Work Text:
The first weeks at the Wind hashira Estate were hell, for both of them.
Sanemi had made it crystal clear from the start—soulmates or not, he wanted nothing to do with Tomioka. The very word soulmate tasted sour on his tongue when applied to the stoic, blank-faced Water Hashira. The traditions insisted they live together, because bonds between an alpha and omega were sacred and unbreakable. But to Sanemi, it was just another chain.
Tomioka, on the other hand, didn’t complain. He never argued, never protested, never defended himself from Sanemi’s barbed tongue. He simply moved into the Wind Estate with his quiet footsteps, his expression calm, and his unspoken feelings locked deep inside. He’d loved Sanemi for years in his own silent, one-sided way, but if Sanemi hated him—then Tomioka would endure it quietly, after all, he was used to being unwanted.
Days blurred into weeks. They rarely crossed paths despite sharing the same roof, both drowning in missions and duties as Hashiras.
Yet, even Sanemi couldn’t ignore biology. Omegas had heats, alphas had ruts, and sometimes the tension between two soulmates demanded release.
And when it came to relief, Sanemi was merciless.
He wasn’t gentle. He never had been, his idea of fucking was simple: pounding Tomioka into the futon until the omega’s voice cracked and his body trembled, fucking him for hours without pause, until Giyuu’s slick and cum soaked the bedding beneath them.
Sanemi told himself it was just instinct, just biology, just the bond forcing them together. Nothing more.
But Tomioka…
Goddamn Tomioka.
Every time Sanemi fucked him raw—when Giyuu was reduced to a sobbing mess, cum spilling down his thighs, drool glistening on his lips—something always slipped through. A habit Sanemi never expected.
It happened the first time by accident. Sanemi had him flat on his back, thighs shoved up, driving into him like a man possessed. Giyuu’s voice was wrecked, his nails clawing at the futon. Five hours had passed since Sanemi first slide into him, and still, the water hashira hadn’t begged for it to end, he only took it—body pliant, trembling, and wet.
Sanemi leaned down to adjust his grip on Giyuu's thighs, when Giyuu turned his head weakly, lips brushing against Sanemi’s cheek.
A peck. A soft, fleeting kiss.
Sanemi froze for a fraction of a second—enough to feel the heat of those lips, before he slammed into Giyuu harder, as if punishing him for it.
But it didn’t stop.
Every time their faces drew close—whether Sanemi fisted his hair and yanked his head back, or pressed down into him until their cheeks brushed—Giyuu’s lips would search blindly. He would wrap his arms around Sanemi's neck, eyes glassy and unfocused, and press the gentlest pecks against his jaw, his lips, his nose–Soft, fleeting, almost childlike.
Sanemi didn’t know if Tomioka even realized what he was doing. Half the time, the omega was fucked past reason, reduced to whines and broken sobs, unable to form words. His face flushed, his lips red and swollen, drool dripping down his chin as his body writhed under Sanemi’s brutal rhythm.
Yet still—those pecks came.
Like instinct.
Like some part of Giyuu, buried deep, still reached for Sanemi with affection even as his body was being ruined.
It drove Sanemi insane.
"Fuck—you don’t even know what you’re doin’, do you?" Sanemi growled one night, hips snapping relentlessly into Giyuu’s swollen prostate. The omega was limp beneath him, sobbing into the pillow, slick splashing with every thrust. Sanemi’s hand fisted his jaw, forcing their faces close. Intending to say something, but there it was again.
Giyuu’s lips brushed against Sanemi’s cheek. A tender little peck, followed by another. His hands, trembling, rose to cup Sanemi’s face as if in reverence. Soft pecks scattered across his jawline, his lips, anywhere his mouth could reach between broken gasps.
Sanemi’s thrusts faltered—not stopping, but stuttering, his mind torn. He hated this, he hated the warmth that shot through his chest, hated how those little kisses burned more than all the hate he carried.
"You’re—fuck—" Sanemi groaned, driving into him harder, fucking the softness away. "All you know is spreadin’ your legs and cryin’ like a whore—"
Another peck silenced him.
Right on the mouth this time.
Giyuu’s lips, soft and damp, brushed Sanemi’s mid-curse. His breathing hitched, then stuttered, and for the first time, Sanemi’s rhythm broke completely.
The omega was far gone, body wrecked, nails scratching at Sanemi’s back. His voice came out as a whimper, brain too fogged from overstimulation. And still, he kissed him—again, again, again—gentle pecks that felt more intimate than the hours of brutal sex.
Sanemi’s chest tightened.
It wasn’t love, It couldn’t be. It was just Tomioka, so far gone in heat and exhaustion that instinct drove him to cling, to kiss, to reach for the one who was inside him.
But it felt like love.
It felt like being wanted.
"Stupid omega," he rasped, burying his face in Giyuu’s neck, pounding into him until cum gushed and the futon was ruined beneath them. His hands gripped bruises into pale skin, his thrusts merciless, determined to fuck those kisses out of him.
But they never stopped.
Even on the verge of passing out, even when his voice broke into raw cries, Giyuu’s lips searched for him. Soft pecks, tender, fleeting—like little confessions whispered without words.
Sanemi could ruin his body, break him until he couldn’t walk, fuck him for five hours straight until his mind shattered—
But nothing could stop those kisses.
And no matter how much Sanemi told himself he hated them, he felt their burn long after the sex was done. And he hated– No, despised, that everytime Giyuu kissed him, he thought that maybe soulmates weren’t such a curse after all.