heat of his skin burned straight through the material. He then started caressing the skin, making it almost impossible to track a single word of the conversation happening above the table.
Mixed signals, again. Mixed signals that were eating you alive, making you press your thumbnail hard into the joint of your index finger so the sting would distract you from your spiraling thoughts. This constant push and pull with Genma was getting you to your boiling point.
"Nah! Don't curse me with that kind of tragedy, Raido," Genma mumbled, tipping the sake back. "I value my freedom way too much to ever get tied down."
He set his now-empty cup down on the table, gesturing lazily toward Hayate while raising an eyebrow. "Besides, why ruin a good thing? You and I both know that the second it becomes official, all the fun gets drained right out of the whole thing. Keep it casual, keep it moving. Right? At least, that's what works for us."
Hayate ultimately decided he wouldn't spend any more of his energy on Genma's atrocious concept of being in a relationship, completely shifting his attention to Yugao. Raido snorted, shaking his head as he reached for the forgotten plate of yakitori in front of him, completely oblivious to the way your breath violently caught when Genma’s fingers squeezed your thigh in a perfect sync with his toxic words.
That was the boiling point.
You couldn't sit there for another second just letting him announce to the table that you meant nothing to him while he privately claimed your body where no one else could see, whenever he wanted to. You slid out of the corner of the booth as quickly as you could, forcing Genma to lean back to let you pass. You ignored the burn of his hand dragging away from your bare skin as you stood up.
"I have an early shift tomorrow," you lied. "I need to head out now. Goodnight, everyone."
Before any of your friends could offer a proper goodbye, you were already treading through the crowded izakaya and stepping out into the night. The wooden door swung shut behind you, cutting off the noise of the bar, but you only made it halfway down the empty street when the familiar click of a sandal hitting the pavement echoed right behind you.
He didn't say a word, and neither did you. Genma was fast to fall into step beside you, the fabric of his pants brushing against your leg with every other stride. The proximity of his frame felt like a taunt when he had just firmly established his bachelor status to his friends, and yet here he was, trailing you home in the dark like your real lover, your faithful partner.
You kept your eyes locked ahead while your nails bit so hard into your own palms that they threatened to draw blood. The silence stretched out, making your pulse throb angrily against your ribs. You knew if you opened your mouth, you would either scream at him to leave or destroy his boundary at once. So you swallowed the words down, packed the humiliating ache of wanting him into a tight box in your chest and forced the lid shut, burying it under layers of stubborn pride so he couldn't see how much he was ruining you, and the only person to blame was yourself.
He didn't let you keep it hidden for long, though. Genma's arm brushed against yours. "You're awfully quiet," he drawled with a teasing lilt in his voice, cutting right through the tension. "Don't tell me those guys actually got under your skin."
You didn't look at him, you couldn't, so you kept your pace steady as the door of your apartment finally came into view. "I'm just tired, Genma," you lied, though your voice lacked any real bite. “As I said, I have an early shift tomorrow!”
You fished the keys out of your pocket, your fingers trembling slightly as you jammed the metal into the lock. He stepped up right behind you, so close that the heat of his chest radiated against your back, trapping you between his frame and the wood. He didn't touch you, but the weight of his gaze burned into the side of your neck.
Don't let him in; you're going to end up under him. Don't let him in; you're going to end up under him. Don't let him in; you're going to end up under him.
The lock gave way with a loud click. You pushed the door open and stepped into the dark entryway, grabbing the edge of the wood to shut it.
"Goodnight, Genma," you forced out, daring to take one final look at him.
The door didn't even make it halfway closed before his boot wedged into the frame. His large hand flattened against the door, pushing it wide open with a smooth surge of strength.
You stumbled back into the dark hallway as his towering figure invaded your space. The door clicked shut behind him, the deadbolt sliding into place. You didn't even get the chance to reach for the light switch before his hands found your body, pulling you closer.
"You're a terrible liar," he rasped with lips so close to yours you could easily lick them right there and then. “Our night isn't over yet, you know that, don't you?”
You trapped the air inside your lungs, and before you could even push him away, his tongue traced a small straight line from your bottom lip to the upper ones, making you part them ever so slightly. That was his invitation, and he wouldn't refuse it.
His mouth claimed yours with a starvation that made your knees instantly buckle. You melted into him, abandoning every single layer of pride you had just built up. Before you could process the kiss, his hands gripped your waist and hoisted you off the floor. You gasped, your hands flying to grip his shoulders. "Genma, your wound—!"
He didn't even flinch, carrying you down the dark hallway in predatory strides. "Sake, remember?" he murmured against your jaw. You tried to protest, telling him to put you down, but your fingers tangled deeper into his hair under his bandana instead of pushing him away, and his only answer was a firm "Not gonna happen."
He moved with purpose, carrying you straight into the living room and dropping you onto the very same cushions where you had tended to him just days ago, ending up with him inside of you while you moaned his name the way he liked it.
He crowded into your space, his knee sliding between your thighs to force them wide open, pinning you into the fabric. His mouth found yours again in a sloppy collision, your lower lip caught between his teeth, Genma biting down until the sting dragged a choked moan from your throat. When he finally pulled back, a glistening thread of saliva stretched between your swollen lips. He maintained eye contact as he flicked his tongue out to slowly lap the wetness clean. The unabashed sight of it sent a jagged shockwave straight to your core, making your pussy throb violently against your clothes.
He didn't stop to let you process everything that was happening; his mouth immediately descended to your neck to paint your skin with wet, open-mouthed kisses. He sucked hard right over your pulse point, his teeth scratching the skin to leave angry hickeys in his wake, mapping his territory, claiming you. While his mouth wrecked your neck, his large hands slipped freely underneath your top. Calloused palms cupped your breasts, his thumbs kneading and dragging over the peaks with a greedy adoration that made your back arch completely off the couch.
He groaned against your collarbone, his hands hastily abandoning your front to drag around your ribcage. His fingers fumbled aggressively against the fabric of your back, desperately trying to find your bra clasp.
"Always hated these damn things," Genma grumbled in frustration as he paused his assault on your neck just long enough to complain. He abandoned the hooks and opted to grip the front center of the lace instead to aggressively pull it up and out of his way, exposing your bust completely.
His eyes dropped to your bare chest, and he purred while licking his lips as if he were about to eat a 5-star meal. "You should let 'em roam freely," his thumbs came back up to flick against your tightening nipples. "You know how much I love these, don't you?"
You nodded; that was all you could think of instead of forming a coherent sentence. His mouth replaced his hands; he closed his lips around your right peak, swirling his hot tongue over the sensitive bud before sucking it directly into his mouth. You cried out, your fingers immediately diving back into his hair, now free from his bandana, to hold him against your chest.
He moved lower, his teeth lightly grazing the underside of your breast before dragging a wet kiss down your sternum. The friction of his coarse uniform pants grinding against your inner thighs was becoming unbearable, especially with how soaking wet, practically dripping your pussy had become just from him kissing you.
"'m gonna take care of you s'fuckin' good," he murmured against the skin of your stomach, his large hand finally sliding down to hook his index finger beneath the waistband of your skirt. “I had such a rough day, missed you,” he looked up from where he was, your chest, to look at your face, “missed both of you so much.” he slid that same finger down, finding your drenched panties and moving them slightly to the side so he could tease your pussy.
“Shiranui, sto-”
“Want me to stop? mhm yeah?” his finger teased your entrance, going in and out before you could even process the feeling. Your body jerked up reacting to his touch. “Is that what you want?”
Say yes, say yes, say yes, say yes. Don't fall for his trap, don't fall for his trap, don't fall for hi-
But the second his index pressed against your clit, every single logical thought evaporated into thin air. "No!" you breathed out, your hands abandoning your pride as they dug desperately into his broad shoulders, your nails marking his skin.
Yours. At least for tonight.
"Don't stop. Please."
A smug smirk curved against your stomach before his mouth completely took over.
You let the trap swallow you whole, and you gladly welcomed it.
He took you apart right there on the couch, and then against the kitchen counter, your bed, the shower, and finally, once again, in your bed until he was completely drained and you were overflowing with his seed.
Every single touch and breath shared in the dark felt like a burning confession of love… from you.
You were lying flat against his chest, the even rhythm of his heartbeat lulling you into a false sense of security while he dozed.
"What time is it?" Genma mumbled into your hair in his sleepy voice.
"Two…Uhm… forty-seven," you whispered against his skin when your face turned back to his body after checking the clock on the wall.
"Always so literal," he teased with a lazy smirk, his eyes still closed. You swatted playfully at his pecs while smiling at his silly comment.
He shifted and opened his eyes, gently untangling your limbs so he could prop himself up on the mattress beside you. He leaned down and pressed a very affectionate kiss to your lips, and when he broke it off, his eyes held an intimacy that made your heart stutter.
Mixed signals, mixed signals, mixed signals, mixed signals, mixed signals, mixed signals.
You opened your mouth, ready to let something stupid and honest slip out, but he pulled back before you could even draw a breath.
"I'd better get going,"
You blinked, and the romantic haze was gone. "Why don't you just spend the night?"
"I don't do sleepovers," he replied, sitting up fully and reaching for his discarded pants. "You know that."
You sat up, clutching the sheet so it would not expose your bare chest. "Genma, it's literally just sleep. You were already knocked out."
Just a power nap to recharge." He shot you an unapologetic grin as he picked up his pants—at least he had brought his clothes into the room before crashing—and pulled them on, effectively trivializing everything that had just happened between you. "You rode me so damn good I actually needed a minute to recover, plus all that sake finally caught up with me.
He reached for his shirt on the floor, the casual stretch of his torso drew your eyes straight to the white bandage wrapped tightly across his ribs; you could see a fresh spot of blood staining the area. He didn't even wince as he pulled the dark fabric over his head, burying the patch from sight.
“Your wound is bleeding; let me at least clean it for you. After all, it was my fault.”
“No need to, it's minor now.”
“Why does it look like you're running from me?”
He paused to look back at your frame, his eyes narrowing slightly.
"I'm not,” his eyes were searching for something that you had no idea what it could be. He raised an eyebrow and opened his mouth again, “Don't tell me you've got the feels. You know we don't do that."
Wrong. HE doesn't do that!
You forced a dry chuckle, swallowing the big lump in your throat. "I did,” Too fast, try again, “Not. It just seemed… easier for you to stay."
He walked back over, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. "I enjoy what we have, and we should keep it exactly that way, right? Like we agreed." He pulled back, sliding his senbon that was sitting atop the nightstand between his teeth. "Don't miss me too much. I'll see you soon."
And just like that, he was gone.
The click of your front door echoed through the empty apartment louder than it had ever been before, with a deafening finality that sucked all the remaining oxygen out of the room, out of your lungs.
You pulled the tangled linen all the way up to your chest while just sitting there, staring blankly at your bedroom wall, while your pulse hammered an anxious thud against your ears. The space beside you was still sickeningly warm, the indentation of his body still pressed into the mattress as if he were still there.
Worse than the feeling of loss creeping over your bare shoulders was the smell he left behind. The scent of cheap sake and his natural musk was permanently trapped in the fibers of your pillows- and your heart-, wrapping around you in such an oppressive embrace. It felt like a cruel joke, a ghost of the intimacy you had just surrendered your entire soul to, only for him to wash his hands of it and walk away without looking back, ever.
He never truly surrendered his guard, clinging to his deflection to keep you at a safe distance while still being able to claim you whenever he wanted.
A pathetic ache bloomed in the center of your chest. You couldn't even be angry at him, no matter how badly you wanted to yell at his face, say he was breaking your heart, because he hadn't lied to you. You were the one who smiled and agreed to all of this, to the “fuck-buddies” terms from the very beginning, arrogantly thinking you were strong enough to survive him when you knew better than that.
How do you get over someone who was never yours? Who do you blame when you've broken your own heart?
Nyx says: My first time writing for Genma, and I'm happy with how it came out. + It was literally Genma's wife who requested it, so it makes this extra extra special! Huge shout-out to my Crow Queen and Berrylina for giving their opinions on this one while I was stressing over my drafts. These two are literally my lifelines 🤞
See ya in the next 200-special request!
