#kk.writes

[ever-yours118]

feather the nest

“I’m a nester,” says Eddie flippantly. “I nest.” The words linger in Buck’s mind past the call and on the drive back to his apartment, through the door and to his bed. He lays down, staring at the ceiling. Then he opens Amazon and searches up throw blankets.

(In which the boys build a blanket fort and kiss inside it.) || 4.8K, T

(read on ao3!)

#9 1 1 buddie #buddie #911 fic #911fic #eddie diaz #evan buckley #911 fox #first 911 fic i've written in uh. more than a year #so any reads are v much appreciated <3 #911.post #kk.writes

[kemakoshume]

Down by the River — Nanami Kento x Tiana (Disney)

Summary: In the early 1930s, Nanami embarks on a business trip to the South, where the Crescent City awaits. His journey begins with new connections and the enticing allure of Southern cuisine. America might not be so bad after all.

Tags: Crack Relationships, Crack Crossover, Crack Treated Seriously, Why Did I Write This?, Fluff, Business Trip, Alternate Universe - 1930s, Drinking & Talking, Comfort No Hurt

a/n: The fan edits got me. My Elsa x Jack Frost shipper is jumping out for this. I have to say... this is easily the most random thing I've ever written, but it helped break my writer's block, so woohoo! Write weird shit more often, y'all. Also posted on AO3.

America was Nanami’s least favorite place to travel.

Work had taken him all over. He’d seen all of Japan, every nook and cranny—old and new. He’d been to China more times than he could count; his Cantonese was better now than before, and he could make his way around without an attendant. Asia was his domain; he’d grown used to recognizing the surnames and affiliations that mattered, what gestures were niceties in one place, and a way to get mowed down in a fit of rage in another.

America was a different beast altogether. It was a wild and enigmatic land that kept Nanami perpetually on edge and consistently uneasy in his own skin. The places were chaotic—New York and San Francisco. Wall Street and Pacific Heights, most often. Two opposing coasts, filled to the brim with people capitalizing most on those with the least.

White-collar crime and cocaine—that was what Nanami knew of the States. It made him wish he hadn’t learned English; he wouldn’t have to live with as much as he knew if he hadn’t.

Despite not liking it, he’d grown used to it though—the coasts and the insanity that happened on each of them.

The South, in contrast, was wholly unfamiliar territory. He’d never been and wasn’t quite sure what to expect as the steamboat continued down the river, churning water and whistling every few minutes as it continued down the path. He'd heard of the common things: the chambermaids and the sharecropping, the stark divide.

Asia had its things, too, though, so he tried not to judge. He was headed to New Orleans for one simple thing: to meet with the sugar baron and solidify a trade deal. His sugar for their textiles.

Simple, tedious. Safer than sorcery.

The ride into the city was surprisingly comfortable. He lounged in a reclined chair on the deck, his eyes hidden behind shades that concealed his exhaustion from the arduous journey across borders—across seas. The sky painted itself in alluring hues of lavender and rose, casting a serene glow over the waters of the Mississippi, like spilled oil paint.

The air hung heavy with the scent of magnolia blossoms, their perfume an intoxicating blend of sweetness and decay. Spanish moss, soft as bundles of silk, swayed languidly from the cypress trees that lined the riverbank, caressed by the gentle breeze.

The Crescent City, that’s what his boss had called it. The birthplace of jazz.

Nanami couldn’t say he wasn’t intrigued by the prospect of it.

"Please collect your belongings, everyone," a petite deckhand announced, dressed in long corduroy trousers and a cute puffed hat. "We'll be docking in port in five minutes."

Nanami adjusted his glasses, straightening out the legs of his slacks as he made his way to the port side of the boat and watched the city come into view along with the sound. The bustling swing of music was expected, but Nanami hadn't anticipated enjoying it so much. The masterful wail of saxophones, the sultry croon of trumpets, and the deep, resonant throb of bass greeted him as he filed off the boat.

Other men exited the boat before him. Some wore business suits, while others wore Navy uniforms, and a few were in Army attire. Most bobbed their heads along to the music, while some outright danced. People lined the port, leaning on the ropes to catch a glimpse of the arrivals they'd come down to the harbor to greet and welcome home.

The city had a vibe reminiscent of New York, perhaps, but it felt more homey. It felt good in his soul.

"Hello, gentlemen. Good to see you all safe and sound!"

Among the welcoming crowd, a young woman stepped forward with a beaming smile, scanning the group until she spotted Nanami, skipping over to him. Her big blue eyes shone as she looked up at him, tilting her body to get a good look at his face. “You must be Kento, right?” Nanami nodded. She must be the daughter. "Wonderful! My name's Charlotte," she introduced herself, coupled with a sweet giggle. "You can call me Lottie, though. Everybody does."

Nanami tipped his head in a subdued bow, a gesture that the American women found charming.

“Pleased to meet you, Lottie.”

She smiled like a young girl, all cherry pink cheeks and tight lips. It was cute, demure in a way that spelled immaturity rather than modesty.

Not Nanami’s type.

“My daddy told me to come ‘round here to collect you. Is this all you brought with you?” She pointed to his briefcase and the small musette bag on his shoulder. He nodded again. “That’s light. Are you hungry? Have you eaten? That Trans-Pacific is a long way’s journey to get here. I bet you’re starving.”

Nanami hummed, acknowledging her observation. "I could eat. It's been a long day."

"A long few months, I reckon." Lottie placed a comforting hand on his back, gently steering him further into the bustling city. "My good friend works at this little ol’ restaurant down on Lafayette Street. It's just a hop, skip this way, and we can get you some good eatin'. Have you had Cajun before?"

Lottie's words tumbled out rapidly, but Nanami managed to keep up. He shook his head, allowing her to guide him through the lively streets.

"Oh, you're in for a treat then. This here is the best food you'll ever have. Just wait until you try a beignet." She playfully wiggled her brows, her enthusiasm infectious.

Though Nanami didn't understand the term "beignet," he took her excitement as a promising sign. "Whatever tastes good, I'll try."

"That's the spirit!" Lottie gave his suit jacket a friendly pat as they weaved through the crowd, exchanging greetings with any familiar faces she spotted.

“Here we are, mister. Hope you brought a loose pair of britches 'cause you’ll need ‘em.”

Nanami looked up at the building, taking off his shades to read the chalk writing fixed onto the side.

Duke’s. Charming.

The ambiance inside was a perfect mirror of the outdoors. People packed in from wall to wall, and the music from just outside the rear of the restaurant wafted inside, adding to the vibrant atmosphere.

“Let’s go sit you down at the bar, get a nice cold one and some grub in that belly. Tiana!”

He sat, slipping off his jacket to drape it across his seat, while his glasses found a home on the bartop. His bag hit the floor with a thud as he dropped it to rest between his feet.

“Hey, Lottie,” a sweet voice floated from the kitchen, followed by the source of it. The woman—slim-figured with rich brown skin—gave Nanami pause. She was beautiful, not unlike many of the women he’d met with her complexion over the years, but she was more, in a way.

Perhaps it was the curls. Nanami had developed a liking for women with thick, coily curls. They framed her face exquisitely.

“Hey, Tia. This is Kento.” Lottie placed a hand on Nanami’s chest as she introduced him. "He's a business friend of Daddy's. Take good care of him for me, will you? I have some business to attend to myself while Daddy’s out at the shooting range."

Lottie winked, and Tiana—Tia, as she called her—responded with a gentle smile.

“Can do,” she assured Lottie before turning her gaze to Nanami. “Give me one second, sugar, and I’ll be right with you.”

Nanami nodded, settling into his seat. A group of soldiers occupied the other end of the bar, rowdy as they sang unfamiliar songs. There was a little curse lazing on the bartop, slumbering against one of the soldier’s arms—surprisingly harmless.

He left it alone.

“Have a nice meal, Mr. Kento. I’ll be ’round to come get you a little later tonight,” Lottie purred with a natural pout, her lips reminiscent of a porcelain doll's. “Don’t have too much fun without me, y’all.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Tiana replied with a warm smile, disappearing into the kitchen to retrieve a full round of plates.

She moved through the bustling restaurant with a graceful rhythm, her deft hands skillfully balancing trays filled with tantalizing cuisine—Creole, Nanami assumed from the building sign. He couldn’t quite understand the difference between that and Cajun, but all the food that passed his nose smelled heavenly all the same.

The spice that clung to the food was present in the air, pleasantly familiar, like the hawker centers in Singapore or the night markets in Taiwan. He still harbored dreams of visiting Malaysia, indulging in street food, experiencing Mamak stalls, exploring mosques, and paying his respects to the land.

His boss informed him he was slated to go to Germany next, for what he didn’t yet know. He could dream about Malaysia in the meantime.

He took out his pocket notebook to jot the thought down.

“Order up!”

Nanami followed Tiana's graceful movements with his eyes, catching glimpses of each dish she served, the way she bantered with the other patrons and had every man in the place hanging off of each word. Her presence was striking and commanding—a woman in charge.

That’s what it was—what made her so beautiful. She was a woman. The kind Nanami did like.

The meticulous care she took in plating the food made it as visually inviting as the enticing aroma was to his senses. Her apron bore the telltale signs of ware of a kitchen in perpetual motion, a fragrant cloud carrying the essence of spices and sweetness floating around her.

As she passed by him their eyes met, and a knowing smile graced her lips.

“So, you’re from out of town, huh?” she said, tawny brown eyes looking up at him through wispy lashes. She cleaned a mug, stuck in a constant stream of motion that made it hard for Nanami to look away.

Nanami nodded, and she placed the cup under the beer dispenser, pouring him a tall glass.

“Thank you,” he acknowledged, accepting the beer when she set it in front of him, accompanied by a shaker of flavored salt.

“How far out of town?”

Nanami hummed thoughtfully, trailing his fingers through the condensation dampening the sides of his mug.

“Asia. Here on business.”

“You’re from Asia?” Tiana's eyes sparkled with intrigue as though she were solving a puzzle. “Which part? Can I guess?”

Nanami jerked one shoulder. “Go ahead.”

“Maybe the Philippines?” she ventured, passing around more beers. “Lots of business types love the Philippines. The soldiers never shut up about it.”

Nanami quirked a brow, aware of why soldiers held such fondness for the Philippines. “No,” he replied, hiding a smile behind his cup. “Try again.”

“China?”

“Nope,” Nanami stated before taking another sip. “Been there a lot, mainly Hong Kong. I’m not from there, though.”

“Japan?” she guessed, her eyes squinting, her brow raised.

Nanami thumped his finger against the glass with a soft clink, clink, clink. “Japan.”

Her triumphant smile was indeed beautiful, with pretty teeth providing a striking contrast against the fullness of her lips and the warm tone of her skin.

“Got a wife hidden over there or something?” she teased, a sweet smirk gracing her lips. “How many kids?”

“No kids, no wife,” Nanami responded softly, feeling the tension in his body from the long journey. “My maternal grandfather was half Dutch, half something else. My grandmother was Japanese, and my mom married a European man in Japan. They stayed there my whole life, so… Japanese.”

“Fascinatin’. What business brings you here? If you can tell me. First time?”

“I can,” Nanami said, taking a few more gulps. The beer tasted different than what he’d had before in the States, less malty and a hint sweeter. “It’s my first time in Louisiana, but not America in general. I’m here meeting another businessman—sugar cane.”

“Ah, that explains Charlotte. I thought she’d just taken a liking to you; she’s always good at finding the handsome ones.”

Nanami perked up at that, a hint of a smile gracing his lips, fueled by the warmth of the beer. Tiana, with practiced ease, poured him another glass.

“I’m handsome, then?”

Tiana rolled her eyes. “You know you are, with your dapper suit and those eyes. Women must throw themselves at you.”

Nanami tilted his head, a little maybe present in the motion. He didn’t indulge nearly as often as he could.

“Have you met Big Daddy yet?” Tiana questioned, and Nanami almost spit out his beer.

He knew enough of what American women liked to call men that they fancied. He’d never heard the term out in the wild, though.

“Oh, excuse me. Eli La Bouff,” Tiana clarified with a teasing laugh, her lips even prettier when she smiled. “Lottie’s father. She calls him Big Daddy, usually. You’ll see why when you do meet him.”

Nanami nodded, a soft chuckle passing through his teeth. People in the South were different, then. Lighter, more hospitable.

Tiana leaned in closer to the bar, narrowing the space between them as she addressed Nanami. “You look hungry. What can I get started for you, sugar?”

Nanami met her gaze, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "Surprise me," he replied, his voice low and smooth. “I prefer savory, but I’m craving something a little sweet.”

Tiana hummed, tapping her chin. “How about blackened salmon with a sweet bourbon glaze, red beans and rice, and piping hot Andouille sausage and chicken gumbo to get you started? We’ll pair it with zucchini, corn maque choux, slow-cooked collard greens, mac and cheese, with some fresh beignets to top you off for dessert,” she said, leaning over to glance at Nanami's stomach, subtly assessing the fit of his dress shirt against his well-defined physique, “if you have any room, that is. How’s that sound?”

“That sounds divine,” Nanami said, solely because of the silky tone Tiana said every word with, not because he knew what any of the dishes were. “You make everything sound good.”

“I made the recipes, so it will be.” She smiled; Nanami returned it. “Wait here, get comfy. You have a long journey ahead of you.”

Nanami leaned back slightly in his seat, his eyes following as she went to put his order in with the kitchen. It was then that he noticed a little curse on her back, small—the size of a quarter. It was the curse of abundance. Blessed for riches through hardship.

A lucky curse, Geto would have called it.

Nanami left it alone, too, sipping his beer as he waited for his food.

He couldn't help but smirk to himself; Tiana’s words took root in his mind. So did she, it seemed.

Do not perceive me for this 🙈 Come say hi on Twitter!

#crack ship #nanami fic #jjk fic #crackship #crack fic #kk.writes #kk.others #fanfic

[kemakoshume]

Beneath the Wisteria Blooms ✾ — tengen x black!f!reader x rengoku (pt. 4)

warnings; hehehe here's the smut; MMF threesome, foreplay, pussy eating, multiple positions, rimming (w fingers), anal play, soft/slow sex, talking during sex, laughing during sex, finger sucking, f!pronouns and pet names.

a/n; hello loves! it's been a while :') sorry for the wait. i hope 9.6k and all the new warnings make up for it.

just a heads-up: i don't pull punches when it comes to MMF threesomes. i write my characters to all enjoy the process and have a good time experimenting. i also think it's a little lame when threesome content acts like the men are allergic to each other, so this has spicy tengen x kyojie interactions in it as well. i highly recommend checking out the [pinterest board] for this if you, like me, need visuals sometimes. enjoy! ꨄ︎

~ [ch one; ch two, ch three, ch four, ch five] ~ also crossposted on ao3 in case you prefer reading long(er) fics over there.

The night continued at a fork in the road. Down the dimly lit pathway of your forest-filled backyard, you found yourself at the crossing that diverged into three routes. One led back up to the home, one led down to the lake, and another led off to the large guest home meant for your slayer corps members, not far from the hot spring.

“Are you sure you don’t require assistance, maiden?” Tengen asked, a pleasant smirk on his face as he watched you balance Ayra against your own body, holding up the half-conscious—disastrously inebriated—girl to keep her from falling. The alcohol affected her harder as it marinated in the depths of her stomach, resulting in both you and the hashira deciding to go your separate ways to get settled.

You huffed out a laugh, hoisting the girl up and grabbing hold of her wrist to secure her arm around your shoulders. “No, I’m sure I’ll survive. I’ve handled much heavier drunks in my day,” you said, standing straight to steady Ayra’s taller frame. “You two go bathe. I’ll get our lovely boozer here settled, and then I’ll come ‘round. Should you still require my assistance?”

Your voice tapered off into a whisper that felt foreign in your throat. The subtly probing words held the faintest hint of insecurity despite all of your coy smiles and rejections of Ayra’s meddlesome assumptions throughout the night. The stirring of butterflies buried in your belly were undoubtedly… nerves. Despite all of the flirtations and glances exchanged, your words bled your desire for confirmation. You needed to feel that these two exceptional men—the strongest in your land—desired your company. You needed to feel the weight of their lust for you in the palm of your hand.

“Maiden.” Kyojuro stepped forward into your space, cupping his hand to caress your cheek with an air of quiet confidence that juxtaposed his natural—zestful—cadence. “May I kiss you?”

Your eyes flicked back and forth between warm orbs of molten color, smitten by the attentiveness present within them as he looked at you. You nodded on impulse as you fell under the guidance of his touch. His fingers teased your jawline as he lifted your chin, holding you steadily in a mutual gaze that felt far too longing for strangers.

“You may do more than just kiss me tonight if you wish.”

He grinned, wasting no time to meet you there in the middle—a hum snuggled deep in his throat as his lips pressed against yours. You could taste the bitter sweetness of saké on his tongue and smell the faintest warmth wafting off his skin. The crickets silenced as you fell into the kiss, open-mouthed as his lips parted to deepen it.

“Wheet-woo.” Ayra whistled, causing you to flinch away from Kyojuro—though you didn’t get very far with Tengen’s immovable frame suddenly pressed against your back.

“Looks like someone’s awake,” Tengen said, looking down at you both. “I came to catch her in case our head maiden was too distracted and let her fall.”

You scoffed, meekly smacking the hashira’s firm chest with your hand. “I would never. She’s in safe hands.”

“Safe hands I am in, indeed,” Ayra said, her head lolling backward to thud against the sound hashira’s chest. A smile plastered on her drunk face as she looked around at the three of you. “I let myself go to the darkness for two minutes, and this is what you do without me? My heart aches, sister. I bet this one is especially wicked with his tongue,” she said, winking at Tengen.

You rolled your eyes with a smile, ignoring the vibrations of Tengen’s chuckling against your back. You cleared your throat, pulling Kyojuro in for a soft peck before moving to add some distance between you again. You placed your hand against Tengen’s stomach and pushed, just enough for the hashira to get the hint. He moved, placing a kiss on the crown of your head as he went.

The fog of desire muddling your brain dissipated with the added space, though the stimuli ceased to go away as Ayra nuzzled her nose into the curls at the crown of your head. You batted her away when her snuggles turned into kisses.

“You’re drunk, Ayra. No men for you tonight. No me, either!” You giggled, supporting her with your weight again as the hashira moved to stand a respectable distance away from you, looking on with soft eyes and fondness laced into their grins as they watched you.

“Boo,” she pouted, sucking her teeth when she realized resistance was futile. “If you can walk tomorrow, I’ll be sorely disappointed.

You chuckled, supporting the weight of Ayra’s skull with your hand as you bowed toward the two men. “Well then. I think that’s my queue to take our fair maiden to bed. Enjoy the baths. I’ll be ‘round to bandage you up in a half hour.”

They bowed their heads deeply in return, showing respect equitable to your own.

“We look forward to your visit, maiden.”

“As do I, hashira.”

୨୧┈┈୨୧

“Why on Inari Ōkami’s green Earth would you let her drink this much?”

“Well, to be fair, Mistress, the alcohol was her idea. I was merely a bystander in this situa—”

“Spare me.”

Your Mistress paced the width of the tatami room, combing her fingers through the cascading length of ink-black hair running down her back. Finally, Arya laid in bed, tucked snugly into the airy cotton sheets by the woman whose eyes masqueraded as daggers.

“Just... gods.” Your mistress huffed, stomping one of her feet petulantly like Sura did when she didn’t get her way in some manner. “Please tell me she kept her composure in front of the hashira, at least. Miko, my heart can’t take this. Gaining their favor means everything for wisteria homes in the corps hierarchy. Their word could make or break us.”

You sighed at the nickname, knowing your Mistress only referred to you that way as a reminder of your duty and status in the home, even when the term wasn’t wholly accurate to you as a person anymore—namely, the part about being a virgin.

“Mistress.” You groaned the word, crossing the room to hold the woman by her shoulders. “The hashira were smitten by her, just as everyone else always is. She held onto her dignity well, and I swear our home’s reputation has exceeded their expectations. I will visit them in a bit to bandage some wounds and ensure they’re settled well. You have nothing to worry about, Mistress.”

Your Mistress stared at you with unimpressed eyes as the seconds ticked by, though she relented eventually. Her shoulders went slack when she sighed, squeezing your hands gently as she removed them from her shoulders. “Fine. Do your duties well. It only takes one slip-up to piss off men of their status. For all their good attributes—men are still men. They are never easily pleased.”

You nodded, trailing your Mistress as she sat down on the thick mat on the floor next to Ayra’s sleeping form.

“I can see the shake in your hands, Mother. Perhaps laying with your children will soothe your spirits.”

Your Mistress smiled, twirling the ends of Ayra’s long hair between her trembling fingers. “I may. I know you can handle the remaining duties just fine on your own, despite my nags.”

You hummed, peeking out the window behind you to trace the moon’s position in the sky. It had been at least twenty minutes or so since you and the men had gone your separate ways, and with every second that ticked by, eager anxiety grew more within the marrow of your bones.

“Where are the children?” you said absentmindedly, fighting to keep the intentions behind your words from slipping. It always put your mind at ease to know that the house girls were all snug in their beds, out of earshot, when you went off to tend to soldiers of your choosing.

Typically, you would check their wing of the home yourself to ensure they were well tucked in and sleeping, but the time to be present for the hashira neared, and you feared you wouldn’t quite have the time.

You’d long passed the inconvenience of shame regarding your exploits. However, even with confidence laced into your choices, there was still a part of you that strongly valued the opinions of your girls, as well as their purity and the option of choice when it came to learning such adult things.

In your heart, the young girls who inhabited your home were just as much your children as your Mistress’s. All ages—infant or teen—they were yours. You had a duty to honor their youth, and the sanctity of their innocence, for as long as life’s circumstances allowed. They would all be educated on the topic when the time came, and it was coming up dangerously soon for a few of them; however, they did not need to see (or hear) you engaging in such practices to be educated on the topic.

No. Absolutely not.

Your Mistress peeked up at you through her long onyx lashes with the faintest smile on her face. “The babies are asleep in the western wing on the second level. The older girls are gossiping amongst themselves in the second-level common room, though I did hear yawns, so I’m sure they’ll turn in soon enough. Why?” Your Mistress huffed, looking up again at you with maintained eye contact. “You’ve never asked me of their whereabouts when you’ve galavanted off to entertain our guests before. What’s changed?”

All at once, it felt as if the world had tilted too far and fallen off of its axis.

It was one thing to know, unspokenly, that your Mistress was at least somewhat aware of what you’d done, but it was another thing entirely to hear her confirm this truth with her own words. Rooted under the weight of her revelation and the crushing pressure of the now uncovered secret, you felt no older than a child—waiting with bated breath over your mother's reaction.

“You’ve known?”

Your Mistress rolled her eyes, a flippant scoff coming from her upturned lips. “Of course, I’ve known. I see and hear everything in this house, even things I undeniably wish I had not,” she said, exaggeratedly shuddering for emphasis. “What did you think I would assume happened to Ayra when she started walking around here like a wounded duck? Immediately after that boy with the meats was here, I might add. I may be barren—and a widow—my love, but I’m not clueless.”

You nodded as if you were in a daze, dizzy with overwhelming feelings as you processed her words. “I—of course. I just don’t understand. Why have you never…”

“It’s never felt right. The timing, I mean. I brought you up to know what all of your parts do and how to keep yourselves safe when you decide to use them. I’ve merely had faith that you’ve done right by my teachings. My only worry was the type of man you were choosing.” Your Mistress groaned, lifting herself off Ayra’s cot to relight a weakly flickering lantern.

“If word spread that the girls of this home will do anything with anyone solely because they wield a sword… that could ruin us. However, I’ve also seen the men you and Ayra have chosen to bed. To be fair, none of them have been particularly awful choices. They’ve all been far too young for me, but I will give you consolidation for not picking ugly or embarrassingly weak ones. I’m satisfied in my knowledge that you both have standards.”

“Mother!” You scoffed, playful indignance clear on your face as you listened to your Mistress speak so candidly.

“Oh, spare me the modesty. I am proud that you tend towards the strong, high-ranked, handsome ones. Yua seems enamored with the pretty ones; gods help me,” she said, her chuckle almost melodic as it slid past her tongue. She crossed the room, coming into your space to pull you into a hug before letting you go. She wrapped her hands around the back of your arms and held you firmly in her grasp while she spoke.

“Listen, my love. I know that—despite my nagging—neither you nor Ayra truly intend to marry, at least for now. Your priority is maintaining this house and the sanctity of our name; I love you for that. But, I also know that you need to enjoy your youth. Sowing your oats and enjoying your muliebrity. You are a woman now, my love; all grown up and bedding valiant strangers.”

You groaned, scrunching your face as your chin tilted towards the sky with protest falling from your lips.

“So,” she said, extending the word, “with that said, I have faith in the knowledge that I’ve raised you well, and I acknowledge that you are a woman now, my little dove. I’m of no moral grandstanding to tell you what you may do with your own body. I merely wish that you keep your dignity intact as a girl of the Arai name. You do not let them take advantage of you or pressure you to do what they wish of you solely because of their status. Do you hear me? They may be hashira, but no man is worth throwing away your pride.”

You nodded, pulling her back into a firm hug that felt like home as she kissed your temple. “I love you, Mother. Thank you for your blessings.”

She nodded as well, her voice notably tight as she returned the sentiment. “And I, you. Now then, go enjoy your evening with a hashira.” She paused, squinting her eyes to the side in contemplation. “Well, two hashira. I suppose. Be more mindful of your limits than Ayra, I beg. I can’t have two ducklings waddling around this place. Dorothea is at that age where she has questions; I would like to keep her image of you in tack for at least a little longer—until you can explain to her yourself.”

You nodded, agreeing with your Mistress. “I will speak with her in the coming days.”

“Good. Now, be off,” she said, shooing you towards the room's threshold. “The men won’t entertain themselves.”

A giggle slipped past your lips as you walked down the entrance steps, that familiar fluttering beneath your ribs coming back as you exited the room. You glanced back, blowing your Mother a kiss before descending into the night.

୨୧┈┈୨୧

The air felt sweet with the heat of promise as you sauntered off into your home’s backyard, soaking in the scent of pine wafting off of the tall trees and the sound of creatures beginning their days in the night as you grew closer to the hashira’s abode.

For all your fretting about being late for your meeting with the men, you stopped at your quarters to change clothes anyway, exchanging your white kimono for a loose-fitting, ankle-length black yukata. The fabric was woven intricately with delicate silk, making a beautiful canvas for the embroidered sakura petals scattered in a pattern. You tied it together with a simple red obe around your waist.

You also stopped in the kitchens to grab provisions—mainly morokyu, onigiri, and berries. Who was to know how long you would spend with the men? Perhaps a few hours, perhaps all night. It was better to be prepared than to come empty-handed. As your Mistress said, to be a good host meant to entertain.

The moon seemingly rose higher in the sky as you rounded the stone path, drawn to the spring by the sound of disturbed water. The spring was half-hidden through the opaque fog from the steam, though you knew your way well from the placement of lanterns above your head. As you neared the water’s edge, a dulcet laugh traveled through the moist sulfur-scented air. Soft chuckles—sweet and rich like hojicha hot chocolate in the wintertime—and the pleasant sound of skin smacking gently against skin mingled with it.

“Ah, I believe the maiden has finally made it down the path to join us, Kyojuro.”

You heard the sound hashira before you saw him, squinting to see through the dissipating fog as you listened to pinpoint his location. A strong arm wrapped around your waist from behind, while long fingers reached out from the clouds in front of you to take the basket from your arms.

“Our apologies for not waiting on you, maiden,” Tengen said, his voice deep as he pulled you against his damp chest. “The hot spring was too enticing for our sore bodies. We thought soaking for a bit may help keep us nimble and relaxed throughout the night.”

You tsked, allowing the men to crowd into your space. The thinning fog and close proximity exposed them; now, their faces, framed by long hair, and their torsos were visible beneath the lantern light. From the feeling of Tengen’s firm front against your back and the trail of golden hair visible on the lowest part of Kyojuro’s stomach, both men had clearly done away with their yukata—entirely—after bathing. Their bodies were flushed from the heat; all pink tones beneath tanned skin with red-tinted lips.

“I thought men of such power would be better with following directions,” you said, your brows high. “I was meant to bandage you before you dipped in the springs. What shall I do with you two now?”

The men exchanged a long glance; the look was filled with many words spoken despite being unsaid.

“You could soak with us?” Kyojuro suggested, grabbing your hand to pull you toward the water’s edge. Tengen mimicked a shadow with how closely he clung to your back. His bolstering presence was a comfort as much as it was a distraction.

“This water is magic, dear maiden,” the flame hashira continued. “It’s healed nearly all of our injuries—it wouldn’t be wise to waste your bandages. Indulge us in a swim instead. The temperature is divine.”

You sighed, already tepid as the heat of the volcanic spring bathed the outdoors with added warmth. The men being so close only increased the sensation.

“How am I to trust opinions on temperature from a flame?” you teased, letting the men cage you closer between their bodies. “The air alone feels mere degrees away from hell.”

Kyojuro laughed, truly amused by your banter. In truth, it wasn’t that hot. The summer was coming to a close, and the wind created a gentle breeze that dissipated the fog's thick—stifling—warmth. You could hear the smile in Tengen’s voice as he crouched lower against your back, undoing the bindings of your obe as he ran his hands down the length of your body.

“Perhaps feeling the breeze on your skin will negate the heat,” he said, his hands holding the loosened fabric closed as he stood straight again.

You placed your hand over his, entangling your fingers with his large digits just enough to loosen his grip, the motion ridding you of your clothing as the garment fell to the Earth’s floor. You forwent wearing anything underneath.

“Wow.”

You chuckled, plucking a scarf from the basket Kyojuro held by his side, making quick work of wrapping it around your hair to keep it away from the sulfur-scented water.

“Wow?” you said, a laugh bubbling in your chest. “Is that all either of you has to say?”

Tengen adjusted the head wrapping, then twisted the curls that hung around your face. “There aren’t enough words in all the languages combined to describe your beauty. It should be a sin for a woman so mesmerizing to walk the Earth. You deserve heaven, maiden.”

You smirked, placing your hand on Kyojuro’s lower belly to guide him back into the spring with the stone steps, sidestepping the basket as he placed it on the outer rocks. You intertwined your fingers with Tengen’s to keep hold of him close behind.

“That’s laying it on a bit thick, sound hashira. Is this how you wooed your wives?” you said, teasing. “Also, heaven? That would infer that I’m an angel. I much prefer this type of heat.”

You listened to the men's banter as Kyojuro taunted Tengen, commenting on his methods for flirtation. You engaged as well as you waded through the water, sighing in relief as the hot water molded around your body, wrapping your overworked muscles in soothing bliss.

“This is a Ginseng hot spring,” you said, giving the men your usual short spiel about the home’s history as you circled each other in the water. You told them the tale of the home’s origins before your Mistress came to own it, how your family came to be, and how much you’ve always adored the land. The hashira listened respectfully and engaged in your storytelling to a degree you didn’t expect.

“You’re very learned,” Tengen said, looking impressed. “If you weren’t a house maiden, you could have been a scholar. There are female scholars in the East.”

You scoffed, lightly pushing away from Tengen as he held your hand beneath the water’s surface. “I’m just recanting my lifework. That doesn’t require smarts. Your fellow hashira—Shinobu, I believe was her name—visited us a few years ago with her sister. They were smart. The younger sister informed us that the spring has ‘carbon dioxide’ infused into the water. She said that the element is why the water helps tremendously with muscle pain and wound healing. It’s not magic, just… science. It’s fascinating.”

Kyojuro smiled, swimming behind you lazily with his hands beneath your body, holding you afloat once you leaned back, even though you didn’t need the help. “Leave it to ‘Nobu and Kocho to influence women all the way across the country to lean on science. In a world of demons, no less.”

“They were quite influential,” you said, smiling at the fond memory. “The younger sister helped me better explain health-related matters to my girls. She taught us simple tonics and salves that have kept us all healthy, even Mistress, with her recent colds and shakes. Though, with Shinobu’s magic, it always passes. I’m thankful to you hashira, for more reasons than one.”

Kyojuro hummed, his energy suddenly much too enervated for the occasion.

“She also explained how the water aids so well with stimulating blood flow,” you said, refocusing the subject. “I can see that it has done its job well.”

There was dense fog all around you, though, within the water, it seemed to repel away. You climbed on top of an elevated rock beneath the water’s surface—your legs and waist barely submerged as you settled on the smooth white stone. From your position, you could clearly see the lines and curves of both men’s bodies as they waded in the clear water beneath you.

Tengen soon decided to join you on top of the rock, sliding behind you and pulling you into his lap, while Kyojuro settled at your feet, his bottom half still submerged in the spring while he rested his top half against your legs.

“That it has,” Tengen said, subtly pressing his length into your back. “Thank you for giving us the history of your home. We’ve heard things about this land—including the many Arai men and women who’ve owned it—but it’s always nice hearing these things from an intimate source. We meant it when we said that your house is legendary in the town we slayers call home.”

You smiled, letting Tengen wrap his arms around your stomach. “How long were you soaking before I made my way down? You’re both quite flushed. You’ll get dizzy if you stay in here for too long.”

Kyojuro looked bashful, lowering his head to hide his face behind the upturned fringe of his hair.

“What?” you said, looking up at Tengen for answers. “What am I missing?”

He shook his head softly, though the ill-contained smile on his face betrayed his attempt to downplay things. You scowled, raising your eyebrows in a way you’d learned from years of watching your Mistress. “Out with it,” tacitly expressed solely through your eyes.

Tengen sighed, flexing his abs to bend himself forward at the waist, taking you with him. He grabbed Kyojuro gently by the nape of his neck, sliding him up onto the rock with you to sit by your side. You turned in his lap, sitting sideways to watch the two as they looked at each other, glancing at you before joining their lips in a kiss. Kyojuro’s ears blushed red as the sound hashira coaxed open his mouth with his tongue.

“Well, I suppose that explains things.”

Tengen smirked, obviously amused with your response. He placed a final peck on the flame hashira’s lips before looking at you, searching your eyes for something you couldn’t identify. “Does this bother you?”

You shook your head no. Nevertheless, it was delightfully pleasant to learn that more and more rumors were true.

“What thoughts are you thinking, maiden?” Kyojuro said, his voice nearly melting into the crickets’ nighttime songs. “You’ve said little the last few moments.”

You glanced between them both, emboldened in your feelings when Tengen wrapped one large hand around the swell of your hip while the other held Kyojuro’s hand.

“I’m thinking quite lecherous things, to be frank.” You winked, beckoning Kyojuro closer. “My mind, at this moment, is no better than any man’s.”

The sound hashira’s lips parted with promise as he leaned in for a kiss, only to move an inch away from you before making contact. Your eyes grew wide as you caught wind of his teasing, making you huff, which made both men laugh.

“Already so receptive, angel?” Kyojuro said, the sweet name coming out with ease. “I didn’t peg you as the type to pout—Head Maiden of the House Arai.”

You scoffed halfheartedly, relaxing to rest your head on Tengen’s chest. “Oh, now I fear for our future against the demons. I can’t help but wonder how you manage to live through each night with such broken eyes. You’ve even likened me to an angel again—one that pouts, no less. Gods help us all.”

You said the words passively, knowing well that you were not pouting. Tengen chuckled, idly teasing goosebumps onto the surface of your arms with long caresses.

Kyojuro drew closer again, nuzzling his nose against yours before the depth of his voice lowered. “I protect you from demons well, maiden. Nearly as well as I’m sure I will bring you pleasure tonight.”

You glanced down between your bodies, noticing how his cock descended past the tops of his thighs.

“Oh. Now your pout has deepened, angel.” He repeated the endearment, a playful light in his eyes blooming beneath the honey-hued lamps hung up above your heads.

“Oh, has it?” You smirked, mischief familiar in your bones as you turned your head to look up at Tengen. His strong arms felt familiar as he raised his hand, now free from Kyojuro’s hold, to palm your breast.

“I’ll say whatever you want to hear if it keeps that look on your face, maiden,” Tengen said, looking down at you. His eyes were that same dark shade of fuchsia that twinkled with promise. “You look as if you could eat me alive.”

You nodded. “So, you don’t see any pouting then?” You lowered your gaze back to Kyojuro for a moment, letting your intentions sink in as Tengen leaned in.

You captured Tengen’s lips in a searing kiss. He reciprocated with pointed glances directed at his partner. His lips were soft as he pressed them against yours—his hand on your body too soft and heated against the late-summer air. He kissed you as if he were a thief in the night, aiming to steal every ounce of your breath beneath the twinkle of stars in the midnight hour.

“Wow.” You gasped, internally whipping yourself for the less than eloquent reaction once your lips parted.

“Wow?” Tengen teased, laughing earnestly as he reached for Kyojuro’s hand to pull the flame hashira closer. “If kisses render you this incapacitated, I fear what may happen to you if you allow us to pleasure your cunt tonight.”

You scoffed but didn’t move as Tengen’s hand drifted down to rest against the lowest point on your belly, rubbing his fingers against the hair. “I am not distracted by simple kisses, hashira. I’ll have you both know. I am simply remaining vigilant by anticipating your next move. You can never be too careful out in these woods, you know! There are dangers worse than demons.”

“Oh really?” Kyojuro cooed, leaning in to nose along the column of your exposed throat, leaving a trail of kisses that were laced with tongue and teeth.

“Of course, comrade. We’ve seen many already,” the sound hashira hummed, pressing his half-hard cock against your hip as his hands roamed. “There are sins galore in these woods, and your lakes, tempting us all to embrace them. Since we made contact with your land, something has told me that you, maiden, are no stranger to them.”

You tilted your head, moaning as the flame hashira lovingly pinched your nipple. “That I am not,” you said breathlessly, running your hand down Kyojuro’s chest for contact as he kissed your other breast. “It appears you’re acquainted with them as well.”

You nodded, falling into the sensation as the men touched every inch of your exposed skin; you couldn’t help but note how methodical both men’s movements were.

This must have been similar to how they handled their swords; their devotion and dedication to mastery showed, and you burned hot with need. A fire in your belly set alight as the men forewent talking, exchanging only kisses and gropes of your hips and thighs.

Tengen adjusted your body, so your back was against his front again. A smile graced your lips as he lifted you a bit in his lap, crossing one leg under the other to balance you on top of his lap. This raised your lower half out of the water, exposing your most intimate parts to the night air. You let your legs butterfly open, soft giggles spilling from your mouth as the sound hashira cupped your sex with his large hand.

You’d grown wet with arousal at the kisses and his touch, allowing his fingers to slip easily through your folds. You moaned, a deep wave of pleasure rolling down your spine as Kyojuro nipped at your throat, descending to focus his efforts on your slightly swollen nipples.

“It appears the rumors may prove true about you as well tonight, maiden,” Tengen said, toying with your clit. “You slick so easily under the barest of touches.”

“So, there are more rumors then?” you said, smirking as you repeated Kyojuro’s words.

The flame hashira smiled against your skin, brushing his arms against Tengen’s as he mapped the lines of your body with his hands. Finally, he relented, leaning over you to capture your lips in a kiss—just as sweet and dizzying as the sound hashira’s had been. He straddled the leg Tengen kept extended, moaning into your mouth as the sound hashira tweaked Kyojuro’s nipple with his free hand.

“Many,” Tengen said, his eyes lidded as he watched you two build your pleasure. “You, head maiden, have songs about you in the south.”

You rolled your eyes, releasing the flame hashira from your kiss to nip your teeth at Tengen’s chin. “If you intend to jest all night, I can find a better way to occupy my time.”

Kyojuro chuckled, rutting his now fully hard cock against the sound hashira’s thigh. You lent assistance, letting the hashira rock passively into the firm grip of your hand.

“Lord Tengen speaks only the truth, maiden. Our soldiers dole songs about the beautiful woman belonging to the House Arai, as gilded in looks as she is in kind nature,” he said, pausing to kiss his fellow hashira. “We had no way of knowing which maiden the songs were meant for, but now that we know you, the answer is clear.”

Tengen nodded, fucking you experimentally with one thick finger. You sighed, unable to keep any breath in your lungs at the weight of the penetration.

“Gods,” you said, soothed by Kyojuro peppering your face with gentle kisses.

“The last verse details a cunt so sweet that nectarines weep in envy. Slick and soft as if made by the finest silk maison the Entertainment District has to offer.” Tengen continued the tale, sounding amused as your slit made slick sounds as he fucked into you.

You rolled your eyes again, shaking your head at the story's absurdity. “And how can you be so sure I am who the song speaks of? You haven’t had a real taste,” you said, a moan heavy on your tongue as Tengen’s gentle rubbing continued; his pace nor accuracy ever wavering as the sensation built.

“You’re right, maiden,” Tengen said, sharing a look with Kyojuro. “I believe that should be remedied. Don’t you think, Kyo?”

“Yes,” the flame hashira said before grabbing your wrist, pulling away from your hand to descend down the rock. He laid on his side, resting against the wet stone to relax easily between your legs—now half-submerged in the spring again. Tengen removed his fingers from your cunt, raising the slick digits to toy with your pebbled nipples instead. The flame hashira wasted no time.

He took you into his mouth with no preamble, sucking your clit as if he were kissing it, letting his lips linger against the bud with soft sucks before lazing out his tongue to lick the swollen nub. He moaned in contentment as you placed your hand against his neck, lightly gripping the hair there to ground you as the sensation built.

“Fuck!” You groaned, meekly trying to keep your voice down. “Up, a little, and suck right the—yes!”

Tengen leaned over your right side, tilting your head towards his to stifle your exclamations with a kiss. He kissed you hard, intent on keeping you quiet just as much as he wanted to bring you more pleasure. You had to be quieter; both men intuitively knew this.

It would be disastrous if you were to cause anyone—a young anyone—in your home to stir, wandering out into the woods to check on their head maiden. Though your home was at least three kilometers up the stoned pathway, it was not entirely out of earshot with all the open land. If you couldn’t contain your voice, it would be cause for concern.

You looked up at Tengen, something reflecting in the iris of your eyes that made the hashira urge to protect you. He pulled you into another kiss, swallowing the sounds whole as you moaned, feeling the weight of Kyojuro’s efforts on your cunt creeping up on you steadily. Tengen touched your body, snaking his free hand—that wasn’t kneading your breast—up the expanse of your throat.

You looked into his eyes, seeing nothing but soft admiration within the deep purple color.

“Gently.” You sighed, rocking your hips to meet Kyojuro’s tongue in a rhythm that made you feel dizzy.

“Okay, angel. I’ll be gentle.” Tengen said, his voice liquid velvet as he whispered in your ear. He traced your chin with his fingers—over the sweet plumpness around your cheeks before touching the fullness of your lips. You licked the digit as your head fell back, muddled with satisfaction as Kyojuro sucked the sensitive nub with quick bursts of pressure. Tengen took the opportunity to slide in his finger, applying slight pressure to the surface of your tongue.

“Suck it.”

You obliged, kitten licking the pad of his thumb in time with Kyojuro’s tongue against you. The added sensation triggered something primal in your brain—the need to please and be pleased nearly overwhelming.

“Please.” You moaned weakly around Tengen’s finger, writhing beneath Kyojuro’s hands as he held down your hips. You felt the tail tell signs of your climax encroaching as the warmth simmering beneath your skin began to burn, your brain a jumble of names and mindless words as the coil wrapped around the core of your being tightened.

“I think our dear maiden is close, Kyo. Don’t stop. Keep licking her just like that.” Tengen kissed your temple, then your cheek, whispering encouragement in your ears that made your spine tingle with chills. Finally, he pressed a hand on your lower belly, his large hand applying firm pressure on the soft flesh. “Can you feel it, angel? Right here? All that ecstasy pent up inside of you? Can you let it go for me?”

You nodded, closing your eyes to fully envelop yourself in the sensation. Kyojuro’s mouth was warm and wet; his tongue slid easily across your engorged bundle of nerves—licking, sucking, and moaning deeply as he worked to bring that simmer of pleasure up to a feverish boil. You hummed around Tengen’s finger, unable to stop the sound as the coil snapped—blinding you with unbridled euphoria.

Your thighs flexed with the strain from your orgasm, only avoiding smothering the flame hashira due to his arms pinning you down. His tongue didn’t relent as you made pitiful attempts to fuck his face, still steady and sure as he worked you through your high.

“You’re both a sight to behold,” Tengen said, removing his finger from your mouth as your whimpers turned to heavy breaths. He circled your nipple with the wet digit, enticing your body to push out more of that sweet, dizzying sensitivity.

Kyojuro smiled, placing merciful kisses against your swollen slit before soothingly licking your clit. He cooed as it twitched with small aftershocks, “you did so well,” falling from his lips in a daze.

Tengen chuckled, adjusting you in his lap so he could carry you out of the hot spring. Kyojuro relented, moving to allow the change as your deprived whimpers grew louder again.

“Tired, maiden?” Tengen asked, lifting you up and out of the sweltering water. Once your skin touched the chilled air of the night, you shivered, nuzzling into his muscular chest. Kyojuro lifted himself from the water, grabbing the basket you’d brought for the evening from the edge of the spring where Tengen stood waiting with you in his arms.

“Not even close, hashira. The night has just begun.”

୨୧┈┈୨୧

You’d never likened yourself to women who felt shy in front of men. You’d played with so many; all high-ranking, overly confident, battle-hardened, and sweet-talking. They’d waltz through your doors, occupy your time, and then fill your cunt. They were just there. Something to do, something to feel, someone to touch. In all of that time, no man had ever made butterflies bloom in your belly—not even when you were a newly matured babe, fresh and untouched. Yet here you were, fearful the winged creatures would carve you hollow and build a home in your gut.

“I’ve never done it this way before.”

You laid on a bedroll in the hashira’s lodging, allowing the men to move you this way and that until you were in the position they wanted. The room was relatively plain; all beige tatami-lined floors and saple-framed shoji panels with a stone-lined bath in a room to the side. The ceilings were higher than in the main home, and the lanterns warming the room were scattered more to cover the ample space.

The engawa wrapping the bedroom had a small bridge adjoining it to the opposing side of the structure, overlooking the pond winding throughout the interior courtyard. Wisteria hung in long vines from the wooden awning above, wrapping the guest home in even more protection.

The area was quite grand and was often only used to house more extensive groups of higher-ranking demon slayers. Rarely did you open the home for only two (or three) people, but the hashira were as high-ranking as ranks could go—they deserved to be bathed in opulence. Getting to indulge in it with them was a positive side effect of your tryst.

“We’ll make it enjoyable for you,” Tengen said, reaching down to support Kyojuro’s head as the flame hashira placed a pillow beneath his neck. Next, he laid beneath your body, near the end of the bedroll where Tengen kneeled in wait. Your head faced Kyojuro’s feet as you supported yourself on your forearms, on all fours above Kyojuro’s body.

The position placed your cunt directly over his face while his cock stood perfectly erect and weeping precum in yours. The sound hashira moved behind you, using the tatami for traction on his knees to fuck you from behind. “You prefer it gentler, right? Slow and deep?”

You nodded, then—realizing the sound hashira might not have been able to see it with how you were turned—said yes.

“Good,” he said, the smirk audible in his tone. “I can do that. Careful not to smother each other, nor forget to tend to one another. When the pleasure takes hold, you may lose control.”

The flame hashira chuckled, grabbing hold of your hips to position you better above his chin. “I won’t complain if the maiden tries to steal my breath away—that’s what we master breathing techniques for. Just be mindful, Tengen, of where your parts land. There are people beneath you, you know.” He pulled on your hips, forcing your legs to part more as you relaxed against the lower half of his face. Tengen grabbed hold when Kyojuro moved his hands higher, caressing the length of your spine with his lissome, calloused fingers.

Both you and Kyojuro moved at the same time, eager to get a taste of each other. The arousal tingled in your blood as you wrapped him in your warmth, licking the head of his cock with broad swipes before enveloping it with your mouth. It felt heavy on your tongue—the length long while having just the right amount of girth for it to be merciful on your jaw.

You closed your eyes and let the motion become mindless, falling into the rhythm of sucking as the hashira leveled his attention on you. Then, having memorized things from your time in the spring, he skillfully slid back into pleasuring your clit.

“Ready, angel?” Tengen asked, slowly stroking his thick length as he slid two fingers into your sex, testing the tension. “You’re wetter than the springs but still so tight. I want this to feel good for you.”

You sighed through your nose, sad to be parted from Kyojuro’s cock as you pulled off of it to speak. “I’ll be fine, Lord Tengen,” you said breathlessly, using the moniker he’d mentioned when discussing his wives. “I’m not sure I could feel pain right now if I wanted to. Our flame hashira has a tongue that makes you see stars. But, please, I want you in me too.”

Tengen chuckled, pressing the spongy patch of nerves within you as he removed his fingers. “Well, then. I don’t have to be told twice.”

The room went black as you snapped your eyes shut, moans tumbling out of your mouth as Tengen entered you, moving with practiced precision as he explored to learn what you like. You swallowed Kyojuro’s cock again to muffle the noise, even though you were removed from the danger of being heard.

The sound hashira lacked nothing in terms of length and measured agreeably in terms of girth. You could feel everything with the tempo he set; every drag of his cock against your walls, every tantalizing near miss from your womb, every twitch in his length as you squeezed around him.

Despite his large stature, the man was pleasantly skilled with his hips, almost too much. The sound hashira kneaded his balls, adding to the pleasure while amusingly preventing his scrotum from smacking Kyojuro’s skull. His hips angled slightly to the side as he fucked you, positioning his curved length perfectly inside you. He pulled out until only the tip remained before rolling his hips to sink back in—tantalizingly deep before increasing the speed.

“Gods, you take it so well,” he said, a guttural moan vibrating in his chest. “Is this how you like it, maiden? Being taken apart slowly at the seams, one stitch at a time, until you’re weeping for release?”

You moaned on Kyojuro’s cock, releasing him from your mouth with a slick pop before taking him in your hand.

“Yes, gods,” you said, riding the electrifying sensation of Kyojuro licking at your center, lapping at your clit with mesmeric concentration. “I—ah. The stall girls were right about so much. Horses, beauty, sunsets. I want your seed—both of you.”

Tengen chuckled, angling his hips down to hit the spot that made tears spring in your eyes. “Oh, Kyo. I think we may have broken her. She’s speaking in riddles.”

The flame hashira hummed, sucking your clit while dutifully laying still under the ministrations of your mouth. His left leg propped up, exposing his innermost place that you longed to touch.

“Can I?” you said, tracing figure-eights on Kyojuro’s inner thigh. “There’s oil in the nightstand somewhere. I want you to feel as good as I do.” You motioned next to Tengen, knowing it was there from Ayra—the girl sometimes needed the extra slickness on nights with larger men.

The sound hashira full-belly laughed, reaching behind himself to grab the most obvious-looking vial in the top drawer. Kyojuro moaned against your slit, placing a sloppy kiss against your lips before muttering, “yes, please.”

Tengen poured more than enough on your fingers when you extended your arm, resuming his motions once you settled back into position. Kyojuro made it easy for you by opening his legs more and tangibly relaxing his body. The mewling started at the first circle of your finger against the rim, teasing the sensitive nerves before sinking one digit in to the hilt—all keeping time with Tengen’s thrusts into you.

Despite the nearly overwhelming amount of stimuli happening across the entirety of your body, you focused enough to feel around within the flame hashira’s body, prodding and curling your fingers until—

“Gods!”

None of you lasted long after that; you wordlessly fucked each other with all the finesse your bodies could handle until you all reached your peak. Kyojuro was practically sobbing beneath you as he fought to maintain his breathing technique. Your fingers ceaselessly caressed his bundle of nerves while your mouth worked on his cock. Tengen exchanged the deep milking rolls of his hips for thrusts, fucking into you firmly as if gold would fall out from his efforts. Combined with the sweet petting on your clit from Kyojuro’s tongue, you were a goner.

“I can’t. I—fuck, I’m coming.”

Tengen moaned, his breaths deepening as his cock bathed your insides—protected from threats by a salve—in cum. Kyojuro followed quickly behind as his cum shot over your neck and chin in thick ribbons.

The room went dark again, and in the bliss of the afterglow, you slept.

୨୧┈┈୨୧

Lazing around on the engawa had been your favorite thing to do since you were a child. The large porch in the main home was elevated with two stories, the top level’s engawa overlooked most of the main property; all of the wisteria, a hint of the mountains, your Mother’s garden, the steam in the air from the hot spring—in the wintertime.

The hashira’s abode had a considerably bigger one. It was made of dark cedar wood and covered with scraps and knicks you’d fruitlessly tried to buff out. You’d given up on fixing it a few years ago, leaving the marks as a testament to the many strong soldiers who’d come and gone on their travels to protect the world.

After waking, you’d gone outside to lay on it, overlooking the pond at it’s feet in the interior courtyard. The space was filled with stone statues, an abundance of wisteria, Japanese maple and pine trees, and honeysuckle shrubs. The pond housed koi fish and lilies, thriving with other small fish while notably lacking any harmful algae. It was the pinnacle of relaxation; your stress turned to ash and flowed away with the wind when you spent time here.

With a pillow laid beneath your head and a large, thick, cotton futon beneath your body, it made sense that the hashira were drawn to join you.

“I think you may both be addicted to my cunt.” You giggled, kissing Kyojuro lazily as Tengen licked the sensitive nerves. “How many times do you two intend to bring me to climax tonight? I was so enjoying the koi, and you’ve come to distract me.”

Kyojuro nuzzled against your neck, lazily fucking into Tengen’s hand against your side.

“We couldn’t resist. You looked so peaceful we couldn’t help ourselves from wanting to contribute to it,” Kyojuro said, kissing the junction between your shoulder and chest. “Besides, you smell divine. I could get drunk off of your scent if you allowed it.”

You giggled, thankful for Ayra’s insistence on the wisteria oil.

“It’s from the vines. They produce a scent that brings even the noblest men to their knees; it seems to be working.”

Kyojuro nodded, inhaling mouthfuls of the fragrance as he came, painting white over your hip and stomach. He cleaned you with a rag, speaking sweet nothings into your ear as Tengen gave his utmost attention to your sensitive bud, working it until it was teetering on the edge of pain.

“You know, I believe there was a secret you meant to share with us, maiden. What was that memory you had?” Kyojuro said, laying on his back beside you, staring up through the awning’s slits to peer at the stars. “The one that made you smile so beautifully. That provoked us to have our game.”

“You want to hear it now?” Tengen chuckled, giving you a moment to come down from the burning edge of overstimulation, kissing along your inner thighs as your breaths slowed.

You smiled, turning your head to the side to look into the garnet-red of his irises. “I told you my secret. I wielded a sword out of turn to protect my sister. It’s the most exhilarating thing I’ve ever done.”

“But the memory,” he said, expecting.

You sighed feebly, relaxing your neck to look up at the stars again. Tengen kissed your lower belly, crossing his forearms across your hips in wait for your blessing to continue.

“My memory was nothing spectacular. I simply remembered something from childhood that reminded me how admirable the position of ‘hashira’ is. I am deeply thankful for your sacrifice,” you said, fighting the shake in your bones as Tengen’s mouth descended, licking you again in electrifying strokes. “I also believe you may not be the first flame hashira I’ve ever met, Rengoku Kyojuro.”

His brows furrowed as he turned to look at you, propping himself up on his elbow. He traced the lines of your face with his finger, lightly rubbing the digit along your bottom lip as he processed your words.

“You met my father,” he said firmly. “How old?”

You grinned, distractedly recanting the tale of how your Mistress came to acquire Ayra. The night you tended to your first hashira, a man so skilled and mighty that the wisteria vines around you shook in both trepidation and respect. How the man let you sit in his lap, telling you stories of his own boy—only a few years your senior, that was learning the art of the sword. He gave you a newfound respect for the hashira; not only as protectors or sell-swords but warriors with hearts filled with love, despite the horrors of the night that sought to drain it out.

“My father is a good man who’s been taken hostage by grief,” Kyojuro said, holding your hand against his heart as the pleasure grew, taking hold of your breath and making you shut your eyes. “I aim to be better than him. As a warrior, as a friend, as a man… and as a partner. I need to be better than him in all ways as I age.”

Tengen released you, mounting the pressure higher by delaying the release.

“That’s an admirable dream, friend. I believe you’ve done well on that aspiration already.”

Kyojuro nodded, falling back into his kisses as Tengen resumed, “beautiful, angel, ethereal” on his lips as you reached your high.

୨୧┈┈୨୧

You made love until early morning light broke through the clouds. Rice balls and berries fed to each other, with water shared and kisses galore exchanged in between. You laid on the disheveled futon, tangled in the sheets with the gentle sound of spring water in your ears. Tengen snored softly on your left, cradling your head in his arm protectively, while Kyojuro laid on your right, pressed against your breast with his arms wrapped around your belly. Then, as the birds began to sing with the sunrise, you stirred, snuggling in the warmth between the two men’s bodies.

The sound of wings cutting through the wind was audible outside the guest home's thick shoji panels, causing both hashira to awaken with startling precipitance. Their crows landed on the perch just outside the door, their bodies visible through it with the sun's backlighting.

They sat in silence as the crows squawked instructions, instructing the hashira to descend your mountains to go east and west, respectively, for missions.

“Duty calls,” Tengen whispered, kissing you leisurely despite the command. He stretched against you, pressing some of his weight against your body before grumbling about needing to gather his bearings. His hair was still down; a wild mess of white locks hung over his face while Kyojuro’s stuck up in the air.

The flame hashira grinned, placing a quick kiss on your cheek before leaving the futon, cleaning and putting away things around the room despite Tengen’s unenthusiastic protests. The sound of animals stirring in the barn lands around you and the soft rumble from carts descending the mountains alerted you for your duties as well; most of the girls would be waking soon to begin bathing and preparing breakfast, and your Mistress would be expecting you soon.

The rest of the morning went on with little fanfare. The hashira bathed with you in the middle, gossiping to each other as you cleansed the men’s backs. Before you all got dressed, you allowed their hands to roam your body for a while. You fell into the familiar pattern of pleasure before the crows cawed again, rushing you all to get on with your duties.

The sky was clear when you exited the guesthouse, all wispy white clouds and nothing but blue for the observable distance. Most of the girls were awake and floating around the home’s exterior when you approached—first, without the hashira—to alert them that the men were being summoned and thus were leaving. Sopheary frowned as she pulled weeds from the bushes, while Yua pouted, muttering something about “the pretty hashira” before stomping off to the kitchen to make a parting basket.

“You look well rested,” Ayra shouted, swiftly descending the stairs from the second-floor engawa. You chuckled, taking it in stride when the girl spun you in a circle, whistling as she peaked into your yukata and saw the myriad of marks across your skin. “Looks like you won’t be using our baths for a bit. Himari and Dorothea will have plenty of questions if they see.”

“I know,” you grumbled, using your Mistress’ arrival as a worthy distraction from Ayra.

You gave her a hug, feeling safe as she patted your back with her steady hand. Then, she pulled away, giving you a once over before side-stepping you to stand in front of the girls—everyone coming back outside as the hashira’s crows proceeded them as they ascended the path.

The babies grew fussy when the hashira said their goodbyes, begging to be held by you until the men gave them attention. The men accepted the gifts from the elder girls first, saying their thanks for the basket as they peeked inside. All of the contents were placed in an easy-to-carry satchel, light enough despite the plethora of goods that their crows were able to carry them.

“Well,” Tengen said, approaching you and the girls. His eyes held a fondness that should have felt foreign for a warrior. “I suppose this is goodbye, little ones. Until next time.”

You nodded, allowing the babies to go into the man’s arms like they’d fussed for. Tengen scooped them up easily, giving them both hugs that dripped with affection before putting them down. Kyojuro kneeled, allowing Sana to (attempt) to tie the golden omamori talisman into his ponytail, just as he’d promised.

“We hope you enjoyed your stay,” your Mistress said, giving the two a deep bow.

Tengen reflected the motion, grabbing hold of her tremoring hands in his large ones. “We had a wonderful time with your family. We’ll visit again soon.”

“Good!” Ayra said petulantly, wrapping herself tighter in her casual yukata. “Just don’t make us wait another two hundred and eighty-six days before you come to see us. I’m sure our head maiden would be delighted to serve you again.”

You rolled your eyes, bowing your head as well to show respect. “We wish you safe travels and pray for your safety in battle. Thank you for your sacrifice. It is not in vain.”

Tengen smiled, as did Kyojuro. They pulled you in for a kiss each, with no formalities in the way they captured your lips. Soft, sweet, and muddled with promises destined to be fulfilled. You ignored the gaggle of whispers behind you as you pulled away.

“We will meet again, maiden,” Tengen said, kissing the top of your hand. Kyojuro said similarly, bowing before following his crow to the gate.

You waved along with the girls as the men turned their backs, going opposite ways down your mountain’s path onto their next missions.

“Yes, we’ll meet again, hashira.” You thought to yourself, relaxing your arm as they disappeared into the distance. “So long as our wisteria blooms.”

i hope you liked this :') i'm sorry it took me so long to come back to it. i've been so insanely busy that I haven't had much time to write, but I couldn't leave this fic hanging. it's easily been one of my favorite things that i've written. i got a new job recently but i have time off until that new position begins. so, i hope you enjoyed my return. i'd loveee to hear your thoughts <333 crossposted on ao3 || taglist || tags: @bokuroskitten @rosesandtoshi @crystal-lilac @murdereddaydreams @mxgenderbender

#tengen x reader #kyojuro x reader #tengen x kyojuro x reader #x black fem reader #tengen smut #kyojuro smut #demon slayer smut #black reader #x black reader #kk.writes #kk.naughty #kk.kny

[kemakoshume]

Secrets Whispered in Writing — gojo x f!reader x geto

summary: Traveling through Edo-era Japan under the guard of two samurai—Satoru and Suguru—you find yourself in the mecca of art, music, and sex. You write your feelings down in your diary. Gojo and Getou are nosey.

· this is a samurai champloo!au based on episode 12 of the series. you don't need to watch the show to enjoy this but you should definitely watch it. it's amazing.

a/n: remember that samurai champloo fic i wrote for the lovely @cyancherub's "back from the dead" collab like... almost a year ago? lmao. well, i rewrote it, added a bunch to it, and made it satosugu x reader. so, here's that :) also posted on AO3. only the diary entries are in first-person; the rest of the fic isn't.

warnings: threesome (M/M/F), oral sex (f!receiving), double penetration.

❁ July 2nd — Sunny, then cloudy ❁

Gojo, Getou, and I landed in Edo for an extended mission today.

This is our fourth town and sixth month together. Things feel good.

I don’t have much to say about Edo except—wow. The people here are wild.

They make beautiful art with lacquers and textiles finer than silk.

The music feeds the soul and the food fuels carnal hunger.

They have sex without sexuality, and they have it in abundance.

Just between us, dear diary, the desire to throw myself into the debauchery of this town grows more and more with every hour we spend here.

What am I to do?

xx

❁ July 4th — Cloudy ❁

I met a prostitute in a bar today. She was very lovely.

She asked about my companions and how a country girl like me learned how to tend to two strong samurai.

I didn’t tell her that they aren’t technically samurai.

They’re just two bozos with a little training and nice reflexes that can wield swords.

But anyway… I also didn’t tell her that I don’t ‘tend’ to them.

I’m afraid to admit that I want to.

xx

❁ July 5th — Rainy, then foggy ❁

Today, I saw something that my eyes could’ve never imagined.

I’ve heard murmurs for ages that men here explore in ways that they don’t in the countryside. Today, I saw it.

Two men, out in the open inside our ryokan, making love like men do to women.

Now I can’t help but wonder if those two do the same when I’m not around.

If they’ve ever thought about it…

Hmph

xx

❁ July 7th — Rainy, with sun ❁

I saw that prostitute again.

She suggested that the boys and I go to a bathhouse.

We went, and I saw it again.

Two men, but this time with a woman—another worker.

All three of them, together. I didn’t know that was possible.

xx

❁ July 8th — Rainy ❁

I can’t stop picturing it.

The three of us, like those people in the bathhouse.

If it were possible.

xx

❁ July 10th — Warm, and wet ❁

A handsome man who paints portraits asked me on the street if he could draw me.

I said yes. He showed me his home, and he drew me nude.

He asked if I could touch myself… like the yuujo girls that sit in the shop windows do to attract customers.

I said yes. He drew that too.

My mind raced with thoughts of Suguru’s polished hands and Satoru’s slick tongue the entire time.

Fuck.

xx

❁ July 11th — Cloudy, with sunshine ❁

Things feel funny.

Getou held my waist today as he walked past me.

He and Gojo haven’t fought in two days.

Well, each other, at least.

They’ve fought plenty of other people.

Strange.

xx

❁ July 12th — Foggy ❁

We’ll only be in Edo for one more day.

I don’t want to leave.

The energy is infectious.

I’ve caught it like a disease.

xx

❁ July 13th — Sunny, but cool ❁

Gojo suggested we stay another night.

He conned a guy out of a home to stay in.

Getou and I said yes.

xx

❁ July 14th — Sunny ❁

I figured it out.

I know you two are reading these. Getou—give Gojo my regards.

And answer my questions ~

Cowards.

xx

“So, are you going to explain yourselves or just sit in silence all night?”

You looked down at the two men from your position at the head of your shared sleeping room, staring down at them sitting on the floor in front of you while you leaned on the homeowner’s large wooden desk. Satoru sat with his long legs crossed at the knees—his arms folded in a similar fashion across the lean muscle of his chest. Suguru did the same, though his large indigo blue haori sleeves hid his muscular arms, and his hands were interlaced in his lap—almost like he was meditating. Their faces housed similar scowls, though Gojo’s was characteristically indignant while Getou looked typically temperate.

For a moment, the room was vacant of your voices. The only sound that was audible between the firm wooden walls was your breathing—heavy against the weight of your breasts beneath the lining of your delicate yukata. The mid-summer warmth bled into the air, making all three of you bead lightly with a thin sheen of sweat.

“Well?” you said, your tone insistent as the sound of cicadas nestled in the trees grew louder from outside the ryokan.

Gojo huffed, shaking out the pleasantly clean—for once—mop of wavey white curls on top of his head.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve calling us cowards when you were busy hiding your feelings in your diary,” he said, his voice gruff as he moved his line of sight from the floor and fixed it on you. “Yeah, we read your stupid diary! Shouldn’t leave shit lying around if you don’t want anyone to see.”

A deep inhale of air filled your lungs, only for it to be expelled twice as fast. “Satoru,” you said, your eyes pointed and glaring at the wild-haired man, “that was one of my personal things. I don’t touch your swords, so why would you touch my diary? It’s basically the same thing!”

He scoffed, something akin to a laugh bubbling in his throat. “Do you protect us with that journal, princess? Can that journal cut your cute little fingers off if you wield it wrong? Hm?”

You huffed, sputtering out rushing words to negate the man’s sentiments. Though, as even Getou breathed out a chuckle, you knew your protests fell on two sets of deaf ears.

“So, no then?” Gojo said, cocking his full lips into a lazy smile. “Hear that, Suguru? She thinks her diary is the same thing as a sword.”

Your foot hit the floor with a dull thud as you stomped one down in petulant irritation. “That’s not what I said! And, anyway, it’s still my thing. My private thing. You had no right to read it!”

Satoru adjusted his body, sitting so that his right leg was still crossed, but now his left was propped up—making the already lanky man look even larger as he spread out his limbs.

“I didn’t read anything,” he said, feigning innocence—as the man was notably illiterate. “But, you can’t stand here and play the dumb card with us, princess. You say you didn’t want us to see, but you left the thing on my side of the room—and you know I’m nosey. And you left it here unattended, out in the open, knowing that Getou here can read. For something you’re so protective of, you sure do a lousy job at keeping it hidden. Unless—”

“She wanted us to read it, as proven obvious by the last submission in the journal,” Suguru said, lifting his gaze to look up at you as well. “And your incessant desire to know our thoughts about the ill-kept secrets you filled the pages with.”

Despite your higher position, being the one standing, suddenly you felt small in front of the two men. Getou—the stoic man with long black hair and piercing eyes, with dewy milk-white skin unwithered despite your days in the sun, and Gojo—the other man sworn to protect you on your journey, with untamed hair and tan skin—facial hair that added a more masculine edge to his thinner physique, and a tongue as quick as the draw of his sword.

The two couldn’t have been more different in most ways. Suguru was refined; Satoru was a menace. Yet somehow, despite the difference in their dispositions, in moments like this, they couldn’t have felt more similar. When they were toying with you with their words, passing you back and forth to be teased and taunted in that way you begrudgingly enjoyed, their similarities shined. They were always at their best when it came to playing with you.

“Well, out with it then,” Gojo said, tapping his foot impatiently. “We’ve already decided to share you, so get on with it and ask.”

You blinked, your lashes fluttering in disbelief as you scoffed. “Share me?” you said, followed by a series of incomplete thoughts flowing out in a blur from your lips. “I—I just… share? Me, with both of you? Do I look like a geiko to you? I mean… Satoru, I would never, and Suguru, you barely even look at me half the time. So, I—”

Suguru stood up without a word, crossing the small distance between where he sat and where you stood with three long strides. Your protests ceased as he slid his body against yours, his front flush against you as the man held your face in his hands.

“Stop talking,” he said firmly, making the rush of words halt on your tongue. “We read enough to know what you want. Do you want it to be a reality, or are you content with it being a personal fairytale forever?”

You looked up into Suguru’s deep onyx-colored eyes, somehow tinged even darker with a hint of something you’d never seen on the man’s face before. The fixed position of his jaw, like the man was holding back words—which, for him, was strange—enticed you to nod as he lowered his hands to your hips, guiding you to sit back on the desk.

“Good, then lay down.”

You did as you were told and laid down on the desk, feebly attempting to hold the slipping fabric of your yukata closed in the front as the fabric stretched in the new position.

“Oh, now she’s shy,” Gojo murmured, rolling his eyes as he stood too, coming over to sit next to you on the heavy desk. “But you showed that hack painter the goods with no problem?”

Satoru gripped the obe keeping the thin fabric closed, looking down at you with those crystal-blue eyes in wait until you nodded your head and moved your hands—removing them from where they’d been gripping the garment tight to shield your bare skin beneath.

“Are you hustling us?” Suguru asked, running his hands up your nude body beneath the fabric, causing it to pool around you like a halo as the fabric fell off of you and down onto the desk, only still connected to you by the sleeves. “No wrapping for your breasts. No drawers. And your skin is so supple—practically begging to be touched.”

He wasted no time in dipping his head down then, leaning his tall body over your smaller frame easily to envelop you in his warmth—the weight of his mouth on your skin sending heat down from the crown of your head to your feet as a shiver coursed through your body. He nosed your neck, nipping the area with his teeth before soothing the pain away with kisses while his hands traveled the curves and dips of your body.

Gojo watched, looking down at you both as Getou took one taut nipple into his mouth and sucked before moving his attention down the length of your torso.

“You smell wonderful right here,” Suguru said, kissing his way down until he was squatting, his face level with your cunt. “So wet for me, and I’ve barely done anything to you. Have you thought about this for that long?”

You nodded, willing to throw away a bit of your pride as the man’s mouth hovered so close but still too far away from where you wanted it.

“Me?” Satoru said indignantly, scrunching his nose in irritation. “I thought this was supposed to be a group project, casanova.”

The blue-eyed man adjusted his body to be comfortable as he lowered his head, taking one of your nipples into his mouth and sucking. You ran your hand through Gojo's hair, lightly gripping the soft strands to keep his mouth on you as Suguru lifted your legs, pushing them back and resting his arms against the back of your thighs to keep them open.

“It’s like a little pearl,” Suguru said, mostly to himself as an airy moan left your lungs due to Gojo adding his hands to the mix, pinching your unattended nipple with his fingers.

He lowered his mouth down to your “pearl” then, flicking the muscle tentatively at first, then relaxing into the motions as you wiggled your hips to make him move.

“See?” you said, your voice not sounding like your own as you spoke. “You two work together great. Perfect partners in crime.”

You felt more than saw Suguru's eye roll as he smacked the soft skin of your inner thighs, and Satoru very subtly added his teeth into the next bout of suction against your sensitive nipple. The slight sting of pain added to the pleasure, and you felt the feeling growing beneath your skin as their tongues worked harder against your body.

Satoru moved, adjusting to lay on his side next to you as he toyed with your breasts. The sound of their tongues on your skin was loud in the quiet room as your high crept up on you, building to a fever pitch until you felt nothing but wet heat and saw infinite darkness behind your eyelids. Soft whimpers and long moans poured out of your mouth to accompany it.

“Do you want to taste her? She tastes divine,” Getou murmured toward Gojo, his words slurred slightly as he licked you gently as your orgasm came down. He looked like a man starved; like he couldn’t care less that the “end” had occurred. He just wanted more of you.

Satoru lifted his head, stopping his mission of marking any skin he could get his mouth on. “I wouldn’t describe pussy as divine, but you do your thing. I want to feel her inside,” he said, looking down to watch Getou flick his tongue against your slick folds with reverence again before hopping off of the desk.

“Let’s move this party down to the floor, hm?” Gojo said, running his blunt nails along the sensitive skin of Suguru’s neck as he walked behind him. He slotted his hand in the man’s hair, pulling his head backward to remove him from his daze of feasting on you.

You couldn’t hear well over the beating of your heart in your ears, but you’re sure you heard a slight whine tumble from Getou’s mouth just as a disappointed groan left yours.

“No,” you said, pouting with irritation as Gojo coaxed Getou backward with his hold on his hair. “I felt another one coming.”

He hummed, guiding Suguru down to the ground that was padded with thick tatami mats. “Don’t pout,” Satoru said, walking back over to you. “You’ll get yours again, princess, don’t worry. Waiting for it a little won’t kill you.” He wasted no time lifting you off the furniture, carrying your weight easily with his deceptively strong arms.

He sat you down in between Suguru's legs allowing the other man to hold you close to his chest with his arm wrapped around your waist. As you settled into his lap, your eyes focused forward on Gojo, and you couldn’t stifle the gasp as you saw his length. It hung free from his pants, heavy and blushed at the tip between his legs as he approached you on the tatami.

“Don’t act all innocent,” he said, leaning into your space to kiss you before slotting his legs with Getou’s—caging you between them both. “You’ve seen a dick before.”

You blinked dumbly, wondering how much an insufferable man could be blessed with so much girth. “Not one like that,” you muttered, yelping with a shout as Gojo landed a swift spank against your sensitive bud.

“Shut up,” he groaned, resting his hand on the firm bone above your cunt while his thumb dipped down into the mess of sloppy wet slick coating your sex. “Getou, get your cock out. I want to try something.”

The typical temperate man made no contests as he normally would. He simply lifted your body enough to wiggle his pants down and placed you back down in his lap, pressing his hard length against your back.

“It’s out. Now what?”

Gojo smirked, pushing your legs toward your chest as he sat up enough to be kneeling.

“Hold these,” he said, gripping your thighs until Getou’s hands replaced his—holding you open and exposed for the world to see.

“I’ll get her nice and ready, then you can have your fill, Suguru.”

Gojo fisted his cock, running his hand up and down the length a few times before nestling himself against your entrance—impatiently asking for your approval with his eyes. You nodded as Getou tilted your chin up to meet his gaze, and he kissed you—deep and filled with passion you didn’t know the man was capable of while Gojo sheathed himself into your wet heat, groaning as he bottomed out.

“Jesus, you’re soft. Everywhere, but fuck—right here. Inside,” he said, his breathing ragged as he began to move. His characteristic ruthlessness came out in full force as he wasted no time thrusting into you, making your body jolt and rub against Getou’s abdomen, and thus his cock trapped in-between.

“A little less rough, Gojo,” Getou said, a weak moan spilling from his lips as a particularly firm thrust that made him rut against you harder than he meant to. “I’d rather not cum on her back, at least not like this.”

Satoru laughed, loosening his grip on your hips as he looked the other man in the eye. “Well, get inside of her then, dumbass. I’ll wait.”

You allowed your body to be rag-dolled as the men exchanged places inside of you—Satoru’s hard length pulling out as Suguru slid inside.

“‘S’ different,” you said, moaning into the exchange as Gojo’s girth was switched with Getou’s length. “Fucking good. It’s really good.”

Suguru cooed at you, kissing you messily as one of his hands found your nipple while the other gripped your waist—holding you still while Suguru fucked you. Satoru busied his hands with your clit as he let the other man get his fill, tugging his own cock as he watched his fuck into you nice and deep despite the position.

Gojo and patient were two words that had never complimented each other well, so when he pressed his length against your entrance, with Getou still inside, all you could do was beg for more despite the surprise. You gasped when he lightly breached your cunt, accidentally slipping in when you slammed down onto Getou’s cock. Satoru had been jerking himself off with his tip against your folds. Still, once the idea was there…

“Do it again,” you said, taking a deep breath when Suguru stopped his thrusts for a moment to process what you were asking for.

The two men communicated something with their eyes and then directed their looks down to you.

“Well, she did say she wanted us both, right? Like that prostitute and her clients at the bathhouse?” Gojo said, faltering as your breathing quickened once you pieced together that the two were okay with what you wanted.

It should have terrified you. Absolutely petrified you, but it didn’t. Your heart raced with excitement as the two men positioned themselves to do what your dreams couldn’t have conjured on their own. You felt your cunt drip with want at the mere thought of it, and the two men—the men who put their lives on the line for yours daily, who loved you so deeply in their own ways— were both ready to make it happen.

“I want it,” you whimpered, wiggling your hips back and forth to entice the man to move. For one of them to do something. “I want you both.”

You could feel Suguru’s body tense as you said the words, but you lulled his worries with a massaging squeeze with your walls around his cock—eliciting a deep moan from the man and at that moment, Satoru made you whole.

His cock nestled in snug against Getou’s, stretching you to your limits, then he moved. Slow at first, with nothing but careful intent in his eyes as he let you adjust. But after a few minutes, filled with distracting kisses and caresses on all the spots you needed their hands the most, Gojo fucked you—and you saw stars. Everything was shrouded in darkness after that. Your eyes snapped closed, and your ears no longer processed sound as the overwhelming sensation of fullness processed in your nerves, driving you to the brink of insanity as the two men rutted into you—grabbing any flesh they could reach while tangling their tongues with yours—and each other—before you were all reaching your peaks, stuffed and satiated with the warm trembling of post-coital glow.

It was bliss.

“What else do you want to try, Satoru?” Suguru panted, breathless as you all soaked in each other’s presence on the quickly cooling tatami mats. Kissing and cuddling once Satoru pulled out of you, while Getou decided to leave his cock inside you for warmth.

“Hell if I know. She’s the creative one here,” Satoru said, a lazy smile gracing his face again as he pulled you into a kiss.

“That she is.” Suguru purred, nuzzling his nose against the crown of your head. “We have all the time in the world to try everything you dream of and more, princess.”

You hummed, letting the two kiss you and touch you to your heart's content, falling into the rhythm of ‘want’ all over again.

“You know… you two never really answered my question,” you said between kisses, interrupting Suguru as he rubbed circles against your clit with his long middle finger.

“The question being?” he asked, resuming his movements as he stopped trying to rack his brain for the answer on his own.

“Have you ever done this when you’re alone?” You asked, placing a quick kiss on the samurai's throat as you gazed at Satoru. “Did you think I didn’t notice you kissing, too?”

They looked between each other, scowled, and groaned a matching, “only in your dreams.”

Though the slightest hint of hesitation gave them away, and the night of exploration continued.

------

thanks for reading <;3 taglist; ao3; twitter

#gojo x reader x geto #satosugu x reader #jjk smut #fic rewrite #getou smut #gojo smut #kk.writes #kk.jjk

[ever-yours118]

bombarding them with blankets, tea, heating pads, and anything else they’d need when injured/under the weather - buddie

“Buck,” Eddie says firmly. “I’m okay.”

Buck freezes, then carefully sets down the pair of mugs he’d been carrying onto the coffee table.

“Buck,” Eddie repeats again, more sternly, and he reluctantly puts down the plate of pancakes, too. At Eddie’s raised eyebrow, he sighs and unloads the extra throw blanket he’d slung over his shoulder, as well as Christopher’s old hot water bottle, dumping them unceremoniously onto the table.

Okay, maybe Eddie’s got a bit of a point. Still, as he lowers himself down on the couch beside Eddie, he keeps his eyes winningly innocent.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Eddie pins him with a sceptical stare, that piercing one that never fails to make Buck feel the slightest bit giddy—but no, that’s very much not the point.

“Eddie,” he frowns, giving up and slumping back against the couch. “You’re sick.”

“Then shouldn’t you be staying away?”

“I have a very strong immune system,” Buck says, and then, with a pointed gesture towards one mug: “Drink.”

Amused, Eddie brings one of the covered mugs to his mouth. “Feels like a sippy cup,” he murmurs.

“Keeps the heat in,” Buck says, relaxing. “It’s good for hot lunches.”

Eddie hums—or more accurately, croaks out a vaguely affirmative noise—and they sit in contented quiet as the Rangers play in the background, only occasionally interrupted by the odd cough.

Then: “You’re upset about this,” Eddie says suddenly, still nursing his mug. Through the corner of his eye, Buck sees those brown eyes fixed on him, and he fights down his instinctual flush.

Buck picks up the other mug and sips at the chicken soup within to stall. It’s from a book Bobby recommended—a little more oregano next time, he thinks. He’ll write it down. “Maybe a bit,” he concedes.

“It’s a cold. Can’t do anything about it.”

“It’s almost March,” Buck protests, voice oddly loud against the low buzz of the TV. “We both know you’re only sick because of that call.”

The weather is warming tentatively, but the ocean certainly isn’t. And swimming in the notoriously cold Manhattan Beach waters against a riptide for half an hour, weighed down by his uniform—on a 50 degree day? That’s foolish, and he voices as much.

“It was a call,” Eddie protests lightly.

“And I wasn’t there.”

He means for it to be light, but it comes out hurt and—and bitter, and he drops his gaze to the TV, some commercial about salad dressing running bright and cheerful. I wasn’t there to watch your six. Even if there’s nothing I could have done—

“Buck.” Eddie sounds fondly exasperated as he sets down his mug with a clink. “It’s a cold—I’ll be better in a day, promise. And I’m a big boy. I’m fine.”

It’s not really about the cold or the ocean, and they both know that. But Eddie sets his hand on Buck’s knee, warm and reassuring, and for a moment, it really does feel fine.

A soft pause, but then Eddie swallows hard and hacks out a rusty cough, proving Buck’s point very neatly.

“Idiot,” he grouses, standing to unfold the abandoned afghan. He tosses it over Eddie, snickering at Eddie’s muffled protest at his new mouthful of wool. “Just—let me take care of you a bit, okay?”

“This,” splutters Eddie, resurfacing indignantly, “is not taking care of me. This is no way to treat a patient. Absolutely terrible bedside manner, Nurse Buckley.”

“Finish drinking your soup, and maybe I’ll tuck you in,” Buck says primly, and Eddie grins, eyes bright and fond and open.

But maybe that’s just the fever, he reminds himself, turning to pick up the neglected plate of pancakes. He knows how to pick his battles, and the pancakes will keep until Eddie wakes up—that is, if Chris doesn’t get to them first.

When the pancakes are suitably shrink-wrap-covered and refrigerated, he returns to the living room—just as he thought, Eddie’s sound asleep.

“Didn’t take you long,” he says to the room. The couch is comfortable though, he’ll give Eddie that. Easy to fall asleep on, as he knows from experience.

He swallows hard, then moves to sit gently on the coffee table. Eddie’s hair is mussed, falling softly over his forehead, and his fingers twitch abortively against the wood as he fights the urge to brush it back. God, he’s pretty, Buck thinks, can’t help but think, torn with the intensity of the thought, of the longing to touch, to be held.

He swallows hard, makes himself get up.

Bad Buck.

“Night, Eds,” Buck says, and turns out the lights.

(send in a prompt!)

#911 fic #buddie #911fic #911.post #kk.writes #911 spec fic #kind of

[kemakoshume]

Let Me Count the Ways ❀ — aki x angel (csm) pt. 1

Concept:

It starts with a bet: whoever scores higher on their upcoming midterm gets whatever they want from the other person.

Angel knows what he wants, and now he has the perfect opportunity to ask.

aka: a college!au fic where Angel is a touch-starved virgin who doesn't know how to tell his boyfriend he's ready for more.

CW: no warnings (yet) but Angel is a touch-repulsed virgin. If that characterization bothers you, don't read it. No smut yet but Angel is horn-ee.

a/n: This fic was inspired by this lovely art [sfw; nsfw] by @lazynico. I loved the concept of "Angel has all these fantasies but can't (or, in my AU, doesn't know how to) act on them," so I had to write something for it. They can touch and not die, yay! I hope you like it as much as I enjoyed writing it 🌟

[pinterest inspo/vision board] also on ao3 ~ enjoy! (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧

It’s been one month since Aki officially asked Angel to be his boyfriend, and the pint-sized sophomore hasn’t stopped staring at him since. They’re sitting on the greens—the large lawn mowed to perfection and cultivated with robust patches of flowers in the center of campus. Angel lazes in the grass, his head pillowed on Aki’s lap, while the older man leans against a stout ginkgo tree. Thin clouds filter across the clear blue sky, and the air smells like the warmth that comes with spring.

Angel twists a straw wrapper around his fingers, listening to the junior spout off fact after fact from the study guide their teacher’s assistant gave them before their lecture ended earlier. Midterms are coming up, and Aki has been adamant about studying the content. He looks beautiful with his hair up in its typical topknot and nails painted a color that matches his eyes. He’s in a fitted black t-shirt with a light forest-green jacket layered on top. A gold pendant dangles from his neck, and he could only look prettier than he does now, Angel thinks, if one of his signature menthol cigarettes was balanced between his teeth. Angel grins without meaning to as he soaks in the sight of the man above him.

“Angel baby,” Aki says, stopping his reading mid-sentence, “you’re doing it again.”

Angel scoffs, ripping his eyes away from their persistent focus on Aki’s face. He drops the straw wrapper, now rolled into a slowly unfurling ball, and plucks one of the pages from the small stack in Aki’s hand.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Angel says dryly. He scans over the remainder of the content Aki hasn’t read aloud yet and drops the sheet onto his chest with a sigh. “Is this actually helping? Reading repetitive, boring bullshit, I mean.”

Aki chuckles, replacing the paper with his hand on Angel’s chest as he slides the study guide back into his school bag. He reaches into the small front pocket and plucks out a cigarette, looking around for a moment before lighting it under the cover of the fruitful tree branches around them.

“Our coursework is not boring, Angel. It’s essential,” Aki says seriously, mumbling around the cigarette. “Maybe if you studied more, you’d see how useful it is to actually review the content before taking the test instead of just winging it. Imagine how much better your test scores would be, babe. I know you’re smart—really fucking smart—but why not shoot for… more?”

Angel rolls his eyes with a smile, stretching like a cat to relax his joints before settling against Aki’s lap again. “I’m fine where I am, Aki. I managed to make it into a senior-level research lab just fine—with Makima’s recommendation, at that—and I’m on track to graduate early. I appreciate your concern, though, baby,” he says, mimicking Aki’s tone when he says the word. “I know you only bug me about it because you care.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Aki says, putting his cigarette in front of Angel’s face to let him take a slow drag. “I’m not concerned, really. I just—I know you could be even better than you already are. You have so much potential, Angel. It feels like a bit of a waste, you know? You could easily replace Kobeni as Professor Kishibe’s TA next semester if you apply yourself a little bit more.”

Despite knowing Aki’s intentions are good, Angel scoffs, and the older man speaks before Angel can express his feelings any which way about that.

“I guess I’ll just have to outrank you—again—and get that TA spot,” Aki smirks. “Show you how much hard work pays off.”

“Oh?” Angel says, looking up at Aki with an impish glint in his eyes. “Someone’s jumping the gun a bit. How about we start with midterms first, hm? That alone will prove whose study methods…”

“Or lack thereof.”

“...work better,” Angel says, taking the cigarette from Aki completely. “You’re brilliant, Aki, and yeah, you work way harder than me. But, I’m gifted—at least, that’s what every teacher I’ve ever had has told me. I’m pretty lazy, though,” he grins. “Guess this test will prove which of the two is superior. Going with the flow, or working yourself to the bone.” Angel pokes his own ribs, visible from how his stomach sinks in when he’s lying down.

Aki chuckles, lowering his arm to drape it across Angel’s slim waist. It moves with Angel’s inhales as he smokes, and Aki traces the joints of Angel’s empty hand with lithe fingers. Aki fiddles with the small angel-wing charm on Angel’s keychain, right next to the bedazzled devil horns, and Angel finds it distracting. He feels the sudden urge to kiss Aki despite his mouth and lungs being occupied by smoke.

The charms are two of many that dangle from the clamp attached to a belt loop on his loose-fitting cargo pants, and it feels so intimate. The wing is Aki’s favorite, he’d told Angel, and he plays with it any chance that he gets. Aki’s palm grazes the soft skin on the inner side of Angel’s wrist as he does it, and it sends shivers down Angel’s spine. It all feels symbolic, in a way—a promise, maybe—and it makes Angel’s blood burn.

Aki’s touch is a physical reminder of their journey together. How they’d gone from begrudging partners in their research labs—initially not getting along due to the extreme discrepancies in their work ethic—to somewhat friends due to their time together in their shared extracurricular clubs, to boyfriends, eventually, after spending so much time getting to know each other. Now, they touch freely, though not as often as Angel is sure Aki might like. They’ve done very little, and part of Angel wants to fix that—to explore and try to do more—but kisses are the only thing they regularly exchange, and Aki seems okay with that. He’s never complained, at least.

Aki knows how Angel feels about touching. The first time Angel met Denji—almost a year ago at their weekly Public Safety Association club meeting—he nearly bit the boy’s head off. Denji sauntered in, uninvited and unannounced, because he smelled the free food and tried to hug Angel. It was the first (and unfortunately not the last) time that Aki had seen Angel be visibly angry. They hadn’t known each other long at the time, only a few months, but Angel’s dislike for physical touch was something very apparent from the get-go.

Angel feels frustrated, though, as he lets Aki touch him over his clothing in the pleasantness of the springtime afternoon. Angel has never enjoyed being touched—ever, by anyone, for as long as he can remember, with no reason in mind—but when he looks up into Aki’s deep blue eyes, hears the baritone of his voice in his ears, and digests all of the intellect and passion he laces into each and every one of his words, Angel desires so badly. For the first time in his life, he wants to be taken apart, cherished, caressed, and kissed until all of the air dissipates from his lungs. He doesn’t know what to do with it all or how to tell his boyfriend what he wants. He just needs an opening, and of course, Aki gives it to him.

“Hey. I have an idea,” Aki says, leaning his body forward to loom over Angel. He’s eyeing the half-smoked cigarette in Angel’s hand and tries to pluck it from the younger man’s fingers. Angel shakes his head, popping the cigarette between his lips and extending his arm to push Aki away. They grapple for it, laughing earnestly as Angel makes a valiant effort to keep the too-tall man’s long limbs away from him. He relents when Aki ducks his head down and kisses Angel’s cheek.

Angel is aware now of how close—too close— his boyfriend is, and he feels his mouth run dry. Aki’s eyes flick back and forth between Angel’s eyes, thinking out loud with no words before moving away to give his boyfriend some space. Angel feels breathless when Aki leans against the tree again, and his hand returns to its place on Angel’s belly. He’s so close—only shielded from Angel’s tepid skin by a well-worn Aerosmith t-shirt. Aki takes a deep drag of his reacquired cigarette and clears his throat after he exhales the smoke.

“So,” Angel drawls, fingers fidgeting as he fights the blush he knows is surfacing on his cheeks. “What was your idea?”

Aki startles, confusion clear on his face before clarity takes its place. “Oh, I, uh. I was going to ask if you want to make a bet out of that whole thing. You know, with midterms.”

Angel’s eyes narrow, and he tries not to swoon as he watches Aki take another drag from the cigarette. “Maybe. What are the conditions?”

“No conditions,” Aki says, “only terms. Whoever scores the highest on the midterms gets an I.O.U. So whatever that person wants, the other person gives. What do you think?”

Anything that he wants from Aki? He thinks, yes. Angel knows what he wants. He wants Aki so badly it hurts. In the deepest darkest hour of the night, when he’s alone in bed inside his dingy student housing, or when he’s in the shower, hot and bothered after a night out with his boyfriend in the city square. After Aki’s spoiled him with barely-there touches of skin against skin and kisses so fleeting that Angel sometimes thinks he’s imagined them. He wants him. He wants Aki to hold and kiss him until he can’t breathe. He truthfully, most of all, really wants Aki to… god, he wants Aki to…

“There it is again. That look,” Aki smirks, trailing his long fingers against the hem of Angel’s shirt. “What are you thinking about?”

Aki grazes the sliver of skin exposed where Angel’s top has risen up a little too far, and Angel springs out of his lap. It takes him by surprise how fast the shiver of heat flows from the nape of his neck down to the base of his spine, but the feeling is unmistakable. He wants more, now, but it’s not the right time. Embarrassment creeps into his bones as thoughts he should not be having in public flood into his mind, and he knows that his ears are bright red beneath the cover of his hair.

“Studying,” Angel says, a little frantic as he picks up his thoroughly worn, pin-covered backpack. “You should go study. I’m going to get ice cream.”

Aki nods, and there’s something in his eyes Angel isn’t in the right mind to decipher when he starts to back away. Angel isn’t paying attention, and Aki catches him by the sleeve of his t-shirt before he goes. Aki leans in and kisses him gently, soft and warm, then Angel feels the gentlest push of his tongue, and he runs.

Angel has never walked away from someone so fast in his life.

#akiangel #akiangel fanfic #aki x angel #csm fanfic #kk.writes #kk.others

[kemakoshume]

15.7k words total | explicit | hurt/comfort Angel “I do not dream of labor” Devil makes money for "easy" work by entertaining human desires for cash. Aki finds solace in Angel’s embrace. 🔗 ao3 link

new fic just dropped! it's on ao3 for now but i will upload a text version of this here, too. second ch is posting tomorrow ;)

#akiangel #aki x angel #csm fanfic #kk.writes

[kemakoshume]

Equal Exchange ❀ — aki x angel (csm) pt. 2/2

Concept: Sex worker Angel Devil; frequent patron and full-time devil hunter Aki Hayakawa. Angel “I do not dream of labor” Devil makes money for "easy" work by entertaining human desires for cash. Aki finds solace in Angel’s embrace.

aka: an AU where Aki’s coping mechanisms are slightly more maladaptive, and Angel isn’t a devil hunter.

Warnings: Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Arguing, Angst & Smut, Hurt/comfort, Survivors Guilt, Healing, Semi-public sex, Actual Public Sex.

tw: pistachio ice cream & denji being the voice of reason

a/n: I tried to keep explicit spoilers to a minimum, but there is (1) pretty major spoiler from the Katana Man arc, so anime-onlys… beware. This ch starts off with a pretty intense argument, but things get better.

rough vision board/mood board: here; also on ao3 (this just hit 100 kudos there, yay) ~ [part one (7k words); part two (8k words)] enjoy! (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧

Six months after Aki met Angel, something happened to Aki that was very bad.

He never really told Angel all of the details, not even now, but from what he did tell the devil, Angel could tell the event had been capital-B bad. Nearly an entire division of the Public Safety Devil Hunters was gone; more blood spilled and lives lost than Aki could have ever begun to summarize, and the devil hunter was spiraling. It happened so fast, so out of left field, that Angel obviously didn’t know what to do. Aki knew he had no real context to understand, and he was cruel anyway.

“I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s wrong, Taiyo,” Angel said, trailing behind Aki as he went down to the basement two steps at a time.

Angel panted as he followed, Aki’s height a welcome advantage as the devil fell behind. Aki couldn’t stand hearing his brother's name at that moment. It was another reminder, another dig of the knife in the wound that he’d allowed to grow—to carve him hollow and make room for more pain he didn’t know how to cope with. He felt sick. He wanted to answer Angel, to explain and stop that look from being etched into the devil’s face, but he couldn’t. Not when the devil kept saying a name that wasn’t his with that tone of concern. Not when the name was of a loved one he had lost. Not when all he wanted was to not feel anything.

“Taiyo,” Angel called again, looking around the boxes housed in the basement. He found Aki sooner than later, running over to stand in front of the devil hunter. “Taiyo. You… what’s wrong?”

Aki huffed, trying and failing to keep his breath steady before the dam burst.

“That’s not my fucking name!” Aki yelled, grabbing Angel by the sleeves of his shirt. The tremble in his hands shook the devil, and his expression must have been miserable if Angel’s reflecting back at him was any indication. Aki walked forward, crowding into the smaller man’s space as he pushed him against one of the many sticker-covered walls. He slapped his hand against the wall next to Angel’s head, his voice thick as he fought to say the words that had been lodged in his chest for weeks. “It’s Aki. My name is Aki. Don’t… don’t call me Taiyo anymore. It’s not my name.”

Angel looked at him with an expression that Aki couldn’t decipher, his body rigid and his halo dim before he relaxed, just enough to get out his words. Aki knew the devil could hurt him—kill him, even—if he was scared, and part of him deflated when the devil didn’t do anything to push him away.

“Well, hello, Aki. It’s a nice name. It suits you.” Angel’s face softened, though his body was still stiff as he covered his hand with his sleeve to touch Aki’s face.

Aki wanted so badly to melt into it, to enjoy Angel’s touch, but he couldn’t. The guilt crept up his throat like acid after a heavy meal, and he couldn’t help the venom that came out of his mouth as a result. He huffed out a laugh, dry and vacant in the middle where sincerity should be as he stared at the devil.

“Fuckin’ devil complimenting my name. A devil I’ve been basically fucking; using my dead brother’s name. Why are you pretending to care? Devils don’t care,” Aki said, roughly rubbing his hands down his face as he paced. “What the fuck am I doing? Why the fuck am I—you! What the fuck are you doing to me, huh? You, Denji, Power, and all the other devils that have wormed their sick, fucked up little hands into my life.”

He stomped toward Angel, pressing closer to the devil until his back was against the wall. Angel lowered his head, though his fists were clenched at his sides. Angel felt his resolve crumble as Angel looked up at him with nothing, not even anger, in his eyes. He just saw hurt. He was the one hurting the devil, not the other way around.

“I,” Aki said, tripping over his words. “Angel, I just need to feel anything else. Anything else, please? Help me. Touch me and tell me if I deserve to be here or not. I don’t think I deserve it. I don’t deserve to be here when they aren’t. I don’t deserve to be here when everyone else is already gone. I can’t do this alone.”

Angel shushed him, letting the man cage him in, careful not to let him touch when the tears began to run down the devil hunter’s cheeks.

“You aren’t alone, Aki,” Angel said, his voice thick as he dried Aki’s tears. “I’m sorry for your loss, but you know this won’t help. You know it.”

After the tears slowed, Aki looked down at Angel, angry and heartbroken and so—so—frustrated, and he leaned in to kiss him. Angel moved, slipping away from the devil hunter before he could trap him against the wall with his body. Angel knew well what Aki intended to do; he could see it in his face, in the dimness of his sapphire-blue eyes.

“No,” Angel said firmly, backing away when Aki tried to enter his space again. “Aki, I said no.”

Aki stared at Angel, the devil’s face flickering back and forth from confusion to anger to sadness, over and over again in seconds. Angel sighed, frustration clear in his tone.

“If you want to kill yourself, fine. You can’t use me to do it. I refuse—from here on,” Angel said, his voice wavering. “You feel guilty. Okay. I get that, but for what? For living? Why? How is it selfish to be alive, Aki? Doing this with me—letting me take your life away—it’s… it’s wrong. It’s wrong, and it won’t bring anyone that you’ve lost back, okay? We have to be stronger than that. We need to do better. To live, okay?”

Aki settled on an emotion: anger. Seething, unbridled, uncontrolled anger as he processed what Angel was saying. He closed the space again, towering over Angel as the devil held contact with his eyes. Aki ignored how dewy Angel’s eyes looked.

“What the fuck do you know?” he said, spitting the word out with malice. “You steal people’s lifespans away without a care in the world. Your kind kills, maims, and destroys every single goddamn thing they touch. What the hell would you know about what it means to be alive? About guilt or empathy or anything else that requires a human heart to feel? You don’t know shit.”

Angel looked up at Aki through wet lashes, swallowing thickly before clearing his throat.

“I’m sorry you feel that way.”

Aki paced around the room, simmering eventually as Angel refused to indulge him or entertain the outburst. He turned, looking at the devil picking anxiously at his fingernails, and all he could wonder was, what the fuck am I doing?

“Fuck. Fuck. I am such an asshole,” he said, knocking his clasped hands against his forehead as he found a seat on the stairwell steps below Angel, between his legs, where the devil had chosen to sit down. “I didn’t mean that. I didn’t mean any of that, Angel, I swear.”

The devil looked at him so coldly, visually calculating something in his head in the moments of silence that passed before his expression cleared.

“I know. You didn’t mean it, and yeah, you are an asshole. I’m glad you’re aware now,” Angel said, visually pleased with himself when he coaxed out a smile from the devil hunter. There was still pain laced into his grin, but it was there. That was something.

“Yes. I know. I’m so sorry. I’m just… hurting, but I’m sorry.”

“I don’t forgive you,” Angel said dryly, roughly tugging a piece of shorter hair near the crown of Aki’s head. “You’ll have to be extra sweet to me to get back in my good graces. Starting with ice cream, maybe.”

Aki hummed, softening up at the touch as he leaned his head toward the devil’s hand, still not directly touching.

“Okay. I can do that. The ice cream, and doing better.”

Aki hummed. “You better.”

They sat in cumbersome silence for a while, looking at anything but each other before Aki eventually had to leave for the evening. He brought three pints of ice cream with him when he went to the bar the next day.

xx

The wall between them began to crumble after Aki told Angel his real name, and it only broke further as the two spent more time together. They indulged in untapped secrets and details about their lives outside of the four walls they’d grown accustomed to at the bar, and Aki found himself craving Angel’s touch, albeit in a different way.

“I think… you want to fuck me, and you’re being really coy about it for some reason,” Aki said, sinking a striped ball into a hole in the pool table they’d taken ownership of for the hour. Angel laughed, using his hand to knock a pool ball against one of Aki’s, pushing it further away from the hole than it’d been.

“I think… you’re delusional, or maybe just projecting. If you ask me really nicely, I might think about entertaining your desires.”

Aki chuckled, maneuvering a ball past Angel’s hand, only for the devil to catch it anyway, pushing himself further onto the pool table.

Aki gave Angel a look, rounding the table to slide one long leg between Angel’s spread ones, looking down at the devil where he sat on the edge of the pool table.

“You’re a cheater, and a tease.”

“I am not. You’re just… so annoying, ” Angel said halfheartedly, taking Aki’s pool cue out of his hand before jumping down from the table. He turned, pushing his ass against Aki as he sank a solid-colored ball in the hole. He glanced over his shoulder, sauntering off to hit his next one on the other side of the pool table.

“I prefer the term charming,” Aki said, following the devil.

Angel rolled his eyes, dragging his hand across the fuzzy billiard cloth before positioning for another play.

“I would prefer not to kill you by accident.”

Aki smirked. “As opposed to on purpose?”

Angel rolled his eyes harder, sinking the eight ball after a string of successful plays.

“No more death touches—we promised. Guess you’ll have to figure something out.”

Aki bought his first pair of gloves a few weeks after that, custom fit to the shape of his large hands.

“What are those for?” Angel asked, sipping Aki’s brand of beer when the devil hunter slipped on the pair. They were in their own little bubble in a half-hidden corner of the bar, shielded a bit by tall fake foliage and away from the crowd near the stairwell that led to the bottom level.

“These are so I can touch you all over,” he replied, practically purring.

Angel stared at him, dumbfounded, as he continued sipping at his now empty drink cup.

“What?”

Aki met his gaze, pausing for a moment before checking the stretch of the gloves.

“Yeah. Your abilities don’t work through clothing, right?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

“I mean… no. I just didn’t think that you… you know, meant all of that.”

“Well, I did,” Aki said teasingly, caressing Angel’s cheek with his now-covered thumb. “I love watching you, but I want to touch you, too, as intimately as I can. You’ve done all you can to make me feel good, to help me feel better. I want you to feel good too, Angel. An equal exchange, remember?”

Angel stared at him, his eyes flicking back and forth from Aki’s eyes to his lips.

“How long have you been thinking about this?”

Aki slipped his thumb into his mouth. The devil lapped at the digit with his tongue, letting Aki caress his tongue and teeth before removing his finger; spreading some of Angel’s spit against his lips.

“Way too long to just now be doing something about it.”

If anyone ever asked Aki if he started that night with the intention of giving Angel a handjob in public, he’d say no, because he didn’t. Did it happen anyway? Yes, and if you confronted him about it, he wouldn’t even pretend to feel a lick of shame.

“We could go downstairs,” Angel said, biting his lip to keep his noises at bay. Aki had moved to sit next to him, caressing his cock through the fabric of his skirt—straining against the black stockings he’d put on underneath.

Angel wasn’t what Aki would define as traditionally feminine, not necessarily. Still, the devil was gorgeous and often seemed confused by the rigidity of human ideology when it came to what gender should wear what clothing. It was so stupid, he’d told Aki, how ridiculous humans could be about self-expression. They’d had that talk the night the devil hunter punched a guy in the bar over Angel when the guy called him a very human slur. Angel let Aki play with the sensitive feathers on his wings until he came after that.

“You want to go downstairs? You look so pretty trying to keep quiet, though.”

Aki nuzzled his nose against Angel’s hair, careful not to touch his scalp as he tapped his finger against the wet spot of precum dripping from the devil’s slit. He pinched the head through the fabric, pushing his palm firmly back and forth to move the thin skin covering Angel’s length. The teasing didn’t last very long, given how hopelessly turned on the whole ordeal made Aki. He wanted Angel so badly, more than he’d ever wanted anything else in his life. The devil made Makima feel like a schoolyard crush; this was real. He’d never felt something more real.

“Can you come like this, baby?” Aki asked, pushing up Angel’s skirt just enough to slide him out of the confining fabric beneath.

Suppose anyone came around to sit in front of them at their table or looked over from a high enough vantage point at the bar. In that case, they’d easily notice Aki’s hand working beneath the fabric, his shoulder moving with an unmistakable motion. They’d see Angel trying and failing to contain the small noises spilling from his mouth as his head rested on Aki’s shirt, only concealed by the music coming from the overhead speakers and the loud chatter of patrons pouring in. Aki watched Angel peek over his shoulder, shutting his eyes as he ducked his head against Aki’s chest before he came, covering the inside of his skirt in sloppy wet come.

Once the high came down and Angel chugged a beer, he turned back toward Aki.

“Your turn,” the devil said, moving faster than Aki had ever seen as he headed towards the stairwell, dragging Aki along in his haste to get out of sight.

They didn’t even make it to the bathroom before Angel was bending himself over a stack of boxes in the basement, pushing his skirt up over his hips as he presented himself to Aki.

“God, you’re such a slut. How does a devil even get like that, huh?” Aki said, two seconds before ripping a hole in Angel’s tights.

He marveled at the devil’s hole on display for him, puckered and pink in a beautiful contrast to the dark fabric protecting his skin around it. He fumbled with the lube he’d stashed in his pocket before pressing one lubed finger, then two, into Angel.

“Fuck,” the devil said, eliciting a little chuckle from Aki.

“Fuck? It feels that good baby?” Aki teased, hooking his finger to press against Angel’s prostate.

The devil moaned, surprisingly loud in the isolated space. He started subconsciously fluttering his wings, arching his back further against the boxes as his cock slowly progressed toward full hardness again.

“Stop teasing,” the devil whined, pushing his hips back against Aki’s hand.

Aki didn’t prolong things—too on edge and too lustful to delay it any longer. It’d been months—months—that he’d thought about doing this with the devil. Every time Angel wore a skirt, pretty and frilly even when they were black; every time the devil looked him in the eyes and read him like he’d been given the blueprint to Aki’s soul; every time they shared a nearly there touch or watched each other get off since they’d decided to do things a better way, without indulging Aki in hurting—punishing—himself. He wanted so badly. He needed Angel so badly.

“Tell me if it hurts,” he said, hastily putting on a condom that he’d had stashed in his wallet for far too long.

He pushed forward, sinking into Angel with a groan when his hips met the subtle curve of Angel’s ass. They were protected through maybe too many layers of clothing, but Aki loved it. It felt so dirty like that. They were so desperate for each other that they couldn’t even get their clothes off in the neon lighting of the bar basement. Part of him ached to feel Angel’s skin as he gripped his hips, fucking into him so hard with the missing resounding sound of skin against skin, but it was good—so good—inside of the devil’s tight heat. Aki couldn’t be blamed for how long he lasted.

“I’m gonna come, Angel,” he said, reaching beneath Angel to grab his cock, jerking the devil in time with his thrusts.

His voice was deep and gruff as he came, groaning as he emptied himself inside of Angel, his cock twitching as he poured more and more come into the condom separating them. The devil followed close behind, fucking himself into Aki’s hand as his second orgasm came crashing down on him.

They held their position for a while, even after Aki moved to slide his cock out; Angel held him in place, looking over his shoulder to smile at the devil hunter. Aki hunched over the devil, putting them at eye level and just looked at him for a while. Their stares lingered for a breath too long, and Aki kissed him, holding the back of Angel’s head steady when he started to push Aki away. He let it continue for one more moment, and when the kiss was over, Aki rested his head against the crown of Angel’s head, protected by the thick tendrils of hair.

“Don’t tell me how long that was. I don’t want to know. I just needed to feel you this way, one last time.”

Angel closed his eyes, soaking in the thinly veiled touch.

“Okay. That was the last time.”

xx

“If those two idiots don’t get their shit together, I’m going to lose my mind.”

Angel chuckled, plucking away the cigarette hanging out of Aki’s mouth. They were sitting on the rooftop of the bar, a small makeshift area for smoking that doubled as an unkempt garden. It’d been eight months, give or take a few weeks, and things in Aki’s life had been okay for the most part—minus one aspect of it.

“Just tell them to leave then,” Angel said, taking a long drag. “I know your boss is intense or whatever, but if it’s that bad, then maybe she’ll put them on someone else; give you a break for once. They’ve been living with you for almost a year now.”

Aki groaned, turning Angel’s face towards his with his sleeve-covered wrist. It was a weekend, and he wore a simple long-sleeve black shirt, oversized on his lean frame, and black jeans. His earrings were some dangly number Power harassed him into wearing, and his shoes were some fancy brand that Himeno bought.

“You wouldn’t get it,” he said, breathing in Angel’s air when he blew out the cigarette smoke. Angel turned it toward him, letting him get a good hit before commandeering it again. Aki let him; he had more. “I have to do this—hunt devils. I can’t find him if I don’t, and I can only gather enough intel and resources to do that in public safety. It’s a lose-lose situation.”

Angel scoffed, tugging a strand of Aki’s hair that was blowing into his face from the light breeze. Aki groaned, scratching his fingernails lightly over Angel’s wings, laughing with the devil when they retracted inward from the ticklish sensation. They both let the laughter fade, drinking sips from a shared beer and whittling down Aki’s pack of cigarettes.

“You know, for someone who swore up and down that they don’t like devils, you sure do seem to have a lot of them around—me included. I think you’re pretending.”

Aki chuckled, bitter and dry.

“No, I meant it. I just don’t mean it about you. I mean… those kinds—the ones who cause chaos just because and kill for the thrill of it. The kind who murdered my family. They’re what I hate. Not you.”

Angel blinked at Aki, taking another drag of the cigarette before giving it back.

“That sounds a little racist, actually, but I get it. I’ll let it slide.”

Aki snorted, choking on a mouthful of smoke.

“Raci—. That’s not—”

“Yeah, yeah. I know. That’s not how you meant it,” Angel said, smirking. “Aki, if these roommates of yours died tomorrow, how would you feel?”

Aki’s smile waned as he pondered it, sitting with the thought for a moment as he imagined his apartment empty. No Denji, no Power, and no other life within the space except for the thriving Parlor Palm plant on his living room balcony. There was a hollowness in his chest and his stomach when he let the thought linger too long. That if they were to die, that emptiness would never go away. It would fester like an untreated wound that sunk down to the bone.

“I don’t know. It would hurt, I guess,” he admitted, taking the new cigarette Angel had fished from his pocket out of the devil’s hand. “It would hurt a lot. I don’t think I could do this anymore without them around.”

Angel smiled softly, kicking his feet where they hung far from the ground on the rooftop’s edge. “If I died, how would you feel about it?”

Aki turned, looking at Angel’s face as the devil stared at the city in front of them. He looked beautiful, and Aki’s chest ached at the thought of never seeing him again—of never getting to speak to him again. Another hole would be left in his life; carving him out until nothing was left.

“Honestly?” he said, taking a deep drag. “My wallet would feel pretty grateful. I’ve never spent so much on booze in my life.” Aki chuckled, dodging the swat of Angel’s hand when it came for him.

“I’m serious,” Angel said, a hint of a whine present in his tone. He knocked his elbow against Aki’s arm, scooting a bit closer when a chill came through with the breeze. “How would you feel?”

Aki looked at him seriously, digging into his pocket to take out one of his gloves. He balanced the cigarette in his mouth as he slid it on, sucking on it like one of those thick sickly-sweet ice cream shakes that Angel loved, and he took the devil’s hand.

“It would hurt. It would hurt like hell. Don’t really know what I’d do with myself,” he said, smoking the cigarette down to the filter, “but don’t let that get to your head. I just… feel a lot of things sometimes. It doesn’t mean I like you.”

Angel chuckled, rubbing his fingers against the rough texture of Aki’s glove.

“Oh, of course not. Don’t worry, I don’t have the wrong idea,” Angel said, a smile cemented onto his face. “Well then, I’ll take that. Life’s all about the little things, after all.”

xx

One consequence of old bars is their bizarre love of theme nights. Fridays at Aki’s bar were—unfortunately—couples’ nights. The specials advertised half-price off spirits and brews for the lucky duos. He’d heard murmurs before that it was a good time, even for singles, but Aki normally skipped Fridays. It was his day to compile his reports and deliver them to Makima before the weekend. His hands were always cramped by the end of it, and he could literally feel the week wearing down on his joints. That Friday had been an off day, though.

His reports were short, simple, and quick to fill out, with minimal casualties to report. Denji and Power informed him that they were going out for the night, safe within the public safety-sanctioned boundaries that the knuckleheads were allowed to venture freely in. It felt weird being the only one at home. He’d grown used to the constant chaos within his abode and felt bizarre without the constant flow of bickering, laughing, and microwave sounds. So, he decided to go out.

Ignoring the calendar and the time on his phone, he left his house, dressed in a casual ensemble that he was actually proud of putting together. It was nice to be out of his work clothing, free of the second skin that built up the bulk of who he was. It felt strangely right as he walked out of his apartment block, his hair blowing with the flow of the wind as he headed to the bar for the first time in fourteen days.

“Wow,” the bartender said when he stepped into her domain, giving Aki a little clap as she came to his side of the bar. “Damn, baby. You clean up really nice.”

Aki chuckled, ducking his head to hide the blush creeping onto his face. His hair covered the red tint on his ears.

“So you’re saying I don’t look this good every day?” he said teasingly, tapering into a laugh as he lit a cigarette. The bartender gave him a beer to go with it, and all felt right as he melted into the bar stool. The relaxation was short-lived as a small commotion from the main area of the bar caught his attention, as well as everyone else sitting around him. When he saw a halo standing out in the crowd, he jumped out of his seat—his cigarette and drink abandoned on the bar. He shuffled through the group of people gathered around the dance floor and stopped in his tracks next to Angel—who was safe and sound—as they both looked at the sight.

A couple was in the middle of the dance floor, surrounded by at least half of the bar as they danced. It wasn’t poise or sophisticated or anything special, but it was so visceral how much fun the two were having. They had total trust in each other as they spun around, twirling each other and swaying to the beat of some rock song that Aki didn’t know the name of. They were looking into each other’s eyes, dancing like nothing else in the world mattered.

Angel looked up at Aki, bumping into the devil hunter with his hip as they watched the couples around them start dancing, too.

“Do you dance?” Angel asked, getting a little closer to Aki as the dance floor got a little more crowded. They shuffled themselves a bit further away from the herd as they talked, despite Angel wearing long sleeves; they didn’t want any accidents.

“I can’t say it’s ever really been my thing,” Aki said, visibly shrinking in on himself as he watched the crowd. They were having fun, he thought, despite all the horrors of the world.

Angel swayed side to side a bit, laughing when Aki looked down at him like he’d grown a third head.

“What?” he said, snapping his fingers a little in time with the music. When the song instructed the crowd to clap, he clapped.

“Are devils secretly into dancing or something?” Aki said, thinking back on the little dances he’d frequently seen Power and Denji making up in their free time, even when there was no music to dance to.

Angel shrugged, his closed-mouth smile turning into an open one as he pushed some hair back behind his ear. He did it when he was either too hot—temperature and aesthetics-wise—or when he was feeling shy. The Cheshire cat couldn’t have rivaled how big Aki smiled when he realized it was the latter.

“Just shut up and dance with me,” Angel grumbled, pulling his sleeves down over his hands before he grabbed Aki’s wrists. “It won’t kill your cool guy persona to dance a little. No one here’s gonna judge you.”

Aki squinted, glancing over at the bar where their bartender was absolutely looking over at them, playful judgment plentiful and prepared on her tongue for when they came back to the bar. Angel looked back over his shoulder and saw her too, and his cheeks tinted pink from how hard he laughed.

“Okay, okay. Touche, maybe one person will judge you, but only a little.”

Aki felt his resolve crumble like sand, loose and shapeless beneath his feet. Like it, the effects of that night would linger on him for a long time. Every time he put on that outfit again, or heard that song, or saw Angel smile; he would think of that night with him, dancing at the bar, holding each other’s wrists as they swayed to the music.

“See? Living isn’t really that bad.”

xx

Aki walked into the bar midday on a Wednesday, eleven months after meeting Angel. He kicked snow off of his boots as he entered the familiar establishment. Makima suggested that he take the rest of the day off, and it would be remiss for him to decline such a kind offer. He separated from his division as they stood at a crime scene. Blood and snow mixed in the street, white mixed with bright splotches of red after a devil terrorized a small neighborhood.

Aki felt fine as he left, unsure of what exactly everyone was staring at him for, but he couldn’t concern himself with it. He was given the day off, blissfully able to occupy his apartment without the unwanted additions as they dealt with the fallout, and he was going to enjoy it.

Aki entered his apartment ready to indulge in his kitchen without hungry puppies nipping at his ankles for a bite. He was going to clean and shower in his bathroom without banging interrupting him or the sound of something breaking in the living room, making him get out early. He was going to watch what he wanted on TV, and smoke cigarettes on his balcony without having to peek inside every two minutes to ensure nothing was burning down. He was going to relax. He wasn’t going to think about the day’s date. He wasn’t going to fixate on what it signified, and he’d be damned if he cried.

He made it halfway through making an omelette before throwing the half-cooked eggs in the trash and heading out the door to the bar. He sat in his usual spot, the space around him nearly vacant as he drank alone with the day shift bartender hovering nearby, paying him little attention as the man read a thick book.

Aki made it through five beers before his skin started aching for Angel. He missed the devil’s touch—the sweet salvation that the devil’s abilities gave his mind. He wanted to feel his life siphoned away. He couldn’t handle the pain of his family being gone for another year. He needed to even the score, to honor them by bringing himself closer to them. Hunting devils wasn’t enough. He had to atone for his own sin of living when their lives had been lost—stolen, by that devil. He needed Angel to come to the bar and do that for him, so he waited.

Angel wasn’t in the bar when Aki first came, and he doesn’t show up when Aki is still there during the night shift. Part of him is grateful for it, too drunk to see straight and sobbing softly in the corner of the bar by himself. He would regret it if he let himself backslide. Things with Angel were different now; better. Using the devil felt wrong. It was wrong. He had to learn how to heal on his own. To better deal with his trauma and guilt on his own.

He went home, beer filled to the brim in his body, and he slept instead. He could talk it through with Angel later. As long as nothing happened between now and the next time he saw Angel, then things would be okay. Everything was going to be okay.

xx

Aki feels awful. It’s only a few days after the first anniversary of his year with Angel, and he’s lying alone in his bedroom, chain-smoking cigarettes despite the smell soaking into his sheets. The argument they’d had the previous evening was bad for a lot of reasons; it was made worse when Aki realized that the day was meant to be special. He’d spent a year of his life getting to know Angel; learning to love not only him but all of the devils in his life. He’d spent that same amount of time learning—trying—to love himself, to love life, with the devil at his side; he’d fucked it up in a night.

His family is gone, and he’d been right to be sad about that. Then, Himeno was gone—right after the anniversary—and he was right to be sad about that, too. He knew even Angel would agree with that, but something inside of him broke when he recalled how he had talked to Angel the night prior. He wasn’t justified in that. Even thinking about using sex—something so meaningful to the person he loved, someone who could hardly be touched—against him, trying to use it as his escape… he couldn’t look at himself. He couldn’t lie to himself convincingly and say he was justified in doing that.

They say the road of grief is not a linear one; Aki knew that. It is a road full of curves and bumps and maybe even a few potholes. There are sections where the road is newly paved, with a silky black finish from freshly dried asphalt, but there are also long stretches that are ragged and disjointed, with weeds popping up in the crescent-shaped cracks. If someone were to walk up to Aki and ask him to put into words how he feels, it would be like the long stretches of county road that have been scorched by the sun, cracked under the weight of too many things running over the surface for too long.

He’s just… tired. He wants Angel, and the devil is nowhere to be found.

“Aki. Aki, open the door.” Aki looks over at the door, pointedly ignoring it as he inhales another lungful of smoke. Denji and Power knew he was feeling bad today, and Power nearly killed them all with a “metal soup can in the microwave” situation trying to make Aki feel better that morning. He was over it.

“Aki, I will have Power come home and bust this door down. I’ll go Chainsaw mode right now, and you’ll have to buy a whole new one! We can do this the easy way or the hard way, old man.”

Aki rolls his eyes, getting up to reluctantly open the door.

“I’m not fucking old, dipshit.”

“Potato, po-ta-to, senior citizen Hayakawa. Why are you holed up in here like a stinky hermit crab? The neighbors thought we had a fire in here or something.”

Aki groans, plopping back onto his bed.

“Leave me alone, Denji.”

“Nope!” the hybrid says, plopping down next to Aki. He plucks the cigarette from his mouth, taking an experimental puff before coughing; shoving it back at the senior devil hunter. “Gross.”

Aki rolls his eyes again, tapping his foot against the floor where his legs hang off the bed.

“What do you want?”

Denji sets his hands on his stomach, intertwining them and playing with his fingers.

“Nothing, just coming to see what you’re so depressed over. You haven’t worked in two days, and you love work! Are you just playing hooky to go see whatever fine piece has been keeping you out at night for… forever now? What’s her name? What’s her ass look like? Is it big or small? Are you an ass guy or a boob guy, anyway? I could never get a good read on that about you.”

Aki groans, pressing his cigarette into the ashtray he’d sat on his bed.

“Denji, shut up.”

“I can’t be silenced,” Denji says, a touch too seriously for such a weird statement, “unless you spill the beans. Who is she? I know it’s not Himeno—RIP—and Makima’s too good for that. Power is… well, Power, and I would’ve heard you two at home by now. You always come home at night smelling like beer and sweet cream, but you’re still somehow awake on time for work. You don’t have that pissy look on your face all the time anymore. Well, except for right now, and you like… smile, sometimes. So, what gives? Girlfriend dump you? Did you have the crushing realization that she was just part of your imagination the whole time? I’ve had that dream, and when I’m done being sad about it, I just beat my d—”

“Jesus… enough!” Aki groans, his throat sore and slightly hoarse from abusing at least four packs of cigarettes in the last forty-eight hours. He sits up in the bed, looking down at Denji, who’s still lounging against the smoke-scented sheets. “I don’t have a girlfriend. He’s…” he pauses, “he’s not my girlfriend.”

Denji looks like the cat that got the cream.

“So there is someone? Tell me everything.”

Aki’s eyes ache from how hard he throws them toward the back of his skull. He gets out of bed and walks into the living room to clean the few things scattered around that the devils didn’t pick up for themselves. The apartment is surprisingly clean otherwise, Aki notes as he meanders into the kitchen with Denji hot on his trail. The devils did learn something in their time with him, after all.

“What are we? High school girls? Ladies at the salon?” Aki says, pouring himself a tall glass of water. “I don’t have to tell you shit, garden tool. Mind the business that pays you.”

“You being in top form does pay me. Well, it benefits me, I guess. We all have to be in top form; that’s what you said, right? So, what has you all bent out of shape? Who’s the mystery man? Is it Kishibe?”

Aki chokes on his water, dripping over the sink as he blows out the liquid trapped in his nose.

“Denji, fuck off.”

“I already said no!” he says, handing Aki some tissues. “Spill it! Spill it! Spill it! Spill it!”

“Okay! Fine, fuck. If it’ll make you stop talking,” Aki says, pulling the devil hybrid over to the couch. He pushes Denji onto the furniture while he floats around the space to water the few plants they’ve accumulated over the past year. He groans when he finds teeth marks in some of the leaves where Meowy has gotten too curious.

“His name is Angel. We met in a bar. I’ve been seeing him for about a year.”

Denji perks up, gripping his knees in excitement like a kindergartener.

“Okay? And…”

“And,” Aki says, gritting his teeth, “I like him a lot. He’s beautiful. He’s funny in that dry kind of way that makes you take a second to process it. He’s actually very kind, even if he acts like he’s not. He looks at the world in black and white but simultaneously sees some of the greys. Like, he calls it how he sees it but can acknowledge the bits he could be missing if there are any. He likes to dance. He makes life feel simple; much smaller but in a good way. He makes me feel like there’s more to life than this.”

Aki leaves out the devil in the details, despite other people in Public Safety being in bed with multiple fiends. Aki just… didn’t want to deal with the drama of that, for him or Angel, especially not from being outed by Denji. He would tackle that when it needed to be shared. Until then, it was his business.

“So, I’m missing where the problem comes in. Does he not want to put out? Do you not want to put out? Is he a bad kisser? It sounds like all the heart stuff is right, so what’s wrong?”

Aki sighs, dumping the leftover plant water in the flowerbed on the balcony, leaving the door open to let the air and his voice carry inside as he sits in his chair to smoke. Denji follows, sitting on the floor in the entryway to watch Aki settle in.

“The problem is me,” Aki says frankly, smoking the first cigarette halfway down in one inhale. He only has two left; he’ll have to go and buy more later.

Denji gasps, covering his mouth with his hand. “Aki. Are you… infertile?” he whispers, subtly (his version of it) pointing at Aki’s dick.

“Denji, even if I were infertile, that wouldn’t mean anything with the man I’m dating. Second of all, no! I’m pretty sure you’re trying to say impotent, anyway.”

“Well, yeah, you’re important, Aki. I can admit that,” Denji says, looking very proud of himself for the compliment. “Well, what exactly is your fault then if it’s not your dick or his dick? What else is there?”

Aki wipes his hand over his face, very much feeling like a father having the sex talk with a very education-deficient child.

“I’m fucked up,” he says plainly, popping a new cigarette out of the pack. “I lost my family, and I thought I was fine; I wasn’t. I’ve lost more colleagues than I can count at this job. I thought I was fine; I am not. I wanted to run away from it all so badly that I really—really—hurt his feelings. I went back on what we agreed to do, what I said I would do. I said I’d be better for myself and him, and I wasn’t, so he’s done, and I can’t blame him. He doesn’t deserve this shit.”

A beat of silence passed between them, filled with the sounds of the streets below them and the air whipping past from how high up in the building they were. He smoked the new cigarette down to the filter, plucking out the last one with a sigh before lighting it up.

“Why don’t you just retire then?”

Aki looks over at Denji like the boy just told him his mother was the second coming of the Virgin Mary. What he said felt just as unbelievable to the devil hunter.

“Excuse me?”

Denji looks at him with that characteristically dopey look on his face, flicking one of Aki’s lighters on and off. Aki does not know where he got it from; he also doesn’t tell him off about wasting the lighter fluid.

“I said quit. If it’s ruining your life so much, then quit. Kobeni resigned, and so did that survivor dude from Division One. Just… quit. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Aki stares blankly at him, cursing when his cigarette burns his thigh where he let his hand relax too much.

“I can’t quit, dumbass. They’d kill you and Power. Do you not remember the conditions of your being hired? Power too?”

“Dude, do you remember the conditions of us being hired? We were an experimental unit, sure, but Divison Four is merging with us soon. Makima will make concessions for you to leave. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t think it mattered yet, but I’m not shadowing you anymore. I’m a hunter, in my own right. So, don’t fuck up your relationship anymore on my behalf. If you’re tired, quit! Life’s too short to be miserable, man.”

Aki’s face hadn’t moved an inch since Denji started speaking. What happened to the horny teenage idiot that came into his house all those months ago, covered in dirt and smelling like the underside of a garbage container? His face looked as punchable as ever, but he was… different, more mature now, in some ways more than others. What the fuck.

“When the hell did you start making sense?”

“I’m very insightful when I try. Makima says so”

Aki rolls his eyes, stamping out the last of his cigarette. He couldn’t just… quit. He had too many opportunities before for an out, and he didn’t take them. It was too late to take them now. Wasn’t this his fate? For his family? For his pride?

“Aki, I can hear you thinking,” Denji says, a weird half smile on his face like he could actually hear Aki’s thoughts. “Look, Himeno told you to quit, and now she’s dead. I think now is a good time to finally take her advice, don’t you think?”

Aki opens his mouth to reply, but closes it just as quickly when he realizes he doesn’t know what to say. Denji comes out onto the balcony and squats in front of Aki, holding on to the senior devil hunter’s knees.

“Do you believe in me? Makima, the rest of Divison 4… everyone? Do you trust me to avenge your family? You’ve held on to the burden of it for way too long. You’ve done your dues, and I know I didn’t know them, but I’m sure your family would be proud of you. You can be done.”

Aki’s eyes feel wet when he looks down at the devil hybrid, brimming hot and fast with a reservoir of tears he’d held in for too long. God, he’d been holding it in for so damn long.

“Thank you Denji,” Aki says, pulling the younger man into a vice-like hug. Denji pats his back a little roughly, but it feels good. It lets Aki know that he’s there.

“You’re welcome. Now, go get your man. There are only so many places someone brooding enough for you could be hiding in this city.”

xx

Aki sits outside of an ice cream parlor after dark, still early but unlit apart from the business signs due to the time change. The cherry red bench makes him think of Angel’s eyes, and it reminds him of their first indirect kiss. It was cheesy, but after their first time, they left the bar to get ice cream. Angel wanted to try two flavors, so they got two flavors. He licked Aki’s ice cream cone, and Aki tasted his, and he knew then—deep down inside—that he was in for something deeper. The parlor had become the one place he and Angel frequented besides the bar, a hidden gem in the sea of the city that served the only ice cream that Aki had ever liked as an adult. He felt like a kid again when they went, untainted by the horrors of life as he ate his pretty pistachio ice cream cone.

He sits with a serving of the gilded flavor in his gloved hand, barely tasting it as he glances around the exterior, peaking his head into the building every few minutes to see if anyone has walked in through the back entrance. After two hours of sitting, he’s ready to call it quits when all of a sudden, he looks up, and the light around him is eclipsed by ethereal snow-white wings.

“What are you doing here?” Angel asks, glancing around at the sparse crowd of patrons a good distance away from them. His hands are shoved into the pockets of the oversized winter coat Aki gave him, and his wings are compacted small enough to be hidden within the fabric, though Aki can still see their outline pretty clearly.

“Hoping to run into you,” Aki says, having the good sense to look sad about it. “I just want to talk, please. Can we please talk?”

Angel huffs, slightly stomping his foot as he looks at anything but Aki.

“Only if you promise to stop pretending, then I’ll let you talk to me.”

Aki squints, confusion clear on his face as he looks up at the devil.

“What am I pretending about Angel? What do you mean?”

Angel scoffs, his eyes finding Aki’s in an instant. They’re brimmed with fire that matches the vermilion red of his hair.

“I don’t know, Aki. Like everything is okay. Like you aren’t hurting. Like you fucking hate me, maybe.”

Aki holds out his hand, looking at Angel’s face to decode the expression there. He doesn’t really need to, though. Angel is hurt, and Aki hurt him. He knows it’s on him to fix that.

“I don’t hate you, baby. I could never ever hate you.”

“You used to! You used to spout off all the time about how you didn’t like devils. Anytime I did anything that even remotely resembled humanity, you looked at me like I’d grown a second halo or something,” the devil says, his voice raising enough to draw the attention of one patron beside them.

“I know you’re in pain, Aki. I don’t really fully understand it, but I know how I would feel if I lost you. It would hurt like hell—literally! I would feel like a piece of my heart had been cut away. But, you’re here, and I’m here, and you had no right—none—to treat me like an indispensable fucking… devil. Like the devils that you said you hate. The kind that you keep around because they’re useful and nothing else.”

“I know,” Aki says, sighing as he tries to soothe Angel. “I agree. You’re right. I fucked up. I fucked up so bad, and I know it’s on me now to fix it. I know you’re right an—”

“I’m right? Then why the fuck don’t you act like it? Huh?” Angel said, fire still burning in his doe-like eyes. “I know I’m a devil, but you’ve been such an asshole. I understand it now—the grief. I get it. I felt like a piece of my chest unraveled when I walked away from you; I can’t imagine that being permanent. I just… don’t take it out on me. Never again. Promise!”

“I promise. I swear to you, Angel,” Aki says, coaxing Angel into sitting down. The devil looks pissed; if they weren’t having such a serious conversation, Aki would swoon over it. “I’ve lost too much. I’ve lost so much and so many people. I didn’t know how to just… be. I didn't know how to live simply, but I want to try. I want to prove to you that I care—that I cherish you. I want to live, and I want to do it with you if you’ll let me. Can we?”

Angel stares at him, his anger still palpable but noticeably waning.

“Prove it to me how?” Angel says, his voice characteristically dry but also childishly snooty.

Aki reaches into his pocket, pulling out a small paper-clipped stack of forms. Angel takes them hesitantly, and Aki tears up when he sees the expression fully change on the devil’s face.

“You’re quitting?”

“I already quit,” Aki says, sniffling as Angel grabs his hand tight, pulling him into a hug.

There are too many layers between them again, and Aki aches to kiss Angel, but this is okay. He’s holding the man he’s grown to love, and there’s nothing but opportunity ahead of them both. Aki shares his ice cream with Angel, partially melted and a little crushed from how tightly he’d been holding it, and he feels at peace, for the first time in god knows how long. He doesn’t quite know where they’ll go from here, but he has newfound security in knowing they’ll figure it out together, for the rest of their lives.

-------------------

𖨆♡𖨆 the end! what'd you think? reblog, reply, or send me an ask to lmk 𖨆♡𖨆

╰┈➤ pt. one; full fic on ao3; thank you for reading!

#csm fanfic #akiangel #aki x angel #csm smut #akiangel fic #kk.writes #kk.others

[ever-yours118]

smile for the camera

In which Eddie is gorgeous, Buck is trying his best, and photographs are very revealing. (Or: five times someone posted a photo of Eddie and/or Buck, plus one time they kept a moment just to themselves.)

a/n: this is my first 911fic, so please let me know what you think!! || 5.6K / T

Later on, when all is said and done, Buck will swear that the whole thing began because Eddie was too damn beautiful.  If he weren’t so photogenic—those dark carnelian eyes, his ridiculously, endearingly fluffy hair, the stubble he’s been letting grow longer lately—then he and Buck wouldn’t be on every one of what must be several thousand promotional posters now plastered in schools all around the entire district.

“Hi,” Buck says, waving one such advertisement, plucked from the front of Christopher’s math classroom, in front of Bobby’s face.  “What is this?  Why is this a thing?”

(read the rest on ao3!)

#911 buddie #911fic #911 fic #buddie fic #911 on fox #evan buckley #eddie diaz #buckley diaz family #kk.writes #911.post #911: og

[ever-yours118]

tied up in your love

There’s only so many times you can watch your best friend deftly remove a live grenade from someone’s leg and competently patch up a wounded patient and fucking—zip-tie some lucky criminal’s wrists before you start to wonder what his hands might feel like wrapped around your—

(A post-6x02 tribute to Mr. Peace Officer Diaz & his zip-ties) || 4.1K / E

“Eddie,” he repeats, voice rising in a whine.  “Eds, c’mon, please —"

“Better make sure you keep your hands to yourself,” Eddie purrs, pulling out an oversized black zip-tie, and that’s when Buck’s morning alarm goes off and ruins the whole thing.

read the whole thing on ao3!

#911 buddie #911 fic #911fic #buddie fic #911 on fox #evan buckley #eddie diaz #911 s6 #911 spoilers #6x02 #911: og #kk.writes #911.post

[ever-yours118]

i linger & dream of you, darling

He freezes, and he knows Eddie notices by the way the hands on his waist start to slide up and down, soothing.  But he can’t pay attention to that, because why is there a ring—why was Chris so tall, when he's only barely a preteen—where did he sleep? Not on the couch, but in the bedroom—where, what, how——

(Or: coma!Buck spec fic, wherein things are perfectly, wonderfully, strangely domestic, and Buck can't pin down why.) || 1.6K / T

“Buuuck, please, where’s the gel?”

It’s not the most pleasant wake-up call, but a smile still touches the corner of Buck’s mouth as he tumbles out of bed, tugging on a random printed polo as he closes the bedroom door quietly behind him.  In the bathroom, Chris is fighting with his hair, tugging violently at a comb that sticks out almost comically from the golden-brown mop.

“It’s not in the cabinet?” he checks, taking the comb smoothly and unspooling it from the tangled mess.  Chris surrenders easily, scowling at his reflection.  

“Already checked there.”  He scratches at a budding yellow zit, and Buck frowns at him gently.

“No picking, buddy, it’ll just make it worse.  Put some of the Neutrogena on—"

read the rest on ao3! / keep reading below <3

"Ran out," Christopher mumbles sulkily.  

“Then I’ll get you some more this afternoon, okay?” Chris nods, eyes cast self-consciously away, when the thought occurs to Buck—

“Hey, give me a sec…”

He lets himself quietly back into the bedroom, moving to the master bathroom—sure enough, under receipts and q-tips and a few old orange pill canisters is a slim tube of his old favorite gel.  He reveals his prize to Christopher, grinning.  “I knew I kept a tube around somewhere.”

“Just as long as you don’t give me your helmet hair,” Chris laughs, dipping his head to let Buck style it.  

“I haven’t done my hair like that in ages,” he complains, mock-offended, as he tousles Chris’s hair gently.  When Christopher was younger, he’d have helped him onto the counter to be at the right height, but he’s already getting so tall, head reaching nearly to Buck’s chest, that’s it’s not even necessary anymore.  

(No, that’s wrong, something in Buck argues.  Chris isn’t much taller than my hip.  And he likes his hair all curly, and—) 

(And that’s wrong, because Buck can very clearly see that Chris is indeed shooting up like a weed, and indeed has gotten to the point where he likes to style his hair beyond his old fluffy cut.  Weird thoughts, but that’s the sort of feelings that come with watching your kid grow up.)  

“Alright, Superman, all done.”

Chris takes a shy glance into the mirror before grinning, pleased—the type of look Buck likes to see.

“Thanks,” Chris mumbles, tippie-toeing to peck a kiss onto the bottom of his chin.  Then, quickly, as if to avert the sentimentality of the gesture: “Waffles for breakfast? Since you’re already up.”

“And who’s fault is that?” Buck shoots back, but he knows he’s going to give in.

When the schoolbus roars away, Buck closes the door softly, padding down the hallway.  He’s been weird all morning, a strange feeling like wearing a pair of shoes a size too big.  But there’s nothing he’s forgetting—just to make sure, he checks the big magnet board calendar on the wall, smiling a little at the photo pinned there from their ski trip to Mammoth last winter.  But for sure—no shifts until tomorrow, Jee’s preschool play this Friday, and lunch with May today.  Nothing out of the ordinary; nothing to explain this strange weight in his chest.

Just dishes, then.

Buck is halfway through scrubbing the griddle when a firm weight settles on his hips, followed by the warmth of a chest against his back.

“You spoil him,” Eddie murmurs into his ear, yesterday’s stubble pleasantly rough where it scratches lightly against his neck.

“I spoil you,” Buck shoots back, jerking his chin towards a plate on the counter, stacked high with waffles.  They’re already dripping with syrup, topped with strawberries and fluffy drifts of whipped cream.  The kind of indulgence Eddie deserves.

He can feel Eddie’s smile against his skin as Eddie pecks a kiss just behind his ear.  And then Buck pulls the dishwashing gloves off and rinses his hands and there’s a black silicone band on his fourth finger.

He freezes, and he knows Eddie notices by the way the hands on his waist start to slide up and down, soothing.  But he can’t pay attention to that, because why is there a ring—why was Chris so tall, when he's only barely a preteen—where did he sleep? Not on the couch, but in the bedroom—where, what, how——

“You haven’t changed your ring,” Eddie observes, pressing another kiss to the soft spot on his neck that never fails to make his knees weak.  And that’s right, that’s what had felt so off—he usually puts his gold band on when not at work.

“I must’ve forgotten,” Buck says, turning around in the circle of Eddie’s arms.  “After all—it was a long night yesterday.”  He traces a hand up Eddie’s chest, moving to tug at the collar of his henley playfully.  With the fabric pulled aside, he can properly admire the mottled splash of color decorating Eddie’s collarbone, a mirror to the marks currently splotching the skin below his own collar.  With a sly smile: “It could be a long morning, too.”

“We have plans with May,” Eddie reminds him, stern voice activated but expression clearly stating that Buck’s wiles are effective.  Of course they are—Eddie’s wrapped around his little finger, and they both know it.  

(They do? that strange inner voice shrieks half-hysterically, and Buck frowns and kisses Eddie just to shut it up.)

“We have time,” Buck argues when he draws away.  “And May’s always late anyway.  Comes with being a twenty-something with an active social life.  So that’s at least two hours before we have to get ready.”

“Well, if you’re so sure about it,” Eddie hedges, clearly giving in.  Buck fists his hands in Eddie’s worn henley, tugging him in to nuzzle their noses together ridiculously. 

“I’ll make it worth your while,” he offers, exaggeratedly lascivious.  Eddie hasn’t brushed his teeth yet, but he doesn’t really care.  Not when Eddie’s like this, morning-gorgeous with his tousled hair, eyes still a little dreamy with the dredges of sleep.  

(Buck wants to blow him so, so badly, and at least his inner voice doesn’t complain about that thought.)

“Such a bad influence, Buckley,” Eddie grumbles, hands moving lower to steal a quick grope.  

“Hey,” Buck grins, reeling him in again.  “That’s Diaz to you, mister.”

Eddie says something in response, something playful and perfect, but Buck can’t hear him.  In fact, it’s like his senses are blurred, Eddie’s voice fuzzy and the kitchen swirling, melding into a buzz of chatter and mechanical hums.  

And Buck tries to hold on tighter, because he doesn’t want this to slip away, wants to watch Jee play the baby bear in Goldilocks and see how May’s first job is going.  And he wants to help Chris style his hair every morning and buy him clothes that no self-respecting teenager would wear and peck him on the forehead just to make his face scrunch, and he wants to kiss Eddie over and over and over, and he wants to live in that golden world forever—

Thump.  Bzzz.  Beep.  

His eyes are shut tightly, so tightly, but there’s no blocking out the noises around him, the sounds of footsteps and chatter.  Buck categorizes each part slowly—twitches a toe, feels the rough brush of linen against his skin.  There’s a grip on his hand, almost bruisingly tight, and it feels like an anchor, tethering—chaining? him here in this sharp-focus world.

“I know you’re awake, Buck.”

Eddie.

Eddie, on the same side of his bed as that tight hand-grip.  Eddie, holding his hand?

Buck starts cautiously, wincing at the brightness that slashes through the slits of his barely-open eyes.  But then he’s looking up, straight into the face of a very concerned Eddie Diaz.

“You’re an idiot,” Eddie starts.

“Hi,” he tries weakly, then flinches again at the harsh rasp of his throat.  

“Water, then talk,” Eddie says sternly, putting a straw to his mouth, and he should feel humiliated at being tended to like a child, but a vastly larger part of him is just cold.  He didn’t lose anything, not really.  The security, the domesticity, that feeling of being familiar, comfortably invisible in the best way, as natural as anything, belonging in the Diaz house and mornings and school sendoffs—it’s something he already has.  

Just not concretely; just not with the promise of forever.  

He thinks of the way Eddie—dream-Eddie—kissed at the tender place behind his ear, and he’s hit with an ache that goes straight to his chest with a freezing bitterness, a longing to stay in that world where he and Christopher—he and Eddie—

The grip on his hand squeezes again, and Buck flicks his eyes down to see that yes, Eddie is holding his hand.  He presses his lips together tightly, wriggles his hand away, because he can’t deal with this right now.  That’s—that’s for the Buck of that dream.  That’s not something he can have.

But Eddie’s looking at him with a careful gaze, something guarded and confused that turns into something that looks a little like a revelation.

“You’re an idiot,” Eddie repeats, but his voice isn’t quite as angry as before.  Or maybe it’s a softer kind of anger, an anger swaddled around the brightness of Eddie’s concern, or realization, or maybe something like—

“I promise I won’t do it again,” Buck mumbles, ducking his head into the collar of his hospital gown, and Eddie catches his hand again and squeezes it once.

“You better not,” he says.  “Because you have a family at home.”

And Buck can’t do anything but gape, but tear up, but laugh a little—a tired soft hopeful huff of a laugh—into Eddie’s mouth as Eddie leans down and kisses him.

#911 fic #911fic #buckley diaz family #buddie #911.post #kk.writes

[kemakoshume]

Tell Me You Love Me — Yor Forger x Loid Forger

summary: "So, when are you two trying for a second?" shouldn't have caused the freight train of insecurity and imposter syndrome that dawned on Yor Forger, but it did.

Loid fixes that.

warnings; bullying, insecurities, family dynamics, loid... being so soft i love him, Yor's POV, oral (f!receiving), vaginal sex, breeding.

a/n: lmao me? character x character? on tumblr? wild. i wrote this in one big speed run today because i've been obsessed with this show and now the manga since i started it last week. i hope y'all enjoy this! it's my first c x c for a f/m relationship i think... ever lol. huge shout out to @craftycheetah for helping me out throughout writing this. thank you for the sex position website, i don't know what i would've done without it. now... enjoy all 8.8k words of this.

“So, Yor… when are you two trying for a second?”

The dark-haired beauty turned her head, spinning on the axis of her heels so fast that she almost lost her balance. Despite her practiced poised nature, Yor couldn’t help but gape helplessly as she scrambled to find her words. Under the weight of Camilla’s gaze, and her line of questioning, Yor was at a loss.

“So, Yor… when are you two trying for a second?”

The dark-haired beauty turned her head, spinning on the axis of her heels so fast that she almost lost her balance. Despite her practiced poised nature, Yor couldn’t help but gape helplessly as she scrambled to find her words. Under the weight of Camilla’s gaze, and her line of questioning, Yor was at a loss.

She stood in the middle of her co-worker's home with a glass of wine, surrounded by people lost in their own little worlds of conversation beneath the warm hue of decor lights and soft jazz-inspired music. She’d had the mind not to come. She knew she shouldn’t have come, but she’d had no choice. 

It was Camilla’s engagement party, and she’d never have heard the end of it if she and Loid hadn’t made an appearance. Their whole life together was built on maintaining the perfect image, so not coming would have spelled doom socially for their family in an instant. So, here Yor was again—playing in a den of lions donning ascots and top-dollar balayages.

“A second?” Yor asked, sipping nervously at her drink as her eyes subtly scanned the room.

Loid was speaking with some men a few feet away, looking as cordial as ever as he discussed the details of his casual chocolate-brown suit with an inquisitive friend of Dominic’s. His hair was imperfectly styled, just how he liked. Yor had molded with her own hands at his behest. 

He’d made an offhand comment about how nice her hair always looked, not a single lock out of place even with the free-flowing bangs she left out in the front. So, she did his hair for him. After a harrowing mission that left her unable to lift her arms for a week, he began doing her hair in return. Granted, he thought she’d injured herself lifting a box that was too heavy at work, but still. He accepted his role as an interim hairdresser with muted enthusiasm, and eventually, Anya joined the train. 

Every morning that they had enough time, they’d sit in the living room and help get one another groomed for the day. This morning was one of those mornings, and he looked every bit the polished handsome husband who knew how to treat his wife and child as a result.

He must have felt the weight of Yor’s eyes on him, even from across the room. He glanced over to meet his wife’s subtle stare, smirking with a slight nod in her direction before he turned his attention back to the man in front of him, listening intently as he droned on about the Eden Academy director’s love of fine suits.

Camilla’s eyes followed Yor’s line of sight over to Loid, and the woman stepped closer into Yor’s space until she was close enough that Yor could easily snap her n—touch her.

“Yes, a second. Well, a first for you, I suppose but a second for Loid. A baby is necessary at this point, don’t you think?” Camilla said, a coy curl at the corner of her lips as she moved her lithe hands animatedly to match her less-than-quiet words. “I assumed, with Loid’s previous entanglement, you’d want to lock things down as soon as possible. Sure, you got a ring and some useless paperwork, but any man who’s had a child with another woman will never truly be yours until you give him something of equal value.”

Yor furrowed her eyebrows, turning her attention to the blonde looking up at her with fire in her eyes as she sipped her wine.

“Equal value?” she said, glancing down into her glass and contemplating the odds of drowning someone in the liquid left in the cup.

“Yes, yes. Equal value. You see, dear Yor, his precious little girl will always take priority over you, and so will the memory of his wife. His real wife, not the placeholder that you’ve allowed yourself to be,” Camilla said, venom laced in the tip of her tongue. “You’re understandably replaceable until you give him something that makes you seem… well, a little less useless. Granted, he could always take the new baby and the old one and leave you by the wayside in the end. But, I’d like to think he would finally care about you if you gave him a child of your own. It's been over a year since you got married, love. Even the dead one would've managed to give him a kid by now. I’d hope you could do better than someone who’s not alive anymore.”

Hot blood rushed into the high points of Yor’s face, bathing her pale skin in a flush that she knew looked embarrassing from Camilla’s pleased expression. She got off on this—seeing Yor uncomfortable—and Yor hated that she’d allowed the woman to pull her in.

“That’s—that isn’t true,” Yor said, though her words lacked conviction, and Camilla jumped on the display of insecurity like a starved rat coming across a fromagerie in the heart of France.

“I’m glad you get to call him your husband, even if it’s just a title. It’s evident that he does not take you seriously if you’re not talking about having more kids. I wonder if he would still want you if his old wife were to walk amongst the living again.”

Yor felt her hand shaking around the stem of her wine glass, threatening to shatter the “shatterproof” glass into pieces. Her cheeks flushed a deeper shade rosy red, and her eyes pricked with heat that felt unnatural on her face.

She opened her mouth to speak and no words came, only the beginning of what felt like a wretched sob that felt so jarringly alien in her throat. Yor didn’t cry. Not really, if ever. But still, there the tears were, threatening her with the weight of a loaded gun as they edged closer to spilling out from her eyelids.

“We’ll be going now.”

Yor sighed, releasing a breath she didn’t realize she held as Loid sauntered up to her side, placing one hand on her lower back while he motioned toward the door with the other.

“You were listening?” Yor said, blinking the wetness out of her eyes as she turned her head inward toward Loid’s shoulder. She used his body as a refuge to wipe the remnants of the tear trailing down her cheek in peace away from Camilla’s gaze.

The blonde fixed her stare on Loid instead, a blatant scowl on her face even as her boyfrie—no, fiancé now—walked up defensively behind her.

“Leaving so soon?” she asked, shaking her fiancé’s hand off of her shoulder when he attempted to touch her.

Loid scoffed, helping Yor into a lined faux fur jacket that hugged her nicely where the fabric was sleeker in the middle and accented her beautifully as the fur framed her face. He kept a pleasant smile as he grabbed their things—his wallet and Yor’s purse—from the closet behind them and he took Yor’s hand in his easily as he pulled her toward the door.

“Camilla, it’s truly remarkable to behold what deeply rooted inferiority looks like in human form. You exemplify the word in every way.”

The blonde huffed and Loid slinked past her with Yor tucked close to his side, keeping his eyes trained on the exit as they walked away from the growing scene.

“I only meant,” Camilla said toward their backs, hesitating for only a beat before steeling her resolve and speaking loudly enough that everyone could hear her. “I only meant that any man worth his salt would have already proven his love to his new wife. From what I've seen, you two act like roommates who co-parent. Maybe they’re secretly celibate, and that’s why they aren’t interested in more babies, huh, everyone? Why marry a woman you’re so obviously disgusted by, Loid? I have plenty of friends I’m sure would be willing to give a widower a chance. Anything would be better tha—”

“Camilla,” a voice said so darkly that both Loid and Yor stopped in their tracks. The sound of shaking breath became louder in the still air of the room as they turned around to see Camilla’s fiancé standing behind her with an expression so dark with shame that Yor found it hard to look at.

“I love you, and I’ve always loved you. I don’t think a universe exists where I wouldn’t fall in love with you, over and over, but that was foul, and I’m embarrassed by the way you just spoke to her. Loid, Yor,” he said, his eyes rimmed red as he looked at the couple stopped in shock, “have a good night. I’m sorry that our home hasn’t been a welcome place for you both. I hope you can forgive us.”

Loid nodded his head without a word, keeping Yor close to his body as he opened the door with her in front of him, and off into the night they went.

------------------

The sun shined too brightly in the morning, practically mocking Yor with the promise of a good day that her brain was not inclined to let her have. There was something buzzing within her bones, gnawing against the core of her being with dull teeth that made her feel uneasy. She floated around her home feeling like a stranger despite her year living there—making the space full of more than just a lonely man and his only child.

Making them a family, even if it was only for appearances.

Yor stood over the stove, stirring stew in a large pot, tossing in spices and aromatics she’d learned how to handle well enough over the past few months. The room was warm from the heat of the stovetop coils and bubbling food, while the dish's aroma enticed her stomach as she waited for the broth to thicken.

Anya sat in the living room watching her mid-afternoon morning TV, making little *pew pew* sounds as she watched the spy on screen after the dastardly assassin giving him chase. She sang along with the theme song as the title sequence queued on screen and she couldn’t contain her excitement as the spy showed up again.

Loid sat across from Anya on the home’s reclining chair, relaxing into the furniture with one leg crossed over his other leg’s knee as he scanned his eyes over the morning paper. His eyes drifted from it however to watch Anya watching her shows. His eyes grew soft as he watched the little girl imagine herself in that world of danger, and his voice was even softer as he replied to all of Anya’s comments and constant, “Chi-chi, did you see? Did you see it?” to which he replied yes, even if he hadn’t actually been watching.

His eyes found Yor’s then from her spot in the kitchen’s window panel, sending her a smile and an eye roll that she knew meant “god, this kid.”

Yor placed her hand over her heart, begging the organ to stop beating so violently against the cavity in her chest. It was just a smile. He’d smiled at her a million times, yet the feeling of fluttering in her belly never ceased. When his catlike blue eyes met her’s and he looked at her as if she were made up of everything good in the world, she couldn’t help but feel weak in the knees. That feeling always proceeded the heartache, and the feeling of her heart being crushed came in record time as Loid’s eyes left her own and focused on his daughter again.

The spot in Yor’s stomach that’d built up a lepidopterarium filled with the most beautiful winged beauties caved in then, sinking into a pit that reached her spine. Yor loved Anya, genuinely, as if she were her own. She harbored nothing but care for the child, and her father, but what if Camilla was right? What if Loid did want another child? What if that was something he needed to feel whole, but he hadn’t asked Yor out of… pity? Spite? Disinterest? Would he want to get rid of her when the urge finally bubbled up to the surface?

What did he want?

Then, it dawned on her. What did Yor want? After spending a year legally bound to the man, she and Loid had never consummated their union. There was a strange air of professionalism around their relationship that kept Yor firmly in check. This was for the progression of Anya’s school career, to make her life better. This was also to keep Yor’s brother off of her back and out of her business.

That was all. Right?

So, why did her heart hurt so much at the thought of their future? What was in it? What did they need to do to keep it afloat? To keep up their image? What lies would she need to concoct next? She could say they were trying for a baby, should anyone else be insensitive enough to ask. They’d been married long enough that most couples would at least be having the conversation, Yor supposed. But then Camilla’s words came to the forefront of her mind again.

“Maybe they’re celibate… Why marry a woman you’re so obviously disgusted by Loid? Anything would be better than…”

Me, Yor thought.

The stew bubbled over then, sploshing out in fat drops of boiling soup all over the stovetop and onto Yor’s hand. The yell had just barely breached her lips before Loid was there behind her, holding her waist with one arm will the other supported her wrist and held out her hand. He guided her over to the sink, having turned off the stove in a flash before he was back against her. The tap was flowing with cool water, but it wasn’t cold. Not like Yor needed against the incoming burn that pooled closer and closer to the surface of her skin.

Loid ran to the freezer, taking out ice cubes with his bare hands that he brought over to Yor. He cupped her hands in his own, moving the ice around constantly against her small hands to keep the burn at bay.

“Are you okay my love?” he asked, pressing his nose to the crown of her head as she let her neck relax and her head rest against the firm plane of his chest.

Yor nodded her head, saying yes without words even as tears began to pool in her eyes. She’d never pegged herself as a crier. It never felt necessary to cry in the face of pain. The pain was just an emotion like any other that would eventually pass, so there was no use in falling into it and letting it drag you down and away from yourself. But as she stood there will the prickling heat of a shallow burn on her hand, she realized she’d felt this feeling before in her heart. Every time she questioned if Loid wanted her, if Anya liked her, and if they were really meant to be a family. 

She’d felt this deep in her chest a million times.

So, she cried. So restrained that her shoulders shook and her lip felt as though it would tear under the pressure from her teeth, but she cried. Soft little hiccuping sounds came out of her mouth as she brought up her unburned hand to hold on to Loid’s arm that was wrapped around her belly, keeping her close and safe as she let months of feelings come out at once.

“Mama, Anya helps,” the little girl said, stomping her way into the room with an emergency kit she’d seen both of her parents grab and put away in secret many times throughout the months of their employment excursions.

Loid grabbed it from the girl, rubbing her head with his hand before asking her to go to the downstairs neighbor’s house for the afternoon to give Papa some time with Mama, alone. Anya nodded her head eagerly, excited to play with the neighbor woman’s dog that always thought about the sky outside and the birds in the trees.

The front door slammed as Anya left them alone, the house notably quieter since the girl changed the television channel to something less rowdy before she left.

“What’s wrong Yor?” Loid asked, turning the tap down to a trickle. He looked intently at his wife’s hands once the extent of the burn had developed.

Yor shook her head, wiping the tears away roughly before moving to remove herself from Loid’s hold.

“Wait,” he said, pulling her back against him to hold her close.

They didn’t speak for a while. Loid moved Yor’s weight with his own as he guided her to the dining room table without a word, taking out the creams and chilled menthol bandages meant for burns as Yor’s tears subsided. The only sounds shared between them were Loid’s small huffs of concentration and Yor’s sniffles before she found a napkin to blow her nose.

“Sorry,” she said, mumbling the words as Loid finished the bandage around the side of her hand where the stew had gotten her the worst and put one last layer of burn ointment on the top of her hand to keep it from scarring.

He laughed, putting away the first aid utensils where they belonged before standing up to wash off his hands in the now icy cold stream of water in the sink. He walked back to his seat in front of Yor lackadaisically, looking so soft in his cotton t-shirt and loose-fitting dark green sweatpants—the same color as his favorite working suit.

He looked so handsome like that, Yor thought, sinking into her thoughts more when Loid scooted closer to her, slotting their legs together so he could rest his forearms on her thighs.

“Is this about what Camilla said yesterday?”

Yor’s eyes snapped up to meet stormy blue irises, darker than usual at the mere mention of her coworker’s name. Loid looked… upset. Did that mean Camilla was right? Had he been mad at Yor this whole time for not being “his” enough to have a child? Had he thought their engagement was so meaningless that he couldn’t tell her his dreams for another child? Was he afraid she didn’t love him too— oh.

“It… no,” she said, the lie coming out unconvincingly in a hushed tone between Yor’s clenched teeth. “The stew just hurt a lot. I wasn’t prepared for that type of pain. I don’t like being in pain.”

Loid’s face fell, the little scowl on his brow turning into burning empathy as he looked at his wife. His stare was so heavy she felt herself cower beneath it, not ready to confront her feelings yet as the man searched her face for answers. She wasn’t ready to hear that he still only thought of their marriage as a sham. That only she had developed these feelings and that Loid was using her as a placeholder until he found someone else. Someone who he found worthy of carrying his second child, and sharing his bed, and the rest of his life.

Anything better than… Yor.

“Hey,” Loid said, brushing a stray hair out of Yor’s face and sliding his hand across her cheek to place the hair behind her ear. “Your hair’s falling out of your headband. May I?”

Yor nodded her head, sniffling away the tears she felt bubbling beneath the surface again as the man moved to take care of her further. His hands worked easily as he undid the messy remnants of her hairstyle, removing all the accessories in her hair until the black strands were free-flowing and light as they cascaded down her back and fell into her face.

“You look beautiful with your hair down,” Loid said, running his fingers through her hair to expose her face again. “I think that’s why Camilla is so ugly towards you. She’s jealous, understandably so.”

Yor scoffed, reaching up her hand to wipe away a stray tear before Loid caught her hand in his, wiping the tear away from her cheek with his index finger. The digit lingered against her skin even after the moisture had been wicked away. Yor couldn’t help but lean into the touch as his hand cupped her jaw, and his finger traced the line of bone there beneath her skin.

“No one’s jealous of me. They’re jealous I have you, but they don’t know the truth,” Yor said, the words coming out of her mouth so soft that she hoped Loid wasn’t able to hear her despite the stillness of the apartment.

Loid furrowed his brows, hooking his finger beneath Yor’s chin to make her look into his eyes. The deep blue felt fierce as a storm brewing on the horizon as he tried to read Yor’s expression, so broken in a way she’d never let herself show outwardly. Even now as she tried to reign it in, she couldn’t.

‘What truth Yor? That you’re my wife? That we take care of a child? Are both of those things not the truth?” he asked, his eyes pleading for something that Yor couldn’t understand.

She sighed, running her hand over her face which knocked Loid’s hand away. She sat back in her chair, putting more distance between them even though their legs were still touching, and Yor could see it in Loid’s face that that hurt him.

Why was she hurting him?

“The truth is that I’m your wife. But, we both know what our agreement was. I have set myself up for failure because I—”

“You what?” Loid said, holding his hands on the closest part of Yor’s body that he could touch. His hands rested on the exposed skin of her knees as her dress rode up her leg, making those same little soothing motions with his thumb.

She could see it in the depths of his eyes then. That desire to make her happy. Not only to keep her around for his child, but for more. Despite the distance she could tell they’d both placed into their relationship intentionally, she couldn’t help but allow one of the many walls built up in her mind to crumble as she looked into those pretty blue eyes. They’d grown closer over their year together, there was no way to deny that fact to herself.

Every dinner spent at the table together with Anya talking and laughing and forming their own inside jokes. Every night spent helping Anya with homework and talking over wine after stressful days when the little girl went off to bed. Every time they’d spent soothing Anya down from a crying fit together on the rare occasion that the girl got upset, every outing spent holding hands and swinging the child between them to make her squeal, every polite kiss they’d exchanged in public to hush rumors and whispers. It all led to this.

To Yor accepting that their relationship with Anya wasn’t the only thing that had grown, but each other too. From sharing a bathroom to co-parenting to all the times they’d had alone to learn more about each other. It all felt… right. So achingly right, and he was all she really wanted. She couldn’t stand how badly she wanted…

“You. I’ve set myself up for failure by falling for you, Loid Forger. Despite everything within me screaming not to cross that line, to respect our agreement, and maintain my place in our little arrangement. I screwed up. I did the one thing you aren’t supposed to do and fell in love with you, and it’s killing me because I’ve ruined it all. You can just… go find the woman you’re meant to be with now. The one you’ll want for real. To have more babies with and marry for love, not whatever we’ve agreed to here. And I, I’ll go on my way, and leave you and your daughter be. She deserves a real mother, and you deserve a real wife and a loving, passionate marriage. I’m just… sorry I can’t give you that. I know I’m not what you want.”

Her eyes burned as she looked down at her lap, fiddling incessantly with the skin around her nails as she fought more wretched tears. It shouldn’t have felt so good when Loid’s chilled hand touched the warm skin of her face, shushing the avalanche of words trying to become coherent sentences as they poured out from Yor’s mouth.

He grabbed the legs of her chair beneath her, pulling her in closer to him until she was practically sitting in his lap, balanced on the crack between the chairs as they touched.

“I’m the failure,” he whispered, resting his forehead against Yor’s as she let one last tear fall. “I’m the failure for not making you see how much I care for you ages ago. I was so caught up in my own feelings and desires that I wasn’t even seeing you for the woman you are—who you could be to me if I allowed it. Who I could be to you if you let me. I’m a failure for not showing you how much I want you. Need you, really. You’re all I could ever ask for.”

She squinted her eyes in confusion as she leaned back to look at Loid’s face, searching his features for the slightest hint of insincerity. She found none, and the shattered shards of her heart began to stitch themselves back together. She felt warm all over. So warm as she took in the placement of Loid’s hands on her body, trailing up her thighs and pulling up the fabric of her dress with it.

“You want me?” she asked, looking every bit as insecure as Camilla made her out to be.

Loid’s eyes darkened to navy, filled with a fire she’d never seen directed at her before. He wet his lips with his tongue as he moved his hands to Yor’s knees, hooking them underneath to pull her up and into his lap, holding her flush against his body as he held her tight with his arm secure around her back.

“I want every inch of you, Yor Briar Forger. Inside and out, body and soul, to death do us part. Those were the vows we took, weren’t they?”

Yor nodded her head, too breathless to speak as Loid grabbed hold of her hand and lifted it up to his lips. He kissed every digit, trailing his lips down the line of her arm until he reached her elbow. He pulled her in then, wrapping her arm around his neck so they were impossibly close. Yor breathed in his scent, dizzy from the heady mix of her hair products and his cologne.

He smelled like home, her home. The home they were working on building stronger, together.

“Those vows we said when you were bleeding from the head?” she said, the tease coming easily from her lips as she settled more comfortably in his lap.

He hummed, the sound rich like honey in his throat as his lips touched her skin again, this time against the column of her throat.

“I was of sound mind even though I wasn’t of sound body,” he chuckled, the vibrations tickling Yor as he kissed the sensitive skin across her neck. “I haven’t taken the vows back.”

Yor nodded, arching her back as he found a sweet spot beneath her ear, kissing up to suck the lobe into his mouth with the slightest bite of pressure from his teeth.

“Neither have I,” she said, leaning into his hands as they worked their way around her body.

He grabbed the bottom hem of her dress where it pooled in his lap on one end and draped over his legs on the other. He pushed the fabric up so that all of it was loose and not caught beneath Yor’s body, then his hand snuck behind her back, trailing up the length of her spine until he found the zipper there, then he pulled back down.

“It’s a husband’s duty to make his wife happy. ‘Happy wife happy life’ is what all of the academy husbands say when discussing their wives. Do you want me to make you happy, Yor?”

Yor sighed as the red fabric of her dress fell off of her shoulders, the biting chill from the apartment shocking her system as she caught it before it exposed her chest. She searched his eyes as he looked up at her from below, touching her chin with his nose before he moved up, capturing her lips in a breathtaking kiss that made her hold on to him for balance.

His lips felt soft against her’s as they moved, the moment feeling too slow despite the rush of want coursing through Yor’s system. Everything in the world was pinpointed to him. His hands on her back, his tongue licking into her mouth, his warmth against her as he caged her in. Everything Yor didn’t know she needed was all encased into this moment, with Loid—her husband, in more than just name.

“Make me yours,” she said, her voice sounding more like a whine as she rolled her hips against the hardening length in his lap.

She removed her hands where they’d caught her dress from falling and she let the garment pool down to her waist, exposing her breasts still trapped in the confines of her bra. His eyes trailed down the valley of her cleavage, and that fire in his eyes turned into an inferno.

“Gladly.”

He got up out of his chair with Yor in tow, letting her dress pool onto the floor as Yor wrapped her legs around Loid’s waist to let him carry her. He wrapped one arm underneath her ass, holding her steady in his arms as his fingers played with the thin fabric of her panties that hugged her waist. The other hand held her jaw, pulling her down to meet his lips in kisses interlaced with his tongue.

Her arms wrapped around his shoulders as he carried her through their house, stopping in the living room only because something—no, someone—instantly came to mind as they passed by the floor full of Crayola drawings and Spy Detective merchandise.

“Anya.”

Loid stopped in the living room and sat them both down on the couch, having Yor stand for a moment so he could ogle her ass before having her sit down in his lap again, only this time her back was against his front.

“I’ll call Mrs. Bustelo. You lay there and look beautiful as always, darling,” Loid said, digging his phone out of his pocket to call their neighbor, the sweetest old woman who had grown to look after Anya often, given the sporadic nature of both Loid and Yor’s schedules.

Yor relaxed in Loid’s lap, tilting up her head to nose along his jaw, placing a trail of kisses as she impatiently waited for the phone line to connect. Her hips shifted side to side, causing Loid to bite down on his bottom lip to stifle a groan as a cheerful voice came down the line of the phone he had in a death grip in his hand.

“Hello, Mrs. Bustelo,” he said, his voice pinched as Yor whined her hips in tight circles as she kissed the sensitive point she’d found on Loid’s neck.

He looked down at her, nuzzling their noses against one another as their neighbor rambled on over the phone line. Yor’s eyes were filled with a mischief Loid would have never thought her capable of, but Yor felt as if her insides were on fire. Slick moisture pooled within the folds of her cunt as she inhaled Loid’s scent, kissing every part of his face and neck that her mouth could reach. A year’s worth of yearning brewed in her belly and she no longer felt as if it could be contained.

Loid wanted her too, and she needed to see all that desire brought to life with their bodies.

His cock throbbed against her where she sat in his lap, angling her hips to rut against his length through the thin layers of clothing keeping them apart. His light hold on her jaw tightened, just enough to convey the warning that was reflected in his eyes.

“Quit it,” he mouthed, making asinine conversation with the woman as Yor grew more and more restless in his lap.

She pouted, feigning innocence as she reached her unharmed hand back between their bodies. It’d already been a year, and all at once, it felt like a year too long.

“Or what?” she mouthed back, curling her lips into a smile that made her husband bite back a groan.

His eyes snapped shut as Yor ran her hand along the outline of his cock, applying pressure that made him clench his jaw in an effort not to make any noise. Yor should have felt some shame, toying with him like this with someone able to hear. Maybe the desire within her for someone to know he was indeed her’s—truly and only her’s—spurred on the act of dominance, but she wanted him now. She wanted to touch him and feel him inside of her. She needed him to make her whole in a way her soul hadn’t yet known.

“Please?” she whispered, her voice so light she wasn’t sure if she’d actually made a sound, but Loid understood, He heard her and sought out her lips as he leaned in to kiss her, putting his phone on speaker—and muted—before sitting it down on the back of the couch near his head.

“Anya’s being such a darling this afternoon. She and Bond are having the best time outside catching crickets, I’d hate to break them up. I’m assuming you need me to keep her, yes? Do you both have extra work hours again tonight or—oh! That reminds me. Have I told you two about—”

Both of them blocked out the voice as Loid dipped his head down to kiss Yor’s neck, trailing his kisses up before sucking a deep bruise into that spot beneath her ear. Her mouth fell open, desperate to make noise before Loid’s hand came up to place his thumb against her lips.

“Don’t make a sound,” he said, his voice fighting a tremble as Yor pressed down against him with the heel of her hand.

She kissed the digit keeping her lips closed, then in a spark of mischief she knew her husband noticed, she sucked his finger into her mouth, lapping her tongue across his fingerprint as a deep, maddeningly desperate sound got caught in his chest.

Yor giggled around his finger, pulling it out from the wet cavern of her mouth to intertwine their hands.

“Looks like I should be the one saying be quiet to yo—oh.”

His hand trailed down the tight plane of lean muscle that made up her abdomen, all smooth pale skin that begged to be bitten and marked by his teeth. He kissed her cheek as his hand breeched the lining of her panties, his fingers sliding into her slick folds with ease. He toyed with her clit, rubbing the swollen bud in tight circles as he bucked up against her hand.

“Fuck, baby, you’re so wet,” he said, burying his face in her hair as she nuzzled against his neck.

Yor giggled, having never heard the man curse that strongly before since most of their life was spent around a child. The word “baby” coming from his lips was the only thing that could top that little slip-up.

“Baby. You called me baby,” she said, a smile on her face as she ran her hand down the length of his cock trapped within his sweats to squeeze the tip. “Loid, I want you in me. I need to feel you, it’s been too long already.”

They moaned softly into each other’s mouths, soft pants and heated kisses making them breathless as they ground against each other’s hands. The months of not engaging with anyone in that way—their needs only being taken care of on their own—had taken its toll. Every nerve in Yor’s body felt raw and exposed beneath Loid’s touch, yearning for him to do something—anything—more to tip her over the edge.

“More. I need more,” Yor said, sucking her own bruise against Loid’s neck. “I need all of you.”

He groaned as he picked her up, the last bit of his sanity snapping as he lifted her out of the seat. He began to walk them back towards his—their—bedroom, but before they could make it even two feet forward they were brought back to Earth in a second.

“Loid? Loid, are you there?”

“Shit,” they said in tandem, falling all over each other as they stood in the middle of their living room and Loid rushed to clear up the situation over the phone, making up some excuse or another about why they needed a babysitter in the middle of the day on a lazy Saturday afternoon.

Yor wrapped her arms around his neck and let him hold her as he spoke, the deep baritone of his voice loud and muffled inside of his chest where Yor rested her head. His chest was so broad, firm yet soft in a way that felt comforting as Yor relaxed in the safety of his arms.

“Yes, thank you for taking her. We appreciate it. I—yes. Hi Anya,” he said, kissing Yor’s hair as he listened to the child speak. “Yes, Mama’s right here. She can hear you now.”

Loid flicked the speaker button on again, letting Yor hear Anya’s excited yelling about all the crickets she and Bond caught and her ‘harmless’ plans for them against one annoying, pig-faced, silver spoon-eating Damian Desmond when she returned to school the following week. All Yor could do was laugh, telling her that the best course of action for revenge is to not get caught.

“If you aren’t confident in your abilities Anya then don’t do it. You need plausible deniability, an escape plan, and you’ve already messed up by telling us the plan before it’s happened. Polish your skills and wait, my love. He’ll get what’s coming to him. Don’t worry.”

Anya sighed, groaning about the crickets before deciding to let them free into the yard again.

That definitely wouldn’t be a problem for their pest control later. Nope, not at all.

“Be good for Mrs. Bustelo, Anya. Mama and Papa will be here when you’re ready to come home in the morning.”

“Okay, Chi-chi. Have fun Mama!” Anya said, hanging up the phone before any of the adults were able to say goodbye.

Loid sighed into Yor’s hair, tossing his phone onto the couch before his cock twitched with interest again as he looked down at his wife’s face.

“You’re so good with her,” he said, scooping her back up into his arms. “I couldn’t have dreamt up a better mother for her to come into our lives.”

She fell into his kisses, letting every gasp and moan she wanted spill from her lips now that they were truly alone. She felt dizzy with lust as her back hit their mattress, seated near the edge as Loid lowered himself down on one knee to kiss down her body.

“I never tell you how grateful I am for you, for all that you do for us,” he said, sliding his hands beneath her back to rid her of her bra. “For me.”

Her breasts dropped out from the material easily, and Loid didn’t hesitate to show his appreciation for her body. His tongue was warm against her nipple, while the other was pinched with just the right pressure between his thumb and forefinger. He sucked, slotting his leg between Yor’s thighs as he flicked her nipple with his tongue.

“So good,” Yor whined, sliding down just enough to press her cunt against the firm muscle of his thigh, grinding down on it in an unabashed chase for her pleasure.

“We never christened our marriage bed. We’re overdue for that, don’t you think… Mrs. Forger?” Loid said, grinding himself against her hip as she chased her first release.

“Yes, please, Mr. Forger. Make me yours.”

Her orgasm bubbled up to the surface soon enough, guided by Loid’s whispers of sweet nothings and his mouth against the sensitive tissue of her breasts. As the high muddled her brain, Yor absentmindedly thought about how Loid might feel about her body if she were pregnant, swollen and full with his child—their child—with breasts developed to provide sustenance for new life.

Camilla’s words came flooding back then, chasing away the pleasure that had managed to momentarily flood out her constantly working mind. The frustration at that must have shown on her face, since not a moment later Loid was back in her space, kissing her cheeks to soothe what felt like incoming tears again.

“Where did you just go?” Loid asked, sliding his hands along the soft fabric of their sheets to grab Yor’s elbows, pushing her arms up above her head so he could get as close to her as he wanted.

She shook her head, her mouth fixed to say “nowhere” before the seriousness of Loid’s gaze crashed down on her. Yor was glad he didn’t give her that look in their day-to-day life, when she was lying to him about other things—more trivial things. But now, she couldn’t lie to him if her life depended on it. She felt naked as she saw herself in the light blue of his eyes.

“I—I let what Camilla said get to me,” Yor said, trying in vain to avert her eyes despite Loid being mere inches from her face. “She—I—god. I don’t know what we are, and when she poked at that, and brought Anya into it and our baby into it I didn’t know what to say I just—”

“Our baby?” he said, a million questions popping up in his eyes as he racked his brain for details of the night before, and then it clicked. “Ah, because she assumed we must be sexless losers who only co-parent? She had no basis at all for assuming that. She just said it to hurt you. So why should what she says matter?”

Yor chuckled, smiling as she pressed a kiss against Loid’s lips that he happily reciprocated. “I just mean that… she made me wonder what it is that I want, and I let her make me assume what you want. That you must want a second baby and that I’m not the woman you want to do it with, because of how this all started. It wasn’t fair to let her put words in your mouth.”

“But?” he said, seeing easily that there was more on his wife’s mind.

“But, I do wonder now if she was wrong. I just… don’t know what you want. You say now that you do want me but what does that look like? Do you only want my body? Do you want more kids? Do you intend for this to last?” she asked, searching his eyes for the answers. “We don’t have to decide anything right now, but what she said made me wonder if I’m what you want, for yourself or Anya or this… hypothetical new child. I’m just confused, at you and myself.”

Loid nodded, taking a moment to process everything Yor said before taking in a deep breath and exhaling it out with renewed energy. He slid his hands down Yor’s legs as he kissed her, dragging her ass as close to the edge of the bed as he could get without her falling off.

“I want you, for as big of a role as you’ll allow me to have in your life,” he said, kissing down her body again but not stopping until he reached his intended destination. “I want you in sickness,” he said, kissing her inner thigh. “I want you in health.” Another kiss. “I want you pregnant and happy with my babies, if that’s what you want. I just want you happy, light of my life. I wouldn’t have the life that I love without you in it, so whatever you want me to be to you is what I am. Your husband, in every sense of the word.”

Yor may have yelled when his mouth made contact with her clit, flicking the sensitive bud with his tongue while his fingers prodded her entrance.

“Please. In! In, in in,” she said, trying to fuck herself down on the digits despite Loid holding her waist down on the bed with his arm.

He listened well, inserting one finger into her tight heat before sliding in another easily with how much natural lubricant was soaking her inner thighs. He groaned when her cunt tightened around his fingers, no doubt feeling that sensation in the depth of his stomach as he longed for her to be around his cock instead. Still, he waited—ignoring the pulsing length smacking impatiently against his thigh. His arousal stained his boxer briefs as he got his wife off again against his tongue, sucking her clit with gentle tugs into his mouth as she rutted against his face.

“Loid, please,” Yor said, near tears for a different reason as her cunt spasmed around his fingers. “Please, I need you in me. Please. I want to cum with you in me.”

Yor tugged his head back with her hand fisted in his hair, crunching up to meet his lips in a sloppy kiss as she dragged him up to lay against her body.

“If you don’t fuck me like you mean it in the next ten seconds I will lose my fucking mind.”

He chuckled at that, standing up to free his cock from the tight material of his boxers. Yor couldn’t help but giggle when she looked at Loid’s hair, noting how messy it looked from Yor’s fingers running through the strands, gripping them for dear life to keep his mouth on her for as long as she needed it, but now she needed something else. More of him—all of him, every inch he had to give.

“Condoms,” Loid said, his eyes growing a size wider than Yor had ever seen them when the word was said out loud.

Yor’s mouth gaped open as she wracked her brain for an answer. They hadn’t done anything so there was no use for them in the home, at least that’s what Yor thought before every time she’d pass by them as she went down the aisle to purchase her own personal items. She mentally thumped herself on the forehead for not having the foresight for this. Now Loid would have to leave, go to the corner store, stand in line, get out their reward number, talk to the cashier, help th—

“We don’t have to use one, really, if you’re okay with that.”

Yor will never understand where the words came from, but once they were out of her mouth and into the air, she couldn’t hope to take them back. Loid looked contemplative, wrestling internally with himself about something before he looked down at Yor’s body. The peachy-pink flushed all over her warm skin, the weight of her breasts, the soft features of her face still relaxed with post-orgasmic bliss, awaiting another one.

Whatever struggle he had inside ended as he fisted his cock, jerking the length only enough to bring him back to full hardness before he leaned over Yor still perched on the edge of their tall bed.

“If it’s too much, you need to tell me. If you change your mind, tell me. I meant every word that I’ve said today. Every word, so whatever comes of this will be okay. I just want to feel you.”

He swept her up in a kiss and she nodded as she licked into his mouth, letting him push her legs up by the knees to rest her ankles on his shoulders as he stood over her on the bed, using the edge as leverage for his hands.

“Make me yours.”

“You already are, and I’m yours.”

There was a sheen of cold sweat on the surface of Yor’s body as Loid pushed into her, bottoming out and filling her to the brim with a groan so deep it sounded wrong coming from him. Her sweet, stoic, hardworking husband was a goner from the moment he entered her cunt, and she knew she looked no better as she fucked herself on his cock.

“I’m fine,” she said, knowing he was waiting for her to say something. “God, you’re perfect. So perfect. Please, Loid, move. Use me, I can take it.”

He nodded, pulling out until just the tip was inside, then he crashed back down. Once they found a rhythm, the deep strokes he was making into her cunt felt like music, the way something melodic and beautiful felt inside of her ears is how his cock felt inside of her body. So perfectly sized, moving with such fluid motion that Yor would have never pegged that the man—her husband—was capable of. The lower muscles of his abs pressed against her clit, sending sparks of pleasure so visceral up her spine that she feared the sensation may never stop.

Part of her hoped that it wouldn’t.

"Tell me,” Yor said, gasping desperately as his cock stroked all the right spots inside and out. She felt so full, delirious with pleasure as his hand went between their bodies to rub at her clit. “Tell me how you feel.”

Loid groaned, one long airy desperate sound as Yor clenched around him so tight, so perfect, as her high neared the tipping point again. Everything in the world felt right for them both at that moment, connected on the most intimate level with someone they’d not only chosen to be with out of circumstance but now by choice. It was everything and so much more than a man like Loid Forger imagined himself to be capable of. To feel, to want, to yearn for.

And it all came to a head just as they did.

“I love you, Yor Forger. I am blessed to have you as my wife and the mother of my child. I’d be honored to father your babies if you’ll have me. I—fuck. I love you. Yor, I love you. I—”

“Me too. I love you too. I want more, with you and for—our kids. Please, I want you to make me all yours.”

They came in quick succession after each other. Who came first? Yor couldn’t tell. All that mattered was the overwhelming joy she felt as Loid came inside her, joining them together as he reached his arms around her body to hug her with no intention of letting her go.

For as long as they both shall live.

-------------

so what'd you think? lmk. tyty for reading! see you in the next one || crossposted on ao3 — here || taglist — here ||

#spy x family smut #spy x family fanfic #loid x yor #loid x yor smut #kk.writes #kk.naughty #mdni #kk.others

[kemakoshume]

Beneath the Wisteria Blooms ✾ — tengen x black!f!reader x rengoku 

warnings; none for this part! this is all introduction/world-building stuff :D there are original characters in this fic and this chapter has some ~language~ but that’s it ~

a/n; uh wtf lmao i added notes and everything got deleted... anyway lol fair warning this chapter mentions rengoku and tengen but they don’t get into the fray until next chapter! this was at [5.4k words] already so i decided to split it in half. here's the mood/vision board for this fic [here] if you're interested in a visual. song i wrote this to [here]. the reader is meant to be black but like always, anyone can read my stuff (as long as you’re 18+ and respectful). okay... that’s it lol enjoy ~ [ch one; ch two, ch three, ch four, ch five] ~

Two hundred and eighty-six days have passed since the last time your household hosted a hashira. Many soldiers have passed through in the time between—beckoned to the wisteria crest on your gates like moths to a flame practically daily, knowing they would be safe under your care. Mizunoe, hinoto, even some kinoe-ranked demon slayers have entered your doors and healed beneath the care of your hands in the weeks, then months, that have passed—but finally, that long wait has come to an end.

“Mistress. Mistress!” you yelled, your voice shaking. “There are two crows here requesting access to the home.”

The crows flew overhead, squawking their message down at you on a loop as you waited for the head of your household to dismiss their alarm. The small middle-aged woman appeared soon after, walking up from your left on bare feet in a perfectly wrinkle-free yukata. Her feet thudded lightly against the wooden flooring as she approached, sliding beside you to look up at the birds.

“So?” she said, scrunching her slim upturned nose in annoyance. “We’ve housed more than two guests at a time, and we have no visitors here for the night. Let them come. There’s plenty of space and I hear some of the girls preparing things already.”

Though your Mistress happily did her duty without complaint, you could see that the woman was irritated at the early-evening interruption. Her long dark hair was loose from its typical bun, and the late-spring air moved the pin-straight strands around her face beautifully, though it didn’t hide how sunken her light amber eyes looked with exhaustion against her pale skin.

In the wake of the last large fight with a higher-ranked demon, your home had been void of visitors for the first night in ages. All was quiet as mostly all of the home’s inhabitants—girls and young women, just like you, plucked from the streets and taken in to support and build up the diverse home—were also excited to have some downtime, so they’d all planned to turn in a bit early as well. Alas, as you both basked in the moonlight’s glow from where you stood in the open doorway, that dream was quickly dashed. The words interlaced within the crows' caws rid all thoughts of sleep from your mind.

“Mistress Miya, the crows both belong to a hashira—two different hashira,” you said, widening your eyes to punctuate your words.

The woman was speechless for a moment as she processed what you’d said, but sure enough, her tired eyes took on a soft sparkle under the night stars, and her dull skin regained its flush of rosy-pink color. “Two?” she said, placing her hands on your shoulders. “For nearly a year, there hasn’t even been one, and now there are two?” She nearly yelled the words, her breaths growing quicker as she turned around to face the crows.

She kneeled, whistling up at the crows to dismiss their loud caws. She guided them down to the sizeable station made for them to rest their wings beside the home’s large shoji doors. Both birds landed gracefully, fluffing their wings and dipping their bodies in the wide bird bath imbued with lavender-scented oils and wisteria blossom petals. The Mistress shuffled her feet, squatting in front of the onyx-feathered birds’ perch to put her body at their eye level.

“Can you tell us your names?” she asked, her moderately age-withered skin stretching and exposing fine lines as she broadened her smile. You stood behind her in the home’s doorway, looking fondly at the birds as they balanced on their sturdy wooden perch beneath the wisteria vines.

*caw caw* the birds sang, notably speaking over each other as they rushed to tell you their introductions. You focused in your ears on them both but caught more of what the smaller crow of the two had to say—which was plenty.

“Child, what did this little one say?” she asked, beckoning you forward to polish your skills with decoding the crows’ language. “Every word.”

You giggled as you approached the birds, crouching down like your Mistress to put yourself at their level. You glanced at the larger bird before speaking, but the tangibly humanlike irritation radiating from him had already commenced due to what his counterpart had to say.

“Okay, every word.” You cleared your throat, looking politely at the bird as you repeated her statement. “Well, this one on the left is called Manju,” you said, motioning to the petite crow with a smile. “She said first and foremost that her master, Rengoku Kyojuro, is mostly unharmed—having only suffered some mild bruising despite multiple days of battle. She wanted it to be known that she is a lady, wholly unlike the tacky brute perched next to her, and that she would appreciate it if we added seeds mixed with dried corn to the feeder for her tonight, as she hasn’t had the chance to eat in two days due to their tumultuous schedule.”

As you wrapped up your summary of Manju’s introduction, you noticed the larger crow of the two shuffling closer to her, not so subtly attempting to knock her off of their perch while he said his peace in retaliation, though Manju elegantly dodged the petty swipes at her feet that the other crow made with his talons.

*caw caw caw caw caw* he said, so loudly in the still night air that you heard the last of the girls housed on the second-floor stirring, triggered by the second wave of loud birdsong that made them get up out of bed. You sputtered, an unladylike laugh escaping your lips as you processed what the male bird was saying. Not only taken aback by how loud and brash the jewelry-laden crow was but also how much petty malevolence the small avian animal managed to pack into mere sounds.

Your mistress turned her head, looking at you with eyes that would have marked you dead had they physically been able to shoot daggers. “Mind your manners,” she whispered, nodding her head towards the crows as if she were completely unphased by their bickering.

“Sorry, Mistress Miya,” you said, wiping the budding tears welling along your lower lash line as you stifled your giggles. “Do I have to translate everything he said or only the important bits?”

The older woman shook her head, motioning for you to continue with her hands. “ Every word. I can’t judge your accuracy if you don’t repeat it all back. Besides, we can’t miss a single thing regarding their messages for everyone’s safety, no matter how many curses the messages contain. Go on.”

You nodded, clearing your throat as you recounted the crow’s words. “This dashing, handsome, flashy crow on the right is named Nijimaru. He says that his superior master Uzui Tengen is also unharmed besides a few minor cuts and scrapes. He would like nuts and berries cut flamboyantly for dinner, if possible. He also says that “useless bitch Manju” should watch her words since his crown’s jewels have more value than her “full of shit” existence. Also, he said she wouldn’t know fashion if a demon sliced her down the beak with it, so we should disregard her childish, shitty insults.”

The female crow made a high-pitched squawk, insulted again after hearing the words through your mouth. Then, she extended her wing in one swift movement, hitting Nijimaru hard enough to disrupt his balance on the skinny wooden landing pole, knocking him off.

*caw caw caw* Manju said before flying after the retreating male bird, following him into the bath as he tried to escape her presence—muttering something along the lines of, “stupid pea-brained woman, besting me? Ha! Never.”

Your Mistress whipped around toward you in surprise, panic blooming on the delicate features of her rounded face as you both processed what Manju said. “They’ll be here in twelve minutes?” she yelled, corralling you into the house while shouting for all the other girls to make haste.

Once you entered the genkan—the home’s large entrance foyer—you were met with the pleasant sight of all of your housemates already busy at work, tidying and cleaning whatever their hands could reach. The smell of freshly steamed rice, grilled meats, and cooked vegetables wafted up into your nose, and your mouth began to water. The youngest of the girls walked around the home, skipping and holding hands as they hung talismans for good fortune and flowers for both virility and muliebrity all over the place; while the older girls who were outside of the kitchen took charge of dressing and grooming each other, while simultaneously darting around to get the items sorted and prepared for their hallowed guests.

You couldn’t help but smile watching them. You took a moment to pat their heads and place quick kisses against their cheeks as you walked by, whispering ‘thank you’ in each of their ears as you did so. Your household had done this a million times, but seeing the girls get quicker and quicker with it every night felt rewarding—to see your small family coming together to make your home a safe space for the men and women who kept you alive made your heart swell.

“Ayra!” your Mistress yelled, snapping you back into focus as she called out for the second oldest of the girls—at nineteen—under you.

“Back here!” she yelled, her voice carrying into the home from the spacious forest-protected garden nestled beyond your back porch.

You walked around the side of the large house, careening down the long stone pathway, until you felt the temperature in the air shift where the path forked. Both you and your Mistress easily navigated yourselves down to the trail's end, stopping once you reached the sizeable hot spring shrouded thinly in dense steam.

Ayra was there kneeling, hunched over with her arm plunged into the lantern-lined hot spring. Had her soft grunts from her efforts not been louder, you might have missed her slim figure hunched over into the large spring of water. It was half-hidden by the home's awning and the immaculately gardened flowers and shrubbery and could only easily be seen when the wind blew south, and the steam cleared.

“Is it hot?” the Mistress asked, squinting her eyes to look on as the olive-toned young woman fiddled with the thick layer of rocks on the very bottom of the spring, using—what you could only assume—was a very long stick.

“Yes,” she quipped, groaning as she flipped over what must have been a hefty rock, “it is now. I just need to move a few more stones out of the way to make the temperature perfect. Did I hear the crows correctly? Are we hosting two hashiras? Master Tengen and Master Kyojuro?”

You nodded, though you quickly followed with verbal confirmation. “Yes, you heard right. I wonder what sort of temperament they’ll be. Normal men find it within themselves to be cruel and flippant. I can’t imagine how men with their power will be.”

You heard Ayra chuckle before the water sloshed violently again as she moved another rock.

“I’ll be frank; I do wonder the same. I’ve never met these two before,” your Mistress said, pursing her lips. “Though, the corps soldiers do tend to be pleasant enough to us—some a little more fervidly than others,” she said with a knowing hint to her tone that you ignored. “It’s true that men with power seemingly can’t help but abuse it; however, you will give them your grace. Maintain your self-respect, but be kind to them. They deserve that much from us.”

You nodded, a hushed ‘yes Mistress,’ leaving your lips as the tall girl removed her arm from the hot spring—along with her stick—and stood, straightening her back to wipe her damp hands and dust off her knees.

“The last hashira we had was a woman,” Ayra said, hiding her stick in the nearby bushes as she jogged up to you from the cloud of steam. “What a curious thing she was with that wild watermelon hair. I wonder if the men will differ much from her. I’ve heard all the hashira are strange in their own ways.”

Your Mistress tsked, darting her arm out quickly to smack Ayra firmly against her forehead with the small fan she kept hidden in her kimono sleeve. Then she turned on you, popping you swiftly on the arm by proxy of Ayra’s comment. “Mind your tongues,” she warned, staring at both of you sternly. “Every person has their proclivities; the hashira are no different. If you notice anything off about them, at least have the good sense not to mention it.”

Your Mistress rolled her eyes, ignoring your giggles as she turned on her heels. She yelled into the side corridor of the house, telling the other girls to make sure they were doing their best work since your guests were especially superordinate.

“We have nothing if not our good sense, Mistress. We take care of our guests just fine,” Ayra teased, sharing a look—and a wink—with you. “I’ve heard the town girls speaking about that ‘Master Tengen’. Allegedly, he’s dashingly handsome and courted three wives.”

“Three?” you asked, fiddling with the sleeve of your yukata. “And what of the other one? Rengoku?"

Ayra pouted, huffing in frustration as she shared her knowledge—or lack thereof. “I’ve heard no rumors about him that will do us any good, unfortunately. He deeply loves gyunabe bento, and his hair looks like a sunset. That’s all I know.”

Your Mistress rolled her eyes again, sliding her arms back into her sleeves. “Ayra, you should focus more on your chores or reading and less on gossiping.”

“Oh, please, Mistress. As if my gossip isn’t why you came running back here as soon as you got word that the men were hashira,” Ayra said, mischief alight behind her hazel-brown eyes. “Besides, I made sure the girls are on it. Sopheary and Yua are putting down all the bedding for the men in the big guesthouse. Prisha and Lucía are getting fresh samue for the pillars to wear once they’ve bathed, and they’ve already heated the bath meant for cleansing. Himari and Dorothea are cooking up those premium meats that charming hinoe-ranked boy dropped off last week. I smelled sukiyaki nabe, sashimi, aloo gobi, kafta, plenty of rice, and…” she hummed, placing her hands on her hips as she let the train in her brain run. “I think that’s it. That should be enough for just two of them. Don’t you think?”

You smiled, pleased with your friend’s leadership and efforts. “You have no idea how much I appreciate you, Ayra,” you said, scooping her up by her waist into a crushing hug. “That should be perfect—and if it isn’t, we’ll just have to make do.”

Once you placed her back down, you found yourself sniffing in her direction, realizing that her scent slightly mirrored the weight of her efforts, and you told her as much.

“Gods, Ayra. Bathe. And take your sister with you,” your Mistress said, scrunching her nose even though she was too far away to smell the girl. “Dunk into the lake behind the treeline with soap and haste! You have eight minutes. Ayra, coil your sister’s curls with pomade and let her do braids in your hair once you’re finished with hers. I’ll arrange the crows' food and double-check the children’s work.”

With that she turned on the balls of her feet, leaving the two of you alone under the bright glow of the moon. Ayra sprinted behind her into the home, coming back to you with supplies in hand. She cradled a wooden pail filled with a boar's hair bristle brush, soap, cloth for cleansing and drying, two beautifully detailed kimonos, and a small chest that housed all the tools and accessories for your hair balanced on top. You reached for the items as she walked up by your side, but the younger girl refused, shaking her head softly before she started walking down the stone path.

“Hey,” you whispered, leaning in close to her ear, “let’s use the stream on the west bank. The water is so much warmer there at this time of night you know, and it’s closer,” you said, placing your hand gently on her back to guide her down the warmly lit pathway.

Ayra chuckled, her mischievous smile coming back full force due to your words. “I thought the Mistress said we had to bathe behind the treeline, sister. What should happen if a demon were to see us? Or, worse, a man—or two?” she teased, feigning horror—much to your humor. “Our propriety would be ruined if we were seen in the nude. What would dear mother Miya say?”

You rolled your eyes, continuing down the path lined with large coniferous trees that kissed the clouds in the sky. “Wisteria lives abundantly in these woods and along the water’s shores, and bushels of the stuff steep the water’s whole body. So, there are no demons out here to spy on us."

“And the men?” Ayra smirked, holding on to you tighter.

“Should the hashira come from the west, then I suppose they’ll get an intimate peek into our preparations for their visit. But, of course, what the Mistress doesn’t know in detail won’t hurt her.”

“Oh really?” Ayra chuckled, shoving you gently with her shoulder. “I suppose that’s true. I suppose it is better that she not find out just how much of a salacious trollop her second in command is. For shame, dear sister—her heart couldn’t take the knowledge of all your “tending” to our frontline soldiers.”

You shoved Ayra back, taking the wash pail from her before skipping a few steps down the pathway. “Boo. You make me sound like a whore. I only entertain the soldiers I see fit, not just any old mizunoto who thinks himself to be a hero simply by existing and holding a sword,” you said, tilting your head back to look at her. “We are a rejuvenation home, not a brothel.”

Ayra grinned, skipping to catch up and stand by your side. “Yes, yes, my apologies. I did not mean to insinuate anything of the sort, sister. Besides, if I were to call you a whore, I would be pointing one finger only to have the rest pointing back at me. I’m still too sore to retake a man after that hinoe-rank,” she smirked. “I didn’t know men from the city could be so… hung.”

You smacked her arm, laughing off the ridiculousness of your conversation. “Gods, you’re so crude. Who’ll marry you with that mouth?”

“The same type of person who’ll marry you with yours.”

The sound of your laughs echoed through the dense trees for a while as you neared the edge of the forest—the chirps and caws that resounded alongside them were clear indications of the animals lurking around you.

“You don’t think Mistress would actually be mad if she knew what we get up to, right?” Ayra said, glancing over at you. “With the slayers, I mean.”

You hummed in contemplation, though the answer came to mind quickly. “Frankly, no, not really. I’m sure she’s heard some murmurs about our occasional activities by now, and we aren’t exactly the most subtle about it. The Mistress is a lot of things, but being clueless is not one of them. If she had a problem with either of us having fun with the men, you know she would’ve said something about it by now.”

Ayra nodded, sighing deeply as you continued down the wooded path. Although to be fair, your Mistress had never genuinely seemed concerned for your purity. She nagged, and fussed, and sang her woes often about the lack of a permanent male fixture in the home and her hopes and dreams for her girls, but neither of you truly aspired to be docile, submissive, untouched wives, and despite her hopes for you all, she seemed aware of that fact. Still, despite her goals for all of you to be given away eventually, she never took on requests from your guests that demanded any of her girls perform sex for any man, primarily when their requests targeted the youngest of your home.

She’d worked hard for many years to provide you with an environment where you could embrace the fun of your youth without having to play ‘oiran’ like the less fortunate girls did in the cities. She gave you a space to enjoy the small moments of passion and joy that life offered amid all the chaos beyond your wisteria-filled trees. You had a secure—good—home and family that filled your hearts to the brim. In the times at hand, that was all you could hope for.

“Fair point, harlot,” Ayra said, blowing raspberries at you before taking off in a sprint. “The last one to the lake has to clean the baths tomorrow.”

Your protests rang through the night air as you picked up your pace, holding the wooden bucket tight to your chest as you skipped to catch up with Ayra. You met her at her side as you reached the end of the path, skidding to a halt once you cleared the lining of the trees and looked out at the vast lake before you. The lake’s noise met your ears as the steady tide rolled on, lit well by the shining full moon peeking over the backdrop of tall winding mountains and the scattered lanterns glowing along the water bank.

Neither of you dawdled then; you undressed from your garments quickly as you walked down to the lake’s edge—laying your kimonos down neatly on the dry rocks away from the calm waters.

“I’ll never get tired of seeing this,” you said, looking up at the full moon in the sky. Nude and warm from the late-summer air blowing against your bare skin.

Ayra hummed, reaching out her hand to grab hold of yours as you waded into the calm waters—going deeper into the lake until the water wrapped around your hips. Ayra was taller, but she stayed near you in the shallower end to keep you from slipping on the smooth rocks beneath your feet. You kept your hold on her hand as you dunked your body beneath the surface, dousing your skin and hair in the lukewarm stream. Ayra did the same, not letting go of your hand for a moment as she laid herself backward to soak.

“This is lovely, sister,” Ayra said, closing her eyes as her body floated on the surface. “We should come out and swim more often. During the day next time, maybe? It’s beautiful here.”

You chuckled, splashing water in her direction, which caused the brunette to shoot up onto her feet in surprise. “Mistress is more patient than she lets on, but she would hang both of our heads out as snacks for the demons if she found us nude in the daylight—for any lowly passing merchant or coal miner to see.”

Ayra scoffed, splashing water back at you and landing a big smack against your face with the waves. “Okay, you make a fair point. Now hush up and bathe,” she grinned, rolling her eyes as she walked you back into the shallower end.

She reached up to the layers of rock where you left your bathing items stacked around the lake and grabbed a small bottle from the open chest that housed your hair products.

“Here you go,” she said, squeezing some of the cleansing funori mixture into her hands before handing it over to you.

You both quickly scrubbed your scalps, pulling apart any knots you felt tangling around your coily strands, while Ayra did much of the same—running her fingers and a wide-toothed tokigushi comb through her lengthy, thick, wavy locks.

“How much longer do we have?” you asked, joining hands with your friend again as you shuffled back into the deeper section of the water. You plugged your nose, dunked your head beneath the surface to rid your hair of the cleansing balm, and came back up with a small gasp.

“Not long,” Ayra said, swapping out the cleansing balm for some soap.

She gave you a towel and the bar made from milk fat and rice bran to cleanse with while she turned your back to face hers. She tilted your head slightly to ring out the excess water in your hair while you scrubbed your skin, scrunching the curls from the bottom to solidify the shape. She rubbed some pomade into her palms and raked her hands through it, twisting the messy small sections with her fingers to define the strands.

You closed your eyes and leaned into her hands, pressed against your scalp to prevent pain from her tugging. Though she’d done your hair a million times, she always ensured that the process was painless for you. Her years of practice with your locks showed, since she finished your hair in less than three minutes. She scrunched again with her slightly sticky hands, then clapped down on your shoulders.

“Gross,” you giggled, scrubbing where her hands had touched before rinsing the soap mixture. You tossed the towel you used away into the wooden bucket nearby, then repeated the same process with Ayra. The tall, tanned girl squatted to accommodate your height, her muscular thighs and long limbs sliding into the position easily.

In comparison, doing her hair took no time at all; your hands were practiced too—not only from doing Ayra’s hair but also from helping the younger girls with their myriad of different hair textures. First, your fingers moved quickly to form two thick braids that met in the middle of the back of her head, laying down flat against the loose bottom section of her dark—nearly black—hair. Next, you lifted her hair from underneath to allow the girl easy access to her own back, not wanting to get the soap into it as she rinsed.

“You’d make a great mother one day,” Ayra whispered, the words nearly lost over the sound of the water.

You chuckled, cupping water in your hand to rinse the stray suds off her torso's slightly fuzzy expanse. “Gods. Between you and the girls and Mistress? Please. You all keep me busy enough!” you said, softly smacking her back. “Copulation is fun, very much so, but I have no intentions of being anyone’s mother soon. I have you all. My heart’s full enough.”

Ayra grinned, turning to face you again now that she had thoroughly cleaned the soap. “Fair point. Copulation with no consequences it is,” she said, holding her hand in the air as if she were holding a glass to cheers.

You rolled your eyes but mimicked the c-shape of her hand anyway. “Hear-hear!” you said, smacking your hand against your friend’s.

Ayra threw her soiled towel into the bucket with yours, then grabbed your hand again to pull you both out of the water. You jogged up over the bank of the lake back onto dry land, beelining over to your clean clothes and dry towels that were safe and untouched by the water.

“I got the white kimono for you and a black one for me,” Arya said, giving you a dry cloth to pat down your body as she smoothed the clothing. “We can at least attempt to make you look the part of virginal innocence. Men as strong as they tend to have quite the thing for dominance.”

You rolled your eyes at the young woman, smacking her backside with the towel. “Hurry and dry so we can get dressed. The wind is starting to bite and the smell of the food is starting to entice my stomach.”

Ayra heeded your words, quickly drying her skin and slipping into her own kimono with ease. She took a small jar out from the little chest she’d brought and waltzed over to you, looking down at you as she dipped her finger into the pot.

“Don’t forget this,” she said, running her lithe finger down the line of your neck, leaving a light trail of scented wisteria oil on your skin as her hand moved downward; across your collarbones, down the line of your armpits, and around the swell of your breasts. “There,” she said, eyeing her handiwork. “Now, if you decide to play with the hashira—should they be handsome and worthy of you—they’ll be just as intoxicated by your scent as they will be by your beauty.”

The warmth of a blush bloomed beneath your skin, goosebumps rising on your arms as you slipped into your kimono.

You grinned, pulling your friend into a tight hug. “You flatter me, Ayra,” you muttered against her chest. “Are you sure you don’t want to engage? What if the rumors are true about that Tengen? Do you not wish to see how he managed to woo three wives?”

Ayra sucked her teeth, scrunching her face in contemplation before she shook her head, pulling away from you as a quick “no” rushed from her lips.

“And why not?” you scoffed, looking at the admitted harlot in surprise.

“Well… because there’s one more little rumor I’ve heard about him that I dared not mention in front of Mistress… and a rumor about his dear comrade Rengoku.”

You stared her down as you tied the large sash belt on your outfit into a bow—cinching in your waist and giving the look of definition in the shape of your hips.

“And what might that be?”

“Well,” she whispered, leaning in close to your ear despite no one around you besides the squirrels in the trees. “I hear they’re both huge men, in both height and in length, so the rumors say. Even more so than that hinoe fellow, who I fear may have ruined my insides.”

Your mouth fell slack, gaping as you blinked incredulously at your housemate. “What?”

She laughed, waving her hand in the air as if it could dissipate your worries. “Oh, don’t fret dear sister, you’ll do well. I’ll be there in spirit, living vicariously through you. You’ve taken more than one man before, have you not?”

“Yes, but—”

“No buts! It will be fun, and you will live to tell the tale. Besides, rumors passed through grapevine after grapevine are almost always exaggerated. The girl at the fruit stall couldn’t possibly have meant ‘cocks like horses’ literally.”

“Ayra!”

The girl ignored you, giggling to herself as she gathered your things, rushing you along to start your trek back up to the main home.

You bent down to grab your wooden pale off of the rocks, and a ping of something rang in your heart that made the muscle’s pace quicken. You turned, squinting your eyes as you looked out past the water, and up into the mountains. The cloud cover was low, and the mountains were tall and sturdy, nearly touching the sky. Still, there in the distance were the faintest dots of yellow and pink, shining as they reflected the light from the moon.

“Come on, slowpoke!” Ayra yelled, distracting you. “I hear the crows cawing. Their masters are close. We need to be there to welcome them.”

You nodded, turning your head quickly to look up at the mountains again, but there was nothing. As quickly as you thought you’d seen something, it was gone.

Ayra groaned, complaining about the heavy weight of the items balanced in her hands. You sighed—exhaling the breath trapped in your lungs as you turned slowly away from the lake, shaking away the thought of those intense blurs of color that glared predatorily at you from off in the distance. You grabbed hands with your friend, dashing back down the path through the trees again with smiles on your faces as you went to welcome the two men—the two pillars of hope for your futures—into your home.

tyty for reading! see you in the next one || crossposted on ao3 — here || taglist — here || tags: @bokuroskitten​ @rosesandtoshi @murdereddaydreams​ @crystal-lilac​ @mxgenderbender​

#demon slayer smut #kny smut #tengen smut #rengoku smut #tengen uzui x reader #black reader #x black reader #tengen x reader #rengoku x reader #kyojuro x reader #uzui x reader #kk.writes #kk.naughty #mdni #kk.kny

[kemakoshume]

Beneath the Wisteria Blooms ✾ — tengen x black!f!reader x rengoku (pt. 2)

warnings; no smutty cws (yet). there are original child characters in this, and more plot (derogatory). yes, this was an excuse to write tengen interacting with children—sue me!

a/n; remember how this was originally two chapters? well... i felt like i was forcing myself to rush to get to the porn and the quality sucked, SO i'm dividing what i've written into four chapters and fleshing it all out. this is ~[6.0k words]. i'm dropping the mood/vision board for this fic [here] again if you’re interested. also, a reminder, the reader is meant to be black but—like always—anyone can read my stuff (as long as you’re 18+ and respectful) ~ [ch one, ch two, ch three, ch four, ch five] ~

*caw*

*caw*

*caw*

“Lord Uzui Tengen approaches! Lord Rengoku Kyojuro approaches! West from the Mountain Jōnetsu, having defeated two lower-moon demons in the land of Kiken.” *caw caw* “The hashira are approaching!”

The crows’ caws rang through the night air, causing you to quicken your pace as you walked down the lantern-lit path to your communal home. The sky was alight with freckled stars and the warm glow of lanterns along the path lit your way easily—though, something deep in your bones weighed your legs down, like they were shrouded in lead.

“I already beat you to the lake, sister,” Ayra said, a few meters ahead of you as she skipped up the wide circular steps. “Should we make a bet about who makes it home first as well?”

You scoffed, jogging to close the distance between the two of you before stopping at the girl’s side. Your mind wandered as you went, preoccupied with thoughts of the night to come.

Ayra eyed you quizzically, looking down to steal glances at your face. “Are you alright? You’ve been dragging your feet since we hit the road’s fork. Nervous, perhaps?”

You looked up at Ayra, rolling your eyes in response to the very sly smile on the tall girl’s face. “When have you ever known for me to be the nervous type, sister?”

She hummed exaggeratedly, scrunching her face in that screwy—childish—way that your Mistress couldn’t stand. “Well… never. Still, I talked them up quite a bit with my rumors. They are hashira, after all—male hashira, too. They’ll be the first we’ve met since adulthood, hm? The thought of bedding men that strong can be nervewracking—especially if they’re as handsome as the rumors say.”

You hummed, sighing softly to yourself as you continued along the path.

“Don’t let your mind wander towards despair, sister; we haven’t even met them yet! The basket weaver’s daughter was the one who told me about the men’s beauty ages ago, but she very well could’ve been wrong. You know her eyes do go a bit wonky sometimes.”

“Ayra!” you said, smiling in disbelief at the girl’s words.

“What?” she said, her voice rising a few notches as she feigned innocence. “She’s a beautiful girl, but it’s true! I saw her mistake a pomegranate seed for a ruby once. So, perhaps we should not take her judgment on male beauty as gospel, hm? They could both very well be boorishly ugly—or not as experienced as one might imagine two well-traveled, highly sought-after, decorated men could be. Should that be the case, then all of your worryings will be for naught.”

“I’m not worried,” you said, though Ayra ignored your voice.

“And say they are handsome… who’s to know if they’ll desire to dominate you or mistreat you? Some men in power prefer the exact opposite. Or, they don’t prefer women at all—if you can believe it. Remember that kinoto-rank from the northwest that came by a few weeks ago? How he cried atop my breasts for hours because some swamp demon slew his mentor? They were lovers, I just know it. I guess it can’t be helped. Apparently, Samurai and demon slayers find solace in each other’s arms regardless of gender. Especially the more ‘laissez-faire’ ones who’ve lived in the populated districts in the south. So far, the men we’ve had aren’t as cultured as I would assume the hashira could be, but you’re no virgin. I’m sure you’ll manage to keep up with them someh—”

“Arya. Did you just say laissez-faire?” you said, a soft giggle following the word as it left your lips. “Wow, so you do read when you’re not busy collecting gossip like shiny new coins. I never would’ve guessed.”

Ayra sucked her teeth, knocking her arm against yours when she caught you smirking. You rubbed her arm soothingly, muttering soft apologies after you finished your teasing. Your laughs slowed as you exhaled a large huff of breath, and the path widened as you grew closer to your home.

“Truly, Ayra, I appreciate that you’re trying to perk up my spirits, but they’re not down. I was just enjoying the quiet of my mind before we host another night—nothing more. Suppose the hashira are indeed handsome and prove to be deserving of my time. In that case, I’ll indulge their urges just like the others who’ve shuffled onto their knees and begged for my affection, whatever that may entail. If not, I’ll do my required—professional—service thanks to their sacrifice, and they’ll be on their way in the morning. Mistress won’t force my hand either way, so there’s nothing to be nervous about. The night will be fine, whichever way the wind blows.”

You believed the words as you said them, but something deep in your gut stewed. Handsome men had come and gone as guests throughout the years you’d spent in the home, but none were as powerful as a hashira—not since you’d reached maturity and began your fun, at least. Nerves weren’t the right word to describe the feeling, but the anticipation lodged into your bones felt like magma along your veins; you felt yourself walking with bated breath to see what the night had in store.

Ayra made a jerky nod with her head, humming loudly in agreement with your sentiment. “Yes, my lady. The hashira will have a relaxing night—as will we. The involvement of semen in that equation will just have to be foreseen.”

You groaned, unable to stifle the gritty laugh that escaped your throat as you processed what your housemate said. “Ayra! Please—at least pretend to have some shame.”

The girl laughed, tossing her head back towards the sky. “Never. I will not be silenced,” she said, her giggles just as obnoxious as yours.

Any questions about nerves ceased after that, and you walked the rest of the way in comfortable silence—only narrated by the chirping of crickets and the crows chattering (loudly) to themselves, audible from your home’s entrance door back into the forest. You weren’t far, so the rear entrance of your home came into view before you knew it. Ayra sped up a bit, rushing into the house to sit down your used bathing tools in the washing bin, all of the items set aside to be cleaned sometime in the night or later in the morning. You sidestepped around her to sit on the bench against the wall in the wide entrance area—taking a moment to dunk your bare feet in the cleansing bucket by the wide-open shoji doors to scrub them clean before walking through the house.

The sound of sweet giggles filled your ears as you dried your feet with a towel and slid on your house slippers, followed by the incessant pattering of feet against the wooden floors. You tilted your head to the side, looking down the wide-open corridor to see all of your girls dressed and ready on the home’s main floor—all the girls situated into two even lines on either side of the plastered walls. At the head of the calvary stood your Mistress, flanked by the second youngest of your home—Sura—and her younger sister Sana—the sweet toddler holding onto your Mistress’s leg, half-hidden behind the skirt of the woman’s kimono.

“Look! See, Mistress? I told you they’d come back on time,” Sura said, stomping her feet in excitement as she held onto the older woman’s hand. Her rich chocolate brown hair sat in curled pigtails on the sides of her head, swinging along with the movement of her petite body as she swayed back and forth, pointing over at you with a broad smile as you threw your drying towel into the ‘soiled linen’ bin by the door.

You went up towards the front with Ayra in tow, touching the other girls’ hands softly as you walked down the path they’d created with their bodies—stood with their backs against the walls—out of the way, and prepared for the hashira to make their entrance. The only exceptions were the babies.

“Of course, we made it, cherub,” you said, bending your body at the waist to kiss Sura’s forehead. The young girl—only five years of age—swooned as you gave her attention. While Sana—only two (and a half)—was content, as always, with the soft touch of your thumb caressing her cheek as you spoke to her sister. “What kind of head maiden would I be if I were late to welcome such prestigious guests?”

Your Mistress scoffed, popping your arm with her free hand before softly nudging Sura towards Sopheary—aged twelve—and lifting Sana into her arms to hand her off to Dorothea—nearly sixteen. “You’re nearly late all the time. Don’t be a smart ass,” she said, with an eye-roll for emphasis, “that’s Ayra’s job.”

An affronted gasp came from behind you. Ayra placed her hand on her chest, feigning pain at your Mistress’s words. “She wasn’t being clever, Mistress. She merely meant she takes her duties seriously. Besides, you said she’s nearly late, but when is she actually late?

You stifled your laugh as your Mistress glared at Ayra, though the minor skirmish didn’t last long before the crows began their song and dance again.

*caw caw caw*

“Ladies,” Nijimaru said, seemingly clearing his throat—if that was possible for a bird, “my lord Tengen has arrived. Please welcome him in your home for rest and recuperation.”

*caw caw, caw caw*

“My lord Kyojuro has also arrived. Take care of him well,” Manju said, bowing her head as the sound of voices traveled through the air from just beyond your home’s large wooden gate.

The chimes attached to the wooden posts supporting your fence made light noise as the hashira knocked on the wood, shaking them and alerting you further to their presence.

“Okay, girls,” your Mistress said, turning her head to address the group, “best behaviors. Be hospitable. Mind your manners. Got it?”

You all nodded, a hush falling over the room as your Mistress walked down the entrance steps towards the gate. As head maiden, it was your duty to follow, so you did—padding behind the woman with evenly paced steps to greet the two men. Their silhouettes were visible between the thin slits in the woven pattern of the gate’s upper half. Even though the black of the demon slayers’ outfits made their torsos nearly invisible in the night, you could easily make out the bright orange and red atop one of the men’s heads, and the white hair pulled up into a ponytail on the other.

The two men were speaking to each other in hushed voices as you reached the entrance, though they stopped once your Mistress opened it and poked half of her body through the small slit she made to get through, checking to ensure that the men were who they should have been. You moved to the side a bit, coming up behind your Mistress to peek through the gate at the two hashira. The sound hashira—you could assume—was in front, speaking to your Mistress in a soft voice as he asked for clearance to enter, while the flame hashira stood beside him observing much like you were with your Mistress.

You couldn’t get the best look at them, given the low light of the forest-shrouded outdoors, despite the lanterns hanging near the property’s boundary. Still, from what you could see of the mens’ profiles—and the sound hashira’s arms— you knew the rumors the market girls spread had merit.

Ayra is going to have a cow.

“Thank you for allowing us into your home. I’m Uzui Tengen, the sound hashira,” the man said, confirming your suspicions, “and this is my brother in arms—Rengoku Kyojuro, the flame hashira. Please, use our first names and titles.”

The flame hashira smiled brightly, flashing both rows of his teeth. “We’re grateful for your hospitality!” he said, his voice confident and a touch too loud in the silence of the night air.

You giggled softly once before catching yourself, bowing your head slightly as the sound drew both of the hashira’s eyes. You waited a beat before glancing up at the men through your curled lashes, only to see a small smirk on the sound hashira’s lips as he looked at you curiously, and the flame hashira tilted his head forward slightly to get a better look at you from behind the fence.

Your mistress chuckled, subtly stepping to her left to shield you from view—not visibly shaken by Kyojuro’s enthusiasm. “Thank you for trusting us with your safety,” your Mistress said, with a pleasant smile as she spoke. “To ensure ours, you will have to place your weapons in the armory hold for the night—not out of reach but not in hand either—and of course, no shoes in the home. That being said, do come in. There’s a chill coming in; we should get you both fed and bathed inside.”

The sound hashira’s jewels jangled as he nodded his head, glancing at the wisteria crest on the fence as your mistress opened it wide. The two men looked ahead, walking in through the gate and surveying their surroundings. The courtyard of your home was spacious, with a large pond filled with koi fish and surrounded by trees that’d grown large and flower-filled with age. The wisteria vines hung from the branches in abundance, while petals fell and painted the ground purple due to the late summer wind. The large circular stones set into the ground made a path. The line of stones led into the open doors in the front of the minka, much like the ones in the back that created pathways to the various other parts of the property. You smiled softly with pride as the men looked impressed.

Your Mistress stepped around them to walk in front, followed by you, with the men following closely behind you. Her walk exuded grace as she took paced steps up onto the engawa—the wrapped porch wreathed around the entire property—before following you into the home’s genkan. The girls were in the room just past the foyer, hidden from view by wide opaque sliding panels.

The hashira sat down their weapons to remove their shoes, balancing them against the shoji panels of the doors to slip into the larger black slippers you kept for the men.

“May I?” your Mistress asked, motioning toward their swords.

“Of course, we understand the rules well,” Kyojuro said, picking up his sword to hand it over to your Mistress with both hands.

She accepted it with equal respect, then handed the sword over to you, jutting her head towards the grand armory armoire fixed into the wall in the home’s entrance area. You bowed, walking over to the dresser to unlock it—turning the nob on the dresser backward and forward in a pattern to expose the layers of compartments for swords inside.

“I’ll hang your sword here on the left, Lord Kyojuro,” you said, placing the sword on a mounted rack instead of one of the lesser hanging racks on the armory’s bottom half. “Lord Tengen, may we take your sword as well?”

The hashira smiled softly at you, sharing a glance with his comrade before speaking. “Ah, so the maiden does have a voice after all,” he said, his almond-shaped eyes looking at you respectfully. “Of course, you may.” He readily handed over his dual-wielded swords, the beginning of something on his lips as your Mistress took the weapons from him. She moved on reflex, taking the blades from him without hearing the last of his words.

She huffed as they reached her hands, attempting to stifle the slight tremor in her arms as she held on to the blades by their long handles. “Can you carry these, love?” she said, the question more like a statement as she pushed the swords out towards you. “You have youth on your side, and a much stronger back.”

You nodded, quickly walking up to her side to take the swords—black with gold embellishments and huge—from her. A deep huff of breath left your lungs as well as you slung the heavy weapons—safe inside of their thick cloth bindings—over your shoulder. To say you were unprepared for their weight would be an understatement.

“Careful.” The sound hashira appeared behind you, moving so fast despite the small space that you hadn’t heard a sound. “It’d be a great injustice to the world if such a pretty maiden were to lose her hands by accident carrying my swords.”

He held on to you from behind, supporting your forearms with his hands to relieve most of the sword’s weight. The man’s stature was noticeable from a distance, but up close, you were forced to acknowledge how large he was; his hands, his chest against your back, his large cuffed arms cradling your own as he pushed you forward with his weight; nothing about him seemed to understand the word “small.”

He walked in tandem with you as you shuffled toward the armory armoire and didn’t let go until the swords were safely contained inside the holder on the interior wall of the large dresser. “There we go,” he sighed, his voice light. “I’ve always heard the mountains bred strong women. It looks like there’s some truth to that, huh, Kyojuro?”

The flame hashira nodded, a firm “mhm,” coming out clearly behind his closed lips. “Both of you have great strength. It’s admirable.”

You swallowed hard, lowering your eyes as the warmth rose beneath your skin from the rush of blood just below the rich brown pigment. You glanced up at your Mistress through your eyelashes and saw her bow her head, accepting the compliment sincerely.

“Now then, let’s get you two inside. You’ve had a long journey; I imagine you must be eager to unwind.”

The two men agreed, standing respectfully to one side as your Mistress opened the genkan entrance panels. Both you and your Mistress walked up a step, standing on either side of the entrance. The hashira walked into the room, pleasant surprise on their faces as the girls—you and your Mistress included—bowed and said your welcome in unison.

“Wow, an assembly welcome. How flashy!” Tengen said, smiling as he scanned his eyes around the room. “We weren’t aware this was a boarding house. How lucky for you to have the help, maiden.”

Your Mistress chuckled, relaxing out of her bow to walk down the hall's center. The other girls stood straight as your Mistress tapped their shoulders, allowing them to stand up.

You do not miss the ill-hidden shock on Ayra’s face as she finally got to look at the men—especially not when her wide eyes flickered over to meet yours.

“We are, more or less. These are my adopted children—all saved from hard lives in some way or another. Still, they do work because they respect our home, not as a condition to live here. I am also not a maiden, though I have done a poor job at introductions, so I can see how the assumption was made.”

You giggled softly, knowing the smug smile on your Mistress’s face came from the hashira’s subtle assertion that she looked much younger than she was.

She cleared her throat, turning to face the men as she stood between the lines of her girls. “I’m Arai Miya—the headmistress and matriarch of this bevy of young ladies. I’m also the current sole proprietor of the estate, as I’m no longer married, and I lost my biological family to demons long ago. My head maiden,” she said, motioning to you, “is the eldest and my firstborn—so to speak. Ayra here,” she said, gesturing to Ayra (whose mouth was slightly slack as she blinked faster than you’d seen in ages), “is the second eldest. She often helps with affairs just as our head girl does. They’ll be around most often to assist you throughout the night should you need any assistance—though I’ll always be close by should you need mine specifically.”

The men looked between you both, nodding their heads in acknowledgment towards you with soft eyes and upturned lips. Your Mistress named all the other girls quickly, getting through the line of eight girls quickly before ending with the youngest—one of which was practically vibrating as she smiled at the two strangers.

“Now that that’s out of the way, I hope you find the accommodations to your liking. We’re honored to have you both,” she said, bowing her head deeply again in respect.

Tengen nodded, though the flame hashira was the one to speak.

“We’re honored to stay in such a lovely home,” Kyojuro said, bending his upper body in a surprisingly deep bow before relaxing again. “Your family has been the talk of the slayer corps for nearly a year. So we were delighted to find that our recent expeditions were so close. Knowing we’d be staying here once our missions were complete was a driving force in getting the work done.”

If you hadn’t known better, you might have believed your eyes when you noticed the rosy pink blush flushing on your Mistress’s pale cheeks.

“Oh, you must have learned young that flattery will get you anywhere, at least with handsome faces like yours,” your Mistress said, a look of unwavering confidence on her petite features despite the obvious effect of the hashira’s words. “Well then, come you two. The girls have prepared a hearty feast and heated the baths for you. Once you’re prepared to turn in, you’ll be staying in the east wing of our guest home for privacy. We also have our private onsen. It’s just a few steps outside of the guesthouse doors. Feel free to take advantage of that at your leisure.”

The men nodded, saying their thanks.

“Would you prefer to eat first or take a dip in the baths?” Ayra asked, joining your Mistress in the middle of the aisle. “We have leisure yukata should you want to eat first and samue for after you bathe.”

In unison, the men said, “food,” eliciting a giggle from the girls.

“Perfect. Then, Prisha,” she whispered, drawing the girl’s attention, “and Lucía will take you both to get changed and bring you to the dining area afterward.”

They both nodded, rushing words of thanks as the two thirteen-year-olds whisked the men away towards the side of the home into a tatami room meant for changing.

The rest of you dispersed, the younger girls plopping down to sit in the home’s living area adjacent to the dining room while your Mistress went deeper into the house. Ayra looped her arm around yours as you headed into the kitchen, barely containing her squeals as you walked into the warm food preparation area.

“What the hell,” she said, safe alone with you in the room. “I owe Yuri my deepest apologies. I will never doubt her judgment of men again. Should I ever decide to embrace blind dating, I will go solely on her recommendations.”

You chuckled, pulling out your best plates and bowls and placing them onto gold trays lined with ruby red details that matched the flame hashira’s eyes. “They are handsome, aren’t they? I kept my expectations low to avoid any disappointment but… wow.”

Ayra scoffed, spooning soup on top of various types of meat and vegetables in large ceramic bowls while you placed cooked food onto plates.

“Wow, is an understatement, sister. I don’t think I’ve ever likened myself to the petty town girls who thrive off of spite and jealousy, but I may envy you to a dangerous degree after the night is over. God,” she said, a rough sigh coming from her throat, “I should have saved myself. Was that hinoe boy worth it? Well—admittedly, yes. He was wonderful. Am I still sad to be missing out on the hashira? Yes, yes, I am.”

You giggled, bumping her thigh with your hip as you arranged more plates. “You’re presumptuous in assuming they’ll even want to bed me. They’ve had a long week; they may be tired. Men are also capable of abstaining, you know.”

Ayra groaned, waving the words away with her hand. “Oh, please. I saw the way they both looked at you, sister, despite Mistress being the one speaking. You just don’t pay enough attention in the moments where you’re not being spoken to. Half of all flirtations occur when one isn’t paying it any mind.”

You sucked your teeth, muttering “whatever,” as you floated around the kitchen to grab spoons and chopsticks for the men to eat with. “Set aside a bowl or two for us,” you whispered, pinching Ayra’s backside as you walked back over to the plates.

As you packed the last bowl with rice, you heard the girls clambering to get onto their feet, their low murmurs audible to your ears as they greeted the men who’d walked into the room. You peeked your head out to look into the dining room, only to see the hashira being guided to sit down at the large main table by Yua—age eleven—while the other girls stood to the side with bated breath as the men took their seats.

“Can you finish these?” you asked Ayra, taking her quick “yup,” in stride as you dried your hands and went out into the main room, taking the starter dishes you could carry on your own.

Your Mistress returned then, instructing Himari and Dorothea to assist Ayra in the kitchen with the rest of the food.

You approached the two men, being careful with the bowls of hot soup as you kneeled to place them down gently, along with two heaping bowls of white rice.

“Were you a barmaid before you moved into this home?” Kyojuro said, sliding the full soup bowl closer without spilling a drop. “You have exceptional balance, and very flexible wrists.”

You looked down at your own hands, having never gotten such a comment on such an inconsequential feature of your body. “Oh—well, no, I wasn’t, but thank you,” you said, a small huff of laughter accompanying your words. “I’ve lived here since I was a small child. I’ve learned how to care for guests well from my Mistress.”

You glanced over at your Mistress who was watching you fondly, rubbing Sana’s dark brown curls as the sleepy toddler cuddled against her side.

“That’s lovely—how she looks at you with pride,” Tengen said, a soft smile on his face as he tucked into his rice.

You smiled, averting your eyes from the men’s heavy gazes, then jumped, slightly startled as Ayra's voice carried loudly from the kitchen.

“Coming through!” Ayra said, announcing her exit as she walked out of the kitchen with the other two girls close behind—all carrying a tray or two filled with food.

The girls laid out the spread easily, having done it more times than you could ever hope to count. The distraction came at the perfect time, as the hashira’s eyes were drawn to the various food dishes instead of you. Their eyes grew wide as they looked down at their meal, and they wasted no time scarfing down this and that with muttered exclamations peppered between their bites.

Your Mistress eyed the group of girls, then the men—visibly satisfied that the hashira liked their meal. “If you’re settled, then we’ll leave you to your dinner. We’ve encroached on your peace for long enough.”

Sura detached herself from Sopheary’s side, soft whines spilling from her lips as she ran up to your Mistress.

“But, Mama,” the girl said, a prominent pout on her delicate features. “What about our gifts?”

Your Mistress sighed, hushing her tone to talk to the child.

“Can it wait until morning, lovely? I imagine they want to eat and rest.”

Sura pouted harder, her bottom lip quivering as if she meant to cry—though no actual tears were coming out.

“It’s no bother,” Tengen said, though he hadn’t looked like he’d been listening to their conversation. “We always have time for a gift, especially when such sweet little hands give them.”

Your Mistress relented, lightly pushing both Sura and Sana—who looked shaken to be moving closer to the men—forward, the two girls holding hands.

“You’re Sura, correct?” Tengen asked, his eyes soft as he looked down at the children, still multiple feet taller than both of them even while he was sitting down.

She nodded her head, a cheesy smile on her face as she attempted to maintain eye contact with the man. “This is my baby sister Sana. She has a talisman for you,” she said, her voice easily heard despite her shyly contained confidence.

A smile bloomed on Tengen’s face as he looked down at Sana, holding out his hands in wait for his gift. Perhaps it was merely because the man was so large, or maybe crushes developed earlier than you once thought, but Sana cowered even more than usual behind her sister as both of the hashira’s attention was drawn to her.

Tengen’s face softened even more at the child as he noticed her body shuffling farther away from him. He made himself smaller—turning away from his food to face her then leaning forward to rest his weight on his elbows, putting himself closer to the child’s eye level. “May I see your gift?” he said lightly, extending his cupped hands out in front of Sana directly.

Sana broke her eye contact with the man to look over at you, her big onyx-colored eyes round as saucers as she grabbed onto her sister’s dress.

“It’s okay,” you said, whispering the words as you nodded your head towards the man. “You’re a brave girl, Sana. You can do it,” you said, supported with small cheers for the child from your housemates.

Since your Mistress had taken both Sana and Sura in less than a year ago, the younger of the two was still remarkably shy—but you were slowly but surely working on chipping down her walls. It was a stark contrast to her sister Sura, who was so friendly to every person she ever met that you constantly warned her of strangers who would wish to take her away, just to avoid having her walk off with someone foreign. All of your girls were somewhere on the spectrum between the two youngest’s temperaments—some having been rescued from brothels, while others were meant to be sold off as property from poor parents who couldn’t care for them well. A few were merely saved from poor orphanages, like you, but you all came from different backgrounds and walks of life, and seeing each other be as well-rounded and happy as possible was your Mistress’s ultimate goal.

With your support, the tiny child flicked her eyes up towards Kyojuro, then Tengen, and after a moment of contemplation… she pushed herself forward, sprinting at the two men as fast as her tiny legs could carry her. The distance was very short, but she managed to skid to a halt before running into Tengen’s hands. Still, her coordination with her own hands was new. It thus wasn’t great, so when she (slowly) pulled the small omamori talisman out from the gigantic pocket in the lining of her kimono’s obi, she nearly dropped them. However, the sound hashira caught them so quickly they didn’t even have time to descend towards the floor.

“Wow,” the man said, turning the two brightly-colored shiawase talismans over in his hand, pleased to see that the prayers were full of “happiness” energy. “These are flashy indeed. You have great decorating skills, little one. You could be an artist.”

Tengen handed one of the packages over to Kyojuro—who’d moved by the other man’s side to sit with his legs crossed. The sunset-haired man’s smile grew wider as he bowed his head towards the child.

“These remind me of the talismans my little brother would have our father buy during the autumn festivals,” he said, his voice notably soft. “I will carry it on my person always.”

Sura practically beamed with excitement as she reached her hand down into her obi, fishing out two more omamori that differed significantly in color from the ones you had helped Sana make. “I made some too!” she said, a smile so big on her face that it crinkled her eyes. “Sana’s charms are for happiness, but mine are kaiun—for luck! It’s gold, like your hair.”

Kyojuro chuckled, taking the talisman from the girl and holding it up next to his head. “I think it’s a perfect match. Perhaps I will tie it into my ponytail from now on.”

That drew a laugh from the group, even your Mistress, before the hashira placed their talisman inside their yukata’s pockets.

“Wow. We thought we saw angels frolicking in the waters around the edge of your woods, but it looks like they live inside your home as well,” he said, his eyes finding yours for a moment as he turned back towards his food. “Thank you for your good fortune, little ones. We need all that we can get.”

Your Mistress smiled, beckoning the children towards her with her hand as Tengen lightly rubbed their heads. Sura beamed as she ran back to your Mistress, while Sana—surprisingly—ignored her, walking between the two hashira, rocking back and forth on her heels.

“Thank you for indulging them,” your Mistress said, scooping Sura into her arms. “Now then, girls—”

“Oh?” Tengen said, glancing down at Sana with a knowing smile on his lips. “I can hear someone’s tummy rumbling. Why don’t you all join us for dinner? There’s more than enough space for all of us.��

The girls giggled, lightly teasing Sana for trying to be mischievous.

“Well,” your Mistress said, the intent to decline already evident in her eyes, “we couldn’t possibly. The younger ones have eaten already, twice—for good measure—and this hungry one here is still taking milk from the neighbor’s wet nurse, along with peaches and rice. She can’t handle a pallet quite this large yet, but I do thank you for your kindness.”

The men nodded before the sound hashira looked over to where you stood beside Ayra near the kitchen’s entrance.

“Understood,” Tengen said, his maroon-colored eyes so deep and dazzling. “What about your eldest girls then? This one’s stomach is louder than the child’s,” he said, motioning towards you, “and her friend here has been inching closer and closer to the kitchen the longer we’ve spoken. But, of course, they’re welcome to eat; I’m sure they worked up an appetite preparing for our visit.”

You shrunk in on yourself, half hiding your face with your curls as Ayra stifled her laughter.

“Ah, well,” your Mistress hesitated, approaching the men to scoop Sana up with her other arm. “We typically eat in our quarters, but if you insist….”

“We insist,” Tengen said, eyeing both you and Ayra. “We’ve had no other company for over a week. So we welcome the opportunity to hear voices besides our own—or the crows. These two seem to talk quite a bit. They’ll make lovely company, if they’d like to eat with us.”

Ayra answered for you, a quick “yes, sure we would,” coming from her lips before you had the mind to answer.

Your Mistress nodded, ushering the girls into your communal space on the other end of the house. “Just yell if you need me.”

And with that, she was gone, and you were alone with the hashira.

tyty for reading! i hope you guys are liking this series (that was originally just supposed to be a smut oneshot but i digress) 💛 speaking of smut... it starts next chapter woohoo || crossposted on ao3 — here || get added to my taglist — here || tags: @bokuroskitten​ @rosesandtoshi @murdereddaydreams​ @crystal-lilac​ @mxgenderbender

#demon slayer smut #kny smut #tengen smut #rengoku smut #tengen uzui x reader #black reader #x black reader #tengen x reader #rengoku x reader #kyojuro x reader #uzui x reader #kk.writes #kk.naughty #mdni #kk.kny

[kemakoshume]

[minor squid game plot point mention, no spoilers] warnings: dubcon ~

so, im watching squid game at the moment and i cant get over the scene where minyeo (the super loudmouthed "mother" character) goes into the bathroom to take out the condom pack she used to smuggle in some cigarettes. if you've ever been properly stimulated and had to wear a condom package inside of you, then you already know (or could at least imagine) how arousing it can be. it's almost impossible not to get soaking wet around the thick little parcel stashed inside your body, especially when you're being forced to move around.

i just had a little thought, about getting caught in the games with it still inside of you.

you get caught because you can't sit still.

in the midst of trying and failing horribly to complete a simple game, you can't stop writhing around. you sat back on your heels on the mystery location's dust-covered floor, the room around you filled with items and games from your childhood.

you feel yourself rocking back and forth, rotating your hips in tight frantic circles to get the package to move around inside, rubbing incessantly at that special spot connected by nerves to your clit. a handsome man beneath a triangle-shaped mask would come over to snatch you up aggressively, taking you down the labyrinth of colorful hallways until you reached the bathrooms that were intended for the myriad of worker bees.

he'd turn you around, pushing you harshly up against the pristinely white sink, forcing you to bend over a far as you can on top of the appliance. he'd hold you firmly by your hair, removing your turquoise blue track pants to reveal your white cotton panties underneath.

you'd try to yell, screaming at the mystery man that you'd sue him. that when you were rich and free from this prison, you'd sue him for every dime he was worth. slapping your ass with all the strength he could muster in his dominant right arm, yanking down your panties to meet your discarded pants on the linoleum floor.

he's spread your ass cheeks apart with both hands, inspecting your holes with his eyes. your leaking wet slit would immediately draw his attention

"what turned you on so much?" he'd say with his mask-muffled voice, using two gloved fingers to explore your fluttering hole "is it the adrenaline? is the thrill of winning and losing at the cost of your life that enticing for you?"

you can feel it when his fingers hit the end of the condom, the two digits swirling around in your slick to grab on to the twisted knot on the end. you expect for him to pull it out with ease, but he doesn't.

instead, you hear the sound of his jumpsuit unzipping, the frantic sound of latex against skin sounding throughout the quiet bathroom as he frees his cock from it's confines within his clothes.

"i won't tell if you won't tell," he says, removing his fingers from your tight walls, only to place his own member against your slippery wet entrance.

he rocks back and forth slightly, only enough to insert his length into you by a half of an inch. you can feel his cock kissing at your entrance, the medium weight parcel within you pressing firmly on the sensitive spot within you.

"i won't tell if you won't tell," you whispered, repeating the guard's words.

you rocked back onto his cock, pushing your hips backward until your ass was flush against his waist.

he moaned, a beautifully breathy thing behind his mask that you had no desire to remove. he stood still for a moment, savoring the firm grip of your walls tightening around him.

"what'd you come here for? hm?" you asked, moving your hips to force the man to move inside of you, "never got pussy in your life outside or something so you came here?"

you heard the man scoff behind the black mask. before you could move, he grabbed a fistful of your hair, gripping his other hand on your hip as he began fucking into you at a breakneck pace. the condom package moved inside of you like a perfectly molded jade egg with his untrained thrusts, pushing it in and out of you to add an extra few inches of length towards the already well-endowed man's efforts.

the walls echo the sounds of your skin slapping against skin, his voice carrying the sounds of his deep grunts within the space, while you're sure your moans were loud enough to be heard should someone be looking for the two of you outside.

the little parcel nestled it's way beside the man's cock, reaching deep enough inside of you to cause unparalleled pleasure.

"fuck, keep going," you yelled, feeling the guard's hips thrusts growing erratic.

he reached his gloved hand around your waist, while also using one of his combat boot heavy feet to slide your feet even further apart. he rubbed the surface of your sex, aiming to pull you under the same waves of pleasure about to overtake his own body.

you came with a cry, begging the guard to cum anywhere but inside of you as he reached his release as well.

you don't speak much when the man finally pulls himself out of you, messily grabbing a handful of paper towels from the dispenser by your head to wipe the evidence of his release off of your back.

"there, now it's in there nice and deep," he said, tapping at your entrance with his fingers, "do well in your game. i would hate to have to carry your body out of here after that."

you scoffed, pulling up your own underwear and track pants, adjusting this and that to look presentable once more.

"well, now that i've got my focus back, i can win this round easy-peasy. if you really want to keep me around though," you teased, putting your body flush against the guard's, grabbing his manhood in your firm grasp, "you could just tell me the rules for the next game. i could make it worth your while."

the man stood still, seemingly contemplating behind the shield for his face.

"i'll only tell you if you don't tell anyone else," he whispered, coming in as close to your ear as he could.

you smirked, your face not visible to him beside the lining of his mask.

"i won't tell if you won't tell."

hehehee ty for reading! you can find (most of) my other works under #kk.writes or on my pinned masterlist if you're interested in more content from me ♡ my requests are OPEN ~ this will be crossposted onto ao3 here || taglist request ||

#squid game #squid game x reader #squid game x you #squid game drabble #kk.writes #kk.others #wow a non-anime drabble look at me #should i write one for saebyeok x reader too? #sneaking away to milk each other for orgasms before you risk your lives? #idk lmk lmao #i also want it to be known that im literally only on ep 3 JKSJSK #tw dubcon

[kemakoshume]

Beneath the Wisteria Blooms ✾ — tengen x black!f!reader x rengoku (pt. 3)

warnings; no smutty cws (yet, sry lol). we get some backstory and fun flirty stuff.

a/n; this is a slow burn now lmao my bad. also, there's gonna be five chapters not four. oh, and, i totally forgot that i did make a playlist for this, that’s: here. enjoy! ~ [ch one, ch two, ch three, ch four, ch five] ~

The first time you heard the word “hashira” was on the eve of your seventh birthday. You were sitting on the tatami-lined floor of your Mistress’s bedroom, sat snug in her lap with your legs crossed as she attentively sculpted your curls with her lithe fingers.

The minka was empty back then, with no other children running around to liven the space or make messes; it was just you and your Mistress, nuzzled in the full belly of contentment as you embraced one another’s quiet company.

୨୧┈┈୨୧

You sat together enjoying the evening breeze as she hummed a song to you softly while manipulating the tight curls, forming strands that mimicked delicate macramé cords as she pulled one piece of hair over the other into small twists.

She’d told you before that your hair and eyes were the first things that drew her to you, like a moth to a flickering flame. Your Mistress was a woman grief-stricken in her early twenties back then; having lost nearly all of her clan in her youth to a demon, her husband of four years to the fever raging in from the north, and the baby he’d gifted her womb passed soon after as a result of her stress—so much stress that her body revolted and made her incapable of bearing another child of her own ever again.

In the depth of her sorrows, she wandered the country, going this way and that as she tried to fill the gaps formed in her spirit, leaving her ancestral home—once a haven for demon slayers—on the wayside as she went. However, her heart yearned for her home as the days turned to months, then years, and she returned to rebuild the glory of her birthright property; wanting to deliver it to the world of demon slayers once again as the refuge it had been in the heydays of her youth.

Still, something was off—a dull ache still there in her chest—even after the wisteria trees blossomed full and lush once again and her departed family’s home was restored to its former glory. Then, one cold winter afternoon, as she walked down the city streets intent on buying fruits, she saw you—a little girl with skin darker than her own and hair in tight curls that she’d only ever seen on her first love. You were sitting in the cracked window of an orphanage with wisteria winding up the withered rotting wood and stone—and the ache made sense.

She walked into the decaying home and watched you from the doorway, near tears as she saw you cuddled in on yourself as you looked down at the street, humming a doleful song to yourself that wept of sorrows she knew all too well. She approached you carefully as if you were a wounded bird and spoke to you softly as you made space for her on the windowsill.

“You have gorgeous hair, and the saddest eyes on such a pretty face,” she said, looking down at you like she’d dreamt of you a million times before. “Those eyes shouldn’t exist on a child. No child, but my heart aches to see that look on you.”

You stared at the stranger, not entirely understanding what her intentions could be, but there was no mistaking the distinct feeling of warmth that flowed in your gut as you looked at her and saw your eyes mirrored back in hers, despite how they differed in shape. As she pulled you into her lap and smoothed the frizzy flyaways on your unwashed curls, you felt safe—for the first time in far too long.

She scooped you up and cradled you against her chest as she signed the documents necessary to free you from the temporary home. Then, after a long ride in a carriage, you stepped into your new life—a life that no child of demon-slain parents could’ve ever imagined.

୨୧┈┈୨୧

“Miya!” Someone shouted, knocking incessantly on the entrance gates outside. “Miya! Please, open the gate!”

The sound came as a shock, startling you in your Mistress’s lap. You received visitors often enough—even in the dead of night—but none came with such urgency, and the demon slayers were always preceded by their crows. The room tilted off at an angle as your heart raced, the beating growing louder as you began to whimper. Your Mistress hushed your cries, wiping the hot trails of moisture spilling out onto your cheeks.

"There are no demons up here; there’s no need to be afraid. I’ll deal with our visitor, and you will hide until I tell you to come out. Understand?”

You nodded, sniffling up your tears and wiping your wet eyes with tiny fists.

“Good girl. If you hear shouts, you don’t move. If you hear screams, you don’t move. Okay?”

“Yes.”

The banging grew louder, and you jumped, nearly detaching yourself from your skin. Your Mistress caught you by your shoulders and lifted you from her lap before kissing your cheek.

“Go,” she said, her voice calm as she turned your body, pushing you forward to jumpstart a run. You looked back as you went, only to see your Mistress’s back before you turned a corner into the labyrinth of hallways in the maze-like home. You had grown to learn it well in the year or so since your Mistress had taken you in, but with adrenaline spiked in your blood like warmth from wine, you panicked.

You still had the mind to quiet your footsteps like she’d taught you—balancing as much of your weight on the balls of your feet as possible—but you hadn’t turned down the hallway you thought you had. So instead, you found yourself on the side of the home, crouched down on the second-floor engawa, protected from view by the cover of darkness provided by nightfall. You peeked through the slits in the porch’s railing, looking out into the moonlit courtyard towards your Mistress’s figure.

She had grabbed a long blade from the armory as she exited the home, moving towards the entrance as the banging continued even though the voice had stopped.

“State your business,” she said, her voice loud and firm as she inched closer toward the gate.

The night air went still, and you held your breath: the anticipation built as you waited for the voice to speak again, scream, or something.

“Miya, it’s me,” the voice—a woman said. “I trekked up through the wisteria field to come and get you. Open up. It’s urgent.”

Your Mistress groaned, relaxing the sword in her grip as she opened the gate for the woman—your neighbor, though she and her husband did live a reasonable distance away.

“Good heavens, Fumio,” your Mistress said, smacking the younger woman as she walked into your courtyard. “I thought there were demons on your tail with the racket you made.”

“Not exactly,” the woman said, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she spoke. “Master Nakamura spotted a hoard of demons pooled at the mountain's base on the wisteria-barren edge. They cornered a child. Oh, Miya, she’s such a tiny thing, and her parents… gods. They didn’t make it, but a man—no, a hashira—he saved the child, and he’s slain the demons all on his own, but he’s wounded. Not enough for the Kakushi to come, but wounded nonetheless. Please, take them. I do not have the previsions to care for them both, so they need you. Please, they need you.”

Your Mistress sat her blade on a tall stone near the entrance and sighed, fixing her hair up into a bun with a red ribbon that matched her hakama.

“Enough groveling Fumio, gods—what kind of monster do you imagine me to be? Of course, they can come. Can the man walk? Can the child be moved?”

Your neighbor fixed her mouth to speak, only for a crow's loud caw and a man's deep groan to interrupt her.

“Excuse me,” a gruff voice said, though the source became visible soon after. “‘Could use some help here.”

A tall man with broad shoulders, a melancholic face, and hair that looked like a sunset—lit ablaze by zestful, ardent flames. He dragged himself through your gates, carrying a little girl on his back with skin kissed by the sun and long hair like silk. Your Mistress called your name, running to the man to grab hold of the child while your neighbor supported his weight on her shoulders.

Truth be told, many details of the night that followed felt murky, the same way that nigori sake looked. Still, a detail you recalled often was how your Mistress helped that man—the hashira, a savior. The man who gave you the child that your Mistress held, and fed fuyū, and looked at with stars in her eyes.

On that night, in that one moment, your life together with your Mistress was forever changed—thanks to the man with flame-like hair.

୨୧┈┈୨୧

“What’s with that look, maiden?”

Your mind snapped into focus as the sound hashira drew your attention, looking across the table at you as he munched on a spoonful of rice and pork. Rengoku’s eyes moved away from his plate and onto you as well. He tilted his head like a curious owl as he watched the pleasant expression grow on your face when his eyes met yours.

“Oh, nothing,” you said, taking a bite of kafta—humming as the savory spiced beef mince touched your tongue. “I just had a thought. A memory, really. Apologies for my rudeness. Ayra, you were speaking.”

Ayra smirked, not so subtly nudging you in the ribs beneath the low table.

“Well, I was, but not about much. I’m much more interested in your memory now, sister. They do say the best practice for memories is to share them, as a means to keep them alive,” she said, a dangerously impish look in the light of her eyes. “So, do tell. I’ll share a secret, too, if you will.”

You scoffed, sipping slowly at the wine Ayra fetched from the kitchen once the children were gone. “I said no such thing about secrets, Ayra. I merely mentioned a memory.” You rolled your eyes playfully, knowing the girl well enough to catch on to what she was trying to do.

Tengen chuckled, his light maroon eyes flitting between the both of you. “Secrets are a sort of memory, are they not? What harm could come from sharing a few tales between us adults?” He turned his head towards the flame hashira, pushing his elbow against the man’s side. “Kyojuro, what do you say? Will you also offer a secret in exchange for the maidens’? ”

The flame hashira nodded his head firmly, filling his chopsticks with rice and his spoon with boiling hot soup. “I will offer one secret. I do wish to learn more about you both,” he said, breaking his eye contact with you to smile gently at Ayra.

“Lovely,” Tengen said, clapping his hands together. “Well then, who will be the first to divulge? How are we to decide?”

Ayra hummed, drumming the tips of her fingers against the dining table. Then, she snapped and turned to look at you. “Do we still have that special saké? The one we were gifted by the tsuchinoe-rank with the massive coc—” she said, clearing her throat to correct her words clumsily. “Co—Community of saké makers in his family? From Kobe? Do we, yes, do we still have that saké?”

An ill-stifled laugh bubbled in your throat as you thumped Ayra’s thigh before standing, huffing as you lifted your weight onto your feet. You acted as though you couldn’t hear the two hashira when Tengen remarked, “I didn’t know we had a tsuchinoe-rank from Kobe.”

Ayra rangled the two men into a frivolous, distracting conversation as you walked across the room, padding lightly on your feet as you thumped your knuckles against the only fixed, immovable wall in the room. The noise the wall made against the contact with your finger was dull; however, eventually, an echo resounded as you knocked on the intended panel.

“Bingo,” you said, pushing on the lower right corner of the panel to expose the cellarette hidden behind. The small compartment held a varied selection of liquor bottles—all naturally chilled from the evening breeze that pooled into the walls from outside.

“Wow,” Tengen said, looking intently as you gathered a middle-sized bottle and small glass cups from inside the wall.

Ayra walked up behind you, taking the glasses from your hand to wash them quickly before meeting you back at the dining table.

“I propose we solve this the old-fashioned way,” Ayra said, giving the hashira their cups first and filling them halfway with the cloudy melon-scented liquor.

“And what exactly is the old-fashioned way?” you said, a reserved grin on your face since you already knew the answer.

Ayra’s smile stretched across her lips as she filled your glass and then her own before setting the saké bottle down with surprising grace. “Janken!” she said, excitedly yelling the word with outstretched arms.

The two men chuckled, genuinely amused at your housemate’s animated movements. Kyojuro mirrored Ayra’s enthusiasm as he sat down his spoon, picking up his cup of saké and lifting it up for a toast. “Ladies, may the strongest object win!”

୨୧┈┈୨୧

So, perhaps entering a game dependent on speed, perception, and anticipation with two of the strongest human beings in the most elite organization in recorded history might have been a misstep. After a series of losses—eight of them, to be exact, you huffed and lowered your hand—that was balled into a fist—down onto the wooden table after another crushing defeat.

“Weren’t you ever taught to pull punches with a lady?” you said, pouting petulantly as the hashira smirked down at you.

Tengen snapped his v-shaped pointer and middle finger closed quickly, as if the digits were the claws of a crab, and smiled. “I was willing to let you win that round,” he said, flashing his fingers in the shape of a peace sign. “I threw scissors on purpose when I saw your fist close for rock. Kyojuro is the one who doesn’t pull punches. Even for such lovely, slow-moving, maidens.”

The flame hashira lowered his hand, relaxing the flat motion he was making with it to mimic paper, while Ayra did the opposite. She raised her stone-shaped hand, waving it in the hashira’s direction before loudly sucking her teeth with a moan.

“Oi, we are not slow-moving,” she said in defiance, slamming down her shot of saké while you slowly sipped your own. “We are two maidens of the house Arai. Trained with the skills of the Arai clan; both in hospitality and in defense. Our speed and intuition give men a run for their money, even your kinoe-ranks. Unfortunately, you’ve caught us both drunk on a bad day!”

Tengen smirked, swallowing his own saké down in one shot just as Ayra had. “You weren’t drunk when we began,” he smirked, looking over the rim of his glass at the girl, “and your head maiden seems to be handling her liquor quite well.”

The high points of Ayra’s face blushed red, and her tongue loosened with every sip of her drink. “Fine, fine. Gloat, Sir Hashira. This win shall be your last. Right, sister?”

She turned to you, as did the men, and you laughed. Your body swayed a bit with the steady stream of alcohol buzzing along your nerves, but you were very obviously not intoxicated like your younger housemate. Still, you nodded, falling into the energy brewing within the warm room.

“The maiden speaks the truth,” you said, grabbing Ayra’s hand in your own. “Now, enjoy these secrets from us. They will be the last spilled from our lips.”

The two men nodded attentively. Tengen leaned forward to balance his weight on his elbow against your table, while Rengoku sat up straight with his arms clasped lowly against his middle.

You cleared your throat and tilted your chin higher in pride while spilling your secret, though the posturing lasted only two seconds before you crumpled into yourself with laughter at the men’s reactions.

“You did what with a nichirin sword?” Tengen said, looking at you with an expression you were shocked to see on such a handsome face. Likewise, if you’d been told minutes ago that the flame hashira’s eyes could grow bigger you might have called the messenger insane. Though their wide eyes were complimented well with their smiles.

Ayra dissolved into a fit of laughter, tears threatening to fall from her long lashes as she turned away from the men to laugh in peace. You stifled your own laughter, muttering dismissive words to minimize the attention.

“Okay, okay. It’s not that big of a deal,” you said, finishing your shot. “I only wielded it once before returning it.”

The sound hashira furrowed his brow like your comment only confused him further.

“How did you possess the sword in the first place?” Tengen asked, leaning toward you with rapt attention.

“Well, some mizunoto-rank or another left me the sword as a courting gift—one that I had no intention of keeping since his affections were not reciprocated. However, the poor thing went off and got himself killed in the night later that evening, so I kept it for about three days. Then, as I went into town to meet with a Kakushi to return it and to take Sana to the market for more peaches, we were cornered by a demon. Just as we cleared the wisteria’s edge the demon was there waiting. So, I took up the sword and protected myself and my sister. Now, the rest is history. My Mistress urged us never to recant the story again since non-slayers wielding the swords is unforgivable. But, the sword was returned and repurposed with ease, and Sana is here with us, safe. I do apologize regardless for using the sword out of turn.”

In all of your years of meeting slayers from the core, you would have never thought that your secret—the one held closest to you by order of your Mistress—would be spilled to hashira, of all men. Still, your heartbeat stronger with pride as the mens’ expressions relaxed into admiration, and you wondered why you were ever afraid before that they might have listened to your tale and felt disgust.

“Your strength and endurance are admirable,” Kyojuro said, bowing his head slightly in respect, and you returned the sentiment.

“In honor of that strength, dear maiden, I will share a secret of my own with you—even though you haven’t earned it through a game yet,” Tengen said, straightening his posture and towering over you again. “Consider it a small thank you for your bravery in our absence.”

You squinted your eyes at him, scoffing as you poured both yourself and the men another drink.

“I am a man with three wives,” he said, looking far too pleased with himself as he shared the personal detail. He spread out his fingers and wiggled them as if the announcement were a grand reveal.

Ayra sucked her teeth harshly, sucking down a deep gulp of wine left in a rogue glass. “That’s no secret!” she said, her voice sulky like a child. “Everyone in the market knows at least that much about you. I learned that detail before I was told what your hair color was. Pick something else!”

You choked a bit on the bitter burn of alcohol that was only halfway down your throat as the girl spoke. “Ayra!” you said, a reprimand on the tip of your tongue before the sound hashira cut in with a chuckle.

“Ah, so rumors do make their way into the mountains, hm?” Tengen said, glancing at Kyojuro. “What else is there that you know about me then?”

You huffed out a laugh, taking a deep swig of your saké under the man’s scrutinous gaze. “Well, nothing too interesting, really. Just the small detail about your wives,” and your endowment that helped you acquire them. “We’ve also heard whispers about your masterful strength, and your enviable looks. Both of you, to be clear.”

“And how do we live up to expectations?” Kyojuro said, staring you down with those blazing golden-red irises.

You opened your mouth to speak, only for Ayra’s slowly slurring speech to interrupt. “You’re both beautiful,” she said, her eyes going soft like a puppy’s. “Lady Kondo is the happiest, richest, most endowed married woman in our village and she would gladly discard her ring for a chance to warm your beds. All of the market girls will die with envy when word spreads about your visit, as they should.”

The men smirked, responding before you had a chance to rephrase Ayra’s words. “And what say you, head maiden?” Tengen said, trailing his eyes down the line of your body. “Do you agree with your sister, and Mrs. Kondo’s hypothetical sentiments?”

His stare lingered on the curve of fabric around your breasts before traveling back up to meet your eyes, and the flame hashira did much of the same. The once warm air in the room suddenly felt sweltering under the weight of their gazes.

“Well,” you said, letting your eyes get lost as you looked over the two men’s bodies. The yukata the men had been given were both well made in quality and fit them both well. Still, despite the toned build of their bodies, the garments left their chests almost completely exposed, and the lines of their muscles were visible well even with the loose fit of the clothes’ sleeves. “I can say that I understand the sentiment, though Lady Kondo is particularly loyal, and monogamous. So, you—Lord Tengen— may not be her type, despite your beauty.”

The hashira hummed, drinking his last sip of saké before pushing away his cup. “What a grave loss for Lady Kondo then. I keep my wives, and lovers, well satisfied. Love is meant to be shared after all, in all of its forms of expression.”

Ayra began to say something, and you pinched her, sipping your bit of saké before pushing your cup away. “That’s a lovely thought,” you said, your voice a touch softer than you’d meant for it to be. “Perhaps all the rumors about you have some merit after all.”

Kyojuro chuckled, his large eyes crinkling a bit at the corners as he did so. “So there are more rumors then,” he said, more like a statement though you took it as a question.

“Only a few,” you said, pointedly looking down toward the men’s laps for a moment. “Though you haven’t confirmed the hearsay about those yet.”

Their eyes darkened, and their looks became less and less subtle as you spoke.

“There are murmurs about you both in the south, too, you know,” Tengen said, no more food or drink in the way to distract you from the conversation. “You both live up to them well. But, unfortunately, there are a few that we haven’t yet gotten confirmed.”

Ayra perked up at that, adjusting her body to sit up on her calves. “There are rumors about our house? Do tell,” she said, staring into the hashira’s deep maroon-colored eyes.

“None too exciting,” he said, smirking. “Mostly things about your amazing baths and that onsen I will need to test out for myself. Our love hashira Mitsuri had wonderful things to say about your food. Kyojuro? Any interesting murmurs that you’ve heard?”

The flame hashira grabbed a heaping mound of cold rice from the plates you’d set aside with his chopsticks, swallowing down his last mouthful of food.

“I’ve only heard whispers from the hinoe-ranks and a few kinoes. They often fight for the opportunity to come to the mountainside to protect your backyard. Your household has something special that keeps them all coming back, despite the dangerous demons that pool on the eastern side of your mountains. Perhaps its beautiful water, or the beautiful women. Who’s to say?”

You scoffed softly, warmth blooming beneath your skin at the compliment. “Well, thank you. It’s a part of our duty to be lovely. The rest comes easy.”

The hashiras’ faces turned stern as they looked at you, while Ayra merely nodded in agreement with you.

“No, don’t do that. Don’t undersell yourself,” Kyojuro said, tilting his chin up pridefully. “We appreciate all that you’ve done. You’re a large piece of what keeps our organization afloat. That deserves to be praised.”

Tengen nodded in agreement with the flame hashira, a soft smile on his lips that felt overwhelmingly kind. “Agreed. We wouldn’t fare well after these harrowing missions without you.”

Ayra swooned, humming like a schoolgirl in love at the hashira’s words. You politely nodded, flashing the two men a smile of your own.

“Fair. I will undersell my talents no longer,” you said, your eyes getting lost again as they trailed down the length of the mens’ bodies. “I’m particularly skilled at first aid. Lucía bandaged your cuts well, but she’s young and still learning. You’ll need to be bandaged up again properly after your baths, and if you wish to dip into the springs. If it’s something you’d like, I can come visit your chambers once you’re ready for me.”

That look embedded deeply into the sound hashira’s eyes shined again, and the flame hashira looked to feel similarly.

“And what of this one? Are you also good with first aid Arya?” Tengen said, his eyes darkening to a maddening shade of fuchsia. “We wouldn’t want you to think your assistance wouldn’t be appreciated as well.”

The drunk girl shook her head, “no,” her eyes drooping low as the alcohol settled in her system.

“She overworked herself a bit after assisting a hinoe-rank that came in a week ago. Her hands are practically arthritic from all of her hard work. So it will just be me if that’s okay?”

The two men nodded, glancing at each other before shaking their heads definitively.

“That’s more than okay with us, maiden.”

tyty for reading! see you in the next one || crossposted on ao3 — here || taglist — here || tags: @bokuroskitten​ @rosesandtoshi @murdereddaydreams​ @crystal-lilac​ @mxgenderbender @mindlesschicca

#demon slayer smut #kny smut #tengen smut #rengoku smut #tengen uzui x reader #black reader #x black reader #tengen x reader #rengoku x reader #kyojuro x reader #kk.writes #kk.kny