Annayies

The operation would cost a lot. You were already looking into ways to make more money, like taking on side jobs or taking out a loan from the bank--all while driving your van. In retrospect, it probably isn't the best idea to stress about such things while driving.

You nearly miss the stand at the side of the road with the big sign, offering 1 dollar per... Click? Strange. It sounds like an absolute scam, but you're desperate enough to check it out.

You pull over, park in the most careful way possible and make your way to the colorful stranger--and what a sight he is: all pastel colors and sharp features. His eyes are that shade of blue that's equal times mesmerizing and creepy.

He perks up at as soon as you arrive, putting on a salesman smile. Pretty charming. Those teeth could blind a man.

"Hey there! My name is Harvey Harvington and welcome to my booth! Each time you click on me, you get a dollar! Sounds like a sweet deal, doesn't it?"

You quirk your brow, unimpressed by the animated man. He bats his eyelashes at you as if pleading for you to try this ridiculous scheme out. He grows nervous under your stare, his charming smile beginning to falter.

"Too sweet," you say suspiciously, eyeing the sign above him. What does 'one click' mean, exactly? "Do I just..." you poke him in the hand lightly. The counter at the corner of the sign goes up. "Ah."

He doesn't flinch, but the tendon in his hand twitches. "Just keep clicking!" he encourages, rolling his shoulders and trying to relax.

You shrug internally. If this thing is not an actual scam, it might just be worth it. You keep tapping his hand, the silence stretching on and making things awkward. You weren't in the mood to talk right now and he seemed content on just uncomfortably watching, so...

After about twenty 'clicks', he encourages you some more. "C'mon, you can do it!" He offers another dazzling smile, like he really means it. You counter it with a dry look. What's there to be so happy about? This guy is weird. He falter immediately, looking sheepish. "I, err, I'll shut up."

You poke him some more, distracting yourself with more stressful thoughts. What second job could you even get? You're already burnt out as it is. Maybe you could be a babysitter, though you absolutely do not have the patience for a child. Maybe some retail work? You don't have patience for dealing with random people, either...

"Um, one more thing, actually..." he interrupts your train of thought, chuckling nervously. You look up at him, bored. "There's the, um, shop button. When it glows yellow, it means you've unlocked a new item!"

You turn your gaze to the said 'button'. It says the next item costs 100 clicks. You furrow your brows, looking back at him. "How do I get my money if I give my clicks away for stupid items?"

"I think the items are supposed to help you achieve your goal faster...? It's sort of like a game!" He sounds way too confused for his false confidence to fool anybody. Suspicious, given the fact that he owned the booth, presumably. "For example, I think if you use the next one, you'll get more money per use."

You stare at the price. You were pretty close, so why not. At this point you're in too deep.

The bottom of the stand opens up and you bend down to see the item: a feather. You pick it up and inspect it. Harvey seems just as surprised by the discovery. He doesn't object as you brush it against his knuckles, though his fingers do twitch.

"Hehe, that tickles," he flexes his hand, but puts it right back where it was. "Keep going!"

You check the counter. He'd been right--now the currency went up by two points, rather than one. There's also a next item you could purchase, its cost 500. Huh, this is pretty motivating.

You keep tickling the back of his hands, but boredom quickly ensures. 500 was a hefty goal and the sun hit your back just a bit too hard. You needed a distraction.

You take his hands and lay them out, palms facing upwards. He watches curiously, not interjecting with any annoying comments. Gently, you run the feather over his skin. He keeps his giggles in, but he can't hide the way his fingers itch to curl.

"Uh, ahem, this is a bit... I mean, not bad, certainly, but..." he feels the soft bristles of the feather brush against the insides of his wrists, causing him to shiver, "...strange," he finishes. He waits a moment to regain himself. "... Keep going, though!"

Your eyes flick to his reaction with interest. "Sensitive?" you murmur, nearly a tease if it weren't for the genuine intrigue in your expression.

He flushes slightly. "N-no! No, not at all! You're doing a great job!" he adds as an afterthought, like he has encouragements scripted out.

So he is ticklish. Very ticklish. Now you want to find out just how bad it could get. You lean over the stand to reach closer, brushing the feather against his cheek. He jolts back, surprised, but then settles back into place as he's reminded of what his job is.

You drag the thing down to the side of his neck, watching as a muscle in his jaw twitches. Then you bring it just under his chin, flicking it gently. His Adam's Apple bobs up with the effort of holding his laugh.

"Hey, now, you're getting a bit..."

He doesn't get to finish as you trail the feather down his neck, right under his bowtie. A strangled noise escapes him, sounding like a suppressed, airy giggle. He rights himself soon after, pink dusting his cheeks. "Right. I suppose as long as you keep it friendly..."

It doesn't take long until you achieve your 500 'clicks'. You peer down to see the next item, actually a bit excited. Nevermind the weird circumstances--this guy is pretty entertaining if you know what buttons to push.

You, personally, press the button that gives you a needle. You hold it up to your face, frowning. It blurs as your vision focuses instead on Harvey, who doesn't really know what to think of the item, either.

"A needle? Well that's... Um..." he offers a not-so-confident chuckle, scratching the place where you tickled his neck earlier. "... Be gentle?" There's a quiet plea under his jesting tone. Okay, maybe not so quiet. It's clear he's a bit unsure of the business he's gotten into, as well.

You test the object, lightly pricking your finger in it like an idiot. Yup, that's an honest-to-god, sharp needle. Now, because you have common sense, you're not about to poke a random guy with a needle in the middle of the street. You wouldn't even do that regularly, in fact.

You turn the thing around. Maybe you don't even have to prick him. You try touching him with the other end of the needle. The counter works.

Harvey, for one, seems to be relieved. "Ha, for one second I thought you'd really..." he fixes his bowtie, squaring his shoulders. "Anyway! You're doing brilliant work! Keep it up!"

You drag the wrong end of the needle across each one of his fingers. The money seems to gather nonetheless, which is very convenient, because his reactions are fun. He shivers as you trace the lines on his palms or the veins on his wrists. His breath hitches as you trace the curve of his lips, the shell of his ears...

"T-this is getting a little weird..." he announces through his forced smile, yet he does nothing to stop it. He tries keeping his composure. After all--this is just one strange customer, right? Just smile through it.

You find your lips twitching upwards at how tense he is. Sure, the situation is weird, but he must've lived through this before, right? How does he deal with other customers? Do the items change every time?

Against your better judgement, you find him cute. You're no fool, though--you saw the ring on his finger. It'd catch in the scorching sun each time he'd twitch. A most fascinating object, though, because he kept trying to cover it up with his other hand whenever he had the chance. Hm...

You find you don't care much, as long as he lets you get your enjoyment out of this. At one point you tire of being so cautious. You grab his hand and hold his finger between your own, scratching it lightly with the sharp end of the needle. He freezes, watching you like you were about to kill him, not just slightly prick him.

You don't break through the skin, though. You just leave some faint, pink marks that itch.

"Okay, not so bad," he tries telling himself, running his hand over the marks, trying to get the uncomfortable sensation to leave. You decide it's time to actually test if this guy has normal-looking blood instead of some pastel pink liquid, like the rest of him.

You prick his finger gently. To his credit, he doesn't flinch, but he does wince. "Ow. I don't think that was entirely necessary," he complains faintly, but at this point you tune him out.

A bead of crimson blood gathered on his index finger, looking shiny and perfectly human-like. You've been testing reactions out of him left and right, but it's all been pretty tame stuff. Maybe if you try...

"H-hey!" he jolts as you lick his finger, going red. "What the--t-that's weird!" he stammers, but he remains perfectly still. Like a little puppet.

For what it's worth, his blood tastes like normal. It keeps trickling out the tiny wound, but you don't let it stain anything, keeping the tip of his finger in your mouth. He has no idea what to do with you, so he just avoids looking at the whole fiasco, pretending you are normal. His other hand, the one bearing the ring, drums nervously against the wood.

Surprisingly enough, for each kitten lick you did, you got your money's worth. You get to 2500 clicks, allowing you to purchase the next item.

"... A hammer?!"

He said your thoughts out loud.

You look at it, actually growing concerned. What are you supposed to do with this? Why on Earth would the next item be a hammer? First the pin, now this... You don't like where this is heading.

Still, the more you stare at it, the more your creativity grows. An idea pops into your head, which has you grinning. You lay his palms flat on the stand, fingers as far apart as they would go.

"Don't move, whatever happens," you instruct and you see him gulp.

"I'm not sure about..." but you start tapping the hammer between his fingers in a little, familiar rhythm. He barely holds himself back from yelping. Thankfully, you're good at this game and you don't crush any of his fingers, no matter how many times he expects to feel the pain of it.

He eases up eventually, starting to tap on beat. Somehow, all of this counted as clicks.

"This is pretty fun!" he hums to the beat. "You're keeping up so well--where did you learn to do this?"

Of course, you don't offer the satisfaction of an answer. You need to focus on the rhythm, otherwise you might actually crush a limb (not that you're putting too much force into your hits). 3000 wasn't even that tough of a job. You reach down without looking this time and you pull up a pair of scissors.

Oh.

Once again, you test its edges. Sharp. You look at Harvey, but you can only think of cutting two things: either his hair or...

Your eyes flick down to the shirt under his costume. He seems to follow the trail of your gaze, because his eyes land on the same place and he blushes. He hugs himself as if that would keep you at bay.

"I don't know what you're thinking of doing, but I feel the need to mention that I'm happily married!"

You stare at him, nonplussed.

He gulps. "... And I have a kid?"

Nope. You beckon him closer with one finger, elbow on the stand and scissors at your hip, in the other hand. Agitated as he is, he leans forward, a few drops of sweat forming at his forehead.

You give him an unimpressed look and he drops his arms with a hint of indignance. "Alright, fine, but--" you don't let him finish, hooking your finger under his bowtie and pulling him closer still. He stumbles over the stand, using his hands to brace himself.

You bring the scissors just below the bowtie, making him promptly swallow whatever else he was going to say. For a tense moment you keep him there, suspenseful, until you make your first cut. Then the second, then the third. He shudders each time the cold blade accidentally touches his skin.

You make an opening in his shirt which reveals his abdomen and stomach nicely. You'd have thought this man to be a twink before you made the discovery of how absolutely shredded he was. He also lacks any sort of body hair, which, to be fair, fits him and his doll look. Maybe that's what he's going for. Maybe his partner likes it.

"S-stop staring like that!" he whines, the flush having spread to the tips of his ears. He's terribly shy, it seems. It makes you smirk.

"Or what?" you ask, taunting--testy, even. You're not trying to be too mean, but you can't help yourself. He's so deliciously reactive. You trail the tips of the scissors down his abdomen, too light to leave any sort of injury. He trembles like a leaf in the wind and this time you can see the way his skin gains goosebumps.

He gulps. "I don't know... But I don't like it!"

Boo-fucking-hoo. You continue with the scissors until they hit something solid. He tenses.

It's his belt.

He holds his hands up, quivering slightly as if that would change anything. A slight breeze hits the newly exposed skin of his stomach, making the tattered material of his shirt flutter. He doesn't notice any of it, instead looking at you, pleading with his eyes to not do something reckless.

Fine. You put the scissors away for now, letting them linger just out of his reach. Instead you find you want to caress his pale skin just like the wind. The muscles in his abdomen coil with tension as soon as you brush your fingers against his bare torso. You let your palm spread out slowly, your touch surprisingly warm. He exhales through his nose sharply, gripping the edges of his stand.

"No, seriously--I have a wife and she wouldn't be too happy about, um, this."

His words are lost on you as you trace his ribs with feather-light touches, moving up to his pectorals. As soon as you discover one nipple, he jerks away.

"Okay! This has been fun, but--" he looks around and regretfully finds no one. His teeth clench, but he goes right back to pleading. "This isn't a game anymore! Please."

How could you deny him when his eyes are so wide and beautiful and when his voice is so whiny? You cup his cheek, bringing him close yet again. He doesn't fight it, instead his Adam's Apple bobbing as he swallows back more of his pathetic whining.

Your thumb traces his lower lip, making it quiver. "You like begging so much..." you whisper, right against his cheek. His eyelashes flutter. "Tell me, would you beg for a kiss?"

"W--are you out of your mind?! Of course n--" but you tug at his bowtie sharply, cutting him off. He chokes on his words.

"You wanna be able to feed your kid?" your voice is low, a warning. "You have to play along."

The look in his blue eyes is now conflicted. Angry, defiant, fearful--but ultimately defeated.

"Fuck, fine--" he grits his teeth and sucks up. "I... Please, give me a kiss."

You grab his chin, tilting it up so he couldn't hide the defiant look behind the pathetic facade. "You can do better than that," you murmur, condescending.

He debates with himself further, a storm going on behind those icy eyes, but it dies out soon enough. He gives in with a sigh. "I need--" he swallows, "I need it. Please. I need a kiss so bad. I want to--" his mouth clamps shut, realizing a hint of actual desperation crept in. Heat rushed to his face. Is he really this needy? Sure, things have been rocky with his wife ever since he lost his job, but surely he couldn't be craving affection this bad. Not from a stranger, at least.

The tip of your nose brushes his cheek as you lean in. Your hand finds itself at the back of his head, gripping the pastel strands and holding on tight to keep him in place. "Good," you praise, your breath hitting his lips. You graze them just barely and he shuts his mouth, frozen in place. He's restraining himself out of guilt, fiddling with his ring.

"L-listen, I don't know if I..."

You don't let him talk, taking his breath away by pressing your mouth fully to his. He doesn't jerk back (yes, you would let him if he did), but he doesn't respond, either. He lets out a trembling breath through his nostrils, uneasy and yet...

He finds your lips don't feel that bad. You're quite experienced, too, the way you were coaxing him to reciprocate rather enticing. Lord, Eun-Mi will never forgive him for this.

Slowly, hesitantly, he parts his lips. You stop and wait for his next move, wanting to accommodate him. You nearly pull back, until he finally starts putting his mouth to good use. His style is shy, curious--and maybe a little bit hesitant, given that he's ridden with guilt. Even so, it's a bit late to turn back now.

You part from him just when he's getting a little more into it and he nearly follows your lips. He catches himself, closing his mouth tightly in embarrassment.

You can't help but smile, letting go of his hair and brining your hand up to his cheek instead, leaving a dull throb in his scalp. "More?" you tease.

He looks anywhere but at you, shameful yet wanting. "... Please."

This time, you offer him all. Your lips dance with his gracefully, matching his pace and urging him to break free from the shell of guilt he's put himself in. The deed is already done, he might as well enjoy it.

As if sensing your thoughts, he whines and parts his mouth, asking for more. You give it to him willingly, licking into his mouth until you find his tongue--a real struggle, given that it seems just as shy as he is. Even so, as soon as they meet, he slides it against yours like he hadn't tasted someone in a while. How sad.

The kiss gets sloppy as you pull him closer, making him bend over the stand. He hitches one knee on it to reach you better. What a desperate, little thing.

Your hands snake around his shoulders, pushing the remaining layers off. He's left in his pastel bowtie and pants. He shivers at the change, now feeling the sun burning his skin. A light sheen of sweat makes him nearly glow.

He doesn't dare touch you yet, like it's a boundary he's not ready to cross--like he'll somehow cheat on his wife more if he dares to use his hands. ...Or perhaps he's just shy. Either way, you don't care. You reach to purchase the next item without really looking what it is. You pull out a box of matches, which finally tears you away from his pretty mouth.

He's dazed for a few seconds before his eyes land on the same thing. "What...?"

You light a match and bring it close to one of his nipples, which snaps him out of whatever trance he was in. He jumps back, clasping his chest. "Wh-what are you doing?!"

He watches with wide eyes as you climb over the stand and tear his hand away. Swallowing thickly, he waits for the inevitable pain to hit, face turned away and eyes squeezed shut.

There's pleasant heat. Then, as she brings the fire closer, it gets hotter. His nipple gets engulfed by the tiny flame and he yelps before he could really feel anything. You're not discouraged.

He feels it--the flame gets too close and it burns his sensitive skin--except you take it away before it could really start getting painful. This way it had just been... A lick of flame. A tease. It sends a pleasant tingle right down to his groin, unfortunately.

"This is--insane," he pants, but he doesn't pull away when you do it to his other nipple, as well. The effect is the same. You blow air on them after, too, making him feel even more sensitive.

After enough of this game, you envelop one sensitive bud in your mouth, running your wet tongue over it soothingly. He has to grip the edges of his stand to keep upright.

"Nghh--fuck," he whispers breathlessly as you lick over the other nipple. "Hah-haven't you tormented me enough?"

You pull away, matches long forgotten as you take in the sight of him: hair disheveled, bowtie askew and chest glistening with your saliva. His lips are slightly swollen and, despite all his protests, his pupils are wide-blown. He looks needy.

You step closer, caging him in as you reach for another item over the counter. You have no idea how this game goes, but your best guess is that the stronger his reaction is, the more money you get. Maybe that's why you could afford...

... A knife.

Harvey looks at it, still panting. His gaze lands on you next, not surprised anymore. He instead seems curious about what you'll do with it.

You twirl it in your hands, getting a feel for it. It's a standard kitchen knife, nothing out of the ordinary. You let the blade run down his torso lightly enough that all he feels is the cold of the metal and not the sting of it. It doesn't fail to get a shudder out of him.

Once again, you stop at his belt. There's a tiny but noticeable bulge growing beneath it. You meet his eyes again and he looks away in shame, squeezing his thighs together as if he could hide it. You let the blade run across it, too, and you hear his breath hitch. It twitches under the attention.

"P-please," he breathes, sweat trickling down his neck. "Tear them apart, I don't care anymore," his accent is thick as he begs like a sinner for mercy.

You huff, not finding the idea half bad. You undo his belt (you're not delusional enough to think that slicing through it would be easy), then use the knife to pop the button on his pants off. You push the tip of the weapon against the zipper and it surrenders under the weight, going down. He jerks as it goes over his bulge.

"Easy," you hiss, pinning his hips in place, "unless you want your balls cut open."

His traitorous body twitches at the thought and he whimpers in embarrassment. "Please, no."

A most peculiar reaction. You stop to consider him, eyes narrowed. He squirms uncomfortably under your stare. Hm. You file that away for later.

For now you're content on tugging his pants down, letting them fall to his ankles. He has pastel pink briefs that match his hair--because of course he does--and thighs that could cause a small catastrophe. You let the tip of the knife trace the hard muscle, making it react. He swallows back a noise, trying instead to keep himself steady on his feet.

"You're killing me here," he hisses through his teeth.

"Am I?" your voice borders on cruel. You bring the knife to the waistline of his briefs, making it catch lightly on the edge. "I'm not hearing your pleas for mercy..." The blade tears through the material easily, lightly grazing the skin below, which has him gasping.

"C-careful where you put that." He tries to keep from trembling, but to no avail. His underwear falls off, his erection finally springing free. You forget the knife, content on checking out what you have to work with.

He's not big by any means. Eight centimeters at best, give or take. Still, it's just as cute as the rest of him and he seems more embarrassed about the fact that he's cheating than his size. That's fine by you.

You let the metal glide over his spine, trailing down until it pokes one of his ass cheeks. He tries to stifle his yelp, but you use your free hand to grab the other cheek and he can't quite hold his reaction back. His hips cant forward as he gasps. How adorable.

"Get on the stand," you order and he swallows down his protests as he looks around. There's no one on this deserted street, but anyone could appear at any time. He hops on it and you spin him around so he's facing the road in all his naked glory.

"I-is this really--" he doesn't get to respond as your hand comes from behind him and finds his erection. You curl your fingers around it and stroke once, twice, until he lets out a moan.

You snigger as he thrusts into your hand. "Don't worry about others. There's not much to see, anyway."

He doesn't register your comment as you keep toying with him from behind. You cup his balls, graze your fingernails all the way up to the tip and you pinch, making him jolt and close his legs with a whimper. He doesn't complain anymore, though. You continue his torment until precum gathers at the slit. You run your finger through it and leave him aching as you redirect it towards his mouth.

"Don--mmnhh," you push past his lips and he purses them around your limb out of reflex. He whimpers as he sucks, his tongue hot and slick under your finger.

"Good boy," you murmur, digit leaving his mouth coated in saliva. You use it to circle one nipple. He's on the verge of breaking.

"Ph--please," he nearly sobs, "I need you to--I'm so--" he can't even finish his sentences, too embarrassed to speak dirty. Cute.

"Not yet," you taunt, taking your hands off of him. He panics at the loss, quickly turning his head around to see what you're doing.

You're undoing your pants. He flushes further, enraptured by the way they fall to your ankles, revealing your plain, but wet underwear. You step out of the pants, grinning as you offer him the knife. His hands are trembling around it.

"What do I..." you guide the tip of the knife to the hem of your panties and he freezes.

"Your turn."

He gulps. He doesn't really know how to handle the thing, but after looking at your face to check he wasn't hurting you, he applies more pressure, tearing a bit through the fabric. He does precisely what you did and your panties fall away, leaving your bushy cunt on display.

The knife clatters to the ground as he observes the wetness cling to your curls.

"On your back," you instruct and, for once, he obeys without question, nearly giddy. His fingers keep drumming against the wood.

You climb up as well, hovering over him. However, instead of settling in his lap, you go higher until his breath tickles the inside of your thigh. His eyes keep flicking from your core to your face, hands gripping your thighs just to have something to hold on to. He looks like he needs it.

"Hah, you want me to...?" he chuckles airily, nervous. "I mean I can, of course, um..."

You tangle your fingers into his hair, intent on ruining it. "Lick me like your life depends on it."

He doesn't need to be told twice. The look on his face is rather dazed at your words, actually. He strains his neck so he can finally glue his lips to your pussy, dragging his tongue through your folds and all the way up to your clit. You sigh, getting some action at last.

"Keep going," you grind against his mouth without an ounce of shame. "Don't get shy now."

He opens his mouth wide to accommodate your whole heat, kissing and suckling sloppily, the tease. He flattens his tongue against your clit, pushing against it and making your toes curl. You don't have to instruct him much--clearly his wife had him trained. He even drags two fingers to your entrance, tracing your opening slowly. You clamp down against nothing with anticipation, which motivates him to push in.

It doesn't take long for him to find that sweet spot. As soon as he does your back arches and you moan, nearly suffocating him. He doesn't seem to mind, continuing to slide his fingers in and out as he flicks your clit that's sucked between his lips.

The heat in your gut builds up at an alarming rate, but you don't have the heart to stop him. He's so good and you get the feeling that this is going to be one of those mind-shattering orgasms. You let him go on until you feel that familiar edge approach. Your hips grind against his face more desperately and he takes it all with no issue. He makes a muffled noise and redoubles his efforts.

You come with a silent moan, eyes rolling into the back of your skull. Hot liquid gushes out of you, some endind up in his mouth, but he chokes in surprise, making the rest spray all over his face. He sputters and coughs, pushing you away enough to be able to get some air into his lungs.

You don't mind, needing a bit of time to recover, anyway. You sit back on your arms and close your eyes, letting the spasms of your inner walls subside.

It's only once he calms down that you crack an eye open to see the state he's in. Oh, if you could eat a man up. His hair is a mess, face red and glistening with the evidence of your release. Beads of moisture cling to his eyelashes as he tries blinking them away. His bowtie is still on, soaked and askew. Even his stand didn't get spared from your squirting.

"Ah..." he tries his voice out, finding it faint and hoarse, "A warning would have been nice." He clears his throat.

You don't deem his words worthy of a response. Instead you continue watching him squirm as you sit on his chest. He's still achingly hard. He lets his eyelids fall shut, knowing there's no easy way out of this. A bitter chuckle leaves him before his face twists.

"Please," his voice breaks. "I need you. I can't--"

Oh, how he longed to say those words to his wife. To go crawling back to her on his knees, grovelling and begging until his vocal chords give out. She deserves so much more, so much better than a man who lost not only his job, but also his faithfulness. He loves her, of course he does, and yet here he is, lips coated in the release of someone else. He'd dug his ringed finger into someone else's cunt like their marriage meant nothing.

His brows come together, struggling to hold his tears back. How dare he still want this stranger? How dare his cock still twitch at the thought of this damned person putting their hands on him?

"Take me," he holds back a sob. "Take it all and leave. I have nothing else."

You lean in to press a swift kiss to his moist lips, offering him a tiny comfort. He chases after you, blinking a few tears out of his eyes when he finds you won't give him any more.

You turn around, still sitting on his chest, his dick staring right back at you, erect and ready. How naughty. His legs are dangling off the edge of the stand, pants still hanging on his ankles.

You lean in, deciding you've tortured this poor man enough. You lick up his shaft and he jolts, mewling at the sensation. You continuously flick the tip with your tongue, making him writhe. He keeps blabbering mindlessly, pleading and begging as you torment him slowly. It won't be long until he cums.

You use your free hands to fondle his balls, scratching them slightly, which nearly has him undone. Not yet. You pull away, leaving him twitching and aching. Before he could protest, you take him into your mouth, easily fitting the whole thing. Not like there's much to throat, anyway.

His whole body coils, right on the verge. You can't really do much about his release, because as soon as you bob your head once, you feel a trickle of liquid seep out of him and his wrecked cry right after. He cants his hips up until he rides his high and you help him as best as you can.

The tension seeps out of his muscles and he falls back onto the stand with a soft thud, boneless. You swallowed all of him, tasting his slightly bitter and salty release on your tongue. Not much different from the other people you've had.

You turn back around, watching him try to catch his breath as tears spill over his cheeks, mingling with your own release. How pitiful. You feel bad enough to kiss some of them away. He puts a hand on your chest, a weak attempt to push you away.

"No more," he sounds broken. "No more, please."

You've thoroughly wrecked him. His wife will never want him back. He'll get thrown out of the house, he'll lose custody of his kid and he'll end up broke on the streets, begging for just a dollar. He's utterly miserable.

All because of this stupid booth. All because of you.

Are you proud of yourself? He's crying now, an arm over his eyes to try and cover his shame. He won't let you help, either. He just wants you off of him.

You obey, for once, hopping down and finding your pants. You use your shredded underwear to wipe your wet thighs, then pull your trousers on. You sleep commando all the time, so this is no biggie. Because you have a little sympathy for the man, you search through your van for some tissues. You leave him a whole pack on the side of the stand that's not, er... Wet.

Your eye catches on the last glowing button. Seems there's an item you haven't unlocked, though there's hardly any need to do it now. You've gained more than enough money for the operation. The counter says '99999'. There's a place under the booth where the dollars are laid out for you to take. You do, shoving the stack of money in your pockets. You think of leaving Harvey some, too, but you don't want to make him feel like some cheap whore.

There's not much more you can do as he lies on the stand, spent and resigned.

"Go," her urges, nose stuffy. "I don't want to see you again."

With one last glance, you grant him the smallest mercy of today and you leave. You climb back into your van and start the engine, driving off as he stares at the sun.

You wonder if the last item would've been useful at all.

"here you are, one large black coffee with two sugars." you hum, picking up the two drink carriers, about to leave his office. he only looks away from his monitor momentarily to flash you a tiny smile and quietly mutter, "thanks." he picks up the cup and brings it to his lips for a long sip.

"see you around." you sing, about to exit his office and deliver the other coffees, until you hear him call out behind you,

"erm, why is 'princess' written on my cup?"

you turn around to look at him, still wearing a smile even as he glares at you with a expression filled with a mix of disgust and suspicion. "oh, that's just the silly name i gave to the barista. they write it on the cup so i know whose drink belongs to who."

"right." he clicks his tongue, narrowed eyes glancing between you and his cup, "and is there a reason why you didn't use my actual name? or.. any other noun?"

you're left speechless for a moment. in all honesty, you weren't expecting him to call you out on it; you thought you'd be able to leave his office before he noticed, then point it out in the breakroom. defensively, you splutter, "it's just a bit of harmless fun and silliness, sir. no need to get so worked up about it. but if you are really upset by it, i'll give them your actual name next time i go, mkay?"

he opens his mouth. likely to rebuttal against your claim that he is getting 'worked up' or is 'upset', but before the words can even leave his mouth you swiftly close the door to his office with a perky, "see you later!"

and tsukishima is left irritated, drinking out of his princess cup.

STRIKE TWO. in typical assistant fashion, you eventually are left to deal with arranging meeting between tsukishima and whoever else — whether that's curators from other museums or private buyers/sellers. recently, there's been one seller from overseas that he really wanted to meet with; he'd been trying for ages but apparently this guy must be really busy or something because it took tsukishima four months to even get a reply from the man himself, wherein the man said he'd be happy to meet, if he has time. then, tsukishima left you to iron out the specific details and nail down a time/date.

the door to his office swings open and you proudly beam at him while standing in the doorway. he's in the middle of reading a file on his desk, so he only briefly looks up at you over the rim of his glasses which have slid down his nose, "can i help you?"

"nope, but i can help you." you proclaim, meanwhile he doesn't even look up from his papers as he raises and eyebrow, urging you to continue. you do so, saying, "guess who managed to secure a date and venue for your meeting with... the important guy, whose name i forgot."

tsukishima visibly perks up from his chair, drops his pen in shock and locks eyes with you, and you swear for a millisecond, an emotion that could be perceived as joy lights up his face. "mr kim?!"

"yes, him!"

"excellent work." he gives you an approving nod, picking up his pen and resuming his work, "when is the meeting?"

"uh, well, he said he'd only meet with you if for when you okay, he would let you to."

tsukishima continues to nod, scanning the text in front of him, "right, forward me the ema—" he pauses, mind stuttering as he attempts to process what you said, "uh, sorry, could you repeat that for me?"

"he said he'd only meet with you if for when you okay, he would let you to."

you say it with such a rehearsed confidence that tsukishima sooner believes that he may be having a stroke than the idea that you might just be pranking him. "sorry," he clears his throat and straightens in his chair, "one more time, please."

"he said," you stress this time, "he'd only meet with you for when you okay, he would let you to."

now finally starting to catch on, his expression of befuddlement slowly begins to transform into one of annoyance, "that doesn't make any sense."

"yes, it does." you scoff, putting on a matching face of aggravation, "maybe you're just having a senior moment. here, i'll repeat it for you once more: he said he'd only meet with you for when you okay, he would let y—"

"that doesn't make any fucking sense! what're you even trying to say?" you snaps at you, and you open your mouth to say something that would piss him off even more, but at this point you are struggling to hide how amused you are by his reaction and a sly smile begins to tug at the corners of your lips, one that you try so hard to suppress but he notices anyway, and when he does he sighs, "get out of my office."

you nod, putting a hand over your mouth to muffle your snickering as you leave the office, closing the door behind you.

there's a moment of silence where tsukishima can hear the blood vessels in his forehead bulging, but you break it by popping your head into the room and stating, "i did actually get a meeting with the guy though. it's next friday at two o'clock at the plaza lunch spot. i'll forward you the details." and you just as hastily dip out.

at least one good thing came of that interaction, he tells himself.

STRIKE THREE. there's a knock at his door, but he's on his lunch break. everyone knows that he takes his lunch between 1.30 and 2.30 — the same time it has been for the last 18 years — and expressly asks no one to disturb him during this period, so who would be inconsiderate enough to knock on his door while he's eating his su— oh, of course.

the moment he realises who it is on the other side of the door, it creeps open and your head pokes in and proves his assumption to be correct.

he covers his mouth as he's still chewing on his sandwich, "i didn't say you could come in."

"but it's an emergency, sir!"

"what is it?" he quirks a brow. usually if someone interrupted his lunch with an 'emergency', he'd show a bit more concern but given that it's you and you once referred to a cologne he was wearing that you weren't particularly fond of as a 'nasal assault and biohazard', he has reason to believe that you're being hyperbolic.

another assumption proven correct as you explain, "someone brought in tuna and egg salad for lunch and now the breakroom reeks." your eyes squeeze shut, cringing as you recall the awful odour, "could i please eat lunch in here, with you?"

"that's a stu—" for second he forgets that he's your boss and he's only meant to use professional language, but he hastily catches himself, "that's a ridiculous complaint. just open a window." he takes another bite of his sandwich.

"but sir, it's such a foul smell, you don't understand." you continue to whine, leaning against the door, "and wouldn't you like to have someone to talk to during your lunch break?"

"my office isn't for fraternising." he states bluntly, "anyway, if i let you eat in here, soon enough everyone will be eating their lunch in here."

"i highly doubt anyone else would volunteer to eat in your company." you chirp in such a sweet tone of voice that it takes tsukishima a few moments to compute how offensive that is, "even if they do, you can just tell them to politely get lost because i am the only employee who is tolerable enough to eat with you."

"i'm not sure how true that is." he contemplates, leaning back in his chair and catching a glimpse of the clock. more of his fleeting lunch hour was slipping away from him as he entertained his conversation. a part of him wanted to angrily assert himself and tell you that you weren't going to eat with him. but an even larger part of him was oddly endeared by you, even though he couldn't even begin to explain why.

regardless, he ought to end this conversation somehow. he gives you a once-over and lazily slides his glasses back up the bridge of his nose, sighing, "you're lucky you caught me in a good mood. sit." he motions to the chair across from him.

you smile, humming a "thank you." as you shuffle into the room and take a seat at the opposite side of his desk as instructed. once sat, you start to unwrap your lunch, "what's got you in such a good mood, anyway?"

"my lunch is quite good today." he explains, covering his mouth as he chews.

"cool, did your wife make it for you?" you ask, taking a bite of your own food.

"no, i'm unmarried. i made it myself." his tone softens slightly.

"right." you buzz, eyes scanning around his room. it dawns on you that you've never had a proper look around his office before. he has all sorts of books and chachkies on his bookshelves, as well as various diplomas, pictures and certificates in frames. most of them seemed to be academic or museum-related accolades, but one in particular stood out to you. hence, you ask, "who are the sendai frogs?" eyes narrowed, trying to read all the text on the certificate.

he follows your gaze until it falls upon the sole volleyball-related item he has displayed in his office. "that's the volleyball team i used to play for." he turns round in his chair to face you again.

"oh, volleyball. is that the sport you were into back when you were athletic?"

he chuckles at your poorly veiled jibe and attempt to get a rise out of him. instead, he plays along for a change, "yes. back when i was athletic, i played a lot of volleyball." his eyes fall on the desk, giving the appearance of absence as he reminisces on the fond memories, "that certificate is from when we won the v. league tournament."

"interesting." you nod along. as you do so, he opens a drawer on his desk and rummages around. this goes on until he finds a picture and slides it along to you. leaning forward to look at it, you see it's a slightly crumbled photo of an entire team of volleyball players lined up, all wearing a bright green and yellow uniform, likely the sendai frogs. and you become certain of this when you find a much younger version of your boss in this line-up, in the back row. "aww, is that you?"

"with my team, yes."

so he's always been deadpan-looking. good to know. "how long ago was this?"

he grimaces, "15 years ago, i think."

"you must've been around my age in this photo." you giggle, even harder when you watch his face fall into an unimpressed glare. he tries the slide the photo back over to himself, but you keep a hand on it, "how do i know this isn't ai?"

"ai?" he almost gasps.

"yeah, like, artificial intelligence." you knit your brows together, "it's when a neutral network is trained on data and learns how to—"

"i know what ai is; i'm not an idiot!" he snaps, snatching his photo back, "it's not that. it's a real picture." he insists.

"mm, i'm not so sure. i swear i saw one of the guys had seven fingers on one hand!" you smirk, trying to grab the photo back but he yanks his drawer open and shoves it back in there. "plus, i find it hard to believe you looked like that 15 years ago and you're still unmarried."

it's around now that he starts to realise that you're deliberately trying to get a rise out of him again; he's not sure how he keeps falling for it. regardless, he's left speechless by your two observations — momentarily, at least. there's silence until he finishes chewing on his sandwich and swallows, "no one had seven fingers in that photo, firstly." he huffed, avoiding eye contact, "secondly, i appreciate your attempt at flattery."

"any time." you laugh, and so does he.

YOU'RE OUT. with your head resting on your knuckles, you aimlessly type away on your keyboard — next to you is stack of files you've been asked to digitise, so you are hours into typing them all up. there's a software that is meant to transcribe the text from a photo, but the majority of the papers were too crumbled or damaged for it to work. thus, you are left to do it manually in a hackneyed haze.

until you see a notification appear in the bottom corner of your screen. it's an email, from tsukishima. without thinking you immediately stop typing and click on it, bringing the email to full screen.

"SUBJECT: Performance Review.

Hi,

As you may know, it's protocol here at the Sendai City Museum that every member of staff undergoes an annual performance review, conducted by their supervisor. This is done to ensure that everyone is applying their best efforts to their roles and to address any qualms that staff may have.

I'm aware that you have not been employed here for over a year, thus usual procedure stipulates that you do not require a review yet. However, due to recent behaviours and concerns, I believe that an exception can be made in this instance.

I've set a meeting time for 6PM on Friday.

Regards, Tsukishima."

What the hell?

over the last three days, basically ever since you received that email, you've been on your very best behaviour. you've not been irritating him or bothering him during his lunch hour, nor have you been giving pet names to the barista to put on his coffee. nothing of the sort; you've been the perfect employee — keeping your head down and getting on with your assignments.

granted, being the perfect employee sucks and isn't entertaining whatsoever. but you didn't want to give your boss any more reasons to fire you.

truthfully, a part of you is incredibly shocked that this would even happen. up until now you thought that tsukishima was good humoured enough to understand that all the social transgressions you committed were simply in jest. you thought that was the kinda dynamic going on; that he was terribly strict and rude but he'd make up for it by being secretly cool enough to overlook certain things that you did. evidently you misjudged that. turns out he's just strict and rude, with no redeeming qualities. being hot doesn't count as a redeeming quality.

it's whatever. hopefully you'll be able to weasel your way out of any disciplinary action by being sweet but even if you are fired, it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world — is what you tell yourself. this job is boring anyway, and it would be constructive for you to free yourself from the shackles of evil co-workers and rooms that smell like drywall and dust constantly.

so, when friday 6PM rolls around and everyone packs up and starts filtering out of the museum, you grab your staff and stroll towards tsukishima's office without a care in the world. well, maybe you cared a little, evidenced by the tremor in your knees and twitching of your eye. but largely, you didn't care!

you knock on the door and he summons you in, and you take a seat across from him, just like you did when you were eating lunch together. although atmosphere this time was far more intense. he's got a suit jacket on this time and you can smell his expensive, fresh cologne from across the desk. he has files in front of him but you can't read them because his computer is in the way.

"glad you came." he states monotonely, without looking up from the papers, "are you ready for your performance review?"

"no." you huff, crossing your arms over your chest, "you're just going to try come up with some reason to fire me, cos you're tired of me."

tsukishima stares at you wide-eyed, honestly he was not expecting you to be so upfront and confrontational about this. people in the professional world usually aren't. he clears his throat and replies, "true, i am tired of you. but i'm not looking for a reason to fire you. the work you have done so far is decent, so i invited you here to give you the opportunity to apologise, promise you'll stop being an annoyance and then we could both move on."

"apologise?!" you snort, "why would i apologise? i've not done anything wrong."

"that so?" he quirks a brow, biting the inside of his mouth to stop himself from raising his voice, "what about the time you tricked me into thinking i was having a stroke?"

"i just said a few words out of order; stop being dramatic." you scoff, rolling your eyes, under the firm belief that nothing you've done so far could be classified as 'wrong'. just silly, vexing even.

"you disturbed me during my lunch break and said my certificate was fake." he sneers.

"how dare i disturb lord tsukishima during his sacred lunch hour. if that is such a blasphemous deed then feel free to exile me." you gawk, tone dripping with sarcasm and contempt, all while tsukishima glares daggers at you from across the desk. "also, i did not say your certificate was fake. i'm sure you did win that junior league volleyball tournament eons ago; i said the picture was fake, and we established i was only joking."

tsukishima's heart races. he's not been spoken to in much a manner by a subordinate since... ever. despite working here for over ten years, he still doesn't feel practised enough to know how to deal with this. but what he does know is that you are triggering the asshole in him, hence he stands up with his hands on his desk and commands down at you, with the intention of putting a quick end to this confrontation, "joking or not, you've been shockingly unprofessional these last couple weeks. now, quiet down or else i'll... uh, i'll"

he stumbles over his words. unsure if he should threaten to fire you or something more severe, and this decision results in him stumbling over his words — a fatal error. this allows you the chance to stand up slowly from your chair, not quite getting on his level but still a intimidating display of fearlessness. you scowl up at him and ask, "or else you'll what?"

...

there's a pause. the seconds after that are a frenzy of limbs, heated kisses and hands where they don't belong. you never thought this would be the boiling point of your uneasy relationship with your dickhead boss, but here you are; folded over his desk with your skirt hiked up to your waist, his papers all thrown to the floor and his computer shoved aside. "ngh, please.." you groan.

"this what you wanted?" he mutters harshly under his breath as he frantically undoes his zipper and pulls out his cock, smearing the head against your pleading lips, "all of this just to get my attention?" you moan out in reaction to his tip against your hot core and he takes this as a response, "well, you've got it now." he punctuates his sentence with a firm slap on your ass which makes you cry out even more.

from his big hands on your waist pinning you down, to his hot minty breath breathing down your neck, you're already soaked for him by this point. his cockhead runs back and forth through your folds, stimulating your needy heat until he finally dips his tip shallowly into your hole and growls, "need me to teach you how to fucking behave?"

"yes, sir." you mewl back, trying to buck back onto his dick but his arm is surprisingly strong and keeps you pinned right in place, any attempt you make to move back is futile.

he laugh at this and says, "that's what i thought." right before plunging into you, his lengthy shaft penetrating you and splitting you open on his desk. a staggered moan rips from your throat as this happens, but it's hardly a deterrent for tsukishima. "feeling sorry yet?"

"y-yeah." you stammer, eyes squeezed shut. his length is pushing against your insides, and you're barely able to fit him but he's crammed himself all the way in there, to the point were your folds are virtually kissing his base. you're unable to cope with the vast amount of pleasure and discomfort circling in your abdomen, you try to grab onto something but he has you laid out on his desk, tits pressed against the hard wood. you can't grab the smooth surface so fingers curl around the front edge of the desk.

"good. and i'm also sorry for what i'm about to do to this poor cunt." his voice drips with scorn. he kisses his fingers and uses them to lovingly massage and toy with your clit. giving you a few deceptively calm and sweet moments to cherish before he yanks his hand away and begins pounding into you from behind.

the force of his hips snapping into your ass causes your whole body to shake and rock on top of desk, his hands moving you to the natural rhythm and emphasisng your ass bouncing on his pelvis. "how's it feel, baby?" he grabs a handful of your ass, using that and your waist to keep you in place.

"guh— hah— good!" you squeal, eyes rolling back in your head from the intense euphoria of his cock repeatedly cramming itself into your sopping pussy. having to contort around his length each time brings you a sizzle of pain and satisfaction that it near constant.

"hurts?"

"y-yeah."

"good." he smirks, slapping your ass once more and basking the cute squeak you emit. "it's what you get for being a fucking brat."

"seriously." he gasps, losing momentum slightly but still got a fire in him, a desire to rearrange your insides and keep lashing into you until you've forgot your own name. "i've worked here for over a decade." his teeth grind together, cock starting to weep at being suffocated by your drenched pussy. "and i've never met a girl as insolent and— ah— tight, as you!"

you're not sure if that was meant to be an insult, either way you only feel more motivated to clamp down on him, and his eagerness to be inside you works against him as you swallow him up and he cums inside you, gripping your ass and waist as he fills you up with his seed. his nails dig into you so you're moan moaning all the way through his climax.

once he's done, he leans forward and grabs your hair, pulling you back into a rough arch so he can whisper in your ear, "learnt your lesson yet?" as he nears you, the aroma of sandalwood and citrus, mingled with his natural musk floods your senses. "still feel like being an annoyance, or does this slutty cunt need another round?"

although the proposition of another creampie is tempting, you do feel quite worn out. additionally, you feel like tsukishima definitely put his best effort into that so you should probably throw the old man a bone. "i've.. learned my lesson."

there's a beat of silence. tsukishima gently lets go of your hair and your heads rests back on the desk, as he straightens himself out. "hm," he clicks his tongue, pulling out of your soiled pussy with a lewd squelch, "i should probably make you come anyway, for good measure."

before you can even properly process what he said, his slender fingers latch back onto your poor clit. he's awfully cruel, rubbing and pinching and pulling the most pornographic moans from you. toes curling with ecstasy, your mind blurs in a haze of lust and you all but melt into the desk.

you're so lost in your horny trance that you almost choke on your own spit when replaces his fingers on your clit with tongue, "mm, delicious, sweetheart." he hums into your cunt, the vibrations sends a shiver down your spine. his lips work against your folds, then his tongue ventures deeper into your hole, although as the distance closes his glasses end up in the way. the cold surface against your warmth serves as a shock to your system and your eyes jolt open.

he briefly pulls away and removes them, noticing your juices on them and muttering, "crude slut." under his breath, but still loud enough for you to hear. mixed signals. you're not given a moment to ponder it though as he dives straight back into your cunt. he wraps an strong arm around your legs and licks stripes inside you, forcing the full length of his tongue inside your pussy.

due to his expert fingers stimulating your clit and the ceaseless movement of his tongue, it's not long before your hunched over the desk and screaming his name into the emptiness of the room. "please, please— tsukishima! i—"

"shh, shh, baby." he urges, swiftly replacing his tongue with the fingers of his other hand and skillfully coaxing you through your orgasm, not allowing for even a momentary lull in the onslaught of pleasure. "almost there. let me take care of you."

you do as he says, fully submitted to his hand and just as promised, he guides you through your climax with ease. the concrete ball on your stomach dissolves into something much softer and your spasming walls fade in intensity. soon, you're laying breathless and completely fucked out on your boss' desk, pussy dripping onto the vinyl floor.

he gets up from his knees and composes himself up: zipping his fly, putting his glasses back on, tidying his hair and the like. then, he calmly saunter around to the front of his desk where you face is, and sit down in his chair. he smirks down at you, "that was relaxing. for me."

"something like that." you pant, resting your cheek on the wood.

"tired?"

"very."

"consider yourself lucky, then." he learns back in his chair, idly moving side to side, "had we done this 'back when i was athletic', you'd be worse off." he chuckles to himself, and you're too spent to laugh.

"so, am i fired?" you ask groggily.

"as long as you're not still laying with your legs spread come morning, no."

your eyes widen at this, "really?"

"if i fired you, you'd just go out and find some other old man to terrorise." he explains, meeting your weary gaze, "it's best you stay. at least i've figured out a way to deal with you."

he's probably pissed off.

then your phone buzzes again.

fuckass idiot: i’m outside. let me in.

you shuffle to the door, legs numb, and open it a crack. tsukishima stands there, glasses crooked, looking like shit. he’s holding a bag.

he holds it up, voice gruff. “brought shit.”

you sniffle, opening the door wider in disbelief. you're panicked and fucking terrfied, and here this bastard is, holding mcdonalds like you're not four weeks pregnant.

you stare at him, eyes narrowed as he's lookng at you with unintrested eyes.

"the fuck are ya' staring at?" he snaps, rolling his eyes.

you're just about to say something, hands on your hips and a scoff escaping your lips. "tsukshima fucking kei, do you think this is funny—" but your words are cut off as he softly pushes you inside, closing the door behind him.

"what? a guy can't get the girl he accidently got pregnant some food?" he scoffs, though his eyes are softer than usual. pity? guilt?

"and don't fuckin' worry, i'm not here to say i'm gonna' leave ya' or whatever." his hand finds your shoulder, patting it awkwardly.

fucking hell. you slump forward in relief, heart pounding so fast it'll rip out of your chest. whatever messy enemies to lovers type bullshit this is, it's getting better already.

"we should probably get married or something."

"bro...slow the fuck down."

2026 ── 𝓦𝐎𝐑𝐊 𝐎𝐅 @atelphobist 𝜗ৎ

ᥫ᭡ | © 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘱𝘩𝘰𝘣𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘳. 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦𝘥. 𝘯𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘱𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘳 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘪.

“hurts?” you parrot disbelievingly, too deep under the spell to feel the burn in your thighs. “‘zuku, know what hurts?”

“no, i know,” he sobs, balls squeezing painfully as the familiar pressure returns to his cock. it’s familiar, but it’s not the same; there’s no cum involved, he’s been drained too dry to give you anything. “l-last time, please. i need a minute to, ngh, relax.”

it hurts. izuku’s cock is practically purple with overstimulation, but he’s too entranced to pull you off himself. when you’d arrived home, tugging at his belt and babbling about what had happened, izuku took a moment to consider if he had any notes on something like this.

villains with these types of quirks have always been rare, and it’s just his luck that one popped up before valentine’s day.

the couch groans from the combination of movement and weight on it, yawning with wear. izuku has never underestimated your strength or sex drive, but this . . you’re bouncy, and he’s wondering if the villain’s quirk enhanced your stamina too.

in a startling display of affection, you grab at his jaw and kiss away his tears, cooing sweet, sensual nothings into his ear. your voice is smooth when you tell him how good he’s doing, how sexy he looks when he’s whining so sweetly. just when he’s thinking it can’t get any better, you hit him where he’s weakest with a sultry murmur of want you to put a baby in me, izuku.

flustered, he can’t help but let out a squeal when you nip at his neck, kissing over previous bites and smatterings of freckles.

“do what you want with me,” he surrenders, verdant green eyes meeting your own. “hah, if that’s what you want, jus’ use me. fuck me, baby.”

BAKUGO KATSUKI.

⟡ you have the misfortune of tracking a villain with japan’s number one hero, the all too explosive dynamight. everything completely unravels during the confrontation, when katsuki’s rushing forward to deliver the final blow. the dastardly villain releases a thick, noxious smoke that fills the air with a sickening sweetness — despite all the coughing and hacking, he manages to subdue the villain until the police arrive, but you never make it back to the agency to regroup.

ridiculous, is all you can think as you’re being folded in half in the back of a company car that’s sneakily wedged in an alleyway. katsuki’s not-so-gentle teeth nip at the tender skin of your thighs, and he doesn’t think twice about the marks that are sure to show up by tomorrow.

“d-deeper, katsuki,” you writhe against the seats, too handsy for his liking. “please, it’s not deep eno—”

“shut it,” he grunts, scowling down at you. his usual expression doesn’t quite have the same effect it usually does, since it’s been mellowed out by the villain’s aphrodisiac like quirk. “don’t you dare tell me how to fuck, got it?”

a bratty huff escapes you, and you make a show of rolling your eyes at him, seemingly unimpressed. “i wouldn’t have to if you’d just do it right. oh, but who am i to judge the number one?”

a vein bulges from his forehead as he listens, crimson eyes seething silently while you continue to lay it on thick. “i guess dynamight can fuck however he wants, even if it’s subpar—”

in an instant, katsuki’s hand is on your throat and applying just enough pressure to force out a gasp from you. that teasing and talking back worked—now he’s really about to come undone, show you just how strong the number one pro can really be.

“can’t take that back now, can you? if you think you can insult me and order me around, oh,” katsuki grinds his teeth, pressing your knees into your chest without taking a moment to appreciate the pretty moan that leaves you. “fuck, you’ve got another thing coming. shut your mouth.”

“make me.”

he can’t seem to recall a time where he’s ever been this turned on—that aphrodisiac quirk’s got nothing on the way you talk to him, challenge him in a way that nobody has before.

katsuki draws his hips back, slow and deliberate in each movement. you were right, he wasn’t giving you his all; but now, he will, and he won’t stop until you eat your words. deeper? harder? faster? if that’s what you’re asking for, he’ll give it to you.

you watch breathlessly, mesmerized by the frustrated scrunch of his face, all because he can’t stop replaying your words in his head. a harsh slap to your clit snaps you out of your daze the moment it lands, stinging terribly.

“let’s work up to that, alright? you’re going to—”

“what if i don’t, katsuki?” you tip your chin up at him, looking down your nose at him. “then what?”

another slap, this time with a little more strength behind it. he disregards everything you just said, getting ready to give you an explosive orgasm you’ll have to work hard for.

“that’s what. now, let’s try that again—you’ll be good and count each slap, unless you want me to spank this slutty pussy raw,” satisfied by the responding clench of your cunt, he arches a brow and smirks. “your choice, brat.”

TODOROKI SHOTO.

⟡ with a new, unstable virus spreading rapidly through japan, scientists are racing to develop a cure. it seems to act like the standard flu, but it affects quirk users differently—shoto ends up with an unusual kind of fever.

“ah, ‘m cumming, sho,” cum squirts from your pussy like a waterfall, and everything’s so overwhelming that you unintentionally push his cock out. “good, ‘s so fucking good.”

sweat coats his face, clinging to the rough scar on shoto’s left side. panting, he sucks in a breath, grasping around for his swollen cock.

“i’m sorry,” his voice cracks once his tip slides through your sticky folds and makes your back jolt off the bed, “it’s just—shit, it’s not enough.”

“a-again? i, hah, don’t know if that’s a good—”

shoto shakes his head, shivering as a thin layer of frost appears on his right cheek; it sparkles brilliantly before melting into droplets of water that drip from his jaw. “i’m still burning up,” it’s completely out of bounds, but the low rasp of his sickly voice scratches an itch in your brain. “see, lovey? can’t even use my quirk to fix it.”

a sigh escapes you, and you spread your trembly thighs one more time. “i might be too tired to drive you to the hospital after this,” you warn.

“i know, but baby,” gratefully, shoto pushes forward, burying his cock to the hilt inside you. his warm hand settles on your lower belly to add some pressure, gearing you up for another explosive orgasm. “i don’t wanna be like this when we go to the hospital.”

he flushes darkly with embarrassment, and the mental image of a tortured shoto rutting into a hospital bed as waves of the fever’s severe effects overwhelm him is enough to make you soften.

once he starts to thrust, developing a rhythm that would put your own fingers to shame, his mouth drops open and he’s babbling incoherently. “ . . always so fucking hot around you, baby. i-it’s not my fault you’re so—haa, shit—so perfect, making me burn up whenever you’re not looking.”

and because being this deep inside you is as close as he can get to heaven, shoto sees no reason to hold back on the honest praise. he’s always been a little shy to express himself during sex, mouth drying up whenever he tries to say something rather dirty, but not now. since his brain is being fried by the heat at the moment, he won’t feel any embarrassment.

“sho, right there,” a breath is punched out of your lungs, and your nails scratch at his shoulders each time his tip kisses your sweet spot. “oh god, ‘m gonna make a mess again!”

his cock twitches and he moans your name, only egging you on. “can’t wait to taste it, darling.”

you fall off the edge, his words serving as the final push. euphoria curls through you, cresting like a wave until the sensitivity becomes too much, bringing you back to earth. abs clenching, shoto pulls out to cover your stomach in white.

in an instant, shoto’s temperature drops. quietly, he shivers against you, huffing into your neck.

“i want to stay like this before we leave.”

“you’ve got ice forming rapidly on your back, sho.”

“it’ll melt if i’m cuddling with you . . could you also rub my back? maybe i just need to sleep it off.”

KIRISHIMA EIJIROU.

⟡ eijirou listened to you specifically tell him NOT to eat the wrapped cookies you had in the fridge and when you left, he did exactly that.

“babe, baby, you feel so good,” cum races down his fingers in creamy rivulets, puddling at the base of his cock. caught up in his fantasy, eijirou flicks his wrist faster, hoping with all his heart to imitate the hot squeeze of your cunt. “s-so pretty when you take me, always so fuckin’ beautiful.”

his voice cracks just as the door opens, and your purse falls to the floor. your boyfriend is spread out on the bed, flushed feverishly and gasping out your name like he’s delirious—it would be the perfect scene to come home to if you didn’t spot two torn cookie wrappers near him.

“eijirou,” you speak his name lowly, catching his eyes and raising a brow. he’s not sure if he should feel awkward or turned on because of your scolding tone, so he just swallows dryly and looks toward you with hooded eyes. “already forgot the speech i gave you? why’d you eat the cookies?”

shame creeps up his neck and makes his skin prickle uncomfortably. grasping for a response, eijirou decides to question you right back. “why’d you have sex cookies in the fridge?”

“they were a surprise for valentine’s!”

oh.

now he really feels dumb for spoiling your plans. perhaps if he hadn’t been so hungry, so greedy, he wouldn’t be embarrassed under your scrutinizing gaze.

but the feeling doesn’t last long—your tough face drops into something more sultry: doe eyes and an upturned quirk of your lips that’s sure to finish him.

the mattress sinks under your weight, and you scoot beside him with a self satisfied smile. it’s small and quiet, but a voice in the back of his head tells him maybe you wanted this to happen; you certainly don’t look too upset about it.

“no way, baby,” a hiss escapes him when you slap his cum-stained hand away from his cock, instead choosing to replace them with your own. “am i dreaming? mrs. red riot, are you—”

his narration throws you off, and you choke just kissing his tip. you know eijirou’s surprised and eternally grateful, but damn. “mr. red riot, you’d be quiet if you wanted me to.”

“sorry,” he says earnestly, tensing up to hide the fact that he’s shaking like a leaf when you finally take him in your mouth. “i’ve just—” he inhales sharply as you slowly, torturously take him inch by inch. “i’ve been waiting s-so long for you to come home, babe.”

you swallow, throat squeezing tight around his cock, and eijirou’s clean hand flies to the back of your head, hovering precariously. “i’m crazy about you, all day every day, and the cookies made it worse. ‘m sorry for spoiling the surprise, i didn’t mean to—haa, w-what’re you doing to me? oh, you’re gonna make me—”

it doesn’t take long for obscene slurps and occasional gags to fill the room as you suck eijirou’s cock, spoiling him with each languid bob of your head. it’s too much, and the tension grows thicker in his gut, setting his insides ablaze with anticipation.

he’s hurtling toward his high, jerking his hips up and shamelessly preparing to fill up your throat this quickly—but then, you push yourself off of him. a shudder ripples through his body, and he throws you a pained, wide eyed look.

“why’d you..? baby?”

you motion for him to lay on his back, and he can see the gears in your head turning behind a wicked smile. “might as well draw it out, hm?”

“you’re gonna milk me?”

he’s so cute . .

you want to see him crying.

you hum, “only until you’re begging for me to stop.”

KAMINARI DENKI, ft. SERO HANTA

⟡ an undercover sting at a mysterious village with your work partners doesn’t go as smoothly as planned. the village, out in the far country, has been reported as the one place with the highest levels of quirk activity in japan. little did you know about the fact that this place is home to infectious pollen that makes its way into people via the air, or about its temporary effects on people . .

“what the fuck,” you moan, vision blurry between their faces and intermittent flashes of light. “there’s no way it’s from a plant, it can’t be—”

hanta’s tongue darts out to lick the salt away from his upper lip, and he points a finger toward a passage in the encyclopedia. “the symptoms are, ngh, the same.”

one of your hands works denki’s cock while the other shakily flips through an encyclopedia of germs and the like; hanta’s buried to the hilt inside of you, tan cheeks flushed with exertion.

“can’t you just read after?” denki unhelpfully suggests, blinking back a few tears while sparks of electricity fly off from his blond hair. “let’s just fix—yeah, baby, jus’ like that—fix the problem now and figure it out later.”

“shut it, denks,” hanta rolls his eyes, rocking his hips into you. despite the fact that the three of you are totally naked and in the middle of some kind of threesome, you’re researching what apparently caused this surge of uncontrollable arousal.

things began not long after you arrived in the village, where everything had looked unsuspecting and normal. surely there was a villain lurking around somewhere . . ? why else would there be so much unusual activity, enough to alert the authorities?

“look, they f-found something similar in america,” hanta’s voice wavers uncharacteristically, his own high racing through him with such intensity he doubles over.

“forget about the book,” denki’s begging while pressing dazed kisses to your tits, one hand tossing the book aside and slipping between your trembling thighs. “c’mon, babe. show us what you look like when you cum.”

perhaps this is something to be selfish about — when will an opportunity to fuck your hot coworkers come around again? hanta’s everything you’ve been daydreaming about, with a muscular physique sharp enough to have been cut from stone. denki’s just as attractive, though his features are softer, the result of his constant snacking while on the job or in the agency.

hanta nods in assent, already trailing over the edge. “want you to gush all over me, baby.”

thrashing under denki’s fingers, it momentarily occurs to you that maybe they’re a little too experienced. neither of them were concerned with a threesome when it was suggested, and there’s no mistakes in their almost synchronized movements.

just watching your eyes flutter and roll back is enough to make denki cum with a moan of your name as his cock sprays white. hanta’s pupils probably dilate a hundred times their size at the erotic sight, and his hips begin to stutter as heat races up his spine.

denki, shaking profusely, musters his voice and maintains his hurried pace. “g-good girl, go on ‘n let it out.”

since stepping foot into the village and inhaling that damn pollen, the pro hero’s been getting realistic flashes of thoughts he’s kept locked away for some time. you, on your knees, looking up at him like you’re ready to do more than just please. you, with your pretty eyes full of tears as you lose your mind beneath him.

an orgasm stronger than the lustful effects of any aphrodisiac tears through you, and your cunt bears down so hard it forces out hanta’s own high as well. with all his might, he tries to resist the surge of weakness that hits him and fails—he collapses on top of you, hugging you closely and burying his face in your neck.

loosely, your jaw hangs open and breathy gasps leave your mouth. denki’s sparking with electricity beside you and simultaneously struggling to get it under control. a single yellow spark flies off his body and mildly electrocutes hanta, snapping him back to reality. he jerks against you, sounding exhausted.

“uh. so, um, what’re we supposed to report when we get back?”

TAKAMI KEIGO.

⟡ bless his heart. for valentine’s, he decides to be a silk heart-shaped box of japan’s most expensive chocolate for you. he’d been so focused on finding your favorite flavors along with new ones that he didn’t even realize that he’d purchased sex chocolate.

“it hurts, dovey. it’s s-so painful.”

since sharing the box of chocolates with you, keigo’s been reduced to a pathetic mess who can’t seem to stop shaking when you just barely touch him. vermilion feathers puff up and out at his back, his messy wings conveying the way he’s crumbling inside.

you’re just as hot, skin crawling with a lustful itch only keigo can scratch for you. the frenetic beating of his wings whips up cold gusts of wind stronger than any ceiling fan, and not a single goosebump rises on your skin.

“right there, kei,” you moan, tears gathering in your eyes as he continuously hits your sweet spot. “oh my god, don’t stop.”

as if he’d ever plan to.

he hiccups, face flushed and hair tousled like he’s just returned from some mission out in the wild. softly, with the barest note of urgency, keigo whines out your name and a request.

“dovey, c’mon,” his voice cracks halfway through his sentence, shattered with unmistakable pleasure. “just tell me what you want, and i’ll, ah, i’ll fuckin’ give it to you.”

keigo’s entire body thrums with the need, the purpose, to please you, and his own pleasure hinges on you and your praise. sure enough, you cry out to him, words saccharine and addicting.

“make me cum, kei,” and he doesn’t need any further instruction, not when he knows your body this well. smooth fingers slip between your thighs and work your clit, causing your back to arch when he applies just enough pressure to send electricity through your nerves.

you’re wrapping around keigo’s waist, drawing him in and breaking down his self control easily.

“want me to fill up this pussy, baby? i can do it again and again—” he punctuates his words with harsh thrusts that amplify the clap of skin against skin almost as much as a quirk could, “while you take it like you were made to.”

quaking beneath him, you nod frantically, as if those are the words you’ve been waiting to hear. while he was so vividly illustrating the scene, his wings unconsciously began to wrap around your bodies, a sign of how much he wants it too.

you gasp, eyes squeezing shut with the last image being keigo’s face, twisted in ecstasy and scrunched with concentration. “gonna—‘m gonna cum, kei!”

“with me, dovey, please,” sweat pours down the sides of his face as the heated bliss tightens in his gut, applying an unbearable pressure to his cock. “let me feel you cum around me, ughhh.”

sloppily, keigo presses open mouthed kisses to your lips, and a delighted moan escapes him when you kiss back. your lips are soft against his, and your tongue carries the sweet taste of valentine’s chocolates, the expensive ones he’d come home with earlier.

MDNI 18+

Cw: NSFW, smut, restraint, dominance, submission, interrupted sexual activity, rough sex, choking, group sex, accidental voyuerism.

Giyuu Tomioka

You're pinned against the wall of his quiet estate, Giyuu's usual reserved manner is replaced by a raw need as his lips crash against yours. His calloused hands grip your hips, pulling you flush against his growing cock.

“I've wanted this since I first saw you," he murmurs against your neck, his voice rough with desire.

He tears your bottoms down, fingers sliding between your thighs to find you already wet for him. He tugs down his pants and grabs your legs to wrap them around his waist. With one hand he lines himself up with your entrance.

Then—

Pure, sweet, bright eyed, Tanjiro walks in, with Nezuko on his back. "Mr. Giyuu!”

Giyuu immediately lets go of you, you fall to the floor with a thud, he barely pulls up his pants in time.

“I have a—“ Tanjiro freezes, eyes wide as he takes in the compromising position.

There’s a beat. A very long one.

Giyuu stares back at him, face completely blank, ears slowly turning red.

“We are—Training,” Giyuu says flatly, scratching the back of his neck.

Tanjiro nods too fast. “Y-YES SIR. VERY ADVANCED TRAINING. I SEE THAT NOW.” He spins on his heel so hard Nezuko is probably getting whiplash in her box. He marches straight back out the door. “I’LL—COME BACK IN….SEVERAL HOURS—MAYBE TOMORROW!”

The door slams.

You’re still on the floor, heart racing.

Giyuu exhales, drags a hand down his face, and without looking at you mutters, “This is why I live alone.”

From outside, Tanjiro’s voice echoes faintly: “I DID NOT SEE ANYTHING.”

Giyuu shuts his eyes.

“…I’m moving.”

Kyojuro Rengoku

“You truly burn so bright…it takes my breath away!” Kyojuro says as he carries you from his front door to his bedroom.

He lays you down gently before tearing down your bottoms. Then he’s diving between your legs, wasting no time. His tongue working with the same passionate energy he brings to battle. "So sweet for me,” he moans against your core, the vibrations sending waves of pleasure through you.

You grab his hair and pull him closer, “Kyo—don’t stop!” You moan loudly.

He’s just about to insert a finger when—

“Boy! Kyojuro! What the hell is all this—“ The former Flame Hashira, Shinjuro Rengoku, the father of the man between your legs, stops mid-sentence, face flushing with anger and embarrassment.

There’s a split second of stunned silence.

Kyojuro looks up from your thighs, bright as ever, completely unbothered. “AH! Father! Wonderful!”

You choke on air. Shinjuro scoffs.

“This is NOT wonderful,” Shinjuro snaps, turning sharply away and jabbing a finger at the wall.

“And you?” His fiery gaze turns to you. “Clothes. On. NOW.”

You hurriedly reach for your pants and can’t find them. You settle on covering yourself with Kyojuro’s haori that’s lying at your feet.

You clear your throat and look back at Shinjuro, who is giving you a death glare.

“It’s nice to meet you! It is truly an honor!” You nervously exclaim, trying to ignore the whole situation.

Kyojuro springs to his feet with military enthusiasm. “I apologize for the—SURPRISE TRAINING SESSION!”

“THAT IS NOT TRAINING,” Shinjuro roars.

From the hallway, Senjuro’s small voice pipes up, deeply confused: “Is everything okay…?”

“NO,” Shinjuro bellows back. “EVERYTHING IS NOT OKAY.”

Kyojuro leans down toward you, whispering with a grin far too cheerful for the situation, “We will…resume later.”

You hear Shinjuro grab a bottle off a table, muttering as he storms out, “I need a drink. Several. And I’m burning this house down.”

The front door slams.

Kyojuro beams at you anyway. “Well! That could have gone worse!”

Tengen Uzui

Tengen strips you, his three wives watching with amusement. He's always believed in sharing pleasures, and tonight you're the center of attention.

"Let's make this unforgettable," he purrs, his large hands exploring every curve as his wives join in.

Suma's giggling, Makio's whispering in your ear, and Hinatsuru's gentle laughter fills the room.

Just as Tengen aligns himself to enter you, the door slides open and his best friend Kyojuro stands there, face turning beet red, it almost matches his hair.

"Uzui? I was told to—“ He stammers backward.

“I—THIS IS NOT—I APOLOGIZE—“ Kyojuro stutters.

He trips over his own feet trying to retreat, arms flailing, nearly taking the door off its track before disappearing down the hallway.

There’s a stunned silence.

Suma bursts into laughter, doubling over. “HE SAW EVERYTHING!”

Makio snorts. “The Flame Hashira just combusted.”

Hinatsuru calmly reaches over and slides the door shut and locks it. “He won’t be back.”

Tengen throws his head back and laughs, loud and unapologetic. “HA! Now that is what I call an unforgettable entrance.” He grins down at you, utterly unfazed. “Don’t worry—he’ll recover. Eventually.”

From somewhere far away, Kyojuro’s voice echoes faintly:

“I WILL NEVER OPEN A DOOR AGAIN.”

Obanai Iguro

"Such a disobedient pet," Obanai murmurs, his tongue flicking against your neck as he restrains your wrists with his hands. You’re lying completely exposed on his futon. His serpent-like nature extends to his preferences in the bedroom. He likes dominance, control. It’s how he claims you.

"You’re all mine," he says as one of his hands wraps around your throat, the other still holding your wrists above your head, his lips trail down from your cheek and find your sensitive nipples.

You tug on his black hair to pull him up. You’re so desperate. You need him. You don’t want to be tortured.

His mismatched eyes meet yours, his grip on your throat tightens. “No. Remember how you didn’t listen to me? Remember your attitude? You’re going to beg for it.”

He shifts but doesn’t release his grip on your throat or wrists. He starts grinding against you, slowly and deliberately, while you beg and whimper for his cock.

Then…Mitsuri bursts in. "Iguro! I brought you—!” Her eyes widen as she takes in the scene.

There’s a full second where no one breathes.

Obanai’s grip loosens immediately like he’s been electrocuted. His eyes go wide but not with lust, with terror. “Kanroji—this is not—“

Mitsuri blinks once.

“Iguro—STOP!” she yelps, dropping everything and shoving Obanai off you with surprising strength.

Obanai hits the floor in a tangle of limbs and haori, hissing. “WHAT—KANROJI?!”

You blink, stunned, unable to form words.

Obanai stares up at the ceiling, equally shocked.

Mitsuri immediately kneels beside you, hands fluttering. “Are you okay?! He looked like he was hurting you! Iguro, you can’t just—just—choke people like that!”

“I WAS NOT HURTING ANYONE,” Obanai snaps, mortified, sitting up too fast. His face is entirely red beneath the bandages. He breathes slowly. “That was…consensual. Mutually agreed upon. Entirely—“

He gestures vaguely and finally gives up. “…Not violent.”

Mitsuri processes his words.

“Oh.”

Her face turns pink.

Then pinker.

Until it’s almost a deep red.

“OH.”

She slowly covers her face with both hands. “I—I—thought—you looked upset and I just—pushed you… oh Iguro, I’m so sorry!”

Obanai groans and drags a hand through his hair.

Silence stretches.

Mitsuri peeks through her fingers, glances between you, then Obanai, then back at you.

Her voice drops to a tiny, hopeful mumble.

“Um. If—if everyone is okay and I misunderstood and this was, um…on purpose…it seems…fun.”

“Yeah it…um…it is.” Obanai says, slowly and furrows his brows at Mitsuri in confusion.

“Maybe I could join?” She whispers shyly.

You look at Obanai.

Obanai looks at you.

You both nod.

And then you’re pulling Mitsuri towards the futon.

Sanemi Shinazugawa

"Fucking finally," Sanemi growls as he practically rips your clothes off and pushes you onto his futon. His rough handling sending thrills through you.

He's always been intense, yet gentle. But that gentleness is gone, replaced by pure sexual frustration. It’s been weeks since you’ve had any sexual contact.

He pins you beneath his muscular frame. "You have no idea how badly I've wanted you," he says, his scarred hands gripping your thighs and pulling you towards him, hard enough to leave marks.

He shoves down his pants and lines himself up with your entrance. He slowly thrusts into you and once you adjust, he’s fucking you into the futon with a punishing force.

Suddenly, Genya opens the door. "Nemi? I can’t find—“

All three of you freeze.

Sanemi reacts on pure instinct.

“OUT.” He yells.

He lunges for the nearest blanket, flinging it over you so fast it nearly knocks the air out of your lungs, then whips around, his veins bulging. “GET OUT. TURN AROUND. WHY ARE YOU IN MY ROOM.”

Genya’s eyes go wide. “I—sorry— I didn’t—“

“DO NOT FINISH THAT SENTENCE,” Sanemi roars, grabbing a pillow and hurling it at the door as Genya scrambles backward down the hall.

“I DIDN’T SEE ANYTHING,” Genya yells, sprinting away. “I wish I was blind.” He mutters to himself.

Sanemi hurries to the door and slams it shut.

He stands there, chest heaving, hair wild, hands clenched.

“I’m disowning him,” he mutters.

“He didn’t mean to—“ you try to diffuse the situation but Sanemi cuts in.

“Are you okay?” He asks, walking towards you.

“Yeah…I’m okay. Are you though?”

“I’ll be better once we actually get to fuck.” He groans, plopping onto the futon next you.

Gyomei Himejima

"Beautiful," Gyomei whispers against your skin, his massive frame hovering over you with surprising gentleness.

Despite his size and strength, he's tender in his lovemaking, his large hands exploring your body with reverence.

"I will cherish this moment," he says, his beads clicking softly as he moves.

He's just entering you slowly when—

Muichiro decides to stop by for a visit.

He slides the door open without knocking. “Gyomei, I was wondering if you—“

Silence.

Muichiro stares.

Gyomei freezes like he’s been struck by lightning.

The prayer beads stop clicking.

“Ah,” Muichiro says. “So this is what you’re doing.”

Gyomei immediately recoils, hauling himself back like he’s been burned. He scrambles for a blanket, covering you both with frantic gentleness. “I am sorry!” He booms, voice echoing through the estate. “This was not meant for anyone to see.”

Muichiro tilts his head. “…Should I come back later?”

“Yes,” Gyomei says instantly. “Much later. Possibly never.”

Muichiro considers his words. “Okay.” He turns to leave, then stops, glancing back. “Is this why you’ve been smiling more?”

Gyomei’s face goes red. He presses his palms together. “Please forget everything you have perceived.”

Muichiro nods. “I will not.” Then, helpfully, adds, “You left the door unlocked.”

He slides it shut behind him.

The room is silent.

Gyomei exhales slowly, then bows his head toward you, mortified beyond words.

“I will be praying for forgiveness for the rest of my life.”

Mitsuri Kanroji

"Oh, I'm so excited!" Mitsuri squeals as she tackles you onto her futon, her strength surprising as she pins you beneath her.

"You're just so cute…and so hot…I’m going to melt!" she says, planting kisses at your neck and shoulders.

Her pink hair brushes against your skin as she undresses you with immense enthusiasm.

Just as she's about to start touching you with practiced ease, Shinobu slides the door open. "Kanroji—“ Shinobu’s eyes widen slightly before she smirks. "My, my, quite the workout."

Mitsuri freezes like she’s been caught mid-crime.

“Eep!”

She launches herself off you in a flurry of pink hair and limbs, immediately trying, and failing, to cover you with a blanket. “Kocho! I—I was just! We were—“

Shinobu raises a brow, smile sharp and delighted. “Stretching?” she offers sweetly.

Mitsuri’s face goes crimson. “NO—! I mean—YES—! But also—“

You barely have time to sit up before Mitsuri’s already spiraling, her hands flapping. “I didn’t mean to—I mean I did—but I thought you were coming over tomorrow—and I forgot to lock the door!”

Shinobu chuckles softly. “Relax. I’m not here to scold.” Her eyes flick between the two of you. “Honestly, I’m impressed. That position takes stamina.”

Mitsuri squeaks and dives face-first into a pillow. “I’M GOING TO PASS AWAY.”

Shinobu turns to you, utterly composed. “Just… hydrate.” Then she slides the door shut again, pausing only to add, “And maybe next time…lock it.”

Mitsuri lifts her head slowly, hair a mess, eyes wide. “Do you think she’s going to tell anyone?”

From the other side of the door, Shinobu’s voice floats back, sing-song sweet:

“Oh, absolutely.”

Mitsuri screams into the pillow.

Shinobu Kocho

"Are you nervous?" Shinobu asks sweetly, though her eyes hold a dangerous glint as she ties your wrists with purple silk.

She's always enjoyed mixing pleasure with a bit of pain, her small frame betraying her dominant nature.

“Don't worry," she purrs, trailing her fingernails down your stomach, "I'll make it hurt so good."

She's just teasing you with a small trail of kisses on your neck.

Then—

A soft voice.

“I—?" Kanao’s expression remains shocked as she takes in the scene, simply waiting for instruction.

Shinobu freezes.

Completely.

The silk goes slack.

“Um,” Shinobu says lightly, a beat too late.

She clears her throat, smile snapping into place like armor. In one smooth motion, she unties your wrists, drops a blanket over you, and straightens her haori. “Kanao, this is not what it looks like.”

Kanao blinks once. “It appears to be exactly what it looks like.”

Shinobu winces.

“Medical,” Shinobu tries. “Stress relief. Very advanced. You wouldn’t understand.”

Kanao tilts her head. “Should I leave?”

“Yes,” Shinobu says instantly. “Immediately. Please.”

Kanao nods, turns on her heel, and slides the door shut with surgical precision.

Three seconds pass.

Shinobu exhales slowly, pressing two fingers to her temple. Her smile is still there, but it’s cracked. “Well,” she says sweetly, looking at you, “that was deeply humiliating.”

She pauses.

OKOK SO LET ME SAY I LOVE BUDO SO FUCKUNG MUCH. HE IS SO 😍😍

The men I love so much are like. Taro, Budo, Yan-kun, Info-kun. LIKKEE 😍😍

I can imagine every single one of them on their knees while you hold their chin.

Taro

Taro has ples and begs coming from his mouth immediately. He pawing at your lap as he tried to kiss your lips again after you pulled away from his swollen lips. But he is always such a good boy for you. He is rock-hard in his pants. He's leaking precum by you, just pettung hid hair. you give him a reward. He loves it so much. And when he's a brat, he loves to tease you so you can punish him. Cause you bite at his neck, slap at his thigh, and pull on his hair. It just makes his dick so happy. He cries, but you and him both know he loves it. And when you start to actually show attention to his dick his eyes are rolling to the back of his head. Seeing stars. While you only just touched the tip slightly. But let's be real. He loves to please you. So doing what you want to makes him so fucking happy. He loves to eat you out. The first time he ate you out. He knew nothing. He was clueless. But when you showed him with you liked. He went full in eating you out like a starved man

Budo

Budo is such a brat. You have to have him crying for him to actually start begging for you. He has a big ego, so you have to try hard to get his bratty behavior down. You smile each time he yelps when you slap at his thigh. He has came multiple times by you just slapping his thigh. Or pull his hair because the next morning, he acts like he never did such things. (He secretly loves it when you have him on his knees. He just loved the ruff treatment and showing off his marks) but when he's surprisingly a good boy, he loves it when he can actually touch you when you're riding him. When he can actually explore your body when you're riding him <3

Yan-Kun

Yan-kun is already on his knees as soon as you say you want to have control. He doesn't hesitate for a second. Hearing you dom him makes his legs buck and hid legs go extremely weak. He hard as fuck in his pants already. And all you did was pat his head. He has puppy dog eyes. He likes it when you Dom and put him in his place. Just makes him feel so good. BUT LIKE TARO HE LOVES TO EAT YOU OUT. His face drenched in your juices while you grip his head to control him how to do it. He loves that you're shoeing him. He eats you as if he hasnt been fed since the dsy he was fucking born. He loves when you grip his head and stop him just when youre about to cum caude you want to cum in his cock as a reward. But when he's a brat, you go to the extreme. You have him tide down and use his own knife to cut his skin, making him bleed. Hid eyes roll to the back of his head each time as his jaw unhinged . And God, when he's a good boy, he loves it when you give him a reward. He doesn't even know when the reward is going to happen. Once, while at his house watching a movie. You gave him a passionate kiss, and you place your knee between his legs. And you give him a nice and slow blowjob while looking at him. He absolutely loves it. New photos added to his shrine <3

Info-Kun

I just know you have to break Info-kun to get him on his knees. You have to down talk him so much. By the time you actually start to touch him, he's rock hard and panting. He is such a brat that you have to constantly spanking him. But he loves it so much cause he loves the prints. And when you give him hickeys he squirms a lot. But God, he loves it. It's just that he can't help it. But he loves them cause he can only see them. He and only him. But when he's a good boy, he gets to choose what happens, and he almost always gets you to give him a hand job. He loves your warm hands around him. And he always chooses to put it on your face while you stick your tongue so he can take a photo. He has a whole file just about nasty pictures of you <3

MDNI 18+

Cw: NSFW, smut, restraint, dominance, submission, interrupted sexual activity, rough sex, choking, group sex, accidental voyuerism.

Giyuu Tomioka

You're pinned against the wall of his quiet estate, Giyuu's usual reserved manner is replaced by a raw need as his lips crash against yours. His calloused hands grip your hips, pulling you flush against his growing cock.

“I've wanted this since I first saw you," he murmurs against your neck, his voice rough with desire.

He tears your bottoms down, fingers sliding between your thighs to find you already wet for him. He tugs down his pants and grabs your legs to wrap them around his waist. With one hand he lines himself up with your entrance.

Then—

Pure, sweet, bright eyed, Tanjiro walks in, with Nezuko on his back. "Mr. Giyuu!”

Giyuu immediately lets go of you, you fall to the floor with a thud, he barely pulls up his pants in time.

“I have a—“ Tanjiro freezes, eyes wide as he takes in the compromising position.

There’s a beat. A very long one.

Giyuu stares back at him, face completely blank, ears slowly turning red.

“We are—Training,” Giyuu says flatly, scratching the back of his neck.

Tanjiro nods too fast. “Y-YES SIR. VERY ADVANCED TRAINING. I SEE THAT NOW.” He spins on his heel so hard Nezuko is probably getting whiplash in her box. He marches straight back out the door. “I’LL—COME BACK IN….SEVERAL HOURS—MAYBE TOMORROW!”

The door slams.

You’re still on the floor, heart racing.

Giyuu exhales, drags a hand down his face, and without looking at you mutters, “This is why I live alone.”

From outside, Tanjiro’s voice echoes faintly: “I DID NOT SEE ANYTHING.”

Giyuu shuts his eyes.

“…I’m moving.”

Kyojuro Rengoku

“You truly burn so bright…it takes my breath away!” Kyojuro says as he carries you from his front door to his bedroom.

He lays you down gently before tearing down your bottoms. Then he’s diving between your legs, wasting no time. His tongue working with the same passionate energy he brings to battle. "So sweet for me,” he moans against your core, the vibrations sending waves of pleasure through you.

You grab his hair and pull him closer, “Kyo—don’t stop!” You moan loudly.

He’s just about to insert a finger when—

“Boy! Kyojuro! What the hell is all this—“ The former Flame Hashira, Shinjuro Rengoku, the father of the man between your legs, stops mid-sentence, face flushing with anger and embarrassment.

There’s a split second of stunned silence.

Kyojuro looks up from your thighs, bright as ever, completely unbothered. “AH! Father! Wonderful!”

You choke on air. Shinjuro scoffs.

“This is NOT wonderful,” Shinjuro snaps, turning sharply away and jabbing a finger at the wall.

“And you?” His fiery gaze turns to you. “Clothes. On. NOW.”

You hurriedly reach for your pants and can’t find them. You settle on covering yourself with Kyojuro’s haori that’s lying at your feet.

You clear your throat and look back at Shinjuro, who is giving you a death glare.

“It’s nice to meet you! It is truly an honor!” You nervously exclaim, trying to ignore the whole situation.

Kyojuro springs to his feet with military enthusiasm. “I apologize for the—SURPRISE TRAINING SESSION!”

“THAT IS NOT TRAINING,” Shinjuro roars.

From the hallway, Senjuro’s small voice pipes up, deeply confused: “Is everything okay…?”

“NO,” Shinjuro bellows back. “EVERYTHING IS NOT OKAY.”

Kyojuro leans down toward you, whispering with a grin far too cheerful for the situation, “We will…resume later.”

You hear Shinjuro grab a bottle off a table, muttering as he storms out, “I need a drink. Several. And I’m burning this house down.”

The front door slams.

Kyojuro beams at you anyway. “Well! That could have gone worse!”

Tengen Uzui

Tengen strips you, his three wives watching with amusement. He's always believed in sharing pleasures, and tonight you're the center of attention.

"Let's make this unforgettable," he purrs, his large hands exploring every curve as his wives join in.

Suma's giggling, Makio's whispering in your ear, and Hinatsuru's gentle laughter fills the room.

Just as Tengen aligns himself to enter you, the door slides open and his best friend Kyojuro stands there, face turning beet red, it almost matches his hair.

"Uzui? I was told to—“ He stammers backward.

“I—THIS IS NOT—I APOLOGIZE—“ Kyojuro stutters.

He trips over his own feet trying to retreat, arms flailing, nearly taking the door off its track before disappearing down the hallway.

There’s a stunned silence.

Suma bursts into laughter, doubling over. “HE SAW EVERYTHING!”

Makio snorts. “The Flame Hashira just combusted.”

Hinatsuru calmly reaches over and slides the door shut and locks it. “He won’t be back.”

Tengen throws his head back and laughs, loud and unapologetic. “HA! Now that is what I call an unforgettable entrance.” He grins down at you, utterly unfazed. “Don’t worry—he’ll recover. Eventually.”

From somewhere far away, Kyojuro’s voice echoes faintly:

“I WILL NEVER OPEN A DOOR AGAIN.”

Obanai Iguro

"Such a disobedient pet," Obanai murmurs, his tongue flicking against your neck as he restrains your wrists with his hands. You’re lying completely exposed on his futon. His serpent-like nature extends to his preferences in the bedroom. He likes dominance, control. It’s how he claims you.

"You’re all mine," he says as one of his hands wraps around your throat, the other still holding your wrists above your head, his lips trail down from your cheek and find your sensitive nipples.

You tug on his black hair to pull him up. You’re so desperate. You need him. You don’t want to be tortured.

His mismatched eyes meet yours, his grip on your throat tightens. “No. Remember how you didn’t listen to me? Remember your attitude? You’re going to beg for it.”

He shifts but doesn’t release his grip on your throat or wrists. He starts grinding against you, slowly and deliberately, while you beg and whimper for his cock.

Then…Mitsuri bursts in. "Iguro! I brought you—!” Her eyes widen as she takes in the scene.

There’s a full second where no one breathes.

Obanai’s grip loosens immediately like he’s been electrocuted. His eyes go wide but not with lust, with terror. “Kanroji—this is not—“

Mitsuri blinks once.

“Iguro—STOP!” she yelps, dropping everything and shoving Obanai off you with surprising strength.

Obanai hits the floor in a tangle of limbs and haori, hissing. “WHAT—KANROJI?!”

You blink, stunned, unable to form words.

Obanai stares up at the ceiling, equally shocked.

Mitsuri immediately kneels beside you, hands fluttering. “Are you okay?! He looked like he was hurting you! Iguro, you can’t just—just—choke people like that!”

“I WAS NOT HURTING ANYONE,” Obanai snaps, mortified, sitting up too fast. His face is entirely red beneath the bandages. He breathes slowly. “That was…consensual. Mutually agreed upon. Entirely—“

He gestures vaguely and finally gives up. “…Not violent.”

Mitsuri processes his words.

“Oh.”

Her face turns pink.

Then pinker.

Until it’s almost a deep red.

“OH.”

She slowly covers her face with both hands. “I—I—thought—you looked upset and I just—pushed you… oh Iguro, I’m so sorry!”

Obanai groans and drags a hand through his hair.

Silence stretches.

Mitsuri peeks through her fingers, glances between you, then Obanai, then back at you.

Her voice drops to a tiny, hopeful mumble.

“Um. If—if everyone is okay and I misunderstood and this was, um…on purpose…it seems…fun.”

“Yeah it…um…it is.” Obanai says, slowly and furrows his brows at Mitsuri in confusion.

“Maybe I could join?” She whispers shyly.

You look at Obanai.

Obanai looks at you.

You both nod.

And then you’re pulling Mitsuri towards the futon.

Sanemi Shinazugawa

"Fucking finally," Sanemi growls as he practically rips your clothes off and pushes you onto his futon. His rough handling sending thrills through you.

He's always been intense, yet gentle. But that gentleness is gone, replaced by pure sexual frustration. It’s been weeks since you’ve had any sexual contact.

He pins you beneath his muscular frame. "You have no idea how badly I've wanted you," he says, his scarred hands gripping your thighs and pulling you towards him, hard enough to leave marks.

He shoves down his pants and lines himself up with your entrance. He slowly thrusts into you and once you adjust, he’s fucking you into the futon with a punishing force.

Suddenly, Genya opens the door. "Nemi? I can’t find—“

All three of you freeze.

Sanemi reacts on pure instinct.

“OUT.” He yells.

He lunges for the nearest blanket, flinging it over you so fast it nearly knocks the air out of your lungs, then whips around, his veins bulging. “GET OUT. TURN AROUND. WHY ARE YOU IN MY ROOM.”

Genya’s eyes go wide. “I—sorry— I didn’t—“

“DO NOT FINISH THAT SENTENCE,” Sanemi roars, grabbing a pillow and hurling it at the door as Genya scrambles backward down the hall.

“I DIDN’T SEE ANYTHING,” Genya yells, sprinting away. “I wish I was blind.” He mutters to himself.

Sanemi hurries to the door and slams it shut.

He stands there, chest heaving, hair wild, hands clenched.

“I’m disowning him,” he mutters.

“He didn’t mean to—“ you try to diffuse the situation but Sanemi cuts in.

“Are you okay?” He asks, walking towards you.

“Yeah…I’m okay. Are you though?”

“I’ll be better once we actually get to fuck.” He groans, plopping onto the futon next you.

Gyomei Himejima

"Beautiful," Gyomei whispers against your skin, his massive frame hovering over you with surprising gentleness.

Despite his size and strength, he's tender in his lovemaking, his large hands exploring your body with reverence.

"I will cherish this moment," he says, his beads clicking softly as he moves.

He's just entering you slowly when—

Muichiro decides to stop by for a visit.

He slides the door open without knocking. “Gyomei, I was wondering if you—“

Silence.

Muichiro stares.

Gyomei freezes like he’s been struck by lightning.

The prayer beads stop clicking.

“Ah,” Muichiro says. “So this is what you’re doing.”

Gyomei immediately recoils, hauling himself back like he’s been burned. He scrambles for a blanket, covering you both with frantic gentleness. “I am sorry!” He booms, voice echoing through the estate. “This was not meant for anyone to see.”

Muichiro tilts his head. “…Should I come back later?”

“Yes,” Gyomei says instantly. “Much later. Possibly never.”

Muichiro considers his words. “Okay.” He turns to leave, then stops, glancing back. “Is this why you’ve been smiling more?”

Gyomei’s face goes red. He presses his palms together. “Please forget everything you have perceived.”

Muichiro nods. “I will not.” Then, helpfully, adds, “You left the door unlocked.”

He slides it shut behind him.

The room is silent.

Gyomei exhales slowly, then bows his head toward you, mortified beyond words.

“I will be praying for forgiveness for the rest of my life.”

Mitsuri Kanroji

"Oh, I'm so excited!" Mitsuri squeals as she tackles you onto her futon, her strength surprising as she pins you beneath her.

"You're just so cute…and so hot…I’m going to melt!" she says, planting kisses at your neck and shoulders.

Her pink hair brushes against your skin as she undresses you with immense enthusiasm.

Just as she's about to start touching you with practiced ease, Shinobu slides the door open. "Kanroji—“ Shinobu’s eyes widen slightly before she smirks. "My, my, quite the workout."

Mitsuri freezes like she’s been caught mid-crime.

“Eep!”

She launches herself off you in a flurry of pink hair and limbs, immediately trying, and failing, to cover you with a blanket. “Kocho! I—I was just! We were—“

Shinobu raises a brow, smile sharp and delighted. “Stretching?” she offers sweetly.

Mitsuri’s face goes crimson. “NO—! I mean—YES—! But also—“

You barely have time to sit up before Mitsuri’s already spiraling, her hands flapping. “I didn’t mean to—I mean I did—but I thought you were coming over tomorrow—and I forgot to lock the door!”

Shinobu chuckles softly. “Relax. I’m not here to scold.” Her eyes flick between the two of you. “Honestly, I’m impressed. That position takes stamina.”

Mitsuri squeaks and dives face-first into a pillow. “I’M GOING TO PASS AWAY.”

Shinobu turns to you, utterly composed. “Just… hydrate.” Then she slides the door shut again, pausing only to add, “And maybe next time…lock it.”

Mitsuri lifts her head slowly, hair a mess, eyes wide. “Do you think she’s going to tell anyone?”

From the other side of the door, Shinobu’s voice floats back, sing-song sweet:

“Oh, absolutely.”

Mitsuri screams into the pillow.

Shinobu Kocho

"Are you nervous?" Shinobu asks sweetly, though her eyes hold a dangerous glint as she ties your wrists with purple silk.

She's always enjoyed mixing pleasure with a bit of pain, her small frame betraying her dominant nature.

“Don't worry," she purrs, trailing her fingernails down your stomach, "I'll make it hurt so good."

She's just teasing you with a small trail of kisses on your neck.

Then—

A soft voice.

“I—?" Kanao’s expression remains shocked as she takes in the scene, simply waiting for instruction.

Shinobu freezes.

Completely.

The silk goes slack.

“Um,” Shinobu says lightly, a beat too late.

She clears her throat, smile snapping into place like armor. In one smooth motion, she unties your wrists, drops a blanket over you, and straightens her haori. “Kanao, this is not what it looks like.”

Kanao blinks once. “It appears to be exactly what it looks like.”

Shinobu winces.

“Medical,” Shinobu tries. “Stress relief. Very advanced. You wouldn’t understand.”

Kanao tilts her head. “Should I leave?”

“Yes,” Shinobu says instantly. “Immediately. Please.”

Kanao nods, turns on her heel, and slides the door shut with surgical precision.

Three seconds pass.

Shinobu exhales slowly, pressing two fingers to her temple. Her smile is still there, but it’s cracked. “Well,” she says sweetly, looking at you, “that was deeply humiliating.”

She pauses.

In the tranquil surroundings of a secluded temple, Gyomei lived a simpler life before he became the renowned demon slayer he was destined to be. The temple always smelled of damp stone, sandalwood incense, and warm rice.

It was humble—just weathered wooden floors and thin walls—but it was full of life. Laughter filled its halls from sunrise to starlight. Nine little voices could be heard, sometimes yelling, crying, or singing off-key, but they were always present.

At the center of it all stood Gyomei. A teenager, barely a man, he was broad and gentle and often went barefoot. He found purpose and joy in caring for the nine orphaned children, creating a family out of the remnants of their shattered pasts. The temple, with its serene atmosphere and lush grounds, provided a sanctuary for them all.

A young girl, close to his age, would often visit the temple. She wasn't from that world.

Not really.

Her robes were finer, and her shoes never touched mud. Coming from a home far across town with doors that shut more than they opened.

She returned nearly every day, drawn by something she couldn’t quite articulate. She arrived with gifts of rice, her delicate hands mending the tattered robes of the little ones, her laughter mingling with theirs, creating a symphony of joy that filled the air.

“You don’t have to help,” Gyomei had said once, voice soft as always.

“I want to,” she said, passing him a fresh rag. “Besides… I really like it here.”

Although she didn’t voice her feelings, he sensed the affection she had for him. In return, his heart swelled with warmth whenever she graced him with her presence.

As the evening descended upon the temple, it wrapped the building in a serene stillness. One by one, the children succumbed to sleep, tucking themselves into their futons like little foxes finding safety and warmth. Their gentle sighs filled the air, a soothing reminder of innocence and peace.

The paper walls creaked softly, responding to the whispers of the evening breeze, while crickets outside chirped their soft lullabies, creating a tranquil symphony that wrapped around the temple like a tender hug. She lay quietly, her eyes half-lidded, drawn to the moonlight filtering through the thin wooden slats, casting delicate patterns across the ground. Earlier, one of the younger children had nestled into her blanket, seeking her warmth, and now their small form pressed gently against her, anchoring her in a comforting reality.

Across the room, just a few feet away, Gyomei sat quietly in prayer, his presence grounding and calming. With his head bowed and hands clasped together, he moved his lips in silent rhythm, creating an intimate and sacred atmosphere. She longed to reach out to him, to bridge the space that separated them, but refrained from interrupting the stillness that surrounded him.

Still, a tender hope blossomed within her, yearning for him to come and join her, to share in that comfort. She watched with a mix of admiration and warmth as Gyomei finally exhaled a long, soft breath, signaling the conclusion of his prayers. He murmured the last syllables with a peaceful reverence, reaching out gently to extinguish the flickering flame.

The room fell into a gentle darkness, filled with an unmistakable sense of connection and shared warmth, as if the very air around them was wrapped in an embrace of understanding and compassion.

The room was bathed in moonlight.

With purpose, Gyomei rose from his kneeling position and moved across the floor barefoot, relying solely on his memory. She noted the powerful slope of his back highlighted in the pale blue shadows, the way his muscles flexed beneath the thin fabric of his robe.

He reached the mat beside hers, the floor creaking softly as he knelt down and settled onto his futon with barely a whisper. He adjusted the blanket over the little girl between them, then lay back slowly, mindful not to disrupt the stillness.

She felt his presence. So close.

Turning onto her side to face him, she noticed how his head shifted at the sound, as if he could sense her attention like sunlight penetrating closed eyes.

“Gyomei,” she said softly, careful not to wake the others.

He turned slightly, his motion deliberate and responsive to her voice. “Yes?"

His voice was different—lower, more intimate. It penetrated the dark and settled warmly in her chest.

“You pray every night. Do you ever pray for yourself?” she asked, her tone assertive.

There was a moment of silence, enough for her to catch the gentle rhythm of the children’s breaths.

“No,” he admitted. “Only for them.”

She shifted onto her back, her voice steady. “You should.”

He hesitated, the air around them thickening as he contemplated her words.

The little girl stirred slightly, sighing in her sleep with her small hands tucked near her chin.

“They feel safest when you’re near,” she stated, firm in her belief.

“I don’t know if I deserve that kind of trust,” Gyomei murmured, his voice tinged with doubt.

She shook her head, confident. “You do.”

A pause hung in the air, a moment of understanding. The moonlight illuminated his face, catching the strong angles of his jaw and the gentle slope of his cheek. She wanted to reach out, but instead, she declared, “I never feel lonely when I’m here.”

“Neither do I,” he replied, his voice catching slightly at the end, revealing the weight of their shared connection.

Words fell away, but an electric hum filled the space between them.

Without fully realizing it, her hand moved beneath the edge of the covers. It wasn’t intentional—she simply wanted to be closer. Her fingers glided towards where his hand rested at the center of the futon.

Then there was skin.

The brush of her fingertips met his rough skin, and he did not flinch—his hand opened slowly, a quiet invitation.

She inhaled, paused, then slid her fingers into his palm, tentative yet resolute, asking a question without uttering a word.

He responded by closing his hand around hers.

His grip was large and calloused, yet incredibly gentle, as if the precious girl between them was fragile.

Her thumb pressed into his skin with assurance, and his thumb mirrored the gesture, gliding along the back of her hand in a soothing rhythm.

Silence reigned, but they didn’t need words.

The way they held one another across that child’s sleeping body conveyed everything: ‘I’m here. I feel it too. I just don’t know how to say it yet.’

Their eyes closed, hearts racing, their joined hands resting between their bodies like a cherished secret.

With the sound of wind brushing through the temple eaves, they drifted off to sleep, facing each other in the dark, holding on tightly. They didn’t realize how precious this moment was, nor that it would be the last before everything changed.

Yet that night, in the stillness, she was his, and he was unequivocally hers.

The morning after that night felt like waking from a dream—the warmth of Gyomei’s hand still echoing in hers. In the still hush of dawn, something inside her had shifted. She couldn’t name it, but it had changed her, as if a quiet truth had settled inside her chest—one tied entirely to him.

Sunlight filtered softly through the paper screens, painting golden shapes across the wooden floor. Outside, birds sang gently from the trees. Inside, the temple began to stir. The children woke with sleepy yawns and tangled hair, their laughter spilling through the hallways as they chased each other barefoot across the polished wood.

She had only meant to slip away for a short while. Just long enough to grab a clean robe, a comb, and maybe a shawl for the cooler nights ahead. There was no need to tell Gyomei—he was likely still sweeping the garden when she stepped off the grounds.

She would be back before he noticed.

Or so she thought.

But the moment she stepped through her family’s ornate front gate, an unsettling stillness enveloped her, wrapping around her like a heavy fog. The quiet felt wrong—too quiet. The air crackled with unspoken tension, and the house hummed with frenetic movement, but not the usual kind. There was no cheerful chatter from the servants, no warm aroma of freshly brewed tea wafting through the air.

Instead, urgency pulsed through the atmosphere, a disquieting rush that prickled at her skin.

Then—her mother’s voice, cutting through the silence like a knife: “You’re just in time. We’re leaving.”

She froze on the threshold, her heart racing. “Leaving?”

In the grand front hall, her father stood like a conductor at the center of a chaotic symphony, directing servants as they hurriedly packed crates and sealed trunks. The entire house buzzed with activity—drawers were yanked open and emptied, treasured heirlooms were wrapped in linen and boxed, and furniture was hastily rearranged. Even the delicate porcelain vases that had sat sacred and untouched for years had vanished, leaving only empty spaces—gaps that echoed with unfulfilled memories.

Her bag slipped from her shoulder and hit the polished wooden floor with a soft thud, an unceremonious sound that felt like a tolling bell. “You didn’t say anything about leaving.”

Her mother turned to her, eyes like storm clouds—unreadable and heavy with unspoken fears. “We didn’t need to. It’s already decided.”

“How long?” she asked, dread pooling in her stomach like a stone.

“Permanently,” her mother replied, the finality of the word crashing over her like a tidal wave.

The word hit her like a physical blow. Her heart pounded against her ribcage, frantic and wild.

“No—wait, no. I’m not going. I need to return—my things are still at the temple.”

“You won’t need them where we’re going,” her mother interrupted, her tone sharp as glass.

“I live there now,” she insisted, desperation clawing at her throat. “I help with the children. I—”

“You don’t belong there,” her mother cut in again, the steel in her voice unmistakable. “That was never meant to be permanent.”

“I don’t belong here either!” she snapped, her voice trembling as the weight of her words hung between them like a bitter accusation.

Her father, resolute and unyielding, didn’t even cast a glance in her direction. A servant stepped forward to ease her bag from her grasp, but she snatched it back defensively, clutching it to her chest as if it were a lifeline.

“You can’t make me leave.”

Yet in the background, the ominous sound of the carriage being loaded rumbled like distant thunder. Her mother let out a deep sigh, pulling on her gloves with deliberate calm, as if trying to maintain her composure against an impending storm.

“You’re still a child,” she stated, her words cold and final. “You’ll come because we say so.”

“I’m not a child!” she cried, feeling the heat of defiance rise within her, fueled by desperation.

“Then stop acting like one,” her mother retorted, the edge in her voice cutting deeper than any knife.

Her breath caught in her throat. “Please… At least let me just say goodbye.”

“You’ll thank us later,” her mother replied, voice unwavering and merciless. “We leave now.”

The anguish burned in her chest as she turned away, tears threatening to spill over and betray her. Panic surged within her, a wild beast clawing for freedom. Every fiber of her being screamed to run—to escape back to where she truly belonged. To the temple. To him.

But then—

A hand, gentle yet firm, wrapped around her wrist. It wasn’t rough or cruel; it wasn’t a grasp of authority. A maid stood beside her, eyes shimmering with sympathy, her voice low and kind: “I’m so sorry.”

In that instant, her resolve crumbled, her strength faltering like a flickering candle in a gale.

And just like that, she was led away.

Through the heavy door, out into the world that was suddenly foreign, she was ushered toward the carriage, a dark vessel of her unwelcome fate.

No goodbye.

No last look.

Not even the comforting sound of Gyomei’s gentle voice to anchor her in this tumultuous storm.

Only silence.

And the haunting memory of his hand holding hers, warm and reassuring.

It felt like the beginning of a lifetime of regret, an unwritten chapter that would forever leave her longing.

But deep within, amidst the rising tide of despair, she made herself a promise, resolute and unyielding:

‘When I can… I’ll come back. I’ll find him. And I’ll finish what we never got to start.’

Years later, the temple was gone.

She stood alone before the old temple gates, the sky overcast, cicadas humming faintly in the heat of summer.

It wasn’t how she remembered it.

The garden had become overgrown. The wooden beams faded to gray. The once vibrant laughter of children was now silent, echoes swallowed by time.

She stood there now, a grown woman draped in simple, flowing robes, her heart heavy as she stepped inside the sacred grove, her sandals crunching softly over the brittle, fallen leaves. This place was hallowed, a sanctuary not only for her precious memories but for the essence of who she had once been—and who she had almost become.

Kneeling on the cool, damp grass, her fingers trembled with a mixture of sorrow and resolve as she lit a stick of incense for each child lost to the darkness. The sweet, smoky aroma curled into the air, mingling with her tears, which blurred her vision and streaked her cheeks.

She had asked around and heard the rumors: a demon attack, children mercilessly murdered. Among the dead, a lone boy had survived—labeled a killer, they said, with hands stained a dark crimson, a haunting contrast to the innocence of childhood.

But that was not the Gyomei she remembered. That wasn't the boy who held children with a delicate tenderness, as if cradling fragile porcelain. No, he was a guardian, a light in their lives, and the thought of him now painted with such a grim shade was unbearable.

“I came back,” she whispered. “Like I promised.”

Her eyes welling up, her heart aching. “I’m so sorry… I should’ve been here. I should’ve never left—”

And then she felt it—the air shifted, a subtle change that rustled the leaves and filled her with an unshakeable sense of presence. Quiet footsteps stirred the ground, and the weight of anticipation hung thick in the air. She turned sharply, her heart racing as it skipped a beat.

He was standing just beyond the frame of the gate. Taller than she remembered. Broader. His robes were darker now, worn and familiar. His hair was longer, his face more weathered… and his forehead now marked by a deep scar.

But it was him.

Her breath caught in her throat. “Gyomei...?”

His head tilted slightly, the weight of his unreadable expression layered with an unmistakable depth of emotion. The breath rushed from his chest, as if hearing her voice cracked open a dam within him, releasing a flood of pent-up feelings.

“...It’s you,” he replied softly, the words escaping like a quiet prayer into the twilight air.

“You’re alive… I thought—I was so scared…” she wept, the tears spilling down her cheeks, each one a fragment of the fear that had consumed her during the years apart.

“I thought you left,” his voice thickened, raw with the weight of truth. “Without a word. One day, you were gone. I waited. I prayed…”

“They made me go… my parents. I begged to stay. I screamed. But they took me far away.” The confession tumbled from her lips, filled with the anguish of helplessness. “I couldn’t escape.”

He stood in silence, a storm brewing behind clenched jaws, grappling with the tumult of emotions that swirled in the air between them.

“But the moment I could…” Her gaze locked onto his, eyes shimmering with determination and tears. “When I was old enough to leave on my own, I came back.”

Before she could think, she dashed toward him, throwing her arms around his solid frame. She melted into his chest, every sob tinged with the desperation of their lost years.

“You’re alive… you’re really alive…” His arms wrapped around her slowly at first, tentatively—as if afraid that she might disappear again. But as her warmth melded against him, he froze, paralysis overtaking him for just a heartbeat.

She felt it—the difference.

She was no longer the girl who had left. Gone were the innocent dreams and untested hopes. And he… was no longer the boy she knew, the playful friend; he had become a man forged by hardship and time.

His hands flexed around her back, breath catching in his throat as her curves pressed into him—her softness juxtaposed against the solid wall of his chest, her hips fitting against his form like a meticulously woven puzzle piece. He held her tighter, whispering low and shaken, “You’ve changed…”

Pulling back just enough to gaze into his eyes, her hand reached up, fingers tracing the thick curve of his bicep, gliding over the breadth of his shoulder.

“So have you…” she murmured, her voice thick with newfound intimacy. “You’re bigger. Stronger. And this scar…” She brushed her fingertips gently across the ridge on his forehead, her touch imbued with both reverence and longing.

He flushed under her caress, but she didn’t withdraw. Biting her lip, her palm continued its journey down his arm, feeling the warmth and strength that radiated from him now, broad, real, an anchor in the storm of their emotions.

The space between them crackled with tension, electric and palpable, as her eyes held a gaze that spoke of all the things left unspoken. And then, before doubt could take root, before shame or sorrow could pull them back into their past, she kissed him.

It wasn’t gentle; it wasn’t shy. It was a kiss born of desperation and longing, mouths colliding with an urgency that unraveled years of silence. Her hands framed his face, trembling with the weight of love long hidden, and in that moment, Gyomei shuddered, as if her lips had breathed life back into his soul.

He kissed her back, pouring into that embrace all the love he had carried in his heart through every prayer, every swing of his axe, every moment of stillness between battles.

When they finally pulled apart, her hand slipping into his, she whispered, “Let me show you,” a fire blooming behind her eyes, igniting a fierce hope.

“Let me show you just how much I’ve changed.”

He didn’t stop her when she pulled him away, his only response a nod—an unspoken promise that together, they would navigate the uncharted territory of their rekindled connection.

The walk to the inn was quiet, but it thrummed with something unspoken.

Her hand stayed tucked securely in Gyomei’s, her smaller fingers enveloped in his warmth. She walked close, her soft form pressed into his side as if her body was remembering the space it had always belonged in.

He didn’t rush.

Each of his steps was steady, measured, as if even now, he still carried the memory of small feet trailing behind him through temple halls.

The village fell away behind them, the sky dimming into a cool blue dusk.

Just past the last homes and rice paddies, nestled at the base of a gently sloping hill, sat the inn. Tucked in the quiet of the outskirts, it was a place for solitude, meant for travelers who needed silence more than company.

Soft lanterns glowed beneath its awning, the scent of cedar smoke and warm tatami curling in the air.

The front door slid open before they reached it.

An older woman stood in the frame—her yukata faded but well-kept, her eyes sharp despite the softness in her features. Her gaze landed on Gyomei first, and for a heartbeat, she said nothing.

Then, quietly, as if disbelieving her own eyes:

“Himejima Gyomei… You’ve been gone longer than usual.”

She stepped forward, bowing slowly, the motion full of quiet familiarity and unspoken concern.

“I was starting to worry. You never miss more than a day or two without a word.”

Gyomei returned her bow with gentle reverence, the wooden beads at his neck swaying softly with the motion.

“I apologize for the delay,” he said in a low, steady voice. “I… took a different path this time.”

As he spoke, his fingers tightened around the smaller hand in his—soft and warm, curled trustingly into his palm.

“Thank you for receiving us.”

It was only then that the innkeeper’s eyes shifted.

They landed on the woman at his side—curvy, grown, beautiful. Her robes were modest, but they clung slightly from the humidity of the evening, emphasizing the plush curve of her hips and the softness in her frame as she leaned into the Pillar's side.

The innkeeper blinked once. Then again.

Her breath caught.

She took in the girl's face—the gentle expression, the warmth in her eyes, the closeness of her body tucked into Gyomei’s side. The way his much larger hand enveloped hers without hesitation. The ease. The intimacy.

The unmistakable sense of something long-separated… now whole again.

“Oh…” she breathed, a note of realization softening her voice. “You’re her.”

She blinked, startled. “Me?”

“The summer girl,” the woman said, voice laced with fond surprise. “From the estate on the hill. You used to come with your family every year, didn’t you?”

She nodded slowly, surprised she remembered.

“Quiet thing, always sneaking off,” she went on with a chuckle. “We all knew where you were going. She’d wander right down to the temple and follow that tall, gentle boy around like a little ghost who’d found its home.”

Her cheeks flushed, the memories rising like heat.

“I remember,” she murmured. “I never wanted to leave.”

Her eyes softened. They drifted back to their joined hands—his thumb brushing over her knuckles, her arm curled around his.

“Well,” The innkeeper said, a smile tugging at her lips. “Looks like you found your way back after all.”

She didn’t ask any questions. She didn’t need to.

“Room at the end of the hall is empty,” she added, stepping aside. “I’ll see that the other guests keep to themselves tonight.”

Then, under her breath, just loud enough for her to hear:

“About time the mountain held onto his moon.”

Gyomei tilted his head, and she could tell he’d heard it too, but said nothing.

He simply squeezed her hand and stepped forward, leading her inside with the quiet steadiness that had always defined him.

As the door whispered shut behind them, the rest of the world fell away.

At last, it was just the two of them—and the night waiting to unfold.

Inside, the room was still. A single paper lantern bathed the woven tatami floor in golden light. A futon had already been laid out. The soft scent of hinoki wood and steeped tea leaves lingered in the air, grounding everything in stillness.

She said nothing at first.

She stood just beyond the threshold, her hand still held in Gyomei’s—his large, warm fingers wrapping around hers like a vow. Her whole body hummed with the weight of what had passed between them, and everything that hadn’t been spoken.

Gyomei listened with his entire being. The a gentle tension in his shoulders. The way his head tilted subtly toward her breath. The way he never let go of her hand, as though it anchored him.

“Gyomei,” she said softly, tugging him forward, “do you remember that night at the temple?”

He paused mid-step. “The night we held hands,” he answered, voice low and quiet, as if the memory lived just beneath his skin.

She nodded, her heart aching.

“I remember thinking,” she murmured, “if we were ever alone... truly alone…”

Her voice broke off, trembling with the enormity of what was about to become real.

He turned to her, slowly, reverently, and lifted both hands to cradle her face. His thumbs brushed her cheekbones as though committing her shape to memory—careful, unhurried, sacred.

“We are now,” he whispered.

She rose to her toes and kissed him.

This time, it was slower. Not frantic, not rushed—but sure. A reunion not of desperation, but devotion. A kiss that ached with years lost, love stored, and need neither had dared name. His lips moved with quiet reverence, fingers threading into her hair, one hand sliding down to press gently against her spine, drawing her close.

When they parted, her breath shook in her chest. The only sound between them was the faint rustle of silk as she slowly let her robe slip from her shoulders. It fell around her feet in a soft puddle of fabric, leaving her bare beneath the warm flicker of lantern light—and before him.

She saw it then. The way his head shifted at the sound. The sharp catch in his breath. Though he couldn’t see her, he could feel her—her heat, her nervous energy, the scent of her bare skin blooming between them.

She stepped closer and whispered, “I want you to touch me.”

Then, reaching for his hand—so much larger, rougher, warmer—she guided it down her side. His calloused fingers trembled as they skimmed over the softness of her hip. When she brought his hand higher, guiding him over the gentle swell of her breast, she gasped before she could stop herself.

He froze. Breath caught. Voice tight with restraint. “Did I hurt you—?”

“No.” She pressed his hand firmer to her chest. “Please… don’t stop touching me.”

She took his hand again and guided it lower—across her stomach, over the curve of her hip, and finally between her thighs.

He hesitated.

She did not.

She guided his hand directly to the place where she was already wet for him. When his fingers brushed her slick folds, a soft groan rumbled deep in his chest, and something inside him snapped.

He gathered her into his arms like she weighed nothing. Her legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. Her arms encircled his neck as he carried her to the futon and laid her down, not rough, but heavy with urgency.

He knelt between her legs, hands never leaving her skin.

She felt his breath graze her inner thighs, felt his hands slide from her hips to her knees, gently spreading her open for him. The reverence in the way he touched her—it undid her more than anything.

His mouth began lower, near her knee. His tongue flicked out.

He started slowly—licking, sucking, tasting the inside of her thigh. His saliva glistened on her skin, his tongue dragging in slow, deliberate strokes that made her hips twitch with anticipation.

He avoided her folds at first, teasing her.

Tracing the crease where thigh meets hip, kissing, sucking, tormenting the sensitive skin. She cried out, hips lifting, but he only moved to the other side, dragging his tongue along her skin, close, but never quite enough.

"Gyomei," she gasped, trembling. “Please… more. I need—”

He answered her with a low hum and pressed a thick finger inside her.

Her hips bucked.

Slowly, carefully, he began to stretch her, his finger curling with intention. Then another joined it, working her open, preparing her. Still, his mouth avoided her core—he kissed and worshipped every inch of the skin around it, making her writhe.

Her folds were puffy, slick, aching. His fingers scissored her open while her juices slipped down her thighs, glistening in the lantern light.

One of his hands slid up her body, found her breast, and began to knead. He pinched her nipple gently, rolled it between his fingers, feeding pleasure into her while his tongue finally slid between her folds.

She sobbed.

He devoured her slowly. Thoroughly. His tongue moved with soft, deliberate strokes. Wide, flat licks that made her whole body tremble.

She could feel her climax building—tension tightening in her belly, her muscles clenching around his fingers.

"Gyomei!" she cried out, her back arching as his mouth locked onto her clit, his tongue flicking, his fingers pressing deep inside and curling just right.

"Yes!" she gasped.

Then, he slowed. Pulled back.

She sobbed in frustration.

“Gyomei… please… I wanna feel so good…”

He lowered his mouth again, lapping at her slowly. His cock ached, throbbing beneath him with the need to be inside her—but this wasn’t about him.

This was for her.

Feeling bold, he added a third finger.

“A-ah! I—I’m—” she babbled, incoherent. Her entire body clenched, her thighs trembling around his head.

And then she came.

Her orgasm shattered her. Her cries filled the room as her walls gripped his fingers, her slick coating his hand and mouth as he drank her down greedily. The taste of her sweet, intoxicating left him dazed.

Her thighs clenched around his head from the overstimulation, her voice barely managing to call his name between broken breaths.

When she finally softened, boneless and shaking, he lifted his head. His face glistened with her release. He smiled.

Then he rose.

He loomed above her now, massive, trembling with restraint. The futon creaked beneath his weight as he settled between her thighs once more.

He held her gaze.

She reached up, brushing the scar across his forehead with reverent fingers. “I want to feel all of you,” she whispered.

“Then I’ll give you everything,” he promised.

And he meant it.

Then he stood.

Slow. Towering. Intentional.

He loomed above her, seven feet of silent reverence, his presence casting a warm shadow over her trembling form. The futon creaked beneath his weight as he climbed over her, the air thickening with anticipation.

His robe hung loosely at his hips, revealing the sculpted curve of his chest, his breath fanning hot against her face. One of his large hands cradled her cheek, rough thumb brushing gently across her lower lip.

“Let me remember you like this,” he murmured, voice soft with awe.

Then he kissed her.

And she melted.

It wasn’t urgent. It was deeper than that—full of quiet ache, heavy with meaning. His lips moved with certainty, reverent and slow, and her body instinctively followed.

Without speaking, her hands found the tie of his robe.

She tugged—gentle, deliberate—fingers curling around the knot like muscle memory from a dream.

He stood above her.

Breath catching.

Not resisting.

She tilted her head back slightly, meeting his face with a shy, yearning smile, the tie still held between her fingers. It said everything:

‘I want to see you. All of you.’

His jaw flexed, his throat worked around a breath—but he didn’t stop her.

She undressed him slowly, the robe parting in layers until nothing separated them. Until he was fully bare before her.

And it made her breath hitch.

He was immense. Vast. His body was carved from devotion and discipline, a cathedral of muscle and scars. Strength coiled beneath his skin like a silent hymn. His chest rose and fell with restrained breath, and though his eyes could not see her, he tilted his head, sensing her silence. Feeling her awe.

His hands, curled at his sides, trembled—whether from nerves or restraint, she didn’t know.

Didn’t care.

She licked her lips without thinking, hunger and wonder glowing in her eyes.

“You’re breathtaking,” she whispered, voice sacred.

He swallowed hard. His body loomed over hers like a mountain of heat and yearning, carefully not pressing into her. Yet she could feel every bit of him—his power, his need, his restraint.

With careful, reverent motions, he nudged her thighs open, his hand trailing the length of her side. She arched into his touch when his fingers brushed the tender dip of her hip.

Gyomei lowered himself, guiding his body between her legs like a man offering worship. He kissed her jaw, then lower, lips trailing down to the curve of her breast.

He paused, listening—feeling—her breath stutter beneath him.

“Gyomei…” she panted, her hands reaching for him, fingers curling around his forearm.

“Are you ready, my sweet?” he asked, stroking himself with slow, practiced motion.

She nodded, dazed with need—but her voice didn’t follow.

And he waited, gently coaxing, “Use your words, sweet one.”

“Yes!” she gasped. “Please… let us become one, Gyomei.”

His heart ached at the way she said it—with such innocence, such desperation.

He kissed her crown tenderly, chest shuddering. Then shifted, lining himself up. She felt the thick, hot pressure of him begin to press into her. Her body, slick and open from her earlier climax, welcomed him. But he was… massive.

Her breath caught.

The stretch stung, his size pushing her limits in a way nothing ever had. Her hands clung to the sheets, her body straining to take all of him. Yet she didn’t pull back.

She took him.

Burning. Shaking. Whimpering with every inch.

Every second pulled the years closer, collapsing all time and distance between them.

He groaned low, his arms wrapping around her—like he needed to feel her, to hold her, to anchor himself in her reality. In the soft heat of her. The curve of her body. The sacred place she’d allowed him to enter.

Their breaths tangled. The futon groaned. His movements are slow, like waves kissing the shore.

Her lips trembled as she whispered his name over and over, each time more broken, more reverent.

“You feel… incredible…” he groaned, forehead resting against hers.

“Gyomei…” she gasped, body rising with every thrust, “I—I can’t—”

He leaned down, pressing his chest against her breasts, one hand gliding along her waist until their fingers laced.

He didn’t answer with words. He kissed her—her shoulder, her throat, the swell of her breast—each touch a vow he couldn’t say aloud.

Their bodies moved in a rhythm of memory and rediscovery, wet sounds and desperate moans filling the air.

It wasn’t rough.

It wasn’t rushed.

It was worship.

“You feel…” he rasped, brushing his lips along her jaw, “…like heaven.”

Golden light from the lantern flickered across the room, painting the shadows of their reunion on the walls.

“I missed you,” she whispered against his neck, voice tight with tears.

“I dreamed of you,” he breathed, trembling.

Later, when her body was pliant and drenched with heat, he gently guided her forward. Without resistance, she followed, allowing him to maneuver her onto her hands and knees. Her breasts and arms cushioned by the pillow, hips tilted back in invitation.

He knelt behind her, and she could hear the ragged edge of his breath.

“You’re perfect…” he murmured, awestruck, one hand ghosting down the curve of her back. “...Every part of you.”

When he slid back inside, she cried out—air stolen from her lungs.

This angle was brutal and deep, the stretch sharp and unrelenting. She trembled, mouth parted around a broken moan. He groaned, one hand bracing her hip, the other reaching down to find her fingers again. Even now, he held her hand.

She grasped blindly, lacing her fingers with his.

Then—

He moved.

Slow at first. Then steady. Then—

Hard.

His hips snapped forward, wet slaps echoing with each thrust. Her moans turned breathless, forehead pressed to the pillow, body trembling with ecstasy.

“Gyomei—” she gasped.

“I’ve got you,” he panted, lips brushing her neck. “You’re mine—let go.”

And she did.

Everything blurred. Only his voice kept her grounded. His weight behind her, his hand holding hers against the mattress, his cock claiming her deeper with each powerful thrust.

Gyomei worshiped her like scripture, touching every inch of her, memorizing the shape of her, from the plushness of her thighs to the curves of her breasts, the softness of her belly, the sacred heat of where their bodies met.

Even in pleasure, he hovered—his massive body braced carefully above hers, his movements mindful.

But she didn’t want that now.

Not anymore.

“Gyomei…” she whispered. “You won’t break me… please… don’t hold back.”

He froze.

Then something inside him gave way.

His grip on her hip tightened, and the rhythm shifted—slower, no longer. Her body rocked beneath him, thighs trembling from the force, slick dripping down her legs.

“You feel…” he groaned, voice ragged, “so perfect… made for me.”

She sobbed beneath him, overwhelmed, shaking, clinging.

One of her legs faltered. He caught her, pulling her upright into his arms. Her back pressed to his sweat-slick chest, her head tilted against his shoulder.

“You said you wouldn’t break,” he growled in her ear, voice cracked.

“Then prove it.”

He moved again.

Thrust after thrust, body against body, soul against soul. The room filled with the sound of their union, moans, and wet slaps rising like prayer.

She felt everything.

His strength. His depth. His need.

“You feel… so good. So soft…” he gasped, each movement stealing breath from his lungs.

Her moans turned wild when he hit that spot—over and over—until her thoughts fractured.

“It’s always been you,” she sobbed. “Only you. I’ve wanted this for so long—”

Tears streamed freely down her cheeks.

Her mouth opened, tongue lolling slightly, a string of drool falling as her body lost control.

“I know,” he whispered, forehead pressed to hers. “I know.”

His rhythm grew desperate, sloppy, her slick coating his cock, dripping onto the futon. He kissed her again, hungry and trembling.

She wasn't kissing a boy she once knew.

She was being loved by the man he had become.

Her climax shattered her.

“I love you,” she sobbed, trembling.

“I love you, too,” Gyomei choked out, tears flowing.

He cried from the fullness of it—from how she felt, from how deeply he had missed her. From the prayer answered.

She called his name, body writhing, arching, pulsing around him. The pleasure was so powerful that it blanked her mind.

He followed.

Her orgasm pulled his from him. He groaned, low and primal, thrusting deep, stilling as his cock pulsed and emptied inside her.

Even then—

Their hands remained entwined.

Slowly, gently, he withdrew. She whimpered at the loss, shivering as his warmth spilled down her thighs—a tangible memory of their love.

He collapsed beside her, breath ragged, silent.

And for the first time since childhood…

They slept in each other’s arms.

No distance.

No years apart.

No child between them.

Just her.

Just him.

Flesh to flesh.

Soul to soul.

Still holding hands.

Bonus:

Inside the room, the air was thick with heat and longing, the futon creaking beneath the weight of bodies rediscovering each other. His deep groans mingled with her soft, desperate moans, echoing faintly through the wood-paneled hallways like a quiet storm behind closed doors.

Gyomei moved with reverent care, his massive frame arching protectively over her soft, curvy form like a temple ceiling sheltering sacred ground.

She was on her knees now, plush hips lifted, thighs parted, her upper body sinking into a nest of pillows. Each thrust sent a ripple through her generous figure, her skin flushed and trembling beneath his hands. He held her as if every part of her was a blessing—his rough palms worshiping the curve of her waist, the softness of her belly, the way her full backside met his hips with every slow, rolling movement.

"You’re… incredible," he rasped, his voice thick with awe as he leaned forward, lips brushing the curve of her shoulder. "All of you—every inch."

She whimpered, a breathy sound that melted into a moan as he laced their fingers together again, anchoring them both in the center of the storm.

Outside the half-ajar door, two maids stood frozen, eyes wide, mouths parted in silent shock, caught between awe and scandal.

"Merciful heavens," one whispered, clutching her broom handle like a lifeline. "He's... he's massive."

"He’s swallowing her whole," the other breathed, stunned. "Look at the size of him—he’s built like a damn mountain—and she’s so… soft."

"Curvy," the first corrected reverently. "And he’s touching her like she’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever held."

"He’s behind her—see how he’s holding her hips? Like they were sculpted just for him."

They watched with their hearts pounding, breath shallow, as Gyomei leaned over the woman’s back, whispering something only she could hear—his lips brushing her ear, his hand gliding down the dip of her waist, his body pressed to hers, slow and sure.

"The way she moves with him... like she trusts him with her whole soul."

"You think she feels small next to him?"

"With arms like those? She probably feels safe. Worshipped. I’d give up my next five paychecks for one night in that man’s arms."

Their breath caught as a new sound rose—a moan cresting into a breathless cry, the air now thick with years of want unraveling all at once.

"Do you think it’s their first time?"

"If it is, she’ll never recover."

"I wouldn’t want to. I'd build a shrine around that man and never leave."

They inched closer, swaying with morbid curiosity as the creaking futon shifted into rhythmic thuds and a sharp cry followed:

"Gyomei, please—yes, like that—don’t stop!"

The maids froze.

"Gyomei?" the younger whispered, blinking. "Wait... Gyomei Himejima?"

The other gasped, a hand flying to her mouth. "The Stone Hashira? That’s him?"

The name rolled over them like thunder, all the pieces clicking into place—the sheer size, the gentle strength, the scars, the reverence in every movement.

"I thought he vanished after the war," the first murmured, heart thudding. "But that's him. That’s Himejima."

"A Demon Slayer," the other breathed. "And he’s... he’s making love like it’s a sacred vow."

The younger maid gripped the doorframe tighter. "Sweet mercy, he’s doing something to her. She’s been calling his name like a prayer."

"He’s worshiping her with everything he’s got," the other murmured, entranced. "I didn’t know monks could even—"

"He’s not a monk anymore," the first muttered. "He’s a man. A very big, very devoted man."

Their cheeks were flushed, hands trembling, hearts caught in the haze of the passion they were witnessing. They didn’t know if they wanted to flee or stay rooted to the spot forever.

"That’s... that’s not just sex," the younger whispered, voice barely more than breath. "That’s someone being chosen. Cherished. Like she’s the answer to a prayer he never dared speak."

"And he’s finally tasting what he’s waited his whole life for," the other added softly, her eyes glossy with unspoken yearning. "If it were me... I’d never let him go."

Just as one of them dared to lean forward, eyes glazed with heat, a sharp voice cracked through the charged air behind them.

"You two."

They whipped around like guilty children, their faces blotched with red, hearts hammering in their chests. One clutched an empty tray like a shield, the other froze mid-peek, terror and embarrassment twisting on her face.

The innkeeper stood firm, arms crossed, gaze narrowed with authority honed over years of managing wandering hands and whispered desires.

"Have you forgotten yourselves? What part of 'privacy' did that creaking door not spell out?"

"We weren’t going to interrupt—" one stammered.

"So is half the inn," the older woman replied dryly. "But curiosity doesn’t give you the right to spy on something sacred."

"We were just curious!" the younger squeaked, still pink with arousal and guilt.

She moved past them, her robes brushing the walls, footsteps silent but sure. When another breathless moan met her ears—followed by a whisper of devotion—her expression softened.

Then she saw them.

Through the crack in the door: Gyomei’s massive body curled protectively over the woman beneath him. She wasn’t clinging to him, but to the pillow beneath her, her fingers buried deep in the fabric, knuckles white. Her expression—visible in profile—was one of open surrender, lips parted, brows drawn together in aching pleasure. Her whole body trembled beneath him, held not just by his hands but by the years of yearning finally coming undone.

Her throat tightened.

Years ago, she remembered that girl—spirited, cloaked in silks, but wandering like someone still searching. Always trailing after the tall, silent temple boy with soot-dark hands and a tenderness that never fit his size. Summer after summer, they returned like a promise unfulfilled. Always together. Almost always.

She reached out, laid her palm gently against the doorframe, and pushed it closed with care. The latch clicked softly, like sealing a secret.

She turned back to the maids, who stood overwhelmed, chastened but still dazzled, flushed with secondhand heat.

"That’s not a show for you to gawk at," the innkeeper said softly now, almost reverent. "That’s years of aching silence… finally answered."

Neither girl dared to speak.

The innkeeper exhaled, giving them each one last glance—part warning, part wistful.

"Let them have this. After everything... they’ve earned it."

the three of you would drunkenly stagger back to their hotel rooms — while they feign being helpful and wrap their arms protectively around your body under the guise of stablising your inebriated form. but in actuality, they were probably far worse off than you, and would often lose their own balance while handling your hips or lower back, which would then lead to you tripping over too.

eventually you reach their hotel rooms, and due to the fact oikawa lost his keycard at some blankened point during their escapade, it was hinata's room that you all ended up stumbling into.

even while on the lively streets or during the brief intermission in the silent elevator together, the three of you were inappropriately close; leaving slopping kisses on any pieces of exposed flesh and grabbing at parts of each other that could only be described as intimate. thankfully most pedestrians were more involved in their own business, and any onlookers that did notice your PDA were far too drunk to care.

and the affection was only accelerated as soon as you stepped foot into the privacy of hinata's hotel room. almost instantly it became a hot mess; an entanglement of limbs and appendages, furiously trying to get as close to each other as possible.

of course they were more focused on you than each other, and you tried to pay them each and equal amount of attention. thus your clothes became the immediate victims of both their scrutinies, and were torn and ripped off your body urgently by the various hands wandering over your supple figure. for the most part, you let your eyes drift shut and your mind cloud over while their big hands saturated your soft skin, occassionally flicking your nipples or pinching your clit. four hands on you at once.

however if you paid attention, you could tell whose hands belonged to whom.

oikawa was positioned closely behind you, to the point where you could find his firm abs against your back and his breath tickling the crook of your neck. his hands were slender and expert, and his touch was far more playful. fondling your tits or teasing your sensitive clit; all of which he would use as fuel for his growing erection, that you could feel growing against your plush thighs, even through the fabric of his pants. whenever he would elicit a cute moan from your pretty lips, you could feel him huff a chuckle into your neck.

hinata's hands were a bit smaller, but much faster and more keen. he was stood in front of you, and seemingly couldn't decide what he wanted to do. he'd engage you for a deep kiss for around ten seconds at a time, and just before it would get too heavy, he pull away to shift his full attention back onto your body. allowing his daring touch to slip behind you and fully grope your ass, or sink between your legs and excitedly finger you. he was a bit erratic, you could never tell what he was going to do next, and you liked that.

this trite foreplay, however sexy, didn't to satiate them for long though. soon, they became hungry for more of your intoxicating figure.

oikawa was the first one to make a move. while you were sandwiched between the boys, hinata's fingers were knuckles' deep inside your hole, thrusting into you over and over, while squelching noises filled the room. his lips were connected your delicate neck and he was sucking harsh hickeys into your skin. that, in combination with oikawa's arms snaked around your waist so he could rub your clit, was enough to have your knees buckling under you and a lewd string of moans pouring from your heart.

since your mind was clouded with pleasure, you hardly noticed the disappearance of oikawa's stiff cock against the back of your thigh. he shifted away slightly, but only so he could pull his cock free from the confines of his pants with one hand. with the other, he gathered all your sticky arousal from your clit and between your thighs, in order to lubricate his dick until it had the perfect glossy sheen. then, without wasting anymore time, he jammed himself right into your tight asshole.

"nghh—fuck— ahh!" you choked out a broken chain of moans and profanities at the abrupt intrusion. although you'd be lying if you said you weren't into it — which you kinda gave away when you began subconciously grinding back against his fat cock, wanting to urge him deeper inside you despite the fiery pain. it stung so good.

"too big for you, huh?" he hums as he peppers soft kisses across your shoulderblade, "sadly we can't all be fun-sized, so you're just gonna have to take it, baby." you can feel him chuckle to himself lightly against you.

"fun-sized." hinata tuts; thankfully he is too drunk to take it personally and will probably forget that snide remark come morning and the memory will be replaced by a splitting headache. still, he felt the bubbling need to impress you and prove himself. plus, he didn't realise he was allowed to insert himself without a condom, but if oikawa was doing it, hinata was sure to dive in as well.

like everything else he does, he was quick to whip his cock out and slip himself between your plush thighs. using the abundant wetness accumulated around your glistening folds to facilitate his enterance into your tight cunt.

"how's that?" he wasn't exactly his 'fun-sized' as oikawa proclaimed, thus taking his entire cock within your homey walls was not easy by any means.

"mmph, too much.." even with all your natural lubrication, you could feel your twitching walls have to stretch and pull to contain him, and he continued to ram his dick right the way inside you.

"c'mon, (y/n). that's it. ta— shit— take it."

but once you finally managed to keep him all inside, it felt ineffably good. both of them would thrust into you at their own pace, angled upwards which led to your tits constantly bouncing at the impact. with both your holes entirely saturated by their thick cocks, there was no spot inside you left unstimulated. hence, it wasn't long before your legs literally gave out from under you, but thankfully you had two pairs of strong arms to hold you and keep you upright for as long as they needed to use you for.

"gunna.. uhh— mph!" you groan. due the mass amounts of overstimulation, it wasn't long before the growing knot in your abdomen erupted all over hinata's dick, and your very first orgasm had you squirting all over his length.

this obscene display, along with your convulsing walls and pornographic moans was enough to fuel his first climax too, and he spilled his hot seed into your constricting cunt. "d—damn, s-so fucking tight!" he pulled out as he did so, hence some of his cum remained deep inside you or plastered to your sticky walls, while some of it painted your folds and dripped onto the hotel floor.

even while all of this was happened, oikawa's steady and rough pace never relented. he continued ploughing into your ass even as hinata stood for a moment to catch his breath and get hard again, but hinata — as well — immediately buried his fingers into your pussy to replace the absense of his dick.

with a bit more longevity, oikawa's first climax occured a few minutes later, as alluded to by his increasingly brutal pace into your puckered hole. basking in the snug cling of your walls, he remained inside you and planted his hearty load deep into your ass.

this warm sensation flooding your insides was enough to prompt your second climax, which had your legs shaking and your holes gripping onto oikawa's dick and hinata's fingers for dear life, rendering both of them unable to move. not that oikawa intended to anyway, he stayed stationary in your ass until you had thoroughly milked him dry, only then did he pull out.

"shit," he heaved.

"ready to go again, pretty?" newly erect hinata asked innocently, subtly aligning himself with your sticky enterance before you even managed to focus your eyes on him.

"shoyo, we'll switch, huh?" oikawa mused, idly rubbing your raw hole with his fingers. hinata nodded at the idea and hurriedly switched places with oikawa.

now in front of you, oikawa admired your fucked-out expression, and your wet lashline, "pretty girl, aren't ya? even after two loads." he pressed his lips againsts yours for a fierce kiss, during which he wraps his arm around your waist and guides you forward, so that you land perfectly on top of him as he stumbles back onto the hotel double bed.

hinata eagerly follows the two of you, and while you are laying on oikawa, he positions his cock by your ass.

after that night, you learned your lesson about getting in bed with olympic level athletes. the expensive booze and nice hotel rooms might be tempting, but their stamina is unmatched — you just about had to open your third eye to be able to keep up!

OSAMU & SUNA hadn't seen each other in so long. hence, when osamu invited suna to visit him back in hyogo, they had a lot to catch up on. due to his busy schedule and distant location, suna wasn't able to visit his hometown very often and shockingly, had never even been to onigiri miya. naturally, that's the first thing osamu wanted to show him when he arrived.

and how could osamu show suna his store without introducing him to his favourite worker?

your knees ached against the cold tiles of the backroom. the bleak, damp area where osamu would keep stacks of crates and cardboard boxes filled with random crap he bought in bulk — it was cramped and there wasn't enough room to swing a cat, but you make it work.

osamu and suna stood over you, gazing down in amusement as they watched you eagerly pump their fat cocks with each of your hands, simultaneously. your face wound in concentration, as your head bobbed back and forth between the two men's dicks; either licking the tip or taking a substantial amount into your mouth for a quick suck, then hastily retreating and servicing the other — lest either of them feel neglected.

but they could count on the fact that each time you'd give their girthy shaft a lick or pop their buldging tip into your mouth, your gaze would promptly flicker up to their faces, seeking approval in the form of a smile or a nod or a moan.

it was disgustingly cute how desperate you were for validation.

osamu even aknowledged your attention-seeking with a low chuckle, rasping out in a hushed voice, cautious not to let slip a moan from your furious hand-work on his cock, "good girl, ain't she?" even as he spoke to suna, he's eyes never parted from your needy figure below him.

and suna was the same; entirely fixated on you as he gritted, "y—yeah.." when you switched to licking his length and lapping up the salty precum leaking from his tip, he leaned down and cupped your chin with his strong hands, "mgh— fuck. can i- take her home?" what was supposed to be light-hearted joke, came out more as a staggered breath. a plea, even.

osamu tangled his fingers into your hair, and used his grip on your head to slowly guide you back towards his cock, smiling warmly as you gracious accept his whole length in your mouth again and begin frantically sucking. "hm, how's that sound, (y/n)?" he hums, greyed eyes locked with yours, "wanna go home with suna?"

he pushes you even further into his cock, and they both chuckle under their breath when you try to respond but all that ends up coming out is a muffled 'mmph!'

however, the vibrations of your lips against his cock are enough to send him hurtling over the fast-approaching edge, and osamu reaches his climax while buried in your mouth. just as he tips into his high, the waves of sharp bliss coarsing through him causes him to relax his grip on your hair, allowing you to finally jerk backwards and gasp for air.

although, these two occurences happening in tandem only leads to a sticky mess. his first couple spurts splash all over the lower part of your face, from your upper lip to your chin, and thus dripping down onto the breast area of your origiri miya uniform. as you continue to pump both their cock's with your tight-fists, any cum after that was angled directly into your agape mouth, to prevent any further disarray.

but what you weren't prepared for, was this obscene sight to cause suna to reach his own orgasm shortly after. so while you are still focused on osamu and trying to lick his tip clean of any remnants, suna — with nothing but a muted groan for a warning — furiously ejaculates all over the side of your face and hair, making you even messier.

being the behaved girl osamu trained you to be, you pumped him through his orgasm too and tried to gather as much of his bitter seed in your mouth as you could, but your efforts were in vain. you had been completed soiled with their sticky cum, and once he had finished, you had to wipe it away from your eyes before you even dared look up at them both.

their loads mixed together on your bruised lips and chin, stained your previously prisitine work shirt, and dripped from the loose strands of your hair. they had left you entirely dishevelled; it was so hot.

"what a cute mess." osamu wipes a bit of his semen off your chin, and held his finger in front of your mouth. you promptly opened up and licked it clean, a small whine escaping as you do so. "good girl. think you can go again?"

you pout up at him, silently, and osamu stroked your cum-stained cheek, while suna slumps against the wall and tries to catch his breath, "c'mon, suna won't be here for long. he's going home on friday." osamu bargains, but you don't seem to waver at that. so instead, he propositions, "i'll buy your favourite pretzels next time i go to the wholesaler."

now that piques your interest, and you nod enthusiastically to show your agreement. at which, he bend over and places a firm kiss against your forehead, while cupping your chin, "there's my angel." he rasps, "my employee of the month."

YAMAGUCHI & TSUKISHIMA paid extra to be roommates in college. little did they know, the fee they paid only guaranteed that they would be put in a room together, and not that no one else will be in their dorm with them. and that's how they met you.

thankfully you were chill though, the three of you got on quite well. there were two rooms in the flat — tsukki and yams shared one, and you got the other one. another girl was supposed to move into your room but she ended up dropping out. which was probably for the best, another person's presence might've disturbed the very delicate relationship the three of you have.

which basically means, the two of them are bests friend and they both think they are fucking you behind the other's back.

you knew you were into both of them at the same time, and at any point you could've pulled the plug on the whole charade and come clean, but you love the thrill of it. how tsukishima would ghost his fingers over your clit under the table while you all ate dinner together. or how you'd attempt the world's fastest quickie with yamaguchi whenever tsukishima would step outside of the flat for ten minutes to smoke. and how your heart would race in your chest as you both are half-naked, scrambling to get your clothes on when you could hear tsukishima's keys jaggling in the door.

thankfully you made it just in time, and tsukishima was way too tired to notice that you were wearing a karasuno hoodie and yamaguchi was wearing your lace cami.

regardless, you managed to keep this ploy going for almost a year. but as they say, all good things must come to an end. and that day came in the form of the night after your final exam for the semester, and the three of you were celebrating by boozing in your flat.

you started in the kitchen, making all sorts of concoctions out of the drinks you had splurged on. every single thing you made tasted vile and had around 60% alcohol content. you'd throw a splash of orange juice into a jug of everclear, pour into fancy glasses and call that a cocktail. cheers!

next, you migrated to their bedroom to do shots off the radiator. truthfully, you all calmed down a bit by then. each of them were sat on their own beds, and you were sprawled on the floor in the centre. you each had your own beverage and would sip it casually while recollecting on this last semester at college.

finally, once it got dark outside, you stumbled into the living room and plopped yourselves down in front of the tv to watch the bachelor and play a drinking game. however, around three episodes in, you were all so wasted you could hardly look at any more alochol, and were more absorbed into the show.

or, at least, they were. you were in a predicament. sandwiched between two cute guys on the couch, but if you were to make a move on one of them, the other would undoubtedly notice and that would spoil your entire shenanigan that you spend the whole year honing.

but fortunately, you were far too drunk to care.

without thinking much of it, your left hand moved slyly, hidden under the dark, towards yamaguchi's elastic waistband, playing with his drawstrings idly. his uncertain gaze met your own — and if it wasn't for the fact his better judgement was nullified, he would've immediately jolted away from this situation. but for some reason, he stayed docile and doting as you slipped your hand into his trousers to handle his hastily growing erection.

your eyes remain locked to each other, until tsukishima must've finally noticed the suspicious motion out of the corner of his eye, as he sits upright and yells, "what the hell are you—" evidently he was going to call to question you pumping his best friend right beside him on the couch, but you were quick to shut him up by snaking your other arms behind his neck and pulling him in close for a passionate kiss.

he's stiff and apprehensive at first, but it doesn't take long for him to melt into your touch, and your kiss gets so heated you're basically moaning into each other, lips weaving together fiercely and only parting for brief gasps for air.

of course yamaguchi noticed this too, but he was so out of it, he couldn't find it in himself to care — with the fuzzy drunk feeling, and the salacious stimulation from the friction of your palms against his cock, he was on cloud 9 and there was nothing that could bring him down. if anything, the sight of you and his best friend making out only turned him on more.

tsukishima's hands began to wander as you kissed; fondling your tits and pulling the neckline of you tanktop down so he could roll your pebbled nippled between his fingers. "tsukki.." you whined into his mouth, and he only glared down at you through his foggy glasses. "i need you inside me.."

before tsukishima had a chance to respond, yamaguchi must've overheard your request and thought it was directed at him, as he grabbed you by your hips and lifted you onto his lap, where his firm cock stood against his abdomen. you squealed slightly as this happened and held onto tsukki's shoudler for stability.

momentarily, their goals aligned simultaneously and both of their hands gripped onto the top of your pyjama pants and began tugging them down urgently; tsukishima working on getting your right leg out while yamaguchi did your left. and before you knew it, your bottom half was entirely bare as you were slumped back on yamaguchi's lap.

you could feel the imprint of yamaguchi's dick on your lower back and it was incredibly stiff. it was a miracle he had the patience to reach forward and massage your damp folds. tsukishima did something similar. he was sat beside you and it didn't take long before you both started kissing again, but this time it was less feverish and more gentle, fleeting even. and his fingers were glued to your cunt too, but unlike yamaguchi, he was nothing but an agitator. he'd pinch your clit and tug at your labia and tease your sopping hole, all while chuckling lowly into the kiss whenever he would elicit any kind of irritated reaction from you.

"ow, kei.." you moaned.

yamaguchi also noted what his friend was doing and huffed, "leave her alone, tsukki.. be gentle.." you pout and gently nod in agreement with yamaguchi's statement, and tsukishima simply rolls his eyes.

in contrast to his previous proclaimation, yamaguchi utilises his hold on your hips to hover you over his lap slightly, allowing him enough space to navigate his cock towards your puckered asshole. you're so absorbed in your kiss with tsukishima and his fiendish touches on your cunt that you don't realise what yamaguchi is doing until he's already sunk his throbbing tip into your hole.

your face contorts to reflect the lewd stretching sensation he's brought upon you and a whiny moan is ripped out of your throat. " ta— adashi!"

tsukishima is able to infer what's happened from your shriek-like moaning, and an amused smirk spreads across his lips, "what happened to being gentle?" he commented sarcastically, and you're too overcome by the conjestive sensation of yamaguchi's cock worming into your tight ass to even bother pay tsukki any mind. but tadashi did glare daggers at him on your behalf.

yamaguchi cradles your waist in his hands and tenderly rubs your supple skin, attempting to relax you to aid your hole accepting the rest of his length. "almost there, that's it." he muses quietly into your ear as you slowly fit more of him inside you. and with one last deep breath, you're able to reach his base. "there we go." yamaguchi praises.

"ngh!" you groan in triumph, chest heaving at the mental energy took just to try fight against your restrictive walls. but oh, it felt so rewarding to win.

tsukishima clicked his tongue, leaning back against the couch while his hand lazily made it's way between your thighs and inserted it's digits into your slobbering hole. so wet that your juices were foaming around his knuckles, as he curled them inside your pussy.

although he was silently jealous that yamaguchi was the one who was balls-deep in you, he couldn't falt his friend for taking the initiative. plus, it meant he got the pleasure of watching the erotic show that was your facial expressions while trying to take dick; your eyes would screw shut and your pretty lips would press together in discomfort, and your perky tits would bounce around when you would constantly shift yourself to angle his cock better inside you, but clearly all your efforts were futile.

but now yamaguchi wasn't doing anything. he wasn't taking advantage of the oppertunity like he should be. he just laid there like a dead-fish, in tsukishima's eyes. but what kei wasn't seeing, was how yamaguchi was revelling in the unreal sensation of your ass clinging onto him. even without stimulation it was enough to get him off and get him high.

but tsukishima was just bored. even if his fingers were buried in your cunt and your lips were peppering kisses on his neck. so he had nothing better to do than turn the tv back on with his spare hand.

and that's how the three of you spent a considerable portion of the night — with your ass cockwarming yamaguchi's throbbing erection, and tsukishima's fingers terrorising your poor pussy.

and of course the next morning was spent cleaning absurd amount of alochol, cum squirt and other bodily fluids off a couch that didn't belong to you.

BOKUTO & ATSUMU were both slumped on the bench after a long day of training with the MSBY jackals. it was especially intense and laborious today as they have a big game tomorrow, so the pressure is truly on. the two of them were both sat, sipping their water bottles and cooling down while talking about their upcoming match, until their assistant manager approached them.

"how are you feeling about tomorrow, guys?" you ask cheerily, holding their volleyball under your arm.

they glance nervously between each other; a strange sight from two men who are usually confident and upbeat. "uh.." atsumu starts, avoiding eye-contact by means of looking anywhere else.

"could be better." bokuto finishes his teammate's sentence with an awkwardly wide smile.

"awh, yeah. it's a lot of pressure, huh?" you chirp, and if it were coming from anyone but you, it would probably be patronising. with an innocent tilt of your head, you inquire, "anything i can do to help take away some of the stress?"

bokuto and atsumu both stare up at you with wide-eyes, and then turn to each other in unison.

what you had in mind was more to do with preparing their meals or helping them take their equitment to their car, but their idea works too.

in the jackals changing room, they had you bend over in between them. bokuto was sloppily pounding into your pussy with his monster cock while you were leaned over just enough that you were able to suck atsumu's dick at the same time.

at first it was a very strenous position, but eventually they ended up doing all the work. your knees just about went limp as soon as bokuto jammed his full length into your wet cunt, so he had his arm hooked under your abdomen to hold you up. to the point where your feet were basically hovering milimeters above the ground.

meanwhile, atsumu kept a firm grip on your hair and ensured you were slurping up every last inch of his cock. he'd grind into your face, enthralled by the way you were forced to deepthroat him and would moan lewdly into his base, "shit! good girl." he roared in pleasure. and since he towered over you, he was easily able to lean over and plant a harsh smack on your ass, with a hearty chuckle.

bokuto watched the jiggle and with a goofy smile plastered on his face, "yeah, good girl," he repeated, landing another spank right on your other ass cheek. however, he doesn't know his own strength at times and his slap actually stung, which caused you to instinctually gasp with atsumu's cock in your mouth.

and that really seemed to do it for him.

"what a naughty slut for daddy, huh?" he gritted, cradling your chin in his hands, "tryin' to impress me or something?"

tears prick at your lashline as you gaze up at him innocently. but there's nothing innocent about the way he shoves his cock into your mouth, or the way your tits sway as bokuto thrusts manically into your pussy.

"nasty bitch.. wanna impress me?" something about the way you feign purity really turns him on though, and that's what prompts him to keep an iron hold on your hair, even as he reaches his climax. "swallow it all like a good whore." he grits with a crazed smile. groans stumble off his tongue as spurts of his hot cum lauch down your throat, and you do what your told and swallow it all, not that you're given much of a choice.

"y-yeah.. just like that. fuck yeah, drink it all up, (y/n). drink it up for daddy." he grumbles with his head tossed back in ecstasy. all the while, bokuto is still relentlesly piercing into your tight cunt, basically splitting you in half with both his pace and his length. the twitching veins of his cock rub deliciously against your spongy walls, and are sure to send you over the edge any second n—

"uh, excuse me."

hm. perhaps it was due to atsumu's obnoxiously vocal orgasm, or bokuto's loud and passionate moans, or perhaps the sheer volume of the squelching noise eminating from your soaked pussy, but none of you were able to hear sakusa approaching and entering the msby jackal changing room.

thus, he was stood awkwardly by the enterance, staring at your current circumstance.

"uh, kiyoomi.." atsumu heaves, trying to focus his eyes after the post-orgasmic haze. "want to join?"

"always room for another bro." bokuto chimes in with a innocuous smile.

sakusa shuffles his feet slightly, wavering between staying and confronting the situation or just heading straight for the door like this gut wanted him to. but when he catches a glimpse of your cute face, still stuffed with atsumu's cock, and your ass in the air, grinding against bokuto's chest, that is enough to win him over.

"sure.."