bongopowder

[bongopowder]

a subtle distraction (kenzo tenma)

⁺ . ✦ .　⁺ 　 . ✦ monster (kenzo tenma x reader) ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . ⁺

content (18+): nsfw, female reader, a couple of heartbroken and sloppy drunks :^)

word count: 7.3k

a tune for you: so damn into you (vlad holiday)

A twilight, melancholy wind danced through the streets. It was shy at first – almost bashful – as it pirouetted down dark alleys and swiped across the backs of unsuspecting necks, before culminating into something far more confrontational, beginning to pivot and sweep against the brims of men’s hats and beneath the hems of women’s skirts. Although such forces of nature were generally unremarkable, particularly on these frigid winter nights, it was something of its cruelty that was distinctive. Wind has no mind of its own; it cannot think, it cannot feel, and it cannot target. And yet, it was as if its traditional indiscriminancy was abandoned, the harshness of its touch deciding to be especially unforgiving to its poor, unsuspecting victim.

It tickles against the edge of your coat, trying to make its way through the tightly buttoned fabric and steel zipper, nipping at the nape of your neck as it pushed your hair aside. Any other day it could’ve been almost seductive, but today it simply made your arms wrap more tightly around your body, hugging the woolen coat tighter to your shivering form. The straw on the camel’s back.

“Why me…” you mumble under your breath as you continue to stumble down the street, the wind being the last punch the unforgiving world could swing at you today, just as the clock tower strikes midnight. The bells echo down the nearly empty streets, littered only with overstaying restaurant patrons and drunkards from a sprinkle of nearby pubs. You rub your eyes, the flood of alcohol in your system making you exceptionally groggy. Just another adjective to add to the growing list of negatives: cold, frustrated, exhausted…

Taking some calming breaths, you listen to your feet softly hitting the uneven stone road, the soft ‘click! click! click!’ almost acting as a mantra echoing in your brain, combined with an occasional ‘splish!’ from a puddle, settled in from the earlier rain.

Click, click, click-

“Damn it…”

You stop in your tracks, something in your head snapping at the sudden interruption of a foreign voice. Forcing yourself to close your eyes and refocus, you take in another deep breath of frigid air before continuing, unable to control strangers on the street.

“I didn’t do anything wrong…”

A mumble of words demands your attention again, your frustration spiking yet another time, further heightened by the alcohol. This anger, however, is ephemeral, coming to a swift halt as you turn your head to the source of the grumbling. As your gaze travels to the side down an alley, it quickly shifts to the floor, seeing a man seemingly collapsed on the floor.

“Oh, shit,” you whisper, your eyes widening in concern. You move closer, haphazardly stepping over the fallen carboard boxes and empty glass bottles littering the ground beside him.

“Are you alright?” you ask, crouching next to the stranger looking simply at the back of his head, his black hair wet against his scalp from the lingering rain. “Hey…” you tentatively tap his shoulder.

I know I shouldn’t be getting involved but…

“Hmm…” he grumbles again, slowly picking his head up and to the side to look at you.

“Are you alright?” you repeat, brow furrowed. You try to blink through the intoxication, continuing to ask him questions. “Did you fall?”

“Fall..?” the man questions, looking around at the floor before slowly rolling to his side and attempting to sit up on one palm.

“Careful, careful… There’s broken glass,” you say softly kicking a bigger piece to the side before looking up him again.

His eyes are red and watery, and his cheeks flushed. Smudged across his chin is some gray dirt from the alley floor, paired with light scrapes around his jaw.

“Sorry… Sorry,” he grumbles, shaking his head as he begins to try and stand, his hands nearly touching the small shards of glass scattered everywhere.

“Hey, what are you-” you quickly lunge forward and grab him, pulling him up by his arm to avoid him injuring himself, though you yourself are unsteady enough on your feet “I said there was glass.”

“I don’t… I don’t care,” he whispers, sighing the final word in defeat, his eyes wandering down the alley and to his feet mindlessly. “It’s not important…”

“It is important, you could’ve cut yourself,” you quirk an eyebrow, but decide not to press the issue further. He really does have bigger problems in his drunken state, just as you do. “Are you out with anyone? Friends, family, a partner? I can help you get back to them.”

He scoffs, almost wincing in pain as you speak, as if the words sting. You see the tears in his eyes begin to well-up further as he shakes his head.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to… hit a nerve,” you swallow, looking away slightly awkwardly as you slur your words, unable to discern if the root is embarrassment or intoxication. “How about I help you get home then?”

If I can even make it home myself…

“I don’t need help, sorry for bothering you,” the man quickly replies, his soft voice cracking slightly. He begins to try and navigate around the cardboard boxes, back onto the street from the alley, but his movements are clunky and drunken, causing him to stumble again.

“Hey, just…” you reach out, grabbing his arm again to prevent him from falling. “Just let me call you a cab.”

He bites his lip, looking out at a flickering streetlight before gazing back at you, clearly contemplating his decision. Within a moment, he sighs and nods, closing his eyes and letting a tear slowly trickle down his cheek.

“Do you remember where you live?” you ask softly, bringing the man’s arm over your shoulders to help him walk, trying to steady your own feet as well.

“Yeah… It’s right down the road,” he mutters, his cheeks flushing a brighter shade of pink from embarrassment.

You smile softly in encouragement and nod, steadily getting him out of the alley and onto the street. And again, you are adding another adjective to the list: cold, frustrated, exhausted, and burdened. Though somehow, in a strange way, it doesn’t feel like the worst thing that could’ve happened to you on a drunken walk home at midnight.

“What’s your name?” you ask, looking over at the man – whose face is quite close to yours – as you essentially carry him through the street.

“Kenzo,” he whispers softly eyes looking down at yours. You nod and tell him your own name as well. A dark, glistening red color draws your eyes back down to his hand, swinging back and forth as we walk.

“Shit, you did cut yourself,” you frown softly, pausing and gesturing down to his bleeding hand.

“Oh,” he huffs, looking at his hand for a moment before wiping it straight onto his beige coat. “It’s just a scratch.”

“It could get infected, you need to wash it when you get home or something,” you say, looking into his eyes with a serious glare.

“Mmm…” he hums, clearly dismissive of the injury.

“I’m serious, those bottles looked dirty-”

“I’ll be fine,” he interrupts again, nodding softly before starting to walk again, pulling you forward with his arm still slung over your shoulders. “I’m a doctor…”

“Oh, a doctor?” you huff slightly as your legs catch up, stumbling before regaining your grip on him to keep him up. “What kind of doctor?”

“… Neurosurgeon,” he replies plainly, a hint of disdain in his tone.

“That’s… really cool,” you reply eventually, your eyes widening slightly; it’s an impressive profession for someone who got themselves into such a position at midnight.

“Don’t act surprised,” he mumbles softly, the pink in his cheeks growing stronger yet again.

“No, sorry, I didn’t mean…” you sigh.You did mean it like that. “Bad day then?”

He lets out a sour huff of a laugh, dripping in exaggerated sarcasm.

“You could say that,” he mutters roughly, his brow furrowing in frustration.

“Well, that makes two of us,” you mumble beside him, looking down at the ground with a slight chuckle. “I got broken up with. Well, it’s more complicated than that but…” your voice trails off, not really wanting to discuss it further – lest not with a stranger – the wound being still fresh. You shift against him, breathing growing deeper as you struggle slightly to hold him up.

“Sorry to hear that,” Kenzo replies softly, though almost disinterestedly.

“And you?”

“What didn’t happen to me today,” he rubs his eyes with his free hand, and you feel the muscles in his arm tighten slightly on your shoulder. “The damn politics… The damn politics at the hospital… I only wanted to save the boy’s life… It just… I was being fair, I was… I was right…” His rambling becomes softer and more incoherent, the words being swept away by the wind.

“It’s alright, you don’t have to explain it to me,” you smile lightly, giving him a gentle pat with your hand supporting him. “I’m sure you were… right, I mean.”

“Mmmph…” he grumbles softly before turning away, clearly not wanting to engage in further small talk.

Through the awkwardness of the walk, you reach his apartment, tucked within a quaint series of homes, just away from the main strip of restaurants and bars. The streets are quiet and dim, with only a few flickering streetlights scattered around the paved streets, bathing the parked cars below with light.

“This you?” you ask as he suddenly stops walking, halting before one of the doorways, a small staircase leading up to it.

“Yeah, this is me,” he grunts, becoming more tired but coherent now. He quickly snakes his arm off your shoulder, giving himself a quick stretch before braving the stairs. You sigh softly, rubbing your half-lidded eyes as you watch him walk up the stairs.

God, your head hurts, and you notice your own breaths growing shallower. When was the last time you drank water? You can’t remember, the night clouded with alcohol, and more alcohol, and more alcohol…

Stars dance in the corners of your vision, already growing hazy as you attempt to blink through the sensation. Carrying him all this way must’ve taken a lot out of you.

“Thanks,” he says quietly as he reaches the top, turning back around to give you one last glance.

“You’re… you’re wel…”

Your words are cut off as you tumble forward, your legs giving out from under you as you stumble onto the concrete. In any other circumstance, you would’ve caught yourself, but the exhaustion and inebriation left your senses momentarily defective.

“S-shit,” Kenzo studders, immediately lunging back down the stairs. Much to his distress, his similar intoxicated state causes his foot to catch on the edge of the stair, sending him stumbling to the floor beside you.

You blink a few times, mind reeling and processing the fact that your eyes are now seeing stars – wait, real stars. You’re seeing the night sky, back pressed against the cold concrete as you stare upwards, your blood pressure slowly climbing back to normal.

Kenzo groans quietly beside you, the sound causing your head to turn slightly in his direction, looking over at him from the ground. A delicate smile tugs at your lips as his tired eyes meet yours, his expression one of defeat.

There is no way…

You can’t help yourself, a giggle rising in your throat, slowly turning into a laugh. Looking back up at the sky, the humor of the situation overtakes you, the sensations of bodily pain slowly fading away behind a curtain of absurdity.

A small chuckle escapes Kenzo, his hands moving to his hair as he rolls onto his back beside you, clearly also acknowledging the ridiculousness of the situation. You laugh together, the sounds filling the quiet night of the residential neighborhood, echoing off the pavement.

After a moment, you rub your face gently and begin to sit up, taking a deep breath.

“We… definitely look insane,” you chuckle softly, looking down at the now scraped palms of your hands.

Kenzo’s laughter settles as he too sits, nodding and glancing at your hands.

“Are you alright?” he asks, a smile still lingering on his lips.

“Yeah, you?” you nod, brushing your hands on your jeans before beginning to stand.

“Yeah- wait,” he cuts himself off, moving forward to help you up, but stumbles. You chuckle and shake your head, grabbing his arm as he grabs yours, steadying each other.

“We can’t fall again,” you joke, eyes meeting his as you straighten out.

“No more falling,” he nods, looking down at you.

The two of you remain that way for a moment, the foolishness of the situation still lingering on your minds. His eyes were no longer glossy with tears, though a small scrape ran up the side of his cheek, the tinges of sanguine flesh mingling with dust from the concrete. As if he can feel your eyes studying his face, his cheeks flush a light pink color.

“Um,” he clears his throat, promptly letting go of your arm. “Maybe you should come inside for some water?”

His question lingers in the air as you consider the offer; on the one hand, you’re sure you can make it home, but on the other, you know it probably wouldn’t hurt to sober up a little more. Perhaps, to an extent, it was the alcohol and genuine concern in his voice coaxing you into such a decision, but you couldn’t be sure.

“Yeah, that would probably be for the best,” you eventually reply with a nod. He smiles softly, gesturing you up the stairs.

The two of you carefully ascend the multiple sets of staircases to his apartment, narrowly avoiding other catastrophic falls as your hands clutch the railing with fervor. At the top of the stairs, Kenzo fumbles for a moment, digging into his pocket and clumsily pulling out a set of keys. After a few tries, he inserts the key correctly into the mechanism, swinging open the door to his apartment.

“After you,” he smiles softly, avoiding your gaze as soon as your eyes meet his.

You step into the apartment, the lights flickering on to illuminate the space. The room is quite sparce but somehow cozy; the khaki walls are lined with a few bookshelves and scattered furnishings, with documents and books piled up on the coffee table and cabinets. The kitchen, connected to the main room, has beige countertops with a small scattering of clean dishes, and a small wooden bowl of fruit.

Kenzo moves to the cupboards, grabbing two clear glasses and beginning to fill them with water from the kitchen sink. He sets them aside and begins washing his hand, cleaning the scratch gently and removing the dirt.

You remove your shoes alongside your coat and step further into the space, catching a glint of light as it reflects from something on the ground. You approach cautiously, bending down with concern as you narrow your eyes.

“Oh shit, your picture got knocked down over here,” you comment, tone threaded with sympathy as you pick up the fallen frame, small pieces of glass littering the floor around it.

“Don’t-” Kenzo’s voice cracks softly, reaching his arm out from across the room, but quickly realizes it’s futile. Within the frame is a portrait of him and a blonde woman, the two of them smiling together at some kind of park.

You glance up at Kenzo who looks away, his gaze instead traveling down to the floor as his expression twists into a wince, as if the mere reminder of the photo’s presence is physically painful. You frown faintly in understanding, putting the picture frame face-down on the counter before crouching back down.

“Let me clean up the glass for you, at least,” you gently offer before continuing. “Especially given your history with it.” The joke leaves your lips playfully, only trying to lighten the mood, but it only seems to make his expression grow more pained.

I’m too drunk for this…

You sigh, running a hand though your hair as you start to pick up the broken shards, careful not to cut yourself. Kenzo remains silent, his eyes fixated on a nearby wall, clearly lost in thought.

After tossing the glass away, avoiding any potential cuts, you walk back over to him near the kitchen counter, placing a hand on his shoulder reassuringly. He flinches, almost shrinking away from your touch, before eventually accepting it. You watch his chest rise and fall in a deep breath, his hand reaching his cheek to brush away a stray tear.

“It’ll be alright, you know…” you try to reassure him, unsure of what to say. “I know that’s probably not what you want to hear, but it’s true. For the both of us.”

He remains silent for a moment, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows his feelings and nods.

“It was just very… sudden,” he whispers, voice wavering as his eyes find yours.

“I understand,” you reply just as quietly, now your turn to look awkwardly at the floor; alcohol could only make you forget so much about the actions of the day. You sigh, removing your hand from his shoulder and picking up your glass, distracting yourself with a large gulp of water, as if trying to similarly drown the feelings stirring within you.

“How unlucky for us,” he grumbles, leaning against the counter with his forearm as he sips his own cup.

“I guess we both had the same idea of a distraction,” a pitiful smile tugs at your lips, almost in self-deprecation.

“A distraction,” he repeats through a chuckle, though it almost comes out as a light scoff. He rubs his eyes, walking over to a nearby cupboard, opening wooden door to reveal a small shelf of bottles. Grabbing a bottle of mahogany-colored whiskey, he returns to the counter, sliding the vessel between us before grabbing two more glasses. He pours himself a shot or two, swirling the liquid gently, eyes lost in thought.

“If you’d like,” he speaks quietly, gesturing to the bottle before bringing his glass to his lips, closing his eyes as he takes a sip.

I shouldn’t.

“Sure,” you nod. Pouring yourself some, you take a long sip and let the flavor fill your mouth, a familiar burn as it travels down your throat. “I guess we both deserve a break.”

A somewhat comfortable silence sets, the atmosphere heavy with emotion but strangely consoling. To find solidarity within a stranger is a rare prize, after all.

It’s strangely numb – perhaps due to the alcohol or otherwise due to the pain – but something about the way the soft light trickled into the apartment through the half-opened window, or the way the only sound was a mingling of the crickets outside and the soft breathing of heartbroken strangers, made you feel at peace.

“Do you want to talk about it,” you offer gently, bringing the glass to your lips a second time.

“There isn’t much to say,” Kenzo replies almost instantly, though his tone is far from eager. “She just… wasn’t who I thought she was,” his final words hang in the air, heavy with the weight of his emotions as he looks down at the whiskey, swirling it as if the action were a lifeline. You hum in understanding, watching the way his eyes fall to the glass before darting back to you.

“You’re better off then,” you nod definitively.

“Something like that,” he sighs, tongue pressed against of the inside of his cheek in contemplation. “And you?”

“Me?”

“What happened with you?”

“Well,” you look away, eyes finding the pattern of the marbled counter and running along the lines. “I can’t say he was bad. He just… didn’t like me anymore, is all.” The last few words leave a bitter taste in your mouth, a feeling you had hoped to leave to address until the morning.

“I’m sorry,” Kenzo frowns, his apology genuine. “And… I’m sorry for being difficult earlier. It’s just…”

“Been a hard day,” you finish his statement, nodding and looking up at him again. “It’s alright. It’s not like I was the most understanding either.”

“You’ll be alright too,” he nods, eyes beginning to study your features more closely.

“We both will be,” you agree, forcing a smile on your face in encouragement. Bringing your glass up, you pause before taking a sip, holding the glass out to him. “To distractions.”

He returns your smile, eyes finally starting to look livelier as he taps his glass against yours.

“To distractions.”

The two of you sip in silence for a minute, letting a wave of contentment wash over you as the whiskey numbs your feelings. The company is nice, albeit very unexpected, with the support and parallel situation making you feel less isolated.

You watch his expression begin to soften, the previous tension fading slowly as he relaxes. He runs a hand through his hair, pushing it out of his face as he takes another sip of whiskey, head leaning back and eyes closing. You watch the way his hand tightens around the glass as he pulls it away, the way his gaze finds yours, the way his hair falls back down to frame his face…

What am I doing?

I shouldn’t be thinking about this.

You tear your eyes away from him, face suddenly feeling hot as you take another swig of whiskey, finishing off the glass.

Control yourself.

“Would you like another?”

No.

“Sure.”

Damn it.

You silently curse yourself, actions betraying your logical mind as you let him pour you another glass, jaw tensing as you focus solely on the refilled liquid in your glass. This isn’t the kind of distraction you meant.

Wincing slightly as your hand grips the glass, you look down at your palms, remembering how scratched up they got from your earlier tumble on the concrete.

“Are those the scrapes from your fall?” Kenzo asks, brow furrowing as his gaze follows yours to your hands.

“Yeah, they’re just a bit scratched,” you nod reassuringly.

“Let me see,” he replies, not waiting for your reply as he takes your hands in his, holding them closer as he studies your injury. His thumb gently slides across your skin, rubbing across the raised scratches from the rough concrete.

You grit your teeth, feeling your heartrate speed up as he looks and touches you with such tender concern. He’s only making it more difficult.

“Give them a wash; I have some antibiotic ointment you can apply,” he speaks softly, though his words leave no room for argument. You clear your throat, nodding as you pull your hands back, quickly turning towards the sink to hide the flush traveling across your cheeks.

The water stings, the cool sensation surprisingly unwelcome as you wince while trying to clean the small cuts; the pain is undeniable even with the alcohol.

“Here,” Kenzo returns with a small bottle of ointment and a neatly packaged first-aid kit, setting them on the counter before taking another sip of his whiskey. You return to his side, holding out your hands but refusing to meet his stare.

“It shouldn’t hurt or anything,” he reassures you, taking your hands in his again. He begins to delicately apply the lotion-like medicine to your skin, his fingers lightly grazing across yours. You swallow nervously, eyes finally looking up to meet his.

To your surprise, his gaze is already on your face. As if caught in the act, his eyes widen for a moment, quickly looking back down to your hands, a faint blush rising across his cheeks. You feel your heartrate picking up, praying he can’t feel your pulse through your hands, trying to convince yourself it’s only the whiskey causing the color in his cheeks.

“Just,” he continues to explain, his voice hoarse before he clears his throat. “Keep it clean so it doesn’t get infected.”

His hands return to yours after a moment, placing some gauze on your palm and beginning to wrap it with some sort of bandage. You feel your breathing deepen as you watch his focused expression, his touch sending shivers down your spine. As he finishes wrapping your left hand, he looks up again at you, only for a second.

His tongue darts out to moisten his lips, followed by an immediate pursing of them as he swiftly looking back down to your hands. You shut your eyes momentarily, trying to clear your thoughts to something more appropriate and focus on the sensation of the ointment cooling your scratches.

As he finishes wrapping your right hand, his fingers linger on the bandages and lightly trace the edges, almost mindlessly.

“Remember to… keep it clean.”

His voice is no louder than a whisper, the repeated statement almost strained as you watch the muscles of his jaw tighten before he swallows.

“So you said,” you whisper back, eyes raking over his face.

Was I always this close to him?

It’s as though you can feel the heat radiating off his body, your senses somehow simultaneously heightened and numbed like the push and pull of a tide. He seems equally as conflicted – no, paralyzed – as you, the sensations overtaking him as he remains motionless before you, his hand still grasping yours.

His eyes dart down to your lips before returning your stare, an action which would’ve been missed on you if you weren’t so transfixed on his face. Your stomach flutters as you search his face for any other sign, finding it in the slightest parting of his lips.

The tension in the room is palpable, mere seconds feeling like minutes as your mind is consumed with thoughts of the stranger before you.

“I… I really want to kiss you,” Kenzo whispers, voice tinged with disbelief, disbelief that he’s even admitting it. His eyes widen and he quickly looks away.

“I don’t… know why I said that, I’m sorry,” he clears his throat and releases your hand.

“W-wait,” you studder, stomach dropping at his murmur. Your hands follow his, the back of your hand grazing his palm as his movements stop suddenly. You struggle to find the words, your head scrambled with blurred, alcohol-induced thoughts and urges.

“Um,” the mumble catches in your throat, your eyes unable to meet his, trained only on the soft parting of his lips. Your hand shifts in his, flipping so the tips of your fingers now delicately brush his palm, an unspoken message, a request, a plea.

His eyes bare into yours expectantly, saturated with buried desire and watchful curiosity. Without another word, he nods softly: not an answer, but rather a question.

You reply with an abrupt nod of your own, your muscles tightening as if your body were constricted by an unknown force, beyond your control.

Without another word, his hand finds your face, cupping your cheek gently in his palm and bringing you closer. You feel his breath against your lips, the earthy scent of whiskey reaching your nostrils. He pauses momentarily, as if second guessing himself, his eyes studying you intensely as his thumb begins to trace lightly along the side of your cheek. It was only a second before his lips connected with yours, your heart racing at the tenderness of his touch.

The kiss, beginning as something gentle and restless, soon flowers into something born of drunken sloppiness, emotions, and pent-up desperation. His free hand moves to your waist and tugs you tighter against his body, eliciting a soft sound to catch in your throat. Your hands quickly find his shoulders, balancing yourself as your lips continue to move against his own.

The earlier guilt of the situation quickly melted into a growing passion, your mind spinning in hunger as you tasted his lips, so different and yet so sweet. Your mind was blank, overwhelmed by the sensations of his hands on your skin and the heat of his body against yours, a familiar sensation building in the depths of your stomach.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, your knees begin to fail you. He stumbles forward clumsily, his hand on your waist continuing to hold you tight against him as his other reaches out and braces himself against the countertop, effectively pinning you between him and it. His lips part yours for a moment, catching his breath as his forehead braces against you, eyes remaining closed.

“You… you’re…” Kenzo inhales sharply, unable to form words as he swallows restlessly. “We…”

“Shut up and kiss me,” you murmur, just ghosting along his lips.

He wastes no time, immediately obeying your command as his mouth finds yours in another eager kiss. His body presses yours further against the counter, your back arching against him as the edge of the marble digs into your spine. You swallow the needy moan that escapes his lips, your hips arching further into his. Instinctively, as if trying to draw him nearer, your hand moves to his hair, still slightly damp from the rain, pulling him impossibly closer.

Your hands trail down his chest, toying with the buttons of his shirt mindlessly as your thoughts are consumed with the feeling of his tender lips. It’s as if your body is on autopilot, any logical action in your brain overrun by a wildfire of pure lust; if he’d let you, you’d tear his clothes right off.

You feel his breath hitch and the muscles of his abdomen twitch underneath the thin fabric of his shirt. A satisfied smile tugs at your lips as you suddenly push him back, now pinning him against the kitchen island with your own body, hands moving down the edge of his slacks.

Breaking the kiss for a moment, you look up at him desperately, fingers slowly slipping under the waistband to teasingly ask for permission. He inhales sharply, leaning back on his forearms, inadvertently causing his hips to press into yours.

“H-here..?” Kenzo whispers, tripping over the singular word.

“Mhm…” you hum in return, leaning in so your nose grazes his neck. “Right here,” you murmur, your pointer finger sliding across the inside edge of his pants and then tugging, bringing his hips flush against yours. Your lips find his neck, tantalizingly planting kisses up the sensitive skin to his jawline.

His breaths come out in shallow pants, one of his hands reaching up and tangling in your hair as his head falls back. Your demonstration of confidence yet teasing restraint sends a shiver down his spine in anticipation, his other hand gripping the edge of the countertop as if his life depended on it.

“Are you seeing her soon?” you whisper against his neck, the heat of your breath causing him to bite his lip.

“S-seeing her?” he asks breathlessly.

“Your ex. Are you seeing her soon?” you hum again, your hand making its way to his belt buckle. He gasps softly, holding back a moan.

“Y-yes,” he breathes. “Tomorrow, to return some clothes.” He’s barely able to speak, nearly choking on the words at the feeling of your hands on him.

“Let’s give her something to look at,” you smile against his skin, liking a stripe up his neck before settling on a spot near his ear and beginning to suck. He lets out a small sound in surprise, his hand tightening in your hair as he tilts his head further back to give you easier access to his neck.

As your mouth moves down his neck, kissing and biting to leave a trail of light bruises along his skin, your hands carefully unbuckle his belt, the chiming of metal filling the air alongside his uneven breaths.

Kenzo mumbles something incoherent, lost in the dizziness of pleasure, his hips arching into your touch. You quickly find the button of his slacks, growing more impatient yourself as you undo them with fervor.

“Speak up,” you mumble playfully between kisses, his pants now falling to the floor.

“Y-you… Ah-” his breath catches again as you press your palm against him, separated only by the thin cotton of his boxers. A string of hushed stammers falls from his lips, his eyes slowly opening to meet yours.

“P-please,” he whimpers, almost inaudibly.

The sound of his voice, as desperate as a starving man begging for food, causes something in you to snap, your body reacting on pure need as you tug his boxers down, falling to your knees in almost an instant, hitting the cold, linoleum floor of the kitchen.

You waste no time in tasting him, licking a long stripe up the length of him before taking him completely in your mouth. Any plan of discipline teasing, any semblance of self-control, and any thought of restraint seemed to disappear in an instant, replaced only by the burning fire of passion and lust.

He gasps and steadies himself against the counter, his hand in your hair moving to his own as he lets you set the pace. Deep sounds of pleasure fill the air, only encouraging you to take him deeper and deeper.

His hips arch involuntarily, pressing himself further inside of your mouth, your jaw loosening further. He’s completely under your control, the knowing sensation drawing you to move faster until you’re taking every inch of him. You’re almost choking, but god you don’t care. Nothing else matters.

The notion isn’t lost on him; the strange mixture of desire and vulnerability clouds his brain with a newfound excitement. He’s unable to focus on anything else but you, surrendering completely to the sensations and relaxing against the countertop.

It isn’t long before his breathing grows shallower and his strangled moans fill the kitchen, hand instinctively finding the back of your head again.

“I-I’m… close-” Kenzo chokes on his words, interrupted as a shaky moan falls from his lips.

You didn’t need to be told, feeling the muscles of his thighs contract tightly under your grasp with every movement was enough of a sign. It takes everything in you to pull back, looking up at him through your eyelashes and flashing him a playful smirk.

“Ask nicely,” you purr, your hand reaching up to stroke him teasingly. His eyes widen before he lets out a shuddered moan, knuckles turning white from the grip he has on the marble.

“Please… please,” he stammers quietly, running his other hand through his hair, as if trying to hold back.

You respond almost immediately, taking him in your mouth once more as you quicken the pace, holding in a moan as you feel him hitting the back of your throat. His mind reels in a drunken haze, balancing on the edge of release as he trembles softly with the effort of holding back.

His climax is almost instantaneous, like the snapping of a tight string. You can barely taste him, the thick substance shooting down the back of your throat as you ease him through his aftershocks. His body shakes, muscles spasming and causing him to slip slightly down the counter as he gasps and shuts his eyes.

After letting out a final staggered moan, his hand gently reaches into your hair, fingers trembling slightly as he guides you off of him. You stand, hands using his body as leverage to climb back up, your own muscles quivering with a sense of need.

“That was…” he gasps softly, mind spinning in pleasure. “T-that was… oh god…”

The hand in your hair draws you closer, and he pulls you into another frenzied kiss, cutting off his own words as his mouth moves haphazardly against yours, still recovering from the height of his pleasure. His thigh finds its way between your legs, and you respond immediately, craving friction. You rock yourself back and forth against, following the rhythm of the kiss.

His hands move to the back of your thighs, hoisting you up and pulling you close to his body. As he turns, you feel the countertop below you, his hands running along your thighs as he places you on the marble and pulls you to the edge. His hips grind against yours, eliciting a murmured string of moans to fall from your lips, swallowed by his lips still pressed to yours.

He runs his hands up your legs, finding the edge of your pants. They’re off in a second, alongside your underwear, the clothes tossed aside on the linoleum and leaving you shivering slightly as the cool air hits your skin. He trails kisses down your neck, one hand reaching down to your waist and the other directing your hand into his hair.

“Please,” Kenzo whispers desperately, eyes half-lidded as he sinks to his knees in front of you, hands now wrapping around your thighs. “Please… please,” he begs again, mouth moving to the inside of your leg, peppering kisses lightly along the sensitive skin.

You swallow in anticipation, breathing growing shallow as he moves further up your thigh, inching closer and closer. Instinctively, you spread your legs, resting them atop his shoulders as you tug him by his hair.

He groans softly at your eagerness, unable to make you wait any longer. Leaning in, he runs his tongue up your folds, tantalizingly slow, watching your reaction through his eyelashes.

Your hands tangle deeper into his hair, arching your back as you lower yourself completely onto the counter. His tongue circles your clit, lapping at you like a man dying of thirst, desperate to taste even more of you. As his fingers clench tighter around your thighs, holding you like a lifeline and anchoring you to him, he worked his mouth at a gentle pace, leaving you squirming against the countertop.

You struggle to form coherent thoughts, the sensations shooting through your body after such delay overwhelming any rational thinking, black stars dancing at the corners of your vision as his pace speeds up. Each stroke of his tongue sends waves of heat throughout your body, the pressure only growing stronger.

He draws his mouth back, replacing it with his thumb as he looks up at you, breathless and needy, simply watching your reactions. As his thumb skillfully continues stroking your clit, you feel his other fingers already at your entrance, almost teasing you with feather-light touches.

He shivers softly as he feels how wet you are, his fingers dipping into you, only for a moment, before retracting them again, gliding his pointer finger up your folds. The teasing becomes too much for you; your body is on fire, begging for release and arching into his touch desperately, anything for the sought-after friction.

“You… you’re,” the words dribble from your lips, an unspoken plea for him to finish you, right there on the counter.

You swear you catch the smallest of smiles tugging at the corners of his lips before he leans in again, this time going directly for your clit with his tongue as he gently slips two fingers inside of you. His ministrations are more assertive this time, his tongue pressing harder and faster against you as his fingers travel in and out, exploring and curling, finding the perfect spots to make your moans grow even louder.

Every nerve of your body is on fire as your legs tighten around his head, forcing yourself impossibly closer to him as he continues his onslaught between your legs. You feel the pleasure building, unable to focus on anything but the sensations delivered by the interplay of his tongue and fingers.

“D-don’t stop,” you beg softly, tugging on his hair. Your words draw a soft moan from him as he moves even faster, eager to pleasure you.

Just as you like you could come undone, he pulls back again, a teasing expression plastered on his face.

“I need a better view,” he whispers, thumb pressing again against your clit as he stands, leaning over and pinning you further against the counter. His movement continues, causing your muscles to jerk under him, his body now holding yours relatively still. His free hand moves to your scalp, running his fingers through your hair as he coaxes more soft sounds from your lips.

You can’t handle it anymore, his experienced fingers pressing right against the spongey part inside of you as his thumb continues its calculated movements along your folds. It’s all too much; his name is on your lips, your forehead pressed against his as you arch into him, your climax building like the climbing of stairs.

The release is ecstasy, his fingers guiding you through it as you see stars, brain clouded and tangled and overcome with pleasure. His mouth meets yours with passion, desperately swallowing your gasps as he holds you in place with his hand.

Your body spasms as he rides you through it, delicately but rhythmically coaxing out your final moans before you lay breathlessly on the counter, messy and sprawled out.

He sighs, relaxing onto you and gently massaging your scalp with the hand still tangled in your hair. His breath tickles your neck as he moves his other hand to your hip, gripping it softly and keeping you in place.

Your breathing steadies, hands gently sitting on his waist, tracing over the textured cotton of his shirt, mind preoccupied with the pulsing aftershocks of pleasure and the feeling of his body on your own.

It was insane, really. Coincidental even, that you’d meet a stranger on the street and end up wet and sloppy on his kitchen counter by the end of the night, all because of your parallel coping mechanisms. But you weren’t complaining.

Kenzo pulls back; as if reading your thoughts, his expression mimics your own: stunned and awestruck and fucked. You can see it all in his eyes, a deep and shadowy auburn which reflects yourself back at you.

“You’re… beautiful,” he mumbles, rather unceremoniously, as his eyes scan up and down your face. He swallows slightly, as if considering if he said too much, his thumb still gently rubbing along the side of your waist.

“Nervous?” you tease playfully. “I think we’re a bit past that now.” Your joke draws a deep chuckle from his chest, his eyes meeting yours with fondness.

“Yeah, I guess we are,” he agrees, sighing in exhaustion as he slowly pushes himself off you, gently grabbing your waist to pull you up as well. Once you’re both vertical – him, still standing between your bare legs, and you, sitting upright on the marble – he pushes a stray strand of hair from your face, his fingers lightly grazing your cheek in the process.

A sweet smile sneaks its way onto your face, and you find yourself blushing at the somewhat affectionate moment. Clearing your throat, you try to focus his attention on something other than your reddening face.

“Well, you’re definitely stuck with these for a few days,” you gesture to his neck with a cheeky wink, finger lightly grazing across one of the many hickeys peppering his skin. He shivers slightly and tilts his head to the smile.

“Occupational hazard,” he winks back, hand coming up to rest on yours has you touch his neck.

“Clocking out yet?” you tease again, lips curling into a smirk as your hand slides down to his button-up shirt, the only piece of clothing still on him. Your fingers toy with the buttons, not quite undoing them, but spreading them enough to slip a finger or two between the pieces of fabric and feel his bare chest. You feel him shudder beneath your touch, and he lets out a small huff.

“I guess I could take another shift,” he grins softly, clearly not wanting to sound too enthusiastic.

“Another distraction,” you hum, a chuckle escaping your lips.

Kenzo looks back at you, letting out a humorous exhale from his nose before shifting his gaze to the buttons of his shirt, already undoing them himself.

“A distraction.”

Literally no one asked for this but there just wasn't enough tenma content out there !!!

[bongopowder]

perfect (abbacchio)

⁺ . ✦ .　⁺ jojo's bizzare adventure (abbacchio x reader) ⁺ 　 . ✦ . ⁺

content (18+): nsfw, oh he hates you...

word count: 4.4k

a tune for you: not another song about love (hollywood ending) lol

Moonlight trickled through the open shutters, the alabaster rays of soft light highlighting the room in uniform streaks, interrupted only by the glow of the monitor in front of you. Map after map, tab after tab, click after click, you persist, shuffling through the information as your eyes strain to continue looking at that damned screen. It had been hours – no, days – trying to figure out where this hideout was, and to no avail, a previously unwavering hope staring to dim with every new dead end. The work usually becomes intoxicating when you sink into it, the circuits of your brain firing with dedication and grit, attention usually unwavering. But it was something about tonight; your mind wandered, shuffling through memories like a filing cabinet, searching for some kind of answer.

You never understood why he hated you so much. What had you really done?

It wasn’t as if you were useless, or a delinquent. Undertrained? Perhaps, you could admit that, but your Stand had only awoken a few months prior, after first meeting Bucciarati and Polpo. Since then, you had been nothing short of dedicated. So why?

You rub your eyes, quickly realizing the futility of being caught up on such uncontrollable things. More important was the map in front of you. Of course.

A gentle knock causes your head to snap in the direction of the nearby door, the emptiness of the room creating a hollow echo.

“Come in,” you call curiously, checking your watch. 10:30.

Bucciarati peeks his head around the door with an appreciative and knowing smile, his hand lingering on the door’s handle as he steps into the room.

“Thought we’d check on you,” he starts, now walking towards the desk. “Any progress?”

We?

You tense slightly as you see Abbacchio follow behind Bucciarati, his unreadable eyes scanning the room for a moment before falling on you.

“You should really turn a light on in here… You’re going to kill your eyes,” Bucciarati says, leaning over to snap on the lamp perched on the desk. The unwelcome brightness causes your eyes to flutter shut for a moment before readjusting with a sigh.

“Yeah, you’re right,” you mumble softly with a nod before turning back to the screen. “As for updates… I can tell you where the location isn’t. No progress on where it is, though.”

Bucciarati hums softly, clearly disappointed as his hand moves to his chin in thought. Abbacchio, on the other hand, makes a sound that can only be described as a grumble, before looking away from the screen.

“Not even a general area?” Bucciarati eventually asks.

“Well, depends on how general you’re looking for,” you reply, gesturing to the map. “I’m certain it’s among these streets, however, it’s probably too large to survey. It’s just… a lot of data to go through alone… Sorry.”

“You need another hand?”

“Well,” you tilt your head in thought. “I guess someone else would help… I think alone I can finish in another few days, but it might be quicker if someone else is available.”

“Abbacchio,” Bucciarati speaks, standing up straight and turning to the man beside him. “Help her tomorrow.” Abbacchio scoffs, waving his hand for a moment before replying.

“She said herself she can do it alone,” he retorts, expression hardening with his mumble.

“She also said it would be faster with help. The quicker we know the location, the quicker we get paid. Now,” Bucciarati continues, placing a hand on Abbacchio’s shoulder before turning to walk out of the room. “Both of you can discuss a plan for tomorrow, and then seriously, go to bed. It’s unhealthy to be working so late.”

A light smile tugs at your lips as you nod, grateful to be nearly done for the day. Abbacchio opens his mouth, as if to protest, but quickly closes it and looks away, nodding with a slight huff as Bucciarati leaves, closing the door behind him.

“So,” you clear your throat nervously, shifting the desk chair to the side before turning back to the monitor. “Really what I need is you to read these files, and-”

“How long is this going to take?” Abbacchio interjects in annoyance.

“I… I don’t know. I mean, if you read fast, a couple hours. Just scan the police reports and tell me where the units were in each of them. I’m trying to triangulate the location,” you explain calmly, trying to soothe your beating heart.

“Fine,” he crosses his arms, standing up straight, narrowed eyes darting across your face.

You nod again, standing up from your chair awkwardly as you put the computer to sleep. Quickly organizing the papers sprawled out on the desk, you try to relax your tensed shoulders, secretly hoping he’ll leave, saving you the trouble of having to engage in small talk. And again, with the quick switch of the lamp, the room is left in eerie darkness.

Much to your surprise, he lingers, body rigid with agitation. He clears his throat as you stand up straight, though you want nothing more than to walk out that door, mere feet away from you.

“I’m sorry, I really don’t want to be doing this either,” you nod and speak quietly, trying to be reassuring as if he expected you to say something.

“Don’t. Just, don’t,” he snaps, his voice strained. It was though you could feel his temper slowly running out. You nod, eyes suddenly finding the carpet very interesting as you wait for him to leave the room.

“Why do you have to apologize all the time,” he mumbles, almost under his breath as he steps towards the door.

“What?” you reply, though quickly regret even speaking.

“You always apologize for no reason,” he turns to you, words almost coming out as a growl. “It really pisses me off.”

“Oh, um, I’m sorr-” you pause, swallowing nervously before correcting yourself. “I mean… I’ll avoid it in the future.”

“Why?” his question lingers in the air, and in the darkness, you swear you see him step closer.

“I… I don’t know, I just feel like you’re always angry at me,” you whisper the last few words quietly, as if almost afraid to admit it.

“You don’t know why?” he scoffs, mindlessly cracking his knuckles. “You never react to anything…” his deep voice drops further, each syllable accentuated with irritation.

You take a meek step back, your hands meeting behind your back as you look up at him. Pursing your lips, ridden with anxiety, you can only wonder what exactly you’re doing wrong.

“God, why can’t you just be a normal person? Even now,” he rolls his eyes, stepping closer to you. “You’re too damn respectful even when you shouldn’t be. It’s infuriating…”

“I’m… too respectful?” you tilt your head to the side, confusion peeking through your nervousness. “Should I not be-”

Something in him seemed to snap, your words interrupted as he pushes you back into a nearby wall, firmly holding you in place by your shoulder.

“You’re too quiet and agreeable, all the time,” he spits with anger, his body pressing closer to yours. “It’s as if nothing can make you angry.”

His breathing grows heavier, dark eyes looking down at you as he tightens his grip on your shoulder, his other hand clenching into a fist at his side. You’re trapped, his hips nearly touching yours, your back pressed tight against the wall, the palms of your hands sweating against the paint.

“I…” you begin to studder, the words getting lost in your throat as you look up into his eyes.

He leans forward, his face now inches from yours, etched with anger and irritation, yet somehow… conflicted.

“You never get mad, or raise your voice…” he mutters softly, voice still dripping with frustration.

His other forearm moves beside your head, further restricting your movement and encasing you further against the wall. You can feel his hot breath against your skin, noticing the way his eyes travel across your features and down your body.

You were sure he could hear your heartbeat, the way it raced like a drum, pounding almost painfully at your ribs, the sensation growing more powerful as the seconds passed. His eyes meet yours, his gaze now unwavering. He’s so close. Impossibly close.

“It’s like you’re… perfect. It drives me insane,” he mumbles, voice barely a hushed whisper, the soft brush of air tickling your cheek.

“W- what?” you breathe in shock, eyes searching his face in the darkness. “What do you-”

“Shut up,” he grumbles firmly, his eyes flickering down to your lips in the darkness. His grip on your shoulder was tight, almost painful, as his other and traveled down towards your face.

Silence permeated the room, broken only by the mingling sound of deep breaths. The heat of your bodies nearly pressed together was overwhelming, and his hand on your shoulder was like fire through the fabric of your clothes. You search his face desperately, your vision subconsciously drawn to his lips, which softly part.

Suddenly, his expression softened, more than before and only slightly, as if the last of his anger and frustration had begun their transition to something new. Something more dangerous.

Within a second, his hand gently releases your shoulder, fingers lingering on the seam of your shirt before wandering down your arm, his touch light and tantalizing. His other hand now reaches towards your cheek, pushing back a strand of hair and slowly caressing it with his thumb.

“Tell me to stop…” he whispers again, almost desperately now, his vision clouded with urgency and desire.

The words catch in your throat, if there were any words in the first place. You can’t reply, or rather, you don’t know if you want to. Inhaling sharply at his tender touch, you can’t seem to look away from him, your body frozen in an unfamiliar blend of anxiety and yearning.

“You should… You should stop me,” he insists, his hand now moving to your waist, pressing you further against the wall.

But you can’t.

God, you want to. You want to leave and forget this confusing interaction ever happened but the more you look up to his lips the more you feel yourself melting into his touch. He hates you, and you know that, but something about it makes your chest tighten.

It’s conflicting; you shouldn’t. You really shouldn’t.

He felt your breath hitch, and in a second he was kissing you. It wasn’t smooth or gentle, but rather like a crash of waves, his teeth roughly colliding with yours in desperation. And how it was filled with frustration, as if you both resented it but couldn't stop.

His hand found your scalp, pulling your head back and deepening the kiss further as his tongue finds yours. God, you hated it. Hated the way he tasted so sweet, hated the way his hand ran up your body, hated the way you wanted him so badly, as if starved for his touch.

The kiss grows hungrier with every passing second, unbroken even as you both struggle to breathe, mind and body focused only on the sensation of his touch. You feel yourself grow lightheaded, breaking away for only a moment to gasp before his lips crash against yours yet again.

You’re drowning in the sensation of him, stars dancing along the sides of your vision as your hands move to his chest, fingers sliding gently across the opening of his shirt. He groans, the sound swallowed by the proximity of your lips, just as he shifts his grip to your waist, pulling you closer into him.

A soft moan escapes your lips as you feel your hips press against his, your back instinctively arching and eliciting another desperate sound from him. He whispers your name against your lips, tone laced with agitation and need as he grinds his hips against yours, pushing you further against the wall.

“Abbacchio-” you whimper back, only to be silenced as he plants a wet kiss just below your jawline.

“Just… be quiet,” he grumbles, lips grazing your neck before he rests his forehead against the wall behind you. You hear his breaths coming in uneven, chest heaving up and down almost tumultuously. He sighs, and you feel his grip tightening in your hair, the tug making you wince slightly.

Gently, you run your hand further up his chest, fingers brushing along his collarbone and neck before settling in his hair. You feel him shudder under his touch, his hand on your hip tightening as his fingers dig into your skin.

“S-stop,” he hisses softly, swallowing a groan caught in his throat. “I’m trying to…”

You bite your lip, trying to control your own breathing. He’s right; you shouldn’t be doing this, but it’s far too late for reason and restraint. You continue to run your hand through his hair, coaxing another soft groan from Abbacchio who presses his head further against the wall.

“You… you’re too…” the words seem lost in his mind, his shallow breaths growing more erratic as your palm feels his racing heart, his forehead pulling back from the wall. “Too… perfect.”

With the final husky word, his lips find yours again as his hand tugs your chin up to meet his mouth. It’s different from before: just forceful and passionate, but with an inexplicable affection, conveyed by the way his hand traces along your jawline, thumb softly caressing your cheek as your lips continue to move against his.

Your arms wrap around his neck, tenderly pulling your body closer to his without breaking the kiss. He responds almost immediately, both hands moving to your hips as he moves you into him, grinding himself against you.

Your breath hitches as he continues, shifting his thigh between your legs and granting you more friction. He rocks you back and forth, upper body still pressing you against the wall.

One of his hands moves around your hips, running along the bottom of your thigh as he tugs your leg up, hand fingers resting along the inside of your knee and pulling it to the side of his body. His hips move against yours again, the newfound angle drawing more soft moans from your lips.

Those sounds were his final straw, his other hand immediately grabbing your other thigh and pulling you off the ground and against his body. His lips never leave yours, the kiss growing deeper and more desperate as his patience wears thin, evident by his bulge now pressed against your hips.

He pulls you away from the wall, now urgently stumbling towards the desk which you had left, hands kneading into your skin. Your body feels as though it’s on fire, the feeling of your back being slammed onto the desk barely registering as your senses focus on the friction between your legs as Abbacchio grinds down on you.

He quickly lifts a hand to haphazardly shove aside the assortment of office supplies and technology hindering your ability lie flat, the monitor in particular making a crashing sound as it hits the wooden floor. He pulls you by the front of your shirt back up to him, your mouth smashing against his so hard and desperately you swear it’ll leave a bruise tomorrow.

His forearm rests gently on the desk beside your head as he situates his body between your legs again, tugging you down so your hips are flush with his own. He lets out a soft moan as you wrap your legs around him, the feeling of his muscles tensing on top of you leaving a shiver running down your spine.

“Off, now,” Abbacchio’s deep voice commands with fervor, already beginning to tug at your shirt. You barely have time to lift your arms as he strips it off of you, tossing it to the side with surprising forcefulness.

Without wasting a second, his hand slips under your bra, cupping your breast and making your breath catch in your throat. He uses his other hand to tilt your head back against the desk, now nipping at the sensitive skin below your jaw.

Your body is taught with desire, the feeling of his hand beginning to press and squeeze your skin only heightening the sensation. Your back arches as you feel his hot breath against your neck, his free hand moving behind you to unclip your bra.

As it falls to the side, he pulls back for the first time, eyes roaming across your body with appreciation and an undertone of frustration. His chest heaves as a soft sound catches in his throat, eyes eventually trailing up to meet yours in the moonlight, pupils dilated with hunger.

“Perfect,” he grumbles under his breath, the flattering word spoken with a hint of vexation. You open your mouth to speak but are silenced by the feeling of him unzipping your pants, already pulling them off of you, with your underwear quickly following behind.

You gasp as the cold air hits your skin, heightened by the feeling of him spreading your legs once again. He settles between them, leaning over you with a forearm beside your head, his hand beginning to stroke the hair along your scalp.

His other hand drifts downwards, touch gentle and light as he teases his way along your sternum and stomach. You swallow in anticipation, eyes looking up at his as you bite your lip, silently praying that he can see how badly you need him without having spoken a word.

His gaze grows hazy, his eyes shutting for a brief moment as if controlling himself, before his fingers finally travel lower, right where you want them.

He lets out a soft gasp as he feels you, before mumbling something incomprehensible under his breath. As he begins to move his fingers against you, you find your head digging further back against the hard wood of the desk, your hand coming up to grip his shoulder.

Softly, he slips a finger into you, his knuckles curling gently to find the right spot. You gasp soft and squirm under him, your fingers digging more tightly into him. His other hand quickly finds its way to your chin, his elbow still resting on the table as he jerks your head back to face him, his eyes staring deep into yours.

“You’re going to look at me,” he whispers demandingly before his finger begins to move in and out of you, his thumb shifting to press against your clit.

You moan softly, eyes squeezing shut as you shiver in pleasure; his grip on your chin tightens as his fingers pause yet again.

“I said, look at me,” he hisses, his breath tickling your lips. You slowly open your eyes again, meeting his gaze as your body shivers in returned anticipation.

He continues his ministrations, fingers now moving quicker and deeper inside of you as you force your eyes to remain open, studying his features: the slight parting of his lips, his darkened eyes, the flush on his pale cheeks.

It’s now that you can really see the effect you’ve had on him, even in the low light. His eyes are half lidded, desperate and needy but somehow still frustrated. The soft purple of his lipstick is nearly gone from his lip, the edges smeared messily like watercolors.

You gasp as he pulls his fingers out of you, trailing up your folds before resting on your lower stomach. The emptiness almost hurts, the aching in your body returning as you crave more of his touch.

His lips quirk into a smirk, the expression almost feeling belittling as you lie beneath him, your naked form contrasting his fully clothed one.

“Please,” you whimper softly, biting your cheek in embarrassment as the words leave your mouth.

He scoffs slightly, pushing off of you as the smug expression remains plastered across his face. You sit up, watching as he removes his belt, the sound of metal hitting the floor almost electrifying, the anticipation nearly drawing a sound from your lips.

With an almost evil tantalization, he begins to strip, removing each piece of clothing slowly and with intent, eyes never leaving yours. He watches carefully as you study him, watching as his toned muscles contract as he moves, traveling down just in time to watch him tug at his own boxers.

His demeanor is different now, the anger and desperation from before morphing into a possessive dominance. The boxers drop to the floor, pooling at his ankles and leaving him completely exposed to your wandering eyes.

His weight is on you again within a mere second, his bare skin pressing against yours, the heat of your bodies mingling as he captures your lips into another kiss. You moan softly, indescribably desperate for him as you wrap your legs around his hips again, tugging him closer against you.

Sounds of pleasure fill the small room as he rubs against you, grinding his hips against yours, a final tease before the main show. Your pleading whimper is followed by a breathless beg, the words swallowed as he continues to kiss you with hunger.

He finally positions himself, his hand moving to your hip as he holds your body in place, lips not breaking apart from yours. Gasping against your mouth, his forehead presses against you as he finally slides into you in a single, fluid motion.

You feel a wave of pleasure wash over you, the sensation growing more intense as he begins to move against you, the weight and motion seemingly pushing you further into the desk. Unable to stifle the string of moans that fall from your lips, your hand finds the back of his head, gripping desperately into his hair as your breath caresses his face.

“F-fuck… fuck you,” he whispers, voice cracking in passion as his fingers tighten around your hip, sinking further into your skin. He continues to thrust into you with the smoldering passion of pent-up frustration, movements desperate and disheveled but leaving you a crumbling mess beneath him. It’s electrifying, the feeling of his skin on yours, the sensations of his hands along your body, desperately grasping at you as if he can’t control himself.

He shifts his hand from your hip, running it down to your thigh before hoisting your leg up, hooking your knee around his shoulder. Without giving you a second to adjust, he thrusts harder into you, the new angle sending your head lulling back into the wood, your hair tangling as you squirm and gasp.

Your hands grip desperately at the desk, fingers finding a series of files and feeling them crumple under your forceful touch.

As one of his hands rests on your thigh, keeping your leg held over him, the other wanders across your stomach and up to your chest, giving your breast a squeeze without disrupting the erratic motion of his hips. He groans your name softly, over and over, the words spilling out like a familiar stream, as if second nature.

You feel the pleasure beginning to culminate, the heat building as his hips continue to snap rhythmically forward.

“Don’t… don’t you dare… not yet,” Abbacchio commands through shallow breaths, his pace never faltering.

“I’m- I can’t… I can’t,” you gasp softly, body taught with tension already as you balance on the edge of release, trying desperately to hold on.

He pulls out of you, not even giving you enough time to gasp as he grabs you by the waist, flipping you over on the desk. Your breath catches in your throat as you feel your chest hit the wood and your feet hit the floor, your hands instinctively reaching out again, desperate to hold onto something.

A quiet grumble of need fills your ears, paired with the sensation of fingers tracing along your spine, traveling down before gripping your hips.

You hear a deep sigh before feeling the sensation of him slipping inside you again, your trembled moan filling the silence of the room. He wastes no time, already beginning to move again, arguably with more force than before.  

He presses his palm down into your back arching your back further and causing a string of curses to leave his lips. Your eyes screw shut and your fingers grip the edge of the desk, unable to focus on anything other than the heat continuing to build in your body, seemingly freezing your other senses.

You can’t take it anymore; the sounds of his groans, only growing louder, in combination with the sensation of his hand now grazing across your body, nearly sends you over the edge.

Another gasp catches in your throat as his hand slips under your body again, his finger slipping between your folds as his hips continue to snap against you. His touch is firm and slightly careless, clearly inebriated by pleasure.

“You… you’d better…” Abbacchio’s mumbling grows more desperate and incoherent with every passing second, his pace speeding up as his finger continues to move against you.

His name rolls of your tongue, becoming louder and more husky as you reach your climax, your body shuttering softly against the desk and seemingly directing him through his release as well. His hips slow, body almost collapsing on top of yours, his chest now pressed against your back and leaving you pinned against the desk.

He sighs softly, head almost nuzzling into your hair as his hand finds the side of your waist, caressing it gently as he continues to lie on top of you. You hear his breaths subsiding, the rising and falling of his chest against you growing less erratic and more peaceful.

You swallow, blinking as you catch your breath and begin to relax against the wood, the weight of his body on yours offering a strange sense of contentment. His free hand glides up your arm, fingers tracing along your skin before reaching your hand. He slides his palm up your wrist, eventually intertwining his fingers with your own before rubbing tender circles along your skin with his thumb.

You’d hate to break the silence. And what could you even say?

Perhaps it is better to appreciate the moment for what it is, with the cold moonlight now a dim flickering through the shutters, his warm breath against your neck, a feeling of drowsiness tugging at your serene consciousness. Whatever feeling of frustration, pent up feelings of lust and passion that were feeling before, seemed to melt away with the night. This current feeling, the lingering intensity of emotion and sensation, alongside the tranquility and silence of your surroundings, could only be described by one whispered, frustrating, and even desperate word.

Perfect.

[bongopowder]

looking for trouble! (hisoka)

⁺ . ✦ .　⁺ 　 . ✦ hunter x hunter (hisoka x reader) ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . ⁺

content (18+): nsfw, female reader, hunter exam, zevil island, deep in the forest, degrading, bungee gum bondage?

word count: 4.6k

a tune for you: rule #34 (fish in a birdcage)

The darkness encompassing the indigo forest would be enough to unnerve a weary traveler, to send shivers down an unsuspecting spine, just as the touch of the cold night air nips at exposed skin. To others, however, its representation differs. Perhaps it’s an austere simplicity. The night: homogenous, consistent, peaceful even; a harmonious change from day. Or maybe it’s scandalous. A break from the life which you return to in the rather unsuspecting morning.

Zevil Island was about what you expected; lush trees extended far into the distance, speckled with occasional plains, mountainous rocks, and deceptively peaceful beaches. As the moon casts its glow amongst the scene, drowning every winter leaf and blade of grass with a mysterious sheet of pale blue light, the soft flutter of butterfly wings mingles with the whistling of wind, surrounding you as you walk.

The faint hoot of an owl sounds in the distance, and your breathing grows calmer. Looking down, you study the two badges in your hand: #174 and #105, yours and your target’s. You caught him out in the beginning, a large man with a red nose and a sword, tracking him to a field of tall grass after leaving the boat. Unbeknownst to him, you hid in the shadows, lurking deep in the thick branches of an oak tree until the sun set just below the horizon, casting the subtle gloom of dusk over the meadow.

It was over in a second, the creeping darkness and growing exhaustion hindering his senses as you stalked, hidden by the tall blades of grass. His body fell to the floor with a thud, the sound softened by the dense foliage below, and you quickly swiped the badge from his satchel.

That was mere hours ago. And now, the darkness had crept up on you, just as you had to him.

Yawning, you continue your walk through the trees, somewhat overconfident as you stride down the path which winds between trunks, leading you deeper into the forest. Your only task now is to find a place to hide, to ride out the next few days in peace, safe and away from whoever may be targeting you. Peace and quiet.

“Hey.”

Damn it.

The sound makes you stop in your tracks, eyes shooting up from the ground, seeing a figure up ahead, peeking through the foliage. Your hand instinctively moves straight to the knife in your belt.

Hisoka.

You narrow your eyes as you approach, knowing it would be useless to run from him. You meet his gaze, his stare piercing into you as he fingers a card, leaning casually against a nearby tree. There’s something behind those eyes: a sinister desire. For blood, no less.

Hisoka the Magician, nothing but a merciless killer, scheming and preying on those weaker. And they stand no chance, like a cat and a mouse. A cat with a fetish for carnage. A cat who likes to play with his food.

But you are no mouse.

You had encountered him before, in the sticky fog of the Misty Wetlands, where the heavy air sat deep within your lungs. You were close to the second stage, mind fuzzy as you continued to run, recalling nothing but the sensation of sitting, laying down, or simply standing still. That is, until you stumbled upon Gon’s neck in Hisoka’s hand.

It was an altercation. Hands. Knives. A fishing rod.

And those words he spoke to you, still ringing in your ears as he finally let you go.

You passed.

“I don’t want trouble,” you utter hesitantly, finally reaching the small courtyard with a hand up, approaching cautiously, ready to strike at any moment.

“And what if I do?” he smirks, pushing himself from the tree and making his way towards you. With a hand on his hip, he saunters closer, broad shoulders swaying as he walks.

“I’m not your target.”

“How can you be so sure?” he crosses his arms slyly, flicking the card back in his pocket.

“105 was my target, and I was his,” you pause, growing slightly nervous. You can feel an energy, a craving, a radiating force coming from his body. Something pent up, about to explode. “I’ll tell you what I know about your target, just let me leave.”

“Hmm…” he hums, eyes narrowing further as a smile creeps up on his thin lips. “Your two badges are still worth something to me.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, your mind reeling in dread. You can’t beat him; at least, you don’t think you can. You’ve seen what he can do, what options do you really have? The surrounding trees may offer cover, but he’d surely run you down.

“You wouldn’t come out unscathed,” you say after clearing your throat, the blunt words spoken with a slight apprehensive tone. “And you’d need a third badge too.”

His hand moves to his chin and he hums, that devilish smile still plastered on his damned face. He’s already decided something.

“What if we came to an… arrangement?” he proposes, stepping closer as he lets out the soft huff of a chuckle. “An agreement in which we both stand to gain something… and you can leave with both your badges.”

Your stomach turns with anxiety at his words. Nothing could ever be so easy.

“What kind of arrangement?” you ask, almost knowing you might regret it, the words coming out in a hoarse whisper, caught deep in your throat.

He grins, a fisherman who just felt a tug on his line. Slowly, he reaches out his hand, palm upwards, extending his pointer finger out to you.

Within a second, he snaps it back, a beckoning call which somehow sends you flying ten feet forwards straight into him. Your face hits his chest, your body crashing into his as your hands instinctively move up to try to lessen the blow.

“What the-”

“You see,” he sighs dramatically, interrupting your complaint and wrapping one arm tightly around your waist to hold you against him. “I’ve found myself in quite the bind… a predicament, one may say. So much built up with no way to release it…”

Your eyes widen as you feel the slight touch of his fingers grazing up your neck, his other hand still firmly holding you in place, your hips tightly pressed against him. Immediately, heat travels straight to your cheeks as you look up into his narrowed eyes.

“I… you don’t mean…” you stutter.

“I’m sure you’ve figured it out by now, haven’t you?” he smirks as his fingers snake around your neck, his touch firm. Your breath catches as they tighten, and he begins to slowly back you up against a nearby tree, the rough bark tickling the back of your scalp. “I haven’t killed anyone in days…”

You watch his chest rise and fall, his breaths growing quicker, lips parted slightly. And those eyes – dull and clouded with a repressed haze – bare into your soul, scanning every element of your face.

Swallowing, you too let your gaze fall along his face, his body, those muscular arms which hold you against the trunk. What am I doing? This is a terrible idea…

“What’ll it be?” he huffs impatiently, grip tightening as he leans in, causing you to gasp. “You leave in the morning, both badges in hand. As if nothing happened.”

His breath is hot against your ear, rough with his smoldering passion. You freeze, heart racing in nervousness, or… excitement? You can’t tell, and it only makes you feel worse.

To kill… to fuck… is it all the same to him?

The silence is unsettling; his hand remains on your neck, the hold unwavering as a soft dusk breeze makes its way through the forest, rustling leaves along the way.

“Okay…” you steady your voice, looking up into his eyes. “It’s a deal.”

A smile flickers across his face for a fleeting moment, but within an instant, his lips are crashing against yours, hungry and desperate. He lets out a soft sound against your mouth, something between a growl and a moan, as he pulls your hips forward, further into his.

“Good choice…” he murmurs as his grip on your throat releases and his fingers snake backwards, the feeling of sharp nails trailing along your sensitive skin making you wince. Your head snaps back as he pulls your hair, and within a moment his mouth is on your neck. He plants hot, messy kisses along your flesh, occasionally grazing his teeth across you, as if holding himself back from taking a bite.

The cool breeze tickles your neck, now wet with a thin layer of saliva, sending a faint shiver down your spine. Apprehensively, you reach your hand up to the nape of his neck, sliding your fingers through his hair, unintentionally pressing his face closer to your skin.

He groans, and you feel the harsh pinch of a bite at the base of your neck. His hands travel down to your hips, now pulling you away from the tree and backing you up deeper into the forest, the path out of sight.

“Wouldn’t want to be interrupted,” he murmurs between breaths, his mouth moving up to plant kisses along your jaw.

You watch in the darkness as he pulls back, his eyes scanning the environment behind you, expression lighting up for a moment. Without a warning, he pushes you backward, sending you stumbling down into the thick grass below, the dampness of the vegetation cold against your hands as you hit the floor.

He grins, walking closer and leaning over your body between your legs, the moon above disappearing as he steps in front of it, like an eclipse. The white rays of moonlight create a blurry haze around his silhouette, his body a looming shadow above you.

Oh, he’s not gonna be gentle…

Crouching down, his face just inches from yours, he lets his eyes wander over your body fully, taking in your entire form. Your chest, rising and falling swiftly. Your eyes, wide in anticipation. Your hands, propping you up slightly as you rest in the thick grass.

“You’re scared…?”

His question is rhetorical; he knows you’re terrified. Terrified of him and terrified of the consequences. And yet, there’s something that draws you in, something that keeps you from running. Something…

“Does it matter?” you whisper, eyes meeting his through your eyelashes.

“No,” he smirks with a shrug, now moving to settle between your legs, his arm reaching behind you on the grass, steadying himself as he gets onto his knees. “It’s more fun that way.”

As the last words leave his mouth, he captures your mouth in another kiss, his lips moving furiously against yours. You slowly let yourself fall back into the grass, hands gripping his shirt as you pull him down with you. Sounds of soft pleasure fill the air, your senses heightened, feeling the soft skin of his face against yours and the dry tack of his face paint tickling your nose.

You’re just as desperate for it now, your desire snowballing with every kiss, touch, breath. It’s wrong and dirty and indecent but you just can’t help yourself, his body pressing yours deeper into the ground.

And then the movement starts, his hips grinding into yours as he uses a hand to pry your thighs apart. The sudden friction sends a jolt of electricity through your body, a small sound escaping your lips but immediately captured by his.

He lets out a deep breath, his arousal growing more intense as he continues his movement into your hips, one hand keeping you pressed against the grass. Your arms wrap around his body, fingers sinking into the soft fabric of his shirt, tugging at it urgently.

A thin string of saliva connects your lips to his as he pulls back, wasting no time in pulling his shirt over his head and exposing his bare chest to you. His muscles, accentuated under the moonlight, tense slightly as the brisk air hits him.

He leans back in, eyes trained to yours as he tosses his clothes to the side. His hands move to your shirt, not waiting for confirmation before pulling it and over your head, nearly ripping the fabric with his urgency.

You shiver, unable to decide if the reason lies within your exposure to him or the elements, and you fall back to the grass.

“Forgetting something?” Hisoka teases as he slips a finger under the bridge of your bra, lifting your back from the ground as he pulls it towards him. His other hand slides behind you, his fingers working to unhook the clasp.

You feel the color rush to your cheeks as he drops your undergarment to the side, his eyes hungrily trailing down to your exposed chest. He continues to study you for a moment, his tongue pushing against the inside of his cheek as he lets his gaze roam down, and down… and down.

Oh.

Your pants are already being torn off, the coarse fabric quickly sliding down your legs as he tugs them up in the air.

Instinctively, you tuck your knees, pressing your thighs together nervously as he kneels in front of you, eyes still taking in your appearance in silence. It feels demeaning, degrading, dirty, the way he looks at you. And something about it makes heat pool between your legs.

He stands, his fingers slipping under the waistband of his own pants, tugging them down just enough to see his v-line peeking out from the pale fabric.

“Get on your knees.”

His demand rings though your ears, the hum of sound clouding your thoughts. It’s as if your body moves on its own, fueled by nothing but inherent lust and scandal, your knees digging into the dirt as you look up at him.

You tug his pants further down, desperate for him, to feel him, to tastehim. He smirks, allowing you to remove it, letting the fabric fall to his ankles.

The resulting sight makes your breath catch in your throat, your eyes widening as they stare, unmoving from him. The size is…

“Make it fit.”

Your stomach drops, not in fear, but rather sensuality: the thrill of desire. Moving in, you waste no time giving him what he wants, your tongue running up the length of him, pausing gently at his tip and moving back and forth, a slight saltiness spreading throughout your mouth.

Hisoka grows more restless, his breathing staggering, the air caught in his throat as you toy with him.

“Get on with it,” he growls, his hand quickly grasping your hair at the scalp, pulling your face closer to him.

You smirk, eyes not leaving his as you lick a long, thick stipe up your palm, saliva glistening in the night. Your hand moves forward, gripping his cock and beginning to move, tantalizingly, back and forth.

He groans, his fingers intertwining further into your hair and sharp nails scraping against your scalp.

You move slowly, teasing him further with your tongue, taking him deeper, an inch at a time as your hand continues to work at his base. The pressure builds in your mouth, your jaw opening to accommodate him as you continue, almost choking and gagging.

As your lips touch him, taking him in, he lets out a straggled moan, strong arms forcing your head forward again, more and more, until you’ve taken his entire length in your mouth. You grip his thighs, feeling him hit the back of your throat and push harder. You twist, making him fit.

And then he pulls you back, just as you had gotten the chance to adjust. That is, before he thrusts your face into him again, and again, and again. It’s aggressive and violent, his grunts growing louder with every push, his hips moving forwards to meet your face, forcing himself even deeper into your mouth.

You feel tears blurring your vision, unable to feel anything except the sensation deep in your throat, the pain of him hitting against you, but the pleasure of knowing what you’re doing to him.

The muscles of his thighs under your grip begin to tighten more frequently, his gasps and moans growing more desperate.

“Fuck…” he grumbles under his breath, the word barely distinguishable from the series of pleasurable sounds caught deep in his throat, just as he is caught in yours.

He pulls you back by your hair, a strangled grunt escaping his lips, lips which immediately twist into a scheming smile. With his other hand, he places his finger under your chin, using his thumb to wipe the stray saliva dripping from the side of your mouth.

You fall onto your back, pushed back into the grass by Hisoka as he straddles your body. He leans in, mouth finding yours in a kiss as he positions himself over you, sliding his hands along your bare arms outwards, his hands meeting yours. After just a moment, he pulls his hands back, running them back up your arms, one finding your breast and the other, your hip.

You shift to move your hand, but it’s stuck. You tug and pull, furrowing your brow and pulling back from the kiss to glance to the side, staring at your hand, almost cemented to the ground.

“Why can’t I move-”

You’re immediately silenced, Hisoka’s finger moving to your lips, a sly smile plastered on his face.

“Don’t concern yourself with such trivial matters such as your hands…” he whispers, kissing at your jawline as if nothing happened.

The wet sensation draws your attention back to the moment, forgetting about your hands, or lack thereof. He moves again, positioning one leg between yours, pressing down into your body. You move your body up and closer to his as you begin to buckle your hips against his thigh, craving stimulation.

He smirks against your mouth, feeling your slick against his thigh as he continues to kiss you. Suddenly, he shifts his position, moving his other leg between yours. One of his hands travels to your hip, pushing you further into the ground.

“Such a dirty slut for me, aren’t you?” he purrs, his mouth pulling away from yours as his hand moves from your hip, trailing down to your inner thigh. You shiver, eyes meeting his in the starlight, a shadow looming over his face.

He slides a finger up, gently skimming along your skin as he makes his way closer to your core. His finger moves further up, teasing your folds, his touch far from gentle.

“Ah-” you dig your head into his shoulder, your hands gripping at the dirt as he continues to move his finger. Your eyes widen as you feel his sharp nail graze against your clit, the pain and stimulation sending a shudder through your body.

“Careful-” your forced whisper is quickly halted as he moves two fingers into you, slipping easily inside your throbbing pussy. You tighten around him, your heels and hips digging deeper into the dirt as your muscles contract.

It’s messy, inconsistent, almost selfish. He moves his fingers deeper inside of you, forcing small sounds of pleasurable pain from your lips, as if he cares not for your satisfaction, and only for what you can do for him.

After only a moment, he removes his fingers from inside of you, sliding them seductively up and across your neglected clit. They continue their journey up, sliding along your navel, sternum, and up to your neck.

“Clean them,” he demands suddenly, not waiting for a reply and shoving his fingers into your mouth, the tips pressing down into your tongue.

You let out a soft groan, the sound catching in your throat as his fingers muffle you, that is, before you begin to suck and lick him clean. Your tongue moves across and between his sticky fingers, lapping up your wetness from his skin.

As you continue to work at his fingers, he spreads your thighs further apart with his legs, settling between them. His fingers push further down against your tongue, eliciting a small whine from you.

You gasp as you feel him between your folds again, the tip of his cock sliding back and forth against you, lubricated with your slick.

He finally removes himself from your mouth, his hand now resting beside your head on the grass. His body remains pressed against yours, his hips stopping their movement as they slide back, positioning his tip at your entrance.

You bite back a moan in anticipation, pursing your lips as you look up at him, hovering over you.

“Beg for it,” his mouth twists into a smart grin.

“Please…” the word leaves your mouth before you can even register how degrading the situation is. You’re simply too frustrated, too needy. “I want you so bad… please…”

“Say my name,” he whispers close to your ear, his own breathing unsteady as he processes your words. “I want this whole island to hear you.”

“H-Hiso-”

The rest catches in your throat, the sensation of him slowly entering you drawing out a long and straggled moan, mingling with the remnants of a real word. Your fingers tear at the grass below, body contracting as he pushes deeper and deeper, filling you up more than you thought possible.

The movement begins, slowly at first, then speeding up in aggressive desperation. Your head throws back in pleasure, unable to tell if the stars you see above are real ones or not. Hisoka grunts with every thrust, each one growing in power as his fingers dig into the ground beside your head.

And the dirt. It coats your hair as he rocks you back and forth, stuck to the strands with the soft grassy dew acting like glue. You bite your lip, stifling a desperate moan into the night, knowing anyone could be in the surrounding forest.

Hisoka’s hand moves to your neck again, giving you no time to process as he tightens his fingers around you, using you as leverage to fuck you even harder.

“What did I tell you?” he grumbles through his clenched jaw, his pace unwavering. “I want to hear you.”

You oblige, forcing yourself to whisper his name, focusing on nothing else than the word, trying to distract yourself from the tightening around your throat, and the pounding in your stomach. It feels as though your organs are moving, shifting positions to accommodate his selfish length.

“Louder,” he growls.

You try, raising your voice as he continues to grind his hips against yours, his movement losing coordination as time progresses, growing less calculated, more carnal.

It really does feel like he wants to kill you.

You feel the pressure building within you, in time with the tightening of fingers around your neck. Vision growing hazy but body taught with pleasure, you manage to stutter.

“H-Hisoka… I can’t…” Your throat closes tighter, silencing you again.

“I don’t care,” he grunts, his breathing signifying he’s close to the edge. He has no plans of stopping…

You should hate it. It should scare you, terrify you even. The thought of dying: fucked to death on a deserted island by a man who cares not to even learn your name. But your body doesn’t work alongside your rational thoughts.

The constant rhythm, the stimulation, the force, it all comes to a climax.

Your body shakes, his name on your tongue as you feel the release. You tighten around him, your head digging back into the ground, just as he lets out a strangled gasp.

His hand releases your neck as he pushes his lips into yours, his hips moving as he rides out the waves of pleasure. You capture each other’s moans, drowning them in the sheer force of the kiss, passionate and feverous, as messy as anything coming before it.

A final gasp escapes your lips as your body relaxes, growing limp under his as your muscles twitch with remnant stimulations. He pulls his lips back from yours, gliding them against your jaw, his head eventually moving to settle beside yours, with his forehead pressed against the grass.

Breathing. In and out. Just the sensation of it feels like a blessing through all the turmoil. The dark of the night feels duller now, the sky softening into a darker gray rather than a piercing black.

The feeling of time passing is indescribable, minutes turning into hours or hours turning into minutes: you can’t tell. You’re sat there, quietly, simply left alone with your thoughts and a heavy body above you, hands still stuck to the floor.

The silence of the forest continues, as if unaware of the chaos, unaware of the fact you were just fucked to an inch of your life, the leaves still rustling with the same rhythm they did hours before. A peeking dawn cracks over the tops of the trees, the sky hinting to shades of purples and oranges in the distance.

“Hmm…” Hisoka hums, picking his head up to see the changing sky, as if waking from a slumber, the new light now highlighting his face in different ways than before. His face paint is smeared, no thanks to your nose and his sweat, with small pieces having been chipped away. And his hair. His hair has flattened, small pieces falling in front of his face, contrasting their normal pushed-back appearance.

He pushes himself off you, his abs clenching as he lifts himself up, standing up fully with a deep breath. Leaning down, he wipes the slight tint of brown dirt from his knees, the grass and soil falling back to rest on the ground, leaving him completely clean, a different sight from you. In silence, he delicately gathers his clothes, scattered across the grass in different places, putting each item back on, casually but with concentration, eyes no longer darting to you as you watch him, your hands still glued to the ground by some unknown force.

He shrugs his last layer on, smoothing the wrinkles of his shirt as his hand runs across the clove and spade on the front of the fabric before settling on his badge, #44. He straightens it out delicately before adjusting his clothing one more time. As he does, he stares off into the trees, through the dense trucks and into the fading darkness.

“Well, it’s been a pleasure,” he finally says, sighing and waving his hand dismissively as he walks away. With that, your hands are free again, the pressure releasing and allowing you to move your wrists. You gasp, immediately sitting up onto your palms as you watch him, walking back through the forest and to the established path, already beginning to smooth his hair again. Without another word, he disappears into the foliage, his footsteps growing softer and softer as time passes. And then, silence.

And it leaves you: naked, dirty, wet, and disheveled in a patch of grassy soil, blades littered across your body and scattered through your hair. Your breathing slows, the rise and fall of your chest softening as you draw your gaze upwards and to the sky, those warm colors, scaring away the sins of the cold night as they escape to the west, away from the light.

But what could you really have expected?

Perhaps you really were like the others in the end.

Just a mouse.

Happy Birthday Alexis! <3

[bongopowder]

getting lucky! (higuruma)

⁺ . ✦ .　⁺ 　 . ✦ jujutsu kaisen (higuruma x reader) ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . ⁺

content (18+): nsfw, female reader, gambling, casinos, drinking, smoking

word count: 5.0k

a tune for you: a little less conversation (elvis presley)

The blaring lights, flickering at every machine, send a colorful wave of illumination shooting across the stained and patterned carpets. The sweet smell of smoke and crisp bills mingle in the air, filling your nostrils with something seemingly toxic, but also intoxicating. And the sounds, sounds which flood every inch of the space, echoing off the wallpaper plastered on every surface of the room. It was a concoction, a collaboration between the loud, drunken chatter of patrons, the occasional clattering of a machine, and the constant ringing of a buzzer, now simply a hum in your brain. Ding! Ding! Ding!

Some might call it sensational. But to you, the feeling was none other than that of suffocation. Overstimulation. Drowning.

You take another sip of your martini, the intensity of the gin doing nothing to repress the anarchy of the casino atmosphere.

“You seem… distracted?”

Blinking a few times to regain your consciousness, you turn to your friend, who sits beside you at the bar, watching you with an inquisitive gaze.

“Something on your mind?” She probes, her stare wandering out to the casino, to find whatever had captivated your attention. “Or maybe… someone?” Her lips tug up into a sheepish smirk, an almost teasing look.

“What… no,” you shake your head quickly, extinguishing any assumptions she might be making. “I was just, spacing out is all.”

She hums quietly in response, scanning the casino floor as if looking for something specific, her eyes narrowing predatorially. Once she spots whatever target she was searching for, she peers back to you, giving you a knowing look.

“What is it?” You roll your eyes, though not seriously annoyed by her antics.

“Him. You were totally staring at him, weren’t you? He’s perfectly your type,” she grins, flicking her head to gesture out to the casino.

You raise an eyebrow inquisitively, immediately forcing yourself to stare into the maze of machines and tables to find the prey of her little game.

“The one by the slot machines,” she clarifies. “You’ll know which one when you see him.”

Oh.

You hate it when she’s right.

He’s just there, peeking out from the end of the row of machines, sitting casually in a padded chair, eyes glued to the screen. The colors of the lights illuminate his face in a range of purples, and pinks, and whites; his hooked nose casts a small shadow as he turns his head, studying the game before him with tired eyes, just as you study him.

His suit – with the top few buttons haphazardly open and his tie undone – is consistent with his somewhat disheveled and fatigued expression. His black hair is gelled slightly back, slick and reflective, with a few loose strands falling in front of his forehead. Bringing his whiskey glass up, he places it on his temple, eyes dejected as the light on his face turns red. A loss.

“See? I was totally right!” Your friend exclaims smugly, watching as you ogle the man across the floor. You simply shake your head.

“I’m nowhere near drunk enough for that.”

“For what?”

“To approach him.”

“Oh, come onnnn…” her voice eggs you on. “I’ll be here for moral support. Finish your drink and go, before he leaves! He’s soooo your type, you can’t let him walk off!”

You groan, shaking your head again. Internally, you’re conflicted; you can’t help but know she’s right, and you’d be insane to avoid a man who looks like he’s been peeled straight from the front page of some “sexy business” magazine, but to approach him is… something else.

Your friend cheers as you down your martini in two large gulps, the burning sensation matching that of your mental turmoil.

“You’re gonna do it?” She exclaims in excitement. “Don’t worry about me, I’ll be here when you get back… or when you don’t come back.”

You roll your eyes at her wink, but you can’t repress your smile. Without wasting another second, you saunter over to the slot machines, taking a deep breath, hoping that by some miracle, those last few gulps of gin give you something good to say.

“So, any luck today?”

Fuck. That’s really all I could think of?

You mentally curse yourself, but your outward façade is unwavering, no thanks to your ever-lacking flirtation abilities. Leaning slightly against the side of the machine, you smile down at him warmly.

His eyes look slowly up to meet yours, his brows furrowing slightly in confusion at your presence. The screen flashes red again, a bright color which draws his attention back to the machine, his elbows never leaving the control panel. Burrowing his face in his hands, he grumbles softly.

“Does it look like it?”

Sitting back, he grabs his drink again, taking a swig with a sigh. His back presses against the chair, and he adjusts his hips, lifting them softly before he resettles with his legs pushed further apart.

You bite your lip, trying to remain composed as you watch him, thinking of something, anything, to keep the conversation going.

“Maybe I can change that.”

That was a good one…

You push off the machine, moving to sit on the armrest of his chair, careful to avoid the side with any potentially essential buttons. Your bare arm brushes slightly against his shirt, and you adjust your cocktail dress, pulling it comfortably over part of your legs.

“You’re too young,” the man replies, somewhat bluntly, but with no hint of annoyance, as he takes another sip of whiskey, his eyes glued to the machine.

“You don’t even know how old I am,” you quip quickly in return, hosting a somewhat sly smile. He can’t be that much older than me… right?

“I know you’re not old enough.”

“But don’t you want to win? I’ve been told I can be quite the lucky charm,” you lie, hoping it might give you a chance. Leaning forwards, you feed the machine a play with some cash.

He sighs, finally looking up at you through his eyelashes, the bags under his eyes becoming more prominent due to your proximity.

“Fine. It’s your money,” he cedes casually, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He lights one, simultaneously pressing a button on the machine to spin the wheels. He takes a long drag, now completely captivated by the on-screen stimulation, the lights continuing to accentuate his sharp features as he exhales a cloud of gray smoke.

The first column slowly comes to a halt, landing on a lemon.

Okay…

And the second column... another lemon.

Your eyes widen in surprise, flickering over to his face to see how he’s reacting. Nothing.

The third wheel feels as though it takes ages to stop, continuing to spin even as you think it’s finishing.

And…

A lemon. It’s a lemon.

Your chest tightens, partly out of nervousness and somewhat in surprise. Turning to see the man again, you watch as his expression shifts and he leans forward in his chair.

Quickly, the machine spits out the winnings: ¥6000.

“Well… I guess you are lucky…” The man grumbles admittedly, sitting back again and taking another drag of the cigarette, seemly deep in thought. He gestures to the money on the control panel.

“It’s yours,” you reply, gesturing back. “Remember?”

“I don’t need it,” he sighs, rubbing his head.

“Then buy me a drink with it.”

He lets out a noise, somewhere between a scoff and a light chuckle, finally reaching forward to grab the money. Scanning it, he counts it quickly to make sure the amount is correct, simultaneously grabbing his whiskey again with the same hand that holds his cigarette between his index and middle fingers. He nods at the money, downing the last bit of whiskey before beginning to stand.

“Alright. I’ll buy you a drink with your own money, if you insist,” he replies casually, trying to appear indifferent. As he stands, however, you see him finally beginning to drink in your appearance, his eyes moving slowly over your body in an almost calculated manner.

The two of you approach the bar, a different one from where your friend stands. She shoots you a wink from across the room: your last source of good luck.

“Another one, please,” the man says as he sets his empty glass on the wood, leaning over the bar with his elbow planted. He glances at me, raising his eyebrows.

“Oh, and a martini… dry, please.”

The bartender nods, turning around to pour the drinks.

“I never did get your name?” His voice draws your attention back to those eyes, piercing yours with their dark gaze. You oblige, telling him your name.

“And yours?”

“Hiromi,” he says, taking another drag of the cigarette before extinguishing it on a nearby ashtray.

You hum and nod as he replies, watching as the bartender pours the vermouth into your martini glass. A moment of silence pervades the atmosphere, broken only by the rattling of cocktail shakers and murmuring of nearby patrons. Hiromi’s eyes remain fixed on another bartender and his whiskey, the spherical ice shifting in the glass as the alcohol is poured over top, the liquid almost twinkling under the lights.

He's not very talkative…

“So, what do you do for work?” You ask, leaning against the bar.

“Law,” he replies, his tired eyes not leaving his drink as it’s placed in front of him.

“Oh, that’s nice…” You smile, trying to save the dying conversation as your martini arrives. “So… are you here long or are you visiting from somewhere else?”

“Visiting, for business.” His eyes flicker to yours, for a moment, before shifting back to his drink.

Is he just not into me or something?

“You know,” you start, now deciding to duck out of the conversation, starting to back away from him slightly. “I think my friend is-”

“It’s a conference of sorts,” he interrupts, sipping his whiskey before turning towards you completely. “Quite boring, really. I’d rather hear about why you’re here.”

“Ah- me?” you perk up again at his interest, “I’m just on a trip with my friend, we’re in the city for a few nights, just to travel.” Man, this guy is bipolar…

“Are you staying here?”

“At the casino?” you ask, shaking your head. “No, just a hotel down the road. This place was a bit out of the budget I think.” Chuckling, you allow the alcohol to soothe your nerves slightly.

“Mmm…” he hums, finishing his whiskey in one swig and setting the glass down gently. “I have a room upstairs, got it for the chip discount,” he explains while tapping his casino card on the wood of the bar.

“Also,” he adds, “the liquor here is… mediocre, at best. I keep nicer whiskey up there, so I can go back for an occasional drink.”

You peer curiously into your martini glass, finding the gin pretty decent.

“So you agree?”

“I agree?”

“That the liquor isn’t great,” he concludes, with a nod.

“Oh, right… Yeah, it’s not the best…” You simply nod, convincingly agreeing with the sentiment, but he appears distracted again, already moving to light a new cigarette. He holds the box out to you, pushing one up with his thumb: a silent offering.

You nod, thanking him briefly before taking the cigarette.

Leaning closer, he places the cigarette in his mouth and removes a lighter from his pocket, placing the flame between you. You move closer to him, allowing your cigarette to touch the fire just as his does; the warmth and light from the dancing flames reflect in his eyes as he looks down at you. He pulls back slowly, eyes unwavering from yours as he blows smoke slowly from his mouth with an unreadable gaze.

“Why me?” His words are direct, but inquisitive, spoken as he takes another drag of the cigarette.

“Why you?”

“Why approach me?” he emphasizes the last word, raising his eyebrows as he looks down at you. Your face heats up at the bluntness of his inquiry, and you smile slightly.

“Not every question needs to be answered,” you reply coyly, gesturing to the drinks. “And clearly the universe is rewarding us for my choice.”

“Mmm… maybe so,” Hiromi nods, cracking the slightest of smiles. His gaze flickers around your face, as if studying your features, slowly and tantalizingly.

After the fleeting moment, his free hand reaches for his whiskey glass. The realization of its emptiness causes his face to twist into a soft frown, his eyes shifting down to the glass as he swirls the ice within it.

“Come on,” he sighs, pushing off the bar as he runs a hand through his gelled hair. “It’s time for another drink.”

You watch as he nods his head towards the elevators casually, a neutral expression still plastered on his features. He wants me to come to his room?

“I’m just gonna finish-”

“Leave it. I have nicer gin,” he interjects without turning back around, waving his hand dismissively before putting his cigarette to his lips.

Before you can reply, he’s already striding away, a slight eagerness to his pace. Shrugging, you take one last sip of the martini before quickly catching up to him, leaving the crystal glass on the bar top, alongside your half-finished cigarette.

The atmosphere of the elevator ride is indescribable; monotonous jazz plays roughly through the poor-quality speakers, the sound mixed only with the rattling of metal from the machine. Hiromi is silent, leaning back against the outdating wooden paneling, seemingly lost in thought as he continues to smoke.

Your heartrate picks up nervously, your mind haphazardly running through the scenarios to come. The man is an enigma.

Ding!

The elevator comes to a swift halt, pausing on the 22nd floor. Just as before, Hiromi wastes no time, stepping out and quickly treading down the long hallway towards his room.

Without a word, he swipes his card to unlock the door, holding it open for you and beckoning you inside the dark room. He places a hand delicately on the small of your back, guiding you through the doorway, sending a shiver down your spine.

The door shuts quietly behind you, leaving the two of you alone in the darkness. Your eyes fail to adjust quickly to the change in light, barely able to make out the silhouette of a large bed and small couch, lit only by the distant city lights outside the large, open windows. The sound of fabric sliding draws your attention behind you as Hiromi takes off his blazer, the cigarette between his lips. You somewhat clumsily fumble for a light switch somewhere on the wall, leaning forward and running a hand over the textured wallpaper.

You feel his large hand wrap around your wrist, pulling your hand away from the wall. Within a second, he reaches to your waist, immediately pushing you back against the wall, pinning you there with his body. He releases your wrist almost tenderly, seductively running his fingers up your arm before tucking one under your chin, tilting your head up.

“You didn’t really come in here just to drink, now did you?” His voice is low and rough against your ear as he leans in, his hand unwavering from your hip as he presses you further against the wall.

For the first time tonight, you feel nervous. It’s as if you can feel your heart pumping blood through your entire body, echoing in your brain. You open your mouth to speak, but the words seem to catch in your throat.

“Mmm… What ever happened to that boldness on the casino floor? Not so confident now?” Hiromi teases, his free hand moving up to move a piece of hair that had fallen in front of your face. His touch is almost gentle, a contrast to what you see when you look into his eyes.

“Well… I just...” You pause, trying to find your voice, though it cracks in your dry throat. You look up at him again, your eyes trying to focus on his own rather than his lips, which quirk into the slightest of smirks. “I- I didn’t… expect…”

“Spit it out.”

The words are demanding, but his tone is playful. He studies your face more, eyes wandering across your features like he did to the slot machine, perhaps more methodically now.

“I just didn’t think… it would be so… quick into it…” You manage to whisper, trying to contain your emotions.

“Quick?” He lets out a sultry chuckle, his hand sliding to the back of your neck. “Oh, trust me, nothing about tonight will be quick,” he mumbles, flicking the bud of his cigarette off into the darkness.

And with those last words, he pulls your face forwards, his lips crashing against yours in a needy, hungry kiss. You return the vigor, passionately tasting the lingering whiskey and smoke on his tongue, your hands wandering up his chest, feeling over the buttons of his shirt.

You can feel him smirk against your mouth, his hands now roaming down your body in desperation, as if searching for the best place to settle. He tugs at your dress, bunching the fabric up your thighs until it collects around your hips.

The kiss continues in its hot, rough wake, your teeth occasionally crashing together in urgency, neither of you willing to pull back. Without another warning, he wedges one of his thighs between your legs, grinding against you and pushing you further into the wall.

The sudden friction isn’t lost on you, and you let out a soft noise, the sound swallowed by his mouth. This, however, only seems to fuel his enthusiasm, and he continues to push his thigh back and forth, slowly and tantalizingly grinding against you.

Your hips instinctively buckle into his motions, only driving him to move faster. His hands land on your sides, moving you into the movement himself as he separates from the kiss.

“You’re so desperate for me already…” Hiromi whispers, beginning to line kisses along your jawline. “But I want to hear you a little bit more.” His hand reaches up, gripping your hair in his hand and tugging your head back, giving him easier access to your neck.

Instantly, bites down softly on your skin, the sensation in time with the movement of his thigh. You stifle a moan, biting your lip and pushing your head further against the wall.

You feel his breath on your neck, cold on the area where his spit remains.

“That’s more like it, my dear. Keep those coming…” he breathes softly as he continues to suck at your neck, traveling down to your collarbone.

“You’re… gonna have to work… for it,” you reply, somewhat breathlessly, trying to control yourself as you tease.

He growls softly against your neck, pulling back to look you in the eyes.

“That sounds awfully like a challenge,” he smirks, pulling his thigh away from you. You feel the vacancy as your dress falls back down, an odd chill running through your spine.

“It’s just like gambling… try something and see if you get lucky,” you taunt, a smirk tugging at your lips.

“Lucky, you say?” He grins, leaning down towards your face again, his finger caressing your cheek with small, circular motions. “I think I’ve gotten pretty lucky already tonight…”

His lips just barely graze yours as he speaks, tempting you to move forward to close the distance.

“And I think you’re going to get even luckier.”

He chuckles, shaking his head in mock disapproval before grabbing your thighs from behind, hoisting you up into his arms so you’re straddling his hips. Responding instantly, you wrap your legs around him, his arousal becoming even more obvious between your legs as your hips press against his.

Noticing your eyes widen, he smirks softly, continuing to walk you towards the bed.

“You can handle it.”

The words leave his mouth quickly, and he gives you almost no time to process before he tosses you back onto the bed, his body immediately climbing on top of yours.

“You’re so beautiful, all spread out for me like this,” he whispers, a hint of need in his voice as he settles between your legs. “But I can think of a few ways you’d be even better…”

His hand trails up your slide, lightly grazing over your breasts and coming up to the back of your neck, settling on the zipper of your dress, laying delicately on your spine. Without waiting for confirmation, he tugs on the metal, and the sensation of the zipper teeth opening begins to spread down your back.

Even in the dim light, you can see his eyes widen as your dress gets tossed to the side. He stifles a noise arising from his throat, biting the inside of his cheek as his eyes flicker down.

“My eyes are up here…” You tease, cheeks heating up slightly.

He takes a moment to reply, his gaze still unsettled as he takes in your curves and exposed skin.

“But I think you’d much rather have me down here,” Hiromi eventually replies, his index finger trailing down your sternum, eventually stopping at your navel. The cold sensation of his finger causes your body to squirm, much to your distress.

He grins in satisfaction, finally moving his finger further down your body, hooking it around your underwear.

“Or how about here?” He tauntingly runs his finger along the edge of the lace.

His finger slips further into your underwear as he presses his body down onto yours, his mouth lingering near your ear.

“Remember… I want to hear you,” his whisper echoes in your head as his finger slides down between your folds. You press your head back into the pillow, the touch eliciting a soft, but loud breath to escape your parted lips.

“Fuck…” Hiromi chuckles gruffly into your ear. “You’re so wet for me already…” he whispers needily, letting out his own deep breath.

He eagerly slips his finger further down, sliding it deep inside of you. Your hands instinctively grip his back, pulling at his shirt as he moves in and out of you, continuing to plaster kisses to your neck.

Continuing to work his fingers, two now slipping inside, his thumb rubs circles along your clit in time with his kisses, working feverishly, almost in desperation as he pumps his fingers inside of you. His lips trail down your neck, moving across your clavicle and down to your breasts.

Your hands move to his hair, tangling into the strands and breaking through the hold of the gel. He smiles against your skin, his teeth lightly grazing you before he plants more kisses along your breast, kneading the other with his free hand. You arch into his touch, your body writhing against him as he continues his onslaught of pleasure.

After only a moment, he slowly pulls his hand back and sits up; you feel the emptiness, whimpering slightly and shivering, desperate for more. He grins, listening to your sounds of need as he brings his fingers to his mouth, licking them clean.

“You’ll get it soon…” he hums as if he can read your thoughts, beginning to unbutton the rest of his shirt, the fabric slowly slipping down his broad shoulders as you remove your own underwear. He swiftly throws the garment to the floor, leaving his chest bare, the dim city lights trickling in from the window and highlighting his softly toned body.

He keeps his black tie, shifting his legs further up your body and grabbing your arms aggressively, but still with a gentle touch.

“I don’t believe you’ll be needing these anymore,” he says, his voice husky as he begins wrapping the tie around your wrists, extending your hands above your head and tying them around the metal bar of the headboard with the fabric.

You watch, still twitching slightly from the earlier stimulation, your eyes moving from your hands and back to his eyes. His gaze darkens, moving away from the headboard and immediately moving his hands back down to your legs.

His fingers travel along the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, teasingly getting closer to your core, but stopping tantalizingly close. You groan in frustration, your eyes silently begging him to continue.

“I’m gonna need to hear a little more than that,” he says, a smirk tugging at his lips as he uses one hand to begin unbuckling his belt.

You purse your lips, gaze wandering down to his slacks as he quickly slips his leather belt from the loops.

“Please…” you murmur, your cheeks growing red in a slight embarrassment.

“Please what?” he teases softly, fingers now beginning to unzip his pants.

Your breath catches in your throat as he tugs his slacks from his hips, the fabric falling to his knees and bunching on the bed. He shifts out of them, leaving him in nothing but a pair of black boxers, his bulge now even clearer, hidden behind only a thin layer of fabric.

“I… I need you…” you choke out, eyes trying to tear away from his hips.

He smirks, climbing further onto you and placing a hand beside your head, using the other to tug at his boxers. He slips them off his hips, now leaving nothing to the imagination.

“Wanna be a bit more specific than that?” he whispers, leaning in close to your ear as he positions himself between your legs, which instinctively spread and wrap around his hips. He groans softly against your neck, using a hand to pull your hips flush to his as he pushes you down into the mattress.

“I- I need you inside of me… now… please,” you finally stutter, your lips only centimeters from his, your deep breathing synchronized in the silence of the room.

He exhales sharply, your words clearly having an affect on him as he pushes closer into you, his cock slowly trailing up and down your folds, now slick with your juices. Grinding softly into you, moaning in your ear, he lifts your legs further and positions himself over you.

“Tell me you’re ready for me,” he whispers, voice laced with need as he presses his forehead against yours.

“Please,” you nod desperately. “Please…”

He growls softly before crashing his mouth into yours, his lips working against yours passionately as he slides himself into you, keeping your hips pressed into the bed.

You swallow each other’s moans, the kiss growing deeper as he drives his hips faster and faster against yours. Stars dance across the sides of your vision as you take every inch of him, his thrusts pushing himself further inside of you, hitting all the right places.

Your hands tug at your restraints, pulling the fabric as every inch of your body tenses, filled with pure pleasure as the back of your head pushes deeper into the pillow.

“God, you’re… y-you’re so tight…” Hiromi stammers, using one hand to grab the headboard as he continues his onslaught, his hips moving rhythmically against yours.

A soft light flickers into the room from outside, the illumination heightening the shine of his skin, a think layer of sweat beginning to form as he continues to grunt and move against you. His hair falls in front of his face, the gel notwithstanding your activities.

His hand travels down to your legs, hoisting one over his shoulder effortlessly before continuing his pursuit, your body crunching together as your foot almost touches the headboard. The changed angle has him hitting new places, your body beginning to quiver from his measured strokes, beginning to speed up with urgency.

Your labored breathing is again disrupted by another kiss, one which is difficult for either of you to maintain, the sounds of pleasure continuing to fill the room.

His grip on your hip tightens, and it grows clear that he’s trying to hold back, his body taught with both pleasure and pressure. He’s teetering on the edge of release, his arms beside you shaking with the effort of holding back. He slowly shifts onto one hand, moving his other down your body, quickly finding your throbbing clit and massaging it with his thumb.

The newfound sensation sends you closer to the edge, your moans only growing louder as the frequency of slapping skin grows quicker.

“H-Hiromi.. I- I’m gonna-”

“I know…” he grunts, not stopping his rhythm. “Come for me, l-let go…”

His words bring you to your climax, the orgasm rippling though your body, caressing every limb as you gasp and shake against him, tightening around his cock.

The sounds alone are enough to push him over the edge too; his body tenses on top of yours, and he releases a low, guttural moan as he buries his face into your shoulder, his hips moving slower and slower to ride out the wave of pleasure.

Your breathing continues deeply, as if you’re desperate for air, starved for it even. His sweaty body continues to press against yours, and you feel the rise and fall of his chest on top of you as he processes his comedown.

“Y-you… you’re…” he chuckles softly as he struggles to get the words out, slowly bringing his head up to look at you with those familiar, tired eyes.

He scoffs again with a smile, shaking his head and moving to remove the tie from your wrists, gently undoing the tight knots keeping you in place. With your wrists released, you bring them to your chest, gently caressing the tender skin, worn down from the pulling and tugging.

“Mmm… I hope it didn’t hurt too bad,” Hiromi says as he settles beside you, relaxing and putting an arm around your shoulder, pulling you into his chest as you lay next to him.

“It’s alright…” you whisper breathlessly, placing one hand on his chest, feeling the slick sweat still clinging to his skin.

“You know what might help…?” he says, looking down with a slight grin.

“What?"

“A drink.”

Thanks for reading! <3