♡ i like how you cry ♡

A blur is your only warning. Then an arm cinches around your throat.

You jab your lit cigarette into the man’s arm. A raspy, “Son of a bitch,” puffs into your ear, but he doesn’t let go.

Okay. Don’t panic. Focus.

You try again. Spread your stance. Secure your grip. Jump, legs in the air, and throw yourself back down. His body hunches over yours. You propel back up. Hurl him over your back.

He grunts as his body slams the ground. You rush to immobilise him. He manoeuvres out of the way.

Back on his feet in seconds, he’s already charging at you. Too fast for you to dodge. You block with your arms. His fist lands like a nuclear bomb. Pure power. All at once. Leaves aftershocks like an earthquake. But still, you stay standing.

Your assailant huffs, something that sounds both pissed off and surprised, before he directs another attack. Straight for your torso.

You catch his wrist and twist it. He thrusts a leg out at your feet.

The forest around you flips upside down. Your back and the ground collide. Pain in your spine. A shadow above you. Weight on your hips. Pressure around your neck.

You grip one of your attacker’s arms. Pivot your feet round his legs. Ram your pelvis upward.

Your vision carousels. You’re on top of him. He pushes you off.

On your feet. Both of you.

A narrow miss, the edge of his knuckles swiping past your temple.

You leap back. He surges forward.

You attack before he does — a roundhouse kick to his face.

The assailant’s head spins ninety degrees. He brings a hand up to his nose, sharply inhaling as he touches it, before turning back to you.

He swings again. You knock it away. Strike his diaphragm. Then his skull.

He doubles over. You double down. Spear your knee into his face. Once. Twice. Three times. Full force, no respite. You aim for his diaphragm again with the heel of your foot.

He stumbles backwards and hits a tree. His body slumps to the ground.

He goes to get up. You pin your shoe to his sternum and shove him back. “Stay down.” You lean forward, his rib cage fighting against the compression. “Who are you? Why are you attacking me?”

Blood oozes down his chin from his nose. “Why d’ya think I’d tell you anything?”

You answer with a backhanded smack across his face.

He coughs at the impact and spits out the blood in his mouth. “Feisty, aren’t ya?” His lips stretch into a vengeful smile, laying bare his orange-stained teeth.

That’s when you notice a distinguishable scar, thick and ridged, spliced through his lip. Next, his teeth — tapered, dog-like. Then the pointy mammal ears sticking out of his hair, the furry black tail resting beside him…

There’s no doubt in your mind. It’s him. World renowned assassin: Hellhound, the Sorcerer Killer. Half-man, half-wolf; rumoured to be the only one of his kind. Willing to do anything for the right price is his motto. Until now, you’ve only ever heard of him, but now that you’re face to face… Well, he certainly looks the part, but if he was really as good as people say he is, your current positions would likely be reversed.

“I take it my reputation precedes me?” Toji pipes up cockily, apparently picking up on the recognition in your stare.

You avoid the question, lest it feeds the ego that is undoubtedly big enough already. “How much are you getting paid?”

Toji wipes the blood under his nose and looks up at you. “Not enough to be dealing with all this, tha’s for sure,” he remarks snidely.

You fold your arms across your chest. “Then I’m sure you won’t mind giving me the details of your employer.”

“Nah,” Toji argues back with slitted eyes and a chin angled up arrogantly. “Afraid I’m bound by contract, sweetheart.”

You smack him again, but all it does is garner a chuckle.

“If slapping me’s as far as you’re willin’ to go to get me to talk,” Toji scoffs before gazing up at you, “then we’re gonna be here a while, darlin’.”

Eyes narrowed, you contemplate other courses of action, different methods of both torture and persuasion.

As if embracing his current position, Toji rests back against the tree, casual despite the circumstances being everything but. “Look. You’re not gonna get me to rat out my client, alright? So unless you wanna start talking numbers, I suggest you just give–”

Your boot stomps down on Toji’s groine.

His jaw drops open and an almost inaudible moan spills out. “Ah… fuck.”

Not quite the reaction you were going for. Still, you curiously lean your leg forward, pressing the sole of your shoe down harder against Toji’s crotch. His head slumps forward, dark hair curtaining over his eyes. A barely-suppressed groan finds its way out of him.

“No way,” you breathe, incredulous. “You like this, don’t you?” You stifle a laugh. “What, not every day you get your ass handed to you, huh? I bet you didn’t even know you were into this.”

He peers up at you, grin flashing like a switchblade. “Don’t act like you’re any better.”

“Oh, I don’t have to act like it.” You roll your foot around in focused circles, watching how Toji’s breath gets heavier with each one. Your silhouette towers over him, tall and proud; carving its shape into the veil of moonlight behind you. All your features melt away in the shadows draped over your face — all except your smile, which perseveres with deadly determination and even deadlier teeth. They’re not anything special, sure; they don’t hold a light to Toji’s, yet they instil a sense of unease that someone of his size and strength and species is entirely unfamiliar with. And as he watches your tongue glide across the edge of them, shining and sinister, he realises that maybe it’s not the teeth themselves that are the threat. Maybe it’s what lies behind them; the person they belong to, who is staring down at him like a tiger eyeing a pound of flesh.

“You’re the one whose pitiful dick is under my boot right now, after all.”

Matted black ears tuck back against his head, just as any cornered animal’s might, as Toji scowls up at you. “Shut up. You have no idea what you’re dealing with.”

You look him up and down, from the tips of his twitchy ears to the bottom of his fluffy tail. The pinkening of his cheeks, his glossy eyes staring up at you. Puppylike. “I’d say I have a pretty good idea actually,” you say, holding in a giggle.

Toji snarls. “I’m warning y…” A breathy moan slips past his defences, so delicate you’d never suspect it could come from a man as big and burly as him. “Fuck– fuck you. If you’re gonna touch me, at least do it properly, you fucking… coward.”

His glare melts into scrunched eyebrows and squeezed-shut eyes as you sink more pressure onto his cock.

“Why would I do that? You seem to be enjoying yourself just fine like this,” you tease, and follow it with a quickened but not yet fast pace; something steady enough to not be teasing but slow enough to keep him wanting.

Toji growls. “Bastard,” he spits, but the word’s intention is lost in the air that flutters around it, turning it soft and feeble as his jaw quivers. Another brief second of honesty, a momentary crack in his composure, but that locked jaw returns as soon as Toji notices it. The look on his face is unchanged, but you’re not sure if it’s because he truly believes he’ll come out on top by the end of this, or if he’s just waiting for you to prove you’re worthy of his surrender.

“It’s not enough,” he pants out. His hands clench into fists around the soil he sits in as his hips move against your shoe. It’s still not discreet enough to go unnoticed by you — though you opt to avoid mentioning it, in favour of continuing down the path of opportunity he’s already opened up for you with his response.

“No, I think it is,” you insist, syncing your foot’s movements to Toji’s hips. Already so lost in the moment, he doesn’t even realise it. “I think you could cum just like this, riding my shoe like a worthless whore.”

Clawed fingers and calloused palms constrict around your calf. The tightness of his grip gives the impression that he’s trying to stop you, but you can feel the way he uses it to meet his grinding motions.

It’s quite the show, really. A man — a beast — like Toji, beneath you in such a way, with his eyes closed in oblivious concentration, his lips parted ever so slightly and his strained breaths hot against your shin. Dark lashes on rosy cheeks. Hair swept across his eyes, shifting with every movement.

It’s too bad it can’t last.

What you said certainly implies that you plan to make him finish like this, but all it really is is a trap. No beast can truly resist temptation, after all, and Toji is no different. He’ll pretend to hate every second of this, but there is no denying that the only reason you’ve gotten this far is because he wants it. Desperately. Carnally. He might scowl at your degrading words, but in the end, he chases after the promise that’s whispered over their shoulder, the promise that he longs for so deeply that he doesn’t realise its hushed voice is really his own in disguise.

You rake your fingers through his hair, collecting sweat and the strands obscuring his face into a fist. A yank drags his face into the moonlight, and a groan from his throat. “Alright, that’s enough,” you declare, the words cutting and final. “Get off me, fleabag.”

Toji’s lip curls up in a snarl and his canines gleam beneath the pale skin. “The fuck d’ya mean ‘that’s enough’?”

You scoff. “Exactly that.” Darkness drips over Toji’s face as you lean over him. “Now get off of me before I fucking make you.”

For a second, you think you’ll need to repeat yourself one more time — his eyes are narrowed and his lips pursed, a look of reluctance if you’ve ever seen it — but then the hands around your leg loosen, until all that’s left behind is the autumn breeze against the lingering imprint of his warm palms. The grin you find yourself wearing is so wide you feel your teeth pressing through your lips. A brat’s obedience, no matter how small, is always a victory worth celebrating.

“So what now?” Toji sighs and leans back on his hands, legs still spread. Boredom sculpts his features, but the colour in his cheeks betrays his façade. Try as he might, he’s not nearly as good at hiding his true desires as he thinks. And when you only smile in response, he raises an eyebrow. “Well?” A scarred hand confidently slides down to the space between his thighs, the thick fingers parting and tracing the silhouette of his hard cock. Wolfish fangs pull at his bottom lip and a harsh breath rushes out through his nose. “You just gonna stand there… or are you gonna come and finish what you started?”

You lean your weight back, arms folded across your chest, and chuckle. “I can’t really win, can I?” you say with playful resignation. “Either way, you’ll enjoy it.”

He grins — the kind of shit-eating grin that’s designed to scorch your nerves down to their roots. Whether that’s a good or a bad kind of sensation depends entirely on the person. In Toji’s case? It’s somehow both.

“Better make your choice quick then,” Toji remarks, his tone equal parts raspy and sultry. “If ya don’t hurry, I’ll just finish myself off right here and now.” The tip of his tongue peeks out between his sharp moonlit teeth, mirroring your action from before.

You snicker and give him a pitied once-over. “Darling, I assure you that’s not the threat you think it is.”

Furry ears jerk in place as Toji sucks his teeth. “Get down here and suck my cock before I rip your throat out then.” The words tumble out of him like he’s rushing to get them out — evidence of his growing desperation, or perhaps of his courage, waning in the imminent promise of consequence.

“There,” he says with finality, lips stretched into a half-cocky, half-frustrated snarl. “‘That threatenin’ enough for ya now, bitch?”

You swiftly snatch his face up in one hand and Toji flinches — just a split-second scrunch of his eyes, but it’s enough to tell you caught him off guard. You’re not really acting out of anger so much as greed though; craving and chasing after those tiny yet monumentally satisfying slip-ups in his reactions. “You are awful mouthy for some dog that was humping my foot until a minute ago.”

“Yeah, and?” he barks back, with enough gall to still be smiling against your palm. “What are you gonna do about it, huh?”

Suppressing another laugh, you draw closer to him; not quite eye-level, just ever so slightly elevated. “You know, it’d be kind of cute how badly you want me to fuck you if you weren’t so fucking insufferable about it.” Your nails, though blunt in comparison to Toji’s claws, carve impressive crescents into his skin under the force of your tensed fingers. “But don’t forget that you’re below me, mutt. I can stop any time. I can go home and never think about you again, but you?” You laugh through your nose and push his skull into the bark of the tree behind him. A clawed hand clamps around your wrist, but you don’t move an inch. “You’ll be the one jerking off in the middle of a fucking forest, like some filthy creep, fantasising about all the things I didn’t do to you but could have had you just stopped being a brat for one goddamn second.”

An airy breath leaves you, charged with equal parts exasperation and glee and resulting in something akin to a laugh. The mockery behind the noise fails to affect Toji, however. Those night-black ears remain flat against his skull, and those indigo eyes remain glaring at you, but the tightly-sealed lips below them tell you he’s biting his tongue — figuratively, though perhaps also literally. It doesn’t seem too far of a stretch to assume he’d go to such lengths to keep from arguing back, after all.

You smooth your free hand over your hair and readjust the grip of the other on Toji’s face. He grunts at the action, but those lips don’t budge, not even a twitch. The silence that follows is unfamiliar, but not completely unwelcome. Even rewarding, in a way.

“So what’s it gonna be, puppy dog?” you ask lazily, though not without that telltale flicker of amusement in your voice. “Are you gonna be a good boy?” You tilt your head and smirk. “Or would you prefer to jizz here in the dirt with just your hand and imagination like a pathetic loser instead?”

You feel how he grinds his teeth, that slow mechanical shift of his jaw and the muffled chalky sound of bone grating against bone in his mouth. Curiosity beckons you to wonder what’s going on inside that head of his; what words he’s rummaging through his mind for, what kind of responses he’s drafting and redrafting, if any at all. What does a beast of his calibre have to say to a lowly human like you, daring to tame and subdue him?

In the darkness below your form, you catch a cautionary rise and fall of his hips. Just one small short nudge of his pelvis, forwards then back again. And before you can comment on it, Toji speaks, low and not entirely begrudgingly:

“Put me in my place then.”

Immediately, your lips slide into a smile, but you restrain from getting too excited just yet. “Is that an order? Or a plea?”

Midnight eyes dart away from yours; no words follow.

“Well? Answer me,” you snap at him. “You can do it now or I can just leave, remember? Either option is fine by me.”

Toji groans. “It’s… I’m– I’m asking.” He sighs heavily and the hand around your wrist loosens, twitches. He still refuses to look at you amidst this all, it seems. But you wait some more, let the silence linger a little longer, just in case.

He sighs again. Still doesn’t look at you, but a quiet little, “Please,” squeezes through gritted teeth.

“Can I get that in a full sentence?” you say, polite enough to seem genuine at first, but paired with that condescending grin of yours, it’s not at all convincing. “I just want to be sure I’m understanding you correctly.”

Toji’s eyes finally return to yours. “You’re pushing your fucking luck,” he growls.

“Oh, I am? I’m pushing my luck?” You pause, but not to let him answer; on your face is a look that tells him he’s the one pushing his luck, that he’s misstepped — and should take that step back before he regrets it. “Sorry, who’s doing who a favour by being here, again?” You’re no longer smiling, but the condescension in your tone remains. “Remind me because I seem to have forgotten.”

His eyes flick away and you’re met instead with the silence you have grown somewhat fond of.

Then, eventually: “You,” he answers and his Adam’s apple bumps against your wrist as he swallows. “I want you to…” He hesitates, tense neck muscles relaxing in your hand, eyes closing, pressing shut. Hard. Reluctant, even now.

“To put me in my place… Please.”

A sickeningly delighted snicker escapes your throat. “Well done, puppy,” you praise, giving a few patronising pats to his cheek, making Toji flinch, before you let go of his face. “I knew you could do it! Who’s a good boy?” You ruffle his hair alongside your fake coo to rub salt into his wounded ego.

Toji sucks his teeth, refusing to give you the satisfaction of anything other than that as a reaction to your satirical tease. You just hum to yourself gleefully. You’re happy either way — you have him right where you want him, after all.

You stand up straight, returning to your position above him. “Alright. Be a doll and take your pants off for me.”

A scarred lip tugs up toward his cheekbone, canine teeth peering out. “No ‘please’?”

Easy as that, the cheerful expression on your face distils into stone cold eyes and unmoving lips, leaving the wordless air to speak for you. Briskly after, Toji begins sliding off his black pants until they bunch up at his ankles. He looks up at you. “Want my shoes off too, perv?” he jokes, proudly grinning.

Ignoring him, you step over his legs, so your feet are either side of them, then sit down. His thighs squirm under you.

“Uh, what–”

“Be quiet,” you demand.

And for once, Toji does so without further hesitation or questioning.

Your fingertips trail down his torso, his skin spasming under the fabric of his t-shirt at the featherlight contact. Down his chest, stomach, navel, catching on the waistband of his underwear, passing over it. Fingers dance and butterfly around the outline of his cock and back again. Slow and gentle but purposeful touches. His chest stutters, his abdominal muscles contract. You continue, motions repeating in hypnotic succession of one another like shifting waves. The thighs beneath you begin to fidget again.

“Stay still,” you say with a pointed look.

A restrained groan. “When are you gonna–”

“Whenever I damn well feel like it,” you scold, “but not at all if you don’t watch yourself.” You make sure to give him another sharp glare before you resume.

Elastic gives under the pull of your fingers and glides down his hips until they tuck under his balls. Cool air envelopes his cock and yanks a hiss out from between Toji’s teeth. Your fingers spread again, over the exposed tip, then back again to paint small circles around the wet slit.

A blunt thump brings your attention to Toji’s face, where the foliage above projects its fragile forms onto it. His head is tilted back against the tree behind him, mussed furry ears flush against the bark and restlessness manipulating the rest of his features. The shameless clarity of his struggle fans the flames of your excitement.

Your fingers change shape again and wrap loosely around Toji’s length. The edge of a harsh sigh catches on the ends of your hair, brushing it up as you move your hand down, and up, then down again. The writhing of his thighs dominoes into his hips, which jump up, seemingly involuntarily.

Just this once, you choose not to indulge in your own selfish enjoyment — as a reward for his almost exclusively obedient behaviour since you began touching him — and mercifully grant Toji the relief of your whole hand, curling it to fit around the shape of his dick. A half-cut-off gasp unfolds in the space between you, but nothing more. You smile nonetheless. “Does that feel good?”

Toji’s head adjusts against the tree, eyelids pinching and tightening. “What kinda question is that? F’course it does.”

You hum. “Just wanted to make sure you’re still responsive.”

Toji opens his eyes, hooded but still catching the moonlight, to flash you a confident look. “You won’t break me that easily.”

Yet his self-assured tone cracks when you suddenly tighten your grip around him and hasten your pace.

“Wait, don’t– not that fast–” He gasps and reaches for your wrist, but you swat it away. You change the pace again, and again. Soft, hard, slow, quick. And all Toji can do is mutter expletives and squeeze his fists around handfuls of dirt.

“I’m… close,” Toji warns breathily.

“Really?” you snort. Granted, you’d teased him for a while before this, but you’re still shocked. He must have been more into this than even you had noticed. “You must be popular in the bedroom, huh?” you quip. “They call you Two-Minute-Toji?”

Thick eyebrows furrow as a half-hearted snarl seeps out from Toji’s lips. “God, do you ever shut–” He moans and grabs at your thighs, the tips of his claws piercing through your clothing. “I’m gonna cum, oh, fuck–”

Your touch vanishes before Toji’s words can come true, allowing you to watch the ecstasy melt off his face in real time. A series of emotions pass through in its place: first confusion, then realisation until, finally, disappointment. Outrage. Desperation.

Maybe you’re just sadistic, but you find it to be a good look on him.

In the spur of the moment, Toji attempts to finish what you so cruelly and prematurely left incomplete, but you capture his wrists and raise up on your knees to pin them above his head.

“Shit!” he exclaims, wide chest still sinking and swelling from his near-high. “What the fuck’s your problem? Why’d you stop?”

Exactly the kind of response you’d expected, of course. An entirely reasonable one at that, but still — you’re unable to fend off the smirk that grows at the sight of it. This is just the start, and he’s already so upset? Shivers take over you at the thought of how unprepared he is for the torture to come.

“You made me work for what I want. It’s only fair I get to do the same to you,” you explain matter-of-factly. “And the sooner you accept that, the easier it will be.”

Toji’s ears flap with vexation; you’re sure he only means to be angry, but to you, he resembles a sulking puppy.

You release his hands and move them to his shoulders. “So here’s how this is gonna go,” you start cheerily. “When you’re close, you tell me. Don’t, and I’ll ruin your beloved orgasm, right then and there!” You pinch his cheek in a faux-flirty way. “Got that, my little mutt?”

Toji frowns with something like judgement. “What sort of sick game is this?”

“Does it really matter so long as you cum at the end?” you counter, but Toji remains unconvinced.

“‘Course it does,” he replies. “What’s the point in making me wait if I can have it now?”

Such simplistic, almost childlike logic; it makes you giggle. “The point is a little thing called delayed gratification,” you say in that typical patronising tone, the one that Toji has become so dreadfully accustomed to.

“Delayed for who?” He eyes you, up and down. “You’re loving every second of this.”

You giggle again. “Oh, come on,” you beckon. “Don’t you want to know how good it feels?” One of your hands drops down his torso and Toji’s eyes follow just in time to see it curl its fingers around the drooling head of his cock. “Being denied over and over, that tension building higher and higher each time…” His jaw quivers when you slowly twist your wrist. “How sensitive you get, how desperate…” You drag and pull. Twist again. “And the rush of not knowing if this time you’ll get to cum…”

Toji grunts as his dick slaps against his stomach.

“Or be denied again!” Your laugh then is inevitable, but still it feels too sweet and innocent of a sound, given the cause of it is a man’s torment.

“Okay, enough. You’ve made your point,” Toji says in a flurry, before you can add anything else. “Stop talking and just…” You hear him swallow and study the way it makes the muscles of his neck ripple. “Show me.”

Those two words are the starting pistol to your well-earned entertainment — and Toji’s well-deserved misery. Your experienced and adaptable hands, paired with your watchful eyes and insatiable desire to inflict suffering, make for a dangerous concoction. And the fact that Toji is oblivious to that knowledge just makes the thrill of it all the more invigorating. Still, you pace yourself; remind yourself that patience may be bitter, but its fruit is sweet and lies waiting for you. Time is the least of your worries and the forest around you topples amidst the routine you’ve choreographed for you both. You work him up, soaking in his helplessness, and pull the floor out from under him when he’s at his most vulnerable, watching how that helplessness snowballs and the cycle repeats; watching him groan, gasp, whimper and curse under his breath. Like a feline playing with its food, you relish every moment of it, all while dreaming of how good it will taste once you finally feast.

“Close, so close, so close,” Toji mumbles. “M’gonna cum–”

Your hand jolts away from his dripping cock and with it, Toji’s hips buck up so hard, so desperately, that your knees lose contact with the ground for a second.

“How many times is that now?” you ask. You already know how many, you just want to make him say it.

Body slack against the tree, Toji’s eyes blink slowly at you. “F–four,” he says with a weak wince. “Fuck. When are you gonna let me cum?”

You make a contemplative noise. “I don’t know,” you say as you boredly doodle patterns on Toji’s shirt. “Maybe after… four or five more times?”

“You’re fucking joking,” Toji chokes out in disbelief, but that sincere gleam in your eyes stays. He runs a palm down his face. You don’t miss the way his tinted face saturates. “That’s– nine times? Are you crazy? That’s not–” His throat feels like it’s all dried up. He steadies his voice. “There’s… no way I’m waiting that long.”

“No?” you echo, your eyebrows raised. “Is it too much to handle for Two-Minute-Toji?”

“Oh, fuck off,” Toji hisses. “It’s nothing to do with me. You’re just insane.”

So defensive, you think, amused, but don’t let it show. Instead, you sit back thoughtfully. “I guess you have a point,” you agree. Meanwhile, your hands gain a mind of their own, caressing his hips, abdomen, inner thighs; brushing up against his dick every so often. “Four times is already quite a lot…” Finally, your gaze falls to your unforgiving fingers, where you’ve been toying at the cusp of Toji’s composure. “Just one more then,” you compromise and glimpse at Toji.

He doesn’t hide the irritated noise he makes at your offer, but he does think twice about his instinctual reply — which ends up being futile, since he chooses to say it anyway.

“You’re delusional if you think I’ll agree to that.”

You tilt your head and blink at him. “So… you want to cum now, is what you’re saying?” you ask, and Toji opens his mouth to answer but you suddenly grab his cock with a tight fist — and not the pleasurable kind. His jaw clamps shut, a slice of whistling air rushing in through his teeth. A paw-like hand whips out next, attempting to get rid of yours, but you slap it away and use your other hand to engulf the head of his cock in just as cruel a hold.

“Would cumming now make the spoiled mutt happy?” you mock.

His attempts to remove your hands persist, but each time you just push him away and squeeze harder. “Ah, shit, that fucking– hurts, you asshole! Let go–”

“Answer the question first,” you say sternly.

Toji’s thighs are thrashing now, and his hands have resorted to clinging onto your arms. His breaths leave him as hard as if he was on the verge of climax; the irony makes you laugh inwardly.

“Fuck, fine,” Toji heaves. “Yes, yes I want to cum now. Let me cum. Please.”

You keep your hands on him for a second longer than probably necessary before finally letting go. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” you say with a grin.

Talking back again crosses Toji’s mind, but he thinks better of it. “Whatever. Just… get on with it already.”

As with the previous four times, getting him to the edge again doesn’t take long. Especially since now you’re armed with the knowledge of where he’s most sensitive, what he likes best and how much to do of each to get the most debauched sounds out of him. You have him panting and rolling his hips in time with your hands in just a few short minutes. One hand on your shoulder, the other carving gashes into a tree root bulging out of the soil; a reminder of Toji Fushiguro’s monstrous nature.

It’s easy to forget you’re taming a beast when he’s so pathetic all of the time.

“Ah, ah, I’m close,” Toji moans. His knuckles go taut-white, then relax, then repeat. In the throes of pleasure, his baritone voice has softened into something lighter. “F–fuck, I’m gonna cum! I wan– I wanna cum!”

The next upward stroke of your hand slides the rest of the way off, yet again depriving Toji of the orgasm he keeps chasing. In its absence, the reddened tip of his cock drools a drop of precum.

Toji shouts, gravelly and breathless, into the open air. “No! No, what– what the fuck?!” There seems to be a wetness in his eyes, but you think it could just be a trick of the light. “You… you said you’d let me cum this time!”

“Did I say that?” you muse — recalling very vividly, in fact, that you conveniently never said those words. Whether or not that was on purpose is anybody’s guess, since you doubt Toji’s foggy brain remembers such semantics. “I don’t think I did.”

Toji scowls at you, but his aggravation runs off of you like water on a duck’s back; you can’t take him too seriously when his face is so flushed, cheeks practically aglow with colour and slowly spreading down his neck. A quick tongue swipes over his lips, which have gone dry from the progressively increasing frequency of open-mouthed noises.

Out of something akin to instinct or impulse, you find yourself leaning in — close. Until you’re brushing noses, lips only inches from each other, sharing the same breath of air. Silver-blue eyes flick down your face and linger a little too long to be accidental.

You pull away, laughing.

“You are way too fun to toy with,” you mutter, more to yourself than to Toji before looking up at him. “Did you think I was gonna kiss you just then?”

“No,” Toji sputters out, appearing offended that you would even think such a thing. “I’d bite your tongue off if you tried.”

His threat only makes you chuckle. “We’ll see how much longer you can keep up that attitude,” you say, scrunching up the front of his t-shirt in your fist, “once I’m through with you.”

Your lips collide so immediately that you almost don’t realise Toji is the one to close the final rift of space between you. Like a volatile chemical reaction, the kiss escalates. Potent, rabid, vulgar. Animalistic. Teeth nip at flesh, blood and saliva blend and smear down chins.

At the same time, your hand occupies itself with the same delectable song and dance you’ve come to know so well. The prelude — an open palm, skimming across the head of Toji’s cock; a dainty back and forth, like a bow across violin strings, and Toji’s noises a melody writing itself on your lips. You steer the flow of his sound like a conductor with a symphony, building the bridge, climbing towards the chorus, the crescendo just in sight… Then with a flourish, it all descends back down again, hushed into a temporary interlude, before ebbing into a reprise. Over and over, you play this orchestrated tune; over and over and over, until each note has been played to its fullest and rang out into silence.

Eventually, you get up.

Left in your wake, beneath you, Toji is a mess of the man he was. Eyes glazed over. Lips pink and damp. Cock blushing, slick, swollen. Hips jumping in search of relief. It took denying him almost ten times, but regardless, he’s all yours now. Pliant and at your mercy, like a common prey animal.

“Roll over, boy,” you say, just like you would to an actual dog, as you make a circling gesture with your finger. “I want you on your hands and knees.” You tap his bare thigh with the side of your shoe. “Go on. Hands and knees. Like a good little dog.”

Shakily, Toji turns around. Soil pools around his knees where they sink. One hand wraps around that same scratched up root from before, the other braces against the base of the tree. His head hangs limp between his shoulders.

You kneel behind him and tug his underwear down his toned thighs. Goosebumps multiply over Toji’s exposed skin, first at the breeze that briefly grazes it, next at the fingers that replace it. Both your hands span out across the expanse of Toji’s ass, a soothing sensation against the goosebumps despite being so foreign to him. Your thumbs wander away from the rest of your fingers and toward the patch of skin between his tail and the base of his spine. Experimentally, the pads of your thumbs grind down into it.

Toji makes a noise that could arguably be classified as a yelp and his tail bushes up, almost hitting you in the face with how skittishly it swings out.

“W–watch it,” Toji whinges. “Don’t be so rough.”

“Oh? Is it sensitive?” you taunt.

Even now, on all fours with his bare ass in front of you, the embers of Toji’s pride prevent him from admitting even the slightest implications of weakness. You, however, are no stranger to such behaviour, and do not let it deter you from your goal.

Your thumbs continue wandering, dipping below his tail. They rotate inward, pulling apart the thick meat of his ass to reveal a soft, puckered hole. You succumb to temptation and prod at it. It tenses, along with the rest of Toji’s muscles.

Toji turns his head over his shoulder. “What are you doing?” he breathes, almost sounding worried or angry, definitely trying to sound assertive — but you can tell he’s more nervous than anything. Flustered, even.

You pause. “Do you want me to stop?”

His features contort, as if perplexed. “It’s weird.” He turns back around. “Don’t even know why you would wanna touch back there.”

The reason is simple to you. “Because it feels good.” Thoughtlessly, you knead your thumb against the virgin hole, observing how it clenches, as if inviting you in. “Inside, I mean,” you clarify.

“Ins– inside?” Toji repeats, like the concept is unfathomable to him. “Like, inside of– me?”

“Yeah,” you deadpan, though, admittedly, you are somewhat entertained. Perhaps he truly is so oblivious that it skews his logical thinking, but you suspect that the true cause is the lust that clouds his mind. Whether from his need for release or from a late-onset sexual epiphany, you find it almost endearing how naïve and innocent his response makes him seem. “So… Can I keep going?”

“Uh…” Toji, subconsciously, it seems, arches his back ever so slightly in your direction. “Yeah, okay,” he mutters.

“In that case,” you usher and place a hand between his shoulder blades, “lower your chest for me some more.”

With the sheer density of muscle fibre beneath your fingertips alone, those defined contours mapped out across his broad back, visible even through his clothes, you expect some resistance — but he gives like freshly fallen snow, without so much as a groan of indignation, and yields his form until he’s flush with the ground.

In this position, he opens up on his own. Hole lewdly exposed, as if presenting to you. His tail hangs over it, out of humiliation or to protect his dignity you assume, but with one simple order, you have Toji holding it out of the way for you, making him appear even more pathetic.

Leaning over him, you trickle some saliva onto Toji’s hole. It spasms as the fluid lands on it.

“Did you just spit on–” Toji cuts himself off with an exasperated sigh. “That’s… fucking disgusting.”

“Your tail seems to think otherwise,” you retort, referring to how the appendage subtly wags.

Toji buries his face in the crook of one arm. “That thing’s got a mind of its own.”

Ever so slightly poking out over the top of his bicep, however, is the scarlet tip of one ear.

You chuckle. “Sure.”

With that, you run a fingertip through the slimy fluid, collecting it from where it started dripping down his taint and spreading it out. Tentatively, you nudge your finger inside. The muscle clenches at the breach.

“Relax,” you tell Toji.

He grunts. “What do you think I’m tryna do?”

A rare streak of sympathy has your other hand reaching down to Toji’s cock and planting a few distracting touches. Slowly, the stiffness around your finger eases up, and steadily, you push past each knuckle until it’s seamlessly tucked away inside.

“How much longer…” A soft moan reverberates in the back of Toji’s throat as your finger pulls out of him. “‘T–til I can cum?”

You hum and give a few slothful pumps. “Between two minutes and two hours.” Toji’s subsequent groan of protest makes your smile stretch out like a cat. “Why? You’re not at your limit, are you?”

“You kidding? I could–” You sneak another finger on the next slide in and Toji shudders, gulps. “I could do this all day,” he finishes quietly.

The hand on his dick stops its task momentarily to lather Toji’s precum over your two fingers. You scissor them attentively, observing Toji’s facial reactions; as much as you can, at least, given he’s concealing them. Luckily, though, it seems you won’t need them anyway, with how the rest of his body is uncovering all those secrets for him — the fingers around his tail flexing, hips rocking back against your fingers, dick leaking incessantly despite your minimal touches. To think he’s already so weak to his lustful desires when you haven’t even skirted that particular place inside him; the one you’ve intentionally been avoiding.

“Are you sure you can take any more?” you tease. “It seems to me like–”

“I can take whatever you give me,” Toji interrupts gratingly.

You wonder if he can hear how ruined he sounds, but suppose that even if he does, he likely doesn’t see the humour in it that you do.

“We’ll see about that.”

After adding some more spit, you’re easing in a third finger. Just as you predicted, Toji’s body wriggles more restlessly under you. Breaths staggering as you bump into the hilt of your fingers. You bend them probingly and it lures out a fluttery moan.

Your eyes flit over Toji’s form, lips taking the shape of a salacious smile. “How are you doing over there?”

But before he has the time to even think of a witty reply, he’s tearing new claw marks into the tree bark and whining out, not unlike a dog in heat — which, in some ways, is not far from reality.

“Wow. I didn’t think you were capable of making a sound like that,” you comment. In truth, you’ve always had a knack for turning even the most unsuspecting of victims into your needy little toys; the only difference between them is how long it takes to do so. “Mind making it again?” you purr.

Regardless of what Toji’s answer may have been — though you predict it would have been something snippy or dismissive — your fingers are once again prying out a frail whine from him as he barely manages to maintain his grip on his tail.

You pull your fingers out, almost all the way, and when you push them back in again, you have your pinky finger join, poking at the edge of Toji’s entrance. “Think you can take one more?”

Toji whimpers at your suggestion. “Fuck, yes please,” he begs — something even you had begun doubting you could get him to do, and so is all the more gratifying to hear.

And just like that, you have the deadly mercenary, Toji Fushiguro, better known as Hellhound, the mighty Sorcerer Killer, riding four of your fingers like he was made for nothing else. Whining and whimpering — two things that no one would believe he did if you told them. Dribbling a puddle of his arousal into the dirt below him even in the absence of your hand. Tail jerking uncontrollably, occasionally slipping from his hold and earning himself an admonishing spank, which only serves to break him down further.

A shaking hand clasps onto your wrist, driving its thrusting motions harder and deeper into himself. “God, I’m gonna cum,” Toji sobs. “Please let me cum, please, please.”

His words make you realise that you never actually answered his question from before. Not really, not seriously. In the grand scheme of things, sure, it was always in your plan to let him cum; an irrefutable certainty. And, as large as your appetite is, you’ve had your fill now — are brimming with it, in fact — but Toji doesn’t know that, and that’s what makes you smile. Even now, you long to overflow with the joy of terrorising him. Even now, you fail to turn a deaf ear to the siren call of your deepest, darkest, most lecherous desires. In all your differences, this weakness, this unquenchable yearning of the flesh, is one that you and Toji are both cursed with.

You lean over the muscular man below you, just enough so your hot breath beats over his back. “Only good dogs get to cum,” you murmur as your fingers bully that awfully euphoric cluster of nerves, “and good dogs can beg better than that.”

Sweat permeates off him in waves and you can’t tell if the goosebumps on his skin are from the outdoor air blowing on the moisture or from the embarrassment of the demeaning act that he’s about to commit, all to appease his meagre human wants.

Cheek trapped against the dirt, Toji’s teeth flash on full display as he whimpers out. “Ahh, fuck, m’sorry… I don’t deserve it… but please let me– let me cum.” Wet eyelashes, all clumped together and satiny, flutter as Toji’s eyes fight to stay open. “M’so sorry. I’ll do anything, please.”

Anything. So vague and all-encompassing; only a small-minded fool would make the mistake of promising ‘anything’. And small-minded fools? Well, you’re not one yourself, but you certainly know your way around making one. And Toji Fushiguro, your latest little project, is no exception, it seems; he may not know it, but he’s just fulfilled a bittersweet prophecy.

Indeed — ‘anything’ is a truly wonderful word.

“Yeah?” Your pace slows until the sight of Toji’s hole, puffy, stretched and clinging around your fingers, is trackable in immensely vivid and erotic detail. “Will you be my little lapdog?” you chirrup, light and honey-sweet, as if to a beloved pet. “Obey my every word, fulfil my every wish? Be mine and no one else’s?”

The precipitation on Toji’s nape glistens as he feverishly nods his head and pushes back harder onto your fingers. “Yes, yes, I will, I am. I’m yours. All yours.”

From the cunning and brutish Hellhound, Killer of Sorcerers, the half-wolf half-man who is both feared and revered for his domineering power and cutthroat personality, you have sculpted a disciplined and docile little plaything. An irredeemable mongrel, whose generous master’s firm, wise hand has trained him into a lovely pet, worthy of being called a…

“Good boy.”

Toji’s tail convulses between his fingers.

You grin. “Go ahead,” you say with a final encouraging slap to Toji’s ass. “Let it all out for me, pup.”

And he does — so abruptly and intensely that his trembling thighs almost give under him, practically held up by the hand on his tail alone. He cries out so loud that drool flies from his lip and his voice is followed by a slight echo on the wind. Soreness is already making itself known in your wrist, but you don’t stop; you milk him for all he’s worth, coaxing out every last drop until Toji is laying in a heap of soil and his own spend, groaning and pushing your hand away.

From your coat, you fish out a handkerchief and wipe your hands. Then you move Toji onto his back to do the same for him. A ritualistic process that brings a kind of peace to your otherwise tireless, whirring thoughts.

“Sit up for me,” you tell Toji, with a pat to his thigh.

With some help, he does. You smile and rummage through your pockets, searching for… Ah, there it is!

You take out the circular object and shift towards Toji. With practised efficiency, you secure it around his neck and lean back to appreciate the sight: sturdy ebony leather with intricately engraved symbols, topped off with silver fastenings. Such a pretty collar looks perfectly at home on him.

“What– what is this?” Toji slurs.

You stand up and stroll a few feet away from Toji, who’s bound to where he is in his weak post-orgasm state. Unhurriedly, you slide out a cigarette and prop it between your lips. In the corner of your eye, you make sure Toji is looking at you before you hover a finger beneath your cigarette. From it, a flame manifests and lights the butt.

Witnessing horror formulate on a face like Toji’s — on the face of a man like Toji — is nothing less than beautiful. You would pay good money to experience it for the first time again; to pinpoint the moment he comes to realise the terrible situation he’s found himself in, so you can cherish it from start to finish, all over again.

“You’re…” Toji’s shocked tone bleeds into one of ire; his wide eyes shrink into slits. “A Jujutsu Sorcerer.”

Wreathed smoke billows out of your mouth as you chuckle. “That’s right.” You cross your arms, menacing eyes flitting over Toji. “And now, you’re my cute little pet.”

“Pet?” Toji scoffs. “I kill your kind for a living. You think I’m just gonna take this shit from you?” Toji’s hands scramble up the tree behind him as he goes to get up. “You’re fucking dead, Sorcerer. Ya hear me? D–”

He yells out as he falls back down, fur standing on end from the scorching pain that pulses out of the collar around his neck. He wheezes and claws at the leather, curved black nails piercing into glowing red runes — but the pain only amplifies. He tries and tries, but the only damage he succeeds to inflict is a few nicks on his own skin.

“I’d be careful if I were you. Brute force just makes the hex stronger,” you warn with a misleadingly charming smirk. “You’re more likely to cut your own throat open before you manage to put a single split in that collar.”

You would know — it’s not the first time you’ve used it — but Toji, stubborn as ever, continues to wrestle against the collar’s spell until he’s purple in the face. Veins bulging and eyes watery. Clambering to his feet only to tumble back down again, like a baby deer learning to walk.

Eventually, though, he does stop — but he wouldn’t be Toji Fushiguro without maintaining that defiant expression, even while in such a pitiful state.

“I do feel sorry for you, you know,” you admit as you approach Toji, who, going by his expression, doesn’t believe you one bit, “but you must understand, I’m the type of person who always gets what they want.”

“And what’s that, huh?” Toji snipes. “F’me to be your fuckin’ sex slave? Someone to play out all your sick fantasies and take your frustrations out on? ‘That it?”

“Silly dog,” you playfully reprimand and roughly tousle Toji’s already dishevelled hair. He snatches his head away from your touch. “The means don’t always signify the end,” you continue as you saunter past Toji. “Just because I used sexual methods doesn’t mean I have sexual intentions.”

Toji glares at you, half puzzled and half — just straight up pissed. “So what then? What do you want from me?”

Your lips curve around the cigarette before you exhale with a cloudy chuckle. “Oh, you really are adorable sometimes, you know that?”

“Stop fuckin’ around and tell me already,” Toji snarls, teeth bared.

Blatantly dismissing his words, you gradually walk back to Toji and tilt forward over him. “Feisty, aren’t you?” you sneer at him — a callback to the same words he said to you at the start of your encounter. And one that Toji recognises, going by his strained composure. “It’s simple really,” you say conversationally as you straighten back up. “I heard the name ‘Hellhound’, saw the word ‘anything’ next to ‘for the right price’ and I was intrigued. I wanted to have you for myself. To tame the wild beast, defeat the undefeated ‘Sorcerer Killer’. That’s all.” You shrug. “I’m just fortunate I could afford such a conquest.” You smirk down at him. “You sure know how to drive a hard bargain, don’t you, puppy?”

Toji swallows, the action undulating through his throat. His tongue flicks out over his lips. His eyebrows knit densely. “You hired me?”

You blink at him. “Was that not obvious?” you say with a bashful laugh. “Ah, I really did try not to seem too prepared but I’m just a humble Sorcerer! Not an actor.”

As if still processing what’s happening, Toji just stares at you. You half-expect him to blow up any second, but that doesn’t discourage you from provoking him a little more. “I know what you’re thinking,” you say, and on its own, it’s true, but it’s more fun to pretend that it’s not. “Don’t worry, you’ll still get the second half of the deposit, even though– you know, I’m still alive.”

You laugh again and Toji’s eye twitches at the repetitive sound. He doesn’t see what you find so fucking funny that you need to laugh every five seconds but he wishes you’d just shut up already.

“You’re outta your fucking mind,” he whispers bitterly, like a too-late realisation.

“I am, aren’t I?” you quip back with a beaming closed-eye grin. “But don’t act like you’re any better.” Another callback, and just in case it doesn’t ring any bells, you press your shoe down on Toji’s crotch, where the head of his still-pink cock pokes out of his underwear, on display through his unzipped trousers. Like a panther pouring out of the shadows, your teeth reveal themselves from behind your lips in a hungry, bordering on starved, smile. “I’m not the one who’s got a second hard-on right now.”

Your acknowledgement persuades a drop of precum to shyly gather at the tip, triggering an even more shy press of thighs around your shoe. When that fails to sufficiently conceal his shame, Toji grits his teeth and whips his head away from you — but you won’t allow that.

After a final puff of smoke, you grasp Toji’s face and force it back into place: laid bare before you, tear tracks on his dirtied cheeks, dried blood under his nose, eyelashes still shiny with the evidence of his desperation. “Be a good pet,” you say as you hover your burning cigarette above his lips, “and open your mouth for your master.”

His teeth gnash together stubbornly, but, ultimately, he follows your command. Jaw falling open, tongue drooping over his lip, eyes gazing up at you, expectant and waiting. Eagerly waiting.

You make him wait no longer; you bring down the lit end of your cigarette onto Toji’s inviting tongue and twist it. The embers hiss and sizzle, branding a small scarlet circle into the pink muscle. As you pull out the cigarette, satisfied, you tell him:

“That’s my good boy.”

"Don't call me that," you say flatly, and knock the cup back. There isn't enough booze in this whole tavern to make this a bearable conversation, but at least you could soften the edges. If you got drunk enough, you might be able to pretend he was nothing more than a lurid ginger mosquito buzzing around your head for attention.

Attention you always seemed to grant, no matter how much you swear you'll ignore him.

"Your lovely friend at the funeral parlour told me I might find you here," Tartaglia continues talking even though you're staring at the ceiling praying for patience. "She's pretty fond of you, huh? Can't imagine why, with your prickly attitude—oh, barkeep, I'll have what they're having, please." He flashes a pearly grin at the bartender, who pours him a cup of mead.

"Did you come here just to bother me?" you grit out, staring at the dregs in your cup; it sloshes darkly amongst the dull silver, and you can see a glimmer of a reflection, your eye staring back at you.

"What an ego you sport!" Tartaglia sounds righteously offended. "I came here to drink." And as if to prove his point, he raises his cup to his lips and takes a deep gulp. You can see his pale throat flex as he swallows, the bob of bones beneath papery skin.

He coughs a little as he sets the cup back down, empty. You try not to let your surprise show on your face.

"Liyue mead has quite the burn," Tartaglia comments. "You'd think I'd be used to it after being weaned on that Snezhnyan paint-thinner, but what can I say? This place has a kick."

He leans back on his barstool, a vaguely soft, wistful look passing over his features. Then he says, "I'll certainly miss it."

The cup slips from your fingers, and you curse yourself. "You're leaving?"

Tartaglia smiles, a little sadly. "The Tsaritsa summoned me back. I'll have to take off by the end of the week."

"No shit?" Tartaglia's been posted here and bothering you for way longer than you arrived to act as a temporary guard for the Wangsheng Funeral Parlour. You weren't sure why such a place needed extra beef with security, but it paid well, and Hu Tao and Zhongli were well-meaning employers and good company, so you could hardly complain. That was the beauty of freelance, after all.

"Oh? You sound disappointed." Tartaglia leans forward, cupping his chin in his hand; his eyes find yours, gleaming in the low light. "What? Don't tell me you're going to miss me?"

You glare at him. "Do people miss the mosquitoes they swat when they're buzzing around their head?"

"You always act like I'm vermin," Tartaglia pouts. "Still, you're having a drink with me—I consider that a victory."

"One of your few," you toast, raising your cup, and Tartaglia's playful expression sullens a touch, like a cloud covering up the sun. "Oh, don't get all kicked-puppy on me. Thought you could take a little pain."

"Better than you know," Tartaglia says with a stunning return to form and a coy grin. You must be just tipsy enough to entertain him, because you don't seize a handful of his bright hair and ram his face into the bar like you briefly consider doing. There wouldn't be much in it for you beyond the satisfying crack of bone and yelp of pain. As for Tartaglia, he'd probably get off on it.

You both down another cup, and now the lines that make up the tavern are starting to blur pleasantly. There's a soft, fuzzy feeling filling you up, like you're made of cotton instead of flesh and blood and magic. A faint flush has made itself known on Tartaglia's cheekbones, lurid against his hair, illuminating the scatter of freckles across the bridge of his nose. He's surprisingly lightweight, for as hard as you known Snezhnayan liquor to be.

"Would you walk with me?" Tartaglia holds your eye like he's making a promise, though not to you. He says half the things he says like he's talking to someone else, someone you cannot see. He holds out a gloved hand, grinning. "C'mon. I want to show you something."

Your brows knit up, suspicious. "Why me?"

"I'm currently not speaking to any of my other friends," Tartaglia says haughtily. "Sneaks and liars, all of 'em. As, uh, disarming as you are, scourge, at least you're honest. So... c'mon. Humour a man's last wish."

"You're not dying," you say acidly, but you get up. Tartaglia grins, delighted, sweeping up his coat from the barstool and paying out. You follow him out of the tavern; Liyue comes alive at night, you think, the harbour glimmering with a thousand lights, the water lapping at the chalky walls. Tartaglia takes your hand as the tavern door swings shut behind you. He runs warm, and you can see freckles spiralling up his wrist, and before you can protest he's started a brisk pace away from the water.

"The hell?" you mutter, making a weak attempt at taking your arm back. "Hey. Tartaglia. Where are we going?"

"So formal," he calls over his shoulder. "You can call me Childe, you know."

"Like that's even your real name," you roll your eyes. "What difference does it make?"

"Hm. Tartaglia feels more like a title. It's the name I use when I want to intimidate, you know?" He looks over his shoulder at you, the dull blue of his eyes catching in the moonlight. "I'm not foolish enough to think I could ever intimidate you, of all people."

And when he says that, it feels like a compliment. You curse the hot prickling you can feel at the backs of your ears as he leads you through town, up near where the mountains crest. It's all rickety ladders and bridges for a while before you come to a plane nestled between two great rocks. Grass and gravel spill out beneath your feet; in the middle of the wobbly circle is a wooden training dummy with chunks carved out of it. Torches bracket the space, filling the night with shifting bronze light.

It occurs to you briefly that Childe could be luring you out here to kill you, but just as easily the notion flees. He might be Fatui, and he might be insufferable, but the two of you have no real grievances as far as you know.

Besides—you're stronger. And the both of you know it.

You sweep a flat look around the circle and raise a brow. “Homey.”

Childe giggles. “You’re always so sharp-tongued, scourge. I’ve been reflecting on my stint in Liyue in light of everything, you know? What with my leaving so soon. I remembered the first time I saw you fight.”

Your brows draw up, taken aback; this is not a sentiment he has shared with you before. He paces as he talks, starts gesticulating like he’s trying to stir up a wind, though the night is virtually breezeless. Warm and damp and encapsulating. A line of sweat encroaches under your collar. 

“Some treasure-hoarders, they made a chokepoint out in the Guili Planes to intercept traders going down the road,” he tells you, as if this is news. “Zhongli asked me to deal with them myself, ‘cause they were stopping import to the city. But as soon as I got up there to scout it out, I saw you. What you’d left, anyway. This… trail. Like this—this big patch of carnage and you just in the middle of it, going blade-to-blade with this monster of a thief twice your size. Would you believe I was almost arrogant enough to think you needed my help?” His eyes shine feverishly, the moonlight catching off dead-fish-blue. “You brought him to heel like a misbehaving dog. He gave you a bloody nose and you just—just wiped at it like it was nothing. Didn’t it hurt? Always wanted to know if it hurt.”

“It hurt,” you manage, frozen with shock. He’s getting entirely too het-up too quickly, feverish in his excitement, pale cheeks flushed wine-red, and he moves closer as he waves his hands, eyes locked onto you like he’s a dog and you’re his master. It makes your blood feel too thick and too hot in your veins. 

“Thought so,” he breathes. “Thought it must’ve. It kinda… it sings, though. Doesn’t it?”

Stuck, you nod, though you only half understand what he’s talking about. 

Apparently satiated, Childe rubs the back of his neck bashfully. "Hah, sorry. You really get me talking, scourge."

"Don't give me the credit," you mumble. "It's one of your natural talents."

"Wanna see another one of my natural talents?" Childe grins; at your sharp look, he raises his hands placatingly, smile stretching ever wider. "I meant fighting, of course. C'mon. Truthfully, I've been thinking about it ever since that day. Fighting you."

He says that—fighting you—with the same sort of soft reverence one might reserve for making love or worshipping a deity. Like it's the centre of his world, the cell his heart was born from. You wonder how long it's been since Childe's days were anything but fighting, then reckon that that's probably a deliberate choice.

When he holds out a blunt wooden training staff out to you, his hands are perfectly steady. You heft it in your grip, getting used to the weight and balance. You're more accustomed to knives and swords, and small blades you can slip into your boot or belts, but you're not unfamiliar with polearms, exactly.

"Feel good?"

You jump; Childe's pressed closer to you in the time it took to examine your new weapon, and his words are accompanied with a brush of warm air across the back of your ear. "It's okay."

"Good! I want you at top form for this." He slopes off, twirling his own staff between gloved fingers obnoxiously. It makes a faint whistling sound against the warm night air. "Think you're ready?"

"Ready?" You can't help but sneer. "I don't need to be ready to fight a pest. I just do it."

Childe's grin is so wide that the flushed apples of his cheeks turn pointy. "Alright, killer. I've been looking forward to this for a while, and, y'know, I dunno when the next time is I'll meet someone as interesting as you... so don't disappoint me, yeah?"

The first crack of your staffs together sings.

It's an old melody, one you're attuned to, one you think you were born with. Impact shivers up your bones, disturbs the skin in a railroad of gooseflesh, sets your teeth on edge. There's the anticipation, the moment right before the new sensation turns uncomfortable or painful, like pressing down on a bruise, the moment before it starts hurting. The staffs gnash together like wooden teeth.

"You're quick," Childe says approvingly as you draw your arm back to your side, circling him in short steps. His eyes follow the lines of your body like he's trying to set you alight. You're not sure why you're doing this, actually—your relationship with Childe has been nothing but tepid the whole time he's been stinted in Liyue. From your end, anyways. He tends to sort of follow you around like a lost puppy when he has free time. No matter how many times you smack him and send him reeling, he always comes back with a bone clamped between his teeth, looking for fun.

A drink, a fuck. A fight. Maybe it's all sort of the same to him.

Your fight is a dance; Childe is undeniably skilled, and polearms aren't your first choice of weapon, so it's a fairly even fight despite your strength. Several times he moves far too quickly for you to comprehend—like you blink and he's shifted with the moonlight, gone from in front to behind you in a second. Laughing, poking, teasing until your blood is boiling despite the cold.

When you finally land a hit on him, it's sweet. Your staff cracks across his jaw with all the force of his annoyance to you over the last months, and Childe barely has time to widen his eyes before he crashes to the dirt. He lets out a pained grunt as he plants into the earth, and just as you're opening your mouth to gloat—

"Again."

It cracks into the night air like the crash of your staff against his jaw, pursed between wheezing breaths. His voice sings like cut piano strings, dissonant against what is happening. You stand over him, breathing hard, brow cinched as he sprawls in the dirt.

He's got chalky soil all over his pretty light uniform. He doesn't seem to care. Dull blue eyes blink up at you, round as pennies; you can see an angry welt raising on his jaw where your blow had made contact, flaring up scarlet against the pale skin. No doubt it will have flowered into a nasty bruise tomorrow, something the colour of overripe lavender melon.

But Childe grins.

You stumble back, frowning hard, and Childe makes a noise at the back of his throat as he sees you retreat. He scrambles messily to his feet, brushing dirt carelessly from his clothes.

"What?"

Childe cradles his jaw with a hiss. "You pack a punch. But I'm not done yet."

"You said again." You eye him warily, arms still not raised. "What did you..."

He huffs a laugh with a return of that boyish grin. "Ah, caught that, did you? I guess you could say I have a certain admiration for people who can land a hit on me. It's impressive. You're impressive."

Before you can decide whether he's swelteringly egotistical or just a pervert who gets off on pain, Childe lunges, swinging his sparring spear overhead; you shriek and parry it last-minute, your grip faltering enough that the wooden shafts collide with a harsh thwack; you don't fend the blow off completely thanks to your shoddy reaction time, but you manage to avoid getting struck in the head.

"Asshole," you grit out, stumbling left a few paces to get your bearings again; Childe circles you, twirling his spear between deft fingers with a sharp grin.

"I sensed your attention wandering," he shrugs. "You think you can hit me again?"

Your chin juts out, indignant. "Yeah. I'm stronger."

Beneath his lurid red hair, Childe's cheeks colour faintly. "Prove it, killer. Lemme feel it. Hit me—"

And he lunges, spear cracking through the air; this time, you're ready for it, seeing the telltale twitches of his body getting into formation before the pounce. You dodge his first hit, sending the tip of his spear sinking into the dirt, and whilst he's distracted with pulling it out you sweep the shaft of your own against the back of his knees. He buckles with a grunt, staggering, and you use his surprise to barrel your full body weight into his side.

He slips into the dirt, head thudding against the packed earth with a dull thud, and in your momentum you follow. By the time he's blinked the stars out of his eyes, your dagger is pressed up against his throat, nestled amongst the pale skin.

He breathes fast and sharp, a distinct contrast to his general collectedness. Your thighs cage his hips, and even from here you can feel his strength; his skin is shot through with sinew and iron. He could reach up, tussle, throw you off, put up a good fight. But he doesn't. He lays limp like a puppet with its strings cut, looking up at you with big, starry eyes—waiting for you to make the next move.

You come to a rather grim hypothesis.

The blunt tip of the dagger encroaches his skin, pushing in hard enough for blood to bead around it. Childe draws in a ragged gasp.

"Gonna kill me?" His tongue flicks out to wet his bottom lip. He says that like it's an act of worship, like carving his throat out with a cinquedea is akin to leaving incense at a shrine for a far-flung god. Like his blood would be spattered amongst the stars if only you spilled it. Your breath catches; you hadn't been ready for the rush of power Childe's perversion would give you. You can feel it nestling under your skin like a heartbeat.

"I think you could, if you wanted," Childe whispers, and then he shudders at the thought, pretty eyes fluttering closed. He looks like he isn't sparing two thoughts to your hand holding a knife to his throat; skin breaks, and blood makes a thin rivulet down his pale skin. "Mm. Maybe I'd—I'd even let you. You could ask real nice."

"You're hardly in a position to be making demands," you murmur, feeling quite frozen. "Why don't you just be quiet for once?"

At once, Childe falls silent.

His bottom lip has split; probably why he was tonguing at it earlier. Now, with nothing to stop it, blood makes a languid trail down the slope of his chin. With your free hand, with the curiosity of a child petting a stray animal for the first time, you swipe at the trail with the pad of your thumb. You track it up to the seam, the cut, the split, press down hard until the surrounding skin of his lip turns white. You can feel the short, hot shocks of his quick breath against the skin of your nail.

The flash of his tongue surprises you, sliding over the bloody pad of your thumb, cleaning up his mess. A dog licking at its own wounds. Your breath catches, but you've never known when you're wading too deep. It's your one weakness as a fighter. You always think you can take more than you can.

So you press deeper. Your thumb sinks into his mouth up to the knuckle, and Childe lets out a faint groan. There's the ghostly scrape of teeth before his lips close over the skin, tongue swirling over the mess of blood and chalky dirt on the blunt tip of the digit.

Somewhere in the back of your head, you register faintly that this is not normal. Your interactions with Childe have been limited, so far, to snarky deadpans, irritable smacks, and the occasional drink. If you have occasionally caught his eyes lingering on the collar of your shirt, or following you when you enter a room soaked in hilichurl gore, you've made no comment. You'd assumed it would fizzle out, anyway. He's Fatui. They're hardly known for staying in one place a significant portion of time—they're dark-dressed ravens, flocking from place to place and bringing suspicion and misery for a while before taking to the sky again.

But Childe is not scoring the horizon. He's in the dirt with your finger in his mouth, and it looks like he's right at home there.

He releases you with a wet pop. Saliva and blood make a diluted trail down to his chin, and his eyes have peeled open again—heavy and half-lidded, blue slate stone, scoring deep into you. Your body feels hot and too full.

He cracks a lazy smile. "Never seen you speechless before, scourge. Does this mean I win?"

And something snaps.

In a fluid movement, you grab both of his wrists and pin them to the ground beside his head. Childe grunts a sound of surprise as your fingers tighten on his wrists, back instinctively arching from the sudden pressure; one of his legs slips in the earth and knocks against your ankle. He blinks up at you, eyes practically bioluminescent in the night.

"You don't look much like a winner," you snarl.

"Depends on your position."

"You're the Tsaritsa's bitch," you spit. "And if not hers, Zhongli's, or was it Signora who was the last one to get one up on you? Really, you've been failing upwards so much lately it's getting hard to keep count."

Childe's eyes narrow, the first glimmer of defiance sparking in the blue. For the first time you feel him throw his weight behind his halfhearted squirming—he raises his hips to try and buck you off, tugs at your grip on his wrists with renewed vigour. His fighting back shouldn't spark something in you—it shouldn't—but you can feel yourself growing excited.

The thing is, you sort of like killing. People don't get into your line of work if they don't. There's something about holding something down and winning through nothing but sheer strength that makes you feel strong, like you've earned a place on this earth. Watching Childe's jaw tick in frustration the longer he goes without unseating you is making all sorts of dangerous ideas brew in your head.

It's just—maybe it's the drink, or the fight, but the world is still pleasantly pretty and still. And Childe looks sort of gorgeous with his brow all scrunched up like that, the hint of icy anger in his eyes, the gritted teeth. His neck is strained in such a way that bares every jut and bone to you, and you can see his pulse fluttering away under the taut skin, the bob of his adam's apple.

You want to bite it.

Some sort of magnetism pulls you down, nosing at the skin of his neck. Childe grunts, half-frustrated and half-confused when he feels your lips brush over his throat. He smells like salt and mead and copper, labour smells, but his skin here is smooth like it's never seen a day of wear.

"What're you—" Childe huffs out, but his mouth drops open with a choked noise when you seal your teeth in a ring over his neck and bite down. Not quite enough to hurt, you don't think, just enough to satisfy the weird part of you that's sparking for the urge to maim. "Archons, scourge."

Oh dear. His voice has gone all strangled and weak. You dare to release one of his wrists to cup the back of his neck, holding him still, brushing the feathery down of hair on his nape. Automatically, his free hand flies for you, but it stops short, hovering as if unsure.

You can almost feel him weighing his choices in his mind. He has a hand free, and you're not even looking at him. Even if he can't beat you outright, he'd do alright with the element of surprise. He could definitely knock you spinning and flee before you get your bearings.

You wait. Count the fast thuds of Childe's pulse against his neck. The muscles in his free arm go limp, and he wraps it around your waist to pull you closer.

Figuring you're done pretending, you skim your lips up his neck and jaw before catching his mouth in a hard, bruising kiss. Childe moans, softly, into your mouth, hand clenching hard over the fabric of your waist before sliding under. His fingers span out over the small of your back, worn leather and warm flesh, and you shudder despite yourself.

His lips are chapped, and you can taste blood still oozing from the split in the plush lower one. "Someone's sensitive," you gloat, and he huffs. "Not had time to get laid here?"

"What can I say?" Childe's breezy tone would be more believable it it wasn't coming out so strangled. "Been a busy guy. Don't seem to have time for m-many... simple pleasures."

"You always seemed to find time to annoy me, though," you say darkly.

"Less of a luxury, more of a need," Childe breathes. "You make just the most interesting faces when you're irritated."

"Yeah? That get you all wet?"

Childe laughs weakly. "Scourge, please. I'm but a blushing virgin. You'll burn my poor ears off."

You shoot an obvious glance down to the tent straining against Childe's slacks. "I can well believe that."

He squirms in embarrassment, the tips of his ears lighting up scarlet. His eyes blink up at you, the usual lusterless blue fleeing in wake of reflecting the thousands of stars above you, and he seems to glow from the inside out, for a moment. The coppery blood on his face catches the moonlight.

A tongue flicks out to wet his lips, a dog wetting its snout. "Won't you take pity, scourge?" he pleads. "You got me well and truly at your mercy. You win. So..."

Before you can stop to consider the ramifications of your actions, your free hand has already scrambled to his belt buckle. Childe's breath catches, eyes widening as he registers your movements as the brass clinks in the silence. For a moment there's nothing but the hasty shuffling of clothing as you shuck Childe's dirt-streaked trousers down his thighs, his hips lifting to assist. There's a small furrow between his brows, his cheeks alight with a blush that makes his freckles sing against his skin.

The skin of his thighs catches, milk-white in the moonlight. Even here, scars have made their home, pink or bruise-dark, crisscrossing over the flesh in railroads. You get his trousers down past his knees before you stop bothering; he's left in dark underclothes, erection so stiff it's pulling the thin fabric taut, and the slit in his shirt that you've always found obscene betrays the quick, shallow bursts of his breath.

His throat flexes when he swallows. "Are you really going to—mmmgh!"

Childe sputters to a halt with a rather embarrassing high-pitched noise as you cup him through his boxers. You roll your palm experimentally over the tip of the tent, and his eyes flutter shut, rolling back against his skull with a pretty, desperate noise. This side of him is so foreign, but so familiar, so obvious, you wonder why you didn't think of it before.

"Ah, fuck," Childe swears, already sounding breathless. With how obvious he's always been, the lazy slide of his eyes, you'd assumed he had at least some experience—but maybe your teasing just a moment ago was a little more on the nose than you'd anticipated. He's unusually sensitive. "Scourge, I don't—"

"Stop calling me that," you mutter, pulling the fabric of his underwear till it strains against his cock, and he swallows back a gasp, spine arching against the dirt. "Did you want something?"

"You're so cruel," he whines. "Y/n, Archons, please—"

"Alright, alright, you big baby," you sigh, shedding his soaked underwear. Childe shudders, thighs tightening under you as he hits the cold air. The strain of his arousal and the chafing fabric is obvious; pre drips eagerly from the reddish tip, and he fits neatly into your palm when you swipe over the leaking hands before wrapping your fingers around him. Childe jolts into the touch, cursing under his breath, and as you start to jerk him off his lashes flutter. His blue eyes roll to the heavens and his head thumps against the earth with a long, shaky moan.

The night fills with noise, somewhere between what you find obscene and what sends heat rushing between your own legs as your fist pumps lazily up his length. Childe is more receptive than you would've put money on, gasping and swearing, hiccuping small, wounded noises in the back of his throat. His brow is scrunched, lips slack and wet with saliva, eyes screwed shut. His hips jump like they have a brain of their own.

You squeeze, prompting a panicked noise; Childe's eyes fly open and find your sly smile. "You look pretty," you tell him. Childe goes scarlet.

"W-wha?" he dredges up intelligently, frowning. "Why'd you—what?"

You find it funny that you've literally got your hand around his cock, but calling him pretty is apparently what crosses the line in flustering him. You cock your head, grinning.

"You don't think?" you coo. "I think you're lovely like this. I never realised how attractive you'd be once you shut your mouth. Maybe I should beat you in a fight more often."

"W-wouldn't complain," Childe pants, still alight with a feverish blush.

"I'm sure," you say noncommitally. "You fucking whore."

Childe moans, loud and shameless, and his free hand flails to scratch his nails down his own skin. "D-don't stop, fuck, don't stop—"

You stare at the scarlet railroads left on the pale skin of his stomach, and with your free hand yank up his shirt to his chest. Childe lets out a startled sound, looking at you with round, surprised eyes. His torso is littered with scars, raised and pale and dark against freckled skin. He is pretty. You love the marks of his exertions and pains, a history of his losses mapped out over his body. One of his nipple has a healed slash running right through it; when you reach up and tweak it, Childe shudders.

"Anyone would think you like losing," you murmur.

Childe looks at you weakly, crying out when your hand resumes at a faster pace. "Like it when—hnn—when it's real. I like it when they don't hold back. 'S why I'm just—hah!—e-enamoured with you, I guess."

"'Cause I'm ruthless?" you quip.

Childe flutters his lashes. "Nice enough to let me come, I hope," he says sweetly, and it makes your cheeks burn momentarily with embarrassment, the brazenness of his statement. "I'm not above begging."

"I liked you better when you were quiet," you mutter, and swipe your thumb hard over the slit. Childe yelps, muscles melting like butter, and when you start rubbing cruelly like you've found some sort of button his face flames, his mouth drops open, and he lets out a wailing noise, legs thrashing.

"Archons," he keens, but with your free hand you seize and handful of his hair and pull, hard.

"No Archons," you snarl. "Just me."

Tears prick at the corners of Childe's eyes as he rolls his hips to meet your unrelenting strokes, whimpering. "Y-yes, yeah, just you, just you, do that again."

You oblige, dig your fingers into the red hair so deep your nails scrape his scalp, and tug. The tears spill over Childe's lashline as he chokes on the moan that bursts from him at the movement.

"Keep it there," he begs, thighs shaking. "Pleasepleaseplease—"

"You close?" you ask innocently. "Already?"

There's no more pretence; the fine line of pleasure and pain seems to have wrought Childe down to only basic instincts, as his hips roll against your hand as you fist his length rough and quick, head tipped right back against the ground, exposing the heaving column of his throat. The toned concave of his stomach flexes with each punched-out breath, the scars coiling and elongating respectively.

"Please," Childe sobs in answer. "I'll be good, be real good, I'm close..."

You surge forward, digging your face into Childe's neck as you speed up your pace, and sink your teeth into the soft skin at the junction of his neck and shoulder. Hard enough for blood to bubble under your lips, hard enough for Childe to let out a strangled scream as he comes all over your hand, spilling over your fingers and his stomach in pearly arcs.

He's panting when you pull back, winces as you dislodge your teeth and unwind your fingers from his hair. He touches the bite mark with a wince and hiss, examining the blood on his fingers with light interest. It really shouldn't surprise or arouse you nearly as much when he dips them into his mouth and licks them clean.

"Degenerate," you tell him. Childe smiles crookedly, the flush on his face still stark red.

"There's this old saying about a pot and a kettle," he says, voice still weak and shaky.

The bite mark is leaking. As he reaches for you, you get the fleeting thought that it will leave another scar to add to his masses, another permanent trophy of another loss.

A loss to you.

♡ He’s tried a lot of things in his pursuit of pleasure before he had someone so willing to help him achieve it - which is a fancy way of saying ‘he’s watched a lot of porn and he’s tried to mimic a couple of things’. So having something in his ass isn’t exactly new for him - but having something that isn’t his own finger is. He’s kind of tense about being put on his hands on knees at first, about how you’re cooing at him to open his legs just a little wider. Kiss down the notches of his spine and the ragged skin at his neck. Reassure him that you aren’t going to hurt him (that gets a ‘I fuckin’ know you wouldn’t, you wouldn’t dare--’ - but there’s not as much bite as there should be in it. There’s a light tremble to his voice). He can’t help but bend into the touch of your palms, so much softer than his own, as you ghost across his skinny sides and his pale thighs and his slim shoulders. If you softly call him a ‘pretty boy’ into his ear, he downright almost moans. He’d never admit to it because he’s insistent he wants to ‘earn’ praise, but Tomura’s got a praise kink that runs deep. 

♡ He has a bad habit of tensing up. But you can see from the way his muscles are taut and shaking and his thick cock is stiff against his stomach, he’s turned on - so continue to speak to him. Reassure him through the sting. As you use your fingers - generously coated in lube - to open him up a little, he’ll start to lose his composure. A shake of the head of pale hair, a soft whimper, a quiet little plea of ‘deeper, I can take more--’ - Tomura’s not very good at holding himself back, so when you brush his prostate, you’ll know. His scratchy voice pitches into a whine, bucking his hips backwards into you, some of the tension of his ass dissipating because he wants you to brush that spot again Goddamit. It’s amazing how insatiable he gets - and just because you have a little more control over it doesn’t mean Tomura’s natural desire to ruthlessly pursue his goal has gone anywhere. 

♡ Muscles jump across his spine when he feels the slickened head of the toy pressing against him. You curl your fingers into his mop of pale hair, tugging it back a little, expecting to see that same tension in his face - but his crimson eyes are soft and hazy, his mouth a little open. He moans when you tug again, and you realise that he’s really enjoying himself. “Can you be a good boy and take it for me?” You ask him, quiet, but sure. Tomura moans wordlessly, bucking his hips so that the very tip of it sinks in. “Use your words for me, okay?” He needs you to speak to concentrate. He often gets lost in sex when he’s in charge, but he’s even more lost now. He manages a nod, and then, slurred; “P-please--”

♡ And oh, if it isn’t a power trip to have one of the most powerful villains in the world begging you to rail him. You start slow, but it’s clear Tomura isn’t going to allow you to keep that pace for long even with the soft whine of being stretched further than he’s ever been before. His hips keep moving in little circles, trying to urge you to fuck him harder, deeper, he can take more, he can - he’s panting, your name slipping through his cracked lips a couple of times as your own hips finally press against his ass (surprisingly nice and soft and rounded, considering that you’d expected it to be as flat as a board as the rest of him). You can’t resist giving him a gentle spank, watching his almost translucent skin turn reddened with the force - and Tomura moans brokenly at the feel of it, not minding at all being pushed around a little bit. It does not take long for him to whimper out your name followed by the simple (if his voice is breaking and wobbling and breathless) request; “Please f-fuuck me--”

♡ He gives in. He lets himself be fucked - the slick noises of the toy sliding in and out of his lubricated hole, his moans broken and stuttering and ragged as the slightly curved shaft manages to hit his prostate perfectly with every thrust. Your own fingers curl around his slender hips and he moans again at the contact, mumbling into the sheets below him about how soft you are, how warm, how good you feel - but it doesn’t take long for him to drop off completely, as the strap-on keeps sliding in and out of him and his body rocks with the thrusts and he’s suddenly drooling and unable to think of anything coherent except you, mercilessly pounding into him, exactly how he wants you to be. As a bottom, Shigaraki is far more pliable than you would believe - shuddering and shivering and moaning, able to be reduced to putty in your hands and a puddle of villain who would agree to anything if you were to stop fucking into him and sweetly ask for it. 

♡ He’s an absolute mess by the time he’s ready to come. He is most of the time during sex, anyway - obsessed with touching you, pressing as much of his body against yours as possible, overstimulating you and making you come over and over and making his name the only thing on your lips - but if you’d thought he was intense when he was taking the lead, he’s even more intense when you are. He’s shivering into your touch, brokenly begging, whimpering and drooling with tears running down his gaunt face as he asks you to let him come, he wants to come for you, please please please - honestly, if you just run your fingers over the underside of his dick and whisper; ‘good boy, Tomura’ into his ear, he’ll probably come so hard that he paints his entire chest with his seed. He rides it out as much as he can, choked moans and sobs of pleasure as you continue to gently fuck him with the toy. When you do pop out of him, the noise so lascivious you think you might come from the sound of it, Tomura is reaching out for the human comfort of your warm, soft body with needy whimpers. He’s all flushed pink and pretty. He’s pretty much the definition of all fucked out - fucked stupid, fucked dumb - and from the way he’s panting, you know he loved it. 

♡ After that, he bottoms fairly often - he’s surprisingly well-behaved for you, as long as you occasionally remind him you’re in charge with a bite to the meat of his shoulders or a pull of his hair. He’s also really, really good at eating you out when he’s in sub-space - if you sit on his face, he’ll dig in like you’re the only meal he’s had for weeks. His desire is, most of all, to please you - to hear your voice reassuring him he’s a good boy for you, that his tongue feels so good, that his dick is so pretty and his ass is so tight and you love him (it’s embarrassing for him, when he’s come out of the sub mindset a little, how often he’s come in time to the gentle coo of your adoration. Soppy bullshit. But . . . he knows you mean it, and he means it too). 

♡ You can’t help but feel like Tomura is kind of a slut. He’ll basically do anything for you - but it doesn’t take long for him to start being a little bratty, asking for bigger toys, asking to try other things, sometimes purposely disobeying just so you’ll give him a light spanking. He always makes up for it in the end - he just gets carried away, sometimes, because you feel so goddamn good. 

Shinso gives you a sheepish smile as you move out the way for him to enter, shutting the door softly behind him. He can feel your eyes on his figure as you lean on the wall and watch him slip off his dress shoes and put on slippers. You take pleasure in watching him and he knows that, can tell as much.

If he didn’t feel so nervous around you - he might’ve been smug about it.

“Sorry I’m late,” ― he replies, slipping his blazer onto a chair before turning to face you ― “Finding an Uber this late on a Thursday night was rough,”

You shake your head as if telling him not to worry about it. You lock the door behind you as you step to him. Shinso is taller than you by a few inches, enough that you have to reach your hand up. You cup his face with your palm and he relaxes into it without so much as a second though.

That funny feeling stirs inside of him again, chewing on his lower lip as you greet him with such affection.

“No worries, Shin,” ― your voice is remarkably low ― “Are you alright?”

He knows this isn’t really about his mental state as much as it’s literal. You always ask him that out of instinct. He thinks you have a sixth sense about when he’s been with a client or maybe the exhaustion is just that obvious. He isn’t sure he wants to find out which one it is. He blinks at you, skin pink, almost nuzzling into your hands. That hungry feeling returns with no subtly as he nods.

“She was gentle with me,” ― he tells you, unsure of how to be in front of you, like always ― “I’m fine,”

You pat his cheek before removing yourself from him. And the affection and warmth is gone too quickly for his liking - he’s hoping he’ll get lucky tonight and that you’ll ask him to come lay with you for a while.

“Have you eaten anything?”

As if on cue, his stomach rumbles faintly causing you to break out into giggles as he blushes even harder. Without missing a beat, you hand him a book for room service and sit next on the edge of the bed, patting the spot beside you.

“Come here and tell me what you wanna eat, yeah?” ― you lean back, shaking out a crick in your neck ― “I’ll order it for you while you’re in the shower,”

He gives you a confused look but sits next to you anyways, flipping through the menu as he balances it on his leg and yours.

“I don’t have any clothes,”

You chuckle a little, patting his knees.

“I bought you some,”

A strange feeling settles inside of his heart upon your words. He squirms a little in his seat, scratching the back of his neck before clicking his teeth.

“Tsk, you didn’t have to -”

“Do that for you. Just tell me to bring clothes next time,” ― you finish for him, laughing lightly ― “Spare me the lecture, Shin - I’ve heard it a million times already,”

He glares at you playfully before sighing, dropping his head onto your shoulder. His head feels light, skin tingly.

“Whatever,” ― he huffs ― “..Thanks, though,”

This makes you laugh again and Shinso ignores the way his whole body reacts to the sound. The little pleasantry shouldn’t have this much of an effect on him. He hopes and prays you can’t hear the way his heart sounds.

“Yeah, yeah - you’re welcome. Now pick something out and go shower,”

You already know what he wants to eat but you watch with content as he goes through the menu anyways. It’s always the same - fried chicken and some form of potatoes and sometimes he’ll let him get dessert. Most of the time, you order it for him even though he never asks and it seems like today is one of those days.

He points out the same thing, like you had predicted before grabbing the bag of clothes and heading to the shower. You don’t look at him twice when he leaves, grabbing the remote and immediately getting comfortable in the wide, queen bed.

__

The bathroom is a nice reprieve to cool Shinso’s nerves.

It’s huge, this bathroom. Meant for a couple - given the way there’s a heart-shaped bathtub, rose-petals, and a large bottle of bubble-bath soap sitting on the counter, wrapped in ribbon. The ceilings are high and it’s well-lit like you could see every detail - but there’s a little knob to dim the lights too.

He stares at himself in the big, oval mirror. He can almost tell how flustered he is as he stares at himself for a long while. Silky purple locks now droop with the heaviness of the day, and his eyebags are worse than usual. It’d be polite to call him haggard and he finds himself embarrassed to look at his reflection.

Really, he just finds himself embarrassed to exist in your presence. For as long as this exchange has gone on, Shinso always ends up at his wits end. He checks his appearance with urgency and can’t help but zone out as he thinks about every single thing he’s done since he arrived with an ever increasing amount of scrutiny.

He decides promptly that these are thoughts that belong in the shower so he sighs and turns away from the mirror - stripping himself of his clothes. He unbuttons the white dress shirt and shrugs it off his shoulders, undoing his belt and ungracefully tugging his pants and boxer briefs down in one fell swoop. The sudden feeling of cold air all over his body makes him shiver.

He turns again to examine his figure. His body is muscular in its own right but he’s mostly lean muscle. His torso is thin and his stomach is flat but nothing about him is all that defined other than his upper arms. His forearms are thick and veiny.

His entire body could be described as an acquired taste he thinks. Even bare naked, he doesn’t think he’s all that bad to look at. He’s exceptionally well-kept thanks to his job - hair above his dick trimmed nicely. He’s clean everywhere. There’s nothing.. wrong with him physically he doesn’t think.

Shaking his head, he opens the glass shower door, turns the water as hot as it can go, and steps inside.

With a clean loofah hanging dry on the wall, he squirts some hotel shower gel into it and starts to scrub over every inch of skin. He showered before coming but he still feels grimy, so it’s a nice feeling. The hot water relaxes his muscles as he lets his thoughts drift again.

If he wasn’t entirely spent, he’d also probably have his dick in his hand. There’s a routine to all of this and that’s normally part of it but his body is at peak exhaustion right now. His eyes already feel heavy and he can only hope he doesn’t pass out in the shower.

Despite all that, his head is only filled with thoughts of you, the same thing he always thinks when he ends up here..

Why haven’t you had sex with him yet?

It’s funny, isn’t it?

For most escorts he knows, the part about having sex can be the worst part of the job. Even for high-end escorts like Hitoshi himself - ultimately your body is a product more than your work is a service. You’re being paid to be whatever your client wants and it changes all the time, varies from client to client.

He has it a little easier because he’s a male escort, and most of his regulars have been mostly women in their 40’s and 50’s with a lot of money who are looking for the ‘boyfriend’ experience. It’s really a stroke of luck, all things considered. All of the women in his field have to deal with old men who have a nasty reputation of being disgusting, no pun intended. Having heard even half of the things some of his friends have said about it - he knows it to be true too.

Some people don’t mind the sex part since they don’t really think that being an escort is more than that. A true professional knows that escorting is having to play a little bit of every role - the therapist, the partner, the temptress. High-end callboys and girls are responsible for being more than just a thing to fuck and take out their stress and the better you are at your job, the easier it is to find regulars.

Other people find it degrading but most people just consider it an often annoying part of the job. You are a fantasy on legs - and you get quite handsome tips for being filthier than you ever really plan on being at the start. The sex isn’t always to your liking. It’s too rough or too much and most of your clients aren’t exactly looking to be giving partners.

It’s easier than being on the street corner (safer, too) but he’d argue the mental strain is a lot more exhausting. He feels like he’s playing a role and it’s not one he always enjoys. A lot of his regulars are nice women- most of them lonely with husbands who rarely ever come home. Some of them are downright bad people.

But beggars can’t be choosers so Shinso does what he does best and slinks into whatever role they want him to play. Some nights he’s a mean and callous secret affair - he pulls hair and clashes teeth and lets them scratch his back up.

Other nights he’s a sweet and endearing lover, he holds them and whispers sweet nothings and listens to them complain about their problems like he cares.

Almost all of the time though, it ends in sex. It’s not particularly meaningful or particularly good sex. The whole act has essentially lost its meaning for him, especially in a casual way.

Sex is just sex. Part of the job. And he can have it with his eyes closed but it doesn’t really feel like anything. Mostly, he wants it to be over so he can go home and get some sleep. The whole field of work is exhausting on his spirit.

But it pays rent, and it’s food on the table - and he’s really not in any place to question it when it ends up being so important. He avoids thinking about it too hard when he can because there’s not really any reason to do so.

He finds it.. odd though. That despite knowing all of this, he gets this horrible discomfort at the fact you don’t seem to wanna sleep with him.

Shinso’s self-worth has never been all that high, but he can say with certainty he’s good at his job. He’s handsome enough to catch eyes everywhere he goes. He’s strong, always smells good, is witty and intelligent. Good in bed. He’s good on paper.

Maybe it’s because you knew him when he wasn’t any of those things. After all, you were his longest regular. He wasn’t as put-together about this whole ordeal, so nervous around everything that so much as breathed in his direction. He’d gone to a party that night to look for clients in the ballroom of a place just down the street from this very hotel.

You took him up on his services but didn’t sleep with him. You didn’t even kiss him or touch him. Instead, you sat in a hotel room together and drank the entire night. Shinso confessed to you his life story - why he’s here and how he’d never done this before. He expected you to take him on his offer and at least ask for some oral or something. But you didn’t. You simply shook your head at him and told him that wasn’t necessary.

Then you let him talk to you some more. You told him about yourself - you’re head of a big company and child of a powerful man. You have more money than you know what to do with so you came to this event. Apparently, you weren’t expecting much but you found him handsome and that’s why you’re here now.

He still remembers blushing at your words as you took another sip. The light flush in your skin as you giggled at his still shy demeanor.

You’re older than Shinso by three years. He was 22 and you were 25. It’s been three years since then and Shinso’s grown up a lot, he thinks. Maybe you won't sleep with him because you know all this is an act or maybe you never found him attractive to begin with.

He knows it shouldn’t matter. No matter what you do, you pay Shinso almost three times his rent every single time he’s with you. You do it once a month, just on time - and you never do anything more than talk. If you’re tipsy enough or tired enough, you’ll let him lay on your chest as you vent but never anything farther than that. Not once have you crossed the boundary with him of intimacy like that.

You’re just a client and this is just a simple relationship, an exchange of words for money. He knows that better than anyone.

But he can’t help but feel.. shitty about it . He can’t help but wonder what's wrong with him if you don’t want him in a physical way. Maybe it’s because you know about all his baggage so intimately you can’t bring yourself to sleep with him out of pity.

He knows it shouldn’t matter but it does. It matters so much to him he hardly knows what to do with himself over the fact you won’t sleep with him and you’ve never even shown any interest.

Romantic relationships in this field are something of a complete anomaly. It might work if you're dating your pimp or madam, maybe if you’re both escorts even - but with the way things tended to be, it was hard. Shinso had 0 expectations of a love life for however long he was at this job.

But if there are words to describe this never ending longing better than “love”, he’d be hard-pressed to find it.

It’s really a whole pain in this ass to admit it to even himself, in his head. Romantic feelings? For a client? He’s out of his damn mind.

But you treat him so.. kindly. So differently from everyone else. You always call him ‘Shin’ with a honeyed tone, and you let him sleep when he comes over if he’s too tired. You feed him and buy him clothes and play with his hair sometimes. You talk to him like he’s a person and maybe he’s just… unused to tenderness.

But even if that is the case, it’s been years and you have an iron-tight grip on his heart.

And from how things have been going and how he continues to feel - it doesn’t seem like you have any plans of letting go anytime soon.

__

When Shinso exits the bathroom, he finds you lying on your back watching some reruns of Love Island playing on the TV. You’ve undressed and wiped off your makeup - now in pajamas and settled in the sheets. When you notice him, you eagerly shift to the other side and pat it for him to lay down which he does without a second thought. You’ve got a bottle of wine and two glasses waiting - unusual since you rarely drink with him.

He plops himself down besides you, turning to face you as you do the same.

“Is there a special date I’ve missed or something? What’s all this for?”

He gestures his head to the wine on the other side. You give him a soft shrug.

“Ah, sorta. Not sure if you wanna hear about it though,” ― you look at him sheepishly, yawning ― “Nothing very interesting to you,”

He wants to say everything about you is interesting to him but that’s entirely too corny. So he flicks you softly, shaking his head.

“Shut up and tell me,” but there’s no bite to it. You turn to lay on your back, laying to look at the ceiling. You lightly trace the patterns with your fingers, shutting your eyes.

“Did I.. ever mention I was engaged?”

His heart falls into his stomach, blinking rapidly before staring at you. He lays on his back now too, voice gone quiet. Unsure of how to respond, he stops. He can feel his heart clench, forcing a reply.

“Uh.. no, I don’t think so,”

You chuckle a little.

“He uh.. we weren’t serious,” ― you explain clumsily, lips pressed into a thin line like it stresses you out to think of the details ― “He really liked me and our marriage was mostly PR but I was lonely. I thought I might grow to like him,”

The flickering ember of hope in his heart is enough to push him, aching to know more.

“Did you?”

You shake your head and laugh, letting your neck crane over to look at him.

“I didn’t. Something came up and suddenly, I had different priorities,”

He just barely masks the relief in his expression, coughing lightly and trying to distract from his reaction.

“Well then uh, what’s wrong?”

You turn over to face him with not much to say. You reach over and tuck some loose hair behind his ear before retracting your hand. The small bit of affection is enough to send him reeling.

“Not wrong really. He got re-engaged today and it feels weird since I haven’t really made much progress in my life,”

He rolls his eyes at you.

“Oh yeah, opening your own company is pretty boring,”

You frown at him before sighing, scratching your scalp.

“I guess so but uh.. it’s not what I want, really”

He seems confused by your reply. You wonder if he knows just how dense he really is at times, brows furrowed in confusion.

“What do you want then?”

You giggle a little and shake your head.

“Something I can’t really have,” you say with a shrug.

He gasps aloud sarcastically.

“There’s something like that out there? Seriously?”

He’s expecting a typically witty response like the ones he normally gets from you. A rolling of eyes and a gentle shove as you tell him to pipe down or something along those lines. What he isn’t expecting is the way your eyes go lidded, smile curved up - blinking endlessly. The mellowness in your gaze as you nod.

“The funny thing is, it's so close to me sometimes. Almost like.. I could have it if I just... reached for it,”

Your sincerity strikes a chord in him, and he finds himself responding again without thinking twice..

“What’s stopping you?”

You give him a shrug.

“It’s not really my place to reach for it, I guess,” ― you explain, half-heartedly, just tired from thinking of it ― “It’s whatever, really,”

He can tell you want to stop talking about it but he can’t help but be curious. Still, he swallows whatever questions he has and lets you lay like that for a while. Observing you comes naturally to him these days, silently but probably not all that subtle.

A silence stretches between the two of you like how a cat moves in the summer sun. A comfortable exhaustion, where neither of you can find it in yourselves to move from your spot. It's unlikely you'll drink tonight. You yawn a little, heavy eyelids as you look at him.

“Hey, Shin,”

He hums, tiredly.

“Do you wanna spend tomorrow with me, too?”

He isn’t really sure if he heard you correctly until he opens his eyes to your expression. You’ve caught your lower lip between your teeth, nervously waiting for his reply. Shinso’s eyes widen as he stares at you, completely dumbfounded.

“A-are you sure? Aren’t you normally uh.. pretty busy during the weekdays?”

“Yeah but I took some time off since everythings been going well. It’s been a while since I’ve taken a break,” you explain

“And you wanna spend that time off with me…? I heard that correctly?”

You laugh at it though you know his question is genuine. You nod.

“You did, actually. It’s okay if you’re busy - I just thought it might be a good change of pace and I’ll still pay you. I need to go run some errands but we could make a day of it,” ― your give him a soft smile ― “No pressure,”

He blinks at you, dumbfounded.

“No I.. that would be cool. I’d like that,” he chokes out, heart stuttering.

You smile at him.

“Good,” ― you lean over, pressing a kiss to his temple before getting up to dim the lights ― “You look exhausted so get some sleep in,”

“R-right,”

He feels your weight as you slip into bed again, still facing him but closing your eyes.

“Night, Shinso”

“..Night,”

__

How did things end up like this?

With a hand on his thigh, and the spike of warmth in his chest - that’s all he can think to ask himself.

After last night, he’d woken up to find an empty bed and a paper-note crinkled up on the bedside table. It told him to get dressed and whenever you came back - the two of you would go out. You had a list of errands you needed to run and all Shinso had to do was go with you.

And he was ready to do that - he showered, got dressed, and when you arrived, accompanied you all day to do whatever tasks you needed.

Your first stop was the bank to deposit a check and take out a hefty sum of cash - half of which you handed to Shinso with a not so subtle wink.

After that - you went to your office to drop off some paperwork, with Shinso in tow and then to the Shopping Centre where you bought him an excessive amount of clothes and a brand-new watch he absolutely didn’t need. You even made him give you a little show, telling him to come out of the dressing room so he could see him in each outfit.

If that wasn’t embarrassing enough, you’d paid for both of his meals after having breakfast. You’d spent the whole day together and you’d essentially sugared him the whole time.

It wasn’t like Shinso minded . But as a pining escort, having your attention like this all day was doing terrible things to his heart. The never-ending yearning only seemed to swell up further and every gentle touch - a hand on his knee or you holding his arm, only served to make it worse.

He was torn between wanting the day to end and never wanting it too but he knew it’d be terrible for him if it continued on.

You asked him if he’d like to drink with you tonight since you couldn't last night and Shinso had said yes like the love-sick fuck he is. So you get back to the hotel room, order an expensive few bottles of wine, and pour him a few drinks. He could sleep the night and leave the next morning with cash in hand and all new items and that would be that.

Shinso knows you rarely drink and given the fact you’re choosing to spend so much time with him, he’s certain you’re going through something. And he’s fine with accompanying you through it, comfortable giving you whatever you need.

But it’s oh-so bad for his heart. It’s bad to watch you drink and see your cheeks get flushed and glow in the dim lights. It’s bad to feel your hand creep-up on his thigh as the drinks loosen you and you get comfortable.

And it’s hard for him to shut himself up when he wants you so badly anyways. When you’re so close but so far all at once and he’s losing track of his sense of dignity or pride as you drink another sip, and rub your thumb into the meat of his thigh and he’s looking at you with so much longing .

You take a sip from your glass, stem between your fingers when your voice startles him out of his trance.

“You’ve been staring at me for a while now, y’know,” ― you tell him, tapping his leg ― “If you have something you wanna say, just say it. No judgement,”

He gives you a strained look. Chewing the inside of his lip, he leans forward with his elbows on the table, cautiously moving so nothing spills. His eyes focus on the cork, fiddling with it to calm his nerves.

It goes dead silent, like everything in the entire world has stopped. Not a single car on the street or life of any kind. Just you and him, alone in this hotel room.

“Why haven’t you..” ― he trails off, wincing at his own vulgar words ― “Why won’t you.. sleep with me?

Upon hearing his question, you freeze. Worried he’s upset you, he immediately goes to correct himself. Tell you that you don’t have to answer, he’s just being stupid but instead of getting angry, you laugh.

It’s a chuckle at first but it tapers off into full-blown giggles and eventually you put the glass down just to laugh. He’s not sure if he should be offended or not by it so he sits and waits for you to catch your breath.

You lean back in your chair, hands splayed on the table as you observe all the rings on your fingers. Silver and diamonds, manicured nails and all. You tap them on the table, sighing before shrugging.

“Well, not like I have any reason not to tell you,” ― you say sighing ― “Try not to think too hard about it I guess,”

“What is it?”

“Ah well, there’s two reasons,”

He squints.

“..Okay? What are they?”

You smile at him, cracking your knuckles before resting them on the table again.

“Well, firstly - I like you” ― you say casually, all too easily for him to even process. His eyes widen the size of saucers, shock punching him in the gut ― “And I felt like sleeping with you like this.. under these circumstances would make me like the rest of your clientele so there’s that,’

What the fuck .

“Wh-whats the other reason?”

You smile.

“I’m into some pretty weird stuff,” you say with a shrug.

He stares at you.. hard and for a long time as you sit and sip wine casually. Like you didn’t just drop a complete bomb on him. Like you didn’t just casually confess your feelings for him like you were reciting the weather.

“The first reason again.. can you say it again..? Slower maybe?”

You turn to face him, cocking your head to one side.

“That I like you?”

“What the actual fuck ”

You frown.

“I told you you didn’t have to think about it too hard,”

“That is not the problem”

“Then what is..?”

“That I like you back! Obviously!” he snaps, frustrated. You stare at him wide-eyed before falling into giggles at his flustered and irritated expression. He gapes before shutting his mouth, dropping his head on the table with a groan.

“Shit, I wasn’t supposed to - fuck me ,”

You laugh again, patting his back sympathetically.

“Take your time,”

He rolls his eyes at you.

“Why am I just now learning this? Like..? Isn’t this something I should know? Since when and why?”

You laugh a little harder at his distress.

“Uh.. I don’t know? Since we first met?”

He stares at you.

“ That long? ”

You nod softly.

“Why didn’t you… why are we just finding this out?”

“Remember last night when I was talking about something being out of my reach,”

He gapes at you.

“.. You were talking about me?”

“Yeah… I might’ve just been some client to you. Your job is hard enough and I didn’t want me having feelings for you adding any pressure so I just left it alone,” ― you explain to him awkwardly ― “Too far out of my reach, you know,”

“Oh, what the fuck,”

It grows quiet for a while as Shinso sits in the strange reality that you.. like him . He tries his best to swallow the relieved lump in his throat, shaking his head of any second thoughts.

“Okay well...we don’t have time to unpack all of that right so I’m not going to,” ― he says decidedly ― “But that second part..I doubt it’s that bad. I’m an escort, I’m sure I can handle it,”

You raise an eyebrow at him.

“Hm.. you must really wanna sleep with me huh”

He flushes.

“Gimme a break here,”

You let out another soft laugh.

“Sorry sorry, it was like.. right there. It’s not that it’s weird uh.. maybe a little.. unconventional? Even for you,”

He shakes his head.

“Highly doubt it. I’ve done it all. If it’s anything like spanking, choking, biting, hair-pulling, bondage - the whole nine yards and then some,” he explains. You hum.

“Well.. I guess it technically counts as all of that,”

“See, I told you -”

“The thing is.. I don’t really want you to do all that to me,”

He stops dead in his tracks.

“...What?”

“I uh.. don’t really sub like that. Not often, anyways. I’m into what you said - spanking, choking, biting, hair-pulling, bondage - all of that and then some but like… not for me,”

He pauses. Why is his dick doing that?

“..Oh. I see,”

You wave him off a bit.

“We don’t have to do anything like that, if you don’t want to. But that’s why I was hesitating,”

“I never said..” ― he trails off, flushing ― “I’m fine with it. I trust you I just.. don’t have experience subbing, honestly,”

Your eyes widen as a familiar heat finds you. You stare at him, trying to mask your excitement.

“We really don’t have too,”

“I want to. I’ll tell you if I want to stop so,”

You give him a soft stare before chuckling. Rising to your feet, you give him your hand for him to grab. He stumbles to stand as you drag him to the bed where he finds himself seated on the edge.

You force him down, hands on his shoulders. Wordlessly, you draw your hands up his clothed chest, stopping at his face. He rests his cheek in your palm and lets you drag your thumb across his bottom lip. Everything shifts in less than a breath, in the blink of an eye and suddenly he’s looking at you more intensely than he ever has before. The reality of having sex with you, touching you - for the first time suffocates him

“Fuck,” he swears, under his breath.

“Open your mouth, Shinso,”

You leave him there for a moment, grabbing the bottle of wine and taking a swig. You slide your palms down to his neck, tilting his chin back.

He does, eyes absently tracing your face. He leans back onto his palms, mouth open. He can feel your fingers curling around the sides of his neck, pressing softly as you lean over him and spit the wine into his mouth. It’s warm from how you’ve kept it between your lips. He lets it spill, the rich liquid spilling from the corners of his lips down to his chest.

“Now swallow, yeah?”

He does, one large gulp that leaves him gasping for air with an ache between his legs he doesn’t know how to handle. His eyes flutter open and he looks at you as you pat his cheek.

“You listen well, yknow that?”

He gives you a hazy nod as you laugh, setting the bottle of wine aside again before returning to him.

“Do you know about the green light system?”

He nods. You smile.

“Can you repeat it to me?”

“Green for go, yellow for slow down, red for stop,” he recites back to you. You settle your hands around his throat, humming.

“Smart and handsome, huh?”

He laughs a little at that, dropping his head forward.

“You’re gonna kill me,”

Your grin widens.

“But you’ll have fun at least,”

He can’t disagree with that. His whole body feels like it’s lit up. Fiery heat lays claim to every inch of his body, years and years of desire welled up inside him. He feels like he’ll melt at any touch. Keening, he sighs under his breath.

“It’d be nice if we got to the fun part faster,”

You raise your eyebrows, grinning.

“Someone’s bratty,”

You think he’s gonna fold but he doesn’t. He looks up at you, arms wrapped around your waist. He tugs you towards him, face buried in your torso.

“You’ll have to fix that on your own,” ― he takes a deep inhale of your perfume. You smell like sunlight ― “I’ve waited for so long, you don’t even know,”

“Are you asking me to go easy on you?” you ask, partially genuine. He shakes his head, tilting his head up to look at you.

“The opposite, actually,”

You can’t help but laugh at him again, you run your fingers through his hair - tugging it back until he’s looking at you again. You lean down this time, getting in his face.

“You should learn to be more careful, Shinso,”

“Hitoshi,” he corrects, mouth slick with a sleazy smile. You tug at his hair harder and he lets out a moan.

“You should really learn to be more careful, Hitoshi,”

“ Fuck ,”

You release him from your grasp stepping back. He can feel his heart in his ears as you stares at you with a Cheshire cat grin.

“Strip,”

“Why should I?” he challenges.

You raise a brow at him and shrug. He watches as you step out of your own clothes, how your fingers undo your blouse buttons one by one. His mouth goes dry, licking his lips as he settles on his ass to watch you undress. He watches the loose fabric fall to the floor gracefully - eyes soaking up the sight of your chest.

A pretty lace bra barely holds them from sight, he can see every single detail. His cock twitches. You don’t stop there, looping your fingers into hooks of your pants and shrugging them off. Your body is perfect - so much better to look at than he could’ve ever imagined. Every curve or stretch mark or hair sits so pretty on your skin he can barely breathe.

He’s aching to jump across and touch you but after you undress, you deposit your clothes to the back of a chair across the bed before sitting down. With your legs spread - he gets an almost perfect view of your cunt behind thin and lace fabric.

“You wanna touch me, right?”

“Y-yeah,”

“Then get naked and sit on the bed,”

He swears he sees stars. The way your voice dips, gets heavy and powerful. He nods a little, stumbles when he stands.

“What’re you gonna do?”

You grin, leaning back in your chair. You hand one hand brushing against your chest. Slender fingers rolling the nipple between thumb and forefinger as the other hand smooths down your navel to sit between your legs. He feels his knees buckle as you sigh, going beneath the snap of your waist band. You draw a ragged breath in as you play with yourself and Shinso watches you like he’s got hearts in his eyes.

“I’m gonna watch,” ― you pant ― “Give me a good show and I’ll reward you, Hitoshi,”

Shinso is decidedly out of his element here. He’s not accustomed to this treatment, all of this attention. It’s clear you’re asking him to present yourself to him - but Shinso’s never been the one doing this. He’s normally in your shoes.

But the way your eyes drink him in, lustful and wanting, makes him want to try. So he stands and he strips, both hands grabbing either side of his shirt and slowly peeling it off of his torso. When the cool air hits the bare skin - he shivers. He rubs the back of his neck and splays his hands across his body as reaches down to his pants. He watches you while you watch him, basking in this mutual voyeurism of the act.

He feels himself get impossibly hard underneath your eyes. He takes off his pants first, tight skinny jeans that drag off his thighs and steps out of them - leaving him to only his boxers. He hesitates, embarrassed to continue, but swallows his pride. When you stop ready to question him, he starts. Slender fingers dip into his waist-band and he wiggles his hips to take them off extra slow for you.

He’s a sight to see in your eyes - his body is pale and pretty, nipples flushed against strong chest and thick thighs. He’s toned and lean, body pure sinew - with dark purple carpet to match the drapes. His cock is pretty too, not big but curved left with the tip pink. It smacks against his stomach when he takes it off. Wet with precum that drools onto his skin.

You throw your head back when you see him naked.

“Fuck, you’re pretty Hitoshi,”

He blinks at you.

“Pretty?”

You nod, still touching your clit. Still staring at him like you’re going to eat him alive. A raspy moan leaves your lips.

“Wanna see you jerk off,” ― you manage to say through a series of moans ― “Bet you look so fucking good when you do it. Sit on the bed and show me,”

This is embarrassing . Shinso is humiliated, but more than anything he’s humiliated by the way he listens . He lets himself do it. He spits into his palm unceremoniously His hand wraps around his cock, fingers around the base when he gives it a long and slow stroke. He remembers the last time he got off but he’s sure it didn’t feel like this.

He can feel it in his whole body - the tenseness in his muscles and how his chest rises but never seems to fall completely. Short, ragged breaths leaving his lips. His throat stumbles on his breaths like he can barely get them to come out. It feels so good, he can feel it everywhere. Blood pulsating under his skin - it’s hot in his veins and he strokes himself off with enthusiasm. He’s never done this before but he understands why people do.

The feeling he gets watching you watch him sends chills up his spine. The desire that lingers, connects you two like a web. You want him just as badly as he wants you and there’s proof in the way your moans mix together. Soft pants with his slow groans.

He can feel himself get close - in his throat. He throws his head back when he moans.

“G-gonna cum if I don’t stop, hngh shit ,”

You laugh at him, instead of telling him to stop - you laugh.

“You’ll stop when I tell you to stop,”― you assert, spreading your legs even wider ― “Don’t you wanna cum inside me, baby? Think that would feel better, yeah?”

“F-fuck, yeah, god,” ― he bites the inside of his cheek, slowing down as he feels it. The soft strokes make him whine ― “Want to fuck you so bad,”

“Are you close?,”

“ Please,”

“How close?”

“S-so close, gonna cum soon if I don’t - haah , shit,” ― he takes a ragged breath, slowing as best he can “Don’t stop. If I don’t - ,”

You can feel how close he is. With a breathy laugh, you sit up.

“Stop, Hitoshi,”

He gasps, immediately removing his hands. Stumbling back onto the bed, he grips the sheets trying to catch his breath. The come down is miserable, you must know. You give him a soft look of sympathy as you approach him.

“You did good,” you praise, lifting your knee and placing it beside his thigh. “Bet you’re real sensitive right now, aren’t you ‘toshi?”

“Want a reward?”

He nods. You press your pointer and index finger to his lips and watch him open his mouth. His mouth is hot and your fingers rub against his wet tongue. He closes his lips on instinct, a deep groan leaving him when he realizes. what you’re doing.

“I was gonna tie you up, y’know? With a little tie but you behaved so well for me just now. You think you’ve earned a reward?”

He looks at you with misty eyes, cock pulsing with desire. You’ve broken him down thoroughly. The empty look in his eyes and the way he sucks on your fingers. He works his tongue on each ridge on your knuckle all the back to the tips.

“What is it you wanna do, Hitoshi?” ― you ask curiously ― “Do you know?”

You pull back, watching drool drip down the sides of his mouth and down his neck. He has his hands on either side of him, fists clench. Like he can’t decide what he wants to do more.

“Wanna feel you so fucking bad,” ― he says with finality, eyes pleading ― “Please let me feel you,”

“What do you wanna feel, baby? Just wanna feel me up or you wanna feel your cock inside me..?”

He shudders.

“All of you.. god - all of you,”

“That so… think you can behave for me then? Can you be a good boy so I can give you what you want”

He nods but you shake your head, holding his face in your hands.

“Good boys have good manners,” ― you inform, staring at his eyes with adoration ― “Tell me that you’ll be a good boy for me,”

He can feel his cock twitch almost like he’ll cum untouched. The way you hold his gaze doesn’t let him look at anything but you. All he can see or smell or think is you.

“I-I’ll be... a g..good boy for you,” ― he stutters, never having said something so.. submissive. It feels awkward but you smile, grow soft so he tries again, a little firmer ― “I’ll be a good boy for you..promise”

He probably doesn’t realize himself but he gets a soft look in his eyes when you compliment him. It would make sense for him to have a praise kink but you almost feel guilty exploiting it when he doesn’t even know.

“You’re such a good boy for me aren’t you, Hitoshi? Got such a handsome face,” you’re still looking straight at him. He squirms, body doing something unfamiliar.

“W-wait,” ― he squirms, backing up a little ― “Shit.. wait it’s..

Instead of pushing him, you pull back.

“Get up on the bed baby,”

And he does, scooting back towards the headboard with his back leaning into pillows. You crawl towards him, straddling him. Both of your knees are on either side of his thigh and your bodies are pressed so closely together.

Your hands rest at the base of his throat, before sliding around to his face. He can feel your core, wet and warm - hovering just above his naked torso. You lean forward, warm breath on his lips. You smell so good to him, breath sweet with alcohol. Everything about is so attractive and his heart is racing all over again.

It’s the first time he’s ever kissed you. He lets you take the lead on it. The way your bodies meld into each other and the gentle touch of your hands. Nothing can distract him from the kiss. Your lips are so soft. They taste sour and sweet and you kiss him feverish. Each time you pull back to kiss him again, you do it a little deeper and a little longer until it aches to stop.

You kiss him with tongue, and you lead. He follows. You let it drag across his lower lip, let your teeth tug and bite wherever you please. It sets off something feverish inside of him. Shinso moans as your clothed cunt drags onto his cock slowly, the light sensation making him shiver.

Heat splinters off inside of him, something slick dragging along his cock has him choking on his breath.

You let yourself pull away from his lips, moving to pepper kiss down his jaw all the way to pale neck. He can feel the sharpness of your teeth dig into the skin, mouth lapping over the marks before sucking them into bruises. A deep purple to match the rest of him - littered from his throat all the way down to his chest as you scoot down to get a taste of the rest of him.

“You’re so cute, Hitoshi” ― you greet, hands on his waist ― “Such a pretty boy,”

He whimpers when he hears your voice.

“Is there anything you want?”

“C-can I… I wanna uhm.. eat you out, maybe? If that’s alright”

You sit back up to look at him. He looks like it took everything out of him just to ask. You give him a quick kiss on the mouth before nodding.

“How do you want me?”

“Sitting on my face, please?”

“You even know to say please huh,” ― you chuckle, moving over so he can lay back. He follows with your instruction ― “You must really want it,”

“Y-Yeah, I do,”

“Then I’ll give it to you,”

Shinso lays flat on his back and watches you from the corner of his eyes as you slide off your panties. The only word his hazy mind can think of to describe you is pretty. Your pussy is pretty too - it’s slick and rests between your thighs, clenching around nothing. Shinso watches with great interest as you make your way over to him - with one knee on one side of his head. You spread yourself right over his face and he moans.

The heat of your cunt is a welcome invitation. He really can’t think of any way to describe it other than it smells like you, hot and heavy and thick in his lungs. He reaches his hands up and wraps around your thighs, dragging you closer to him. You're facing the wall - hand on the headboard to steady yourself. The other one threading through his locks.

“Go on baby,” ― you tease, settling some of your weight until your pussy is on his tongue ― “Enjoy yourself,”

He has a catty remark somewhere in him but right now he’s too desperate to care. Wet tongue drags between your folds, burying himself in your cunt as deep as he can. His nose bumps against your clit, resting against your mound as he laps at your clit with great effort. A full body shiver runs through you and above he hears the shuffle of fabric, the unclasping of your bra as it falls to the floor.

You lean back this time, hands splayed behind you. Shinso prepares himself for what's coming by digging his fingers into your thighs a little further. He moans into, mouth sucking and slurping at your pussy as you find your pace to grind against his mouth. All the blood is rushing to his cock as he feels you. The swollen bundle of nerves pulsates on his tongue as your hips rock into an easy back and forth. You grip at his hair, throwing your head back.

“Feels so fucking good, baby,” ― you moan, voice hoarse and heavy ― “Such a good boy letting me fuck your face like this, yeah?”

He groans against your cunt at the sound. It eggs him on, stretching his tongue out so you can get the most pleasure. His cock twitches haphazardly. He can feel every clench, every ridge in his mouth. You taste so fucking nice - arousal spilling down his cheeks and chin. He can’t breathe, can’t do anything but feel you.

You can feel him too. The way the pleasure builds in a steady crescendo as you continue rocking yourself on his face. Your thighs clench, muscles trembling - a bead of sweat dripping down your forehead and cheek.

“Haah, shit - gonna make me cum, gonna cum all over your pretty face baby,”

He whines into you like he wants it. When you reach your peak you almost scream, mouth fallen open as your pussy spasms. All you can see is white - pulsing white heat and sinful pleasure that leaves your breathing ragged and body rigid. It feels like falling into water, floating in it - completely weightless

You fall forward as it hits you in waves. Shinso can feel the rush of your orgasm, cum coating his tongue. He swallows it down with enthusiasm as you continue to ride out your high.

When you’ve ridden out your high, you dismount yourself from him - sitting on his chest. His face is flushed, dusted a bright pink across his nose. Saliva and cum make his skin shine in the lowlights. You scoot back then lean forward to meet his mouth in a lazy kiss. He moans, soft and easy.

“You did such a good job making me cum, Hitoshi,” ― you’re quick to praise, pressing a kiss to his nose ― “Sit up for me,”

And he does, propped up on his elbows. With a heavy mind, he sits back up like how he’d been before and watches as you crawl into his lap. His cock fucking hurts, the lack of attention making it hard for him to think straight. You place a hand on his chest and lift your ass up.

“I don’t know how long I can last,” he admits. You laugh a little.

“Don’t worry about it and enjoy yourself. Do whatever feels right,”

Shinso nods as he watches you reach between the two of you, gripping his cock and guiding it to your entrance. He’s mesmerized by it, lidded gaze staring at with such focus. As soon as the tip stretches you out, he’s a goner. It’s soft and wet and hot. An all encompassing and slick heat, like silk around his cock. His whole body falls forward in a shudder, cock pulsing. He wraps his arms around you, burying his face in your bare tits as you slide yourself down.

“O-ooh, fuck - please, please ”

“Feel good?,”

He’s too euphoric to get out a reply. Such great relief has him near tears, his body aching as he buries himself deep in your cunt. Even the slightest movement has him moaning, loud and shameless as the tip drags against your sensitive walls. The summery heat of your cunt has his voice trembling - his body shaking.

Taking the utmost mercy on him, you lift your hips until his cock almost slides out before slamming yourself back down. He cries out into your chest, as you ride him like your life depends on it. The constant motion - the slip of your pussy has him rutting his hips to fuck back into your rhythm.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,”

You feel encouraged to egg him on with some praise, an unexpected second wave of pleasure building in your abdomen. You feel his mouth catch on one of your tits as you ride him - laughing.

“Such a good boy for me, Hitoshi. Fuck me so well, making me feel so good. You can cum inside me for being so good, f-fill me up so nice, yeah?”

He grunts.

“Fuck, yeah ,”

He gives up on trying to do anything but chase his orgasm. With a heavy grunt, he fucks himself into with little effort on his part. You let him because he sounds so desperate . Heady moans and whimpers that taper off into swears. You can feel how bad he wants it. His cock stretches you nicely but it’s how deep you can feel it that leaves you exceptionally hazy. You let him fuck into you with a smile.

Your own orgasm hits you a second time and you gasp, then laugh a little at just how good he’s making you feel. You can’t help but think you should’ve done this forever ago as a lazy orgasm has you shiver, pussy gripping Shinso like you never want him to leave.

You take your face in his hand and watch him drool all over your palms. He really is beautiful. His lower lip tucked between teeth, voice brokenly moaning as he approaches his own orgasm.

“Gonna cum for me, handsome? Makin’ such a pretty face. Wanna feel your cum deep inside, okay? Can you do that?”

“Y-yeah, hnggh yeah - please, please”

“Cum for me, Hitoshi. Be a good boy and cum for me,”

With one last thrust, Shinso throws his head back and cums so hard he sees stars in his vision. He can hear your voice distantly as his body spasms and releases all that he’s been holding in for so long. A sob hiccups in his chest as he rides his high out, pouring thick and hot loads of cum inside of you with fervor. He’s beautiful for you, really.

“Good boy, Hitoshi,” you coo, soft as he cries into your chest “Such a good boy f’r me,”

__

After a particularly long session of holding each other post orgasm, you’ve managed to drag Shinso into the bathroom. He’s exhausted and you’re not that surprised. Even resting in the warm, floral scented water - he’s not so much as spoken a word. He’s got his arms wrapped around you, face buried in your shoulders.

The ambience is nice. He finally got to use the couples bath items - candles lit with rose petals dancing in the hotel bathroom. It’s romantic, he has to admit. It makes Shinso think long and hard.

His voice is raspy after he speaks for the first time. It catches you by surprise but it’s soft and gentle.

“So.. you like me,” ― he starts, drawing his arms even tighter around your middle ― “...And I uh.. I like you back so. What does that…?,”

You chuckle at him, leaning your head back to look at him before smiling.

“It doesn’t have to mean anything if you don’t want it too,” ― you say first, before flushing. It’s the first time in the evening you find yourself flustered ― “But I’d like to take care of you.. financially and otherwise,”

He blinks a little, blushing.

“W-would that.. like would that make me your.. uhm? Boyfriend or whatever,”

You register what he says before breaking out into another set of full-blown giggles. No matter how smart of how witty Shinso may be, he still manages to make your heart flutter with how cute he is. You nod.

“Yes, that would make you my boyfriend. And sugar baby, technically,” ― you explain to him, wrapping your hands around his. ― “We can work out the details in the morning,”

He’s quiet for a while before nuzzling into you closer.

“Cool,”

You raise an eyebrow, smiling.

“...Cool?”

He nods and smiles too. That's all he could ever ask to be.

“Cool,”

For your parents’ wedding anniversary, they decided to throw a big party in celebration of spending so many years together. You were happy for your parents, of course, but you spent the entire weekend beforehand finding the perfect dress to impress Mr. Nakamoto.

It was short and slim fitting, but modest enough to the point where your parents would approve.

You find Mr. Nakamoto chatting with Mr. Moon in the corner of the room, both of them sipping at their champagne and offering small talk.

You stride over, smile beaming as you greet them.

“Y/N!” Mr. Moon chuckles at your presence. You don’t ignore the way Mr. Nakamoto’s eyes darken at the sight of you. “Lovely to see you. You’ve grown into such a wonderful young woman.”

“Thank you, Mr. Moon,” you laugh. Your eyes shift to Mr. Nakamoto, and his lips curl at the sight of your smirk.

“It’s lovely to see you, Mr. Nakamoto. I’m happy you could attend on behalf of my parents.”

You play the role of a respectful daughter. Mr. Moon clearly buys it but Mr. Nakamoto knows better. Mrs. Moon comes over, smiling at you before taking her husband away to meet more guests. Once you’re alone with Mr. Nakamoto, you take a step closer.

You can tell he’s trying his best not to look down at your breasts, the dress thankfully pushing them up and making them look more sinful. You blink innocently at him.

“Have you enjoyed the party so far, Mr. Nakamoto?”

His hand tightens around the champagne glass.

“Yes, I have. How about yourself?”

You tilt your head. “It could be better. This dress is awfully tight on me.”

He gulps. Luckily, he’s saved by his daughter. Momo walks over and smiles at you. You’ve known Momo your whole life, and you consider her to be one of your dearest friends.

Good thing she didn’t know how much you wanted to fuck her dad.

“Hey, Y/N! Dad, the toasts are about to start.”

“Right,” he clears his throat and takes one last look at you before retreating to the front of the room. He taps on his champagne glass to get everyone’s attention, and the whole room turns to him. You move to the back of the room, making sure you find a corner where he can see you perfectly.

Mr. Nakamoto beams are your parents. He starts giving his speech about how long he’s known them and how he feels like they’ve grown into a family.

You check to make sure no one else is watching you before you slip your hand underneath your dress. You play with your folds, opting out of wearing underwear tonight. You’re dripping, chewing on your bottom lip as you wait for him to turn to you.

“It’s funny, since college we were-“

Mr. Nakamoto stops in his tracks, eyes locked on you. You look like the prettiest picture he’s ever seen. He imagines taking you right here in the middle of your living room, letting your parents watch and see how filthy you are.

He chuckles awkwardly. “Apologies. A little in my head today.”

The room laughs with him while you remove your fingers from your folds, pushing them into your mouth and sucking them greedily. He watches you with heavy eyes.

When the night nears its end, you’re really close on giving up. Mr. Nakamoto hasn’t glanced at you since the incident, choosing to instead converse with other guests and leave you with Momo. She’s talking your ear off but you don’t really want to listen to her.

You honestly want to let her know that your objective of the night is to fuck her dad.

You find yourself upstairs in the bathroom, freshening up before you have to go downstairs to say your goodbyes.

You’re finishing last minute touches on your hair when there’s a knock at the door. Thinking it’s your mother searching for you, you open the door without hesitation.

Mr. Nakamoto storms inside, furious at you. He slams the door shut and before you even have time to think, he’s pinning you against the sink.

“Fucking minx,” he growls. He bites the shell of your ear and you squeal. “What the fuck do you expect me to do if you misbehave like that?”

You moan, gripping his arm. “Mr. Nakamoto, please.”

He exhales. “We shouldn’t.”

“I’m twenty years old now. I’m a big girl,” you murmur lowly, grinding yourself on top of his clothed cock. “And I really want your cock, Daddy.”

He grits his teeth, holding you steady in place. He locks your bathroom door and his lips collide with yours. It’s a mesh of teeth and lips, completely messy but exactly what you’ve always wanted. He moves a finger down to play with your folds and you whimper, bucking up onto his hand.

He chuckles lowly. He sounds sinister and your pussy twitches.

There’s a knock at the door.

“Y/N, you okay in there? Guests are starting to leave,” your father says.

Mr. Nakamoto enters a finger into you and whispers softly. “Tell him you’re not feeling well.”

You clear your throat, trying to gain as much composure as possible. “I’m not feeling too good. Can you tell the guests I send my regards?”

“Of course,” your father replies, although he’s clearly worried about you. “Are you going to be okay?”

Mr. Nakamoto slides another finger into your dripping pussy and you purse your lips.

“I’ll be just fine.”

When your father finally leaves, Mr. Nakamoto curls his fingers and plays with your clit. He laughs.

“Imagine if your father walked in and saw us. His best friend fucking his daughter.”

You moan at the thought and unravel under his dark stare. As you ride out the waves of your orgasm on his fingers, he quickly turns you around and shoves your face into the mirror.

You hear him unbuckling his pants and you buck your hips back in desperation. You must look like a mess — dress pushed up to your stomach, bent over the sink, waiting for Mr. Nakamoto’s cock to enter you.

“Daddy, hurry,” you whine.

“Daddy’s coming,” he assures. He finally pushes into you and you both groan. Your pussy is so slick that it sucks his cock in easily.

He clasps a hand over your mouth before rutting into you. You cry into his palm and he digs his fingers into the flesh of your ass. He leans closer to whisper in your ear.

“Dirty whore. Been wearing all these skin tight clothes whenever I see you. Practically begging for me to fuck you.”

“Daddy, Daddy,” you blubber into his hand. You grip the sink as he fucks your crying pussy. You’re getting closer and closer to the edge, and you just need a little push before-

Another knock at the door.

“Y/N? Are you in there? Have you seen my dad?”

The fact that you’re fucking Momo’s dad in your family bathroom when she’s out looking for him is enough for you to crumble. You cream his cock, mouth parting in a silent cry.

Mr. Nakamoto grips your ass harder. He grunts in your ear. “Respond to her.” He removes his hand from your mouth and you call out to Momo in a shaky voice.

“I h-haven’t seen him, M-Momo.”

He continues to pound into you and you feel like he’s trying to split you in half. You honestly want to feel this way all the time, want to always be full of his hard cock.

“Okay. I hope you feel better!”

And then she’s gone. As soon as you can no longer hear her footsteps, he flips you over and props you up on the sink. His mouth envelopes yours and you moan.

“Gotta hurry up, baby,” he murmurs, pushing his cock back into you. “People are looking for us.”

“Want you to fuck me for hours,” you whine, wishing he didn’t have to leave.

“I’ll come back,” he promises. He presses his thumb to your clit and starts rubbing in slow circles. “Next week, I’ll fuck you when your parents are at work. Fill you up and let you bounce on my cock until you’re satisfied, hm? That make you feel better, baby?”

“Yes, yes, Daddy,” you hum, throwing your head back in pleasure. He takes advantage of your position and starts to suck at your neck. “Fuck. You feel so fucking good, you’re so deep inside me.”

He grunts and thrusts even harder, causing your body to fly backwards into the mirror. You gasp and your release builds and builds before-

“Have so much cum for you. Can’t wait to give it to you, baby. Gonna show your dad how much I gave you? Wanna show him how I took his little daughter in their bathroom?”

Snap. You unravel, trying your best to hold back your moans as you fall apart on his cock again. He follows right after you, shooting his cum deep into your womb.

Your heavy breathing fills the silence and he kisses you again. You can hear the low shuffling of people outside as they exit your house, and you know Momo is going to be more suspicious the longer he’s gone. You sigh and run a hand down his cheek.

“Promise you’ll come back and give me a good fucking?”

He laughs. “I promise.”

He cleans you up and helps make you look presentable. He gives you another small peck and exhales.

“Really want to stay and fuck you.”

“Stop tempting me, Mr. Nakamoto.”

He rolls his eyes. “You can stop calling me that, I just fucked you on your sink.”

You laugh. “Sorry, Yuta.”

You both make sure you’re clean before leaving the bathroom. You exit first, making sure the coast is clear for Yuta to come out. As soon as you descend the stairs, Momo is rushing over to ask her dad where he’s been and your mom is asking you if you’re alright.