β.ΰ³ΰΏ. sanemi fucked the hashira out of you
tw: rough sex, breeding kink, domesticity, creampie, soft aftercare
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thank you everyone who voted in the poll !! here is part two based off those results. xxx
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After that night, it was obvious. Sanemi had made it his fucking mission.
Every time he got his cock in you, he came deep. No pulling out, no hesitation. Just rutting hard, groaning low in your ear when his cum spilled thick and hot inside you.
You knew what he was doing. He didnβt even bother hiding it.
Sometimes youβd try to fight him on it, sitting up, grabbing the back of his white hair, yanking until he hissed. βIf you donβt pull out, I swear Iβll - β
But heβd only smirk through gritted teeth, fucking into you harder, the clap of his hips snapping against your pelvis loud in the quiet room. βYeah? Gonna slap me? While youβre squeezinβ my cock like that?β
And then youβd both be coming, you yanking his hair, him groaning through clenched teeth, pumping you so full you felt it drip down your thighs. His scarred fingers always shoved it back in, two thick digits pressing the mess inside while he muttered under his breath about βwastinβ good cumβ if he didnβt.
Other times he slowed down. Had you in his lap, riding him slow and deep, his scarred hands gripping your ass as his head tilted back. His breath came in harsh pants, his voice cracking with need.
βFuckβ¦just give it to me already. Want you round with my kid. Canβt stop thinkinβ about it.β
And the way he said it - passive aggressive, like a complaint, like he hated himself for wanting it so badly - made your body clench down on him even harder. And you couldnβt help it.
Morning after, nothing changed. You both pulled on your uniforms, acting like he hadnβt fucked his load into you the night before. You trained. You worked with the lower ranks. You listened to the Kakushi rattle off missions - and Sanemi always scoffed, clicking his tongue, throwing you an annoyed look when your name got called.
But you knew it was only a matter of time before his efforts paid off.
Because you were at it like rabbits. Sanemiβs stamina was insane, even by Hashira standards. Some mornings he came home right before sunrise, uniform dirty and still the first thing he did was shove you into the futon, pounding into you with adrenaline, chasing another orgasm out of you just so he could cum deep again.
Lately, you noticed it more. The way his hands gripped you tighter, the way his thrusts turned frantic when he groaned into your skin about the shit he saw on missions.
Every time, he fucked you like he was chasing a cure to it. Like knocking you up was the only way heβd ever let you out of that hell.
So yeah. Sanemi wasnβt gonna stop.
You tried to keep things professional. Both of you did.
You were Hashira before anything else. There was no room for tenderness, no space for love in the Corps.
Still, it bled through the cracks. Especially now, with this newβ¦assignment on Sanemiβs mind.
In meetings, when missions were handed out, Sanemi always started arguing.
βNot this one.β Heβd mutter, glaring at the map. βToo far. Iβll take it.β
βItβs mine.ββ Youβd snap, snatching the slip.
βYouβre not goinβ out there alone.β
βThe fuck it isnβt.β
Shinobu would let out a short exhale. βWould the Wind and theβ¦currently domestically entangled Hashira take this outside?β
It happened often now - bickering over patrol routes, over duty stations that were meant to last weeks, investigations. You could feel his stare burn through you during briefings, even when you refused to meet it.
Rengoku once laughed quietly, hands folded in his haori sleeves. βAh, young love! Thereβs such passion in your quarrels.β
βIβll show you passion.β Sanemi started to bark, and you elbowed him so hard in the ribs he choked.
And yeah, he pissed you off. Yeah, we was overbearing.
But, when you came home after sunset - when the world finally stilled, the wind calmed, and the weight of your sword had begun to settle heavy on your spine - youβd find him waiting.
Especially after the long missions. The ones in remote areas, where the threat ran deeper, quieter. The ones where you'd be gone for days. Sometimes weeks. Too far for his crow to reach often. Too dangerous for sleep to come easy.
So, heβd wait. Right there. On the top step of your shared estate, elbows resting heavy on his knees.
When you finally walked up that path - he always tried to act like he hadnβt been sitting there for hours.
βDonβt you have better things to do?β Youβd sigh, shrugging off your haori.
βYes.β Heβd mutter, eyes sweeping from head to toe for injury, βBut couldnβt sleep, I guess.β
Youβd fight a smile, soft and small. βYouβre terrible at pretending you donβt worry.β
He scoffed, gaze jerking away. βTch. Donβt flatter yourself.β
But you saw it - plain as day. The way his shoulders finally dropped when you brushed past him. The way his chest rose fuller, easier, like he hadnβt really been breathing until he saw you.
Sometimes, he didnβt even say anything else. Just stood behind you while you peeled off your uniform, while you wiped the grime from your skin.
And when you sank onto the futon, muscles aching and eyelids drooping, he was there - pulling the blanket over you without a word. Calloused fingers brushing hair from your cheek.
You both knew - whatever rage he flung at the world during the day - his peace never came until he saw you, safe and whole, standing in front of him again.
Because he couldnβt rest - not really - until you did.
Until your voice met his ears.
Until your eyes - maybe tired, but still alive - met his across the threshold.
And gods help anyone or anything who tried to stand in the way of that.
He never really slept. Not unless exhaustion forced it out of him.
Your estate laterns burned low, and Sanemiβs arm was slung around your waist, heavy and unmoving. His breathing came steady and deep, but you knew better.
You could tell by the way his thumb kept dragging the same slow circle over your hipbone. The way his chest stayed too tight against your back - not loose, not softened by sleep. And every now and then, his fingers would twitch.
His sword was always close. Within armβs reach on his side of the futon, still sheathed but never far. Just in case.
And you knew it wasnβt about paranoia. Not completely.
It was that restless instinct to protect. The deep, marrow-deep knowledge that peace was a fragile, dying thing - that one blink, one breath, one wrong sound, and it could all be gone.
You didnβt try to tell him to sleep. Youβd learned not to.
Instead, you reached for his hand, lacing your fingers through his, and brought it to rest over your stomach.
βYouβre awake again.β You whispered, voice soft.
He huffed against your neck. βNo shit.β
You smiled faintly, brushing your thumb over his scarred knuckles. βYou could try closing your eyes.β
He just huffed. Partially annoyed, partially defeated.
So you turned slightly in his arms, just enough to see his face in the dim light - the deep shadows under his eyes, the lines carved into his brow, the exhaustion that clung to him like a second skin.
And gods, he was beautiful in that moment. Rough edges softened. Vulnerable. Human.
You reached up, brushing a bit of hair off his forehead. βClose your eyes at the same time as me.β
He swallowed hard. His jaw tightened. Then finally, βFine.β
Sometimes, if he did drift off, it didnβt last.
Youβd feel it before you heard it - that sharp, quiet intake of breath as he jerked awake, eyes flying open in the dark.
Heβd sit up, scanning the room and then, like clockwork, heβd reach for you.
Two fingers pressing lightly to your throat. Checking your pulse.
And when he felt it - the steady beat beneath his fingertips, heβd exhale. βSorry.β Heβd whisper.
Youβd shake your head, catching his hand in yours, pressing it flat to your chest. βDonβt be.β
Heβd hold it there for a while, feeling your heartbeat against his palm, until it lulled him back into silence.
And sometimes, instead of reaching for your pulse, heβd reach for you.
Fingers curling in the fabric of your robe, tugging it loose. No words, just that slow, careful movement - like asking without asking.
And then heβd fuck you, soft and slow - slower than usual - in the stillness of the hour before dawn. One hand gripping your thigh, the other braced by your head as he murmured into your skin.
βWant you to have my kids.β Heβd whisper, breath catching in his throat, hips pressing deeper. βNeed itβ¦Youβd take care of βem. Of all of us. Keep us in line. Keep me sane.β
You laughed softly, breathless. βYou think I could keep you in line?β
He smiled against your mouth - small, aching. βYou already do.β
His thrusts stayed deep, unhurried, his hands moving up your sides, feeling every tremor of your body under his. The room smelled like sweat and heat and the faint sweetness of the oil lamp burning low.
And when he came - hot, thick, deep - he buried his face in your neck, groaning your name.
He didnβt move right away. Didnβt pull out. Just stayed there, trembling slightly, breathing you in.
βI want it.β He murmured again. βA home. A kid. You. All of it.β
You brushed your fingers through his hair, your heart twisting.
He pressed a soft kiss to your throat, eyes closing as he breathed you in.
Maybe, you thought, this wasnβt so bad after all. Maybe being his wife - being the home he kept coming back to - wouldnβt be so bad.
A couple weeks later, it was a quiet night at your estate.
No Kakushi lingering in the hall. No servants fluttering between rooms, lighting lanterns or drawing water for baths. Youβd dismissed them all gently at sunset, murmuring something about wanting the house to yourself for the evening.
And for once, Sanemi was too.
Dinner was quiet, and simple. Miso broth. Grilled rice balls. Leftover tempura that you reheated yourself, waving Sanemi away when he tried to hover near the stove like he might actually offer to help.
You ate across from each other on the floor, cushions pulled in close, the lanternlight dim and flickering as you talked about nothing. Patrol routes. The last time youβd seen Mitsuri. The cracks forming in your favorite wooden teacup.
You didnβt realize you were watching him so openly until he looked up at you, jaw flexing mid-bite.
βNothing.β You murmured, looking away.
But it wasnβt nothing. Not really.
Because Sanemi had just licked rice from his thumb - and all you could think about was how those same fingers might look curled around something much smaller. Softer. How he might cradle a child the way he held his sword - too tight at first, until he learned gentleness.
You imagined him muttering under his breath about noise and clutter and how βno one ever puts shit back where it belongs.β
But the moment that baby tugged at his leg, or held their arms up to be picked up - heβd melt. You knew it. Heβd groan, maybe. Pretend to be reluctant. But the second that wobbly little voice said βpapa,β heβd drop everything.
Scarred hands scooping up tiny limbs. Battle-worn fingers smoothing over soft cheeks.
You pictured him out in the garden, sleeves rolled up, trying to help the kid balance on their feet while grumbling about βweak little anklesβ and βwho the hell falls over that easily.β
You imagined him coming home after a long mission, blood soaked on his knuckles, and setting his sword down before walking straight into the nursery.
You could see him - the man behind the mean attitude - as a father.
And it did something to you.
You blinked down at your bowl, suddenly flushed.
You werenβt supposed to want that. You were still a Hashira. You were still capable.
You chewed slowly, lips pressed together. The thought lingered. And before you even realized it, your body moved before your brain could stop you.
When he stepped into the bedroom - yawning, loose robe slipping even further down his scarred chest - you reached for him.
βThe hellβs gotten into you tonight?β He asked, catching himself on one foot as you tugged him down.
You didnβt answer. Just pulled until he dropped onto the futon with a grunt, letting you swing your leg over his hips and settle in his lap.
Your robe pooled around your thighs. His hands automatically gripped them.
βYouβre in a mood.β He muttered. But his thumbs were rubbing circles into your skin, slow. Curious.
βAre you complaining?β
Your mouth caught his before he could say anything else. The kiss was slow, wet - lips gliding, tongue pushing past teeth with familiar hunger. You ground against him through the fabric, hips dragging low and deliberate, and he let out a quiet grunt against your mouth.
βYou keep looking at me like that.β He rasped, eyes half-lidded, βYouβre not gonna walk tomorrow.β
βAnd if I said that was my plan?β
Sanemi groaned, head falling back, the curve of his throat exposed to the warm lamplight. You kissed down it, slow and messy, even as your hands tugged at the belt of his robe. His cock was already thick and hot beneath you, twitching with every slow grind of your hips.
βShit.β He muttered, squeezing your ass. βDidnβt even get through dinner before gettinβ needy?β
You shouldβve teased him back. Shouldβve called him insufferable, rolled your eyes, pushed his head down into the futon and rode him without a word.
βHow bad do you want me to quit?β
The question slipped out on a whisper. Too honest.
Sanemi stilled. His voice dropped low - that rare, almost reverent rasp he only ever used when it was just you.
βIβd throw myself in front of a blade if it meant youβd never have to lift yours again.β
βIβd tie you to this damn estate if I thought youβd let me.β
He grinned, but it was pained.
The words made your chest squeeze. Because gods help you - you were starting to get it.
You wanted to laugh. Or cry. You werenβt sure which. Maybe both. Because youβd spent your entire life fighting for the chance to fight. And now, with his hands on your skin, your body slick and warm and straddling his lapβ¦
You were thinking about kids. About gardens. About quiet nights waiting for him to come home.
What if you already were?
Your eyes darted down to where his cock was pressed against your soaked folds. You hadnβt bled inβ¦how long now? Three weeks? A little more?
He noticed. βThe fuck are you thinking so hard about?β He muttered, eyes narrowing as he slipped a hand between your bodies and palmed your cunt, rubbing slow.
Sanemi hummed, reached up, and tugged your robe open the rest of the way, dragging it off your shoulders until you sat bare in his lap, flushed.
βLook at you.β He muttered, sitting up on one elbow just to look.
You didnβt move. Didnβt speak. Just watched his face as his eyes drank you in - the slope of your breasts, the sheen of sweat on your collarbone, the soft flex of your thighs straddling his lap.
You reached between your thighs, gripped his cock, and lined yourself up - letting yourself sink down with a breathless gasp.
βFuck.β He choked, hand slamming to your hip to keep you steady as your cunt squeezed around him.
You rolled your hips slow, eyes fluttering shut.
And all you could think about - between each wet, dragging thrust - was him.
Sanemi. Crouched in the backyard, holding a small toddler by the arms. Guiding their steps with loud, clumsy encouragement.
Sanemi. Holding a baby after a mission. Skin stained in blood, but whispering soft apologies as he cradled them against his chest.
Sanemi. Coming home to you in a quiet kitchen, arms wrapping around your waist, voice low in your ear, asking how his girls were.
You clenched around him so hard he groaned.
βFuck - you trying to snap my cock in half?β
βI think I want it.β You whispered. βAll of it.β
He blinked up at you, chest heaving.
βWant you. A family. All of it.β
He cupped your face then - both hands, suddenly - pulling you down into a kiss that tasted like home.
Your thighs started to ache, muscles trembling. His hands gripped your hips, dragging your body against his in slow, grinding rolls that made your breath catch.
Then one of his hands smoothed up your back, calloused fingers tracing your spine, before he cupped the base of your neck.
You let him move. Let him roll his hips up, deep and slow, cock dragging along every slick ridge inside you like he was trying to carve his name into you from the inside out. Every thrust was deliberate - measured, not rushed.
You could feel it in your core, that slow build starting all over again, your stomach tightening with every roll of his hips.
His hand cupped your ass. Guided you. Encouraged you.
βSo fuckinβ pretty like this. Mine.β He murmured, glancing down between your bodies
He sat up suddenly, arms sliding around your waist in one swift motion - hugging you to him, pulling you in so tight you could barely breathe.
You gasped, arms looping around his neck, pressing your forehead to his shoulder as his cock stayed seated deep inside you.
βMine.β He whispered, rough. βMy pretty wife.β
You froze. Just for a moment.
βYouβre all I need.β He breathed. βYou hear me?β
Your fingers dug into his hair, gripping tight. You could barely speak past the lump rising in your throat.
βAnd youβre gonna help meβ¦β He went on, voice raw and low, βRaise the best damn kids this worldβs ever seen.β
You nodded, barely breathing.
βYouβre gonna be such a good mom.β He whispered. βSo good. So sweet. Gonna love them like crazy. Gonna - fuck - gonna love me even when I donβt deserve it.β
You kissed his temple, forehead, cheek - anywhere you could reach.
βIβve never wanted anything like this.β He whispered. βNot βtil you.β
You whimpered - just a little - because it hit too hard, too deep.
Because you wanted it now. You didnβt know when that happened. Didnβt know how his hands and voice and stupid, hopeful dreams burrowed their way inside you.
You buried your face in his shoulder, voice shaky.
βI think Iβm already pregnant.β
His arms didnβt loosen. Just pulled you in even tighter.
You lifted your head, and he kissed you before you could finish, slow and soft.
And then he moved again, hips tilting up, slow and deep.
You cried out - his name on your lips, nails digging into his shoulder, tears stinging the corners of your eyes.
He rocked into you with everything he had. βMy pretty girl.β He murmured. βMy sweet lady. My wife.β
βGonna make you a mom. Gonna take care of you. Always.β
You nodded, clinging to him.
βEven if I gotta cut down the whole world to do it.β
You came hard and he quickly chased after it. Your moans echoing off each other.
And when he stilled - come spilling deep and hot inside you, arms wrapped around your waist, body shuddering as he groaned into your skin - you stayed like that.
The whole world soft for once.
The front gate creaked open with a clang, wood smacking against wood.
βShinazugawa-sama, please, let usββ
βGo home.β Sanemi barked, not even bothering to look at the two estate servants still waiting by the corridor. βI didnβt ask for a damn welcome party.β
βBut your uniform, sirββ
You smiled faintly to yourself, the laundryline creaking as you reached up to pin the last yukata sleeve in place.
You could hear him now - feet heavy, pace sure, irritation in every step. A door opened. Another slammed shut. A muttered curse. A huff of breath.
You didnβt turn around.
Sanemi crossed the yard in ten strides, no haori, just his sleeveless corps uniform clinging to his frame - all scarred biceps, and sharp muscle cutting beneath his open collar. His white hair was damp from training, jaw tight, the scowl on his face softening the moment he saw your hands full.
βTch.β He grumbled, coming up behind you. βDidnβt I say youβre supposed to be relaxing?β
βDidnβt you want a housewife? Iβm doing wife things.β
Then a resigned scoff as he wrapped his arms around you from behind, palms immediately finding your stomach like they were drawn there by instinct. He pressed his face into your shoulder, muttering something indecipherable, and you could feel the way his chest rose and fell against your back, slower now.
βBe nice to the staff, Sanemi.β
βTheyβre annoying.β
βTheyβre trying to help.β
βI donβt need help. I need you.β
You laughed softly, leaning back into him. βYou saw me this morning.β
He kissed your temple, voice gruff in your ear. βWasnβt enough.β
His hands rubbed along the curve of your belly, slow and warm, and you could feel the way his shoulders dropped. Like tension bled out of him with every pass of his thumb. His cheek brushed against your hair.
βYou alright?β he murmured.
βFeet hurting again?β
He turned his head and pressed a kiss into the space just behind your ear. βShouldβve had your ass up by early with me to soak.β
You smiled. βYouβll come bathe with me later, right?β
He snorted. βWhat kind of question is that?β
Another laugh. Another little pause, full of nothing but breath and breeze and the sound of laundry rustling on the line.
βI got a couple names.β He said suddenly, low and casual, like it was something heβd been sitting on all day. βFor the next ones.β
You tilted your head. βNext what?β
He looked down pointedly.
You rolled your eyes. βWe havenβt even had this one yet.β
βDoesnβt matter.β He muttered, rubbing lazy circles into your side. βTold you how many I want.β
You arched a brow. βOh, so thatβs all Iβm good for now? Making babies?β
Sanemi gave a low snort, hands unapologetically sliding over your sides to settle beneath the swell of your belly. βYou werenβt complaining about it the other night.β
You turned just enough to catch the smirk on his face.
He shrugged, unrepentant. βSaid youβd give me four more while you were bouncinβ on my cock. Donβt remember? Sounded real sincere.β
Your face burned. βSanemiβ¦β
He ducked to kiss your cheek, all smug affection and rough warmth.
βPretty sure you asked me to fuck more babies into you. That you wanted our house full of βem.β
You slapped his chest with the back of your hand, face hot. βThat was the pregnancy hormones talking.β
He just snorted, mouth pressed to the side of your neck again, smirking against your skin. βMm. Sure it was.β He mumbled.
You shook your head. βOne at a time, Shinazugawa.β
Silence fell over the yard again. Just the two of you. Cicadas humming. Fabric flapping softly overhead.
His grip on you loosened slightly.
βCβmere.β He mumbled.
You followed him back inside.
And you thought - he had done it. He succeed in fucking the Hashira out of you.
Because nothing about you missed the corps.
Not when he was like this.
Not when home smelled like sun-warmed linens and sweat and his skin.
Not when his arms wrapped around you like this was the safest place in the world.
Not when you were pregnant with his kid, and he was already planning for the next.
You were his wife. His pretty lady. His soft place to land after long days.
And you were happy with that.
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