Misty

“Wow—“ he gasps softly, in awe as you grind against him— clit aching for extra attention. “You’re doing amazing, my love! Just a little more.” He encourages, sweet and so incredibly soft against your earlobe that your entire body shivers beneath the warmth of the water.

“Kyo—p-please.” You’re whining against him, hips rocking back and forth as you work yourself up and down just—half of his cock. He’s thick, stretching your needy walls in the best way possible—into the shape of his cock. Every ridge and vein. His fingers dig into your hips like he’s fighting for restraint.

But.

Knowing that you were semi-in public was truly saving him right now. And you. Had you known all the depraved things a man like him was thinking.

“You’re so soft, and wet—and you’re already taking me so well. Soo good.” He breaths softly, shifting beneath the water. Spreading his thighs wider and opening you up some more in the process.

You pout, eyes flutter—the warmth of the hot springs and the feel of his wet skin against yours feels like heaven—but with a single and final thrust your hips finally meet his all the way. Walls hugging him snug, the tip of his leaky cock head leaves nasty kisses against your cervix. It leaves you keening, thighs tightening around his hips.

Kyojuro groans, low and muffled against the crevice of your neck. “Such an amazing girl, good—soo good for me. Keep going.” His voice, like a gentle the purr of a large cat; vibrates throughout your entire body. His hands caress up and down your waist, your sides, your stomach. Holding you gently as you work up the courage to actually ride him.

He only pulls back to look at your face when you lose yourself in pleasure. Moans low—trying to keep yourself quiet as the tip of his cock kisses every sweet spot inside you—constantly leaving you weak each and everytime.

“Good g—girl—god, you’re being soo good.”

His praise brings about the icing on the cake, the mess you make around his cock. Thick and creamy—the gentle splashes of water. Kyojuro stares, transfixed on the vision of perfection you make.

Choking back desperate mewls for more, like he hasn’t already given you control. He smiles, eyes shining like he’s locked onto some rare jewels but he’s staring at the bounce of your breasts. Which isn’t far off if he thinks about it. He takes a pebbled nipple into his mouth.

Sucking—nibbling. Squeezing your tit against his palm. To feel the way you begin to flutter, the way you claw at his shoulders.

Eyes rolling back as pleasure wracks you silly. All while fucking yourself up and down his cock with the enthusiasm of a common slut.

“Good girl…I’ll give you all that you need.” He swears, he moves one hand off your waist. A little further beneath the water and between where your bodies meet. His thumb finds your aching clit to rub damningly, tight circles around the throbbing bud.

“I—it’s not enough, kyo—please I—“

He laves his tongue around your nipple, before releasing it with a pop’ to press his mouth to yours. Silencing your needy cries as you grow too loud. He mutters, breathy and wet against your lips. Lost in the spasming of your walls as you approach an orgasm.

“It’s ok, you can take it. You were made for this—for me.”

To distract himself, Tengen ends up at one of the jazz clubs he’d heard of during his time in the entertainment district. With all of his Hashira and husbandly duties, it was hard to find a reprieve like this anymore; the kind that let him sit back with a drink while watching pretty girls dance and sing. 

Tengen helps himself to a smoke in the already hazy bar, knees spread wide as he lazily looks over the club. There are many men but only a handful of women, the women in question either serving drinks, singing, or providing other services. None have caught his attention, though, which is disappointing. 

He’s almost ready to leave when he spots you.

You’re on the lap of what looks like a very drunk man, curling your hair around your finger while you sing along to the crooning phonograph. Your lips are painted a flattering red, eyeshadow bold, and blush stamped onto your cheeks. When the man hands you some coin, you slide off his lap and continue strutting around the small circle you’ve attracted, twisting your hips and running your hands over your corset. 

A smile creeps onto Tengen’s face.

He has enough respect to wait until the song finishes, watching you wave all cutesy to your admirers as you make your exit. Tengen sees you’re heading to some sort of backroom, and utilizing his reflexes, beats you to it.

“Hello, beautiful.”

You turn to him with an automated smile, posture fixing to accentuate your assets. But the smile quickly falls from your face and you curl in on yourself once you realize who you’re talking to.

“Uzui-sama?” Your hands cover your chest in an instant, and you bow your head. “What are you doing here?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” He hooks a finger under your chin, prying your face up to look at him. Tengen’s eyes take the opportunity to glance down at your cleavage before returning to your embarrassed expression.

“Uzui-sama, I- I can explain—”

“No need!” He pats your cheek affectionately. “We can forget this ever happened, m’kay?”

“R- right! Thank you, Uzui-sama—”

“Not so fast, though!” Tengen’s all smiles but now he’s gripping onto your shoulders, holding you in place before you can run away. “I want to hear you sing for me first.”

He watches your expression change from embarrassment to shock, and then to a dull resignation. No, this wouldn’t do. Tengen preferred you lively. 

“Is that how you react to all of your customers?” He teases. “I promise to leave you a pretty penny if you put on a lil’ show for me.”

You looked at him with something new now. Hate. Yeah, Tengen could get behind that. You kept quiet as you grabbed his hand and led him to the back, heels clacking against the wooden floors. Tengen took a few peeks at the girls in the dressing rooms, and even caught a few glimpses of men and women alike in compromising positions.

But you led him to a private room, which would usually disappoint him, but he couldn’t complain much when you were already on your knees unbuckling his pants.

“Whoa, there!” Tengen caught your hands. “Going straight to it? Not even a little bedside manner?”

You huffed, smacking his hands away and fishing his cock from his trousers. It was already hard for you, and you wasted little time before engulfing him in your mouth. Tengen couldn’t complain much against the searing heat of your tongue swirling around his length. 

Tengen appreciated that you had been trained well, eyes boring into his while you choked yourself on his cock. He could hear your jewelry clinking with each bob of your head, as well as practiced moans against his flesh. You brought a hand up to stroke what couldn’t fit in your mouth, the other snaking down to fondle his balls.

“You’re a nasty girl…” Tengen hissed through his teeth. “I can see why you have your own room.”

There was no acknowledgement of his words, you just closed your eyes and went to town on him, sucking him until your cheeks hollowed out. But you were no match for Tengen; he could tell your other clients must have had less stamina than him, the way you frantically jerked at his base and uncomfortably shifted your jaw.

Did you really think he’d be an easy task? He has three wives for gods’ sake!

Eventually you pulled off of him, gasping for air while you continued to fist him as best you could. You wiped the drool off your face, smudging your lipstick, with no idea what effect you had on him.

“Giving up so soon?” Tengen wagged his cock at you.

You nearly growled at him before latching yourself back on. Tengen must have given you a second wind, because you were sucking like you wanted to take his soul from his body. His knees buckled as you took him into your throat, disregarding your own comfort and gagging around him. But you didn’t stop. Your hands folded neatly in your lap as you speared your mouth on his cock.

Tengen bit his lip at the sight of you utterly ruined beneath him. Your hair stuck to your forehead, mascara smeared from your labor. If you were to go back onto the floor, you’d definitely have to redo your makeup. Something about that made his balls twitch. 

Thinking about his cum inside of you for the rest of the night, while you sing for all those men, had him ramming himself down your throat. You squealed around him, hands bracing themselves on his thighs as he fucked his cum into your mouth.

“Fuck, babe…” He sighed, eyes rolling in his head. “You look so good like this.”

He let you go, and you choked down his seed, some dribbling past your lips and onto the floor. You stayed there for a moment, catching your breath, before you looked back up at him.

“Okay, you got what you wanted. You can go now.” Your voice did not sound as convincing as the rage in your eyes.

Tengen laughed. “Oh, you thought we were finished?”

He easily fell on top of you, trapping you between himself and the floor.

gyomei

Gyomei approaches cunnilingus like prayer—reverent, methodical, and devastatingly intense. He'll lower himself to his knees before you, massive hands resting on your thighs with surprising gentleness. Despite his blindness, he doesn't need to see; he maps your body through touch and sound, fingers tracing the curve of your hips, thumbs parting your folds with deliberate care.

He holds you down when you try to squirm away from too much sensation, not cruelly, but firmly—grounding you. His fingers slide inside you, two thick digits curling to find your sweet spot while his tongue works your clit in figure-eights. Gyomei doesn't stop until you come undone, and even then, he keeps licking gently through your aftershocks, murmuring prayers of gratitude against your slick thighs.

After, he'll rest his head on your hip, breathing heavily, and whisper, "You are sacred, every part of you."

Obanai

Obanai eats pussy like it's an act of worship—he's kneeling at your altar, and his snake Kaburamon coils nearby, watching with unblinking eyes. Obanai doesn't speak much during sex, but his focus is absolute. He'll position you however he wants—on your back, legs spread, or bent over the edge of a futon—and then he disappears between your thighs.

His tongue is precise, almost clinical at first. He traces the shape of your labia, parts you with his thumbs, studies your body's responses like a map. He finds your clit quickly and circles it with the tip of his tongue, eyes half-lidded, watching your face the entire time. Obanai doesn't blink. He stares at your expressions—every flinch, every bitten lip, every time your eyes roll back—and adjusts his technique accordingly.

He alternates between fast, flicking strokes of his tongue and slow, deliberate suction. He'll take your clit between his lips and suck gently while his tongue presses against it from below, then switch to lapping at it with the flat of his tongue in long, wet drags. His fingers find their way inside you, curling and pressing in a rhythm that matches his mouth.

Obanai gets off on your sounds. He'll moan against your pussy when you gasp his name, the vibration making you clench around his fingers. He doesn't stop until you've come at least twice—he considers it a matter of pride. Afterward, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, looks at you with that intense, unreadable gaze, and says nothing. But the way he traces a finger along your inner thigh afterward says everything.

rengoku

Rengoku attacks cunnilingus with the same fiery enthusiasm he brings to everything. He doesn't ease into it—he dives in headfirst, spreading your legs wide and burying his face between them with a loud, appreciative "DELICIOUS!" His voice booms even muffled against your skin.

He's messy. Spit everywhere. Sloppy, wet, enthusiastic licks that cover your entire cunt in a chaotic rhythm. He doesn't worry about technique so much as sheer intensity. His tongue is everywhere—lapping at your clit, dipping into your entrance, sliding along your folds before returning to suck your clit into his mouth with a pop.

Rengoku talks while he eats you out, murmuring encouragement between licks. "You taste incredible! More—let me hear you!" He'll look up at you, eyes gleaming, mouth slick with your arousal, grinning like a man possessed. His hands grip your thighs hard enough to bruise, pulling you closer, practically fucking his face into you.

When you start to come, he redoubles his efforts, moaning against your clit, tongue flicking faster until you're screaming. He doesn't let up until you push his head away, and even then he licks his lips, chuckling. "Taste that? That's happiness!" Rengoku's cunnilingus is exhausting, overwhelming, and absolutely unforgettable.

sanemi

Sanemi approaches eating pussy like it's a battlefield—aggressive, competitive, and determined to win. He'll pin you down, one hand on your hip, the other gripping your thigh hard enough to leave fingerprints. No foreplay, no teasing. He goes straight for your clit, tongue flat and rough, licking in harsh, demanding strokes.

He's not gentle. He bites sometimes—not hard enough to break skin, but enough to make you yelp. He'll drag his teeth along your inner thigh before diving back in, sucking your clit with punishing suction, flicking his tongue against it until you're shaking. Sanemi wants to break you, wants to make you lose control completely.

He growls against you, curses under his breath—"fuck, yeah, just like that"—while his fingers shove inside you, two then three, curling and pumping in a brutal rhythm. He doesn't care if it's too much; he wants to see you overwhelmed, crying, begging.

When you come, he doesn't stop. He keeps licking, keeps sucking, dragging out your orgasm until you're sobbing and trying to crawl away. Then he pulls back, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and smirks. "That's right. Remember who owns this pussy." He's rough, possessive, and leaves you completely wrecked.

giyuu

Giyuu is quiet, almost shy about eating pussy, but devastatingly good once he gets going. He starts hesitantly, pressing soft kisses to your inner thighs, breathing warm against your skin before he finally lowers his mouth to you. His first touch is featherlight—just the tip of his tongue tracing your folds, tasting you gently.

But once he hears your first moan, something shifts. Giyuu becomes focused, almost obsessive. He settles into a steady rhythm: long, languid strokes of his tongue from your entrance to your clit, each one deliberate and unhurried. He closes his eyes, losing himself in the taste, in the way your hips rock against his face.

He's methodical. He'll lap at your clit in tight circles until your breathing changes, then suck it gently between his lips while his tongue flicks against it. His fingers slide inside you, slow and deep, curling to find that spot that makes your back arch. Giyuu doesn't talk, but he moans—low, needy sounds that vibrate against your sensitive flesh.

He takes his time. He'll edge you, pulling back when you get too close, only to start again with a different angle or pressure. Giyuu wants to draw out your pleasure until you're begging, until your voice cracks saying his name. When he finally lets you come, he holds you through it, tongue working you softly through the aftershocks.

After, he rests his cheek on your thigh, looking up at you with those sad, intense eyes, and whispers, "Stay." Just that. He stays there, breathing you in, not wanting to leave.

tengen

Tengen is loud, theatrical, and absolutely convinced he's the best at eating pussy—and frankly, he might be right. He'll position you dramatically, propping pillows under your hips, spreading your legs wide, and making a show of it. "Behold! The flamboyant art of cunnilingus!"

He starts with his whole mouth—open-mouthed kisses that cover your entire cunt, tongue sloppy and wet, lapping at you like he's drinking from a fountain. He moans loudly, making sure you hear how much he's enjoying it. "Mmm, exquisite. You taste absolutely divine, my darling."

Tengen switches between techniques like a performer switching instruments: fast flicking of his tongue against your clit, slow deep licks that dip inside you, sucking your clit while his fingers work your g-spot. He uses both hands—one gripping your ass, the other pressed flat against your lower belly, feeling his tongue's effect on you from the outside.

He talks constantly. "Tell me how it feels. Louder. I want the whole estate to hear how good I make you feel." When you come, he hums against your clit, the vibration sending you into another wave. Tengen makes sure you come at least three times before he's satisfied, then sits up, grinning, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"That," he declares, "is what I call a flamboyant finish." He expects applause.

shinobu

Shinobu brings her butterfly aesthetic into cunnilingus—delicate, precise, and lethally effective. She kisses her way down your body slowly, pausing to nip at your ribs, your hips, your inner thighs, before finally settling between your legs. She doesn't dive in immediately; she hovers, breathing warm air against your wet folds until you're squirming.

Her first touch is barely there—just the tip of her tongue, light as a butterfly wing, tracing the outline of your clit. She repeats this, featherlight touches that drive you insane, never giving you the full pressure you crave until you beg for it. Shinobu loves making you beg.

When she finally gives in, she uses her tongue in sharp, precise strokes—quick flicks against your clit, alternating with soft suction. Her fingers glide inside you, slender and cool, moving with surgical accuracy. She finds your g-spot immediately and presses against it while her tongue circles your clit in a steady, maddening rhythm.

She's quiet, but she smiles against your skin when you moan. Shinobu takes pride in unraveling you, in reducing you to a trembling mess under her skilled mouth. She'll edge you repeatedly, pulling away just before you peak, only to start again with a different technique.

When she finally lets you come, it's with a soft laugh, her tongue working you through it until you're oversensitive and twitching. She sits up, wipes her mouth daintily, and says, "There. Much better, isn't it?"

mitsuri

Mitsuri eats pussy like she's starving and you're the only meal that matters. She's loud, enthusiastic, and completely unrestrained. She'll moan against you from the first taste, hips grinding into the futon as she devours you with zero shame.

Her tongue is strong and flexible, lapping at you in broad, hungry strokes. She uses her whole mouth—sucking, licking, kissing, biting softly. She's messy, drool mixing with your arousal, sliding down her chin, but she doesn't care. She's too lost in the taste, in the sounds you make, in the way your thighs squeeze her head.

Mitsuri grips your hips and pulls you closer, practically smothering herself in your pussy. She alternates between fast, frantic licks and slow, deep passes of her tongue that dip inside you. She fingers you while she works, her strong fingers curling perfectly against your g-spot, matching the rhythm of her mouth.

She talks between licks: "You taste so good... I could do this forever... Please, come for me, I need to taste it..." Her voice is desperate, genuine. When you finally come, she moans loudly against your clit, tongue flicking faster, drinking every drop of your release like it's nectar.

Afterward, she collapses on top of you, face still buried between your thighs, mumbling happily, "Can we do that again? Right now?" Mitsuri is insatiable, and she'll happily spend all night proving it.

The barracks dining hall is never truly silent. Between the clatter of bowls, conversations crossing from one table to another, and the occasional laugh, the atmosphere feels surprisingly lively after several days of missions.

You are eating quietly, listening to the conversations around you.

“Enough,” Sanemi growls, setting his chopsticks down on the table. “That man doesn’t even flinch.”

Shinobu looks up from her teacup with an amused smile.

“Do you give up that easily, Shinazugawa-san?”

“Shut up, idiot, I didn’t say that,” he snaps, leaning threateningly over the table.

Obanai crosses his arms, looking thoughtfully between the two of them.

“I don’t remember ever seeing Himejima embarrassed even once.”

“Me neither,” Mitsuri admits, tilting her head slightly. “He always seems so calm...”

You frown slightly.

They have been talking about Himejima Gyomei for several minutes now and, no matter how much you try to ignore them, curiosity eventually gets the better of you.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

The conversation stops abruptly.

“We have a bet,” Tengen replies with a smug smile.

“Shinazugawa-san is convinced that Himejima-san is incapable of blushing,” Shinobu explains.

“Because he is.”

“And we think he can get embarrassed,” Mitsuri adds. “It’s just that no one has managed to provoke him.”

Tengen rests his elbow on the table and points at you with a crooked smile.

“The first person to make Himejima blush wins.”

You can’t help but let out a low laugh.

“Are you seriously betting on something like that?” you ask, unable to hide the disbelief in your voice as you pick up your chopsticks again. “You all have way too much free time.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Tengen replies, raising an eyebrow. “There’s money involved.”

“And pride,” Sanemi adds without hesitation. “A lot of pride.”

You shake your head as you continue eating, convinced that the conversation cannot get any more ridiculous than it already is.

“Well, you can keep both things. I’m not participating,” you finish.

For a few seconds no one answers you.

You keep eating calmly until you start noticing several stares fixed on you. You slowly lift your gaze from the bowl and find practically everyone watching you in silence, as if they have all reached the same conclusion at the same time.

“…What?” you ask with growing unease.

Tengen is the first to speak.

“I think we just found the perfect person.”

You frown, shifting your gaze between him and Sanemi. The smile they both share is enough to make you suspect that whatever idea has just crossed their minds, you are not going to like it.

“Don’t even think about it.”

“Why not?” Mitsuri asks innocently. “You’re quite close to Himejima-san.”

“Excuse me?” you ask, almost choking on your noodles.

“We always see you together,” she continues as if nothing is wrong. “You train often, you go on missions together when you can, and Himejima-san seems very comfortable with you.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” you reply quickly, feeling your cheeks warm under Shinobu’s knowing look.

“He looks for you when he needs help, he is always asking about you, and you are the only person who manages to convince him to rest without him making any excuses,” Obanai lists.

You open your mouth to respond, but no words come out. You had never stopped to think about it, you had always assumed Gyomei treated everyone like that.

“Don’t make up stories where there are none,” you finally answer, regaining your composure as you return your attention to your food. “Himejima-san is considerate with everyone. If he asks how I am after a mission or insists on accompanying me when I am injured, it’s because that’s how he is. There is no hidden meaning.”

“Maybe,” Mitsuri admits with a gentle smile. “But if there really is nothing special between you two, then you shouldn’t have any problem taking part in the bet.”

The logic of that statement makes you frown.

You let out a tired sigh and set your chopsticks down on the bowl for the second time since this ridiculous conversation started. You don’t understand when a calm meal turned into a judgment about your relationship with Gyomei, or why everyone seems so convinced there is something you have never even noticed.

“You still haven’t convinced me,” you say as you stand up from the table. “Find someone else for your bet. I have much more important things to do.”

“Too late.”

You slowly turn toward Tengen.

“What do you mean too late?”

“Most of us have already placed bets on you.”

The days pass and, as you expected, the absurd bet ends up disappearing from your mind. At least from yours, the others seem to remember it every time Gyomei enters a room, although they try to hide it poorly.

You, on the other hand, return to your usual routine. You train, complete missions, and when circumstances allow it, you spend part of the afternoon with Gyomei.

That afternoon training finishes later than usual. The barracks courtyard is still filled with scattered wooden swords and forgotten canteens, the Kakushi are collecting the equipment while the Hashira talk before leaving.

You remain next to Gyomei, talking about the mission you will share in a few days, listening carefully as he holds his rosary between his fingers, slowly moving each bead as he always does when he is thinking.

Suddenly, the thread holding the beads together gives way.

The snap is soft, but it is enough for dozens of small wooden beads to scatter and roll across the ground in every direction. Some hit the stones of the courtyard, others disappear under a nearby bench, and a few end up just a few centimeters from where you are standing.

“Ah!”

Without thinking twice, you bend down to pick them up before anyone steps on them. Gyomei does exactly the same, guided only by the sound of the pieces rolling across the floor.

For a few seconds neither of you says much; you simply gather the beads one by one until he extends an open hand toward you so you can place them on his palm.

“Thank you,” he says, with a small smile. “I’m sorry for making you waste your time.”

“You are not making me waste my time,” you reply with a sigh as you place another bead in his hand. “Besides, if I didn’t help you, you would probably end up looking for one for hours.”

A low laugh escapes his lips.

When you think you have found the last bead, you stand up to hand it to him, but something gently pulls at your hair. You frown and bring a hand up, discovering that one of the small wooden pieces has tangled itself in several strands without you noticing.

You try to free it carefully, although every movement seems to make it worse.

“Is something wrong?” Gyomei asks, sensing the faint sound of frustration you let out.

“Nothing important… there is just a bead stuck in my hair.”

You fall silent for a moment as you try again, but the result is the same.

“I think the more I move it, the more it gets tangled.”

Gyomei remains still for a few seconds before speaking.

“If you allow me… maybe I can help you.”

The suggestion surprises you enough to stop all your movements.

“…Alright,” you murmur, feeling your heart speed up.

He steps toward you carefully. He slowly raises a hand until he finds the strand of hair where the bead is trapped and gently moves several locks away from your face to locate it. His fingers barely brush your hair as he untangles the small knot with infinite patience, focused only on not hurting you.

You remain completely still, swallowing heavily, suddenly feeling your mouth go dry.

When he finally manages to free the bead, his fingers accidentally brush against yours as he places it in your palm. It is minimal contact, almost nonexistent, yet enough for both of you to look up at the exact same time.

Only then does Gyomei seem to realize how little distance there is between you.

His breath catches for barely a second before he steps back with a speed uncharacteristic of him.

“…Forgive me.”

His voice is still calm, but a faint pink color slowly spreads across his cheeks until it reaches the tips of his ears.

You feel the heat settle in your face at almost the same time as you lower your gaze to the wooden bead still resting between your fingers, unable to find anything coherent to say after such an unexpectedly intimate moment.

The silence lasts just long enough for laughter to erupt a few meters away from you.

“I knew it!”

Startled, you turn around and discover that all the Hashira are still in the courtyard, no one has left yet.

Tengen, unable to contain his laughter, points directly at Gyomei.

“I think we all just saw the same thing.”

Sanemi snorts in clear frustration before pulling out a few coins from his pocket and reluctantly placing them in Tengen’s hand.

“You are an asshole, did you know that?” he mutters.

Confused, you shift your gaze between everyone without understanding what just happened.

“What are you even talking about?” you say, feeling a small irritation building in your chest.

“Congratulations!” Shinobu says with a smile. “You just won the bet.”

You blink several times, convinced that at some point someone will explain the joke you are clearly not part of. However, all you find when you look around their faces are satisfied smiles, amused expressions, and in Sanemi’s case, such obvious resignation that it almost looks comical.

“I thought I made it clear that I wasn’t participating.”

“Come on,” Sanemi interrupts, crossing his arms. “Do you really think that after everything we saw that day in the dining hall, we were going to let this damn opportunity pass?”

You lower your gaze to the small wooden bead still between your fingers. Everything had happened so naturally that you had not even thought about the ridiculous bet they had been talking about for days.

You had helped Gyomei exactly as you would have done any other afternoon, without hidden intentions, without strategies, and certainly without expecting to cause such a reaction.

You shake your head as you return his rosary bead to Gyomei, trying to ignore the slight warmth still lingering on your cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” you say with an embarrassed smile. “It seems I accidentally got you involved in all this.”

Gyomei receives the small wooden piece with both hands and remains silent for a few moments. When he finally speaks, his voice keeps the same usual calm, although the faint pink tone still coloring his ears reveals that he has not fully recovered.

“You don’t need to apologize,” his lips curve into a smile so subtle it could easily go unnoticed. “It was… a pleasant moment.”

For the first time since you have known him, you are the one who looks away first.

Behind you, someone lets out a whistle.

“They are idiots,” Sanemi comments with a defeated expression.

“Leave it,” Tengen replies through laughter as he pats his shoulder. “I think the next bet is going to be how long it takes those two to realize it.”

You don't hear the rest, as you walk away with Gyomei, who quietly asks you if you hurt yourself when the bead got tangled in your hair, it's so sweet that you can only smile at him while shaking your head.

Yes, the Hashira will probably make another bet again soon.

Kyojuro sat across from the bed, stripped down to his boxers, his bronzed skin shining under the light of the lamp, showing his nerves, the sweat that had built up around his temples, matting his blonde and red strands of hair to his face. He was the picture of obedience, hands pinned to his sides, feet pressed firmly to the floor, and legs spread just enough for you to notice the damp spot slowly growing on the front of his boxers. But his eyes weren’t focused on Tengen at all, they were focused on you, the angel laid back against Tengen's chest. You were almost fully clothed, except the fact that your skirt was flipped up, spreading you open to the man in the cuck chair-temporarily named the learner’s chair.

“You really just have to listen, that’s the main thing with pleasing someone, right sweetheart?” your mind wasn’t following the man behind yous[KS1]  words, busy tracking the movements of his hand on your thigh, creeping closer to where you wanted him. Kyojuro had sat by patiently as Tengen walked you through what he was going to teach you both, watched you shuffle in anticipation as he went on a long-winded spiel about making sure the mood and pace are right, in all honesty you had lost him after he mentioned stuffing you with multiple things that night.

“Come here Kyojuro, kneel down there” removing the hand from your inner thigh Tengen waved absently towards the edge of the bed.

“Good boy, Just follow my lead, and our pretty girl will let us know if she’s uncomfortable, right?” You nodded, hazy eyes watching Kyojuro kneel between your spread legs. “Good girl” Tengen’s hand moved back to your thigh, his other hand helping part your legs further, letting the lamp shine onto the satin underwear you had chosen, the fabric slick with need that had gone ignored for a bit too long. You were hyper aware of every movement the men on both sides of you made. The soft caress of Tengen’s hands on your spread thighs as he inched closer, the spit that covered Kyojuro’s lower lip that he kept wetting in anticipation. You let out a heavy breath as Tengen finally traced the edge of your panties, moving slowly to drag out the anticipation for you and your boyfriend.

“Hear that? So needy huh, just needs some love?” Tengen was teasing with his words but not his hands. Skipping to moving your panties to the side, showing off your glistening folds to the man at the edge of the bed. You almost moaned at the feeling of the AC touching your bare pussy, any attention was good after the buildup of promises left unfulfilled.

“C’mere Kyojuro, let her feel you. start soft” Kyojuro didn’t need to be told twice under Tengen’s command. Following the tilt of his finger Kyojuro’s face moved in, tongue poking hesitantly at your pussy. You gasped at the feeling of his wet muscle prodding around, a drop of water in the desert for you. He sat back, your hips chasing him as he looked up at you expectedly.

“Kyo” you whined, eyelids fluttering as he took pity on you. His tongue was soft, spit mixing with your own arousal as he gave flat licks to you. Your moans were soft, hesitant just as he was. But then Tengen took the opportunity to assist. His hands had moved from your thighs, moving up your body, past the skirts pooled at your waist and to your chest. He fondled your tits, large hands kneading them like fresh dough. It added to the pleasure of Kyojuro’s own ministrations. Kyojuro took your surprised gasp as a good sign, going further. His fingers spread you open for him, lips parting for him to explore further. His tongue lapped messily at you, the tip playfully wagging your clit like it was a toy.

“There you go Kyojuro” Tengen hummed in satisfaction, appreciating the sight of his best friend eating out his pretty girlfriend. His fingers never ceased their movements, flicking at your nipples as they hardened with your increasing pleasure. The sensations were everywhere, your growing arousal and need fluttering inside you like a building swarm.  “Suck it” The command was so deep you felt it along your back causing Kyojuro to pause momentarily, eyes flitting up to meet yours before moving to Tengen. You couldn’t tell what happened when they locked eyes or remember if words were shared but you remember the sensation of Kyojuro turning back to you with a new determination. Hips lips wrapped around you to make the obscene noise of messy-borderline obnoxious sucking and salivating all over your cunt. You couldn’t keep the moans in if you wanted to, hips jumping to meet every flick of his tongue against you. The bedsheets crumbled under your grip as you twisted in pleasure. High pitched whines slipping through your lips as he moved lower, tongue delving into your cunt with fervor. He switched between licking and sucking, relishing in the fact that you were falling apart because of his mouth. Your hands flew to his head at a particularly harsh suck, a broken gasp of his name as the band in your stomach tightened. Tengen's hands had long paused on your body, but your frantic hands grasping for anything to help your impending release had him moving into action.

“He’s doing so good, right sweetheart?” Soothing words against your neck as Kyojuro ate you like he was starved, kitten licking your clit. Thoughts were muddled with the increasing pleasure, overwhelming and it seems as if its barely started. “Poor things been so neglected” Tengen’s words were teasing against you, head lolling on his shoulder as he pressed careful kissed against your skin. You couldn’t focus on it. The pleasure of Kyojuro’s mouth and now Tengen’s words. An unfamiliar prodding at your entrance had you sparking back to earth, eyes following Kyojuro. His finger dipped between your lips, squelching into your entrance with ease. It would be embarrassing how little resistance he was met with if you weren’t so close to Cumming on his face. The broken moans you let out as Kyojuro’s tongue and finger moved in tandem, pushing and pulling at your pleasure like a see saw.

“Kyo I-” The words got lost as you fell over the edge. Pleasure racking your body in waves as his pace continued, finger curling inwards to draw out your climax.

“Good girl, such a good girl, taking him so well like this. Pretty pussy was aching for him, huh?” You could barely respond, eyelids fluttering with the waves that shook you. Kyojuro’s movements slowed as your grip loosened, finger sliding out of your cunt with a wet ‘pop’ You let out a lazy chuckle at that. bones loose with the afterglow of a long-awaited orgasm. Kyojuro had moved back to kneeling as you came to, the lower half of his faced soaked in your essence, but the brightest smile.

“That was so-”

“Good, you did wonderful Kyojuro. You did everything I had previously talked about, a star student, right sweetheart?” You nodded along to what Tengen was saying, trying to gain feeling back in your body.

“Kyo” Your voice was soft, lazy, but he immediately moved, wiping at his mouth as he moved to meet you and Tengen on the bed. As he crawled to meet you it became transparent how much he had enjoyed eating you out. His cock was straining against his boxers, precum had soaked most of it, giving you an almost perfect outline of his cock. You sobered up at the sight. He deserved a reward for how good of a job he did. “I want you” three words that had the air in the room thickening.

“Baby, I-” He stumbled on his words, running a soothing hand down your leg, not even looking towards the mess he made of you that hadn’t been cleaned. You were still leaning against his best friend.

“I’ll take my leave then” Tengen went to move, pulling away from your back, but you were quicker, a hand grabbing at him before he could get too far.

“Both of you. If it’s okay. Kyo.” You were fluttering your lashes at him, pussy still soaked in both of you and shirt rumpled, pushed up and almost showing off all of you, how could he say no? “He helped us so much Kyo. It’s only fair that we thank him.” Your smile was fatal, crumbling any other rational thought of sharing his first time with his best friend and the woman he already decided he would marry.

“Okay. Yeah, alright baby.” You moved to meet him. Lips slotting over his in thanks before you pulled away. Hands finding the edge of your shirt before pulling it and discarding it, fingers quickly finding the clips of your bra next. It was a joy you didn’t know you had craved until you had it. Stripping under the hooded eyes of your boyfriend, watching the lust cloud them as he grabbed your waist before you could remove your skirts fully. “You sure baby?” He was cheerful. Tucking hair and checking on you before doing anything else. Your firm nod was all the say-so he needed before tugging the waist of your skirt down, baring you to him and the Man who had been silent this whole time.

“Look at her, isn’t she pretty?” Kyojuro had murmured the words, pressing kisses to the skin of your bare hips as he helped you kick them off. Tengen had made a noise somewhere off to the side and that had drawn your attention to him. He was the only one still fully clothed, but even you could see the tent that had formed in his sweats, something he nervously adjusted under your heated gaze.

“Don’t be shy now” You held a hand out to him, pulling him closer as he took it. You moved to greet his lips, kissing him slowly to let him get used to you. It took seconds for him to break out of whatever daze he was in, any nerves he had about you and Kyojuro vanishing as he took control of the kiss, tongue sliding over the seam of your lips, tasting a mixture of you and Kyojuro that had him dizzy. When he broke the kiss to remove his clothes, you scooted towards the middle of the bed, Kyojuro following like a puppy. He was quick to slot himself between your spread legs, ducking his head to kiss you, licking at your mouth with the same messy vigor he had while eating you out. You had giggled into the kiss, delighted with his enthusiasm. Giggles had turned to moans as he ground down on you, the fabric of his boxers a shocking surprise on your still sensitive clit. “Kyo” You pushed at his chest, letting him fall onto his heels as you went to grab at his boxers, he swatted at your hands, this time chuckling at you and your enthusiasm. He was quick to tear them off though, kicking them unceremoniously to the side. You could have moaned at the sight of him fully bare before you. He was tight muscles and bronzed skin; blonde hair carefully trimmed on his chest and led a trail down to what you deemed to be the prettiest cock you had seen. He was heavy, weighing itself down but twitching under your gaze. He was thick, but not obnoxiously long, an evil combination, you were sure.

“You think I prepped her enough?” Your eyes landed on Tengen, who had pulled the learner's chair closer to the side of the bed. He sat naked on it, clearly enjoying the sight of the two of you. You had figured he would join you; you were almost hoping he would. But he seemed happy in his chair. His hand was gripping onto his cock, the angry flush of his long dick a stark contrast to the white of his skin.

“You had her flooding your face, bud. I think you're good.” he spoke so casually for someone who looked seconds away from Cumming on his hand, but your attention was drawn back to Kyojuro. He was stroking himself, eyes locked onto the apex of your thighs.

“Fuck baby. Been waiting for this.” You were sighing in anticipation as you watched him line himself up. The first inch of him was overwhelming, stretching you a lot more than the one finger he used earlier. You gasped as he inched his way in. Your eyes fluttered shut as you breathed through the stretch. He was bigger than you anticipated, but it felt extraordinary. Kyojuro had moved to grab your hips, moving you along his shaft as he started with gentle thrusts. You were heaven wrapped around his cock, squeezing him enough to convince him he wasn’t on earth but moaning to remind him he was.

“Fuck- baby” His moan was strained as he concentrated on not going crazy and fucking you stupid already. Eating you out had been more than satisfying for him, he was close to Cumming just from feeling you orgasm on him, but this was on another level for him. Your cunt was made to take him and it was going to be the end of his life. The slick noises of Tengen fucking his own fist drew your attention between thrusts, watching between hazy eyes as Tengen pleasured himself to the sight of you getting fucked. It had you wetting Kyojuro’s cock more, his thrusts speeding up slightly at the ease of your cunt. You reached a hand out in invitation, letting him move to you. His cock was hot in your palm, the moans quick to tumble out of his mouth as you took control of him.

“Fuck baby. So pretty like this. Taking care of the both of us” Tengen was blubbering as you spit into your palm before returning it to his cock. Kyojuro was moaning softly as he stared down at you and his best friend. You were gorgeous, spread open on his cock, moaning along to his rhythm as you stroked his best friend’s cock. Fuck, he was closer than he wanted to be.

“Kyo” You pathetically whined as he pulled out, pulling at your legs to move you down the bed some more, taking it upon himself to manhandle you into what he wanted. In one movement you were on your knees face in front of his best friend’s cock. He gave you a moment to register before he was spearing you on his cock again, setting a hurried pace that had you falter in moans, that familiar feeling bubbling in your stomach again. “Kyojuro, fuck” You had moaned, daring to look back at him. His mouth was open in pleasure, hot breaths leaving him as he fucked into you.

“At me, pretty” Tengen’s hand had found your chin, pulling your attention to his cock. Your lips wrapped around the head of his cock, feeling him jerk into your mouth with a surprised moan. “Fuck, pretty girl” He moaned. Your mouth was probably as good as your cunt. You bobbed along with the force of Kyojuro’s thrusts. His hand had fallen on the back of your head, guiding you on his pace as he watched you choke on his best friend, it was erotic and had him running toward climax.

“Baby” The room was filled with the slap of skin and the sinful sound of you choking.

“Fuck, just like that” Tengen’s words had your cunt fluttering tighter around Kyojuro, moaning around the man in front of you. Kyojuro hissed as you clenched around him. “Getting close for us? Gonna cum on our cocks huh pretty?” He was mocking as you pulled off of him, moaning as Kyojuro continued to pummel your cunt. “C’mon pretty. Go and cum for us” your orgasm washed over, drawing a sharp cry from you as you clenched around Kyojuro, a symphonic rhythm to milk his cock. You gushed around him, falling limply as he groaned out behind you, hips stuttering behind you as he followed your orgasm. Milky white painting your walls as he came with a deep groan. Tengen was hissing at the sight of you two falling apart, Cock sputtering ropes of cum on his hand and abdomen as he stroked himself to finish. A lustful symphony with a dramatic ending. You all sat in silence, breathing heavily for a few moments. Kyojuro was the first to move, pulling out slowly with apology as you whined at the loss of him, kissing you back in apology he moved off the bed, disappearing into the hallway. Tengen had moved back to his chair, chest heaving as he leaned his head back. You watched him through lidded eyes, not finding it in yourself to talk quite yet. Kyojuro was back shortly after, a wet towel in his hand. He was careful as he wiped your shared orgasm off of you, apologizing as you twitched and whined under his touch, he let Tengen take the towel as he crawled back into the bed with you, pulling you into his chest.

“You, okay?” He pressed a kiss to your sweaty forehead, breathing out a laugh as you lazily nodded against him. “You might as well get in here too” Kyojuro waved at Tengen who had drawn in on himself, a regretful look on his face. He made a move to protest but thought better of it when you turned and waved him onto the bed. “Bring the blanket though” Kyojuro pointed at one of the blankets that got kicked off earlier. Tengen had nodded absently and dragged himself to the bad, covering all of you in his newly acquired blanket. You were quick to pull his arm around you, snuggling back into him.

“So-” “We’ll talk about it later” Kyojuro was quick to cut any thoughts Tengen had off, eyes matching your own in shutting. New experiences were exhausting.

Tomioka Giyuu

The mission has been over for a while now, but neither of you seems to be in any hurry to head back.

The sound of the river fills the silence as you rest on some rocks, letting the exhaustion slowly leave your bodies. The air is cool, and the breeze gently stirs the leaves in the trees, creating a kind of peace that's hard to find after a battle.

You sigh without taking your eyes off the water. It keeps flowing calmly, carrying away tiny leaves that disappear downstream, and for a moment you wish sorting through your thoughts were as simple as letting them drift away.

"We're finally done..."

Giyuu gives a small nod. "Yeah."

A faint smile forms on your lips. With anyone else, this silence would eventually become awkward, but with him it never does. It's strange. Giyuu doesn't need to fill every moment with words to make you feel like you're not alone, and maybe that's why you finally find the courage to ask the question that's been on your mind for quite a while.

"Can I ask you something?"

He turns his head slightly toward you.

"Of course."

You lower your gaze to the small pebble you're holding between your fingers and absentmindedly roll it back and forth. You're not quite sure how to bring it up, so you take the long way around, hoping the words will come on their own.

"Have you ever felt like you've made a mistake... even though you can't regret it?"

Giyuu stays quiet for a few seconds before answering.

"Maybe." His answer comes without trying to figure out what you're implying. That makes it a little easier to breathe. You nod to yourself and let out a quiet laugh, more nervous than amused. "I think that's happened to me too."

With a small flick of your wrist, you throw the stone into the river. You watch it skip once before sinking, unable to take your eyes off the water as you gather enough courage to keep going.

"I fell in love with someone."

You don't get any immediate reaction.

When you finally dare to glance at him, Giyuu is still watching the river with the same calm expression as always. He doesn't look surprised, curious, or uncomfortable, he simply waits for you to finish speaking, as if he understands that you still haven't said everything you want to say.

That gives you the courage to continue.

"I tried to convince myself it was a bad idea. I thought that if I ignored how I felt for long enough, it'd disappear on its own. After all, this isn't the kind of job where I can afford to grow attached to people."

You lower your gaze to your hands, keeping yourself busy playing with your fingers to avoid looking at him directly.

"But it didn't work."

The sound of the water fills the silence between you again. A few seconds pass before Giyuu speaks.

"Who is it?"

The question is so simple that the answer leaves your lips before you can think twice.

"You."

The air seems to vanish in an instant. You hear Giyuu take a deep breath before the sound of your own heartbeat drowns out everything else. It's pounding so hard you can almost feel it in your throat, and it doesn't even take a second for you to realize what you've just done.

You've just confessed to him.

Your lips remain slightly parted as you desperately search for some way to fix the situation, but there isn't one. The harder you try to come up with an explanation, the more you realize there isn't one. You can't pretend you were talking about someone else, and you can't act like it was a joke.

You lower your gaze immediately, unable to bear the thought of meeting his eyes.

"Forget it." A nervous laugh slips past your lips. "I don't know what came over me."

You stand up, intending to leave before you embarrass yourself any further, but you don't even get the chance to take a step.

"Wait." His voice sounds more hurried than usual.

When you look back at him, Giyuu is already on his feet.

"I don't want to forget it." He lowers his gaze for a few seconds before meeting your eyes again. "I thought... I'd never have to face this."

You frown slightly. "What do you mean?"

Giyuu stays silent for a few more seconds.

"I mean... I fell in love with you too."

Your breath catches for a moment, and Giyuu looks away with a faint blush on his cheeks. You slowly step closer until the sleeve of your haori brushes against his.

"I thought I'd never have the courage to say it," he finishes, closing his eyes.

•——————•°•✿•°•——————•

Shinazugawa Sanemi

The mission has been over for quite a while now, but Sanemi seems completely incapable of sitting still. The moment you return to headquarters, he heads straight for the training yard, completely ignoring the wounds that are still open beneath his bandages.

You watch him drive blow after blow into one of the wooden training posts, as if exhaustion simply doesn't exist for him. Every movement stains the bandages around his side with a little more blood, and the longer you watch him, the harder it becomes to resist the urge to stop him.

"Are you planning on keeping this up much longer?" you finally ask.

Sanemi doesn't even stop hitting the post.

"Does it bother you?"

You let out a tired sigh. Of course it bothers you. He's spent the entire mission throwing himself headfirst at demons without caring about taking a single hit, and even now he seems convinced that making it out alive means nothing happened.

You press your lips together before stepping a little closer, folding your arms as you wait for him to come to his senses for once.

"What bothers me is watching you end up half dead and still acting like you're invincible."

He lets out a quiet scoff through his nose and finally lowers his sword. He turns toward you with that defiant expression that always seems glued to his face, absentmindedly wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.

"But I'm still alive."

"Out of pure luck," you reply with a frown.

"No, because I know what I'm doing." His answer comes with such confidence that you can feel your patience slowly slipping away.

You've spent far too long watching him gamble with his life without thinking about the consequences, far too long swallowing your fear every time he disappears from your sight during a mission. He always makes it back... but one day he might not.

That possibility has been living in your mind for weeks, following you even when you try to sleep.

"Do you know what your problem is?" you murmur, unable to take your eyes off him. "You never think about the people left behind watching you do all these stupid things."

Sanemi raises an eyebrow, clearly confused by your comment. "And why should I?"

His answer makes you let out a humorless laugh. You shake your head several times, trying to convince yourself there's no point arguing with him anymore. He never listens, he never changes his mind, it's like talking to a brick wall.

"Forget it," you mutter wearily. That's the effect Sanemi's stubbornness has on you.

You start walking away, convinced the conversation is over, but Sanemi's voice reaches you again only a few seconds later.

"Quit worrying about stupid things. I don't want your concern."

You close your eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. You know that if you answer now, you'll probably end up saying something you'll regret for the rest of your life.

But when you turn back toward him, he's still looking at you with that same defiant expression, and something inside you finally snaps.

"Of course I'm worried!" you exclaim, feeling every bit of frustration that's built up over months come pouring out all at once. "You don't get it at all! How am I supposed to stop when I'm in love with you?"

Silence falls over the training yard with almost painful weight.

You swallow hard. Shit. That just slipped out.

Sanemi stares at you as if you've just punched him square in the face. His expression stays completely frozen for several seconds, so much so that you start wondering if he even heard you. And yet, the slight tremble in his eyes and the way his grip tightens around the hilt of his sword make it obvious that he did.

Far more obvious than either of you would've liked.

You're the first to look away.

"I don't know why I said that. Forget it. Just stop acting like an idiot around me," you mutter, walking away before your own impulsiveness sends you into a full panic.

"Hey."

Sanemi's voice makes you stop.

He's still standing exactly where he was, one hand resting on the back of his neck and the other hanging at his side. He avoids looking directly at you, something completely unlike him, as he lets out a long sigh through his nose.

"That's got to be the dumbest confession I've ever heard."

Your cheeks burn even hotter. "I said forget it!"

"Will you let me talk?" he snaps irritably, and you immediately fall silent. "Better."

Sanemi lowers his head for a few seconds, clearly uncomfortable.

"I've spent months trying to convince myself it was better to keep my distance from you." He pauses, clicking his tongue in annoyance at himself. "Then you go and say something like that out of nowhere."

You can't help letting out a small nervous laugh.

"Believe me, that wasn't my intention," you say, rolling your eyes.

Without giving it much thought, he closes the distance between you until he's standing right in front of you. For a few seconds, neither of you does anything. You simply look at each other, both still far too embarrassed to know who should make the first move.

"Now that you've said it..." With an awkward movement, he reaches for your hand and intertwines his fingers with yours. "I guess it's my turn to admit that I'm so fucking in love with you."

•——————•°•✿•°•——————•

Uzui Tengen

The mission has been surprisingly easy. So easy, in fact, that the walk back is filled with casual conversations and the occasional exaggerated comment from Tengen about how utterly unimpressive that demon had been.

You watch him walk a few steps ahead of you with his hands behind his head, completely relaxed, as if he hadn't just spent hours fighting. Every now and then he turns around to tell you some ridiculous story or make you laugh with one of his remarks, and you can't help wondering how it's possible for someone to have so much energy even after a mission.

"You've been awfully quiet today," Tengen says, changing the subject when he notices you aren't paying attention to whatever he was talking about.

You look up at him.

"I'm tired."

"No, you're not." He smiles.

You frown slightly, offended. "What do you mean, I'm not?"

"When you're tired, you don't frown that much. You do that when you're overthinking." He gives you a light tap between your eyebrows, and you click your tongue.

You hate to admit it, but he knows you far too well.

You lower your gaze to the path, hoping he'll change the subject. You've spent the entire mission trying to ignore the little knot in your chest that tightens every time he gets too close, every time he smiles, or every time he unconsciously seeks out your company as naturally as breathing.

Especially because you know perfectly well those little gestures don't mean anything to him.

"What are you thinking about?" His question pulls you out of your thoughts. "And don't tell me 'nothing.' That answer's never interesting."

A small laugh slips from your lips. "You're such an idiot."

"And incredibly handsome." He wiggles his eyebrows several times, and you ignore the way your cheeks grow slightly warm.

"That too," you admit with a small smile.

Tengen places a hand over his chest in mock pride.

"Thank you. I like honest people."

You shake your head again, laughing. Talking to him is always far too easy, so much so that you end up forgetting to think before you speak.

"Although that also makes it harder to forget that I'm in love with you."

You keep walking for another couple of steps before realizing Tengen is no longer beside you.

He's standing perfectly still in the middle of the path, staring at you with an expression completely different from the one he had only moments ago. The teasing smile is gone, and he seems to have no idea what to say.

It takes you a few seconds to realize why, and your heart nearly stops.

"Wait, that!" Heat instantly rushes to your cheeks as your eyes go wide. "I wasn't supposed to tell you that!"

You bury your face in both hands, completely mortified.

Your embarrassment makes you start talking way too fast, your words tumbling over each other as you desperately search for an explanation that sounds even remotely believable.

"It just slipped out, I'm tired, I wasn't thinking clearly... I..."

Your voice trails off on its own. You don't even believe your own excuses. Tengen stays silent, and that only makes you even more nervous.

"Aren't you going to say something?"

He blinks a couple of times before letting out a quiet laugh through his nose.

"Wow... I wasn't expecting that." He brings a hand to his chin, as if he's carefully analyzing the situation. "I had noticed."

You lift your head so quickly it almost hurts. "What?"

A crooked smile slowly returns to his lips.

"Not that you were in love with me," he says slowly. "But I had noticed you'd been acting... differently for weeks."

Your cheeks burn even hotter. You hadn't thought you'd been that obvious. You're terrible at hiding things and even worse at lying.

"You'd always look for me the moment we finished a mission, you'd somehow end up walking beside me without even realizing it, and whenever one of my wives hugged me, you'd make the funniest face," he lists calmly while you grimace awkwardly at having yourself exposed like that.

"Well..." you mumble, covering part of your face with your hands again. "Now that I've completely embarrassed myself... I think I'm going to leave."

"I don't want you walking away thinking you're the only one who's been hiding something for a long time."

He steps in front of you with a smile far gentler than usual, so different from the one he shows the rest of the world that, for a moment, you barely recognize him.

"I would've preferred a confession that was a little more... extravagant." He raises a hand and, with surprisingly gentle care, brushes a loose strand of hair away from your face. "But I guess yours was pretty memorable too."

Your heart starts racing all over again.

"Does that mean...?"

Tengen's smile grows.

"It means I fell in love with you quite a long time ago."

•——————•°•✿•°•——————•

Himejima Gyomei

The mission ended before sunset, so the two of you decided to make a brief stop before returning to headquarters. Near the path stands a small abandoned temple where the whisper of the wind barely manages to break the silence. After spending the entire day fighting, the place offers a kind of peace that's hard to find anywhere else.

Gyomei sits on the stone steps with his hands folded in front of him, quietly reciting a prayer. You decide to sit beside him without saying a word, simply enjoying the sense of calm that always seems to surround him.

No matter how difficult the mission has been, somehow, just being close to him makes the weight on your shoulders slowly fade away.

"Are you feeling better?" he asks when he finishes praying.

You look up at him and nod with a small smile.

"Yeah. I just needed to rest for a while."

Gyomei smiles as well. "I'm glad you've had the chance to regain your strength. After such a demanding mission, the body needs rest too."

The two of you spend a few minutes looking out over the temple courtyard as the breeze gently stirs the branches overhead, until you let out a long sigh without even realizing it.

"Is something wrong?" he asks, leaning slightly toward you.

You shake your head almost instinctively.

"No... Well..."

You absentmindedly fiddle with a small leaf that has fallen onto the stone step. You've spent far too long trying to convince yourself that what you feel will disappear with time, but every mission you share, every quiet conversation, and every small act of kindness has done exactly the opposite.

"I was just thinking that... everything feels so much easier when I'm with you."

Gyomei turns his face slightly toward you, giving you his full attention.

"What do you mean?"

You lower your gaze, unable to answer right away.

"When I'm with you, I feel like I can stop worrying for a while. It's like... I don't have to carry everything on my own."

He listens to every word without interrupting you.

"If my company can ease even a small part of the burden you carry on your shoulders... then I'm grateful for that."

A smile appears on your lips.

"You're so kind..." you whisper, staring down at the ground. "I guess falling in love with someone like you was inevitable."

Gyomei goes completely still.

Your smile slowly fades, and then you gasp in surprise as you quickly stand up. You'd felt so comfortable that you couldn't stop yourself from opening up, even about the secret you'd been guarding more fiercely than anything else.

Gyomei's hands, which had been resting together on his lap until then, tense ever so slightly.

"...Could you repeat what you just said?"

"I didn't mean to say that..." you reply, wiping your sweaty hands against your haori.

"You have no reason to be ashamed." Gyomei rises to his feet as well and slowly walks toward you. "But I also don't wish to force you to repeat words you weren't ready to say."

His words manage to calm some of the nerves racing through your body, though not your embarrassment. You keep your eyes fixed on the ground, unable to gather enough courage to look at him. Your heart is pounding so hard you're convinced even he can hear it.

"It was an accident..." you murmur, barely above a whisper. "I fell in love with you before I even realized it had happened."

Gyomei simply gives you the time you need to gather your thoughts, never rushing you. The breeze stirs the leaves once more, and for a few moments, the only sound is the soft clink of the prayer beads as they slowly slide through his fingers.

"I've prayed many times," he finally confesses in his calm, steady voice. "Not for those feelings to disappear... but for my heart not to mistake affection for the desire to protect you."

You slowly lift your head. Gyomei keeps his gaze lowered, as though those words are just as difficult for him to say.

"I believed remaining silent was the right thing to do. My duty has always come before my own desires, and I never wanted to place the weight of feelings upon you that you might not have shared."

A lump forms in your throat. You'd never imagined he'd been struggling with the very same thing.

"So...?" you whisper hopefully.

Gyomei nods with a slight inclination of his head before you've even finished the question. He takes one small step toward you and, with almost reverent gentleness, takes one of your hands between both of his.

"If you'll allow me," he says with a tenderness that makes your chest ache, "I'd like to take care of your heart the same way you've been taking care of mine all this time."

•——————•°•✿•°•——————•

Iguro Obanai

The walk back is quiet, almost too quiet.

The mission has only been over for a few minutes, and even though exhaustion weighs heavily on both of you, neither of you seems willing to break the silence. The only sounds are the crunch of leaves beneath your feet and Kaburamaru's soft hissing as he rests coiled around Obanai's shoulders like always.

You've been stealing glances at the bandage wrapped around his arm for quite a while now. You can't stop thinking about the moment he stepped between you and the demon.

"You shouldn't have done that."

Obanai keeps walking for a few more steps before answering.

"Done what?" he asks in a bored tone.

You grimace. "Stepping in front of me."

He shifts his gaze back to the path and answers almost immediately.

"It was the fastest and most effective option."

You knew that was exactly what he'd say, but hearing him say it out loud only irritates you even more. You press your lips together, trying to let the subject go, but it's impossible.

If that attack had been only a few inches off... You shake your head. You don't even want to imagine how that mission would've ended.

"That's not the point."

Obanai finally stops and turns to face you completely, patiently waiting for you to continue.

You lower your gaze for a few seconds, searching for a way to explain something you've been keeping to yourself for far too long.

"I don't like seeing you do things like that," you murmur, embarrassed to let him see your more vulnerable side.

His expression barely changes.

"I've survived worse."

"I know."

"Then stop worrying."

He says it so simply that your blood starts to boil.

A humorless laugh slips from your lips.

"And how exactly am I supposed to do that?"

Obanai raises an eyebrow slightly.

"I don't know. Figure it out yourself."

You let out a frustrated sigh. For months you've been trying to convince yourself that you could keep hiding your feelings, but every mission makes it a little harder. On top of that, he talks to you in that way that never fails to get under your skin. You don't understand how it's even possible that you've fallen in love with someone so unbelievably stubborn.

You let out another quiet huff and keep walking, convinced this conversation isn't going anywhere. But after only a couple of steps, you realize you can't hear Obanai following you anymore.

You frown slightly and turn on your heel, only to find him still standing perfectly still in the middle of the path.

Kaburamaru has lifted his head, and Obanai is looking at you with an expression you've never seen on his face before.

"Obanai?"

"Are you in love with me?"

The words leave both of your mouths at exactly the same time.

Your stomach drops, and you take a surprised step backward.

You blink several times, completely stunned, replaying the conversation in your head. No... you'd never said that. All you'd done was think about how frustrating he was and how ridiculous it was that you'd fallen in love with him.

The color drains from your face.

You hadn't thought it, you'd said it out loud.

You clamp a hand over your mouth as heat rushes to your cheeks all at once. Your heart starts pounding so hard you can almost feel it in your throat, and an awful knot settles in your stomach.

"No!" you cry, your lips trembling. "I don't like you, no, not at all. That was a mistake, I... I'm leaving!"

You turn around with the sole intention of running away before you can make the situation even worse, but you've barely managed to take a single step when a hand gently wraps around your wrist.

How did he get beside you so fast?

Obanai doesn't tighten his grip to keep you there. The light touch of his fingers is enough to stop you from taking another step.

"You said it without thinking." His voice is far too calm.

You stay with your back to him, far too embarrassed to turn around. You can feel your heart pounding against your chest so hard that you can barely breathe properly.

"Please..." you murmur, your voice barely audible. "Pretend you didn't hear any of that."

For months you'd been careful with every word, every glance, and every little gesture so Obanai would never suspect a thing. And now, just a couple of sentences spoken in a moment of frustration had brought all of that crashing down.

The hand around your wrist loosens slightly.

"I can't." His next words come after a long silence. "I've been waiting far too long to hear something like that."

You feel the air leave your lungs, and you slowly turn to look at him.

Obanai is still avoiding your eyes. The faint blush spreading across the tips of his ears contrasts with the calm expression on his face, though the slight tremble in his fingers gives away that he's every bit as nervous as you are.

"I thought..." He pauses briefly, searching for the right words. "I thought I'd never have a reason to believe my feelings could ever be returned."

•——————•°•✿•°•——————•

Rengoku Kyojuro

The sun is beginning to set as the two of you make your way back. After an especially long mission, everything feels surprisingly peaceful. Rengoku walks beside you with the same energy he always has, enthusiastically talking about how well you worked together and recalling moments from the battle with such an infectious smile that you end up laughing along with him.

You can't help thinking that this is one of the things you love most about Kyojuro. Even after facing a demon, he still finds reasons to smile.

"You were magnificent today!" he suddenly exclaims, turning toward you with an expression full of pride. "I'm convinced that every mission we share proves just how much you've grown as a swordswoman!"

An embarrassed laugh slips from your lips.

"Don't exaggerate," you murmur, giving him a light punch on the shoulder.

"I never exaggerate when I'm giving someone a compliment!"

He shakes his head with such confidence that you end up rolling your eyes with a laugh.

"You're impossible."

"Thank you!" His smile grows even wider.

You look at him for a few seconds, unable to stop yourself from smiling.

You don't understand how someone can be so optimistic all the time. Sometimes, just spending a few hours by his side is enough to make you forget every worry, and maybe that's why you've spent so long trying to convince yourself that what you feel can't possibly be love.

Because it would be far too complicated, because he deserves someone better, and because you know he'll most likely never see you that way.

"Is something wrong?" he asks when he notices you've gone quiet again.

"No... I was just thinking."

"About what?" Kyojuro tilts his head curiously.

You let out a soft sigh, a dreamy smile appearing on your lips.

"About how wonderful it is to be in love with someone like you."

The silence doesn't last long, but it's long enough for those words to start echoing over and over inside your head.

The air seems to get stuck in your lungs as your heart lurches so hard you almost lose your balance.

Your eyes fly open, and heat rushes to your cheeks so quickly that you can feel even your ears burning. You clamp a hand over your mouth, completely horrified, replaying the conversation in your mind again and again with the ridiculous hope that you imagined it.

"Wait!" you blurt out, throwing both hands up in front of you as if you could stop time itself. "That... that wasn't meant for you! Well... it was meant for you! No! I mean..."

The words come out so fast that not even you can make sense of them. You squeeze your eyes shut. You've never wanted to disappear so badly.

For months, you'd imagined a beautiful, peaceful confession after finally working up the courage to do it. You'd thought through every last detail, the words you'd use and the perfect moment.

And instead, you'd ended up confessing in the middle of a muddy road after answering a completely innocent question.

You weren't even sure you'd ever confess at all.

You remain frozen, unable to gather the courage to look at him. You expect anything, surprise, rejection, or even for him to walk away without saying a word, but the one thing you don't expect is for him to laugh.

You slowly open your eyes. Kyojuro is still looking at you, but he doesn't seem uncomfortable or confused. Quite the opposite. His smile has grown even wider, and his eyes are shining with such unmistakable excitement that you're completely caught off guard.

"That makes me incredibly happy!"

You blink several times. "Excuse me?"

"I've been waiting to hear those words for a long time!"

Your mind goes completely blank. You stare at him, unsure whether you heard him correctly or if your embarrassment has finally made you lose your senses.

Kyojuro lets out a laugh full of excitement before resting a hand on his hip.

"I'd been planning to confess my feelings once I found the right moment! I wanted to do it after inviting you to have a meal with me once we got back from the mission." He pauses briefly before smiling at you again with the same warmth that makes your heart skip a beat. "But it seems you ended up being much braver than I was."

"Were you... in love with me?" You feel your heart start racing all over again.

"Of course!" he says without the slightest hint of embarrassment. "I've been in love with you for quite a long time."

The sincerity in his voice makes all the tension you've been carrying melt away in an instant. There's no hesitation in his voice, no embarrassment, no attempt to hide how he feels.

"I'm truly happy that your feelings found the courage to leave your heart." Before you can answer, Kyojuro gently wraps your hands in both of his, wearing the brightest smile. "I promise I'll make you just as happy as you've made me today!"

Time and time again Alastor had dragged his feet towards the bucket of water perched on the porch of the old, dilapidated shack he retreated to every other week, and he had dumped his hands in it and scrubbed viciously till the stinging ache of sore skin repelled the inadequacy, the disappointment of yet another fruitless ritual.

Still, the pain eventually subsided, the stretch of marshy land in between his misdeeds and the home where he masqueraded as a civilized man long enough to let thoughts slip unbidden.

— Give up.

— You’re a failure.

— You will exist in Hell a tortured soul.

And they swarmed Alastor’s mind on the entire trek back home like a horde of agitated bees, unable to be swatted away, leaving his hands protesting in agony for nothing as he curled them into fists.

The worst part was that he couldn’t carelessly fling aside the rifle slung over his back and collapse onto the couch to wallow. No, Alastor had to suck it up. He was a married man, and a married man couldn’t rudely announce himself by kicking open the door and rattling the foundation of the house you, his lovely wife of 3 years, had made into a home.

Not only would disrespecting your humble home be a punishable offense, but Alastor also couldn’t allow you to see beyond his low spirits, to discover his misery. He couldn’t. Otherwise, he feared you would find out that his mumbled complaints about failing to treat you to the spoils of his labor in fresh, tender venison was simply a metaphor.

Because Alastor was a skilled hunter — with no gratitude to his late-father.

He could provide until the population of swamp-dwelling deer dwindled to near extinction, and he always took down a stag beforehand in the hopes of feeding you instead of another lucky alligator.

So, when he returned empty-handed, it was always intentional rather than accidental.

You didn’t know that, though. You didn’t know that there was more to Alastor Hartfelt, the toast of New Orleans, than meets the eye. You had no idea, not a sneaking suspicion, that the reason behind your husband’s inability to put food on the table had nothing to do with the quick wit and silver-tongue you had fallen in love with.

Nor was he ill-fated or hapless, a recent suggestion you had recently delivered in a joking manner, which Alastor had started to seriously consider.

— up until one of the countless rituals he had performed in half a decade finally bore fruit.

“Yes — yes! — ah-ha-ha — I did it!”

— then he was vibrating on his place on the ground, joyful, triumphant, and terribly relieved.

The corners of Alastor’s lips curved upwards, canines glinting in the low, amber light of the burning candles decorating the room.

The ritual, it worked. It finally worked. A demon had answered him, caressed his chin with a cold, wispy finger, and accepted his offer — his soul in exchange for power. Security. Alastor wasn’t a failure, nor would he exist in Hell a tortured soul, the most genuine sound that had issued from his lips since he married you bursting from his lungs.

A melodious bout of laughter pierced the air, slicing through the distinctive, metallic scent deeply ingrained in the grooves of the wooden shack that had long sought to brand him a failure.

The victoriousness of binding his soul to a demonness, of securing a powerful position in the hierarchy of an afterlife he knew little about, drowned out the sickening stench of years worth of feeling inadequate and disappointed. The fog of misery finally receded on a warm Sunday night, and oh, was he eager to celebrate this great feat.

“Merde, I need to snuff out the candles, I need to wash my hands,” Alastor hastily collected himself on trembling knees, rich brown pools darting wildly across the room. “I… I need to go home!”

His body twitched and jolted from the adrenaline, but also, something familiar coiled deep in his gut. His muscles in his abdomen tensed, and his slacks grew tight and constricting, his breath stuttering. It was visceral, it was intense in every aspect — a deep-seated desire to push himself deep inside of you till you were bursting at the seams.

One by one, as small flames met a pinching demise, Alastor found himself muttering under his breath like a crazed lunatic.

The feeling in his gut that was reawakened, that was stoked to life with the unanticipated success of tonight’s ritual was so profound, so overwhelming that his mind couldn’t stop drifting off to you, his wife. His poor, needy wife, who religiously went to bed with her thighs clenched together, aching and yearning because he couldn’t always satisfy you.

How would you react when he touched you for the first time in months?

Would you twitch and jolt at every little purposeful prodding like the blushing bride you were when you consummated your marriage?

Would you come undone prematurely if he endeavored to use his mouth on the most sensitive part of you?

How would you make him feel when he pushed himself into your still fluttering walls?

Fuck. He was faltering, he was forgetting himself over the thought of you writhing and squirming underneath him like the night you became man and wife. If the calloused pads of his fingers hadn’t suddenly started to sting, reminding him that he was holding them in between a licking flame, his thoughts would have consumed him entirely.

“The stag — the stag goes home tonight,” Alastor pinched the flame with a small hiss, ignoring the painful straining in his slacks. “Oh no, I can’t leave without it. It’s part of my alibi.”

He had to remind himself to not forget the lifeless animal slumped on the front porch as he snuffed out the last candle, whirling around on an unstable heel, pupils dilating in the darkness. Alastor had to remind himself to not forget anything at all, fearing he would jump your bones with the stench of death clinging to him and desecrate your skin.

“Merde. Keep it together, Alastor. Quit acting like a bitch in heat,” He snarled in disgust at his gross inability to keep himself in check. “You can’t afford to slip up, not right now.”

If he didn’t have a nasty habit of kicking aside all the severed limbs he had used as offerings, Alastor would have tripped over them in his haste towards the door, fingertips latching onto the doorknob. But even if he had somehow managed to trip over his own two feet, it probably wouldn’t have spoiled his mood. He was ecstatic and all sorts of giddy.

The wooden foundation of the only true witness to the harrowing crimes of the Bayou Butcher, of the onslaught of ‘senseless violence’ the faceless and nameless killer had so heartlessly committed, shook as the door slammed shut behind Alastor’s stumbling form, obscuring the grisly scene he had meticulously crafted over the years.

“Oh, mon amour,” Alastor made a beeline for the stag. “Soon you’ll see that your husband isn’t a lousy hunter. His efforts have always borne fruit, but now? You shall indulge in them.”

There’s a cover draped over it, but as he went to lift the fabric, he caught the sight of something resting against the wall beside the door from his periphery — his rifle — yet another thing Alastor almost forgot about in his haste to rush back home to you with a testament of his success slung over his shoulder, hand snatching the leather strap.

“What is the matter with me?” He clicked his tongue against his teeth, frustrated, tugging the rifle over his arm. “I may have secured my rightful place in Hell, but I am in no rush to meet death. No, I’ve a lovely wife in this God-forsaken world.”

He couldn’t afford to be anymore sloppy or careless than he had already been by opting to celebrate his success before cleaning out the shack and leaving no evidence of his crimes; but he was striding through marshy inlets in no time, paying little mind to the way his muscles protested with the weight of the stag bearing down on his wiry shoulders.

Moonlight spilled through the canopy of lacey, needle-like leaves hanging from the flared branches of bald cypresses.

The sound of bullfrogs croaking and crickets chirping tangled with the soft, continuous squelch of moist ground being treaded on.

Alastor walked through the thick fog of the Louisiana humidity, caramel skin flushed and glistening, hair and clothes sticking to his sweat-stricken body.

He was terribly hot, nostrils flaring and chest heaving with heavy breaths, but the joy, the triumph encouraged him to persevere.

Hell, he didn’t even notice when the stars began to grow scattered and sparse and the grass started to crunch beneath his soles instead of squish.

Everything was a blur after Alastor finally broke through the untamed foliage behind your home, shoulders aching and knees buckling. He couldn’t recall putting away his rifle, butchering the stag and organizing the meat into a neat pile in the fridge, or going through the hassle of fixing himself a warm bath to scrub his skin clean for you.

It was all so hazy, each and every little thing he did before he walked into your bedroom, wet curls plastered to his forehead.

— either that or his brain thought whatever he did wasn’t worth remembering once the sight of you, his beautiful wife, overwhelmed his vision.

“Merde, you have no idea how much I need you,” Alastor softly murmured, clad in just his pajama pants, the scent of bar soap clinging to his skin.

You were curled on your side of the bed with the sheets kicked to your feet, wearing an old nightgown that was neither sexy nor revealing.

Still, Alastor stalked towards you, body thrumming with a wanton, animalistic need, rich brown pools trained on your slumbering form.

You looked so calm, so tranquil, softly snoring away with your cheek smooshed against the pillow. It would be a crime to stir you awake, no less in the middle of the night. You worked 5 days a week just like he did, the desire to be a measly housewife unappealing to you. You deserved to be able to rest without any interruptions.

But you also looked so vulnerable.

Alastor’s fingers twitched restlessly at his sides as he stood in front of your sleeping form, painfully hard, chest heaving with barely-contained lust.

Your guard was down, completely.

It was plain to see even through the peaceful darkness of your bedroom how pregnable you were.

Defenseless, completely at his mercy.

Alastor could no longer hold himself back. He was overcome by the urge to pounce on you when you looked like a lone doe grazing in obliviousness.

He had to have a taste of you. Now.

You startled awake with a sharp gasp, the feeling of something heavy weighing down on you kick-starting your heart into a panicked frenzy. You instinctively turned on your back and acted, legs thrashing, hands falling flat on a smooth, solid plane that felt warm and damp. However, as soon as you went to push, a mouth captured yours.

“Mon amour, it’s me, Alastor.”

Lips crashed against yours in a messy, feverish kiss, forcing you to sink back into the mattress.

“Al, darling?” You would have stammered out.

But even if your mouth hadn’t been taken hostage, you probably would have failed to muster a coherent syllable with the hands sliding under the hem of your nightgown. Your legs stopped moving, your own hands found the sides of a slender neck, and your belly pulled inwards, especially as familiar fingers grasped the supple flesh of your breasts.

Still, you were given an opportunity to speak as your lips were suddenly freed, a string of saliva forming a bridge between your mouths.

“I did it — I finally did it!” Alastor exclaimed before proceeding to latch onto your collarbone, sucking a nasty bruise on your flesh.

You blinked in the darkness, tired, confused.

“You… you did it? What did you do?” You asked through a sleepy gasp, reeling from the force of the kiss, still not entirely awake.

He thumbed at your soft peaks, and he pressed his hips down into your thigh, rubbing the tent in his pajama pants against your exposed flesh in an attempt to find momentarily relief.

“I did it. I’m not a failure. I’m not a lousy hunter.”

You stared up into the ceiling and let out a choked moan, feeling just how painfully hard your husband was through the thin barrier, brows knitting together in pleasure and disbelief.

“Nor am I ill-fated or hapless,” Alastor managed out as he lapped at your flesh. “My efforts have finally borne fruit — do you know what that means?”

He moved his hands away from your breasts.

“Oh! Your hunt, you mean? It was successful?” Realization struck you, tired eyes lighting up. “Well, h-how wonderful to hear!”

But instead of answering right away, his palms smoothed over the concave of your belly, which was already flexing in sweet anticipation.

And, before you knew it, your panties were yanked off of you in one swift motion. Your legs instinctively went to clamp shut with the air caressing your bare cunt, but Alastor proceeded to pull away from your neck and shuffle down the bed, slender arms wrapping around your thighs as he nestled himself in between your trembling limbs.

“I finally get to satiate your appetite, mon amour,” Alastor chuckled darkly, making your heart lurch in your chest, scandalized and aroused. “Enfin.”

Nimble fingers found wet curls, threading into them, a furious heat sprawling up your neck.

“A-Alastor, darling, what are you doing?”

You tried to push him away, but he dived down into your folds and pressed a wet, filthy kiss to your clit.

“Je vous offre les fruits de mon travail,” Alastor let out a full-throated groan. “Même si vous ne le comprenez pas entièrement.”

Even through the peaceful darkness of your bedroom, it was plain to see as rich brown pools flitted up to drink in your reaction to his debauched behavior that you couldn’t quite comprehend the scale of his joy — or you didn’t seem to believe that his success warranted such a feverish response, no less at this ungodly hour.

“Oh, fuck! I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but I loathe when you do that,” You tossed your head back into the pillow, eyes shutting. “You know I don’t speak a lick of French, you… you awful man.”

Alastor buried his face further into your needy cunt, sucking in your swollen bud between his greedy lips, paying little mind to your mindless babbling as he allowed himself to drown in the desire that had ensnared him so viciously, face growing slick with his own saliva and the viscous arousal that issued from your pulsating entrance.

His excitement knew no bounds, not in this state of triumph, of euphoria.

“Awh, I can’t — I can’t take it — Al, pl-please.”

Alastor maintained a vice-like grip on your legs and stopped you from wriggling away as he shamelessly suckled on your clit.

You were so divine on his tongue.

“Oh my lord, Alastorrr.”

Had you always tasted this good?

“Al-Alastor, please!”

More, he needed more.

You closed your legs around your husband’s head, limiting his breathing, suffocating him, seemingly hoping he’d let up on you this way.

But the act only spurred him on, his mouth vibrating against your cunt in sick gratification.

With your free hand, you clamped your palm over your own mouth, suddenly hyperaware of something Alastor had failed to consider in his lust-addled haze — that you always left the window cracked open a slit when the humidity of June became unbearable, curtains swaying with each gentle draft of wind that seeped into the bedroom.

Your neighbors had a tendency of doing the same — because who liked to sleep in the uncomfortable stickiness of a pool of their own sweat?

Nobody, of course.

And nobody wanted to hear your cries of ecstasy echo into the night, either… unless you happened to reside among perverts.

But you didn’t know how far gone Alastor was as he pressed the calloused pads of his fingers into your thighs, prying your legs apart to allow him space to breathe — or at least that’s what you seemed to think until he relinquished you from his lips, only to introduce his tongue to your clit and flutter the tip against the swollen bundle of nerves.

Then you couldn’t stifle the wanton cry that burst forth from your lungs as he pushed you over the precipice of ecstasy, the coil in your belly snapping.

“Oh my — oh my God,” You whined, fingers tugging at the curls that had slowly dried in your unrelenting grasp. “I’m coming, I’m coming!”

Rich brown pools trailed up your body, taking in the way your thighs shook, your hips twitched, and your belly twisted and turned as the waves of your orgasm crashed over you violently.

“Oh… oh fuck, Al,” You let curses slip unbidden as his tongue continued to lap at your throbbing bud. “Y-You need to sto—op — I can’t!”

You tore your legs from his grip and pushed your heels into his shoulders, forcing Alastor away, overstimulated.

If his cock wasn’t straining painfully against the mattress, begging to be pushed into the space he had carved for himself long ago in your fluttering walls, you had no idea, but he would have held you down and ravished your swollen cunt till you were convulsing with hot tears endlessly cascading down your flushed face.

The helpless cries and mewls you let out when he continued to flutter his tongue on your aching clit was like music to his ears.

He’d even venture to say that they sounded more delicious than the pathetic cries of his victims.

But again, Alastor needed you.

He desperately needed to push each and every inch of his cock into your throbbing cunt.

He desperately needed to fill you up till you were bursting at the seams with his seed, head turning to press a quick kiss to one of your ankles.

Alastor pulled his elbows in and shuffled off the foot of the bed, standing on trembling knees, only to lean in and seize your ankles. You, of course, let out a squeak. Your husband was manhandling you — and roughly, too — but you were soft and pliant in his grip as he relinquished your ankles to pull your nightgown over your head.

“Goodness, Al!” You sputtered, watching him carelessly fling the fabric aside instead of folding it, unable to recognize your husband.

He flashed you his canines in a wicked grin before quickly proceeding to grab your hips and effortlessly flip you around, positioning you exactly how he wanted to take you — with your legs dangling off the edge of the bed, your spine arched in a sinuous curve, and your ass held high in the air. He wanted to take you like an animal

“Can’t you give me some time to recover?” You helplessly mewled, planting your palms on the bed, pushing to support yourself.

You turned to glance at him from your shoulder, eyes widening at the sight of Alastor tugging his pants down, the fabric pooling at his ankles.

“I’m afraid I cannot.”

His cock sprung out and smacked against the flexing plane of his abdomen, weeping tip staring back at you, making you shift with arousal.

“That stag you took down must be an unruly bastard,” You forced yourself to look away, face flaring up. “I mean, I just ca—NN’T — Alastor!”

He smacked his palm over your aching cunt with a wet slap that resonated embarrassingly loud in the quietude of your room — glancing from your shoulder at him once more, lips twisting in a frown and eyes narrowing in a glare. But before you could tell your husband off for smacking you down there, he withdrew his hand.

And he replaced it with his cockhead, pushing into your fluttering entrance without bothering to lubricate himself first.

It wasn’t necessary, though.

You were so slick from his previous efforts that Alastor was able to slide his length into your cunt without any effort, your head dropping and your lips parting with a shaky gasp.

You felt oh-so utterly divine.

So warm, so accomodating, his hands scrambling to grip the flesh of your waist, the calloused pads of his fingers leaving bruising indents.

You were still pulsating and throbbing from your orgasm, velvety walls teasing his aching length with fleeting embraces as his cockhead pushed to rest against your womb — the same womb he had failed to fill with a testament of your love from how little he had ravished you since you tied the knot, disappointment filling his chest.

But then you shuffled restlessly on your feet and let out a breathless gasp as Alastor bottomed out, bony hips meeting the supple flesh of your ass.

“Oh… oh God.”

And again, Alastor felt like he did back in the old, dilapidated shack, when the first of the countless rituals he had performed finally worked.

The newfound urge that bloomed in his heaving chest as rich brown pools darted down south, where he was connected to you as husband and wife, was intense in every sense of the word. However, it was also more than just an unfettered need for you. It was absolutely feral and instinctual, as if it was hardwired in his brain.

“I’m going to fucking breed you.”

The transatlantic accent you were acquainted with slipped, and in came the southern lilt Alastor thought he’d lost after he decided he wanted to work in radio, subtle but obvious enough anyway. Still, he was certain the way your walls squeezed him had more to do with his crude declaration rather than the slight difference in enunciation.

It made sense.

It wasn’t something he would have ever voiced out loud — that he was going to breed you, as if you were nothing but a pair of deer merely coming together for mating season.

You couldn’t quite believe his words, your skin growing uncomfortably hot at the notion.

There was no doubt in Alastor’s lust-addled mind that you were wondering where your husband was.

You didn’t know, and he was certain you wouldn’t ask, anyway, overwhelmed with shock.

Still, he sensed that you knew that the profound urge to fill your empty womb broke every invisible restraint in his wiry body, devolving him into something purely animalistic.

It made a lot of sense.

And, in no time, the home Alastor had carried you into bridal-style was filled with a cacophony of sounds — the mattress creaking, the bed frame smacking against the wall, his hips relentlessly colliding with the swell of your ass, your cunt rudely squelching with each and every hurried drag of his length against your slick walls.

It was loud and nothing short of telling what the two of you were up to.

He couldn’t even hear when the furious rapping echoing in the tiny hallway separating your bedroom and the living room began.

“Oh, you’re squeezing me so perfectly,” Alastor leaned into your back, sharp nose caressing the side of your face. “So warm, so wet… why, you were made just for me, weren’t you, sweetheart?”

He could only hear you crying out the most sinful noises as he gasped and groaned into your ear.

“Yes — yes! Just for you,” You cried out in sheer delight, his hands wandering away from your waist, caressing your fluttering belly before finding your neglected breasts. “Only you, A-Al! Only you.”

He could only hear the incessant, wet clap of his balls meeting the swollen clit he had lavished with his tongue just earlier.

“Good… but nobody else k-knows,” Alastor laved his tongue across the shell of your ear, palms simultaneously squeezing your breasts. “They’re going to know, though — fuck! — and soon.”

He could only hear the way you unraveled into a wanton whore beneath his looming frame.

“Fuck, ye—es, please,” You begged with a pathetic mewl as his cockhead constantly nudged your womb, a familiar pressure building up in you. “Breed me, fill me up! I’m all yours, Al. Pl-Please!”

He didn’t care that cranky Miss Susan, who lived across the street, was probably the one threatening to break down your door.

The only thing that mattered was that he was close to coaxing you both over the edge.

As he relinquished one of your breasts to find your clit once more, two fingers pressing against the sensitive button, Alastor didn’t care that he’d have to swallow his pride and deal with the embarrassment of apologizing to that ornery old bitch — as he loved to call her in private — for daring to be loud in his own home.

No, in fact, he would relish in swinging open the door in nothing but the sheets wrapped around his waist so the stench of sin assaulted her senses.

The woman needed to shut her window, shove plugs in her ears, slap on a pair of earmuffs, and learn to mind her business if not endure.

He was treating you to the fruits of his labor, and she had the audacity to interrupt this rare moment of passion between the two of you.

Thankfully, before Alastor’s mind could drift off and he inadvertently turned himself off, you were quick to bring him back to you as you suddenly decided to move your hips to meet his thrusts, which he hadn’t realized were starting to lose momentum and grow sloppy and discordant with the tight pressure coiling in his gut.

“Ignore her,” You barely managed between a moan. “We’re going to — mhh, fuck! — we’re going to have to deal with her anyway, right?”

Alastor let out a dry chuckle against your ear, stiffening length sliding inside of your tightening walls, rolling your clit around in quick circles.

“How’d you guess it was her, sweetheart?”

You craned your neck to meet his heavy-lidded gaze, the smile that stretched across your flushed face riddled with pure, unadulterated lust.

“T-The stupid cane, Al,” You huffed out, making him grin. “The knocks… they don’t sound much like knocks when she uses that dreadful thing.”

You were right, the furious rapping that continued to echo in the house in tandem with all the debauchery of your late-night rendezvous didn’t sound much like ordinary knocks. They sounded like banging. But Alastor chose to heed your words and peel himself from your back, standing up on all 6-feet, hips pistoning in slow, deep thrusts.

Thrusts that were purposely deafening and made the supple flesh of your ass ripple something delicious, his cock throbbing deep inside of you.

The hand that was once on your breast returned to grip your waist, sinking into the soft flesh there as the calloused pads of his fingers zigzagged across your clit instead of circling it, making your fingers curl into the sheets beneath you.

You were right, the damage had been done, and the only thing that mattered was that you both were teetering on the edge of ecstasy.

With each long drag of Alastor’s cock against your velvety walls, the harsh knocks grew unintelligible and faded into the background. And it became just a tiny disturbance, one that was as ignorable as the cricket that once hopped into your house and found refuge in a tiny, unknown crevice in the walls, chirping away at night till it eventually died.

And, before he knew it, Alastor was doubling down over your back and spilling himself at the feeling of your walls spasming around him.

“Merde,” Alastor gasped into the crook of your neck in raw bliss, hands sprawled reverently over your lower belly.

His cock pulsated and throbbed deep inside of your cunt as thick, heavy ropes of his pleasure painted your womb, pulling a whimper from you.

“Oh God,” You heaved.

And you, his poor wife?

“Mon amour?” Alastor whispered.

Your elbows gave up on you, the top half of your body collapsing onto the mattress, completely and utterly spent.

“Nothing… I’m just… tired, that’s all,” You slowly started, but then he decided to pull out of you, making you wince. “Oh, that feels strange.”

Alastor wasn’t faring any better than you. His knees threatened to buckle underneath him as he stepped back to observe the mess he had made out of you, a hand smoothing away the stray curls plastered to his forehead as he watched his seed spill from your throbbing entrance — that looked rather uncomfortable.

Still, he found himself reaching out and dragging his hand through your slit, shoving whatever threatened to trickle down your inner thighs back into your entrance, two fingers plunging into your sensitive walls with an embarrassing squelch. You immediately stiffened and clamped down around him, head swiveling around to glare at him.

“Hey!” You sputtered out.

The thought of going at it again, of taking you, entered his mind unbidden.

But then he heard a loud shout from outside — Susan. Fucking Susan. She was no longer banging her cane against the door, but shouting now.

“Christ, she’s still here?” Alastor growled, brows furrowing, eyes narrowing in sheer irritation. “I thought the sound of us going at it like a bunch of rabbits would have scared her off.”

“This is going to be so embarrassing,” You whined, clearly thinking he’d force you to answer the door. “How am I supposed to face her?”

“I designed this situation, so I shall take care of it,” Alastor grumbled, pulling his fingers out of you.

But not before giving your cunt a good patting.

“And you,” He shot you a wicked grin. “You make sure this,” He patted you again, “takes.”

“Alastor, you dog. I…” You paused as he wiped his fingers on the sheets, “Well, I hardly even recognize you. Where has my real husband gone off to?”

“Just treating you to the fruits of my labor,” Alastor hummed, searching for his pants. “That stag was indeed an unruly bastard — years I had spent hunting him, and now? Oh, he’s allll mine.”

The mattress softly creaked as you turned around and shut your legs, staring at him wordlessly.

Beyond the flustered expression on your face, however, he saw the understanding, your lips curling upwards in a proud smile.

“Anyway, I’ll be right back.”

As he pulled his pants up and took several long strides towards the front door, fingertips latching onto the doorknob, the fog of ecstasy dispersed from his brain and allowed him to see clearly since he left the shack. But even as the sight of his old, cranky neighbor standing hunched on his porch filled his vision, Alastor still found himself grinning.

The ritual had worked.

“Ah, Miss Susan!” Alastor greeted the woman glaring up at him with faux shock. “My, my, isn’t it rather late to be paying your neighbors a visit? What time is it, 3… 4 A.M.?”

“Oh, you know why I’m here, you filthy degenerate!” Susan hissed at him.

The corners of his eyes creased, and laughter bubbled up in his throat — he was the degenerate? He was simply having sex in his own home, while she had been the one to linger long enough to listen to the entire affair like some voyeur.

“I’m afraid I do not,” Alastor clasped his hands together, “But do feel free to enlighten me!”

“Enlighten you?” Susan gasped, shaking her cane at him, aggravated. “Oh, well, I’ll have you know this neighborhood was rather lovely until Richard passed away and you two moved in —”

The ritual had finally worked.