Minaa

well, at least you’d only see them at work. meetings, discussions, paperwork — nothing personal. that’s what you thought. spoiler: you were wrong.

because when you finally got there, you found out the company rented one penthouse instead of five separate hotel rooms, like you thought. you were gonna have to live under the same roof with all four of them.

the flight alone was already enough of a nightmare. firtsly because you were sitting next to four ridiculously hot guys — the same guys you’d thought about, one after another, on those shameless nights when you touched yourself. and on top of that, they all looked at you like they knew something you didn’t. the constant smirks, winks, and knowing looks definitely didn’t help you relax.

the worst part? they were way too nice to you from day one.

gojo and geto brought you coffee every morning and asked you to grab lunch with them. nanami would often sit next to you and help with your reports, even when you could’ve easily done them yourself. and toji walked you home whenever you stayed late because of work, joking that pretty girls like you had no business walking around alone at night.

you're not gonna lie, you were really grateful for it.

even now you sat at your desk, slowly drinking yet another coffee gojo had left for you that morning. you smiled sweetly at him, trying not to think about how much you actually liked all the attention.

and at night, when you were alone and was touching yourself, even though your fingers never quite reached where you wanted them to, you thought about them. about kento, who looked strong enough to pick you up without even trying. about toji, who wore those pants that made the outline of his cock way too obvious. about geto and all the things he could do with that long—

no. you really need to be ashamed of yourself.

those thoughts only got worse now, especially since you were all stuck in the same house. they were just being nice and looking out for you, trying to help you settle in. they had no idea how dirty your thoughts about them were. if they ever found out what went through your head every time you were alone, they’d probably be disgusted.

or maybe they would not?

this was exactly what you thought about while standing under the hot water, when you suddenly caught a familiar, barely noticeable scent — gojo’s shower gel. unable to resist the temptation to smell just like him, you decided to use it.

when you came out of the bathroom, you just wrapped the towel tightly around yourself and without even drying your damp hair properly, headed for the stairs to the second floor, where your room was. unfortunately, the way there went straight through the living room, where, of course, all four of them were.

the second you appeared in the doorway, the conversation stopped, and all four pairs of eyes turned to you.

nanami, who was holding some work documents, tried to look away, but clearly had a hard time doing it. gojo swallowed hard and quickly threw a couch pillow at geto. and a big, shameless grin slowly spread across tojis face as he openly looked you up and down, taking in your wet shoulders and bare legs.

your cheeks immediately went red, and your throat tightened from embarrassment. “good night, everyone!” you squeaked out, swallowing hard before practically running up the stairs to your room.

the last thing you heard from the living room before you slammed the door shut was a quiet, low male laugh.

𐚁

you were sitting in a cozy bar after a successful conference. there was no strong alcohol on the table, just some light drinks, since you had another important meeting tomorrow and really couldn’t afford to mess it up.

you sat right between them, two on your right and two on your left, and for the first time all day, you actually felt relaxed. after hours of work, you were finally full, warm, and weirdly comfortable. for some reason, whenever you were with them, you felt like nothing bad could happen to you.

“well,” gojo finally said, leaning back in his chair. “do you have a boyfriend?” you took a sip of your drink and shook your head “no. none of the idiots these days deserve me.”

you said it with a smile, obviously joking, but for some reason, none of them laughed. instead, nanami put a hand on your shoulder and started gently rubbing it, making you relax even more. “yeah,” he said calmly. “a girl like you deserves at least four.”

you almost choked on your drink. “for different purposes,” geto added immediately, giving you a wink. you felt your cheeks burn and hid your face behind your glass, taking another sip. for some reason, you suddenly felt way too hot.

after a while, toji gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers accidentally brushing the sensitive skin of your neck. “tell me one thing pretty girl,” he said with a grin. “which one of us do you like the most?”

by then, you were almost completely relaxed in your chair and just shrugged. “i like all of you.” you went quiet for a second before adding, “you all treat me really well.”

silence fell over the table. you looked from one to the other and caught them exchanging glances. then all four of them had the same look on their faces — bright smiles that looked way too much like satisfied smirks.

toji looked at you again and slowly smiled. “good to know.”

𐚁

the penthouse door closed behind you as you kicked off your shoes and headed into the living room.

toji and geto were already there, sprawled out on opposite sides of a leather couch that probably cost more than your rent. toji sat with his legs spread wide, one arm resting on the back of the couch, while suguru leaned back in his shirt, cuffs undone, staring toward the kitchen doorway where you could hear dishes clattering.

you put your bag on the shelf, and the second the clasp clicked, both of them turned their attention to you.

toji was the first to slowly look you over. his eyes moved over your hair first — loose now, the braid you’d done before the meeting already coming undone from the humidity and wind on the way back — and then drifted lower. the back of your blouse was sheer, sticking to the sweat along your spine. your skirt hugged your hips and stopped just above your knees. you noticed him lick his teeth, his eyes getting darker than usual.

you swallowed. geto didn’t say anything. he just watched you through half-lidded eyes, then slowly stuck his tongue out and pressed it against the inside of his cheek.

you didn’t know how any of this was supposed to happen. your only experience was one dumb ex who didn’t care about your pleasure and two awkward hookups in a club bathroom that smelled like cheap whiskey. so you did the only thing that seemed logical — you reached for the first button of your blouse.

“ah-ah-ah.” toji’s voice made you freeze. he shook his head, grinned, and wagged a finger at you. “you’re not allowed to undress yourself, baby.”

your hand froze, and heat spread up your neck. he slapped both hands against his huge thighs. “come here.”

you looked at his hands. then at his legs, spread wide. your feet moved before you could even think, because if you started overthinking about it, it'd be over. the carpet felt soft under your heels as you stopped between his knees, close enough to smell his clean skin, your heart pounding against your ribs.

“turn around.” you did, now facing geto, and he winked at you, slowly and lazily lowering one eyelid, making your pussy clench around nothing. behind you, toji moved. his fingers found the zipper on your skirt and pulled it down. he stopped at the bottom. then he grabbed the fabric on both sides and ripped it apart.

the sound was obscene — a long, wet tear that echoed through the room. cold air hit your legs. you gasped and stumbled forward, left standing in nothing but black panties and a half-buttoned blouse as the ripped skirt went flying somewhere across the room.

you barely had time to process what was happening. a quiet laugh comes from behind you, followed by heat — his breath right against the curve of your ass. “fuck,” toji breathed.

his hands came up and grabbed your ass through the thin black cotton, slowly kneading it and pressing his thumbs into the muscles. he squeezed and shifted the flesh until you gasped. then he leaned in and took a deep breath, like he was trying to memorize your scent.

a hot, open-mouthed kiss landed on your right cheek. his tongue pressed flat against your skin and dragged across it. your eyes fluttered shut. then his teeth sank into you. you cried out, “toji!” and tried to pull away, but his iron grip kept you right where you were as he bit down harder — sharp enough to make your knees buckle.

he just laughed, pressed his lips to the mark, and slowly licked over it like he was apologizing. his tongue eased the sting. “shh,” he said. “stay still.” then he turned you around like you weighed nothing. a second later, he dropped back onto the couch, lifted you straight off the floor, and pulled you onto his lap.

now you sat on top of him, wearing nothing but your blouse and panties, your pussy pressed directly against the hard bulge of his cock through his pants. a quiet moan slipped out before you could stop it.

a laugh came from the couch across from you. suguru. you didn’t need to look to know he was still watching, still slowly running his thumb over his lower lip. “you’re adorable,” he said, his voice calm, almost bored, but his eyes were dark. “i always knew that.”

toji grinned up at you, showing all his teeth. “told you. knew it from the moment she walked in.” your brain barely had time to process his words before toji’s fingers wrapped around your chin, tilting your face toward his.

“open your mouth.” you did. “stick your tongue out for me.” you stuck it out, the cool air brushing against it. you felt ridiculous and completely exposed, so turned on that you could feel yourself getting wetter, soaking through your panties against his lap.

he stared at your tongue for a long moment, like he was studying it. then he leaned closer and ran his own tongue over it, slow and flat, from the base to the tip. his taste filled your mouth — dirty, slightly bitter from the whiskey, but completely him. his tongue curled against yours, tracing underneath it, before he kissed you deeply, making your eyes roll back.

then the kiss changed. he took control of your mouth, his tongue pushing inside, hot and demanding, sliding over your teeth and the roof of your mouth and tangling with yours until you couldn’t tell where you ended and he began. his lips crushed against yours before he caught your lower lip between his teeth, pulled it gently, and let it snap back.

saliva gathered and spilled over. it ran down your chin, along your neck, into the hollow of your throat, and toji followed it with his mouth, leaving a long, wet trail up the side of your neck before finding your lips again. then you moved.

not on purpose — you rubbed against him, moving your hips in small, desperate circles, trying to get friction against the seam of his pants. you only got wetter, until you could feel the slick warmth spreading between your thighs.

he let out a low moan, and his hands found your ass, squeezing hard enough that you’d probably have red marks by morning. you didn’t mind. suddenly, you heard a noise from the doorway. you broke the kiss with a wet, obscene smack and turned around.

gojo stood there, loosening his tie, his jacket thrown over one shoulder. his eyes moved over the scene: you sitting on toji’s lap, saliva shining on your chin, while geto’s hand had already slipped down the front of his pants and was gripping the thick outline of his cock through the fabric.

gojo grinned. “looks like you guys started without me.”

toji’s hands settled back on your hips, and before you could say anything, he lifted you, turned you around, and pulled you back against his chest. your spine pressed against him, your legs resting over his spread thighs.

gojo dropped to his knees in front of you. seeing him there — big, kneeling between your legs — knocked the air right out of you. he grabbed your knees and spread your legs wide, opening you up to the room. cool air touched the soaked fabric of your panties, and you let out a quiet moan.

then his fingers slid up your middle, right over your covered pussy, and he felt just how wet you were. “oh,” he moaned softly. “oh, baby.” he hooked his fingers under the waistband and slowly pulled your panties down, watching as they stuck to your skin, leaving a thin string of wetness behind. he tossed them into a corner.

“won't need these anymore.” he looked up at you with a sweet smile. “right, sweetheart?” you couldn’t answer. you were completely exposed, throbbing under the eyes of three men, and gojo stared at you like he’d just found something precious. all you could do was shake your head.

he let out a low, hungry moan and leaned closer. you felt his breath against your pussy before he took a deep breath, slow and greedy, like he hadn’t eaten in days. “fuck,” he whispered. “you smell like you’ve been waiting for us all day.” then his mouth found the inside of your thigh.

at first, he kissed you there softly, his mouth slightly open, taking his time. his tongue brushed over your sensitive skin. he moved higher. one kiss, then another, his lips parting against your skin, the roughness of his stubble scratching lightly against your thigh.

his hands slid under your thighs and lifted them, spreading you even wider and holding you open. he caught the crease where your leg met your thigh between his teeth. he didn’t rush, and that was the worst part. he kissed everywhere except the one place you desperately wanted him, and every kiss pulled the knot in your stomach tighter.

“mmngh! please,” you heard yourself say. he laughed against your skin. “please what, baby?” “please!—”

and then his tongue touched you. one long, flat, wet stroke from your entrance all the way to your clit, and your whole body jerked. he moaned right against you, like he was tasting something he’d been denied for years, then did it again. harder.

he pressed his tongue flat against you and dragged it up before pushing it inside, making you cry out. he fucked you with his tongue, shallow at first, then deeper, curling it as he tasted you. the sounds were downright filthy absolutely shameless. his mouth kept working, and every time he moaned, the vibration went straight through your clit.

then he started sucking. his lips closed around your clit, pulling it into his mouth. your hips lifted off the couch, and a high, broken sound tore out of you. “haaah! ah—aahhh!”

he didn’t let up. he gave it a light bite, then soothed the spot with his tongue before doing it again. your thighs shook around his head as he moved from side to side, burying his face even deeper. his nose pressed against your clit, his tongue moving inside you, and you could barely breathe.

you cried out, arching your back, and toji’s arm wrapped around your waist, holding you in place. toji. you completely forgot he was there. he turned your face toward him and kissed the corner of your mouth — soft at first, then harder and deeper — and you gasped against his lips. his kisses moved lower, along your jaw, your chin, the line of your neck. every kiss was shameless, possessive.

he stopped at your collarbone and bit down. his teeth sank into your skin, making you whimper as he sucked hard, drawing blood to the surface and leaving his mark. then he moved lower and did it again. his hands found your blouse. he undid two buttons with surprising patience, but then that patience ran out.

“fuck this,” he growled. he grabbed the fabric and tore it open. the buttons went flying. you heard them roll across the floor, cool air touched your bare skin, and his mouth was on you again — at your neckline, then higher across your chest.

He rips off the ruined shirt and tosses it aside. Next comes the bra — unhooked and thrown to the floor. one move and his hand was already at the back of your head, pulling you against his chest and making you arch.

he covered the curve of your tits with kisses before his mouth closed around your nipple and his teeth sank into it. you screamed. your mouth fell open, the sound spilling out, but another mouth crashed into yours and swallowed it whole. geto.

you didn't even hear him come over. he kissed you hard — tongue, teeth, shared breath, no softness at all, just hunger. his hand twisted into your hair, holding your head in place while he devoured your mouth. you moaned against his lips, gojo’s tongue was still between your legs, toji’s mouth was still working at your nipple, and you felt like you were falling apart between the three of them.

toji moved to your other nipple, sucking hard and greedily, his teeth scraping against it while his free hand squeezed the tit he’d just left, rolling the hardened tip between his fingers. suguru kissed you so deeply you could barely breathe, his tongue tangled with yours, one hand still gripping your hair.

you cried out, whimpering but hardly any sound made it out. your whole body shook as you were trapped between the three men, with nothing left to do but take it all. satoru pulled back just enough for his finger to find your entrance. one thick, long finger slipped inside.

“ng— yes! mhmm!” he was huge — it was only one finger, but it still filled you, and you cried out into geto’s mouth. then he added another, the stretch making your head spin as your hips lifted on their own. toji’s palm came down hard against your stomach, holding you back in place. he pulled away from your nipple with a wet pop.

“relax that perfect body, baby,” he rasped, his voice completely wrecked. “leave it to the real men.”

gojo’s fingers started moving. he fucked you with them at a pace that stole your breath, making your head spin — from geto’s kiss, from not being able to breathe, from the fact that everything was suddenly too much and somehow still not enough. then geto’s hand moved between your legs. he pushed his middle finger in beside gojo’s fingers, and together they stretched you, making you sob right into suguru’s mouth.

they found places inside you that you didn't even know existed. deep, hidden places, hitting them again and again as the room filled with sound — the wet rhythm of their hands, your broken moans, and gojo’s low groan against your clit.

“haa—haaah!” “ahh… fuck… nghhh! please…”

your orgasm hit you in a moment. you came so hard that everything went black for a second. your thighs shook, your legs tightened, and you cried out into geto’s mouth, but they didn’t stop. they slowed down, but kept going, helping you ride it out, their fingers getting gentler as they dragged the pleasure out until you were nothing but a shaking, exhausted mess.

gojo leaned back. his whole face was wet — his lips, chin, nose, everything glistening with your juices. he looked completely worn out and completely satisfied at the same time. geto pulled his hand away, brought his middle finger to his lips, and slowly licked it clean without taking his eyes off you. a low hum rumbled in his chest.

gojo was about to do the same, but geto caught his wrist. he brought two of gojo’s fingers to his mouth and sucked them clean, making gojo groan and throw his head back. then toji’s low, confident voice came from behind you.

“my turn.” your eyes went wide.

geto simply nodded. he lifted you off the chair like you weighed nothing, and you instinctively clung to him, your thighs still shaking after your orgasm rolled through you. you watched gojo toss a pillow onto the carpet, and suddenly toji was lying there on his back, his head resting on the pillow as he looked up at you with dark, patient eyes.

you were wet. so fucking wet. your pussy still pulsed even though you came barely a minute ago — a deep, aching throb that refused to go away. geto held you under your ass with one arm while his other hand brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. then his thumb wiped the saliva from your chin, and he leaned in and licked it off.

then he lowered you onto toji. not onto his face. onto his stomach, facing away from him, your bare skin pressed against the hard ridges of his abs. you could see the thick outline of his cock straining against his pants, and some distant part of your brain wondered if it hurt.

toji’s hands found your hips. he moved you back and forth, slowly dragging you over the hard planes of his stomach, leaving a slick, shiny trail across his skin. “look at the mess you made,” he growled. “fuck, baby, you’re soaked.”

heat rushed over your face, neck, and chest. you wanted to look away, but there was nowhere else to look. he pulled you higher, toward his face, and you froze. “sit on my face,” he said. “let me taste that sweet pussy.”

“i—” your voice broke. “what if you choke because of me?” all three of them laughed making your stomach make a little flip. “i fucking hope i do,” toji said. then he pulled you down.

his mouth was on you the second you lowered yourself onto him. his hands grabbed your ass and pulled you even closer, his tongue pushed inside, and you cried out, bracing your hands against his chest.

his abs tensed underneath you. you saw his hand move between your bodies, gripping himself through his pants. you reached down and pulled his pants down just enough to free him, and he was huge — thick, with a darkened head and a thick vein running all the way down. precum already dripped from him, and he felt so heavy in your hand that your fingers barely closed around him.

you leaned forward, meaning to take him into your mouth, but a hand caught your hair and stopped you. geto. he lifted your head, his eyes bright and burning. “not so fast, princess.”

with one hand, he undid his belt. his pants dropped, and his cock slapped against his lower stomach — thick and hard. he stepped closer and dragged the tip across your lips, spreading the salty wetness over them. you opened your mouth and licked it off before you could stop yourself.

a low moan came from him. he leaned right up to your face “open.” you opened. he spit, warm moisture landing on your tongue, and you swallowed it. then he straightened up and pushed his cock into your mouth.

you were filled from every side now. toji’s tongue was inside you, his hands kept you spread open, his nose pressed against your clit. geto’s cock rested heavily on your tongue, going deeper with every movement of his hips. your hand wrapped around toji’s cock, and when you felt him twitch in your grip, you started jerking him off.

slow at first. then faster. you lost yourself in it — the rhythm, the heat, the feeling of being completely full. you couldn’t think. you could only feel. then you felt another breath against your ass.

toji’s hands spread you even wider, and someone’s nose and mouth pressed against your other hole. you knew who. he licked you there, slow and steady, and the feeling was so strange and somehow so good that your whole body tensed.

you heard the wet sound of oil against skin. then one of his fingers pressed against that tight ring of muscle and slowly slipped inside. your hips jerked so hard that toji’s nose pressed even deeper, while geto’s cock hit the back of your throat as he fucked your mouth, one hand tangled in your hair.

gojo worked you open. one finger, then a second, slowly stretching and massaging you. you pressed yourself harder against toji’s face through it all, while he moved his face against you and pushed even deeper.

you moaned around geto’s cock, your hand moving faster and slicker over toji’s. “mgmm—” you sobbed around the thick length in your throat. you sucked your cheeks in making geto’s head fall back. “fuck, yes. just like that, baby.”

suguru’s hips lost their rhythm. toji moaned right against you, the vibration going straight through your clit. gojo’s fingers curled inside you, and your vision started to blur. you were full. everywhere. all of you belonged to them.

geto pulled back just enough to let you swallow his cum when he came with a loud moan. his taste covered your tongue, and you swallowed again and again while he watched you, his chest rising heavily and his pupils blown wide. “fuck, babygirl,” he breathed. “look at you. so fucking perfect.” your thighs still shook.

then toji’s cock twitched hard in your hand. he moaned against your stomach and came, hot waves covering your fingers and knuckles, splashing across your chest and stomach. he ran his face over you one last time, smearing your juices and his own release across his lips and chin. then he pulled you against his chest, his damp skin sticking to your back.

you twisted around to look at him. his whole face shone — his nose, chin, cheeks, even his forehead were covered in you. he looked completely exhausted and ridiculously pleased with himself. “sweetest pussy in the world,” he murmured, then grabbed your hips and got up from the floor.

only then did you notice gojo was gone. you didn’t even have time to think about it. the door opened, and he came back with a glass of ice-cold water in his hand. condensation covered the glass.

he put it in your hand. “drink, love.” you were still sitting on toji’s thighs, your swollen, throbbing pussy pressed right against his cock, and the touch made a quiet moan slip out of you. you tried to keep the glass steady.

your back was pressed tightly against his chest. while you drank, his mouth found your earlobe — teeth first, then his tongue, then a kiss just below it. you felt the dampness on his face against your skin, proof of what he’d just done to you. you shivered.

you finished the water and held the glass out. geto took it. “w-where’s... nanami?” you asked quietly. everyone froze. then they started laughing. gojo leaned in and kissed you deeply. when he pulled away, toji’s warm voice came from right by your ear.

“three cocks are waiting to fill that tiny, swollen pussy, and you still want more?” he clicked his tongue. “greedy little thing.” heat rushed to your face. you turned away and hid your face against his neck, and he laughed right into your hair.

“he had an urgent meeting,” geto said as he set the glass down. “he’ll be here soon.” “and he can’t wait to taste this cunt either.” gojo’s eyes dropped to where you were pressed against toji.

geto tilted his head. “are you tired?” you shook your head. no. yes? you already came twice — actually, you lost count by now — but you still wanted more. especially with them.

toji grinned slowly, dirty and knowing. “i always knew you were a filthy little slut who wanted to get fucked in every hole.” he stood up, holding you in his arms, and you felt that hot, humiliating rush again — being handled like you weighed nothing, like you were some toy they could pass between them. it should’ve embarrassed you.

and it did. but it also turned you on so much you could barely breathe. geto was lying where toji had just been, and your pussy throbbed at the sight of him, at the thought of him finally filling you.

before he moved you over, toji kissed you. he tasted geto on your tongue — you knew he did, because he moaned right into the kiss — and licked the taste from your lips and cheek, slowly cleaning you up. then he lowered you onto geto’s thighs facing him.

he guided himself into place. the head of his cock pressed against your entrance, and he slowly lowered you onto him — inch by impossible inch, and you felt every bit of it.

the way he stretched you, the sweet burn, the feeling of being completely full. “it—! it's too big— nnghh!” you gasped.

“you can take it,” he said, his voice calm and firm. “you were made for this. sit on that cock baby be a good girl.”

he grabbed your hips and moved you. you moaned, then started moving against him in a steady rhythm, every roll of your hips pushing him deeper until you could almost feel him in your throat.

then slick fingers found your other hole again. warm, slippery oil coated your skin as gojo’s fingers slipped inside again — one, two, three, all at once. “mmmh,” his voice sounded dark behind you. “so ready for me.”

then he pushed inside you. everything flashed white. you were completely full — geto stretching you from the front, gojo filling you from behind — and it felt like they reached all the way inside you, like there was no room left for air, thoughts, or anything else except them.

“ah! haaah—i can’t— get— gojo please please!” gojo’s hands found your tits. he squeezed hard, twisting your nipples between his fingers, then turned your head and kissed you.

then toji’s hand caught your jaw, pulling you away from the kiss and dragging you into his mouth instead. it was the dirtiest kiss yet — nothing but tongue and spit, not an ounce of tenderness.

gojo squeezed one breast. toji squeezed the other. then toji’s thumb and forefinger found your swollen clit and squeezed it. your hips lost their rhythm. you tried to pull away because something was building inside you, something that went beyond a normal orgasm. something you couldn’t control.

“don’t fucking stop,” geto’s voice came at the same time, his hands gripping your hips and waist hard enough to keep you in place. you couldn’t stop. the pleasure exploded, then came again — a flood, a complete rush — and you cried out as your body shook, leaving you trembling and breathless. "nnngaaahh! yesyesyesyes pleaaseee ha—aahh!—"

“good girl. that’s it, princess.” “fuck, look at her,” toji growled, still rubbing and working your clit, making you go through it again and again. “made a fucking mess of the whole room.”

“come inside her,” gojo growled, thrusting against you from behind. “fill her. i want it spilling out of both of us.” “both of us,” geto echoed as he thrust up hard, coming deep inside you. “take it. take every drop. i’ll put a baby in that perfect pussy.”

gojo followed a moment later. a low, broken moan escaped him as he came inside you, his hips jerking while his hands left marks on your thighs. “that’s it. all of it.”

“now you’re ours,” toji whispered against your lips, still playing with your clit and pulling another weak shudder from you. “every one of us will fill you. again and again. until it takes.” the room spun around you. you shook, completely spent, feeling everything spill out around them.

you were still trembling, still shaking and completely overwhelmed when the front door opened. nanami. he walked in and just stared at the two huge cocks still buried inside you, at the mess running from you. at your chest, smeared with cum and covered in dark bite marks. at your sweaty, flushed face and your head thrown back against geto’s shoulder.

"kento…" your voice was quiet, ruined, barely a whisper.

he didn't answer. instead, he set his briefcase on the shelf, smoothed his documents, neatly hung his coat over the back of the chair. every move was measured, as if he wasn't looking at you lying with your legs spread under two men whose cocks were still deep inside you.

then he was right in front of you. his fingers touched your chin and lifted your face. he just looked at you. long enough for everyone to hear your ragged breathing. his eyes slid over the flush on your cheeks, the drying spit on your neck, the tear tracks and dark marks blooming on your chest.

"hey," he said softly. and then he kissed you. his kiss was nothing like the others'. it was slow. careful. his lips parted against yours and his tongue slid inside. your arms went up, wrapped around his neck, you clung to him, the kiss deepening.

gojo pulled his cock out of your ass, and you whimpered softly right into nanami's lips from the empty, stretched ache. his hands moved to your hips, and he lifted you into the air without breaking the kiss.

next, geto's cock slipped out, and that loss felt even more — the sudden emptiness made you groan into kento's lips, and what was left inside spilled out, hot and thick, soaking his shirt where your thighs squeezed his waist.

toji's lips found your back. he kissed along your spine, open and wet, pressing one palm between your shoulder blades, then took you from nanami's arms, turning you and holding you upright against his chest.

nanami dropped to his knees. his hands slid up your trembling thighs. with his fingers he spread your swollen lips, opening you up, and looked at what they left inside — that slow leaking mess. "already so full, princess," his voice was low, steady. "i'll have to clean everything out here, won't i?"

you nodded fast because you couldn't say a word. then you slowly looked at geto from under your lashes. "you… you haven't tasted me yet." he raised one eyebrow, looking down at your wet pussy, and smirked. "aren't you a dirty little whore?"

and then both of them were on their knees, two mouths dropping between your legs at once. nanami started gentle — the flat of his tongue, long slow strokes dragging up your slit, as if savoring you. geto was the exact opposite. he buried his face in, wild and greedy, licking you deep, pushing his tongue inside to scoop out what the others left.

toji turned your head with a palm on your jaw and kissed you deep, swallowing every sound before it could burst from your throat. his tongue filled your mouth, you moaned into his lips and felt the juices dripping down onto the two men below.

gojo's mouth closed around your nipple. he sucked hard, scraping with his teeth, then worked the other nipple with his fingers, twisting and pinching, making your back arch toward geto's chest.

it was everywhere. geto's tongue inside you — lapping, drinking. kento's lips wrapped tight around your clit, drawing it in with slow, rhythmic pulls. tojis tongue in your mouth, his hand gripping your hair. gojo's teeth on your tits, his other hand squeezing your butt cheek.

you came, the orgasm ripping you apart from inside — your hips jerked, your scream died on toji's tongue — but they didn't stop. they kept touching, kept licking, and then came fingers. toji's fingers slid inside next to nanami's, then more of them, four whole fingers stretching you wider, and from the sensory overload something inside broke, and you came again, sobbing, flooding their mouths.

"mmhmm— haah! i ca— i can't anymore—"

they didn't listen. they drank you until your legs were shaking so hard toji had to hold you up. then nanami stood up and kissed you again. you tasted yourself on his lips, but the hunger in his kiss was replaced with a little bit of softness.

"your pussy is completely swollen," he whispered against your lips. "maybe we should stop?" you shook your head sharply. your lips pouted against your will. "i want to feel you inside," you whispered.

that was all he needed. toji's solid forearm wrapped under your breasts, pressing you to his chest. nanami leaned in and kissed you again and while doing that, he took your hand and pressed it to the hard bulge straining against his pants.

"let it out, princess." your fingers fumbled clumsily with the belt, button, zipper. his dick sprang free — heavy in your hand, already leaking pre-cum, the tip flushed dark.

and then he was at your entrance. he slid inside and your mouth parted. he was thick — thicker than geto — and the way he stretched your used, swollen pussy felt almost unbearable. you gasped, and toji's hand rested on your throat — not squeezing, just holding you.

"too much?" he asked. his voice was strained, and you could feel him trembling from the effort not to move. you shook your head. "need more."

meanwhile toji started entering your ass — the hole was still sensitive, stretched out after gojo — and the pressure of his thrusts while nanami was already deep inside was blinding. they entered slowly, inch by inch, until both were buried to the base, and you were impaled between them, filled so completely you couldn't breathe.

"fuck," toji groaned into your neck. "you're fucking tight back here. i'm gonna fill this hole too. pump so much into you there won't be any room left."

nanami rolled his hips, toji matched his rhythm, and soon they were moving together, lifting you up between them and fucking you in a perfect, hard rhythm. your legs wrapped around nanami's waist, your back arched toward toji's chest. then the other two stepped closer.

satoru's mouth was on your clit, his tongue flicking fast and desperate, his hands squeezing your cheeks, spreading them. "look at her," geto panted, running a hand through your hair and squeezing your reddened tits. "our perfect little cum dumpster. made to be bred. to carry our babies."

nanami touched his forehead to yours. "i'm gonna fill you, princess. down to the last drop. i'll make sure of it." "me too," gojo panted against your clit. "i'll put a baby in you. watch you get round from it. you'll look so fucking pretty, all round with our cum."

toji bit into your shoulder, leaving a mark. "we're all gonna breed you, baby. fill every hole. pump you so full you'll be leaking our seed for a week. and when it works — and it definitely will — you'll be the prettiest pregnant whore in the world."

you shattered. the orgasm exploded deep inside, your body convulsed, clamping around both of them, and a scream tore out of you. nanami buried himself to the hilt and came, flooding your pussy with hot pulsing waves, and toji thrust deep right after, spilling into your ass with a low groan that vibrated down your whole spine.

gojo followed right after, groaning straight against your clit, and you felt him cumming onto the floor, mixing his cum with everything else.

they kept moving slowly. dragging out every single pulse until you went completely limp, twitching all over, with nothing left of you except the heat of four men and the wet sounds of them coming.

when they finally set you down gently, you couldn't even stand.

your pussy was totally wrecked — swollen, gaping, leaking a thick river of cum down your thighs. your other hole was the exact same way, and you could feel both dripping, mixing, running together. your chest and arm were smeared white. your hair was a total mess, plastered to your sweaty neck. every single inch of your body was marked, bitten, and claimed.

gojo tilted his head, that same cute smile back on his face. "you need a bath, don't you?" nanami scooped you up in his arms without waiting for an answer. your head hung helplessly against his shoulder, and the trip to the bathroom felt like one big blur of warm skin and cool air.

the shower stall was huge — wide enough for all of them to fit, and just realizing that made your ruined pussy throb despite everything. you thought it was over. you let your tired eyes close.

but when you opened them, turned out they were all following you right into the stall.

they looked like pure sin. toji's body was slick, his face and chest shining with sweat and your juices. geto's stomach was still wet where you soaked him. gojo's face and cock were glistening with white drops. and nanami… he was still mostly dressed, his shirt soaked through, and he was slowly undressing, never taking his eyes off you.

you pressed your face into nanami's shoulder and looked up at them through wet lashes while the water turned on, hot streams running down your back. toji took off his pants, smirking at you like things were only just getting started.

"after all," he said, "not every one of us has managed to fill your little pussy yet, baby."

nanami's fingers lifted your chin. he looked down at you, water running through his hair, and there was so much tenderness in his eyes it made your chest ache.

"you're gonna be so pretty," he whispered against your lips. "all round, soft, and full of us. we're gonna take care of you, baby. every single fuckin' day. and every night, we're gonna fill you up again."

ˏˋ ☠︎︎ ˊ˗ raian had never had a challenging fight , never had to grind very hard for his wins . so why was he so worked up over this upcoming bum he was fighting in the tournament ?

a play of blood and gore , that’s what raian ’ s into these days . fighting his opponents as if mere entertainment until they ’ re damn near paralyzed . as a now labeled ‘ kure ’—thanks to a recent arranged marriage , your responsibility was to aid raian in combat knowledge , help him fight against opponents .

“shut the fuck up , jus’ a bastard trying to flaunt .” his lips contorted into some sort of disgusted scowl , his fists hiding in his pockets .

a murmur flows from your lips , “ that ’ s no way to talk to me , raian .”

he grunts in response , “ gh . “ he didn ‘ t mean his words to come out that way .

the two of you sauntered in circles around the arena layout , your fingers busy with holding the tablet , showcasing previously live-streamed wins . this ohma guy seemed like a fair pair for raian , maybe more . you wanted raian to win, you were on his side ! but the thought of him losing was a possibility scrambling through your head . yes, the burly man looked broken after every victory . but he was like a firing bullet , an unstoppable force ready to take on your husband .

“ . . the hell are you so quiet for ; jumping to conclusions ? ”

and he sees it , the way that hesitant look keeps fighting to stay off your face .

“ raian, i want— no, i need you to stay focused before and during this upcoming fight. we can’t risk a sudden loss due to your— “

“you don’t believe in me , do you ? what a fucked up wife i got arranged with .”

your fingertips clutched deeper into the tablet , as if you were in some battle with yourself . trying to combat a ruthless mentality like raian ’ s is a burdensome task . he hates being seen as some kind of chump , the one who takes bullshit without complaint , it pisses him off .

“ you think just cause this bastard is giving you some kind of turn on , he can knock my shit ? what about me , you don ‘ t think ‘ m good enough ? ”

before you can even comprehend the moment , raian jerks the tablet out from your palms—as if snatching a toy from a disobedient child . raian doesn ’ t give a damn , it ’ s not the priority right now ; it ‘ s the fact that you’re not giving him credit for being one of the most strongest out there . he knows it , why don’t you ?

so how long till his fight with ohma; an hour or so ?

whatever , he ‘s got the time to show you why .

—

your frame felt flattened against the cold stall wall , he didn ‘ t even have enough respect to bring you to a private bathroom , as if ready to show you off with pride .

his jeans sagged around his pale thighs , slowly falling with each second . his grip tightened under your right knee , positioning your legs to expose your swollen cunt — aroused and flustered .

your forearm was pressed against the stall ‘ s solid build , forced with the job of balancing your weight as you tried to adjust your body from the insistent rocking . your fingers tucked into a fist —tightening as raian ‘ s pelvis keeps hitting yours with his insistent need .

his cock dragged through your walls , separating your pussy with a brash fervor as his snowy pubes meshed with your skin . it ‘ s hell , the way he overstimulates your cunt ; your clitoris rigid and twitching like a madman as his dick kept breaking into you .

raian wasn ‘ t concerned , watching how your words die down into inaudible mumbles and your eyelids stutter . in fact , he likes it this way—unable to hear your unnecessary commentary whenever his dick keeps punching into you .

his steps grew forward, sandwiching your figure between the stall and pure hulk . he ‘ s greedy , wants his full rod deep inside your gut . like a punishment meant to teach you— informing you who ‘ s the best . your leg rode over his shoulder with continuous fidgeting , toes clenched in the air while your sodden panties hang from your ankle .

you gaze up into the warm light above , a vulnerable gleam in your eyes as if begging for relief , asking for help from any higher power . tiny buckles of tears clouded your vision and coos echoed from the soft ‘o’ of your lips with raian practically knocking the wind from you .

and it ‘ s so dirty from below , the obvious squelching from your sopping slit being rammed into is loud . fogging up your brain till you’re just an unintelligible mess .

his scleras , the color of midnight , stare down at you . this is his wife , his informant always by his side , now a drunken mess who ‘ s pussy is drooling over his dick clear as day .

“ stupid , “ he mutters ,

the way you look at him is so stupid , that dumb look on you face makes his dick ache more and more inside you .

the devil won ‘ t let you go .

your eyes, blurry and comforted in a daze , now locked onto him as he cups your cheeks , shadowing over your face as a trail of saliva dripped from his tongue— raian licking your salted skin . claiming you like prey .

you feel as though you can barely comprehend it , especially as his lips meet yours into a wet kiss . your dramatic moans spewing into his mouth with every animalistic thrust that satiated your pussy .

“mghuh ! ouhhh !”

“so loud , are you gonna admit i can beat that guy ‘ s ass now ? hah ?“

his hand that previously held your face still now lowers to your neck , your vocal cords shuddering in response as his fingers curl—gripping your throat .

he sighs , a facade of boredom in his mute eyes .

“you can ‘ t even admit it when my cock is fucking you up , can you ? weak .”

so as the intensity reached to peak , raian ' s grip tightened into your supple , mellow skin . pressing his fingers deeper into the soft flesh of your neck just below your jaw .

every subtle squeeze conveyed that raw devilish power , that furious need to prove himself not just on the arena — but right here , against the wall of this bathroom .

" look at you , breaking down on my dick ; it ‘ s fucking pathetic , or maybe you love it . ”

his husky words slurred into your ear, a mocking tone that seeped into your cloudy senses .

“ngh . .”

"make up your mind , or i ’ ll fuck it up for you ."

his dick kept relentlessly barging into you , the slick , crude sounds of your wet pussy enveloping him , greedily pulling him deeper inside with your clingy sex . a white , messy ring gathered around raian ‘s fat rod ; coming from your tight slit gathering from precum and slick .

the whole act was brutal ; lustful grunts , and the humid , sticky aroma of sex filled the narrow stall . raian didn ‘ t hesitate , not even for a second , his figure colliding into yours with an unyielding rhythm with wet loud slaps that could seem to go on forever .

you tried to reply , to form words , anything to appease him or regain some semblance of control , but each word was swallowed by the shockwaves of pleasure ravaging through your body .

raian ’ s eyes , dark and inscrutable, stood fixed on you , drinking in every shift in expression , every quiet plea glazed in both agony and ecstasy .

eventually , his pace picked up , vigorous and even more forceful , hinting that his climax was nearing . the hand on your throat moved back to your tummy , then to your swollen clitoris , pinching heartlessly .

“jus ‘ admit it , you think ‘ m gonna lose , huh ? tell me , ” he growled.

“ if you gush , i ‘ ll give you the damn benefit of the doubt . ”

before you could gather a coherent thought , the assembling pressure in your belly snapped . your climax hit you hard , squeezing around raian ‘ s pulsating meat . milking him as your entire body trembled and shuddered .

no sooner had the ripples of your orgasm subsided than , raian groaned and cursed loudly , his body stiffening as he reached his own selfish pleasure and slammed his fist on the stall next to your head . his cum shot inside you , cementing his dominance in such a vulnerable moment .

the only noises audible were the heavy breaths exerting from raian , filling you up in pulses matching with the same tempo of a heart beat . your hips attempted to wiggle afar — only to be brought back by raian ‘ s demanding hands , wanting to get his last thrusts in .

fixing his pants after letting your leg down , raian's expression softened just a tad , a sly smirk forming as he looked at your disheveled state trembling . he stared as you tried to stabilize like a newborn lamb , scoffing at the act .

“ whose ass am i gonna kick ?”

marked and spent , the echo of his words blended with the lingering sting of raw , undeniable power .

“t— . . tuh— tokita ohma ‘ s . .” you exhaled hopelessly , facing the stall wall .

“ louder . “

“ y—you ‘ ll b—beat toki. . hughn. . tokita ohma ! “

“ . . finally got it through your thick skull , all you needed was guidance from your damn husband . ”

FUCKING TERRIBLE ..

he means well . really , he does . he always starts off with the intention of pulling out — tells you to remind him even , sometimes , like he knows what happens when he gets too deep in you for too long . & every time , it’s the same story . his head drops low , muscles flexing as he groans out your name with a strained , “ shit ; sorry , sorry .. " but his hips are still moving ! still lazily rocking against you , as if to soothe the very mess he just made inside you . he presses kisses to your jaw like they’re apologies . keeps you caged under him with one arm tight around your waist , the other braced beside your head , holding himself up just enough to watch the way your body takes him . he’s always saying he’ll pull out next time ' promise ' . but the warmth of you , the squeeze of your cunt , the way your legs tighten around his hips when you feel him twitch ; it all makes him selfish . he finishes deep & stays there , always a little breathless . always guilt - laced , but never enough to stop him from doing it again .

ᢉ𐭩 : naoya okubo , sen hatsumi , saw paing yoroizuka , kiozan takeru

CUTTING IT CLOSE ..

he’s got self - control .. kinda . but he loves walking the line . you can always tell when he’s getting close ; he starts to lose rhythm , huffs into your neck more than he talks , grabs your waist a little rougher like grounding himself in you will make him last . it never does . your legs are shaking & you’re panting out “ not inside , ” with a palm pressed firm to his chest , & he has the audacity to scoff . “ i know , ” he mutters , as if he’s insulted you’d even think he’d mess it up — but the way his hips stutter says otherwise . it’s always a last second pullout . he barely makes it out , hand gripping the base of his cock as he spills onto your stomach or your thighs , painting you messy while his head falls forward & he exhales through gritted teeth . it’s not clean . it’s not perfect . & honestly , you’ve lost count of how many plan bs you’ve taken just in case .

ᢉ𐭩 : lihito , adam dudley , kaneda suekichi , muteba gizenga , jun sekibayashi , rei mikazuchi

D1 PULLOUT GAME ..

he's true to this , not new to this . never once messed up , not even in the haze of multiple rounds or exhaustion . practiced , trained for this shit . & you trust him for it . he doesn’t flinch when your pussy squeezes around him too tight or drag your nails down his back like you’re trying to pull him back in deeper . no matter how rough it gets or how many times you call his name with that desperate , pleading tone , he’s got you . he finishes with a sharp gasp & pulls out so fast it’s like a reflex , one hand stroking himself to completion just seconds after . the aftermath is always clean & efficient . a few thick globs on your tummy , maybe across your tits if he's feeling particularly nasty .

ᢉ𐭩 : gaolang wangsawat , cosmo imai , kuroki gensai , kanoh agito , wakatsuki takeshi , omori masamichi , himuro ryo

DIDN'T EVEN TRY ..

you say “ be careful , ” & he doesn’t even acknowledge it . too far gone . too obsessed with the feeling of you — warm , sticky , needy — wrapped around him like a vice . the only sound is his breath , ragged & uneven , mixing with the wet slaps of skin & the low whines he pulls from your throat . he watches you like he’s hypnotized . his hands are locked on your hips , fingers digging into soft flesh as he fucks you open like it’s the only thing that matters . like the risk doesn’t even register . he finishes deep , moaning into your mouth or neck or chest , wherever he can reach as he presses himself flush against you to make sure every drop stays inside . you feel it right away , the flood of warmth spreading through your cunt , the way your walls flutter around him in response . he likes cumming inside you . he’ll do it again , maybe even harder next time . pulling out was never on the table .

five days.

as a successful ninja, lee knew that five days was, objectively, nothing.

there were shinobi who would leave their villages to embark on missions lasting for weeks on end, sometimes spanning into months if it proved to be considerably challenging. on many occasions in the past, lee sustained wounds, cuts, and bruises that took longer than five days to heal. throughout history, there were wars and battles that raged for five years and beyond that, nevermind a mere five days.

with that logic, five days without your presence should have been exceptionally easy to endure. 

except, it wasn't. by the first night of his mission, lee could already hear the sound of your voice humming a million melodies in his mind, like an echo chamber driving him into hypnosis. imagining the way you sound would not be enough, and it wouldn't ever be. he won't settle, not until he can have your lips a thread away from his lended ear, whispering all the things he wants to hear.

by the second night, the absence of your warm body next to him in bed made him restless. lee had never really considered himself a particularly needy person, but his tactile fantasies were keen on disproving that notion. all those little touches he took for granted, he needed. in this moment, the ordinary began to feel special. he craved the weight of your hands slipping into his palms. he wanted to feel your legs grazing against his own when you sit next to each other; your head resting against his shoulder; and your playful shoves whenever he said something you found funny. he wanted those simplicities back now more than ever.

and if the second night wasn't already intolerable, the third day of separation became even more so.

lee started to look for you in the mundane.

whether it was a street vendor serving your favourite snack, or seeing a pretty flower that managed to capture your energy in every petal, you would taunt him by showing up everywhere without actually being here. if at any time anybody spoke, he would take an upwards glance, half-expecting you to be the one speaking, even if the odds of it being you were slim. and when nightfall arrived, he would fall into the exact same ritual, except this time, he’d be peeling back the blankets constantly in the hopes of finding you underneath them, laying next to him between the sheets.

the fourth and final night was agonisingly slow, and the most torturous of them all. lee’s thoughts continued to grow more and more dangerous as the night aged. he had a hankering for the more provocative, more sensual touches you lavished him in. he wanted to drink up the taste of your lips, to hold onto the flesh of your figure, and to knead your skin under his fingertips. lee sighs. he both loved and hated how vivid his imagination could be. he loved how warm you made his heart feel, but he could almost hate how you made his blood boil with sickly desire, to the extent of him kicking his blanket off his body. he stares down in the darkness at the soft grey fabric tented over his hard dick, feeling conflicted by equal parts discipline and equal parts self-indulgence. making this wild decision would be easy so late at night. he could quickly pull down his boxers, stroke himself to completion, and sleep it off. it wouldn't matter much. he'd be absolved of his act by the time he wakes up, but what's the point? you're only a day—no—a few hours away, he reminds himself. losing control now, of all times and so soon, would be meaningless. there's nothing he can do other than sleep. he decides to conclude his thoughts for the night before draping the blanket back over himself. lee hopes that when he opens his eyes, morning will be there to greet him instead of a night interrupted by his own sleeplessness.

lee's hopes had worked.

at long last, the morning of the fifth day was finally here.

the mission was accomplished, and it had finished simply without complication. there were no noteworthy threats, or any major causes of concern to be intercepted. while it was undeniably good news, lee couldn't bring himself to properly celebrate that. he didn't care about reports or anything of the sort. you were finally within reach, and it was the only thing he could think about. the true celebration would take place at your doorstep upon reunion, so it was only natural that lee would sprint back to konoha as if you'd disappear if he wasted any time. he was fueled by nothing but raw longing for you, and his heart pounded harder and harder with every step. when he passed through the village gates, it felt like he had tunnel vision. that sprint of his turned to a brisk walk where his surroundings were blurred, with his focus exclusively on the path leading to your house.

when lee rounded the final corner, he froze.

there you were. stood in the hallway with the door wide open, just for him.

you look like something divine to lee right now, with the afternoon sunlight kissing your skin and turning you to gold. he couldn't fathom how within the space of five days, you somehow managed to look even more beautiful than he had recalled. the relief of seeing you whole crashed over him in a wave so intense, that it stole his breath. he only started to breathe again when his eyes met yours. the moment he made eye contact, every ounce of discipline he spent cultivating on that mission shattered.

"hi, lee." you smiled.

the first thread of restraint snapped.

lee crossed the distance between you in a matter of seconds before you could even finish saying his name. his arms wrapped tightly around your body, and the sheer force of his embrace almost knocked you off of your feet. he barely gave you any time to react, and if it weren't for your quick reflexes, you would've tipped over and fallen flat on your back.

"lee!" you speak in-between bouts of laughter. "i'm here, i'm here."

he's not registering a single word you're saying. he's busy burying his head in the crook of your neck, inhaling the memory of your scent like oxygen. for five days, he imagined this moment. five days of wondering, worrying, and wanting you so badly that it made his chest hurt. now that you were finally here, he couldn't bring himself to let go of you. even loosening his grip would be a crime.

"you know, lee," you tease, rubbing his back. "most people say hi back."

his answer came out muffled against your skin. "i am saying hi!"

lee raises his head from the junction between your neck and shoulders, and presses his cheek against yours before speaking gently in your ear. "i missed you," the words feel heavy with the weight of five years as opposed to five days. "i missed you so much, y/n," he repeats, breathlessly. his hands travel to the small of your back, and he presses you flush against him. chest-to-chest, you can feel his heart pounding against his ribs. "i needed you."

"i know, baby," you chuckle softly.

"no," lee swallows at the pet name falling from your lips. he missed that more than he thought. he separates his cheek from yours to look at your face. "you do not understand. it felt longer than five days, y/n."

the intensity of his words invites an atmosphere that feels heavier than before. it compels you to stop your laughter, and instead, enter a light silence. for a moment you both remain still, breathing in each other's air, and standing too close to each other for comfort, but you both wouldn't want it any other way. right now, lee wanted to regain some semblance of control, but it was futile. he's helplessly drawn to you—your touch, your voice, your comfort he missed out on for five days. the truth hit him with startling force, and the truth was that he wanted to ravage you.

lee's gaze dropped briefly to your lips, then back up to your eyes. you noticed. the corner of your mouth curved upwards in response. that was all the permission lee needed from you.

the second thread of restraint snapped.

the space between your faces is sealed the instant lee's lips crash into yours. your hands roam over the back of his neck, with your fingers digging into his nape. the force of the collision is enough to make him spill a whine against your lips. you part them wider, wanting to take more of him into your mouth as he presses harder and harder against you.

lee is not a stranger to the warmth of your mouth, nor is he new to the taste of your tongue as it swirls around his, and yet, the sensation is like nothing he could've ever imagined on those five days away from you. you are beyond imagination, and you always exceed expectation. the sensation spreads underneath his flesh and through his veins, satiating the relentless hunger that had been driving him crazy for the duration of that mission. 120 hours, all released in a single instant. his hands—large and concealed with bandages that cover a story of scars—find the soft plush of your ass with a firmness. a hum rumbles deep in his chest, sending a vibration against your lips as he squeezes the flesh. it's exactly how he dreamt it would be.

you didn't fight the iron grip on your wrists as his roaming hands moved from your ass. the strength of his body pinned you right against the wall, and he silenced all of your breathless whimpers with kiss after bruising kiss. you experimentally tugged your wrists away from him, but you notice that his hold doesn't falter. his hands don't move, not even by an inch.

the sudden resistance prompts lee to loosen his grip and slowly break the kiss, just long enough to breathe against your lips. he pulls back slightly, with his dark eyes wide, scanning your face with his chest heaving.

"please tell me if i am being too forward with you, my flower," he panted. "tell me to stop, and i will. i… i have missed you to the point of madness."

and if you were being completely honest, you loved it when lee was like this. you loved it when he reminded you that he could effortlessly overpower you. it made your pussy throb with want seeing your boyfriend, a man renowned for his extraordinary discipline, coming undone at the mere sight of you. nothing could possibly be 'too forward' if it were him.

"now that you are here," he continues, "i want nothing more than to show you love. i need you." his voice is such a soft thing, tinged with desperation. "i really need you."

hearing his vulnerable confession, and looking up into his puppy-like eyes made your heart feel sore. he could have you in an instant, but still, he insists on remaining at your mercy. you didn't want him to stop though, not now, not ever—you had to let him have you. you decide to press your body closer into his, completely yielding to his strength. when you give your answer, you never once shift your gaze from his.

"i don't want you to stop, lee. just take me."

the third and final thread of restraint snapped.

lee's hands abandon your wrists, and in one fluid motion, he lifts you off your feet as if you weigh nothing to carry. it's like a reflex when you wrap your arms around his neck, and lock your ankles around his waist. his hands find purchase beneath your thighs, and he doesn't waste any time in racing to your bedroom. the movement is swift, sharpened by years of testing the limits of his speed. he kicks the bedroom door open and takes a stride to your bed—still faintly laced with the scent of you exactly as he remembers it. even though his hands are shaking with anticipation, he still lays you down on the mattress with the utmost care, like you're a monument of marble that could crack and break into thousands of fragments.

lee hovers above your laid form, looking down at you with eyes that are committed to storing every part of this moment to his starved memory. your parted lips, slightly swollen from his kisses; the way you flutter your lashes at him with half-lidded eyes; the addictive sound of your soft breaths. he can't resist you any longer.

the world outside the room seems to disappear when he slots his lips in between yours again, more fervent and hungrier than he was earlier. your fingers tangle deep into the thick dark strands of his hair, pulling him closer into you as you match the passion of the kiss. you start to arch your back and buck your hips up against him in the pursuit of more pressure, more contact, the slightest something to ease the throbbing of your cunt. lee presses the weight of his cock—hard and clothed—between your legs, but not before pinning your hips down to prevent you from having your fill. you whine softly in response.

"come on, goddess," he breathes against your neck, kissing the skin there as consolation, "i do not want to deny you either… surely, you can understand." his voice is so gentle, but his actions are less than. he rises, and his bandaged fingers grip onto the waistband of your pants, dragging them down to leave you clad in your underwear. a hum rumbles in his throat when he sees the outline of your labia, soaked and swollen with arousal, through the thin fabric of your panties. "you must have missed me too. isn't that right, y/n?"

"i did, baby," you nod, voice breathy with need. "i'm glad you're here."

"i do not doubt that, my angel."

it's his turn to strip now. he's quick to unfasten his green flak jacket, setting the heavy material aside to reveal his broad chest. your eyes trail downwards, allowing his abs to guide you as they tense and relax with every ragged breath he takes. the outline of his obliques tempt your eyes some more, taking them further south to his adonis' belt. those two lines disappear dangerously low into the waistband of his remaining clothing. you don't have to ask for more. lee is already stepping out of his pants, revealing the bulge thats threatening to escape the confines of his boxers.

"but, i think you doubt just how much i missed you."

lee crawls towards you on the mattress, chasing the gap between your bodies. his warmth is enticing. you're trapped between the stronghold of his arms.

"you were on my mind every second," his breath tickles your skin as he tracks ardent kisses from the chisel of your jawline, down to your collarbones. "you were in my dreams, and now, you are finally in front of me." he rasps, rocking his hard cock against your pussy as if his words barely hold enough conviction. "i really missed you, y/n. really, really missed you."

you feel his hands snake behind your knees, raising your legs and pushing them up as his erection exerts more pressure onto your pussy. your legs rests on his shoulders as he continues. a shiver runs through you when you feel the damp spot of precum seeping through the thin cotton of lee's boxers against you. you're both soaking each other right now, and neither of you can stop the collective outpour of gasps spilling from your lips. the feeling of his hardness rutting against your clothed clit feels heavenly, and all you can do is moan, because you know your boyfriend is far from finished.

the warmth is building up fast. he stops his grinding quickly, just to pull down his boxers and free his cock. you almost want to drool over how it stands on end, how it pulses in the air, and how his flushed tip leaks with desire. he pulls your panties to the side, slipping his hard length in between the lips of your pussy. lee shifts back and forth, allowing you to feel every vein on him as it drags along your clit. you don't know where to look, with your hungry gaze torn between his slick erection as it passes back and forth between your wet core, and his intense face, cast with a light pink flush. lee moans as he meets your eyes.

"you don't know how good you're making me feel, y/n," he whispers.

he kisses at your sternum while bucking his hips against you. the kisses reach the swell of your breasts, and his tongue swipes over one taut nipple before he seals his lips around it. you exhale when he circles his tongue around the sensitive bud, sucking at it with thirst. the suction makes your back arch further against him, eliciting a sharp gasp from you. at that, he decides to pin your wrists up against the mattress to further immobilise you. it makes you moan with need. lee refuses to leave your other breast untouched, and he focuses his attention on it with the exact same passion, with his teeth grazing against it ever so slightly.

you can feel yourself about to cum, and you know that lee is teetering on the edge of his climax too as he struggles to maintain his pace. your body feels unbearably hot, and lee is pressing harder against you like he wants your body to catch flames.

he's overwhelmed at the fact that there's so much of you. those hungry lips of his return to your neck, nipping at the skin there before settling his mouth taut over the expanse of it. he sucks hard against your throat and lingers there indefinitely, nearly consuming you. you can feel his eyelashes brushing over your skin. it adds a new dimension to your indulgence, and you can feel yourself struggling to keep your eyes open against the rapidly approaching waves of pleasure bursting from your core. you're past the point of controlling yourself now, and it's automatic when your orgasm breaks over you, sharp and intense. your legs slips off of his shoulders. your eyes shut tightly. you're clutching on fistfuls of his hair, and every muscle in your body jerks relentlessly, causing the bedsprings let out a creak of protest from beneath you. lee follows up quickly with his own climax as he soaks you with thick, hot spurts of cum that spill on your belly. the suction on your neck stops, and it's instead replaced by lee's warm breath on your skin.

"y/n-" he cuts himself off with a moan against your ear, "do you see what you do to me, my blossom?" he leaves soft pecks along your neck, giving extra to the fresh hickey. lee doesn't intend for it to be teasing, but it feels that way when he slowly rubs his slick-coated cock against your sensitive clit, still pulsating and raw from orgasm. he raises his head to look down at you—more particularly, the love-bite on your neck.

"i can not believe you belong to me," he whispers. "give me a kiss, my love."

the kiss is nothing short of greedy and obscene. you both moan into it, and you can feel the warmth settling deep in your belly once again, despite the fact that lee has just coaxed an orgasm out of you. his tongue slips past yours for a final time before he breaks the kiss.

"perfect," he pecks at your neck, "just like that, y/n. so good." he breathes, beginning a trail of kisses down your chest. each one against your skin feels like heaven as they mark the gentle slope of your belly. the ghost of his breath sets a precedent, warning you before his lips can even land on you. it makes the muscles of your stomach contract with anticipation before each kiss.

"you are truly a beauty," he purrs. "every last part of you." the kisses travel even lower, moving just above the waistband of your panties in an unbroken sequence. lee appears to have predicted your next movements, because his hands have already found the flare of your hips. you sigh with exasperation as you thrust your hips up. all you want to do is move without restraint and ride against his mouth, but he's held you hostage, anchoring your lower body flat against the mattress again.

"please, lee," you sob. "please don't make me wait."

"but you will wait, my angel. just as i have." he fans the flame even further by having the nerve to press a soft kiss to your clit. "you deserve my complete focus. i can't give you my full effort if you rush me. just let me have you, okay?"

you nod, wordlessly.

"i am glad you understand."

lee slides his tongue across your needy pussy, dragging it salaciously in a stripe that stretches from your weeping entrance to your protruding clit. he swallows. you taste like all the things he was so desperately craving in your absence, and its better than anything his mind could have mimicked to fill the you-shaped void he left behind for five days. your essence taste sweet on his tongue, exactly like the feeling of reward after discipline. he makes a vow to himself: he will savour you as to never forget you.

after that one lick, he's insatiable. his mouth engulfs your clit, and you can feel every single nerve being greeted by the slickness of his tongue as it contorts and presses patterns on the very tip of it. lee has only been starved of your proximity, but he slurps and laps away at you as if he has been starved of all sustenance; as if there is no real difference between you, food, and drink. he's not letting you run anywhere. he tugs you by your legs and pushes your cunt further into his face, keeping your thighs elevated against the force of his hands behind your knees.

"fuck, lee," you moan into the air, calling his name like a prayer. "fuck, fuck, fuck!"

he's fighting a losing battle against the sound of your voice. he wantonly moans into you, and the vibrations against your pussy drive you closer to the edge. the room is filled with nothing but your noises at this rate: the noise of your gushing cunt against lee's hungry mouth, the noise of your constant gasps—your moans and your pleas. it's addicting to lee.

he can feel your second orgasm coming to take you by storm. your head throws itself back, your thighs are start to shudder, and your body is beginning to relentlessly writhe with every ruthless flick of his tongue against your sore clit. still, he does not move from the paradise between your thighs. he doesn't care, and he'll continue to have his fill of you until he's satisfied. there is no drop of your slowly trickling essence that goes to waste as his mouth catches it with every hard pulse of your pussy. it's akin to finishing the meal of a lifetime that leaves you licking at a near-empty plate. that unyielding tongue continues to take you through each wave of orgasmic shock until tears fall out of your eyes.

every single nerve is jumping. your heart feels like it's in between your legs, and you aren't sure how long you can stay strong for. unlike you, lee remains adamant and sure of himself. he refuses to let you come down from this high. he starts to curl two fingers inside of you, reaching for that particularly sensitive spot that lies deep in your pussy.

"lee!" you cry out his name. it does nothing to grab his attention.

you're oversensitive, past your limit, and he's still fucking into you with his fingers—still sucking away at you mercilessly. your cries are deafening. they get more and more broken as his fingertips tap that place inside you, over, and over, and over. if he couldn't feel it rising inside of you before, he can feel it rising inside of you now. he's circling his tongue around you determinedly, pressing against that spot, and-

warmth.

the moan you let out is sinful. your body gives out before it locks up a final time, and suddenly, lee's face is covered in a warm gush of you, coating his mouth, dripping from his chin and down onto the mattress. he slows down the pace of his tongue, alongside the pace of his fingers as you clench around him. your boyfriend just made you squirt.

when lee finally pulls his head away, he's looking up at you in awe. you're crying softly, chest heaving, and with eyes shut as tears streak your face. for a moment, he panics, absorbed in the fear that he pushed you too far.

"y/n," lee whispers, crawling towards your face. "are you alright, angel?" his thumbs brush away at your tears.

he reaches for your hands and locks his fingers between yours. when you squeeze his hands, he doesn't even feel the slightest bit reassured. he wouldn't forgive himself if he hurt you.

"please. talk to me, angel." he whispers.

there's a drawn silence, split only by heavy breathing.

"oh my god," you finally manage. your eyes open slowly, cast with a lustful shadow as you blink at him. "that was fucking insane, lee."

the worry lee felt gets washed away with your words. you can taste yourself on his lips as he goes in to give you a kiss.

"it was?" he asks.

"it was." you confirm.

"that makes me feel relieved." he cages you with his body. "there is nothing better than the taste of you. but there is nothing worse than your tears if i am hurting you. i love you, y/n." he whispers against your lips.

"i love you too, lee." your breath exchanges with his.

"i love you so much, and it isn't even close, y/n."

lee has been hard ever since he walked through your door, dying to feel his length burrowed inside you. he can't put the last five days behind him either. he taps the tip of his dick against your still-sensitive clit, wanting a sign from you. a sign that says you'll be merciful enough to accept him in your pussy.

"do you want me? as badly as i want you, sweetness?"

"oh, fuck, lee," you whimper. "yes…"

that's all he needs.

with two orgasms under your belt, lee slides into you with minimal effort. the groan he lets out feels like an expulsion of everything he had buried when he was away. every single ridge of your warm pussy around his cock feels like salvation; like a personal apology from you to him for your absence. before long, his balls are pressed against the cleft of your ass, and he's fully bottomed out against you. every vein, every inch, and every minute pulse as he probes inside you makes you feel complete. you're happy to have him back where he belongs.

his forehead is connected to yours, cemented by the thin sheen of sweat that coats both of your bodies. you remain like that for a few seconds, held captive in each other's gaze. lee starts to move now, beginning with a long, deep stroke from tip to hilt. when his hips slam into yours, the filthiest moan comes out of him.

now that he's finally fucking you, there is nothing you can do to stop him. how many times did he think about this moment on his mission? he couldn't tell you. he doesn't want to be reminded of control or discipline—not when he's pushing himself inside you, hard and fast. your breathless calls and pleas encourage him to fuck his hips deeper into you, with each thrust being more ardent than the last.

his strong hands find the back of your thighs and pushes them upwards, leaving your feet suspended in the air. the position he's folded you in makes you cry out obscenely, and lee knows that from there, he's found the tender spot that drives you wild.

his cock curves in just the right way from this angle. he pounds right into it, over and over without fail until your eyes are fluttering shut; until your teeth are sinking into the flesh of your lower lip; and until your toes are curling with pleasure. it feels like the bed frame is going to fall apart at this rate. his tanned skin is glistening with sweat now, with beadlets flowing down his abs. his hair is dishevelled. you are soaked.

"oh, f-fuck," your words are broken by gasps, "lee, please! don't stop!"

"i would never want to!" air cushions his words as he speaks. "if-if i could, i would stay inside you for a lifetime." he plants a messy kiss on your lips.

when the kiss ends, you slip a hand downwards between your legs and rub away at your clit. 

lee may be distracted by your pretty face, and occupied by your warm tightness, but there's no way he's letting that slide. he catches on almost immediately, severing his eye contact to look down at your fingers rolling around your clit.

“stop,” he said huskily. "i am here. do not do that."

he seizes your free hand and pins it right above your head. he does the same for the other, holding your wrists flat with one hand as his thumb rubs firm circles around your clit on your behalf.

once again, you can feel tears of pleasure brimming at the corner of your eyes. you are absolutely sore with blinding pleasure. you're moaning desperately now, with your words growing more and more incoherent for every snap of his hips.

"i wish you could look at yourself, blossom," he praises. "you are taking me so well."

"every," slap! "last," slap! "inch." slap!

lee is moving at a speed you can barely process. your pleasure is growing exponentially, to the point where it's getting impossible to verbalise. it's coming now: that familiar sensation brewing in the depths of your womb, like a compressed spring about to free itself.

"lee," you rasp, "lee, lee, lee, i'm—hah—so close, i can't, i can't-"

"you can, y/n," he breathes, "you can keep taking it. come on, you feel so—ngh!—good around me. "

your face is wet with tears now. lee's forehead presses harder against yours as he tastes the salt on his lips, kissing the droplets as they fall.

you don't care who hears you anymore. you're shaking as much as lee's grip allows; gasping, and crying out his name as your orgasm tears through you with ferocity. your pussy is strangling his dick, gripping him like you don't want him to escape your cunt. lee gasps for every time you clench rhythmically around his length, but still, he fucks you through your high with the same vigour, and he still presses shapes into your clit as if you really need more. it's the best kind of torture. it really couldn't get any better than this.

his grip on your wrists are getting tighter, to the point of leaving bruises. his lips stay parted. he can barely keep his eyes open as he splits you open. he's getting close.

"y/n," his voice is strained-. "wh-where do you want me to fi-"

"-inside!" you answer immediately. "fuck! please, lee, i need you to cum inside of me!"

he'll give you anything you want.

lee drags his cock all the way back, and slams into your pussy for a final time before his thighs lock, leaving him reduced to a panting, moaning mess on top of you. you swear you can feel his cock jump inside of you. you can feel every throb as he paints your womb white with spurts of hot cum. even though he's plugging your insides with his length, his seed spills out of your entrance, trickling down your ass and pooling onto the mattress. he stays like that for a few moments, wrapped in post-coital bliss as his grip on your wrists finally loosens.

"i love you, y/n." his voice is soft.

"i know, baby," you murmur. "i love you too."

"you did well, and i am so proud." his fingers intertwine with yours as he peppers soft kisses on your cheeks. "i was a bit harsh though, wasn't i?" he remarks, sheepishly. he looks down at the hickeys on your neck, up at the minor bruises on your wrists, and down at the ones blooming on your hips where he had pinned you down earlier before meeting your eyes again. you catch him blushing faintly.

a soft chuckle escapes your breath. "you didn't hurt me. you could never hurt me, lee."

"i am pleased!" he smiles, revealing dimples.

"but you were harsh."

"yes… i was..." his eyes dart around, desperate to escape the weight of your gaze. it's almost as if he didn't fold you and fuck the life out of you.

"and all because you didn't see me for five days?"

"it is only natural, y/n! i think about you all the time. not being able to have you was terrible for me." he gets over his bashfulness quickly, looking down at you with rounded eyes.

adorable, you think. how such a small span of time can have such a big impact on a person. it makes your heart flutter.

"well, i'm not going anywhere, baby," you reassure. "i'm going to be right here, lee."

it's already over. you can feel his cock twitch inside of you again.

"i know, my flower," he kisses the corner of your lips. "you are going to be here all night."

🏷️ - @hornsda @thvie-e @dionneswrld @baekhyoris @doodleoodlenoodlecaboodle @mewstoned @momoinspace @t1track @caliwa-chan @themysteriousmc @gelbanayavrumyalinayak @p1nkpurrsona @liv-2vicous @p1nk1epie67

they're growing louder in volume now. with their persistence, the knocks are really starting to feel like proper demands for attention. ignoring something so urgent would be sure to result in some sort of consequence. bedrudgingly, you put on your bathrobe and hurry down the stairs to answer the door. when you swing the door open, you're immediately taken aback.

rock lee, your usually gentle boyfriend, is attacking you with kisses to the face, and gripping his large hands onto every part of your body. he can't resist grabbing onto your ass and smoothing his palms over your waist; nor can he resist cupping your supple breasts—nothing is left unscathed.

"fuck, it took you long enough," he slurs slightly.

you can smell sake faintly lingering on his breath, and it doesn't take long for you to realise he's a little drunk. in his completely sober mind, he would never swear. he would never be so forthcoming with his touches either, but part of you—no,—all of you is enjoying this side of lee, if you're being honest with yourself. it's like being in the presence of a totally different person, except, you trust this stranger with your entire heart. sober or not, you know he would never want to hurt you.

"no. it took you long enough," you cup his cheeks. "you should be sleeping."

"why would i do that?" he presses his lips to your jaw as his hands tease along your body. "is it that you don't want me here? is that it, angel?"

"lee-" you gasp, "of course not, baby. i do want you around."

"you do?" he whispers against your ear, nibbling your earlobe. "isn't that perfect, y/n? i want you too..."

with a firm grip, he grabs your shoulders and spins you, leaving your back turned to him. his hands then proceed to travel to your hips, grasping them as to push your ass flush against his body. you bite your lip at the friction. you can't help the way you arch your back as he shamelessly rocks his aching erection against you.

his hands are sneaking under the fabric of your robe, rolling your nipples between his calloused fingers. sloppy kisses and swipes of his tongue lavish your neck as he mumbles. the pleasure makes you throw your head back, with a drawn out hum escaping you in doing so. you can feel yourself getting wetter by the minute. all you can do is sigh and smile at how ridiculous this situation is. you've only just showered, and now he's tempting you to roll in filth.

"y/nnnn…" lee whines. "listen to me! it makes me upset when you ignore me, angel…"

"hhah—yeah, yeah," you blink out of your erotic trance. "are you sure, lee? will you remember this in the morning, baby?"

lee, in his drunken euphoria, chuckles breathily at your question. "mm....maybe. maybe i will." his hands grip onto the flesh of your belly.

"but..." he kisses your neck. "if i don't, you can tell me about it, and maybe we could do it alllllll over again. just so i can remember. okay—hic!—angel?"

that's how you ended up bent over on the mattress, with lee pounding into your pussy from the back. he's pushing in-between your shoulder blades, keeping your chest pressed against the bed. each roll of his hips into your slick cunt is leaving you breathless and out of your mind.

your bathrobe is an afterthought ditched on the floor. a film of sweat is clinging onto your skin, superseding the lotion you put on a few minutes prior. so much for getting clean.

his breath comes out in ragged pants behind you.

"do you have any idea how f-fucking good you feel, y/n?" he attempts to silence his moans by sinking his teeth into your shoulder, but to no avail. "i love this, i love you… so—ahh—so fucking good…"

you love every bit of this too. you love the sound of skin-on-skin as he thrusts into you, the deep plunge of his cock, the unapologetic curses that fall from his mouth, and the way his hands never seem to be satisfied with just one part of your body. every last bit of it excites you.

"lee!" you cry on a particularly sharp thrust, turning your head around to look at him. "m-more, i need more, baby!"

he's on fire.

lee's hands abandon your back, and instead, latch onto your wrists. he pulls back, stretching your arms straight as he drives even deeper into you with his dick—each movement more powerful than the last. you can feel him in your guts, hitting that sweet spot with devastating accuracy.

you're at a loss for words. your vision is growing spotty around the corners. it's far too good. all you can think about is the feeling of his cock shifting your insides, and the dangerous feeling of pressure accumulating in your lower belly. with each slam of his length, you can feel that pressure getting closer and closer to being released.

and you know it's not so far. you can hear it in the wet, sloppy squelching that bounces off the walls with every snap of his pelvis.

"tell me, angel," he pants, pulling your wrists tighter. it brings your heads closer together. "tell me that it's all mine, that you are just for me…"

you try your best to speak between moans. "y-yours," you gasp, "nghh—it's yours, baby, all of it!"

"mmmmm... yes, yes it is… you're all i want…"

he delivers the final thrust to make you cum, resulting in your pussy clamping down around his dick. you break when it happens, with a mouth wide open calling his name, and eyes sealed shut as you arch your back further than what your body would usually permit. your walls drool around his cock, massaging it with its pulsations until he cums after you with a filthy moan.

he leans forwards, continuing the moans in your ears. every inch of his cock gets shoved inside of you, and he stills there, spurting what feels like an endless volume of hot cum into your pussy. you can feel his hips stuttering, and his cock twitching inside you.

with the final spill of his seed, he pulls out, and goes limp like a puppet with severed strings. with your wrists freed, you collapse and lay your belly on the bed. he does the same, surrounding you with the heat of his sweat-glazed body as he slumps forwards on top of your back. you're cradled by his muscular arms, loosely circled around you while he presses kisses to the top of your head.

lee is completely and utterly satiated. first with drink, and now, with your pussy. he could die a happy man right here, right now.

"you are so warm… " he mutters against your skin. "you make me feel warm."

"i do? that's sweet of you, baby," you chuckle breathily, "so do you."

he hums. "i love you, y/n," a kiss to your shoulder. "the prettiest flower… that is what you are."

"yeah?"

"in every way, angel."

his words come out clumsy and soft, but you know they're intentional and driven by love. for the time being, there's no words. just the soft ambience of your shared breathing. however, you notice that lee's breaths are starting to match the rhythm of someone seconds away from passing out.

"lee?" you call, gently. "lee...?"

there's no answer. when you guess correctly, you can't help but to smile. he's out cold against you, with the softest of snores puffing onto your skin.

you know what? maybe it is fine to skip your night routine.

just this once.

a/n: drunken fist but instead of him being a safety hazard he just wants to fuck the shit out of you UGH... i've been having this thought for a minute now but i reeeaally didn't wanna come off the wrong way. i hope you guys are seeing my Vision... #surfboard #grindingonthatwood

It was hot that day, the sun boiling and bearing down on you like it intended to kill you. Heh, maybe the sun god is mad at me, you thought, a snicker leaving you at the thought. You didn’t believe in the gods, didn’t need to. And why would you? They hadn’t done anything worth believing in, after all. Your village in particular had an obsession with the god of the forests. He had one large statue in the village center, and another two that guard the entrance to the forest surrounding the village; most people placed their offerings before those specific statues.

You wondered why; it wasn’t like there were any fantastical stories about him that you had heard. As far as you were aware he hadn’t done anything to merit such reverence, though there was the legend of his rivalry with the god of sun, but you didn’t find that particularly interesting either. What did interest you was science, medicine, those sorts of things. The villagers often called you a quack, but they did it endearingly. Afterall, without you, there would be no one to tend to the wounded. The original clinician had retired as soon as he thought you were good enough to take over. And you were damn good.

Be it morning or night, you catered to anyone in need, only closing the clinic two days a week but still making exceptions for emergencies. On days where you closed the clinic you went into the forest and nearby mountain to gather herbs for medicine. You loved the forest and all it had to offer. If you could spend all of your time there, you would. You took a deep, relaxing breath in and released it with ease.

“Woah!” You fell, your hands and knees hitting the ground first. There was a mild sting, and you clicked your tongue in annoyance. After standing and brushing the dirt off, you turned to see what your foot had gotten caught on. It looked to be a root, a long one that came from the direction you knew to be a small lake. “The end of a root,” you muttered to yourself. It looked unique and thin, odd for the flora you knew to grow here. “Hmm,” you scratched at the side of your head as you contemplated what to do. “Well, no harm in checking, right? Maybe its something I can use.”

Following the roots trail, you noticed more roots, almost identical in size and color. They all seemed to be from the same plant. “This has got to be one big tree,” you muttered. You picked up your pace, running in your eagerness to sate your curiosity. “How have I not seen it before?”

The sound of the lake reached your ears and when you finally saw the clear waters you paused to catch your breath. As you attempted to refill your lungs, you glanced around for any odd-looking plants, big ones, but the only unusual thing you saw was a large bundle of those roots. Carefully, still a bit out of breath, you made your way over to said roots. “How does this happen?” You crouched down to try and get a look at it from all angles. It looked almost like a cocoon. Puzzled, you stood back up and placed your hands on your hips. “Should I cut some of it?”

You reached into your satchel and pulled out the hunting knife you had for cutting tough plants and in the rare instance of wild animal attacks. “Sorry, I’ll only cut a little,” you apologized to the plant as you knelt and began to cut out a small section of the roots. They were tough, taking quite a bit of effort to saw through, but you were finally able to break off a length that was satisfactory. It oozed a golden sap, almost the same consistency as blood. It was a bit off putting. You glanced back at the hole you had created only to be completely taken aback. “Is that a hand,” you exclaimed. You reached in and touched the tan hand; it was large and dwarfed yours, but it was cold. You gasped, “A dead body?”

Thankfully you were able to manipulate the hand enough to reach the wrist and feel for a pulse. Your heart pounded in your chest. Please be a pulse, please be a pulse, please, please, plea- there it was. A weak but still there thud against your fingers. “I’m going to get you out of there, just hold on.”

Letting go of the hand, you began to hack away at the roots, adrenaline fueling you. You were going to save them, you had to. Your role as a caregiver wouldn’t let you abandon this task. It took a lot out of you, and you were covered in the strange golden sap by the time you were done, but you had made a hole large enough to drag the man out. He was also covered in the golden sap, and it almost looked like it was leaking from the wounds he was covered in. His long black hair was matted and caked, his masculine face bruised, and his jaw misaligned. As you struggled to drag him out of the roots more and more injuries began to show themselves. “Shit,” you grunted with effort. You usually weren’t one to curse. “Shit, shit, shit!”

You felt a bit overwhelmed, definitely under prepared. You had some of herbs that you had collected earlier, your eyes looked back and forth for a vessel to use to mix the medicine and make a paste. “I’m sorry sir, I’m going to have to undress you. I hope you understand,” you told him. You began with his armor; it was unlike any armor you’d seen before. A warrior maybe? It was strong and well made. Great, some rich guy. After his armor was removed, albeit not intact, you looked around to try and get a better idea of his wounds, however that golden sap wasn’t giving you a clear idea.

Picking the knife back up you began to tear through his black shirt. His chest was in as bad shape as his face, but that golden sap had soaked through to his skin. You tore the left sleeve off your shirt and made sure he was in a comfortable position before quickly walking up to the lake and soaking the impromptu cloth. “I will save you,” you promised, more to yourself than anyone else.

As the sun began to set you were finally finished with his first aide treatment. You sat with your back leaned against a tree trunk and his head resting in your lap as the adrenaline finally wore off. With your eyes closed you sighed and carded your fingers through his hair, attempting to untangle the matts and twigs in it. “I’m sorry if this is a bit too intimate for you,” you whispered to the unconscious man. “But I have nothing better to do while we wait for the village’s watchmen to come and find us.”

His black tresses gave way to your fingers easily, and the action reminded you of how your mother used to comb her fingers through your own hair. You smiled softly and began to sing the same tune that she had taught you. The birds chirped and everything was peaceful for a moment, but as the sun went down the horizon you grew concerned about the dangers the forest had to offer at night. “You have such a lovely voice.”

You jolted in surprise and looked down at the man you’d just spent hours bringing from the brink of death. He shouldn’t be conscious yet, let alone smiling up at you so carefree. “You,” you began, hesitant. “How are you-“

“I’m a fast healer,” he cut you off, and even began to sit up. You panicked.

“No! Don’t sit up!”

“Why? I’m fine,” he said easily. He pulled off some of the bandages you had placed on his chest, the bandages were made from torn pieces of your dress. The man glanced down curiously at the goo that coated the cloth and brought it to his nose. “Mm, echinacea, excellent idea.”

You were completely dumbfounded. The cuts along his chest now just mere bruises and closed scars. “How is that possible?” He let out a laugh, lighthearted. He turned back to face you, his dark eyes full of life and mirth. Heat began to creep up from your neck to your ears. He was so handsome, even covered in dirt, golden sap, and half-assed bandages. His smile was arm and one of his big hands reached out and caressed your cheek gently. “What are you?”

“I’m Hashirama,” he responded softly. “And you?”

Before you could tell him your name, it was shouted. You turned to look in the direction of the voices, Hashirama’s hand still connected with your cheek. The watchmen, you thought. As you opened your mouth to respond to your fellow villagers, that warm hand moved to cover your mouth; you looked back at him, fright contorting your face. Using his other hand he placed a single finger to his lips, signaling for you to remain silent. “Wait until I leave, then you may go.”

Was he a rogue of some sort? You nodded your head; his smile was a bit more strained. “Don’t tell them you saw me.”

He removed his palm from your lips and stood to his full height, he offered a hand to help you up as well. Hashirama was tall and broad, much larger than you. As you stood you watched him warily and he gave a small wave. “Goodbye for now,” he said before jumping up, high up, and away. You were left stunned and confused.

A few weeks later found you back in the forest, humming along as you collected your weekly supply of herbs. Since that incident, you hadn’t seen hide nor tail of Hashirama. It was a shame really, despite his oddities and unexplained origins you found yourself rather attracted to his toned muscles and bright smile. Unconsciously, you smiled just thinking about him.

You had kept some of the cut ruts and golden sap for analyses but hadn’t found anything that would explain what you saw. The only thing you had discovered was that the golden sap had reactions that were identical to blood. It congealed over time but stayed liquid with the assistance of specific herbs. The similarities in consistency had been one of the first things you noticed. It both scared and intrigued you. You wondered what type of plants bled? Were there other trees that had the same golden sap? Maybe I should go back and- “Oh! It’s you again!”

“Ah!” You jumped, Hashirama’s deep voice startling you. He was squatting down in front of you, blinking at your startled face like he wasn’t the reason for it. “Hashirama,” you started softly. Had you been so focused on your thoughts that you hadn’t noticed him?

“You remembered my name,” he said excitedly.

“Of course I did. How many strange men do you think I meet in the woods?”

He placed a hand to his chin and acted like he was giving it some thought. “Maybe two?”

“No, only you,” you responded dryly.

“Ah,” he responded, a sultry smirk molding his full lips. His voice seemed a touch deeper as he said, “I’m honored.”

Your face felt hot, and you looked away from him and back to the plants in front of you. His looks are dangerous, you thought. “Who are you, really?”

“I told you, I’m Hashirama.”

“You’re not going to tell me anymore, are you?” You paused, giving him time to respond. When he didn’t you sighed and looked back at him warily. “Will you at least tell me if you’re some kind of criminal?”

“And if I am? Will you turn me in?” A tease.

“Yes,” you said back with a huff. “I could use the money.”

“Oh,” he muttered, his entire continence crumbling. His head was down between his knees, which had been brought up to his chest, even the air around him seemed to exude sadness. You stared at him for a few seconds before laughter began to bubble through you. He looks like a pouting kid! He sniffled and sunk further into his depressed position. “And now you’re laughing at me.”

“Sorry, sorry!” You giggled uncontrollably, one of your hands at your mouth while the other you placed on his tanned hand. “I won’t turn you in, don’t worry.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.” With that he sprung back up, bright smile back; that only made you laugh harder.

Every week after that you’d continue your trips to the forest, and every time he’d find you. It became a routine, your time with him full of laughter and learning. Hashirama knew so much about plants and medicine, he told you things that you had never heard of, let alone thought to try. He told you what worked best for illness, what worked best for injury, herbs to strengthen constitution, and so much more. He was an untapped wealth of knowledge and you hung on his every word.

He seemed just as excited to see you as you did him every time the two of you met. He’d ask you mundane questions, like how you grew up and the things you liked. Hashirama seemed rather impressed when you told him about your position as the village clinician. He understood the weight your position as a woman carried, and it was almost inevitable that you’d develop feelings for him. And the more time you spent with him the deeper your feelings went.

You had invited Hashirama to stay in the village with you, many times, but he refused. It hurt a bit, though your head knew the difference your heart treated it like he was rejecting you. You had no idea how he felt about you, other than he liked to talk with you. He never gave any inclination about reciprocating your feelings and the longer you spent with him the more that stung. Should I give up? You thought. He’s just some wanted criminal anyway, right? I should just move on and marry someone from the village. But then you’d see him, his large smile causing crinkles under his eyes, his warm hands squeezing yours tightly as he led you excitedly to some new tree, and all your resolve to forget about him would crumble.

“Is something wrong?”

“No,” you responded, not quite meeting his dark eyes. He was swimming in the lake. The man was trying to kill you, you were sure. His torso bare, the water making his momohiki cling to his lower body, his dark hair stuck to his face, neck, and back. Definitely trying to kill me. You gulped and began to look at some of the lake’s smooth stones. “I just have a lot on my mind.”

“Hm,” he tilted his head to the side, leaning on a rock close to the edge of the water. “If you’re willing to talk, I’ll listen.”

If only I could. Another sigh escaped you before you formed an idea. Maybe? “Well, lately I’ve had a few men try to court me.”

“Oh?”

“They’re not ideal, but I am passed marriageable age. I’m wondering if I should accept them or not.” Your heart pounded in your chest. Would he take the bait? You chanced a glance in his direction, but he was still smiling, it looked a bit smaller, a bit tighter, but other than that there was no difference. Your heart sunk. Right, you thought. How could I be so stupid.

Four weeks after that meeting, and things had begun to change in the village. There was a large increase in sick villagers visiting your clinic. You were so busy you hadn’t had the chance to see Hashirama since then. Many were beginning to show signs of malnutrition, especially the children. “Wasn’t our harvest good? What’s changed?”

“We haven’t been able to hunt in weeks, and our crops have all but died,” the village leader responded. You looked at him, puzzled.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s the god of the forests,” another elder suggested. “He’s angry with us, we must placate him immediately.”

“Shall we give him more offerings?” Another asked.

You clenched your fists. “Enough with the gods, we need to do something about this quickly.”

“We will give our food reserves to the children first,” the leader decided. “And if this continues the women will come next. If we continue to lack in supplies, I will contact other villages for help.”

But the food shortage continued, and you hardly had enough supplies to feed yourself, let alone your patients. You began to chew on appetite suppressing plants to push past the hunger. “Make way! We have wounded!”

You ran out of your clinic, toward the commotion. Four of the village’s best hunters lay incapacitated, carried toward you by their injured companions. “What happened?”

“It’s the forest,” one called, a look of terror on his face. “It attacked us as we tried to get in!”

The other villagers began to whisper, “If we can’t hunt then we’re doomed!”, “What have we done to offend the gods so?”, “What do we do now?”.

Shit, you thought, leaf hanging from your lips. What can we do?

Everything was starting to fall apart. You had gone to the forest entrance to see what the hunters were talking about, and just like they said the trees pushed their branches together to force you from getting in. You tried another not so public entrance and met the same resistance. One of the trees had even cut your shoulder. “Shit,” you muttered under your breath. You were low on supplies, low on food, and Hashirama was still in the forest as far as you knew. You couldn’t imagine he’d be better off. “Hashirama,” you called out into the trees. “Please be okay.”

When the situation seemed dire, the village leader ordered a meeting. With all in attendance, he claimed to have a solution to all the suffering. “We will offer our gracious deity a sacrifice,” he announced. “A sacrifice of flesh and blood. One of our own.”

Outrage began to spill from the villagers’ lips. How can we stoop so low? “Silence,” called an elder. “At dusk we will give our offering. This will bring everything back to how it should be.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Please don’t choose my daughter, please not my daughter!”

“Can’t we just leave for another village?”

“You’re asking for too much!”

But the ones in charge weren’t listening to any of the back talk. The village leader’s eyes met yours, and a chill went down your spine. His gaze lingered a bit too long for your liking before he looked away. “Everyone go home and stay there, we will get the sacrifice when its time. While you wait, pray. That is all that can be done now.”

As soon as you got back to your home you began to pace. You had a sinking feeling that you were the one that was about to be sacrificed. But that would be ridiculous, you were the village’s only healer. Getting rid of you would bring far more harm than good. But your mind kept going back to that stare, to the way the village leader’s eyes held yours is if he was sorry, like you were some creature to be pitied. A swift knock at your door all but confirmed your suspicions, and when you opened the door, you felt like throwing up.

“We’re sorry dear,” said the leader’s wife. The two women beside her kept their heads down as if ashamed. “But we’ve come to prepare you for the sacrifice.”

“Shit,” came your breathless reply.

All three were the wives of the heads of the village, all three kind souls who had wanted nothing but the best for you growing up. Your heart pounded as they took their time in grooming you. They bathed you in warmed water, poured expensive oils onto your skin, combed your hair, and decorated it with gold decorations made to look like flowers, and painted your lips with red dyes. The clothing they dressed you in could hardly be called clothing. The material was expensive and white, but sheer. The top stopped just below your breasts and the bottoms were a skirt that showed much more than it covered. “No wrappings?” You asked, hoping against hope for some coverage. They shook their heads.

“Before we go dear, please, eat this.”

“But this is-“ Ginseng, and in this context it was hard not remember its aphrodisiacal qualities. The eldest woman just placed her hand on your shoulder, her face only displayed pity. You ate the ginseng without another word. It tasted different from normal ginseng, it could’ve been your hunger talking, but it tasted much, much, sweeter; like the sweetness would melt you from the inside. A band of gold was placed around your waist and sandals of a similar color were placed on your feet with care.

“Alright,” the eldest said, a dour look on her face. “That’s everything,” she paused and pressed her lips together. She approached you, leaned on her tip toes, and placed a gentle kiss on your forehead. You felt like you wanted to cry. “Please, come back safely.”

The bitterness of betrayal settled on your tongue. Come back? You thought, the idea of it giving you mixed feelings. After being abandoned like this would I even want to come back?

Like a funeral procession, the village leader’s and their wives, were all silent with grave faces as they lead you to the main entrance to the forest. You looked up at the two statues, their faces eroded by time, and suddenly they felt a lot more foreboding. You didn’t believe in the gods, but you do know that something strange was going on in those woods. Would it even let you in this time?

As the trees seemed to part their branches to allow your entry, you began to form a plan. I’ll find Hashirama and we’ll run away, you nodded to yourself. Find Hashirama, run away, easy as that. It’ll be fine. You took a sharp breath in as you saw the state of the woods. It had been once been so bright, with animals and insects making constant noise, but at that moment all you heard was the wind rustling leaves. The flora looked so wilted, like they were on the brink of death. “Please, accept our humble offering,” the leader said. They all bowed, and you felt like you were on a precipice.

No matter what you did, your next step would change everything. If you ran back into the village, even if the villagers didn’t become upset with you, they were still doomed without food and medicine; if you stepped into the forest that you used to make you feel at ease, there was no telling what would happen. You squeezed your eyes shut; your heart felt like it was being split in two. The best choice is probably to just run away. But there he was again, his overly cheerful smile flashing through your mind, and a sigh left your lips as you made up your mind. “Always coming to your rescue,” you muttered, beginning to walk forward.

The path was different, the sky was dark, the trees had blocked the entrance behind you. Everything about this made your skin crawl. You had no idea what part of the forest you had been led to, but you could see the shadow of a manmade structure. As you approached, rain began to fall. It drizzled at first, gave you a minute to look at the odd building before you had to run inside due to a downpour.

It looked to be a forgotten temple of sorts. A large building covered in vines and weeds that were decaying with the rest of the woods. The walls and columns which you believed to once be pristine and white were dyed yellow with wear and hunks of stone missing. The inside was largely the same, though there were two large skylights which you were sure were beautiful with moonlight, but they also allowed the downpour to follow you inside. Between the two skylights in the center of the room was a raised table, a large decorative throne a ways behind it and against the backwall. You wrapped your arms around yourself as you walked toward the throne what little clothing you were wearing was soaked through and clung to your skin, it embarrassed you how visible your breasts were.

“Well, this is just great,” you grumbled, pulling the golden decorations from your wet hair. You placed them on a raised table at the rooms center. The rain continued to pour, and you stared down at puddles on the floor you’d have to walk through. “Whoever designed this place really wasn’t thinking.”

There were no visible decorations, only visible distress. How long has this been here? You wondered if it was as old as the village itself. The water had ruined the lovely sandals you wore so you took them off and placed them beside the throne, your bare feet made audible smacks as they walked through the water. After brushing off some dust and vines, not very well, you sat on the throne.

“You’re here!”

You perked up at that voice, its’ baritone echoing even over the sounds of the downpour. “Hashirama,” you called back and stood. “Thank the gods you’re alive.”

“Of course I am,” he responded as he made his approach. The man looked the same as he always did, which was both relieving and distressing. It had been over a month of starvation, illness, and injury for your village, and yet he didn’t show any visible signs of suffering the same ailments. “I am suffering though.”

“Really?” You met him halfway and placed your hands on his face, clinician mindset taking over. His smile softened as he closed his eyes and nodded. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s been so long since I’ve seen you,” his tone was teasing. “How could I not suffer?”

“Don’t joke around like that.”

“But I’m serious.” Hashirama wrapped his warm hands around your still wet forearms. You tilted your head to the side. How had you not noticed he was dry? “Not being able to see you was upsetting.”

You had forgotten your state of dress until you watched his eyes look you up and down, his pupils dilated in obvious arousal, and you had to look away. In attempts to cover yourself, you tried to pull your hands away from his face but his grip on your arms was too strong. “Please,” you pleaded, keeping your gaze at his chest to avoid watching those dark eyes devour you. “It’s embarrassing.”

“Why?” Hashirama pulled you closer, he brought your left wrist up to his lips and began to kiss a slow trail down your arm. “You look mouthwatering.”

Weakly you tried to pull away, but it was more of an instinct than anything. His attentions were what you had craved for almost as long as you knew him. Your breath hiccupped as he nibbled at your pulse, his other arm reached behind you to circle the gold band on your waist. “How could I resist such a beautiful offering?”

“Offering?” Your eyelashes fluttered, partially distracted by the tan hand that had began to creep toward your rear. “What do you mean?”

He pressed you further to him, his body almost flush against yours. Your torso was leaned back, reluctant to let your sensitive breasts rub against his armored chest. “Your village offered you to me in order to regain access to the forest.”

You furrowed your brow. “They said that I was a sacrifice for their imaginary forest god.”

Hashirama lifted his lips from your skin to look back at you with a pout. “I’m not imaginary.”

A beat, then two, then three, before your brain finally began working again. Your voice was hesitant, a bit strained as you asked, “What?”

He blinked at you a few times before his eyes widened in surprise, “You didn’t know? But I told you when we first met.”

“No, you didn’t,” you retorted, your nerves building, not quite sure how to handle the new information.

“I told you my name.”

“Yeah, but that was it. You said Hashirama, not Hashirama god of the forests!”

“The village you come from has been loyal to me for centuries.” The black-haired man seemed to refocus on your body, he placed the arm he had been showing affection on over his shoulders and moved both hands to grab your ass. You yelped and wrapped your legs around his hips, he held you up with ease. “A god’s name is an invaluable part of the teachings. I am the only one allowed to be called Hashirama.”

Closing your eyes, you thought back to when you were younger and tried to remember ever hearing that name, but your mind quickly went blank as he leaned his head forward and began to place sloppy kisses against your neck. The movement caused your skirt to raise up, bearing your sex against his clothed erection. A gasp tore through you. “Ah, you’re driving me mad.”

Your brain tried to rationalize it, alright even if he has the title it doesn’t mean he’s actually a god. Hashirama licked a stripe along the column of your neck, and you shivered, your hands gripped at his shoulders before moving to wrap around his neck and comb through his hair. “I still don’t believe in the gods,” you muttered breathlessly, his hands tightened their grip on the flesh of your ass.

He straightened his neck and smirked at you. His dark eyes filled with lust and confidence. A strange texture brushed against your legs before gripping your ankles with immense strength. You clung to Hashirama’s neck like your life depended on it, “W-What is that?”

“Relax,” he shushed you. The things began to pull your legs apart, removing them from his hips. Similar things wrapped around your wrists, but these you could see. They looked almost like vines, but with a more wooden texture, like the roots that he had been wrapped in the day you met. As the roots began to remove your arms from his neck you looked at him in a panic, he shushed you gently. The roots at your ankles rose you as the ones on your wrists suspended you, your arms above your head. He took your chin in his hand gently and whispered, “They’re apart of me, there’s no need to worry.”

His plush lips pressed against yours and you groaned. His tongue immediately sought entrance and you obliged. You moaned as he slid it against yours, he allowed you to take the lead after that. With ease he allowed your tongue to explore his mouth, he tasted like herbs, fresh and crisp with a hint of bitterness. Hashirama’s hands moved along your body, ghost like touches all along your frame. The tips of his index fingers pressed against your clothed nipples before he rubbed them in circular motions.

A grunt left your mouth and he swallowed it. Your nipples pebbled under his touch, and he began to palm at the full weight of your breasts as he pulled away. “Your breasts are so perfect,” he groaned. The roots on your ankles began to spread your legs further apart and he brought his thigh up to place against your heated core. “So pretty, spread and at my mercy. I’ve wanted to have you like this since I first laid eyes on you.”

The roots around your raised wrists pushed you down and onto his thick thigh. You ground down on it unconsciously, the promise of stimulation too great to resist. “Are you getting impatient, dear? Sorry, I’ll take better care of you.”

Hashirama ripped the wet cloth from your breasts, the fabric tattered as it fell open and hung by its sleeves. That had startled you. He began sucking and licking at your neck again, making sure to nibble at the places that made your breath hitch. His right hand continued to tease your breast. That left hand, though, began to trail downward. It fiddled with the golden band, “I like it, like a handle,” he muttered against your skin. Handle?! His left hand finally reached your thigh and began to creep inward toward your wet sex. The body heat from his hand brought anticipation with it. He gently touched your outer labia, his thigh moving away for a moment, you let out a soft moan.

His deft fingers began to spread one side of your outer lips and then the roots pulled you back down to his thigh. You squeaked. The friction was more intense, the cloth rubbing against your clit almost painfully. “Ha-Hashirama,” you panted. The dark-haired man kissed his way to your neglected breast and flicked the hardened nipple with his tongue. Another flick, again, only after you whined did he wrap his lips around the abused fresh and you almost sighed in relief.

Another root seemed to make its way up your leg and slipped between your slick folds and the forest god’s thigh. “Ah! Too much,” you cried, the feeling of the root alien to you. It was very textured, groves and abnormal lumps, a tapered tip, and you could feel every bit of it. It slid against you, your fluids more than enough to give it easy passage. The tip pressed against your already throbbing bud with each thrust forward, and his thigh only pushed it further against you.

You wished you could grab a hold of him, dig your nails into his tanned flesh as he made you cum in such an abnormal way. The knot in your stomach tightened, his mouth switched breasts, and his right hand gripped your hip and began to make you rock against the assault on your sex. “That’s it, pretty thing, let go. Soak my thigh,” he said after he pulled away from your skin, his voice deep and a bit hoarse. One more hit from that tapered root tip and you were coming undone, groaning as you did so.

“That’s a good girl,” he praised, the roots began to lower you, his hands coming up to take you from them gently. “Do you think you can go over to that table there? I’ll be right behind you.”

“Uh-huh,” you nodded, your legs felt like jelly. He chuckled and kissed your forehead before giving you a push in that direction. You stumbled but righted yourself and slowly made your way. The table was wet from the rain that had seemed to stop, it was cold, but you wanted to sit down. The table was slippery, your hair decorations still rested on the edge, the moist chill of the stone felt like a balm against your recovering sex. But you weren’t ready to be done and as you watched Hashirama’s naked form approach you, you clenched your thighs.

He was gorgeous, you had always thought so. The warm color of his, the toned muscles along his arms and pecks, even his abs were well defined. Your eyes drank in the sharp v of his hips as it led into a patch of curly black and a rather generous erection. His cock was long and thick with a delicious curve. Hashirama seemed rather proud of your attentions. His approach was slow with and with intention, when he reached you, he placed his arms on either side of you before his lips fell to yours once again.

This kiss was different, slower, but his twitching cock gave away his excitement. It was strange if you thought about it, you were being extremely intimate with a god, who’s abilities you doubted until he literally all but fucked you with them, and who you hadn’t believed in until the tryst began. But there was no time to think with his tongue back in your mouth and moving toward your throat. Your arousal drove you as you began to run your hands through his hair, down his back- he shivered at your light scratches. His hands moved, one rubbing the gold band again and the other boldly touching at your soaked folds. His pecks had the perfect amount of firmness, you liked squeezing them, and his abs quivered under your touch.

He broke the kiss again, his hand retreating from the apex of your thighs, you would have been embarrassed by the sticky trail that followed his fingers if Hashirama hadn’t looked so pleased. “Can I taste you?” You thought he meant his fingers, so you nodded, but when he knelt and spread your knees you were glad that hadn’t been what he meant.

The dark-haired man licked one long stripe along your lower lips before pushing your legs further apart to lap at your entrance. It felt like heaven. His tongue moved in opposite manners, started bottom to top then on the next lap it was top to bottom. He kissed your clit before sucking on it, your hips bucked automatically. His fingers came back and began to rub that bundle of nerves after his lips left it in favor of tonguing at your entrance. Your fingers went to his head, gripping his long tresses with urgency as you began to wholeheartedly ride his face. Hashirama groaned as you did, his tongue wriggling against your walls and driving you to the edge of sanity.

“Ha-Hashi,” you finish, your voice raising in pitch as your orgasm approached yet again. His fingers began to rub your clit faster, going back and forth as opposed to the circular motions they originally were. The noises that were coming from his mouth were debauched. He was groaning and moaning, almost as much as you were, his vigor like that of a man starved. Your fingers tightened in his hair, you would have worried that you were pulling too hard had your peak not hit you. “Mmm,” you whined, your eyes tearing up. Your hips kept moving, as did his tongue and fingers, and you rode out your orgasm until it hurt.

“Stop,” you begged softly. “Please, please, no more.”

He pulled away slowly, like he would go in for more at any moment. His chest heaved and his chin was covered in your slick. “You taste divine,” he told you, he looked as if he was the one who had reached his peak. “I don’t think I could ever tire of your taste.” The man stood back to his full height and began to position himself between your thighs. “Like the sweetest honey, haha, I’ll probably crave it again very soon. But unfortunately, I don’t think I can wait any longer.” You felt his tip begin to stretch your opening and you squeezed your eyes shut, but he didn’t move any further. “Tell me that you’re mine.”

“I am,” you nodded, your eyes opened once again. “I am yours.”

“That you’ll stay with me here, in the forest.”

“Stay in the forest?” You struggled to not give in, to not go along with everything just to feel more of him.

“That’s right, with me, forever,” Hashirama confirmed, his own breathing labored and arms shaking with restraint. “Say it.”

As you opened your mouth to respond he slid just a bit more inside and you groaned. “Yes,” you grunted, desperate in your need for more. More of him, inside you, enveloping you, more. “Yes, I’ll stay.”

He groaned and pushed in slowly. “Good,” he grunted. It felt like you were being split open, your mouth open in a silent gasp. He continued to push in, slow and steady, until he bottomed out and you could feel him in the deepest parts of you. His glans touched your cervix and your toes curled.

It was torturous, he hadn’t moved. You wanted him hard and fast, like he was going to break you in half, but when he pulled his hips back it was slow and methodical, like he wanted you to feel every inch drag against your walls, and oh did you. His hips snapped into yours and suddenly you were stuffed full again. You buried your face in his neck. “You feel so good, the way you rub and squeeze me, it makes me want nothing more than to pump you full of cum.”

With every snap inside, your sensitive breasts jostled against his chest and with every slow drag out you bit into his shoulder. “What’s wrong pretty?” You couldn’t tell if he was teasing or if he meant it. “If you need something you have to ask for it.”

He felt so good, but the slow methodical drag almost hurt. The stimulation was intense, like an itch that needed to be scratched. But it was still so good, you felt so full when he thrust inside and so empty as he took himself away. You felt a keening whine beginning in the back of your throat. You needed him faster.

“Please,” your fingernails began to dig into his back.

“Please what?” Another excruciatingly slow drag out.

“Hashirama, faster please,” you exclaimed. “Harder, please, fuck me until I can’t walk straight just- more please!”

He placed one hand on the back of your head and the other on your waist. “There’s a good girl, so pretty when you beg.” His hips began a brutal pace, his chest rumbled with his groans, his eyes closed as he also began to feel the pleasurable friction of his speed. “Such a good girl,” he said in a staccato, timing it with his thrusts. “Do you think anyone else could take my cock as well as you? You’re so special, so perfect.”

His words made your insides tingle, a pleasant sensation that began to build with your peak. You couldn’t help but gasp every time he hit your cervix. The sound of his aching balls smacking against your ass echoed against the stone walls, the mix of your combined sounds furthering your ecstasy. He moved your face to his and kissed you once again, your third climax of the evening crashing through you.

Your walls squeezed around him, and he groaned into your mouth as you began to milk him. He came as well, and the warmth of his seed made you gasp. Hashirama continued to pump himself into you until you began to feel overstimulated, until all spurts of his hot sperm had finished. He pulled out, his semen immediately began to trickle out of you, but instead of having a softened member, as was typical, he was still fully erect. You blinked up at him in surprise.

A chuckle left him, and he backed away for a moment, one of his hands reached between your legs to collect your combined fluids before he began to rub them along your skin. He rubbed it onto your breasts, your stomach, along the gold band, and the fat of your thigh. “Get on all fours on the table, pretty.” You scrambled to obey.

The hardness of the stone put pressure on your knees, but that pain flew to the back of your mind as you felt his hand move up your back to between your shoulder blades and his own pressure begin to push you down. With your face down and your ass in the air you shivered. Hashirama rubbed the flesh of your right cheek before giving it a light smack, not hard enough to hurt but enough to make your body move. “This is my favorite view. Your ass up, your hole on display and dripping with my cum. Nothing makes me harder.”

He entered you again, his pace fast and merciless. You almost missed the slow and tortuous one he had begun with. The new angle was almost too much, he hit your gspot and a sharp whine left you whenever he did. You thought your eyes might cross from the pleasure. “Touch yourself,” he panted. “Rub your clit for me.”

Eager to obey, you shakily reached a hand down and began to rub your abused clit. Tears stung your eyes; it was almost too much. It hurt but it also felt so good. “You look so pretty wrapped around my cock. I can’t imagine anyone would fit you better. No one could make you feel as good. Only me!”

“Ha,” you swallowed, your saliva thick in your throat. You were already at your peak again. It would have to be the last one, the pleasure was already more than you could handle. “Hashirama, I can’t, I,” you whined, loudly. It was too much, it felt too different. Something above the average orgasm was coming. “I can’t.”

“You can,” he told you, his own voice strained as he felt your walls begin to twitch around him. “Go on, cum on my cock again.”

You rubbed your clit a little harder and after two more thrusts of his godly member and you came for the fourth time. It felt like rapture. A loud gasp tore through you, and you could feel the gush of fluid leave you. He kept going, you kept coming. It seemed like there would be no end to the high and it made you want to sob. Too much of a good thing. “Such a good girl, you sprayed all over me,” he whispered and licked a stripe down your back, his own hips began to stutter. “Just a bit more.”

One more thrust, then two, then three, and he was pulling out. You felt the warmth of his cum hit your back and he trailed it down to your ass. When he was finished, you were both panting, his hand already rubbing his spend along your skin. In a more labored version of his disheartened voice he announced, “Ahh, I want to cover you in more cum.”

You began to shake your head, throat dry and sore from overusing your voice. There was no way you could take another round, your thighs were still trembling, blood still thrumming. “Don’t shake your head,” he tsked. His hair began to tickle your sides and you felt him press his over warm cheek against your hip. Hashirama placed a gentle kiss on your pelvic bone and put an open palm against your lower belly. “You can relax for now, after all, we have plenty of time for me to continue marking you,” there was his cheery lilt.

You heard it before you saw it, the plants beginning to move and cover the exists, even going so far as to block out any human sized hole in the skylights that could be used to crawl out of. A nervous shiver wracked your spine and goosebumps began to crawl along your skin as he licked a trail up your side from your raised hip. “After all, you said you’d be here with me forever.”

tagged list: @therantingfangirl @justmyownreality

Madara||Tobirama

you moan out softly; just a roll your hips slower this time, deliberate, feeling every thick inch stretch you open again. his head tips back against the pillows, throat bobbing, pretty lashes fluttering like he’s about to cry or come or both.

“shit— yeah, just like that,” he hisses. one hand slides up your spine, tangles in your hair, yanks your mouth down to his so he can lick into you messy and desperate. “thought you were really gone this time… left me here achin’ f’ you.”

his other palm cracks against your ass— not hard enough to hurt but enough to make you clench around him. you gasp into his mouth and he drinks it down, tongue curling, whining low in his throat when your walls flutter.

“fuck, baby— tight— s’ like you’re tryna milk me dry,” he pants against your lips. hips jerk up to meet your next grind, sloppy wet sounds filling the dark room. “missed this pussy so bad… missed you ridin me stupid.”

you drag your nails down his chest, catch on the pale pink scratches you left earlier when you first shoved him onto the bed and climbed on top. he shudders under you, cock twitching deep inside.

“gonna— gonna fill you up,” he starts babbling now, filter gone, voice cracking on every other word. “gonna stuff this little cunt full till it’s drippin down your thighs— till you can’t walk tomorrow without feelin me. you hear me?”

you sink down harder just to shut him up. his eyes roll back, mouth falling open in a silent moan, fingers flexing on your waist like he’s forgotten how to breathe.

“m’ sorry— fuck— m’ sorry i yelled,” he chokes out suddenly, hips stuttering, losing rhythm. “shouldn’t have— shouldn’t have let you storm out— never again, promise— fuck— baby please…”

he flips you so fast your back hits the mattress, knees shoved up to your chest in one smooth motion. the new angle has him slamming in deeper, tip kissing your cervix on every brutal thrust. you cry out, nails raking his shoulders, legs shaking.

“look at me,” he growls, forehead pressed to yours, sweat dripping from his white hair onto your cheek. blue eyes blown wide, pupils swallowing the irises. “look at me while i fuck my apology into you.”

and that’s all you did. can’t look away even if you wanted to. he’s wrecked—lips swollen, cheeks flushed, that cocky smirk long gone. just raw need staring back at you.

“g’nna— g’nna cum inside,” he whimpers, pace turning erratic, hips slamming so hard the bed creaks. “g’nna breed this pussy— make sure you feel me for days— fuck— c-can’t stop— can’t— baby—”

his whole body locks up. a broken moan tears out of him as he buries himself, his cock making-out with your cervix, pulsing hot and thick inside you. you feel every spurt, every twitch, walls fluttering around him like they’re trying to pull him deeper.

he keeps grinding through it, overstimming himself, babbling nonsense against your throat. “love you— fuck— love you s’ much— don’t leave again— please— m’ gonna be good— swear—”

he collapses on top of you after, still twitching, still leaking, arms caging you in like he’ll never let go. nose buried in your hair, shaky breaths fanning your ear. “stay,” he whispers, voice small now. cracked. “just… stay.”

you card fingers through damp white strands. feel his heartbeat hammering against your chest. “of course, ‘toru.”

he exhales like the weight of the world just slid off his shoulders. then a quiet, almost shy, “round two when you’re ready?”

you laugh. he grins against your skin.

possessive fucker.

★ TOJI FUSHIGURO

we all know toji would absolutely haaate you coming home late and try to play it off. he’d be looming over the counter, his facial expression showing all kinds of pissed-the-fawk off but as soon as he sees you he can’t even stay away for more than 5 minutes.

He’d be balls deep making you have your third orgasm scolding you like the naughty girl you are.

“thought you could just stroll in whenever the fuck you want, huh?” his voice is low, right against the shell of your ear while he’s got you bent over the kitchen counter. dishes still in the sink. your coat half-shucked onto the floor. keys somewhere under the table. doesn’t matter. none of it does.

one thick forearm banded across your stomach, pinning you flush so your ass can’t escape the brutal snap of his hips. the other hand’s fisted in your hair, yanking your head back just enough to make your spine arch pretty for him.

“late again. no text. no call.” each word punched out with a mean thrust that makes your toes scrape the tile. “had me sittin’ here like some worried bitch waitin’ on his girl.”

“toji—“ you try to moan an apology but it comes out fumbled—muffled against the crook of your own arm.

he’s so deep the head of his cock’s bullying that gummy spot that turns your brain to static. your thighs are already trembling from the first two times he made you come—once on his fingers while he growled about how soaked you were just from hearing his voice on the phone earlier, once more when he shoved you face-down on the couch the second the door clicked shut.

now this. third round. no warmup. no mercy.

“look at you,” he mutters, breath hot on your neck. scarred lips brushing skin. “actin’ all innocent walkin’ in here smellin’ like that bitchy vanilla scent… but this pussy’s still grippin’ me like she missed daddy’s dick.”

he punctuates it with a slow grind—rolling his hips so the fat base drags over your swollen clit. your knees buckle. he catches you easily, hauling you higher onto your toes.

“stay up. you’re gonna take every inch while i remind you who the fuck you belong to.” his free hand cracks down on your ass—once, twice. sharp enough to sting, leaving blooming heat. you clench hard around him on instinct making him hiss through his teeth.

“fuck— there it is. greedy little thing. squeezin’ like you’re tryna apologize with your pussy.”

you’re dripping down your thighs. sticky trails cooling on your skin. the wet slap of his balls against your cunt making you cry out in the quiet kitchen. fridge humming. clock ticking. your pulse hammering in your ears louder than both.

“toji—‘m sorry—”

“sorry ain’t cuttin’ it, doll.” he yanks your head back farther, forces you to look at the dark window—reflection of you two like some filthy portrait. his broad frame swallowing yours. muscles flexing under scarred skin every time he bottoms out. your mouth slack, eyes glassy, mascara smudged from earlier tears of pleasure and pain. that same lewd expression he adores most.

“you see that?” he growls. “see how fuckin’ wrecked you look already? and you still got the nerve to come home late like i won’t do somethin’ about it.” he shifts—hooks one of your knees up onto the counter ledge, spreading you wider. new angle has him carving deeper, tip kissing your cervix on every punishing stroke. your nails scrape uselessly at the granite.

“gonna make this pussy remember,” he rasps. voice cracking just a little now—tell-tale sign he’s losing the cool he pretends to have. “gonna fuck you till you can’t walk straight tomorrow. till every step reminds you who waited up.”

his rhythm stutters when you flutter around him again—walls spasming, trying to pull him under. he curses low, filthy.

“shit— already? you’re comin’ again?” he chuckles.

you can’t answer. can only whimper high, broken—while the coil snaps for the third time. thighs shaking violently. gush of slick coating his cock, dripping onto the floor. he doesn’t slow down. fucks you through it meaner. harder.

“that’s it— give it to me— fuckin’ soak me— good girl— my nasty little slut.” his grip tightens. hips slamming erratic now. balls drawing up tight.

“gonna fill this cunt up,” he starts whining, filter now gone, voice wrecked. “gonna stuff you so full you’ll be leakin’ me all night— gonna make sure you smell like me tomorrow— fuck—”

you reach back, nails digging into his thigh. “inside— please— toji~”

that does it.

he slams home one last time deep inside, groaning long and low like it hurts. cock pulsing, swelling, flooding you with heat. thick ropes painting your walls. so much it spills out around his base, creamy white streaking down your thighs even while he’s still grinding through the aftershocks.

“fuck— take it— take every drop— mine— fuckin’ mine—”

he keeps rolling his hips—shallow, needy—milking himself empty while you tremble under him. overstimulated. his chest heaves against your back. scarred arms caging you in like he’ll never let go.

“don’t do that shit again,” he mutters. quieter now. almost soft. “hated waitin’. hated not knowin’ if you were okay.”

you reach back, thread fingers through dark strands. feel him shiver. “i really am sorry, toji.”

he huffs. kisses the nape of your neck—open-mouthed, lingering. “yeah. you will be.”

then—after another slow grind that makes you both hiss, “shower. now. ‘fore i decide round four happens right here.”

you laugh—breathless. he smirks against your skin. finally slips out with a wet sound that makes you clench around nothing. cum trickles down your thigh. he swipes two fingers through it, brings them to your lips.

“clean up your mess, baby.” you suck obediently. taste salt and him. his eyes darken again.

“good girl.” he scoops you up—effortlessly, like you weigh nothing, carrying you toward the bathroom. your legs dangle. thighs sticky. heart still racing.

“next time you’re late,” he murmurs against your temple, “i’m tyin’ you to the bed before you even think about leavin’.”

you roll your eyes then nuzzle yourself on his chest.

★ KAMO CHOSO

choso would absolutely be the last person you'd expect to corner you against the front door the second you walked in.

we all know choso — sweet, a little awkward, the man who asks "is this okay?" before he even touches your hair, who goes pink behind the ears when you call him pretty, who avoids eye contact for ten full minutes after you catch him staring too long. that's your choso.

and then you stay out three hours past when you said you'd be back, phone halfway dead, still pissed from the argument you'd storm out of, and now you begrundgingly walk through the door to find him sitting very, very still on the couch.

he doesn't yell. that's the thing that gets you first. you were braced for it, shoulders up, already rehearsing your half of the fight, and instead there's just silence.

his hands are folded between his knees, dark hair loose and hanging around his face, and his looking at you with those heavy-lidded eyes drowned in violet like he's been doing nothing but looking at the door for three hours. which, you didn't think about that part.

you open your mouth; an apology, excuse, something, and he's already standing up, you forget what you were going to say because he's so much bigger than you. he's always been tall, but right now crossing the room toward you he fills up all the space in a way that makes your heartbeat do something stupid.

he stops close. too close, not touching, the air between you smelling like him and whatever he'd been drinking trying to wait you out, and he just — looks at you. searching your face, his jaw tight.

"why didn't you pick up?" he asks, and his voice is still quiet, still careful, but there's something unsteady threading through it. not anger, exactly. something worse than anger. "i called you four times, baby."

baby. he only does that when he's upset. your stomach does a full rotation.

"choso, i—" but he cuts you off by reaching up and touching your face. just cupping your jaw with one big hand, thumb tracing your cheekbone, and you can feel that his fingers aren't fully steady.

"you scared me," he says softly, like it costs him something. "you left mad and then you just— you didn't—" he stops. his adam apple bobs. "why would you do that."

it's not even a question, really. it comes out like something he's been turning over in his hands for hours, worn smooth, and the look on his face is so sincere and so quietly devastated that something in your chest caves a little.

you say his name again, softer this time, and you watch his jaw tighten. he only warning you get before he leans down and kisses you, sudden and slow, and it's not gentle exactly, it's— it has weight to it. the kind of kiss that means don't do that again.

he pulls back just enough to look at you, and his eyes are darker now, something shifting behind them that sends heat straight down to your tummy. "i'm still mad at you," he says quietly, and his hand is still at your jaw, tilting you up. "y'know that."

"yeah," you manage, "i know—"

"good." and then his other hand finds your waist and he walks you backward toward the bedroom with this unbearable, focused patience, like he has a plan and he's going to follow it all the way through, and every time your back bumps something — doorframe, wall — he catches you with that big warm grip and keeps you moving, keeps you steady, keeps his eyes on your face the entire time like he's cataloguing every flicker of expression. does he know he's doing that. probably not. probably just choso, just how he looks when he's paying attention, which is somehow more devastating than anything else he could do.

"choso, wait—" you try, half a laugh, half something else entirely, and he pauses in the dark of the hallway, head ducking slightly.

"i'm not yelling at you," he says, like that's clarification. "i'm not— i don't want to yell. i just—" and here he swallows, something flickering across his face, almost embarrassed but not quite. "i need you to let me. okay? let me—" his hands tighten the smallest amount at your waist. "please."

the please ruins you. because it's still him, it's still choso who asks for things softly, who would never just take, and somehow that makes it worse — makes the heat travel from your tummy to you pussy, making it hard to remember why you were mad in the first place or what you'd been so stubborn about three hours ago.

"okay," you say, barely sound, and he exhales like he'd been holding that in, too.

he takes his time. that's the thing you weren't prepared for — this slow, deliberate patience layered over something that keeps slipping through, this tremble in his hands when he pulls your shirt over your head that he tries to steady and can't quite, his breath gone a little uneven despite himself.

"you're so—" he starts, voice hushed, and then stops himself, frowning faintly, this small frustrated furrow between his brows like he resents that you exist and are right in front of him and he doesn't have words for whatever's stuck in his chest. he settles for touching instead. spreads one big palm flat over your ribs, fingers spanning so wide it knocks the air out of you.

"choso," you breathe, and he makes this low sound, involuntary, and his jaw tightens.

"you s-scared me," he says again, quieter, like it keeps escaping him. "i kept thinking— i didn't know if you were—" he doesn't finish it. instead he puts his mouth on your throat and stays there, just breathing for a second, warm and still, and the gesture is so tender and so completely at odds with the size of him that your eyes sting a little. oh no. "i hate when you're gone," he murmurs into your skin. "hate it. even when i'm mad. still hate it."

getting him inside you takes time too... because he goes careful, this trembling careful that he's clearly fighting against, hissing low through his teeth as you stretch and your walls flutter helplessly around him and his whole body goes rigid.

"wait—" he grits out, and you're not sure if he's talking to you or himself, hips stilled, forehead pressed somewhere between your shoulder and the pillow. "wait." you can feel how much that costs him. can feel the tension humming through every muscle where he's pressed against you, thick and filling you so full your thoughts are already liquefying at the edges.

"'m okay," you manage, arching slightly, and he makes a noise like you've broken something.

"i know you are," he breathes. "i just— need a second. you feel—" and then he stops talking, which might be a first for this whole gentle careful thing, and starts moving instead.

slow. devastatingly slow. rolling his hips in this deep, grinding drag that hits something inside you that makes your toes curl and your back bow up off the mattress and a sound come out of your mouth you hadn't planned.

his breathing goes immediately ragged, plp plp plp of his hips meeting yours filling up the quiet of the room, and his hands find your thighs and hitch you up, adjusting the angle, and— fuck. your hands scramble for something to grip, sheet, his arm, anything, and he watches you, watches your face with this expression that's raw in a way that makes it hard to look at directly.

"there you are," he breathes, low and shaky. "that— yeah, that's—" and then he does it again, same drag, same deep roll, and your head drops back.

he gets meaner about it slowly. not aggressive, not cruel — just focused, this quiet intensity that keeps building, the pace still unhurried but heavier, deeper, and his grip on your thighs tightening until you know he's leaving prints and you don't care, can't care, not with how full you are and how the drag of him hits that sweet spot every time like he's learning you, memorizing you the same way he'd been reading your face in the hallway.

"you were gone so long," he says, almost conversational except for the slight crack in it, and his hips roll and you gasp. "why'd you stay out so long." it's not really a question. or it is, it's still a question, still that same wondering hurt from earlier, but now his voice has this low fraying quality like a wire pulled too tight. "why?"

"i don't— i wasn't—" you're already losing the thread of it, hips rolling up to chase him without your permission, and he notices, eyes dropping down to where you're joined and going briefly, almost comically blank.

"you're doing that," he says. faintly accusatory. faintly wrecked.

"why?" he asks again, later, when he's got you folded up and he's properly losing his mind about it, forehead pressed to yours, hair escaped from its tie and hanging around both of you, and the controlled thing has fully slipped now — hips snapping into something erratic that makes the wet slap of it embarrassingly loud and your voice keep breaking on his name. "why'd y-you—" and he stops because his voice cracks too, right down the middle, and he squeezes his eyes shut and makes this low broken sound and you feel him pulse inside you and

"choso—"

"m' sorry," he breathes, "m' sorry, i—" but he doesn't stop, can't, hips still working even as his whole body shakes and his breath comes in ragged little pulls. "baby." and god he sounds— he sounds completely undone, you've never heard him like this, this is new, this is the version of choso that three hours of sitting on the couch waiting for you made, and something about that makes you clench around him and he makes a sound that's almost pained.

"please," you hear yourself say, "please~"

"yeah," he gets out, barely, "yeah— i've got you— you're—" and then the words slip away entirely and he fucks you through it properly, stuttering and shaking and whispering things into your hair that might be your name or might be please or might be both.

overstimulation is a thing that happens to you after, when you're limp and wrung out and certain that you couldn't possibly, and choso is still moving — slowed to something deep and lazy, still filling you and refusing to pull out with this look on his face like he hasn't fully come back to himself yet.

"choso," you try, thighs twitching, "h-hey— i can't, i'm—"

"just," he says. stops. swallows. "just a little more. please. please, baby." and there's the question again, the soft asking even now, even like this, even with you already a destroyed mess underneath him. "you feel so good. can i— just a little more, okay? jus'—"

"mmgfh, choso~"

his face twists. "s-sorry," he starts, "i'm sorry, i'll stop, you just—" and then you clench, involuntary, body giving him the answer that your mouth hadn't gotten around to yet, and his eyes flutter and he exhales, "oh," very small. and keeps going.

★ HIROMI HIGURAMA

hiromi higuruma would absolutely find you still hunched over his desk at eleven-forty-seven at night, lamp cutting a yellow circle across a stack of files you've been reorganizing since he hung up on you four hours ago; you had nowhere else to go with how angry you were, and his office was right there, and spite has its own kind of logic.

we all know higuruma. composed. methodical. the man who won arguments with prosecutors using a single eyebrow raise and twenty seconds of silence. you didn't think he'd come back tonight. you should have thought about it more.

the door opens quiet. he doesn't announce himself, doesn't say your name — you just feel the shift in the room, the way the air changes when someone large and very still enters it, and your shoulders go up before your brain catches up with why. the click of the lock behind him is the loudest thing that's happened in hours.

you don't turn around. pride, mostly. also you're not done being mad, and you need at least another thirty seconds to build the wall back up before you look at him. you hear him set something down; keys, probably, the small ceramic bowl by the door making its little sound and then nothing. just the awareness of him behind you, standing there in that way he has, the way that makes rooms feel smaller without being threatening about it. his suit jacket is still on. he's been somewhere, then. or he sat with it on in the car for a while deciding whether to come in.

"you're still here," he says. low, even. not a question exactly.

"i work here," you say, turning a page you're not reading.

a beat of quiet that has weight to it, the kind higuruma deploys the way other people use words. then you hear him move, unhurried, the soft drag of dress shoes across the floor, and he rounds the desk and you still don't look up and his hand comes down over yours on the file folder — not gripping, just covering, warm and very deliberate. stopping you. "look at me," he pleads.

you do. because you can't not, when he uses that voice. he's close, closer than you'd registered, and his face is doing the thing where it's not giving much away but his eyes are — tired, a little, and something underneath the tired that's been sitting there all day working itself into a knot.

his expression is still unreadable. his tie is loosened exactly one button's worth. "you've been here this whole time," he questions, and it's not what you expect him to lead with, the what and the how of you sitting in his office reorganizing case files out of spite at eleven pm, and something about that catches in your chest.

"i wasn't going to go home while i was still—" you start.

"i know," he states. not dismissive. like he actually does know, like he turned it over the whole drive here and arrived at the same place you did. his thumb moves across the back of your hand, small slow arc. "i shouldn't have hung up."

oh. you blink. you'd been ready for the second half of the argument, had it half-loaded, and now it's just — sitting there unspent and awkward. "higuruma, i—"

"i know," he says again, softer, and then he takes the folder out of your hand and sets it aside and the edge of a brief that took someone three hours to assemble crumples under it and neither of you mentions it. his hands find your face, thumbs at your jaw, tilting you up the way he does when he wants your full attention, which you were already giving him, but that's not really the point of it. the point is the holding. "i'm sorry," he says, looking straight at you, and higuruma doesn't say that lightly, you know that, you've known that for a while now.

you open your mouth and he kisses you before you can finish the thought.

it's not rushed. that's his whole thing, always has been measured, intentional, like he's building a case for something with every action and the verdict is going to land whether you're ready or not. his hands stay at your face while his mouth works yours slow and thorough, and you're already melting by the time he pulls back, lips a little swollen, eyes darker than they were, and he looks at you for a second like he's checking something off an internal list. then he drops to his knees.

oh— "higuruma, wait—"

"sit on the desk," he says, already pushing your chair back.

"the— the papers—"

"sit on the desk." same tone he uses to deliver a closing argument. you sit on the desk. several documents that probably mattered crinkle underneath you and you can't bring yourself to care because he's parting your knees with both hands, slow and very matter-of-fact about it, and looking up at you from the floor of his own office with his tie loose and his glasses catching the lamplight, and the sight of him like that does something genuinely unreasonable to your brain chemistry.

he takes his time working you open through the fabric first. thumb pressing, tracing, watching your face for every twitch while you try very hard to look like you're not immediately losing the thread of every thought you'd had tonight.

god. "higuruma—" his name comes out embarrassingly soft and something in his expression shifts, the composure still there but thinned, something hotter running underneath it. he pushes the fabric aside and puts his mouth on you without preamble and you grab the edge of the desk hard enough that the stapler rattles off onto the floor.

he eats you out the way he does everything — thorough, unhurried, with this awful focused precision that doesn't allow for shortcuts or mercy, his tongue working your folds open before settling flat and heavy over your clit and just staying there, slow pulsing pressure, and you're already slick and aching from nothing but the last twenty minutes of him and the sound that comes out of your mouth is not dignified.

a stack of briefs slides off the corner of the desk. neither of you looks at them. his hands grip your thighs and keep you spread and still while you squirm and he hums against you, low, disapproving, and the vibration of it makes your hips stutter up helplessly.

"higuruma," you breathe, thighs trembling, "please, i need—"

he pulls back just enough to look up at you, chin slick, and his eyes are very dark and very attentive behind the glasses. "come here," he says, rough at the edges now, and he maneuvers you. hands at your hips, repositioning, implacable until you're kneeling up on the desk above him, thighs on either side of his face, and you realize what he's doing half a second before he pulls you down onto his nose and mouth and —

the sound that comes out of you bounces off the walls. his nose presses against your clit and his mouth opens beneath you, tongue finding your entrance, and your whole body goes rigid with how good it is, too good, embarrassingly immediate, your hips rolling forward before you've even consciously decided to and he lets you, hands spread warm on your ass just guiding, keeping you steady, while you grind down onto his face in the lamplight of his own office with important legal documents crumpling under your knees.

oh my god. the wet sounds are filthy and specific and you can feel your face heating even as you can't stop chasing, hips rolling, riding the flat of his tongue and the pressure of his nose against that swollen knot of nerves until you're shaking and saying his name too many times and your thighs are clamping around his ears.

he doesn't stop when you cum. that's the thing. he slows, gentles, lets you ride it out — and then keeps going, tongue lapping patient and thorough while you twitch and gasp and try to pull back and his hands don't let you move far. "too much—" you manage, "higuru— i'm—"

"mm— i know," he groans into you, muffled, and then does something with his tongue that makes your vision go briefly static.

he gets you off twice on his face before he stands up. unhurried. glasses fogged at the edges, mouth and chin devastatingly wet, and he looks at you, completely fucked-out and wobbling on his desk amid the wreckage of the filing system with this expression that's almost quiet satisfaction except for how his chest is moving, how his hands go immediately to his belt with a precision that belies how controlled he's trying to look. there it is. "lie back," he says.

"the papers—"

"i'll reprint them." and he means it, the way he means everything, and something about the casual certainty of it makes you laugh, breathless, and you lie back in the papers.

the press of him in is slow, measured at first, and then your walls flutter around the thick stretch of him and his breath leaves him in a rush. "ah—" undignified, unplanned, and he stops for a second with his eyes shut and his jaw clenched, hands braced on the desk on either side of your hips, and you watch something in his face come loose. "you're—" he starts. stops. swallows. the glasses have slid down his nose and he doesn't fix them. "you feel—"

"hah," you moan, soft, and he opens his eyes and looks at you, and there it is; the thing under the composure, the thing that made him drive back here at midnight, the thing that'd been in his voice even when he was angry on the phone.

he starts moving and stops being careful about it within about thirty seconds.

the desk rocks. something else falls off it; a pen cup, the sound of pens scattering across the floor and you're scrambling to hold onto the edge while he fucks you into it, papers crumpling and tearing under your back, his thrusts rolling into something relentless and deep that punches the air out of you in little broken increments.

his glasses are properly crooked now and he doesn't spare a hand to fix them, both gripping your hips, and his voice when it comes out is low: "you stayed," he says, hips snapping, and it takes your brain a second to parse that he means tonight, means the office, means you sat in his space and reorganized his files instead of going somewhere he couldn't find you. "you stayed here—"

"w-what—" your voice breaks on it.

"don't do that again," he says, not a request, and his hips drive in and you keen, walls clenching, and he makes this rough sound in the back of his throat like it's punishing him too. "don't—" and then he's burying deep and staying there, trembling slightly, forehead dropping to your collarbone while his hips roll slow and grinding and he breathes through clenched teeth, "—god, you're so—" the sentence dies, unfinished, swallowed by the sound of his own breathing and the quiet ruin of every document on the desk.

you cum with your hand fisted in his rumpled shirt and his name said wrong, too many syllables, something that comes out closer to a sob than a word. he follows with his face in your neck, a low rough sound that he murmurs your name into, hips stuttering through it, and you feel the warm spill of him and his whole weight sinking into you and the desk groaning underneath and three case files sliding off onto the floor.

silence, for a bit. the lamp buzzes faintly. somewhere outside a car passes.

he lifts his head. looking at you. fixeing his glasses. "i'm reprinting all of this," he says, very quietly, surveying the destruction, and you start laughing and can't stop, and after a second his mouth curves too; not a smile exactly, but the shape of one, the thing that lives just next to composed, and he drops his head back onto your shoulder and stays there.

★ SUGURU GETO

we all know suguru geto doesn't chase. that's the thing about him — the thing you keep forgetting, keep testing the edges of anyway, like you enjoy finding out where the boundary sits.

he doesn't raise his voice. doesn't beg. and when you'd hung up on him three hours ago and stayed gone he'd sat with it, turned it over, and when you finally walked back through the door he was already standing in the hallway like he'd known exactly how long you'd need.

he didn't say anything. just looked at you.

that look. that specific one, dark eyes tracking your face, reading you in three seconds flat, mouth doing nothing. you'd opened yours to say i'm sorry or we need to talk or literally anything with words in it, and he'd crossed the distance and kissed you instead, one hand cupping your jaw and the other already finding your waist, and it wasn't gentle, wasn't rough either, it was decided. like the conversation was already over and this was just the next paragraph.

"sugu—" you tried, against his mouth.

"shhh," he hushes.

he takes his time undressing you, which is somehow worse than if he'd just ripped something. deliberate. like he's not in a hurry because he doesn't need to be, because you're not going anywhere and he's already decided how this ends. his earring catches the light when he ducks his head to mouth at your throat and your hands find his hair on instinct; loose tonight, the tie gone, black silk of it slipping between your fingers — and he hums against your pulse point, warm and approving, and your knees do something humiliating.

"you're so annoying," he murmurs, into your neck, without heat. just a fact. and then he bites down soft and you gasp and he soothes it with his tongue and keeps moving.

on the bed he gets his mouth between your thighs first, because that's suguru, because he'll take the thing apart slow before he's anywhere close to done. chin tilted up watching your face while his tongue works your folds open, flat and thorough, the wet sounds of it slp slp slp embarrassingly audible and he doesn't stop, not even when you're already shaking and grabbing at his hair and saying his name wrong, sugurusugurusugu— like it'll do something. his eyes stay on yours the whole time. that's the meanest part.

he edges you twice before he's even inside you, pulling back each time with this patient, infuriating composure, lips slick and dark eyes blown, watching you fall apart at the removal of his mouth like it's something he's particularly interested in studying.

"please," you manage, thighs trembling either side of his head.

"please what, pretty girl," he says, voice dropped to something that scrapes right down your spine.

when he finally pushes in the sound that leaves you is not attractive. not even a little. his cock stretches you open inch by slow inch and he watches your face the whole way, jaw tight, the composure held together by what looks like significant effort.

his breath heavier than he'd like, a muscle in his cheek pulling, and when he bottoms out he stops, hips flush against yours, and just. stays there. forehead dropped to yours. both of you breathing.

"you pissed me off," he mumbles, very quietly. "don't do that again."

your throat goes tight. "sugu—"

"i mean it." and then he pulls back and drives in and the words dissolve completely.

he fucks you with this horrible focused intensity — not punishing, not exactly, but not gentle either, hips rolling deep and grinding in a way that finds that spot every third stroke like he has it memorized, like he's been thinking about exactly this angle for three hours on the couch waiting for you.

plp plp plp of skin meeting skin fills up the room. his hair falls forward around both your faces and you reach up to grip it and he lets you, makes a low rough sound at the pull, hips stuttering into something harder before he catches himself and smooths back into that devastating rhythm.

"you gonna run off again?" he growls, above you, not quite a threat, not quite a question.

"no—" and your voice breaks on it because he angles up and hits something that makes your whole body jolt, "no, no, i'm sorry, i'm sorry—"

"i know you are," he says, low and raspy, like he was always going to get here, "i know, sweetheart, you always are—" and then his fingers find your nipple, pinching and caressing the sensitive bud.

he doesn't stop when you cum. the composure fully slips somewhere around the second time, hips losing the careful measured drag into something erratic and urgent, his breath coming apart in short rough increments against your temple.

"fuuuck—" quiet, almost surprised, like he resents how good you feel, voice cracking clean down the middle, "too tight, you're always so—" and he buries deep and grinds and his whole body shudders and the warmth of him spilling into you punches a moan out of you both. "fuckin' tight, my love."

he stays inside. grinds it slow. keeps going.

"sugu," you breathe, wrecked, "i can't—"

"you can," he says, into your hair, but it comes out rough-soft, the mean edge gone, and his arms pull you closer, hold you there, and it's not really an argument anymore.

★ NANAMI KENTO

nanami would be so fucking careful about it. that's the part that gets you. the part that's almost meaner than if he'd just been angry — because he is angry, you can feel it in the way his hands grip your hips with this controlled, deliberate pressure, can hear it in how measured his breathing is, how even, the specific even that means he's working very hard at it. he told you to be home by nine. it is past midnight.

and now he has you folded underneath him with his shirt half-untucked and his jaw set and his hips rolling into you in these long, thorough strokes that are technically gentle, paced, deep, no wasted movement, while your thighs shake on either side of him and you babble apologies into the dark of the bedroom that he doesn't acknowledge and doesn't stop.

"i-i'm sorry," you manage, wall flutter pulling a short exhale out of him that he smooths over immediately, "kento, m' sorry, i didn't mean to— i lost track of—"

he rolls his hips on the next thrust and the words collapse into a sound that isn't a word at all, just air, just the squelch of him working into you plp plp plp in the quiet room, unhurried, relentless in the way that only nanami can be relentless about something like it's a task, like the apology goes in one ear and out the other because you're saying it into his cock and not into his face and he knows the difference. "kento—"

"i heard you," he says. low. not unkind exactly. not kind either.

his thumb finds your clit and presses and you jolt, thighs snapping around his waist, and he looks down at you with this expression that is so carefully neutral that it circles back around to devastating, and keeps the pressure steady and keeps his hips moving and watches you come apart underneath him like he's noting every detail for the record.

fuck. you're already so wet it's embarrassing, has been since he'd pulled you in by the wrist the second you'd walked through the door — no yelling, no lecture, just his hand around your wrist and his eyes finding yours and something in his face going quiet in a way that was worse than any argument. you'd said his name. he'd said, very quietly, bedroom, and that had been the end of the conversation.

"you worried me," he says now, into the space between you, not quite looking at your face and not quite not looking at it either, gaze somewhere at your collarbone, and his voice does something strange on the last word; a slight roughness that he smooths out immediately after. the thumb at your clit circles once. you keen, high and broken, hips chasing without your permission.

"don't do that," he says, flatter now, though the hand at your hip tightens the smallest fraction. whether he means don't do that, stop chasing or don't do that, don't worry me again, you cannot parse with his cock buried this deep in you. probably both. nanami is efficient.

"m' sorry," you slur, wet-eyed now, his next thrust knocking it out of you in a rush, "m' sorry, kento, i know, i know i should've—" and then he shifts the angle, just slightly, just a precise deliberate tilt of his hips that drags the head of him across something that makes your vision white at the edges, and you stop making words and start making sounds.

he keeps going. same pace. same depth. same controlled roll of his hips that is technically, technically, not punishing you — except that it absolutely is, except that he knows exactly what he's doing and how it lands, and the smallest thing is happening at the corners of his mouth that might be satisfaction and might be guilt about the satisfaction and is definitely both. "can't— kento— please—"

"please what," he says. quiet. curious, almost. like he genuinely wants to know.

your brain presents you with nothing. please more, please stop, please don't stop, please say you're not mad, please keep looking at me like that — all of it jamming up in your throat at once while your walls clench helplessly around him and he makes a low sound and his jaw tightens and his hips stutter, just once, the first crack in the composure, before he smooths it back out and keeps going.

"you don't know," he observes, and there's something in it; gentle, ruthless, both, the nanami special, and his thumb presses down on your clit and holds and you cry out and your whole body arches up into him.

"i hate when you go quiet on me," he says, above you, and it takes you a fuzzy second to realize he means the argument, means the part where you'd gone cold and hung up and disappeared for three hours — not the current situation where you are physically incapable of coherent speech because he's fucking you through the mattress with his shirt still half-buttoned and his glasses somewhere on the nightstand and his face doing a very poor job of being expressionless.

"i don't—" and here he stops. his hips keep moving, the pace finally slipping into something less controlled, a little harder, a little less technically gentle, and you feel it in your teeth. "i don't like not knowing where you are," he finishes, very quietly, and the admission costs him something you can see him paying. his forehead drops to your shoulder. the careful breathing is gone. "i don't like it."

"kento—" and your voice breaks clean in half on his name, hands scrambling to grip something, his arm, the sheets, landing on both.

"i know," he says, into your neck. "i know, just—" and his hips snap and you both make embarrassing sounds and he mouths something against your skin that might be your name or might be stay.

you can't tell, you're too far gone, thighs shaking and cunt clenching rhythmically around him while he loses the careful measured pace entirely and fucks you like he's been holding it back since you walked through the door, which he has, which you both know, slap slap slap of his hips meeting yours filling up the bedroom while you babble his name and sorry and please into the dark above his shoulder.

he cums with his face still pressed to your throat, a rough bitten-off sound that he muffles immediately, hips buried deep, grinding slow through it, big hand spread at your lower back holding you against him like you might drift away if he doesn't. you feel the warmth of it and your walls flutter and he makes another sound, smaller, helpless, and his grip tightens.

"don't," he says, strained, into your neck. "don't move. give me—" and he doesn't finish that either, just holds you there, both of you breathing too hard, your lashes wet and sticking, his dress shirt damp at the collar from where his neck has been sweating through the last forty minutes of technically gentle.

the silence stretches. his thumb moves, small idle arc at your hip. slowly the grip loosens into something that's just — holding. the kind that doesn't have an agenda.

"i'm sorry, my love" you say again, into his shoulder. meant more, this time.

a long beat. "i know," he says, finally, and you can feel some of the tension leave his back under your hands. "next time." just that. next time — and you know what he means, have learned enough nanami to translate: next time call. next time don't go quiet. next time let me know you're alright. you press your face into his shoulder and nod into the fabric and he exhales, long and slow, and his hand moves to the back of your head.

he stays inside you until you both stop shaking. doesn't pull out. just — stays; somewhere outside it starts to rain and nanami breathes, even, finally, actually even, and his fingers card through your hair once like he's not doing it on purpose.

★ SUKUNA RYOMEN

sukuna would find it genuinely hilarious. that's what gets you first, not the anger you'd braced for, not the cold shoulder you'd half-wanted so you could stay righteous about the whole thing.

no. you walk through the door still rehearsing the second half of the argument and he's sitting there with that look on his face, the one that means he's already decided something, already filed it under your fault, my problem, and the laugh that comes out of him is low and short and not actually funny at all.

"there she is," he mumbles, like you're late to something he arranged. like he wasn't the reason you left.

you open your mouth. wrong move. he's off the couch before you finish the first word, and sukuna in motion is something your body responds to before your brain weighs in — every nerve pulling toward him even when you're still pissed, even when you're already saying.

"don't—" and he's already got a fist in the back of your hair, not cruel, just absolute, tilting your head back so he can look at your face properly.

"you left," he says, like it's an observation about the weather.

"you were being—"

"you left." same tone. lower. and the hand in your hair tightens and you feel your pulse jump.

he walks you backward into the bedroom without ceremony, lips at your jaw, your throat, the hinge of it, not kissing exactly, just pressing, sampling, the way sukuna touches things he considers his. the black marks on his chest are warm against your palms when you grab at him and he hums, pleased, like you've done something correctly by accident.

"always gotta make it difficult," he mutters, into your neck, and there's something in it that's almost fond and almost annoyed and fully neither.

your back hits the mattress. his weight settles over you and blots out the ceiling and you. shit, you stop being mad about the argument for approximately one full second.

he's not gentle about getting you open. two fingers, then three, working you slick with this bored, efficient focus while he watches your face like he's looking for something specific. the exact moment your hips start chasing, the exact shape your mouth makes before the sound comes out. finds both. says nothing about it. just pulls his fingers free and wipes them on the sheets and lines himself up and — oh.

the stretch of him pulls a sound from your throat that you immediately hate yourself for.

"every time," he says, pushing in slow, watching your expression fall apart in real time, "act like you didn't miss it." another inch. your thighs are shaking already. "like you didn't come back for this."

"that's not— kuna~"

"finish a sentence," he suggests pleasantly, and drives the rest of the way home.

oh fuck. white at the edges. you grab at his forearms, thick, tattooed, not moving anywhere, and your walls clench helplessly around him and he makes this rough sound through his teeth, jaw set, eyes gone a little dark, which is the only tell he has and he'd be furious if you said it out loud.

he stays buried, lets you feel all of it, lets the stretch of him sit there in your nervous system like a fire alarm, and when your hips twitch up toward him his smirk sharpens.

"there it is," he says.

he fucks you mean and slow, which is worse than fast, the drag of him pulling out and pushing back in at this deliberate grinding pace that has you leaking slick down your thighs and babbling in under four minutes.

plp plp plp. the headboard knocks the wall. he doesn't care about the headboard. he's got a hand spread at your lower tummy, pressing down just enough to feel where he's hitting, and the filthy sound he makes when he feels it from both sides does something genuinely embarrassing to you.

"look at you," he murmurs, not unkind, "couldn't even wait to fight properly—" and he rolls his hips in and you arch up and he watches that happen with the expression of a man who feels very correct about something.

"wasn't— my fault—" you try, breathless, which is the wrong thing because—

"whose ring are you wearing," he says, flat, hips snapping once and your whole body jolts.

you stop arguing after that. he works you up to something that sits right behind your eyes, all squelch and wet heat and the low grunt of his breathing, and you're holding onto his shoulders with your nails probably leaving marks and he doesn't mention it or stop — if anything he fucks harder when you grip, because of course he does, because that's sukuna, because of course.

"gonna cum f' me?" he breathes, above you, and it's not quite a question, it's more like he's narrating what's about to happen because he already knows.

"yes—" and it comes out wrecked, barely a word, more just the shape of one.

"yeah," he says, very low, and his thumb finds your clit and presses and that's all it takes.

he cums with his face in your throat, biting down, not enough to break, enough to bruise, enough that you'll feel it tomorrow in the exact shape of his mouth, hips buried and grinding through the aftershocks of both of you, a rough sound that he muffles against your skin like he resents needing to make it.

you feel the heat of him spill and your walls clench again and he hisses, "don't—" and then does three more thrusts anyway, short and grinding and involuntary, because obviously.

silence. his weight settles. not off you, just — settled. which is sukuna's version of a blanket.

after a long moment: "you're not leaving again," he says. not a question. not really possessive even, just stated. the way he states everything that's already been decided.

your throat is dry. "that's not really how—"

"you're not," he says, into your hair, and the arm across your waist tightens by about ten percent.

you don't finish the sentence.

★ SHIU KONG

shui kong would let you walk through the door still hot with it. still jaw-set, still convinced you had the moral high ground, still replaying the argument in your head in the satisfying way where you win every time.

he'd be right there, jacket off, suspenders hanging loose at his hips, cigarette burning between two fingers like he's been sitting with it since you left, and he wouldn't say a word. just watches you come in. takes a drag. exhales slow.

that's it. that's the whole greeting.

the silence does something to you that you don't want to examine too closely, because it's infuriating and also your pulse has already picked up and you know he can tell, knows he always can, which is also infuriating. "don't start," you warn him, which is a stupid thing to say to someone who hasn't started anything.

the corner of his mouth moves. barely. "didn't say a word," he says, smoke still curling from the cigarette, voice doing that thing where it sounds perpetually bored and perpetually amused at the same time, pitched low and even, the kind of voice that gets under your skin precisely because it doesn't try to.

"you were thinking it," you say.

"yeah," he agrees, pleasantly. "i was."

he stubs the cigarette out. stands up. and there's a certain category of problem that shui kong moving toward you creates, because he's not fast about it, he's unhurried, which is different, which is worse and by the time he's close enough that you can smell the stale smoke and something sharper underneath it, the argument is already losing structural integrity in your head.

he looks down at you for a second. something in his half-lidded gaze tracking your face the way he tracks everything, cataloguing, unreadable.

"you done?" he asks.

you open your mouth. he tips your chin up with two fingers, not gripping, just placing, and kisses you, and the answer dies somewhere between your throat and the open air.

he gets your clothes off in a way that's efficient and sort of humiliating, like it's a task with obvious steps, like your indignation is a minor inconvenience he's accounting for. your skirt's gone before you've fully processed his hands at the zipper.

he backs you into the wall with one palm flat between your shoulders and mouths at your throat while his other hand slides between your thighs, and you're already embarrassingly wet and he finds it immediately and makes this low unimpressed sound directly against your pulse.

"how long you been like this," he murmurs. not a question.

"shut up—"

"since you left?" and there it is the meanness, the specific shui kong meanness that doesn't raise its voice, just turns the thing over in its hands and examines it while you want to dissolve through the floorboards.

his fingers move and you grab at his forearm and he keeps going, two fingers crooking inside you while his thumb finds your clit and applies exactly enough pressure to make your knees do something unreliable.

"shui—" and your voice comes out wrong, high and broken at the seam, and you feel him smile against your throat.

"there she is," he says, quiet, satisfied. "the version of you that's not full of shit."

you want to say something cutting. what comes out is a moan, squelch of his fingers working into you, plp plp plp embarrassing in the quiet of the room, and he brings you to the edge and keeps you there with this infuriating focused patience — just enough, never quite enough — until you're grabbing his shirt and making small desperate noises into his shoulder and your pride has fully evacuated the premises.

"please," you get out.

"please what," he says, mild.

"please just—"

"use your words," he says, "you were so good at them twenty minutes ago."

he fucks you up against the wall first, which you suspect is partially because he enjoys watching you scrabble for purchase, fingers dragging against the paint, heels slipping, entirely dependent on the arm hooked under your thigh to keep you from sliding.

the angle is something that rearranges your opinions on several subjects, his cock thick and pressing in deep where he holds you open and your mouth falls open on nothing, just air, just the squelch and slap of it slap slap slap and his breath rough at your temple, finally a little rough, finally something, the composed thing going uneven at the edges in a way that you'd feel smug about if you had any working brain cells left.

"still mad?" he asks, against your ear, hips driving up.

"—yes," you moan, which is technically a lie but also the only piece of self-respect you have left.

he makes a low amused sound and angles his hips and hits something that has you crying out, thighs locking around him, walls clenching so hard you feel him shudder, the first real crack — his jaw tensing, a rough "fuck—" that he doesn't quite swallow, muffled in your hair, hips stuttering before he pulls himself back into the rhythm.

"sure," he says, slightly strained.

he moves you to the bed at some point, not gentle about it; drops you onto the mattress, hooks your ankles up over his shoulders, and the new depth makes you sob a little which he watches with this expression like he's deeply privately satisfied by that.

the composure is mostly back. mostly. his hair's messed up and there's a flush along his neck he's definitely not acknowledging and his thrusts have that particular roughness that means he's closer than he wants to admit — slap slap slap and your whole body rocking up the mattress with each one, headboard kissing the wall, the sound of you soaked around him absolutely filthy in the quiet room.

"shui— shui, i'm—" and you're already shaking, thighs trembling either side of his head, clenching and fluttering and making his breath stutter again, "gonna cum, please—"

"i know," he says, and the certainty of it is so irritating and so hot that it tips you right over the edge.

he follows close behind, hips grinding in deep and staying, hand gripping your hip hard enough you'll see it tomorrow, a low rough sound that he breathes out through his teeth. the warmth of him fills you and your walls flutter uselessly and he hisses, grinds once more, twice, working it through with his eyes closed and jaw set like he's annoyed at himself for it.

silence. the ceiling. both of you breathing.

after a while he reaches over to the nightstand and picks up a new cigarette. doesn't light it. just holds it between his fingers and looks at the ceiling, chest still moving too fast for someone who'd like you to believe he's completely unbothered.

"we're not doing that again," he says finally, meaning the leaving part. the whole leaving part.

you turn your head to look at him. he's still staring at the ceiling. the unlit cigarette taps once against his knuckles. "which part," you say.

"all of it," he says, which means the leaving and nothing else, and doesn't elaborate, because that's all he was ever going to give you and somehow it's enough.

★ NAOYA ZENIN

naoya zenin would be insufferable about it. that's the whole thing — he'd be insufferable, leaned against the doorframe when you finally walked in, arms crossed, that particular smirk sitting on his face like it'd been waiting there specifically for you. hours. you'd been gone hours, long enough to cool down and heat back up again for entirely different reasons, and you walk through the door and the first thing out of his mouth is "took you long enough."

not i was worried. not where were you. not even a proper argument continuation. just that, delivered like a verdict, like you'd failed a test he'd designed.

you should not find it as hot as you do. you genuinely hate that about yourself.

"don't," you start, already bristling, dropping your bag.

"don't what," he says, tilting his head slightly, light eyes doing that thing where they track you with this lazy attention that isn't lazy at all, not really. "finish a thought, at least."

"don't be a dick about it—"

"i'm always dick," he smirks, like it's a point of pride, and it is, that's the problem, "that's not new information." he pushes off the doorframe. "you done sulking or d' you need another hour?"

"i wasn't sulking—" but he's already moved, already closed enough distance that you have to tilt your chin up to hold eye contact, and naoya at close range is a specific kind of problem because he's taller than you clock him for and meaner than you're ever fully braced for; his hand finds your jaw before you finish the sentence, not hard, just — there, thumb pressing the corner of your mouth, tilting your face exactly where he wants it.

"yeah you were," he says, eyes dropping to your mouth, "you always do that little thing where you go quiet and disappear and wait for someone to come find you." the smirk shifts into something with a sharper edge. "m' not doing that. you know where i am."

it's the closest naoya zenin gets to i was waiting for you to come back and you both know it and neither of you are going to say it.

he kisses you before you can respond, which is basically naoya's solution to any conversational situation where he's running out of winning moves — not that he'd frame it that way, not that he'd ever admit the conversation had gotten close to him at all.

his hands move fast. not frantic, nothing naoya does is frantic, but efficient in a way that has your shirt gone and your bra following it before your brain's fully caught up, and when you grab at his collar he makes this low approving sound like you've done something correctly.

"there she is," he murmurs, against the side of your face, "been waiting all night for the version of you that shuts up."

"naoya—"

"shhh," he says, which is incredibly rude, and his hand slides down your stomach.

he doesn't bother with the bed immediately. backs you into the wall, slap of your shoulders hitting it, and gets his fingers into you while you're still standing, two of them, crooking like he already knows exactly where to press which he does, he always does, which is its own humiliation.

you're already wet and he finds it and laughs, short and low, right next to your ear. "you went all the way out there," he says, fingers working a slow drag, "this pissed at me—" and you clench around him and his breath hitches, covered fast, "—and came back this worked up. what were you even doing out there, thinking about it?"

"i hate you—" and it comes out wrecked because his thumb grazes your clit.

"no you don't," he says, certain, almost bored about it, and crooks his fingers again and you bite down on his shoulder to muffle the sound.

when he finally gets inside you it's with your legs around his waist and the wall doing half the structural work and his face buried somewhere between your jaw and your shoulder, the composed thing shredding at the seams almost immediately because you're tight and you clench the second he bottoms out and his whole body stutters.

"fuck—" not covered, and you feel his hips jerk forward on instinct like he can't help it. like he's been thinking about this since you walked out. he probably has. he'd rather die than say so.

"oh," you breathe, walls fluttering, and he makes a sound that is not remotely as composed as he'd like. "f-fuck"

"don't," he grits, jaw tight.

"don't what," you mumble, deliberately copying him, and feel him twitch inside you.

he fucks you mean after that, which was inevitable. slap slap slap of his hips against yours, rough and deep, one hand fisted in your hair yanking your head back so he can watch your face, which naoya always does — he wants to see it, wants to watch you come apart specifically for him, and he gets meaner about it the closer you get, running his mouth in this low relentless way that's half degradation and half the closest he gets to losing it.

"look at you," he breathes, eyes dark and fixed, "couldn't even stay mad properly— pussy' this desperate the whole time and you thought leaving was gonna—" and you clench hard around him on accident and his sentence dies, "shit—" hips snapping brutal once, twice, rhythm breaking into something rougher, less controlled.

"mmmgh— naoya~" your voice wet and high.

"yeah," he says, strained, "yeah, that's right—" and his free hand moves between you, thumb finding your clit without breaking pace, and your vision goes sideways.

you cum loud and messy and undignified, thighs locking around his waist, and the clench of it drags a genuine broken sound out of naoya zenin; not a grunt, not a controlled exhale, a sound, cracked right through the middle, his hips driving in and grinding, stuttering through it.

"f-fuck—" and then again, quieter, helpless, face pressing into your neck while he pulses inside you warm and deep and his whole body shakes with how hard he's trying not to make it obvious how gone he is.

he stays inside. breathing hard. the smirk is gone — just his face, flushed and wrecked and younger-looking somehow, eyes shut.

a long beat.

"you're not doing that again," he says, finally, into your shoulder. hoarse.

"what, leaving, or making you—"

"either," he says, fast, and the tips of his ears go pink and he absolutely does not acknowledge that you noticed.

★ MAHITO

mahito would think it was funny.

that's the first thing. you walk back through the door still pissed, still running the argument on a loop, still convinced you were right and he's right there, cross-legged on the floor like he'd been sitting exactly like that since you left, head tilted, those mismatched eyes tracking you from across the room with this expression like you're the most interesting thing he's seen all week. wide smile. the kind that doesn't mean what smiles usually mean.

"you came back," he says, and he sounds delighted.

not relieved. not apologetic. delighted, like you'd passed some test he'd set without telling you, like the whole three hours was a game with a conclusion he'd already predicted. you want to say something cutting and instead you say "don't make it weird—"

"i'm not making it weird," he murmurs, already unfolding from the floor, already moving, the way mahito moves was always so fluid and too-casual, like joints work slightly differently for him, like he's interested in the trajectory of a thing before it knows it's moving. "you left mad and you came back. that's just what happened." he's close now, head dipping slightly to look at your face, smile gone smaller and more specific. "you missed me."

"i didn't—"

"you did," he says, and the certainty of it is disgusting, and correct, and you hate everything.

he kisses you the way he does everything — like it's a new thing he's curious about, too much attention on it, one hand coming up to hold your face in place with his palms flat against your jaw so he can look at you while he does it, which shouldn't be as intense as it is.

his hands are always slightly cooler than they should be. you notice it every time. his thumbs press your cheeks and he pulls back just enough to study your expression at close range, eyes moving across your face like he's cataloguing something.

"still mad?" he asks, conversational.

"yes—"

"good," he says, and means it, and walks you backward toward the bed.

mahito likes you angry. that's the honest truth of it, the part you've stopped being surprised by — he likes the fight still in you, the flush of it, the way your eyes go bright when you're pissed off at him.

he says it makes you more interesting, which is terrifying on a fundamental level and also the most sincere compliment he has the architecture to give.

he pins your wrists above your head with one hand and uses the other to get your clothes off with this absorbed, intent focus, like unwrapping something he's genuinely curious about, and when he spreads you open with his fingers and finds you already wet his whole face does something that cracks the grin into something softer and much worse.

"heh," he breathes, delighted again, "you were thinking about it the whole time."

"mahito i swear—"

"you were," he says, fingers curling in, and your back arches off the mattress.

plp plp plp of his fingers working into you in the quiet room, the wet sounds of it embarrassingly loud, and he watches your face with this open fascination that would be uncomfortable in any other context and is uncomfortable in this one too.

his thumb finds your clit and circles and you stop caring about comfortable. "there," he says softly, more to himself than you, tracking the specific shape your face makes, the way your thighs want to close and his hand keeps them open. "there you are."

he edges you once. just to see what happens. pulls back when your hips are chasing and your voice has gone high and broken and watches you come down from it with his head tilted and his eyes bright. "mahito~" his name comes out lewd, "please—"

"please what," he says, genuinely curious, like he's collecting data.

getting him inside you makes him go briefly, wonderfully, undone — the composed curious thing cracking open at the stretch of you around him, a rough sound against your throat that he doesn't bother covering, just feels them and reports back.

"fuuuck—" drawn out, honest, his hips grinding the last inch in while his fingers dig into your thigh. you feel every ridge of him, the slight upward curve, and your walls clench helplessly and he makes another sound, this one shorter and more surprised, forehead dropping to your shoulder.

"you always—" he starts, and stops. tries again. "every time you—" and stops again, which for mahito, who always has something to say, is saying something.

he starts moving before he finishes the sentence.

slap slap slap, his hips meeting yours, the pace building into something relentless and deep that knocks the air out of you in short punched increments.

his hair falls around both of you, long and bluish-grey and falling out of whatever loose hold it'd been in, and when you grab a fistful of it he groans loud, hips stuttering hard. his hand finds yours and keeps it there, keeps the grip, like he wants you pulling.

"yeah," he breathes, "yeah, mmm— harder—" and you're almost laughing except he snaps his hips and hits something deep that dissolves the laugh into a keen that bounces off the walls.

"mahito—" wrecked, too many syllables, your voice doing something it's not supposed to do.

"i know," he says, "i know i know, you're—" and he bites your shoulder, sharp, and you clench and he shudders and the rhythm breaks into something desperate and stuttering and completely out of the neat curiosity it'd started with.

he gets you off twice, which you were not prepared for, the second one rolling directly into the first before you've caught your breath, and he watches both of them happen up close with this half-lidded focus while his own breathing comes completely apart.

the second time your walls lock around him and your voice cracks on his name he tips over too — a low grunt sound, hips buried, grinding through it with his face in your neck and his hands gripping your hips hard enough you'll feel it tomorrow in the shape of his fingers.

warm spill of him, deep, and he keeps rolling his hips through the aftershocks because he can't quite stop, little involuntary rocks that drag sounds out of both of you.

silence. both of you breathing.

he lifts his head. looks at your face. the smile that comes back is smaller than usual, something genuine underneath it that mahito doesn't always let sit on the surface. "you're not doing that again," he says, meaning the leaving.

"that's not really your decision—"

"you're not doing that again," he repeats, patient, and his nose touches yours, and it's the closest he's getting to please don't leave and you both know it and he'd never say it with different words.