RUMIRUE

You were humming a song when he first saw you. Well, heard you.

A song so faint it felt like something long forgotten, or remembered by accident. The kind of song a child might hum while plucking apples at dawn.

Tengen Uzui had just returned to the Butterfly Mansion after nearly a month away. A simple wound, really, nothing worth a fuss, but Shinobu had insisted, and well, even a Sound Hashira couldn’t argue with poison in the bloodstream.

He was walking the corridor past the tailoring room when he heard you. A voice like honey stirred into warm tea. Not loud, not flashy. Not like him at all.

Through the open sliding door, he glimpsed at you for the first time.

A new tailor, clearly, your face unfamiliar, your hair tucked back in a silken scarf. You were sitting cross legged in the center of the room, a swatch of pale haori spread across your lap, hands busy with neat, delicate mending.

He might’ve kept walking.

But you tilted your head just slightly, lips still humming, and the light caught on your lashes. You smiled to yourself, perhaps at the evenness of your stitches, perhaps at nothing in particular.

Something about that smile made him still in his step.

There was nothing remarkable about the scene, not really. No dramatic lighting, no gust of wind, no gods sent sign, all though he could see the blossoming sakura trees out the window behind you, their petals raining down. And yet something in him stirred. Unfamiliar. Soft. Like lace sliding off a blade.

He stood there too long. Way too long.

You didn’t look up. You didn’t see him. That alone was strange. Uzui Tengen was not used to being overlooked. He's a God. He didn’t say a word.

Tengen took one step back, then another. Left as silently as he’d come. But even after he walked away, he couldn't stop thinking about you.

︶ ֢ ⏝ ֢ ︶ ୨୧ ︶ ֢ ⏝ ֢ ︶

A few days passed before he saw you again. A clean tear across the lower hem of his uniform gave him the excuse. It wasn’t bad, Hinatsuru could’ve fixed it in ten minutes, but he wrapped it carefully and left the house with a lie half formed in his mouth.

The walk to the Butterfly Mansion was unusually quiet. But his heartbeat wasn’t. It wasn’t about the uniform. Not really.

He told himself he’d forgotten about you. That whatever spell you’d cast when he first saw you stitching in that room, with the falling flowers in the background, has long faded since.

But the truth was what he wasn’t willing to admit, yet.

His steps slowed as he neared the sewing room. He didn’t even knock at first, he just stood there in the doorway, arms folded across his broad chest, watching. Maybe shying away.

Huh. Tengen Uzui isn't shy. He's a God.

You were there again. Bent gently over a pile of cloth, again humming something faint and wordless, lips pursed in concentration, a tiny crease between your brows.

You didn’t notice him until he cleared his throat.

You startled, not with a jump, but a soft flinch, and when you looked up, your eyes went wide.

"Uzui-sama!" you gasped, already pushing back from the table, skirts brushing the floor. "Forgive me— I didn’t hear you come in—"

You bowed once. Then again. Hands flitting like butterflies, fingers wringing. "I’m sorry for the mess, I was just— just finishing up a seam— I didn’t know you were—"

He lifted one hand, stopping you mid apology. "You don’t have to do all that" he said "I’m not your daimyo."

His voice was easy, bored even. But he didn’t stop watching. Didn’t stop the way his gaze dragged down, slow as syrup, over your bowed form. You stayed kneeling beside the low table, heart skipping in your chest like a startled fawn.

And he didn’t look away. Didn’t ask you to rise. He enjoyed seeing you like that. He laid the folded uniform on the table between you. "Tore the hem. Figured I’d bring it in before it got worse."

You nodded quickly, already reaching for the bundle, fingers brushing over the fabric with reverence. "It’s not too bad. I can have this mended by tomorrow afternoon."

"That fast?"

"I try to be efficient, Uzui-sama!"

You were trying very hard not to look at him. But he was there, tall, golden, too much. You felt it in the heat rising in your cheeks, and the flutter in your belly. The way he stood without moving, like a statue carved from amber and sun. The rumors were correct. He did look unreal.

You worked quietly, inspecting the seam, smoothing it out. He didn’t speak again. Just watched. Like he had all the time in the world, even though he said he'll get back home that same day.

"I should introduce myself." you said, sitting back on your heels. "I’m the new tailor here." Then you gave your name, and you were a little breathless.

And then he said it back to you. Like an echo dropped down a well. Your whole chest burned. He nodded once with sharp chin tilting.

"Alright then." you looked down, hands curling in your lap. You weren’t sure what else to say.

He turned toward the door, then paused. "I’ll pick it up tomorrow."

You nodded quickly. "Yes, Uzui-sama."

He left without looking back.

But that night, he didn’t sleep again. Not because of battle wounds, or old ghosts, or even his wives’ soft voices curled around him in the dark.

Your name. That one, tiny thing, it kept him up all night.

︶ ֢ ⏝ ֢ ︶ ୨୧ ︶ ֢ ⏝ ֢ ︶

Another morning for you of the same old.

You carry a bundle of folded kosode to the little stall in the village square, where some of the younger slayers exchange worn pieces for repairs. The sun is soft through the mist, the wind just gentle enough to lift the hems of your sleeves. You think the rain will fall soon.

You’re alone. For a little while. Until you aren’t.

A man steps into your path. Civilian, tall, with too many teeth in his smile and a type of stare that makes your stomach pull tight.

"Well now.." he says, eyes dragging down your chest. "They’re lettin’ girls like you dress the Corps these days?"

You blink. Stiffening. "I’m— excuse me—" You try to push past him.

"Aw, don’t be like that." He steps closer. His breath is sour. "Bet you take special requests, huh? From your higher-ups." Your hands grip the cloth tighter.

"Please move." But he doesn’t.

He leans in, low enough to make you flinch, and you can smell the alcohol in his breath. "I could tear something right now. Want to fix that for me, sweetheart?" A sharp spike of fear floods your chest.

You look around and see a woman across the road. Two shopkeepers. An older man leaning on a cane.

Someone shouts. "Hey!" You manage to slip by him.

The man’s eyes flash. "Tch. Fuckin’ bitch." And then he’s gone after being shoved back by a younger slayer who must’ve seen the whole thing.

You’re left shaking. Breath caught in your throat. The bundle of cloths limp in your arms. Someone takes you aside. Someone offers tea. Someone asks if you’re alright. You nod, because it’s easier than explaining the ache in your lungs. You nod, because you are alright.

Mostly. Nothing happened. Nothing really happened.

You don’t go back to the mansion for a while. But when you do, that night, under the wash of stars, you find Uzui Tengen waiting in the hallway.

He looks like he’s just returned from a mission. There’s a cut on his cheek and shadow in his eyes. "Tailor girl." he instructs. "Come here."

You stop midstep. "Yes, Uzui-sama?"

"I said, come here."

You move to him slowly. Nervously. And when you reach him, he lifts his hand to touch your arm. Gently.

"Are you alright?" You flinch but smile up at him.

"I am fine."

"Something happen today?" You hesitate. He notices. His hand tightens. "Someone hurt you?"

"No. I’m fine, truly. It was just—someone said some things. It wasn’t a big deal." His face darkens.

"What kind of things?"

"Just words." you say. "It’s over now. A few people stepped in."

He moves back, just once and nods stiffly. Then he leaves.

︶ ֢ ⏝ ֢ ︶ ୨୧ ︶ ֢ ⏝ ֢ ︶

You don’t need to know.

The moon is high. Pale and watchful. And Tengen is already halfway into the village. His long hair swings with each step. His jaw is locked. Every footfall thuds heavier than the last.

He doesn’t run. He hunts.

Just words you said. But your eyes said something else. Your hands trembled. Your mouth pressed tight. You didn’t want to worry him. Didn’t know that you already do.

The bastard’s name took five minutes to get. Someone saw. Someone whispered, then someone told him where that piece of shit likes to loiter, behind the sake house, under the back stairs.

That’s where he finds him. Leaning on the wall, half-drunk, shirt open, muttering to himself. Tengen doesn’t speak. He doesn’t give a warning. He grabs the man by the collar and slams him against the wooden wall so hard it cracks.

"What the fuㅡ"

Another slam. Wood splinters fly up around him.

"Pleaseㅡ" the man chokes, "I didn’t do nothing!"

"You spoke to her." His voice is low. Deadly. "You touched her."

"I didn’t! I just said—"

A punch. Hard enough to knock some teeth loose. The man howls, blood spraying across the dirt. Tengen doesn’t stop. He doesn’t stop.

His fist meets jaw. Meets ribs. Meets gut. The man drops to the ground and he goes with him, grabbing the front of his yukata and dragging him up only to hit him again, again, again.

"You don’t speak to her."

Crack.

"You don’t look at her."

Crack.

"You don’t breathe near her."

Blood stains his hands. The man sobs. Whimpers. Curls into himself like a dog. Tengen exhales hard and drops him. "Be grateful I didn’t kill you." The man doesn’t answer. Can’t. His mouth is full of blood and broken teeth.

Tengen turns. His knuckles are raw. His breath burns in his chest. But all he can think about is your voice, your doe, teary eyes. The way you smiled like nothing had happened. He keeps walking until he's back at the Mansion.

The hallway is silent at this hour. The walls of the Butterfly Mansion seem to breathe, wood creaking gently, the wind sighing through paper doors. Tengen walks without sound, barefoot, still blood slicked.

Your room is near the end. It's small, tucked away and lavender scented. He would know. He stands outside it for a long time. Long enough that a sane man would have walked away.

But he doesn’t. He slides the door open just enough to slip in, closing it behind him with a soft click. Moonlight pools across your futon, washing over your sleeping form. One hand curled near your cheek. Your chest rising and falling slowly. Hair loose across your pillow like spilled ink. He stands there, not moving.

His face is wet with blood and sweat. His eyes roam over you. Careful. Hungry. So hungry. He just watches. Drinking in the peace he doesn’t deserve.

At one point, you shift. A soft sound escapes your throat, and his whole body tenses, poised like a predator, afraid like a boy.

But you don’t wake. He stays only a moment longer, then slips away, leaving nothing behind but the faint smell of iron.

︶ ֢ ⏝ ֢ ︶ ୨୧ ︶ ֢ ⏝ ֢ ︶

It’s Mitsuri who mentions it. She's babbling about cake, about confetti, about surprises, and then she says your name, laughing brightly.

"Did you know today’s her birthday? The little seamstress! Isn’t she the cutest?"

Tengen stiffens. Doesn’t say anything. Mitsuri blinks. "Oh? Didn’t you two talk the other day?"

He nods slowly. "I didn’t know."

"Well, now you do!" she says, pouting. "Better get her something before the day’s over! She works really hard."

He brushes it off. Shrugs. "I don’t do birthdays."

But that night he’s standing in a shop in the merchant quarter, scowling at tiny boxes with shaking fingers.

He picks a hair clip. It’s small. Elegant. Pearl inlaid. Shaped like a chrysanthemum.

When he gives it to you the next day, he’s awkward. Which is not like him. So not like him.

"Don’t read into it" he says, handing you the tiny box without meeting your eyes. "Mitsuri said it was your birthday. That’s all." Your fingers brush his when you take it and he twitches.

You speak up. "I dont know from where she knows... But, Mitsuri-San is so thoughtful. She brought me American pancakes this morning." He hums.

You open the box slowly, and when you see what’s inside, your eyes go wide. "Oh!" you breathe, like the wind’s been knocked out of you. "It’s beautiful!" You look up, glowing. "Thank you so much, Tengen-sama! I’ll treasure it."

He crosses his arms, looking off to the side. "It’s just a clip." But he’s biting the inside of his cheek to keep himself from grinning like a fool. His ears are red and his heart won’t stop hammering.

And when he sees you put it in your hair, he already knows he won't sleep a damn minute.

︶ ֢ ⏝ ֢ ︶ ୨୧ ︶ ֢ ⏝ ֢ ︶

Some more weeks pass. He's here more and more and his wives are asking him more and more questions. It hurts him to lie, really, but he feels so alive knowing he gets to see you everyday.

Is it that wrong? He thought this would go away, thought fucking away his feelings might work, but it's pointless.

What is wrong with him?

He's awakened from his deep thoughts when his fingertips graze something soft. He finds a handkerchief. Tucked between folded linens in the supply room, smelling faintly of lavender and honey. A neat corner embroidered with tiny stitched flowers. Not your name, but he knows it’s yours. He recognizes your threads now the way a soldier recognizes his blade.

He touches it without thinking, brushes his thumb over the edge. There’s a smear of pink there.

Lip balm? Lipstick?

He brings it to his nose before he can stop himself. Something stirs low in his stomach. Shame. Hunger. Guilt.

"Fuck." he mutters with his voice rough, snatching his hand back like he’s been burned. What the hell is he doing?

You're just a girl.

Just a soft spoken girl with careful hands and beautiful eyes who bows way too much when she speaks and smiles so gently it makes his heart feel too big for his ribs.

A girl.

He balls the handkerchief in his fist and walks out without folding the linens back. He needs air. He needs distance. He needs to get you out of his head.

But that night, he dreams of your mouth around his aching cock, as he he pumps himself with one hand and with the other keeps the handkerchief smelling like you close to his nose.

Who could've seen this coming?

︶ ֢ ⏝ ֢ ︶ ୨୧ ︶ ֢ ⏝ ֢ ︶

You were just walking back from the market, a little paper bag in your hands. You’d bought too many skewers of dango. You’re never good at saying no when the vendor smiles like that.

And then you see Tengen Uzui, leaning against a shaded post, wiping sweat from his neck. Shirt open. Eyes dark. He sees you and straightens himself.

"You’re out early." he says, voice unreadable as always.

You bow too fast, early drop the bag. "Uzui-Sama. Yes—! I just— had a market run."

His gaze flicks to the bag. "Is that dango?" You blink.

"Oh! Yes, um. Way too much, honestly. I—" He holds out his hand. "Then share."

Your eyes widen, but you offer him a stick. He takes it and chews slowly. You watch, embarrassed, but he says nothing. "Do you like it?" you ask, shyly.

He swallows, and you swear something shifts in his expression. "It’s good. Too sweet, though." You smile faintly. "I like really sweet things." His eyes flicker to your mouth as you chew.

"So do I." he says.

That night he dreams of you. Again.

Not the kind of dream he can laugh off in the morning, not a flickering day image or idle thought curled into his pillow. This one touched every part of him. He wakes up hard and aching.

Your voice had called to him in the dark. Your hands had slid against his jaw. Your lips had parted like they knew him inside and out. It felt so real. Too real.

So he comes to you. Still dressed in the clothes he slept in, hair undone, the sky outside barely greyed. He doesn’t even knock, just slips in through the side door, past the empty corridor, breath loud in his chest.

You’re there, hunched beside a workbench this early, smoothing out a sleeve with steady, practiced hands.

When you look up, surprise flickers across your face. Then soft delight, and then concern.

"Tengen-sama?"

"Please—" His voice cuts through the morning hush. "Don’t speak." You blink.

"I need to tell you something." he says, walking toward you "I’ve been holding it in for the past three months. I thought if I ignored it, it would go away, but it hasn’t. Not even once."

You straighten, heart fluttering too close to your throat.

"I think about you." he says. "More than I should. More than is fair. I’ve dreamed of you. Iㅡ I’ve wanted you. Not just your body, but your breath, your laughter, your eyes when you concentrate, the way you look at me when I speak. I’ve memorized your damn footsteps, and it’s hell, it’s driving me insane."

You inhale too quickly.

"But don’t you have wives?" you whisper.

His face twists. "I do." he says. "I do. And I love them! I swear it. But you— fuck." His voice splinters. "You’re in my veins. You’re in everything. I try to shut it down but it only gets louder. And when I’m near you, it’s like I finally… breathe."

You don’t know what to say. So you just smile. Small. And sad. A little crumb of a thing.

"I’m really flattered." you answer softly. "That someone as honorable and strong as you wouldㅡ would feel something like that for someone as insignificant as me."

"No."

His voice is low as he moves closer. "You’re not insignificant. Don’t ever say that. Please." He lifts one hand and touches your face like he’s scared you’ll disappear if he presses too hard. His thumb ghosts over your cheek. And then he leans in so slow you could have stopped him. But you don’t.

His mouth brushes yours rapidly but just as fast he pulls back. "I’m sorry." he breathes, anguish flashing across his face. "I shouldn’t—"

"No." you whisper. "It's alright."

He searches your face. "You’re sure?" You nod.

"You.. can kiss me, Tengen-sama."

And he does.

This time, it’s full of breath, of heat, of all the months he’s held back. His hand tangles in your hair, the other cradling your jaw, pulling you in like you’re the last soft thing left in the world.

︶ ֢ ⏝ ֢ ︶ ୨୧ ︶ ֢ ⏝ ֢ ︶

Ever since that kiss, he’s been different. You feel it in the way his shadow lingers outside your door. In the way his voice softens only for you. In the way he finds a reason to see you nearly every day. It is all way to evident.

A loose seam. A torn uniform hem. A spare button, missing. He’s never been this involved in fabric care.

You’re bent over your work when he appears, broad silhouette darkening the doorway. "Again?" you say with a small smile. "You must be the most destructively dressed man alive."

Tengen doesn’t smile. Not really. He steps inside and closes the door. Your fingers falter on the spool. He watches you.

"Have you been avoiding me?" he asks.

You blink. "You’ve been here almost every day." You joke, trying to break the tension, like you always do.

"I think you should just move into my sewing room at this point."

He huffs a dry laugh. You laugh too. But neither of you is really laughing. Silence curls between you. His eyes find you. And you see it in them that something’s come undone in him.

"I dream about you." he says. Your heart jumps. You blink. "Yes, you have mentioned that beforeㅡ"

"No."

He walks forward. "You." he repeats, as if putting the fault on you. "Every night. Every damn night. I can't sleep, eat, speak. I think about your hands. Your smile. The way you bite your lip when you try to fix something."

He stops in front of you. "That kiss ruined me even more."

You look up, breath stuck in your throat. He lowers his voice shaken. Your lips part, but no words come.

He needs more than a kiss.

"I want to touch you." he confesses. "I want to ruin you."

Heat floods your cheeks and your throat closes up.

"I think about it all of the time." he continues, voice gravel. "About the way you'd sound. How you'd look beneath me. About the things I’d whisper in your ear while I made you cry with pleasure."

Your knees press together as your mouth goes dry.

"And I know I shouldn’t. I know it’s wrong. I have three beautiful wives. I’m not supposed to want anyone else, you said all that. But gods." he exhales. "You make me forget myself."

You clutch the edge of the table, fingers trembling. He leans down, eyes burning holes into your face.

"I want to get on my knees for you, worship you. I want to taste every inch of you. I want to make you fall apart with just my fingers, just my mouth—"

"Tengen-sama—" you whisper hurriedly.

"Say my name." he instructs. "Just my name."

Your lips part. "Tengen.."

He groans low and broken, and cups your cheeks. He doesn’t kiss you. Just holds your face like it’s the most precious of metals, waiting for you to say something. Anything.

"Wouldn’t you.ㅡ" you whisper barely "Wouldn’t you want our first night to be… more special?"

He blinks. Did you want him just as much?

You swallow. "Not just… rushed. But something meaningful?"

And for the first time, he looks stunned. Then he lets out a shaky laughing breath.

"Ohㅡ Oh my muse..." His forehead falls to yours, and you feel him smiling. "You’re right." he murmurs. "You’re right. What was I thinking? I’m just a man. A weak, obsessed and broken man."

His hands cradle your face. "I’m going to make it perfect." he promises. "I’ll make it so beautiful for you. You won’t forget it for the rest of your life."

You smile all shy. "You don’t have to go that far.."

"I do." he says. "Because it’s you."

You should feel bad, really. But when his large eyes stare back into yours with that hopeful sparkle in them, all of that fades away.

︶ ֢ ⏝ ֢ ︶ ୨୧ ︶ ֢ ⏝ ֢ ︶

Some days passed.

Tengen’s hands are meticulous as they arrange the room in a hidden villa tucked away in the mountains, far from curious eyes. One of his old performance hideouts. He dusted it, aired it, scrubbed it with his own hands. Changed the sheets three times before they were soft enough. Sprinkled crushed plum blossom into the bath. Polished every candleholder, lit them with trembling fingers.

He’s sweating through his clothes.

The table by the window is set. Handmade sweets. Fruit sliced into roses. A single porcelain cup. There’s a bottle of plum wine, unopened, because he wants to watch your lips stain dark and sticky.

The bed is layered in silk with pale lavender and soft white, like you. The air smells like sakura and honey.

And in the center of it all, a gift. It’s not much. Just a comb. Gold filigree, inlaid with amethyst, the color of twilight. He bought it a month ago and has carried it ever since. It’s warm from his touch when he sets it down on the pillow.

When everything is finally perfect, he heads home to his three loving wives.

The silence in the Uzui estate is louder than any battle drum. Tengen steps through the door just past dusk, the scent of sandalwood still clinging faintly to his sleeves.

His wives are seated around the table, Suma with her brows knit in worry, Hinatsuru with her usual softness turned taut, Makio staring down at the food she hasn’t touched.

He notices it immediately. The tension spills in the air like smoke. "Welcome home." Hinatsuru says, but it’s brittle. Makio doesn’t even look up. "Where’ve you been?"

Tengen removes his haori with a long motion. "There was a mission."

"There’s always a mission." Makio bites.

Suma pipes up, her voice small. "It’s been happening a lot lately. You’re… always gone."

He smiles the kind that once made them melt. Now, it feels thinner and forced.

"You think I don’t want to be here? With my radiant, perfect women?"

Makio’s gaze sharpens. "Don’t treat us like we’re stupid."

Tengen doesn’t flinch. Instead, he moves across the room, kneeling before them. "I would never." he says, voice deep and smooth as molten honey. "You three are my soul. My pride. You think I’d risk everything we’ve built, everything we’ve suffered for, on some meaningless indulgence?"

Suma blinks. "Then… why do you feel so far away?" He exhales heavily and leans forward, taking her hand, then Hinatsurus.

"You want the truth?" he sighs. "I’ve been training harder. Pushing myself. I can’t afford to be weak when I’ve got three precious lives depending on me."

"Why the secrecy then?" Makio asks, but her voice has softened. "Because I didn’t want to worry you."

He lifts her chin, eyes glittering. "You know how I get when I take a mission personally. When someone gets under my skin. But it’s not about you. You’re my family. You’re the ones I fight for."

Suma is crying. Hinatsuru pulls him close. Makio leans into him, breathing out slowly. And just like that, the tension is gone.

He’s still the man they married. Isn't he?

They fall asleep soon after, curled into him, believing every word.

The next day is uneventful, but he makes sure to spend every second of it with them.

As soon as night hits again Tengen doesn’t stay.

The air shifts the moment he enters his dressing room. He sheds his clothes like it’s armor after a long war. Washes his face, his hands. Scrubs the scent of his wives off his skin. Stares at his reflection with something close to guilt. Or maybe awe?

"You." he whispers under his breath. "What have you done to me?" His hand hovers over his cologne that's faintly spicy. You once told him you liked the way cloves smelled. He never forgot.

He picks out a silk lined robe in deep garnet. No armor. No weapons. Just him. His heart races.

In the drawer where he keeps his cufflinks, there’s a soft thing wrapped in tissue. A little embroidered corner of fabric. One of your handkerchiefs, fraying at the edge. He presses it to his lips then puts it back.

Then, as a final detail, he tucks a single flower into his belt, fresh from the garden. Pale and pretty. You mentioned, once, how much you missed flowers from your hometown. Something dainty, something that reminds him of you.

He looks in the mirror once more. Adjusts his collar touches his neck, still flushed and he walks out the door.

You got to the villa first, as he told you.

When you walk in you can't believe your eyes at how beautiful everything looked. Couldn’t believe that he actually did all of this for you.

You wear something soft, something sheer, something that shimmers when you move, your hair is down and you smell of rose wine and early spring.

You sit there with your hands folded in your lap, nervous, glowing, and you don’t even realize how utterly lethal you are.

The door slides open with a creak. You don’t turn. Tengen stands there for a moment, silent. You know he’s watching you, the way your robe clings to your shoulders, how your hair spills loose down your back as a cascade in summer, the way you shift slightly, fingers wringing the fabric in your lap.

He breathes in sharply, like he’s been punched. Like your beauty physically strikes him in the chest. You rise slowly, head tilted, a shy smile touching your lips.

"Tengen." you murmur. His hands clench. He doesn’t move closer. Not yet. He’s afraid that if he does, the hunger in him will swallow the whole room.

The whole night. You.

"Don't speak yet." he says. "Please don’t say a word yet. Let me look at you." Your eyes widen, and he can see the stars in them. Your hands flutter nervously against your skirt.

He smiles, shy. Unlike him.

"You look.." he begins softly "Unreal."

The way you stare at him, your plush lips, your smile. And your scent. Gods. You smell like blossoms and innocence and want.

You laugh, but your voice wavers. "You did all of this?" You look around.

His hands twitch at his sides. "For you." He takes one step forward.

"I’ve dreamed of this very moment for so long. Of you like this." His voice is thick and hoarse. "So many nights. I see you when I’m awake, too.. Your smile in my mind when I touch my wives. Your voice when I lie to them. I think about your hands. Your skin. I think about what you sound like when you say my name all out of breath."

Your lips part. You tremble, slightly.

You should feel guilty right about now, no?

His voice is quiet, like it costs him to say it.

You still don’t turn. You feel him step closer. Hear the hush of his silken haori, the soft thud of his knees hitting the tatami behind you. And then warm hands cradle your face from behind.

He presses his forehead to the back of your shoulder.

He moves, slowly, around you. And then he’s kneeling in front of you proud, dazzling, yet scared some way.

"I’ve imagined this a thousand ways. You in candlelight. You in shadows. You beneath me, above me. You begging, whispering my name like it’s the only word left in the world."

Your lips open but he shakes his head gently. His thumb brushes your lower lip. "You don’t know what it’s been like" he says, almost angry with longing. "To want something this badly. To see you every time I close my eyes. To crave you. Want you. Need you."

His hands slide down, slow, to your waist.

"I thought I had control. I thought I could keep my hands to myself. I can’t." His forehead presses to yours.

"I want to ruin you so gently. So sweetly. I want you breathless and shaking beneath me. I want you weeping from pleasure and still asking for more."

You smile a bit impatient and he kisses your palm. "Tengen?" You shy away a bit and he looks at you like you've just slashed his heart. "Yes, my beautiful flower?"

"Pleaseㅡ just kiss me already."

He doesn't need to hear more. This time, it’s not soft. It’s hungry. Desperate. His hands cradle your face like a relic. His lips claim yours like a sinner at the altar. You melt into him. You gasp against his mouth, he moans into yours. "This feels unreal." he laughs like it hurts.

Your heart races, the air is thick with anticipation. You don’t answer him. You just let him decide. Let him take that final step into what he’s been yearning for since the moment he laid eyes on you. "Oh, to have you at my mercy..."

Your body responds before your mind can catch up, your hands find his chest, your fingers trembling, and the softness of your touch makes him shudder. His lips brush your neck, feather soft. "May I undress you?"

Your breath catches. You nod all shy and he closes his eyes like that one gesture was a wish answered. His hands move with ceremony, slow and trembling with restraint. He unties the bow at your collar, brushes aside the fabric like it’s woven from morning mist. Each layer falls away under his careful touch, revealing more of you, inch by aching inch. His eyes never leave your face.

"You’re divine. You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. My beautiful flower."

You blush so fiercely it burns. You reach to cover yourself out of instinct, but he catches your wrists, firmly. "No." he commads. "Let me see you. Please."

He leans in, mouth brushing over your shoulder, the curve of your collarbone, soft kisses that worship your burning skin. Your heart pounds so loud you’re sure he can hear it.

"Tengen.. I—I don’t know what to do.”

He smiles against your skin, and it’s soft. It's real. You're unreal. "Just be mine." he says.

You don’t know who moves first, but suddenly he’s laying you down, careful like you’re porcelain, and you reach for him like you're afraid he'd let go.

He looms above you, eyes wild. "Beg me." And your breath halts. His large hands are on either side of your head, his body caging yours. "Beg me, my love." he murmurs, like it’s the gentlest thing in the world he could say, even though it is so dirty. "Let me hear how much you want me."

And oh, you want him. Your face heats. You try to look away but he tilts your chin up, thumb tracing the curve of your jaw.

"Please." you whisper, shaky. "Tengen— please touch m-me."

A sound rips from him, low and helpless. His mouth crashes to yours again, like he’s starving. Like you’re the only meal he’s ever wanted.

In a way, you are.

He breaks away just enough to look down at you. His hair’s come loose, falling around his face like threads of silk. His pupils are blown wide, his mouth damp.

"Oh, my little flower." he whispers and lowers himself slowly and kisses your exposed ribs, your stomach, the plush of your hip.

He growls something low in his throat, a sound more animal than man, his hands are everywhere, desperate. "Fuckㅡ look at you." he mutters, like he’s in pain.

His lips trail fire across your nipples as he licks at them. "I’m not going to be so gentle, I can't." he warns, breathless. "Not tonight. I’ve waited too long."

His rough fingers pull at your undergarments and you jolt, embarrassed, overwhelmed and you try to turn your face away, but he catches your chin again.

"No" he commands “Eyes on me. That’s it. Look at me while I touch you.” You do. You force yourself to, and he smiles. His hand slips off the fabric, and your whole body goes tense.

"Shh." he whispers, eyes burning into yours. "There.. Well done. I’m gonna take care of you." he says. "Every inch. Every sound you make. I want to hear it all. I want to teach your body how good it can feel. Can I do that for you, my love?" You nod, lips parted, dazed with heat. He leans in close again, mouth at your ear.

His fingers dip lower and you gasp. He watches your face, obsessed with every little reaction. "Damn, you’re already so wet... All for me." You gasp, arch under his touch, and he moans. "Tell me you’re mine." he growls. "Tell me, Come on."

"I-I am yours" you whisper. "Oh, Tengen, please—"

He drags his mouth down again, hot and hungry, teeth grazing tender skin. "I want to make you scream. I want you ruined." he pants, pressing kisses just above your exposed core.

"So ruined you forget your own name and can only remember mine." His hand replaces his mouth and you gasp, back arching. "That’s it. Thaaat’s it. Let me hear you. Louder."

One of his thick digits poked at your dripping entrance before he finally pushes it inside, all whilst his mouth sucks at the shiny skin of your folds, your juices mixing up with his saliva, as soft wet sounds and your little whimpers fill the room. He pulls his mouth away to speak, finger still curled inside of you.

You whimper and he smiles, all dark.

"I’ve thought about tying you up. he says, confessing. "Laying you out on silk sheets, blindfolded. Just your body, waiting for me. Dripping for me. I’d take my time. Tease you until you’re sobbing. Until you can’t even remember what it feels like not to need me."

He makes a short pause to add another finger inside.

"Sometimes I think about keeping you... Locked away. Pretty little pet. No one else gets to see you. Just me. Just these sounds—" he curls his fingers again and your moan shatters the room. "Oh, just like that."

Your thighs start shake, yet he doesn’t let up.

"I’d ruin you every night." he sighs. "Leave you shaking and marked. My name bruised into your skin. My mouth between your thighs until you can’t breathe, until you forget how to speak— except to beg."

You gasp his name again, overwhelmed. He presses his forehead to your belly.

"I want to make you need me." Another finger goes in and you see stars. "So badly it hurts. I want to own every sound you make. Every part of you. I want your first thought in the morning to be me. I want you crying into my pillow because you’re still sore but you still want more."

He slows just for a second, just to feel the little pulse in your cunt. "I think about you walking around with my seed inside you.My scent all over your body. Marked. Owned. Loved so good you never recover."

Your nails dig into the sheets below you. "You’d take it for me, wouldn’t you?" he pants. "Whatever I give you. However I want. You’d let me use you, keep you, worship you, because you’re mine. You’re mine, right? Say it again. Please, say it."

"I am yoursㅡ" you choke out. "T-Tengen, I’m yours!"

You come undone on his fingers, gasping, writhing, your pussy clenching, slick gushing around him in wet pulses he feels all the way up his arm.

And he just watches, stunned and mesmerized, lips parted like he’s witnessing some divine miracle. You sound holy. You look holy.

"Fuck." his voice is hoarse. "You’re so beautiful."

You’re still shaking when he pulls his fingers out, slow, glistening. Then his gaze drops to your mouth.

"Open." Tengen breathes. It takes you a bit to register, but you do, puffy lips parting soft and obedient, and he groans, the sound deep as he slides the soaked fingers past your lips.

"There." he murmurs, watching your mouth take him in, knuckles deep. "That’s it. Suck. Come on. Clean them off for me." You close your lips around him and his head falls back.

"Damn, that's, ohㅡ Just like that."

You swirl your tongue, shy at first, then bolder when you hear the way he loses it, grinding against you, cock hard and aching and leaking at the tip.

"Gods, l-look at you." he stutters. "Sweet little thing, licking your own mess like a perfect pet."

You whimper around his fingers. He pulls them out slow, watches the spit and slick string between them and your lips, and then drags his thumb down your chin.

"I should make you suck my cock next." he whispers. "Make you beg for it. Let you choke on it while I hold your hair and tell you all the filthy things I’m gonna do to you next."

Then he kisses you. He tastes your juices on your tongue, and it drives him mad. "You’re mine" he pats roughly at your cheek. "You understand that? I own every inch of you from now on."

He shifts back, slowly, kneeling above you, eyes raking over your flushed skin, your messy lips, your dazed expression. "You’re so good for me." Then his hands go to his robes.

He unties the sash slowly and lets it slide off his shoulders, fabric whispering down muscle and skin like water. You barely have time to gasp before your eyes drop, and you finally see it.

Oh...

Oh.

You don’t even mean to whimper. It just escapes you. A soft, panicked noise as your eyes widen and your whole body tenses.

He’s huge.

Thick and flushed and dripping, so hard, with veins standing out along the length, the head angry red and glistening. And it curves up heavy against his abs, obscene, like it was carved to wreck you.

You make a tiny sound in your throat and scramble back on the sheets, panic and arousal tangling in your gut. He just smirks.

"Oh." he coos, voice low and smug. "Look at you. Don't be scared of it." You shake your head, eyes still wide, heart hammering in your chest.

"You’ll take it" he purrs. "You’ll be good for me. Let me stretch you nice and slow. Let me feel this tight cunt open up around me inch by inch."

Your breath hitches and your thighs press together.

"I’ll make it fit, dear. I’ll go slow. I’ll be so good to you."

He leans down, brushing his lips over your jaw, your neck, your racing pulse. He presses a kiss to your collarbone.

"Come on, little flower." he almost whines. "Lay down."

It's like your body listens to him before you even hear him. You obey his command, and lay down, and despite the fear, you feel yourself more slick than before, skin blushed and lips hurting from how much you nipped at them.

His hand runs down your side, warm and steady, until it curls under your knee, guiding your leg up to wrap around his waist. His other hand settles at your hip, holding you just so. He looks down at you like you’re made of glass, pupils wide, his cock heavy and flushed, nudging at your entrance.

"I’ll be gentle for now. You’re gonna take me so good, little flower. Just breathe for me."

You nod and then he starts to push in. It is painful, that in itself would be an understatement. It feels unreal how full you feel with just the tip in. Your body opens inch by inch, tight and trembling around the stretch. You clutch at the sheets, back arching, gasping his name as he groans low in his chest.

"Shhh, I have you." he soothes, forehead pressed to yours. "Feels too big, doesn’t it? But you’re doing so good."

You whimper, clinging to him, and he doesn’t move, just stays there, buried only halfway, letting you adjust. He kisses your cheek, your jaw, your lips, hands caressing your sides, trying to soothe you, even as his cock throbs inside you.

"T-Tengen...Ohㅡ" your eyes well up with more tears as he pushes some more inside, and you swear you're being ripped apart. He waits for a bit, whispering sweet things, but then your legs curl tighter around his waist, pulling him down.

And something in him snaps.

His breath stutters. He pulls back just slightly, and then slams back in. You cry out, body jerking beneath him, and he growls, low and filthy.

"Oh fuck— you want it like that? Huh?" His hand shoots under your thigh, yanking your legs up over one of his shoulder. You can’t even speak, your mouth is open, your voice caught somewhere between a sob and a moan. He braces one hand on the bed, the other gripping your thigh, holding you down as he starts to pound into you, deep and merciless, over and over.

"Listen to you." he pants. “Crying for me—oh, this pussy’s so tight, mph, so good, squeezing me like it was made for me." You’re shaking, tears sliding from the corners of your eyes, tongue lulled out, your body overwhelmed and overstimulated, your brain blank.

"T-Tengen! Oh, myㅡ I can't.." You whimper, ear ringing, you can faintly hear the wet sounds your cunt makes wrapped around him. Tengen growls, teeth bared.

"You can take it. You’re gonna take every inch I give you." Your vision blurs. You can barely breathe, barely think. You want to speak, but can't, you're drugged on him out of your mind, drunk on his voice and smell and the way he feels so deep inside of you.

"That’s it." he whimpers. "Cry for me, little flower. Let it all out." He looks down, eyes catching the bulge he's made inside your lower belly as the loud plap plap plap sound fills the room.

Your body trembles beneath him, boneless and burning. The world narrows down to the weight of him above you, the way his breath stutters near your ear, the press of his hand between your ribs and waist as though he's holding you together and keeping you from unraveling entirely.

"You’re taking it so well"

His forehead presses to yours. Sweat beads at his temple, his mouth parted, whispering things you barely catch, mine mine mine. His rhythm deepens, drawn out, like he wants to memorize the shape of your soul through your skin. He doesn't slow. Doesn't soften.

Tears blur your vision, overwhelmed and stretched so full you think you'll burst. You’ve lost count of how many times he’s pulled you over the edge, making your orgasm, once, thrice, five times? Your mind is syrup, your body is trembling.

His mouth presses to your ear. "Tell me I can come inside" he whimpers, almost crying. "Tell me I can give it to you, p-please. All of it. I need you to let me—” he pleads.

"Hㅡah.. Yes, yes, yes please, Tengen." Your answer is barely coherent, but it breaks him. He sinks deeper, grounding you in place with the weight of his chest.

He holds you folded beneath him, your knees nearly to your chest, your hips locked between his broad hands.

"Y-Yoou feel that?" he rasps, watching the way your belly bulges each time he thrusts deeper. "Made for me. Soㅡah, perfect." You try to answer, but all you can do is sob, your fingers scratching at his shoulders, your lips mouthing his name like a prayer.

He slows, barely, "Want to fill you up and keep you like this. Want you round a-and glowing. Full of m-me. Mine."

You gasp. Your eyes flutter open, glassy and wide like a doe, and he smiles like you’ve just gifted him heaven.

"Yes?" he smiles, dipping lower, kissing the tear streaked corner of your mouth. "You’d let me? Let me b-breed you, keep you soft and heavy with my baby?"

Heavens help you.

"T-Tengen.."

He shudders, his pace faltering a bit. "You’d look so fucking b-beautiful." he moans, hips grinding into you now, deeper, deeper. "Swollen with my child. Dripping with me every night. I’d worship you, little flower. Kiss your belly. Talk to them inside you."

More, more, more. A breathless cry escapes your lips, your nails digging into his back, leaving red marks he's not sure how he's gonna hide. "Say yes." he moans, nearly undone. "Say it again. Say I can give you all of me."

"Yㅡes!" you sob, the word catching in your throat. "Please, please, Tengen— give me, ooh!" That’s all it takes.

He lets out the most broken and guttural sound you’ve ever heard from him, like he’s unraveling at the seams, like your words just carved him open from the inside out. His hips snap into you brutal and deep, until your breath stops and you cry out again.

"Thank you, thank you..." his forehead was pressing against your chest, his whole body trembling as he spills inside of your velvety walls. "Thank you, ahh— fuck, you don’t know what you’re giving me. Letting me have you like this, own you like this…"

You can feel it that moment he starts to lose control, the rhythm falling apart, the heat coiling tighter and tighter inside him. He adjusts his grip, arms locking around the backs of your thighs, folding you deeper into the mattress, and Gods.

He watches your belly again, mesmerized. Watches it swell even more from his seed with every desperate thrust.

"Look at you." he pants. "Already so f-dull. Gonna make it stick, hahㅡ Gonna fill you up so deep they won’t even have a chance to slip out. You’ll feel me for days."

His voice breaks. You’re crying again, shaking under him, and still you beg for more, your body clinging to him, greedy for everything he’s offering. It’s too much. It’s perfect. It’s him.

It hits him like a wave again, violent, fullbody. He cries out your name as he spills into you once more, hips twitching, the air between you two sticky and hot. You feel it flood you, thick and endless, and he doesn’t seem to stop. Not even as you cry. Not even as you plead. He ruts into you, needing to mark you. You feel all warm inside.

"Take it, take it, take it— Gods, you’re perfect. Mine, you’re mine, only mine!"

Finally, finally, he slows. Yet, he doesn’t pull out. He stays buried deep, keeping it inside you, his big body draped over yours protectively. You’re both shaking. You feel the heat of his breath on your cheek. His lips graze your temple.

"I’ll take care of you now." he whispers. "You’ll never have to lift a finger. I’ll cook, I’ll bathe you, I’ll kiss every inch of you when you’re sore. I’ll be so good to you, little flower. Just stay with me, yes? Just let meㅡ let me keep you."

Your tear heavy lashes flutter, vision hazy. You're all sticky and wet. All you can do is nod. He kisses your cheek. Then your jaw. Then your lips.

The consequences are the last thing on your mind right this moment.

. *. ⋆ GIYUU TOMIOKA

▸ hair puling. both giving and receiving. shamelessly moaning anytime your fingers brush against his scalp, yanking at the hair while his tongue licks at your trembling walls.

▸ body worship. he's so fucking in love with you and that's especially in the bedroom. he spends hours memorizing your body, trailing your curves, kissing at the dips in your skin. all before he even thinks of fucking you.

▸ bondage. intricately tying your wrists and ankles to bedposts, the roughness of the rope scratching at your skin with every pull. he'll stand above you for a few seconds after, just watching how you squirm against the restraints.

▸ cock warming. sometimes he's just so bone tired from it all. he just needs to feel you, nothing more. sitting you on his lap and sinking his cock into your welcoming walls. face burying into your neck and savoring the feeling.

▸ sensory deprivation. goes kind of hand in hand with his love of tying you up. he has an extensive collection of silk ribbons, in all kinds of colors, that he'll have you model for him later that night.

. *. ⋆TENGEN UZUI

▸semi-public. he's so daring with it, really. when he wants you, he wants you, and he's not ashamed of that. fucking you in too small closets as maids at the butterfly mansion pass by, or on the top of a roof where nightlife bustles below.

▸ size kink. he's fucking huge, towering over you in every sense of the word. seeing how your lips struggle stretching around his cock or how small your hand is compared to his- it drives him absolutely insane.

▸ breeding. my god please don't get me started on this.., he wants to cum inside of you so bad, anytime and every time he fucks you. thinking of how sexy you'd look all round with his baby!!

▸ humiliation. just like sanemi, this man has a mouth on him. seeing how your cheeks redden and you stutter anytime he calls you out on being such a whore for him- it's adorable, he just can't help it.

▸ orgasm denial. such a tease with it, too. lets you think he's gonna let you cum this time around, only to pull completely away from your skin as soon as your on that edge. cooing at how you cry at him, apologizing for being so mean, even if he doesn't really mean it.

. *. ⋆KYUOJURO RENGOKU

▸ breeding. best friends think alike, right? pls just make this man a daddy already. he's so desperate for it. rutting inside of you for the third time in a night, all to cum inside your pretty pussy.

▸ cunnilingus. oh, he is such a big pussy eater. sometimes it's just so much with him. large arms wrapping around the thighs that squeeze either side of his head, lapping at your pussy like it's his last meal and he's a man starved.

▸ eye contact. grabbing at your jaw, forcing your gaze to his, instructing you to keep it there. he's eyes are so intense, so fiery. boring into you with every thrust inside- taking in the dilation of your pupils and the flutter of your pretty eyelashes.

▸ overstimulation. most times he doesn't even mean to do it, y'know? you just feel so good, and he's chasing that high over and over again until you're jelly in his arms, feeling pleasure so painfully.

“Breathe, little gem." He murmured against your jaw, kissing softly, slowly down your neck. “It’s just me. Only me tonight.”

The ties of your robe loosened under his deft fingers, silk slipping from your shoulders. His mouth followed, tracing the dip of your collarbone, down to the swell of your breasts. His big hands kneaded, thumbs brushing your nipples until they stiffened, and then his mouth closed over one, sucking until you gasped and clutched his shoulders.

Before you realized it, you were rocking in his lap, rubbing your bare cunt against the hard ridge of his cock beneath his robe. He let you. Encouraged you, even - one large hand sliding lower, pressing you down against him while his teeth grazed your nipple.

The wetness sticking to your thighs embarrassed you, but his grin told you he loved it. “Good girl. That’s it.”

When his hand finally slipped between your thighs, your body jolted. His fingers spread you open, dipping into the slick heat and circling your clit. “Easy." He soothed, kissing your throat. “Relax for me.”

One thick finger eased in, stretching you slow, his thumb never leaving your clit. Then another joined, scissoring carefully until you were panting into his chest, the coil tightening deep inside you. He curled, pressed, stroked - until you came hard in his lap, cunt spasming around his fingers, thighs trembling.

He held you through it, kissing your temple. “That’s my girl. Knew you’d be sweet for me.”

The futon was warm under your back as he gently flipped positions, lanterns flickering low shadows across the room. Tengen slipped his robes off, and when you finally dared to look at him — really look — your throat went dry.

He was beautiful. Too beautiful. The kind of beauty that almost hurt to look at. Broad shoulders glistened in the candlelight, muscles carved and flexing as he shrugged the last of the fabric from his frame. His chest was sculpted, his arms thick and scarred, and every line of his body looked like it had been chiseled from stone.

And then there was his cock. Long, thick, flushed dark at the tip, a bead of precum already glistening. Heavy, intimidating.

You clenched your thighs together without meaning to, trying to hide your reaction. But his big hands caught your knees, pressing them apart, holding you open with ease. “None of that." He murmured, voice low and smooth. “You don’t hide from me, pretty thing.”

Heat crawled up your neck as he kissed you, lowering his body over yours, his cock heavy against your folds. The first push inside made your head snap back, a desperate whine escaping your throat. He’d barely eased halfway in, and already your walls were fluttering, your nails biting into the muscle of his arm.

“C-can’t." You gasped, hips twitching, tears pricking your lashes from the overwhelming stretch.

Tengen groaned through clenched teeth, his jaw tight as he forced himself to stay still. “Ah - you’re tight. Gonna break me in half.” He pressed his forehead to yours, kissing you softly, patiently. “You can. You got it, sweet girl.”

He reached under your hips, tucking a pillow beneath you to ease the angle. His lips brushed every inch of your face - your nose, your temple, the corners of your eyes - as he whispered, “Breathe, baby. Let me in. That’s it.”

When the tears finally spilled, hot down your cheeks, he caught them with his tongue, kissing them away. “Beautiful." He murmured, kissing your wet lashes. “Even when you cry. Especially when you cry for me.”

You sobbed softly, thighs trembling, the fullness already overwhelming - and he moved again, slow, deliberate, pushing another few inches inside. Your mouth fell open, a whine catching in your throat, hands clutching at the hard muscle of his arm.

“Easy." Tengen soothed, his voice strained but steady, kissing the corner of your mouth as his cock sank deeper. “I know. I know. I’ve got a lot to give you. We’ll take it slow.”

His words made you throb around him, your walls clenching tight, shame and arousal tangling until you whimpered. He groaned, feeling it, his hips twitching. “You like that, huh? My sweet wife, letting me stretch her open, crying on my cock. Gods, you’re perfect.”

Every bit of praise made you ache more, made the heat coil tighter low in your belly. You could feel yourself dripping, your cunt clenching greedily around him even as he stayed still, letting you adjust.

“Good girl." He whispered, brushing his lips against yours again and again. “My tight little gem. Made to take me. Gonna make you mine like this, again and again.”

And fuck, he loved it - the corruption of it. His sweet, nervous, virgin wife unraveling beneath him, already so wet and snug, walls fluttering like you were begging for more. His cock pulsed inside you at the thought of how easily he could ruin you, turn you into his perfect little toy, pliant and wrecked beneath his praise.

When your thighs finally relaxed, he rocked forward again, just a little deeper, his arms caging you in. You whimpered, legs hooking instinctively around his waist, pulling him closer.

“That’s it." He groaned, hips starting a slow, steady rhythm. “There’s my girl. Tight fit, but still a fit.”

He bear-hugged you against his chest, his body overwhelming yours, your moans spilling into his ear with every thrust. He licked at the tears still clinging to your cheeks, kissed your mouth messy and wet, whispering praise between every movement.

“Perfect wife. Gorgeous girl. My everything. You’re mine now. All mine.”

It didn’t take long. Your nails raked down his broad back, your heels digging hard into the muscles of his ass as the tension inside you snapped, your whole body convulsing around him. You came hard, squeezing him so tightly he almost saw stars.

Tengen, who usually took his time before blowing his load, nearly lost it right there. The way you sobbed in his ear, the slick gush of your cunt around him, the way you clung to him like you’d drown without him - it made his head spin. He kissed you softly, frantically, over and over, apologizing between the presses of his lips. “Sorry, sweet girl… I can’t… you feel too good.”

Then he sat back on his heels, chest heaving, his massive hands gripping your waist. With what little control he had left, he started to thrust again - deeper, harder. Watching your body bounce on his cock, your tits jolting with every movement, had his vision tunneling.

Your moans grew louder than they had all night, your head tipped back, crying out for him as overstimulation shuddered through your body. He chased it, chased your second orgasm, chased his own release - groaning through gritted teeth as your cunt squeezed down again.

“Shit. Look at you." He rasped, sweat dripping down his temple, smirk tugging at his lips even as his eyes rolled back.

Your walls clamped down, spasming tight, and he finally let go. His head tipped back, a guttural groan ripping from his chest as he came hard inside you, thick spurts filling you deep. He gripped your waist tight, grinding you down on his cock, making sure you took every drop.

And he couldn't help but let out a soft laugh through his pants.

But your thighs are trembling where they frame his face, and your fingers twitch helplessly against the wall - grabbing for something, anything, to ground yourself as his tongue slides in deeper, slower, fucking up into you with that quiet, focused rhythm. His nose bumps your clit with every pass of his mouth and it’s too much. Your hips roll forward on instinct.

You curse under your breath, and your hands fly to his hair - fisting it, holding on.

This all started after one quiet question between kisses.

“What’s your favorite position… for sex?”

And this - this - was his answer.

He laid back, calm as ever, and motioned for you to climb his chest. Higher. Until your knees settled on either side of his head. And when you hesitated, when you hovered like you didn’t want to crush him, he looked up at you - serious.

“Sit. All the way.”

His answer wasn’t just words. It was in the tension of his forearms as they locked tight around your thighs. In the way his hands gripped your ass and pulled you down harder onto his mouth. It was in the way he groaned like the weight of you was something holy. Like he’d starve if you lifted off even for a second.

His hips shift beneath you - just barely - but you feel it. The strain. The ache. His cock is hard under you, untouched and leaking against his stomach.

And still, he doesn’t reach for it.

He doesn't want anything else.

Just this.

Just you.

The slick mess of your cunt grinding slow on his tongue, the way you rock into his mouth like it’s instinct, like you were made to fall apart like this on top of him. And all he does is take it. All of it. Over and over again - groaning like he lives for it, hands worshipful, letting you use him until you can’t remember the question that started it in the first place.

You rock your hips slowly, breath catching every time he sucks, every time he flattens his tongue and moans against you. His eyes flutter open - just for a moment - and lock on yours.

And fuck, it’s hot. That look.

You’re not sure how much longer you can take it.

Eventually - after your voice turns high and shaky, after your thighs start to give out, after your cunt clenches so hard around nothing it makes you whine - you pull yourself off him. Giyu follows with his mouth for a second, reluctant to let you go, his tongue still chasing you until he finally drops back against the futon, lips glistening, eyes half-lidded.

His cock is flushed and leaking, resting heavy against his stomach. You reach for it slowly. Deliberate. Fingers curling around the thick base, and the way he groans through his teeth almost makes you smile.

He thrusts into your palm once - instinctive, needy. But then you shift so you can slide down and sink onto him. Your cunt grips around him so tight it knocks the breath from both your lungs.

You ride him slow at first. Deep rolls of your hips. Using his body for leverage, palms planted flat against his chest. Giyu’s hands trace up your thighs, your waist, your tits - everywhere at once, like he can’t decide where he wants to hold you most.

He fucks up into you with every bounce, hips snapping to meet yours until your rhythm starts to fall apart, your legs shaking again as you collapse forward with a gasp.

But he catches you.

Takes over without a word.

One arm winds tight around your waist, holding you flush against him. The other tangles in your hair, dragging your mouth down to his. He kisses you - wet with your taste, all tongue and heat - and then fucks into you deeper, harder.

You whimper through it, moaning loud, forehead pressed to his.

He groans at the contact. At the slick heat dripping down his cock every time he drives in. At the way you tremble in his arms like you’re falling apart all over again.

“Giyu…” You whine, high and broken, “Giyu, please...I’m gonna-”

“Go ahead." He murmurs, voice low.

Your whole body locks up, cunt pulsing hard around him as your orgasm rips through you. You sob his name, fingers clawing at his chest, and he groans the second you clamp down around him.

His hips stutter.

Then he’s gone.

Burying himself deep one last time as he spills inside you, his face tucked against your throat.

For a long while, the room stays quiet.

Just the rush of blood in your ears, the warmth of his skin against yours, and the slow drag of his hand up and down your back.

You rest your cheek on his chest, just above the rapid beat of his heart. Still racing.

You close your eyes. Breathe.

And then - barely there - you hear him hum.

A small, amused sound.

You tilt your head, cheek still pressed against his chest. “Hm?”

Giyu shifts just a little, his arm tightening around your waist, the other hand settling again between your shoulder blades.

“Those two.” He says, voice hoarse but soft. “That. And the first one.”

You laugh, quietly. You drop your head to his chest again, your lips brushing his skin.

And when you glance up, he’s smirking. Just barely.

Licking his lips.

They still taste like you.

────୨୧────

❥ SANEMI — doggy

You don’t even get the words out.

Because he’s already got your cheek smashed into the futon, one hand flat between your shoulder blades, the other twisting your wrists behind your back like he’s restraining a demon.

Except it’s you. Gasping into the fabric, back arching on instinct, while Sanemi kisses and sucks a slow line down your spine.

“Ask me dumbass questions...." He mutters, voice low and way too amused.

His hips roll once, slow, cock dragging thick between your thighs, the blunt head nudging your soaked folds just enough to knock the breath out of you.

“See where it gets you.”

He thrusts in the next second - no warning - just that bruising grip on your wrists and the brutal snap of his hips slamming deep, stealing the air from your lungs.

“That what you wanted?” He growls. “Wanted it like this? Bent over? Whining the second I shove my cock in?”

You nod, a broken little whimper catching in your throat.

“You ask questions like that…” He pants. “Then feel the fuckin’ answer.”

Your breath hitches when he hauls you back by the hips, cock punching in so deep your stomach clenches. His grip is iron at your waist now, fingers digging into your skin.

“Face down, ass up. Shit, look at you.”

He laughs, the sound wrecked. Your knees slip wider on the futon, thighs trembling. He feels it—feels the way you shake—and sinks deeper just to hear the way your moan breaks.

“That’s it." He breathes, voice dropping as his hips grind deep. “That’s how I like you.”

Then he snaps back into rhythm, hard, sharp thrusts that leave you gasping, face buried in the blankets.

Sanemi leans over again - chest pressed to your back, one hand still pinning your wrists, the other sliding up along your ribs, warm and rough.

“I’m thinkin’ this is your favorite too.” He kisses the side of your neck.

He grinds in again - slow, balls tight against your slick folds - before pulling out halfway and slamming back in. The slap of skin echoes sharp. You jolt.

“You feel that? Feel how deep I am?”

You nod again, panting something into the futon, barely coherent.

Sanemi hums.

His hands grip your hips like handles, dragging you back into every snap of his cock, each thrust hammering into you hard enough to blur your vision. You’re drooling now, face down, eyes glassy.

“Tell me this is your favorite.” He groans. “Say it.”

You try. You really do. But all you manage is a whimper, drool slipping from the corner of your lips as your eyes roll back.

Sanemi groans when he sees it.

“Good enough of an answer.”

Then he sits back on his heels behind you. One hand drags firm down your back. The other slaps your ass hard - sting sharp and blooming - before kneading it almost sweetly.

You don’t get a second to recover.

He slams back in, stealing your breath all over again as he fucks you with dizzying force. Fucking you like he’s lost it. Like he doesn’t care who hears. Which, you're sure the entire estate can.

Sanemi groans through his teeth, panting curses into your skin, thrusts hitting so hard the futon shifts under your knees.

“That’s it.” He pants, voice breaking. “Atta girl.”

Another slap to your ass. Then both hands grab you there, spreading and holding, as he drills into you deep, fast, loud.

You don’t remember your name. You don’t remember how to breathe.

He’s close. You can feel it. His rhythm falters - hips stuttering - as he pounds into you like he’s trying to fuck himself into your body forever.

You sob beneath him, body twitching, and he slams in one last time - deep, flush, buried to the base - and groans, loud and ragged, as he spills inside you.

You swear you feel it flood you. Hot. Thick,

His hips jerk in little aftershocks, cock twitching as he breathes sharp through his teeth, still pulsing inside you, riding it out slow.

And then, finally, he lets go.

One hand falls from your hip. The other drags up your back before settling between your shoulder blades, steadying himself.

He leans forward, his chest warm and heavy against your spine, his weight pressing you into the futon.

He shifts just enough not to crush you, arms curling around your sides, caging you in.

You feel his heart hammering against your ribs. His breath hot and ragged in your ear.

And then - soft.

His lips press to the back of your neck. Gentle. Warm. Another kiss at your shoulder. Another, slower, right where your spine curves.

“Still with me?” He mutters, voice hoarse.

You nod.

Sanemi exhales hard through his nose.

“That answer your question?”

You nod again.

────୨୧────

❥ TENGEN — reverse cowgirl/full nelson

He says it like a dare.

“Climb up, turn around, and I’ll answer.”

So you do. Knees planted on either side of his thighs, your back to him, hands braced on his knees as you sink down slow. Deep. Wet enough that every drag of his cock sounds obscene.

Tengen’s palms slide down your waist, gripping hard.

“That’s it, baby." He murmurs, a grin curling his lips. “Show it off.”

Your hips roll again - slow, deliberate. You don’t bounce. Not yet. Just grind down, letting him fill you, savoring the way he throbs inside you. The heat. The stretch. The solid strength of his thighs caged under yours, his cock hitting every perfect spot even with the laziest rhythm.

It’s so fucking good it makes you gasp - and that sound? That soft, breathless moan? It makes his fingers dig into your hips like he’s barely holding back.

“You like that?” He chuckles. “Needy little thing. Fucking yourself on me like that.”

You shift your weight, ready to ride him harder -

But that’s all it takes.

He moves fast.

One arm snakes under yours. Then the other. And before you can suck in a breath, he’s locking his hands behind your neck - full nelson deep - pulling your arms up, arching your back, holding you wide open in his lap while his cock splits you in half from below.

You choke on a gasp, tits bouncing with the first brutal thrust.

He buries himself deeper - some-fucking-how - and locks you there, chest to your back, hips slamming up into you with dizzying, relentless force.

“Yeah.” He groans, breath hot at your ear. “That’s more like it.”

You’re already gone. Mouth open, no words, just moans. Just helpless, messy little whines as he fucks you from beneath, arms trapping yours, cock pounding up like he’s trying to reach your fucking heart.

“There we go." He grunts, pace unshaken. “Taking it so well. Fuck - sweet girl.”

The muscles in his arms flex as he pulls you tighter, deeper, bending your body like it’s his to command. Sweat drips down his chest. His breath stutters every time your cunt clenches tight around him.

You feel it building.

That burn in your belly. That flutter. Your thighs tremble, your whole body twitching.

“Lord…Lord Tengen…” you whimper.

“Hm?” He hums, low and amused. “Go on, little gem. Tell me.”

“I’m...I’m gonna - Lord Tengen, I’m gonna come-”

“Mmm.” He smirks, so goddamn pleased. “Then rub that needy little bundle for me. Be a good girl, get yourself there.”

You don’t hesitate.

One shaking hand slips between your thighs, fingers pressing hard to your clit - and the jolt almost knocks the breath from your lungs. You circle it fast, tight, the way he likes. Chasing the edge while his cock hammers into you.

Tengen groans when he feels your walls start to flutter. His rhythm stutters - just for a beat - before slamming even harder.

“There you go." He growls. “Good girl.”

His arms flex again. One more thrust and your fingers stutter on your clit. Your thighs jerk. Your mouth drops open on a sob as your orgasm crashes through you.

You convulse in his lap, whimpering his name, legs trembling so hard you’d collapse - if he wasn’t holding you this tight.

Tengen loses it.

He groans through clenched teeth, deep and guttural, fucking you with short, brutal thrusts as your cunt clenches around him again and again. His head drops to your shoulder, voice breaking as he comes inside you.

And then - through the stuttering drag of his hips as he fucks every last drop into you...

“This one." He pants, ragged. “This position…”

Another thrust. Another moan.

“…is my favorite.”

────୨୧────

❥ RENGOKU — missionary

You ask him quietly.

Just a breath of a question. Half-embarrassed, your lips brushing his throat as you tug him closer beneath the covers.

“What’s your favorite…way? To have me.”

His arm tightens around your waist. He pulls back to look at you, golden eyes soft, warm, filled with something wordless and deep.

And then he smiles. Slow. Sure. Like he already knows his answer.

“I’ll show you." He says.

And he does.

With care. With patience. With the kind of aching tenderness that makes you ache.

He eases you onto your back, body covering yours, mouth brushing your forehead, your cheek, your collarbone. One hand curls around your waist, the other cradling your jaw.

“I like when I can see you." He murmurs, kissing the corner of your lips. “When you fall apart.”

It starts slow.

A kiss - soft, lingering. His tongue barely brushes yours, dragging the moment out until you’re squirming beneath him, fingers curling into his biceps. And when he finally pushes into you, it’s with a tenderness that borders on unbearable - hips rolling slow, cock sinking deep, drawing you open in thick, aching inches.

And fuck, you feel everything.

Every throb. Every drag.

The heat of him - always burning - like he runs hotter than anyone else, like the fire in him doesn’t quiet even here, even like this. He pulses thick against your walls with every deep grind, and you moan, barely able to take it.

“So good, my flame." He whispers, forehead pressed to yours. “You feel so good.”

You’re already clinging - legs wrapped tight around his waist like you need to pull him deeper, hold him closer. He groans at the desperation in it, hips faltering just for a second before he steadies again.

He doesn’t rush.

His palm stays at your cheek, thumb stroking soft beneath your eye, guiding your gaze back to his every time it slips.

“Stay with me." He murmurs. “Let me see you.”

Rengoku shifts - just slightly - angling his hips, rolling deeper. You gasp, head tipping back as he presses into you with dizzying precision. So deep your toes curl. So thick and hot you swear you feel his heartbeat in every thrust.

His other hand slips between your bodies, fingers circling your clit - gentle, focused, steady. Drawing gasps from your lips, soft and desperate.

“You first." He breathes. “I want you to come first.”

You try to hold onto it, but he doesn’t let you. He fucks you through every twitch and shiver, every broken sound that slips from your mouth as his fingers coax you over the edge.

You come with your legs locked around him, mouth open, eyes wide and wet, rolling back as your cunt clenches tight around his cock.

He groans when he feels it.

“Beautiful." He pants. “So beautiful. Every time.”

But he still doesn’t let go. Even as your body slackens. Even as your moans soften and your breath stutters. He stays close. Stays deep.

You feel every twitch of him, every slow grind - his cock still pulsing thick inside you, like it belongs there. Like he needs to stay buried just to keep breathing.

And then - when you’re trembling under him, still fluttering - he starts to chase his own.

It’s messy. Sloppy.

His thrusts get harder, deeper. His chest sticks to yours with sweat. His lips find your neck, your cheek, your jaw. Again and again, like he can’t stop.

You pant his name, dazed, soft - fingers curling in his hair as his rhythm falls apart.

And then he groans. He presses deep, hips flush, cock buried to the base - and spills inside you with his mouth still on your skin.

You feel all of it.

The way he fills you up so completely it almost aches, warm and thick and everywhere. His body melts against yours... and he kisses you like it’s the first time.

Every time.

Then you manage a weak smile.

“I like that answer.”

────୨୧────

❥ OBANAI — missionary / seashell

He says it just before he sinks into you.

Quiet. Commanding. A thread pulled taut.

His voice stays low - steady and soft - breath ghosting across your lips as his body settles over yours. His hips align with yours. His cock presses in slow. Your thighs tremble where they’re hooked high around his waist.

“Don’t look away from me.”

And you don’t.

You can’t.

Not with the way he’s staring down at you - eyes locked to yours. His hands frame your face, thumbs stroking gently at your cheeks, and even as he starts to move - deep, deliberate - he never looks away.

Every breath you take is his. Every moan. Every stuttered gasp you try to bite back. The way your lashes flutter, the way your lips tremble when you try to hold in a sound - he sees it all.

And he loves it.

The softness in you. The raw, unfiltered honesty you give him like this. You’re so real like this. So open.

And Obanai drinks it in like it’s the only thing keeping him alive.

He leans down, mouth brushing your shoulder for a single soft kiss before he pulls back, just to see you again. To watch your chest rise, to catch that hitch in your throat. His hips grind in with slow, perfect pressure that makes your whole body jolt.

You whimper his name.

Your legs fall open wider, searching. You cling to him - wrists, shoulders, anything you can grab. That’s when he shifts.

He pulls back. Just far enough to hook your knees over his forearms - folding you up beneath him, bent open , thighs pressed high to your chest.

And fuck, he loves you like this.

Loves the way you let him bend you. Open you. Own you.

Your breath catches. Your fingers scramble for something solid - but then he thrusts in. Deep. Bottoms out.

And stays there.

Just breathes.

Just watches.

The stretch makes your head spin. The heat of him, the weight, the pulsing throb buried so deep inside you - it’s too much.

Still, he doesn’t speak.

Just holds you there, hips locked tight to yours as he fights to keep control.

And then - finally - he moves.

Slow at first. Grinding into you with a bruising, perfect drag. Eyes never leaving yours. Then deeper. Harder. The snap of his hips steals the air from your lungs.

Your eyes flutter.

His grip tightens.

“Mine.” It slips out.

“Mine.” Again, when your mouth drops open around a broken moan.

“Mine.” When your hands tremble, when your thighs jerk, when you try to close your eyes -

“Don’t.” He pants. “Don’t look away.”

And you don’t.

Not when his cock is driving into you this deep. Not when he’s got you bent up tight beneath him, folded as he pounds into you with brutal precision. Not when he looks at you like this.

Like you belong to him.

His voice stays low, steady and sharp, rhythm syncing with the litany that slips from his mouth like prayer…

Mine. Mine. Mine.

It builds between you - fast, hot, overwhelming. The pressure coils deep in your belly. Your thighs start to shake. He feels it, hears the way your breath catches, the way your eyes glaze.

And he groans, because he’s right there too.

Your hips jerk up against his. Your mouth opens in a choked sob.

“Obanai….I’m-“

He thrusts hard.

“Together.” He hums. “Come with me.”

Everything unravels at once. Your back arches hard, voice cracking as your orgasm crashes over you - tight, blinding, endless. Your cunt clenches around him so violently it punches a curse from his throat, and then…

He follows. Groaning. Shaking. Burying himself to the hilt as he spills deep inside you, cock twitching thick with every pulse. His arms cage you. His mouth presses to yours - rough and sweet all at once.

He doesn’t stop kissing you. Even as he softens inside you, still deep, still bent over your body like it’s the only place he belongs.

And when he finally pulls back to breathe - he whispers it again, one last time.

“Mine.”

And you nod, dazed, hands still clutching his wrists where they pinned you open.

────୨୧────

❥ GYOMEI — spooning / missionary

It was an innocent question really. Asked by you right when you two settled into your shared futon.

“What’s your favorite way? To have me.”

And Gyomei had gone still. Quiet.

Then -

His arms wrapped tighter around you. And he pressed his lips to your temple, so soft, so certain, as he whispered:

“This.”

Now, his cock is buried to the hilt, your body shaking from the stretch, your thighs quaking where they press against his.

And still he asks -

“Is this alright?”

You nod. You whimper. You breathe out his name like it’s the only word you’ve ever known.

Because this is so much. So big. So full. So gentle.

So him.

You’re on your side, curled tight into him. His chest is pressed flush to your back, one massive arm wrapped firm around your middle, the other cradling your shoulders, hand resting heavy over your heart like a shield.

He holds you completely.

There’s no room to fall. No space to drift. Only warmth. Only safety. Only the slow, aching grind of his hips as he moves inside you with a patience that borders on devotion.

He’d told you this was his favorite.

Because it feels good. Because he loves the closeness. But more than that - because it’s what makes it easiest for you. What helps your body take him. What lets you stay relaxed, safe, soft and open, even with how much of him there is to handle.

And it shows - in every slow, careful thrust. Every pass of his palm over your belly. Every breathless murmur in your ear as you twitch from the stretch of him.

“You’re doing so well.” He murmurs, lips brushing your ear. “So good for me.”

One hand drifts lower - spreads wide over the soft swell of your belly, grounding you.

“Right here.” He says softly, palm pressing just enough to feel the way he’s moving inside you. “I can feel how perfect you are. How much you take me.”

You clench. Shudder.

And Gyomei groans - full-bodied and low. But still, he keeps it slow.

Keeps you held.

He fucks you like that until your moans turn breathless, until your muscles twitch beneath his hands, until you can barely breathe from how overwhelmed you are.

Only then does he ease you down.

He shifts gently, laying you flat on the mattress. He props your knees up, hooks his arms beneath them, and folds you open without force - just quiet, patient strength.

His body covers yours again - never heavy. Just steady. Grounding.

His forehead brushes yours. His chest heaves.

When he sinks back in, slow and deep, you see it. That look on his face like you’ve just given him the sun.

His hand finds yours - no hesitation. He laces your fingers together tight, presses them above your head, like it’s a prayer. Like you’re his altar.

“You feel so good,” he breathes, his hips rolling deep. “I love this position.”

His lips find your cheek. Your jaw. The corner of your mouth.

And then, so soft it’s nearly a secret -

“Thank you.”

A pause. Another kiss.

“Thank you for letting me love you.”

And again, quieter -

“Thank you for letting me have you.”

That’s what breaks you. The way he means it.

Like your body is a gift. Like he’s grateful for every second inside you. Like this - you - is something he’ll never stop treasuring.

And when you come, it’s all of that at once. Your cunt pulsing around him as you sob his name into the air between you.

Gyomei’s breath catches.

And then he follows.

With a groan that shudders through him, with his cock buried deep, with his lips still at your cheek and his arms still wrapped around you like he’s trying to hold the whole moment still.

And when he finally exhales, it’s soft.

Full of everything.

“How was that answer?” He asks.

You smirk.

“Perfect, Gyomei.”