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ramattraswifey · 3 months

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In a Different Light

[Ao3 Mirror] Pairing: Ramattra/Reader Rating: Explicit WC: 9,256 Warnings: Super vanilla + size difference

He’d become fixated, completely focused on a group of soldiers hiding behind a line of armored vehicles. If he could just dislodge them, they’d have an uncontested avenue deeper into the city. He knows he can rush them, can get in close and punch straight through their cover. He peaks, HUD picking up each heat signature before him- more soldiers to the right than the left.

He doesn’t see the one four stories above them.

”Down!” He recognizes your voice, but doesn’t respond, doesn’t move. He can handle this, doesn’t need your tactical input-

And your arms close around his waist. What? He looks down, takes his optics off the enemy- and he feels your heel kick behind his knee. It’s not nearly enough to buckle him- but he allows himself to go down anyway, dropping into a heap back behind the barricade.

The bullet cuts through a ribbon cable.

You sink back into the seat, weight falling off your shoulders. Under the roar of the engines sliding from VTOL to forward propulsion, your sigh is completely inaudible, utterly silent to everyone. Everyone except Ramattra’s sensitive audials. You close your eyes and lean back, yet unaware of his gaze on you. He watches your pulse reading slow from its rabbit-fast battle-ready pace, lets his optics linger on the long line of your throat. The skin there is thin enough he could feel your heartbeat. His servos itch to reach out and try it.

He had let you pull him down. Why? A snap decision he hadn't even processed consciously. But why did he trust you that much? He scours his deeply-rooted runtimes, searching for what it was about you that had tipped that reaction in your favor. In his favor, given the cable that sparks brightly at the corner of his optics.

He'd nearly crushed you, only landing on his elbow at the last moment. You must've known how badly he could've hurt you; your eyes were wide, breath held in your chest as you looked up to him.

He was touching you. Your arms were still wrapped around his chassis, hands splayed near the sensitive column of his spine, legs aligned with his body, one hooked around his thigh. His hand at your hip. In the peaking lines between your armor, everywhere your skin touched his metal he could feel your heat, your heartbeat.

For a moment, all you could do is stare at each other. For a moment, he couldn't seem to focus on his objective.

You slowly unwound your hold, but don't quite take your hands off him. They end up holding the broad ribs of his armor. He's... glad. He liked the contact. He squeezed your hip, relished in the soft give of your skin and fat and muscle.

"Sniper," You had finally breathed- and the spell was broken. Back to work.

The rest of the squad cheers and chats jovially, an easy mission. He would agree, more or less. As far as he can tell, the only casualty was his own shattered cosmetic cabling- an effortless fix for another time, for now he simply disconnects the damaged cable. But you aren't celebrating with them. The entire flight, you've kept your head back and eyes closed, swaying softly with turbulence. He can tell you're not asleep. Even if his HUD wasn't keeping him painfully aware of your vitals, he watches your hands rub at the corners of your armor plating the entire time, watches the twinges of your expression.

Pain? Ramattra wonders. Had he hurt you after all?

His GPS pings an alert for their probable arrival a few minutes before the engines shift again. When they do, it jostles you up, leaving you grabbing the supports around you as the ship comes in to land. His gyros keep him steady, never having to look away from his study of you. Without fanfare, the cargo door opens and most of the troops pile out. You stand, grab your gear-

and you look back at him. A little smile, a slight nod. He cannot smile back, would not if he could, but he nods in turn at you. You leave, following the line of soldiers ahead of you.

Only when everyone else has left does Ramattra stand.

Your quarters are blessedly quiet, at least compared to the open bustle of the barracks. The insulation between walls is thin, built for structural support, not individual solitude. At least in the lower officers quarters. The higher-ups are probably given more leeway on creature comforts. You heard once that Doomfist has a hot tub in every base.

You’d kill for a hot tub right now.

Still, it's quiet and secluded enough for you to drop your gear and close the door behind you. The ceramic of your armor clicks against the metal door frame as you lean back. Even the slight shift of your weight off your feet brings relief- as does the cold metal that presses to the nape of your neck, the backs of your arms.

He was warmer. Still much too cool to be mistaken as anything organic, but still... warmer than you had expected. The buzzing of his CPUs must radiate enough heat to bring him just above the freezing metal you had expected. He had moved more, too- the spinning of his fans had made him vibrate softly under your fingertips, but more shocking than that, it was as though he was breathing, a rhythmic movement of his chest. Some kind of ventilation, you’d guess.

You close your eyes. The fall onto your back had knocked the wind out of you- but the weight of him had never landed. No, he had perched over you, balanced on one sturdy arm, the cables of his mane dangling- the matte black making the stark white of his faceplate almost glow. You're sure it's just lights from his LEDs, but in the black shadows you'd swear you saw the red of his HUD in his optics. And he was touching you- cool fingers had somehow wound up between the hard lines of your armor, slipped right up under your shirt. Five mechanical fingers that squeezed so gently, so unnecessarily.

His presence around Talon was... sporadic at best- and you'd never actually worked with him before. His disdain for humans was common knowledge, but so when you'd been assigned to his team you had no way to anticipate that outcome. And yet it wasn’t… unwelcome.

With a groan you stand up again- no use pondering it fully geared-up at least. Your forearm guards come off easily, with satisfying clicks. You toss the plating onto your bunk; you’ll have to inspect it later- given the fall you’d had, you might already need to replace some of it. Next, your boots- which clatter together as you kick them away.

You reach up over your shoulder to undo the chestplate- and hiss with pain. Your upper back lights up with sore muscles, not yet ready to be used again. Fuck, okay. You’ll get back to that one, you guess. Instead, you twist your arm behind your low back and undo the armor over your belly.

Your door clangs- loud enough for you to jump. What the fuck? Who would be bothering you now? You hastily drop that piece onto the same pile and turn the handle-

Oh.

He's out of place this deep in Talon's barracks. He seems to know this, adjusting his posture to stand tall before you- a defensive stance against the curious eyes of your fellow soldiers that pass by. At full height he just about touches the upper edge of the door frame, making you have to tip your head back just to look at him this close. Even though there's no malice in his stance, your skin prickles.

As much as you were captivated by your little shared moment in the street, Ramattra is still your boss, more or less- his alliances with Talon are much further up the food chain than you- and there's no good formal reason for him to be here. So, you treat him as though he's one of the council. Someone way, way above your pay grade with enough power to end you and never even see paperwork for it. You stand up straight and square your shoulders, lower your gaze with a perfectly canned "Yes, Sir?"

His optics drop before he can override it; somehow he did not expect you to be undressing. Even with your undershirt still on under the white Talon armor, his thoughts race, circuitry threatening to overclock. At your voice, however, Ramattra makes a noise of disgust, shifts his head as if scowling. "Enough of that, save it for Akande." You blink, lift your sight back to his faceplate as though it made any difference in reading him. He must've already cleaned up; there once was post-battle grime, but it's already been wiped away. You look to his cabled mane- and there, too, his damaged ribbon cable is gone. "I came to speak with you." Suspicion rises again in your chest, even as he clarifies, "Informally."

Informally in Talon usually meant some kind of internal politicking that you avoided as best you could. Somehow, that doesn't feel right here- why the fuck would he have use for you?- but you don't let down your guard just yet. The instinct to tack on sir to the end of the question is so strong it nearly slips out. "What about?"

"I came to apologize." What? You bristle; if he means to apologize for touching you, well, he certainly did not wrong you by any means. "And to thank you. May I?" He motions past you and despite how much you absolutely should not be inviting Null Sector's leader into your quarters, you do so anyway.

Your room is hardly larger than a supply closet; it's positively cramped with both you and an R-7000 standing in the meager floor space. It makes his movements awkward, aware of his large, sharply pointed feet; even if your armored boots were still on, having him step on your toes would be unpleasant. Without, much worse. So, Ramattra gives you an easy solution: "Please, sit."

It doesn't help your pained neck at all, nor the growing sense of unease. Still, you perch yourself on the edge of your mattress and watch as he adjusts his cowl. "What did you need to apologize for?"

"First, I wanted to thank you for assisting me. I should have seen the sniper, or at least considered the probability, given the terrain." His voice box makes a spit of noise, not unlike clearing his throat. "I came to apologize for... scaring you, when you pulled me from the sniper's view. It was unintentional."

Scared? You can't resist a barking laugh, "That's all? I knew I was risking dropping a big heap of omnic on me. I mean, I'm really glad you were quick enough to catch yourself and all, but really, there's nothing to apologize for, you didn't hurt me."

He waits a beat, considering his words carefully. "You seemed particularly stunned afterwards."

Ah. He noticed. Your cheeks burn. "I guess. You did too, though."

"I had just been shot at and had to trust that a human had my best interest in mind." He tips his head, "If you did not fear being injured, then why?"

"Um," You rub at your neck, chase your thoughts for any acceptable response. "I was- just surprised. You were... very close."

His response is quick as he leans in towards you. “And you were not afraid?”

What is that inflection in his voice? Did he want you to be? You stare at him, try desperately to read his immovable faceplate. You bite your lip- and unbeknownst to you, Ramattra's optics tick downwards to watch. "No, I wasn't."

You must've picked right, because his voice box hums a little noise of acknowledgement, a light nod following. "I see." He murmurs, then abruptly straightens up again. "Regardless, I came to give my gratitude and offer repayment." You would tell him that it's literally your job, that you'd hope he would've done the same for you, but once more Ramattra's head tips, then nods just off to your right. "Is your armor ill-fitting?"

You blink, then look- and find yourself rubbing at your neck once more. "Oh! I mean, kind of; all Talon armor is pre-made. Mostly I'm just a bit sore."

"May I?"

He steps forward without waiting for your answer, but doesn't actually touch you. Once again, you're very close to him. This time, he's standing, towering over you with his full height from where you sit. He's offering, your mind stumbles over it, replays his touch to your hip. "Um, s-sure."

He already knows where the release to your armor is; his large fingers pressing into the divot before you can even begin to direct him. "Oh," you slip out, then awkwardly shake off each half, shoving them off the edge of the bed. His hands move towards your shoulders- and hesitate. He'd been quick to step closer, to dig into the protective paneling, but the actual prospect of touching you, even through the thin material of your undershirt, must make him pause. It's short lived- and his hands are cold enough you can feel it through the cloth.

You suppress a jolt at his temperature- but then he squeezes and all rational thought is expelled from your mind. The aching muscles of your shoulders have no choice but to surrender to his unflinching, metal kneads. It takes everything, everything that you have to not moan- and still he manages to pull a stifled inhale from you.

At once his fingers freeze, “Do you need me to stop?”

”No.” It’s all whine, a desperate plea to chase that same mind-melting touch. So, he continues on. Cool, smooth fingers pressing into taut muscle, loosening up knots with surgical precision. And when he adjusts his angle, steps a little closer and digs in again, you do let yourself moan.

He doesn’t stop- but you feel the tremble in his hands and his fans kick up their speed, humming louder in the relative quiet of your room. He adjusts again, moves to the outer parts of your upper arms- and when he squeezes there the sharp, near painful relief shoots all the way down to your fingertips. Your eyes are all but rolling in their sockets, it's all too easy to let your lids drop, your whole body swaying with each movement of his hands.

He presses into your upper back, in the tight space between shoulder blade and spine- and you don't resist the urge to lean forward. You aren't sure where exactly your forehead lands, but his metal is pleasantly cool. The vibration from his ventilation hums directly into your skull. It's soothing white noise- and you want more. Slowly, enough to make sure he can see you moving, you raise each hand and place them on the outer edge of his thighs. There, the refreshing touch of his metal is covered by dark-colored canvas, but the cloth does little to mute the hum of his inner machinery.

It makes your hands tingle- and it makes his vents crank open another notch. Beneath your forehead, his surface chills even more as coolant rushes through his systems.

The question of why rolls over your head, though the clarity of thought comes and goes with Ramattra's touch. It could be just some kind of curiosity or ultimately innocent fascination with the physicality of human flesh- something you doubt he's had much chance to experience outside of combat- but if he were not an omnic, the implication of his tentative exploration feels... obvious.

On one hand, Null Sector's leader was rarely around your base, the shame and embarrassment of being wrong about his intentions would only occasionally be relevant, but on the other...

You swallow and roll the dice. Your hands trace higher on his legs, over the straps there until you reach metal again. He all but trembles, deeply unused to soft human caresses- even more so to the seldom-touched ridges of his hips' plating. "Do you..." Your confidence slips- but Ramattra stares down at you so attentively, you can't help but continue, just to know "Would you prefer… more?"

His hands twitch against you. "If you are willing," He says it so slowly, so intentionally, he's talking to himself as much as to you. "I will take anything you would give."

Your shuddering inhale must please him, because he nearly purrs as he trails the tips of his fingers across your shoulder blades. Fuck. It’s hardly a question of what you would give, of if you are willing. You let go of him just long enough to grab the hem of your shirt and peel it off.

For a moment, your world is entirely black- and when you can see him again, half-bared to him, you're already shivering.

It's unfair to call it staring when omnics don't typically blink, but Ramattra's faceplate tips downward and doesn't lift- even as you scoot back on your flimsy mattress until you reach the headboard. Only then does he meet your gaze again. You can't see his optics, shadowed entirely by his stark white faceplate, but there's a heat about him, all his focus settled on you- and your heart races. He sees this, too, on his HUD- the spike in your pulse, in your breathing.

Ramattra waits only a moment, shamefully double-saving this moment to his memory files, then follows. Immediately one of his heavy, metal knees makes the hinges of the frame creak in protest. His attention snaps to one corner- almost furious for having interrupted his pursuit. It would be your luck to have your bed broken by an omnic war machine before you could even fuck him. But Ramattra slowly eases his full weight onto the frame- and despite the pitiful whining of your cheap frame, it holds up.

Which is good, because Ramattra wastes no time to lean over you- the staggering height difference between you barely mitigated by his new position with his knees on either side of your legs. Your heart is racing, pulse thrumming all the way down to your fingertips- and he hasn't even really touched you- but he's eager to correct that.

He reaches for you- and there's a breath of hang time. An infinite little moment between his rubber-padded palm touching your neck, a perfect little bookend to all that was before. Because cool metal circles the base of your throat- thumb and forefinger rubbing over the ridges of your collarbones and sliding on- until his palm presses to the center of your chest- and it's unlike anything you expected.

His touch is exploratory, cautious, gentle as his hand slides up your neck, away from where you had really wanted him to touch. Instead, the rounded tips of his fingers trace parallel lines up each side of your throat. He stops just below your jaw, where your pulse beats hard against the skin. Somehow, there's no threat to it- a Ravager is holding your carotid, your jugular- and you don't even want to run. No, he's turned the tables on you- you want more.

It's difficult to be patient with his exploration, but his fascination here must be sated, because Ramattra's head tips- and his other hand presses to your chest. It's still painfully chaste; he's much too high, fingertips caressing your collarbone. He shifts, presses the heel of his palm into your pec- and, oh, you're melting into him again, because you didn't even realize that, too, was sore. As much as you wish he'd do what you're thinking about, his massaging touch is far from unacceptable.

Instead, you let your eyelids drift close, rest your chin upon the hand still at your throat.

Ramattra hums at this, one thumb stroking over your jaw in a motion so affectionate it makes your heart hurt. His fingers linger there, at the edges of your face- while his other hand finally begins to move. The rubber grip of his palm slides over the top of your breast, but his wrist turns, skirts along the side. He presses there a little, feels the weight of your chest in his palm. Already your skin is lighting up, goosebumps racing along your arms- and Ramattra shifts his hand again.

One breast entirely in his hand, his metal still shockingly cold to the underside- and yet somehow, your nipple stands free between his thumb and forefinger. He's avoided it entirely so far- but between the chill of him and the tension rushing in your veins, it's hardened into a little point. He squeezes your chest and you don't stifle your sigh.

He watches his own hand as he slowly sweeps his thumb across the stiff peak of your nipple- how it bends under his touch- and with a gasp, it pops back up. At your whimper he looks back up to your face and does the same motion again, just to soak in your reaction. The weight of his gaze is not lost on you- every sensor in his array is focused on your body, your face, the little hitches in your breath as he drags his thumb in a circle instead.

Your response must be fascinating enough, because the hand at your throat finally travels downwards, mirroring the other. Just having both hands on you makes your heart race, but now you're all but trembling when he hasn't even used the other yet. You expect more slow sweeps. You do not expect him to pinch- your sensitive flesh caught between cold metal plates- and then to tug on them.

You squeal, arch into his hands- half to alleviate the ache he's produced, and half because it felt good. He only half lets up. "Is that too much?" His voice box is so quiet you nearly don't hear him.

"No," You can only gasp- and with his confidence assured, you break off into a whimper as he tweaks your nipples. It's strange- his hands have no give, no softness to them, each motion is only relentless pressure and the hard edges of each joint. It makes every touch more acute, harsher even with his slow, cautious approach.

"They're softer than I expected," He says- and he sounds so cool, almost unaffected by how he's already making you unravel. "And more sensitive."

Oh. Something falls into place. It's not just you. "Have you ever... done this before?"

"Not with a human." Another sweep of his thumb has you shuddering. His grasp loosens, your skin tingling as blood returns to where he'd held it.

His curiosity here must've been satisfied, as his hands slide off to your sides. With only the tips of his fingers skating over your skin so lightly, you squirm under him- and grab his forearms. He stills, glances up to you- "Ticklish," You explain, then press on his hands until his whole palm meets your skin. "Firmer."

Ramattra hums, nods once in acknowledgement. He doesn't have to be corrected twice; his study of your body continues with more pressure. "And you?" Methodical presses over each notch of your ribs, tracing along the lines of each- pressing into the unprotected flesh below them, feeling over the soft pouch of your stomach. No longer feather-light, now it's almost clinical, and you wonder if he's comparing your body to schematics in his head. It isn't until he pauses, squeezes at your hip- a mimic of the same touch from earlier- for you to realize he'd spoken to you.

Have you done this before? The answer is, truthfully, not in a while, never with someone who made your skin feel so electric. You lick your lips and guardedly answer, "Not with an omnic."

He seems to accept this- and to keep him from questioning further, you move to unlatch your right greave. Your bed frame complains once more as he scoots back- and then begins working on your left leg. When you're once more down to your under armor, he stops, half sits back onto his heels. The glow of his optics is hidden, but you have no doubt he's watching you intently, waiting for something. If he expects you to wilt and change your mind, you hope instead he's pleasantly surprised that you hook your thumbs into the soft elastic around your waist and roll off both your pants and underwear.

You're suddenly aware you don't know where to put your legs- sliding them back under him would be counterproductive. So, you be just a little bold, and let them lay half-open across his canvas-covered thighs. Ramattra shudders. A visible quake up his spine, ends in little twitches of his fingers. Fingers that immediately press to your skin, two at first, just above your knees, then the whole width of his palm is smoothing up your thighs.

Higher and higher up your leg, his thumbs skating along the ridge of the muscle at the top of your thigh, never dipping in too close. Even as he approaches your waist, so tantalizingly close to your apex, his hands slide out, over the curve of your hips. You whimper, voicing your displeasure at his continued teasing. Ramattra answers only with a soft humming and those same thumbs pressing in to find the divots of your hip bones.

As attentive as his touch is, it's not helping the ache in your belly. Under him you squirm, press your thighs together to sate your growing need.

This, too, does not go unnoticed. "Patience," He chides and slides his palms from your hips back up to your sides. "We could not linger earlier; I intend to take my time now."

Oh. It doesn't stop you from squeezing your thighs again, but you do resign yourself to his pace. Again he passes over your navel before traveling down; this time there's no more cloth to impede his exploration. His thumbs follow the curve of your pubic bone, coming so very close- before returning to the safety following the long muscles of your quadriceps. With a cant of his head, he's particularly fascinated by this part of you, following the imprints of his fingers as he strokes down your legs.

Once he reaches your knees, Ramattra slyly slides his thumbs inwards, between your tightly pressed thighs. This alone has you shivering, aching to think of another round of his slow mapping of your body- but the soft press of his hands against your legs, urging them outward has every thought fleeing your mind. Shame drives you to press one hand over your face, but offers no resistance to him opening your legs once more. This time, his route from your knees to your hips is no longer exploratory- it's measured. His pace is slow, agonizing- barely inching along your skin, sweeping his thumbs, pressing in when you get too excited; it's an intentional lesson in patience that borders on torture.

And finally- finally- he doesn't turn his touch away. Ramattra's gaze is fixed between your legs, watched as he finally touches you. He traces the sensitive, thin crease of your thigh first- the last line between pretendably-chaste exploration and something else.

And he charges right past that line.

Without any warning, he drags one fingertip right down the center of your pussy. You gasp- and he's skating over your clit, parting your lips, almost dipping into you- before pulling back. With so much teasing, one stroke alone has your body thrumming, heat spreading from your belly. Above you, Ramattra hums- and spreads your lips with his free hand.

The embarrassment of his hawkish observation of your sex doesn't have long to set in, because once more his fingers return to you. Two this time, swirling at your entrance to coat his cool metal in your wetness, before sliding upwards. When he circles your aching clit, you don't even try to stop the moan that escapes from deep within.

Behind his white faceplate, his optics snap upwards and watch your reaction. He's used to seeing humans' heart rates spike when he touched them, but never with such a sound accompanying it. It's... different. Another stroke over the nub, another noise from your lips confirms what he'd already suspected: he likes it. He wants to hear more.

It's just like with your chest. He's all hard metal, no squishing softness of skin and muscle and fat- wherever his fingers move, your body has no choice but to follow, to fold under the hardness of his form. Each leisurely swirl pushes at you more than rubs, compresses and bends your most sensitive skin in incessant, cruel rounds and it's like nothing else you've ever felt. And it's too much, all too quickly you're squirming away from his hand, desperate for a break from the onslaught.

He notices. Ramattra can't not notice when your languid moans warp into sharp whines, when your hips that were grinding impatiently against his fingers, instead begin arching away from his touch. He pulls away, ceases the minuscule contact- and immediately your body relaxes, hips raising up towards him again. Was he being too rough? He recalibrates, actuators hardly moving at all when he meets the pulsing nub at the apex of your sex- and once more you're dancing backwards, face pinching. Yet as soon as he withdraws, another neglected, aching noise from your lips makes his frame shudder.

He almost scoffs; what a terribly human reaction- to flinch from his touch, then crave it as soon as he stops. He doesn’t understand why you’re doing this, but he can at least guess you’re not in any position to explain it to him.

Instead his touch wanders away, down along the creases of your body. A curiosity leads his fingers towards your opening and the wetness that has accumulated there. He traces the taut skin before him- and your heart hammers in your chest. He's so close, so close to being inside you. Your body burns under him, begs silently with every breath. With hardly any effort, his fingertips are coated in clear slickness once more- two shining strings between his digits as he examines them.

"Are most humans this... well-lubricated?"

"No," It comes out broken, your psyche unable to take any more of this- and your tone makes his faceplate lift. The slits of his optics are black, but you stare into them anyway and sob, "Please."

All five of his fingers dig into your thigh, a full-body shudder following your plea. Ah, now he understands. He leans forward, repositions himself over you, his massive frame entirely covering yours, but not quite touching. The heavy weight of his forearm lands next to your head as he murmurs- softer than you've ever heard his vocoder go- "Of course."

And he slides one finger into you.

You don't make a sound- your mouth falls open in mute relief- not even pleasure yet, just succor to your unrelenting need. Ramattra, however, stutters through a moan- the hand at your head curls into a fist, shaking with focus. Your body instinctively clenches around him, pulsing against the hard metal of his digit. As distracted as he is with your wet heat, he wastes no time in circulating the finger inside you- pressing against each wall, feeling the softness that surrounds every sensor, that ripples with each movement.

The first withdrawal is agonizing, the slow pull away, the half-second that you're nearly empty is unspeakable, an awful torment after finally knowing the shape of him. "I have you." He hushes before you can even whine. And he fulfills the promise, easing his finger back in. This time, you sigh- light and airy, lost under the sound of Ramattra's own ventilation.

Your body slowly releases its harsh grasp, relaxing into his slow, careful pace- sliding easily with every stroke, the soft noise of your slickness making your face burn. As the harsh peak of your need mellows into Ramattra's pleasurable touch, you're once more met with the impassive mask of his stark white faceplate. He's so close, you think you should be able to see his optics behind the faceplate- you want to see them- but he's blocking the only light in the room, casting his entire face in shadow, save for the mild, red lighting from the LEDs around his head.

He's gorgeous up close; all sleek lines and crisp enamel. Here and there are tiny nicks on his plating, like scars marking his body. Where you pant against him, his metal fogs- can he feel that? He's too far- and you wrap your arms around him to pull him closer.

You didn't realize how worked up he already was. Even to your fevered skin, Ramattra is warm, streams of hot air escaping past your forearms. He is actually enjoying this. The realization makes your pussy tighten around him once more- and in turn he curls the finger inside you.

You buck against him, the rush of pleasure driving any reservations from your mind as you thread one hand into the thick, black cables of his mane and lick at the pistons of his neck. The effect is immediate- his head drops down beside you entirely, bringing his shoulder even close to your mouth. Near your ear, Ramattra's voicebox rumbles, somewhere between a purr and a growl- the intent lost beneath a wave of static. And not to be outdone, he slips a second wide finger inside you.

The stretch pulls a moan from your lips, made louder by reverberating off Ramattra's shoulder plates. Two of his fingers already makes you feel pleasantly full, a respectable length and girth to them made even better with his attentive exploration of the hidden parts of your cunt- very aware of how every curl of his fingers makes your body sing for him.

And it does sing. Inside you, Ramattra gently spreads his fingers, urging your body to stretch even more, pressing ever harder into the soft flesh of your pussy- and you're helpless as you writhe beneath him. You don't even do it intentionally- raising one leg to press harder against his chassis. Perhaps, if his voice box was not right next to your ear, you'd have missed the spit of static that follows.

But you don't miss it. As lust-hazed as your mind is, all you can truly think about is how unfair it is that he's shown you so little. The hand not tangled into his wire-hair slides down his back, skirts around hot air vents, and dips between each silvery rib. The touch makes him shudder- a minute shaking of his rig that you wouldn't have even felt if he weren't fully pressed to your sternum. You linger at the thin hourglass of his waist, squeezing the thick, black cabling there appreciatively-- and first, Ramattra's hips faulter, a burst of erroneous data coming from the wiring you'd handled, then Ramattra groans, loud and almost droning as his stuttering hips meet the soft skin of your thigh. The shape of his lower plating means really only the top ridge is digging into you, but any discomfort is more than outweighed by his fans kicking up again.

You're ready for him- grabbing the last silver bar over his hip and guiding him closer. He doesn't resist at all. Without a single word, he follows, allows you to match the pace of his own fingers to have him rut against you in perfect time. He's almost fucking you; the proximity of him, the shape of his fingers- and suddenly you need it. To know what he looks like, feels like-- if he has one at all (though you hope he does, please, please-)

Ramattra pauses his thus far near perfect fingering- and you almost sigh with relief- he must have the same idea. Instead, he shifts his wrist- and the pad at the base of his thumb meets your clit. It's a pleasant shock- and when his fingers resume their thrusting, rhythmic pulling against you, you understand what he's done. Every tiny twitch of your hips makes your clit rub against his palm, and with his merciless knowledge of how to make you squirm, it's all he needs to make you gasp and clutch at him tighter.

All at once you're close, hardly more than a passenger to your own undoing. Each curl of his fingers is targeted, a planned attack on the sensitive innermost parts of your body- and with the uncommanded ruts of your hips, he's making you just as complicit in the rising fever of your need, using your own reactions against you- His plating meets your thigh again- and something like a moan spits from his voice box, a choked, half-buzzing noise that has you gasping, aching-

The noise you make is hardly human, barely recognizable as speech. "Wait," And yet the effect is immediate, before you can even croak out a clearer "Wait," he's already stopped, every joint locking up save for the turn of his head- and the lights on his faceplate burn bright, an unspoken question waiting there. He waits, silent, as you shiver and breathe, letting the hard edge of your desire die down before you can find any intelligible words, separated by harsh pants. "Can you?” Less intelligible than you had hoped. “Can you… fuck me?”

The lights on his forehead actually flicker, blinking asymmetrically as soon as the words leave your lips. His systems are in disarray, faulting, replaying your request until Ramattra has to halt the processes manually. It takes him much too long to croak out a barely understandable, static-fuzzed "Yes."

The withdrawal of his fingers from your pussy is agonizing, the last ring of muscle inside you desperately clenching against their retreat. The iron will it takes to keep your noises inside is physically painful, but somehow you think if you were to moan and plead that he let you cum now, he might actually short out. As it is, Ramattra is barely keeping it together. His hand is actually shaking as he releases the shiny plate over his groin, the soft hiss of pneumatics accompanying the distorted sigh from his vocoder. His dark paneling joins your armor on the floor and-

oh.

The first thing you notice is the lights. It's mostly thick, translucent purple silicone wrapped around a suspended mesh sensor array with red inlaid LEDs dotted under the surface that are nearly maroon through the pigment. The second thing is that it's massive. As big as his frame is, his cock is somehow bigger than you expect. It’s not quite the same shape as a human cock; the first rounded ridge is almost right, if only for the fact that it entirely circles the length. Behind it, two more ridges sit further down the shaft.

You can't help but reach for it. The groan that rumbles from his synth is just icing on the cake. "How...?" Fuck, you can't even close your hand around it, thumb and middle finger easily a full inch apart.

"I made it." He admits with a sigh. The tug of your skin on the dry silicone is awkward, but Ramattra shudders and rocks into your touch all the same. Until he seemingly remembers he was knuckle deep in you for several minutes- and shoos your hand aside just long enough to wipe your own fluids on himself. Purple with little red lights and glistening with your arousal- it's nearly enough to make you moan at the sight alone. It is enough when you stroke him again- and this time your hand glides over his smooth surface with ease. Ramattra feels the difference too, his head dropping forward as a plume of steam escapes from a hidden vent.

"Please," You can barely make yourself let go of him. He follows your hand as it falls between your legs, slips through your wetness in desperation to ease your need. "Ramattra..."

"It was," His voice box pops. A harsh little noise, then silence as it frantically reboots. When he speaks again, it's clearer- and there's something in his tone you don't recognize. "... not made for human dimensions."

"I don't care." You whine, grasping at his side once again. But he remains unmoved, his hands planted firmly on his knees, faceplate trained on you. His hesitance draws you out of your haze of lust, higher thinking forcing its way through your mind. Concern- it was concern in his voice. Ah. "If it's too much, I'll tell you. We can-" You swallow, and consider the possibilities that follow, "we can try something else."

And when this doesn't quite sway him, frustration takes control again. With a pitiful whine you present yourself to him again, a meager "Please, I need you." your final offering.

The actuators in his hands whine. A pressure warning pops into his HUD and is dismissed before he can even process it. "Yes." He rasps- it's agonizing how slowly he crawls over you, but the joy that he's moving at all is all you can really think about. "If you require me to stop, inform me immediately." You nod vigorously, almost missing how his voice drops, "I did not come here to harm you."

There's no time to consider the tenderness that laces his vocals, because he slides the head of his cock between your lips once, twice. The motion alone has your hands grabbing at him- and your breath all together stops as he begins to push.

He's big. Even with his mind-melting fingering, it stings as he slowly breeches you. His force is slow and even, but merciless. He does not pause at all as the widest part of his cock stretches you open, makes your face pinch together, thighs locking around Ramattra's thin waist. There's a high pitched little noise somewhere- and you can’t tell if it’s coming from you or Ramattra. As uncomfortable as it is for you, it must be heavenly for him. And yet he continues on- not a single stutter to his patient approach.

Relief washes over you when his hard hips meet yours- and above you Ramattra sighs. You're so full. All the way behind your navel- if pressed below your belly, you'd be able to feel him inside you-- if you could let go of him long enough to try. And it's tight- and truly you could redefine the word, with how harshly your walls cling to him, how you can feel every ridge, where every light is, just because it has slightly less give.

"You are..." He begins, vocalizer rumbling close to your ear. Simultaneously, you shift your hips, trying to ease the pressure that fills you up. Even such little motion cuts him off, makes him press his cool faceplate against your shoulder. His voice cuts through with another tone, like a radio station going out. "Sublime." One large hand lands at your hip, holds you close as he rocks against you. Fully buried as he is, all you can do is gasp and cling to him, digging your fingers into the gaps between his ribs. "It's like a current." He murmurs, almost in disbelief.

His comment is so strange, so stunned at your pussy, it pulls a delighted laugh from you despite how it makes you ache again. You move one hand from his back- and your knuckles hurt for how hard you'd been gripping him- to slide into the cables of his mane again. Ramattra purrs approvingly, a rumble that fills his entire body, permeates into you at every point of contact. He rocks with you again, and as much as you need him to stop moving, if he actually stilled you might just combust.

It hardly takes more than your hand moving to his hip and guiding him into a real stroke- even if you have to grit your teeth and hiss at his half withdrawal. The sound makes him lift his head, turn the dark slits of his optics towards you. He watches as you nod and urge him on with your calves on his thighs. He's slow, keeps that same agonizing pace- easing back into you with as much caution as the first time.

With the stretch already easing, the balance of discomfort to pleasure shifts- and you're closing your eyes, letting the ripple of electricity coast through you with each little motion he makes. Now, it's your turn to sigh, that fullness returning to you- pressed up against the deepest parts of you. When he lowers his head again, his faceplate is not buried into your shoulder this time. No, his LEDs are warm against your forehead, strange with the cool metal between each light. This close, you can hear the soft whirrs of his optics moving and re-focusing. Your breath fogs the white ceramic of his faceplate. If he minds, he doesn't say anything.

He keeps the rhythm on his own now, slow and even until he's sliding freely inside you without any hint of resistance, until you're needing. Words escape you as you clutch at him, press your forehead harder to his, whine with each glacial motion. He hums again, shifts his weight onto one arm- so careful to not break the intimate little connection he'd forged- to hold your hip with one hand. You can't see his optics through the narrow slits, but every sensor is centered on you as he so carefully moves quicker.

"Is this alright?" His voice hardly makes it out of his synth, so low and quiet- and so easily drowned out with your moaning. He’s still so gentle, even with his endeavor to please you in faster strokes, they’re each guarded, measured with careful calculations. There’s no force to them at all.

You can't seem to figure out where you want to hold him; both your hands bury into his cabled hair and stroke there, twist until a stunned little noise breaks free of his vocoder, then releases, fan down until you can hold at his shoulders, at the long pistons that would be collarbones. It isn't enough. Your hands skitter onward, over his arms, his sides, over and between the broad silver struts, in the black recesses between and back up. It takes everything to twist your hands into his cowl and beg. "More, please," Your lips brush his face, "Harder."

Ramattra's entire frame shudders, the hand at your hip pulling you ever closer, once more burying himself to the hilt. "Your…" He rasps, still shaking. "Penchant towards self-destruction is… astounding."

Where he had previously chided you with patience, it seems he has all but run out. The need is taking over him as well, because he doesn't even try to dissuade you at all as he completely moves himself. No longer laid nearly on top of you, his large form stretches over you like a breathing metal canopy, bracing himself with one hand on the wall. He keeps the other hand on your hips- and his next thrust brings stars to the backs of your eyelids. All metal, no give; his hips meet yours with a new vigor. But even more, his altered angle forces one light node up against your front wall. He doesn't even have time to ask if it's good before you're gabbing at his smooth forearm, twisting one hand into your sheets. His name slips from your mouth in a plea, but you can't even understand what you're asking for. "Ramattra,"

Above you Ramattra purrs, the pleased little hum from his vocalizer vibrating out into your room. Beneath you, your bed creaks pathetically- above you, the clasps at the end of his hair-cables clack together, announcing his pace to your neighbors- and you don't care. All you can focus on is the rhythm of his body against yours, the staticy noises that slip from his vocalizer unbidden, where the pad of his palm has caught your skin, holding you exactly where he wants you. And where he wants you has your toes curling, your eyes fighting to stay open. Heat coils in your belly, and it's still not enough.

"More, more," You pant- pulling at his hips with your calves. The sore reality of getting fucked hard by a Ravager is completely gone from your mind- tomorrow's pain has nothing on the haze of desire that leaves you with only harder, deeper, more.

Whatever reply Ramattra has is lost, the noise from his synth a harsh tone that sounds more like a modem than speech. He complies immediately, his next thrust pushing you further up the bed, pressing hard enough against your cervix to make you gasp. The sheets aren't enough, you need to feel more of him- so you grab at his hand again, at his chest, where he's become positively warm. "Fuck, fuck, Rama-ah- I-" Every word broken by a snap of his hips, by the little eek, eek, eek of your mattress frame. Each thrust has your eyes rolling, panting, keening little noises because you can't stop them- and the coil is so close, so tightly wound-

and somewhere, you hear a coin dink onto the floor, hear it spin on the floor. It's so odd you can't make sense of it- can’t give it more than half a thought because you’re so close all you can focus on is the boiling desire that’s taken over your blood- until Ramattra's hips meet yours again.

And for a half-moment you're in free fall, weightless. For one heartbeat, Ramattra is moving away from you- or, no, you’re somehow moving away from him.

You stare, wide-eyed at the dark slits of Ramattra's optics- until one metal hand slips under your shoulders, faster than you can think. He catches you, but not before you’re almost inverted.

A glance up tells you exactly what you expect: the front half of your frame has collapsed, the legs have fallen flat against the floor. Fuck. It doesn't matter; that need has not been sated in the least. You shift your hips against his, shake his hand off you, and brace one arm between your head and the wall. "Don't care."

If he's planning on hesitating, you don't give him a chance. With a grab at the hand still at your waist, you clench around his cock. A real, true moan rips from his vocalizer and all caution is thrown to the wind. He holds your ass up off the slanted mattress with one hand, keeps you so perfectly stabilized as he ruts into you. Any semblance of order or careful intent is lost; the instinctual chase of pleasure has taken both of you. All you can do is lock your legs behind his thin waist and ride out each thrust, rising to meet him where you can. So hard and quick you can barely keep up with his pace, leaving you squirming beneath him, twisting your fingers into your hair as the heat rises again.

Your mind narrows down to a point, "Please, please- don't stop, fuck- Ramattra-"

Another groan from his throat and he grabs your waist with both hands. No longer just thrusting- he's all but pulling you up off the floor, spearing you onto himself over and over. He uses you like an oversized toy, fucking into you with abandon. And you hadn't even realized just how large his hands were. His thumb reaches right across your thigh, parts your lips to press against your clit. He strokes in time with his hips- and you're gone.

With him supporting most of your weight, you arch into the air- and clench down on him hard. Something in his throat pops before a groan cuts in. He doesn't stop moving, even as your walls flutter around him, as your voice goes hoarse. One hand leaves your hips- and something flutters down across one shoulder. You fight against the waves of ecstasy- each crashing over you, drowning out your senses in liquid pleasure- just enough to crack your eyes open as he peaks.

His body freezes, joints twitching out of sync, fragments of uncommanded movements while his voice breaks, a harsh tone pouring out before it clicks off entirely. You squeeze around him again- launching another wave for yourself- and above you, Ramattra's lights flicker, twinkle like stars- and then turn off. Offlined. Good. You join him shortly, closing your eyes and surrendering to the pleasant warmth that surrounds you.

When you wake again, you're right-side up. It takes a series of barely-coordinated blinks to clear your vision. It's somehow more disorienting than having been nearly upside-down to begin with. More so, you're not in your bed. No, you're wrapped up in your sheets, but you're firmly in Ramattra's lap- who has ended up sitting cross-legged next to the remains of your bed frame. It's... surprisingly cozy. The sheets soften up the hardest angles of his body and keep you warm while his frame regulates itself back to its usual cool temperatures.

"My apologies," He says in lieu of greeting. "It seemed impertinent to leave you... there."

From the forty-five degree angle of your mattress and how it's squished up against the wall. A white dust has spilled over your pillows- and it takes you much too long to piece together the Ramattra-fist-sized hole in your drywall. A tentative touch to your hair confirms flecks of paint and plaster. Yeah. You could imagine you probably didn't look very comfortable.

"Thanks," is what you try to say, but it comes out a rough rasp. You swallow several times to ease the dryness in your throat, but Ramattra seems to hum in appreciation. In all fairness, you had been all but screaming his name. A noble way to lose your voice. "Thanks," and this time, it sounds human enough.

"And I am sorry for damaging your quarters." He modulated a noise not unlike clearing his throat. "I may have gotten carried away."

You can only grin and slur your words. "S'okay, it's all cheap 'n Talon maintenance is fast." Honestly, it’s a compliment. Maybe a little inconvenient, but hey. Who else can say they made the leader of Null Sector cum so hard he dug his fingers into your literal wall and shut down? You shift in his lap, lay your head more comfortably against his shoulder. When you settle, he holds you closer. "Benefits of no questions asked type of work." Once more his only reply is a quiet hum of acknowledgement. It's an easy silence- save for the quiet whirr of Ramattra's fans, which have returned to their normal pace. Only when you absolutely need to know do you risk asking, "Can you stay? For a bit longer?"

He pauses, considers the question. He shouldn’t, truthfully. This excursion has already gone well past what he had planned for. But there’s something nagging at his logic circuits, the same little impulse that had made him fall at your command. It had saved his life before- and gotten him here. When has he ever been able to deny himself his curiosities?

"Yes. I have time." He says and pulls you closer to him still, until he can feel every rise and fall of your chest, despite the blanket between your bodies. Internally, he sends a message that he'll be unavailable for a debrief with Akande.

This time, it's you that hums as you bury your face into the pistons of his neck and close your eyes.

-----

Sequel

748 notes · View notes

ramattraswifey · 9 months

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So High | ⴵ N. Romanoff ⴵ

a/n: Favourite song for my favourite woman🥰 (ignore the fact that I haven’t written for two years)

Smut kinda

Warnings: alcohol, dry humping and fingering

———————————————————————————

The abstract red and blue lights glazed over Natasha’s face, as your eyes moved down her body, watching her hips sway to music, her hair falling in a curtain to frame her face. Your eyes followed the way her black dress hugged her waist and your stomach tightened at the sight of her perfect curves. Natasha looks up and catches you practically eye fucking her, causing you to drop your gaze immediately. “Hey.” Her voice is deep and smooth, contrasting to the harsh tone you were used to hearing. “You look beautiful” you reply, looking back up at her again, her face was perfectly framed by her auburn curls. Natasha smiles sweetly, which was something you didn’t see often, “Thanks.” Still swaying her hips to the music, she lightly grabs your hand and invites you to dance, if you weren’t sober you probably would’ve said no. You both slowly move in time with the music, as her hand slides up to hold your hips then grip your waist , you lean into the touch and her other hand rests on your shoulder, she pulls you closer, you can smell her perfume and feel her warm breath against your ear as she whispers something in Russian. “Ты выглядишь удивительно”, You could barely even hear the music anymore, it was all background noise as you focused solely on her lips as they whispered seductively into your ear. “Wanna take this somewhere else?”.

She lead you through Stark’s playboy mansion and pulls you into a spare bedroom. Hungrily grabbing you by your hips she whispers in your ear, “I’ve been wanting you all night.” You begin trailing kisses along her neck, sucking softly. Natasha moans and turns around so she’s pressed against the door, pulling away from her skin you look her straight in the eye, “What if anyone catches us?” She laughs at your question, and places a kiss on your forehead. “Nobody knows. Nobody ever will- unless you ever want them to” She says confidently. You smile and pull her in for another kiss, this one deeper, more passionate, as Natasha places her hands on your cheeks and gently cups your jaw, deepening the kiss further. Your heart was beating rapidly in your chest, you wanted her. “Natasha..I need you.” You whisper in between kisses. She pushes you onto the bed and crawls on top of you, kissing down your neck and shoulders before placing light kisses on your chest. “Tell me what you want baby.” She responds, her voice low and husky. You let out an impatient moan and Natasha stops kissing your chest, instead she begins biting softly at your collarbone. Her hands roam over your dress, caressing your chest. “I want you. All of you.” You whimper, as she slips her hand under your dress, her thumb rubs the tip of your clit as you become a mess underneath her, “Needy huh?” Natasha smirks and moves her hand from your clit, sliding it down, teasing your entrance as she leans forward and kisses you hungrily.

#Spotify #black widow #black widow x reader #natasha x y/n #natasha romonova #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff #marvel smut #natasha x reader

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ramattraswifey · 11 months

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𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐫 ▸ 𝐍𝐨𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐬

I’m not adding this since this is a dead fandom I’m shoving onto people’s dash board. And I’m not hoping people read this anyway despite not knowing who this is. So here heye’s go here is a picture of the nocti’s face

𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠/𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ▸ nsfw, somnophilia, praise

Your eyelids are too heavy to move. You are trying to piece together that Noctis has his face in your neck. And your legs pressed against his sides by his large, rough hands. Which are calloused from the sword that he occasionally wields.

"Needy sweetie." He is rutting his cock against your pussy lips. His cock head is warm, rubbing your clit as he bucks his hips. While he softly groans, his hot breath fanning on your neck as he says,

"You said you would stay up for me. Got me all worked up sending me those pictures. Then you fall asleep on me. But that's ok, your pussy got so wet for me so quickly." You rock your hips as your pussy clenches around nothing. He tells you,

"You are so warm, and wet for me. I haven't stretched you out yet but I want to put it in. Can I put the tip in?" He sits up and places his hand on his cock to make sure his cock stays rutting against your pussy as he keeps moving his hips.

His shaggy dark hair falling across his face, and the moonlight coming from the curtains he opened for the mood lighting, is heightening his sharp jawline. As he parts his pouty wet lips and he softly groans your name.

You softly and slowly mumble, "You can do what you want. Too sleepy move." Your last words slur together. And Noctis smiles as he admires the way the moonlight caresses your lovely figure as it comes in from the right side of the room.

He loves how sleepy are looking up at him with your eyes half opened and a soft smile on your face. As you hold on to the pillows that surround you. Since you say the oversized bed is too lonely without him. So you use the excessive amount of pillows he has around you to pile up when Noctis is there to sleep with you.

"You don't have to do anything but lay there and look pretty." You whimper as Noctis slips his tip past your lips. He drags his tip out and then shallowly thrusts his hips to push his pink tip past your lips. Which he spits on just to hear you whine his name.

▸m.list

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ramattraswifey · 1 year

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voltaire to versace 04 | thomas jefferson

title: voltaire to versace 04

pairing: professor!thomas jefferson x reader

words: 7.4k

warnings: this one is chill just like sexual tension. sorry ive been gone for two years lol

desc: from francis bacon to foucault, descartes to dante, your political philosophy seminar doesn’t promise to be a blowout — and yet, one mysterious stranger and a risqué evening later, your burberry-clad professor gives you the feeling it won’t be quite the snoozefest you’d expected.

tags: @lunariasilver @tinywhim @nyxie75 @wreakhavoconmacroissantdiggs @checkurwindow @katierpblogg @cubedtriangle @lunariasilver @lexylovesfandoms @fanfic-addict-98 @stephyra17 @notebookgirl30 @exorcisms-with-elmo @kmsmedine @itshaileyn @honeyand-roses @laic2299 @id-do-it-for-free-babe @luckyfriesss @golddiggs-x @drreamhugs @sillyteecup @notebookgirl30 @marvelouslyemily @checkurwindow— let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future parts!

SHE STILL FINISHED grading the first round of essays for Thomas, but she dropped them off at the faculty mailboxes that Sunday afternoon — she couldn't face him at that point. On Monday, she gravitated back to her seat at the rear of his lecture hall. She did the same on Wednesday.

Her responses to his emails and his texts were short and to-the-point. He needed her to grade the recent papers from his International Security class? Sure, but she was busy during his office hours; any chance he could leave them in his mailbox so she could pick them up the next morning? Thanks, that'd be great. He wanted her to work with him on laying out the rubric for an essay? No problem. She'd set up a shared Google Doc right away.

It was a week after Y/N had last spoken to Thomas that Dolley was over his apartment that weekend with James. She was smug when she came home to Y/N.

"Thomas is looking for you," she said mildly, and Y/N glanced up from her laptop on the couch with a skeptical gaze.

"And what, exactly, makes you say that?"

"He asked me to tell you."

Y/N's eyebrows shot up. "Wait, seriously?"

"Mhm." Dolley's smile was self-pleased. "He was home when I was over, and he said he needed to talk to you."

"Thanks for letting me know." Y/N's voice was tense as she looked back to the paper she was writing, and Dolley took a seat beside her with a glass of water.

"Can I ask why that might be?"

"No clue."

"So are you going to talk to him?"

"I have class with him Monday. I'll see him then."

"Y/N." She gave her a deadpanned look, and Y/N looked tired when she met her eyes. "Did something happen? You haven't mentioned his name even once all this week."

"No, everything's fine," Y/N assured her, but Dolley looked less than convinced.

"Then why do you look so unhappy right now, dear?"

"What? I don't," she replied defensively, and Dolley raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"How daft do you think I am?" she asked, folding her arms after she put her glass on their coffee table. "You can deny wanting to sleep with him all you'd like, but I know how much you like Thomas. It isn't exactly subtle. So what happened with you two?"

Y/N sighed, rubbing the side of her nose. "It's not really that big of a deal. I'm probably blowing it out of proportion, but he drove me home from the party at their apartment last weekend, and..."

"And?"

"And I came onto him." She was wincing at even the memory. "I was drunk, though, and he knew that, but it was so stupid. I'm still kind of mortified, so I've been dodging his attempts to talk to me. I don't know how I'm supposed to face him."

Dolley took a deep breath, eyeing Y/N where she sat with her head in her hands, her laptop closed on her lap. "Well, he clearly wants you to talk to him, so I'm sure he didn't think it was quite so bad."

"But I'm gonna be an anxious wreck the next time I have to talk to him," she groaned.

"You're his TA and his student," Dolley pointed out. "You can't avoid him forever."

"I'm not trying to," Y/N said. "But… y'know. I can still put it off for a little while. Midterms are only a week away, and then it's spring break. If I can make it that far, I don't have to talk to him until fourth quarter."

"You're being ridiculous."

“I’m being practical,” she replied, “besides, it’s only two weeks till break. The only time I’m gonna need to talk to him is when I turn in my midterm.”

Dolley snorted. “I’d wish you luck, but this one’s a lost cause, dear.”

————————————

IN THE END, Dolley was right. He hardly let her get away with it for more than a week.

"Y/N, can I have a word?"

She cringed.

It was 6 PM on Wednesday; the rest of her class was filing out of the lecture hall, but she paused where she stood in the row second to last. She'd already turned to leave. She shifted on her feet as she turned to Thomas, pulled her bag further up her shoulder, but when she saw him standing at the front of the room, arms folded and brow creased as he watched her, she couldn't meet his eyes.

Her classmates shot her curious looks as they left — Thomas never asked students to stay after class. If something was wrong, he sent them emails, he asked them to come to his office hours, he’d even used Twitter messages to reach people before, but he never publicly asked someone to hang back. She’d learned that it was against his ethos as a professor; he’d told her a story or two of his college days that made her understand why.

However, as much attention as this anomaly in his behavior drew, she had a feeling she knew why he wanted a word with her. She slumped back into her chair beside the aisle until everyone else was gone, and finally, the door fell shut, echoed through the hall, and she approached Thomas's desk with a looming sense of dread. He glanced up from packing his bag.

"Hey."

"Hey." Her voice was hesitant. "You couldn't have just approached me after the class got out?"

"In my defense," he started, "you haven't been makin' yourself all that easy to find. Everything okay lately?"

He was watching her expectantly, an eyebrow raised, and she folded her arms. "Yeah. Just fine."

"Then lemme rephrase that." Then, he turned fully toward her, his bag pulled shut and pushed aside. He frowned. "Why've you been avoiding me?"

Her eyebrows shot up. "What? I'm not."

"Yes, you are." The words left no room for negotiation, and she sighed. "And I mean, 's your prerogative. You've still been comin' through as a TA, so I'm not about to try and criticize you, but can I at least get an explanation?"

He looked pretty frustrated for someone who wasn't about to try and criticize her.

"You're not that oblivious," she said. "I have a feeling you know why."

Several moments passed in a tense silence. He was eyeing her tentatively, unmoving, and she couldn't meet his scrutinizing gaze, shifting on her feet. Finally, he sighed.

"The party?"

"Got it in one."

To her surprise, he let out a dry huff of laughter. "To be honest, I'm surprised you even remember that."

"I kinda wish I didn't."

Thomas offered her a reluctant smile. "I hear that. But..." He hesitated. "Which part of that night’s still bothering you?”

Y/N furrowed her brow, looking back up toward him. "Seriously?”

She figured it was obvious. Trying to seduce your professor while well-past drunk seemed like a clear, egregious issue, and she wasn’t quite sure why he was playing dumb.

"After all that time you spent avoidin’ me, you've gotta know what I'm talkin' about. C'mon." She stared at him blankly for another moment, and finally, he sighed. "Nevermind. I'm sorry about what happened then. We don't have to keep discussin' it if you don't wanna."

"No, hang on, what are you sorry for?" she asked, disbelief clear in her voice, and he raised an eyebrow. She hesitated before she went on, "I... I'm sorry for coming onto you like that. It was really stupid, and I know I crossed a line, but that's all my own fault; I don't—"

"You were drunk. Don't feel bad about it," he said reasonably. She was searching his apologetic expression as he spoke; she couldn't fathom why he looked guilty. Had something happened that she didn't remember?

"But why are you apologizing?" she asked softly, creasing her forehead. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"I got real close to doin' something I shouldn't, though," he said, carding a hand through his curls. "I shouldn't have let it get that far. 'Specially not when you were drunk. I got too close to crossing that line."

"Too close to..." Y/N repeated, trailing off with her brow furrowed, but that was when it hit her. Had she not been so mortified by her own actions, she realized, she'd have been dwelling instead on the way his hands had tightened around her waist, how he'd pulled her into himself with a bruising grip when she tugged at his hair. That evening, she'd convinced herself he was going to spend the night. "Oh."

"Yeah." He swallowed hard, hands tucked into his pockets. "So, 'm sorry. I should've shut that down, and I get why you've been keepin' your distance."

"No, no, relax." She dismissed his apology with a flippant wave of her hand. "I was in the wrong. You were trying to be considerate."

"You're givin' me too much credit," he sighed, and a flicker of a smile graced her lips.

"I wouldn't say that," she argued, and she hesitated, cocked a brow before adding, "Unless, of course, you had an ulterior motive for insisting on taking me home in the middle of the night?"

His eyes widened. "Oh! Jesus, no, I swear, I didn't— I wouldn't..." As an amused grin split Y/N's controlled expression, though, he trailed off, squinting at her. "You're just messin' with me, aren't you?"

“Maybe,” she answered mildly, giving an innocent shrug. He scowled. “But, really, Thomas, it’s fine. We can forget it ever happened, okay?”

He watched her warily as she offered him a tense smile. He wasn't sure it was fine, and quite frankly, he knew he'd have a hard time forgetting it ever happened — he felt like there was more left to say.

But as his pause stretched on, as she raised her eyebrows at his uncharacteristic silence, he didn't have the words.

"You sure?" was all he finally said.

"Yeah."

“Alright.” He eyed her for another moment, wary, before he pulled his bag up onto his shoulder. "That’s good. I… guess I'll see you around. Good luck with midterms, Y/N."

She didn't miss the final, unreadable once-over he gave her before starting up the stairs out of the lecture hall. She didn't go after him.

————————————————

WHAT FOLLOWED WAS midterms week, which came and went without much pomp or circumstance. She didn't see much of Thomas that week after finishing with his test, which was more intentional than she’d like to have admitted. On Friday night, she finished grading the papers he'd delegated to her, but she just left them in his mailbox.

When Saturday afternoon rolled around, she was perched on the couch in her apartment flipping through the same Netflix suggestions she'd been seeing for the past hour. She'd had an incredibly relaxed day, and she assumed it would stay as such until Dolley came bursting in with a wide grin.

Y/N raised an eyebrow. "Where are you coming from looking so excited?"

"James's."

"Ah." No further questions were necessary, but when Dolley circled around to stand right between Y/N and the television, it was clear something more was up — something Y/N had no interest in finding out about. "Do you mind? I was watching that."

"Oh, please. No, you weren't," Dolley scoffed, but her eyes were alight despite her contrived annoyance.

"Well, I was going to," Y/N grumbled, and Dolley could only smile.

"You're going to want to hear what I have to say."

"Am I?"

"Certainly." Y/N raised an expectant brow when Dolley took a step closer to her. "Spring break just started."

"What else is new?"

"James's family has a home in the Outer Banks."

"Good for him." Y/N's responses were short as she tried to lean around Dolley, scrolling through the 'New to Netflix' category. Dolley groaned, rolled her eyes. Y/N's noises of protest went entirely ignored as Dolley pulled her remote from her hand, and she deadpanned as Dolley rested her hands on her shoulders, sitting down to straddle her lap on the couch. "Seriously?" Y/N whined.

"And we are going to the Outer Banks for spring break."

"I'm sorry, what?" She let out a dry laugh at the conviction in Dolley's voice. "Alright, maybe you're going to the Outer Banks over break, but last I checked, James and I aren't exactly on the level of road trip buddies."

"Please consider it. He told me I could invite you."

Y/N rolled her eyes. "Yeah, because he likes you. Not because he wants me there."

"Oh, what does it matter?" she whined. "An invitation is an invitation. James just doesn't know you yet. I'm sure he'll come to love you."

"I don't care," Y/N groaned, shoving her off, and Dolley rolled off to sit beside her on the couch with a huff. "As much as I love you, I refuse to let your infatuation with James take over my social life."

"What social life?" Dolley scoffed. "I've already taken it over. Now I'm just adding James."

"Hey, I have other friends," Y/N said, but Dolley gave her a disbelieving look.

"Your professors and your study groups don't count."

"There's also the kid I see every day in the library," Y/N defended. "He's the only other one on the sixth floor."

"Do you even know his name?"

She hesitated. "That's not relevant."

"Darling," Dolley groaned, shifting onto her side to face Y/N. "Just come with me. It'll be fun. And I'm sure James is bringing Thomas; after all, they're roommates."

"That doesn't add to the appeal, Doll." Y/N wasn’t sure she trusted herself on a vacation spent with him in the Outer Banks, sleeping in the same house as him, trying not to stare at him shirtless on the beach. "I let you drag me to their apartment for a night, and it ended up sucking. I'm not gonna subject myself to that for a whole week."

"Ten days," Dolley corrected her.

"That's worse." Y/N’s huff was heavy, and as she raked a hand through her hair, Dolley wore a pout. “Besides, I can’t. I have that scholarship dinner thing, remember? I have to wine and dine all the donors.”

Dolley wrinkled her nose. “I forgot about those. I’ve always thought they were exploitative.”

“Oh, they are,” Y/N agreed, “but they’re giving me too much money for me to be able to complain. I can be their little academic Miss America for a night as long as they keep paying my tuition.”

Dolley hummed in acquiescence as Y/N returned to scrolling through her suggested shows on Netflix. “So it’s like a beauty pageant, but instead of hair extensions, you bring your resume.”

“Feels more like a strip club. I had to go to two at my old school, and it’s just putting on a show to get rich, wrinkled old men to throw us a few bucks. May as well wear a g-string and try to find myself a sugar daddy.”

“Mmh, let me know if any of your DILFs have pretty sons, alright?”

Y/N gave Dolley a skeptical look. “You’ve already got James; leave the rich legacy boys for me.”

“Sharing is caring.”

———————————————

ULTIMATELY, DOLLEY WENT to the Outer Banks without her. She left the next morning (but apparently couldn't leave without giving Y/N a serious tongue-lashing). And from there, Y/N was left to fend for herself.

The first couple days were fine. She ate the remainder of the groceries in the apartment. She watched seven seasons of Grey's Anatomy before deciding she hated all the characters. She cleaned out the fridge. She drank Dolley's nice red wine (with no plans to replace it). She organized her sock drawer.

Alright, so maybe she was going a little stir-crazy in Dolley's absence. So much for her having a social life outside of that apartment.

However, she didn't leave until she was clean out of food, bourbon, and episodes of SVU.

She was just around the corner from the nice CVS, though, so when she left, she didn't particularly expect to have any reason to look her best — if any of her classmates saw her in her pajama pants, it was far from her greatest concern.

She emerged with two white plastic bags, both stretching around the edges of the fruits of her pseudo-grocery run; the fact that she hadn't bought anything with nearly the nutritional value of actual fruit was beside the point. Regardless, she was feeling rather self-satisfied as she turned onto the sidewalk headed back to her apartment, arms weighed down with junk food, holding her CVS rewards card in the corner of her mouth, lips pressed into a thin line as she tried to re-organize her wallet — but apparently, she was too preoccupied to realize what was immediately in front of her as she took the next left.

"Woah, there."

She screeched as she ran directly into the man on the other side of the corner. As she stumbled backward, not managing to spare herself from falling on her ass, two of her grocery bags went tumbling to the ground; three split right through the bottom of the plastic, and as her pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream rolled to the feet of her accidental assailant, she let out a defeated groan.

She dropped her shoulders with an angry huff, and when the man before her leaned down to pick up the ice cream she'd spent the past week working up the energy to leave the house for, her gaze followed it up as he rose.

"Mint chip? Really?" When she caught sight of Thomas's amused expression, the exhaustion on her shoulders only compounded. He'd clearly been out running; he ran a hand through his curls, wiped the sweat from his brow as he popped out one of his earbuds. "You've got some awful taste, there."

"Of course, it's you," she grumbled. "Because I couldn't have been bulldozed by some stranger to, at least, spare myself the humiliation."

His smile was entertained as she dusted herself off, sparing what she could of her CVS haul, tucking her rewards card into her wallet and her pack of razor heads into her purse before she stood. "I think this belongs to you?"

"Yeah, yeah." The annoyance was clear in her voice when she looked up to see his outstretched hand, offering her back the ice cream, but (although she took the pint back immediately, as her priorities were still in order) that wasn't where her gaze stopped, instead trailing up his arm to his heaving (bare) chest and the earbuds hanging loosely from one of his ears. Her breath caught in her throat.

Sweat trailed down his torso to his abs, glistening in the mid-morning sunlight and drawing her eyes down to the waist of his sweatpants where they hung low on his hips. Her stare was only broken when he pulled his headphones out, wrapping them around his hand and yanking her gaze back up to his arms. The shift didn't help; instead, she couldn't break her wide-eyed, gawking stare from his biceps.

"Y/N?"

She was jolted back to earth with a start at the sound of his voice as he stuffed his earbuds into his pocket. His grin was broad, and her cheeks were on fire. "Shit, sorry, I, um—"

"Relax, it's fine," he said, tucking his phone in his pocket. "Need a hand with your, uh..." He picked up her extra-large jar of Nutella, "groceries?"

As he watched her expectantly, she swallowed hard, shaking her head with a tense smile. "No, no, that's fine," she assured him. "I wouldn't want to interrupt your run. I can manage."

He quirked a brow. "You sure? You're gonna have a hell of a time carryin' all of these on your own."

"I don't live far."

"I know," he said, and as she did her best to collect all her goods from the pavement around them, he did the same, "but there's no way you can get these all back by hand."

"I'll be alright," she said, her words taking on an undertone of annoyance (although it was ultimately born of her unease). Thomas didn't look so convinced.

"C'mon, just lemme help you out?" he reasoned with her, and as she tried to pull her purse shut around her two bags of mini tacos, balancing a package of laundry detergent pods on her lifted knee, she couldn't put up too much resistance. "You 'n I both know you need it."

Y/N pursed her lips. "Fine. Thank you."

Thomas raised an eyebrow. "Call me crazy, but you don't sound too grateful, now."

"Let's just go."

Though it took them a moment longer, between them, they did manage to balance all of her quasi-groceries in their arms, and Y/N nodded in the direction Thomas had been coming from. "My apartment is back this way."

"Yeah, I remember."

"Still?"

He shrugged. "I'm good with directions. And I've taken you back there twice, now."

"Right.” Against her will, the memories from those two separate nights began to surface in her mind, and she could feel her cheeks heating up. “How could I forget?”

Her tone was dry, uncomfortable, but to her relief, Thomas laughed it off.

"Someone's feelin' hostile today, huh?" he commented. Although she rolled her eyes, her face was burning; his presence had her on edge, reacting to even the smallest of his movements, and she was still trying to shake off how mortified she was from having run into him in the first place.

"Sorry. I'm just tired." He raised an eyebrow. "My sleep schedule's been all over the place without Dolley around to nag me about it."

"Oh, yeah, she's outta town with James, huh?" She hummed in confirmation. “Why didn’t you end up goin’ with ‘em? James told me he invited you.”

She huffed out a dry laugh. “Yeah, he invited me as an extension of Dolley because he wanted her there. I’m much happier alone in my apartment than stuck in the Outer Banks with people I hardly know.”

“Yeah, you ‘n me both.”

Y/N furrowed her brow. “I thought these were your friends that were going.”

He shrugged. “James ended up bringin’ a lotta grad students I’ve never met. Some undergrads in there, too. Would’ve been a shitty ten days, ‘specially once he let me know you weren’t comin’.”

“‘Especially once you knew I wasn’t coming’?” she echoed, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, don’t get ahead of yourself,” he replied. “I stayed behind ‘cause I knew I could pawn more papers off on you to grade.”

“Well, that is part of my charm,” she said frankly, and he couldn’t help but laugh.

“That and the pajamas you’re always wearin’ around campus?”

“Oh, come on, I’ve seen you when I was wearing pajamas once. That’s it.”

He hummed skeptically, and she glanced up at him as they walked. “I know you’re no math major, but addin’ today to the day you stormed into my office makes two days, not one.”

“Today doesn’t count,” she argued. “The plan was to go to CVS, go back home, and interact with nobody. Besides, you’re not even wearing a shirt, so it’s not like you have any room to judge.”

“At least you know that I own shirts, though.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That you only own pajamas, sweetheart. Didn’t think I had to spell it out for you,” he said matter-of-factly, casting her a sidelong glance, and while his expression was playful, she could feel her cheeks flush.

“Oh, shut up; you know that isn’t true,” she defended. “Just because I’m partial to my sweatpants doesn’t mean I can’t dress up when need be. I have nice clothes.”

He eyed her skeptically. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

————————————

IT TOOK THE pair of them just a few minutes to reach Y/N’s apartment building, but it took several more for them to actually make it up to her apartment. Trying to get the door unlocked without dropping anything was a fiasco — it ended in one of her mini Coke cans rolling down the hall, no doubt fated to explode the minute she opened it, and a bag of pizza rolls splitting open at the corner when she dropped it. Thomas had little sympathy for her complaints about them being exposed to carpet germs.

"Thank you for all the help." Y/N turned to Thomas with a sheepish smile when she finally put her groceries down. "Sorry for ruining your workout."

"Don't mention it." He dismissed her apology with a wave of his hand after he put the rest of her things down into the pile she'd started. "After all, you're tiring enough that it doesn't make a difference."

"Shut up." Despite her scowl, he snickered, and she rolled her eyes as she went to open her fridge. "I should put everything away so it doesn't go bad, but is there anything I can get you as a 'thank you'? A drink? Something to eat?"

"This just your way of askin' me to stay longer?" He raised a teasing eyebrow, but when she turned to him, her eyes were wide.

“Oh! No, no, I didn’t mean… I mean, you don’t have to, I just—”

“Woah, relax.” His voice held a trace of a laugh at the panic that was slowly dissipating from her gaze. “I was kiddin’, alright? Didn’t mean to rattle you like that.”

“I’m not rattled,” she defended, closing her fridge, and she could feel her cheeks heating up as he eyed her with disbelief. “I just felt like I owed you something for all the help. I know I kinda derailed your day."

"I told you, it wasn't a problem," he said mildly. “But, y’know, if you wanna pay me back, I’ve got a whole lot more papers that need gradin’.”

Her groan made him laugh. “God, please don’t make me regret becoming your TA. I have better things to do with my spring break.”

“Like what?”

“Like eating all the ice cream I just bought?” she said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world, and he rolled his eyes.

“C’mon, if I give you the rubric, you really can’t multitask?”

She sighed. “Yeah, alright, if you really need the help. I’ll come to pick them up sometime this week if that works for you?”

“That’s just fine. I wasn’t plannin’ on going into my office, though, so you’ll have to swing by my apartment.” Her most vivid memories of the last time she’d been at his place flashed in her mind’s eye. “That okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course.” She cleared her throat when she realized how long her moment of hesitation had been. He creased his brow. “Just tell me what time you’ll be home. I won’t have any scheduling conflicts.”

“What, you don’t have any big parties on the calendar?” he asked, cracking a lopsided grin, and she let out the lightest of laughs, the sound quiet and forced. “You aren’t gonna find yourself gettin’ arrested when a professor calls the cops on your rager?”

“Nah, not this time,” she said. Her smile was stiff, and he pursed his lips as he watched her continue unpacking her groceries, bending down to tuck various packages into different cupboards.

“Good to know,” he replied. In the pause that followed, Y/N was aware of every twitch of every muscle in her body; she could feel his eyes on her as she moved through her space. “I’ll text you when I sort ‘em out, then.”

“Cool.” Her mouth was dry. She didn’t look his way.

“Alright.” The hum of the fridge had never sounded louder. They could hear footsteps on an adjacent floor of the building and the soft buzz of their AC unit. Y/N swallowed. His next words were cautious. “So, should I, uh, head on out, then?”

Her eyebrows jumped. When she turned her head to look at him, she realized he hadn’t moved from his spot. She shrugged hesitantly.

“I mean, it’s your call.” His gaze flitted away from her when she met his eyes. “If you have somewhere to be, I don’t wanna keep you. I can finish putting my food away.”

“Wouldn't wanna overstay my welcome is all. I dunno if I should be spendin’ any more time in your apartment than I need to.” His expression was nonchalant, uncaring, but his shoulders were tense. She could see the tendons in his upper arms twitching, and it was only then that she was reminded that he was, in fact, very shirtless in her kitchen.

He glanced back at her with tentative eyes.

“That might be smart.” She stood up to her full height, looking down at the counter before her. “It’s getting kinda late anyway. You should probably head back before it gets dark.”

It was nowhere near sundown, but the message was certainly received, and Thomas nodded. “‘Course. I’ll see myself out.”

“Thanks for the help with the groceries,” Y/N said softly, and he smiled.

“Anytime,” he said. “I’ll see you soon.”

———————————————

“WHAT CLASS GOT a multiple choice midterm?” The indignance in Y/N’s voice made Thomas laugh.

“The freshmen.”

They were at Thomas’s apartment. Dolley and James would still be gone on their road trip for five more days, though, and that left them living alone about a block away from each other. Y/N wasn’t sure she knew where they stood, but when she went to pick up the midterms Thomas needed her to grade, he first had to walk her through the rubric. Then she started asking questions, and they both ended up sitting; then Thomas returned to sipping his coffee, and Y/N started leafing through one of the papers with a pen, and it only made sense for her to stay.

At least, that was how she justified it to herself as she reached the end of her second hour parked on his couch.

“I swear to god, you coddle those freshmen,” she said, twirling her pen absentmindedly as she went through the answer key. She scowled. “And they’re still getting, like, 25% off.”

“See? I’ve gotta coddle ‘em,” he defended. “If I make that class any harder, I’m gonna have a full class of Fs on my record. Won’t be gettin’ tenure, that’s for sure.”

“If you treated them like they were competent, maybe they’d be forced to learn,” she suggested, and he rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. When you finish grading ‘em, d’you mind calculating the curve for me?”

“This is curved?” Her tone bordered on genuine annoyance, but her dramatic reaction was only entertaining Thomas. “I’m gonna need another cup of coffee to get through this.”

“Now, this feels exploitive.”

“You don’t even pay me to TA,” she pointed out. “With the bullshit I put up with, you owe me a drink from that fancy espresso machine you have tucked away.”

“Aw, c’mon, is workin’ with me really so bad, sweetheart?” He plastered on a pout, but the casual term of endearment made her pulse jump. It didn’t feel so natural to hear him call her that anymore.

"Don't get me started," she said, but she knew how shaky she sounded. Thankfully, he didn't seem to notice (and if he did, he didn't mention it).

“Alright, alright. I was just headed to get myself another, anyway.” He acquiesced easily, and she was all but relieved when he left the room, taking both their mugs with him.

She wanted there to be a way for her to shake off any of the nerves he always seemed to leave her with. It wasn’t right; it wasn’t fair — he was her professor. He used terms of endearment without a second thought. She needed to stop overthinking it, especially given that she’d heard him call both Maria and Angelica “darling” and “honey” on more than one occasion. “Sweetheart” seemed to be reserved for her, though.

Stop thinking like that.

She cringed as the observation surfaced. She knew she was reading into it, and her mind was running a mile a minute to try and replace the idea with something else, any kind of distraction. She decided to chalk it all up to the caffeine she’d been consuming en masse.

So maybe another latte wasn’t the greatest idea. She pushed herself off of his couch with a grunt.

All she wanted was a glass of water, so she didn't expect that there'd be any problem with her just barging into his kitchen since she was already at his place.

But she'd just turned into the kitchen's doorway, and Thomas wouldn't have minded it if she hadn't turned with the worst timing imaginable.

"Oh, fuck." She felt the coffee scalding her skin before she processed what'd happened. Her grimace was involuntary and pronounced as she stumbled away from him, pulling the back of her shirt as far away from her body as she could. "Shit, shit, shit, that's hot."

"Jesus, are you alright?" It wasn't until a split second later that she turned to see Thomas standing behind her, mortified and frantically going to set down his mugs so he could go to check on her.

But she only shook her head, doing her best to regulate her breathing, control her expression despite the searing pain across her upper back. “Shit, I—” Her voice broke off as she swallowed hard, far from concerned with being a considerate guest when she pushed past him into his kitchen. Thomas was frozen to the spot, watching her rush to the sink and frantically yanking off the nozzle of his sink to run cold water over her shoulder blade (she’d never been more grateful for his bougie interior design). Her focus was nowhere near him.

She had no clue how to treat a burn. However, she didn’t think twice before tearing her shirt off — it was searing her skin.

Her tunnel vision may have blinded her to the larger context of her panic (and for good reason, all things considered), but Thomas was stunned as he watched her strip off her button-down in the middle of his kitchen, run it under water to use it as a rag. She tucked it under her left bra strap so that she could press the cold cloth directly against the burn.

Thomas was gawking. When Y/N caught her breath, turning to him, she met his eyes, and— well, actually, she didn’t meet his eyes. His gaze was focused a good ten inches below her eyes, and she chose to conclude that he was staring at her chest because he was concerned about having burnt her with coffee. The fact that not even a drop of the scalding coffee had touched her chest was a nonissue.

“Do you know anything about treating burns?”

“Not…” He cleared his throat, redirecting his stare up to where her eyes actually were. “Not much. I— Holy shit, are you alright? God… lemme Google it. Hang on.” She tried to catch her breath as Thomas pulled out his phone, and the first thing he said was, “Alright, says you’ve gotta get rid of any clothes over the burn.” He glanced back up at her. “Looks like you’ve got that covered, though.”

“Yeah, I figured that one out for myself. Thanks.” Her tone was dry.

“Right.” Thomas cleared his throat. “You wanna use my shower to run it under cold water, then?”

She nodded frantically, grimacing as she pulled her damp shirt out from under her bra strap, holding that as far from her skin as she could without her bra coming off. “Please.”

It took just about all of Thomas’s willpower to keep his gaze north of her collarbones as he showed her where the bathroom was and told her how to work the shower. If any god happened to be real, he was fairly sure he was being tested that afternoon — and all because he didn’t feel like calculating the curve on his midterms. He could safely say that this was far more difficult.

He gave her a towel and some of his spare clothes to change into, but when she dug the Neosporin out of his medicine cabinet, he heard her call his name.

He knocked on the bathroom door. “Everything alright in there?”

“Yeah, I just…” Her voice was muffled as she trailed off. “I can’t reach the burn.”

“Oh.” He swallowed audibly, although Y/N was far enough that she couldn’t hear it. “D’you… need help?”

“Please.” Her voice was hesitant and nervous.

“Can… can I come in?”

“Yeah, just hang on a second.” There was a pause. Y/N didn't meet his eyes when she came to open the door; she held a towel over her bra-clad chest, one of the straps having slipped off the side of her left shoulder. "I, er… can't reach my back to bandage it. Can you… ?"

Thomas's eyes widened. "Oh, um, yeah. Yeah, I've got it."

"Thanks," she said quietly, and when she turned to the sink, passing him the ointment and gauze as she faced the mirror, she kept her hand towel held over her front. "Sorry about… all this."

"Why're you sorry?" The amusement in his voice eased the tension in her shoulders. "Sorry for gettin' coffee spilled on you? Sorry for havin' skin on your back?"

"Sorry for having burnable skin on my back," she corrected him, and he laughed.

"Yeah, alright, good point. If you weren't so damn flammable we wouldn't have this issue," he teased, but he pursed his lips. "In all seriousness, this one's on me. Wasn't watching where I was goin'; I was the one that ran right into you, not the other way around."

"Yeah, but I was in the way," Y/N pushed back, and Thomas raised a skeptical eyebrow, meeting her eyes in the mirror.

"You've gotta stop apologizing for things, sweetheart. Especially things that I think we both know weren't your fault." How frankly he spoke made her sigh, and in that moment, it felt as if she was back in the entrance of her apartment, clinging to him as he tried to keep himself from pulling her closer. She swallowed her pang of guilt. “Lemme know if this hurts, yeah?”

“Okay.” Her voice was small.

Neither of them spoke as he dabbed ointment onto her wound, and his gentle touch had a warmth filling her skin that had nothing to do with the burn. He stood within inches behind her. The air in his bathroom was tense; both of them were aware of every movement the other made, every brush of their skin against one another, and it took every ounce of her willpower to keep her eyes down, to keep from staring at him in the mirror. She glanced up to see him knitting his brow, concern in his gaze.

He placed the ointment back onto his sink, instead unraveling the gauze he held in his other hand.

"Pass me the medical tape?" The sound of his voice made her look up, meeting his eyes in the mirror. It took her a moment to process his words, but when she did, she broke his gaze immediately, clearing her throat and nodding as she reached for it and handed it back to him.

Her skin tingled as he laid the gauze softly over her wound, doing his best to give her skin room to breathe. She shivered as he taped it down by the sides. "Alright."

"You're done?"

He nodded and although his touch was tentative as he pressed the tape down to her back, it was firm. "Yeah, that should hold. Looks good."

"Okay," she said quietly, giving him a small smile. "Thank you."

When he finished, she expected him to take a step back, to let himself out of the bathroom so she could get dressed, and so she turned to him, anticipating that he'd move out of the way and she could retrieve her clothes from the bathroom floor. However, it was at the same time that she turned that he leaned forward to put the gauze back on the edge of the sink behind the ointment. They moved in synchrony, but it wasn't the synchrony either expected.

They were both far, far too afraid to move, then.

Thomas's hand was on the side of the sink, now to her right as she faced him, and with him leaning into her, between his arm beside her and the rest of his body in front of her, Y/N didn't have much of anywhere to go. Thomas, however, could've moved. He should've moved, too, and he knew that well. But when she turned to him, he found his face mere inches from hers. His nose brushed against her cheek, and with her having used his shower, with her wearing his spare clothes, he could smell the traces of his woody cologne mixing with a sugared scent he couldn't describe as anything other than her. She swallowed hard.

This felt familiar to both of them, by then. The proximity between them was all but second nature with how much time they spent together, with all the late hours in his office or her apartment. But this atmosphere was charged.

Every interaction between them had been measured and meticulous for months — while they had both been pushing boundaries, neither dared to cross them. But this? Neither of them had meant for this to happen. Neither had meant to make it so easy for them to simply fall into each other, but something about it seemed so natural, almost fateful.

Thomas was exercising every last drop of his willpower as he looked down at Y/N's wide eyes, her wet hair, her (his) pajama pants that were far too long for her. He tucked one of her damp locks behind her ear.

"We can't do this." Y/N's words were cautionary as Thomas's eyes wandered to her lips, but there was no feeling behind them. She didn't want him to stop.

"I know." His thumb traced her jaw, and he made no move to step away. He did know that what he was doing was wrong, but with how caught up he was in everything that was her, he was having trouble remembering why. "So stop me before I do something stupid."

She couldn't take a breath. Her voice was trembling.

"I don't think I want to."

He was hesitant to lean in toward her, but when he shifted forward, she met him halfway with every bit as much trepidation, and this kiss was nothing like the night they met. His touch was careful. His lips were slow, savoring the taste of her on his tongue. He held her as if his gentle touch would negate all the implications of their actions, all the damage this might cause.

Because this didn't feel like the illicit affair that Y/N knew it to be. This was Thomas, her friend, her coworker, her fleeting one-night stand, and she held him against her in an embrace like that of a lover, her arms looped around his neck as the side of her nose brushed against his. This was easy. This was natural.

But this was her professor.

"Stop." She pulled away from him, a hand on his chest as she struggled to catch her breath, and Thomas's gaze didn't read as dejection or hurt, but instead it came with an air of concern. The silence that followed her single word was excruciating.

"Y/N?" His voice was hoarse, but it was heavy with guilt. She didn't meet his eyes.

"I… I'm sorry, Thomas. I really…" She trailed off as he took a wary step back; she let out a breath of relief when he was no longer boxing her in against the counter, his hips no longer pinning hers back. "I need to go. I'm sorry."

She left the bathroom in a rush, grabbing her shirt from the floor and pulling it back over her head without a second thought. When she took off, he didn’t try to stop her.

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ramattraswifey · 1 year

Text

Young and Alive (Takuto Maruki)

Kinktober 2022 Day Twenty-Six: Taboo (Teacher/Student)

𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚? ⇒ 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

𝙟𝙤𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙧?

“You shouldn’t be here.”

Keep reading

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ramattraswifey · 1 year

Note

Hehe I'm gonna be a little different and I saw that you write for Jiraiya, so may I please request 53 nsfw with him?

53- "You're more than just a one-night stand."

author's note: y'all idk what to say. this is so long that tumblr almost didn't allow me to post it all. i have finally figured out how to shut the fuck up after 18,332 words. this is the longest one shot i have ever written. i hope you find it worth the wait and the long read!!! especially you, bacon ❤️❤️❤️ and if there's any errors you notice, no you didn't lmao pls be nice i'm exhausted

pairing: jiraiya x fem!reader

warnings: nsfw, explicit smut, size kink (how do you not have that in a jiraiya fic, lbr) light angst

You're out in your usual spot in the woods, a natural clearing you stumbled upon many years ago that's perfect for meditating and keeping your skills sharp. Humming to yourself, you plant your feet against the grass with a stretch of one arm before you whilst rolling your neck, your other arm moving along the skin of the other. Blue fire leaves the tips of your fingers as you stretch, proving your rare status amongst the shinobi world; having a natural affinity to every chakra nature and mastery of all jutsu after your years of training leaves you valuable, but vulnerable. And to best protect yourself, you live in the isolation of these woods.

Water flows from your hand and you swirl it with the fire, neither element touching the other but cutting it very close. The sound of leaves crunching alerts you but doesn't break your flow; you merely press your heel into the earth and raise a barrier for yourself, the trees moving and obscuring the path to you.

"I'm friendly!" You hear a low chuckle alongside the proclamation.

With a smirk, you continue your silky tai chi, aiming a finger in the sky and sending a bolt of lightning in the intruder's direction in the trees without a glance. You laugh at the "woah!" and feel the impact of his landing through your feet on the ground.

There's no words but the whispers the wind sends you as the hand signs are formed, giving you all the warning you need to meet the large fireball with a wave of water. The two elements meet in the middle, steam filling the air as your strong wave eventually fizzles out the fire; you laugh and stand tall, pleased to see your visitor.

"Ah, Jiraiya. So nice to see you."

The sannin snorts and crosses his arms, sauntering over to you. He stands tall above you, bigger than you in every way. "You mean so nice to beat me."

"Well, that's just a given." You tease, the satisfied smirk lingering on your lips.

"Well, not all of us can cheat."

You wave your hand and allow the forest to resume its natural formation, your expression losing its luster as Jiraiya waits without further comment. You sigh to yourself, a deep, annoyed rumble in your chest and start walking to your shack. "You're here on business."

"I am." He follows you, his sandals clacking on your wooden steps.

"You never come here otherwise these days." You grumble under your breath. Why do I ever hope for something else?

"It's only because I stay busy." Jiraiya takes your hand and stops you, tilting your chin to look up at him. "Believe me, if I had enough free time, I'd be here driving you nuts all the time, just like I used to."

Your eyes roll and you remove yourself from his touch to begin rummaging through the kitchen cabinets. "So, what do you need? Supplies, potions, food pills?"

"Not this time." He crosses his arms over that broad chest again. "I need you."

You pause your movements entirely; even your breathing takes pause. He what??

"I need another person for this job; I'll be undercover and need your help."

You come back to yourself, remembering to breathe as you slowly close the doors to the cabinets. "And why me?"

"I need a woman; and I don't know a better woman than you."

"You mean available." You bite down on your tongue. As much as he's gone on about Lady Tsunade over the years? You could never compare in his mind, even with your abilities. "I don't think so, Jiraiya."

Jiraiya sighs and steps toward you, resting his hip against the countertop. Waiting for his pitch, you absentmindedly fold a kitchen towel, gazing up at him after a beat of silence. He's waiting, and you're too eager to be convinced that you truly are the best woman he knows. His eyes are captivating, his voice low and soft during his pitch. "I need your help. I need a woman nobody will recognize, and one that'll stand pretending to be my wife. I need you."

You can't break away from those charcoal eyes. Damn him. "Is this mission dangerous?"

"Could be. Hoping not to be; simple infiltration so I can document information for Konoha."

"And where are we going?"

"Kaminari no Kuni. Tsunade-sama has reason to believe they're planning some sort of attack or invasion; right now Konoha has one of their former shinobi captive."

"Kumogakure specifically, I bet."

"Mhm." Jiraiya nods. "So?"

You sigh. "It's not like I can let you head into Lightning territory alone."

Jiraiya grins, pulling you into a strong, crushing hug. You hesitate for a mere half-second before returning his hug, inadvertently feeling his toned body beneath the few layers of clothes he wears. The first time you'd seen him without a shirt shocked you and allowed him an advantage during your sparring session; he's slimmer and more fit than he first appears.

"C'mon, it'll be fun. We get to stop at a hot spring resort." He grins with that goofy, pervy laugh of his, and you land a solid palm against his chest, jolting him with lightning. Your loud cackle rings in his ears as you walk away to pack.

"So tell me more about this; our cover story, why we're posing as a couple." You bring up after a while of companionable silence. You've started the long journey side-by-side, the sun now at the halfway point of the sky after a few hours of walking.

Jiraiya inhales deeply through his nose, stooping to pick up a white flower, rubbing a petal between the pads of his fingers. "The shinobi in Konoha is a mercenary, and from what Intel gathered, he wasn't hired specifically by the country. Officially, anyway."

"So, what, the Raikage is dealing under the table? Seems cowardly for him."

"Which is why I don't think he's got anything to do with it. My best assumption is an advisor to him, something of that level."

"And so… We're doing this because…?"

Jiraiya tucks the flower behind your ear, brushing the back of his knuckle down the side of your face before dropping his hand and looking away. Your cheeks burn at his touch, no matter how slight it was. You're just thankful he can't hear the way your heartbeat picks up.

"The Land of Lightning is a common honeymoon spot; they expect tourists of all types, from any country. So we go in as newlyweds. We've got an invitation to a rather exclusive gala and that's my best opportunity to snoop around."

"So you'd stick out if you went alone." You murmur. "Alright. Do I even want to know how you've obtained this invitation?"

Jiraiya laughs lowly, the look on his face enough of an answer for you. You groan in disgust and shove that solid body, not sending him even an inch away. He laughs, hands raised innocently.

"It's not what you think, relax. I stole it, no other nefarious means involved."

"Hmm, fine." You cross your arms. Jiraiya just laughs again, the sound quiet and a small rumble against that big chest.

"Who knew the once-in-a-generation, master-of-all-elements would be green with envy at the idea of little ole me getting some action?" He teases, laughing harder at the way you look at him after. You narrow your eyes, blood pulsing rapidly through your veins while you gather a ball of air in your palm, and he notices just a bit too late to dodge it fully.

A satisfied smirk takes place on your lips as he screeches, beginning picking up his belongings, which are now scattered all over the dirt and trees. You wave off his threats ("Don't think I'll forget this, you shit!") and set back on the path to Kumogakure. Your thoughts calm and you close your eyes, arms crossing over your stomach as you hum a random tune you're making up as you go.

You laugh to yourself when you hear those wooden sandals moving quickly on the pavement, a soft huff on Jiraiya's lips once he's back beside you. "Trouble. You are nothing but trouble."

"And you are the troublemaker."

Jiraiya doesn't even bother denying it, and instead his lips quirk slightly. "You should work field missions with me more often. I'd be less bored."

"Pfft. I'm already biased for Konoha to begin with; and given my whole schtick, I don't think it'd be ethical to be a shinobi for one village."

"Mm, there is a point in that. Any of the villages would raise hell if they knew Konoha's had an advanced phenomenon like you all this time. We'd surely never know peaceful times then."

"We'll never know peace, Jiraiya. This world focuses too much on greed and power; villages fight over grudges their ancestors had! I cannot imagine inherently having to hate someone because some irrelevant family member didn't like someone from another clan."

Jiraiya snorts. "As long as men have sticks, there's always going to be a competition for the bigger stick. But imagine a world where it isn't fatal."

"They should build themselves up instead of plotting the destruction of others." You murmur. In your younger days, during the last war, you'd seen firsthand the lengths every village had gone to; people died, were displaced, children became orphans, soldiers dropped dead over other men's problems; the world laid in ruin over the things that nobody would take with them when they died.

Things quiet, and there's a long period where all you hear is the melody of the wind, the birds chirping loudly as they cry out for a mate, and eventually the rumble of Jiraiya's stomach. He laughs, cheeks blushed while patting his belly. "Hehe, maybe time for a pit stop?"

"I have food pills." You aim for a small pouch on your side, but Jiraiya's quick to shake his hands, his voice pitching loudly.

"No, no! Wouldn't want to waste precious resources now!" You narrow your eyes and perk a brow.

"We have a specific reservation time and you want to risk being late because you're a big baby that won't deal with the taste of a food pill??"

"Yes, yes I do!" Jiraiya pushes his lips out, pathetically giving you his best puppy dog eyes.

You sigh and rub your forehead. "You're buying, Mr. Icha Icha."

"I'd never have a lady pay my way." He could not, however, say the same about thirteen-year-olds.

Lunch came and went several hours ago, and your eyes struggle to stay open. Should've just shoved the damn food pill in his mouth and called it a day…

"What's this?" Jiraiya needles, bending at the knee to bump his shoulder to yours. "I brought a grandma on my mission??"

There's a rumble low in the back of your throat, warning growl in which Jiraiya only laughs at before scooping you up and slinging you over his shoulder. "What the hell is wrong with you?!" You slam your fist against his back a few times.

"Can't afford to slow down now!"

"Put me down, Jiraiya!" You demand, wiggling around in his iron grip. Though as hard as you try, you can't get even a little loose from his strong hold.

"If I were you, I'd enjoy the lift." He muses, turning his head and appreciating the view of your ass and legs as he enjoys the lift.

You scoff. "This is ridiculous."

"You said it yourself, we have a deadline to meet, and I've got a few more hours in me. So hold tight, princess!"

"I should kill you."

"After the mission, dear."

You snort and allow Jiraiya to carry you. The view is admittedly nice, as you settle your forearms on his shoulder and relax your sore muscles. Jiraiya's hands are warm and strong, one splayed on your back and the other holding your thigh as he carries you securely.

You hum and entertain yourself through use of various elements, smirking at a particularly devious idea you get after a couple of hours, having officially bored yourself out of your mind. Lightning generates in your hand, just a slight amount, and you swing with all of your might, laying a helluva slap on his ass.

"AYE!" Jiraiya jolts a few feet in the air, the hand that was on your thigh gripping his struck ass cheek.

You laugh hard enough you'd fall to the ground, if not for Jiraiya's strong arm holding you on his shoulder still. He turns his head and bites the curve of your waist, and you screech, wiggling around. "Owwwwwww!"

"You can touch my ass all you want, but no lightning. Got it?" Jiraiya bites you one last time.

Your cheeks heat up. "I have no desire to touch your ass without lightning or some other element."

"Mhm." Jiraiya jostles you, adjusting your place on his shoulder. Somehow his arm hasn't gotten tired, and you don't want to know what he's done to strengthen said arm.

"There should be an inn we can stay the night at, just a few miles away."

"I'd like to walk there, if that's alright with you. Last thing I need is people wondering why the hell you're holding a woman over your shoulder and checking into a hotel room."

Jiraiya laughs, carefully setting you down. You feel the power in you rise as your sandals touch the ground, feeling chakra activity miles ahead through the ground. "It's two miles out."

Jiraiya flashes that handsome grin. It always has you melting, sending a feeling of desire directly to your clit. God what you would do to have him… He's what you imagine when you think of a man; strong, intelligent and handsome, with a kind heart…

And a large dick, as you soon would discover.

The sun is beyond set when Jiraiya opens up the door to the room after stopping for a quick meal at the restaurant next door, the two beds evenly spaced apart in the small living area, and a simple bathroom with a stall for a shower connected to it. You yawn deeply into your shirt, kicking off your sandals and looking around. "It'll work for a night."

Jiraiya settles at the small table, pulling out his writing materials. "Go ahead and have the first shower. I picked up some inspiration on the way here." Your nose scrunches, and he winks salaciously.

You scoff in mock-disgust, gathering up your night shirt and shorts and heading into the bathroom. Your fingers wiggle under the spray of the water until it's warm, and you sigh when the water hits your skin and starts to ease your soreness. It's been ages since your last mission with Jiraiya, and while you keep your form up, do yoga every day, train your skills beyond what typical shinobi can do…

Those sandals are still a bitch to walk in.

Your shower isn't much beyond soaking under the spray and a light lather of soap on your body, and you yawn several times while drying and dressing. Jiraiya has remained in his seat, writing diligently with his lips pursed ever so slightly, black eyes focused solely on the paper. Whatever he's writing has to have him entirely captivated to miss the way your short shorts barely cover your ass as you climb into your bed.

Humming softly, you curl up comfortably. "Goodnight, Jiraiya."

"G'night, sweetheart."

You find your face warming and a smile forming on your face as you quickly ease into sleep. Him saying things like that really has had you believing that he could possibly like you too… Or perhaps even love you.

It's well into the night when you come to again, and Jiraiya has disappeared from his previous perch, all of his writings packed away. Frown forming on your face, you wipe at your eyes and get out of bed to find him, only to stop when you hear your name. "Jiraiya?" You mumble sleepily, quickly locating his chakra signature in the bathroom.

Your feet are quiet on the carpet as you pad to the bathroom door. It's partially cracked open, you find, and when you look inside at the reflection in the mirror, it takes all of your willpower and energy and prayers to God to not audibly gasp. Your hands form a sort-of muzzle around your face just in case, and you feel as if your eyes have bulged out of your goddamn head.

Jiraiya's completely naked, leaning against the tiled wall of the shower. The curtain has been haphazardly shut to where the only thing it's covering is the flow of the water's access to the floor. Dick in hand, he's pumping furiously with a reddened chest, shoulders and cheeks blushed similarly. He's so damn toned and glistening in the light from the cheap lightbulb, the sounds coming from his hand's movement obscene and like something from one of those adult films.

And he said your name??

A harsh shudder cascades through you, and you know you need to look away. This is his privacy you're invading, you're being a goddamn pervert, watching him masturbate-

WHY DID HE SAY MY NAME AGAIN.

Your mouth waters pathetically as your eyes zero in on his cock. He's cut and thick and you can see that vein from here. Good lord, why is his entire body so big…

"I will ride you into the sunset." You whisper, finally tearing yourself from the spot you'd rooted into, quietly though hastily getting back into bed. You screw your eyes shut, willing yourself to go back to sleep and avoid the growing wetness between your thighs. But that damned mental imagery of your longtime crush haunts you, the murmurs of your name rolling off his tongue on repeat.

Does he really want you? The question has been on your mind for a long while, fading away in the times where you don't hear from Jiraiya for months. He's tender, warm, rarely ever calling you by name rather than sweet nicknames. His touches are more often than you'd expect, and sweet…

But you've heard him speak on the Hokage often enough to know what his love is really like. Sex is one thing; but not even Jiraiya could fake passion.

Still though, as you lay under the covers and fail to force sleep on yourself, your body reacts most favorably to the situation. Burning clit aching for friction as your imagination runs wild… Thoughts of Jiraiya's large, hot body on top of yours, pumping you full with his thick cock… His hair wild and loose and that sinful mouth working hickey after hickey all over your exposed neck…

The fluffed pillow stifles your lustful moaning when you touch yourself, your cunt sopping wet. Your fingers glide easily on your clit, your breath coming out in short huffs— you haven't done this in some time. You have needs, yes, but it's only to the point of being unbearable torture when you've been around that world-famous nin. His charm traps you, keeps you firmly in place with those easy smiles, sweet pet names and gentle touches filling your heart with love only for Jiraiya.

You can't bear to remember he'll never love you the same. His heart has obviously been Lady Tsunade's since they were children, and there was no way for you to interrupt that lifetime love. You push it to the side always, especially now with the way your fingers work your clit, knowing Jiraiya is touching himself too— and saying your name. What's he imagining? Are you bent over, being fucked into the mattress, all that force from that giant, muscled body focusing right on your cunt? Has he got you between his knees, sucking his cock as far down as you can go, his hand on your throat and feeling his own cock bulging it?

His imagination is wild, and the idea of doing anything with him is enough for you. You move your fingers impossibly faster, moving your hips in time as your orgasm begins to crest, broken moans being forced into the pillow as you cum. Jiraiya's dark eyes flash in your mind, that familiar, soft smile on his lips. "Jiraiya!"

Jiraiya smirks from his place at the bathroom door, having finished himself off a few moments prior with your name on his lips once more. "I like the sound of that." He murmurs to himself, running the towel over his drenched body, wiping away the droplets of water from every line of hardened muscle. His cock twitches between his legs once more, and with a shrug he grips his thick shaft for one more round.

You heave out gasps of air for a few minutes, head swirling after the powerful orgasm. One of these days, you've got to get a piece of that ass. You're asleep again before Jiraiya goes back to bed, and your final thought before your slumber is spent wondering how much stamina the man could possibly have.

In the morning, you're quietly doing your stretches after a quick shower while Jiraiya sleeps soundly, snoring in his bed. The sun has only just started its rise, and by sundown you should be close to, if not in Lightning territory to begin the mission. Your eyes are closed during your yoga routine, chakra settled inside of you with perfect control, able to read the signature of anyone within a several-mile radius. None of them were particularly strong; if any were shinobi they were incredibly low ranking. The strongest is Jiraiya's, naturally, and your chest feels a strong urge of pride. The man is special, no doubt about it.

Jiraiya's eyes open up once the sun has cast an orange glow in the room, focusing on you as you stretch while wiping his eyes free of sleep. Your form, impeccable. As usual. Your ass, lovely. Also as usual. Your mouth saying his name as you made yourself cum last night? The best damn thing he's ever heard.

"Good morning." You murmur, rolling your neck and sitting down, gazing up at him in his bed.

"Mhm…" Jiraiya yawns, tossing the covers off of him and sitting up. You feel your face warm at the sight of him in just his underwear and turn away, quickly moving to your packed belongings. He watches you with a small curve of his lips, loving how easy he can fluster you just by being stripped to his boxers. "Good morning, babe. We should get a move on soon."

"You're right; I've got some food pills here." Jiraiya scowls initially, but wipes it right off after the dirty look you give him. He's soon up and ready, quickly swallowing down the food pill and following you out of the room.

The journey is uneventful, allowing your mind to be consumed by the events of last night. Jiraiya fantasizing about you isn't a total shock; you'd caught him staring at your body numerous times, and he'd paid an elemental price each time. If you weren't so smitten by him, you may have become a friend with benefits to him a long time ago.

But to cross a line like that, with the feelings you've been harboring, is dangerous. Losing Jiraiya's friendship would be an irreparable wound, forever marking that hidden grove in the forest in darkness. As much as you want him physically, the love and desire of your heart outweighs even the sexual desire.

"I'm gonna lose it if you don't start talking to me." Jiraiya grumbles. Neither of you were strangers to silence, both often alone more than not, so he quite detests wasting the time he could be spending philosophizing with you, or bantering, or even singing. Something.

"We're close to Kaminari no Kuni. You have the tickets to the gala and the reservation for the hot spring resort, right?" A food pill is quickly popped into your mouth, another shoved into Jiraiya's as he begins his reply.

"Brat." He crunches the pill and shivers harshly at the bitter aftertaste. "And yes, I have them. What do you take me for?"

"Show them to me." You hold your hand out, locking eyes with the man, who is awfully pouty despite such a simple request.

"My papers are orderly!" He scoffs. "But they're in my pocket, if you really need them."

You narrow your eyes. "Which one."

That perverted, salacious grin covers his lips as his large hand pats one of his front pockets. "This one here."

You scoff and shove him, Jiraiya playing along and allowing himself to actually be moved. He gasps as if he's been shot, falling to his knees and holding his side tightly, his eyes somehow glittering with playful energy and betrayal simultaneously.

"The end is near… By the hand of my own, very best friend…" Jiraiya's throat scratches with his forced coughing, and you try your best to suppress the way your chest rumbles and bite on your lip to keep from laughing.

"You're such an ass." You turn your head, burying your giggles in your palm.

"She still insults me, even in my final moments…" Jiraiya hacks up another cough, reaching desperately, fruitlessly for your leg. His strong fingers circle your ankle— like how he held his—

"Please, my friend." The back of your mind wonders if he's always been such a great actor. He's far too good at this. "Please… Just give me one last…"

"One last what?" You laugh a little more, lip trembling with your wavering will.

Suddenly you're tugged down, losing your balance and landing right on top of Jiraiya's chest, his arms squeezing you close. You screech and slam a palm of lightning on his chest, Jiraiya's body jolting with a smirk. "One last one of those. I'm all better now."

You scoff. "You shithead!"

Jiraiya shrugs with that self-satisfied grin still plastered on his handsome face. "Maybe." His face is soft, his lips morphing to a softer yet more sincere smile, the twinkle still bright in his eyes.

You hold yourself up against his chest, feeling the steady thump, thump, thump of his heart beneath your palm. And further still, you can sense the chakra deep within, circulating his body and ready to be molded at a moment's whim. His strength never ceases to amaze you; you, a destined, legendary being, are continuously impressed by a simple man— that in itself must be legendary.

"Jiraiya…"

"Hm?" He tilts his head, comfortably holding you as if he's not on a dirty pathway and, more importantly, not on a schedule. A spark of anxiety and boldness strikes you between your ribs, your stomach filling with butterflies. He's so perfect…

"I-" Your voice shakes. Is this how you'll tell him you love him? Through word vomit, and now of all times? Just because of this close proximity?

Jiraiya waits patiently, eyes curious and flitting between your lips and eyes. His mind flickers back to last night, the sound of your voice— with his name on your lips. "You…?"

Light flashes in the sky, followed by a low rumble that shakes the earth. "... I think we're closer to Lightning territory than we thought." You mumble.

"Yep!" Jiraiya releases you, helping you to your feet. "Better hurry to the hotel then; I can already smell the rain."

"You're such an old man." You snicker, your pace quickened beside him.

"You're no spring chicken either." He snarks back.

"Oh, as if you know how old I really am!"

"I'm willing to bet it's the wrong side of forty!"

"Prick!"

"I don't know what I expected." You groan, cheeks hot as you stand by Jiraiya, having checked into your suite finally, after a mile run to the resort and right before the rain poured.

"Admittedly, I didn't think it'd…" Jiraiya trails off with a blush on his cheeks— it's definitely a honeymoon suite, with rose petals everywhere, and candles waiting to be lit, plus…

"Have a sex swing??"

A nervous laugh expels from Jiraiya's chest as he approaches the bed, quickly reaching up and removing the swing from the hooks on the ceiling. "It is a honeymoon suite."

"What did you pull me into?" You rub at your tired face and sit at the end of the bed. "Tomorrow we attempt to steal information on a goddamn high-ranking political officer for a rival country, while we pose as newlyweds at a special gala that we have an invitation to because you stole it from the original invitees. Someone's either dying or getting arrested, calling it now."

"Hey, hey!" Jiraiya's in front of you, on his knee and pulling your hands from your face, dwarfing them with his size and slipping a diamond band on your left ring finger. "Nobody's doing any of that. We're gonna have a good time, and then I'll sneak away for a bit and do my thing, and then we'll be back home in no time."

"You know, old friend," You squeeze his hands. "You have a way of overestimating our luck."

"And you underestimate how well we work together." He kisses the tips of your fingers, then lets go of your hands entirely. "I'm going to go scout the resort and find us some dinner."

"I guess I can get ready for a bath. My neck and legs are sore." Your gaze is firmly on the ring now, and good god this mission is cruel. The ring is absolutely stunning, a gorgeous princess-cut diamond sitting pretty in the center of the band, which fits perfectly. The one he's slipped onto his own finger is gold with a beautiful emerald in the center, and the sight of that alone is enough to send your body into a wanton fervor. The thought of this man being married to you, being yours to have and to hold… Few things are likely to be as perfect.

"Meet you in the bath then." Jiraiya stands, sending a wink to you before leaving you alone in the room. It's oddly cold without his presence.

The springs, however, are not.

Couples are strewn about in the mixed baths, most entirely nude and somehow maintaining eye contact with the other complete strangers. You keep your towel tight around you as Jiraiya has still not returned from his search, sitting by the side of the bath and dipping your legs in. A group of ladies swarm you quickly, all smiles and questions— and boobs.

"Where's your husband?"

"Is this your honeymoon?"

"You have fantastic legs!"

"That ring is amazing!"

"Uh, hi." You squeak out. "He's-"

"Right here, babe!"

You and the gaggle of strangers turn your heads, all of your mouths gaping. Jiraiya stalks over, the towel wrapped around his waist the only thing hiding the pride and joy between his legs. His abs are solid, chest large and broad and god he's the hottest man here by far, the red paint wiped from his face and his hair shorter than you've ever seen it, sitting mostly cropped close to his head.

"Wow…"

He crouches beside you, his hand on the small of your back. "Pretty sure you're supposed to be in the bath, babe."

"Just… Waiting for you!" You smile stiffly, and Jiraiya's small laugh is nothing short of genuine. His lips are on your temple— how does he do this so naturally?!— and then he whispers into your ear.

"Well, I'm here now. Nothing short of a genuine resort to be found."

A new couple enters the bath and the ladies disperse, leaving you bewildered and it shows. Jiraiya laughs again and slips off his towel, placing it over his shoulders before stepping down into the bath. He stands before you and smiles as he holds his hands out, perking an eyebrow. "Well? Can't soothe the muscles if you're not in the water."

You bite down on your lip, looking into his eyes before taking a deep, calming breath, taking his hands and allowing him to pull you in. The towel slips off your body and into the water, exposing it all to him. Your heart beats erratically, intensely aware of how fucking naked you are, and how he's just as nude, and there's too many people around, also naked!!

"You okay?" He murmurs.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just… Ah, people."

"Understood." He nods and guides you to a nice spot, sitting down with you in between his legs, his hands carefully rubbing your shoulders.

Your eyes flutter, no stranger to a shoulder rub from Jiraiya. He's got magic hands that always know when and where you're tense and fixes you up with ease every time. "Oh, that's nice…"

"Mhm." He smirks, murmuring softly to you. "Try to mingle if you can, see who knows who and if anyone is attending the gala tomorrow night. Having friends will help us look more natural when I slip away."

"I can try, but you know I'm not… Friendly."

Jiraiya snorts, his following laugh right in your ear. "Understatement of the century, dear."

"Hey, you stuck around!"

"Because I'm a tough guy! Beat me up all you want; I'm just gonna get back up and let you do it all over again."

You laugh and lean against him comfortably, looking around the bath. Jiraiya crosses his arms over your front, holding you close and resting his chin atop your head. "This okay?"

"It's perfect, actually." You murmur. "I feel less exposed… You're so big, it's like I can hide without being hidden."

"I got ya." He murmurs, your breasts covered by his arms. "You didn't have to go full nude, y'know."

"I know, I just…" Wanted you to see me naked "Wanna do this right. Don't wanna seem weird."

"I appreciate you doing this for me. Everything. I really couldn't do this one without you, and I know to be… Pretend married is something entirely different than any other mission we've done together. But you're the only one I could count on. The only woman I know that would even pretend to be my wife."

The edge of his voice drips off a bittersweet tone. Tsunade would never have done this, especially not this hot spring thing. And maybe he's wishing she's here now, naked and relaxing in a bath while he holds her instead. The thought isn't pleasant in your mind.

"Jiraiya…"

"Call me Dave when we're out here." He murmurs. Which is obvious, when you think about it; his name is widely known and quite unique.

"Okay… Do you wish you had Tsunade here?" You bite your lip softly, and no matter his answer or feelings towards your loaded question, he hasn't let go or moved a muscle to indicate he doesn't want you right where you are.

"I don't." He answers finally. "Like I told you before; I don't know a better woman than you."

"Good." You whisper, hands clutching his arms while your eyes slip shut. The water is hot, and Jiraiya is comfortable behind you, smelling good and holding you tightly in his embrace. His cheek rests on your head, that strong, broad chest steady with every breath.

"I made dinner reservations." He murmurs. "It's in just a few hours from now. Plenty of time to relax and maybe even get a nap in."

"Nap sounds nice." A yawn is hidden in your palm. "Nap sounds very nice…"

Your fake husband laughs against you, jostling you slightly. "Well don't go falling asleep in the bath, now. Those ladies are coming back."

"Great." You mutter, and sure enough you and Jiraiya are surrounded again by the four women. He closes his eyes and rests his forehead at the back of your head, his grip on you tightening up. If you didn't know any better, you'd dare say he's avoiding looking at their nude bodies on purpose.

It must be one helluva important mission for him to willingly pass up such an opportunity.

"Ladies." Jiraiya greets.

"Uh, hi!" You smile, finding it more genuine than the last you'd given them. "Are you ladies here together?"

Jiraiya's terrible at hiding his laughter, and you're terrible at keeping it together and not screaming as they launch into their lengthy story. Something about all of them being engaged previously, and then one fiancé died, then an interlude about the funeral and grieving process— you've completely zoned out by the time they finish up, learning after ten goddamn minutes that yes, they are in fact, here together and all newly married to each other.

"That's, um…" Your temples are absolutely throbbing. "Quite the story, ladies."

"Tell us your story!" The one with the freckles begs, her breasts bouncing in the water like a ball on pavement. You could only imagine what the hell else she can do with those things.

"It's simple, really." You start, pausing as your brain fails to actually come up with that 'simple' story.

"Welllllll?" The blonde bounces impatiently, her breasts so close to smacking her in her own face.

Why was I BORN.

"Ah, well, we… See-"

"We met at a festival." Jiraiya cuts in, and you turn slightly to watch his face. He looks happy, that smile on his face soft. Something creeps up your spine, an inkling forming in your brain that dares ask if he enjoys this? "It was at the end of it, right at the lights show. We ended up beside each other and I thought to myself that she was too beautiful to just… Let go."

Your brow furrows a bit, worrying your lip between your teeth as the gears turn. You did meet during a lights show at a festival; was that really on his mind back then? "I remember wondering why such a handsome man was staring at me more than the fireworks."

"Not even the biggest, brightest star compares to you." Jiraiya shakes his head. "I caught her name before she could leave, and then that little exchange turned into us talking all night. She was head over heels, I could tell." He meets your gaze with a sly wink and that damn dirty smirk.

You snort softly. "I remember it differently." More like you'd spent the night battling it out in the forest by your home after he admitted to knowing who and what you were, and you didn't take kindly to such information in a stranger's hands.

"And I remember it correctly."

"Oh really?" You can't fight the flutters as Jiraiya winks at you while you laugh, his eyes sparkling.

"Sure do."

"I guess we'll agree to disagree."

"Guess so." He kisses your cheek, causing an audible 'awww' from the group of women.

"Are you two going to the gala tomorrow night?" The green-eyed one asks, her breasts the smallest but the perkiest, and it takes everything in you not to stare at her shiny nipple piercings.

"We are." You nod. "What about you ladies?"

"Of course we are! We'll see you both there!"

"Can't wait." Jiraiya hums, squeezing his thick arms around you more. "If you ladies don't mind, we've had quite a trip and would like to excuse ourselves for a nap now."

"Of course!" The ladies all holler out, and everyone within a ten-foot radius flinches at the noise. You wave awkwardly, standing up and allowing Jiraiya to drape his dry towel around you.

"What about you?" You whisper. "You're… Ah…"

"Naked as the day I was born?" He merely shrugs. "I got nothing to hide."

"Your confidence is one for the history books." You murmur and scurry back to the hotel, Jiraiya soon finding and securing another towel around himself before you walk in an amicable silence to the suite.

Jiraiya yawns, stretching widely and turning his back so you can get dressed. "A nice cat nap will be great."

"You're telling me." You're back in your pajamas from the night before, and this time Jiraiya doesn't miss the view of your thighs in those itty bitty shorts. He hums in approval, laughing when you throw a pillow his way.

"Hey, be nice to the stuff; this is a nice room!"

"If only you were a nice man!"

Jiraiya scoffs at the audacity. "I am a nice man, thank you very much!"

"Pfft, sure."

"Oh, I can be a very mean man, if you wanna test your luck." A smirk slowly spreads over his face, his eyes glittering with mischievous intent as he stands before you, still only covered by the white towel wrapped loosely around his waist. The sharp lines of his stomach form a V shape, and you already know at the end of that little happy trail of hairs from his belly button lead to no doubt a good time… He's being bold, for some reason. Still so exposed even after the doors are closed and you're alone again.

"Try me." You're being bold too, and the part of your brain that's screaming for you to stop and be sensible is muted.

"Famous last words." He flashes a toothy grin and next thing you know, he's got you tackled onto the bed and is tickling you.

A grown god damn man tickling you, a grown god damn woman!

A very ticklish grown goddamn woman.

"You fucker!" You shriek, body thrashing in all directions. "When I get out of this you are—"

"Sorry, what was that?" His fingers are at work, digging into your ribs and ghosting over the small of your back the most. "You didn't finish!"

Giggles and snorts are all you can muster now, Jiraiya's tickling far stronger than you could ever have thought of. His large body pins you down firmly, leaving you with no escape and frankly, there's not much desire when the only barrier between your bodies is a thin towel and an equally thin set of pajamas.

"Stoooooop!" The pathetic whine only serves to make Jiraiya cackle. He's enjoying the power far too much for your liking. "Jiraiyaaaaaa, pleeeeease!"

Oh, he'd love hearing those words under different circumstances.

"Hmm… Fine." And at that, his fingers cease and his forearms rest on either side of you, his body still positioned right above yours.

Your chest heaves with every breath, soft little giggles involuntarily slipping out as you settle. Jiraiya's fingers brush over your shoulders, gently playing with the straps of your tank top. "What did we learn?" He hums.

"That you're mean to me."

"The worst." He chuckles. He's so close…

And basically naked.

"Jiraiya…"

"Hmm?" He swipes his finger gently along the curve of your neck, eyes hooded as his tongue darts out over his lips.

"I-" A yawn cuts you off, and Jiraiya presses his lips to your brow.

"Get some rest." He starts to move away, and a flutter in your chest has you gripping his arm, subsequently keeping him close. He eyes you for a moment, that soul-searching gaze in his charcoal eyes. And without a word he's settling beside you, still close and pulling the blankets over you both.

You're side by side now, gazing at one another with sleepy, slow-blinking eyes and there's something different now. The air that lies between you is charged— Jiraiya's almost entirely naked, and truth be told, your skimpy shorts and tank top aren't miles better. Warmth radiates from his body and you can feel it, knowing first hand how hot his body runs after a detour through Yukigakure when you were forced to huddle together during the long, cold night. Even with both of you having far above-average abilities with fire, it was a difficult night to get through.

"What's on your mind?" He whispers and gently drags his finger along the bit of the exposed skin of your tummy, moving it back and forth in soft motions.

"Do you remember that night in-" A giggle cuts off your whisper as Jiraiya shudders, scrunching his nose.

"If you say that night in Yukigakure…" He warns slowly, shaking his head. "Good lord, that was a cold night…"

"I couldn't believe how much snow there was. And it was a detour. We should've just stuck to the regular route."

"No, I don't think so." He tugs loosely on your shirt, playing with the fabric between his fingers.

"No?"

"Mhm. The journey is always more fun than the destination; especially with you."

"It's a shame we don't see each other very much these days." You murmur and trace your finger along where those red lines on his face normally are, and he takes your hand to squeeze it tightly.

"I know. I'm sorry. I've been-"

"Busy. I know." Your hand is so small compared to his own, finding his hand surprisingly soft when you squeeze back. "And I suppose I could make more of an effort-"

"No. You're safe where you are." Jiraiya's tone is harder now; evidently your safety is important to him that you maintain.

"Not to inflate my own ego, but if I can beat you, I can beat most."

"But even you cannot beat groups like the Akatsuki if they came for you full-force."

"You think they'd come for me?" You frown. It's never really crossed your mind before; but it's clearly concerning Jiraiya. How often are you on his mind?

"I couldn't say for certain, but I wouldn't dismiss the idea. They're already after Naruto; I can't have them coming for you too."

You sigh at the mention of his sort-of grandson. "I wish you'd let me train him. He'll never get what he needs from Konoha."

"In time, we'll train him together." Jiraiya murmurs. "He's more work than I initially thought he'd be."

"I can only imagine." Your voice is soft; you know what Naruto has been subject to back home, and strangely, you feel a connection to the boy without ever having met him. "Perhaps after this mission, you can bring him to the forest. Just for a small test, so I can see for myself where his skill lies."

"I'll have to speak with Tsunade; but I suppose I could always just bring him anyway if she says no." His grin is infectious, your own lips stretching wide. His eyes flit to the clock by the bed. "Two hours until dinner. Get some sleep."

And once your eyes are closed, you realize right before drifting off that he's still holding your hand.

When you wake, it's darker out than before. Jiraiya is still sleeping soundly, your hand still in his, though the grip has loosened in his slumber. His towel is dangerously off his hips, his thigh and hip fully exposed and while the towel is just barely covering his member. Desire twitches in your fingers; to touch that body, feel the muscles and warmth and make him feel good under your touch is more preferable than anything else this entire resort could offer.

Alas, there are far too many reasons that hold you back.

"Jiraiya." You murmur. "C'mon… Gotta get ready for dinner."

A whiny groan is all you get in response, along with a shift of his leg that swiftly tugs the towel off of him, and his cock is half-mast against his thigh. You gasp and turn your head, covering your eyes to protect his privacy that he clearly doesn't even care about. Unbeknownst to you, Jiraiya's eyes peek out from his lids and smirks at what he sees; you, pulling at your low cut tank top to fan at your heated skin.

Adorable.

He stretches out wide, legs as long as the mattress. "Mm… I'm up, I'm up."

"Okay good!" You squeak, rushing to the bathroom and slamming the door behind you. Jiraiya laughs to himself and pushes himself up, admiring his body in the full-length mirror for a moment before getting ready for dinner.

If it's obvious you're still flustered by the time you're ready for dinner, Jiraiya doesn't comment on it as he leads you to the resort's restaurant, your hand tightly in his. The two of you are quickly seated, and you smile at the booth. "Oh, you know me so well."

"What kind of man doesn't know his beloved's everything?" Jiraiya teases from across the table, accepting a menu from the waiter. "Sakè?" He looks to you, and after your nod of approval he orders a bottle from the waiter.

He pours you the first drink. "Ready for tomorrow night?"

"I am. Are you? Do you have a plan?"

"Scouted the area earlier." He murmurs softly, pouring his own drink. "Got a pretty good idea of where I need to go."

"Good." You mutter, bringing the cup to your lips. "I'll do my best to keep our cover… But if things turn sideways, we need a signal."

"Hmmm…" Jiraiya rubs his chin thoughtfully, focusing his gaze out of the window. His profile is striking in the warm, dim lighting, his jaw looking as if it could cut diamonds while his lips are pushed in a soft pout. The lack of face paint and hair is still off-putting, as he almost seems naked in a way, yet he's as handsome as ever.

Your lips rub together as you study him, teeth occasionally sinking into your lower lip. It feels so real, like you're truly here as a couple— married, on your honeymoon with Jiraiya and enjoying yourselves genuinely. And you know it's fake, it's all a lie just for a single mission, but it doesn't matter to your poor heart that has loved Jiraiya perhaps from that night you met, where you'd beaten him down and still he got right back up and flirted with you.

If I never get another blessing again, it will be alright as long as I have these memories.

When Jiraiya turns his head, the look of pure love in your eyes isn't what he expects. But he'd be a liar to pretend it doesn't do something to him; his heart flutters and he feels his features melt into something soft, his own gaze matching yours in a soft, private moment that tunes out every clink of plates and clatter of silverware the restaurant makes.

You speak one another's names at the same time, Jiraiya's hands meeting yours at the center of the table in a soft embrace, his thumbs brushing over your knuckles while he studies you, memorizing the way your lips move around his name. You've surprised him at every twist and turn, being so beautiful but incredibly intelligent, and tougher than any shinobi he's ever known but still being as shy as you can be— and the way he's fallen for you is what's really stunned him. His feelings for Tsunade have always been true, since they were both young. He's always thought that's what love is; it's where he's always peaked at.

But when he found himself thinking of you often, worrying for your safety as if you couldn't protect yourself and making unnecessary treks to your hidden grove was when he made the realization that he could absolutely love someone harder than his childhood friend. And oh, if he could just step away from Konoha, give up his shinobi life and stay the next time he visits you… He would.

But he can't, and it kills him slowly each time you part, each time he leaves you behind in that forest until he can come back again.

Your tongue swipes over your bottom lip, and just as you begin to speak and pour out the most sincere confession you can—

"Do the newlyweds know what they'll be having?"

With a snap the moment is lost, the both of you coming back to your senses and breaking apart as your attention focuses on the waiter, entirely oblivious to what they've ruined. A sigh heaves from your chest and the fakest smile you've ever seen plasters on Jiraiya's face as he gives the man your orders.

"This better be the best damn meal I've ever had…" You grumble, and Jiraiya just laughs to himself at your pouting.

The rest of dinner is still pleasant, and Jiraiya holds your hand again as you stroll through the romantic lights that lead to the normally tourist-heavy portion of Kumogakure, though currently you and Jiraiya are the only ones in the area. "That building there is where the Raikage's advisors work. Luckily, our gala is in the building right behind it. So we make an appearance, dance, drink, talk… And when the time's right I'll do my thing."

"We still need a signal in case I need to come in."

"You're right. If I suspect any issues, I'll summon a toad to you. But my tōton jutsu should be enough."

"Do not underestimate these shinobi." You murmur. "We are not seeking a fight."

"I know, I know." He squeezes your hand firmly. "It'll be enough. I promise."

"Mm."

"Oh, don't give me that." Jiraiya stops and tugs you close, running his hands up and down your arms. "C'mon, look at me." He coos, and after a moment's hesitation, you look up into his eyes.

"You're so troublesome." You murmur with a soft shake of the head.

"Nothin' you can't handle."

"Hmm… Maybe."

Jiraiya smirks, and you frown suddenly. He almost asks what the problem is, but when there's a big, wet plop on his head, he catches the drift. "Ah shit…"

"We should-" There's a rain drop right between your eyes, and within a single blink of an eye, it is pouring down on the two of you. "Find cover!"

Jiraiya takes your hand and rushes down the cobbled road, cackling like a maniac— and in turn, you're laughing with him, any spectators be damned. You're soaked top to bottom, both of you, by the time Jiraiya finds an alley with a canopy, your giggles the sole sound against the pattering rain in the darkened alleyway.

There's a dim, pink light from a neon sign across the street, filtering into the pitch-black alley and lighting up Jiraiya's face— his smile is full of nothing but pure joy as water drips down his exposed skin, and your eyes train on a particular bead starting from his temple, slowly traveling down his cheek. Your teeth sink into your lip as it cuts over that strong jaw and slowly tugs against his skin, gliding down the skin of his neck alongside his adam's apple; your chest is heavy with desire, eyes trained on the droplet moving down his exposed chest until finally disappearing into his shirt, and you miss the way Jiraiya's hands clench under your lustful gaze.

"You drive me crazy." His growl is low, ripped directly from the back of his throat before his hands are on you, clutching your hip and carefully gripping the back of your neck and pulling your wet body to his, his cologne dulling any other sense but his searing touch when his mouth is on yours.

A soft, mewling sound leaves you as you kiss him back. It's dizzying, almost, realizing that this is real; Jiraiya is here, kissing you like his life depends on it, and you're kissing him back with all your pent-up passion. A gust of wind blows through and scatters goosebumps over your skin as Jiraiya drags his tongue over your lip, sinking his teeth in while he slowly backs you up against the building.

"Jiraiya…"

His cock twitches at the soft sigh of his name on your delectable lips, his hands beginning to search across your body for any special, hidden spots. He's fantasized for far too long, spent countless nights alone with you on his mind, reddened cock in hand and pumping himself at the mere idea of being able to touch you like this.

You push your hand beyond his shirt, the undone top buttons a perfect gateway to that hardened, muscled chest. His skin is hot and lightly blushed, and he groans into your mouth as you rub his chest. His lips break away, though only for a quick intake of air before he's back and kissing at your neck. Idly, your mind wonders if his back will be feeling this awkward angle soon, as he's so damn big and leaning down like this, just to kiss on you.

He's so hot.

Jiraiya's fingers brush past your cardigan and reveal your maroon dress, and he presses your breasts together while kissing the tops of them, occasionally darting his tongue out and lapping at the raindrops that have settled. He nips suddenly and you squeak when you feel another chill after a swift tug, your breasts now fully on display to him.

"Mmm…" Jiraiya licks his lips and attaches himself to one of your nipples, his long eyelashes kissing his skin and he looks so damn peaceful like this, like he could worship your titties as a religion.

"Jiraiya…" You whisper, glancing out at the storm that's quickly dying down.

"Mmm, just a few more minutes." He whines and transfers his affections to your other nipple, those nimble fingers replacing his lips and tongue on the other, massaging and pinching it. Your legs tremble, body feeling like it's floating and the only thing keeping you down is your hold on Jiraiya's hair as you pull him closer to you, and he's all too happy to be moved.

He pulls back and rolls both nipples between his fingers and thumbs, his swollen, glossy lips lightly parted. "You… Are gorgeous." He murmurs before tugging your bra and dress back up and capping your lips once again with his.

You stand on your tiptoes to ease the strain on his back and his hand comes to your rear, pushing you up just a tad while he squeezes. A little giggle breaks the kiss, your smile pulling your lips away. Jiraiya nudges his nose against yours, his whisper against your lips.

"We should go."

He punctuates his suggestion with a sharp slap to your rear, and you jump onto his exposed back, laughing into his ear as he immediately holds onto your legs. He smirks, a chuckle rumbling his chest as he walks the road back to the resort. "Grandma."

"Hush." You flick his ear and settle into him, resting your cheek atop his white hair. "Why walk when you can just carry me?"

"I don't recall this reaction the last time I carried you."

"You talk too much." You murmur, your hand back into the opening of his shirt and feeling his strong chest. His chest is hard with muscle, yet still soft with just how big his pectorals are.

"Add a little razzle-dazzle."

You laugh into the night when he shivers at the slight electric jolt you add to your touch. What a perfect man.

Jiraiya carries you all the way to the resort, letting you down only when he's got to unlock the door to the room. There's a pause, a hesitation that tells you there's still time to stop and think about what you're doing and yet, and yet, and yet you mute those cautious voices and pounce.

Jiraiya catches you and your lips lock again while he kicks the door shut, leaving the mission, the sensibilities and the consequences behind, locking the both of you into this potentially disastrous decision. He's hard and throbbing in his darkened pants as your hands touch his face and shoulders and neck, feeling everything you can currently reach with a fervor that suggests you've been wanting this for a long time too.

He's gentle when he kneels onto the bed and settles you beneath him, caging you and kissing you still, and his cock presses against your inner thigh through his jeans and you moan into his mouth; you've seen it and yet the sheer size still shocks you at your first touch of it. You kick off your heels and wrap your legs around Jiraiya's waist, moving your hips to slot your pussy against his clothed cock.

The sannin inhales sharply and involuntarily thrusts his hips, pulling a groan out of you as your thin panties and dress do very little against the thick rod in his jeans. And with a small snap your bra's clasps are undone and how did he even do that flashes through your mind once he's tugging the straps of both your dress and bra down to expose your breasts to him once again.

Not one to be outdone, you move your hips against his and rip open his shirt, buttons flying everywhere but Jiraiya doesn't seem to care as he shrugs off what remains and your fingers trace over that solid V that disappears below his belt— and god he looks striking in just a black pair of jeans. His thick as all hell, his years of shinobi fighting showing through the muscle and various, thin little scars on his body. He's one hell of a tremendous healer, you think, as he barely has any lasting marks, not even from when Tsunade nearly killed him for peeking during her bath.

"I need you." You whine and arch your back. Jiraiya quickly catches your momentum and slips the dress over your head, and a moment he's waited for so long is finally here; all that's left standing in the way of him seeing you entirely naked is one small, skimpy pair of panties.

Goodness, he loves his life right now.

"You have me, baby." He croons and descends, pressing his warm chest to yours and kissing your neck again. "Good ole Jiraiya's gonna take care of you… Just be patient."

"I've waited entirely too long for this." Your hands dance along his toned back, nails lighting scratching his skin while his smooth face tucks into your neck, licking and biting the perfect spot like it's candy.

Jiraiya grinds his hips against you, the friction in his jeans only a minor relief to his plight. "Interesting… Tell me exactly what you want."

"For you to be naked!" You huff impatiently and Jiraiya presses a soft kiss on your jaw, smoothly slipping his belt off and dropping it on the floor. Each press of his lips is gentle, sweet even as he spreads them from shoulder to shoulder and slowly pushes his pants down his long legs.

You can't help closing your eyes when he's fully overtop you, skin-on-skin contact made at every open spot of exposed skin. He's so warm against you, just like he was under those entirely different circumstances in Yukigakure. Jiraiya leans down, lips brushing your ear and his low voice scattering goosebumps down your body with a heavy shiver at the head of his cock brushing against your wet panties.

"You're overdressed, don't you think?"

"M-Maybe…" As if the stutter wasn't embarrassing enough, Jiraiya laughs as he touches the soaked portion of your panties, rubbing so gently yet still eliciting a sharp gasp from you.

"Horny minx. Look at you; all this for lil ole me. I'm honored, really, that the fabled master of the chakra natures wants a simple smut novelist like me."

"Perhaps she just wants to see if your actions speak louder than those dirty words you write."

"Oh, she's gonna learn today." Jiraiya promises, massaging your thighs and slowly kissing down your body, savoring each touch with his dragging, lingering lips.

"Jiraiya… Please…"

"Patience, baby." He chides softly and finishes his descent as his knees hit the floor, nosing at your panties and inhaling your scent, savoring your natural musk and licking the soaked fabric. "Mmm… Could smell you for hours…"

"Fucking pervert." You pant, body wiggling and twitching involuntarily— good lord you are far more desperate for the man than you even realized.

"You're not much better." Jiraiya grips the front of your panties, pulling them taught against your slit and tugging repeatedly, giving just a fraction of the pleasure your clit desires. It feels good as is, but the slight brush of the backs of his fingers grazing your skin adds a sizzle down your spine. "You watch people masturbate in the shower often?"

"You—" He knows???

"I know everything, babe. Like that you'll like this." He kisses your wet slit, tugging your panties aside entirely and licking a long stripe of skin to your clit, swirling his tongue around it in slow circles.

Your body tenses, seizing up and forcing your pelvis against Jiraiya's face, fingers finding purchase in the sheets while Jiraiya's tongue masterfully works the nub. "Jiraiya, oh…"

"Told you." His lips brush your inner slit, dipping his tongue into your wetness and feeling your inner walls, flicking his tongue quickly; his eyes are closed and he moans into his work, and to be enthused as he is just eating pussy is yet another thing that makes him so damn remarkable.

"I-I can't Jiraiya, oh… S-So much! Ah!" Your legs tremble, spread wide to accommodate his broad shoulders— allowing him in closer to grip your underwear with two hands and riiiiiiiip them right off.

He flicks them away and kisses your inner thigh, smoothing his hands up and down your legs, kneading gently and easing those strained, neglected muscles. His teeth drag along your supple skin, nipping gently before sucking in a small mark and flicking his dark eyes to yours.

"Jiraiya…" You push yourself up, threading your fingers through his newly shortened hair. He reaches up to toy with one of your nipples, and in your peripheral his arm is slowly pumping, as his achy cock just can't stand another second without any friction.

"Mm?" He leans into your touch and leans back onto his heels, pumping his shaft in long, slow strokes and putting on a bit of a show of it. He's gorgeous, stroking his cock just for you in all his naked glory, that hot body working up a sweat already with small beads breaking out over his shoulders and broad chest, those sinful lips still slick with you as he parts them for a low, lengthy groan.

"I… I want to use the sex swing!" You blurt out, covering your warm cheeks as you hide your face from him, missing the mischievous twinkle in his eye.

"Oh, I can definitely make that happen." He's on his feet instantly, picking up the swing from its place in the corner and hooking it back up, his stature tall and wide open as he hooks it back into its home on the ceiling.

Your hand is wrapped around his cock before you can even think about asking, but the way he bucks into your closed fist is proof enough that permission is granted. "Fuck, baby… Feels better than my hand ever could." He murmurs and cups your face with one strong hand, using the other to reach down and rub your pussy once again.

"Kiss me." Your demand is breathy, eager even— Jiraiya can practically taste it on your lips, feel just how desperate you are through your chakra. He drinks in your kisses and kneels onto the bed, towering over you while maneuvering you into the swing; and you're all too happy to let him do what he wants, as you're sat on the swing and watching him spread your legs and raise your ankles upwards, strapping them into place and leaving you completely open to his every desire and whim.

"If only you could see yourself like this." Jiraiya murmurs, committing every slight detail to memory— the way your skin looks in the dim candlelight, how your eyes are hooded and clouded with how turned on you are (by him!) and how your sweet pussy drips that delicious nectar, lying in wait to take his cock in as deep as possible. He's knelt between your legs and leaning down to kiss you again, addicted to the feeling now.

"I'll pass; my view is pretty damn good." You murmur against his lips and rub his chest and abdomen, trailing down until his heavy cock is in your hand again, giving it a few good pumps and swirling your thumb over the leaky tip. "Inside, Jiraiya." You command softly, and he's nothing if not a sucker for a raw fuck.

Jiraiya inches forward until the tip of his cock is kissing your wet entrance, and excitement buzzes deep in his belly as he lines up to swoop inside and make himself home at last. Your toes curl, anticipating that moment until Jiraiya smirks and pushes the swing backwards, letting go and watching the momentum swing you back close to him— you're at just the right angle to brush your cunt against his dick, and the smirk on his face doesn't bode well for you, you think.

"Interesting," He murmurs, lining himself up again, shallowly moving his hips and only slightly breaching your hungry walls.

"Jiraiya." You growl. "Get inside of me."

"Tempting." He muses, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "I'd rather you make me."

Your eyes flash white and a rope of chakra extends from your hand, and in a mere second it's whipped around the curve of his spine, the end meeting your other hand before a swift tug pulls him close and finally inside, your wetness sucking him in with ease. Your lids flutter, mouth gaping and perfectly available for one of Jiraiya's thumbs to pop in. Your lips are soon wrapped around the appendage, sucking obediently as you dissipate the chakra whip; there's no way in hell Jiraiya can keep up his shithead behavior like this.

"You are the most attractive woman I've ever met." Jiraiya groans under his breath, taking hold of your thigh with his free hand and starts pumping his hips. You're so slick and warm and perfect for his cock that disappears easily into your cunt with every stroke.

Your moans are hidden into the efforts practiced onto his thumb, licking and sucking on it while you fondle your breasts and relax into the swing to allow Jiraiya his every whim. You could almost be tempted to close your eyes and just enjoy the light sway of the swing and the feeling of being split open by your crush's thick cock, but when a man like that with a body like that is railing you, it'd be truly disrespectful and downright rude to not ogle.

"That's right, baby." He whispers huskily, his eyes hooded as he meets your hips through the momentum of the swing, nestling deep inside for a brief few seconds before he's pulled out again, in part by his thrusts and the rest due to the swing. The separation alone has you displeased with the contraption, you think, but then he's back in entirely, good as new even, and all becomes right again.

But then those strong hands are gripping your curves, feeling your soft skin and appreciating all it's offering him— and appreciate he does, as your pussy continues sucking him in with every thrust as he stills the swing's momentum and fucks into you eagerly, unshy about his various groans and grunts. "Fuck me, you are amazing…" He hisses out, his fingers so tight they may bruise.

You gasp at each punishing thrust, stuck in place as his angle perfectly prods your hidden sweetspot. It's so unbearably hot, the way he pumps into you and forces in what you can only describe as molten lava; it's so good and hot and fills you entirely with every single fucking thrust. Your hands ache for him, and you moan at the feeling of his buzzing chakra below the solid surface of muscle that is his chest. His chest is blushed lightly, spreading across his shoulders and up his neck as well as he works up each little bead of sweat on his body.

"You feel good, baby?" He whispers, punctuating with a particularly rough thrust and following it with more shallow flicks of his hips. "You still think ole Jiraiya's full of shit? Tell me."

You groan at his dirty words, at his desire to be a pain in the ass even in the sack. Still though, you remain as stubborn with him as always. "I think your stroke game is looking pretty weak right now."

Bad idea.

"Oh?" Jiraiya muses and then adjusts a couple of straps, freeing your ankles and sending you backwards, laying you out and leaving you entirely vulnerable and open as Jiraiya resumes his hard thrusts. Strong hands cup your breasts, massaging and squeezing while you try to keep your eyes from rolling in the back of your head— good lord if there were ever a challenge for Jiraiya to take you up on, this would be it.

He's smooth and languid, feeling your body slowly with those massive hands, discovering the areas that make you shiver and giggle all while pounding your pussy with hard, strong strokes. You're practically floating, and with the swing perhaps you are floating, with how each single touch of his is different and new, sending you spiraling with a new wave of pleasure not only from his cock, but with the soft pinches, the way his knuckles brush over your skin, or his lips on yours. Jiraiya is an enigma— one you'll never tire of.

Your head lolls back and you soak in his lust, smiling when his lips begin slowly peppering kisses on one of your hands and down your arm, occasionally adding a sharp little nip. Jiraiya's other hand, sneaky as he himself is sly, roams over your thigh and thumbs your clit. Your eyes fly open, all white for just a split second, as a broken, pleading gasp tears from your lips— "Jiraiya!"

Jiraiya snickers and caps your lips, licking your soft whimpers and moans into his mouth. "Still undercover, y'know." He teases, bumping his nose to yours.

"I'll burn this whole country down if they try to come for you now." Jiraiya can't deny the flurry of excitement in his belly at the idea of you destroying an entire country (and potentially while naked?? Be still his beating heart!) just so you could have sex with him uninterrupted, but the rational angel on his shoulder chides him for it anyway.

"Then I suppose you should come for me." Your clit is worked with a new finesse, the pad of his thumb flicking back and forth on the nub and forcing a white-hot feeling through your body, paired with each hot thrust of his hips inside of you. He's split you open entirely, pushing in and carving a new space inside of you just for him— even if you wanted a sexual partner after him, no way in hell could another man fill Jiraiya's shoes.

Biting onto your tongue, your moans are short and whiny as Jiraiya pleasures you, your fingers toying with your breasts and nipples as Jiraiya does the rest of the work. One of your legs is draped over his shoulders, the other being left to hook around his waist and anchor you to his pistoning cock that's relentlessly fucking into your wet heat, being happily drawn in by your walls and ready to burst.

"Oh baby… Can't hold on much longer, I-" Jiraiya grunts out, rubbing your clit and your orgasm is pending like a fucking runaway train, and perhaps it's the inner reptile of your brain that does it, but you swifty hook both legs around him and pull, forcing him close to you and taking him all the way— and he clearly doesn't mind being forbidden to pull out, judging by how quickly he cums inside of you the very instant you trap him.

Your body shakes and thrashes in the swing, screaming broken and muffled sobs into your hands as the most powerful orgasm you've ever had strikes you. You've had good sex and you've had even better alone time, but nothing ever satisfied like this. You can feel your bones relaxing, skin moisturizing and pussy pulsating around the stilled cock inside of you; it's heavy, you think to yourself, as Jiraiya catches his breath. He's got to be as thick as a can of soda, or at least that's what the ache in your hole surmises.

Jiraiya slips out, chest still heaving as he watches his good work begin to slip out from your folds. Lord willing, he'd be ready again in an instant and be risen from the dead for another go at it, but even legendary sannin need some recovery time. "You okay?" He asks quietly, noting your lack of movement.

"Mhm… 'M juuuuust fine…" You coo, bones basically liquid now. Moving on your own is certainly out of the question, so, with a small laugh, Jiraiya swiftly scoops you up from the swing and captures you into his beefy arms with a secure hold before trekking to the bathroom and carefully setting you down on the toilet before running some bathwater.

"Good idea." You murmur, and Jiraiya adds some bubbles into the mixture, a soft lavender smell perfuming the bathroom as the tub fills. You clean yourself up while his back is turned, and laugh when you feel yourself in the air again.

Jiraiya's dark eyes twinkle when they meet yours, and you laugh and poke his nose. "My legs work, you know."

"You're so testy on being picked up." Jiraiya clicks his tongue and steps into the tub, settling you between his legs in the warm bath. "Let an old man do something nice for once."

"Mm, fine." You murmur. The water is warm, near hot as it soothes your muscles and the fragrance of the bubbles relaxes your mind, which was already turned to goo by that powerful orgasm. Leaning back into him, Jiraiya rubs your sides soothingly and rests his head back against some towels.

"Do you feel any soreness?" He murmurs. "I wasn't easy on you."

"I do, but I like it." You turn, facing that chest and resting your cheek against it, listening to the thump of his heart. Like the rest of him, it's strong. His hands, arms, jawline and will… All strong, and sometimes even unbreakable. That is who Jiraiya is, underneath his surface-level of a pervy old man with a soldier's history; he is an anchor, an immovable object with eyes that glitter in the light. You never would've been able to avoid falling in love with him, you just know deep down that he is an enigma meant for you and your love has no better home.

His arms come around you again in a warm embrace, his lips finding your temple and holding their place as he holds you in place against him. Slotted together like puzzle pieces, you find your eyes drooping as the lavender bubble bath continues its spell on you. Jiraiya's hand settles on your hip, and the gentle thump, thump, thump of his heart is loud in your ears as you miss his soft murmur before slipping away to sleep.

"I love you."

When you wake, Jiraiya is snoring beside you into his pillow. The blankets are a mess between the both of you, and with a burst of heat flushing your cheeks, you notice the swing has been put away in the corner of the room once again. A quiet ache has settled between your legs, a light throbbing within your inner walls as you stretch out and head for the bathroom.

You end up in your typical routine as Jiraiya sleeps, as if this is all normal. As if you didn't sleep with your greatest friend, the one thing above all that you cannot stand to lose. And oh, has it opened the floodgates for your feelings now. Each moment replays in your mind, from the first kiss in the alley to the way he held you in the bathtub. Want fills you again— but to catch the lightning in a bottle a second time is as likely as Jiraiya staying in the forest with you during his next visit.

Alas, one would have to be enough… And as much as the sadness claws your heart and leaves a gash of insecurities and almost desperation (would you really beg him to stay?) as much as you'd love to leave this hotel behind while the man you love dreams of who-knows-what, you stay for no other reason than he needs you. It came from Jiraiya himself. He cannot complete his mission without you; and you'd sooner find an edge of the globe and plummet into space than leave him in a vulnerable state in enemy territory, especially in the Land of Lightning.

The love that fuels your heart on your worst days, that fills your body with air and makes you smile even as the world around you decays, descending into gluttonous madness and power-hungry pissing contests, keeps you by Jiraiya's side, now and always. And as you loop the fabric of his bowtie, images of a wedding tux flicker in your mind; to be this man's wife, his beloved, is surely nothing but a pipe dream, yet a dream you still wish for.

"You've been quiet today." Jiraiya murmurs, committing his gaze to your concentrated pout.

"We have a mission." You hum softly, and it's not a total lie to blame your behavior on it. You've spent the better part of the day focusing on chakra signatures, memorizing the strongest signals in all of the hotel guests and staff; none are close to being a real threat to your safety, but nonetheless, it would take just one person at the wrong place and time to send the mission haywire.

Jiraiya only hums in response, unsatisfied with the answer but unable to find a good enough reason to pick at it. Does he open the can of worms? You almost seem to have forgotten the previous night's shenanigans entirely, though with a swell of pride in his chest each time he catches you with a small limp, he reasons with the impossibility of it. Perhaps it's shame; you wouldn't be the first woman to regret sleeping with him.

Though the tug in his ribcage at the idea of it hurts more than the others.

Your hands smooth down the lapels of his jacket, heat cresting in your neck and shoulders. Last night flashes in your mind again, remembering how red the chest beneath this suit can become when he's aroused. It is yet another detail of the man you'll remember for eternity, and frankly you think Tsunade is batshit insane to not desire any of this man.

"Zip me up?" You ask softly, turning to slip on the dress Jiraiya chose for you before you'd even accepted the mission.

It's soft, the fabric comfortable as you step into and tug the dress up. It's a beautiful forest green, the shade a perfect match for the gemstone in Jiraiya's ring. The dress itself isn't much, just a simple form-fitted gown with a slit on the left side of the skirt, a kunai strapped and hidden just above it. Jiraiya's fingers graze your back, slowly easing the straps over your shoulders before the tips of his fingers trail towards the zipper and brush over a small, sensitive spot near your shoulder blade. The involuntary shiver down your spine is instant, goosebumps dispersing all over and you close your eyes with a quiet, sharp gasp.

Jiraiya chuckles lowly and resumes his task, tugging the zipper up easily and securing the dress to your body. "All done. Princess ready for the ball?"

You scoff and face him, flicking his bowtie. "A better question is, is the prima donna ready?"

"A woman takes forever to get ready and that's normal, yet when a man takes pride in his appearance and takes his time, that makes him a prima donna?" Jiraiya scoffs right back, poking your shoulder.

"You're wearing what any other man at that gala is going to be wearing, and yet you took longer than me to get ready!"

"You just don't understand style." Jiraiya slips his hand to your waist and leads the way out of the hotel room, hoping to return soon for the few bags brought along for the journey and to get the hell out of dodge early.

A gaggle of guests soon forms on the path to the gala, and you find yourself smiling amongst the conversations. Jiraiya's quickly talking shop with another gentleman, and his husband rolls his eyes fondly at you with a sly wink, and your laugh is real as you tug Jiraiya away. "Alright, honey, let the man be."

"It's not often you find another guy that knows the joys of making ciabatta!"

"Ciabatta?" You murmur, laughing softly. "When do you even have the time to attempt making bread?"

"I usually get a few days to myself between missions." He mutters into your ear. "You should try my ciabatta rolls sometime. I make a helluva breakfast sandwich with them."

"Noted." You chuckle and lean into his follow-up kiss on your cheek, smiling as you catch the eye of another woman, who returns your grin in kind.

It is getting remarkably easier to fit in with the genuine couples.

The litter of newlyweds soon finds the building Jiraiya pointed out last night, the outside decorated wonderfully, welcoming all guests with gorgeous lights and plenty of opportunities for photos. Jiraiya politely turns one down, much to your poor heart's dismay. Though it's for the best, as he can still be recognized if the right person sees his face for too long.

"Remember our last photo opportunity?" Jiraiya asks, hand at the small of your back as you travel up the steps and into the heart of the gala once he's shown your very exclusive, stolen invitations to the guard at the door.

"You mean the one I've got hanging up at home? Like you'll ever let me forget it." You snort. It's an awful photo, truly; Jiraiya sneezed and spooked you, as you were already terribly on edge due to the high chakra levels you'd been surrounded by while lying low, which is why Jiraiya thought to attend a small carnival after the mission as reprieve. He received an elbow to the face and a bloody nose after, and in turn you received yet another thing Jiraiya would never stop whining about, along with a photo taken right as your elbow connected with his face.

"My sniffer has never been the same. Now I gotta take my time when I'm smelling things to get the full effect." It seems like your imagination, it's so fast, but you know that familiar, devious look was there and remembering last night's shenanigans fondly.

Your hand swats at his chest as you pull a champagne flute from a passing waiter's tray, quickly bringing it to your stained lips and having a generous sip. "Mmm… Very nice."

"Don't have too much now, dear." Jiraiya murmurs as he scans the room. "Not tons of security, but subject to change based on attendees."

"Noted. I'm willing to bet we'll see a few fashionably late types."

"Safe bet." He mutters.

Despite the warning, you opt for finishing your champagne before allowing Jiraiya to lead you to the dance floor as a slow song plays, the lead singer of the live band crooning softly into his microphone.

"In a foreign place, the saving grace was the feeling that it was her heart he was stealing."

You're quickly wrapped up in Jiraiya, chest-to-chest with him as he leads the dance. His cologne is softly present and his hand is warm in yours, light glittering off the golden band around his finger while he leans down and presses his forehead to yours, closing his eyes with the gentle swaying of the dance. Your touch in response is gently eager, leaning into the press of his forehead— just close enough for the tips of your noses to bump.

"Oh he was ready to impress, and the fierce excitement, the eyes are bright, he couldn't wait to get away. And I bet the Juliet was just the icing on the cake. Make no mistake, no…"

"Heads up, I'm gonna kiss you." He murmurs and closes the gap between your lips without a moment's hesitation.

It's as electric as all the others, and your dance is still graceful and effortless as you kiss him with all you can muster and receive his eager lips in kind. That airy feeling is back, even with your feet firmly on the ground through each step of the slow dance. The world is perhaps only spinning from the dance, but it spins around you all the same as Jiraiya kisses you with what can only be described as passion.

Not even Jiraiya can fake passion.

"You are the only ones who know." The singer finishes up before a new song starts and Jiraiya breaks the kiss and stands to his full height again, resting his chin atop your head and eyeing the room. A cold trickle melts down your spine, and you close your eyes and focus in. The chakra is quite powerful, and despite the obviousness of it, you feel more confident in the evaluation of their chakra: they're all lightning users, though one specializes in fire as well.

"I detect higher signatures coming in now."

"I got an eye on 'em." Jiraiya murmurs back, continuing to sway lightly with you. "Politicians. Never ones to miss a party."

"Especially not one where swingers are involved." You crack a smile, waving over Jiraiya's shoulder at the group of women from yesterday's bath, laughing at their squeals.

Jiraiya chuckles quietly, a deep rumble in his chest vibrating against you. "Them being here is good for us, though. Ten more minutes and I'll make my way out."

"What should I say if someone asks about you?"

"We had a fight, and I've gone too cool off. When I come back we kiss and make up. Quick and easy."

"Alright, sounds good." You pat his chest and he leads you away from the dance floor, keeping a healthy distance from any other guests.

"Argue with me." He murmurs. "C'mon, I know you have a grievance or two."

"Tch, where to begin?" You scoff, crossing your arms.

"Here we go." Jiraiya smirks.

You search his eyes, humming as you wrack your brain. "Suddenly I can't think of anything. You've been… behaved lately."

"Behaved?" Jiraiya perks an amused brow, a playful smirk on his lips. "That's quite the word for it…"

You scrunch your nose and shove his chest, a little bit of lightning in your palm as you make the contact. Jiraiya shivers and grins, winking before schooling his face in a convincing scowl. "Well if that's how you wanna be, I'm out!"

"Go ahead!" You have no idea what your face is exuding, but on the inside you're practically trembling with the need to laugh— "You won't be missed!"

"Fine by me!" Jiraiya turns on his heel and storms out of the building, and you whisper a silent prayer for his safety as he goes.

The minutes tick by at a torturous pace, and the hairs at the back of your neck stand tall. You busy your hands with assembling a small plate of cheese and crackers as a cold feeling trickles down your spine. Slipping your eyes shut and focusing on the threatening chakra, your inner radar detects the two guards of the politician Jiraiya has suspected the most with their attention fully on you.

Clearly they've realized just how powerful your chakra is, and foolishly you didn't think to cloak yourself. There's movement and you can feel it through the floor, feel the way the men approach you and fuck, out of all the possibilities you thought of that would screw this mission to hell, your power being suspiciously high wasn't one of them. You set down the snack plate and take a deep, calming breath; if it's a fight you're destined to have, the Lightning bastards will surely have to work hard to take you down.

But the last thing you need is Lady Tsunade coming to your hideaway in the forest for starting a war between Konoha and Kaminari.

"Ma'am, where is your invitation?" The smooth voice of a guard is right at your ear, low and only thinly veiling his distaste for your presence.

"My husband has it." You murmur, skin prickling with goosebumps and heart picking up in erratic beats. The music is drowned out, the laughs and conversations of the actual invitees a mere buzz in your ear as the guard's breath tickles your skin, hot against you and his chakra practically boiling beneath the surface. It's the fire user, though you feel the crackle of his lightning nature deep within, and there's a pang of anticipation in your ribs.

"And where is he?"

"I dunno… We had a fight."

"Convenient." The guard hisses, and your mind tick tick ticks as you wrestle with yourself— fire or lightning, fire or lightning?? Wind? Water? It'll be quick and god Jiraiya better have found every scrap of evidence he'll need before you burn the building down.

"I don't know what to tell you." You growl right back, and your eyes flash white for just a brief moment, and it's all you need, the slight hesitation, the confusion, the surprise on the guard's face to begin weaving a wind sign-

And then there's a warm hand on the small of your back, followed by that handsome cologne and familiar chakra. "Is there a problem, sir?" His voice is hard and jaw tight, and his eyes crinkle at the edges as they narrow sharply. "Because if not, respectfully, step away from my wife."

You're helpless in not leaning into his touch, moving into the warm home you've found in Jiraiya's embrace as he continues his staredown with the man. His arms come around you securely, as a man protecting his woman because she desires his comfort and he'll die before he doesn't provide it. His heartbeat is strong in your ear, not wavering or speeding up from the looming threat before him.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

"I'd like to see your invitations, sir." The guard's collected himself too little, too late as Jiraiya shoves the tickets into the man's chest.

"Look at 'em all you like. C'mon, baby. I've had enough of this hospitality." Jiraiya sneers at the guard and quickly, though not too quickly, guides you out of the gala.

Jiraiya's heat doesn't fade as he escorts you back on the path to the resort. "Did he hurt you?"

"Not at all. He was about to be obliterated, had you not intervened."

"Can't say I'd be too mad about that." Jiraiya squeezes your hand. "I found plenty of what I was looking for, by the way. Tsunade's got her work cut out for her."

"Good; I'm ready to go home." There's an ache between your ribs; the mission is over, and so is your time with Jiraiya. And as much as your mind prods you to be positive and be happy it ever happened at all, that you've gotten more from this than you ever could've dreamed… The sadness ebbs at the ability.

"Yeah?" Jiraiya mutters.

"Mhm. Been dying to go back." It's all lies and part of you hopes he believes that, and that he'll stay away and the memories of this mission will fade with time. You've fallen for him harder and it can't be inescapable, can it?

But more and more, you're unable to recall a moment in time where you weren't in love with Jiraiya.

"I see. Well… Two days time, you'll be back, safe and sound."

There isn't much talk beyond that; much of what follows is a blur. Retrieving your things, changing clothes, setting out on the long journey back to a lonely home… None of it sticks in your mind as a worthy memory. But the distance between you and Jiraiya— that's unavoidable, undeniable. He's standing right beside you, walking silently into the night as he munches a food pill and yet he's as far away as Konoha.

I've fucked it all up. Damn it all to hell.

The dawn is breaking when you come across the fork in the road. Jiraiya's optimal route home is one way, and your hidden dwelling the other. Exhaustion is written over both your faces and you don't even feel the urge to try and speak up as you take the left pathway. Your bones are tired, your mind having devolved to white noise and home is still so far off— but you'll sleep when you're dead. You've just got to get away from him before the tiredness strikes and you begin babbling it all, the truth from beginning to end that you love him and don't want to stop pretending you're his.

Jiraiya stands at the fork still, his tired eyes trained on your back. It'd be easy to take the left, follow your lead and be selfish for once, live for himself and fuck all the rules and obligations and be that man he was at that resort. A strong enough wisp of the wind would be enough, with how exhausted he is, to send him over that edge and in your arms by the end of the day.

But that gust never comes.

"Get home safe." He murmurs and stalks down the right side of the pathway, and you close your eyes as the words reach you.

If only you'd choose me.

Weeks pass and your life has returned to the monotonous normalcy you're used to. Evening crests in the sky, soaking the sky purple and orange with the slowly setting sun and the breeze is nice— so you've got the house opened up to let that nice, fresh air in as you clean up the mess from your recent batch of food pills. A soft song buzzes against your lips as you finish up and step out of the front door, a squirrel scurrying away quickly from the bird feeder hung on the porch.

It's quiet out, but not for long. All it takes is the snap of a single twig to end your turn in defense mode, chakra swirling beneath the surface of your palms. It's difficult to find this place by chance, but nothing is impossible and you'll take no chances with groups like the Akatsuki running around unchecked.

"Don't tell me you've forgotten my chakra!"

Jiraiya.

Your heart skips a beat and butterflies move into your tummy, and you loosen your stance as the man comes into view from the thick shroud of trees. His hair has grown back considerably and the red markings below his eyes are back— he's himself again, and the familiarity of his face almost makes it easy to forget that night in the Lightning.

"Why are you here?" Your voice barely gives any confusion, let alone love as you question him. And if it's bothersome to him, he doesn't show it. But when does he ever show what he's feeling?

"'Why am I here?'" He repeats dumbly, stopping before the steps of your porch. "Little transactional, don't ya think?"

"You never come here without a motive."

Jiraiya grimaces lightly. "I certainly didn't come here for an argument."

"Then what do you need? Food pills, potions?"

"I need you."

"Again? Jiraiya, I'm always happy to help but I certainly don't want to make a habit of helping-"

"I'm not here on business, babe."

Silence hangs in the gap between you as the gears in your head turn, and then a flicker of sunlight peeks between the tree leaves and there's a golden glint— he's still wearing the fake wedding band, just as you've still worn yours every moment of each passing day since the night he slipped it on your finger in the first place. Your lip is tugged between your teeth and you bite down, anxiety ripping through your body like a tidal wave.

"Then…?"

Jiraiya cautiously begins his way up the porch steps. "I have had… Entirely too long to think about this. Years spent with this one thing on my mind: you. If there's ever been a constant in my life, it's been you. And I have yearned this entire time, always asking what it would take for you to return the love I've felt for a decade. I've never known a woman to want me, and it was a pipe dream to believe you'd be the exception to God's shitty rule. You, of all people, loving a guy like me is nothing but a settlement."

"Jiraiya-"

"But you do. You all but told me directly on that mission in Kaminari that you love old man Jiraiya that's never been loved a damn day in his life. And this time, I want to stay."

"I've loved you since the beginning." You whimper as tears fill your eyes; is this a dream? "I never thought for a moment that you could feel it for me, not with how you've been about Tsunade. I felt like some sort of substitute on that mission. Like you wanted her but couldn't get her, and I was the foolish woman readily available for you that would take whatever scraps you were willing to throw at her feet."

Jiraiya stands before you and his hands, those large, warm hands tug you by your waist and into his embrace, to what feels more like home than even the shack behind you. His soft lips are pressed to your forehead, lingering for a beat while his hands roam comfortingly over your back. "You're more than just a one-night stand."

The tears in your eyes break the dam and you surge upward, boosting off of your tippy toes to sling your arms around his neck and kiss him with everything you've got, every ounce of the love you've harbored condensed into this one kiss. And he takes it so easily, drinking it in with no issue at all as he returns the quickly heating, fervent kiss in kind with hands that travel every available inch of you that he can reach in a position like this.

Your tug at his shirt is all Jiraiya needs to pick you up and step inside, slipping his tongue into your mouth as he kicks his wooden sandals off before walking to your bedroom and finding a quick spot on your bed, taking a seat and allowing you all the control this time around. Pushing him onto his back, you straddle his waist and bite your lip at the feeling of his bulge beneath you, his hardening, pulsating cock just a few thin layers of fabric away from your pussy that's desired him tenfold since that one night at the hotel.

Experimentally, you grind against him and his groan in response is much louder than the ones he'd given during your last encounter. And as you slowly drag your clothed cunt over his tenting pants, he bucks his hips and finds your waist with a bruising grip, grinding right back against you.

"Oh, baby, please…" His sinful moan barely passes his lips before you take your top off and fling it in the first direction your arm autopilots in, and within a handful of heartbeats all the clothes between you are long gone and you're lining Jiraiya's thick cock up with your needy little hole once again, sinking down onto it with a small, inconsequential soreness as the sun finally sets— leaving your hot bodies to be partially lit only by the hall light streaming in from just outside your bedroom door.

You've got little care for adjustment now, eagerness lapping at your sensibilities as you plant your hands on Jiraiya's chest and start to guide your hips up and down that thick shaft, Jiraiya's hold on your ass firm as you freestyle on that magnificent cock. He hisses and moans beneath you and a smug grin fills out your face with each noise you pull from him; this moment and many others soon to follow are all yours.

Jiraiya's cock fills the space in your hole to the very brim, stretching you out deliciously as you bounce on it. If for no other reason, the years of yoga have paid off on strengthening your legs for this endeavor. Jiraiya is mush beneath you, groaning and panting like a whore with rent past due— and goodness, the way those noises go straight to your clit, the searing sensation sharp and strong on the little nub.

"Baby…" Jiraiya's hands slip to your hips and he plants his feet into the mattress, giving you mere seconds to press your chest down to his and swoop his lips in a hot kiss, changing up the angle his cock pistons in at before he's fucking up into you at a near relentless pace.

"Jiraiya! Oh, god, please don't stop, please don't ever stop!" You're nearly sobbing at the friction of his hot body against you, at how his cock destroys your poor hole; it's been weeks since your last fuck, and while your mind could never forget, your body almost has. It's so sore, the ache threatening to overshadow the pleasure, but it's just so good, so perfect and necessary and everything you've ever desired.

Jiraiya cracks out a laugh, smoothing one hand up the curve of your spine, stopping at the back of your neck and gently massaging the skin there. "I'll try. And if I mess up, oh believe me, baby, I'll keep on trying."

The giggle that leaves your lips is so girlish and unlike any noise you've ever made that you're not even entirely sure you made it, until Jiraiya's eyes crinkle in the corners and his lips are back on yours— it's softer now, slower and more passionate and his hips slow down to match, rolling up against you at a pace akin to pouring molasses.

"You feel so good." He whispers against you.

"You too." You moan, nipping at his lip. "I've wanted you just like this for so many years… Mine."

"I've been yours all this time; you just never knew it."

"Oh Jiraiya…"

The sannin grins and flips you over, hooking your legs over the crook of his elbows and plowing into you with renewed vigor. Your breasts bounce with every smack of his pelvis, and oh you're such a lovely sight for him to see— naked as ever, open and vulnerable beneath him and you take his cock so well…

"Beautiful." He grunts out. "So good… I know it's big, baby, but you can take it, right?"

"Yes." You promise, nodding intensely. "Feels so good, the way your cock stretches me… Give me more, fuck me harder!"

And not one to deny such a request, Jiraiya grants your wish in an instant. The sounds of sex are surely heard around the house, perhaps even outside through the opened windows as Jiraiya's cock punishes your cunt, breaching your walls with hard, heavy thrusts his big body creates with ease. Your hand slithers down your sweating body and to your sex, your clit soon under the pressure of your fingertips as you close in on a hot and heavy orgasm.

"Oh, dirty girl, you wanna cum. Go ahead, cum all over ole Jiraiya's dick. Let me feel how wet you can get for me." Jiraiya croons, and lord that filthy mouth and mind of his has surely been put to good use with those smutty novels of his.

Your back arches and you rub your clit with more passion, finding that specific spot that amplifies your pleasure by a thousand and going to fucking town, taking the sannin's cock and listening to the sinful babble that dribbles from his mouth as you do. His smell, his touch, his everything floods your senses and the mental image of his simple smile as the coil inside snaps sends your body into overdrive and it's over, all over as your wails echo in the empty halls of your home while your pussy pulsates around Jiraiya's heavy member inside of you, coaxing his cock, pleading for his cum deep in your womb.

"That's it baby, gush for me… I know you hear those filthy, dirty noises. That's all you, baby, that's your pussy making that noise. So wet around my dick, I can hardly believe it…" Jiraiya groans, the guttural sound directly from his chest almost a roar in your ears as the blood rushes in your body. The bed is creaking below you and within the week you know the poor wooden frame will be destroyed, and god the nerve of your abilities to not extend to a wood release Kekkei Genkai!

"Jiraiya…" You coo, bones practically liquid now. "Cum… Cum inside, fill me up, please… Please!"

"Since you asked so nicely-" A moan cuts him off and then he really starts going to town on your cunt, and if you can walk in the morning then it'll be a goddamn miracle.

Suddenly you're bent in half, your knees touching your shoulders and what in the hell does he think he's doing is barely a whisper in your mind because it's perfect, he's hitting your sweet spot and good god you're going to cum again, he's going to rip a second orgasm out of you and one, two three thrusts will do it-

"I'm gonna cum!" Has barely passed his lips before he starts filling you up, bathing your inner walls with his thick semen and stilling his hips as it all releases inside your womb.

Your legs shake in his hold, cumming with him and it's so fucking good that you can't even manage to squeak out his name. It's all white noise in your brain and even that's background noise when Jiraiya starts kissing you slowly and deeply, his tongue swiping over yours with maddening perfection.

You drape your arms over his broad shoulders, pulling his sweaty body even closer to yours, and as you love the night away with him, you decide that perhaps this time it's you that owes Konoha a favor.

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