Unrequited Hedonist

Can’t lie can’t lie can’t lieeeeeee this took way too long to produce (I’m in vet school and shit bout to get HECTIC). But here’s your aphrodisiac Grimmjow huhuhuhuhu

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The apothecary stall had been a last-minute detour on your way home, a place you only visited when you needed something particular. Today, it was a simple intention: You remembered you were running low and needed to restock your usual tea blend before the cold crept too far into your bones. The walls were lined with glass jars of herbs, dried flowers hanging from the rafters, and the air thick with spices you couldn’t name. The old man behind the counter had a fox’s grin, the kind that made you feel like you were already halfway convinced of something you didn’t yet want.

“Something to warm you up?” he’d asked, eyes glinting. When you’d raised a brow, he leaned in closer, voice dropping low. “And maybe a nice young man at home, too, yes?”

The comment landed sharper than you expected. Grimmjow had said he’d be coming over tonight, in that lazy, confident way of his that always made heat curl low in your stomach. He never announces when he was coming, unless he wanted you to prepare yourself, if you know what that means.

You laughed it off, but the old man slid a small cloth pouch across the counter anyway. The faint aroma of something sweet and floral curled into your nose as he told you it was called “fireleaf,” a rare shipment he’d just received. He swore it would “turn the body into an instrument of flaming temptation.”

You rolled your eyes, but your fingers were already closing around the pouch. Curiosity, you told yourself, and you bought it.

When you got home, you tossed your coat aside and set the little pouch on the counter. For a while, you busied yourself with other things, trying to ignore the cute little tea bag. Eventually, your gaze drifted back to it. You picked it up, the faint sweet aroma slipping free as your thumb traced the stitched edges. Warmth prickled at the back of your neck, the thought of what it could do caused excitement to bubble within you.

You ended up brewing the tea, perching on the counter while you waited impatiently for the kettle to warm. By the time the steam curled into the air, your pulse was already racing. You poured, lifted the cup, and the first sip hit your tongue with a deceptive spice, leaving a faint tingling warmth sliding down your throat.

At first, it was nothing, just pleasant, almost ordinary. But within minutes, it felt like your blood had been replaced with electricity. Your skin buzzed, your shirt clung, and every inch of fabric made you feel claustrophobic.

The knock came just as you’d settled on the couch, trying to calm yourself. But knowing exactly who was on the other side of that door only made it worse. The anticipation sparking hotter, pooling low in your belly until it felt like the tea itself was pushing you toward him. You took a deep breath before standing up.

You opened the door to find Grimmjow, leaning lazily against the frame like he thought you would take longer. The look he gave you made it clear he hadn’t come over with innocent intentions, just as he warned before. Paired with the tea already humming through your veins, it sent a slow, liquid heat curling low, slick gathering between your thighs before he’d even touched you, or said anything. You shifted your weight slightly, trying to mask the movement.

“You’re early,” you said, trying to hide your breathlessness, stepping aside.

He didn’t answer, just strolled in, dropping onto your couch with that effortless sprawl of his legs only he could pull off. One elbow braced on the armrest, knuckles supporting his jaw, the other arm draped across the back. His gaze never left you.

Then his nose twitched, almost imperceptibly, and his mouth curved in faint amusement. “Why the hell are you already horny?”

You froze mid-step. “How did you—?”

He tapped the side of his nose, smirking. “I can smell it, sweetheart.”

Oh my god. You’d completely forgotten. Hollows could smell arousal as easily as blood. Brilliant plan, you thought. Get yourself worked up and invite over the one predator who can smell it before you even sit down.

You tried for nonchalance, sitting on your heels next to him on the couch, hands fidgeting in your lap. “It’s… this tea. Old man at the market sold it to me. ‘Said it’d make things more interesting. For you!— well us.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just watched you with that still, unreadable expression that always made you feel like you’d stepped into a trap. Suddenly, his mouth curved wider, a plotting, predatory grin.

“Cute,” he drawled, voice low with mockery, like the word itself was a taunt.

He didn’t bother to say more, just tilted his head in that sharp, commanding gesture that told you exactly what he wanted. Come here.

Heat flushed through you, and you obeyed without hesitation, moving to swing a leg over his lap, your knees framing his hips. His thighs were solid under you, his body radiating heat.

His hand slid to the back of your neck, gripping just enough to guide you down to him. His mouth met yours immediately, lips pressing hard, shaping yours to his as his tongue slid past them without waiting for permission. The taste of him was sharp, clean, mixing with the spice of the tea from your own tongue. He moved like he wanted to savor every inch of your mouth, tongue roaming deep and tangling with yours. He teased you, retreating just far enough to make you chase him before pushing back in. He tilted his head, deepening the contact, his hand tightening at your nape until you were fully bent to him. The kiss was all heat, all tongue, a desperate clash that left you gasping against him.

The strap of your tank slid off your shoulder in one tug of his fingers. He didn’t pause, just broke the kiss long enough to drag his mouth down your jaw then over the column of your throat. His lips were hot, his kisses messy, leaving damp trails over your skin. He sucked lightly at the spot just above your collarbone before his teeth scraped over it, pulling a whimper from your throat before you could bite it back.

The other strap was pushed down lower until your shirt slid over the swell of your breasts. His palm came up to cup one, thumb brushing across the peak through the thin barrier before tugging the fabric down further to bare you completely. The cool air made you shiver, but the tea’s warmth was already thrumming through you, heightening every brush of his skin against yours. His mouth closed over your nipple, the sudden jolt of sensation tore a breathy “mmmgh~” from your throat. His other hand kneaded the soft weight of your other breast, thumb circling lazily until your hips shifted on their own. He alternated between sucking hard enough to make you gasp and licking lazily around the sensitive skin, his tongue tracing circles and flicking at the nub that left you panting, your voice breaking on every sound he pulled from you.

His mouth was sloppy, sensual. The tea’s heat and his mouth were a lethal combination. You were wound so tight that you couldn’t sit still—your hips rocked against him, grinding down over the thick outline in his grey sweats.

A wet heat was spreading fast, soaking right through your boyshorts. You knew it had to be getting on him too, the fabric sticking damp between you with every shift of your hips. Grimmjow broke away from your nipple, his breath rough against your skin as his hands clamped tight on your waist. He pushed you back just enough to glance down between you, his gaze locking on the dark, slick patch staining the front of his pants.

“Fuck,” he rasped, smirk cutting sharp across his face, “look at you makin’ a mess.”

Before you could answer, he dragged your hips forward, grinding you down hard against him. The friction was obscene, the wet drag between you making a sticky, syrupy sound that had your head tipping back. A moan tore from your throat, high and broken, followed by a needy whimper when he kept you there, rocking you until every movement sent another gush of slick spilling out of you.

“Grimm—” you gasped, your fingers curling in his shirt, voice trembling with each forced roll of your hips. “I need you—please—ah! I’m so hot—” The words broke apart on moans as your hands moved restlessly, tugging at his white T up to expose his abs and chest like you couldn’t stand another layer between you. “Please,—can’t take it—” you whined.

His chest rumbled under your palms, a guttural sound that was half a laugh, half a growl. “You’re fuckin’ beggin’ me? Ha! Never thought I’d hear that outta your mouth, sweetheart.” His eyes flicked over your flushed face, showing all of his teeth in a wide smile. “That tea’s got you all hot ‘n messy, huh? Can’t sit still, can you?” His hand gripped your jaw, tilting your head back so he could drag his tongue up the line of your throat, teeth grazing the edge of your jaw.

You couldn’t stop making noise. Little “ah!” and “mmh!” sounds as you rolled your hips harder.

Your thoughts were in shreds, need clawing at you until you couldn’t wait another second. You reached between you, shoving your boyshorts to the side yourself, the air hitting your soaked skin making you whimper. Your fingers worked over your clit in messy feverish circles, the grip on the waistband of his sweats grounding you against the dizzy rush of heat flooding your body.

“Ah!~” you cried, cracking into a desperate plea, your hips chasing the rhythm of your hand as though nothing could fill the ache fast enough.

His smirk was sharp enough to cut. “Shit… you’re desperate—” He inhaled deeply, eyes half-lidded with hunger. “—Stinks so fuckin’ good I can taste it. M’gonna fuck you so good, baby.”

“Grimm—” The plea cracked in your throat, your hands flying down the second he shoved his sweats low. The sight of him springing free made your mouth water, your lips parting before you could stop yourself. “Mmh~ you’re so big— I need it— ammh fuck I need it—” The words slipped out in a dazed mumble, almost like you were already drunk off him before you even had him inside. Your fingers wrapped around the thick length, barely able to circle his girth, pumping him frantically, greedy for the weight and heat in your grip. His hiss cut sharp through the air, hips jerking at your touch, but you were already guiding him lower, angling him against your soaked entrance with a needy whimper, lining him up yourself like you couldn’t stand to wait another second. You dragged the blunt head of his cock through your slick before pressing right into where you needed it most. Your breath caught, body trembling, trying to brace for the stretch —only for him to seize control, his hand clamping hard on your hip. With a sudden snap of his hips, he forced himself upward, the thick tip breaching you before you had time to adjust.

The sudden stretch split a raw moan from your lips, your nails digging into his shoulders as your body bowed forward. The sound only made him grin wider, sharp teeth flashing as he leaned in close. “Thaaaat’s it,” he rasped, savoring the way your walls clenched helplessly around his thick meat. He slowly dragged you down onto him, the tea could only help you so far. “Too fuckin’ tight,” his grip locked you in place. Every roll of his hips pushed you deeper onto him.

Your head tipped back on a gasp, a loud, desperate whine spilling out of you before you tried to force your eyes forward, wanting, needing, to watch him disappear into you. You couldn’t decide which sensation you wanted more, the sight of it or the feel of him filling you, and it left you panting, restless, your moans never quiet for more than a second.

You tried to move, hips twitching, thighs shaking, desperate to bounce, but his hold on you was iron. You instead clenched around him again and again, gripping hard like you were trying to pull him deeper. The slick squeeze of your cunt echoed lewdly between you both, each shallow thrust dragging out a wet, messy squelch that only grew louder the harder you clenched down on him. His jaw flexed, a rough groan spilling as he rasped, “Shit—yeah, grip me like that. Fuck— y’greedy for it, aren’t you?”

“Please—Grimmjow, I can’t take it—need you deeper, need all of it, now—please.”

His grip on your hips turned ruthless, hauling you up before slamming you back down on him, again and again. He wasn’t thrusting—he didn’t need to. Your body was nothing more than a toy in his hands, bouncing helplessly on his cock as he buried himself to the hilt every single time. The movement made the wet, slick sound between you louder, your boyshorts bunched to the side and clinging to your skin. His mouth dragged wet kisses across your jaw, down your throat, biting lightly just to feel you jolt, then soothing the sting with his tongue.

“Ahh—!~ hhn— ngh—” The noises spilled past your lips no matter how hard you tried to keep quiet. The tea made every drag of him unbearable, other senses fading and the only thing you could do was feel.

“That’s all you can do? Just whine and beg?” he groaned, grinding up into you harder. “Can’t think when I’m fuckin’ you like this?”

You shook your head, the admission spilling out in a breathless rush. “No— I—“ a cry broke from your lips, “fuucckkk pleaaaseee grimmjow— hngh—“

“S’alright. Cry for it while you ride me.”

He released his grip, one hand stayin as an anchor while the other pulled your shorts farther to the side to give you more space. You lifted enough to sit at his tip before dropping down again, the impact making a sharp “ah!” escape you. You set a faster rhythm, chasing the friction, the heat. Every time you sank down, he met you halfway, plops reverberating in the room.

“Look at you—” His voice was a strained growl now, his abs visibly flexing as he sat back against the couch. “So fuckin pretty.”

You could barely answer, too wrapped up in the steady, pounding pleasure building low and tight in your belly. Your thighs burned from the pace, but every drag of him inside you pushed you closer.

“Mm~ Grimm—!” Your lungs stuttered, the sensation swallowing the air before you could drag it in. Your mouth gaped open, no sound or breath escaping, eyes rolling back as though you were drowning in him.

“Breathe, baby,” he groaned, beginning to thrust up into you, hips snapping harder, faster, as if trying to force you to breathe. “C’mon, sweetheart—make a mess on me.”

He grabbed at your shorts with both hands, the fabric no match for his strength as he tore them apart in one swift motion, the ruined pieces hanging uselessly at your waist. One arm snaked tight around your middle, dragging your chest flush to his, while the other slid down across the curve of your ass, fingers gripping hard as he spread you open, making more room to drive into you. He held you there, locked against him, as he fucked up into you at a bruising pace. Your whole body seized, thighs clamping around him as your climax tore through you, a choked “ah—ahhh—mmmh!” spilling out while you pulsed around him. Your arms wrapped around his neck, clinging like he was the only thing holding you together.

“Fuck, that’s it—milk me, sweetheart—” he grunted, still driving into you through every aftershock, his voice thick with satisfaction.

Your body was trembling above him, thighs twitching as you clung to his shoulders, every aftershock still rolling through you. It was as if you had lost control of every sense, vision going completely white and ears ringing. This was one of the hardest orgasms you had ever experienced. Grimmjow’s arm stayed locked on your waist, holding you in place as he gave a few more sharp thrusts, groaning low at how you kept pulsing around him.

“Look at you… fuckin’ twitchin’ all over me,” he rasped, teeth flashing in a grin. “Didn’t think you’d break that fast.”

You were still gasping when he shoved you back onto the couch—firm, but not careless—forcing you to catch yourself on shaky arms. He stood, towering over you now, rolling his neck like he was loosening up for a fight. His eyes raked down your flushed, sweat-slick body, caressing his chin as if he’s thinking about what to do next.

“Up,” he ordered, voice a rough growl.

Before you could think, his hands were on your hips, moving you until your chest pressed into the top of the couch, knees sinking into the cushions. He bent you forward, pushing your back into a deep arch, your ass in the air for him.

He gave your ass a firm smack, smirking down at you. “Gonna fuck you like this… see how long you last.”

He lined himself up and drove into you in one solid thrust, the force making you jolt forward with a startled “ahhh!”

He started fucking into you, fast and rough from the first stroke, The sound of his hips slamming into you blended with your wild cries, “Ahhh! Hhhhnnnaahhh!! Mmhhhaaahhh!!” The shift in position had your nerves lit up, every drag inside you hitting deeper, harder, making you moan louder than you thought you could. The couch rocked under you, inching back slightly with every thrust.

“Yeah… that’s it,” he taunted, leaning over you so his breath was hot against your ear. “Let everybody hear you. Let ‘em know you’re mine.”

A particularly rough thrust made the couch legs skid, one catching awkwardly on the floor. The jolt threw him forward—his chest slammed into your back, and you both lurched, him somehow going even deeper. He laughed low, breathless, not even slowing.

You were—moaning, whining, trying to push back against him even though your legs were trembling. He kept up the pace, grunting with every drive forward, and you felt yourself getting dangerously close again.

Instinct had you trying to crawl forward, away from the overstimulation—but he was faster. His arm hooked around your waist from behind, right under your breasts, locking you back against him. His chest pressed flush to your back, caging you completely.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re goin’, huh?” he breathed against your ear.

The other hand slid down between your thighs, fingers finding your clit instantly. The contact made you choke out a high, broken “mmmah!”

“That’s it,” he rasped, rubbing in tight, relentless circles while pounding into you from behind. “Stay right here. Take it.”

You could feel his breath on your neck as he licked along the curve of it, sucking at your skin hard enough to leave deep marks.

You were crying now, tears streaming down your face, every nerve raw from too much, too fast. Your thighs shook violently, the only thing keeping you upright was his crushing grip around your middle.

“You gonna cum for me?” he goaded, thrusts getting even sharper. “Come on, baby—let me feel it.”

Your vision blurred as your climax hit—harder than before, a raw, tearing release that had you gasping out incoherent sounds while liquid splashed hot against his thighs.

“Fuck—there it is—” he groaned, grinding against you as you kept squirting, his hand never leaving your clit.

It was too much—your legs gave out, your head dropping forward. You were distantly aware of him still moving, his voice still low and filthy in your ear, before everything went black.

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When you woke, you were sprawled across his chest, your cheek against the steady rise and fall of it. He was lying back on the couch like nothing had happened, one arm behind his head, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

The smug grin was the first thing you saw. “You fuckin’ fainted,” he said, voice full of amusement. “Thought i killed you. Guess I should be proud.”

Your body still hummed with heat, the aphrodisiac refusing to let you rest. You shifted against him with a whimper, feeling the hard press of him still beneath his sweats.

His smirk deepened. “Didn’t even get to finish,” he drawled. “Looks like it’s time for round two.”

You didn’t even try to play coy, the ache between your thighs flared, and you were already squirming, whining for him again before the words even left his mouth.

The way his eyes lit up told you he had every intention of making you regret this.

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The air was thick with heat, heavy with the sharp tang of sweat and sex. Your arms trembled under you, palms sliding a little against the slick floor, Grimmjow’s grip on your hips from behind was the only thing keeping you up and balanced.

Hours. You’d lost count of how many times you’d come, how many positions he’d pulled you into, how many times you’d thought you were too sensitive to keep going—only for him to prove you wrong. You’re surprised you didn’t pass out again.

Your breath came in shallow, shaking bursts, each exhale breaking into small, involuntary whimpers. You could barely form words; your throat felt raw from the sounds you’d been making. Your thighs shook, the muscles in your core clenching without your permission.

Grimmjow shifted behind you, his chest still rising and falling in deep, rough pulls. Then he bent forward, dragging his tongue in one slow stripe from your tail bone to the nape of your neck. His tongue was hot, the path wet, leaving goosebumps in its wake as he tasted the sheen of sweat covering your skin.

“You taste good, baby” he rasped against your ear, his breath making you shiver harder.

Before you could even process the heat of that, his palm cracked lightly against the curve of your ass, making you jolt and gasp. His low chuckle rumbled behind you as he straightened up, finally letting go of your hips. Without his grip, your arms gave out. You folded down to the floor, cheek pressing against the cool wood, a faint whimper slipping from your lips as your body refused to hold itself up anymore.

“Stay there,” he ordered, though it wasn’t like you could move anyway.

You heard him pad away, footsteps surprising light, and then returned a moment later. Something cool pressed against your lips, a glass of water. “Drink,” he said, and you did, gulping greedily, the cold shocking and perfect against your dry, sore throat.

When you’d had enough, he set the glass aside and scooped you up with ease. Your limbs hung heavy, your head falling against his chest as he carried you toward the bedroom. His skin was hot against yours, still damp from the hours of exertion.

He dropped you gently onto the bed, crouching over you, those blue eyes glinting with satisfaction. “Gotta admit,” he said, voice low but smug, “didn’t think you’d keep up with me this long.”

You managed a weak laugh, your voice a hoarse whisper. “Did I?”

His smirk widened. “Nah, you’ve been fucked good. Can’t move. Can’t talk. I’d say I fuckin’ ruined you.”

You exhaled a chuckle, even in your exhaustion, and he leaned down to press a slow, lingering kiss to your lips.

“Next time,” he murmured, pulling back just enough to let his grin show, “I’m drinkin’ that tea.”

Your eyes flew open, a pale chill replacing the lingering heat in your face. “Grimm—no.”

His grin only sharpened. “Better stock up, sweetheart.”

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It had been a long week.

Too many tasks. Too many hours apart. Too many moments where all you wanted was him beside you, arms wrapped around you, voice in your ear, reminding you that the world outside this bed didn’t really matter.

So when you finally made it to bed, finally peeled off your clothes and melted into Suguru’s warmth, you couldn’t stop smiling.

“Missed you,” you mumbled against his collarbone as he hovered above you, nuzzling closer as he tucked your hair behind your ear. His fingertips ran down your arm, grounding you in the moment.

“I missed you too, baby” he murmured, kissing your forehead, then your cheek, then your jaw. “You’ve been running through my head all week. I love you.”

“I love you more,” you grinned, pressing a kiss to the inside of his wrist, where his hand rested beside your face. You tugged gently at his shirt. He understood, sitting up briefly to pull it over his head. When he returned, he took his time. His hands were unhurried caressing your body, lips pressing soft, lazy kisses to the curve of your neck as if he hadn’t tasted you in months.

You arched into his touch, sighing as his lips trailed lower, lingering at the hollow of your throat before returning to your mouth.

You pulled him in by the face, your hands warm against his cheeks as your lips met. The kiss deepened, and you melted beneath it. Tongues tangled, breaths caught. He kissed you sensually, as if he was making love to your mouth.

His hands explored wherever they could reach—cupping your breasts, sliding beneath your back to pull you closer, massaging the soft swell of your thighs. You moved together like instinct, hips tilting up to meet his body, thighs brushing against his sides.

Through the heat of it all, his hand slid lower. He dragged his fingers beneath your panties, teasing the waistband before slipping beneath it. You gasped softly, lifting your hips to help him pull them down, and the fabric slid off effortlessly—your kiss never once breaking.

But when he pulled away and glanced down, his breath hitched.

A line of slick clung to the gusset, stretching and snapping as he pulled the fabric from your legs. His brows raised slightly when he saw the evidence of your need— a thick sheen of arousal coating your folds, thick enough to drip.

“How are you already this wet?” he asked, voice tinted with surprise and heat. Two fingers swiped through your folds with zero resistance, glistening when he pulled them back. He scissored them slowly, watching the string of slick connect and drip down his hand.

You grinned sheepishly, “Um? Because I’m deeply in love with you?”

He huffed a quiet laugh, the kind that reached his eyes. “That so?”

“Mhm.” You batted your lashes, smug and taunting. “Now hurry up.”

He just smiled, then lowered himself between your legs. He kissed your inner thighs first with soft, lingering presses of his mouth that made your breath catch. He pushed your legs up, knees bent and wide, exposing your soaked folds completely to his hungry gaze. You were glistening, throbbing, leaking slick trailing toward your ass and pooling against the sheets.

“God, baby…” he whispered. “You’re dripping.”

He leaned in, tongue dragging a long, slow stripe from your ass to your clit, collecting every drop of arousal. Your hips jerked as you gasped, a hand flying to your face to cover the sheer heat rising in your cheeks.

He pulled up, your juices dripping off his wet muscle, making you gasp at how crude he can be, “you’re so nasty, suguru!!”

He only grinned, mouth shining, before diving back in.

His tongue circled your clit in lazy, teasing loops, pressing just enough to make you twitch, before pulling it between his lips and sucking. your whole body jolted. As he delved into your most intimate area, your hips jerked at the sensation.

“Fuck—ahh!” you gasped, your hands immediately gripping his hair, pulling his bun loose without meaning to. His pace picked up, tongue lapping, lips tugging, switching between firm suckling and light flicks until your legs began to tremble.

You writhed beneath him, hips rocking into his mouth, thighs closing around his head, but he held you open—one arm locking around your leg, the other keeping you pinned.

And then, with a perfectly placed flick of his tongue and one last hard suck, you broke.

Your orgasm rolled through you hard and sudden, spilling more slick down his chin and into the sheets below. He moaned softly as he tasted you, tongue flattening over your clit to draw out every last pulse of pleasure.

When he finally pulled away, his face was soaked with your arousal. He looked up at you, dazed and flushed, licking his lips with slow satisfaction.

“You look a mess,” you teased breathlessly, reaching out to wipe his chin.

“So do you,” he shot back, voice thick and playful, licking at your palm and placing a few kisses.

He kissed you again, deep and messy, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. One hand wandered back down, fingers teasing your still-throbbing entrance.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered against your lips. “I’m gonna take care of you. You can just relax.”

He dipped 2 fingers into your entrance, circling the rim before pumping them deeper, little by little until he was buried to the knuckle. He curled them rhythmically, coaxing soft moans from your mouth as he kissed you deeper. His breath started to stutter against your lips from his own excitement.

“Are you ready, baby?” He breathed out, voice thick with restraint, “ I want to feel you. It’s been so long.”

His fingers began abusing your cunt, your hips rocking helplessly into him.

“Yes—please, Suguru—” you whined, feeling your orgasm building again under his touch. He worked that sweet spot, and soon your moans turned to gasps as your back arched. Your walls tightened around him, and with a sharp cry, you came—again.

He eased you through it, kissing your neck while your body convulsed, whispering sweet things between each kiss.

When your breathing slowed, he finally pulled his fingers free, slick dripping from his palm to his wrist.

“This is insane,” Suguru looked at you with an amused expression, before licking his fingers clean, “I don’t think I’m gonna be able to stay inside of you. Im gonna slip out.”

You giggle, shoving his shoulder slightly, “Boy, just come here!”

He let out a low chuckle, leaning back just long enough to free his cock from his boxers, already so flushed, hard, and leaking from the tip. He stroked himself a few times before lining up. You held your knees open, watching him guide the tip to your entrance.

“Shit—,” He slides inside of your hungry walls with ease, bottoming out in one go. You arched into him from the stretch, even as your body welcomed him so easily.

He groaned low in his chest, rolling his hips into you deeply. His pace was slow at first, working to make you feel every inch.

Wet, lewd squelching filled the room as he moved, each thrust drawing louder moans from your throat.

But he kept slipping out—your cunny too slick to keep him in.

“I told you,” he laughed breathlessly.

“Maybe you’re not doing it right,” you teased, flashing a smug grin.

“Oh yea? My bad princess. I’ll fix that right now.” He adjusted his body, placing both elbows beside your head, his hair falling around your face.

He started to fuck you properly.

Long, deep thrusts that stole the air from your lungs. “Ah—ah—ah—ah!” you cried out with every stroke, unable to breathe, unable to think.

You tried to lower your legs, the sensation too much, but he caught one and pinned it high against his waist.

“No ma’am,” he growled into your ear. “Let me fuck you the right way.”

“Mhm! Yes!” you moaned, barely able to form the words as he used you.

His pace continued, never faltering, consistently hitting your deepest spots.

“Fuck, baby—“ he moaned, feeling the way you clenched around him. He dropped all of his weight on you, pinning you beneath him, his hand still on the underside of your thigh pressed to your side. His pelvis rubbed against your clit with every movement of his hips, never letting you settle. You shattered for the 3rd time tonight, crying out, legs shaking and tears slipping down your cheeks.

“I’m com— ” You choked, clinching around him as you fell apart.

“I know, baby— I know,” he breathed into your hair, “just hold on for me.”

You could feel him twitching inside of you. He moaned, strained, trying to keep up his pace but faltering, before pulling out last second and spilling all over your abdomen and chest in spurts. He rested his forehead against yours as he continued to cum, breath fanning against your face.

“That’s a lot, suguru,” you teased, dazed and giddy.

“Like you can talk.”

As he finished, he collapsed beside you for a moment, catching his breath, before sitting up and pulling you into a gentle embrace.

“Ah sugu you’re smearing it!” You whined. He shut you up with a kiss before speaking.

“Then let’s go clean you up, yeah?”

Before you could argue, he was already standing, arms slipping beneath you effortlessly. You squealed as he lifted you off the bed, but your arms instinctively wrapped around his neck.

“Shower?” you mumbled, nuzzling into his shoulder.

Just something for Nanami because he’s every Virgo woman’s dream :)

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apartment smelled of simmered miso and toasted sesame. You’d made everything just the way he liked—salmon cooked gently in soy, mirin, and garlic, laid neatly beside seasoned rice and his favorite cucumber salad. A quiet, lo-fi jazz melody murmured from the Bluetooth speaker. It was peaceful, something you planned for this evening. You were setting a tone, a moment of calm. Because lately, Nanami had looked like the world was trying to grind him into dust.

You heard the familiar clack of the door unlocking, the weight of his steps echoing into the hall, and your heart fluttered. He came into view, tie slightly loosened, sleeves rolled to his elbows, a deep frown permanently etched between his brows. His shoulders sagged beneath the weight of something invisible but heavy. Curses. Stress. Mortality. You saw it in his eyes before he even spoke.

“You’re home,” you greeted softly.

The scent of home-cooked food reached him, and his chest moved with a subtle inhale. His gaze met yours. For a moment, the tightness in his jaw lessened.

“You cooked,” he said, voice low, roughened with fatigue.

“For you!” you said, motioning to the table already set. “You’ve been working so hard lately, so… I wanted to treat you to something special, your favorite!!”

A subtle smile graced his face, something so small you had to look for it. He removed his coat silently, hung it with mechanical grace, then sat. The two of you ate in quiet companionship. Every now and then, he’d glance up at your eyes, your lips, your smile. And he’d pause, like he didn’t deserve this kind of peace.

But you were determined to remind him that he did.

After dinner, you walked behind him, resting your hands gently on his shoulders. “Let me take care of you, baby.”

He gave a small nod.

You loosened his tie first, fingers moving with care. Then the top buttons of his shirt. Then you pushed it down his arms, letting the fabric slide to the floor, peppering a few kisses to his exposed chest. He didn’t resist. He never did with you. He just relished your touch.

“Go lie down for me. On your stomach,” you said, voice honeyed.

He obeyed without question, laying across the cool sheets. You straddled his hips lightly, warming the oil between your palms before pressing your hands to his back. The scent, his favorite, was rich and grounding: cedarwood with a hint of bergamot.

The first press of your thumbs made him inhale sharply. The muscles beneath your hands were stone from stress. Every motion you made was a rolling pressure, easing through tension like smoothing wrinkles from silk. The room was dim, golden with lamplight and the music softened into a romantic hush.

“You’re carrying too much,” you whispered, working along the muscle near his spine. “ I can feel it in your back. I wish you would take more breaks and take care of yourself.”

“I can’t afford to,” he murmured into the pillow.

“… i just miss you Kento. And I want to take care of you.”

He turned his face slightly toward you, eyes open now. Watching you. Softening. He didn’t speak.

Your hands swept along the grooves of his back, the corded tension in his shoulders. After several minutes, he shifted beneath you and sat up. His gaze met yours, unreadable but warm, like something long held back was finally bubbling to the surface.

“I went out yesterday after my mission,” he said quietly.

You tilted your head. “Yeah?”

His hand reached toward the nightstand drawer. Your heart slowed. He pulled out a small black velvet box and held it in his palm—not flashy, not showy. Simple. Elegant. Just like him.

“I don’t know how much time this cursed world intends to give me,” he said, voice raw. “But I realized I don’t want to waste a second of it not being yours.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

“I want you to have something of me… in case the worst happens. But more than that…” He opened the box. Inside was a gold ring, modest and timeless. “I want to marry you. I can’t keep pretending that anything else matters more than this. Than you.”

The ring caught the lamplight just slightly, glinting between his fingers. But all you could see was him, so vulnerable but stead. So loving.

“Will you marry me?”

“Yes,” you whispered, voice trembling. “Of course it’s yes!”

Relief cracked across his features. He exhaled a quiet laugh, something rare and beautiful. He pulled you close, one arm around your waist, the other cradling your jaw, and kissed you.

It wasn’t rushed or desperate. It was slow and full of certainty, the kind of kiss that said mine and forever in the same breath. His lips were warm, working against yours the way they always do— perfectly. You melted against him, fingers curling into the soft fabric of his slacks, your nose brushing his as the kiss deepened.

He held you like he’d never let go. And in that moment, there was no world outside. No curses. No pain. Just Kento. Just love. Just forever, beginning right here in your hands.

He pulled away and gently grabbed your hand, the contrast between his broad frame and the soft slide of the ring over your finger almost making you dizzy. The metal was cool, the band perfect, and it fit like it was made for you. Which, of course, it was.

You stared at it in disbelief, then back at him, those warm hazel eyes finally free of the tightness they’d carried for weeks.

And then your heart just broke open.

You surged forward, cupping his face, and kissed him like you were trying to breathe life into his bones, this kiss more passionate than the one shared only moments ago. Your hands roamed instinctively, his shoulders, his neck, threading into his blonde hair. He groaned softly into your mouth, letting you climb into his lap, his hands sliding under your thighs to pull you closer.

“I love you,” you murmured against his lips.

“I love you,” he replied lowly, breath catching as you began kissing down the side of his neck. “But if you don’t stop, I’m going to—”

You nipped his collarbone.

“—forget I desperately need a shower first,” he finished with a short exhale.

You paused just long enough to laugh. “Then I guess I’m joining you.”

He blinked once. “You sure?”

You stood, eyes burning into his. “Don’t ask dumb questions, Kento.”

That got the smallest smirk out of him.

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The bathroom filled with rising steam as he undid his slacks, folding them with the same neatness he did everything. You were less mechanical, shirt over your head, bra unclasped, everything discarded in a trail behind you.

Nanami’s eyes were on you now, admiring the love of his life. He stepped into the shower first, steam rolling down his back, muscles catching the light like polished bronze. He turned, extending a hand, and you took it, closing the glass door behind you.

The water was hot, cascading in rivulets down your skin as he pulled you under the stream, cradling your back against the tile. His hands gripped your waist, not too tight, but enough to make your stomach flutter.

“I’ve been thinking about this,” he said, voice deep, low over the sound of the water, “since the moment I walked through that door.”

“The shower?” you giggled. “Not me?”

Nanami let out a low chuckle, cupping your cheek and caressing the underpart of your eye, “You, my love.”

His mouth met yours again, but different now. Hotter. Hungrier. His tongue brushed yours pulling a moan from your throat. His hands slipping down to cup your ass, pulling you flush against him. He groaned as your bare chest pressed to his, slick skin to skin, the contact sending a shiver down your spine.

You felt how hard he was already, pressed against your hip, and you gasped when he lifted you suddenly by the thighs, pinning you against the wall.

“Hold on,” he said roughly.

Your arms wrapped around his neck, your legs locking around his waist.

His hips rolled forward just once, teasing, making you gasp. You began rolling yourself against him, leaving your slick across his member. You met him with open mouth kisses now, tongues twirling around each other in a fervent dance.

“Kento—” you breathed, nails digging into his back.

“I love you,” he murmured, kissing down your neck, biting just enough to make your head fall back. “I love you more than anything. And from now on, I won’t let the world keep me away from you.”

Your eyes met his again, so much raw love behind the heat, and you nodded.

“I love you more, my fiancé,” you smiled with the excitement at the title and gave him a quick peck on the lips, eyes filled with both love and lust, “now please— If you don’t fuck me right now I might lose it”

“So vulgar,” A quiet breath of amusement escaped his nose, but he didn’t waste another second.

He aligned himself with your entrance and slid into you almost too smoothly, your slick being built up from the teasing. Both of you groan at the stretch and heat and depth. The water poured over you both, his forehead pressed to yours, his hips grinding into you with controlled force, each thrust precise, each movement a vow in motion.

“Ah!~” you moaned out, tugging on his gold strands from the pleasure. His head slipped to your shoulder as he picked up the pace, loud smacks echoing off of the tile. You already felt your release building, back beginning to arch off of the tile. Nanami was so good at reading your body, he never changed his pace and kept at the same angle until he felt you clinch tightly around him, orgasm ripping through your body.

“That’s it,” he groaned, still thrusting up into you, “give me all you can.”

He adjusted his arms to where his hands gripped the back of your knees, pushing them close to your chest and spreading them apart as far as they would go. The only thing holding you up now was nanami’s pure strength and the grip you had on his shoulders.

“Kent— ah!!~” a moan was forced out of your chest, the new angle making you feel every inch against your walls. Your grip on him tightened as he had his way with you, pumping his member inside of you in a rhythm meant to please you both.

“You feel so good—“ Nanami breathed between thrusts, “ You were made for me. Cum for me again— please— “

With a few more thrusts, you came undone, body feeling limp in his grip. His lips capturing your cries as your body shook around him. He steadily fucked into you, chasing his own release. Your fluttering walls pulsed around him, having him follow moments after, releasing deep inside you with a groan so guttural it reverberated through your chest. His thrusts become shallow, working you both through the remnants of your orgasm, not necessarily ready to let it go just yet.

He didn’t let you go.

Even when your legs were trembling. Even when the water started to cool. He held you there, buried in your neck, the scent of cedar wood and sweat mixed in with the steam wrapped around you both.

“I’m going to marry you,” he whispered again, as if he couldn’t believe it was real. “I’m going to protect you with everything I have left.”

You kissed him softly, tired and blissed out. “You already do.”

Nanami turned the water off, forgetting to actually shower, and grabbed the near towel to wrap around your shoulders first, ever the gentleman— even after fucking you breathless in the shower.

The steam still lingered as you both stepped out, limbs tangled and half-laughing from trying not to slip. He raked a hand through his wet hair, looking almost boyish as droplets ran down the hard planes of his chest. You handed him his towel and stole a long look, biting back a smile when he caught you staring.

“What?” he murmured, brow slightly raised.

“I just never get tired of looking at you,” you teased.

He smiled a way he rarely did for others, only for you. “We have a lifetime to admire each other.” His words dripped like a quiet promise: Now that you’re truly mine, I’ll always be here for you.

You dried off together in the golden light of the bedroom lamp, soft cotton against bare skin, hair damp and clinging to warm shoulders. He tugged on sleep pants; you slipped into one of his shirts, oversized and slouchy, still holding his signature smell as if it didn’t come off in the wash. The ring on your finger caught the light as you moved, glinting and so beautiful, a symbol of the love you share with Nanami Kento.

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When you both finally crawled back into bed, the covers felt impossibly soft. Nanami leaned back against the pillows, chest bare, arms open. You climbed onto him without hesitation, settling on his hips, straddling him lazily as if it were the most natural thing in the world. One of your hands rested over his heart, the other lifted into the air, wiggling your fingers to admire the simple gold band.

“I still can’t believe it,” you whispered, beaming.

His hand slid up your thigh, calloused palm warm against your skin. “This is real, (y/n). I don’t make impulsive decisions.”

“No,” you said, eyes softening. “You don’t.”

Nanami took your left hand in both of his carefully, his thumbs brushed over your fingers, then paused at the ring. He brought it to his lips, kissed it softly.

Then looked at you with everything in him.

“I’m yours,” he said simply.

And you smiled, a little teary-eyed, heart so full it felt like it might burst.

“I know,” you whispered.

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I suggest not reading past this if you don’t want any angst >.>

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The miso was burning.

You didn’t even notice until the sharp scent of char clung to the air, curling into your throat. You moved the pot off the stove with a dull, mechanical hand, turning off the burner as if on autopilot.

Nanami was supposed to be home by now. He had left around 8am as usual, and would usually be back by 6pm, ready to shower, eat dinner, and spend time with you. He would usually text you throughout the day, letting you know if he would be late, or even just updating you about his day. But today was different.

Not a single message.

You told yourself it was just they way his job worked sometimes. You told yourself he was busy, saving lives, doing what he always did: fighting so that others didn’t have to.

But in your gut, deep down where fear has no name, you already knew. You just didn’t have the courage to admit it.

You turned in the news out of habit, the remote still cold in your hand. The footage on the screen was complete chaos: plumes of smoke rising over shibuya station, streets torn apart as if there was a severe drought, entire buildings gutted. Reporters stumbled over their words, struggling to explain what they were seeing. The official statement called it a terrorist attack— mass casualties, structural failure, a city wide emergency lock down.

But you knew better. You knew curses had attacked, a tragic event that didn’t show up on camera, something the news would never be able to explain.

And you knew Nanami had been sent to Shibuya for support.

Knock knock knock

Your focus was dragged from the television in front of you. Glancing at the clock, it was already going late into the next morning. You had spent the entire night up, watching the news and waiting for Nanami to enter through the door.

Three knocks. Hesitant. Not the sharp, clean rhythm Nanami always used if he had forgotten his keys. These were softer. Uneven. Like the person behind the door didn’t want to be there.

You opened it.

It wasn’t him.

It was Shoko.

No cigarette between her fingers. No lazy smile, no sarcastic comment to soften the air. Just her, solemn, empty-handed, and silent.

You knew before she even opened her mouth.

She looked like she hadn’t slept. Her lab coat was wrinkled, smeared with something that might’ve been ash. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, as if the ground was unsteady beneath her. And for a woman who’d once stitched up Nanami’s chest with without dropping her cigarette, that alone said everything:

He wasn’t coming home.

Still, she tried to speak. Tried to find words. Her lips parted, but her voice caught on something, grit or guilt, you couldn’t tell. Her gaze dropped to the floor, then rose again, blinking against the weight in her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she said finally. Her voice was low, raw, like she’d practiced it, over and over, and it still came out wrong.

You stood there, unable to move. A cold numbness spread from your chest down to your hands, anchoring you to the doorway. The weight of the ring on your finger dug into your skin. Shoko saw the glint of the metal, the lamp light reflecting off of it, which caused her cover her mouth with her hand. Neither of you had told anyone of the engagement just yet, wanting to wait for the right time when the world wasn’t as shitty. She decided not to say anything about it, but she immediately reached into her coat pocket and pulled out something small, wrapped in gauze—Nanami’s watch. Cracked. Blood on the band. Still ticking.

“He… he always talked about you when he came to me for healing,” she said, her voice barely more than a breath. “Said you’d kill him if you knew how bad it was. But he kept going back out there. Every time.”

She looked at you, really looked at you, and this time her voice broke.

“You were the one thing he never questioned. And we all knew he loved you deeply.”

The weight of it hit you all at once—Nanami’s absence, the silence where his voice used to be, the unbearable finality that came with Shoko’s presence instead of his. She didn’t say the word dead. She didn’t have to.

You didn’t cry. You didn’t move. You didn’t even blink.

You reached out for the watch with shaking fingers, and when it landed in your palm, it felt like your whole world cracked open.

Your knees gave out.

You clutched it to your chest like you could keep your heart from falling out.

“I didn’t get to say goodbye,” you said, barely audible.

You remembered—

Four nights ago, him sitting on the edge of the bed, holding that little velvet box.

The way his voice cracked when he said he didn’t want to waste time.

The way he kissed the ring on your hand.

The way he pulled you close like part of him knew.

And still he left.

Still he walked out that door.

Still he died—alone.

And now the apartment smelled like burnt miso and the ghost of a man who once said, “I’ll be home soon.”

But he didn’t come back.

If you weren’t aware, I’m deeply in love with Grimmjow and I needed something domestic for him :)))))

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Early on in your relationship, Grimmjow never necessarily said no to your touch. But he always acted like he hated it. You’d slide your hand into his when the two of you were walking side-by-side, and he’d glance down at it like it was an anomaly.

“Tch. You’re real handsy today,” he muttered once, after you laced your fingers with his.

You just smiled, “I always am.”

Although he complained, he didn’t let go. Didn’t even try. And that was how it always went.

You’d stroke the hair at the nape of his neck when he was sitting beside you on the couch. He’d grunt like you were bothering him, maybe roll his eyes, but he’d tip his head back into your hand without realizing, half-lidded eyes and relaxed jaw giving him away completely, until he noticed your smile.

“Don’t get cocky,” he’d snap, cheeks pink. “I’m just tired.”

Rightttt. Tired.

You would just turn yourself back to what you were watching, not wanting to ruin the moment, “Of course.”

He just wasn’t used to affection. You could tell by the way his muscles always tensed under your touch, how he held his breath the first few seconds when you wrapped your arms around his waist. As if waiting for the impact of some unseen blow.

But slowly, in his own weird way, he started showing you affection back. It came out awkward and clumsy, buried under growls and scowls. Sometimes he’d thump his forehead into your shoulder and sit there for a while, quiet and warm like a tired animal claiming his spot, but would grumble if you would make a peep about it. Or when you were lying together, he’d press his face into the back of your neck, no kisses, no words. Just presence. You’d shift a little, adjusting so his chin rested against your shoulder instead. Then, without warning, you turned your head and gave him a small kiss on his temple. He flinched. Froze. Pulled back an inch like you’d slapped him.

“Wh—what the hell was that for?” he barked, voice sharp but a little too high. You smiled to yourself. “Felt like it.”

His jaw ticked. His face was already going red, and he was clearly trying to scowl through the heat crawling up his ears. He huffed like he was mad, “keep your lips off of me…”

Then promptly buried his face deeper into your shoulder. Not just resting this time, nuzzling. The bridge of his nose brushing up along your jaw, cheek pressing against yours like it was the only place he could be comfortable. “…You’re such a pain in the ass,” he mumbled, the words muffled against your skin. His arms settled around your waist, loose at first, then tighter, like he was daring you to say anything about it. You didn’t. And he didn’t move. Little things like this went on for awhile, but eventually, he was beginning to adjust.

He was used to you clinging to him like a baby possum now. Whether you were latched onto his arm, curled against his side, or casually toying with the ends of his hair while talking to someone else, he didn’t swat you away like he used to.

The growling hadn’t stopped, sure. But the twitching, the jerking back, the defensive tailspin? That had all simmered into begrudging tolerance.

One evening, the two of you ended up at Urahara’s shop.

It wasn’t anything formal, just a casual evening with Yoruichi and the “hat man”, drinks passed around, music playing low in the background. You sat curled next to Grimmjow on the floor like always, tucked into his side, while he leaned back against the wall with that usual I hate everyone here scowl.

You reached over to grab the bottle on the low table and poured him another glass, careful not to spill. Grimmjow side-eyed you but didn’t say anything, just picked up the cup and downed it in one go.

“You spoil him,” Yoruichi said, swirling her own drink.

“She’s domesticated him,” Urahara chimed in, grin peeking out from behind his fan. “It’s only fair she tops off his glass like a good housewife.”

Grimmjow immediately stiffened. “I ain’t nobody’s husband,” he snapped.

You just poured yourself a shot while smirking. “Awww!~ you don’t wanna marry me?~” you faked a sob, “I’m hurt!”

“Tch, shut up woman…” he muttered, grabbing your shot from your hand and taking it himself without a second thought, as if that would somehow cancel out your flirting.

Urahara let out a soft chuckle, leaning slightly toward Yoruichi. “It’s textbook exposure therapy, really. Repeated contact until the subject stops growling.”

Grimmjow froze mid-sip. He jerked turned his head to glare at Urahara—murder in his eyes. Urahara just smiled wider, fan hiding half his face. “We’re making real progress.”

Grimmjow smacked his teeth, “Don’t test me, hat man.”

Urahara let out a soft chuckle before turning his attention to you, topping off another drink for you before you could do it yourself. “ Now now, Careful,” he said, watching you with that mischievous twinkle in his eye. “You’re already getting red.”

“I’m fine,” you said, waving him off with your newly refilled glass. “I can keep up.”

“You really can’t,” Yoruichi teased, already leaning on her elbow like she was expecting a show.

Now Grimmjow could hold his liquor, you’ve seen him down a bottle and still be able to take you both home.

You? Not so much.

By your third glass, you were already giggly. By the fourth, you’d migrated into Grimmjow’s space completely, legs tossed over his lap, head against his chest, fingers lazily drawing circles into the muscle of his forearm like it was your favorite canvas.

He hadn’t told you to stop. If anything, he’d gone suspiciously still. His face was just slightly pink. Just a little warm. Nothing outrageous.

But your eyes were half-lidded now, the alcohol making your body feel slow and warm and bold.

You looked over at Urahara and Yoruichi, who at this point, were arguing about god knows what, obviously not worried about you two. So you looked up at him with a soft, drunk little smile, reached up—

—and gently tugged his face down to yours.

Grimmjow blinked. “What’re you—”

And then you kissed him.

Not a peck. Not one of your usual teasing cheek kisses. A real, lingering kiss. Soft lips pressed to his, one hand sliding down his chest to his waist while the other held onto the back of his neck. He tensed for half a second… then sank into it.

His hand found your waist. His eyes fluttered shut. You could feel it in the way he kissed you back: tentative, searching, just a little desperate. Like he didn’t want to admit how much he needed it.

“WOOOOOO!”

Yoruichi practically cheered.

Urahara clapped like he was at a wedding.

Grimmjow’s eyes snapped open.

He pushed you back like you’d caught on fire, shoving you off his lap and onto the cushion beside him before jumping to his feet— nearly flipping the table.

Urahara didn’t miss a beat.

“Ahh, I see the exposure therapy is working!” he exclaimed, howling with laughter, practically wheezing behind his fan and slapping his knee.

Grimmjow pointed at him like he was choosing his next victim.

“You wanna go, old man?!” he snapped, teeth bared, whole face burning red. “Say that shit again— I dare you!”

Yoruichi leaned back, holding her stomach with how hard she was laughing. “You liked it! You even closed your eyes for a second— ”

“Keep runnin’ your mouth and see how fast I shut it!!”

Urahara waved his fan in amusement, teasing, “Classic case of overcorrection. First the kiss, then the flight response. He’s panicking.”

Grimmjow actually lunged.

You caught his shirt mid-charge, yanking him back down with surprising strength for a giggling drunk. He hit the cushion beside you with a grunt, jaw tight and eyes still locked on Urahara like he hadn’t fully decided not to commit murder.

“Grimmjowww~,” you whined playfully, climbing right back into his lap like he hadn’t just tried to launch you across the room. “drink your damn sake and stop threatening people.”

He stared at you like you were insane, but you handed him a fresh cup anyway. His eye twitched before begrudgingly taking it, knocking it back in one go.

You leaned into him again, grinning against his neck.

“…I hate you,” he muttered. But his arms went around you anyway.

Not tight. Just enough to keep you from falling out of his lap. He turned slightly, facing away from the others so they couldn’t see the furious blush creeping up his ears, down his neck, across the very tip of his nose.

“Don’t say a word,” he hissed sensing eyes on him, mostly at Urahara.

“I think this counts as another step in his exposure therapy,” Urahara said cheerfully.

Grimmjow let out the loudest, most exasperated sigh in the history of Arrancar-kind, and buried his face in your shoulder.

Thank you anon!!! <3, I enjoyed writing this one, even though I don’t think I’m too good at writing yandere themes. Hope you enjoy!

Obsessiveness, coercion 🔞

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Jugram Haschwalth never locked his door.

A man like him had no enemies inside the Silbern, only subordinates, shadows, and silence.

Except you.

You moved like the dark between candlelight, never noticed, never named. You smiled politely when he passed in the corridor. Always bowed low when he spoke. You wore the same uniform, took the same oaths. But your loyalty had long since taken root in rot.

You didn’t serve Yhwach. You served him.

Jugram Haschwalth.

The man who bore the burden of divine balance.

The man who, under the cover of night, you followed, you worshipped.

You would wait until his aura shifted—when Yhwach fell into his divine slumber and Jugram inherited the burden of command. In those hours, he was gone from his chambers, wielding the weight of foresight and duty like a blade. That was when his room lay still. Unwatched. Vulnerable.

That was when you entered.

You never took much, if anything. Just time. Just his scent.

Sometimes you would kneel at the edge of his bed and murmur prayers to no god, just him. You would run your fingers along the grain of his desk, press your face to his robes hanging by the hearth, lay your cheek against the cool of his pillow and pretend, just for a second, that he was there with you.

That his weight pressed the mattress. That his voice rasped your name. That his fingers moved between your thighs instead of your own.

You left no traces, at first. But desire is a greedy beast.

You couldn’t help but moan, soft and muffled into the fabric he touched daily. And one night, perhaps on purpose, perhaps not, you came on his sheets.

A hot, shaking release. One that made your hips twitch long after your fingers stilled.

The next day, you watched from the end of the war table, standing straight and composed, as Jugram stiffened ever so slightly when the topic of disorder was mentioned. His gaze had passed over you only once.

You felt it. And you smiled.

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He had not confronted you.

Not even after the second time.

Not even after you’d slipped one of your own garments beneath his covers, hidden like a keepsake. That was his mistake. He thought ignoring you would make you disappear.

But you were done hiding.

Tonight, the fortress buzzed with low anxiety. Some mission had gone sideways. A failed skirmish. A loss.

Jugram’s spiritual pressure moved like a thunderhead through the corridors, dense and suffocating.

Perfect.

You were already in his room before he returned.

Wearing his robe. Nothing underneath.

The silk clung to your skin like permission.

You sat in the center of his bed, knees tucked beneath you, his comb resting between your fingers as you slowly ran it through your hair—an imitation of a domestic fantasy that had played a thousand times in your mind.

The door opened.

He stepped in.

He stopped.

Silence.

His expression didn’t falter. Not yet. Jugram Haschwalth was a man carved from self-control. But you saw it, the ripple behind the calm, the deep breath that caught halfway through his throat.

He noticed the robe. He noticed the comb. He noticed the pressed sheets already crinkled beneath your thighs.

You smiled gently, demurely. “Welcome home.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. But his eyes burned. Not with desire, with something else. Something closer to dread. You couldn’t help but smile.

You rose to your feet with the grace of a princess. The robe shifted around your body, gaping open just enough to show the smooth line of your inner thigh. You held the comb like a treasure before setting it down beside his untouched tea tray.

“I wanted to be here when you returned,” you said softly. “You’ve been working so hard lately. You deserve comfort.”

His voice was gravel. “Leave.”

You didn’t. Instead, you frowned.

You stepped toward him, slow and barefoot, your gaze never dropping from his. “You knew. You’ve always known. And still, you did nothing. So now you think it’s okay to try?.”

He exhaled sharply, as if your words slapped the air from his lungs.

“Every time I touched your bed,” you whispered, “you felt it, didn’t you? You tasted the air and knew it had my heat in it. I gave you so many chances to stop me. You let me go deeper and deeper into your world until it started tasting like mine own.”

You reached him. Your fingers grazed his belt, but he caught your wrist.

His grip was strong. Vice-like. The kind of strength that should have stopped you cold.

Instead, you smiled again, “isn’t that love, Jugram? Isn’t that your way of saying yes without having to admit it? You must feel it too, right, my love?”

And then—slowly—you slid your free hand to the knot of your robe and pulled. The silk slithered down your shoulders.

Then your arm.

Then your hips.

And hung smoothly at your wrist still in his grasp.

Now you were Naked. Glowing in candlelight.

Staring up into Jugram’s stunned, pale face with something between madness and obsession .

“You can pretend you don’t want me,” you breathed, stepping forward until your bare skin kissed the edge of his coat. “But your body’s already answering for you.”

You pressed your palm to the hard bulge beneath his waistband. He sighed to himself, ‘my body betrays me..’

“See?” you whispered. “I knew you’d be grateful one day.”

Jugram’s grip on your wrist twitched. ‘She’s unwell. Deranged. A parasite that’s latched onto my silence and called it affection. I should stop this. End it now.‘

It would’ve been so easy for him to shove you away. To strike you down where you stood. To call the guards or set the whole fortress ablaze just to rid himself of you.

But he didn’t.

His chest rose, sharp and stiff beneath his uniform. His jaw ticked. His gaze flicked once, lower, and then snapped back to your face. His eyes, they looked afraid. Not of you, but of himself, “You’ve taken this too far…” he muttered as if he was unsure if he even wanted to say the words.

“You work soooo hard,” you sighed. “You deserve to feel good. Just once. Let me be the one to give it to you. You won’t even have to ask.”

You cupped him gently, thumb stroking the shape of his member through the fabric.

Jugram inhaled, harsh and guttural. Still, he said nothing more.

You smiled.

“Give in, my love” you said, voice honey-thick. “Your body knows before you do.”

You leaned in. Pressed your mouth to his neck. Kissed his pulse. He didn’t pull away. His grip on your wrist slackened just enough for you to slip free.

You slid to your knees.

The robe was gone, no longer hanging off of your wrist pooling behind you. Your bare knees pressed against the cold stone floor. Your fingers worked at his belt, tugging the knot loose. He didn’t move. Didn’t help you. He didn’t speak. His hands stayed at his sides, trembling slightly. What was he thinking? Was he this desperate for release that he would allow someone like you to taint him?

You pulled open his coat and the clasp at his pants. The fabric fell away, and you were staring at the heat of him, flushed and stiff, twitching at the base.

You licked your lips.

“Ahhh~ So pretty!~,” you breathed out happily, wrapping your hand around the base. “I’ve seen this in my dreams. Woken up with my thighs soaked because of you. I love you Jugram!”

You looked up at him. He stared down, blue eyes glassy. Shock. Maybe shame. But he was hard, and at this moment, that was all that mattered. ‘She’s ruined me. She’s gotten under my skin like a sickness that feels sweet. I hate her.’

Your mouth opened around him, tongue sliding across the tip as you sank forward. The weight of him filled your mouth easily, and you hummed low in your throat, pressing your nails into his thighs to keep yourself grounded.

Jugram hissed through his teeth, unable to look away as he watched you.

You bobbed your head, lips wet, breath catching as you worked him. You let spit trail down your chin. Let it drip onto your chest, your eyes almost rolling back. You didn’t care how you looked, your moans of pleasure were proof of how much you were enjoying this. He was yours. Finally.

When his hips jerked the tiniest bit forward, you moaned out a cry like he’d blessed you.

“You don’t need to think,” you spoke between bobs, you couldn’t stop, you didn’t want to stop “Just feel my love. I’ll take care of you. I’ve always taken care of you. I love you so much!~ I love you— I’ll do anything for you!~”

You stroked him with one hand and cupped his balls with the other, tongue laving the underside of his cock. Without thinking, his hand raised. He gripped your shoulder, hard, fingers digging into your flesh as his hips finally gave in to instinct, fucking into your throat in sync with your movements. His breath hitched. His cock throbbed against your tongue. Then he came.

Hot and thick, spilling down your throat in pulses that made him curse under his breath for the first time in years.

He looked down as you swallowed it all, moaning like it was the sweetest thing you’d ever tasted. His hand remained on your shoulder—still clutching, still trembling—as if holding you in place made the shame feel less real. ‘This didn’t happen’, he told himself. ‘This can’t be happening.’

You pulled off with a gasp, face flushed, pupils blown. You looked up at him, mouth shiny and lips parted in something near bliss, using your thumb to clean up the corners of your mouth.

You sighed, dreamy. “Now you can’t pretend anymore,” you said in a singsong tone, rising to your feet. Your voice was soft, sugar-dipped and dangerous. “You let me taste you. You came for me.”

You stepped in close again, flushed skin brushing against his pants as they hung open, loose. You pressed your lips gently to his chest, just over where his heart thundered. He didn’t move.

“It’s okay,” you murmured against him, letting your breath warm the fabric. “No one has to know. Just you and me. One night. One moment just for us.”

You reached up, took his hand, and guided it to your waist. He didn’t pull away.

You whispered into the shell of his ear:

“Come to bed with me.”

Your fingers entwined with his, slow and tender. You tugged him gently toward the mattress, your movements patient, like guiding a wounded man through fog.

“I’ll be good for you,” you promised, voice silken, whispering right into his ear as you stepped back toward the bed. “I’ll lay back. I’ll open my legs. I’ll let you pretend I’m anyone you want—until you can’t anymore.”

He swallowed hard, jaw locked tight, but his feet followed.

You sat on the edge of the mattress and laid back, parting your legs slowly. Your thighs glistened faintly in the candlelight, and your lips curled into a soft, worshipful smile.

“Doesn’t it hurt?” you asked, tilting your head. “Holding all that tension? All that discipline? You don’t have to carry it right now. Let me take it for you. I want it—I want you. All of you.”

He stood over you, the weight of it all feeling like a decision between divinity and damnation.

And you reached for him, tugging him down with both hands. You whispered again, more breath than voice:

“Please, Jugram… just this once. You don’t even have to love me. I’ll love enough for both of us.”

Your lips brushed the underside of his jaw.

And then—

He moved.

His coat hit the floor. Then came his gloves.Then his breath, sharp and uneven as his fingers trailed along your thighs. They moved stiffly at first, unsure. But they were warm, shivering in their hesitation.

You smiled up at him, eyes wide with need. “That’s it,” you whispered. “Let me be your relief. Let me be the reason you fall apart.”

Jugram still said nothing. He wasn’t able to speak, he could no longer fight.

He knelt between your legs. He aligned himself in one slow, shaking motion. His cock brushed your entrance—slick, flushed, and already twitching with spent control. Your breath hitched, legs wrapping loosely around his hips.

“I’m ready,” you whispered. “I’ve always been ready. I was made to take you.”

And he pushed in.

A strangled sound tore from his throat—half gasp, half growl—buried into the crook of your neck. The stretch was thick, satisfying, everything you’d dreamed of while writhing alone in his sheets. He filled you, inch by inch, until he was buried to the hilt.

You clung to him, nails digging into his back. “So warm,” you gasped, arching beneath him. “You feel so good, Jugram—so perfect inside me~”

He was trembling above you from restraint. From a soul being dragged screaming toward surrender.

His hips moved—just once. A single roll.

You moaned with pure ecstasy. “That’s it. Yes! Please— More…”

He grabbed your thigh, lifting it slightly, and rolled again. The next thrust was harder, more certain. Then another. Then another.

Each motion dragged a breathy cry from your lips. The rhythm built faster than he could stop it. He was slamming into you now, the bed groaning beneath the force of it. His hair clung to his temples. His teeth clenched.

And you? You were unraveling. It was if you were being fucked by a god. You’ve never felt so good in your life. You knew you were made to be under him.

Your legs locked around him. Your lips moved at his ear. “I love you,” you whispered between sobs of pleasure. “You belong to me now. No one else gets to see you like this. No one else gets to hear you lose control. You’ve always belonged to me!”

He groaned, low and hoarse. His pace quickened.

“Come inside me,” you gasped. “Mark me. Claim me. I want to carry it—I want you so deep I taste you on my tongue.”

Jugram growled—actually growled—and slammed into you so hard your back arched clean off the mattress. His mouth hovered just above yours, but he didn’t kiss you. He couldn’t. Because if he did, he knew he’d fall.

“You’re sick,” he muttered through gritted teeth. “Twisted.”

You moaned louder. “I know. Isn’t it beautiful?”

His hand moved to cover your mouth, like he just couldn’t hear another word from you. He snapped his hips again. And again. And again. You opened your mouth to lick and kiss at his palm, moaning uncontrollably at the way he moved in you.

Your words came out muffled, “ah! I love you so much Jugram! I feel so good— please!~”

‘God help me’, he thought, ‘I’m going to cum.’

Your cunt clenched around him, warm and dripping. “Give it to me,” you begged, “Ruin me.”

His thrusts turned ragged. One hand still on your mouth, the other gripping the headboard to steady himself, Jugram Haschwalth slammed into you with all the fury of a man possessed.

And then—he broke.

With a hissed curse, he came, hips jerking as he spilled inside you in deep, throbbing pulses.

You cried out with him, pulling him down, holding him as he emptied himself into your soaked, waiting body. Your arms wrapped tight around him, nails dragging down his back, breathless laughter bubbling from your throat.

“See?” you whispered into his ear, voice dizzy with triumph. “You were always mine.”

Jugram continued to stay quiet. Because somewhere in the aftermath, buried between the hot spill of his release and the soft echo of your moans—he realized something awful.

He didn’t regret it.

Jugram’s body was heavy against yours, his chest rising and falling with stifled shame, his skin damp with sweat. Your thighs were sticky, still trembling slightly around his hips. His cock rested inside you, softening, but refusing to slip out—like even his body knew better than to leave you just yet.

You stroked his hair. Long fingers sifted through the golden strands, slow and tender, like he was yours to care for. Yours to soothe. Yours to keep.

His cheek rested against your breast. His eyes were open, glassy and blank, staring somewhere past the curve of your ribs into a place he couldn’t name.

“You did so well,” you whispered, lips pressing against the top of his head. “You let yourself feel something. That’s all I ever wanted.”

You cradled him tighter, one hand stroking the back of his neck, the other drawing lazy circles over his spine.

“I’ll take care of you now,” you murmured. “You don’t have to carry it alone anymore. You can use me, Jugram. You can put it all in me. Your stress. Your anger. Your burdens. I’ll hold it all.”

He didn’t move.

Not for a long time.

You thought he might fall asleep like that, his body caged between your arms, his cock still buried inside you like a secret no one could ever unearth.

But then—

You felt it.

A twitch. A slow shift in his hips.

Your breath caught.

He was hardening again. Still inside you. Still silent. Your eyes widened as his hands slid under your back, gripping your waist.

“Jugram…?”

No answer.

He rose above you, his hair falling over his face, shadowing his expression. His eyes were unreadable. Not soft. Not cruel. Just… hollow.

His hips rocked forward.

Once.

Then again.

Then a third time—deeper, heavier, forcing a gasp from your throat.

“You wanted this,” he said, voice low and flat. Not a question. A statement. A sentence.

You nodded quickly, smiling through the ache as he began to move in earnest.

“Yes. Yes, I want it. I want you. I want—”

“Shut up.”

He snapped his hips harder, making the bed creak beneath you.

Your words stuttered into moans.

“You made me do this,” he muttered, hands gripping your hips tight. “You pushed and pushed and now—”

Another thrust.

Your breath hitched.

“—you’re going to take what you begged for.”

You cried out, eyes fluttering as he fucked you with a rhythm that felt more like punishment than pleasure. But to you, it was divine.

His release from control was everything you’d dreamed of. He used your body like it was his outlet. His relief. His tool.

And you? You welcomed it. Every thrust. Every bruise. Every shiver of resentment and ruin he poured into your skin.

You clung to him, legs locked around his hips again. And in the dark, in the suffocating silence of the Grandmaster’s chambers, where all you hear are the smacks of skin meeting skin, you smiled—

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Toji is a man of many talents, most deadly or destructive. But the one thing he dominated at, the thing that could melt you from the inside out without even laying you flat, was kissing.

Not the kind of kisses that ended sweetly. Not quick or bashful or even romantic.

Toji’s kisses were more of the type that ruined you.

His mouth moved like he knew exactly what he was doing. He knew where to lick, where to touch, how much to tease, how much to dominate. But worst of all—he took his time.

Like now.

His body had caged yours against the hallway wall, one thick arm braced beside your head, the other curled possessively around your waist. The scent of him was dizzying, his pheromones always did something to your senses. Something primal. His gaze flickered over your lips with that smirk you hated, the one that meant he’d been thinking about this for far too long for his liking.

“Hi princess,” he almost purred. And then he leaned in.

God.

His lips brushed yours once, just once, and it was already too much. If lust had a taste, he would be it. Flavored like everything your body shouldn’t crave in a man this dangerous. And when he kissed you again, fully, deeply, your knees gave out.

He caught you, of course. With one hand to your lower back, he yanked your hips flush against his, lifting you so your toes barely skimmed the floor. Your hands fisted in his shirt. You barely had time to breathe before his tongue slid against your bottom lip—teasing, drawing out that tiny moan you couldn’t contain—and then slipped into your mouth with obscene slowness.

He devoured you.

That was the only word for it.

Every stroke of his tongue was deep, wet. He explored your mouth like he was claiming it. and fuck, it was working. He kissed you with no hesitation, no restraint. It was the kind of kiss that made your thighs clench and your hips rock forward against his without permission. It was intense— he knew what it did to you and he wasn’t finished. And through all of his, he never changed pace. He kissed you steadily, taking his time consuming, savoring your mouth, tasting every inch of your tongue.

Toji groaned low in his throat, deep and gravelly, as his hand came up and gripped your jaw—not rough, but firm, holding you right where he wanted you. His thumb traced over your bottom lip as he pulled away just an inch, watching your face, your flushed skin, your parted lips trembling.

“You’re already shaking,” he murmured, dark and velvet. “Just from this?”

You tried to speak, to say anything, but the words dissolved as he kissed you again, harder this time. He angled your head the way he wanted it, tongue plunging back into your mouth with sinful expertise. He didn’t just kiss, he played. His lips sucked gently at yours before dragging away, teeth barely grazing, then plunging back in with tongue and heat and dizzying control that left you moaning into his mouth like you were already halfway gone.

Your hands were in his hair now. Tugging. Scratching. Desperate. You couldn’t stop grinding down against his thigh, chasing any friction at all, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes from how deep his tongue went—like he wanted to choke you with just a kiss. You were sure you could come just from the way he abused your lips.

No one held you like this. No one ruined you so sweetly, so devastatingly, with just his mouth. And you would let him do anything to you because no one kissed like Toji.

Every time he pulled away, you gasped, lips slick and swollen, whimpering just from the absence of him. And then he’d dive back in, letting his tongue drag lazily along yours until your whole body was trembling, arching against him, begging.

“Toji,” you whispered, lips brushing his as your eyes fluttered. “Please…”

“Please what, baby?” he asked, already breathless from kissing you like he’d waited all day to do it.

You whimpered again, nearly embarrassed by how desperate you were, how soaked your panties felt. But you couldn’t stop yourself from rocking forward, hips circling with want. His grip on your waist only tightened, like he knew what you needed, but was going to make you beg for it.

“I want…” Your voice cracked.

Another kiss. A deeper one. You opened your mouth to ask, but he was already on you again.

A wet, open-mouthed kiss that stole every breath from your lungs. You moaned into it, shaking, grinding against the thick bulge pressed between you like you couldn’t stop yourself, like his mouth had cast a spell over you that took control of your autonomic nervous system.

And just when you were about to fall apart from it, from just a kiss, Toji’s hand slipped beneath your shirt, dragging up, rough fingers brushing the underside of your breast— the touch drawing another moan from you.

His lips paused against yours, his breath hot and wicked, and then he pulled back just enough to look into your eyes.

“You keep moaning like that,” he warned, voice frayed with restraint, “and I’ll fuck you against this wall.”

Your breath caught.

His hand slid lower.

And then—

A noise. The faint creak of a floorboard in the other room around the corner. A shuffle of movement, subtle but unmistakable. You completely forgot you’re not the only one home!!

Toji stiffened, nostrils flaring, his jaw tightening like he was about to kill whoever dared exist outside this moment.

But he didn’t move.

He just looked back at you, gaze burning.

“You want me to stop?” he whispered, giving your lips a few lingering pecks.

Your legs were shaking. Your chest heaved. Your lips were bruised, wet, trembling.

“No,” you whispered back, without hesitation.

He smirked.

Thank you!!!! I really appreciate this request I’ve been BEGGING for inspiration lol. This is just some fluff, more so a cute little story. If you want me to continue this, or even do something smutty for him, just let me know! I hope it’s not too boring for you T^T <3

He had first noticed her not for her power, because she possessed none worth mentioning, but for her stillness. She did not command attention the way warriors did. She did not step into a room with intent or ambition. She moved like she barely belonged in the same world, as though her soul had been crafted for gentler things, but was unlucky enough to be stuck in a place not made for her kind.

Jugram had watched her in silence. At first, only with the mild curiosity of a man who noticed everything. But over time, her mannerisms, her smell, her existence, began to anchor in his mind in a way he could not explain.

She worked quietly in the archives— organizing records, copying texts, delivering messages with her eyes averted and her words so soft they were often lost. She bowed too deeply. She never asked for anything. And still, she offered the smallest, most earnest smiles to those who would never return them.

He didn’t know when she became the thought that lingered in his mind at the end of each day. Or when his footsteps started carrying him past the hall outside the archives more often than was necessary. He didn’t know when her presence, one so small, so unassuming, began to unmake the armor he had worn for so long.

Jugram had never known softness. He had only known control, duty, restraint. But in her presence, he began to notice the absence of harshness. She never spoke ill of others. Never raised her voice. When she did speak to him, her tone was only slightly above a whisper, as if she feared she might disturb the air around him by accident.

And perhaps that was what undid him the most:

She was kind to him.

Not because of rank. Not because of power. But because… it was simply who she was.

It unsettled him.

Jugram had turned away, jaw tight. Something in his chest had ached. That was when he first realized it. The pull. She stirred in him what no one else had ever dared to touch.

It wasn’t just infatuation. No, Jugram was too measured, too composed for that. It had became something far deeper and aching— Limerence.

It was the longing to protect. To shelter. To take that quiet, trembling creature and place her somewhere no one could ever hurt her again. Not even the world. And it consumed him, painfully so.

But she didn’t know, or at the minimum she didn’t show it. She was so unaware of what her gentleness did to him. So completely oblivious to the storm she stirred beneath the surface of his skin. If he were to let her know… if he touched that fragile purity even once… he might never stop. He was afraid one touch from him was all it would take to tether her to a fate as cruel and lonely as his own. But the ache only worsened. The more he tried to suppress it, the more his mind betrayed him, latching onto every detail, every mannerism like a lifeline.

He started noticing smaller things. The way she’d twirl her hair only when she was nervous. The way she avoided eye contact when anyone stood too close. The way her fingers curled around the sleeves of her robes like she was always trying to make herself smaller. As if she knew she didn’t belong in this violent place, but stayed anyway, out of duty. Or hope.

There was a shift. A shift so gradual, neither of them could pinpoint when the distance between them started to close. She would find him already present when she arrived at the archives, glancing up only to meet his eyes across the room before they both looked away. He never intruded, only occupied the same spaces. He initially had wanted to protect her from afar, remain a silent observer of her quiet light. But now… now he craved closeness. Craved the sound of her voice when she said his name without caution. Craved the chance to see if her gaze could hold his without fleeing. He began to force proximity. He asked for scripts he never read. Brought her rare ink she hadn’t requested. Left notes requesting updated records that did not need updating. Anything. Anything to stay near her. At some point, she had begun to speak more when he was around. Her voice still quiet, but less hesitant. Her smile less fleeting. Jugram was becoming content, having her like this. Because she was becoming comfortable. With him.

Once, her hand brushed his as she passed him a scroll, and she didn’t pull away immediately. She looked up. Their eyes met.

He saw it.

The same ache that had lodged itself inside his chest now flickering in hers—uncertain, unspoken, but there.

And that was when he knew. This was never going to fade.

No passing fascination could make his heart twist at the sound of her laughter. No idle curiosity could make him wake with her face etched behind his eyelids within the night. No simple affections could bring restlessness to his soul at the thought of these feelings possibly being reciprocated.

That night, he stood outside the archive doors for a long time. Not waiting. Just… breathing. As if preparing to step into a decision he could no longer retreat from.

And then, finally, he entered.

She turned at the sound of the door closing, her hands stilling where they rested atop a stack of parchment. Her eyes lifted to meet his, wide and hesitant beneath the soft fall of her lashes. She greeted him simply, giving him that same soft smile he deeply admired.

There was a tension to his frame, shoulders held taut, fingers curled faintly at his sides, as though he were bracing for something he could no longer postpone.

Silence passed between them. Not uncomfortable, but heavy. Saturated with the kind of anticipation that made the air feel too thick, like the sky before a lightning storm.

He stepped forward. Each stride bubbling more anxiety in his chest, possibly a little more aggressive than he wished.

She took an involuntary step back, unsure of what exactly was happening. She watched him, breath shallow, eyes flicking between his and somewhere else like she couldn’t decide whether to stay or flee.

But then, her lower back gently met the edge of the desk, and Jugram stopped just before her.

For a moment, he said nothing. Only looked at her—as if memorizing the way the light touched her skin, how her hands clutched the hem of her sleeves, knuckles pale with nerves. His gaze traced the strands of hair that had fallen loose around her face. One trembled slightly near her mouth with every shallow breath.

“Jugram.. ?” She exhaled.

He sighed, slow and soft, as if he was experiencing some sort of inner turmoil.

“I do not mean to frighten you,” he said at last, his voice low, laced with control. But beneath the surface, it cracked faintly with something far more human.

“I have been…” he hesitated, eyes flicking briefly to the side before settling on her again, “observing you.”

Her breath caught. She didn’t speak.

“I noticed it first in passing,” he continued, voice trembling just slightly, too soft to notice. “The way you move— quietly. Without demand. The way you smile— even to those who don’t deserve it. I find myself waiting for the curl of your lips. Searching for your presence in rooms I do not belong in. You make me feel… peaceful. As though I am not beyond redemption. As though I might deserve to be looked at the way you look at me.”

His hand lifted, slow and uncertain, until it hovered beside her cheek.

“I tried to ignore it. Tried to remind myself of the path I walk… the fate I have already sealed.” His jaw tightened. “But the longer I watched, the more difficult it became to stay away.”

He brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, fingertips trembling as they grazed her skin. His knuckles traced the line of her jaw before tilting her chin upward—just enough to bring her gaze to his. His eyes searched hers, drinking in every flicker of emotion and something perilously close to trust. And when her breath caught once again, his gaze dipped, briefly, to her lips. The contact was feather-light, with adoration. As if she might disappear should he touch her with anything more than devotion.

“I am not a man prone to indulgence. Nor am I easily swayed. But you…” He paused, voice a breath above a whisper. “You have undone me. Quietly. Entirely.”

He leaned closer, his breath warm against her lips, though he held back, fighting with the weight of restraint.

“I fear that if I do not act on these feelings— if I do not kiss you now, I will live with the regret of not being true to myself. And to you.”

A silence bloomed between them. She stared up at him, trembling now herself—lips parted, lashes fluttering.

Then, as if summoned by instinct, her hands moved. They gripped the front of his uniform, not harshly or with desperation— not even strong enough to wrinkle the fabric— but with the shy, tentative certainty of someone who had been waiting for this moment far longer than she had dared to admit.

His control shattered.

Jugram closed the distance between them, lips brushing hers in a kiss so soft it could’ve been mistaken for a breath. He tasted the fear in her, the wonder, the unshed words. And still, he did not pull away.

Only when her hands tightened slightly against his chest did he dare deepen it, just enough to feel her meet him there in that impossible space between duty and desire.

When he finally drew back, his forehead rested gently against hers, and their breaths mingled between them.

Her voice, when it came, was no louder than a whisper. “I’ve always known.”

He blinked, just barely.

“I could feel your eyes,” she said softly. “Even when I didn’t look… I knew. I just didn’t know how to speak to someone like you.”

His chest ached at that. At the way she still looked at him like he was something too high to reach. A relic, not a man.

But now she was here. And she had not run.

With a tenderness he had not known he possessed, Jugram slipped an arm around her waist, drawing her closer, and brought her hand into his other, lifting it as though to begin a dance. He looked into her eyes—not as a commander, not as a Sternritter, not as fate-bound—but as a man.

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You didn’t hear the words.

They were said to you, yes. Spoken aloud in the quiet hush of a blood-soaked dawn. Words shaped like knives that pierced through every nerve in your body. Words soaked in ash and fired, clogging your bronchioles, invading your lungs. But they didn’t make sense, not at first. They fluttered against your ears like moth wings. Soft. Insistent. Meaningless. You said them to yourself once more:

“Rengoku… he’s gone.”

Gone.

Gone.

Gone.

Your knees gave out before your heart could catch up.

Your body crumbled as if the thread holding you upright had been severed with a single, merciless snip.

The breath in your lungs turned to glass. Every inhale splintered. Every exhale sliced.

“No.”

It left your mouth like a broke command, as if your grief could make the universe obey.

A statement of denial carved from your own soul.

The crow— his crow— still perched nearby. Feathers soaked in soot, eyes dull with grief. It had delivered the message and lingered, as if mourning with you. As if it, too, couldn’t bear to leave him behind in the sky.

You remember the way he kissed you before he left.

It was different this time. He didn’t kiss you on the forehead and ruffle your hair slightly, something he did religiously before every mission.

No.

He kissed your lips.

Slowly.

Deeply.

Like he already knew. You should have known.

Like he had seen the end and wanted to leave something of himself behind—something that might echo louder than grief, something warmer than ash.

The way only Hashira could.

That quiet knowing they carried in their bones, forged by battle and blood.

They always sensed it—that final thread fraying in the distance, tugging tighter with every breath.

And he… he must’ve felt it pulling.

His mouth moved against yours with quiet desperation, something so unlike him, like he was trying to memorize the shape of your love one last time. Both hands cradled your soft features, thumbs gently caressing your cheeks. He was pouring every unsaid thing, every promise, every regret, every thread of love, into that single breathless moment.

And for a heartbeat, it felt endless.

Like time had bent around you both.

Like the world would hold its breath just long enough to let you stay in that kiss forever. But the world is no keeper of mercy, especially to people like you.

And when he pulled back, his golden eyes burned. At the time, you couldn’t read it—couldn’t see the quiet farewell flickering in his eyes. But now? Now you realize: he was already saying goodbye with a kiss he knew you’d spend the rest of your life remembering.

“I’ll be back before dinner,” he said, smiling through the lie.

You press your fingers to your lips now, as if his were still there.

As if you could hold the memory in place before it slips through the cracks in your soul.

He is ash now.

Char and ember. Smoke rising from a battlefield you were too far away to reach.

You want to scream. You want to set the world on fire for daring to take him from you.

But all you can do is kneel in the dirt,

a hollow thing,

your soul split down the center,

whispering his name over and over like a spell that might somehow bring him back.

“Kyojuro !”

And somewhere, far beyond the wind and the crows and the ruin,

you swear you can still feel the ghost of his gaze.

Faint.

Fading.

But there.

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He plays it cool around you, of course. That easy, collected charm, eyes half-lidded, a lazy smirk curling on his lips as if nothing in this world could truly unnerve him. But it’s a lie. A beautiful, practiced lie. Because every time you speak his name, every time your fingers brush his arm, every time your smile flickers in his direction, it eats at him. Rots him from the inside out.

There’s no word strong enough to describe it. Obsession feels too clean. Lust feels too innocent. Whatever this is—it’s filthy. It’s grotesque. The way he thinks of you when you’re not looking. The way he fists his cock in the dead of night, murmuring apologies to no one, imagining your thighs trembling around his face. He hates himself for it, almost feeling disgusted for how badly he wants you. He’s a curse user, and yet you are his deepest sin.

But around you, he’s controlled. Almost cold. “You look good today,” he says offhandedly, like it means nothing. Like he didn’t picture you choking on his cock that very morning. You never see the way his jaw tenses. Never catch the way his fists clench when you mention another man. He keeps it hidden, he could never allow you to see the way he yearns for you, that is, until tonight.

Because tonight, you’re in his bed. He finally found the courage to woo you, inviting you over his place, disguising his intentions as a simple movie night. As the night goes on, you only glance at him once, a flicker of curiosity behind your lashes. Your voice is soft when you speak, almost unsure. “Suguru…?” That’s all it takes. His hand comes up to cradle your jaw, deceptively gentle, but there’s nothing gentle in his eyes— Hunger burns there deeply. He leans in like he’s starved, like kissing you is the only thing that’s ever mattered. Then finally. Finally, his lips claim yours, and the taste of you ruins him. He hates how much he needs it, what he’s willing to do just to keep it.

You don’t pull away. That’s what undoes him. Your lips stay pressed to his, unsure but open, soft with trust he knows he doesn’t deserve. One hand fists in the front of his shirt like you’re trying to keep yourself steady, and he groans, so guttural it’s like the sound is being dragged out of his chest. His hand slides down your thigh, hesitant at first, waiting for any sign of resistance. But when you exhale his name again, breathy and warm against his mouth, he loses the last of his composure. The movie plays on behind you both, forgotten. He lays you back gently, like he’s peeling back the edge of a dream that’s becoming reality. And when you part your legs for him, even just slightly, he falls to his knees like a man starved.

His hands slide beneath your thighs as he spreads you open with a reverence that borders on desperation. Patience abandons him. The restraint he wore so well melts away the second he gets a taste.

There’s no elegance in the way he devours you—tongue desperate, mouth open, moaning into your cunt like he’s starved for it. “Fuck—fuck, you taste so good, I can’t—” His voice breaks. He’s rutting into the mattress like an animal, his hips moving on instinct, fucking the air while his face stays buried between your thighs. It’s pathetic. And he loves it. He’s never felt like this. Never let himself.

He cums too fast. Way too fast. Just from eating you. Groans ripped from his throat,his whole body trembling. But even as he finishes, he doesn’t stop. He’s still hard, painfully so, and now he’s above you, panting, eyes blown wide with something far stronger than need. “Let me do it— ,” he begs, voice raw. “Let me fuck you right. Please—I need to feel you around me.”

When he finally pushes into you, he chokes on a breath like he’s just been shot, like the pleasure is so sharp it hurts. His eyes roll back for a second, a filthy moan slippjng out of him as his hips still. “Oh my god,” he moans, so slutty you barely recognize him. His forehead drops to your shoulder, fingers dig into your thighs hard enough to bruise, jaw clenched as he tries to keep control.

And then he starts to move.

Deep, filthy thrusts, slow only because he wants to feel every inch of you squeeze around him. Every sound you make feeds something dark inside him, something territorial. And it only makes him want you more.

You’ve never seen him like this. You’ve never heard him like this. Suguru Geto, the composed, unreadable enigma, reduced to a shaking mess. He’s vocal, so vocal. Moaning openly, gasping your name with every thrust, praising you like you’re divine. “So tight, fuck, you’re so perfect for me. Been dreaming of this—fuck— just like that. Just like that.”

He doesn’t try to hold back. He can’t. His restraint is gone, drowned in months, years of denial and self-hatred and raw, pulsing need. Now he wants to ruin you. Worship you. Keep you. The bed rocks with his desperation, and his voice cracks when he moans, “You don’t know what you do to me… you don’t fucking know.”

And still, even as he fucks you again and again, as sweat slicks his skin and tears of overstimulation sting his lashes—he’s clinging to you like you’re what keeps his heart pumping.

No one should want someone this much.

And yet, here he is.

Drowning in you.

Finally, yours.

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He never meant to leave you behind. That much, he convinced himself of. When Sōsuke Aizen turned his back on the Soul Society, when he abandoned all the familiar corridors and ancient rules of Seireitei, it was strategy. Power. Ascension. You were the only variable he didn’t account for—an ember he expected to extinguish with time, only to find it glowing brighter in the deepest recesses of his mind.

He thought of you often. Every day, in fact. At first, in idle passing, your voice when you scolded him for staying up too late, your eyes narrowing whenever he made a comment too smooth to be innocent. But soon, the recollections became consuming. Your laughter haunted the silence of Hueco Mundo. Your scent lingered in phantom moments. And at night, when solitude pressed upon his mind like a curse, Aizen would sit alone in his throne, eyes half-lidded, hand wrapped tightly around the painfully hard member sitting between his legs— breathless and murmuring your name like a sacred mantra.

He sent Ulquiorra to watch you. Of all the Espada, he trusted him to be emotionless, clinical. He didn’t want your life disturbed, only documented. What you wore. Who you smiled at. Who you visited. How often you laughed. And when the Fourth returned one day with a quiet, “there’s another man present,” Aizen didn’t blink. He didn’t speak. But the temperature in Las Noches plummeted, and the throne room fell into silence. His knuckles went white around the armrest. That night, he didn’t touch himself. He couldn’t. The thought of someone else having your smile, your time, your body, it was blasphemy.

So he sent Ulquiorra one last time. Not to watch. To seize. “Do not harm her,” he said, voice low and calm, but filled with a promise of torment should that order be disobeyed. And when you awakened, dazed in the sterile white void of Hueco Mundo, he stood waiting—still pristine, still polished—but something in his gaze was… fractured.

You didn’t run to him. You didn’t even speak. You just looked at him distain—like all the warmth you once held for him had rotted into something bitter. “You betrayed us,” you said, your voice steady. “You betrayed me.” That was your answer. And it destroyed him.

But Aizen didn’t falter, at least not fully. Not in front of the Espada, not in front of Gin and Tosen. He remained composed, commanding, ever the god ascending. But when it was just you… when the doors closed and you stood across the room refusing to flinch under his gaze… he shattered. Not visibly, not yet. “I think of you,” he whispered, walking closer. “I thought of you every day. I touched myself to the thought of you—every inch of you, every sound you make.” And then, impossibly, he sank to his knees before you, his emotions no longer an abstract concept. They spilled from him, heavy and undeniable.

“Lie if you must— say it, even if you hate me. Say you belong to me, say it was always me.”

Your silence was the cruelest cut. So he rose again, and this time, his voice turned velvet— dangerous and irresistible. “You will,” he said. “You will remember how it felt to be mine.”

He didn’t need Kyōka Suigetsu to manipulate you. No illusions. No lies. He would give you the truth instead. Every fevered thought, every unspoken craving—he would pour them into you. His lips would find yours with the precision of a man who’d memorized exactly what you craved, drinking in your breath like it belonged to him. His hands, used for control and conquest, now trembled as they traced the curves he worships. He would take his time, relearning your body like scripture, whispering your name against your skin as though it could summon the past. And when you trembled beneath him, when your voice cracked in that familiar way, he would take you—over and over—until your body surrendered underneath him, until it betrayed you, until it remembered the man your mind swore it forgot. He wouldn’t stop until your walls broke, moaning for him to consume you, until desire eclipsed reason and all that remained was the truth: you were always his.

Because Sōsuke Aizen does not yearn often. But when he does, it is absolute. And he only ever yearns for you.