#SELFSHIPPING IS SO GREAT PLEASE AND THANK YOU | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cherrykamado · 2 years

Text

— LET'S GET CAUGHT IN THE MOMENT.

Dying of thirst — Genya was dying of thirst. His mouth went drier and drier with every breathless word you would draw away from his throat; bits of disjointed words and low mumbles. It was evident, you could take everything you wanted from him, but the sun was shining brightly today, and the warmth you made arise in him was dehydrating him. Every heartbeat took a bit more of reason out of him as he looked at you, body screaming to him to go for you, to make his move. It was a torturing yearning, a yearning that transformed you into an oasis in the middle of the desert and he wanted no more than to reach you. He wanted nothing more than to reach you and, fuck, did it burn when the water was so close to one and you were dying for just a sip.

PAIRING — hashira genya shinazugawa x hashira fem reader.

GENRE — fluff. smut. selfship fic (but made 'x reader.' so everyone can enjoy!)

WARNINGS — AGED UP CHARACTERS (hashira genya, hashira reader) ; mutual pining. READER IS NOT NEUTRAL (is extroverted, expressive, has long hair.) SMUT ( size difference, size kink, fingering, praising, oral (m --> f because this man got an enhanced sense of taste; then f--> m), cum eating (?), breathplay, worship (f --> m), gagging (if you squint; his cock is big what can i say).

WORDCOUNT— 18.6k words.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS — @kinjuutsu @katsukikitten @katanaski @suyacho for the inspiration, the ideas and for beta reading. thank you to everyone for the hype and the love. i adore gen beyond words and, without everyone who cheered me on, this wouldn't have happened.♥

THE FOLLOWING FIC IS RATED +18. YOU MUST HAVE YOUR AGE IN YOUR BIO OR SOMEWHERE ACCESSIBLE TO INTERACT WITH THIS FIC.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤMINORS, AGELESS & EMPTYBLOGS DNI.

IF YOU ENJOYED, REBLOGGING IS A GREAT WAY TO SHOW SUPPORT AND HELP THIS FIC REACH MORE PEOPLE. THANK YOU.♥

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ꧁ ༒ ☬ 𝖍𝖊𝖑𝖑𝖒𝖎𝖓𝖝 ☬ ༒ ꧂

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Genya's appearance was deceiving.

He was such an imposing figure amongst the Hashiras in the Demon Slayer Corps; people would often think twice before approaching him. Some would claim it was all about his look: his glare — slainted, wide eyes, tiny pupils — a look that would feel like a stab the moment it settled upon oneself. Immobilizing, evoking uneasiness, as if in them there was an unforgiving tint that would petrify. Moreover, the scars littered all over him — one of them rested on his face, elongated in between nearby his jaw, extended over his cheek, crossing his nose, only to die at the beginnings of his other cheek — were not only marks of his chivalry, his bravery, but also marks that warned others about his fierceness, about his staggering strength.

He was threatening to be around, to say the least.

Genya was nowhere near lenient in training, either. Sometimes, his voice would resonate in the ground when he cussed out rookies for the slightest mistake. Some rookies could not bear the weight or the effort that requires his training, and he is never easy going. In that sense, he took after his older brother, Shinazugawa Sanemi, the ex wind hashira — like two peas in a pod.

However, when away, there were those who questioned his expertise as a true slayer, both for his lack of ability to perform any kind of breathing techniques, nor the capacity to wield a sword. Nonetheless, that did not make him any weaker than the rest of his peer Hashira; Rather than that, he was the bearer of an unique, yet unforeseen, fearsome gift: the ability to turn into a demon momentarily. Thus, a faculty without precedents in the history of the Demon Slayer Corps. This required ferociousness, and a great strength of the body — a body that, indeed, had to undergo a great deal of stress to achieve such a strenuous ability.

An ability which, along with hard work, had been rewarded in due time with the promotion to Stone Hashira, as he had inherited the previous hashira, Gyomei Himejima’s practices and masteries. Even if unable to perform breathing techniques, he was familiar with the stances and the specifics themselves, plus countless of priceless teachings and values that he had been transmitted. In other words, no one but Genya Shinazugawa could be more suitable for this position.

In other words, Genya was one in a million — maybe the only one, even. He was unique.

Still, as rough, relentless, brutal he could be, even the roughest stones can be smoothed over time.

Yet achieving such a thing is no easy task at all. Not for everyone, at least.

“You’re in love, Genya.” Tanjiro, the Sun Hashira, had been the first one to point it out to him, and much to his surprise, the expression of the ravenette had contorted into one of shock.

It did not dawn on him until that very same moment.

“W-what are you saying? Shut up…” He mumbled, turning away from the gaze of his friend, his friend whose smile did not waver in the slightest — but instead it deepened.

Frustration took over Genya and he bit the inside of his cheeks — he could not handle himself. Being in love… It was rare, at some point even displeasing. This, the fact that he could not deny it, that he could not help the warmth taking over his cheeks, that his heart would do nothing but race in his chest at the sole mention of you. He blamed himself for acting so helpless, for turning ever so hazy at the thought of you. But he could not help it, to grow fond of that very same softness. It was corny, yes, but what could he do against it?

That day, he struggled to sleep throughout the whole night, restlessly gazing at the ceiling, in consideration to his feelings and the great interrogant of what to do with them. A thirst that began to become so eloquent that he could no longer turn a blind eye on it — that he could not turn a blind eye on you anymore; because the once glances turned into gazing with undeniable longing and admiration. Soon enough, you would reign over every minute of his life — in thoughts, in feelings that would dwell in his mind. Love sickness, one could conclude, but also the impotence of not being able to do anything beyond that because, even if he accepted his feelings for you, the uncertainty of you doing the same was offsetting to him. Maybe you'd never look at him that way, maybe it is just a silly crush weakening a heart that should only beat with the motivation to fight and protect, and nothing more than that.

But then, again, what is the motivation for protection? To protect there needed to be a resolution, and the resolution to protect almost always derives from love. Love is inevitable, love is everywhere. Love can come in all shapes and colors. But then again, this is the first time it had ever come to him in this way. His resolution to fight, once for his brother, once for his friends, soon enough began to include you in that same picture, and even if not at a higher priority, it became his motivation during training, during meditation.

And with that meditation, with deep introspection, he began to reason; if there was a time you would open your heart up, would it be for him? Would there be any chance? But then, why would you? What makes him worthy of you, after all?

But even if he talked himself into you never looking at him, he could never fight the fact that he was so head over heels over you — the feeling did not diminish in the end, but doubled. And so Genya began to die of thirst, and the drought could only intensify over the time and, the more and more he thought about your beauty, your smile, your presence, your voice, he could not help himself — it felt as if his hands were tied, and it was inevitable for him to just not surrender to the feeling.

Kanroji Misturi thought all of this was cute to see from the outside — Genya was just helpless when it came to women: Every time he would be approached, he could just not bear the fluster invading every single corner of his body. In fact, she, as the former Love Hashira and your mentor, was the first to notice and tell you. Fed by the way he behaved towards you, she could not stop herself from wanting to give him a push. In her visit to the Corps (as her husband Obanai Iguro was still training his tsugukos) she spotted you sitting at the deck in the Love Estate; she decided to sit beside you.

“That training is tons of fun!” She spoke up, pride written all over her as you took her training to heart and decided to pass it down to the next generation of slayers, reminiscing of the old days where she used to carry it out.

“What’s with that smile?” You knew and trusted the pinkette enough to address her the way you did, encouraged by her herself to see her as a friend.

“Nooothing~”

But you knew it was written all over her features, and so you raised an eyebrow at her. She was up to something.

“I don’t believe yooooouuu~” You sang, mimicking her, which made your mentor burst into a giggle.

And that was the moment she told you. The Stone Hashira was in love with you. To be honest, Genya was no more than a fellow hashira to you, even if you deemed him handsome in all his roughness, yet did never feed that thought beyond professionalism. When Kanroji told you, she had pointed out a truth that, up to now, had remained unbeknownst to you, mistaking his indeed love for you by shyness of being around women.

“How do you know all of this?” You asked her, heart shaken up at such an unexpected confession.

But Kanroji just pressed a finger to her lips, giggling and shaking her head. But in you there was something more important than to think about the way she found out. There was a fiber in you that had been moved, something that tingled within you with this information. You thought about him, but now his image held something more than just being the Stone Hashira. There was something different now in your perception of him, something that led a wave of fuzziness to bubble in your gut.

“Y-you think he likes… me?” You pointed to yourself, blinking in all disbelief at her. Her emerald orbs showed sincerity — not to say that Kanroji was never to be a dishonest person. You knew she would never lie, even more now that she indeed found you two compatible, cute. Why not make the attempt, then?

"It's obvious!" she retorted, giggling, "didn't you see how he's around you?"

"Doesn't he always behave like that around women in general, though?" you asked, still surprised.

"It's different," she emphasized; she knew for a fact — Kamado Tanjiro, another one who rooted for you and the Stone Hashira — that he would be asking about you, or so his care for you would be implied. Tanjiro, in all his kindness, saw the goodness in Genya’s persona, and knew that he could be the right one. Kanroji agreed with him, claiming that your warmth and your sweetness was one to get easily attached to.

"Besides, he's aaalways looking at you," She nudged you, squealing in more excitement than you — well, it was not that you were not excited, you still had to process it. All of this was certainly too much, and it signified a change in perspective, a change in perspective where Genya Shinazugawa fancied you.

“I’ve also heard he’s always asking about you…” She trailed off, but by the time you could ask her what she meant by that, she had already dashed away, her excuse being that she had promised Iguro to meet him.

And ever since that moment, you began to ponder her hypothesis: you became observant, attentive. You started talking to Tanjiro about it, and all the proof had seemed to turn into the direction of the conjecture of the ex-love hashira being true.

So you began glancing in his way more into his way, gaining another perspective from the Stone Hashira. Firstly, with curiosity, then with something more: a feeling that would tingle in your stomach when reciprocating glances that he would break no sooner he realized your sight on his. To you, seeing the heat spread on his cheeks was absolutely heart-warming, and no matter how much any of you tried to reassure him, Genya would just slur out his excuse and walk away so he could finally breathe.

Adorable — that is how he looked like to you.

And so you began to fall for him.

Yet few were the moments in which you could actually get closer, and you wished it would escalate to more than just stolen glances. But missions, training, meetings — a plethora of circumstances — would always get in the way of you two. But, even so, no obstacle was as hard to sort as his shyness. Genya was aware of that, and he wished he could just “grow a pair”, as Sanemi would tell him and gain the courage to approach you, yet to no avail. Helpless, it would all end in a ‘what if’, something he dreaded, but also something he could do so little about.

Knowing this, frustration would take over your chest, an oppression that would become hard to ignore as you watched him turn every time he thought about coming closer. Watching him had begun to become frustrating, to the point that yearning would be unbearable. A moment with someone you love is always difficult, yes, and even more in this case. But at the sight of the circumstances, it was up to you to make the first move, it seemed.

Making the move and praying that it worked.

One good day, you woke up feeling lonely. Feelings had been escalating to the point that, now, the ardor, the desire for your now favorite Hashira burned in your skin, and you found yourself missing him. Missing him so much, that not just a glance could calm you, nor the monosyllabic responses of his (responses that you had managed to get every now and then after Hashira meetings.)

It was early in the morning when you found yourself opening your eyes way before a Kakushi would knock on your door, given your habit of oversleeping, which often led you to wake up with little time to prepare and therefore getting late to command the training of your slayers. The brush slid through your locks ever so gently, the sound reverberating through these walls ever so softly in the dead of the yet to come sunrise. Your gear was already on, neatly smoothened, as so was the haori Kanroji had given you as a present when you had stepped up as a hashira. Finally, you twisted the strands of hair framing your face so that they did not get in the way, securing them at the back of your head with the beautiful butterfly hairpin gifted to you by the Butterfly Hashira.

Impatience began to seep through a bouncing leg as you glanced once again through the window, only to find that the sun was not even peaking, except for a couple of rays that began to bathe the enlightening sky. By that time, the birds had already begun with their soft humming. A sigh escaped your lips then as you turned to your mirror, reaching for the lip balm and smearing it on your lips as quotidianly. Eventually, you were ready to go, yet again you could not help but look at yourself every now and then, trying to get a glimpse of anything you could have possibly missed, despite being spotless in view overall.

Eventually, your Kakushi came to wake you up, but staring estranged at the fact that you were long awake before her arrival. There was a wide smile on your face as you finally got to go outside, breakfast having already been served, which you ate fast before being off to your duties. You were also delighted to see that your slayers were assembled in the training court two minutes before your arrival — your punctuality had been a motive for astonishment.

“We’re going to take training outside today.”

Everyone turned to each other as they wondered whether you were indeed alright; judging by your wider grin, and the way you were behaving — shining even brighter than usual— the answer was obvious:

you were not alright.

And Genya did not expect any of this, of course. He was, just like every other day, commanding another ruthless training session for his slayers — starting by endurance training, followed by sparring, finishing with meditation. Being in charge of training often helped him take a break from his insistent, lovesick heart — at least for a moment. However, as he could not gather any sleep lately, he had grown even less lenient than usual. Training was harsh, curiously resembling his brother when yelling at the slayers, or even knocking them down when he sensed someone was distracted — undoubtedly, he was a Shinazugawa.

A tap to his arm from behind took him by surprise, and whenever he turned, he swore the air ceased to flow into his lungs.

“Hello.”

He could barely stammer a greeting back at you after that; it was the first time — or at least one of the first times — that he was this close to you. It was the first time that he got to see your beautiful eyes gleaming, as you looked right at him; the first time that he got to see your smile spread for him. It was the first time that he could see you early in the morning, where the sun shone right upon you, highlighting your breathtaking self to the point that his heartbeat turned erratic.

"I see you're training hard today, aren't you?"

Your lips curved upwards in a bright smile while a faint wave of heat crept up to your cheeks, and you wished he would not notice — a shaken up Genya was too busy trying to get his soul to come back to his body to notice, though. From every single thing that could take him by surprise, this was one of the most unforeseen to him. Of course, he would wish and long for just a minute in which he could see you, his gaze often looking for you even if he did not want to. You were so bright, so...

...Pretty.

Genya felt as if his throat was closing. The summer sunlight felt even more boiling on his stinging cheeks — cheeks that he might have been unaware had turned undeniably red. The shyness immediately took over him, and so he did really forget how to utter a word correctly, without stumbling on his words.

You did not miss any of this; it was obvious — you wanted to believe it was — and that got your heart fluttering.

"Y-yeah..." he retorted, but unable to look away from you, when he normally would. But, how could he even look away, if any time you were around, even if you were unaware, his gaze was always upon you? it was as if, out of reflex, as if he had trained himself unconsciously, to look into the direction of his heart.

Of course.

"Mind if we join you?"

The question took him aback, and if he had been petrified before, he now stood as stiff as a tower. Joining him? YOu wanted to… Join him. Which meant staying until late afternoon with him? Which meant staying together, which meant being close to one another—

—Oh, boy.

A nod left him without much of a second thought; it was faint, but overt. It did not fail to make you giggle: you knew you were right to like him, and just how obvious he was with his non verbal language could only make your heart race. Your heart jumped at this.

Meanwhile, the slayers sensed the calm of the silence. Curious glances amongst his subordinates could not help themselves and look for the reason why: you. The infamous Love Hashira, famous for your charm and your cheerfulness, as you took after the previous one, as so was the case with your charming beauty. Gasps and heavy sighs, everyone was more than excited to have you in there, from what it seemed.

“All right then!” you beamed, turning then to your side briefly to beckon at your waiting slayers, “Everyone!” you called, and so your subordinates lined up in front of you, as so did Genya's. You never needed to raise your volume, your resting voice being clear and loud for everyone to stop and listen, as your charm was just too warm to ignore, too warm to just not be lured by.

“Today’s training will be under Mr. Shinazugawa’s commands,” you announced, and poor Stone Hashira had to do his best to not let the fluster take over him.

“Will you make sure my slayers train well for me?” You turned to Genya, then to his slayers, helpless at the leverage you had, even more when your gaze laid ever so charmingly on the swordsmen. In response, a cacophony of yes and of course! erupted from the love struck warriors, to which you could not help but to let out a chuckle.

However, some of the swordsmen had been unlucky that the male Hashira caught them as they began to giggle in secret — whether it was at you, or at his helplessness, he was not sure until his gaze had flickered to them —to which they had been quick to turn away from him— so of course this would make him hit the roof.

“What’s so damn fun, huh?” His voice was not loud, but had lowered several octaves to the point that it came across as a deep hiss — needless to say this was enough of a threat.

“If you don’t want me to leave you all in a forest full of demons, you better start pushing those fuckin’ rocks and bring them to the peak of the mountain before sunset. Got it?”

You, never oblivious to what was going on, pressed your lips on a thin line in order to stifle a laugh. It was indeed cute to see how he could assert such dominance and fear. The poor, scared slayers, of course, were quick to run and begin training, for Genya Shinazugawa’s threats were not empty threats — should he have to leave them a whole night at the mount for them to fend for themselves in the woods riddled with hungry demons lurking everywhere, he would do it.

So, while everyone started to train, the awkward silence arose once more. Genya tried hard to keep his gaze away from you, tried to distract himself with the job that his slayers and yours were doing — but even so you could still sense just how tense he was.

“Beautiful day, isn’t it?” You spoke up eventually, a while after training had begun.

There came once again your attempt to break the ice. At first it was a strenuous task, his answers coming in monosyllables and mumbling until, as the day progressed, he would untense and the day, and your conversation would develop into something more fluent, something more relaxed.

Genya found himself eventually being more and more verbose as conversation progressed, after having the ice been broken. Whether it was getting used to being with you or just being partially focussed on commanding the training, he actually felt at ease with you, comfortable. All of these feelings combined, plus the sight of you laughing — or just the sight of you overall— made these feelings he keeps for you bloom even more.

The same could be said about you, too.

All this time, you could not help yourself as he spoke and just not indulge yourself into memorizing every single one of his details: The way his scar wrinkled when he talked, or the way he would hold back the desire to look at you (even if at times it would be inevitable to just not do so, and your heart in fact would celebrate those little slips of his with rebelliousness in its beat rhythm). Or the way that, whenever he talked, there was this flicker of his eyes, going down, then up, then back on you. Or the way in which, from time to time, his lips would curve upwards into brief smiles, brief smiles that, most likely, he was unaware he was outlining, but nevertheless they were ever so heartwarming.

He showed himself genuinely to you, and this made you fall for him even more. And this made you want things to escalate more, your yearn for him could only grow, and grow. Were you nervous? Of course you were, but your nervousness would just make you unable to shut up, unable to stop yourself. Your heart commanded your movements, your actions, your words. Bits of excitement would bleed into your voice and make it crack in the slightest as you spoke, or you would find yourself smiling more and more as he spoke — absolutely and genuinely, hence helplessly besotted by him.

And so what first deemed new soon enough turned regular, and Genya would even find himself delaying training for you, waiting so you two could chat together, even go for a walk together — just like the day it finally happened.

The day it finally happened, you were getting further and further away from the training area with him following right behind you; the pained screams and courage yells of the slayers were soon replaced by the calm of the summer breeze inviting the leaves to sway and the calming melody of birds singing in the distance. The light managed to slip through the woods and bathe you with its warmth fully.

For the first time, you and Genya remained silent as you strolled through the forest, but his silence was unsettling. He sensed there was something different in the air, so he would be struggling with the uncertainty of what to do or say. However, to you it was not uncomfortable in the slightest: you let yourself indulge into the moment. Silent indulgence that soon was disrupted by a thought, a thought that had you pondering.

His hand — you glanced down at it, and so questions, curiosities began to cloud your mind. How would that hand fit in yours? Was it cold, or warm? Would it be rough, or would it be soft? Would his hand be able to envelop yours full?

For the first time, you were struggling with reluctancy. You could not stop paying glances at it, feeling the mighty hankering for holding it. Your teeth pressed against your lower lip, as you tried to convince yourself to do it once and for all. Too much thinking was your worst enemy, it would end up by shutting you down rather than to encourage you. Longing heaving in your chest, you took your hand to intertwine with yours in front of your lap, trying to mimic what it would feel like.

When your gaze flickered to his own for the second time, your heart jumped as if in encouragement, as if telling you to do it with its frantic thumping against your ribcage. Unable to ignore its wishes, you tried to tell your heart you would grant its wish as you inhaled deeply, trying to bring it some ease, but it still insisted — and would keep on insisting until you did as told. Moreover, if you did not do it, you would go home wondering what could have happened and you knew there was nothing worse than to be left with a ‘what if’ in your head.

So your hand began to seek his: first, falling to your side. Then, checking whether he was looking (which he was not, luckily), and then with a push of your heart, you took his hand: your fingers first brushed against his, allowing you to sense his faintly rough skin — product of years of relentless training, training that had shaped him into one of the strongest, finest slayers the Corps ever had.

Your palm ended up touching his, intertwining your fingers with his own. Large, rough, warm — you internalized those features and engraved them not only in your mind, but in your heart as well. You believed you would feel way more nervous than you did right now, but truth to be told, a sudden, warm peace coated every inch of you. Like this hand was made to fit in yours. Like they fit as two pieces of a puzzle.

“I like spending time with you.” You confessed ever so softly to him after having taken his hand, tilting your gaze up in the slightest. Genya flinched at this, but never dared let go, even if his legs had come to a stop. He was looking at you as if it was not obvious, as if the fact surprised him; overt as it was, though, someone opening up this way felt so foreign to him still, even more after such a long silence like this one.

“I… I do… too…” In bits and pieces came his mumbled response, the heat on his cheeks burning unbearably; it made you distract yourself from your racing heart, making you giggle in nothing but the utter tenderness he caused in you.

Of your lips. Of your body. Of you.

The wind blew harder after that, but still never disrupting its gentleness overall. The sound of the leaves swaying a bit more intensely danced into your ears, and so your gaze softened as you gazed up at him. Genya could not help but get lost in you, and unsure of what to do, or on how to proceed, his hand was the symptom of his anxiety beginning to rise, evident in the way that it squeezed yours.

Genya’s appearance is deceiving, you thought to yourself as you reached up on the tips of your toes to place the back of your hand against his cheek. Your knuckle traced part of his scar, and you noted the skin is somehow softer compared to the rest.

"Your scar… I like it…" you admitted as your knuckle softly traced it, the smile in your lips spreading just the slightest.

It is not that he recoiled, but again this kind of affection was foreign to him. You hesitated, nevertheless, and pulled your hand away from his face.

“I-I’m sorry, I—” Seeking to apologize, you stumbled with your words, yet somehow Genya found in him the strength to make you stay, holding your hand with his free one, guiding it back to him.

“It’s… okay.” He hummed softly, feeling his cheeks heat up once again, bashful, “I d-don’t mind.”

But he could not go further than that. He did not want to let you go, and he wanted everything — he wished he was not being a coward over it, over you, but gosh, you were just something else.

So, once again, it was up to you to make the move.

“Can I…?” your gaze seeked his own, and Genya could not help but to inhale sharply. The sun merged with the color of your irises and he found himself being enamored by the result — as if it had turned into his favorite color.

His lips parted, but no response came out — the words could only die in his throat, so again a nod escaped him. His gaze was drawn to your lips for a moment, and by reflex he found himself licking his own. You turned into a mirror of his own actions, your gaze flickered to his lips, then back at him.

Where to begin? You suddenly lost your course, being distracted by the thrumming inside your chest and the blooming sensation in your stomach when your gaze fell on his. Part of you wanted to take your time, part of you wanted to say to hell with it, but both parts converged in the desire of you to make this moment perfect.

But his hands outran you, as they cradled the sides of your head with each palm ever so carefully, as if he was afraid he would break you, as if afraid that you would run away — funny how you feared the same just a few moments ago, right?

So your hands seeked his shoulders — broad, muscular, stiff. Light squeeze, and you used him as your leverage to lean up and in. His heart also drummed in his chest, his gaze could only focus on your lips, your glossy lips. Questions came to his mind but all of them were left unanswered, as his attention was drawn by the loud throb of his heartbeat against his ears, as if telling him to concentrate on this moment.

Your name slipped off his lips and he seemed to not be aware of it, as his gaze was ever so lost in yours while he inched closer to you.

Little by little, your breaths first intertwined, and as you looked up at him, and he looked down at you, your eyes would merge together, as if pretending to play cyclops, like those one-eyed demons that many times you both had gotten to fight. But in the end, you knew a kiss was not a kiss if the eyes were open, so as your eyelids fluttered close, there was only room for the eyes of the heart to open, and that is when you truly saw him, and he truly saw you — right in the moment where your lips finally met each other, when all the distance between you and him had been cut.

You remember feeling Genya inhaling sharp as soon as it happened, only to feel his gentle, warm exhale against you whenever he tilted his head to the side, not able to hold back anymore. Genya was careful, more careful than ever —yet in that bewareness you sensed there was fear, or reluctance.

When you cut the kiss right there, and looked up at him, his eyes took a moment to open; and when they did, his hands were ready to fall and return to himself.

“Fuck— I-I’m sorr—”

Yet before he could even manage to apologize, you just placed a finger to his now humid lips, a shush barely slipping from your lips.

“It wasn’t,” You retorted, smiling to him ever so sweetly, “I just…” You leaned in once again, almost touching the index you had placed on his lips.

“I just don’t want you to hold back…” You breathed, “... Please…”

Your finger fell gradually, and so eventually there was nothing that stood in between you and him.

“Kiss me again.” Came your request.

And so then what once had been hesitation, now had turned into something else. You pecked him again, and his once curling fists relaxed, little by little seeking to wrap you around his strong arms and bring you close to him — you aided him every single time. Where his hands would place themselves, you made sure to let him know that you were alright with it, and with your own, you pressed his large ones against the small of your back. Only then did you return to his shoulders, but slowly your hands escalated more; soon enough, your fingers were entangled with his unruly, onyx locks. You brought him even closer to you, tilting your head to the side to part your lips a fraction just to let your tongue go and ask his lower lip for permission.

You sensed that from Genya a shaky gasp fled, and also just how his muscles clenched the slightest, which made you smile against his mouth. When he parted his lips, your tongue slipped past and began to glide against his own, as if inviting him to do the same.

The last barriers were beginning to crumble down and it took you by surprise (yet what a sweet surprise this was) when he pressed you even further against him, and one of his hands roamed up to bring you closer from the back of your head. He mimicked your prior movements, tilting his head to let his tongue enter. Such was your surprise, that you could not prevent yourself from letting a pleased mewl against him, and that mewl was just the vocalized effect of what he was doing to you, of the effect that he was taking on your body. The limit between summer heat and the heat of your bodies was blurred, to the point that you were no longer sure whether it was you, or if it indeed was hot. And hence the need to take his hands and lead them up to the collar of your gear.

The lack of oxygen forced you apart from him eventually, as you stepped back in the slightest to let him watch as he undressed you. And the sole idea to have you gaze ever so intensely at him while he did was enough to make the breath hitch in his throat.

Genya's hands were nervous, but never rushing. They were mindful, even a whisper of anxiety made them tremble as, button by button, he undid your gear, until your shirt was wide open and your cleavage was visible to him. From his lips, parted while his gaze was hopelessly fixed on you, came a shaky sigh, while he slid the piece of clothing down your shoulders.

When his hands stopped the moment your gear touched the floor, it was your turn to make your way to his purple yukata, a whisper of a tug at the fabric of his clothes. At this, his gaze was inevitably drawn downwards, and his response was to place his hands on yours, aiding you in stripping him out of the outer piece of clothing, until he was left in his gear before you.

"I want to see you."

You were always clear and overt with your wishes, and Genya could just not say no to you — not when straightforwardness dripped like honey into your tone and blended into such a needy implore.

And so he complied. At first, he was so lost in you that he did not realize just how sexy of him it was to look up at you while he took off his clothes; realization unfortunately hitting him, his gaze was peeled from you all of the sudden as embarrassedly he looked down at his gear. This inevitably brought a smile to your lips, biting your lower one in the slightest as you felt a wave of butterflies blooming in your stomach.

He finally reached the last button, and his body began to peek from underneath, and you could not just deprive his muscles of your attention — the muscles of his abdomen contracted with every breath he took. Scars of different sizes and colors littered his body completely, and there was just a strong urge for you to trace one with your finger.

The sun kissed each and every single of his scars; the pad of your digit placed itself ever so delicately on one of the most recent scars he had gotten. This one was on his chest — on his right pectoral, specifically — almost at the same level as his heart. Red-ish with the warmth that irradiated from him, you remained oblivious to the fact that the most recent scars were the most sensitive, and you did not notice until he flinched underneath your touch.

"Sorry…"

"It's okay…" he breathed his answer, almost in a hum.

“Did you…Did you get this one recently?” You asked, your finger resting now near the mark.

“That? Ah, ye-yeah…” He admitted, looking down at the mark, “A demon took me… off guard.”

It was not easy to take a Hashira off guard, whatsoever. A jeering sense of guilt took over him, he was supposed to be on guard. He was not supposed to be thinking of his crush as if he was a lovesick rookie that did not know better. Jeering because it was something that he was supposed to prevent. Jeering because he could just feel the stupidity mocking him in his head, at the unreal, hypothetical scenario where he told you exactly how and why it happened. So instead he opted for silence.

“Did it hurt you?” Your question touched him just as softly as your fingers had just done. Genya did not expect it, he did not expect your preoccupation to slip in such a way that caused his heart to stir in his chest.

Of course it did, but how could that matter now?

Murmuring smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and so he wrapped his hand around your wrist, his gaze meeting your own as he brought your hand back against his scar.

“It didn’t.” He said.

“Then I’m glad,” You hummed, dulcet warmth colored your gleaming irises, as did to the ginger smile that, little by little, sneaked into plain view.

“Just be more careful next time, okay?”

And so your fingers traced his scar, from his axis outwards; your gaze laid upon his once again, only to flicker downwards to the fresh mark, only then your eyelids fluttered close in the slightest. His cheeks could only burn the moment that your lips inched closer, pressing themselves against the sensitive scar tissue. This caused his skin to curl into tiny, numerous goosebumps, his chest rising as a shiver roamed down his spine.

And, as if it was not enough to make his heart pick up its pace at almost an inhuman speed, you finished him off with your next words. If Genya thought he could not fall more in love with you, once again you proved him wrong.

“I couldn’t bear you getting hurt.”

Just how many ways of saying those three words were there? How many ways to surrender yourself to the one who you had given your heart long ago were there? Love is just not a verb, but the way you look at the other person. What you say, what you do not say. Love transcends language, love transcends literacy — Sometimes it is all showing and not telling. Sometimes it was all about hiding little pieces of one’s heart behind other words, behind actions, and hope that it works. His heart fluttered, but no movement came from him. It was as if he had found gold mines in your lines, realizing just how much you could mean by saying so little. It was like a covert confession, yet somehow you had managed to make it ever so overt to him.

Whenever your eyelids fluttered open and you backed away from the scar, there was a silent request that came out of your eyes, and Genya was not oblivious to it. His breathing became uneven, his senses flooded with desire and growing lust that bubbled up to the tips of his fingers. You nodded at him and took his hands in yours, silently telling him it was okay.

“Touch me, Gen…” you exhaled your plea, guiding his hand to your exposed chest, making his large fingers wrap themselves around your breasts, squeezing them in the slightest.

And it felt good — you arched your back a fraction against his hand, breathing in through your nose, as if encouraging him to go further. The thought of anyone coming near you or seeing you resonated in the back of your head, but if you were honest, you could not care, thus you ended up ignoring it. The magic, the perfection of this moment was just too much for you, getting you lost in it; it made it impossible to focus on anything else — and he was narrowly touching you.

Your expression, contorted, caused Genya's cock to stir awake in his pants at the sight of your bitten lip and your shut eyes, and the sound of your soft breath escaping your lips. There was resistance in these restraints, and there was nothing he wished more than to free himself at this moment. Furthermore, there was a question living in his mind, wondering how it would feel if your hand — soft as he velvet — wrapped itself around him, stroking it the way he would on several, numerous lonesome nights. Nights where he yearned for your company, where his desire shot itself out of him ever so violently, with the same intensity as his love for you.

He had not noticed the way his thumb brushed continuously against your now hardened nipple at the thought of it, your once soft exhales turning into needy whimpers. When he shifted his gaze up to your eyes, he could see the keenness growing in you — it was as if he was looking into a mirror.

Impatience, ergo the rebellion of hands that wander in search of exploring what was unknown, yet deeply yearned. Your body pressed itself closer to his, and you could feel him. The thought of his hardening cock pressing against your lower abdomen was enough to send a wet, warm wave of arousal out of you and onto your panties; there was an urge to satisfy with friction of your thighs a building pressure that had your clit throbbing and engorging with every beat. In the same way, there was an urge to satisfy with friction the ache of a stiffness, stiffness that had his cock twitching irregularly but persistently against his pants.

'Shit,' — he could not stop to reflect upon his actions when he lifted you up. He could not stop to reflect upon his actions when you had wrapped your legs around his waist and he made your back rest against the nearest tree. He could not stop to reflect upon his actions when his lips latched onto your neck, as if your scent had drawn him like a bee to pollen — your most sensitive spot, he found it upon the first lick.

With a deep breath, you placed your hand at the back of his head, bringing him closer. His name escaped your lips once again in a breathless manner, your hips arched and your clothed sex met his in a slow grind that made his lips detach from your skin briefly only to let out a shuddery, soft moan. He could feel the warmth of your clothed arousal graze and seep through his pants and onto his cock. He could feel you taking the hand that rested on your breast, and guided it where you needed him the most, shaping his hand so he could touch you, stretch you — make you snap.

“O-Oh, god—!” Came your whimper when his calloused index entered you.

He could not believe it: From head to toe, he was as red as a beetroot; His breath had hitched in his throat and it felt as though his heart had stopped for a second. Your insides, so warm, so soft; but also so tight, so narrow. God, just how far up into you could he reach with just a finger?

Slowly, he slid it out of you, his glance flickering down from your lust coated expression to his finger, and he could not help but to bite his lip at the sight of how his digit glistened with your slick. He could not help but to feel himself twitch, having to comply with the need to swallow hard. So he slipped it back in, hearing how your wetness clicked as he pushed his digit in; hearing how that pattern of irregular humid sounds eventually turned rapid — sloppier, but rapid at last.

Until it was not enough. Until you wanted more. Until your walls began to pulsate with the crave for more friction. Until you whimpered out your plea to him, and another pang of electricity dissipated through his body — he could not deny your request. And so he added his middle finger; difficult to make it fit, when he could, you were so thankful. And again, once again, you rewarded him with those eager, honey-like moans that drove him mad.

“Feels so good… K-Keep going, p-please!”

And again, you were feeling the bundle of nerves at the top of your cunt twitch with ecstasy, ecstasy that translated into the Hashira’s fingers gliding faster against your walls, curling whenever, by accident, he learned that there was a spot that you found yourself buckling your hips at, moaning louder for him. Learning fast, he only needed to hear you once — hear you once, learn forever.

For you, all for you.

“Okay…” He inhaled, “Yeah…” — Exhale.

Genya was in trance, a lovesick expression on his features and he gazed at you with the utmost enamour, as if watching you was addiction, an addiction ever so curing for this sickness that was being so in love with you, fed just by the crumbs of heaven you gave him and, god, he was in a limbo. Limbo between reality and dream, where you looked so surreal, where everything was surreal — but you were there. He was there. You were there together and together you were making out of this the sweetest dream in life.

Genya was caught in a trance that, with a quiver, was shaken up; your walls made their best to hold onto him, to grab onto his fingers and not let go. The cacophony of your pleasured sounds colored the air and danced like music to his ears, until it became a warning — but you did not want to yet.

“I don’t wanna— n-not yet…” You breathed, holding onto his wrist. Your message was hard to decipher, and for a moment he would have begun to freak out — if it was not for what you did afterwards.

He could only give in to your intentions, and so you removed his fingers from you, a wet sound following whenever his fingers finally parted. Your chest heaved with the slowly diminishing build up for your climax; your eyes, clouded with lust, and your seary cheeks. Puffs of breath were coming erratically out from your lips mixed with his own, reverberating louder than they really were in your ears. You began to take his hand upwards and towards you; His gaze followed each of your movements inebriated with lust but also expectantly, his breath getting ragged and more ragged as his fingers approached your lips, as if he could anticipate himself.

The hot air from the sigh you let out grazed his wet fingers and, by reflex, he inhaled sharply. Your gaze flickered from his hand upwards to meet his own; that was the moment in which he noticed the tips of his fingers entering your mouth, only then gaining awareness of the warmth of it. The look of you on him caused his jaw to finally drop, a shaky breath followed, plus the — inevitable at this point — twitch of his painfully hard dick, now almost completely hard, which could not be helped — even less when your tongue swirled over his large, rough phalanges, licking yourself off him.

Unintentionally nasty — Genya could barely breathe at the sight of your gaze, laid upon him with such tenderness, pupils dilated with such ecstasy and compliance while the licks of your tongue made his mind go everywhere and nowhere at the same time. To see you this way before him was just breathtaking. To see you this way before him made him want to snap, to lose himself at last, to make you his.

What would he not give to have you this way every day?

Lust blown, suddenly there arose a need taking over him, deeming impossible to ignore — his free hand roamed up from your hip, his fingers twitching with fervor until his large palm finally came to rest atop yours. His sight pleaded, as if he would only proceed had you granted him permission. No need for words, whatsoever, you said yes to him; so his hand tugged gently at your own that beheld his other one, his half-hooded gaze never averting from yours as it reached his lips.

Oh, and when the fingers entered past his lips, he did not take into consideration something that would be germane: his peculiar sense of taste, not like any other. What was unique about it was that his taste buds were more sensitive than any other person; in other words, his sense of taste was way sharper. And when to tasting you it came, the savor exploded ever so vigorously in his tongue. Immediately, you could perceive just how wide his eyes went, black holes in the center of his irises widening to the point that a thin barrier of dark purple separated them from the sclera.

A groan vibrated on his fingers, and the relish made him want, crave for more. His tongue swirled around his fingers, making sure to capture every single hint of you on his tongue. All this time, you could just watch, feeling how your cunt would throb at such a tantalizing scene. If you were wet, now you got entirely soaked. Your walls missed him — oh, how much they missed those substantial fingers pulling into you; how badly you wanted them to be within you again. As if you were almost regretting making him stop before you could reach your climax.

When there was no more of you to taste, he popped his fingers out of his mouth just to abduct his middle and index, licking the remainings completely, as if he was not willing to let a single drop of your nectar go to waste.

“Never had something like this before…” He slurred in all the sultriness, the trance causing his voice to downgrade in a few semitones. Even after swallowing, the taste of you echoed in his palate, in his tongue, in his mouth overall.

He needed more.

“G-gen— yes, yes… please.” You breathed out, and so he cupped your cheeks; for the first time ever, Genya was the first one to lean in and claim your lips instead.

His kiss would have meant to be gentler, but when greed intoxicated his body and his gaze crashed against yours, his lips could only land on your own with just as much force. He held you in place, parted your lips with just a lick against your lower one; he let you taste yourself on his tongue, now brushing against yours thoroughly, as if there was no place he wanted to leave unexplored. A wet smack came after whenever he parted at last to gather his breath (and let you catch yours, too.)

“Fuck… I’m going crazy…”

He was not aware that he was thinking out loud when his words came off in a puff of hot breath fanning against your lips. Breath ragged, heart racing — his body was stuck against yours, the bulge in his pants unignorable at this point as it pressed hard against your sex. Your head lolled from side to side, at this point bedazzled and dazed by his actions, by his heat — by everything in him, in short. Only his name could dance off your lips in breathless mewls, because that was just how you were at that moment. And his name dancing off your lips in breathless mewls just added to the fire — his fire.

When he could put a brief end to his train of thoughts, he turned to your now plump lips and, drawn like a magnet, he pecked them; once, twice, until he parted with a last deep kiss. Decided that he wanted to taste more of you, more than where it came from, he began to kiss his way down: first, from your lips, down to your neck, down to your chest, kneeling until he was facing your breasts; until his hands could not help themselves as he cupped them, your perk buds spilling from in between his thumbs and indexes as he massaged them before, with a last brush of his thumbs over your nipples, he parted to travel even more southwards. Now you could feel the roughness of his hands slide down your sides until they stopped at your waist, while his lips were sloppily kissing your abdomen. Every time, his hands would squeeze, as if kneading your skin; unbeknownst to him, intemperance leaked through his hands, the thrill of coming nearer and nearer made the feeling just barely containable.

It felt like, in a matter of just a breath, he was now planting the last kiss on your mons. Kneeling before you, now his hands slid downwards to your hips, thumbs resting on the place where your iliac crests lay. Up to this point, impulse had taken the lead but, for some reason, at this moment, he could not avoid just tilting up to meet your gaze, seeking permission in your eyes. As if he did not claim he was going crazy just a moment ago. Maybe because, even in this state, it was important to him to still make sure that you wanted this, that you wanted him.

Your response — reaching for him just to thread your fingers into his mohawk. Enough for him to continue.

Impulse and passion were taking the lead and Genya was no longer holding back. Salivating at the mere sight of moist nether lips, he found himself swallowing hard as he gazed ever so entranced, ever so hypnotized. Lips parted, he inched close and, governed by anything except for rationale, his face buried itself into your cunt. The contact of his tongue, the feeling of the muscle parting your lips, and the tip dragging itself in between, licking a strap vertically, were enough to make you scream — someone would have surely noticed had you not clamped a hand over your mouth.

Your essence had become even more intense, compared to what he had licked off his fingers right before. If it was comparable to honey, yours tasted just as sweet and twice as addicting. And just as sweet and addictive as you were, you managed to draw a groan straight out of him, which rumbled against your lips. More licks followed after, his tongue tracing your labia upwards, downwards, then sucking on them as wanting to suck your wetness out of them. Genya was dying of thirst, and you were like his only source of water, as if he was tasting it for the first time in forever and he did not just want to stop drinking.

“Shit, you taste so good…”

And you observed. And your breath was already unsteady, feeling the tingling sensation roaming all over your sex as he kept on tracing his tongue on you. You felt a pressure, tons of pleasure without measure and you could barely get a hold of yourself. Likewise, he could not get a hold of himself either — his palms squeezed your cheeks underneath your skirt, bringing you impossibly close against his mouth.

Yet, as great as it felt, his tongue was always circling near the place where you wanted him the most, you had yet to feel him where you craved him the most. Nearer and nearer, his tongue barely grazed your engorged, throbbing bundle of nerves. You were quivering with the need, pulsating with the unbearable crave of wanting him to send you over the edge.

Your grip on his locks tightened the slightest; he could not ignore your call when your voice was filled with need and frustration. There could not be more of a beautifully salacious view than the one of you, with your bare chest rising and falling with heavy huffs, glossy half hooded eyes and parted lips.

“I-Is anythin’ wrong?” He asked, his voice raspy, “Is… it not good?”

“N-no, it is! I just…I j-just… want…” You stammered, trying to reassure him, yet you also found yourself struggling to find the right words to tell him how you wanted him.

“Tell me…” He swallowed the saliva that had quickly pooled in his mouth, “...Tell me what you want.”

Genya would do it, anything you wanted. No matter what. There was a strong will of his to give himself completely to you, to make you feel what no one else could. He wanted to make you feel the way you deserved and, whatever was on his hand (and even what was not, still) he would do it.

“I want you…” You reassured, both of your hands traveling to his parietals to cup them gently, and he let you coax him closer to your palpitating nub, “...H-here. I need… need you right here.” His gaze flickered from you down to your clit and, upon the last here, the gap between his lips and your bundle of nerves finally closed.

His lips wrapped around it instantly, and you could feel his tongue licking a vertical stripe, causing it to be flicked. Your body began to tremble with the euphoria: Genya could feel your thighs trembling with pleasure, and the mere sound of your delighted cries, plus the inability for you to hold them back any longer was enough to have him trembling as well, in due course.

“Oh my god, right there, please!”

His tongue began to grind against your sensitizing clit, and his lips began to suck more on it. You cried, you moaned, you held tightly onto him, inevitably making him start to let out grunts and groans that vibrated against your tingling folds, tingling folds that puffed up with the buildup of an overwhelming climax.

“More… o-oh, more…” You supplicated, moving your hips as you held onto the back of his head, hoping to get in some way more pleasure, even more despite being experiencing a surreal amount at that very same moment.

Again, how could he ever ignore your wishes?

You could not help but to yelp at the brief unsteadiness caused by him bringing your hips forward by pushing your cheeks, nevertheless feeling the very same pang in your abdomen in anticipation, your breath quickening even more (as if it had not already turned ragged enough). Neither could you anticipate the hand once stimulating you leaving a trail of fire on your skin as it slid from your thigh downwards, until it reached your leg; getting hold of your calf, he lifted your leg and let it rest over his shoulder so that now your sex was exposed to him: your lips, widely spread apart, glistened with a mix of your slick and his drool, and with just a flicker of his gaze, he could get a view of your drooling entrance. This new angle made his cock strain even more against the fabric of his pants, but the friction, the tightness proved to be somehow fueling the feeling.

He kept on swallowing, but no matter how many times he did, the saliva would gather in his mouth over and over again, like a starved demon in a mighty lust for blood. He did not think twice, at this point he was but driven madly by his passion. Passion that led his tongue to caress the dripping of your hole, dripping that led the taste to explode on his overly sensitive taste buds, explosion that led a loud grunt to escape his lips. Zeal grew out of his uncontrolled pleasure, and guided his tongue into your entrance, eagerly gliding against your walls to get more of your sweet nectar. A cry, plus the way that your hands pressed his head deeper against you, made him take a large, calloused thumb onto your bundle of nerves, remembering as best as he could to mimic the movement of his tongue. His thumb rubbed you up and down, side to side, then traced circles on the most sensitive of its spots.

He remembered and longed for the feeling of your walls. He remembered how your face contorted into the most beautiful love faces as he used his fingers in you. So one of his hands, once resting on your cheek, circled around and slipped in between him and your body. Using the tips, he caressed your moistness until he found himself poking at your tightening entrance. Fuck,— the feeling of your warmth once again against his fingers, oversaturated with wetness that trickled down his phalanges, and onto the floor beneath whenever he would pump them out; squelching whenever he led them back once again into you.

“S-So good, too much—!” You could not help yourself, lost in the haze, your hips began to grind over and over against his face, the building pressure became just almost too much to bear, getting so unbearably close to your highest peak of ecstasy, ever so dangerously near that it felt torturing.

Sweet, addicting torture — Not only was it taking a toll on you, but it was taking it on him as well. Hunger, the ache of a lust that needed to be fed on; Genya could not have asked for anything more yet, in due course, he felt the thirst begin to take hold of his throat, of his lower abdomen as it stiffened up in irregular contractions; anxiety came in waves at the thought, at the crave, at the anticipation. He was yearning to taste more of you. To have your sweetness coat his tongue like honey.

He was barely hanging on: Genya’s grunts and groans resonated even louder, the smacking of his lips and wet sounds of his tongue lapping against your cunt, while he sucked your juices, were uncontrolled, not even remotely blending with the sound of the summer breeze making the branches and their leaves dance, as so poorly did your uncontrolled moaning. However could you restrain yourselves, though?

His hips were jerking, thrusting against the very same nothing; the way the fabric of his pants with the friction was sending just the right pangs of pleasure through his hard, overly sensitizing shaft, was enough to give out just how feral he was going, and all because of your pussy — all because of you. Your juices were like the sweet taste of wisteria liquor, inebriating, alluring, addictive. That addiction could only grow whenever he perceived there was a subtle change in your taste — something that Genya’s tongue alone could sense.

“G-Gen… Genya—!”

You were close, you could feel yourself close to your high. Hyperventilation overtook, caused by your unsteady breathing put you into a deeper haze, a haze that deepened with the tears that were clouding your vision (some of them escaped your lash line, running down your cheeks and you were just so helpless against them. Well, you could not even think about stopping them, whatsoever. It had not been long since his fingers were inside you, stimulating you ever so heavenly; your walls, however, were clenching dramatically faster, tightening more and more, fluttering against his tongue which, at this point, struggled to enter you.

He was close, too — the stirring of his cock against his pants had turned into pulsations, the most intense making him hiss at the sensitivity, whenever his tip would brush against the fabric at this. He felt he was closer and closer to reaching his climax, and the alluring feeling of you being in the same situation, the alluring feeling of finally getting to taste the sweetest of you, was keeping him going.

You could not believe it, your thighs would not stop shaking around him when he lapped at your cunt ever so greedily. Your moans were just enhancers to his own. — he groaned with a tint of exasperation — he needed to taste you entirely.

The frustration became action; Genya’s large hands were sweaty against your hips when they roamed up to get a hold of them, and he pulled away from your sex, just enough for the air to brush against your folds.

“C’mere…” Came his breathless growl, said more to himself than to you. As if in great timing, your legs happened to give out on you, but Genya, strong as he was, managed to keep you steady and prevent you from falling.

The grass rustled beneath him as he lay down on his back, bringing you with him. When you turned down, you could not help but to feel your clit twitch, another wave of fluttering running through your gut washed over you, and all at the sight of his face framed in between your thighs. His breath this time felt cool against your folds, but as he began to guide your hips towards his lips, the warmth increased the closer and closer he got, approaching your lips. You remembered feeling one last sigh, Genya’s gaze taking a different gleam as his orbs flickered to your alluring, moist sex once more.

He engulfed it all, and even if you could not see it, you could definitely feel it; his lips enclosing your nether ones, dragging against the sensitive flesh, his tongue running across the common area between your lips, starting downwards, finishing up at the apex of your clit. And as you watched, your jaw could only fall agape, leaving a free way for all the air in your system to escape your lips through a breathless, high-pitched moan. However, you felt like you were going to lose it when he began flicking his tongue against your clit — deep strokes, not too fast. You could not move, your brain felt as if it had shut off, the coil in your abdomen exerting a great deal more pressure than before.

You could not take notice of how harshly his large hands clenched around your hip bones, the edges of his fingernails digging into the plush of your skin, imprinting crescent moons on them — so harshly was he pressing, because he was helpless. Helpless because he could not hold back. Helpless because you were so moreish that he could not keep it to himself. Helpless because he was bound to explode, the seed threatening to shoot out from him as if you could draw it out yourself. Helpless because the taste of you was a sensation that made him feel like he was experiencing something beyond this world; not even the meditation training he had received from Gyomei Himejima could ever put him in the trance you put him in, so hypnotized, so enthralling.

Unintentionally unforgiving in his pace, his hands rocked you at a fast pace. And you, unable to handle it, were trembling all over. Your clit buzzed with increasingly erratic throbs, nurtured by every lick of his tongue, and it was too much for you. Unconsciously, you tried to bring your thighs together, trying to get a hold of yourself, but all it resulted in was tightening around Genya’s head. ‘He’s so good, he’s so good to you’ — the thought sneaked into reality and it fell on his ears, and so this caused a maddening grunt to resonate against your folds once more. He could not breathe properly: his cheeks reddened with the warmth and the shortening of oxygen, a thin layer of sweat glistened on his forehead as well, with one or two droplets that rolled to the back of his head, disappearing in the tousled raven locks of his mohawk.

Should anyone wonder whether that would stop him, Genya’s hands just dropped to your thighs until they came at the lateral sides of each one. The way his fingers gripped and nails clawed at the plushy skin could have made anyone conclude he would try to free himself; alternatively, all he did was force your thighs closer, tightening their hold around his face.

Close, beyond close, borderline climax — you were just about to get there. The last steps were usually the most painful, the worst; they had you striving to reach the peak, a peak that seemed so hard to reach whenever one was so close.

His breath began to shake. His arms began to shake. His grip on you began to shake. And in that wavering, caused by that rush of overwhelming euphoria running in his veins, he finally lost himself: Trembling uncontrollably, your legs felt as if about to give out on you. Reaching maximum ecstasy, your climax announced itself as Genya heard a high-pitched, breathless, moaned version of his name tearing from your throat.

Yet it was not until the sweetest elixir coated his tongue — nothing like your slick, this was different. If your wetness did make his taste buds explode upon first contact, your release on his tongue made his vision field go white (maybe the responsibility would fall on his eyes rolling to the back of his head by reflex, yet that did not change the fact that he could not think straight.) His orgasm hit him and caused his hips to stutter, and now the place where his cock was pulsating and twitching violently suddenly became warm, hot — but also wet.

His release had made a mess of his pants, but instead of pulling away, Genya pressed himself even more against your cunt, lapping even more eagerly at your release, continuing to guide your hips as if to ride out your orgasm, as if he could ride out his own as well. He licked you clean, until the very last drop of you he had consumed and disappeared after he swallowed. Still, his tongue relished of you — and as long as it relished of you, he would want more of you.

A tap to your thighs, and you apologized to him between puffs of breath, to which he reassured it was no big deal. Having spread your legs, Genya could catch on his breath at last, as you had backed out until you were lying right beside him.

“That was… that was amazing.”

There were a million things he would have told you, if it was not for the fact that he was breathless, breath taken by you and what you caused in him. The afterglow brought a calming haze, a haze that, nevertheless, had a bittersweet taste. Upon the breeze blowing, Genya noticed the quenching humid spot in his underwear — because, even if the gear was said to repel the humidity, his underwear did not bear the same perks.

An apology — all he could muster in the afterglow, heat pooling in dusting red all over his cheeks. Your sweet smile is what he next saw when he finally remembered to blink, having lost himself in the view above, yet never fixated upon anything in particular. Reaching with your delicate hand —or so he descried it, compared to his own— you brushed his raven strands of hair away from a forehead that gleamed, coated by a thin layer of sweat.

“For what?” You asked, in all obliviousness.

But Genya could not just answer your question; the heat could creep up to his cheeks, his gaze could only avert from yours. Embarrassment — to cum only from eating you out, instead of having pleasured you like you deserved. You could pick it up, however, or at least, and again Genya was overt enough to show it.

When you tilted your gaze down, you could see the mild rising in his pants, and as if you were connecting the dots, it dawned on you.

“You… oh.”

“Sorry,” He could barely mutter, his breath shaky with frustration, but he could not deny it, and the lack of it necessarily meant implicit affirmation. Judgment — he was afraid of it when it came to you. All that had just happened, only to crumble away and at his own fault.

Painly enamoured, he was, and there was no one in his eyes that could take your place. And as enamoured as he was, it pained him to ponder the possibility that even the slightest slip of his fingers — something as dumb as this — could mean the end. Sometimes love made one act like a fool, think like a fool, feel like a fool — and he was this, nothing but a fool for your love. A hopeless fool.

Your lips pressed together as you watched him, equally as flustered the heat crept up to your cheeks, but completely the opposite was going through your mind at that very same moment.

Your sudden giggle erupting from your chest took him by surprise; although he was unsure about what your reaction would be, this one was certainly the least he expected. It made his lower lip curl into a pout, another glimpse of the helplessness in him. However, to you, it was a sweet view to behold; Genya was the sweetest, funnily sweetest man that you had ever met.

“Why are you apologizing?” Your smile widened, and so you leaned down.

“It’s just… I… Damn…”

Your hand on his cheek, you tilted him so as to plant on his lips a sweet peck. He was spiraling, to say the least. He could not help but to hold his breath when you kissed him, completely lovestruck by you.

He struggled with words, as if they were stuck in his tongue. His lips pressed against each other and rolled together by reflex, as if unconsciously tasting you again. Yet still, that could not help him feel any less embarrassed.

Of course, you knew that.

“Gen…” You cooed at him ever so sweetly, “You worry too much, baby…”

His gaze widened a fraction at the nickname, and his heart began to hopelessly pick up its pace. But what time did you give him to process such an influx of tenderness? Nothing. Your lips were already on his own, by the time that he blinked. Yet this time, he held onto you. He closed his eyes, eventually, flowing with the moment. His tongue began to slowly reciprocate the glide of your own, eventually, melting into your fondness. His arms found your torso, eventually, and he pulled you close to him. His head tilted, eventually, deepening the kiss, telling you what words could not, since clearly they would not be on his side.

But you broke apart too soon, he was enjoying it, he was melting into you, you pacified his uneasiness. But you had better plans. You were going to help him loosen up, even though by this time, after having eaten you, after having fingered you, after having gotten on his knees for you, maybe by this time, he should have.

But then, maybe all that Genya needed was an extra push. Oh, were you more than glad to give it to him.

“Gen, you’re so good to me.” It echoed more into his ears than it actually may have; just the words were enough to make the breath struggle to flow into and out of his system with ease, and it was ever so painfully overt the way his body flinched beneath you, his torso stiffening up — again, cute. He was way bigger than you, but here he was, reduced to a mess, smallened beneath you.

“Won’t you limber-up for me?”

But, again, Genya was at a loss of words. Whether this was an unseen side of you — this day was full of discoveries, apparently — or whether he was even more allured by you, he could not distinguish it. All he knew was that you were making him go on a craze, that he was so feeble before you, so willingly feeble. He could not stop you, he could just watch.

He could just nod.

You could just smile. Your thumb brushed his cheek, and without any further ado, you began your descent: first, from his lips, to the angle of his jaw, kissing it; second, from there to the side of his neck. In this case, you did not kiss your way down, but just let your breath hover against his skin. Genya could only feel how a slow shiver ran up his spine, spreading to all the corners of his skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. He shuddered when a small exhale now kissed his skin, before now your lips did.

A gentle pressing of your lips, then you tested a small lick against it, repeating the same until, by trial and error, you found a particularly reactive place.

‘Oh…’ came his soft moan, both relief and surprise bleeding into it as, at the same time, his eyes impulsively fluttered close. As if he was blindly following your request and so he began to unwind, as if he was blindly giving in to you.

You smiled against his neck, pleased by this. Pleased by how he swiftly began to relax; you could feel it underneath you, he was not as tense.

Suddenly, a sting hit his neck and Genya could not help but to wince in slight pain, “What did you…?”

“Ever heard of love bites?” You retorted, pulling away from his neck, your cheeks heated up mildly, “They’re little marks that you can give to the one you love. You give them to the one you want to be yours.”

His heart raced, he knew what those were. He had seen them on his brother once. But never, ever, received one himself. If one gives those marks to the one he loves, then that explains why the right one never came to him. Maybe because he had not experienced love until he experienced you.

“Will you be mine, Gen?”

The question echoed ever so eloquently in Genya, in his chest, causing his heart to skip a beat. Yours…

Yours.

“Yes… Fuck—” The curse fell from his lips, “—yes…” Totally inebriated, without a second thought. This, again, made you smile as you gazed deeply into his eyes.

Expectant, he lifted his head, never missing any of your movements as you moved. His shirt remained wide open, untouched since you had opened it up for him just a while ago. His chest inflated and fell with every rapid, shallow breath of his. Littered with scars, you kissed each as you continued to move downwards. Slow motioned, gentle, sweetly — taking your time, never once rushing. It is all part of the same; You wanted to make from this a perfect moment — to take your time; your pledge. To make sure to drink in every single detail of his, every single reaction, every single sound he made — it was all part of getting caught in the moment.

You were about to shift, so that you could reach his lower abdomen; However, it had been too much for Genya to stand, apparently. At least, he could not stand just laying while you did all the work. So, abruptly, he stood up, while you remained where you were.

“Gen?”

But soon, you would learn that to stop you was the least of his intentions.

Rising to your knees, you accommodate yourself. In this position, your eye level met his lower abdomen. When he looked down at you, and you up at him, Genya could not control the way such a view brought a titillating pang of heat inside him, pang of heat that caused his once again hardening cock to twitch.

The mess — he recalled. Fleetingly, he had let slip the reason for his apology, the reason for his embarrassment. But by the time he tried to stop you, you were already kissing his lower abdomen, the buckle of his belt long from undone, and his pants halfway worked down. Panic began to rise, of course, and as much as Genya found his skin twitching at the closeness, as much as he found himself not wanting to stop, this was embarrassing.

Your fingers, hooked on the waistband of his underwear, were just tugging down at it when his hand took a hold of your wrist. This caused your gaze to tilt up, and in confusion you gazed at him.

“Wait…” He blurted out.

“Why?”

Well, what sort of explanation was he supposed to give, how was he supposed to tell you what had happened to him?

Whenever his sight averted from yours, the feeling was there again. Cute. A sigh you let out brought a smile to your face then, and so he turned back his gaze on you whenever he felt the warmth of your hand on his own — the same way as he would have at that moment.

Reassurance — your fingers interlaced with his, and you led it to cup your cheek. Genya worried too much, as you would have told him at that moment. He could only swallow, his jaw could only clench.

But he nodded.

Until you laid your sight upon the half hardness, sticky and partially wet with still leaking, still warm seed. Your jaw fell agape after it bounced whenever you finally uncovered him.

“O-oh…” fell from your lips; to be honest, it was quite a sight to be speechless at. The sight from you, staring ever so frozen up at his girth. As if red cheeks were not already flaring up, this sight made even the tips of his ears burn, yet there was no satisfaction behind it; you did not show any sign of being pleased, and where silence governed, there was place for uncertainty; where there was place for uncertainty, there was indeed place for uneasiness.

“For… for—” Words tripped in your tongue, and you had to make a pause in order to swallow, a pause to process everything.

“All of this… because of me?”

“Didn’t mean to… I…”

What could he say? How could he explain? That he did not make it as far as to hold it in before he could actually please you like you deserved?

You felt his hand flinch on your face, and upon the slightest sign of it pulling away, you were quickly to, once again, place your hand on top of his. Tilting up, your gazes met again yet, this time, he noted that yours held a different tint: He noted that your orbs seemed to glow with a different tint between half-hooded lids, the color of your irises blending with the sun’s mid-afternoon rays, that you felt warmer against the hand resting on your cheek than just a second ago, as well as the way your lower lip spilled from your biting it with your upper teeth. In his state, there was no way in which he could note the way your arousal tingled, or the way that you began to press your thighs together, already in the need for pressure, or any kind of friction.

In other words, he did not note that what you actually meant was the opposite.

Your hand departed from his own, only to wrap itself around his girth. You took your time and, finger by finger, you softly circled him until he was completely in your grasp — gentle, tender was your touch, never otherwise. Underneath, you could feel the wetness of bits of his cum, mildly lukewarm by now.

“I feel praised,” You admitted in a wholehearted purr while your gaze softened, your eyes softly wrinkling; as your thumb reached up to his completely damp, now leaking with precum head — tracing his shaft all the way with your pad, almost in a ghost like manner, your gaze departed from his own, your head tilting down so that now your complete and undivided attention was set on the girth before you.

“All this for me…” You repeated, your gaze followed every single one of your movements as your wrist skilfully, slowly, gave his shaft a stroke. There was a wet sound that resonated in the air as you did (product of his precum clicking as you dragged your hand over his dick), repeating the action a couple of times — all this time, looking at him in the deepest infatuation.

"I thought about this a lot…" you confessed, "of us…" you breathed, and you felt the urge to close your eyes, biting down a mewl as you grinded against your own clenching thighs at the same slow pace you stroked his cock.

"You surprised me…" you confessed, and to be honest this surprise was not in only one way, "you're so…"

Genya could not believe what was happening. Genya could not even breathe properly. Genya could not even avert his gaze, nor pull his hand away from you; in counterpart —and once again this was his body speaking for him — his hand traveled from your cheek to the back of your head, his fingers unavoidably threading in between your locks in the process.

Smitten, absolute love struck— if he was doing badly before, now it was way worse. Impatience took over him, while you pledged to take your time; because, perfection is achieved through the threading of many little processes, many actions, many words. It was not a matter of teasing, but a matter of making out of this the most. In all your actions, you vowed for every part of you — every heartbeat, every thought, every ounce of love you held for him — to bleed into them.

"...great," came the word, at last, after getting, for a bit, deeply lost in your actions, in his reactions, in his gestures, as if you were thinking of the right word. You had begun to inch closer to his shaft. Your grip lessened as your thumb began to smear in deep, circular motions, slicky precum oozing out of his head.

His grip tightened on your hair, and you heard him breathe in sharply, so you inched closer.

"So big…" your breathed words kissed his head. So responsive he was, that you felt him twitch within your grip, hard.

"I’m not wrong, right?"

So your gaze, once again, flickered up to meet his, but only for a moment, before your attention you posed onto his length once more.

He was aware that he was different. His size sometimes made him self conscious as, had an inconvenience occurred to him, it would be painfully obvious — and for that, there would be no haori that could conceal something like that. Managing himself barely, he could use his repetition tactics to try and bring himself to focus elsewhere and, hopefully, bring himself to relax. Just as there were times that he could not, and the ache would be so noticeable that he would have to excuse himself, and that would lead you to linger on his mind, the lewdest version of you deployed in his fantasies as he succumbed to his hand on restless nights, imagining it was you bouncing on top of him, imagining you were letting out pleasured cries for him, imagining with deep, ardent intrigue what his name moaned from your lips would taste like.

You were mischievous in your own way — angelic, innocent — and that drove him crazy. Craziness that spiraled, triggered by the way that your breath fanned against one of the sides of his shaft (the one onto which a prominent vein rested and protruded.

“It’s pretty,” You confessed and, kissing the most prominent vein, his abdomen tensed.

“I like this vein,” You brushed it with the base of your fingers, “...and these,” releasing your grip for the tips of your fingers to brush against the smaller ones. Eventually, you reached the base, and you once again wrapped your hand around the shaft.

“S’so long…” Your praise came as a slurred purr this time as you felt a warm wave of arousal make your cunt throb once, feeling how your thighs began to soak up. Now your fingers circled his girth once more, and you brought your hand towards the tip, stopping at the base of this one.

“The way it curves is so lovely,” You smiled, owing to the curve to the right it took, tracing it as you led your hand backwards in a deep stroke.

“...it’s so thick,” You breathed, this time your lips hovered over it. It twitched again, impatience and frustration bubbled up in his being, yet even so, he would never dare get in the way of your actions. You had to stop and swallow, for the drool threatened to escape the corner of your lips.

“And it’s a mess…” You mewled, this time your gaze connected to his as your tongue stroked a vertical stripe through the underside of it, sighing in pleasure with a gaped jaw whenever you reached the tip. Salty, gently, not so much, it was pleasant.

“I’ll clean it up for you, okay?”

The angelic lewdness with which you were enthralling him, something never imaginable for him, it hit him ever so unexpectedly. His breath hitched in his throat after a sharp inhale, air that could only be released by force after your lips finally wrapped themselves around his tip.

“F-fuck—!” Came a choked growl from his lips, as his fingers enclosed a fistful of your hair, as if by that he could relieve the tension. He could feel himself burn at the cheeks and even the tips of his ears, while the coil in his lower abdomen began to exert such a pressure that he had to do his best to keep himself together; this time, he could not let himself commit the same mistake, this time he would endure.

It was slow how you took him — patiently, one inch at a time. He was way bigger than you had calculated, judging by the grip of your hand on his shaft. His girth forced you to make an effort, your jaw falling a bit more slack. It was lewd, how you stopped every now and then to rest, only for his cock to reach an inch deeper into your mouth, the salty flavor and the typical consistency of his cum dancing in your tongue with more intensity the more you took him in. Overachiever as you were, as stubborn as you were, he eventually fitted almost all the way into you (and, whatever did not fit, you could rely on your hand.)

To say Genya felt the weakness take over his knees was the least. Sensitivity and infatuation had mixed together and, to see the way in which you took him made him helpless.

Perfection — you had decided it. He deserved being treated well. He decided to be taken care of, just like he had done with you previously.

Genya felt the pressure envelop his cock, and the wet swirling of your tongue as you backed away, as if dragging it with you. ‘Fuck’ — you could not be looking at him with such an innocent glint on your irises as you did what you were doing — you were going to make him cum on spot.

“Ah…” You barely pulled away when, with a wet popping of your lips against his head, you released him. It came off as a sighed moan, your glossy eyes, iris highlighted by the gentle reddening of your scleras as you blinked a few tears off.

“I love how you taste…” You told him in a soft breath, your tongue peeking from in between your lips to lick the remains, as your free hand crept up to wipe the fresh drool that, naturally, had escaped through the corner of your mouth once gathered again in you.

One praise after the other — there was determination in you, to make him feel how much you liked him. Through every action, through every word, through everything, never once did you waver with your honey-like tone, sweet by nature and soft spoken. He called your name, choked in a deep hiss, as if trying to tell you this was way too much for him to handle, as if he wanted to tell you he needed you more.

“...Makes me want more,” You giggled, “...I can’t wait.”

At the sight of no objections on his behalf, you decided to continue, as if the hunger of seeing him pleased was an almighty crave in you. As if pleasing him was your way to tell him, to make him understand.

“I’ll stop whenever you want, okay?” you told him, your lips loitering once again a breath away from his pulsating length. You took his hand, guided it to your lips as you turned the slightest to your side, only for your lips to kiss a prominent knuckle of his, “I just think you deserve to feel good.” You added, before you guided it to your hair, prompting him to pull your hair back so that he could take a look of what you meant.

Heavy breathing, body heating, arrhythmic heart beating — he was reduced to being nothing but shambles. Here you were now, admiring it for yourself, touching him and he would not have the willpower to stop you, but instead observe and melt into each word, each action, each moment. Even if it felt rare for such feelings of devotion and love to bloom at such a scene, it was something inevitable. Your words, each and every single, had hit him from up close. Who would ever treat him with such kindness? Who would ever do this for him? It all felt sincere. Maybe in another context, if he had not been as smitten, as besotted as he was with you, he would have snapped and told you not to say such things while doing something so dirty like this.

This, however, was different.

He began to give in, and as he began to give in, once shut in grunts turned louder, and so grunts turned into moans — it was hard to keep them behind gritted teeth at first, but soon enough he found himself loosening up. His hips began to roll against your mouth, and you were smart to follow him along, creating a pace in which your nose almost met your hips.

Gagging was inevitable, you were resolved to take him all the way in, eventually, and it was impossible for tears not to gather at your lash line as a result of his tip almost hitting the back of your throat. He was twitching, irregular flinches of his shaft made it shake in your mouth; that, his pleased sounds, your gazes connected through the haze, the piercing connection passing through the curtain of tears, your moans and mewls vibrating in his cock, the erratic breathing, his salty taste coating your tongue, the rubbing of your thighs against each other and the grinding of your hips to possibly pacify this need for friction—

It was too much.

His cock slid off you with a wet pop, his head grazing the corner of your lips, rapid huffing now echoed in the air and it came from both of you. Only when the colder air grazed his humid shaft did he blink himself out of it. Passion fogged gaze laid itself upon you, and only then you became aware that the sunlight had taken a more golden tint. Probably, training should be about to culmine, maybe it was time to come back.

“Do we have to go back?” You asked, your voice having taken a sultry, slightly hoarse tone. Your eyes were curved in disappointment, in need — both corporally, but also pitiful; whenever something is so magic, it tended to happen so fast, its evanescence being a motive to mourn it when you realized how ethereal things were, as if having slipped from your hands like sand between your hands. You deemed yourself selfish for wanting this to last just a while longer. You found yourself longing for him. Longing to satiate this thirst that, no matter whatever you did, it continued to grow — and that could only be quenched by him and only him.

And, with every fiber of your being, you wished this would last forever.

It felt like an eternity until you blinked and noticed Genya was kneeling at your eye level, until you felt the warmth of those fingers, from that same hand that held your head moments ago, taking in them your chin.

“No, it’s not. Let’s stay a bit longer.”

And from your lips, through your fallen ajar jaw broke out a breathless sigh, heavy as if you were holding your breath somehow, and immediately relaxation hugged every corner of your body, giving place then for the building, burning desire to keep on burning within you. Flaring up from your lower abdomen, then growing towards your throat, and likewise irradiating to your core.

You could not help yourself, completely infatuated, completely dependent on him. Far gone, you were, you had to throw yourself, your arms finding shelter around his neck, and from your lips melded into his own came the greed that you would just not hold back anymore.

He was quick to reciprocate — from his lips he let out the very same eagerness, from his tongue gliding with yours as well, and tasting himself in you. Genya and you were dying of thirst, and you were each others’ water.

“I want you… Want you to make love to me…” Fell the plea off your lips, at last, your lips brushing against his as you spoke, returning quickly to kiss him; you could not break away from him, not even for a second. The heat was heavy in the air, and if it was already hot, now it was even more — almost scorching, but it burnt so good.

Lust clouded eyes focused on yours, and the words he uttered — the way he said them — made your heart skip a beat.

He huffed out your name, completely taken aback as if you were not doing any of this in the first place.

“Fuck… C’mere.” He repeated, as he would have told you before, “Want you too. Need you so much.”

His tone had grown more confident. Now more sure than before, the words did not stumble in his tongue, and the resolve was clear as water in his eyes. The need was irresistible. It was irresistible. Fuck, he needed you, fuck you were going to make him lose his mind.

His hands a step ahead from him, and he pulled away, a haziness taking over him, as if his body was about to enter a trance, an ecstatic one. There was a mix of hands as you both peeled the clothes off each other, unable to hold yourselves back anymore — only his pants remained halfway undone, however. It was then that his arms encircled your waist; just like that, he had easily picked you up; Your legs hugged his hips close, and your lips were on each other’s, as if there was no time to waste and he led you both against the trunk of the tree, until your back was laid against the rough surface. It did not bother you in the slightest, how the rugosity would scratch your back — your attention, your devotion, all of you, it was on him.

Love and lust blended, you wanted to give him everything, and that was where those two concepts converged. He wanted to give you everything, and that was where those two concepts converged. Where those two concepts, born and raised in two different bodies, seeped out of your bodies and converged. Give, give, give. That was all he wanted; that was all you wanted.

There was more than just conversations, glances, aspects — ever since you had met him, you knew he was something else. That he had something, something waiting to be noticed, something waiting for you to see it, something waiting for you to take it. You were both waiting for each other. You were both waiting for this moment. Bless the day Tanjiro talked Genya into you and, likewise, bless the day Kanroji talked you into him.

Because now Genya was all yours.

And you were all his.

And both of you were about to give yourselves to each other.

“Do it,” The slight difference in temperature made the haze of his train of thoughts and feelings come to a pause, and so he became aware of the length that throbbed with need around his hand — hand that, absentmindedly, had begun to move in deep strokes as he thought, as he looked, as he touched — as he felt.

“Please…” Your implore came from both your words, and your lips blending with his in a needy kiss; from the movement of your hips seeking for some friction that only he could give you, to the frustrated whimpers that would leave your bodies, as you pretended to rush, rush until you could feel him within you, only to then take it slow.

Genya so complied. He wanted you. No doubt, no hesitation, his body moved to the beat of the desires of the deepest of his core, and where desire outweighed reason, there was no point of return. Genya found himself guiding his cock to your entrance, wet and heating up with expectation, with eagerness. Painful need.

Patience out of courtesy, Genya waited for you to nod at him, to press his tip deeper, consistent pressure applied until he managed to push it in. Curses mindlessly fell from his lips — respect was hard to keep when he finally got what he so deeply had been craving for all this time, daydreaming night and day that someday this moment would come, and finally his thirst would be eased.

“Y-you’re so big…!” You could not stop yourself from pointing the obvious out, whimpering as he prodded against your entrance — even a hand as big as his could barely wrap itself around his girth. Veins adorned it and roamed from the tip that was red with ardor, disappearing towards the base a great deal of centimeters later. Whether it was your lack of sexual encounters in a while, or whether it was not, he was objectively special.

“Y-You’re small…” In the same way, he let out a sharp gasp, the strain of the size difference becoming evident in the way that he pushed into you, “So- s’tight—!” A gasp ended up taking over him, and you could see his eyes threatening to the back of his head at a quiver of your walls.

Slow, a bit at the time — he had to work on his reminder ever so hardly. Reminders that were hard to keep in mind when he was slowly burying himself into you, when those walls that struggled to stretch, to take him in— those walls that stang, and that the sting crept up to your then glossy eyes — but that, at the same time, kept sucking him in, as if, selfishly, wanted him to stay and never go.

But he stopped upon seeing your expression contorting in what seemed like pain, to him. Genya opted to distract you as, with little pushes of his hips his cock buried itself further into you; so tender kisses began to litter your skin with kisses, from your shoulder to your neck, from your neck to your cheek.

“You’re doin’ so well… almost there,” His praise came with strain, the tightness becoming overwhelming to every single one of his senses, causing his eyes to almost roll to the back of his head, and so he could not avoid the need to let his forehead fall onto your shoulder.

“Fuck, feels s’good…”

It was your chest that heaved, they were your puffs of breath reverberating on the woods that became even more irregular as he pushed another inch inside you. Your gaze, fixed on the place where his dick was almost through disappearing whole inside you, got clouded with lust, and as his shaft grazed in its way a sensitive place in you, you could not help but to flutter your lids close; the pleasure, so intense, threatened to escape your body and so it made your back arch, your chest inflate with air as a high pitched gasp seeped in.

And so he was finally fully inside you. All that effort, leaving you both breathless from a race that you did not even run yet. You both gazed into each other's eyes, but Genya was the one seeking your silent permission for him to move — permission that came with a kiss. Your lips place themselves on his own, blending quickly but smoothly in a deep kiss. Tongues glide on each other with more confidence, with just as much yearn, and so the unsaid is left said through actions: Adoration, enamour, ardor, passion, promises.

In a last peck to his now humid lips, you pull away just enough to place your forehead against his, just enough to have your lips brushing against his. And so the unsaid is left said, and you confessed what you have been itching to hear from your lips ever since you came around with your feelings over him.

“I love you, Genya.”

And so it was sealed.

Genya felt as if the air left his system with the deep exhale he took, eyes filled with emotions as his irises flickered with the awe you had caused in him.

“...I love you.” He retorted, as soon as he breathed in. There were no second thoughts, he felt it. Amongst all the uncertainties that could cloud his vision, there was something clear and that was the love he held for you. He kissed you, as soon as those words left his lips, with twice, thrice as much passion as you had done just before. He began to move, as soon as his lips claimed yours. He drank in your moans, as soon as his tip began to hit the sweetest of the spots inside you.

Genya’s appearance was deceiving — for a man who was rough looking and with such a massive size, he made love to you with such a care that would be deemed as unfit for someone of such a presence like his own. His muscles clenched each time he pounded into you, the effort evident in every inch of his body; the ultimate proof of how much he did love you. It just would irradiate from his pores, it was nothing that he could consciously help. It would irradiate from his voice, from his breath. It would irradiate from the way his hands would hold onto the skin of your glutes, in the way in which his nails would dig crescent moons into the plush of your skin out of ecstasy. It would irradiate from the pores of his skin which twisted into goosebumps, all over his body. It would irradiate from the way his abdomen contracted with each push of his hips against your thighs.

Your eyes would keep on widening as the feeling of pressure with pleasure began to mix together, until it became a mix of pressure, pleasure and growing tightness. Growing tightness, clenching walls and erratic throbbing. Far gone, you were so far gone, that being heard as a result of your loudening moans and cries was, at this point, the least of your concerns. Genya did nothing to stop you, as he could not stop himself either. You straightened your back against the trunk of the tree you were lying against, your nails digging into his shoulders.

It was at this moment that you realized just how much closer you wanted him. So your hands snaked around him, from his shoulders to his back, and you pressed your torso against his. Close to him beyond possible, that is where you wanted to be, how you wanted to be. You could not bear it, vibrating along the waves of pleasure that rumbled from your spot towards the coil tightening, resting on your lower abdomen. Your lips ended up in front of his ear when you intended to press your cheek against his, and some tears falling from your clouded sight stained his cheek.

“Oh, god— G-Gen, I’m so close…” You whimpered, and just that whimper was enough to set himself on fire, “T-touch me,”

And so he did; a hand slid in between your bodies, the rough pad of his digit began to swipe at your engorged, pulsating clit — sloppy, fast. He needed you, he was close, and he needed to bring you there with him.

It was a curse that fell from his lips behind gritted teeth. Genya was at this point a few last thrusts away from losing himself, losing himself within you. Your walls continued to hold him in, to have such a vice grip on him that could only tighten more and more. Your insides drooled with passion, the wet sounds resonated, they could only get louder and louder as you quenched your thirst.

You got so caught in the moment; ecstasy made eternity to grow smaller in range, and eternity was now reduced to these woods, where time seemed to have stopped and where the last breath seemed to be the longest, the longest before he told you corporally that he loves you so fucking much, and poured all that love inside you, to call you his forever.

You were caught in the moment.

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