DinoBoyLover

The heavy wooden doors of the dojo groaned open with a deep, resonant protest, as if the ancient structure itself sensed the intrusion of something untamed. Late afternoon sunlight sliced through the thick, swirling motes of dust like hesitant golden blades, illuminating the vast training hall in a haze of ethereal light. The air hung heavy with the rich, layered scents of aged cypress wood, the lingering salty sweat from earlier rigorous sessions, and the faint, smoky sweetness of sandalwood incense that always clung stubbornly to the high rafters.

Miyamoto Musashi stepped inside the room. His bare feet made almost no sound on the cool tatami mats after he kicked off his simple slippers. He was twenty minutes late, something he normally never allowed. But his mind was heavy with this temporary duty: training five privileged heirs from famous families for only one short month.

His gaze swept the room, taking in every shadow and detail. Then it locked onto the scene unfolding in the far corner, partially concealed behind a carelessly ajar sliding screen.

You were lost in pure, animalistic ecstasy. Your worn-out kimono was untied and hunched around your waist. Your soaked panties lay discarded like a forgotten trophy on the mat nearby, stained with your arousal. You rode the other student with shameless, rolling abandon; your hips grinding and bouncing in a filthy, wet rhythm that made your perky breasts strain and jiggle enticingly. Hands pressed flat on his heaving chest for leverage as your tight, dripping pussy swallowed his cock, squelching sounds echoing softly with every downward slam. Soft, breathy, needy moans poured from your parted, swollen lips, “Mmmh… ahh, fuck yes…” growing louder and more broken as your orgasm built to a fever pitch.

The boy beneath you gripped your soft, supple thighs with desperate, bruising strength, his face contorted in overwhelmed bliss, his hips jerking up weakly to meet your demanding bounces. The thick, unmistakable scent of sex; musky arousal, sweat, and the heady tang of juices, already permeated that secluded corner of the dojo, hanging in the air like an invitation to sin.

Musashi’s jaw tightened visibly, a subtle tick appearing on his cheek. The temperature in the vast room seemed to plummet instantly, the air growing thick, electric, and almost suffocating with tension. His dark eyes narrowed into slits, pupils flaring with a potent mix of shock and disapproval. For a long, frozen moment he stood motionless, one hand still gripping the door frame, the other flexing tightly around the wrapped hilt of his sword. This is what they sent me? The thought sliced through his mind like a katana through silk. A spoiled 18-year-old brat from a proud warrior line, spreading her legs and creaming all over a man's cock instead of honoring the blade and the discipline it demanded.

Your head tipped back in rapture, exposing the flushed column of your throat as a loud, shattering moan tore free, “I’m cumming so hard—!” Your body convulsed violently on top of the boy, your pussy clenching and fluttering visibly around his shaft as hot juices gushed down his balls in rhythmic spurts.

The next day, the dojo felt heavier, charged with an unspoken tension that crackled like static before a storm. Musashi had dismissed the other students early with a curt command about “personal reflection on discipline,” his voice brooking no argument. Only you remained, summoned to face him alone.

He stood like an unyielding mountain in the center of the mats; arms crossed over his broad, sculpted chest, the black gi stretched taut across muscles honed by decades of war and brutal training. At forty, Miyamoto Musashi radiated intense aura: tall, heavily scarred from countless battles, and imposing in every sense. His gaze pinned you in place as you approached with deliberate, swaying hips, your kimono slightly askew as if deliberately daring him to notice.

“You will not do that again,” he growled, his voice low and edged like sharpened steel, echoing through the empty hall. “Not in my dojo. Not under my instruction. Discipline is the foundation of the sword. Without it, you are nothing but a liability.”

You tilted your head innocently, your lips curving into that signature bratty, seductive smirk that had gotten you into trouble more times than you could count. He saw everything yesterday. Good. The image of his frozen, hungry gaze had kept you fingering yourself to orgasm after orgasm all night long, your sheets soaked and your mind replaying every imagined detail. You hated this forced legacy, the crushing weight of generations of swordswomen pressing down on you, demanding perfection and honor. Training? Bloodline duty? None of it excited you like the raw, degrading pleasure of being used and conquered did.

“I don’t want to be here, Sensei,” you purred sweetly, stepping so close that your breasts nearly brushed against his broad chest. His masculine scent; clean sweat, worn leather, and testosterones, flooded your senses, making your clit throb with insistent need. “My parents forced me into this. You know that. Why pretend I’m anything but a needy girl who craves cock more than I crave the blade?”

His expression remained granitehard, but you caught the subtle flare of his nostrils and the faint twitch of his fingers at his sides. “Then leave. Walk out that door right now. But while you’re here, under my roof and my guidance, you will show respect for the way of the sword.”

You weren’t listening. Your fingertips trailed lightly down the front of his gi, feeling the incredible heat and unyielding firmness of his chiseled muscles beneath the fabric. The contact sent electric sparks racing through your body. “Make me respect it, Sensei. Punish your naughty student… teach me a lesson I won’t forget.”

The air between you crackled dangerously. Musashi’s jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck standing out. He could feel the feverish heat radiating from your young, supple body, see the defiant lust burning bright in your eyes.

You leaned in closer, soft lips brushing teasingly against his ear, your breath hot and laced with sin. “I saw how you watched me yesterday… your eyes glued to my pussy as I came all over that boy’s cock. Did it make you hard, Sensei? Did you imagine replacing him with me?”

His hand shot out with lightning speed, gripping your wrist in a bruising hold that sent delicious sparks of pleasure-pain racing up your arm. For a heartbeat, everything stopped; the world narrowed to the heat of his grip and the intensity in his eyes. Then you twisted free with a wicked, triumphant grin and sank smoothly to your knees on the tatami mats, staring up at him with pure, hungry defiance that challenged him to stop you.

“Sensei…” you whispered, voice thick with unbridled sin. Your hands slid boldly up his powerful thighs, squeezing the rock-hard muscle through the fabric, feeling the tension coiling there. You could already see the growing bulge straining against his gi pants, and it made your mouth water.

Musashi’s breath hitched audibly. I should stop this right now. But the sight of your pretty, flushed face so close to his groin, those eager eyes looking up at him, made his cock twitch traitorously.

Your mind was a whirlwind of filthy, overwhelming need as your trembling fingers worked at the ties of his gi pants. Your pussy clenched hard, leaking fresh juices down your inner thighs in anticipation. You’d always been the secret family whore, finding power and freedom rather than the suffocating chains of duty. And now you had him—the legendary Miyamoto Musashi, right where you wanted him.

His massive cock bobbed softly as the fabric fell away, heavy, veined, and rapidly hardening to its full, intimidating size. The thick, musky scent of him; pure masculine arousal mixed with the faint salt of his skin made your mouth flood instantly with saliva. You wrapped both soft hands around the hot, pulsing girth, marveling at how your fingers couldn’t even fully encircle it. Slowly, teasingly, you stroked him from base to tip, feeling every ridge and throbbing vein pulse against your palms. You twisted your wrists gently on the upstroke, squeezing just enough to draw a low rumble from his chest.

“Oh my god, Sensei… your cock is soo huge,” you babbled breathlessly, your eyes wide with genuine awe and lust as you continued pumping him with both hands. “It’s so thick… I can barely wrap my hands around it. It throbs for me. I want it stretching my tight little pussy open so bad… but first, I’m going to worship it like the good little student I should be.”

You leaned in and dragged your warm, wet tongue slowly from his heavy, full balls all the way up the thick underside of his shaft, savoring the salty, masculine taste. You repeated the motion again and again, licking every inch, tracing the prominent veins with the flat of your tongue while your hands kept stroking in perfect rhythm. Your fingers worked the base firmly, occasionally dipping down to cup and massage his balls, rolling them gently in your palm as you planted soft, open-mouthed kisses along the length.

Musashi’s hand came down to fist your hair tightly, not guiding yet, just holding. His growl was low and rough. “Filthy slut. Your family would be ashamed of what a cock-hungry whore their precious heir has become. This is all you’re good for.”

“Mmmph—yes, Sensei,” you moaned around his shaft as you finally took him into your hot, wet mouth. Your lips stretched obscenely wide around the massive girth, struggling to accommodate him. You bobbed eagerly at first, sucking with wet, sloppy sounds while one hand pumped the thick base in time with your mouth and the other continued fondling his heavy balls. You hollowed your cheeks, sucking harder, swirling your tongue around the sensitive head on every upstroke, tasting the salty precum that leaked steadily for you.

Then, you pulled off with a wet pop, strings of saliva connecting your swollen lips to his glistening, veined length. Breathing hard, you looked up at him with tear-filled eyes full of lust. “Your cock tastes so good, Sensei… so big and heavy and perfect. I love gagging on it. Please, fuck my throat. Use my mouth like a toy.”

Musashi spat on your face, smearing it across your cheek with his thumb. “Pathetic. Look at this drooling little whore begging to have her throat used. You’re a disgrace to your bloodline, you brainless cumdump.”

You dove back down, forcing him deeper this time, your nose pressing toward his pelvis as you relaxed your throat. The stretch burned deliciously, making you gag loudly, but you pushed through, holding him there as long as you could while your hands stroked what you couldn’t swallow. Tears streamed down your flushed cheeks, mixing with the drool dripping messily down your chin and onto your cleavage. You pulled back, gasping for air, then immediately took him again, bobbing faster, sucking noisier, your hands twisting and pumping in slick, coordinated motions. You alternated between deepthroating as far as you could and focusing on the head, sucking hard while your tongue flicked the underside relentlessly.

For long minutes you worshipped him like this, lost in the act. Jaw ached from the stretch, but the pain only fueled your arousal. You hummed and moaned around his thickness, the vibrations making his cock twitch and leak more precum down your throat. Your hands never stopped; stroking, squeezing, teasing his balls until they drew up tight. You even pulled off to spit messily on his shaft, using the lubrication to jerk him faster with both fists while you licked and sucked at his balls, taking one into your mouth and swirling your tongue around it.

“What a greedy mouth,” Musashi groaned, his grip in your hair tightening as he began to thrust shallowly, testing your limits. “Cry and choke harder, stupid brat. Your family would vomit if they saw their precious daughter gagging on cock like a cheap brothel slut.” You encouraged him with eager whimpers, relaxing your throat further so he could push deeper. The wet, filthy sounds of your sloppy fellatio filled the dojo; gagging, slurping, the rhythmic slap of your hands on his slick shaft. Spit ran freely down your neck, soaking the front of your kimono and making your hard nipples visible through the thin fabric.

You kept going, edging him with your skilled hands and mouth, building him up only to pull back and tease with slow licks until he was growling with frustration and need. Only when your own pussy was aching unbearably from neglect did you finally pull off, gasping.

Soon, he yanked you off his cock with a wet pop, saliva strings still connecting your swollen, abused lips to his glistening, rock hard length. Breathing hard, chest heaving, he reached for his sword, gripping the thick, polished hilt with purpose. A dangerous smirk appeared on his face.

“Since you love playing with hard things so much, brat…”

He shoved you onto your back on the tatami, roughly pulling your kimono open and flipping the fabric up as he pressed the cool, rounded hilt of his sword against your soaked, puffy folds. The stark contrast of the cold metal against your burning, dripping pussy made you gasp sharply, your hips bucking up instinctively.

“Ahh Sensei! It’s so—fuck!” You writhed wildly as he rubbed the thick hilt over your swollen clit in slow, deliberate circles, then pushed it inside your clenching entrance. The textured wrapping dragged deliciously against your sensitive inner walls as he thrust it deeper, twisting it with controlled precision.

“Take it, you bratty little cunt,” he snarled, fucking you with the hilt in steady, deepening strokes. “Fucked by your sensei’s sword like the needy whore you are. This is what happens when you disrespect the dojo. Look at you squirting on a weapon, you disgusting pathetic bitch. Your noble blood is wasted on a brainless fucktoy like you.”

“It feels so good—oh god, the hilt is so thick and hard inside me!” you cried out, your voice breaking into desperate whimpers. Your hands flew to your breasts, pinching your nipples through your kimono as the intense sensations built. “I’m such a dirty girl… cumming on a sword...ahh.. I’m cumming so fucking hard—!”

Your orgasm crashed over you like lightning. You screamed, body convulsing violently, your juices squirting messily around the invading hilt and soaking the mats beneath you. Your legs shook uncontrollably, tears pouring down your cheeks from the overwhelming pleasure.

Musashi pulled the dripping hilt free and replaced it instantly with his massive cock in one savage, powerful thrust, burying every thick inch inside your spasming, cum-slick heat. He wrapped one strong hand around your throat and squeezed.

“Fuck—Sensei! Your cock is so much bigger—!” you babbled loudly, your nails digging into his broad back as your walls fluttered wildly around him. “It’s so deep… I can feel it pressing against my belly. Pound my slutty pussy please! Ruin me with that huge cock!”

“Ruin you? I’m going to breed this worthless cunt until it’s ruined for anyone else, you stupid fucking brat,” he growled, slamming into you with brutal force. “Tight little cunt squeezing me so damn much. You were made for this, weren’t you?”

“Harder, Sensei—yes! Your huge cock is ruining me... I love it— I’m your personal fuckhole!” you wailed, legs locking tightly around his waist to pull him even deeper. Every thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure through your body, your breasts bouncing wildly with the force.

He flipped you onto all fours without pulling out, slamming back into you in doggy style. The new angle hit even deeper, making you see stars and moan incoherently. “Arch your back, slut,” he ordered, delivering a sharp, stinging spank to your ass that bloomed into hot pleasure. He yanked your hair back hard, forcing you to arch deeper.

“Yes—spank me! Fuck my pussy... your cock is so deep like this, hitting all the right spots!” you moaned filthily, pushing back against him. “I’m creaming all over your big dick, Sensei—don’t stop, please! I’m your cock-addicted little whore!”

“Creaming like a bitch in heat,” Musashi smirked and laughed cruelly, spanking you repeatedly while pounding you senseless. “You brainless whore, let the whole dojo know what a disgusting family disgrace you are, getting bred on the training mats like a stupid animal.”

He railed you savagely for what felt like an eternity, his hips snapping forward with powerful speed, one hand reaching around to rub your swollen clit in tight circles. “Say how much you need sensei’s cock destroying this greedy hole.”

“Sensei, Sensei—! Your cock is making me cum again! I’m squirting—fuck— I’m your slutty brat forever!” Your voice shattered as another explosive orgasm tore through you, your walls milking him rhythmically, juices flooding out around his pistoning shaft.

He came with a deep roar, flooding your womb with thick, hot ropes of cum that overflowed and leaked out around his still-thrusting cock. Sweat slicked both your bodies, the entire dojo reeking of sex; musk, sweat, and cum.

You lay there trembling, cum leaking steadily from your stretched hole, but you smiled that same bratty smile and whispered breathlessly, “More, Sensei… please fill me again with that perfect cock. I’m not done being your fucktoy.”

The second round was even filthier and more drawn out. He bent you over a low training bench, gripping your hips bruisingly as he took you from behind with long strokes that made your ass ripple with each impact. “Still begging for more, you insatiable little cumrag? Fine. I’ll pump another load into this sloppy, ruined pussy until it’s overflowing like the worthless breeding sow you are.”

“Sensei, I can feel the head kissing my cervix. Fuck me harder—use me!”

Then, he made you ride him next, sitting on the mats with you straddling his lap as you bounced desperately on his massive length: “It’s hitting so deep… my pussy lips are stretched so wide around you… I’m going to cum just from grinding my clit against you…” Your breasts bounced in his face as he sucked and bit at your nipples, his hands guiding your hips in a punishing rhythm.

You lost count of how many times you came; squirting, shaking, screaming his name before he filled you again, then again. The sessions stretched on, positions blurring together: prone bone on the mats, you bent over with your face pressed into the tatami as he took you from behind; sideways on the bench with one leg held high so he could watch his cock disappear into your creamy folds; even against the wall, your cheek pressed to the cool wood as he railed you senseless.

You had known Jack Hanma for as long as memory allowed itself to stretch. Back when the world still felt small enough to fit between cracked sidewalks and the rusted chains of a forgotten playground. He was the quiet boy with storm-cloud eyes, the one who rarely smiled but whose presence anchored you through every scraped knee and stolen soda shared in the shade of dying oak trees. While other children ran wild, Jack moved with a gravity far beyond his years, as if he already sensed the violence simmering in his blood. You became his shadow, and he became your constant. You patched his knuckles after street brawls, listened to his rare, halting confessions under starless skies about the father who existed only as a terrifying legend.

Even now, years later, your mind often drifted back to those earliest memories that cemented your loyalty to him.

In kindergarten, the playground behind the old brick school building was your shared kingdom. One golden afternoon, while the two of you were racing across the rickety monkey bars, you lost your grip and tumbled into the grass. The impact wasn’t bad, but the laughter that followed was. A group of older kids pointed and jeered, their giggles sharp and cruel. “Look at the crybaby! She can’t even climb!”

Tears spilled down your chubby cheeks as you sat there sobbing, grass stains on your knees. Before you could hide your face, little Jack... already taller and sturdier than most boys his age—marched over with his small fists clenched.

“Leave her alone!” he shouted, voice cracking with determination. He puffed out his chest like a tiny hero. “She’s my friend! If you laugh at her again, I’ll… I’ll beat you up!”

The older kids burst into louder laughter. One of them shoved him hard. Jack tried to swing back, but he was quickly overwhelmed...pushed into the dirt, kicked once or twice while the others howled with amusement. He didn’t cry. He just crawled over to you afterward, bruised and dirty, offering you a scraped hand with a wobbly but proud smile.

“Don’t cry,” he mumbled, wiping your tears with his dirty sleeve. “I protected you… kinda.”

You sniffled, then giggled despite everything. From that day on, your heart had decided: Jack Hanma would always be your hero, even when he lost.

Even in your teenage years, walking home from school with Jack was never peaceful.

The streets near your neighborhood seemed to attract trouble like moths to flame. Groups of boys... some from your school, others from rival districts who had heard rumors of the quiet, towering Hanma, would block your path almost weekly. They sneered at him, mocked his quiet demeanor, and tried to impress their friends by picking on the “freakishly tall kid.”

“Hey, Hanma! Think you’re tough just ‘cause you're a big?” one would jeer, cracking his knuckles.

Jack never started it. He would gently push you behind him, his large hand warm on your shoulder, eyes sharp and calm. “Stay back,” he’d murmur to you.

Then it would begin.

Fists flew. Bones cracked. Within seconds, the challengers were on the ground; groaning, clutching bloody noses or bruised ribs. Jack moved with terrifying efficiency, never wasting movement, his raw power already evident even before his body had fully matured. No matter how many came at him, or how cocky they acted, he always won. Cleanly. Silently.

Afterward, he’d wipe the blood from his knuckles on his uniform torn jacket and offer you his hand again, voice soft. “Let’s go home.” You’d walk the rest of the way with your fingers laced in his, heart racing from both fear and quiet pride.

Though as years blurred past; Jack grew into something almost mythical, a towering wall of corded muscle, with increasing amount of steroids and pills. The underground fighting world swallowed him whole, night after night. Yet you remained. You waited in dimly lit apartments, tending wounds that never seemed to heal completely, offering silent comfort when the weight of Yujiro’s legacy pressed too heavily on his shoulders. Through every brutal training session that left him bruised and bleeding, every disappearance into that merciless arena, you stayed. Your love was patient, steadfast, a quiet flame that refused to gutter out.

But Jack’s world was not built for tenderness. It was teeth and claws, blood on concrete, and the constant shadow of a father who viewed human connection as weakness. One rain-soaked night on the rooftop of your apartment building, after yet another fight that had painted his skin in shades of violet and crimson, the fragile line between you finally snapped.

The city lights blurred beneath a curtain of silver rain. You reached up, fingers brushing his bruised cheek with a gentleness that felt like a confession. For a heartbeat, Jack leaned into the touch, his eyes softening in a way that made your heart soar. “Jack,” you whispered, heart pounding so hard you felt dizzy. “I love you. I’ve loved you for so long. Not just as a friend… I want to be with you.”

He froze, tall frame going rigid. For a moment, something soft and pained flickered in his sharp eyes. Then he looked away, jaw tight.

“I can’t do this to you,” he said, voice rough as gravel, eyes fixed on the glittering sprawl of the city below. Rain traced cold paths down his sharp jawline. “You deserve more than looking over your shoulder every single day. More than wondering if I’ll come back in one piece… or at all.” He swallowed hard, something raw and pained flickering across his usually stoic face. “Stay away from me. It’s better that way... for you.”

The rejection landed like a blade between your ribs. You stood there in the pouring rain, clothes clinging to your skin, throat tight with unshed tears. Part of you wanted to argue, to scream that you had already chosen this life beside him. But the exhaustion in his eyes, the genuine fear for your safety, silenced you. You respected his boundary, even as it hollowed you out from the inside. Days turned to weeks. You stopped reaching out first. You avoided the places where he trained, the corners of the city that still carried echoes of him. The silence stretched between you like a chasm, cold and endless.

It was during that aching emptiness that Yujiro Hanma appeared.

The Ogre rarely deigned to involve himself in his son’s affairs unless it amused him, but he had always noticed you, the girl who lingered stubbornly at Jack’s side longer than most dared. One overcast afternoon, his presence filled your doorway like a predator stepping into a rabbit’s den. That feral, knowing grin split his face as he regarded you with lazy interest.

“Come,” he said simply, as if refusal were not an option. “You look bored.”

You had nothing better to do, and crossing Yujiro was never wise. So you followed.

He led you to an abandoned warehouse on the city’s forgotten outskirts. The air hung thick with dust, rust, and the sharp metallic tang of fear. Inside, a woman sat bound to a metal chair, half-naked, her wide eyes glistening with terror as Yujiro toyed casually with a knife, his voice a low, philosophical rumble about strength, breaking points, and the beauty of human fragility. You stood frozen near the entrance, stomach twisting violently at the casual cruelty unfolding before you.

Then movement stirred in the shadows.

Sikorsky emerged.

Shorter than Jack but built with the compact, explosive power of a coiled spring, his pale skin seemed to drink in the weak shafts of light filtering through cracked windows. His slicked-back blond hair gleamed with dangerous polish, giving him an almost refined edge of menace. When his sharp eyes landed on you, they lit up with immediate, appraising interest—curious and cocky.

While Yujiro continued his macabre demonstration, Sikorsky drifted closer, his voice sliding through the tension like warm silk edged with mockery.

“Jack’s little princess, huh?” He tilted his head, a slow smirk curving his lips. “Didn’t expect to find something so soft in the middle of all this filth.”

He was everything Jack refused to be in presentation... flashy confidence, quicksilver smirks, words that slipped beneath your skin like a challenge you couldn’t quite ignore. He carried the same predatory grace, but wrapped in an arrogance that made your pulse quicken with a dangerous blend of irritation and reluctant attraction. Over the following days, he sought you out deliberately. Flirting came as naturally to him as breathing.

He would corner you after underground bouts, leaning in far too close, his breath warm against the shell of your ear. “You’re wasting your time pining after that unnatural idiot,” he’d murmur, lips curving with wicked amusement. “I could show you what a real fighter feels like. No brooding. No pointless self-sacrifice.”

One evening, outside a dimly lit bar where the neon lights bled into the night, the tension crested. Sikorsky caught your chin between his fingers, tilting your face upward with surprising gentleness. His eyes gleamed with expectation, that cocky grin softening into something almost seductive.

“Come on, sweetheart. One kiss. Don’t tell me you’re still saving it for him after all this time.”

Your heart hammered against your ribs. Memories of Jack’s cold rejection flashed through your mind, sharp and painful. You pulled back, stepping out of his reach.

“No,” you whispered, the refusal quiet but firm. Part of you still ached fiercely for the man who had pushed you away. Another part...the wounded, angry part... enjoyed the way Sikorsky’s smirk faltered for half a second before he recovered with a low, appreciative laugh. He promised you’d change your mind eventually.

You never slept with him, never crossed that final line. But you let the flirtation linger, let his attention fill the hollow space Jack had carved inside you. It was a distraction. A dangerous, fleeting way to remember you could still breathe without him.

Jack learned the truth by cruel accident.

Dusk painted the park in bruised purples and golds as he cut through on his way home from another punishing training session. His muscles burned, but his mind remained sharp until he spotted that familiar slicked-back blond hair. Sikorsky. The cocky bastard he had every intention of crushing beneath his fists.

Words were exchanged, sharp and venomous. Then fists flew.

The fight was savage and swift. Grass tore beneath their boots. The dull thud of knuckles meeting flesh echoed through the trees. Sikorsky laughed through a split lip, dodging one of Jack’s powerful haymakers with infuriating grace.

“That all you got, Hanma?” he taunted, blood trickling down his chin. “No wonder she came running to me. Your little pet’s got better taste than I thought.”

Your name struck Jack like a sledgehammer to the gut. For a split second, his entire world narrowed to white-hot fury. His eyes widened, raw jealousy igniting in his veins hotter than any injury he had ever endured. Sikorsky seized the momentary lapse, landing a solid hit that snapped Jack’s head back.

Sirens wailed in the distance. Police. Sikorsky flashed a mocking grin and bolted into the thickening shadows, disappearing like smoke.

Jack stood alone in the torn grass, chest heaving, blood dripping from his knuckles. The image of Sikorsky’s hands on you, that arrogant smirk, it unraveled something dark and desperate deep inside his soul. The jealousy he had tried to bury roared to life, consuming every careful reason he had given you for staying away.

Without another thought, he turned and strode toward your apartment, each step heavy with purpose. The rejection, the distance.... none of it mattered anymore.

He was done holding back.

Jack filled your doorway like a storm cloud ready to burst. Broad shoulders heaving, knuckles split and bleeding from the fresh fight, his buzzcut blond hair damp with sweat. His eyes, usually so controlled, burned with something raw and volatile. You stood there in your apartment’s dim entryway light, heart slamming against your ribs. Weeks of silence, of respecting the distance he demanded, and now here he was, uninvited, radiating fury.

“Jack… what the hell?” Your voice cracked. Confusion twisted in your gut, mixing with the old ache of rejection. You stepped back, arms wrapping around yourself. “You need to leave. Right now.”

He didn’t. He stepped inside, the door clicking shut behind him with finality. The air thickened; charged, heavy with the scent of his sweat, faint blood, and that unmistakable masculine warmth that had always undone you.

You planted your hands on his stomach, pushing hard but he barely moved. “I mean it, Jack. Get out. You made your choice. You pushed me away to ‘keep me safe.’ So go. I’m done waiting around like some pathetic shadow.” The words tasted bitter, but hurt fueled them. To twist the knife, you added, voice sharper, “I’d rather be with Sikorsky anyway. At least he doesn’t pretend to care one minute and throw me away the next.”

That landed. Jack’s expression fractured.... pain flashed across his face, jaw tightening, eyes narrowing into something darker, wounded. His large hands shot out, wrapping around your wrists in a grip that bordered on bruising. He leaned down to your height, towering frame bending, breath hot against your lips.

Before you could pull away, his mouth claimed yours in a brutal, forceful kiss. It wasn’t gentle. It was teeth and tongue and pent up desperation, his lips crushing against yours as if he could erase every word you’d just thrown at him. You shoved at his chest with your trapped hands, muffled protests vibrating against his mouth. “Stop—Jack, stop!”

He held you tighter, body pressing you back against the wall until the air squeezed from your lungs. His heat enveloped you completely; the solid wall of muscle, the rapid thud of his heart under your palms. For a moment panic flared, but then it shifted. His warmth, the familiar scent, the way his massive frame made you feel both trapped and shielded… something inside you cracked. Your resistance melted. One hand slipped free enough to slide up, fingers brushing over the short, velvety buzz of his blond hair. You stroked it, gripping lightly, and kissed him back.

Jack groaned into your mouth, the sound low and broken. He released your wrists only to scoop you up, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he carried you deeper into the apartment, toward the bedroom. The door kicked shut behind you both.

This was new territory for both of you. Jack had never let anyone this close, and you had saved every vulnerable piece of yourself for him. As he set you down on the edge of the bed, the reality hit; clothes were already being yanked away in frantic, trembling hands. Your shirt came off first, then his. When his bare chest was revealed, broad and scarred and impossibly powerful, your breath caught. He was huge. The size difference had always been there, but seeing it now, skin to skin, sent a rush of nervous excitement through you. Your eyes traced the ridges of muscle, the faint scars from countless battles, down to the trail of blond fuzz disappearing into his waistband.

Jack’s gaze devoured you in return. His hands shook slightly as he peeled your pants down your legs, revealing your body fully. “Fuck…” he breathed, voice hoarse. “You’re… perfect.” His eyes darkened with awe and hunger, pupils blown wide. He was breathing harder, cock already straining against his remaining clothes. When he finally shoved his pants down, massive as you expected, curving slightly upward, you felt a spike of fear-laced thrill. He was big... intimidatingly so. Your thighs pressed together instinctively.

“Jack, I… I’ve never…” you whispered, cheeks burning.

“Me neither,” he admitted, voice rough, almost reverent. “But I need you. All of you. Right now.”

He crawled over you, caging you in with his body. The first real touches were electric; his large palms roaming your sides, groping your ass with firm, kneading squeezes that made you gasp. His mouth found your collarbone, teeth grazing before sinking in. The bite sharpened into pain as he broke skin, a small trickle of blood welling. You cried out, back arching, but the sting melted into heat that pooled low in your belly. He soothed it with his tongue, then moved lower, leaving more marks along your breasts, your ribs...deep imprints of teeth that would bruise beautifully tomorrow.

Your hands explored him too, tracing the massive expanse of his back, feeling the power coiled there. Every touch felt reverent and desperate at once.

He worked his way down, mouth latching onto the soft flesh of your inner thighs. Teeth sank in again, harder, drawing another bead of blood. You whimpered, legs trembling around his head. The pain blurred into pleasure so intense your vision blurred. He’s marking me everywhere… because of Sikorsky… because he can’t stand the thought. The realization sent another wave of arousal through you.

Soon, He guided your head gently but firmly to the edge of the mattress, his large hand cupping the back of your skull. “Open for me,” he murmured, voice low and gravelly, edged with that same barely contained hunger.

Your heart hammered as you parted your lips. He pushed in slowly at first, the thick, velvety head stretching your mouth wide. The taste of him flooded your senses immediately; salty skin, a hint of clean musk, purely masculine and intoxicating. You felt the weight of him on your tongue, heavy and warm, and your eyes fluttered as you looked up at him through damp lashes. Jack was watching you with rapt intensity, his jaw slackening slightly, eyes darkening with raw pleasure. A faint tremor ran through his powerful thighs as he fought to hold back.

“That’s it… just like that,” he growled, the sound vibrating deep in his chest. His hips rocked forward with careful control, feeding another inch into your mouth. “Take me deeper. I want to feel every inch of your throat squeezing around me.”

The stretch was immediate and intense. Your lips felt swollen around his girth, saliva already beginning to pool. You focused on breathing through your nose, eyes watering as he slid further, nudging against the back of your throat. The burn was there, a sharp reminder of just how much of him there was, but beneath it pulsed a filthy thrill. He’s so big… filling my mouth completely. The discomfort twisted into something hotter, a deep throbbing ache building between your legs as you held his gaze.

Jack’s hand remained tangled in your hair, not forcing but guiding. He began thrusting in earnest then—longer, smoother strokes that made your throat bulge visibly with each forward motion. Obscene, wet sounds filled the quiet bedroom: the slick glide of your lips along his shaft, the soft gagging noises you couldn’t quite suppress, the faint creak of the bed as his hips moved. Saliva dripped messily down your chin, trailing onto your chest, but you didn’t care. You kept your eyes on him, fluttering shut only briefly when the depth overwhelmed you before opening again to meet his burning stare.

Jack’s pace quickened gradually, hips snapping forward with growing urgency while still holding back from truly losing control. “Fuck, your mouth feels incredible,” he rasped, voice rough and broken with pleasure. “So warm, so tight… the way you’re looking up at me like that. You’re taking every inch like you were made for this.” His dirty words washed over you, each one sending fresh heat pooling low in your belly.

Tears slipped freely down your flushed cheeks now, but they weren’t from pain alone. The jealousy still simmering in him, the way his jaw clenched every time he remembered Sikorsky’s name, the sheer overwhelming size of him looming above you... it all blended into a dizzying storm of sensation. Your hands gripped his thick, muscular thighs, nails digging crescent marks into the pale skin as you steadied yourself. Every deep thrust made your throat contract around him, drawing guttural groans from deep in his chest.

“God, the way you’re sucking me… so eager even with tears in your eyes,” he muttered, voice thick. “You love this, don’t you?” You hummed affirmatively around his cock, eyes fluttering.

“Mhm...” The vibration pulled a deep curse from him.

He pulled back occasionally, just enough for you to gasp in desperate lungfuls of air, strings of saliva connecting your swollen lips to his glistening cock. Your vision blurred at the edges, but you never looked away for long. The eye contact felt more intimate than anything else; vulnerable, heated, charged with everything unsaid between you. “Shh, breathe through it, baby. You can take it. I know you can,” he groaned, then he’d slide back in, deeper each time, fucking your throat with focused, rhythmic strokes that left your neck straining. “After everything… after you let that bastard get close… this mouth is mine tonight.”

Long, relentless minutes passed like this. Jack varied the rhythm deliberately: slow, grinding depths that let you feel every vein and ridge dragging along your tongue, then faster, shallower thrusts that focused on the sensitive head. Your jaw ached sweetly, your throat raw, yet the pleasure you derived from pleasuring him only grew. This is Jack finally letting go… because of me. Because he couldn’t stand the thought of me with anyone else. The thought made you moan around his length, the vibrations pulling another deep curse from him.

When his climax finally built, his thrusts grew erratic, hips stuttering. With a deep, guttural groan that seemed to shake his entire frame, Jack came hard, flooding your throat with thick, hot spurts. You swallowed convulsively around him, choking slightly on the sheer volume, but doing your best to take everything he gave. He held your head steady through the pulses, breathing ragged.

Slowly, he pulled out, leaving your lips connected to his still twitching cock by messy strings of saliva and cum. His chest heaved as he looked down at you, eyes dark with satisfaction. “Lick them clean,” he ordered, voice hoarse. “Every drop. Show me how much you want this.”

Flushed, dazed, and trembling with your own arousal dripping down your inner thighs, you obeyed. Your tongue traced reverently over his heavy balls, lapping at the coarse blonde hair there, cleaning every trace of his release while he watched with hooded eyes. “Like this…?” you whispered breathlessly between licks. The act felt profoundly filthy and strangely tender at the same time. “Yeah… just like that,” Jack murmured, stroking your hair almost gently. “Good girl.”

Satisfied but far from finished, Jack flipped you onto your stomach without warning. His powerful hands yanked your hips up into a deep arch, positioning you perfectly for him. The vulnerability of the pose hit you instantly; ass raised high, face pressed into the sheets, completely exposed to his gaze. His massive frame behind you made the size difference feel even more pronounced, like you were utterly at his mercy. His hands groped your ass roughly, kneading the soft flesh, spreading your cheeks wide until they spilled between his thick fingers. The cool air kissed your most private areas, heightening every sensation.

“Jack… wait,” you whispered, sudden nervousness spiking through the haze of lust. You felt the blunt, slick head of his cock press insistently against your ass instead of your pussy. “I’m not sure, we’ve never done this… please, calm down first. Go slower—”

He didn’t listen. His grip on your hips tightened almost bruisingly, fingers digging into your skin as he pushed forward with a low grunt. The thick head breached your tight ring of muscle despite your protest, stretching you open with a burning, overwhelming pressure. You cried out sharply, fingers fisting the sheets until your knuckles turned white, eyes squeezing shut against the intense intrusion. “Jack—stop! It hurts—ah!”

But he kept going, inch by thick, relentless inch, sinking deeper into your ass with a hiss of overwhelming pleasure. The burn was fierce and all-consuming, tears pricking hot at the corners of your eyes as your body struggled to adjust to his enormous size. Every tiny movement sent sparks of pain radiating through you, yet underneath it, something darker and fuller began to spark.... a strange, deep fullness that made your breath hitch.

He bottomed out eventually, hips flush against the curve of your ass, buried to the hilt. A deep, satisfied groan rumbled from his chest. “So fucking tight… tighter than I ever imagined. You feel perfect around me.”

For a long moment he stayed still, letting you adjust, his hands roaming your back and sides in rough caresses. Then he tugged your hair back sharply, arching your spine further and forcing your head up. The new angle made everything more intense. He began to thrust; slow and careful at first, each withdrawal and re-entry dragging along sensitive nerves you didn’t know you had. The slap of skin against skin started softly but built steadily.

Your mouth fell open in a mix of whimpers and silent cries, lips bitten raw as you tried to process the overwhelming sensations. You glanced back over your shoulder, catching his expression: a mask of concentrated lust, brows furrowed deeply, teeth slightly bared, sweat glistening on his pale skin and dripping down the hard lines of his abdomen.

He’s so deep inside me… stretching me so much I feel like I might break apart… but it’s Jack. The thought sent an involuntary clench through your body. Jack moaned loudly, his pace faltering for a heartbeat before he slammed back in harder, the impact jolting your entire frame forward.

What followed felt like an eternity of consuming rhythm. He fucked your ass with long powerful strokes that gradually turned punishing. Each deep thrust drove the air from your lungs, his heavy balls slapping rhythmically against your soaked pussy. His hand stayed firmly tangled in your hair, tugging in time with his hips, using the grip to pull you back onto his cock with every forward snap. The other hand groped and slapped your ass cheeks repeatedly, turning the skin a heated red.

“Look at you taking my cock like this,” he growled between gritted teeth, voice thick with lust and lingering anger. “After letting that bastard get close to you… after making me watch you pull away. This ass is getting ruined tonight, and you’re going to feel every second of it.”

The dirty words sent shameful waves of pleasure through you, making you wetter despite the roughness. Pain and ecstasy blurred together until you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. Orgasms began rolling through you... one crashing unexpectedly from the sheer fullness and friction, your body shaking violently as you moaned brokenly into the sheets. Jack didn’t slow down. He pounded through it, drawing out the pleasure until another built right on its heels.

You pushed back against him now, meeting his thrusts despite the tears streaming down your face and the way your thighs trembled. The wet, filthy sounds of your bodies filled the room; skin slapping, his low groans, your desperate whimpers. Sweat slicked both your bodies, making every slide smoother. Jack leaned over you, his broad chest pressing against your back, teeth sinking into your shoulder in another deep bite that drew blood. He soothed it with his tongue before biting again, marking you thoroughly as he continued the relentless assault on your ass.

The session stretched on and on, long minutes of deep, grinding strokes where he rotated his hips to feel every inch of your tightness, followed by brutal, fast pounding that left you sobbing with overwhelming sensation. Your eyes fluttered, vision hazy, lips parted in constant cries of his name. Every tug on your hair, every slap of his hand, every deep thrust reminded you exactly who you belonged with now.

Only when you were a trembling, oversensitive wreck, another powerful orgasm ripping through you—did Jack finally pull out. The sudden emptiness left you gasping, body aching beautifully as he flipped you onto your back for more, his powerful arms maneuvering your body as if you weighed nothing at all.

The mattress dipped heavily beneath his massive frame as he settled between your trembling thighs. With deliberate strength, Jack folded your legs up and over his broad shoulders, pressing them toward your chest until your knees nearly brushed your shoulders. The mating press locked you completely beneath him; folded, open, utterly vulnerable and surrounded by the overwhelming heat and weight of his body. His pale, sweat-slicked chest hovered inches above yours, every sculpted ridge of muscle gleaming in the low lamplight. The sheer size difference between you felt even more profound now; he blanketed you entirely, his broad shoulders blocking out the world, his thick thighs pinning you down, making you feel small and safe and helplessly desired all at once.

His cock, still glistening from earlier exertions and impossibly hard again, nudged against your soaked entrance. Then, with one smooth, powerful thrust, he sank deep inside your pussy. The new angle was devastating. He reached places you didn’t know existed, the thick head pressing firmly against that sensitive spot inside you with perfect precision. A sharp gasp tore from your throat.

“Oh fuck—Jack!” you cried out, voice breaking with a mix of shock and overwhelming pleasure. Your eyes fluttered open wide, locking onto his intense stare.

For a long moment, he stayed buried to the hilt, letting you feel every thick inch stretching you open. Your walls fluttered around him instinctively, adjusting to the incredible fullness. Jack’s breath hitched, his jaw clenching as he fought for control. This was new for both of you, and the reverence in his expression mirrored the nervous excitement racing through your own veins.

He leaned down, capturing your mouth in a deep, messy kiss. His tongue swept in immediately, tangling with yours in a wet, desperate dance. The kiss was slow and exploratory at first, then growing hungrier, more urgent. Saliva mixed between your lips as he sucked on your tongue, tilted his head to deepen the angle, and devoured every soft moan you gave him. You kissed him back with equal fervor, hands sliding up his sweat-damp back, fingers digging into the powerful muscles there.

Jack began to thrust hard, deep rolls of his hips that made the bed creak beneath you. One of his large hands wrapped around your throat, palm sweaty and calloused, squeezing with just enough pressure to send dizzy, sparkling pleasure rushing through your head. He timed the squeezes perfectly with each powerful snap of his hips, releasing just enough for you to gasp in air before tightening again. The controlled choke made everything sharper, more intense.

“Jack… oh, it feels so good,” you whimpered against his mouth between kisses, voice breathy and needy. “You’re so deep... I can feel you everywhere.”

He groaned into the kiss, the sound vibrating through your joined mouths. His tongue slid against yours again, slower this time, savoring the taste of you as his hips ground in deep, circular motions. The head of his cock rubbed relentlessly against that perfect spot inside you, sending waves of liquid heat radiating through your core. Sweat slicked your bodies, skin sliding deliciously together with every movement. The room filled with the wet sounds of your coupling. The rhythmic slap of his hips meeting your ass, the obscene squelch of your soaked pussy taking him, and the shared, ragged breathing between messy kisses.

Jack pulled back just enough to look at your face, his forehead resting against yours. His eyes drank in every detail: your fluttering lashes, the way your lips parted in constant whimpers, the flush spreading across your cheeks. “You feel incredible,” he panted, voice rough and low, broken with pleasure. “So tight and needy… like you were waiting for this. For me.”

He kissed you again, deeper, more demanding. Tongues tangled wildly, teeth nipping at your lower lip before he soothed it with his own. The kiss stretched on, wet and filthy and intimate, as his thrusts varied in rhythm. He would slow down to long, grinding strokes that let you feel every vein and ridge dragging along your sensitive walls, then suddenly switch to brutal, pounding thrusts that jolted your entire body and made the headboard knock against the wall.

Your nails raked down his back, leaving long red lines that only seemed to spur him on. “Yes—harder, Jack! Please don’t stop… it’s so good, you’re so big inside me,” you moaned loudly, the words spilling out unfiltered between desperate kisses. Pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in your belly, every deep thrust pushing you closer to the edge. The hand around your throat tightened again, making your vision sparkle at the edges while your pussy clenched hard around his thick length.

Sweat dripped from his buzzcut onto your chest as he drove into you. The mating press kept you folded and helpless beneath him, forcing you to take every powerful stroke, every grinding circle, every moment of overwhelming fullness.

He fucked you like this for what felt like an eternity—long, savoring minutes where he would kiss you slowly and deeply while grinding his cock against that sensitive spot, whispering filthy praises between breaths. “That’s it… squeeze around me just like that. You’re taking me so well.” Then he would speed up, pounding into you with raw strength until your moans turned into broken sobs of pleasure.

Another orgasm built slowly, relentlessly. Your thighs trembled against his shoulders, your walls fluttering wildly around him. “Jack—I’m close… oh god, I’m gonna cum—” you gasped, eyes rolling back as the pleasure crested.

“Cum for me,” he growled against your lips, choking you lightly again as he slammed deep. “Let me feel it.”

The orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave. Your pussy clenched rhythmically around his cock, soaking him as pleasure ripped through every nerve in your body. You cried out into his mouth, tongue still tangled with his, body shaking violently. Jack kissed you through it, swallowing every whimper and moan, his hips never stopping.

Even as you came down, trembling and oversensitive, he kept moving... slower now, drawing out the aftershocks with deep, lazy thrusts. He kissed you tenderly for a long moment, tongues gliding softly, almost lovingly, before the hunger returned and the pace built again.

A second, sharper orgasm followed soon after, triggered by a particularly deep grind and the steady pressure on your throat. “Jack—again! Fuck, it feels too good!” you sobbed, nails digging harder into his shoulders. Your eyes fluttered shut, then opened to meet his gaze, the eye contact intensifying everything.

Jack’s control finally frayed. His thrusts grew erratic, deeper, more desperate. He kissed you messily, tongues battling as sweat poured off his body onto yours. “You’re perfect… so fucking perfect,” he panted between kisses. With a deep, guttural roar that vibrated through his chest and into yours, he buried himself to the hilt one final time. His cock pulsed hard inside you as he came, flooding your pussy with thick, hot spurts of jizz. The creampie overflowed almost immediately, leaking out around his shaft with every shallow, lingering thrust he made to push it deeper.

He kept moving through his climax, grinding against you, prolonging the shared pleasure until both of you were spent and trembling. The position held you locked together long afterward, his massive body pressing you into the mattress, his cock still buried deep as residual twitches sent gentle aftershocks through your core.

Jack’s hand finally loosened from your throat, sliding up to cup your flushed cheek instead. He kissed you softly now, lingering presses of lips and gentle touches of tongue, savoring the quiet intimacy. His forehead rested against yours, breaths mingling as the intensity of the moment settled into a warm, heavy afterglow.

You stroked his buzzcut hair with shaky fingers, heart full despite the beautiful ache in every muscle. “That was… everything,” you whispered, voice hoarse. “I’ve never felt anything like that.”

Jack’s eyes softened, he felt more protective now. He kissed you once more, slow and sweet, before murmuring against your lips, “Good. That's proof that our body meant for each other.”

The night wrapped around you both, thick with the scent of sweat, sex, and the quiet promise of something finally whole.

｡⁠◕⁠‿⁠◕⁠｡

A soft knock echoed through your apartment late the next afternoon. You froze mid-step, heart leaping into your throat. Jack had barely let you out of bed all day, his hunger for you insatiable after that first explosive night. Now, with your body still tender and marked from his bites, you padded toward the door wearing nothing but an oversized shirt that barely skimmed your thighs.

Jack was right behind you, silent as a predator. Before you could protest, he dropped to his knees, large hands gripping your hips and bending you forward at the waist. “Open it,” he murmured against your skin, voice dark with wicked amusement.

You cracked the door open just enough for your flushed face to peek out, one shoulder pressed against the frame to keep the rest hidden. Sikorsky stood in the hallway, looking uncharacteristically polished. He wore a tailored formal black shirt that hugged his muscular frame, paired with pressed slacks. An expensive silver watch glinted on his wrist, catching the light as he held a lavish bouquet of deep red roses wrapped in crisp paper. His slicked-back blonde hair was perfectly styled, that cocky smirk already forming on his lips.

“U-uh, hey Sikorsky,” you managed, voice strained. “Oh! Um…” A sharp gasp threatened to escape as Jack’s hot tongue dragged slowly across your asshole from behind. His two thick fingers pushed deep into your soaked pussy at the same time, curling expertly against that sensitive spot inside you. Your knees buckled slightly, and you gripped the doorframe harder, biting down on your lower lip until it hurt.

Sikorsky’s sharp eyes narrowed, catching the deep flush on your cheeks, the way your breathing came in shallow, uneven bursts. “What’s wrong? You look like you’re in pain. Did something happen?”

Behind you, Jack’s tongue circled your tight puckered hole with filthy speed, lapping and teasing while his fingers pumped faster, slick sounds barely muffled. Pleasure shot through you like lightning. You fought to keep your expression neutral, but your eyes fluttered, lashes trembling. A tiny, involuntary whimper slipped out before you could swallow it.

“I-it’s fine,” you breathed, forcing a weak smile. “Just… a little under the weather. Nothing serious.”

Jack didn’t relent. His free hand groped your ass cheek roughly, spreading you wider as his tongue pushed inside the tight muscle, fucking you with wet, obscene tongue strokes. His fingers thrust harder, curling and scissoring, hitting that perfect angle again and again. Heat coiled viciously in your core. Your thighs shook, and you pressed your forehead briefly against the cool door to steady yourself.

Sikorsky shifted, trying to peer past the narrow gap. “You sure? Let me come in for a minute. I brought these for you.” He lifted the flowers, the rich scent wafting through the crack.

“No!” The word came out sharper than you intended, almost a moan as Jack sucked on your clit from behind before returning his tongue to your ass. “I mean… we’ll meet up soon, okay? I’m really busy right now. Handling some… things.”

Your voice cracked on the last word. Jack’s fingers sped up, drenched in your arousal, while his tongue delved deeper, relentless and possessive. The dual sensation, his hot mouth on your sensitive place and his thick fingers stretching your pussy pushed you dangerously close to the edge. Sweat beaded on your forehead. You clenched your jaw, fighting back the building moans that threatened to spill out.

Sikorsky shrugged, though a flicker of suspicion crossed his features. “Alright, if you say so. Here.” He extended the bouquet through the gap. You reached out with a trembling hand and accepted it, managing a strained smile.

“Thanks… they’re beautiful. I’ll talk to you later.”

He lingered for a second longer, silver watch flashing as he adjusted his cuff, then turned and walked away down the hall. The moment his footsteps faded, you slammed the door shut and twisted the lock with shaking fingers.

The flowers dropped forgotten to the floor.

Jack rose behind you instantly, spinning you around and pressing your back against the door. His mouth crashed onto yours in a heated kiss, but he didn’t stop touching you. His fingers kept pumping deep inside your pussy, thumb circling your clit with perfect pressure while the memory of his tongue on your ass still burned.

“FUCK—Jack!” you screamed, the orgasm he’d been building crashing over you violently. Your walls clenched hard around his fingers as pleasure ripped through you in powerful waves. Your legs gave out, but he held you up easily with one arm, mouth swallowing your cries as you trembled and shook against him.

When the peak finally ebbed, leaving you gasping and limp, Jack pulled his fingers free and licked them clean with a satisfied growl. He leaned in close, lips brushing your ear, voice low and rough with dark promise.

SFW

• If Musashi were to be your boyfriend, he would still carry that intense warrior spirit from his era, but somehow it mixes with your modern life in the sweetest ways. He might not say "I love you" outright like in movies, but his actions scream it through quiet protectiveness and rare soft smiles that only you get to see.

• If you bought him a cellphone hoping for cute texts and connections, he would stare at it like it was some cursed artifact. "What sorcery is this glowing box?," Even if you're in different cities for work, he skips texting and writes heartfelt poems or letters instead, sealing them with care. He ropes Tokugawa into delivering them, and when you open one describing how your smile cuts sharper than any blade, your heart melts while you giggle at his old-fashioned charm.

• If you dragged him to a live-action sword fighting show for fun nearby, he would lean forward in his seat, "Hey! That's a fake katana, is everyone blind here?" he shouts loud enough for rows around you. Then points dramatically, "You there! Leave too much open area—he could target your neck, you know?" Your face burns red as confused stares turn your way, and you tug his sleeve whispering, "Musashi, please, it's just for show!" He huffs but follows you away from the crowd, secretly proud when you laugh it off later and call him your overprotective samurai.

• Musashi doesn't understand birthdays at all since they practically non-existent in his time. When your friends and family sing happy birthday and shower you with gifts, he'd stand there baffled, arms crossed tightly. "A day to celebrate the anniversary of your arrival into this world? Why? You are still the same person today that you were yesterday. Why feast for a sun cycle that has already passed?". But seeing your excited face, he softens a bit, and later tries to join in by carving you a tiny wooden charm.

• He feels both appreciated and uneasy when you spoil him with new yukatas, homemade favorite foods, or those weird delicious thing called cookies you bake. One day he pulls Tokugawa aside for advice, looking unusually flustered. "My darling gives so much... I must repay with honor." So he gifts you a high-quality comb and a protective charm, items samurai once gave loved ones. When you hug him tight in thanks, his cheeks flush faintly under that tough exterior, and he pats your back awkwardly but warmly, bonding deeper through these simple exchanges.

• Meeting your parents turns into a serious negotiation in his mind. He bows low with grace. "I ensure my darling's safety and protect until my katana bathes with blood". Your parents blink in surprise, reassuring him it's not that serious, while you stifle giggles at the legendary Musashi kneeling politely. It feels sweet knowing his origin samurai background makes him treat your relationship with such respect, like a precious alliance.

• He avoids PDA in public, not because he dislikes it, but to guard that vulnerable side. Even if you try wrapping your arms around him or stealing a kiss, he'd gently shift away, acting distant like nothing happened. "Such displays reveal too much," he'd mutter later in private. Back home though, in a quiet spot, he pulls you close for snuggling hugs, his strong arms surprisingly gentle. If he senses footsteps miles away.... maybe your friends knocking—he stands up instantly, composure back like a switched blade. That hidden softness proves how much he trusts you, making every private moment feel alive and special.

• Modern dates confuse him completely. At an arcade or cinema, he'd tilt his head, "Why call this bonding? Love through flashing lights and loud noises?" Instead, he takes you to nature spots where he swings his sword in training while you watch. It might seem boring at first, but sharing quiet talks under trees or laughing when a bird steals your snack turns it romantic. "This is how true souls connect," he says with a rare grin, and you realize his way builds something real and genuine between you.

• If Musashi saw you talking with any guy, especially if it’s not your relative, he’d be overly jealous, confused and hurt inside, though his face stays like carved stone at first. He’d watch from afar, eyes sharp and hand tightening on his sword hilt. Later he corners you, “Who was that man sharing words and smiles with you so freely? In my time such private talks could mean betrayal or challenge.” His tone mixes genuine pain with confusion, making you feel both guilty and touched. You explain it’s just a colleague, laughing softly while cupping his cheek. Musashi huffs but melts under your reassurance, pulling you into a rare tight hug in private. The misunderstanding turns sweet, ending with him training extra hard nearby just to stay close, bonding you both through his honest jealousy that proves how much he truly cares.

LIGHT NSFW 18+ (basically not that much too of a detail)

• In his mind, intimacy stays hidden and direct, but your modern openness blows his mind. “What is this shameless touching before the act?” he’d growl at first, eyes wide when you suggest light bondage or toys, but once he understands it feels good, he dives in, treating your body like a battlefield he must conquer.

• He’s rough and intense, never clumsy because every move is precise like sword swings. Strong hands grip your hips hard enough to leave marks, thrusting deep and powerful while pinning you down. Sweat drips from his muscular chest as he pounds steadily, grunting low with each slam.

• Musashi doesn’t do much dirty talk naturally, but he learns fast from your moans. He’d mutter things like “Your body yields to me so well” or “Scream my name louder” while thrusting faster. He loves when you give him blowjobs, eyes half-closed in surprise and bliss as your mouth works him. “Such a bold technique... don’t stop,” he groans, fingers threading in your hair gently at first then tighter, lasting long because of his insane stamina.

• Sex doesn’t stay fully professional like old times. He finishes strong after a long session, often making you cum multiple times before he does, his release powerful and deep inside.

The soft glow of the low hanging lantern in the traditional dining room cast long shadows across the tatami mats. Sitting across from Doppo Orochi, your father-in-law, the weight of the evening pressing down on you like the humid summer air outside.

Dinner had been simple yet hearty. Steaming bowls of miso soup with tender tofu and wakame seaweed, grilled mackerel seasoned with just a hint of soy and grated daikon, fluffy white rice still warm from the rice cooker, and a side of pickled vegetables that crunched satisfyingly between your teeth. Natsue had prepared it all before leaving for the hospital to visit her friend, her absence leaving the house unusually quiet except for the occasional creak of old wood.

Appetite fading as your mind wandered to Katsumi again. He was still at the Shinshinkai dojo, pushing through recovery from those awful burns and injuries after the fight with Doyle. The fire... God, just thinking about it made your chest tighten. You worried constantly, but he refused to slow down. The dojo needed him now that Doppo had stepped back.

You stopped chewing mid-bite, your chopsticks hovering. Doppo ate methodically, his powerful jaw working in silence, eyes fixed on his bowl. That raw, intimidating aura of his always made the air feel thicker around him—nothing like Katsumi's warmth. You swallowed and spoke softly, "Dad, why don't you wait for mom? You don't have to eat with me. I'm fine alone."

Doppo didn't look up immediately. He took a slow sip of water, his throat bobbing as he gulped it down. Then, in that deep, gravelly voice that commanded respect without effort, he said, "Don't talk while eating. It's disrespectful."

Heat flushed your cheeks. Right. The Orochi family was still so traditional, so conservative. With Katsumi and Natsue, you could laugh and chat freely, but Doppo... he was different. Harder. More primal. You nodded quickly and returned to your food, the silence stretching until the meal ended.

After clearing the dishes, you retreated to your room... the one you shared with Katsumi when he was home. The fusuma doors slid shut behind you with a soft whisper. Then, you changed into a light yukata, the fabric cool against your skin, and sat on the futon, hugging your knees. Worry for Katsumi gnawed at you, but underneath it, something else stirred tonight. An uneasiness around Doppo that had always felt... charged.

A knock, firm, authoritative—sounded at your door. "Come in," you called, voice smaller than you intended.

Doppo Orochi entered, his broad frame filling the doorway. He wore a simple dark yukata, the muscles of his chest and arms visible beneath the cloth. His eyes scanned the room once before locking onto you. The door closed behind him with a decisive click.

"You and Katsumi fuck in this room, don't you?" he said bluntly, his voice low and rough, carrying no shame. "Actin' like I didn't hear? I have sharp senses, y'know. Those little moans you try to hide... the way the floor creaks at night."

Your heart slammed against your ribs. Shame flooded you, hot and immediate, but so did a treacherous spark of heat between your legs. "D-Dad... what are you—"

He stepped closer, towering over you on the futon. "Don't play innocent. You're living under my roof. Katsumi's always at the dojo, leaving you here... worried, needy. I see it in your eyes every time he walks out that door."

You looked away, cheeks burning, but your thighs pressed together instinctively. "This is wrong... He's your son..."

Doppo's hand reached down, tilting your chin up with surprising gentleness for a man of his power. His expression was intense, those sharp eyes boring into yours. "And I'm the one who built this family. The one who taught him everything. But he's still just a boy compared to me."

The tension crackled. You should have told him to leave. Instead, your breath hitched as he knelt in front of you.

"Let's start with this," he murmured, his large hands moving to the obi of your yukata. With deliberate slowness, he untied it, the fabric parting like a curtain. Cool air kissed your bare skin as he pushed the yukata off your shoulders, letting it pool around your waist. Your breasts were exposed, nipples already pebbling under his gaze. He drank in the sight, a low growl rumbling in his chest.

"Beautiful," he said softly, almost reverently, before leaning in. His mouth latched onto one nipple, sucking deeply while his tongue swirled around the sensitive peak. You gasped, back arching involuntarily. His other hand cupped your other breast, thumb brushing the nipple before pinching lightly.

"Ahh... Dad... this is so wrong..." you whimpered, but your hand came up to cradle the back of his head, fingers threading through his hair. Shame made your voice pathetic, shaky. "Katsumi... he trusts us... but it feels..."

Doppo switched to the other nipple, licking and sucking with more hunger, teeth grazing just enough to make you jolt. "That's it. Let Daddy hear how much you need this." His words were soft but dirty, laced with dominance. "Katsumi doesn't appreciate them like this, does he? Too busy training."

He continued for long minutes, alternating between sucking hard enough to leave faint marks and gentle, teasing licks that had you squirming. Your pussy was growing wet, soaking the yukata beneath you. Expressions of raw pleasure crossed his face—eyes half-lidded, brow furrowed in concentration, like he was savoring a hard-won victory.

Finally, he pulled back, lips glistening. Then, he cupped your face and kissed you deeply, tongue pushing past your lips without hesitation. It was a claiming kiss—messy, dominant, his tongue stroking yours, exploring every corner of your mouth. You moaned into it, pathetic and needy, kissing back with shameful eagerness. "Mmmph... Daddy..."

When he broke the kiss, a string of saliva connected your lips. Doppo stood, shedding his own yukata to reveal his powerful, scarred body. His cock sprang free—thick, veiny, and undeniably bigger than Katsumi's. It throbbed heavily, the head already leaking precum.

"Look at it," he commanded, voice husky. "My cock's bigger than Katsumi's, right? Made to stretch a woman properly."

You stared, mesmerized and ashamed, licking your lips. "It's... so much bigger, Daddy. Katsumi's is nice but... yours looks like it could ruin me." The words spilled out in a horny, shameful whisper. This is pathetic, but the ache between your legs only grew.

You reached out with both hands, wrapping them around his massive shaft. It was hot, pulsing in your grip. Slowly, you stroked him, feeling every ridge and vein and you leaned forward, tongue darting out to lick the tip, tasting his salty precum. Doppo groaned, hand resting on your head. "Good girl. Suck Daddy's cock. Show me how grateful you are for a real man."

You took him into your mouth, lips stretching wide around his girth. It was a struggle, but you bobbed your head, sucking sloppily while your hands pumped the base you couldn't fit. Lewd wet sounds filled the room—as you worked him eagerly. Tears pricked your eyes from the size, but you didn't stop, moaning around him. "Mmm... so big... Daddy's cock is perfect..."

Doppo's expression was one of pure satisfaction, lips parted, breathing heavy. "Fuck, yes. Katsumi could never fill your mouth like this. You're choking on me already, and you're loving it."

After several minutes of your devoted skills—spit dripping down your chin, hands twisting and stroking, he pulled you up. "Enough. Turn around."

You obeyed shakily, standing on trembling legs. He positioned you for standing doggy style, bending you slightly at the waist, hands gripping your hips firmly. Yukata hung loosely around your elbows as his huge cock rubbed against your soaked folds, teasing your entrance. "Beg for it," he whispered hotly against your ear.

"Please, Daddy... fuck me. I need your big cock... Katsumi hasn't touched me in so long, and yours is so much better..." Your voice was breathy, full of shameful desperation. "I'm such a bad girlfriend... but I want you to ruin me."

With a powerful thrust, he buried himself inside you. The stretch was intense, making you cry out. "Ahhhn! Too big—Daddy, you're splitting me open!" But it felt incredible. He started moving, hips slapping against your ass in a steady, deep rhythm. Rough hands groped your tits from behind, pinching nipples, then slid down to squeeze and spread your ass cheeks.

"Feel that? Every inch better than my son's. Tighter fit around me." His dirty talk was relentless, soft yet commanding. "Your pussy is gripping me like it knows who it belongs to now."

The position allowed deep penetration, his cock hitting spots Katsumi never could. You pushed back against him, moaning loudly, expressions of ecstasy twisting your face—eyes rolled back, mouth open in a silent scream of pleasure. Sweat glistened on both your bodies. He fucked you harder, one hand coming around to play with your clit, rubbing firm circles that made your knees buckle.

"Daddy! Oh god, right there—your fingers on my clit feel so good... I'm gonna cum... please don't stop!" You were pathetic, babbling. "Katsumi never makes me feel this full... this wet... I'm sorry, but you're so much better!"

Doppo chuckled darkly, thrusting faster. "That's right. Daddy's better at everything. Training, fighting... fucking his son's woman."

He brought you to the edge quickly, orgasm crashing over you in waves, pussy clenching around his thick cock. But he didn't stop, prolonging it with relentless clit play and deep strokes until your legs shook.

Finally, he pulled out, stroking himself furiously. Hot ropes of cum painted your buttcheeks and lower back, thick and plentiful. You shivered at the feeling, pushing your ass back against him.

He guided you to the futon for the final. Spooning on the mattress, he lay behind you, one hand lifting one of your legs and sliding back inside your cum slick pussy. The position was intimate, his chest pressed to your back, thick forearm wrapped around you to hold your neck tight. Slow, deep thrusts now—grinding rather than pounding.

"Feel that, girl?" His voice was low, breath tickling your neck. "Daddy fucks you better even when he's gentle."

You whimpered, turning your head to kiss him sloppily. "Yes, Daddy... fuck me slow like this. It feels so deep... I'm addicted already. Such a shameful whore for you... my father-in-law's cock is ruining me better than Katsumi..."

The penetrations built another orgasm, slower this time, your bodies moving in perfect sync. His grunts mixed with your moans. When you came again, shuddering in his arms, he held you tight, kissing your shoulder.

Quick aftercare followed. Doppo gently wiped you clean with a cloth from the room, his touches surprisingly tender. He helped readjust your yukata, brushing hair from your sweaty face. "You did good," he murmured. "Katsumi doesn't need to know how much better Daddy is."

The screen of your phone lit up in the dim glow of your locked bedroom, the familiar ringtone cutting through the quiet night. Hours separated you from Kaoru Hanayama, your boyfriend, the towering Yakuza enforcer whose life was a constant storm of violence and duty. Your own demanding job kept you chained to deadlines and late hours, making physical meetings rare. But every night, without fail, you video-called. It was your ritual, a fragile thread holding you together across the distance.

Tonight was no different. Hanayama's scarred, rugged face filled the frame as he answered, his massive shoulders hunched slightly in what looked like a dimly lit safehouse room. Fresh bruises bloomed across his jaw and collarbone, purple shadows against his pale skin. His dark eyes locked onto yours immediately, intense and unyielding.

"Kaoru," you scolded softly, leaning closer to the camera in your thin pajama top, braless beneath the fabric. "Another fight? You promised you'd be careful. I worry sick every time I see new marks on you."

He let out a low, rumbling chuckle, the sound vibrating through the speaker and straight into your core. "These are nothing. Just another fool who thought he could challenge the Hanayama name." His voice was deep, gravelly, laced with that quiet authority that always made your pulse quicken. But even as he spoke, his gaze drifted lower, noticing how your nipples pressed against the thin cloth.

You felt it instantly. That high libido surging whenever his presence filled the screen. It was like he was there, his raw power radiating through the pixels. Your body heated up, pussy already growing slick with need. "You say that every time," you murmured, but your hands were already moving, cupping your full tits through the pajamas, squeezing them together for him. "But I can't stand seeing you hurt. Come on, big guy... show me you're okay."

Hanayama's eyes darkened with hunger. "Teasing already? You're such a needy little slut, aren't you? Can't even wait five minutes before playing with those fat tits for me." His words hit like a spark, humiliating and thrilling. You moaned softly, pulling your top up to expose your bare breasts, pinching your hardening nipples between your fingers.

The room was locked tight, door secured, curtains drawn. Heart racing, you set up the portable tripod on your nightstand, angling the phone perfectly. You stripped fully, kicking off your pajama bottoms and panties, spreading your legs wide on the bed so the camera captured everything—your glistening wet pussy, swollen and aching.

"Look, Kaoru," you whispered, voice husky. "All for you." Your fingers trailed down your stomach, parting your slick folds, showing him how drenched you were. One digit circled your clit slowly, then dipped inside, pumping shallowly.

On the other end, Hanayama shifted, his massive hand visible as he freed his thick, veiny cock from his pants. It was already rock-hard, the sheer size intimidating even through the video. He stroked it lazily at first, his grip firm. "Fuck, look at that sloppy cunt. Dripping like a desperate whore just from seeing my bruised face. You get off on this, don't you? Knowing your boyfriend's out there breaking skulls while you finger-fuck yourself like a pathetic slut on camera."

His dirty humiliation made you whimper, your fingers thrusting deeper, two now, curling to hit that spot inside you. "Yes... Kaoru, please. I need you so bad." Your free hand groped your tits harder, rolling a nipple as you arched your back, giving him every angle—the way your juices coated your thighs, the tremble in your legs.

He pumped his cock faster, the wet schlicking sound audible even over the call. His expression was tense, jaw clenched, those dark eyes burning with lust and frustration. "Beg properly, you filthy little shit. Tell me what a cock-hungry slut you are for my dick. Hours away and you're spreading like a bitch in heat. I should hop on the next train right now, barge into your room, and fuck that greedy hole until you can't walk."

The tension built thick between you, the distance amplifying every moan, every filthy word. You added a third finger, stretching yourself, imagining his massive girth splitting you open. "I'm your slut, Kaoru... only yours. My pussy's so wet for you, clenching around nothing. Fuck, I wish you were here pounding me, bruising me like you bruise those enemies."

Hanayama groaned deeply, his strokes long and powerful, thumb swiping over the leaking tip of his cock. "That's right. My dirty little cumdump. Look at you, tripod set up like a proper porn whore, showing off every inch. Those tits bouncing while you finger that sloppy mess, bet it’s making obscene noises, huh?"

"Kaoru... Kaoru!" you moaned quietly, careful not to wake anyone in your apartment building, but the need made your voice break. Your hips bucked against your hand, fingers plunging faster, thumb rubbing your clit in frantic circles. The sight of him... those powerful muscles flexing, cock throbbing in his fist, new bruises a reminder of his dangerous world—pushed you higher.

"Pathetic," he growled, voice low and commanding, eyes narrowed. "Moaning my name like that while your cunt squelches for the camera. You can't even hold back, can you? Such a horny girlfriend, jacking off to her Yakuza boyfriend's cock instead of sleeping. I bet you'd let me do anything—choke you with these rough hands, slap those tits red, fill you until you're leaking my seed for days."

The words burned hot in your cheeks, but it only made you wetter. "Yes, please... punish me more. I'm your slutty girlfriend, Kaoru. Fucking myself stupid for you." You flipped positions slightly, getting on all fours to show your ass and pussy from behind, reaching back to spread yourself wide, fingers diving back in.

His breathing grew ragged, hand flying over his shaft. "Good girl. Ass up like a bitch ready to be mounted. Fuck, I want to rail you raw right now. Trains be damned— I'd break every speed limit to bury myself balls deep in that tight, sloppy hole. Hear how wet you are? That's mine. All that juice for my cock only."

You whimpered his name again, "Kaoru... oh god, Kaoru," the tension coiling tight in your belly. Your expressions were raw—eyes half-lidded in ecstasy, mouth open in silent gasps, body glistening with sweat. He matched you, stroking furiously, his massive frame tense, veins popping along his forearm.

"Imagine me there," he continued, voice a dark rumble of dominance. "I'd grab that tripod, force you to watch yourself get fucked like the desperate whore you are. Slap that clit while I stretch you. You'd cum screaming my name, wouldn't you? Begging your boyfriend not to stop ruining your cunt."

"Yes! I'm cumming... Kaoru!" The words tumbled out in a hushed cry as your orgasm crashed over you, pussy spasming hard around your fingers, juices dripping onto the sheets. Your body shook, tits swaying, face contorted in pleasure.

Hanayama followed moments later, groaning your name low and guttural—"Fuck, [your name]!"—thick ropes of cum shooting over his hand and abs, his expression fierce yet vulnerable in release. He kept stroking through it, milking every drop, eyes never leaving the screen.

Panting, you collapsed onto the bed, still angled for him to see your flushed, satisfied body. "I miss you so much," you whispered, the afterglow mixing with longing.

He wiped his hand, smirking through the bruises. "Soon. This distances won't last forever. But until then, keep being my good little slut on these calls. Show me that pussy every night."

• Guts would absolutely lose his mind if you tried to mother him in front of the Band of the Hawk; he’s a man who has lived his entire life sharpening his edges to keep the world at a distance, and your relentless, nurturing care acts like a dulling stone he isn't ready to face.

• If you tried to approach him while he was cleaning his blade, he’d likely lash out instantly, his voice a low, gravelly snarl meant to intimidate you into backing off.

• "Get the fuck away from me," he’d growl, his eyes flashing with genuine irritation as he shoved your hand away, his palm hitting your wrist with enough force to make you stumble.

• "I don’t need ya hovering, woman! I’m a mercenary, not a goddamn toddler, so quit acting like I’m some fragile piece of glass that’s gon’ break if ya don't wrap me in bandages."

• He’d be so fucking embarrassed by the stray snickers from the other men that his neck would turn a deep, angry crimson, his hand tightening around his sword hilt until his knuckles cracked.

• Judeau would absolutely love to poke the bear; he’d be the one lounging against a wagon, tossing an apple in the air with a smug, knowing grin while watching Guts struggle. "Careful, Guts, your 'wife' is just trying to make sure you don't bleed out in your sleep," Judeau would tease, his voice dripping with playful mockery as he watched your attempts to clean Guts's latest wound. "Honestly, you’re the most insufferable bastard I’ve ever met—most men would kill for someone to look at them with that much concern, and you're treating her like she's the enemy."

• Guts would whirl around, his eyes wild and dangerous, and snap, "Shut yer’ fucking mouth, Judeau, or I’ll cut it off, I swear to God!"

• If you tried to feed him—say, by forcing a spoonful of lukewarm stew into his mouth while he was trying to look stoic—he’d likely spit it out or smack the spoon away in a fit of rage.

• "I said I don't want it!" he’d bark, his voice echoing through the camp as he stood up, looming over you with a look of pure, unadulterated frustration. "Stop trying to domesticate me, it’s pathetic and it’s embarrassing as hell, I’m going to lose my goddamn mind."

• Jealousy would be the ugliest part of Guts’s personality, especially when he sees you applying your nurturing touch to someone who doesn't deserve it.

• If you were to walk over to an injured soldier who had taken a minor, superficial slash from a rival mercenary’s blade, Guts would watch from the sidelines with his arms crossed, his jaw tight enough to snap teeth.

• As you knelt in the dirt, carefully cleaning the shallow wound with a calm, gentle precision, Guts would stomp over, his shadow looming over both of you like a dark cloud.

• He wouldn't care that the poor boy was bleeding or that the wound was barely a scratch; he’d only care that your soft hands were occupied by someone other than him.

• "Get up, idiot," Guts would snap at the boy, his voice dripping with venom, before turning his burning gaze toward you. "And you...the hell are ya’ doing? It’s a fucking papercut, not a death wound. Ya’ wasting yer’ time on these weak ass fools."

• When you tried to explain that it was just basic care for a comrade, Guts wouldn't let that slide, he steps into your personal space so that the boy had no choice but to scramble away in fear.

• "Stop fucking babying them," Guts would hiss, his face mere inches from yours. "Acting like you’re everyone’s goddamn mother. Think cuz’ they bleed, they’re entitled to yer’ kindness?"

• He’d be too embarassed to admit he was dying for your attention, so he’d mask it with harsh, cutting logic, trying to convince himself that your kindness was a liability.

• "Making a fool out of both of us," he’d mutter, gripping your wrist—not hard enough to bruise, but firm enough to demand your attention. "I’m sick of watching you tend to these bastards like they’re precious. If yer’ going to be this coddling, save it for the only one who actually gives a damn bout’ you."

• The breaking point would always come in the hollow silence of 5 a.m., when the rage had burnt out and he was left with nothing but his own crushing loneliness.

• As you sat next to him in the freezing, early-morning air, he’d finally stop the posturing and let his massive shoulders slump.

• "I’mma piece of shit," he’d mutter, burying his face in his scarred hands, his voice losing all its bite and becoming small and defeated. "You just don't get it, do you? Every time you try to care, it just reminds me how much of a monster I am, and I don't know how to handle someone like you looking at me like I’m worth a damn thing."

• He’d let you pull him into an embrace, his body finally going limp, the tension leaving him like air from a punctured lung. He’d bury his face in your shoulder, his voice hitching as he confessed, "I owe you everything. I’m a douchebag...and a wreck, but if you promise to stay... I’ll be your shield, your home, your weapon, whatever you need. Just... don't leave me out here in the cold alone."

•He lost his mother Shisu as a child, and your tenderness mirrors a ghost he’s terrified to embrace.

• First of all, his other comrades could gape in disbelief seeing someone like you, kindhearted and gentle, deserve a fierce man like Guts.

• In spite of his intimidating presence, it was difficult for them to accept that he could indeed be your boyfriend as all he does is brandish his sword and ruthlessly slaughter any human that crosses his path on the battlefield.

• PDA is something that Guts despises. Its presence, particularly in public, is something that he would certainly find quite awkward. Unsolicited neck kisses from you are also something that he strongly disapproves of.

• In private, his affectionate nature truly reveals itself. Displaying his profound fondness towards you in the presence of his comrades is not his preference. Nevertheless, it is essential for everyone to be aware that you are exclusively his alone.

• In the forests, the only setting where he feels comfortable showing affection towards you publicly (restricted to just the two of you), he doesn't hesitate to embrace your waist. Occasionally, he enjoys teasing you.

• He also adores clasping your waist and drawing them near.

• In the initial stages of the relationship, the only terms of endearment he utilizes for you exclusively consist of ‘Dumbass’ and ‘Jerk.’ This should come as no unexpected revelation.

• Upon reaching a state of comfort, he consistently addresses you with the customary term while incorporating either ‘Love’ or ‘Babe’ depending on his mood.

• Engaging in his physical touch involves allowing him to place his head on your lap while you delicately run your fingers through his hair. It is also experienced when both of you intimately intertwine your fingers.

• Seeking comfort from your touch is the sole method to alleviate his concerns, which consistently proves effective.

• Before embarking on the mission commanded by Griffith, he adored the gentle and tender quick kisses on your lips.

• “Take care, yeah? I will not be dead, I promise.”

• Other than that, he may display reckless behavior and may not even show concern for offering an apology.

• In every debate, he is swift to lay blame on you and incessantly strives to emerge victorious, even though he is often the one who started the argument.

• Despite his stubborn nature, he refrains from criticizing or belittling you when engaged in an argument. To illustrate this, he does not resort to using derogatory terms such as ‘dumb,’ ‘stupid,’ or ‘fool.’

• “Tch, y'know, I have reached my limit with the nonsense you constantly spew. Don't talk to me again and deal the problems with yourselves this time!”

• However, his words are not intended to be taken seriously; they are simply a dramatic expression because the next day, he would present you with a quantity of fruit collected from a tree and placed in a bucket as an earnest gesture of apology.

• The bestowal of gifts is not a preference for Guts; his offerings consist solely of flowers plucked from the garden or a handcrafted floral crown fashioned only during his leisure moments. Indeed, he does not possess an inclination towards bestowing presents.

• “Dumbass, at least I got a present for you. Why are you even complaining?....”

• In spite of everything, Guts inevitably starts feeling envious when witnessing your increasing intimacy with his allies, especially Griffith. Even though Griffith is Guts' closest companion and depends on him, Guts remains uncertain about allowing you to interact with him.

• Guts becomes aware that both genders exhibit great enthusiasm toward Griffith and regard him with reverence akin to that of a God. Guts has his reasons for discouraging you from spending too much time with Griffith; who can say if you'll end up becoming a devoted fan of Griffith in the future?

• One time, during your conversation with Griffith, Guts unexpectedly approached the two of you and forcefully pushed you aside.

• Noticing Guts becoming sullen and defensive is truly precious. Nevertheless, your genuine displeasure arises due to the fact that you exclusively perceive him as the only person with whom you can communicate.

• “Why the hell are you spending some time with that twink?!!? I'm literally right here!”

• Occasionally, Guts can exhibit rather confusing behavior sometimes. On one occasion, he may display intense passion towards you, while on the following day, he might become perplexed if you attempt to establish more comfortable with him, catching him off guard.

• “Whoa, whoa, what are you doing?” 

• “Why did you try to kiss me?!”

• Exist of having a partner or in a relationship seems to slip his mind, almost as if it disappears from his thoughts. It wouldn't be fair to hold him accountable for this oversight; perhaps it's a result of the immense fatigue he experiences while engaged on battlefields, hindering his ability to grasp his thoughts accurately.

• In addition, Guts held a deep concern for your well-being. Take, for example, how Judeau and Corkus extended an invitation for a shared wine drink. However, Guts swiftly confiscated the bottle, forcefully shattering it on the floor. 

• “Don't you ever dare to accept anything from what my comrades gave you.”

• He strongly advises against you engaging in any potentially dangerous activities without his knowledge. Ultimately, he fears the consequences that may arise, envisioning a situation where you end up succumbing to intoxication, mirroring the experience of his late father.

• “I don't want you to be as pitiful as my old man back in the days....”

• Guts observe his peculiar sense of pride when Y/n is unexpectedly praised for the noticeable growth of his muscles or when he emerges victorious from a duel. He dismissively chuckles, portraying himself as the utmost embodiment of strength, impressing his partner.

• Demonstrating his biceps and measuring himself against others is his preferred method of flaunting his strength, allowing him to observe your entertained response proudly.

• “Me? Strong? Nah, I ain't really that strong. But keep in mind, I'll be the last man standing on a battlefield!”

• When it comes to sharing food, Guts is highly possessive. He refuses to relinquish the final portion of food to anyone else.

• “Nope, get it yourselves....”

• In order to provoke him, the optimal method and most effective tactic is to approach his fellow companions, such as Pippin and Rickert, and engage in the act of food sharing.

• Upon witnessing Pippin and Rickert tenderly feeding you food as if you were a little girl, an intense surge of anger welled up inside him.

• With a firm approach, Guts would seize your wrist, voicing his frustration, “What on earth are you doing!?” It was as if he had conveniently forgotten his own unwillingness to share food with you.

• On the other hand, if he discovered you crying, he observed as you concealed your face within the depths of your knees. An expression of confusion caused his brows to elevate, prompting him to playfully poke your head multiple times.

• “The hell you cryin' for?”

• Regrettably, he failed to acknowledge that his actions simply exacerbated the situation. With a sense of agitation, he clumsily tousles his hair as he finds himself unfamiliar with the task of comforting others.

• Besides, he never had anyone comforting him, so he's obviously shit at it. 

• “Gahh... how do I deal with this...”

• When your head rises, instantly his gaze falls upon your face, where red and swollen eyes meet his sight. Observing you in such a state causes a momentary pause for him; a sense of tranquility overtakes him as he descends and bends down alongside you.

• Witnessing you in such a state inflicts upon him a sensation akin to a sharp blow to the chest. The brewing question in his mind is, what if the fault lies upon his shoulders?

• “Hey, now, I don't like seeing you this way. Tell me exactly what happens.”

• Instead of yelling at him to leave, he anticipates your outburst, yet you continue to sob incessantly.

• Having a lack of aptitude in offering advice, Guts excels in the art of listening. He remains attentive to every expression and release of emotions you convey. Not once did his attentive listening falter, ensuring that your words were never overlooked.

• He'll let you bury your face into his chest and enables you to cry your heart out.

• Therefore, with a heart full of warmth, he will greet you with his most radiant smile while gently patting your head.

• ”Crybaby. Smile; you're adorable when you smile more.”

• In the midst of slumber, Guts will unanticipatedly carry you in a bridal style, gently cradling you in his arms, to an undisclosed destination amidst the woodlands.

• The destination to which he will take you remains uncertain. This gentleman is inclined to lead you up the hills, near the river, or perhaps even closer to the summit of the mountain to instill feelings of fear within you.

• Occasionally, he would drop you off under the tree as you and he sat together, allowing both of you to marvel at the crescent moon illuminating the night sky.

• Throughout the night, a transformation would take place within him, causing him to adopt a gentle demeanor. This shift in behavior can be attributed to the absence of people and the serene night air that envelopes him.

• During cuddle sessions, Guts will softly press his lips against your jawline, all the while gently caressing your cheeks with his thumb. The warmth and comfort of his hugs are undeniable; whenever his tender touch graces your skin, you experience an overwhelming sensation of melting in his presence.

• Murmuring sweet words to you is his habit before dozing off to sleep.

• “Tch, you never fail to steal my heart..”

• “I feel so safe with you; it's embarrassing...”

• During the relationship, Guts displayed a noticeable lack of enthusiasm and was not particularly talkative. Moreover, he struggled with maintaining lasting romantic connections and admitted to being less than proficient in this domain. His discomfort with ongoing intimate interaction was evident.

• You remain the most significant individual in Guts' life despite the tranquility he experienced while being in your presence.

• Demonstrating his dedication to you, physical contact emerges as the foremost and conspicuous means. Whether through gentle caresses on the head, tousling of your hair, or embracing you from behind, he conveys his affection.

• Despite this fact, when you suddenly embrace him, he may become somewhat bewildered. This could be attributed to the limited experience he had in receiving hugs or displays of affection during his childhood.

• When it comes to processing his emotions or receiving honest declarations of love, he tends to struggle and demonstrate rather unfavorable behavior.

• A favored and swift gesture of Guts is to place tender kisses upon your forehead. Whether in departure or amid a battle with an apostle, this affectionate act brings him joy. The sensation of his lips lightly caressing your warm forehead is also cherished by him.

• Despite being somewhat lacking in terms of kissing skills, he thoroughly enjoys receiving hugs. He finds them particularly necessary, especially during instances when he is actively experiencing a terrifying nightmare or being persistently pursued by a relentless entity within his dreams.

• Insecurity often plagues Guts due to the loss of his right eye and left arm. He is unable to fully perceive your majestic presence with both his eyes, nor can he embrace or cuddle you effectively without his left arm.

• “Never would I be able to cease gazing upon you if my right eye still remained with me...”

• “If there's a way where I could restore my left arm, I would gladly hug you ceaselessly throughout the day, causing you to struggle for breath.”

• In return, the way you indulging him as the little spoon brings him great delight, with little regard for his characteristics or the absence of other features.

• Furthermore, Guts took great pleasure in observing you as you compared your tiny hands to his own. He playfully mocked your stature and expressed his hopes for you to surpass him in height.

• “What a midget. Can you at least grow an inch taller than me?”

• Guts' sleep patterns are usually limited to daytime hours. His neck bore the scars of brands, haunting him with nightmares and causing him to experience PTSD, thus preventing him from obtaining decent rest at night.

• In one of his nightmares, the idea of you abandoning him fills him with revulsion. It seems as though you continuously eluded him or attempted to break free from his clutches, further intensifying his aversion.

• In the same way, his greatest fear resides in the idea of you betraying him, much like his closest companions once did. The notion of placing excessive trust in you fills him with dread, as he is haunted by the possibility of another act of betrayal.

• In his affection, he will always perceive and observe you without any apprehension towards his own well-being. Hence, he continues to regard you as reliable and unproblematic.

• “In this vast world, where thousands of humans and apostles reside, you stand out as an exception. Can I assume that you won't follow the same path as everyone else, will you?”

• When the moment arrived to present a gift, he would frequently seek Schierke and Farnese for suggestions.

• Subsequently, an inventive notion would emerge from their minds, wherein Guts would grant you a mystical stone conjured by the magical abilities of Schierke.

• Upon receiving the stone, Guts couldn't suppress his smile of admiration at witnessing your appreciation for the gift he had bestowed upon you.

• The stone's discovery, he would deceive you about it.

• “It seems that you quite enjoyed it, didn't you? I must say I am pleased about it. If only I could accumulate it further and present it to you...”

• Observing him smile is a rare occurrence, but the subtle curvature of his lips, exclusively directed towards you, instantly sparks a sensation of being uniquely valued.

• Puck, the mischievous little companion, often draws attention away from Guts, igniting feelings of envy within him. Guts' emotions are further aggravated as Puck relishes in mocking him.

• In light of Guts persistently taunting and repeatedly demanding Puck's silence, this can be perceived as an act motivated by revenge from Puck.

• “Y/n, don't waste your time talking with that little shit.”

• “Pardon me! What was that name you just referred to me as, Mr. Nuts The Madman!?” Puck raised his voice, crossed his arms, and averted his gaze.

• Guts also possess a great deal of jealousy towards the excessive concern and care that Serpico, Schierke, and Farnese exhibit towards you. They frequently inquire about your well-being and assume responsibility for your welfare during illness.

• Considering that you don't have any abilities and are just a regular human being... that Guts will protect from the bottom of his heart.

• Isidro, in a similar fashion, will express admiration towards you and persistently request Guts for permission to marry you. Consequently, Guts will proceed to discipline Isidro by subjecting him to a time-out, wherein Isidro will be securely bound to a tree and left undisturbed.

• “Guts! Are you kidding me?! Y/n, help me!!!”

• “Tch serves you right, puny little runt.”

• Furthermore, Guts is a person who tends to overanalyze situations. Whenever he witnesses you feeling upset or, in the worst-case scenario, crying, he will instinctively attribute the blame to himself.

• Your tears are a complete turn-off for him, as they evoke memories of his childhood. Essentially, every aspect of your presence resonates with his youthful past.

• Initially, his curiosity will be piqued upon witnessing you have emotionally broken as you steadfastly decline any form of communication or elucidation with him.

• When he saw tears streaming down your face...

• It will constantly trigger him.

• Perpetually shattering is his heart whenever the thought of it crosses his mind; he holds the belief that he is a disappointment to his late father.

• When witnessing his lover's tears, can the blame be placed on him?

• In the depths of his thoughts, there has been no solace bestowed upon him by anyone. Absolutely nobody. He was firmly deserted, bereft of any companionship.

• In what manner should he navigate people's emotions? It has become customary for him to observe civilians experiencing breakdowns due to the apostle's destruction of their villages.

• In due course, hesitantly drawing you nearer, he envelops you with his arms around your waist and rests his chin atop your head. Subsequently, he proceeds to wipe each tear gently and ensures no remnants are remaining.

• Guts remains indifferent to whether or not you wish to explain to him. It is of no importance to him if you choose not to share or release your emotions.

• To ease your mind, Guts will grant you a portion of a gift he presently possesses once you have settled down.

• "Don't be sad. Take a look at this jewelry that was generously bestowed upon me by Farnese. They serve as a token of appreciation for my courageous role as one of her esteemed warriors."

• After the development of the Berserker Armor, Schierke takes extra precautions to prevent Guts from approaching you in any way. Moreover, she emphasizes the importance of keeping a distance.

• In the presence of your company, Guts harbors a fear of relinquishing control over his Berserker Armor. It is a concern that at any given moment, he may impulsively obliterate you without allowing rational thought to guide his actions.

• Ordinarily, Guts would have an intense anger when an apostle approached and attempted to separate you from him. Ultimately, he would slaughter the vile creature with a single blow of his sword.

• With every moment you drift off to sleep, he is fully conscious of observing each contour of your body. Also, with utmost certainty, he would ensure your safety and prevent anyone from causing harm or separating you from his presence.

• Observing your intense shivering, Guts' left eye widened, prompting him to remove his cloak and tenderly envelop you within its comforting fabric.

• Furthermore, he longed to recline beside you and experience the comforting sensation generated by the warmth emanating from your physique.

• In his dreams, he is filled with fear that if he snuggles up to you, apostles will come after him. Consequently, he may inadvertently unleash his Berserker Armor, losing control over it. This poses a risk of unintentionally harming you while you are asleep.

• While you peacefully doze, he exhibits his capability solely in the gentle stroking of your hands.

• Without your knowledge, he will softly utter something inaudible.

• “I love you, although you can't hear my words right now...”

• “I'll be with you... for eternity.”

Thank you so much for reading !

Sorry if there are any terrible grammar mistakes. English is not my first language.

Makima revealed that Y/n possesses a unique gift since birth - the ability to manipulate Hell-Fire. She is capable of generating and controlling flames, despite not being a devil herself, which sets her apart with this incredible power.

Y/n, who is not only my close friend but also my first love, captured my heart from the moment Makima introduced us. She possesses an exquisite, refined, charming, and courteous demeanor that surpasses even Makima.

Her prowess in eliminating devils, coupled with her captivating actions, sends shivers down my spine. I find myself unable to divert my gaze from her. Unlike Power, Y/n does not possess a childish disposition nor is she easily frightened. In times of danger, I feel assured that Y/n would come to my aid, steadfastly standing by my side.

I often contemplate confessing my feelings to her, but the thought of doing so is daunting. The fear of potential rejection and ensuing embarrassment renders the endeavor an arduous one.

Nevertheless, today is the day I gather the courage to ask her out. I cannot continue to suppress these emotions indefinitely. Nervously, I knock on her apartment door, eagerly awaiting a response. As the door creaks open slowly, my heart skips a beat.

To my surprise, Y/n is already dressed impeccably. Why is she adorned as if attending a wedding? I stand poised like a gentleman and clear my throat,

“Ahem, Y/n, will you go out with me today? You know, just in case the two of us want to spend time together? Since there are not so many devils and Makima hasn't informed us of any mission yet...”, It can prove quite a challenge to convey my thoughts to her on occasion. Undoubtedly, I can be quite bothersome.

“Oh? I was planning to go out to buy something. I guess going out with you is fine too..” In a manner that exuded shyness, she gently rubbed her neck as she spoke.

While holding my hand, she stepped out of the door, “Well, where should we go?”. The suddenness of her actions caused my face to blush as red as Makima's hair. Why would she hold my hand? Is this all just a dream? Or could it be that my dream has finally come true? If this is indeed a dream, I wish to share it with Pochita. He expressed his desire to know and understand the contents of my dreams. Hang on a little longer, Pochita; we are almost there.

Walking hand in hand with Y/n now felt like a taste of heavenly bliss. Although I've never experienced heaven firsthand, I assume this is what it must feel like. Earlier, I had to lock Power in the apartment to ensure she wouldn't disrupt our date. That girl truly knows how to cause trouble.

~TIMESKIP~

Presently, we find ourselves in Y/n's apartment once again. The burden of carrying her shopping bag is quite noticeable, indicating her fondness for shopping. Assisting her, I collect her belongings and arrange them within her humble abode. After completing the task, "Denji..." She appears discontented. Did I do something wrong?

“Denji, I extend my gratitude to you for everything that you have done. The time we spent together was truly delightful and it brought a smile to my face”, This made me chuckle. Oh yes, the plan that we executed has been successfully achieved. “No worries, I had intended for this to happen all along.”

It pleases me to see that she appreciates it. Our moments spent together were enjoyable, but the highlight for me was the opportunity to hold her hand..

Despite all that we did, it still doesn't feel satisfactory to me. We engaged in various activities together, such as going to the shopping mall, purchasing ice cream, having dinner, and strolling around the park. However, even with all of these things, it still doesn't meet my expectations. I can't help but wonder what else is lacking. Ugh, what is it that you desire, Denji? Come on, tell me.

As she prepared to close the door, I intervened, realizing that I needed to speak up once again. “Um, excuse me, but I have something else to say,” I blurted out. In that moment, I questioned my actions, thinking to myself, 'Oh no, what am I doing?' It felt as if my hand had a mind of its own. She furrowed her brow and asked, “Yes? What is it that you want, Denji?” Contemplating whether or not to reveal my thoughts, I considered that perhaps she wouldn't welcome them. Today was an exhausting day, after all.

“If you would be interested, I could propose the idea of accompanying me to the beach tonight, around the hour of 2 am. However, if this time is not suitable, I am willing to change the tim-”, before I could finish my sentence, she ecstatically grasped both of my wrists.

Without hesitation, she replied, “Absolutely, Denji, I would be delighted to join you!” Her laughter filled the air, causing my eyes to widen with admiration. She truly is a treasure. Alas, if only my wealth allowed me the privilege of showering her with delightful gifts. We solidified our plans and rendezvoused at the beach later on.

~TIMESKIP~

At the seaside, I found myself by 2 am. It has been a while, yet she has not shown up. What could be causing her delay in arriving here? Perhaps she is still asleep? No, that cannot be, as she never fails to keep our promises.

Not too distant from this location lies her apartment. Engaged in playing with the sand, I suddenly felt the touch of someone closing my eyes. I couldn't help but smile, playfully remarking, “You won't fool me, Y/n.”

In a state of amazement, she burst into laughter and released her grip, “Impressive how quickly you can guess!” Her face radiated joy as she flung sand towards me, yet I managed to evade it. “To me, it seems evident that we are the only one here,” I commented. Indeed, there is no chance that anyone else is present at this hour, considering it is late morning. Nevertheless, there was a peculiar sensation, as if someone was observing our every move, perhaps a homeless individual seeking solace by the ocean's embrace. I could simply overlook it all and fully embrace this moment.

In addition to that, a solid button-front blouse and trousers were worn by her; in contrast, I am only donning shorts and find myself half-naked. As she took a seat beside me, I crouched down. “I apologize for my tardiness, as I had to carefully select a suitable outfit, and may I mention, I also prepared a bento for the both of us!” she exclaimed, proudly displaying her portion of appetizing food.

Without warning, she forcefully pulled me into the ocean. I have never been a proficient swimmer, especially after the incident involving Reze. Although the trauma continues to linger in my thoughts, I must brush it aside. Y/n is all that matters to me now. “Can't swim, huh?” she scoffed, taunting me. Irritated, I retaliated by splashing water in her direction, provoking her laughter as she reciprocated the action.

Observing her silhouette, her laughter, and her facial expressions brings me great pleasure. Following a blissful period relishing in our youthful moments, we situated ourselves upon the sandy terrain and savored the bento she had prepared.

“Denji, why did you choose this particular location out of all the options available?” she inquired quizzically. Pausing to meet her gaze directly, I responded, “Well, it's quite challenging to put into words, but what I desire above all else is merely the presence of the two of us, without any disturbances or interruptions.”

Momentarily pausing to collect my thoughts, I continued, “All I yearn for is to sit in tranquil silence by the shore, admiring the rhythmic waves, listening to the harmonious melody of the surf, and experiencing the soothing pulse of the earth.” Yes, I suppose that phrase will suffice. While I cannot offer a concrete explanation, I did my best. At that moment, I felt her hugging me. Indeed, she enveloped me with her affection. Well done, Denji.

A rush of warmth envelops me as I sense her skin, the pulsating rhythm of her heart, and her embrace encircling my neck. Regrettably, the embrace is destined to be short-lived. She disengages from the hug and gently places her palm on each of my cheeks, hesitantly questioning, “Denji, do you believe this to be a date?”. Mirroring her actions, I also rest my palm on her cheeks and confirm, “Yes, Y/n, all along, this has been a date.”

A mixture of nervousness and anticipation tinges my smile as I gradually close the distance between our faces, and she reciprocates with equal measure. My throat tightens with anxiety. Despite not being my first kiss, I hope that I am deemed a proficient kisser. Our lips finally unite, and I relish the sensation of her soft lips pressed against mine. It is comforting warmth, and I find myself enjoying it immensely. In that fleeting moment, just as I am beginning to savor the experience, that moment until I hear...

“ BANG !”

Rather than realizing the events that had unfolded, I continued to relish in the sensation of our genuine kisses. My gaze shifted towards her, and the sight before me was utterly unforeseen. The tender caress of her cheeks and the touch of her hand upon mine were no more. Her body lay before me, disintegrated into countless fragments, not a single bone remaining intact. The crimson blood splattered across my visage and drenched my entire being. The chilling tableau left me breathless and shaken.

As I stared at the bloodstained hands, my eyes widened in disbelief. I cast a glance over my shoulder, and to my astonishment, it was Makima. I attempted to utter a response, yet my voice failed to escape my lips. “Denji, creatures like you, devils, should devote their attention to destruction rather than surrendering to love,” she proclaimed.

“Denji, it is obvious that you have developed a sentiment for her from the very beginning. Why did you decide to switch your affections towards her? You have kissed both Himeno and Reze, and now you attempted to kiss her?” She approached me and lifted my chin, saying, “Denji...from this point forward, you are under my complete control.” With a smug expression, she departed, completely disappeared in the shadow.

I find myself completely immobilized. Has the circulation of blood in my body ceased, or am I simply paralyzed with fear? I have lost Y/n. Why am I unable to experience any emotions? Why can't I shed any tears? I had just experienced my first genuine kiss, only to witness her obliteration right before my eyes. It is at this moment that I comprehend the following truth:

“In a world consumed by devils and misery, no feelings of love can endure.”.

I'm sorry if there are any grammar problems. English is not my first language :)

Thank you so much for reading <3 I hope the ending satisfies you. If you have A03, please look up my account PortgasDqish. I usually post my fanfic there ♡

Guts is not the type of yandere who would injure or punish you. Sure, he might be a scumbag sometimes, but he's too good for doing such cruel things to you. He would never do that and never will.

He is usually the type who do violence towards the others who tried to hurt you.

But sometimes, he would get upset at you if you did something he disliked. You always get lost whenever walking with him, yet it's because you're blind; Guts knows about it, and that's what he doesn't like about you being blind with both eyes.

He and his cute little elf named Puck would track you if you lost. If you're not coming back, it will make Guts even more anxious; he hopes nothing tragic will happen to you.

Puck is the one who guides you throughout the journey, you can hear his squeaking noise and do what he says. Such as,

“Y/n, go to the left! No! Not there! Oops, you just tripped! C'mon, do what I say, or Guts will leave us!”

Ultimately, if he and his little elf found you, they would see you lying under the tree, sleeping in peace. What confused him the most was how you would be able to survive with no harm because a blind woman like you wandering all solitary in this world will get no possibility to live unless you're powerful and able to win against the enemy.

Guts first met you when he saw you gazing at the breeze as crazy people would do. He's not far from you, only about 1 meter away, but he was still bewildered by how you would not be able to realize a colossal man blocking the view of the sun in front of you.

Looking closely, both of your eyes are white, making Guts realize that you're just a sightless person. He wouldn't have to bother you; maybe you were lost or separated from your family.

“Who in their right mind let their daughter walk alone in the forest? Do they realize that leaving someone alone is very dangerous?!”

He saw you turned to where his voice was headed; someone was talking to you. You followed the sound of his breath and tried to reach out to hold his hand. His hand was significant; the smell was full of metallic, rust, and fresh blood surrounding his hands.

You tell him about you, and surprisingly you are the daughter of the heretics. Your parents were burned at the stake for being one, but you managed to escape and run away non-stop until you found the safest place.

In Gut's mind, you're just like him, losing someone you love and will permanently be haunted by it, but you, having no one by your side, living alone in the forest, and being a blind person, were still able to curve a smile to someone that you just met.

Guts thought you were just another apostle that pretended to be a human, but you're just a woman who can't see clearly, just like his other eyes. He wonders what it feels like to have both blind eyes. Did they see complete darkness within it, or a slight vision of sparks flashing everywhere?

He had no choice but to keep you safe; he wonders if one day he could find the answer to the purpose of retaining a blind person like you.

To him, you're also very much stunning, and he's too nervous to admit it; all he can do is just keep it himself. It would be very foolish of him if he confessed to a blind woman that doesn't even know him or has seen his face.

“Oooo~ Is the madman have a feeling for Y/nn~~? You have to confess to her Guts... I'm sure she'll like you back!”

Guts have no plan to confess to you. He's just a black swordsman who slays his foe and thinks all about massacring; why would he make his way to falling in love with an unbeknownst woman?

After his experience in the eclipse, he got not willing to protect anyone anymore. He lost his treasure, his friends, and everything. He's also afraid of losing you, but why does he prefer to save you more than anything?

Guts tried his best to protect you with his own hands, along with his prosthetic hand. If you mostly get assaulted by a perverted human or an apostle, he will immediately slay them with his massive sword without mercy.

“Tch, those weaks are nothing but trash; I will not let them touch you.”

If you're injured, he would fix your wounds with any ripped fabric or bring you to the nearby villages that know how to treat your injuries.

“I don't care if the whole world is against us. I'll stand by if anything happens to you because the day you came into my life, I knew what my purpose was. From now on, I'll do anything to protect you..”

*Plot Twist * The reason why you're never getting hurt by an apostle before you meet Guts, Skull Knight was the one who protected you all along.

He chose to protect you because he knew how you and Guts were meant to be.

Thank you so much for reading and Merry Christmas !

I'm sorry if the ending does not satisfy you. I got no idea left in my mind what to write anymore, but thank you for reading! :)