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reivunzu · 4 months ago

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the promise - a lisa frankenstein AU (5.6k)

“Do you like music? I have The Cure.

Oh. Not that kind of cure.

They can’t make you better. I mean they can, but like, emotionally.”

summary; feeling alone, you visit the graveyard for some company. lightning strikes twice, and everything suddenly changes.

warnings; weird girl!reader, Gojo whose lived under a rock for years (literally), alcohol intoxication, attempted sexual assault (not by suguru or satoru) , slight angst, slight suguru x reader

notes; not proofread :( was gonna be waaay longer but i cba :3 part 2 soon if this gets support :p

☆

You thought about death frequently. Not with suicidal intentions, but rather curiosity. Would your body lay there to rot in eternal darkness with no mind left to wander anymore, or would you be able to feel the dirt on your skeletal fingers, and roam the earth as the ghost of the person you once was? You often wondered if the death still had feelings, thoughts. Would bugs take home in the empty hole where your heart used to be before it decayed, becoming a habitat for nature before succumbing into a moss, sinking into the earth and taking root, the only signs of life being your soul, your memories that your family carry with pride?

The year is 1989. Technology is rapidly improving, music is eccentric and full of personality, cinema is great. The first episode of The Simpsons is aired. Nintendo just released the Game Boy. Metallica receive their first ever Grammy nomination. Nirvana’s debut. The release of Bill and Teds Excellent Adventure, which you liked too much to admit. A shake in pop culture, really.

However, you still managed to stick out like a sore thumb, despite sharing these same interests with the rest of the town. Family life was hard following the death of your beloved mother, your father remarrying too quick for your own liking (and good) resulting in you gaining a sickly sweet step-sister, and a step mother who resembled Lady Tremaine.

It was hard to hate Shoko. Despite how much you tried, you couldn’t bring yourself to hate her. Despite her eyebrow raises and murmurs of dislike towards your outfit choices, she was your sister now.

Her mother, however, was a different story. You knew from the first time you met her that she held an unreasonable hatred towards you, afraid to ruin her ‘perfect’ family image. Your dad didn’t care enough to listen to your complains, always brushing them off with promises that she’d warm up to you eventually, ending with a soft hum as he flips his newspaper and leans further into the comforter. Shoko was the only person who actually listened to you.

“I don’t think that blush is your shade,” Shoko bustles into the bathroom, bending down just slightly to reapply her hot pink lipstick in the mirror. She does a double take, her eyes scanning over your face and your heavy eye make-up in disdain. Her lipstick is a hot pink, a true contrast to the black tube resting politely beside your messy, unkempt eyeshadow palette.

“Gee, thanks,” you murmur, patting it out with the pads of your fingers. Ruffling your hair in the mirror, your face turns into a scowl. “I think I’ll probably just stay home.”

Shoko tuts, turning to you with a blank expression as she sets her lipstick down. “It’s compulsory,” she rests her arm against the counter, leaning her body weight against said arm, crossing her legs. “And you know what your doctor said,

You need socialisation.”

That may have been true. After the death of your mother, you developed a tendency to isolate yourself from social situations, isolate yourself from the world around you. As soon as you came home with your first bottle of black lipstick and The Cure vinyl, your father had urged you towards therapy. You didn’t blame him, because his worry for you felt genuine, real. It reminded you of the times when your mother was still around, when everything was still okay.

Shoko had good intentions, even though she was dragging you to a party against your own will. A party full of frat boys and Sandy Olsson from Grease lookalikes, where you would stick out like a sore thumb. Parties were never your thing, at least parties like these. You much preferred the comfort of your own bedroom and Led Zeppelin to soothe your worries, not alcohol and cramped bodies.

“Why don’t you use my tanning bed?” Shoko suggests, quickly earning herself a deathly glare. She rolls her eyes, but doesn’t back down.

Shoko was a sweet girl at heart. To the rest of town, she was the image of a perfect daughter. Top grades, she was a medical student in training. Popular in school, crowds gushing over her and her equally perfect best friend Suguru Geto. Though he was more reserved. Suguru Geto was polite and kind unlike her other friends, never failing to offer you a wave or a genuine smile whenever he was in your presence. Whenever you had the privacy of being alone, he’d allow you to gush over your shared music taste, sometimes even giving you new recommendations for you to spend the night researching while he and Shoko skip off to yet another party.

Shoko often teased you for having a crush on him, which you constantly denied. It wasn’t a crush, it was just, you favoured him, perhaps?

Stepping out of the tanning bed, you stumble on your feet. The crackle of electricity is still running through your veins, and if your vision wasn’t so hazy you’d be worried your blood would be glowing a radioactive blue. Thunder crackles in the distance- or was it just the sparks from the plug of the tanning bed?

“I’m really sorry you got electrocuted, y/n.” Scratching the nape of her neck awkwardly, Shoko avoids eye contact with you.

Once fully stable, you focus on taming your frazzled hair. Shoko pretends to check her nails, trying to swallow don’t her guilt, while simultaneously trying to maintain her own pride. Her trusty tanning bed had never let her down this bad before.

Maybe it was the bad luck that seemed to follow you around everywhere. Maybe it was that grave that you always gravitated to. The one in the corner of the graveyard, the one that never had any flowers. The sore thumb. You liked to think you were quite alike. Despite being from completely different eras and centuries, you two had one fatal factor in common- you were forgotten.

Satoru Gojo, the tombstone read.

“This party’s going to be clutch. There’s going to be two kegs, and Namami, the emo one, stole a nitrous tank from his dad’s dental practice. Isn’t it just off Bluff road?”

“Uhuh,” you mused, finally managing to tame the beast of you hair enough to look socially acceptable. “There’s a shortcut through the forest through Bachelors Grove.”

Shoko stilled, turning towards you in disgust. “The haunted cemetery?”

Even when she tried to be understanding, she still came off as a little judgy. You never minded. You knew she was trying.

The cemetery where Satoru Gojo lay. You often wondered about what his life was like. Did he have a hard home life, too? You liked to imagine so, for your own sake. You imagined he was similar to you, almost. An outsider in his own era. Or was he popular like Shoko is, a figure of such beauty and grace that it was hard to ignore? But still, his desolated grave was a sight on sore eyes. You wondered if your own would be like that too, abandoned.

“It’s not haunted,” you intervened, slightly more defensive then a normal person should be. “It’s just abandoned. I’ve never seen anybody there. I think it’s really peaceful and quiet.”

Whenever you had the chance, free from the harsh load of school work and your jarring step-mother, you liked to tend to the abandoned graves. To show love to the ones who didn’t have any love anymore. You hoped that the ghosts of once was knew they weren’t forgotten. There was someone out there who remembered each and every one of their desecrated souls.

“I do wax rubbings of all the tombstones. I have a favourite,” Shoko knew you were a little weird, sure. But atleast you were happy. That was all that matters, she concluded.

“You have a favourite, yeah?” She egged you on, struggling to tie the strap of her uncomfortable heels. You walk over, still limping slightly from the aftershocks of the tanning bed incident, tightening her heels with little struggle.

“A young man,” you muse, the ghost of a smile on your lips. “I tend to his grave and leave him flowers, and…

I talk to him sometimes.

I just don’t think anyone should be forgotten.”

☆

“If you’re looking to fade out, the Ethanols inside.” A gentle voice from behind caused you to drop dead in your tracks.

The party was already on full fledge, empty beer cans and shot glasses scattered all over the yard. His boots are heavy as the crunch the grass below, his steps thought out and calculated. Put together.

Suguru Geto was always so put together. Maybe that’s why you liked him so much, eagerly eating up his presence whenever he was around. Even his cologne was steady, never seeming to fade, the smell of him almost causing you whiplash. You knew it was him before you even saw his face.

“What?” You weren’t fully there, or capable to decipher his previous words. Your focus had been on the over crowded house- and sorry crowded house, but you were really dreaming that it would be over before it started.

“The booze,” you turned to face him, his grin was gentle and composed. His hands were stuffed into the pockets of his baggy black jeans, sagging them down just slightly due to the added weight. You adverted your eyes. “It’s in the house.”

Oh. “Yeah, I think that Shoko brought most of it.” Speaking of Shoko, you quickly snapped out of your love-ridden gaze to search for the girl, who was currently whispering into the ears of two girls, ones that you recognised to have gave you dirty looks in passing earlier in the school year. All three of them kept glancing your way, trying (and failing miserably) to not make it obvious. They were obviously already inebriated.

You weren’t uncomfortable under their gaze, this situation having already happening to many times for you to keep count anymore. You loved Shoko, really, but she never knew how to keep her mouth shut. And it was the same thing, everytime. They wanted to know how you ended up the way you did. So shut off, so reserved from the world, so desolate. You didn’t want the sob story. You didn’t need people feeling bad for you.

There was nothing worse than the feeling of being pitied by people far superior to you. People who had everything that you once had, that was now out of your grasp. People who never appreciate what they have.

Suguru wandered off, and you followed aimlessly, like a little puppy with nowhere to go. He didn’t seem to mind- or if he did, he didn’t bother to voice it. He shuffled his way to the keg wordlessly, kneeling down beside it and picking out two separate red cups from the bunch. He looked back to you, a silent offering as he held the cup your way.

The piece of red plastic was still empty. You still had the chance to deny. But when Suguru was looking at you with that purple tinted gaze, how could you not? You don’t think you would ever want to deny him of anything.

You weren’t a drinker, despite all of Shoko’s pestering. You didn’t understand how people your age found joy in it. Where was the joy of being constantly dizzy, out of your mind and not even being able to remember a single thing the next day? You concluded that there was no joy in having your previous events from the night before recounted back to you from a friend anxious over your reaction, your body filled with regret. You’ve seen your share of this plenty from Shoko, so why would you voluntarily copy her actions.

But.

It was Suguru asking. So you reluctantly agreed.

Maybe that was the first mistake. Or maybe the first mistake was allowing Naoya Zenin, one of the snobby rich kids, to chat your ear off. It was all a blur, really. You didn’t see Shoko much for the rest of the night, of Suguru either for that matter.

You don’t remember when it kicked in. All you know was that it did. And quick. Was the sky spinning, or was it just you? Nope, it really was spinning. It had to be. Reaching a hand out, on your eyes it fell contorted. You brought the palm of your hand closing to your face, wiggling your fingers. Your palm was moving, your veins bulging- or what it just imagination?

The panic had already set in. Or had it?

Your third mistake was trying to stand up, all too quickly, in a way that had your body immediately lurching over, your dinner threatening to arise. You stumbled back up to your feet, convincing yourself that you didn’t need to sit down, you were fine- your fourth mistake. Naoya’s expression was unreadable, at first. It soon contorted into one of disgust, though he quickly masked it with a (fake) smile, one that seemed so strained it was more like a grimace.

“Let’s find somewhere more private for you to go sit for a bit, yeah?” He arose, invading your personal space with a rough hand on your back, a hand that was too close for your liking. If you were any less inebriated, the red flags in your brain would’ve gone off immediately, sparking like fireworks, enough to light up the whole town in red flames. But you weren’t sober.

“Here we go,” You hardly realised at first when his hand started to wander, sliding down your back to the globe of your ass, with a touch so feather light you could’ve missed it. And then before it’s even took place in your mind he’s raising it back up, wrapping an arm around your shoulder to steady you.

No, no.

Nothing was right about the way he was touching you. He was rough. So rough, it was unnerving. He led you to a secluded bathroom, grunting whenever you slipped up and tumbled your whole body weight on him.

the click of the door muffling all sounds. You were sure that was Shoko you could hear singing faintly. Your breathing was unsteady, uncollected, uncomposed. It had you thinking back to Suguru- what was he doing right now.

But- oh, oh no. That wasn't Suguru infront of you, and that wasn't Suguru whose hot breath you could feel on your neck. And that certainly wasn't Suguru who was leaning in for a kiss-

Something in your mind finally clicked, and you were pushing him away. You didn't want this. And Naoya Zenin knew that.

He stumbles back into the shower curtain, unimpressed. It seems the alcohol is catching up to himself now, as he rubs his head, his fingers pressing firm into his temples, a groan leaving his lips.

And you run, leaving the bathroom behind, leaving the party behind.

Someone yells from behind you. You can't make out who it is.

You don't bother checking.

☆

Satoru Gojo’s grave is bare, as usual, just as you expected.

You fall to your knees beside his tombstone, the mud, wetted by the previous storm dirtying the petite dress Shoko had shoved you in, matching her own. It wasn’t your style, but for her you didn’t mind it. You don’t know when the weather became so…malicious. It was fitting, really. Maybe Satoru had caused it. He knew how you were feeling, if he was watching over you.

“It’s you,” you heaved for breath, the harsh thumping of your heart beat finally steadying as you took a comfortable reside on his tombstone. His presence was calming, even if he was dead. Almost like Suguru’s.

The thunder crackles again and you let out a pained whine, a nimble hand grazing over the lettering of his name. Satoru Gojo. “It’s you,” you repeat. What would he do in this situation? You wish you could ask him.

You wondered if he was weak like you. Or maybe he was strong. Maybe he was the type of person to always have an answer for everything, a beacon of hope. Maybe he was the type of person that people would rely on, the strongest. You imagined he would be pretty considerate- the misunderstood usually are. You liked to think you were considerate- considerate of those around you, putting others before yourself. You even let Shoko put you in her tanning bed, even if it didn’t turn out quite how she planned it. You let Suguru give you a drink- why?

You often blamed yourself for your mother’s death. You were the only one who witnessed it. You heard all the whispers after her body was taking away in the ambulance. Your father holding your frail young body to his chest, your neighbours watching in concern- whispers of “how could this happen?” Nobody blamed you for what happened. It was a freak accident. It was never your fault. So why did it always feel like it was? Why could you never live up to anyone’s expectations?

The thunder crackled again. Maybe it was Satoru’s own way of comforting you, of letting you know that he was listening.

“Oh, I..” your voice cracked as a choked sob threatened to make its way out and disturb the ambience.

“I wish I was with you.”

☆

How were you meant to explain to the Victorian zombie currently huddled up in your wardrobe that, in fact, that wasn’t what you meant.

He was pretty. Really pretty. He had these overwhelmingly blue orbs, that felt he was staring down into your soul. His hair was soiled with dirt and mud (and whatever else, you didn’t even want to think about) but you could notice slight clean white streaks peaking through. He almost looked like an angel. Oddly pretty for a zombie who should be a decaying pile of bones right now.

He was extremely confused when you dragged him back to your house in the midst of the storm, rain damaging your eyesight into blurry splotches. It wasn’t like you could exactly leave him there- a zombie, with no bearings in the middle of the forest. It wasn’t exactly ideal, but you didn’t want anyone catching him. It was either you leave him for dead (ironic), or take him with you. You chose the latter.

You quickly caught onto the fact that he couldn’t speak. Something about being dead, you weren’t really sure. But he could listen, his dead eyes watching you intently, lovingly almost, whenever you spoke. You quickly caught onto the fact he must’ve been distraught about the loss of his voice, grunting and moaning constantly to get any words out. He must’ve been a speaker, huh.

You shove a coat over his body, and the phone rings jarringly. His head moves as quick as it can for a dead persons, his joints aching after not being used for so long. You quickly run over to the phone, declining the call. But his eyes are still caught on it, a hint of curiosity in his gaze.

You quickly remember there was no technology in his era.

“That’s my dad’s shoe phone,” your own words have you stifling a grin at the positive memory. He smiles slightly. You think. You can’t really tell. “He got it for free with his subscription to Sports Illustrated.”

He makes a noise. You’re not really sure what he’s trying to say, maybe it’s in agreement, maybe his curiosity isn’t yet fullfilled.

You decide to switch your record player on to decrease the awkward tension lingering in your bed room, which should be your safe space. It currently isn’t, not with a Victorian zombie lingering in your wardrobe. Music had always been there to ground you. When your mother hadn’t, Ride The Lighting had. Ironic; as lightning had got you into this predicament in the first place.

“I wish I was with you.”

And then everything happened so quickly, in a flash of lightning. Everything was blue. Just like Satoru’s eyes.

The first strike hit the tree resting idly behind his tombstone. The old oak tree, the only presence ever in the graveyard beside your own. On your first visit to Satoru, the old oak stuck out like a sore thumb. You concluded by its size, that it must be so deeply rooted within the soil. You wondered if it was here when Satoru was alive. Maybe you gazed upon the same tree, wishing for the same fate.

The second strike of lightning hit directly on Satoru Gojo’s grave, and in a panic ridden gaze you stumbled back, your own yelp surprising you. And then the ground started shaking, and you could’ve swore that was a hand coming out of the soil-

The Cure. He’s listening intently. It’s a little dark considering your current situation. Boys don’t cry. Boys do cry, but they certainly don’t crawl out of the soil.

“Do you like this, uh, song?” You’ll switch it if he shows any sign that he doesn’t. You don’t want him to suffer in silence.

He nods- almost. It’s his own version of a nod, the best he can do.

You feel pity for him. You’re not sure what you would do in this situation if you were him. Being awakened from your centuries long slumber, to a girl you’ve never met before crying on your own tombstone. Seeing the proof of your death painted so cruelly on a peice of rock. It must be a lot to take in. And then being dragged to said girls house, and chucked in a wardrobe.

“Do you like any other music?” You question, knowing you won’t get any verbal answer. Small talk.

You get up, wandering over to tne record player when all music has died out, and all that’s left is faint scratching. You switch it to the b-side. The music flows again effortlessly.

“I have The Cure.”

He suddenly perks up, and hums. His fill attention is on you, and you shrink under his blue gaze. And then you realise what he’s wordlessly asking of you.

Oh.

“No,” you try to put him down slowly. “It’s not that kind of cure. It’s like a…it’s a band.”

He rolls his eyes. Well, he’s certainly a character. He’s not exactly what you expected. You thought considering his time, he’d be at least a bit more- gentlemanly. No. He’s sassy. But, he’s still curious. He chucks his head back with as much force as he can, hitting the wall of your wardrobe. A subtle thud.

“They can’t make you better. I mean, they can, but like emotionally.” He…smiles? Satoru shrugs the coat you shucked on him off from his lap.

There’s a comfortable silence for a while. The house is empty, quiet. Your parents are at work, Shoko must’ve stayed round Suguru’s. It’s only you and Satoru right now. He’s still staring at you- unmoving. His expression is soft, his eyes are loving. If he wasn’t covered in dirt, and well, a zombie, you think you could get used to it. Hold on- what are you saying?

You decide to bite the bullet.

It was all a big misunderstanding. If you explained what you really meant, then hopefully, he’d go back to wherever he came from. The ground, preferably.

“When I said I wished to be with you, I didn’t mean that.” You bite your lip, before continuing. He raises his head to stare at you again. He really needs to stop doing that. “I meant I wished I was in the ground, dead.

Because life sucks and people are jerk-offs.”

God, you really do sound like an angsty teen.

He doesn’t look happy. His face is contorted, his big blue eyes suddenly not so big anymore, downturned in the corners. You assume he doesn’t like the thought of you harming yourself. That’s…nice, you guess.

“I didn’t mean that I wanted to be…with you. You know… in person.”

He looks down. You smell it before you see it. It’s putrid. He’s crying.

You do feel a little guilty, before you’re blindsided by the stench. You stifle a gag, and separate yourself from him as much as you can. He looks up. Seeing the distance you have pushed between you two, and his lip quivers. Shakes.

“Oh, oh, I’m sorry.” How are you meant to comfort a Victorian zombie? He’s crying specifically because of you! And, oh god, whatever’s coming out of his eyes cannot be tears. “No, no, no, don’t cry!”

You don’t know if you’re begging for your sake or his.

“Don’t cry,” you try again, softer this time. He listens. “Please.” You add in, for reassurance. You’re not mad at him, even if his tears smell like the centuries he’s been rotting underground. You don’t know why you ever expected different. Well, in your defence, you never expected him to cry.

The dirt tracks staining your bedroom carpet really weren’t ideal. And you had to do something about his - stench. You wondered if he’d look even more beautiful if he was clean. It would be a hard task, but you’d find a way to make it work. Before your parents arrive, at least.

Getting him inside your house last night was hard. His frail body had slammed into Shoko’s mirror and smashed it, sending glass shards flying in every direction. You grimaced. And now you had to find a way to get him into the shower without his rotting corpse succumbing to death again. The poor thing could hardly stand on his own.

“Go,” You cover your mouth and plug your nose, catching Satoru’s attention again. You signal with your hand for him to stand- which he tries. And fails miserably. “Oh..my god.”

It takes some time, but you get there.

“So here’s some soap,” you offer him the pink block, to which he stares at with amazement. Yeah, his soap was probably never pink before. You had a quick fleeting thought about what the facilities in his life must have been like. God knows he’d never used a shower before. “You’re gonna need that.”

He grunts in acceptance. You don’t understand why, but something about him just makes you want to open up and speak. Maybe it’s the factor that he cannot speak back, so you know he can’t judge you. Well he can, but you cannot voice it- but out of sight, out of mind. He hasn’t expressed any disdain for you, yet- no, his eyes are always filled with something else- love.

You know that you’re to blame for the cause of his affections. You know that he must’ve been watching from the afterlife whenever you visited his grave, that he must’ve heard every single word that left your lips. Your declarations of love for a dead man. Affection that he hasn’t experienced for centuries. You conclude that he must have formed a liking for you- whether it was the first time you left him that single red rose, or the first time you cleaned his grave, rid of the moss that was begging to succumb him, to have him forgotten.

“I don’t know why I’m talking so much,” you ramble again. He’s listening with a sparkle in his eye. “I haven’t said this many words in forever. After my mom died, I got diagnosed with traumatic mutism. That’s where you don’t talk at all.”

You don’t know how or why you found yourself trauma dumping to a Victorian Zombie. You had already lost his attention as quick as it came. His eyes closed in on the radio, sitting deftly on the wall of the shower. He examined the buttons and the antenna with a newfound curiosity.

“Would you like me to turn on the shower radio?”

He hums, and your fingers find the switch. “This is Shoko’s station. It’s for beer sluts,” you whisper the last words, like if he heard them any louder he could take offence to it. “I’m gonna turn on the college station. It’s for people like us, with feelings.”

He seems to like it. You reach for the shower knobs.

“Okay,” your fingers trace along the taps, eyes locked on his as if to make sure he was listening. “Hot. Cold,” you start up the water. “This? Water.”

He mimics the sound of the water falling in fascination. “It’s from the future,” you muse.

☆

“What the hell happened here?!” Her voice is distant, muffled, but still as jarring as the first day you heard it. “Get down here now!”

Uh oh.

“Did you smash the mirror in the bathroom?” Damn you Satoru. Your dad’s voice was gentle, a softer contrasts to Shoko’s aggressive mother.

“Last night, I, uh…” last night, Satoru had been the one to smash into Shoko’s mirror with full force when he stumbled into your room, destroying everything that came into his way. Despite being one with the dead, this strength was oddly..alive.

He had been dead for centuries, but yet, he was still stronger than you. That hurt your pride, a little bit. But it also made you wonder about him, just a bit more. Who was Satoru Gojo? Why was he so different from a regular corpse? The twinkle in his blue orbs was so undeniable. It was alive.

“Told you,” Your step- mother scoffed, checking her manicure, her face contorted in disgust. “Your dad wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt, but I knew. I always know.”

Currently, Satoru Gojo was sleeping restlessly in the corner of your wardrobe, covered over with a pile of gothic dressers and vintage coats. You’d shoved him in there hopelessly the second you had heard the door slam.

He was adapting nicely- well, the best he could for a dead man. He seemed enchanted by new technologies, like your telephone, and the radio in the shower. You thought he’d be confused at first, maybe overwhelmed with how much the whole world had change since he inhabited it. He seemed to like it. He had developed a special liking for your record player, too. You decided that when all of this about the mirror was over, you’d walk him through your vinyl collection. You’d also have to find him some new clothes, too, because you were sure he wouldn’t particularly enjoy your choices of attire. Something from the depth of your dad’s wardrobe would have to do. Maybe Shoko could fetch some clothes from Suguru if you explained your situation.

“There was a damn tornado last night! Yard full of debris, now I guess I’ve got to clean up the bathroom, too!”

The commotion of your evil step-mother’s whiny voice was enough to attract the attention of Shoko, who bustles down the stairs and leans on the doorframe, watching her mother belittle you intently. “It was a tornado watch, mom.”

“Well, now, it was quite a storm though, Shoko,” Shoko’s mother turns to your father, who has been silent throughout this whole encounter. “You need to be a father right now. Your daughter has a taste for vandalism. She has been deliberately destroying my property! First it was my precious cake stand..”

“That was an accident!” You but in.

“Y/n, do you know what happens to people who act out? They end up in the loony bin.”

Shoko ruffles her hair. “You’re a psych nurse, mom. Should you really be saying ‘loony bin’?”

You appreciated Shoko’s subtle ways of defending you. It was always like this, whenever her mother would find something to pick on you for. Your father never defended you; but Shoko always did. Despite your differences, you liked her.

“Zip it, Shoko.” Her mother relents.

“All right, y/n.” Ah. Dads input. “You’re gonna go upstairs and you’re gonna clean up that bathroom. And, um..pay for the mirror.”

You’d have to figure out a way to pick up the funds to pay for a new mirror, whilst also simultaneously spending as much time as possible watching over the undead corpse of Satoru Gojo.

“Yeah, I’ll pick up an extra shift at Wayne’s.”

You hadn’t truly thought through about what you would do about Satoru Gojo while you were out. You still had your responsibilities, after all- school, work hobbies. You couldn’t do any of that while Satoru was around. He was undeniably cocky, for a corpse. However, he was missing some… parts.

You had found him some clothes from the depth of your father’s wardrobe. And that’s when you noticed his defects. Satoru was missing a hand. A clean slate, a missing limb. Satoru Gojo also had a hefty scar, running clean through the circumference of his waist. He held a certain distaste for his missing hand- he hated it. Satoru hated feeling weak. At his whines and groans, you’d expressed that there was no way you could magic up his hand. He didn’t like it one bit.

“Let me see,” you expressed with a gasp the second he make the reason for his upset clear. It was ghastly, disgusting. Putrid. “It looks cool.”

“I can’t do anything about that. I’m not a doctor,” he slumped over in defeat. If you had any way of helping this dismembered corpse, you would in a heartbeat. “But it’s okay, they’re just things that make you different.”

What happened to you, Satoru Gojo…?

Satoru slept in the wardrobe again that night.

“I, uh, have to get dressed,” Satoru didn’t budge, his nimble hand rummaging to grab a dress from the top of the pile of the clothing he was using as a makeshift blanket. He holds it out towards you in his working hand. It’s black, long and lacy, and certainly not appropriate for college. “Mm. That’s Shoko’s. She gave it to me because she said she got too many compliments in it.”

He grunts, but he doesn’t relent.

“Uhuh. It’s not really my style. I’m not a skeezer.”

He groans. Fine.

“Can I at least get a jacket?”

☆

80 notes · View notes

reivunzu · 5 months ago

Text

Breaking the Surface (Sex Pollen Kishibe x f!Reader) MDNI

Due to dwindling devil hunter numbers, you accompany your former mentor, Kishibe, in a run of the mill Devil acquisition. Upon encountering the devil, you both begin to experience some...side effects.

wc: 12.9k Ao3 Masterlist

Warnings: SEX POLLEN AND THEREFORE DUBIOUS CONSENT!!!! (if that is not your thing, please be on your way and we will see you in the next one, love you), enemies to fucking, mean Kishsibe, smoking, drinking, aphrodisiacs, age gap (like late 20s/30s and 50), kissing, spit, sex in an alley, blood (both Devil and Human, but not that much), hypnosis, sex marathon, doggy, missionary, sex marathon, cum, a lot of smell/scent stuff again.

What a joke.

The thought hung between the two of you, Kishibe in the driver’s seat, and you in the passenger, grumbling out the window. The disgruntled huff rattled in both of your skulls, throbbing against the increasing headache. Neither of you wanted to be here. Or rather, neither of you wanted YOU to be here. Makima bade you join him on what should be a simple execution with little to no complexity. Kishibe was the top of the top, with literally no need for backup taking down a middling level devil. You were perfectly capable, but not even really exceptional, but not a rookie who needed more demonstration either. But, instead of getting your own assignment or group to lead, you were stuck basically being the audience and late report filer for today’s excursion. Your day would consist of standing around, trying to stay out of the way, while he did all the real work, and you’d have the paperwork while he drunk himself stupid back at home. You sighed out, feeling the tension in your head building, the pencil callus on your middle finger already aching.

“How much further?” You huffed, glancing at the time, disheartened to find it was already approaching mid afternoon.

“Why, you got something better to do?” Kishibe’s eyes stay locked on the road before you.

“Better than watching you kill a devil barely half my threat level? Yeah, anything else.” You roll your eyes, squinting as the late morning sunlight peered over the drop down visor.

He didn’t respond, just carried on driving as if you hadn’t even spoken to him.

You roll your eyes again and remember Makima's instructions when you had complained, “You’ll go in as a team, numbers are slim right now so everyone pairs even if their ranks don’t align. No one goes alone.”

Public Safety was scrambling, for personnel, for intel, for quality hunters. Hours had become brutal, late nights bleeding into early mornings with barely time for a shower at home. The office floor was growing more barren every day. Chairs which had once been home to colleagues now sat empty, pushed into desks with dust collecting personal effects that would eventually be collected and trashed by the custodial crew. Everyone was on a razor edge, feeling the impending fate breathing down their necks. Irritability was at an all time high.

“—total bullshit.” You mumbled, shaking your head and pulling at the skin of your fingers.

“I didn’t remember you having such a shitty attitude before.” Kishibe took a smooth right turn.

“It’s been a long time since you were my teacher, Kishibe. A very long time. And I have a perfectly fine attitude, when my time isn’t being wasted.”

Kishibe grunted in response, taking another turn and stopping the car.

“Get out and fill the back right tire. It’s getting low.” He commanded, voice passive.

You looked around the windows realizing you had pulled into a gas station’s air pump. The dashboard didn't even have a tire pressure warning. Was he just trying to piss you off?

“It’s your car.” You settled into your seat further.

“You’re under my instruction.”

“What?” You rolled your neck to face him with lidded cold eyes, “ Your old knees can’t get that low anymore, maybe you ought to take a back seat on this one, huh?”

“So which is it, am I a decrepit old man who can’t do anything alone or am I too good to be wasting your precious time as my caddy?” He glared at you, watching your face contort in indignation, the squeak of your teeth grinding egging him on, “I’m just confused, your story’s inconsistent.”

“Fuck, fine!” You took off your seatbelt and got out, circling to the back of the driver’s side and unscrewing the valve cap and attaching the hose.

Air hissed rhythmically into the tire, which inflated itself. It was barely flat to begin with, he was just proving how easy it was for him to do whatever he wanted. He had always been an asshole, even beyond the time you had known him. Your months training under him were grueling. He pushed you hard, kicked your ass harder. But it was effective, you learned to take a hit, how to avoid taking said hit. For a while you found yourself admiring him. His power, his speed, his agility and experience. In your early days as a devil hunter, you had found yourself drawn to him. Wanting to know about whatever tragic backstory had scarred him, damaged him so that he became so callus, so vicious. Secretly wondering if you did well enough, or lingered long enough after hours if he would confide in you. Maybe he would even---- no. You didn't allow yourself to finish that thought, at least not often. He may be handsome and fit and strong, but he was mean and probably certifiable. He was one of those guys who was born an asshole and despite his heavily borrowed time, he would one day die an asshole.

The day was not starting well, at this rate it would be a miracle if you both held out long enough to actually face the devil. The pump began to beep, alerting you that the tire was full. You reset the machine for the next user and walked around the car and slipped back into your seat. Kishibe looked over at you boredly. You got your hand coated in whatever car road gunk, now turned them ashen and tried to brush off the bulk of it onto your pants, feeling the ickiness of it sink into your palms.

“Gonna get dirtier than that, you sure you're up for it?” Kishibe mocked your disgust, starting the car and looking just barely backwards to back out of the pumping station.

“I don’t remember you offering to get your hands dirty.”

Silence settled between the two of you. The drive continued, the car hummed, the radio was barely audible. Some You turned your attention back to your cuticles, allowing the sound of wind rushing past the cracked windows to fill the silence.

A dance pop song played on the radio, something about a woman begging her cab driver to get her to her booty call faster, before she changes her mind. Being desperate and touch starved was a feeling you knew well, especially as of late. The late nights had recently cost you your most recent in a string of casual lovers. One too ‘sorry, stuck at work.’ flake outs too many. You couldn’t blame them either, it wasn’t like you were all that present when you did manage to make it to your dates. Dating outside the company would always carry this barrier, between yourself and civilians. But dating within the walls of Public Safety carried all the traditional “don't shit where you eat” consequences, with a perfect cherry of “they, or you, will die horribly and leave the other to mourn” on top. You knew getting into Devil Hunting would make your life harder, potentially even shorter, but not getting laid? You’d rather be torn apart by the next devil you saw than forgo a good, consistent fuck. Or maybe you were just annoyed because your lover ex lover, as of late had dumped you, it meant you wouldn't be having sex this week, making this the fifth week in a row for you. Over a month of no sex. You can’t remember the last time you had gone without this long. The distraction of work kept your day-mind occupied, but when you’d return home, for however briefly, you found yourself starving for the touch of someone else. You were an effective partner for yourself, you knew your body well and particularly how to orgasm quickly and quietly, aiding your slip into sleep. But it wasn’t the same, you couldn’t lose yourself in the same way you could when you were with someone else. The way your mind would be consumed by the wholeness of the act; their movements, their body, the smell, the sight, the sounds. You’d find yourself stuck in your own head, barely rubbing out an orgasm before rolling over and falling asleep. It had been too long. Far too fucking long.

Even thinking about how much you craved sex began to make you wet. You felt the tug behind your navel, alerting your attention lower. You fidgeted in your seat, the sun in your eyes once again, the heating of your skin making your suit jacket feel restrictive and stuffy.

Kishibe noticed your wiggling. He watched out of the corner of his eye as you unbuttoned your jacket and tried to shrug it down your arms. Between the seatbelt and the cramped passenger side it was an awkward little dance that finally got it off you. He stayed focused on the road, praying the traffic would lighten so he wouldn’t be stuck in this ever heating box with you. You lay your jacket in your lap and adjust your seatbelt, not realizing how it found its place right across the center of your chest. Kishibe’s eyes didn’t even hesitate before peeking at the cleft between your breasts. Your shirt's fabric pulled tight, making the gaps between the buttons stretch, giving him the faintest glimpse at your skin underneath. A few rapid blinks cleared the image long enough for his eyes to turn his attention back to the road. He swallowed, tilting his neck to onside until it cracked.

He needed a cigarette, he needed his flask out of his coat pocket, he needed something to stimulate him. Something to consume his mind other than the growing, burning thoughts. It was just the nature of the assignment. It was infecting the air of the car, shaking you both with its humid imagination.

The Lust Devil. The Devil grown from the fear and shame of sexuality, ranging from infidelity, adultery, sexual violence, to personal repressive shame, etc. attraction and sexuality was a sensitive topic for nearly everyone alive, making its corresponding Devil powerful. Although, from the intel gathered by the information sector, its raw power wasn’t extensive. Its defensive power was harder to get an idea of, the previous reports that had been filed had been vague at the most helpful and fully redacted at the least. Hence why the top devil hunter was tasked with its capture. It had most recently been spotted in one of the shadier clubbing districts that Tokyo had to offer. Not a lot of tourists, nothing flashy, just a strip of bars, pachinko parlors, a few behind-the-false-wall establishments that were illegal, but documented. Likely favored by police or lawmakers in the area who could be bought out to turn the other way. Corruption was rife, making it the perfect breeding ground for devils. The sun was beginning to sink, the early afternoon was stretching, inching toward sunset. Finally Kishibe pulled the car into a car park six blocks from the suspected nest. He turned the key, plunging the car into silence. It felt suffocating, at least the awkwardness of the drive had been somewhat mitigated by the ambient car noise and the radio. You both hesitated for a moment before you moved to unbuckle your seatbelt. The click of the belt covered his sigh as he followed suit. You both exited the car and began to make your way out to the street.

The air had been sticky but an evening chill tingled the back of your neck, cooling your cheeks, which you realized had been burning. He reached into his breast pocket, retrieving his flask, unscrewing the cap. You rolled your eyes at his dependence, redressing yourself in your uniform jacket. He took a sip, your eyes crept over, watching the way his throat tightened. The stubble running down his neck was getting lighter, as was the scar from lip to ear. When you had met him, it had still been pink at its deepest points, the cross hatches where staples had once been were more pronounced, which now were faded and pale. You watched as his adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed whatever vice he had stashed away in advance. When you looked back up to his face he was looking back at you. He extended the curved silver flask to you. You accepted, taking a sip, trying to ignore the thoughts about the stick of his lips still lingering on the spout. You took another quick one, letting what you now knew was whiskey scorch down your tongue and throat. It was harsh and spicy, scouring down through your chest, spreading its warmth, bringing you closer to your center. You let out a long breath and handed it back and continued walking silently.

The crowds hadn’t yet died down. Throngs of people bustling in and out of buildings, waiting for crosswalks, car horns, wind, the taste of the whiskey, your senses were sharpened by circumstance so it all washed over you. Ordinarily you would have found yourself pushing through crowds, but Kishibe, at his imposing height and build seemed to create space for the pair of you. The uniform helped, that black tie and jacking becoming symbolic for people to know to leave Devil Hunters to their work, not try and engage, and certainly to not get in the way. It wasn’t long before you reached the cross street of the last reported sighting. There was no guarantee the devil would still be there, or even in the area, but you would have to start somewhere. Your left thumb had been subconsciously clawing at the cuticle line of your ring finger, it wasn't until you felt the wetness on your fingertip that you realized you had broken the skin. You pulled your hand out of your pocket and watched the blood on your nail bed bead up until the surface tension broke, making it drip down your finger. It felt auspicious, something about it made your stomach twist. Trying to put it to the back of your mind, you wiped it across your pants and pressed forward.

Kishibe noticed your delay, and it pushed him over the precipice. The car ride, the attitude, the tire, was whatever, but you were in the field now, there wasn’t room for more of your bullshit. He gripped your arm, pulling you to the side further from the street, a hushed scold coloring his tone.

“You going to make it?” He scoffs.

“What?” You tried to tug your arm back, his strength making your attempt look foolish.

“You’re off your game.” He squeezed your arm harder “You can’t do anything if your mind isn’t here. Whatever problems you have with scheduling or pairing, just deal with it tomorrow. But I need you here.”

He was right, you had let too much of your external frustration seep into the task at hand. Letting your personal gripes influence work would get you killed, you had seen it first hand. Before you could tell him he was right, he spoke again.

“If it’s a problem with me, I don’t care what you think I did. I don’t care that you think is a demotion to work with me. I don’t care. I chose you because I trained you well, you have experience, and I trust you. But it isn’t your choice. You do the job you're given, got it?”

“You--” Your brows wrinkled, “you chose me?”

“And regretted it nearly immediately. What the fuck happened to you?” He bit.

“I--”, you were speechless, your callus complaining in the car ringing in your ears, the selfish indignation with which you had entered the mission, “I didn’t realize, I’m sorry.”

It was such a stupid thing to say, but it was all you had. The truth was you had missed working with him, but the stress of the job had become so overwhelming, and the years had stretched on with less and less contact, it became really easy to forget that he had been a good partner.

“Don’t apologize to me, just fucking tighten up.” He scoffed, releasing your arm and straightening his back, “Just do your job, don’t die, when we get back and I'll rescind my request.”

He started to turn to continue the walk but you reached out to stop him.

“Captain wait,” You started but a crash from the alley closest to you stopped you both in your tracks.

Stepping in time with one another you rushed to the opening of the alley, peeking around the edge of the bodega on one side and seeing nothing but shadow and the colors of sunset. Deep reds and oranges filtering over the tops of the dumpster, stretching back and back further. Two fire escapes were nearly touching about eight feet above your head. This alley didn't have a dead end, it looked to stretch at least a block and a half back, with two internal alleys stretching perpendicular about twenty feet back. It was a tight fit, but pretty standard. The time for discussion was over, you had to get to work.

Kishibe stepped into the alley first, his dark eyes sharp and locked on the intersection between internal alleyways. You stepped in behind him, taping off the exit, indicating to any wandering pedestrians that there was a possible gas leak. Why devil hunters needed such benign sounding rouses, was above your pay grade, but still never quite made sense. You followed behind him closely, but far enough back that you could see around his broad frame. For a man as big and tall as he was, his steps did not make a sound. You couldn’t even hear the rustle of his jacket as he pulled a twenty centimeter bowie knife from his chest holster, it seemed to just extend from his hand silently. You pulled your own, smaller, but much thinner blade, from an internal pocket in your coat, along with a spool of razor thin wire. He stopped silently and you stopped not even a foot behind. If someone were to see your bodies in profile, they would see the two of you made the same shape, a light bend in the knees grounding your feet, torsos leaned forward, eyes and ears open, hands tight around your weapons of choice. You slipped on a pair of thin sheepskin gloves, something that wouldn't be penetrated by the sharp wire.

Kishibe put his unarmed hand behind his back, showing you his palm. A signal he had taught you to mean Target Present. You took in a silent breath, he did the same. Finally you could hear the soft rustling of the devil. No, it wasn't rustling. It sounded almost like it was…talking? Like hearing a whispered conversation happening two rooms away, you can hear that there is talking, but you can’t hear what it is or even make out the voices. This didn’t sound like a voice, more like a collection of voices. It was just barely audible over the road noise and wind. But he could hear it, and now so could you. Whatever you were going to kill tonight was right behind the corner. You pushed your now gloved index finger into his palm softly. Your way of telling him I’m ready.

There hadn’t been an alley to your right in over a block, so it was likely there was a dead end at the end of this corner.

What Devil would corner itself?

Before you could express your concern Kishibe stepped forward again. Then once more with his inhuman speed. Your body followed, attaching one end of your spool to the corner's edge and rushing behind him to line it along the opening, quick to attach the other side and duck underneath. He moved so fast you could barely see the Devil in front of you. It was so much…smaller than you anticipated. Only a few feet tall, thin and lanky. It was a deep grey/blue, shiny and goopy. You couldn't study it too long before you strung another line to the first ducking down to create an identical nearly invisible block a few feet lower.

Kishibe was making quick work of rushing and slicing where he could. The Devil seemed to be making little effort to fight back, just hopping from one spot to the next. It was fast, too fast, it seemed as though it was apparating in different spots rather than moving. Left and right, behind, in an unpredictable rhythm that had Kishibe pivoting sides more than doing any damage. He was usually silent when fighting, but you heard the huffs increasing in volume as he struck out. You watched closely, trying to decipher some kind of pattern in its movement.

Behind, right, behind, left, right, behind, left, behind….

When it struck you. Why wouldn’t it just go up?

The alley wasn’t covered, the area had only a single fire escape on the left building’s wall. You estimated it was only nine or so feet above you. From there it would be a swift jump/climb for the creature to escape to the rooftops.

It doesn’t want to escape.

“Kishibe!” Your voice clawed out of your throat, with no permission of yours.

Kishibe lunged to the right, finally catching the end of the gelatinous tail, lobbing off a few inches. The Devil, now trimmed, jumped to the left. Kishibe’s eyes were fixed in the way the tail’s nub was stuck to his blade. Only for a moment, a split second of distraction considering his arsenal. Deciding between using a different blade or sticking with this one. You rushed the creature as soon as you saw his stutter step, closing in on the fighters. Just in time for it to unfurl a long, proboscis tongue. It uncoiled itself vertically like a butterfly would, taking only a fraction of a second before expelling a fine mist over the both of you. Kishibe squinted, not wanting to close his eyes completely in case of a follow up attack, but you couldn't help it, the sting in your eyes, making you squeeze them shut. It made you cough. It tasted like nothing, but the inhalation was jarring. It felt like steam, it smelled like…ambergris, or sweat or lilac. Something warm and rich and deep. Not bad, just full. And organic.

“Don’t breathe in.” Kishibe commanded, breaking his own instruction by extension. He could feel whatever the liquid was on his lips, on his tongue, tingling the buds as the sank in.

Finally the amalgamated voice joined into language, or perhaps the mist granted you a level of understanding you didn’t previously possess.

Too late.

Kishibe didn’t allow it to continue its speech, bringing his blade down through the eye of the Devil, further and further until the thing was nearly bisected. It twitched briefly before stilling itself, blood pooled around its body.

You both had the same realization.

“This wasn’t it.” You vocalized for both of you, no Devil would have gone down that easily, or cornered itself.

“No it wasn’t.” Kishibe sheathed his knife, his flask found his hand, “This is just a piece of it. Probably not a very big one.”

You sighed, looking down at what remained of the bait that you had so easily fallen for. A Devil that could split itself into smaller, independently functional parts. It was horrifying to imagine the magnitude of what a power like that could do. The thing looks even smaller now split and limp on the ground, it could be useful to try and bring it back with you, give the lab team something to study. You saw plasma or some kind of internal fluid spreading out further, faster and thinner, than the blood was. You crouched closer, trying to examine the opalescent liquid.

“Don’t get too close.” Kishibe warned, using the upper arm sleeve of his coat to wipe blood from his face.

You felt the dew on your own face, swiping one finger across your cheek, looking at it. Shiny, thin, with a small iridescent sheen. It was the same. Whatever sap was leaking out was the same thing the Devil had sprayed you with.

“Flask please.” You asked.

Kishibe handed it to you wordlessly. You dumped its remaining contents onto the asphalt.

“What the fuck—“, he started but you tuned out.

You tried to scoop as much of the fluid up as you could into the now empty flask. You couldn’t really get that much but even a few milliliters would be enough to study. Your heart began to pound, thoughts of poison and infection raced through your mind. If whatever that was was going to try and kill you, gathering some of the source would be the quickest way towards inoculating yourselves.

“We have no idea what that shit was that it sprayed at us. We need a sample.” You stood up from your crouch handing the flask back to him.

“You could’ve let me clear it first. That’s just wasteful.”, he took it back snappily, shaking his head.

You rolled your eyes, of course he would find a way to complain about you potentially saving both of your lives.

“Whatever. If you get sick and need this, I hope you live long enough for me to say I told you so.” You removed your gloves, “We have to be close to the nest, why else would it send out a scout?”

Kishibe cleared his throat and blinked a few times. His head was starting to spin. That swimming, swirling feeling he usually only allowed himself once he was back home and there were no more devils to fight, no more choices to be made, only thoughts to silence and sleep to wait for. He hadn’t drunk nearly enough to be that drunk already. Usually when he was drunk his mouth felt dry, but now he was close to drowning. Swallowing down excess saliva over and over. This was something else.

Your heart was still racing, your mind chasing it down. You were starting to sweat, clammy hands and cheeks chilled by the wind that leaked into the alleyway. You felt on the verge of a panic attack, you were starting to panic when you felt it. A lick of yearning pulling at you. A pulse emerging from your clit. Your panties all too quickly became wet. Your nipples peaked and strained against the fabric of your bra painfully. Your mouth whetted itself, your tongue feeling loose and floppy among so much moisture. You no longer cared to examine the body of the Devil crumpled beneath you, you looked up to Kishibe. His eyes were darker than you had ever seen them, they seemed to be endless pools of abyss, begging, pulling, thralling you into them, into him. You had never noticed quite so closely the details of his face; high, pronounced cheekbones, hollows so symmetrical that even the long healed gash on his left cheek couldn’t take away the beauty.

You had seen a picture once, of him in his 30s. It was buried in some file, it wasn’t a great picture, he was bloodied and bruised, you hadn’t read the whole report attached but you could assume it was some kind of incident report. In this moment, in this alley, with whatever drug was now being carried by your bloodstream, you saw him for the younger man he was once. The same man he had always been. Only for a moment, his hair fluffy and dark, skin supple and bouncy, lips not yet wrinkled by time, full and wet. Those same lips faced you now, years of smoking seemed to have skipped aging this part of him. The eyes never change, the ones in the picture had been just as cavernous, just as unreadable. Like a shark, catching the wounded, wiggling fish it had traced for miles. The black iris and pupils bleeding together, stark against the white sclera. No wrinkle or bag in their periphery would ever make those eyes less terrifying to be caught in. Those shark eyes held you steady in their gaze.

“What?” You asked, panted, actually.

He didn’t answer, just looked you over, taking in every inch of your body.

“Kishibe, what?”

He cocked his head just barely, that god awful neck crack sending a jolt straight to your flooding panties.

“Stop looking at me like that. What is it?” Your cheeks burned, everything burned, you needed to loosen your tie or take your jacket off or fuck take everything off.

“Do you feel it too?” His voice was different, rough, strained.

Your blood fell cold again, despite the burn in your cheeks. Piece of the puzzle were falling together, but fuck you didnt have it in you to dare look at the whole picture yet. Your brain was starting to fuzz, boundaries of station and taboo blurring together.

You looked up at him with concerned eyes, pulling your jacket down your shoulders and dumping it onto the dirty ground without a second thought. “This isn't good. I feel…sick…”

But that wasn't the right word, you felt your body aching, heating and cooling too rapidly to maintain, shivers and sweats commingling into an internal hurricane.

“What do we do? Do we just---” You couldn’t speak the lewd ideas out loud, shame clogging your throat, making it hard to breathe.

He took one carefully measured step toward you. He wasn’t sure what to do either, he didn't have enough blood in his brain for reason, too much of it had fled to his cock. Which now strained against his pants so hard that he worried for the integrity of the button. You looked so concerned, but so good, the grime of combat appeared a better enhancement than the finest makeup in the world. Your eyes were large and wet, not crying but filling with moisture the same way his mouth was still drooling. You saw how you shifted your weight, a small gasp escaping you as--he speculated-- the inseam of your pants pressed too closely against you. Fuck he wanted to give in, to take it away, he wanted you, he wanted you so badly he thought this might actually be the thing that finally kills him.

You shifted again, uncomfortable under his gaze. You pulled at the knot of your tie, tugging it loose, praying it would give you some kind of relief. It did not. You undid your top buttons, hoping the evening air would cool your neck. He could see the sweat beading along your neck, for a moment he tasted the salt and sweetness on his still stinging tongue. Kishibe groaned, this was not helping his situation at all. His dick strained further, his heart wasn't even aching any more, it was spasming. Painfully. Was he having an actual fucking heart attack?

“Okay fuck it.” He gasped out, he felt lightheaded, this was happening too quickly“This will get worse before it gets better, I need to fuck something, now, and I don’t know how long I can hold out and I know you feel it too.”

He said it. It was actually out there, hanging in the space between your two overheating bodies. Even just hearing him speak those words aloud you felt a microsecond of repose, only to bring the intensity of sensation all crashing down on you once more. It was too much to bear, you sunk to the ground. You thought you might vomit, or faint, not from repulsion, obviously not, just from the overwhelming feeling of your own blood pulsing against your ears. You keeled over onto your knees, trying to fight your body.

Kishibe’s bad knee cracked as he crouched down to your level, one tentative hand finding the space between your shoulder blades. You moaned at the firm, warm pressure of him touching you. A broken, weak moan. One that sent him ailing once again.

“It’s some kind of aphrodisiac…”His hand moved up and down the line of your spine, not daring too low, or too high, staying contained in the benign, sexless rectangle of your shoulders, “But a strong one.”

You nodded, his words sounded like you were underwater, you could barely make them out, the sensation of his hand on you was too distracting.

“So what? Is it some kind of trap? A distraction?” You pled.

“Maybe.” Kishibe’s hand stilled, he moved to sit beside you, no longer able to keep himself on his knees, “pretty good defense. Keep your opponent…” his eyes flicked down the front of your shirt, then back out quickly, “occupied. Then attack.”

Your eyes flashed open, hoping to find his face again,“So we have to move. We can’t stay here.”

“Can you even stand?” Kishibe avoided your eyes, leaning his head back to the night side, showing you the full length of the side of his neck.

Drool fell from your lips, you could feel the sensation of his stubble against your tongue, the thin skin under your teeth, the muscles against your lips. Your pussy pulsed again, reminding you of the cause of your wandering mind. You looked down where your spit had pooled and saw it was laced with blood. Not a lot, but more than none. Whatever this was, it was doing something to you internally. Something bad. Kishibe’s hand, once on your back, gripped the back of your neck and turned you to face him. His face was deadly serious. A blood vessel had popped in his left eye, a small red moon surrounding the dark planet. This wasn’t some avoidable awkwardness, or some traversable terrain with no consequences, this was becoming life or death.

“Do you trust me?” He had brought your face so close to his own, you could smell the tobacco on his breath, the whiskey, something sweeter.

“Yes. Kishibe please…make it stop.” You finally begged.

He kissed you hard, the traces of blood in your mouth invading his own. You pulled him in by his shirt, scooting yourself closer to him, the gravel underneath you digging in its teeth, making holes in your pants. He was already undoing the fly of your pants when you took your first breath. You wanted to feel him, his body, his heat, anything, you ripped through his buttons, a few of the poor bastards making their new homes amongst the garbage surrounding you. If your younger self could see you now, in the arms of your mentor, surrounded by filth and death, about to cross every boundary she knew kept you apart, she would…honestly, you probably would be elated. Pervert.

“Open your mouth more.” Kishibe bossed.

He spoke in sharp, clear commands when you would work together, but still you were shocked his voice in this situation would feel so familiar. You followed suit and obeyed, opening wider, welcoming in his tongue. You grabbed at his chest, his side, his back; you didn't hesitate before digging your fingers into his skin, feeling the muscle, the skin. You pulled him closer. He had one arm wrapped around your back, the other finally unfastened your pants, making no delay in slipping two of his thick fingers inside and under your panties.

“Oh….. fuck…” He shuddered, pulling off your lips, his head and eyes rolling back in time.

You were so wet, if your pants had been any color other than jet black, how wet you had become would be so visible it would look as though you were incontinent. He felt your sticky arousal coat his fingers. Slipping into the wrinkles of his knuckles, where the skin made room for joints to move, part of him hoped they would never leave. He hadn’t even thought about how careful he should be with you. You were strong, an excellent hunter, great speed, regularly taking devils and beasts twice your size down in a single afternoon. But this was different,he knew that and he still couldn’t stop himself from plunging both his middle and ring fingers into you hard. You cried out, your recent break in sexual contact leaving you unprepared for such immediate insertion. In a flash the hand that had held you up by your back had dropped you, and now covered your mouth, pressing you against the pavement. Your eyes flew open, pebbles and debris digging into your back. But nothing was worth feeling except for him inside of you. His thumb brushed against your clit and your hips jerked up. He fed your pussy his fingers again and again, keeping a steady pace. You pushed your pussy harder against his hand, grinding your clit against his palm.

“Fuuuuuuuck, Kishibe.” You crooned against his hand.

“That’s it baby, open up.” He spread his fingers inside of you, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

You opened your eyes, surprised at the affectionate name, but were stopped when you found him watching the place where his fingers entered you. After a moment of blissful watching he looked back up to you, his mouth hung open in a permanent state of breathlessness. His tie hung loose but still knotted around his neck, his lips were already swollen. Pink and perfect, your spit and his combined reflecting the moonlight back at you like a blue light. You pulled him down to kiss you again, this time moving your tongue into his mouth. With your free hand you unbutton your own shirt more, stopping at your navel when you feel pressure start to build behind your womb. You tried to pull off his lips to warn him what was to come, but he held you in place.

You came with no warning, quicker than you may ever have, a hearty whine ripping from your throat. He gasped, looking down again and seeing your cum trickling down his wrist. He looked back up to your eyes, a smile on the corners of his open mouth. Before you could speak he kissed you again, moving his body over yours, before pulling you up to your feet. Your legs shook like a foal, but you didn’t need to count on them because Kishibe turned you and pressed you against the brick closest to you. The corners of the grout lines dug into the skin of your chest and your face. Kishibe’s lips had moved to your neck, teeth and tongue joining to worship your skin. One hand dug its nails into the brick in front of you, the other reached backwards to try and touch him. You felt the fabric of his shirt, hanging loose to one side, you felt part of his belt, he wouldn’t stop fucking moving.

“I want to touch you, stop.” You wanted to sound stern, but his lips behind your ear made you whimper your instructions, “oh kishi…”

Your eyes rolled back and you pressed yourself against the wall harder, sticking your ass out. Kishibe blindly found your hand between your bodies and guided it to the front of his slacks. You gasped, he moaned into your neck.

Finally.

Your hand mapped his length, and his…girth. It wasn’t the longest dick you had ever encountered, but jesus christ it was the thickest. That was why he had said he didn't want to hurt you, you realized. This thing could do some real damage. You could feel his heartbeat through his pants, he shuddered against you, pressing you into the wall further, as your hand found the end, circling over the tip of his cock.

“You’re not going to make me cum in my pants like some teenager.” He gripped your hair.

You gasped at how rough he was being. You usually had to beg for this kind of treatment. His breath was hot and damp on your neck, you circled his wet tip again.

“You sure about that?”

He released your hair to rip your pants off your hips, down to your knees, “Positive.”

His belt jingled and you heard the unzip of his fly, a moment later you felt the engorged tip pressing between your legs. Fear flashed through your body, making you gasp again, tears slipped from your waterline, but your body pushed your ass further into him, sliding his cock further, so it was nestled perfectly against your folds. You shivered, the anticipation of the real point of no return, coning at you fast. You whimpered out a small, scared cry.

“Please Kishibe, please…” you begged, “be gentle with me.”

Kishibe stopped, the pulse in his heart lurching at how pitiful you sounded. A twinge of…maybe remorse(?) causing hesitation. He never intended for this to happen like this. You didn’t deserve to be rushed through fucking in some back alley, just steps away from an open metropolis. You deserved a bed, and privacy, and time. He would be lying to himself if he had never imagined a night with you. He knew better, he knew the nights he had spent alone, imagining just how to draw out these exact sounds from you. How he would find you alone at the bar, after some not technically mandatory, but certainly expected social time with coworkers, bring you back home and finally have you all to himself. He would indulge himself in fantasies of your body, how it would feel under him, how your hips would strain to straddle his lap, how your breasts would look freed from all bindings, no clothing to keep him from the decadence of your figure. He would have been kinder, he hoped at least. This wasn’t anything like he had imagined. Maybe it was loss that pulled at him now. Mourning for the first night he hadn’t even realized he valued so heavily. He chose then that, despite the circumstances, and despite his arousal plagued mind, he would try his hardest to give you something closer to what you deserved. What he deserved.

Despite the burning desire taking over his body, he slowed, moving your hair off your neck, laying tender kisses among the still indented bite marks and blooming bruises he had already laid.

“I’ll be gentle. I promise, I’m going to take it away, okay?” He didn’t have to turn your face this time, you craned your neck to meet his lips again.

This kiss felt different, kinder, more unified. But the bliss was supreme only momentarily, when he finally began to enter you it was immediately surpassed. You weren’t sure if it was the effects of the aphrodisiac or if it was just him, but the pleasure overwhelmed your every sense. The moon bloomed, taking your vision over completely, pleasure blinding you. A long, howling moan was released into the night sky. It was unclear who sounded it, but it didn't matter. He pushed further into you, until he was fully inside, his hips flush with your ass. You were panting, gasping, no longer kissing him, desperately trying to relax to allow him inside of you, you were gripping him too tight, he couldn’t move.

Kishibe was struggling, you had a hold on him so tight, too tight. His back was hunched at an odd angle because of his height, he couldn't have access to your neck or lips and stand up straight. He couldn’t stay immobile like this, the strain was already becoming too much.

“I’m sorry, I have to.” He grunted, pulling his hips back, forcing your muscles to let him go.

Your body shook, choppy whines came from you as he thrust into you again. You were gripping the wall as hard as you could, digging your nails into any textural abnormality you could find. Your cheek stung against the brick as your face scraped against its rough surface.

“I know. I know. Breathe, baby, breathe.” Kishibe couldn't stop his hips, which carried on finding their pace, but he tried to give you soothing words to take some of the pain away.

His increasingly powerful thrusts made it hard to get a steady breath, but you focused on breathing deep and not holding it or hyperventilating. After a few deep breaths, you could feel your pelvic muscles softening, the lubrication of your previous orgasm, the mess of arousal brought about by the Devil’s poison, and his pre cum soothing the stretch. The pain wasn’t gone, but it was being overshadowed by the bliss of being full of him. You weren’t even out of your clothes, your pants were around your knees, your shirt hadn’t even been unbuttoned completely, the fabric of your bra caught on the texture of the brick, your jacket had been discarded…somewhere… but it didn't matter. You were full of cock, his cock, and suddenly it was clearer to you than ever before that this was where you belonged, wet and oozing, limp and drooling, ready for him to use you how he pleased.

Once you had relaxed, Kishibe could finally get some real rhythm going, finding his hips pistoning on instinct rather than by his input. The friction, the wetness, the sweat, the smell, the sound, he was hypnotized. He no longer cared about a passerby hearing you, or if the real Devil was waiting in the shadows to ambush you, he didn’t care about anything. Anything except feeling your pussy around him every second for the rest of his life. He needed this, he needed you. He had always needed you. He bit hard on the back of your shirt collar, trying to stop the moans and grunts from escaping him. His last fuck had been some random pickup two weeks ago, she was fine, sexy, didn’t ask a lot of questions, and that was pretty much all of his criteria these days. But sex with her felt like a sneeze compared to this. He began to wonder if he was actually a virgin all the time, and this was what sex actually was.

“Harder Kishi, harder….please.” you begged, deepening the arch in your back, begging for his fat tip to kiss the wall of your cervix.

You weren’t as tense now, still tight, but not dangerously so, he could go full force and not hurt you, and fuck was he ready to. Kishibe bent you further, one hand on your hip, the other on the back of your head. He pulled all the way back so that just the very tip was pressed against your hole. In the same moment, he gripped your hair, pulled your head off the wall and snapped his hips forward, your hands kept your shoulders from hitting the wall too hard, his hold on your hair kept your face safe. But nothing could have prepared you for the burst of pain/pleasure that filled your nervous system. Without any time to prepare, he repeated this action. He found a new rhythm, brutal and fast. Out to the tip, in to the base. You didn't even realize the volume of the choked cries you were letting out until his hand found its way to your mouth again. One finger pulling at the corner of your mouth, making your gag.

“Shut up.” His stern voice was back, the gentility had vacated when he felt himself bottom out,“you want anyone off the street to come back here and see you like this?”

Both you and he didn’t miss the way his hypothetical made your pussy clench around him.

“Or maybe you would?” He snapped his hips again, deeper, sending you gasping, “You want everyone to see what a slut you are, huh?”

He was a man possessed, nothing that came out of his mouth had crossed his mind before, and yet it felt truer than saying his own name. He continued:

“Everyone should see me fucking you, so they know. Your perfect little hole is all for me. I can’t believe you had this the whole time and you kept it from me.” He brought his hand down on your right ass cheek, “How dare you. This pussy was made for me.” another spank, “This pussy belongs to me, understand. Your body belongs to me.” he spanked you again, on the same exact spot.

You screamed at the third spank, the skin was so hot, you could already feel it welting. Your wetness was spilling down your legs, his harsh hands and possessive words making you wetter with every syllable.

Another spank came, “Say it. Who does this pussy belong to?”

“You!”

A kind rub over your cheek brought down your defense, before he spanked again, even his own palm starting to sting, “and who does your body belong to?”

You cried out again, his hips relentless as he tortured you, “You! Kishibe, you!”

“Mmm, good.” He smoothed a hand over your wounded cheek, only to dig his nails into the sensitive meat, lean into your ear and speak again, “and who do you belong to?”

“You! Kishibe you, I belong to you.”

He dug his nails in harder, “Who?”

“You Kishibe, you!” You tried again, only to see him raise his hand out of the corner of your eye.

“Captain!” You tried again.

The hand cracked against your skin, “Wrong again.”

Your legs were barely hanging on, the assault on your ass making your knees shake and your arms scrape down the wall.

“Who am I?”

It hit you.

“Master.” You sighed out, knowing you had gotten it, the name he felt most suited him when he had this much power over someone, “I belong to you, master.”

Pride blossomed in his chest, he brought a non threatening hand down across your aching backside, petting your hip softly, feeling the down hairs at the base of your pelvis grow coarser as he parted your center, his middle finger finding your clit.

“That’s right, baby. Good.” He circled your twitching clitoris.

Your legs shook harder, ‘Master…master I can’t I ca--”

But you did, you came again, spasming around his cock, which he buried deep inside of you for you to ride out your climax, still petting at your clit. He continued until you gathered the strength to pull his hand away.

“awh..”He cooed in your ear, “can’t take it anymore, can you?”

You shook your head. He began moving his hips again, pumping into you again and again, “Poor girl, can’t keep up with the old man, huh?”

These taunts seemed not of his own creation, but he still couldn't stop them.

“How long have you dreamt of this? Years? And look at yourself, was this what you imagined? Pants around your ankles, surrounded by trash, falling to pieces after barely getting started?” He mocked, “How disappointing, all that time to prepare and still you can barely keep up. Looks like I got to you too late.”

But that was when you heard it. He heard it. The words were not his own. The voice, it was covered, influenced…filtered in some way. Coming from his desperate mouth, but not his. He noticed it too. It was getting closer, the real Lust Devil, not one of its parts. There was no telling how little time you would have before its arrival. He stilled his hips, against every screaming cell in his body that wanted to continue.

“Stand up.”he ordered, and despite your trembling legs you did, “we have to move now. Break the wires.”

In a Devil hunting first for you, you pulled up your pants, lamenting the amount of liquid arousal that would now find its home in your panties, and donned your gloves to remove the razor wire from the alley’s opening. Adrenaline and endorphins keeping your hands steady, you felt empowered, more so than you had crumbled on the floor in pain prior to this whole endeavor. Maybe the two orgasms had worked some of the effects to the back of your mind, hitting snooze on the incline, however brief. Your watch read 7:58 pm.

“Should we—?” You started, feeling like maybe this was your chance to take this thing down for real.

Kishibe, who had now tucked himself back safely inside his slacks, still achingly hard, rushed past you, grabbing your hand and turning the corner towards the exit.

“Nope. We are in no condition to fight.” He pulled you along, you could barely keep up with his leggy gait.

“But I feel like—…”

“Fine! I’m in no condition to fight. Come on.” He tugged you further towards the street.

You kept your eyes on his back, the street lights in front of him giving him a corona of light, making him seem deific. You heard scuttling, shambling behind you, growing closer. The voice returned, or maybe it had always been there? But now you heard your own voice, and Kishibe’s, your pants and grunts together, his nasty taunts, your pleading begs. You had joined whatever collection this thing was creating. You didn’t dare look back. You knew about Sodom and Gomorrah, about Orpheus and Eurydice, you knew better than to look back when you were so close to salvation.

Kishibe pulled you both out of the line of the alley, and you both burst into the night street. He stopped a few steps from the alley’s entrance, in the open light of the street, you bumped into his back, but he was quick to physically guide you to his side instead, keeping one arm around you, still desperate to have you close. The beast didn’t venture into the light. It stayed eight or so yards from the entrance, away from prying eyes. It made no sound or retreat, but it made no charge either. And that was good enough for Kishibe. He tugged you along, pulling you past the much smaller crowd, and back in the direction of the car. The ache was building again inside of you, how could it be asking more from you already. He hadn’t even cum once yet, by your own mental calculations he was probably running on pure adrenaline.

“Kishi?” Your voice was still hoarse.

He kept walking.

“Kishi, baby?” You tried again, slowing your pace just slightly.

He tugged you further, still not waiting for your question.

“Kishibe, what’s the plan?” You got tired of waiting for his permission, you stopped, “you can’t drive like this, I can’t either. It's at least thirty minutes back to the office, and I don’t think we can do much there!”

“Fuck!” He stopped and turned to face you, coming close, his voice threatening, “I’ll fuck you right here if we don’t find somewhere else.

His other eye had a small hemorrhaged vessel as well. Two identical spots in either eye. Your heart burned at the sight, at his desperation. He needed you, he needed you to find somewhere where he could relieve himself, where he could have you at the fullest with no interruption, either from peril or from prying eyes. You flashback through your entrance to the area, what had you passed, what had you seen? There was something, there had to be, or else you wouldn’t feel so sure of it. You just had to remember. Fuck! Your mind was still scrambled. He was growing restless, his grip on your arm growing tighter and tighter. He inched closer and closer, you became aware of the passersby, witnessing you bruised and scratched in the grip of a much larger, desperate man. It wasn’t a good look.

Wait..

“A love hotel! We passed one on the way here! It had a lit up sign in the front window!” You finally remembered. It couldn’t have been more than a block away.

He groaned, picturing the check in process and the seedy room,. But fuck, if he was ever desperate, it was now.

“Find it.” He ordered, letting you lead the way.

You took his hand and led him down the sidewalk. You were right, it wasn't even three full blocks away. A tall building, a large neon flower in the window, a white awning hanging above..

“Just, don’t talk, okay?” You told him as you walked inside he rolled his eyes but followed you.

A bored looking clerk sat at the desk, he had a pair of bulky headphones plugged into a walkman on his desk. A chime rang out as you entered, but the music must have been too loud, he didn't flinch. He didn't move until you approached the desk. He ripped off his headphones as though you were his boss catching him slacking off, but his frightened eyes grew suspicious as he took in the pair of you. Your shirt was buttoned wrong, your tie was lost somewhere, as was your jacket. Your cheek was bleeding, bruises on your neck unhidden by the haphazard collar. Kishibe looked no better, blood on his shirt, which was missing quite a few buttons, tie still on, but barely, his hair was a mess. His usual stoic scowl had been replaced with a harsh glare trained directly at the clerk, his foot tapping like a caged animal.

“Excuse me, hello. We would like to check in.” You tried your best to sound casual.

“Um…” The clerk hesitated.

“We’re…”You thought on your feet and said the first thing that you could think of, “Engaged! We just got engaged, I mean. And our..in laws! Yes, our in-laws are in town and we don't have a lot of privacy and we just want to…celebrate.”

The clerk eyed you both again, analysing you and Kishibe individually and no doubt trying to parse together how you would fit as a couple.

“We would like an overnight room.” You continued, trying to remind him of the actual task at hand.

Kishibe was stunned by your plan, by how bold it was, and how poorly you were pulling it off. You worked at a secret (ish) organization, for fuck’s sake. But he was amused by your efforts, so he doubled down with you.

He wrapped a big arm around your shoulder, leaning over the desk, “Maybe something with a tub.”

The clerk nodded, whatever was in front of him was none of his business, he saw plenty of strange pairs come through the lobby. And anywhere there was no way he was getting his ass kicked by this guy at his current pay rate.

“Yeah…okay,I just need a credit card to put on file.” He finally explained.

Your wallet was safely tucked in the car, you didn’t have anything. You hadn’t even considered this part, how could you have not thought about this? Kishibe pulled a leather card carrier from his coat pocket, not a credit card but his Public Safety clearance badge and slapped it down on the counter.

“How’s that card work?” He hissed.

The clerk scanned it briefly, sighing, probably lamenting the admissions given to government workers and retrieved a key from the corkboard behind him and handed it over.

“Whatever man, just don't break anything.” He had checked out of the conversation the moment Kishibe had approached, he put his headphone back on, “Fifth floor. Check out is at 10am.”

Kishibe took the key and his badge and pulled you toward the elevator.

“Thank you!” You waved to the clerk, just barely getting it out before the elevator doors closed.

You had half expected Kishibe to pounce on you the moment they did, but he stayed still. Watching the numbers above the door illuminate and dim.

“So when’s the wedding?” He finally spoke at the illumination of the third floor.

“Shut up, it got us here, didn’t it?” You laughed.

“Right, it was your stellar in-law cock block story that got us up here, and not the government issued free pass badge.”, He cracked a smile.

You both laughed, the chime of the elevator alerted you the doors would open on the fifth floor. The tag on the key was for room 5102, close to the elevator. Kishibe pressed you forward by your waist, leading you out of the elevator and down a few doors to the room. He unlocked the door and you stepped inside. The room was fine, a large king bed placed in front of a boxy, but relatively new tv. A radio clock on one night stand, a lamp on the other. The door shut and locked behind you, Kishibe fasted the chain lock, the dead bolt, and the handle lock, then turned back to you. He saw the abrasion on your cheek, the blood beginning to dry. He took your face in his hands, running his thumb along the outside of it. Guilt pulled at the back of his brain, but fuck he couldnt hold out anymore, he circled his other arm around your back and pulled you in to his mouth. Without the urgency, without the danger, he could kiss you and feel like he earned it. He kissed you deeply, tilting your head back, tasting your mouth, pushing you back toward the bed. You melted in his arms, finally feeling them for how sturdy and safe they could be. Your tongue pushed against his, his hand frond your hair, you found the front of his pants, unbuttoning them quickly. Where his belt had gone was a mystery, but none of your concern. You pushed them off his legs until your knees met the edge of the mattress. You tugged at the rest of your shirt buttons, pulling it off of you and tossing it aside, your tie followed. He finally let you leave his kiss to pull his own shirt over his head and off, his coat seeming to have disappeared. You both shuffled out of your pants and underwear, You reached behind to unclasp your bra, shrugging it down your arms. The process taking only seconds but feeling like a frigid, isolated eternity separated from him. It was like you were magnetized, pulled together by a gravitational force that took everything in you to resist. He stood in front of you, bare, studying your figure, trying to commit every inch of your body to memory. Every freckle, every scar, every bend and shadow of muscle, every fold, everything. He couldn’t believe how lucky he was, to see you in your truest form, wanton and waiting. He thanked whatever evil caused this Devil’s creation, and cursed himself in the same breath for doing so. But trailing his hands up your curves, to take hold of your full, perfect breasts, he found himself brought to his knees before you, a zealot at the altar of you. You let him push you back onto the bed, the cushioned mattress underneath you was nirvana compared to the grit and gravel he had taken you on before. Your legs spread themselves, no longer needing your guidance, no longer held together by your barely removed pants. Kishibe’s wet tongue moved up your leg, he could taste your sweat, and he reveled in it until he found his next vice, your legs were still coated in the arousal that leaked from you, sticking to your skin under your pants and now coating his tongue, destroying his mind. Or what was left of it.

Tasting you brought him higher and higher, cleaning your soiled thighs, swirling his tongue over the top of your knee, flattening the soft hairs with his tongue, spit laying them flat in his wake. Your hips jerked up as he joined you on the bed, agile body moving between your legs. He pulled your legs further apart, not bothering to look at your face. No, his eyes were fixed on your pussy as you spread open for him. Your perfect, drooly, needy cunt parting itself, drawing him forward. He made no effort to stop the line of saliva that dripped from the corner of his mouth, he didn’t even feel it. He didn’t feel anything, anything except hunger, except want, except need. Perfect folds and layers, ready for him, begging for his touch, you really were made for him. In a single look he forgot every piece of fine art he ever saw, every inch of his earth that any numb skull could have called glorious, he knew glory now. True glory. And he needed it to be his, to claim it for his own.

Kishibe had moved to his knees, hands firm on your legs to either side of him, hunched over your body, you felt shy under such an intense stare, right to where you were most vulnerable. You reached up and brushed your fingertips over his cheek and back around his ear bringing his attention back to your face.

“Kishibe…”You moaned in a whisper.

You looked so desperate underneath him, the pillow lucky to be graced with your hair, him, even luckier to bear witness to such beauty. Your mouth hung open slightly, pupils blown out under heavy lidded eyes. Your breasts rising shakily with panting breaths.

“Please, I can’t wait anymore, Kishibe please,” You begged, tugging him by his neck, “Fuck me.”

The jolt that sent through his body could knock out every electrical grid in Japan. He pulls your hips down to him, then lifts them to be level with his own. Holding you up with one hand, his other aligns his cock with the hole he could now picture with perfect clarity. His dark eyes caught yours, he watches them fly open as he penetrates you. Finally able to take you how he needs, he is able to slide into you deliciously, pressing against your g spot. Your back arches up under his hand, but he follows, not able to stand being parted from you. It would take an act of God to remove him, at this point. Your tight walls tremble around him, working their hardest to allow him inside. It was bizarre, impossible, inhuman. You subconsciously press against his stomach. Pushing him away, unable to handle the deluge of pleasure and pressure he is causing.

He grips your hips harder, bruising them, and presses into you more, “where do you think you’re going.”

You whimper as he presses against your cervix, grabbing at the bed sheets, trying to leverage your hips back, but finding the bed is blocking your escape. And still your legs wrap around his hips, torn between trying to pull him inside further, and trying to free yourself. One of his rough hands leaves your hip and he takes your hand in his, interlocking your fingers. You melt back down into the bed, giving him the room to pull his hips back. Kishibe leans over you, laying you back on the bed, blocking out the still illuminated overhead light with his shoulder as he thrusts into you again. He squeezes your hand harder with every thrust. His lips find your neck again, your hands wrap around his neck, tangling in his soft, white hair. He fucks into you fast, pushing himself, and your poor body to their limits, you have no choice but to hold on and succumb to the waves of pleasure.

He kisses you again, lips hot and swollen, “So good.”

He repeats it like a mantra, again and again as he bottoms out inside and pulls back. He can’t do anything but repeat it. The friction, your lips, finally having you for himself since this whole ordeal began, he can’t last.

The praise, the feeling of him inside, the relief of a bed under you, the feeling of his pelvis rocking against your clit, it all becomes too much and you feel yourself tighten around him. You know he feels it too because he grips your hand and breaks the kiss to cry out in delicious agony.

“Don’t--.”Is all he manages to let out before his climax blinds him, the lamp light blooming white and over taking all his senses.

The obscene sounds he makes and the sight of his pleasure scrunched face push you to follow him, cumming for the third time.

His cock pulses inside of you, painting your insides with his cum. He feels like it will never end, he doesn’t want it too. Kishibe wants to see your tummy swollen, a trail of cum dripping out from between your legs, your face covered in it, your tongue full of it. He wants you full, inside and out, marked as his, full of him, for all to see. He wants you round and pregnant, showing off everything he has done to you. He wants to see you helpless and bred, full breasts ready to be fed from.

He’s losing his fucking mind.

He had never wanted children in his life, he made medically sure of it nearly two decades ago, but right now if he could stitch it back together himself he would. Coming back to himself, he sees you panting below him, and nearly cums again. Your mouth hinges open, and your tongue flops out.

“Spit.” You huff.

His face must have betrayed his surprise.

“Please, I need it, please,” You please, “Spit in my mouth, please, Kishi.”

He takes your face in his left hand, tilting it back, extending your mouth even more with his thumb on your chin. He lets a full, slow string of saliva fall from his mouth into yours, watching it slip down your tongue. You lap it up eagerly, leaning up to lick some stray fluid off of his chin. Your pussy squeezes him again as you move. You keen back happily, the taste of him in your mouth, and the feeling of him inside of you bringing you a blissful feeling of balance.

“Nasty girl…”He chides, leaning back onto his knees, watching your eyes flutter closed.

A smile upturns your perfect lips, “mmmmmhm.”

“I have to pull out now.” He warns, you let out a long, displeased whine as he does.

Coming down from your own high, you catch your breath on the bed, only reopening your eyes when the bed sinks next to you, you turn your neck to him. His flushed, bruises on his neck, his chest, scratch marks on his arms and chest, the two red bursts in his eyes, you hadn’t realized you were so rough on him. He looked over your figure, seeing the abrasions on your chest from the brick, the marks of his teeth, the bruises his hands left on your body, the cut on your cheek. A Pair.

You brush a disarranged hair off his temple, gentle fingers feeling the sweat cooling on his brow.

“How do you feel?” You whispered, voice hoarse.

He moves onto his back beside you, taking your hand in his, kissing the back, and bringing it down to his chest, over his heart. You could feel the rhythm steadying itself.

“Coming down.” He studies your face, “How do you feel?”

You nodded, “Good, a little sore.”

“Do you think it’s over?”

You shrugged, “I feel better? Less like I am going to die, which is good.”

He nodded, his mind was clearing, the virus releasing its hold on him. He tried to remember his usual bedside manner,“You should probably…you know…”

You smiled again, moving carefully to sit up, “I didn’t expect you to be so diligent about UTI avoidance.”

He leaned up on his elbow, “You don’t know me as well as you think.”

“I like what I’m learning.” You flirted, standing and walking to the small bathroom.

Kishibe watched your behind sway as you left him. Once the door was shut behind you, he fell on his back staring up to the ceiling. Everything that had transpired tonight flashed through his mind, his cock had hardly softened but now it ached again. Would this ever be over? And when it did, what would become of you two. The poison still plagued his mind, it was a logical jump to assume it was still affecting you too. He didn’t know how to be around you after this, he couldn’t even begin to picture the logistics of bringing you back to work, seeing you everyday and knowing everything he knew now. He wanted to know what you thought, if you felt differently about him, if this was a bizarre, horrible accident that ruined any kind of real feeling that could have existed between the two of you. He couldn’t bear waiting anymore, he had to be close to you again before this ended. He stood, joints clicking, dick hard, and crossed to the bathroom door. He knocked.

“Yeah?” your voice rang from the other side of the door.

He hesitated, pressing his forehead against the wood, fighting back the words that were about to come out, “Can I come in?”

You were silent behind the door for a few seconds, he wasn't sure how he expected you to respond.

“Sure, it’s unlocked.” Your voice came again.

He turned the nob and opened the door, you were standing at the sink, cleaning the cut on your cheek.

“Got lonely in there?” You smiled at him through the mirror, and it warmed his fearful chest.

Kishibe wrapped his arms around your waist, holding you from behind as you carried on dabbing a cool cloth on your face. He hummed an affirmative response, against your neck, smelling deep the smell of your skin. He occupied himself pressing kisses to your neck and shoulder while you finished. His eyelashes tickled behind your ear and you caught his eyes in the mirror as you giggled.

“You’re clingier after sex than I expect.”

He kept your gaze in the mirror, “Expected, huh? Thought about this before?”

Why lie, call it exhaustion, or maybe the poison was still working on you, “Yeah.”

He didn’t flinch, still looking at you through the glass, “Me too.” he confessed.

You turned in his hold, the reflection no longer enough of a view for you, you had to look at his face, his real face.

“So why didn’t we ever…?”

He shrugged, “Didn’t seem right,” but that wasn’t the full truth, “Didn’t want to lose you.”

You were touched by his admission, his vulnerability. Certainly the influence of adrenaline crash and hormonal endorphins racing through both of you. You felt your throat tighten, your tear ducts start to burn. Sex always complicated things, especially when jobs and feelings were involved. Depending on how the morning played out, this could be the last time you had the chance to be exposed and alone with him.

“I don’t want to lose you either.” One hot tear fell from your eye, stinging your freshly cleaned cheek.

Kishibe wiped the tear away, his face still as unreadable as ever, “then you won't. Not yet.”

“What do you want? From all of this, I mean.” You asked him, not accusation or malice in your voice.

Kishibe sighed, smoothing your hair and holding your face, “I want to enjoy being here with you, while we work this out of our systems. Tomorrow morning I would like to drive you home, so you can rest. We will file the report, be only as honest as we want to be, give the sample to the lab, clock out, and then figure it out from there.”

Then he moved his hands down to your shoulders, pulling you even closer and kissing you hard. A kiss that was devoid of the Devil’s influence, no hungry, tasting tongue, no hot, fevered breath. Just his lips sealed to yours, your body pressed against his, and a promise to try. When he pulled away he spoke again,

“But right now I want us both to get in that tub.”

The night didn’t end there, the waves of fervent arousal lapped over both of you again and again, but the tide had gone out. The coast was cleared, leaving a sparkling landscape on which the both of you could relax.

Epilogue

The bath had been the perfect remedy for your bruised and abused body. It soothed Kisibe’s aching joints. He washed and rinsed the debris out of your hair, you cleaned the blood off of his hands and neck. His fingers worked over you, bringing you a slower, gentler climax. Back in the bed, clean and dry, you reciprocated his generosity. Sucking, kissing, swallowing everything he had given to you so brazenly before. Laying together in the dark, sleep was hard to find. Whenever you thought it would overtake you, bringing you back into an embrace to pleasure yourselves and each other. Eventually, morning came. Whether you had woken up to the sunlight, or you were too engaged to realize it had come up, was unclear.

You left the hotel in the early afternoon, returning to the car which had a citation for exceeding the parking meter. Kishibe drove you back to your apartment, pulling up and parking outside.

“Okay.” He turned to you, the light of day illuminating complexities that hadn’t yet been considered, “They won't be expecting us back until tomorrow, anyway. So you should try and get some sleep.”

You nodded, “Yeah. Thanks for the ride.”

“Anytime.”

“I meant the car.” You teased.

He chuckled. You didn’t want to get out, you weren’t ready to be done. Tomorrow would mean talking about what happened, reports had to be filed, incident reports, lab tests, possibly declaration of relationship forms. You gnawed on your lip. Kishibe watched you closely, seeing you weigh out each thought, waiting for the perfect way to phrase what you were after.

You met his eyes, the devious flicker in your eye that he now knew the motivations of intimately shining at him once again,“You wanna come upstairs, take a nap and fool around a little?”

Kishibe sucked in a breath through a sly smile, his exhausted cock already jumping forward at the chance.

“Absolutely I do.”

Thank you for reading!!! I hope you enjoyed, I really enjoyed writing this piece and I hope that comes through!! Fuck I want this man so bad. literally so bad. Let me know your thoughts, I always love hearing what you do/dont like. Anyway, thanks again! See you next time! - Doodle <3

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