#black chubby reader

Chapter 6: Kishibe

Synopsis: Kishibe's life has been a neverending cycle of violence and hedonism. All that changes when he leaves devil-hunting behind for a painfully boring job as a CFO. Yet, what happens when he sees you rock the crowd on the dance floor in some dingy club?

Notes: The reader is BLACKKK, FEMMM/AFAB, and THICK/CHUBBY/CURVY.

Warnings: Depistions of addiction, fluff, ANGST, cursing, sick person in a coma, filthy, filthy sex (kissing, cunnilingus, doggy style, no protection besides birth control, dom/sub dynamics, neck grabbing, dirty talk, etc etc). [18+ ONLY: MINORS/NO AGE IN BIO=DO NOT INTERACT]

A/N: I know y'all been fiending for more fics, so here's a full course meal I've been working on. More stories to come ;)

Word Count: 10.1K

Masterlist

Previous Chapter

“A virgin piña colada, please.”

Kishibe loosens his tie with a resigned exhale. After a tiresome day of supervising an accounting team full of nepo baby cunts, he can only hope a visit at some dingy back alley club will let off some steam. The strongest devil hunter in Public Safety history finally quit his job and reluctantly every vice that came with it at 51. He’s now three years in as a finance manager for some hot-shot company and even dropped his 30+ year-long drinking habit. 

A normal person would condone such drastic changes, yet his new life feels like buying a fancy pen that runs out of ink at the first scribble. The only thing besides Kishibe’s “peace” that’s keeping him from relapsing is the constant revenue his current job flows in.

Kishibe thanks the bartender before taking a sip of his yellow beverage. His inability to enjoy the funky band music or the rowdy crowd makes his fingers fidget for how easily liquor drowned out unwanted noise. But that’s okay. He stayed sober long enough to ignore the relentless tremors.

The investor turns around in his seat to avoid the wall of alcohol bottles glaring down at him, and even observes how the band hypes up their audience to keep himself occupied.

The lead singer instructs the crowd to form a circle, and challenges the best dancer in the room to come forth. Kishibe expects some try-hard to embarrass themself in front of a hundred eyes.

“This’ll be good.” he chuckles ruefully before taking another sip.

He sees you instead.

He sees how your curvaceous body surrenders to the rhythm, how your hips gyrate to the beat, how your hands skim over your body, how the beaded fringes of your backless dress fly when you twirl, how the spotlight magnifies your glow. He can only imagine being in the center with you, envisioning how your softness would feel pressed against him, how you’d arch and melt beneath his curious hands. The band and crowd alike can’t be the only ones enraptured by you, because just for a moment, Kishibe forgets he’s holding his drink.

You needed to let off steam, too. You needed to forget about that petty fuss your boss made at the diner. You needed to forget having to ignore the sly microaggressions from coworkers. You needed to forget how the incessant catcalling amplifies your loneliness. You needed to forget your father’s medical bills.

So now you’re in this dingy back alley club, dancing like you’re not some waitress at a 24-hour diner. Dancing like your rent isn’t due next week. Dancing like you’re the most desired woman in the world, drinking up the screams and cheers from countless strangers surrounding you. A taste of happiness you can afford, even if it’s fake.

After the lead singer crowns you “dancing queen” of the club, you take a breather and head to the bar for a drink. You sit beside Kishibe, making sure there’s an extra stool between you both to keep a respectful distance. The businessman clocks how your cleavage rises and falls with heavy breaths, brown skin gleaming with a sheen of sweat.

When the bartender asks what you want, Kishibe doesn’t expect you to order ice water, despite how natural the request is.

“Who taught you to dance like that?” Kishibe says.

Your head whips to the source of a low and raspy voice and time eviscerates; a blonde-haired man—significantly older than you, with a scar connecting the left corner of his lip to his jaw, and clad in a crisp white button-down shirt with perfectly tailored trousers. You never expected a man of his senior to make ear piercings and stubble look so… sexy.

His gaze pierces through you like an x-ray, causing a wave of heat to disrupt your tummy, yet he’s just honoring eye contact. It isn’t until Kishibe cautiously waves his hand in front of your face that you finally snap out of the trance he casted you in.

“Oh! Uhhhh,” your catty eyes dart in every direction and Kishibe chuckles at the adorable sight.

“I was obsessed with MTV as a kid.” you admit.

Funny, considering the only childhood memories he recalls are being trained by government assassins. 

“Yeah? M’surprised they haven’t hired you.” he praises.

You huff out a candied laugh at Kishibe’s flattery before taking a swig of your water.

“Nah. I’m just a waitress for the time being.”

The financier smirks at the image of you in a cute waiter uniform.

“How’s the food? I might come visit.” he teases.

“Pfft—don’t bother.” you jest.

Although it’s not like the food is bad, you just don’t want this handsome stranger seeing how your dignity gets tested on a daily basis.

“Alright.” Kishibe surrenders as he downs the rest of his piña colada.

“Enough about me.” you insist. “What do you do for a living?”

“…I’m a CFO.” he confesses.

Your brow raises.

Chief financial officer, huh?

Where the real money is.

You rest your chin on your palm, “And how’s that working out for ya?”

Kishibe clicks his tongue in thought, and the sound deepens the arch in your back. 

“Makes my problems a lot smaller.”

This man’s unbothered bluntness makes your heels sway against the stool, quietly astonished by how his deep voice gives simple words so much weight.

“Lucky you.”

The teasing lilt of your honeyed tone paired with that elegant smile brings flashbacks of all the debaucherous nights he spent with nameless women. Despite not knowing if he was going to live to see the next day, such insanity that came with surviving devil hunting…made sense to him. Reckless impulsivity was his native language, dysfunction was how he functioned.

Technically, he’s now the most successful he’s ever been. But he’s nauseous from repetition, heady with constant routine. He retches at the part of him that misses the days when he was closest to dying, yet even the thrill of self-cannibalism got boring. Boring enough for him to leave all things devil-related behind, and sit at this bar talking to a gorgeous woman who he knows is probably half his age.

“How old are you, by the way?”

“Thirty.” you don’t hesitate, immediately understanding his inquiry.

You try to hide your giggle when Kishibe sighs with relief.

Older than I suspected. Thank God.

“And what’s your age?” you ask.

“Fifty-four.”

The businessman notices your eyes widening in shocked amusement and holds his breath for impending disappointment.

“What, younger than you expected?” he presumes.

“Not at all.” you confirm with a knowing smile. “You look great for fifty-four.”

“…Thanks.”

You can’t hold in your cackle, absolutely floored by his deadpan delivery. Such a flat tone from anyone else usually repels you, but he makes it charming in the funniest way. The sound of your unfiltered joy levitates his body to a high alcohol could never reach, failing to remember a time he laughed with similar abandon.

“You a trip, man.” you wipe some stray tears from the corner of your eye.

The financier feels a tiny smile creep onto his face, the mischievous glint in your gaze urging him to avert his own. Just for a moment.

“I’m Kishibe.”

No matter how attracted you are to this man, you give him an alias instead of your real name. For now at least. The CFO pulls out a card from his pocket and slides it toward you.

“Let’s stay in touch.” he says.

You take your time watching him grab his trench coat after leaving his bill by the empty glass. You silently marvel at his intimidating height when he finally stands from his seat, sliding his arms through the sleeves before shrugging on the luxury leather. He doesn’t look back, ready to pull out a cigarette as soon as he steps foot outside.

-

It’s been eight days since Kishibe’s been at the club, and you’re still on his mind like an itch he can’t scratch. 

The businessman sits by his maple wood desk, double-checking income statements for his weekly financial report. Product’s been in high demand lately, so his boss wants him working overtime. But Kishibe ain’t giving up his free time for shit if it’s uncompensated. And the boss wouldn’t be a good boss if they didn’t know that.

But what difference would it make if he did work more hours? He avoids many hobbies like the plague—they’re just humiliation rituals waiting to happen. Of course he doesn’t want to rot in his office either. It’s been three years since he flipped his life upside down, and has yet to reap the benefits.

The ex-devil hunter slouches against his seat, watching his computer screen light up with emails from his secretary. He’s seconds away from dozing off until his phone vibrates beside his keyboard. He picks it up and glares at the unknown number, but answers it anyway.

“Kishibe speaking.”

You hold your breath on the other line, feeling his voice reverberate down your spine.

“Didn’t think you’d answer.” you confess.

The investor’s eyes widen with delight.

“Didn’t think you’d call.” he retorts amusedly.

You tug on the hem of your uniform skirt, slightly frustrated that your break is almost over.

“Yeah, well, I wanted to stay in touch.”

“How’ve you been?” Kishibe will say whatever it takes to savor this conversation. To savor you.

You would tell him the truth: that rent is steadily rising and you recently haven’t been visiting your sick father to keep a roof over your head. Hell, you’re even tempted to admit how much you miss this fine stranger, but your dignity has you on a tight leash.

“I’ve been alright.” you sigh. “Just getting my paper up and looking forward to my day off.”

“When’s your day off?” Kishibe pries.

You side-eye your phone, “Why do you ask?”

“Cause I wanna take you out.”

There goes that bluntness again, making your thighs press together before you can stop it. You nibble on your lip, hoping he doesn’t hear the smile in your cadence when you say:

“…Okay.”

-

On the day of your first date Kishibe offers to pick you up, but you decide to meet him at the destination–not yet comfortable with letting him know where you live. He agrees to your request, and waits for you at this popular botanical garden. 

He stands by the entrance, reading a text from you that says you’re just around the corner. The financier tugs on his collar, burying the urge to smoke for your sake. And when he finally hears heels clacking against the pavement? He turns around and the sight almost undoes him.

You’re adorned in a long silk slip dress that hugs your curves in all the right places, some kitten heels to match, and light makeup that accentuates your features wondrously. Your sweet perfume awakens something salacious in him, but he keeps that to himself.

And Kishibe is nothing to sleep on: rocking a black shirt with the top three buttons undone, his sleeves are rolled up to show those deliciously veiny forearms, a pair of jeans tastefully framing the bulk of his thighs, and some classic Timbs to complete the look.

“Hey, handsome.” you greet, reminding yourself to act right when this man looks down at you with that smirk.

“Hey, gorgeous. Hope your journey here was smooth.”

Kishibe opens the entrance door for you, making sure you’re the first to witness the treat he’s got in store for you.

And a treat it is. Y’all aren’t traversing a simple garden. It’s decorated with a world of lights and intricate color patterns. Every tree, bush, plant, and artful landscape illuminate in stark contrast to the black canvas of the night sky. The financier grins at how you stop in your tracks, how your eyes sparkle mesmerically at the radiance surrounding you both.

Kishibe approaches to smoothly interlace his calloused fingers with your soft ones so he can guide you (and not stare at your ass for too long), making your chest bloom open with warmth at the gesture. Who knew a brute like him could be this daring?

“How did you find out about this place?” you query.

“Some colleagues of mine talked about visiting at least once a year. So I gave it a shot.”

You hum with giddy approval, “Is entry here free?”

“Nope.” he deadpans. “But don’t worry about that.”

He feels your thumb swipe the back of his worn knuckle before giving his hand a gentle squeeze, your silent way of showing gratitude. You both stroll about halfway through the garden and decide to sit at a bench, conversing to your heart’s content while enjoying the scenery.

“If I hadn’t met you at that club, nothing would’ve convinced me you were a clubber.” you confess.

Kishibe chuckles, “Not even my piercings?”

You pause at his inquiry, “…Maybe.”

“Well, I wouldn’t have taken you for a waitress.”

“Oh, I know.” you confirm with a proud grin.

Kishibe visually eats up your perfect posture and how elegantly you fold your legs. He wants to yank them open and rip that dress off until there’s nothing left to cover, but he keeps that to himself.

“Just shows how easy it is for people to assume.” you continue. “For example: why do we give so much meaning and power to virginity? It’s just a social construct—you can never truly tell who is and isn’t one.”

Your cute rambling reminds the CFO of that one time he killed the virginity devil. Yes, the virginity devil. And he made sure no one knew about it. Not even Makima’s crazy ass.

“It helps people feel in control of what they don’t understand.”

You go quiet at his insight, not expecting the comment to align so deeply with your own viewpoint. Which urges you to probe, even if lightheartedly.

“What—you a virgin, Kishibe?”

The businessman rests his arm behind you on the back of the bench, and his eyes pierce through you like they did when you first met.

“Wanna find out?”

Your eyes drop to your manicured nails, struggling to regulate your breath. 

“That… that’s not something a virgin would say.”

Kishibe’s boisterous cackle jolts you out of your flustered head. You’ve never heard him laugh like that before. You want to make him do it again. Honestly, Kishibe feels like he’s enjoying you too much. You palpitate his heart in all the ways that make him want to risk it, even if that risk may be too great for you both. But what does he know? He’s just out on a date for the first time in decades.

So he settles in this quiet moment you both share, watching you study the wildflowers sprouted behind the bench.

“Just look at them.” you mumble. “They’re so beautiful.”

“…Can’t compare to you.”

You close your eyes and fail to repress a smitten smile, feeling like a schoolgirl from his effortless praise.

“Shut up.” you demand meekly.

“You’re more than welcome to make me, sweetheart.”

You sigh in defeat, while also registering your tummy grumble with hunger. You rise from your seat and make a big stretch.

“Let’s see through this garden so I can order takeout.”

“I’ll pay for it.” he offers.

You scoff under your breath with a smile.

Of course you will.

“I’d appreciate that, thanks.”

-

You finally make it to the end of the main attraction, reflecting on all the beauty you’ve absorbed, and all the fun banter you shared. As you both stand outside the entrance, Kishibe watches you ogling down at your painted toes with giddiness. Cute.

“It’s late.” he reasons. “I’ll order you a ride home.”

You take a few steps toward him, close enough to smell his woody eucalyptus cologne and feel his heat. You look up to meet his gaze, seconds away from wrapping your arms around his waist and holding him tight. But you don’t.

“Okay.” Your content smile makes Kishibe want to squish your cheeks until your lips pucker up. 

“Thank you for tonight. I needed this.”

Your simple gratitude is enough to briefly short-circuit all thought, a feeling so foreign it locks his jaw with trepidation. No harm is being done, yet your shameless vulnerability awakens what he thought he killed off ages ago.

What kind of danger is this?

“I should be thanking you.” he insists. “Text me when you make it home?”

“Of course.”

-

After that fateful night, you two went on a few more dates: to the movies, a museum, even a local carnival. Going to festivals is quite rare for Kishibe, and when he had attended some it’d only be to scout for devils and ensure public safety. This is the first event where he solely went for fun, where he went with you. Carnival games weren’t even in his mental orbit until he met you, with your competitive streak and petty ambition to win. You both played a target game called Balloon Darts. Of course Kishibe popped every balloon with effortless accuracy while you missed almost every target. When you tried sabotaging his aim with a petulant nudge, the financier had to hold his stomach from how hard he wheezed with laughter. And despite being the sore loser that you were, he still won you a red panda plushie to take home.

And now, Kishibe can’t remember being this playful in a way that didn’t involve mass destruction of some form. He can’t remember having fun with stakes that didn't have to be high. After steadily enmeshing your respective schedules, he’s getting used to your presence in a way he cannot simply undo. You’re texting more often—at a respectful pace, but it feels so natural. It's gotten to the point where you send him shitpost memes in the middle of the night, not knowing that he privately giggles at your absurd knack for humor. Every moment he’s not working, he’s thinking of all the ways he’d have you to himself. Of course it embarrasses him, but he craves you too much to care.

It’s 10:15 pm, and Kishibe can finally leave his company headquarters. He just finished an agonizingly uneventful board meeting on profitability improvement after a long day of analyzing data. At this point, he just wants a cigarette and some coffee. Maybe even a slice of pie.

So where does he go? To the nearest 24-hour diner he can find. He steps foot in the restaurant, quietly relieved it’s practically devoid of customers. He sits at a cushioned bench, some cozy booth in the corner, shrugging off his trench coat until a waiter approaches.

Once a coworker announces the new customer, you grab the nearest menu and make your way to the dining space. You wear your brightest smile and prepare your voice for social interaction.

“Good evening! What can I g—“

You almost drop the menu in your hand at the sight before you: Kishibe sitting prim and proper with his hands folded. His eyes widen, mirroring your speechless shock. You look even cuter than he imagined with your waiter apron and matching cap. He even notices your name tag, which definitely doesn’t match the name you gave him.

You quickly recalibrate yourself and hand Kishibe the menu.

You clear your throat, “Would—would you like a drink?”

“Coffee. Black.” the CFO deadpans.

“Coming right up.” you nod and spin your heel to escape your mortification.

As soon as you reach the kitchen, your back hits the closed doors—anything to support your weight against the oppressive gravity.

How the fuck did he find this place?

Did he already know where I work?!

“Hey!”

A coworker snaps you out of your panic.

“What’d they order?”

“Uhh—black coffee.” you stammer.

You dread the moment you’ll have to walk back out there and give him his drink. It’s not like you’re ashamed of your job, you just… thought you could hide this side of you a bit longer. But you’re a big girl, so you leave the kitchen with that coffee mug in hand.

Kishibe watches you approach him with his hot cup before carefully setting it on the table. You pull out a pen and notepad from your apron.

“Have you tried the pecan pie?” Kishibe queries while scanning the menu.

“Yes, actually. It’s good.” you affirm.

“Then I’ll have that.” he decides.

He watches you scribbling on your little paper, looking all productive and shit.

“Anything else?”

“What time are you off?”

Your eyes flicker up to meet his, the question already letting you know he’s dead-ass.

“…In an hour.”

The investor rests his back against the seat, carrying a preemptive resolve that you get home safely tonight.

“Guess I’ll enjoy that pie till then.” he smirks knowingly.

You wordlessly turn your heel again, shoving the notepad in your apron before submitting his order to the chef.

You sit in the locker room while waiting for the server signal, trying to wrap your spinning head around this peculiar situation. Your beloved coworker, Kim, shuts her locker door and turns around to take you in.

“You know that dude or something?” she pries.

You avoid her gaze. “What dude?”

“C’mon.” she scoffs. “The hot GILF drinking coffee.”

You snort at her choice of wording. But she’s already clocked your unusual behavior, so there’s no point in hiding now.

“He’s a guy I’m dating.” you confess.

Kim gasps in exaggerated delight. “Luckyyyyyy.”

She sits beside you, further studying your face and hunched posture.

“You don’t seem too happy about it.” she gently challenges.

You rub on your eye bag with a sigh. “Of course I’m happy to see him.”

Kim stays silent to make space for your thoughts.

“But what if he sees me differently now?”

You lift your head to meet Kim’s concerned gaze, hoping to find an answer in it.

“Well…seeing you differently might not even be that bad.”

You raise an eyebrow, beckoning your coworker to elaborate.

“I mean—“ Kim sighs, lightly scratching her knee. 

“Seeing you at work could expand how he already views you. In a good way.”

Her words urge you to look down at the floor, pondering on how not to think the worst of this predicament. How not to think the worst of Kishibe.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” you promise, gently bumping your shoulder with hers.

The server bell rings, so you stand up from the bench and head to the kitchen for that pie.

You place Kishibe’s plate on his table, and he almost drools at how the whipped cream on top seals the baked dessert.

“Enjoy.” you shoot him a crooked grin that he mentally snapshots for later.

-

Your shift is finally over. After changing out of your work uniform, you bid Kim a good night and head straight for the entrance doors.

The first thing in your line of sight is Kishibe’s back facing you, a cigarette held between his fingers. After exhaling a cloud of smoke, he turns to face you and clocks your fit: a crop top, denim mini-skirt, a matching jacket, and some sneakers. He hasn’t seen this much of your legs since that dress you wore at the club, and they’re delectable on the eyes. But he keeps that to himself.

He drops the cigarette bud and steps on it when you walk up to stand beside him. He towers over you in a way you’ll never get used to.

“I didn’t know you work here.” Kishibe assures. “Just needed a place to unwind.”

You nod appreciatively. “I believe you.”

You watch him look up at the sky, wishing you could properly see how the moonlight reflects off his grey irises.

“Your real name is beautiful.” he praises. “Suits you better than that alias.”

You thank him with a bashful chuckle. And Kishibe doesn’t blame you for the fake name, he’d do it too in your shoes.

“Can you drive me home?”

The financier looks down at you, secretly pleased and vibrating with delight at your request.

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.” you insist.

Wordlessly, he leads you to his car. You ogle at its ridiculous sleekness.

“Okay, Mr. Porsche!” you tease.

Kishibe opens the door for you, making sure his passenger princess gets inside without hitting her head.

-

During the ride, you’re enveloped by that same woody coolness of Kishibe’s eucalyptus cologne. You’ve grown quietly addicted to the minty scent. You don’t exchange many words, besides him describing how delicious that pie was. Overall, the quiet between you is peaceful, natural even. You’ve both had long days, so your social batteries are understandably low.

When he finally pulls up in front of your apartment building, you let out a dramatic sigh.

“Home sweet home.” you mumble tiredly. 

You turn to face the businessman, and he gives you a look that you can’t instantly identify. Maybe it’s nerves. Maybe it’s longing. Regardless, you struggle to look away. You know there’s danger behind those eyes, even when he’s been so good to you.

“Do…” you take a deep breath. “Do you see me differently now?”

“Not a chance, baby.”

Your thick thighs press together at the sincerity beneath his hoarseness, and he notices. He notices everything when it comes to you. Kishibe is terrifying himself right now, his every pore igniting with the primal urge to retreat. He wasn’t even this tender toward his first love.

Time slows when you lean in and place a hand on the side of his neck, gently anchoring him so you can press a chaste kiss on his hollow cheek. You do it leisurely too, enjoying how his stubble lightly pricks at your plush lips. Your soft skin and sweet warmth pressed against him, sinking into him, is enough to make his dick jump in his pants.

Despite Kishibe’s painful erection, a part of him is grateful when you pull back to unbuckle your seat belt. Because deep down he knows if you had indulged his mouth, he would’ve fucked you right in his backseat. And he just can’t rush that. He won’t take more than you give.

“Thanks for the ride.” you grab your bag and open the door. “See ya later.”

“Yeah, see ya.”

When you shut the door, Kishibe runs a hand over his face, not driving until he sees you step inside the building.

-

A few days after that beautiful night, you’re all giddy—itching for the next time to see Kishibe. You’re even comfortable enough with sharing your excitement with Kim, relishing in the mutuality of your new relationship.

You sent him a text or three, and he didn’t answer. But that’s okay. You know how busy he is, so you lean into that trust by focusing on work. When you finally get your day off, you decide to sleep in and cook yourself a hearty breakfast. With more time on your hands than anticipated, your curiosity peaks regarding what your businessman is up to.

You give him a call, squirming in your seat at the dial ringing in your phone. That is until it goes straight to voicemail. Your shoulders sink, along with your hope that he’d be available. When the beep commences, you record that voicemail.

“Wassup, stranger?” you tease. “Work must really be on your ass, huh?”

You stab your food with a fork. “When you find some time, hit me up cause I’m off the clock today. …Later.”

You end the voicemail and put away your phone with a pout.

A couple weeks go by and you hear absolutely nothing from the CFO. You miss him more than anything, but restrain from contacting him any further. Not until he reaches out. Multiple fears begin ambushing you at once.

Is he still alive?

And if so, is he avoiding me?

Was I asking for too much?

Did he get tired of me?

Every passing day he leaves you unanswered makes every question snowball into an avalanche of dread and wounded pride. Every time you’re on your phone, no matter the reason, you’re constantly reminded of the one man you want to hear from the most. You feel like a helpless little infant who’s been robbed of her candy. You don’t even bother mentioning him to Kim anymore, refusing to expose what his negligence is doing to your confidence.

So you continue living your life and act like everything is fine.

A month goes by, and so does your faith in Kishibe. No texts or calls from him, just pure absence. You can’t even distract yourself from the heartbreak. And what’s worse is that you promised yourself you’d never let anyone have this much power over you—let alone a fucking man. But there’s no other one you’ve met prior like Kishibe. He made you feel truly special.

Today, you give your father a visit at the hospital. After paying the annual premium for his life insurance, you just need to see his face. 

You walk down the fluorescent hallways, reluctantly taking in the sterile air and nurses passing by. You make it to your dad’s room, your trembling hand on the door. You close your eyes and take a breath before sliding it open.

There he is: sleeping, bed-ridden, and attached to medical tech. You slide the door closed and take tentative strides toward him. You sit beside him on the stiff mattress and take his wrinkled hand.

“Hi, Papa!” you coo, smiling as if he’s seeing your face.

“I missed you so much.” you gently squeeze his hand, tracing the veins with your fingers.

He looks so at peace. But you remember exactly what your father told you to do when he could no longer function in a way that maintained his freedom. That conversation still haunts you.

“I know it’s been a while, m’sorry it took so long to visit.”

You know he’d never hold it against you, which pierces the guilt in your chest anyway.

“Life has been such a rollercoaster lately, y’know?”

Flashes of Kishibe claim your vision, and you blink them away.

“But don’t worry. When I stack enough bread, I’ll quit that job and finally do what I was always meant to.”

The returning silence threatens the burn behind your eyes, but you swallow it down as best you can.

“I uhh.” you look up at the ceiling when your vision goes blurry.

“I met this man. He… he’s a real trip y’know?”

You can’t believe you’re talking about the bastard to your dad, but you need it off your chest.

“I think you’d really like him.” you chuckle incredulously. 

“He lacks your whimsy, but he’s rough around the edges like you.”

Even though you’re oblivious to Kishibe’s past, your father carried danger too. But he wielded that danger honorably, and is why he’s been your rock for so long. A kind of rock that taught you how to become your own.

“I’m… sure you’d want to meet him.” your voice cracks with grief.

You shut your eyes and sniffle, letting the inevitable tears fall on his skin.

“But—but I can’t make that happen until you wake up, Papa.”

Your shoulders shake with quiet sobs, pressing his hand against your face—anything to stay tethered to his draining warmth. You carefully crawl on the bed and hook his limp arm over your shoulder. You lay beside him and rest your head on his chest, snuggling closer until you hear his weak heartbeat.

-

Kishibe knows he fucked up with you. 

And the universe knows he’s used to fuck-ups, but this time it’s not even funny anymore. In this past month, every wrong thing happened all at once in a way he couldn’t stop: his company’s stock dropped to an all time low. Of course he structured a backup plan for worst-case scenarios, but the hit they took was destabilizing at best.

He practically lived at HQ, no time for anything but monitoring whatever cash flow they had left, advising senior management, accompanying his boss to however many chaotic board meetings it took to get corporate life back on track. They couldn’t even hire anyone until profits equilibrated.

And to top it all off, Kishibe killed a devil. A powerful one.

It’s not that he wanted to. If he hadn’t done it, then someone would have died. Usually he wouldn’t think twice about it. But after three years of zero assassinations or interactions with devils, Kishibe has no idea what this means for him now. Devils hold grudges. Will another find out what he did?

Will this affect his current livelihood? 

Will this affect his connection to you?

Not that he deserves any access to you. Maybe he never did. Yet the thought of never seeing you again makes him want to down a bottle of gin. He hasn’t been this close to relapsing since his first day of sobriety.

He hates himself for not reaching out to you after all this time. But his new therapist—yes, his new therapist, challenged his habit of emotional self-flagellation. Whatever the fuck that means. So he finally sends you texts, trying to reclaim his place in your life. But none of them go through. He calls you a few times, but his phone always goes to voicemail.

That’s when he realizes: you blocked him.

And you had to, he gets that.

It’s the morning after he pulled another all-nighter in his office. Best believe he’s getting at least a week off after enduring that month-long economic crisis. He needs to see you, but you won’t talk to him anymore. All he needs is an inch.

So he does the unthinkable and pulls up in front of your apartment. Once he notices a resident unlocking the entrance gate, he steps out of his Porsche and follows them in. Every step he takes toward your door claws at his back, but he keeps ascending.

-

You sit at your dining counter, sipping on some cheap grocery store wine. You usually drink socially, but you’re at your wits end right now. You grab your bottle to pour more into the glass until a few knocks snatch your attention. You glare at the front door, approaching it with caution.

Looking through the peep-hole, your eyes widen in disbelief at the silhouette on the other side. Just to make sure your mind isn’t playing tricks, you unlock your door and open it.

Before you is Kishibe, a bouquet of roses in one hand and a box of your favorite chocolate brand in the other. He sees you too, clad in a sky-blue satin nightgown and matching robe.

You let out a weak, resigned laugh and the sound stakes through his chest. You’ve laughed with him. You’ve even laughed because of him. But this is the first time you truly laugh at him, and he takes it like an overdue punishment.

“Oh, okay.” you huff out a scoff at the shameful glint in his sunken gaze.

If he thought trying new hobbies were humiliation rituals, then he was never going to be prepared for how you’re leering at him now.

“I see what the fuck’s going on here:” you mock, waving an accusatory finger at him.

“Look, I’m sorry for disappearing on you but I can explain.” the financier pleads.

“Oh I’m sure you can.” you fold your arms. “But the million dollar question is: why should I give a shit?”

“Because you deserve to know the truth.”

You shake your head in disbelief, lips curling into a tight line at his reasoning. He’d rather you scream at him than deal with this cold, unresponsive version of you. But he’ll take what he can get.

“I’m tired, Kishibe.”

The pure strain and exhausted rage in your unforgiving tone renders him speechless, for there’s nothing else he can say that could make this better. Everything is in your hands. You could slam the door in his face right now, and this mess would finally cease.

But you step aside anyway, wordlessly letting him in because if you’re gonna get anything out of this shit show, it will be closure. Kishibe closes his eyes with a sigh, feeling all that pent up terror decompress. He carefully kicks off his leather Cap Toe dress shoes before placing the bouquet in his right arm to pick them up. 

He steps foot inside your domain and places his shoes by your rack beside the door. You snatch the box of chocolates from his grasp and leave him to hang up his trench coat. After tucking the treats in a freezer, you return to your seat at the dining counter.

Kishibe approaches you with caution, taking in the way you pour your second glass of wine. He sits across from you, quietly cringing at how noticeable your eye bags have become.

“Speak.”

Your low command snaps him out of his trance and he clears his throat.

“I almost went jobless.” he begins. “The company lost a lot of money and we nearly shut down for good.”

You’re listening but give him no eye contact.

“I’ve only ever known how to deal with a crisis alone, and I had a hunch you’d be worried if I told you.”

“Cut the shit. That don’t explain why you ghosted me.” you deadpan.

Kishibe scratches his nape as the cortisol starts to spike. He so badly wishes he could tell you about the devil. About his true identity. But he signed a contract, and he’ll be damned if he risks your safety just to feel better about himself.

“I was raised a killer. A professional killer.”

Your eyes flicker up to meet his own at the weight of his confession, and you almost gasp because you can tell he’s not lying. You always knew he was dangerous. But not this lethal.

“I never knew my parents.” he continues. 

“The government made sure of that so they could mold me into the perfect soldier.”

You place your glass back on the marble counter, feeling your brows furrow with fright. Not at him, but at the unspeakable pain he had to endure.

“I never talked things out, I fought it out. I drank it out, fucked it out. Not knowing I dug a bigger, deeper hole cause I kept running away.”

Kishibe ran toward chaos because that was easy. But he ran away from you because facing an ugly truth through your eyes is next to impossible. He scoffs at himself, at how weak he really is.

“I…I don’t want someone like you seeing me struggle. Seeing me at my lowest.”

You’re touched by his implication, touched enough to reach for his hand. Kishibe lifts his head at your touch.

“But that’s not how relationships work.” you gently reason.

“Partners don’t just support each other when they need it the least, then isolate when they need it the most. That’s not sustainable.”

You, too, know what it’s like to self-isolate. You know what it’s like to make mistakes big enough to scare you away from connection, from vulnerability. But you also know exactly what that cost you. 

You roll your eyes at what you’re about to ask, at the door you’re about to re-open.

“This is your last chance, Kishibe. Do you want to be my man?”

“Yes.” he doesn’t miss a beat.

“Then we must carry each other through our highs and lows. Are you willing to do that?”

“Yes, baby.” he places a hand on top of yours.

Kishibe has never been more sure about anything else in his life. And you’ve never seen the CFO this soft for you, it forms a reluctant smile on your face. But that same sliver of happiness dies as quickly as it arrived when you remember today’s hospital visit.

You pull back without realizing, so Kishibe secures his grip, interlocking his fingers with yours.

“What is it?” he pries. “Talk to me, please.”

“I—I…” you nibble on your lip, inwardly begging yourself to take the same advice you gave Kishibe.

“…Rent keeps rising and my father’s getting sicker.” you whisper.

Your man stares at you, utterly stunned by the way your eyes gloss over. You look like you’re about to collapse.

“I need to pay off his medical bills, but I also need a roof over my head.”

You attempt to pull away again, but Kishibe doesn’t budge. You gag away the urge to sob, but tears are already streaming down your cheeks.

“…I’m not ready to be homeless.” your voice rises desperately in pitch.

“I’m—I’m not ready to bury him yet.”

Kishibe can truly take no more, and releases your hand. He rises from his seat, walks around the counter and steadily wraps his arms around you. Your shoulders tremble at the all-encompassing warmth of his firm embrace. You grab onto his shirt as your body shakes with sobs.

Kishibe sighs, hot anguish gnawing at his gut at the realization that you’ve been carrying this devastation since before he met you.

“I’ll cover your rent. And I’m not changing my mind.” he calmly declares. 

“You just focus on being there for your dad, okay?”

You give him a wordless nod, fearing your voice will betray you again. You’re the best thing to ever happen to Kishibe in years and he knows it. He refuses to let you suffer another second more than you ever should.

“Wanna watch a movie?” he suggests apprehensively.

“…yeah.” you whimper, face buried in his woody scent.

-

You cuddle together on your living room couch, watching your childhood favorite: Kill Bill. 

You wanted to track Kishibe’s reactions to the film, but crying that hard can make anyone sleepy. You rest your head on his bulky thigh, and he silently revels at the privilege of being your makeshift pillow.

His hand hovers over the side of your head before gently brushing your hair back. He touches you like fine porcelain, praying that he doesn’t interrupt your nap.

A couple hours pass by and your bladder calls. Your eyes reluctantly crack open and you feel something wet on the side of your mouth. You sit up with a quickness and stare in mortification at the tiny puddle of saliva on Kishibe’s slacks. He glances at the stain and catches onto your embarrassment with a giddy smirk.

“Slept like a baby, huh?” he chuckles endearingly.

“M’sorry.” you whine, wiping the wet patch with your sleeve.

Kishibe waves off your worry. “S’just drool, honey. I’ll be fine.”

You get up from the couch and take a big stretch.

“Watch whatever you want.” you mumble before padding to the bathroom.

Kishibe does just that, scrolling through your subscriptions while you take a piss. 

When you come back, he sees you without your robe—drinking up the sight of your bare shoulders and dainty collarbones. You sit beside him and snuggle close, tucking your head in the crook of his shoulder with your legs resting over his knee.

“Did you enjoy Kill Bill?” you query.

“Sure did.” Kishibe tries and fails to ignore how pressed against him you are.

“What’d you like about it?” you trace your toes over the curve of his calf.

“Those animated scenes were killer.” he continues scrolling—distracting himself from your hot breath fanning his neck.

You rest a hand on his chest.

“Who’s your favorite character?” your sultry voice so close to his ear sends a shock of goosebumps straight through his body.

But he gives away no sign that he’s affected. Which you have every intention of ruining.

“Probably O-Ren.” he supposes.

“Mmm, and why’s that?” your hand trails down his stomach, massaging the print of his abs to get a sense of how toned he really is.

You’re so caught up in toying with your man that you don’t even notice him turning off the TV or placing your remote down.

When your fingers descend to the top of his belt, Kishibe wraps his fingers around your throat with a quickness that makes you yelp. 

Even though he’s gentle, the slight pressure on your jugular, on top of the way he looks down at you—like a predator who’s finally caught his prey, makes your body buzz with need.

“Unless you wanna get fucked open on this couch, relax.” His low warning makes your pussy cry.

You shoot him a grin drunk with lust. “Now why would I do that?”

Kishibe pulls you in and crashes your mouths together, groaning at the lavish texture of your lips. He kisses you with a rough sloppiness that makes you moan, so you hold onto his wrist to cope. 

It’s just a make out session and you already feel like you’re being devoured, especially when he slips his hot tongue past your teeth. Kishibe halts when you suck on it, feeling his dick leak when you match his nastiness.

Kishibe breaks the kiss and slowly pushes your back against the couch’s headrest. He releases your neck but his hand lingers, palm dragging down the valley of your breasts, waiting for the green light.

“Go ahead, baby.” you coo, returning his hungry stare with a wink.

“Unwrap your gift.”

He hooks his fingers over each strap and pulls until the nightgown completely slips off. Kishibe blows a low whistle at the sight: your skin glowing with the daily care you give it, the weight of your brown tits sprawl out on each side, your soft tummy rising and falling with heavy breaths, and a lacy black thong hugging the pudge of your hips.

The financier parts your knees for more access and lowers his head to press searing kisses across your neck. His hands skim up your thighs as his lips leave a trail over your sternum. 

You gasp when he squishes your tits together, licking a fat stripe up the supple mounds. He sucks the hardened nipples into his mouth and you run your fingers through his hair to show appreciation.

He pulls back at a teasingly slow pace and looks into your eyes the entire time, releasing the sensitive skin from his lips with a wet ‘pop.’ He continues kissing down until he reaches your fupa, leaving light bite marks on any area of softness he can reach, hands squeezing at the nearest curves and rolls.

He buries his nose in your cunt, sniffing it through your flimsy underwear like the perv he always was. But he’s your perv now, and that’s all that matters.

“Lift your hips, gorgeous.”

You do it on command, feeling your hairs raise when he slips off the last article of clothing on you. Kishibe sits on his haunches while you lean on your elbows, feeling the urge to shrink from his piercing stare.

“Before we do anything, I’m prepping you, got it?”

Your legs fall open at his effortless authority.

“But I’m so wet already.” you pout. “See?”

And he does see: your coarse pubic hair, your puffy clit, sticky folds glistening with arousal, sopping little hole begging to be filled. Which is precisely why he refuses to rush to intercouse.

“Nice try.” he commends matter-of-factly.  “But I ain’t fuckin’ you till you’re prepped.”

You slouch against the headrest with a petulant groan before holding the back of your knees, granting him the easiest access. The investor hums at your compliance.

“Good girl.” he purrs, rolling up his sleeves and rearranging his sitting position for peak comfort.

Kishibe massages the back of your thighs, coaxing your muscles to melt under his touch. 

“You’ll thank me later.” he promises, prying your lips apart with his thumbs.

Your jaw drops open when he licks a wide stripe from the entrance of your pussy to the top of your vulva. He does it again, except his tongue coils against your clit and you gush instantly. He slurps up your wetness and as soon as he swallows a taste of your nectar, his eyes roll to the back of his head with a low moan.

Your toes curl as he sways his head, dragging his tongue between your folds at a languid rhythm. Your trembling hands loosen their hold on your legs, so you have to consciously make sure they don’t fall forward.

Kishibe looks up to meet your half-lidded gaze, and the shameless mischief in his eyes makes your breath stutter. He gives you light, spontaneous flicks until your clit swells against his tongue, and it pulls a sharp cry out of you—the helpless sound going straight to his cock.

That’s right, stop hiding.

He sees your thighs wobbling, your hips bucking into his mouth. Your hands get tired so you release the back of your knees, but keep your legs nice and spread so nothing interrupts Kishibe’s onslaught of pleasure. And he doesn’t stop, especially when your arousal starts dribbling down his chin.

The CFO roams his rough palms up your soft tummy and cups your boobs, the pads of his fingers fondling the sensitive flesh. 

“Feelin’ good, sweetheart?”

You fail to answer his check-in, utterly hypnotized by the wet heat and pressure erupting in your cunt. But he doesn’t care how fucked out you are, he needs you present.

Kishibe pinches both of your nipples at once, jolting your entire body until you howl.

“Y-Yes, baby—fuck!” you wail, grabbing onto the armrest beneath you, and by extension, your dwindling sanity.

Your man pulls one hand from your chest and decides to reward you. His index and middle fingers curiously prod at your silky entrance before slowly slipping them inside your cunt. A stream of wanton moans and gibberish pour from your mouth at the smooth intrusion, your brows knotted up and glossy eyes glued to his audacious movements.

He curls the fingers up toward his tongue as it circles your clit, relishing the squelching noises he produces from fucking you with just his hand. He can feel every tiny twitch inside you, and it’s the most wonderful place in the universe to be. You squirm and thrash uncontrollably, feeling that familiarly hot coil threaten to implode and snap your brain in two.

And when he inserts a third finger? 

You squirt directly into his mouth with a keen, singing Kishibe’s name like a song he’ll replay long after this night. And he finally understands why memories of his past partners come to a blurry void. They just aren’t you.

When you can truly take no more, the investor stays close as he drifts away from your pussy. He kisses his way up your tummy and chest before pressing his soaked fingers against your lips. You open and suck on them, moaning at your taste as you ride out the aftershocks.

Now that he’s got you in the exact state he intended, Kishibe unbuttons his shirt before shrugging it off. Your eyes crack open as you take a breather, watching your man unbuckle his belt. You literally just came and you’re already clenching at the sight of his chiseled abs, V-line, and scarred skin. Once he fully strips, you witness the rest of his muscular physique.

And when your eyes trail down to that cock…

The sight of those veins, the thickness, those heavy balls, how that flushed and leaking tip reaches his belly button—there are no jokes or slights that can match what you’re beholding. Kishibe can’t help but chuckle at your stupefied face.

Your first time together is too sacred to be had on a couch, but he also doesn’t want you wasting energy on walking.

“Can I carry you to your bed?”

You’re super grateful for his offer, knowing your legs feel like jelly. But you have to talk some shit regardless.

“Sure you can handle it, old man?” you raise a brow, unable to hide your crooked grin.

He gives you a bored stare and sighs. “Keep playin’ with me.”

You giggle at successfully fucking with him, watching him crouch down to slide one arm under your knees and the other under your upper back. He hoists you up like it’s nothing and starts walking to your bedroom.

“Thank you, honey.” you purr while stroking his cheek with your hand.

“Yeah, yeah.” Kishibe rolls his eyes, but he’s melting inside.

When he makes it to your room, your free hand turns the knob and pushes the door open. He carefully places you on the edge of your queen-sized mattress before turning on a couple of your lamps. He has enough taste to avoid overhead lights at all costs. He even takes in the personalized femininity of your space: that sweet aroma in the air, posters of your favorite artists, that red panda plushie sitting by your vanity mirror, purple furniture—

“C’monnnn.” you whine on all fours, shaking your ass impatiently.

The businessman swats your cheek with a quickness, making you gasp at the sharp sting. He massages the handprint on your skin to assuage the burn and you lean into his touch.

“How do you want me?”

“Just like this.” you assure.

“You on the pill?” he checks.

“Yesss.”

Your refusal to hide your desperation makes Kishibe snort. The comforter dips under the weight of his knees as he positions them outside of yours for maximum security. He deepens the arch in your back before groping at your hips.

“What’s your safe word, darlin’?” he strokes his cock and aligns it with your entrance.

“Uhh—pineapple.” you decide.

Your vision falters when he rolls his tip over your clit for good measure. 

He slowly pushes through your slit and your eyes bulge out of your sockets from the stretch. You manage to swallow his head in one smooth movement, but the arresting impact it has on your body forces you to hyperventilate. Kishibe senses your panic and runs a loving hand up your spine to keep you tethered.

“Breathe, baby.” he orders gently.

So you do, taking deep inhales until your tummy expands. One particular exhale relaxes the tension in your muscles, allowing Kishibe to slide in more length. The minor consequence of this escalation is that you’re already mewling.

“I know, sweetheart.” He pauses so you can continue adjusting.

Your man hisses at the feel of you sucking him in, your pussy’s grip is simply merciless. He massages your waist and leans down to kiss the back of your shoulders. You relish how he touches on you, which stabilizes your breathing enough to alert Kishibe. He acts accordingly and gives you a couple more inches until your thighs start to tremble. You feel so fucking full and he’s only halfway in.

“Talk to me.” he ceases movement and waits for a response.

“S’alot.” you slur as your eyes threaten to burn with tears. “B—But I’m okay.”

“Good.” he praises, remaining stagnant until he knows you can handle more.

The longer you sit with the stretch, the less foreign it feels. You both sit in silence, taking the time necessary to get used to this new layer of connection. The weight and stretch of him feels heavenly, but you’re scared of pushing your body past her limit. Ultimately, you test the waters and carefully push back to receive more length.

The investor catches on and drives forward until his pelvis collides with your ass. A sound of pure devastation rips through your throat, feeling a bulge form in your lower tummy.

“You in pain?” he queries, slightly guilty from seeing you struggle so much.

“No.” you whisper, deeply appreciative of his hands steadying you.

Your arms start to wobble as they continue to keep you upright in your doggy position. So you use whatever strength that’s left to grind against your man.

“Look at you.” Kishibe cheers, beyond eager to meet you halfway.

He secures his grip and drives his hips forward, giving you slow and deep strokes. He’s only using a fraction of his power and you’re already loud.

“Kishibe—fuckkk.” you bawl, feeling your arms collapse on the comforter.

Every unhurried thrust paralyzes your body with a disastrous pleasure, fucking high-pitched moans out of you. Yet the same man taking you apart is the same man holding you together.

“I hear you, honey.” Kishibe coos, but he doesn’t stop—too fixated on your ass jiggling from the momentum.

Your cunt gives him a special squeeze and he throws his head back with a drawn-out groan, feeling his balls tighten from the pressure. He can only imagine what your face looks like paired with that pretty voice wailing for him. You’re in shambles right now but he knows he can take you deeper. He knows his baby could handle more of him—all of him even.

Carefully, Kishibe bends forward and lifts your upper body until you’re flush against his chest. One arm’s wrapped securely around your torso, and his other hand gently holds your throat. He spreads his knees to lower his stance, listening to your cute little sniffles.

“Ya ready?” he coos menacingly beside your ear.

You already suspect he’s about to wreck you, so you take a deep breath and swallow some spit.

“Give it to me.”

Kishibe’s dick twitches at your command. 

He retracts his hips until just the tip prods at your entrance, before slamming back into you with a force that pushes all the air out of your chest. He fucks you with a speed and vigor that repeatedly rocks the bed against the wall. He fucks you so hard your tits bounce, his balls repeatedly slapping your clit, and all those sensations make your voice go hoarse from the debauched sobbing. And your man holds you close through every second of it.

Kishibe licks up the tears streaming down your cheek like the madman you’ve made of him. He looks between your bodies and catches the ring of cream forming on his shaft—the sight pushing him dangerously to the edge. You’re grabbing onto his arm to brace yourself.

You can’t even warn him when you cum, your vision spotting and stomach tightening as you spray all over his cock. Your climax tips him over and he finishes with a guttural shout, rope after rope of semen painting your velvet walls. If there is a God, Kishibe can only fall to his knees in gratitude—for he can’t believe he almost didn’t have this union with you.

You both ride out your highs to a gradual stop, the only thing filling the air are your heavy breaths. With time, Kishibe regains the clarity to pull out before lowering you on the comforter. He lets you rest and opens your bedroom door, intending to get a towel so he can wipe you clean.

“Wait.” you mumble tiredly.

Your man pauses and turns to face you. “Hmm?”

“Let’s take a shower.”

Kishibe smiles at your request. “Alright.”

So he heads to your bathroom and turns on the shower head. You follow shortly after, and he cackles when watching you limp toward him.

“Shuddup!” you whine, petulantly tucking your hair in a satin bonnet.

You prepare him a wash rag and dry towel while he prepares the water’s temperature.

“I don’t have men’s body wash, so you’re gonna smell like coconuts and vanilla after showering.”

The CFO huffs out a chuckle. “Fine by me.”

You step inside the shower first, shuddering at the hot water droplets hitting your skin. Kishibe follows inside, and you feel his presence towering behind you. While bathing, you two help each other out; scrubbing your backs and any other places that are hard to reach. Very few words are exchanged, but that’s natural between you.

After some much needed exfoliating, you rinse off whatever’s left and turn to face your man. He looks down at you with a fondness you can finally identify, and it unfolds that familiar warmth in your chest. You grip the back of his neck and pull him toward you. Your lips interlock at an idle pace. He wraps his arms around your waist and you stand on your toes to deepen the kiss.

After finishing your respective grooming rituals, you lend Kishibe a robe with the least feminine color in your closet: teal green. You giggle at how pampered he looks, but he’s too sleepy to bite back. 

You both lay down in your bed, snuggling under the comforter and sheets. You rest the side of your head on his chest with a leg draped over his. The investor is seconds from dozing off until he hears you mutter his name.

“Hm?”

“Thank you for paying my rent.”

Your voice is light with lethargy, but Kishibe hears the sincerity behind it.

“It’s the least I can do.” he insists while rubbing your hip endearingly.

“Now get some rest. We’ll talk more in the morning.”

And you do just that, letting your eyelids surrender to the heaviness of slumber.

Chapter 3: Connie Springer

Synopsis: Your first trip to Puerto Rico was beautiful but tainted with past emotional wounds. You want to return to your boyfriend’s homeland healed and present, but you’re stuck at your city. How will Connie help alchemize your pain into a miracle?

Notes: chubby black fem/afab reader. And if you still don’t know, Connie is Puerto Rican in this chapter.

Warnings: Angst (tears, mentions of past trauma, mental anguish), fluff (pet names usage like “mami” and “papi”, words of affirmation), smut (mating press, p-in-v penetration, dirty talk, toe-sucking, dom/sub dynamic, cursing, etc). [18+ ONLY: MINORS/NO AGE IN BIO=DO NOT INTERACT]

Word count: 1.4K

Masterlist

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You’re on the phone with your boyfriend, Connie, when a particular worry incessantly eats away at you in the dead of night.

“Talk to me, bebita. What’s wrong?” You can tell he was sleeping before you called, his deep voice much raspier, and sending warm tingles down your spine.

It’s a long story, but to keep it short, you’ve always wanted to vacate out of the country. And the one time you finally got to was tainted by underlying darkness. You went to Puerto Rico in high school expecting a good time.

What you weren’t expecting, however, was a public anxiety attack that would haunt your memory after you graduated. You know it’s not your fault, not even in the slightest. Shit happens when you least expect it. But for some reason you feel played, like you missed out on truly getting to know a beautiful country and its people because you were too busy suffering.

Connie listens intently to every word pouring from your plump lips, a deep frown tugging on his own when he realizes how serious this matter is to you.

“I hate it, Con,” you sniffle quietly.

“I don’t wanna stay in this city for the rest of my life! Jesus, why am I like this?”

“Hey, hey, hey–don’t beat yourself up like that, mami,” your man croons as he sits up from his pillow.

You curl into a ball amid your satin sheets, holding your phone close to your chest as tears uncomfortably stream down the side of your face.

Connie rubs his jaw while looking down at his lap in deep thought. 

“Don’t let one bad experience defeat you. Baby, you da strongest woman I know–besides my moms n’ shit.”

A chuckle jumps out of your mouth before you can stop it, which of course, relaxes Connie with a smile of his own–aching to see your pretty face.

“Every time you in a rut, you pick yourself back up like it’s nobody’s business,” he continues.

“If anyone deserves a vacation, it’s always gonna be you. ¿Siénteme?”

That’s the first thing about Connie you fell in love with: his ability to change your perspective. Because of his simple nature, your boyfriend has always been the type to forge his own reality, to not accept the limits people place on him and themselves. So of course, he would encourage you to do the same.

“…Yeah,” you warble weakly.

“Matter fact,” Connie reaches over his nightstand for a perfectly rolled joint. 

“I got family in San Juan. I ain’t seen ‘em in a minute, and their home’s big enough for two more. Why don’t we fly over there for the summer?”

Now it’s your turn to sit up from your pillows, “Connie are you serious? C--Can we do that?”

Your man lights up his joint and exhales a long tuft of smoke.

“We can do whatever we want, mami.”

-

And by anything, he means having you butt-ass naked and laid out on the Puerto Rican sand after finally taking you on the trip you’ve patiently waited for. You’re face-up, ass-up in a devious mating press as your boyfriend holds your knees against the swell of your tits. He takes his time bullying that flushed, fat head of his dick past your soaked folds and he has to. He has to make sure you reap all the benefits that come with being his good girl.

“P–Papi wait!” You plead in a hopeless panic and push your hands against Connie’s broad shoulders, against your lust-driven delirium.

This man’s size completely overwhelms you; his chiseled body alone eclipsing your view of the orange sunset painting his tan skin. All you can see are his low, hazel eyes obsessing over your adorably scrunched up eyebrows and tear-stricken cheeks.

“No, bebita. No more waiting,” he coos sternly, groaning at how your needy little hole swallows the rest of his thick length as he steadily sinks all the way into you.

His knees are planted on each side of your plush hips, making sure he has the balance necessary to fuck you exactly how you deserve, making sure you remember everything about this moment.

“So fucking pretty, mami. Fuck,” Connie pulls out just until his reddened tip rolls over your clit, causing the sensitive nub to twitch with an arousal that makes you quiver.

All it takes is a sharp snap of his hips to plunge every inch of hard cock he has right back into your sopping pussy. You cry out—throwing your weak arms around his neck at how this particular intrusion creates an immobilizing stretch, reaching areas you didn’t even know existed. And Connie could cum just like this: letting your tight heat milk him for all he’s worth while watching the cute fold of your swollen tummy, watching you struggle and fall apart underneath him.

But he has something better in mind.

He starts off moderately slow, fucking you hard into the lush beach towel until you squeal for mercy, but he knows his baby can take whatever Papi gives her. Despite how close he is to cumming, that excellent stamina keeps his thrusts calculated and suave.

Those sculpted abs you adore so much flex with every sweltering drive of his hips, and now you really don’t think you can handle the feeling of him in your stomach without spiraling into love’s oblivion. Connie’s silver Jesus piece dangles right above your head as he fucks you with a force that can only come from the primal need to hear you scream. It fills your mind with Connie and nothing but Connie.

You chant his name like a desperate prayer, whiny voice pitching higher and higher as he lowers his head to lick a long stripe up the valley of your breasts before sucking hickeys on your neck. He can tell you’re close, with the way you tremor at his every touch.

Profound stroke after stroke coaxes the sticky slick pooling in your cunt to seep and trickle down your asscheeks. The sound it makes when webbing onto Connie’s heavy balls is filthy enough to remind you precisely where you’re being taken.

“You like it here, my love? Hm?” He grabs your dangling foot and kisses it, his tongue unhurriedly tracing the smooth skin until he pops a french-tipped toe in his mouth. The kind of shameless debauchery he’ll tease you about later.

There’s no way he can expect you to answer, right? Your screwed shut eyes and hung open mouth gasping for air should be self-explanatory enough, right?

Wrong.

Instead, he snakes a hand between your sweaty bodies to pinch the brown hood of your clit and you jolt with a pathetic mewl.

“Ahh fuck! Yes, Papi–don’ wanna leaveee.”

“That’s my princesa,” he praises sweetly, grinding his pelvis on you to soothe the sting. He fucking loves it when you sing for him. 

“Takin me like a champ, yeah?”

Your pussy flutters once more, forever susceptible to how he tantalizes you with his warm and honeyed timbre. His calloused hands cradle your face like fine porcelain, memorizing every curve, contour and mark. The sight of you alone could make him cry–a beautiful soul privileging him access to the softest parts of her. Simply connecting with you in this way is an honor in itself.

Your boyfriend sits back on his haunches, a glob of spit pooling in his mouth before he lets a string of it fall directly on your poor, abused clit. He thumbs at the quivering bud, so focused on rubbing it in small circles that he misses the way your eyes cross at the rush of molten pleasure rippling through you.

Before he knows it you’re writhing and gushing all over him, the force of your orgasm so strong that your thick thighs reflexively push him away. Sob after sob streams from your drooling mouth as he holds your legs together, leisurely fucking you through your high.

“Uhuh, that’s right cariño,” his balls feel like they’re gonna burst, dick twitching rapidly inside you as he ascends to his own high. 

“You don’t gotta worry bout shit with me. Don’t matter where we are in the world.”

Irreparably hypnotized by how he’s loving on you, you run your hands all over his hefty thighs, anything to feel closer to him. Connie hisses when he feels your hips bucking against him and he swoons because you’re trying to make him cum too.

“Just like that, baby," he praises hoarsely. "Fuck Papi back–shit!”

Connie lets out a deliciously wanton moan as hot ropes of cum paint your walls and you feel nothing short of full, nothing short of satisfied.

Best vacation ever.

Synopsis: This anthology frames iconic fictional men in devotional context to you as the reader. What each character does to add more beauty to your life is something you must see for yourself.

Notes: anthology series (different character each chapter), afab/fem/black chubby reader.

Warnings: Angst (mental health issues, anxiety, depression, tears), fluff (physical affection, pet name usage, jokes will be cracked), smut (variety of sex positions, filthy dirty talk, kinks, etc). 18+ ONLY [MINORS/NO AGE IN BIO=DO NOT INTERACT]

💅🏾💋Menu💋💅🏾

1. Onyankopon

2. Toji Fushiguro

3. Connie Springer

4. Bokuto Koutaro

5. Satoru Gojo

6. Kishibe

Chapter 1: Onyankopon

Synopsis: You lay in bed with your beautiful fiancé in the dead of night, but the war inside won’t let you sleep. Will you ignore your woes or let your husband-to-be hold space for your fears and growth?

Notes: chubby black fem/afab reader

Warnings: Angst (cursing, mentions of anxiety, the effects of trauma, mental anguish, addiction + sobriety), fluff (physical affection, pet names like “ma” and “wife”, words of affirmation), smut (prone bone position, p-in-v penetration, tears, daddy kink, dom/sub dynamic). [18+ ONLY: MINORS/NO AGE IN BIO=DO NOT INTERACT]

Word Count: 1.6k

Masterlist

Next Chapter

You lay beside your fiance on your shared California king bed. It's past midnight and the ajar windows that allow streams of cool ventilation should be enough to knock you out. Your eyes are shut, but your mind is wide awake–too busy bracing itself for the onslaught of unpleasant memories and intrusive thoughts that come and never go. Not only that but you’re horny, and the heavy snores flowing in your ears are enough to make you reluctantly ignore it.

It took you a long period of sobriety to realize that it's not because something is inherently wrong with you. And throughout that time sober, you’ve found healthier ways to cope so you’d transform into the amazing woman you are now. On top of building a decent support system amid your journey, you’d think that nothing could stop you.

But it’s just too much right now. The build-up of stress is reintroducing the urge to relapse, despite how profound your restraint has grown. This weight is not only starting to ruin your daily life, it’s interrupting your sleep.

How on earth are you supposed to rest if your nervous system is too busy fighting what’s no longer there? How on earth are you supposed to enjoy what you do for a living if you don’t have the energy to? And how on earth are you supposed to cum when your beautiful husband-to-be is out like a light?

It’s not like you can’t go into another room and finish your business there, but who wants to do that? Saying this really fucking sucks, is a gargantuan understatement. You sigh and look despairingly at the ceiling above. Maybe you’ll just settle with a toy for the night instead of bothering Ony.

“...Baby?”

The raspy drawl of his deep morning voice strikes lightning in your tummy.

Why is he up?

How long has he been up?

“I…I thought you were asleep?”

Ony turns his nude body to face yours. Ever since he found out you like to sleep naked he adopted the same habit and hasn’t changed it.

“I was… till you kept tossin’ and turnin’. Could practically hear yo thoughts,” he chuckles lazily.

Something warm radiates the space in your chest. When you can’t sleep, he can’t either. But that’s also exactly what deflates you.

“...sorry,” you whimper.

“No. Don’t do that,” Ony scoots closer to rub your upper arm. “Talk to me, ma.”

His long, slender fingers lead a trail of goosebumps as he caresses you, causing your inner thighs to quiver. An innocent touch from Ony is enough to make your nerves scream for more. Too exhausted to downplay it, you hold onto his hand for support.

“I’m…I’m really stressed out and I can't sleep because my mind won’t fucking turn off.” The burning sting in your eyes threatens to overflow.

Although he can’t truly relate to your lived experience, he immediately understands what you mean. And although he understands, he knows it’d benefit you if he challenged any possibly harmful core beliefs you may have about your turmoils.

“I mean, is it supposed to?” Inquires Ony.

You ponder his response and at first it sounded pretty dismissive, but you take the time to consider. And ultimately no, your mind is not supposed to turn off.

“Mm-mmh,” you agree tiredly.

“But I need sleep or I will not function tomorrow.”

You squeeze his hand tighter, “Everyday I am literally fighting for my sanity… but I don't think I can handle it this time.”

Ony does not like the little crack in your warbled voice. Nor does he like how the soft moon rays illuminate your pained face.

“Then I’ll handle it, princess.”

Ony holds your hand against his full lips and kisses every knuckle, without breaking eye contact.

“How you need me to handle it?”

You hear the way he pleads through his inquiry, and that instinctual willingness to improve your life as a future-husband melts away any remaining urge to deny him. It is his duty after all.

-

“Oh, fuuuck!”

Ony’s entire body lays on top of yours in a devastating prone bone as he cages you between his burly arms. He been putting in that extra work at the gym for luxurious moments like these. You can't help but feel like you’re being crushed in the most heavenly way possible.

7 inches of thick cock bullied into your warm, tight, and sopping walls–fucking you deep and slow into the mattress. Every languid thrust rocking you back and forth peels away every layer of self-doubt distancing you from him, and replaces them with jolts of paralyzing pleasure.

“You know how proud Daddy is of you?” Ony buries his nose right in the crook of your neck so he can lick a fat stripe up your pulse point, before littering it with sloppy kisses.

“Hm? You hear me, wife?”

Your pussy clenches embarrassingly tight at that, and he rewards it with a delectable groan right beside your ear.

“Y-yessh… I know you are,” you grit your teeth while trying to formulate thoughts, but he’s giving it to you so good and the squelching noises from your juices leaking like a faucet is not helping.

Ony roams his wide palms over your voluptuous form, gripping any supple curves within his reach as he repeatedly sinks that heavy dick inside you. One thing that gets you so obsessed with your fiance is how he understands the importance of balancing pace and force. This wisdom is what has you burying your face in a pillow so he can’t see how absolutely fucked out you look. As if he would ever let that last.

“I always see you working on your passions, pursuing your purpose in life, staying sober…” he loves, loves, loves the way you stifle your whimpers so you can hear what he has to say. His dick twitches painfully for it, for his good girl.

“You should be proud too, ma. Tell me you’re proud of yourself. Can you do that for me?”

Ony has always been big on verbal affirmations, right next to acts of service. So it’s not surprising that he’d want you to love yourself in the same way. The only thing is, he knows your ego is quick to petrify you before allowing that vulnerability to be embraced.

Ony may not be able to cure you of your struggles, but he can at least face them with you. He never once stopped believing that to be in a relationship with you, he must enhance or add onto your life in some meaningful way. And if he’s not, then he’s just doing it wrong.

So when you fail to answer him on time, one particular swiveling snap of his hips makes your already sensitive clit catch onto the satin sheets in a way that immobilizes you. A zap of ecstacy so lecherous you cream uncontrollably around him, thrashing underneath his eclipsing form.

“Ony pleaseeeee,” you wail pathetically while clawing onto the sheets, and it’s music to his ears.

Ony cups your jaw and gently lifts your head so he can see just how addictively your features contort with raw, unfiltered bliss; furrowed brows, eyes squeezed shut, round cheeks glistening with tears, and pretty mouth hanging open for that adorable catch of breath.

“Talk to Daddy or you won’t cum,” he coos menacingly.

“I–mmph! ...I’m--I’m very proud of myself.”

Ony rewards you with a wet kiss on the cheek, “See that, baby? Knew you could do it.”

Despite how humiliated you thought you’d feel for verbally celebrating yourself while having your guts rearranged, that previous warmth radiating in your chest before comes back tenfold. You are irrevocably in love with this man. Ony releases your jaw and lifts his broad chest from your back so he can sit comfortably on your upper thighs.

His dick remains sheathed inside your silken cunt, one hand placed securely on the small of your back while the other gently holds your nape. The moderate pressure allows room for breathing, yet is constrictive enough to heighten all your senses. He is actually going to ruin you.

And he does, switching from slow pace to an unrecognizable speed as he fucks you once again. Every buck of his hips leaves your ass cheeks rippling like waves against his pelvis, and there’s nowhere to run.

Every carefully calculated thrust has his fat tip mercilessly pummeling that special spot deep inside, causing an endless stream of pornographic moans to tumble from your plump lips. The cacophony of skin colliding and bed-creaking that fills the air would shy you away, but you’re too hypnotized by the pulse and curve of Ony’s cock to care.

“S-Shittt... aww fuck yes! Fuck me, Daddy pleaseee,” You are now reduced to a sobbing mess, mewling anything that comes to the top of your head. Exactly how Ony likes it: when you finally let go and come back to him–to yourself, where you belong. And he’s falling apart just as fast, unable to keep himself from fixating on your unraveling state. He won’t even blink until you milk him for all he’s worth.

“Ooouuu shit--” Ony’s deep moan reverberates through you.

“Pussy so dangerous, ma. You gon nut on this dick? Hm?”

Every following second he continues taunting you, your pussy pulses and pulses until the rest of your body grows taught. God flashes before your eyes when the coil in your tightening stomach snaps, instinctively squeezing out all of your juices until they splash on your fiance’s lower abdomen.

You cum fiercely with a silent scream. Such orgasmic compression around Ony’s dick is enough to make his hips still as hot ropes of cum paint your sensitive walls. He stays on top of you for a few more moments to come down from his high. Lo and behold, right before he gets off he hears soft snores humming from below him. He chuckles bewilderedly, and smiles lovingly at your slumbering state.

“About damn time.”

Nirvana (COMPLETED)

Your dating life is terrible. Your friends’ marriage is fantastic. Your career as a medic is doing great, though. But you weren’t happy. However, after one quick trip to the Mighty Rock Dojo, you stumble upon the most magnificent man you’ve ever met- the taijutsu master- Rock Lee.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4 

Chapter 5

Chapter 6 

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Summary: You and Lee navigate his injury’s recovery as a couple, while also getting acquainted with your family. When you both finally return to the dojo, the taijutsu community celebrates your reunion! Now that everything’s back to normal, you and Lee finally feel safe enough to fully surrender to each other.

Notes: slow burn fic, afab/fem/black chubby reader.

Warnings: 18+, cursing, use of the n-word, emotional angst, teeth-rotting fluff, smut: foreplay, dirty talk, cunnilingus, anal play, spanking, p-in-v penetration, orgasm portrayal, aftercare, more teeth-rotting fluff. Enjoy ;) [18+ ONLY: MINORS/NO AGE IN BIO=DO NOT INTERACT]

Word count: 8.1k

Masterlist

Previous Chapter

It is now two months since Lee’s injury. Two months of being on the receiving end compared to his lifetime of giving. Guy, Neji, and even Sasuke help with looking after the dojo, per your boyfriend’s request.

While they handle that, you start taking the domestic reins: occasionally cooking his meals, helping out with tidying his house, driving him places to run errands—all while he’s keeping your bills paid. And you know how hard it is for him. You know he still runs every morning to stay fit, you see how reluctant he gets about accepting help.

That’s why when he ultimately does, you celebrate him every time; whether it be an indulgent kiss on his cheek or a warm-baked dessert, you need Lee to remember how deserving he is of service. After everything he’s done for you and his community, you just want him to reap the same benefits.

While peacefully eating together in his dining room, you use the shared quiet to scheme.

How can I best take his mind off that injury?

How can I help him remember?

“Honey?” you ask sweetly.

Lee swallows the last remnants of his food before meeting your gaze, “Hm?”

“I got to meet your family,” you prompt while fiddling with your napkin.

“I think it’s about time you meet mine.”

Your man takes a sip of his orange juice, nodding his head to show he’s listening.

“Are you referring to your parents?”

“God, no,” You chortle ruefully.

“I have a best friend. Her name’s Bria.”

Lee shoots you an eager grin as he places his glass back on the table.

Only one person, huh?

She must be special.

“I’d love to meet her!” Lee affirms. “Just set the time and place.”

You sigh in relief, feeling your back rest against the chair.

-

After notifying Bria, she agrees to meet Lee–says she can’t wait to meet the man who’s gonna finally make her an auntie. Her words, not yours.

The three of you attend a local music festival adorned in colorful decor, vibrant business booths, devoted indie bands, and a bustling crowd of diverse people. You all sit together at a table bench eating lunch, conversing amongst yourselves about what you bought, which band you liked listening to, what foods you want to try.

And yet as sweet as Bria is when getting to know someone, her authenticity still slips through the cracks.

“Wait till I find me a man who beats niggas up for a living,” she declares.

Lee guffaws at her choice of wording as you sigh hopelessly with a knowing smile.

Before second-guessing what comes out of his mouth, Lee blurts, “Then get ready for life-altering injuries and long months of recovery.”

Even though he framed it as a light joke, the brief silence that follows reveals the jaded attitude underneath. Lee notices the concern in your gaze, but he slouches and ignores it.

“I mean,” Bria takes a sip of her fourth mimosa to clear her throat.

“Before homegirl met you, she had been looking after herself her whole life.”

Lee raises his eyes to meet Bria’s at the mention of you.

“But now? She has someone financially supporting her indefinitely. If you ask me, she has officially redeemed her taste in men.”

“Bria!” You whine, mortified and appreciative of her honesty.

Lee feels the heaviness in his chest gradually disperse after hearing the casual conviction in her wisdom.

Ah. This is why she’s special.

This is why she’s your family.

“Thanks Bria,” says Lee. “I’ll keep that in mind from now on.”

“You can thank me by—by linking me up with one of your rich taijutsu friends.”

Your man fails to restrain his giddy chuckle, imagining how Neji would adapt to such a personality.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“We should also see our way out of this festival,” you intervene, knowing how uninhibited Bria’s mouth gets when she’s tipsy.

“Yeah, it’s getting late,” Lee agrees.

A guttural groan escapes Bria’s lips before she downs the rest of her drink.

Drama queen.

“Cockblockas,” she complains dejectedly.

-

After buying takeout for the night, you and Lee get settled in his car. You turn to face your beloved from the driver’s seat.

“Dinner at my place?” 

The corner of Lee’s mouth tugs upward at the candied tone of your soft voice.

“Anything you want, sweetness.”

You start the car and look ahead, anything as a distraction from how quickly your smile’s growing.

After finally making it home, you both remove your shoes before stepping foot in the living room. 

“Today was really fun!” Admits Lee while setting up dinner on the couch table.

You place your Jordan 1s by the front door, “Me too! Bria can be a handful when she’s drunk.”

“Well, I’m glad I got to meet her at least once.”

You sit on the couch and pat on a spot for Lee to sit. As you both settle together, you bless your food and he uses a dining cloth to protect his shirt.

“What are we watching, beloved?” You ask.

Lee’s already searching through your monthly subscriptions. You chuckle to yourself.

Someone’s made himself at home.

“Enter The Dragon,” he decides.

You gently gasp, “I loved that movie as a teen!”

“Hmph,” Lee lowers your remote as he waits for the film to load.

“Guess we’re both lucky, then.”

While enjoying your shared dinner, you both sit through the cinematic rollercoaster of a tragic martial artist who restores his murdered family’s dignity and justice. You and Lee’s combined laughter, equally insightful comments, and quiet moments when your knees touch all inhabit the domestic intimacy you’ve both prayed for— consciously or not.

“I am beyond full,” Lee pats his belly while releasing a belch loud enough to exceed the TV’s volume.

“Fucking gross,” you groan teasingly.

A lazy grin embellishes his face, “Sorry, princess. You still love me though.”

And you won’t argue with that.

When the credits finally roll, you pause the film with your remote.. 

“Speaking of love,” you prompt. “There’s this song…”

Lee notices the hesitation in your lowering gaze, the way your lips curl into a narrow line. He places his free hand on your knee, caressing its defined curve.

“What’s got you going all quiet on me now?”

His presence is so undeniably disarming. You just can’t possibly assume he’d refuse this request. Your spirit knows why. 

“There’s this song I’ve always loved, a song I grew up with.”

“Mhmm?”

Your man keeps quiet, holding space for you to voice whatever your mind is trying to withhold from him.

“Will… will you dance with me to it?”

Lee blinks a couple times. 

“Like a… like a rave?”

“No, silly,” you chuckle tentatively. “Like a slow dance.”

As wonderful as that sounds, the constrictive feeling of his cast smothers the words in his mouth. You feel the apprehension radiating from his silence—from the way he frowns down at his injury, and place a gentle hand over the one on your knee.

“Your arm doesn’t bother me, honey. And it never will, alright?”

What if she doesn’t mean it?

Would I even mean it?

As lovely as your saccharine promise is, it isn't until you slowly lift his chin with your finger that his heart finally sees how much you mean it.

“Alright?” You reiterate, eyebrows furrowing together with reverent command.

I’m not giving up on you.

You matter too much.

Lee grabs your hand that holds his chin, and presses delicate kisses on your palm. While he’s more afraid than he’s willing to admit, he trusts you more than his own shame.

“What’s the song? I’ll play it on your TV.”

Your pretty face lights up at his decision to surrender, and that sight alone is all the “thank you” Lee will ever need.

“Greatest Love Of All by Whitney Houston!”

While your man uses your remote to search, you steadily push the couch table away from the big screen to make more room on the floor.

As soon as the first melody plays, you offer your hand and patiently wait for Lee to take it. He yelps when you pull him off his ass with a quickness, giggling cheekily at how he reorients himself.

You take a few steps toward him until he smells your tropical perfume, until he feels the warmth radiating from your body. Lee’s focus sharpens as he watches your calculated movements; you take his left arm and wrap it around your waist before gently placing your hands on each of his shoulders.

“Follow me as I follow the rhythm,” you instruct—voice low enough to reach his ears and reverberate down his spine.

Lee silently obeys as you both rock side to side with every step. He’s so focused on not fucking up the dance that he forgets to enjoy the steady beat of the ballad, he forgets to savor Houston’s angelic vocals. But when you pull him closer to rest your head on his chest, hearing you hum to such holy lyrics, his need for control evaporates instantly.

🎶I decided long ago🎶

🎶Never to walk in anyone’s shadows🎶

The music and the legacy it carries finally envelops his racing mind, and he tightens his hold on your waist until your tummy’s flush against his. Lee needs to feel as much of you as possible, in this sacred moment you invited him to share.

🎶No matter what they take from me🎶

🎶They can’t take away my dignity🎶

You lift your head to meet his gaze, and the way you look up at him— with that pure, unadulterated admiration, makes him want to fall to his knees for you.

“Remember what you told Bria after she mentioned dating a fighter?”

Your question snaps Lee out of his love-induced trance, “Y—Yeah.”

“It worries me,” you confess.

“Is there something I should know? Am I doing too—“

Your beloved leans his head against yours, immediately halting your self-questioning.

“If it weren’t for you,” his firm tone commands your attention. “Living with a broken elbow would’ve been a lot more unbearable than it already is. Sucks to admit, I know.”

“Why?”

“Because I hate when the love of my life sees me like this.”

You release a quiet exhale at his heartbreaking revelation before shutting your eyes to think.

How can I help him remember?

“When you first asked me out, I was weak too, no?” You prompt.

“I was in shambles: crying, sniffling, throwing up—“

Lee huffs out a laugh, “You were a mess.”

“Exactly! So what’s the difference now? Am I not allowed to be here for you like you were for me?”

Your boyfriend massages the smooth pudge of your waist with his free hand, and you lean into his tender movements.

“Of course not, angel,” he affirms, hypnotically tracing your lower back with his fingers.

“We’re in this together.”

You stand on your tippy toes, wordlessly asking for a kiss. And when his lips leisurely interlock with yours, he finally understands why you asked him to slow dance in the first place.

🎶Because the greatest love of all is happening to me🎶

🎶Learning to love yourself is the greatest love of all🎶

As the song concludes itself, you whine against Lee’s mouth at the moment ending so soon. Under the assumption of him wanting to sit out, you reluctantly break away from the kiss. He watches you with confused disappointment as to why you’re attempting distance. So he snatches you back into his secure grasp. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” He chides, playfully pinching at your back roll until you squeal and squirm in his hold. Your shrieks of laughter fill the air and his healing heart alike.

Yeah.

These next two months are a breeze.

-

Two months later—after four months of recovery, Lee finally returns to the dojo, and you return with him. The bell jingles as he opens the door for you. You’re not even granted the time to put on your slippers–-instantly surrounded by a crowd of students hugging your legs with shrieks of joy and urgent questions.

“Where have you been?!”

“We got you presents!!”

“Are you staying for good?”

So many children were talking to you all at once, you just couldn’t keep up. Lee smiles endearingly at the way you hold them, despite how overwhelmed you are by their spontaneous bouts of affection. In some way, shape, or form, you’ve healed every single one of them. Kids never forget that.

“One question at a time, my loves!” You plead tentatively. 

Lee decides it’s time to go into sensei-mode and wordlessly summons the students to return to the mat. When you step inside your office, a bunch of flowers, gifts, and new medical supplies decorate the space. You drop your purse and cover your mouth, feeling your nose sting with incoming tears.

I just came back to this place.

Don’t go crying on me already.

“We can help you make room if you need.”

You jolt at the voice behind you and turn to find Sasuke and—

…Obito???

“Wha—“ your eyes almost bulge out of your sockets.

“You! How did you end up here??”

Obito scratches his head with a nervous chuckle, “Long story short, Sensei-Lee let me train here.”

After Madara’s career-ending loss, Obito finally reflected on his teacher’s abusive tendencies and decided to cut all ties with him. While Lee was hospitalized, the teen gave him a visit and bowed his head--humbly begging to join his dojo and learn his ways. Even though he expected total rejection, Lee warmly accepted him under the condition that he stay devoted to taijutsu philosophy.

You find your jaw dropping--not out of disdain, you’re just utterly moved by such courage. You rest a welcoming hand on each student’s shoulder.

“Welp, this office ain’t gonna clean itself!”

While the young men help you reorganize your space, you listen to the enthusiasm in Lee’s booming voice echo from the other side of the room, and the students eagerly reciprocate his energy. It lightens up your whole body, the sounds of shared joy.

During the rearrangements, you quietly notice Obito and Sasuke’s blooming friendship; the way they make everything a competition— from who can store supplies the quickest to bickering about their tournament fight. You can feel the growing respect beneath their rivalry. After finishing up, you show the boys gratitude for their collaborative effort and escort them out of your office.

But before you can shut the door, Sasuke holds it open with his hand.

“Thanks, Miss. For everything.”

The quiet sincerity lacing his warm timbre leaves you briefly speechless, but he walks off before you can properly respond. So you sit behind your desk and peacefully wait for any patient in need.

While the students are on meditation break, Lee sits by his front desk with Might Guy. He skims through his appointment book of private training lessons, until Guy interrupts his train of thought.

“I’m going to have a chat with your future wife,” declares the elder.

Lee’s cheeks go up in flames as the image of you in a white wedding dress claims his vision. 

We’ve been together no more than half a year.

We haven’t even talked about marriage yet.

But…

I already want to see you walk down the aisle.

Toward me.

The young master recuperates himself and clears his throat, “Try not to say that in front of her, please.”

“I’ll try my best,” Guy promises.

You devour a leftover breakfast sandwich while watching YouTube on your laptop, until a few sharp knocks beckon your attention.

“Come right in!”

Guy rolls his way into your office before shutting the door.

What a delightful surprise!

After swallowing the rest of your food, you pause the video and fold your arms.

“The last time a man that wasn’t Lee came in here, it didn’t end well,” you warn in jest.

Guy bellows a fleeting cackle, “And it better stay that way!”

You close your computer and clear some space before folding your hands on the wooden surface.

“So what brings you here, sir?”

Guy closes the distance until he’s right in front of your desk.

“Please drop the formalities. I know you’re family.”

His casual recognition of your importance feels like the first ray of light initiating sunrise: warm and inevitable. You can’t hide the shy smile spreading your lips.

“I feel like we haven't been properly acquainted yet,” Guy starts.

You unravel your hands, “The feeling’s mutual! And is also why I’d like to thank you for keeping my head in the game when Lee… y’know—“

“Got his elbow snapped in two? I wouldn’t be doing my job right if I hadn’t.” 

“…Yep,” you confirm warily.

Will I ever have a filter as non-existent as Guy’s?

The master decides to cut to the chase so no one’s time is wasted.

“I’m not sure if Lee’s shared this with you, but before you two met he hadn’t known a love that was faithful,” he confesses.

Your heart sinks to your stomach at what he’s referencing. There’s a shift in the air, a heaviness to the elder’s words that urge you to listen quietly.

“He’s not the man he used to be. I know he can handle himself.”

Guy recognizes the caution in your gaze, as if you’re subconsciously bracing for something. However, he refuses to not have this conversation with you—no matter how awkward it gets. The master leans forward so that you witness the long decades of hard-earned wisdom behind his eyes.

“But can you handle yourself in regard to loving my boy? Can I trust that you won’t betray yourself by betraying him?”

These questions unlock something in you; all the times you’ve been disregarded, all the times you’ve been let down, abandoned, and forsaken come rising to the surface of your expanding mind. But they don’t come in paralyzing resentment--they come in stark clarity. For just a fleeting moment, you imagine making Lee feel the same way Shikamaru did when he left you for someone else.

I’d rather die.

Your hands squeeze into fists, blazing determination surging through your veins.

“Your son’s heart is safe with me. I swear on my life.”

Your unwavering voice settles Guy’s spirit. He feels the unflinching truth radiating from your stare and leans back against his wheelchair with a conclusive smile.

“Then we’re going to have a good ol’ time!” He celebrates.

“Yayyy!” You cheer, laughing out any lingering tension from your chest. You’re forever grateful that the person Lee trusts the most is learning to trust you.

A few more hours pass until Lee finishes his final class. After folding his mat, he feels tempted to ask what you and Guy discussed. But when a tinge of guilt pulls on his heart strings, he pauses.

Sensei spoke to her privately for a reason.

I must respect that.

The young master takes a deep breath and carries the mat into the storage room.

While putting on your street shoes, Lee approaches you. You look up at his crooked smile and the sight makes you swoon.

“Are we still on for horror movie night?” He checks.

“Hell yeah!” You confirm, too eager to hide how much you cherish his time.

-

It’s 9:45 pm: you and Lee sit together on his living room couch watching the final scenes of Ari Aster’s Midsommar. You’re both on edge for what’s next--mildly traumatized too, but your shared knack for humor lightens the heaviness of every shot. 

You hold onto Lee, burying your face behind his shoulder when witnessing Dani’s drugged up boyfriend get burned alive in a bear suit. Your own boyfriend has his eyes on the screen, but he’s too busy enjoying how clingy you get when frightened.

“Woah…” Lee stares in awe at Dani’s unhinged smile right before the screen cuts to credit rolling.

“What a superb performance,” he commends.

“Is it over yet?” 

You feel Lee’s shoulder shake with laughter at your timid inquiry.

“Yes, my love. It’s over.”

You sigh with relief and melt against the couch cushions, damn near drained from watching such an emotionally heavy film.

“Did you at least enjoy it?”

You stare up at the ceiling in deep thought to process his question.

“The cinematography is gorgeous and the acting is as good as you deem it,” you begin.

“Butttt this may be the last time I watch it.”

Lee snorts at your flat delivery because he knows you mean every word.

Experiencing this side of you—easily scared and adorably pliant, feels like discovering a part of his home he didn’t know existed. Every intimate layer of yourself you choose to share with him makes every heartbreak he’s endured worth the pain.

“That’s okay,” your man affirms. “We have whole categories of film at our fingertips.”

“No more horror for the night,” you grumble exhaustedly.

Lee’s reactive chuckle sounds like honey this up close, and it feels nothing short of private. You’d listen to him like this for hours.

He looks down at you, nibbling on his bottom lip.

Should I ask her?

Should I give it a try?

Your eyes crack open and notice this strange look in Lee’s gaze, you feel the longing radiate from it.

“What is it, baby?”

Lee snaps out of his hesitation at the worry lacing your question.

“Oh! Uhhh…”

Your man takes a deep breath as you look up at him with quiet patience.

If I’m gonna marry you, then we need to know each other a bit deeper.

“I want us to try something,” he confesses.

You blink a couple times, “Try what?”

“Relationships thrive on healthy communication," he prompts.

"And because of that, I don’t wanna guess what you’re thinking or assume what you need from me.”

“Mhmm,” you agree.

“I’d... I'd like us to try this exercise where we take note of each other’s boundaries by asking questions. For example: What makes you feel the most loved? What makes you feel unsafe? Y’know, stuff like that.”

You sit up and straighten your posture, the gravity of his request urging you to mirror his investment.

“And we take notes so that we’ll remember?”

“Correct,” Lee confirms.

Damn.

He’s really trying.

Harder than any man I’ve known.

You eagerly nod your head with an awestruck grin, “Let’s do it!”

The dormant warmth in Lee’s chest blooms into something euphoric enough to make him snag both of your phones from the couch table. He hands you yours, and you both take time accessing your document spaces.

“Can I go first?” 

“Of course you can,” he assures.

“Okay,” you avert your gaze to the small screen in your hand. 

“What are your main deal breakers?”

Lee doesn’t miss a single beat, “Infidelity, lying, and violence of any kind.”

“Same here.”

Lee watches you sit in a cross-legged position before continuing.

“How do you feel the most loved?”

Your man rests his arm across the couch’s back, eyes wandering in considerate thought. He thinks about all the things he couldn’t experience with Tenten, and even more so about what he can finally explore with you.

“Through the little things,” he starts.

“Like listening intently when I’m talking. Asking how my day went… Slow dancing.”

A smitten giggle disrupts your progress before you can hold it in.

“How do you handle fights or disagreements?”

“I like using ‘I’ statements to avoid imposing inaccurate narratives.”

You slowly nod with subtle approval.

Shika was never this mindful.

Never this attentive.

But how far is Lee willing to go?

Just how deep is he willing to dig?

All of Lee’s answers sound as perfect as your questions. And yet something is missing. Something you must know must come to light. After taking a deep breath, you exhale any lingering hesitance from holding you back.

“Do you have a therapist?”

“…” 

Lee shuts his eyes to brace himself.

I have to be honest.

She deserves that.

The eerily stoic look on your man’s face uneases you, but your thumbs stay hovered over your screen.

“I do have a therapist,” he begins.

“But I haven’t had a session since the tournament.”

You place your phone on your lap, letting his answer marinate in your head. You won’t guilt him for it. You won’t even ask him why. But you will protect yourself.

“If we’re going to continue this relationship, then you need to take therapy,” you gently assert. 

“If I’m the only one attending sessions, then it’s not gonna work out.”

The mere idea of losing you—especially due to his own ego, urges Lee to vomit in his mouth. But he swallows it all down because he knows this heavy boundary comes from a place of love.

“I’ll schedule the soonest session there is,” he promises, reaching to interlock his fingers with yours.

You give his hand a couple squeezes, letting him know that you know he means it.

“Good. You wanna ask the questions this time?”

“Hell yeah!”

You chuckle at his enthusiasm this late into the night. He reactivates his phone while you place yours on the couch table.

“What makes you feel unsafe?”

“Yelling, gaslighting,” you use your fingers to keep track.

“...Being ignored.”

Lee types your answers with a soft scowl, knowing damn well that you had to experience these offenses to name them out loud.

“What makes you feel the most loved?”

For some reason this question takes more time to respond. Your fingers tap on each knee as you let the answers arrive on their own.

“Calling me petnames, thoughtful gifts, physical affection.”

“Elaborate on physical affection,” he insists. “How do you like to be touched?”

“Uhh…” you fall silent as intimate thoughts flash across your mind.

I want to be seen.

“S—Stuff like holding hands, cuddling, and…”

You muster the courage to finally meet Lee’s unwavering gaze, and something about it says: It’s just us. We have all night.

I want to be craved.

“And m—making love.”

Your man pays the growing meekness in your tone no mind, “And how do you want to be made love to?”

I want to be worshiped.

You close your thighs while shifting in your seat and Lee notices. He notices everything. So when he finds you struggling to speak, when he finds you squirming amid the cushions, he puts away his phone and scoots close enough for you to smell his expensive cologne.

His arm resting on the couch’s back feels like it’s trapping you in his heat and your breath starts to shallow with need.

“How should I make love to you, flower?”

His deep, lowered tone makes you whip your head to the side. But your boyfriend is having none of that and gently grabs your jaw so you can face him. That piercing stare of his–blazing lust caged by casual self-restraint, simply makes your pussy cry. 

“What does my angel want, hm?”

Fuck.

And that’s when it hits you: the realization that you can no longer hide your pleasure or longing from him. This throbbing ache between your legs intensifies with every passing moment, no matter how tightly you keep them shut. 

“I can show you better than I can tell you.”

Lee’s eyes widen at your new bout of confidence and rewards you with the sexiest smile you’ve ever witnessed.

“Then show me.”

Without thinking you crash your lips onto Lee’s, letting his minty breath capture your senses. His feverish groan slips into the kiss because it feels different this time--this sense of urgency, like there’s more to come between you than this heated moment. 

The second Lee seamlessly slips his hot tongue into your mouth, your body responds before your mind can--swinging a leg over and straddling his thighs. They’re so thick and sturdy to sit on. Your man’s hands travel down your back until they settle on the pudge of your hips.

“Lower,” you plead between kisses.

His strong, calloused fingers grab greedy handfuls of your ass in a way that curls your toes—kneading and squeezing each cheek with generous reverence. All these sensations; his skillful mouth, his firm hands, how his solid body anchors your unraveling state--they dissolve the last iota of inhibition you cling to. You haven’t been properly taken by a man in years. There’s no going back now.

You grind down on his denim-clad crotch at a growingly fervent pace, anything to assuage the burning arousal inside you. His bulge massages your clothed clit just right with every desperate hump, and a sharp whine pours from your lips. Lee drinks up the sweet sound like water, taking everything you give him while memorizing how delectable your plush thighs feel trapping him.

He feels your hips getting sloppy as they speed up, he feels your breaths getting heavier, listens to the pleasure elevating your voice’s pitch.

She’s trying to cum.

And I want her to.

But not like this.

Lee abruptly lifts you off his dick and withstands your frustrated cries.

“Shit!” You keen.

“Let’s take this upstairs, ‘kay princess?”

Lee coos at your pitiful whimpers, at how you tremble in his arms while he carries you to the staircase leading to his main bedroom.

As he walks up the steps, you dig your nose in the crook of his neck and take a deep whiff of his luxurious scent. 

He smells too good...

…I need more!

Lee feels you litter a trail of wet, open-mouthed kisses across the sensitive skin and he smirks to himself at your impassioned state. But when you start sucking a hickey on his pulse? And shamelessly moan at the taste of him? All Lee can do is ignore the painful tightening in his jeans until you’re on that bed.

Your man shuts the door behind him before carefully placing you on his king-sized mattress. Your hands sink into the soft comforter while visually taking in Lee’s most intimate space. The room is unsurprisingly well-organized with just enough personalization to make it lived in. You lean on your elbows and watch Lee drag an armchair to the foot of the bed.

He sits in front of you and manspreads across the seat.

“So how do you want to be taken, my love?”

Although he’s repeated this question several times, that doesn’t make it any less difficult to answer. You swallow the lingering spit in your mouth.

“Uhm—you know,” he watches your eyes wandering again.

“Look, I’m sure you’re a very experienced partner.”

Lee sighs at your attempt to deflect his inquiry.

“I am very experienced,” he leans forward to rest his elbows on each knee.

“But I can’t fuck you the way you deserve unless you talk to me.”

You nibble on your bottom lip, shutting your eyes to process the gravity of his insistence. You know he’s not trying to embarrass you. But his gaze is just too powerful to consciously embrace. The urge to cower from that unshakeable conviction is undeniable.

But I can’t run from him anymore.

And I don’t want to.

“I—I want,” you take a deep breath when the nerves threaten to silence you.

“I want you to eat my pussy. From the back.”

Despite his unbearable boner begging for relief at your words, Lee can’t help but reward you with a warm grin.

“Good girl. I know that was hard,” he praises.

“Let’s get you out of these clothes, yeah?”

You waste no time and shrug off your crop top. Your beloved assists you, hooking his fingers under the band of your shorts and pulling them off. 

You finish unclasping your bra until you notice him ogling at your crimson thong, the way it clings to your hips. He slips off the lacy red fabric before shamelessly tucking it in his back pocket. Your jaw drops.

“You perv!”

Lee sniggers at your bashful scolding, “Get on all fours for me, gorgeous.”

Your body responds to his gentle command with a quickness. You’re on your hands and knees, inwardly grateful that he can’t see you cringing with mortification.

I forgot to shave!

What if a pube gets in his mouth?!

What if I smell—

Lee presses a heavy hand on the small of your back, forming a deep arch so that everything is on display. You gasp at the weight of his palm, the heat of his skin. Your man scoots his chair towards you as closely as possible—making sure he enjoys this meal to the absolute fullest.

God, he doesn’t even know where to start with you. All he knows is that every single inch of you will be tended to by the end of this night.

He begins by letting his hands traverse your calves, watching you flinch at the languid movements. He elevates his focus and massages the fat of your thighs, hypnotized by the silky skin molding under his touch.

And how could he forget your sopping pussy? How could he miss the way your brown, puffy folds glisten with sticky fluid? 

“You’re a damn work of art, you know that?”

His tone is teasing but he means every word, your lack of response is proof enough. But he doesn’t need you to speak–-he just needs you to feel.

Lee leans forward to press searing chaste kisses across the supple flesh of your ass. Every sensual peck of his lips leave a blooming trail of goosebumps. He buries his nose in your pubic hair and deeply inhales your scent. He takes another sniff. 

And another.

And another.

So this is what she smells like.

You hide your face in the comforter at the sound of him smelling you. Lee carefully pries your lips apart for a better view of your cunt; the delicate, glistening pink opening contracting with primal need and your boyfriend swoons at the sight.

“So fucking pretty,” he murmurs to himself.

And so fucking mine.

He drinks up your arousal, eyes rolling to the back of his skull at the viscous texture of your nectar. You’re on the verge of demanding him to hurry the hell up. That is, until he plants featherlight kisses on the hood of your engorged clit. He’s so soft to the touch but it’s more than enough to ignite every nerve ending in your body.

And when he finally licks a long, fat stripe from the top of your vulva to the base of your entrance? You are gone. Lee moans into you as your dainty folds grace his taste buds. His mouth is glued to your pussy, lapping up any juices leaking from your entrance. He hears your trembling breaths quicken and it sears into his brain.

“Oh fuck,” you squeal, irrevocably haunted by a pleasure you didn’t know you were capable of feeling.

He takes his time ravaging you; that skilled tongue switching from slow, deliberate licks to light, spontaneous flicks has your legs already shaking. Loud slurping noises from his diligent mouth resonate through the room’s thickening air. He’s even audacious enough to tease your puckered anal ring with the swirl of his tongue. Where’d he learn that move? 

“B—Baby, wait. Please,” you whimper, morbidly aware of how embarrassingly close you are to cumming. 

You retract your hips to assuage his onslaught of ministrations, but he spanks your left cheek with a sharp palm and snatches you right back into his mouth. In a bout of panic, you grab the nearest pillow to bite into and stifle how pathetically pornographic your moans are.

Lee runs his dull nails over the skin of your soft tummy. When he starts tweaking your nipples until they pebble, your hips move on their own and buck uncontrollably against him. Your man groans to egg you on before dipping his tongue all the way down and inside you.

The sudden stretch combined with his thumb relentlessly rubbing your clit douses you in a soul-shattering orgasm, putting every single one of your past partners to shame. Lee has to hold down your spasming form as the pillow muffles your wanton screams. 

That’s it, flower. Take it.

Take everything.

You never intended to gush in his mouth so quickly, but you have no complaints. And as much as Lee wanted to see your face fall apart, hearing you sing so lewdly for him makes up for all that he missed. When you can truly take no more, his lips release your clit with a vulgar “pop”. Your beloved coos at how adorably the swollen bud twitches from faint aftershocks.

While taking a breather, you’re too out of it to notice your beloved undressing. So when you turn to rest on your elbows, you gape at him standing in all his statuesque glory—even if you’ve seen it before. His fingers skillfully tear off a condom wrap before rolling the latex down to the base of his thick girth. What’s left uncovered are his heavy balls.

To cope with how much you need him, you jest “You’re not a one-pump-chump are you?”

Lee huffs a dark chuckle that makes your knees slowly fall open.

“Don’t test me, princess.”

You grin at his playful warning before patting on an empty spot beside you. Lee registers the signal and obeys immediately, leisurely climbing the bed. He snags some pillows and carefully tucks one under your head.

You both face each other, horny and in love. You don’t hide how nervous you are, how your body starts to curl in on itself. And Lee doesn’t hide how happy he is, caressing your face with his knuckles. You scoot closer to him and run your fingers through his black tresses, memorizing the contours of his forehead, his baby hairs, and bushy brows. 

He looks even prettier without all that hair in his face.

“I hope I’m the man you’ve been waiting for,” Lee whispers mesmerically.

Because you’re the woman I didn’t even know I was dreaming of.

You trace the edge of his jawline before slowly kissing him, the only way you can respond to such touching words. You throw a tentative leg over his hip, and he wraps a firm arm around your waist to pull you flush against him. The combined skin-to-skin heat is nothing short of electric.

Your toes trace the curve of Lee’s foot up to his lower calf, claiming any canvas of living power you can reach.

You heave lecherously as his leg nudges between your thighs, feeling the toned muscle beneath his smooth skin flex against your bare cunt. You mindlessly hump him to chase the friction. He feels your wetness coating him, your fingers grasping onto his neck and the last of his chipping restraint is too alarming to ignore.

“How should I prep you?” He queries between kisses.

“Don’t need it,” you demand meekly. “Need you inside me.”

“Awww,” Lee kisses his teeth. “You can beg better than that.”

“Please fuck me, Sensei.”

The way you whine those words. The way you call him that name. The way you look like you’re about to cry if he doesn’t split you in half. It is the last straw, his final resolve melting into sweet nothingness.

Lee holds your leg up for more access while you bury your face in the crook of his shoulder—already accustomed to the carnal peace his scent brings you. Lee feels you jolt when the leaking head of his cock prods at your entrance.

Oh, God.

This is really happening.

“Just breathe, baby,” he reassures. “Relax for me.”

His flush-red tip swipes at your clit deliciously, you can’t help but grind against it for more. Lee takes this as a sign that your body’s truly ready for him and proceeds accordingly.

The bulbous head slowly pushes through your entrance and your eyes bulge out of your sockets at the stretch. You’re already mewling and Lee coos at you with tempered adoration. You place a hand on his chest but hold him close, ready to push if the sensation is too sharp.

Yet as soon as you manage to swallow his head, a devastated gasp rips its way through you.

“Fucking Christ,” you hurriedly hook your arm underneath his shoulder for support.

Lee feels your nails sink into his skin, and the sting drives him to lower your thigh over his hip, it drives him to massage the dip in your waist and litter kisses across your collar bone. And he doesn’t move an inch, accepting your current limit for what it is until your body says otherwise. 

He even pops a tit in his mouth, grumbling voraciously at how the supple mound graces his tongue. He greedily laps at your budding nipple—teasing it with his teeth. He’s so caught up in your softness, but still manages to notice your hips twitching for movement.

So Lee gives you more: languidly sliding a larger fraction of his length inside you and he can’t help but hiss at how your velvet walls swallow him in. He hears you struggle to slow down your labored breaths.

“You okay, flower?”

God, he’s too fucking thick!

Is he even halfway in?!

“…Y—Yeah, m’good,” even though you don’t sound too convincing, your body is in no shape to lie anyway.

Every pulsing vein, every twitch of his cock, it’s stretching your poor cunt to her absolute limit—and Lee can only pray that he’s doing right by you. He prays with every suck, every rub, every word he whispers in your ear.

This is as relaxed as she’s gonna get.

I’m not fucking this up.

When your beloved feels your hips moving again, he wastes no time and sheathes the rest of his dick inside until your pelvises finally collide. The most anguished, primal sound of need escaping your lips is nothing short of unforgettable. You are so full, so claimed, so ravaged and he hasn’t even fucked you yet.

But you continue breathing just like he told you to, even if you feel like you’re going to combust at any moment.

“I know, sweetness,” Lee purrs hoarsely at your pitiful cries. “I know.”

You both hold each other in silence while he’s balls-deep in you. The stretch comes with a dull burn—which explains your trembling form, but it isn’t unbearable. In fact, the longer you sit with it the more at home his heftiness feels. 

All it takes is your clit brushing against him for you to start writhing and sounding like sin. Lee hooks a tactful arm under your knee and lifts it toward him so you can’t escape his movements. Your lover pulls his dick back until the tip teases your silken entrance once more.

The first thrust hits you like a shockwave, such controlled force forming a bulge in your lower tummy. He’s just testing the waters yet you’re already loud, panting, and utterly paralyzed. Your mind draws blanks, pliant body thrashing helplessly in his loving embrace. Every thoughtful, unhurried drive of his hips fucks a high-pitched moan out of you–a byproduct of his tireless commitment.

“You’re doing so good f’me—fuck,” Lee praises through labored breaths.

Your beloved whispers sweet nothings at the sound of your sniffles, kissing away any tears that roll down your cheeks. 

If you had to be more honest than you’ve ever been in your entire life, then sharing this moment with this man is all you’ve ever really wanted. Your pride will say otherwise, it’ll say you should want more from existence. But this is a part of your existence, and it stayed dormant–protected–until someone worthy enough could witness it.

The same goes for Lee; you have officially ruined him for everybody else. He’s never going to cherish another soul as deeply as yours. And even though you know he’s ultimately just some guy, you feel like a god is making love to you.

You open your mouth to verbalize how overjoyed you are, but you keep choking on words. So Lee shushes your disoriented babbling.

“Shhh–just feel it, angel,” he drags his lips down the side of your neck and leaves a trail of sloppy kisses over your shoulder. “Just feel it.”

And you do, relishing the way his chiseled abs flex with every lunge. So when you start fucking him back? When you decide to meet his increasingly fervent thrusts halfway, despite how unraveled you are? It drives Sensei into a deeper meditative state–the kind born from pure, animalistic devotion. Like he’s spiraling in you, and he’s bringing you with him.

Abandoning all semblance of restraint, Lee hurriedly pushes you on your back and you yelp at the sudden switch in position: your hips now encased between his strong thighs, your legs hooked over his shoulders, knees pressed against your boobs as his body eclipses you upon the mattress–all so nothing will stop him from giving you everything he has.

His hefty hips mercilessly buck into yours, a wet ‘pap, pap, pap’ echoing through the room every second he hammers his dick inside you. As loud as the creaking bed or shared squelching noises are, it’s your debauched sobs alone tethering Lee to his dwindling sanity. You hold onto his nape for dear life as he fucks you with uninhibited speed, your tits bouncing up and down from the power of each immobilizing thrust.

Lee presses his forehead against yours, his moans growing more desperate and louder by the minute. 

“Cum with me,” he whispers raggedly. It sounds like a command and humble plea all at once.

You go quiet when the orgasm seizes you, eyes squeezed shut and mouth hung open as your belly tightens with release. Your man bellows a raspy wail so beautiful, so haunting that the sound reverberates through your bones–permeating your muscle memory. You feel him twitching inside you as large spurts of cum soil the rubber for all it’s worth. 

Lee’s movements steadily slow to a stop, and you both catch your breaths through the final waves of ecstasy. When he finally garners the strength to raise his head from your embrace, you’re already asleep–quiet snores wheezing from your mouth.

He blissfully sighs with a tired grin before carefully untangling himself off of you. Your beloved slowly pulls out and silently pads his way to a private bathroom, disposing of the used condom before washing his hands.

Lee returns to you with a damp hand towel, gently wiping away any lingering sweat and discharge without waking you up. When he deems you clean enough, he activates the air conditioning and switches off all lights before joining you in slumber.

“Sweet dreams, my love.”

-

It’s the morning after your heated night together. The sun rays shine through vintage windows, cascading your deep complexion with silken warmth. You turn to avoid the light, burying your face in the pillows. Before you could fully slip back into sleep, you feel a dip in the mattress behind you. 

You flinch when soft lips peck your shoulder.

“Good morning, flower.”

Lee’s deep morning voice stirs that familiar heat in you, but you simply groan in response to your disrupted rest.

“I made breakfast,” he coos.

Your boyfriend’s tantalizing bargain makes you turn to face him, and he laughs at how easily tempted you are by food. He decides to lay beside you, watching how your eyes squint at the luminous space before zeroing in on him; he’s shirtless, just rocking some simple briefs that look so effortlessly hot on him.

“Hi,” you greet with a sleepy grin.

“Hey, baby,” his own smile is wider and giddier. ”Did you enjoy last night?”  

You sigh as the memories crash down on you like a waterfall. You shake your head in disbelief.

“I could’ve died happy.”

Lee chuckles at your honesty, because he feels the same way.

“Me too. You’re such a delight, y’know that?”

You nibble on your bottom lip at his unabashed affection, shyly nodding your head in agreement.

Lee inhales deeply, processing how to articulate the confession sitting at the tip of his tongue.

“...I dreamt of you during my coma.”

Your eyes widen at his revelation, at the recollection of that tournament and what it put his body through.

“What did I do in the dream?”

Lee hums as those past images claim his vision.

“You sat in this flower garden, wearing a pretty white dress. You watered the plants.”

Something warm in your chest swells at the tenderness behind his words.

“Wanna tell me all about it during breakfast?” 

Lee reaches to caress your cheek with his thumb, “I’d love to.”

Since your washed clothes are spinning in a dryer, you adorn yourself with one of Lee’s satin robes. You both head downstairs, basking in the delicious aroma of his homemade meal.

Author's Note: Damn, I actually finished this series. I've been working on this passion project for two years, since my junior year of high school. I didn't know exactly how this story would unfold, I just let the God within show me as I wrote. Nirvana is how I alchemized my pain, longing, and joy for literature. Thank you to everyone who's supported and/or read this fic, and I am even more grateful if you've made it this far. I hope I can make at least one person feel the way my favorite authors have made me feel. Our patience has finally been rewarded! :3

this is kinda sad (;

You wake you and look at your side and you see your boyfriend isn't there you call out for him.. No response, you call out again.. Nothing you start to think about what happened the other night you remember that y'all got into an argument because you notice that he was getting distant and short with you and staying out for long periods of times. He comes home at 4:16 am he comes through the door trying to stay quiet, you ask “ where have you been why have you been out so late” as he looks at you with this look in his eyes you feel scared? He says nothing and just walks past you into the shared bed room so you ask again ‘ where have you been!? “ As you yell at him and says “nun of your business” still facing away from you walking to the bedroom you start to feel something in your heart.. Pain? You think to yourself. You still try to get an answer he just won't respond to you once you enter the bedroom you just watch as he undress and goes to take a shower you look over and see on his night stand you see his phone if you remember correctly his password is the day you two met 112317 typing into the phone… “try again” it says he changed his password and your heart drops looking over towards the bathroom door. You start to cry asking why, why is this happening, the love of your life dying and coming to an end. it hurts…. It hurts a lot thinking of what went wrong and just why . Did he find someone else? Does find you ugly you guys have been dating for 4 years. you remember seeing him of some type of field when you went on you daily walks you really didn't pay him no mind until he came up to you not saying anything, he shows you his phone its the phone number pad you look back and forth him the phone and him again you take the phone and put in your number then walked off going on about your day. As your walking your thinking that he's kinda cute but weird but you brush it off and went about your day later when your about the take a shower and go to bed you get a text

??: hey 

You: umm whos this??

??: the guy from the park

You:oh hey what's your name??

??: you want to know my name?

You:yes what kind of question is that?

??:..

You: are you goin to tell me or you can get out of my phone

??: its Jean,what's your name

You: its y/n

Jean:thats purtty

You:thank you your name is a name 

Jean:uhh ok 

You: ok gn

Jean: damn just like that

                                                      You didn't respond

How did something fun and innocent become hate when you first started to notice the change? He wasn't talking to you that much then he stopped hugging you,kissing you good morning and good night. When you try to joke with him he just looks at you and then goes to the other room you thought that he was probably just tired but he never did that before. Then it started coming home late and drunk, then getting annoyed with you, the slamming doors and the angry texts. One time when he came home you tried to hug him you smelled perfume but before you said anything he pushed you off and went into the bedroom. You didn't want to believe it but you knew it was true so you waited and waited for him to break up with you but he never did so you kept shut.He comes out the bathroom he sees that you have his phone in your hand he snatched it out your hand and yells  “ WHAT TF IS YOU DOING” You say nothing just looking at him with tears in your eyes thinking who is this man you onced loved and cared for when he was sick or when he was hurt you was always there for him and he was there for you but not anymore its one sided. As you get up he grabs your arm and says “i said what the fuck are you doing” you cry harder and harder he lets go you fall down not able to get back up your heart hurts you never felt this before, still crying you get up and walk out the room walking into the living room onced filled with light and music yall would danced too, the tv blank as you stared at yourself head empty, you lay back slowly sliding down laying on the couch that you two brought together.slowly closing your eyes falling a sleep when you wake back you realized your in the bedroom looking over you see him sleeping.you just stared then falling back to sleep

Summary: After an abysmal day at work, you find solace in the dojo- only to be greeted by a charming stranger. Shikamaru has one last chance to fix his marriage. Will he finally lock in?

Notes: slow burn fic, afab/fem/black reader.

Warnings: cursing, light portrayal of suicidal ideation, depression, anxiety, angst, explicit sexual content, dry humping, petnames. [18+ ONLY: MINORS/NO AGE IN BIO=DO NOT INTERACT]

Word count: 5.3k

Masterlist

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Throughout the following weeks you go on a few more dates with Lee; to the movies, an art museum, and even a local manga store! You both share a love for shounen and shoujo. Outside such popular mediums, he introduced you to his favorite seinen series while you familiarized him with your favorite josei. You’re both hardcore suckers for romance/drama, the only difference being that you’re the hopeless one and Lee is hopeful.

Deep down, you know Lee can’t be the answer to all of your problems and he shouldn’t. But how can you remember that when he always opens doors for you and buys you orchids? When he carries you bridal style so you won’t have to climb the stairs? When he stares lovingly into your soul every time you speak to him?

And it’s not like you care too much to remember, considering that you’re busy enough gushing over the flowers Lee left for you at the dojo. Not many patients visited your office today, but that’s common sometimes. You decide to use it to your advantage and relax for the remainder of your stay.

You no longer let the commotion on the other side of the room disturb you--as a matter of fact, you enjoy hearing Lee’s powerful voice echo through the walls. It reminds you that he’s real, that he’s here.

Being at the dojo, in your office tucked beside the training rooms, is a complete 180 from the nauseating day you had at work: Ms. Fink had a tantrum that was provocative at best, you had to miss your break, and a long-time patient went clinically braindead under your care.

You have to constantly remind yourself that people’s failing health is never your fault, because if you don’t then you would’ve killed yourself a long time ago. So as soon as you made it to the dojo you rushed straight to your office and didn’t look back, having no energy to socialize.

Which probably explains the sinking, vacuous sensation in your chest you call shame. Slouching against your chair with a frown, your eyebrows softly scrunch together in distress. You throw your head back, staring up at the dull, lifeless rays of fluorescent lights.

Why does it always hafta be like this?

Why can’t I just take my own advice?

Your advice being to take responsibility for your own happiness, and yet happiness doesn’t even look like an option at your disposal right now. It’s so confusing. The way it comes and goes. But before you fall deeper into the rabbit hole of your despair, a couple of knocks on the door snap you back to the present.

Lee?

“Come in!” You chirp eagerly.

As the knob turns, you immediately shove your worries to the back of your head and straighten your posture. In your mind your arms are open, beyond ready to receive whatever priceless affection Lee has in store for you.

The person who enters is not only not Lee, but it’s a man you do not recognize.

The first thing you notice is his long, black, spiky tresses. A voluminous mane that covers his right eye while framing his sharp jawline beautifully. A black turtleneck shirt contours his broad shoulders, his sleeves rolled up to the very top of his toned and veiny forearms. A coffee colored pantsuit drapes impeccably around his sturdy legs. This man looks comfortable and powerful all at once.

When you finally meet his gaze, so potent with intent, the words you try to say eviscerate in your throat. The man’s lips curl in a subtle smirk at your stunned expression.

“My apologies for intruding,” the brooding timbre of his smooth voice urges you to shoot up from your seat.

“You can call me Madara.”

Madara closes the gap with long strides and extends his arm for a shake. He’s got to be at least 6 feet tall. You accept his well-mannered demeanor with a weak smile. His grip is not firm, but for some odd reason you believe he could crush your hand.

You give him your name. “What brings you to my office?”

“Let’s just say I’m an old friend of the former owner of this dojo.”

Former owner?

Madara reads the confusion on your face and clarifies.

“Rock Lee’s master, Might Guy. The notorious taijutsu veteran.”

Ah. Now that you think of it, Lee does talk about his master from time to time. He always spoke highly of him. But who is this man to Might Guy in particular?

“I see now!” You nod fervently, not really knowing what to do with yourself at the moment.

Madara turns his back to scan the room, taking in the practical minimalism of your space. He strolls by the nurse bed, hanging portraits of you and the dojo family, neatly placed medical supplies. And how could he fail to notice the boisterous bouquet of white lilies and lavender sitting on the corner of your desk?

“Usually when a miracle happens, people tend to make a spectacle of it. And if big enough, that spectacle creates buzz.”

You remain silent, slowly sitting back in your chair to process his point.

“How long have you been nursing here?” He pries.

“…No less than a few months.”

Madara hums amusingly, “Been here for that long and he still hasn’t paid you?”

You blink a few times with a concerned glare, “I volunteered to help. And how do you know about that?”

The man before you turns once again to meet your gaze, “Buzz, remember?”

More questions are bubbling up faster than you can process his answer.

Where exactly is this man getting my personal information?

Does he have connections inside the dojo?

Am I in-

“My apologies,” the man grabs the chair in front of your desk and takes a seat.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you so I’ll be more transparent.”

Polite as he is, the way his left eye effortlessly pierces through you while casually folding his legs has your knee jutting rapidly. He just looks so unbothered.

“I’ve seen the fruits of your medical treatment, we all have. Any establishment would be lucky to have you, so why waste your services where they aren’t being compensated?”

You feel your right eye twitch, completely dismayed by the fact that no one has ever asked you a question like this before. So why is he, of all people, the first person to do it?

Nursing is no doubt a stable and lucrative profession. Nursing allowed you to permanently move out of your parents’ house. It got you your own home, your own comfortable lifestyle, your own future, your own joy.

But does that mean you should continue overextending yourself at work and the dojo? Does that mean you should hold onto what no longer serves you simply because it always used to? Your palms begin perspiring at the thought.

“And what do you, of all people, suggest I do about that?”

Madara leans forward, “Simple. Work for me instead.”

You snigger ruefully, mentally preparing yourself to escort this man out of your office.

“I’ll pay you double what Lee’s students pay monthly to stay in his classes. You choose the hours and work on your own terms. As long as you treat my men.”

An enticed chuckle escapes Madara’s lips at your bewildered stare, wasting no time to reach for his front pocket. He pulls out a card and slides it on your desk.

“Call me when this place starts getting old, yeah?”

Your office door wrenches open, and the sight before you disperses all the air you didn’t know you kept in your lungs.

Eyes.

Big, mesmeric, sharp eyes are the first thing you notice.

Madara takes his time when he ascends from his seat, turning to face the taijutsu master himself.

Lee’s eerily silent when he meets Madara’s gaze. His eyebrows furrow in focus while staring menacingly at the spiky-haired man. Seeing you hurriedly storm off into your office earlier without acknowledging anyone was worrying enough.

But to watch Madara follow you not long after when he knows he’s only supposed to observe training with his students will never sit right with him. Lee’s gaze diverts to the white card on your desk. And when he finally looks at you-- sweet and radiant you, with that startled expression on your face, he feels his iron grip on the door knob loosen.

“Oh, Lee, we were just talking about you!” A delighted grin adorns Madara’s features as he rests his hands in his pockets. He strolls towards the door and stops where Lee stands.

“I’d say your pupils are more than ready for the upcoming tournament.”

Lee doesn’t reply, and instead side-eyes him with silent repulsion. Madara leisurely pads his way to the exit.

After your sensei shuts the door behind him, he turns to face you once more. God, he looks exquisite: Lee’s gi is looser around his chest, so you can see a peek of his glistening pecs. You love how they rise and fall as he tries to control his breath.

If you didn’t know how weak he is for you, you’d find the nearest window to jump out of considering how malignant he looks when upset. Either way you’re always happy to see him, no matter what emotional state he’s in.

“H--Hey!”

“What did he say to you?”

Something in his tone urges you to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

“He... he offered me a job at his dojo. Uhmm, is there something I should know?”

The master’s stomach muscles tighten as his eyes shut with disillusion.

Of fucking course. 

Lee sighs before taking a seat to level with you.

“Madara and my sensei were fierce rivals. They often sparred together back in their prime days. After the Great War, they both decided to compete in a national tournament. And after the battle ended, Guy Sensei could no longer walk.”

You look down at the white business card in a daze, failing to fathom the aftermath of that fateful fight. That same well-mannered, charming gentleman who was so concerned about your financial well-being, took Might Guy’s legs??

Lee's spine-chilling voice says your name in a way that drags you back to earth.

“That man is very dangerous. He has no interest in your personal needs, only what you can do for him.”

Lee scoots closer to your desk and rests his forearms on the surface, leaning closer to your face.

“If he ever contacts you again, I need you to tell me immediately. Do you understand?”

You nod affirmatively, taking note of his beauty despite the muted lights that shine dryly on his face; his chiseled jaw, the distinct bridge of his nose, his spotless skin, his perfectly trimmed hair, those little lashes that frame the roundness of his eyes, the bushiest brows you’ve ever seen, and those soft lips that slowly form a deeper frown than previously.

“Words, princess,” he commands.

“You got it, Sensei. I understand.”

Lee closes his eyes with a sigh, feeling his body decompress against the chair.

“Good... oh, and Amanda fell on her tailbone.”

-

Temari can’t stop thinking about what her husband said: “If you want a divorce, I’ll sign the papers.” He sounded like he barely cared, as if he didn't mind if she broke up with him. And that just won't do for her.

But he’s trying; he’s present for all of her doctor visits, never misses her calls unless he has a good reason to and still calls back to check on her. He doesn’t try to fuss with her when she voices a concern, although it’s challenging. He asks her on dates and movie nights but she declines every time, still upset about his pas tbehavior.

He chalks it up to her being stubborn, but she doesn’t open up to him like she used to. She doesn’t crack jokes anymore, especially the ones at Shika’s expense. Sometimes she silently scowls down at her wedding ring when she thinks he isn’t looking. She’s colder, more miserable. And it wasn’t just affecting her anymore.

“Never thought I’d be asking you for relationship advice.”

Shika lounges on his couch, sipping a can of beer while talking with Lee on the phone.

“Agreed! You must be desperate," Lee has his old friend on speaker while bandaging his hands for an upcoming spar.

Shika kisses his teeth at how enthusiastic yet unsurprised the fighter sounds. If he hadn’t known him for years he’d mistake his delighted attitude for enjoying his current misfortune.

“I uhm,” Shika shifts in his seat, as if the cushions beneath him will absorb his cowardice.

“…I’m doing everything I can. I have a therapist now, I make myself available, I cook her meals. I-I even go out of my way to plan dates-- that she always turns down, by the way.  It’s like she’s so… uninterested in me now.”

Lee pauses wrapping his knuckles and side-eyes his phone, “Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do?”

Shika’s eyebrows furrow in offended confusion. 

So I’m ‘supposed’ to grow gray hairs over this woman? 

“She seems mad at you. What did you do?” Lee probes.

“…I’ve been a shit husband.”

“How so?”

Shika grumbles under his breath.

“I was neglecting her. I ignored her calls, wasn’t talking, avoided spending time at home. I thought sex would be enough to shut her up about it.”

Lee’s eyes widen as he frowns in shock, bringing his phone to his ear as if he didn’t hear him correctly.

“And she hasn’t divorced you yet?”

“…Till death do us part?”

Lee raises a brow at his joke, “You can’t be serious.”

“If I’m not serious then why am I calling you?”

“That’s a great question, Shikamaru. Why are you calling me?”

“So that I can make it up to my wife before it’s too late.”

Despite the disappointment he has in his friend, Lee still registers the genuine dread rearing itself through every word. Shika squeezes the chilled can in his hand as his knee juts rapidly. It is now or never.

“I’ll do whatever it takes,” he begs shamelessly. “So help me out?”

Lee lounges against his seat and sighs hopelessly, already knowing what he’s getting himself into.

-

Hours have passed by when Shika finally hears the familiar jingle of keys unlocking the front door. He zooms his way there, making sure he’s ready to greet his lovely wife. After opening the door, the first thing Temari sees after a long, strenuous day is her low-down dirty husband sporting a chef apron. Whatever he’s cooking smells divine so she’ll let it slide.

“Hey baby. Let me hang up your coat.”

She kicks off her sneakers and places them neatly by another pair.

So he wants to put up the perfect spouse act now?

Nice try.

Temari arises and grips her sleeves, staring hopelessly at her man.

“Why did you marry me?”

Her question was so painfully clear, he could hear the pure grief in her warbled tone. He despises it.

“H--Hey, let me take off your coat first so you can get comfortable--“

“Answer me!” She cries.

Shika's eyes fill with dread when he sees the pain she’s fighting contort her face. He takes the time to fully process her question so that he doesn’t half-ass his answer, like Lee advised him not to.

“I… I married you cause you’re patient enough to understand me, and you’re understanding enough to be patient with me.”

Initially this sounds like bullshit to Temari’s ears, but when she also takes the time to process his answer she finds herself silent.

“You know me in a way that no one else can. But I took advantage of your earnestness, just like I did to my best friend.”

Shika will never forget the way he abandoned you, his childhood companion, his first love, his first heartbreak, the girl who held his hand at his father's funeral. If he hurt you that deeply--just to let down his current wife, then he really never was worth shit.

His wife lowers her head to the floor as she feels her eyes and nose begin to sting.

“Mari, I don’t want a divorce--I just knew that you probably wanted one instead. And that scares the shit out of me. But taking off your coat for you would be a good start. Don’t you think, sweetness?”

Shika’s wife feels a big sob rising and gasps a bit of air to choke it down. Shika’s gaze is laced with an overwhelming urge to just hold the woman before him, like how she’s done for the past five years.

This warmth that suddenly washes over Temari, how long has it been? Why can’t she remember the last time she felt this raw connection to her husband? Wordlessly, she turns around and grants him access to keep his word.

He gently hooks his fingers underneath the hem of her coat and drags, letting it slip off her shoulders. After hanging up her belongings, Shika wraps his arms around her. Temari releases the hot tears she so desperately held back.

A few moments later, she stifles a gag before ripping herself from his warm embrace and runs to the bathroom. Shika cringes when he hears retching sounds, hurriedly rushing to his wife's aid.

After jogging to the bathroom, he crouches down to sit behind Temari and gently holds her hair back as she vomits all of her lunch from earlier today. Her energy leaks out with the regurgitating bile in her mouth-- she couldn’t stand even if she wanted. But she doesn’t need to.

She collapses against her husband’s chest after she finishes puking, feeling like she’s an iota away from passing out. Shika’s one step ahead of her, opening a cold bottle of water and raising it to her lips. He praises her gleefully when she swallows a few sips.

“There we go,” he murmurs softly while caressing her perspiring forehead. “I’m here, sweetheart.”

He pecks her temple with a chaste kiss and looks straight ahead, facing nothing in particular with brewing determination. He now knows that before this baby comes, he will have to be the husband Temari always deserved.

“I’m right here.”

“I heard you the first time, poser.” Temari sighs contentedly, her voice hoarse from the stomach acid.

-

While going to the dojo always uplifts your spirit, nurse work has been sucking the life out of you the past few weeks. So you decide to bring back something you thought you’d permanently left behind: clubbing. For some reason you think it’s a splendid date idea, so you invite Lee to tag along.

When you call him about it, of course he obliges to accompany his lady. He can admit he was quite familiar with raves in his earlier years. It may not be his forte like yours but he’s open to potentially enjoyable experiences-- especially if he can share them with you.

It’s now club night, so you open that old bedroom closet. Your hair is in a natural pineapple style as you scan your options.

You pick out black micro-shorts, a white tank top, a biker jacket, and black leather boot heels.

“Gosh, I feel like a college graduate again,” you groan while staring at your reflection in the mirror.

You feel kinda old considering how long it’s been since you’ve done something even remotely daring fashion-wise for yourself. You lock your apartment door behind you and strut your fine ass out of the building.

You notice Lee’s car pulling up and walk down the stairs to meet him where he parks. Lee steps out of his vehicle: dressed in dark green joggers and sneakers with a matching skin-tight short sleeve that lusciously accentuates his muscular physique. He finally makes his way to you and lord he almost faints when he’s bestowed with seeing your fit up close.

You still can’t get used to how small you feel when this man looks down at you, especially when he has the gall to grin so charmingly.

“Hey gorgeous,” he leans down to peck your round cheek with a kiss before turning away to open your door. “Hop on in.”

As much as you two would love to fawn over how delectable you both look, as much as y’all would like to see what’s only left to the imagination, you refuse to take the chance of being inappropriate. So, you’ll both just have to lose your minds about each other internally.

The outside of the club you arrive at just looks like… a dark alleyway. The only implication of an event undergoing behind the simple black door is the security who verifies tickets. Although, once you’re allowed entry…

A bellow of dance music booms through the scene. A flurry of stark neon lights animate every attendee, including the ones residing in the dimly lit booths. The people on the dance floor look intoxicating, almost possessed by the rapid beat of the music. Now, you’ve gone to your fair share of clubs, but this place is a whole other world. This place looks like what people think clubs should look like.

Since Lee is too mesmerized by the vibrant atmosphere to look for seats, you interlace your fingers with his and guide him through the busy space. Luckily you find a vacant booth to sit at, looking through the menu for drinks.

“What are you getting?” You make sure to raise your voice so Lee can distinguish you from the background noise.

“Hmm. I’ll have a coke. You?”

“…This virgin piña colada looks good.”

You both decide to chat while you wait for a waiter to approach you for orders. Well… that’s until Kelis’s Milkshake plays, and now you know you’re about to go bonkers. Your jaw drops and eyes widen with glee as you shimmy your jacket off. Lee watches you with curiosity as you grab his wrist and drag him to the lively dance floor.

At first you jump up and down to the rhythm, grooving to the electrifying melodies that flow through you. Lee follows your lead and sways to the music. A simple one-two step. But when the main beat drops you lose it, not thinking of Lee or anyone else around you as you let the song take over your body.

You whip your head side-to-side, letting your coils fly along the beat as you run your hands down your curvaceous body, a delirious smile adorning your features. Lee couldn’t help but marvel at your blissed out state, how your hips and rolls sway to the fast pace of the song, the way your tits bounce as you rock your body to the music. He wanted to devour you right where you stood. This is the version of you he absolutely adores, the version who doesn’t give a fuck.

You open your eyes and Lee is barely dancing: just lightly jiving while shamelessly staring down your wondrous form. An idea comes to mind, and it’s naughty but you don’t care.

You imitate a rope tied to Lee, and approach him as if you’re pulling him closer. It takes a moment for Lee to register your intent. And when he does he smiles so hard at your contagious charisma he almost giggles, deciding to entertain your advancements.

When you’re finally close enough you turn around, let your hands fall to your knees and shake your butt right on his groin. Lee yelps at how absolutely lovely your fat cheeks feel and look rubbing against him.

He hasn’t been played with like this for too long, completely hypnotized by the sight of your back arching in tandem with every effortless jerk of your hips. You look over your shoulder and side-eye him with the most sinful smirk he’s ever seen you make. With his erection bordering on painful at this point, he decides to test how far you’re willing to take this.

Lee’s heavy hands firmly grip your lower waist to anchor you both, as he grinds against you to the music’s quick tempo. His movements are as superbly calculated as they are natural. You wonder if Lee has ever gotten this nasty before.

But when a certain thrust bumps your clothed cunt, your eyebrows scrunch up instinctively at the sharp pleasure. He increases the force and utterly debauches you; your knees nearly buckle to the floor when his dick print repeatedly prods your most vulnerable entrance. It’s almost embarrassing how you huff and puff like you just ran a marathon, as you cope with the swelling arousal.

“…fuck,” you whimper pathetically. The heat pulsing between your legs makes you want to cum. You feel so dirty, like an addict.

Lee skims his palm up the exposed contours of your back until he carefully grips the nape of your neck, while continuing to keep your hips in motion. Your oxygen isn’t cut off, but his grasp is tight enough to make you feel lightheaded.

You’re finally getting a taste of being at the mercy of his strength and it makes your vision go blurry. He steadily pulls you up until your back is flush against his front. Hot breath fans your skin as his lips brush the shell of your ear.

“I’m trying to be a gentleman and not fuck you over a bathroom sink,” he gives the front of your throat a delicious squeeze before cupping your jaw.

“So chill out, princess.”

His words rumble down your spine, you would’ve never expected such initiative from a man. The way his deep voice makes your tummy flutter should be a health hazard, you just can’t think with him having you like this.

Yet something about his outrageous warning makes you want to obey him, no matter how horny you’re feeling. So you nod wordlessly while rocking back and forth, trying to cope with how torched your body feels.

“Good girl,” he purrs before releasing you from his grasp. You take some time to catch your breath, processing what this night could have led to before you both continue to dance like y’all weren’t dry humping a moment ago.

“You’re better at this than I thought, Sensei,” you tease.

Lee chuckles tentatively, feeling his face heat up at your playful use of the nickname.

“I guess It’s been a while since I’ve attended the club scene.”

“Oh, so you’re used to women throwing ass on you?” 

“Yeah, but none of them were as good as you,” he replies like it's so obvious, like it's a fact that you should know too. Now it’s your turn to shy away, for you can't detect a single lie.

The DJ switches to a slower club classic, ultimately subduing the chaotic atmosphere of the dance floor. You and Lee decide to take a break and have drinks on a balcony for some fresh air. He orders a coke and you a virgin piña colada.

-

The fresh air and quiet landscape make your eyelids feel a bit heavy. There is now some good room for your mind to think, despite the muffled music echoing in the background. It’s a comfortable silence you both share, which relieves you in almost every aspect.

“Thank you for not escalating…” you sway your head as if that will explain your point, “Y’know – when we were dancing.”

You think it’s cute the way Lee’s eyes widen as he processes your words, before tilting his head to look at you.

“You don’t need to thank me. I’m comfortable when you’re comfortable.”

You shoot him a dopey grin and take a sip of your yellow beverage.

“Would...” Lee pauses and turns to properly face you. “Would you like to accompany us at the tournament?”

You lower your glass before looking back up at your dark-haired date, reveling at how the moon rays paint his face.

“Y-You sure?”

“Mhm!” Lee insists, his determined and hopeful gaze igniting that floaty warmth in your chest.

“You’ve not only been nursing my students. You’ve seen their struggles and growths. You’ve cheered them on through every step for as long as you’ve been at the dojo. They would absolutely love it if you came to see how far they’ve come!”

You smile hopelessly, “Okay then. I’ll be there.”

Lee’s smile is even brighter, now amplified by unbridled relief.

“Now,” you order smugly as you poke his brick wall for a chest.

“My question for you.”

Your date’s expression melts into a more serene smirk.

“Shoot,” he challenges.

“Why did you stop clubbing?”

Despite your question being random, he still takes the time to carefully process an answer. You watch him while he’s thinking: there’s a distant look in his eyes that makes him appear a bit unsettled, as if he’s seeing something you can’t.

“I partied during a time when my dojo needed me, so I quit and focused solely on training again.”

While his answer is kind of vague, you accept it for what it is and hope for a time when he’s ready to open up to you more. You remember when you told Lee you didn’t expect much from men, and that’s still true. But you’ve felt his essence enough to accept that he’s simply a rarity among the masses. Your rarity.

“I... I really enjoyed our date tonight,” he gulps while blushing profusely.

His earnest nature is too adorable sometimes, it makes your eyes sting a bit. You lay your head on his shoulder and look up at the full moon, a lonesome beacon illuminating the black sky.

“I enjoyed our date too.”

“So why did you stop clubbing?” He queries.

You hum in deep thought, deciding to answer with the same level of honesty.

“At some point I thought my job was all I needed to make it in life, since it was the only thing I was good at. I know that’s not true, but I wanted to be the best so that no one under my care would suffer...”

How naive I was.

Lee takes a sip from his pop and looks down at you.

“Your will to make sacrifices is admirable,” he commends.

You down the rest of your fruity drink and sigh wantonly.

“I’m still a party girl at heart.”

“Apparently,” he deadpans with a smirk.

You swat his arm with a dropped jaw and he cackles, complaining about his coke almost spilling. The comforting silence creeps back in, and you lean against him once more.

“Are you driving me home?”

“Do you even have to ask?”

-

Lee pulls up in front of your apartment, and you finally feel the magic of tonight settle in your bones like your first date with him.

“Alrighty,” you sigh tiredly while unbuckling your belt.

And yet, you don’t step out of his car. You turn to face him instead. Lee wears a somber smile, so deeply wishing he could keep you with him just a little while longer.

“Sleep well, okay?” He gently instructs. “We’re both gonna need it.”

You carefully grip the back of Lee’s neck with a decisive swiftness and pull him in to peck a kiss on his mouth. You do it again, reveling in the sound it makes and how his gaze becomes half-lidded from your bold tenderness.

You angle your head to deepen the kiss—keeping your lips pressed against his, and a low moan slips out of Lee. He holds onto your wrist as an anchor, feeling that familiar heat stir inside the both of you. You break the kiss with a wet ‘smack.’ You give him no tongue, but playfully tug on his bottom lip between your teeth—just to watch it jiggle back into place when you let go.

You release your grip on his neck and open the car door.

“Good night,” you whisper sweetly before stepping out of the car.

“…night,” Lee mumbles dreamily.

He watches you enter through your apartment gate, not driving off until he sees you walk inside your building.