anything i put on this website abides by my own boundaries.
自己紹介 - self introduction
shin
she | her
twenty years old
beni’s angel, waka’s baby, his twin flame . ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆🎐
what i’ll write about ✦
fluff
smut (18+ strictly)
angst
randomness
what i will not write with ✦
incest
non-con
race specific reader
malepov
i take recommendations for . . .
specific characters
specific plots (fluff, angst, smut)
animes i can write about:
jujutsu kaisen, soul eater, devilman crybaby, my hero academia, demon slayer, chainsaw man, haikyuu, tokyo revengers, tokyo ghoul, death note, hunter x hunter, bleach, seven deadly sins, naruto, fire force
just message me privately, or write a letter in my inbox… though i’m disorganized and won’t get into your ask in months.
do not use my writing and claim it as yours, feed it into ai to change wording, or plagiarize!
mdni 18+
bf!toji getting sucked to submission by possessive!reader in a dressing room
“well, yer fuckin’ sha—shameless… ” toji grits, head falling back against the dressing room mirror, attempting to shut down a very, obvious groan. his knees, which twitch with every deep gulp of your throat, are held down by your hands— nails digging into the bone so you’re able to take him deeper. your mouth is sloppy, saliva trickling down your chin, eyes wide and eager as you gaze at toji from below.
“ohhh god— fuck,” toji exhales sharply, his hands moving from the metal hangers on the wall to your scalp, shoving you further down his cock, pupils dilating when you swallow him down. you look absolutely, indubitably, messily his like this. the head of his dick hits your uvula, coaxing a choked gasp from your lips, but you’re still not stopping. your efforts redouble, even with the glassy sheen of tears coating your eyes.
your motivation isn’t random. after the retail employee flirted with him and he even dared to respond, you’ve wanted to stake a petty claim on toji. his hips jerk back, his fingers stroking across your temples gently to smooth away the frizz and sweat on your hair, his neck craning downcast to examine your expression despite how his vision is swimming right now. you’re jealous— toji knows that look, and hell if he doesn’t at least enjoy it.
“you’re so mad—“ he remarks, a strained grin plastered on his face. toji thinks he could win this game. with an abrupt thrust of his hips forward, he slams you back down, using his grip on your head as leverage to meet his movement. “why’re you mad at me, baby?” toji pushes further, clutching on either side of your head, smooshing your mouth to his pelvis. a strangled gasp leaves your throat, brow furrowing as you withdraw for more air.
you don’t want to talk anyway— you know better to not talk shit while toji has you in such a vulnerable position. but he’s too much of a fucking deserving manwhore for you to back down. you gurgle on his cock, his precum gleaming proudly on your pouted lips. he chuckles, a sated groan seeping from out of his slack maw. “jealous, mama?” toji feels you snap even futher— your eyes circle back to his, almost impatiently, but you’re painstakingly angry at him, toji can tell.
the steps of an employee descend louder in the dressing room hallway, “excuse me?” the voice is pitch-high, innocent-like. the same bitch employee who tried batting her lashes at your man, bending over obviously over a table of tank tops just minutes before.
emboldened by her appearance, you aim to suck the damn soul of of toji, shamelessly suckling, pressing overly eager and possessive kisses up his shaft before taking him in once more. “—shit, you’ll make me—!” he groans, forearms tensing above your head, suppressing the urge to bang his fists against the wall. you’ve stolen the reins from him once more, and toji’s too far gone to get them back.
one hand trails from his knee to his swelling balls, massaging the sac with a one-minded focus. “c—cumming, baby, fuck— please—!” the suction of your throat around his cock along with the teasing caressing of your fingertips make his back arch, toji’s hip canting forward as he cums.
fat, tangy spurts of his seed shoot right to your mouth, coating your lips as he grinds his softening dick against your tongue, scowling at the sheer audacity you have. the employee’s presence is long forgotten now— you’re just focused on the way you’ve unraveled him, staked an unmistakable claim with your lips on toji. but he can’t find himself to be mad, least not much.
his cock falls from your lips heavily, thwacking softly back against his thigh. toji shuts his eyes for a moment, clearing his throat with deep, steadying grunts. “i’m okay.” he mutters, though his voice is gruff enough the employee can hear the loss of composure in it. he pulls up his pants, the band slapping against his lower abdomen.
“we’re okay.” you say louder, a sharp tone in your voice that is unmistakable. toji, a gentleman trained to be inclined to assist you without your signal, helps you up, wiping some of his escaped release dribbling down your chin. you swat away his hand, inching closer to him, deftly kissing him loud. you pull away just as quick, the sounds making it obvious to the employee outside.
divider creds @/uzmacchiato
hihi reader is lowk nasty here, but then again wouldn’t we all be like this if we had toji loll??? also i’ve not really been inactive, just not uploading like i used to. life been jumping my ass every day and every other given day!!
potential spoilers ahead!! i’m sharing my thoughts on the lineage of fire force characters.
i’ve noticed this panel before:
do u guys think beni is the actual ancestor of mifune from soul eater? he’s got the toothpick & katanas…
i’ve heard theories that tsubaki is his descendant, but then again that does makes sense because she may have something to do with the clan.
my thoughts!
maka - tamaki & juggernaut aka takeru
soul - sho
black star - rekka (this is confirmed)
dtk - shinra (not directly)
stein - joker (might just because he smokes. and is a little crazy) or kurono
liz & patty - haumea
kilik - ogun (their powers are similar)
medusa - inca or orochi
fire force’s ending was so beautiful, it didn’t feel rushed at all! though i’m a little sad (bittersweet) about how we won’t get new episodes, this show has genuinely left a mark on my soul…
thinking about nerd gojo & nerd armin… plus frat boy eren & frat boy gojo….
yoo hoo is this thing on? 👀👀
mdni
nerdjo & nerdmin watching in disbelief as you beat them in mario kart, then discussing bloodborne and elden ring in such detail. they can’t believe a literally goddess descended from heaven to join the gaming club.
they’re just absolutely infatuated with the girl with other ball knowledge up her sleeve, that they can’t resist inviting you to the bedroom they play games in, showing you how they can tag team…
then frateren and fratjo doing those ridiculous drinking challenges just to show off and impress you. even going as far as offering you the spot of being a frat sweetheart.
doing initiation rites, calling seven minutes in heaven a fun little ‘hazing’ challenge as fratjo makes out with you from above, while frateren’s working wonders with his tongue piercing…
i wish i could get a free bag of chipssssuh….👀 i would so hate it if someone wrote and tagged me… 👀 heh…
you know i got a soft spot for you • shinmon benimaru
sfw • fluff
ft - s. gojo & s. benimaru
song: soft spot by keshi
synopsis - the strongest find their only weakness in you— accordingly with the lyrics of soft spot by keshi.
authors note: links will be attached to the other characters listed when published
shinmon benimaru - “ don’t like anybody, tell me why it’s different with you ”
most nights are spent alone— after the destruction of laying infernals in asakusa to rest or the continuous pour of the fermented sake sloshing against the white cups. benimaru can try and run from this as long as he can manage, but tonight is overwhelmingly different.
for the past few months spent close, with you working with the seventh company as a member of the eighth— against the white clad, against the Great Cataclysm, benimaru had been notably different.
he’d slip into that mask, humble, hotheaded and rigid, like he’d appear to be unchanged. however you just know that isn’t true. there’s gentleness that wasn’t ever there. tenderness when he, just barely walks past you, arms crossed against his chest. softness when he doesn’t brush off your sometimes silly questions and answers them like a guide.
benimaru’s scared to admit, all high and mighty and supposedly invincible like everyone believes he is, his only weakness is not having enough courage to tell you how he feels.
love seems… practical. usual. not something out of the ordinary. he’s seen it before. felt the fatherly love from the old boss. that tough geezer. benimaru’s seen wives clutching for their husbands, grandpas grasping the withering ash of their late infernal spouses. children clinging to their mothers after seeing wood slam to the ground.
romantically speaking, he’s actually got no experience. being the strongest fire soldier, it’s obvious at least some women would try to flirt with him. more around the time the calendars would come out yearly. benimaru’s always just… brushed them off. not seeing any need or feeling any interest for any of them.
but has he ever experienced it like this?
benimaru’s heart seemed to waver, as if threatening to shatter if possible. he had seen it— an infernal had gotten too close, close enough that a horrid burning gash of a scratch combed through your arm. his knuckles paled a white against the navy of his kimono. the pain in your face was unmistakable.
he could’ve lost you there.
lost you.
benimaru’s eyes flared up a deep crimson, a near panicked shout escaping his throat as he mercilessly struck down the infernal, who already was weakened by your lone earlier attempts.
should he had been normal, like usual— benimaru would just assess, not shouting frantically and definitely not clutching around the cotton of his shirt. he couldn’t be careless with you. he just couldn’t. the thought of losing you made something tighten in his throat.
when you looked at him, eyes weakly shutting in exhaustion and relief, the muscles in his jaw locked hard. he could yell, fucking scream at you like every part of his body told him to, but he didn’t. any remaining semblance of control had to be maintained, if there even was anyway.
how could you have put yourself in danger, just like that?
rushing to your side, calloused hands shaking around your shoulder, benimaru faced you. the words were unsteady on his tongue, foreign and vulnerable. running a hand through his hair, benimaru knew he would need to tell you.
the need to tell you, just in case this injury was too much. before you even had the chance to reassure him that the injury was certainly not life threatening, the admission had slipped from his lips.
“… please tell me— tell me that… you’re okay. i love… y-you, y’know that? please, fuck, be careful.” the words were uneven and jagged, unusual to a man who’s strength seemed to defy everything and mimic the gods. “i swear, you’re the only one who makes me feel— these things.” benimaru gestured to his chest, gulping down as you remained silent. you were making this easier for him, making it easier for him to just throw caution to the wind.
each word felt awfully unfamiliar. had he really said it out loud? benimaru’s heart pounded, loud enough he could feel his blood rush through his ears.
it was terrifying to know that he had laid down his heart, his soul, to even confess that he could feel this way about someone when it seemed impossible.
a graceful smile tilted your lips up. you mouthed something in audible to him, an amused gleam in your eyes. but he’s pretty sure you… felt the same way too?
with a surprising, unexpected response, you press your lips against his own, hoping to showing exactly what love is to benimaru—
sfw • fluff
ft - s. gojo & s. benimaru
song: soft spot by keshi
synopsis - the strongest find their only weakness in you— accordingly with the lyrics of soft spot by keshi.
authors note: links will be attached to the other characters listed when published
satoru gojo - “ i don’t say it much , ‘cause i always thought that you knew ”
love is a dangerous thing. it’s like giving a person the opportunity to strike, betray, hurt or even kill you. it’s tedious, harsh and enveloping.
which is why satoru gojo always wears a hardened front, a facade built up from years of loss and expectations. the heavy burden of standards constantly pressure him and hammer him down— he’s been chained with limited freedom since he was a child.
a child of prophecy. still seen as a practical slave to the higher-ups, a powerhouse viewed as their beck and call despite his status of holding the strongest.
satoru’s always silently worried. worried he’ll lose you in his line of duty and strength. all these bad thoughts swirl around restlessly in his head, he has to remind himself— assure his frayed nerves that you won’t be going anywhere. he hopes.
satoru’s classification is basically a weapon, a means of destruction and battle victory. he can’t afford distractions, can’t even allow himself to risk someone’s life in the sake of it.
lots of people assume he’s too prideful, too good for love— that he just can easily pretend to love somebody else.
but that isn’t true, because behind the strong facade, wars are constantly waging back and forth, satoru doesn’t want anyone (mostly you anyway) thinking that you aren’t satisfied or being treated right, or even scarier—
loved properly like you should be. like someone is more deserving than him. the thought of you even walking alongside another man that isn’t him sends a shiver down his spine.
so, as he’s laying beside you in the cozy shared bed adorned with white silk sheets and throw pillows he says it, rare, slow and easy. as if he’s terrified he’ll say something wrong. “i love you.”
he won’t talk to anyone like this, except for you. you’re an absolute exception. it’s like he’s asking for permission to hope and want for something too good. there's a pause in his breath like he’s afraid if he speaks, you’ll somehow get sick of him and go.
satoru can feel his heart race and pound in his chest, though he’ll tamper down any vulnerability that gets too noticeable— he doesn’t. not with you. because it’s as real and heartfelt as it gets.
he loves you.
your eyes flicker up, gazing upon his face. he’s got his blindfold off, so the azure crystals of his irises shine through yours. satoru’s pupils dilate in anticipation, like he’s expecting you to say it back and reciprocate it. to reassure him just as much as he’ll reassure you.
his hands settle atop yours, knuckles and callused hands that told of many stories brushing against your digits. he rests his head on your abdomen, listening to your breath rise and fall, and no, he doesn’t want to shy away from this anymore— despite the all risks of calling you his.
“i know, ‘toru. i love you too. alot.” you grin softly as satoru leans closer, head bumping against your shoulder. he shudders, barely perceptible above your skin. a gentle smile writes all over his handsome face, white eyelashes shutting and fluttering almost thankfully.
he looks graceful, vulnerable like this— gojo opening up and laying himself bare like this. “just saying. i don’t say it much. but you know.” he shrugs, pretending he’s cool as his heart tugs him tight, a knot in his throat.
your eyebrows raise in amusement. he’s done it again— stole your heart and looks good while doing it. and that settles him calmer, a side that quite frankly, mostly you get to see.
your shitty boyfriend cheated on you? no problem, your boy bestfriend and full-time frat boy is here!
✦ nsfw minors dni
✦ gojo satoru | jujutsu kaisen
✦ song : fucking your girl by devon hendryx
maybe you had it coming, with your horrible taste in dudes that treat you like a cigarette going out on an ashtray. dudes you find yourself attracted to the unsafe, risky thrill they give you— rather than the stability of a good, doting best boy friend.
gojo satoru. the hottest thing on campus, with gleaming blue eyes and snowy white hair that even make professors purposefully stare. everyone in general wants him, and that just makes him all the more cockier.
especially towards your boyfriend! gojo’s all confused as to why he’s bitter to him and overly protective of you. well, you’re only friends, so your boyfriend must definitely be insecure and fragile, specifically cause he’s also in that loser frat!
it’s not like he’s always been waiting on you to dump him or for him to dump you. it’s just that, seeing you with someone else who treats you like shit under their boot really pisses gojo off, it makes him punt and chuck footballs harder than he should.
he could even be your boyfriend if you gave him the green light. but then again, you’ll deny your feelings all that you can, because in your mind… who’d really like to make a popular frat man into a full-fledged boyfriend?
but what’s the best solution to a “hey girly you don’t know me but…” text and four sickening attachments of your now ex-boyfriend hitting a random sorority girl raw?
well, it’s your own trusty best friend to help you! gojo coaxed you to admit feelings that underlies every single lingering interaction— after all, it sure was easy to get it out of you.
with hot tears streaming down your face and the need to just cling onto someone you know wouldn’t leave you, is how you found yourself with him. and honestly, maybe he’s doing it a little out of spite for your ex, feeding into your revenged-crazed mind just so gojo can make that cheater realize what he’s lost.
he’s got the camera propped up enough where your debauched face is posted up, swinging the phone back just so he can get all those nasty angles. your voice rings out, all muffled and stringy, nose stuffy and congested from crying.
“lookie here, dickhead. i’m fucking your girl,” he breathes, a shit eating grin on his face. gojo punctuates his words with a thrust, forcibly gutting out a slippery moan from your lips. “but she’s mine now, yeah?” he adds, sweat beading on his forehead.
your hands press against the navy sheets of his dorm bed, struggling to cling on the fitted fabric. gojo didn’t want to take you to the frat house and potentially allow someone to hear what’s his. but the idea is enticing.
your mind shakes like jello when he slides out just enough that his tip loosely connected to your sopping hole, and then purposefully slamming hard back in. the feeling makes a cry rip from your throat, your back arching as his long fingers trail the spinal, delicate line that forms there.
he fucks you like he means it… which he does. gojo doesn’t exhume the fact that your ex-boyfriend is a part of a rival fraternity. maybe it’s a little personal, the way he’s roughly rutting into your spasming cunt, nearly laughing in satisfaction as he feels your walls ripple against his length, cause it feels thrice as nice to fuck his rival’s ex-girl.
“oh— fuuuuck.” he groans, a cocky smile on his face before the expression turns to one of gratification. gojo captures it all— your struggling, unsteady and obnoxious moans as he plummets his cockhead against your cervix. a smack crackles through the air as his palm collides with the plush of your ass. “n she’s cumming!” he whoops loudly, cheering for your orgasm as he positions the camera close to your face.
through glassy vision, you see your reflection— snot and tears streaming down your face. your mouth is hung open into a sloppy pout, some of your hair sticks to your damp cheeks but is quickly tangled into gojo’s long fingers. he tugs on your scalp gently, holding you firmer as he chases both of your climax.
in sync, your bodies seem to match the pace and the intensity. it’s like you’re nearly binding body and soul together. a familiar, white-hot rush strikes through your frame quickly. “gonna cum inside this pretty cunt, make it mine.” gojo tips you both over, thick cock drilling into your pussy to make you scream.
“s—shit, here it comes— take it all, baby, take it all!” he grunts, his mouth pursed together into a tight line. gojo’s thumb reaches under your arms, pressing and rubbing quick fragments of circles along your tingling clit. his canines dig into his lower lip as heavy spurts of his cum shoot through your passage, and though he should be careful to pull out— he doesn’t.
the phone falls flat on the pillow, the only hint of the further debauchery taking place is the muffled audio that records on the video, which is actually nearly a puny forty-six minutes long.
“saaatoru.” you hazily grumble into the sheets, voice breathy and weak. instead of pulling out, which he absolutely should, and even so run to the nearest CVS to snatch some plan bs, gojo pulls you closer. he reaches out for the phone, finally pressing the red circle.
gojo giggles. that jerk of a man laughs. “hope he likes it. ooh— and don’t forget to block him afterwards.” a sated smirk on his face tells you he’s absolutely stoked. “get the last word, y’know.” he adds on, feverishly typing a lengthy paragraph you don’t bother to read as your mind blanks out and your body relaxes, submitting to your exhaustion. “this shit better send…”
he sets the phone down immediately with a jumpy motion. immediately, his lean arms wrap around you, his forearms flexing as gojo holds you tight. it’s quiet before he whispers.
“let me be your boyfriend.” he says flatly, breathing you in like air. “please.” gojo waits.
“yeah.”
author’s note :
hi everyone i missed u all! i apologize for inactivity. recently i have been neglecting people’s requests. i am so so so sorry i promise i’ll make it up to you guys on valentine’s day!
there’s a strip of tinsel sticks to hakuji’s shoulder and a smeared dab of excess glitter from the festive decor loitered on his cheekbone.
your steady balance atop the step stool threatens to waver, before hakuji’s right hand is already steadying your hipbone before you tilt right over.
the thick, black circles that wrap around his wrist and the start of his forearms catch the barest highlight of the fireplace in front of you. it’s decorated with pictures and holiday cards, loitered with nearly obnoxious amounts of mistletoe.
it’s clear enough you’re hoping for a certain… result. stepping off the stool, your finger comes to wipe off what you can off his face. his jaw clenches, but then relaxes as your hand traces the edge of it.
there’s a short, tense silence that crosses your minds, a shift in energy in the warm air.
something hot feels like it’s bursting in his chest. suddenly he’s at a loss for words— his mind short-circuiting at every motion around him, signaling him to get closer to you.
you make him want to be better. to use his strength to protect and cherish, not to harm anyone or anything. and he can’t say anything that’ll amount the gratefulness he has for you.
hakuji’s mouth parts open as if trying to silently ask for a kiss. you’re so…” he breathes, and hakuji’s grip on your waist tightens, holding like a lifeline. you can swear his breathing faltered a note enough to barely let out a whine. “perfect.”
he whispers out, snowy lashes batting down at you. your skin feels warm against the glow of the fireplace and his body, the mistletoe dangling right above hakuji’s head a constant reminder that you just may be successful.
“hakuji…” you can feel your heart clench in your chest and the innate urge to kiss him arise in your body.
hakuji’s shoulders relax, muscular back furling to get a closer look at your face. his lips graze against yours, a big hand holding your chin up to match his altitude.
instinctively, you tip-toe, heart frenetically beating as you realize your intimate proximity.
“mistletoe.” hakuji huffs after he flickers a quick look above. a hopeful, soft grin on his face. “let me have you, please?” it’s not like he even needs to ask. you nod, and gracefully, his eyes shut and his lips are on you.
stumbling back against the wall, hakuji absentmindedly shifts the piling presents out of the way, gift-wrap roll bundles and sticker labels kicked off to the side.
his mouth against yours isn’t gentle. it’s a hard, slow passionate crash of teeth and tongue together.
hakuji’s spare hand plants to the opposite side of his right hand on the wall, laying over the flare of your hips and squeezing the plush flesh there.
trailing his hand up your waist and down your legs, he pushes himself off the wall, timing it just right so he heaves you up right into his arms.
your legs wrap around hakuji’s waist, elbows coming to press against his shoulders. hakuji doesn’t break the kiss until you’re gently clawing at his back.
“fuck— so fucking beautiful.” he grinds his hips against yours, pushing you further and pinning you in his grasp.
the warmth enveloping all your five senses could be coming from the sizzling of firewood just a few feet of you or the seeping heat of your arousal.
or more certainly, the heat of hakuji nearly swallowing you whole with his body. like the gentleman (he aims to be) he is,
hakuji takes this nice and slow.
hi , i know i’ve taken such a massive break from uploading… clearly. i haven’t wrote anything and published it since nov. 26 (which was my lil aizawa prompt thing) but i’m back and planning to extend these prompts till january. i haven’t been feeling so good recently, and my absence heavily reflects that. so, please enjoy!
i use banners from @/dollywons @/uzmacchiato @/chrissirens
sometimes you’ll be half asleep, rested atop his left leg while aizawa grades papers. dim light overcasting your silhouettes, entwined limbs a connected shadow on the walls. aizawa’s spare hand will predictably wander, coaxing you awake— making you open one eye, confused.
aizawa’s hands are slipping under the layers of fabric, sneakily trailing down your soft skin. his gaze is still locked on the paperwork he’s assessing, calloused finger prodding at your entrance, gently swirling around with the arousal that has pooled there already.
the sound of his red inked pen scratches a little harsher against the paper when you grind slowly against his teasing hand, adams apple bobbing in his throat just in the slightest. and, after a few silent pleas, aizawa infiltrates your insides like a smooth criminal, two long and thick digits scissoring and curling within your clutching heat.
aizawa talks to you like this is the most casual thing in the world, other hand still occupied with the seemingly endless marks on the documents laid out before him. comments about his kids, their behavior and their admirability. still, even as you urge him more, the pace of his fingers don’t change— leading you to intentionally beg him for more.
and other nights or mornings end up entangled in either an actual bed or his portable yellow sleeping bag. surprisingly, it fits the both of you two inside perfectly. warm bodies snug, firm against each other. obviously, one thing leads to another— aizawa shifts the whole bag just so he can get his arms around you.
his fingers deftly undo your pants, shuffling them off just enough. his pants follow soon after, cock comfortably fitting suitably in the cleft of your ass. a forearm wraps under your fleshy thigh, lifting it just enough to form a tent shape against the sleeping bag, aligning his own morning wood.
he can’t find himself to care enough to use protection— cause you’ve always felt better raw anyway. aizawa flexes his hips, groaning as he feels your cunt give way, grasping around his hardened length as if encouraging to explore deeper.
right hand pressed above your lower abdomen, where your womb should be, while his left is digging into your soft tits and occasionally cradling around your throat. he doesn’t talk, doesn’t need to. not when you’re making all the noises aizawa needs to hear.
slick and syrupy words that send hot drops down your spine and pool around in your lower abdomen— honey swirling around with each uncomfortable shift you make when your teasing boyfriend, nanami—
doesn’t know how to keep his trap shut when nobody’s watching. or when everyone is around but only you can hear.
the thing is— nanami is exclusively private with his personal and love life with you, only answering people’s questions if they’re shallow enough. he’s the type of man to have strict boundaries, not out of insecurity but out of love for you. the way he talks to you is a complete other story— refined, yet lined with an irresistible seductive velvet.
but it’s different when you two are alone, away from attention. nanami slips little nasty words whenever he can. whether you’re ordering a coffee or baking for your family. stunning you completely as he holds your hands walking through a park. and he’s murmuring casually about filling you up and getting you pregnant as you two pass by a local daycare, telling you he’s going to give you one of those.
and don’t even get me started when you two have sex. nanami is groaning passionately in your ear, hard planes of his chest pressed firmly against your arched back as he takes you from behind. describing the way you take him in, feel and clench around him like you never want let go. kissing around your neck, his hand with the watch on it pinning the flesh of your waist down, weakening your senses entirely.
nastily and easily muttering out the most debauched sentences that would put any of his jujutsu co-workers into an eternal shock. nanami’s sure his acquaintances at his old office job would go into cardiac arrest if they heard how he’s talking to you in bed.
kento nanami is the most gentlemanly pervert ever.
Hii, I’m not sure if requests are open (sorry if they’re not TT), I just wanted to ask for something about Uta (Tokyo Ghoul) something fluff? I’m sorry, I’m obsessed with him TT
bf!uta fluff headcanons
sfw ✦ tokyo ghoul
bf!uta who seems intimidating at first, with his excessive amount of tattoos on his body, and the piercings on his face
bf!uta who’s actually the sweetest you’ve ever met, finding great pride in whenever he can make you laugh
bf!uta who warms up to you faster than he could anticipate, finding himself thinking about you while he makes masks
bf!uta who fitfully sighs as his best friend yomo teases him about his growing obsession with you
bf!uta who laughs and teases you as he sometimes walks around shirtless, reveling in your bashful stare at his tatted body
bf!uta who likes the silence when he’s with you, comfortably wrapping his inked arms around you and humming a rhythm
bf!uta who lets you paint his nails and paints yours in return, mutual spa days are very common with you two
bf!uta who will do any body modification on you if you asked, whether it’d be tattoos or a piercing
bf!uta who lets you color in his tattoos, a smug grin plastered on his face, jazzy music playing in the background
bf!uta who tattoos your name proudly on himself, showing it off to anyone every chance he can get
bf!uta who ditches functions early to hang out with you alone, enjoying the comfort you find in each other
bf!uta who would love you no matter if you were a ghoul or a human, vowing to protect you . . .
thank uu anon for requesting for uta!!
hiii so sorry for inactiveness if you wish to request for hcs/short fics my requests are OPEN! send a message through inquiries (at the top of my blog) and i’ll get to it as soon as possible !
¥ : y’all ever think of the strongest groaning and grunting in your ear at work because your relationship is lowkey on the low but he can’t control himself anyway???
your usually stoic superior is grunting in your ear, work professionalism thrown out the window as he traces patterns on your bare hip. massaging the pudgy flesh as he stares at you, glasses shed on the giant roundtable of his office.
your arms are wrapped around his body, sniffling into his snowy hair. he smells of coconut, clean sheets with just the hint of milk. his investigator coat is tussled, black slacks loose around his hips. his belt is unbuckled, dress shoes planted firmly onto the marble floor.
“sir.” you mumble, burying you face in between his collar, his polo unbuttoned. it’s uncomfortable to stay seated, to be without movement when he’s so deep in you. “kishou...” you shift, warm honey agonizingly swirling within you.
he clicks his tongue, leaning back in his chair. it creaks. at the mention of the use of formal names and his last name, he whispers. “nobody’s around. don’t call me sir.” he sighs, lifting up your chin to press a kiss to your forehead. arima grinds his hips, stirring his cock deep in you.
᧔ෆ᧓ : rivalry tension predictably gone sexual . . .
izana hates you. hates the way you talk to him so informally, slouched on your sofa without a care in the world. hates the way you speak and act as if you’re superior to him— never saying it directly but quite literally hinting it at every snarky, sarcastic comment you make.
a cigarette languidly hanging from your lips, muffling your voice just enough that your words may have just been mutters of amusement. he hates the way he does find just a sliver of peace somehow he lost years ago in your presence.
but he thinks he might’ve found a cure. staying away from you, thinking and wishing you as much ill as possible. you’re not apart of any gang, yet somehow you’re present everywhere. involved in things that somehow pull you like a magnet towards them.
he doesn’t want to admit— he can’t tell whether the tension between you was charged with an indescribable need or a zealous desire to get you out of his head. but whatever it was, it needed to go away fast. he wasn’t to let any distractions subdue his true goals anyway. even if it was ignoring you, pushing you away. giving you the cold shoulder.
but, his body burns. a hot flame of crimson flashing across his tan skin, his light purple eyes in a complete daze as he stares at his phone. your instagram post for halloweekend— your costume just the perfect balance of slutty and scary. and god, it gave him the slightest bit of relief of seeing something to get off too.
⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ᧔ෆ᧓ ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔
shamefully, his hands trail down his abdomen, soft abs twitching as his fingers run over the caramel skin there. izana doesn’t understand why he’s feeling this way. like he’s been laced with an aphrodisiac. his left hand tightens around the phone frame, knuckles ten shades lighter than they should be.
and he wishes he was better. but you manage to drive him wild nonetheless, no matter how much izana wishes to push you away to nothing. he needs you, he admits. abruptly, he kicks himself off his couch, frustratingly grabbing the keys of his motorcycle.
. . .
he nears your apartment, walking through hallways izana has familiarized himself with. he stops at your door, hesitating just the slightest as he tries to recollect his composure. he should hate you. he does hate you, which is exactly why he’s knocking frantically.
palms sweaty and body restless, pupils dilating as he hears footsteps. he wishes he’s just hallucinating the footsteps, the very noise responding to his call. izana hopes you don’t answer, hopes you don’t open the door and see how much hate he has for you.
but of course, like you always do, you crack open the door, peeking from the light seeping through the entrance. you’re in nightly attire— black tank top, lacey matching black shorts. and a hoodie, unzipped, hanging dangerously low on your shoulder.
the sight nearly makes izana’s knees buckle. thoughts about your instagram post and even worse and perverted fill his head. your eyes notices it all— the way his nose is crinkling, orchid irises half lidded yet glassy, the firing tinge of maroon coloring his sun-kissed face. you blink in slight disbelief at his seemingly disheveled state, a distant cry from his usual smug appearance.
he can only croak out a help. the way you smell to him, look at him, talk to him. izana cannot help it anymore. he needs you, no matter how bad he resents it. your hand reaches out to pull him into your abode, slamming the door behind you with a loud thud.
his enflamed body goes absolutely rigid as you pull him close, pressing your forehead against his, your eyes just as half-lidded as his. izana inhales a waft of alcohol carrying through your lips as you pant quietly. won’t you just punch him properly and knock some sense into him?
you give him a look that looks all mean and aggressive, as if you’re going to rip his face off for even visiting. and god if that doesn’t make him want you more. the sensations pumping through his body, the effects of an aphrodisiac are getting too hard to handle—
that is, until you pull him closer and closer, pressing your lips against his almost angrily. izana melts into it immediately, slender fingers coming to tangle in the locks of your hair, pushing your mouth back against his needily.
the tension in the room is electric, and you can feel all the charged energy crackle into something else— not hate. but desire, desire that’s only been tamped down with the rationale of rivalry. izana waltzes your twining bodies to your couch, setting you straddling his hips as he never breaks the kiss once.
“a—aphrodisiac.” izana says plainly, his voice strained and struggling. a groan escapes his mouth as you slightly buck against his pelvis, friction shocking his tense body. “fuck this… out of me.” he pants, throwing his head back on the couch.
you grin, and despite your drunkenness, you’re satisfied that you’re winning this continuous feud between you. “loser…” you smirk, unbuckling his pants, the belt slithering to the floor with a snap.
your fingers fumble with the zipper, tugging it down. immediately, your hands fly to shake off his boxers, his tanned cock slapping his abdomen, the tip tinged a pretty red from how hard he was.
izana nearly chokes at being exposed in the cool air, knees rising up. moving your panties to the side, you rock back and forth on it, eliciting curses from izana’s mouth, snowy lashes batting almost prettily as he shuts his eyes tight.
“f—fuck. stop being such a tease, d-damnit.” he grunts, hips bouncing up. you bicker, mumbling inaudibly as you line his cock to your entrance, shutting your eyes and pressing your lips together as you feel the hard crown slide past, cracking you open.
not giving a fuck whether or not izana’s wearing protection, you sink in eagerly into his dick, reveling in the way he fills you up. it makes you wish you didn’t hate each other so much. “oh— fuck.” you whine as your hips circle around. izana exhales shakily, holding back a breathy moan as he bottoms out, meat firmly clenched around your inner walls.
“we’re supposed to hate e—each other,” he groans, fucking back into your slow thrusts not enough to satiate his growing need. whatever he’s been laced with is clearly giving him a problem, cause he’s quickly increasing pace like you’ll slip away and leave him wanting. your cunt clenches around his dick, as if urging him for more— which izana will give.
“m—more…” his hips snap up and up and up, meeting your thrusts down, kissing your cervix with each brutal pass. izana’s teeth sink into your shoulder, grunting as he fucks back into you. one hand coming under your tank top, shoving it up so he can see the rise and fall of your soft tits, mouth watering at the sight of them. “so perfect. fuck, like that…”
a few more thrusts and izana is gone, the aphrodisiac heightening every single sensation until it’s too much to bear. with a wet harsh plap against your sloppy cunt, his hands hold you down, impaling you and spilling his seed deep in side your quivering hole.
— and you’re not really sure if you hate him anymore.
⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ᧔ෆ᧓ ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔
this was due on the 30th of october.
i was having lowkey the worst depression spiral of my life during october and yeah
▶︎: you’re sound asleep with the sound hashira . . .
tengen walks slowly in his respective quarters of the butterfly mansion, heavy feet pattering against the wood. his gold jewelry catches all the seeping light sneaking through the glass windows, dancing lights as they catch the moonlight just right. he’s leaving tomorrow promptly, on a mission to be sent to the entertainment district.
where his other three wives have been directed to; he’s got no word back in awhile. the only reason you hadn’t gone was because lord ubayashiki had sent you on a tedious mission, which details weren’t enclosed. tengen slightly hesitates as he reaches your room.
he knows you’re still recovering from injuries from your previous mission, all wounds healed— but kocho had claimed you needed to stay longer after you had been poisoned. he slips through the doorframe, reddish purple eyes focusing on your peaceful body, still and unconscious in sleep.
▶︎•၊၊||၊|။|||||။၊|။•
your nichirin blade rests against the wall beneath the windowsill, as if you were ready to fight as soon as you could. flashy. tengen inches closer to your stilled form, giant hand caressing your face gently. his finger moves some hair out of your face, eyes crinkling as he sees your tranquil expression.
he wishes for a deep moment that all his wives were in the same place, next to him, all gathered in a picnic. but he has work to do— save suma, makio, hinatasuru; and come back home with them to you in one piece. word of a suspected uppermoon presence in the entertainment district doesn’t seem so good.
all tengen wants to do is just climb up in your cot, and just spend a little more time with his fourth wife. tengen settles right next to you, first not waking you up to support your healing process. his hands and big arms hold your body close, heart beating in sync with yours. he admires your face, the slow and steady heave of your chest, the way your mouth barely parts.
tengen’s hands wander, just slow enough he stops himself. he thinks. if anything, the five of your love pentagon was… quite flashy when it came to intimate moments. he’s sure you won’t mind at all if he touched you, right? plenty of surprises when it came to all of you! tengen’s hands slide coyly into your hospital attire, slipping past the dull green of the uniform, fingers hovering right over your heat.
he relaxes his hand for a moment, swirling and playing around with the wetness gathered there. then he inserts a long, thick digit in, pumping it slowly, your face tensing up just in the slightest as he touches you in your sleep. as if coaxing him to take it further, your legs subconsciously widen, allowing for more room for tengen to easily slide in a second digit, curling and stretching your inner walls.
tengen watches as your eyelashes bat in your sleep, finger-fucking you for a few moments. your breathing gets more labored, face twitching and soft sounds slipping from your lips like a delicate leaf. tengen feels your gummy walls clench and ripple around his thick digits, his index and middle finger, decorated in a silver ring, disappear and appear in the grasping of your cunt.
just before you’re about to wake at the sudden and impact of his relentless attack on your somnolent body, tengen slowly removes his fingers, coated in your arousal, painted nails having an extra gloss to them. he brings the digits to his lips, tasting the heady taste of your arousal.
flashy— you tasted amazing on his tongue. carefully, tengen lowers his body so his massive shoulders can fit between your thighs, fully slipping off your hospital shorts and moving your panties to the side. his face nears your wet cunt closer, shutting his sunsety eyes as he breathes in your scent, tangy and savory, better than his favorite fugu-shashimi.
tengen drags a long, wet stripe against your hot flesh, groaning softly as he tastes directly from the source. his palms rest comfortably on your knees, pushing your legs further, but not enough to wake you up. tengen starts off slow, like he’s making love to your cunt, appreciating it before a goodbye. savory smacks and grunts of satisfaction fall from his lips, praising and complimenting you under his breath.
his tongue circles around your clit, before delving back in between your folds, thrusting in the muscle in a flashy way that has you writhing. with each and every move, it’s getting harder for him to hold back to keep you asleep. tengen plans to undo you like you deserve, waking you up to him buried in between your legs.
his eyes watch your face intently, focusing on every little reaction, every twitch and tense of your temples. soon, you’ll flicker your pretty eyes open, and find him. the thought makes him redouble his efforts, his hand coming right again to fuck you in sync with the licks of his tongue.
he groans against your flesh, the vibration wracking through your body like a signal. your drowsiness fades away into slow consciousness as the sensations formulating in your core get more noticeable, luring you to wake up, groggily shaking and trembling as tengen doesn’t let up. “ten—tengen-sama…” you whisper, throwing your head back. your heart thrums, blood coursing through your veins and traveling down your abdomen, proof of your incoming orgasm.
he nods against your cunt, messily muttering out a comforting reassurance that it was indeed him. your clit throbs in between his teeth, soothing the sensitive nub with the tip of his tongue. legs closing around his head, skin contacting the jewels that accentuate his headband. “that’s it… atta girl. real flashy,” he comments, eyes proudly eyeing you as your peak builds, shaking off the remnants of sleep still residing in your face.
“yeah… soak my face, just like that,” he encourages, as your hips buck, your juices gushing out. your orgasm hits you to the ground, sending your back arching and breath stolen away. tengen laps eagerly at your juices, moaning and grunting at the taste.
he pulls away when you’re sensitive enough to push his head away, snowy hair entwining with your own as he presses his forehead to yours.
“i’m being sent to the entertainment district by tomorrow. suma, makio, hinatasuru… they need me.” he explains, as you pant against his lips. you press a kiss instantaneously at his words, a good luck charm you’re giving him.
you pull away, staring up. “come back safe. all of you.” your hands pull tengen’s head so you can kiss him one more time. slow, treasuring the taste of you on his lips. “i love you. please bring them back.”
you say finally. tengen ruffles your hair, aiding you to get your hospital attire back on. you slowly drift off back to your drowsiness, hospital medication kicking back in again.
“i’m hard like a boulder now,” tengen shuffles in his pants before shrugging nonchalantly. “but you go ‘head and get your sleep. i’ll come back. promise it.”
he gives one final hug before leaving, giant hands waving in the air, giving that look that he gives when you know—
it was quiet. unsettlingly quiet, like you had been buried alive underground as if you refused to scream for help. your hand curls even tighter around your coffee, eyes stinging as you shut them. you’ve stared at your laptop for at least an hour now.
trying to distract yourself from the lingering feeling of… solemness. mikey had been busy for months on end. and every time he did come home, he’d just barely even look in your direction.
of course, you knew it was about the gang. it always was. and you kept reminding yourself negligence would happen no matter what, getting involved with a guy like mikey.
nevertheless you loved him so. you took a shaky sip from the iced coffee, the caffeine taste watered down from the melted ice. fingertips crinkling at the cold condensation of the ceramic mug.
you wished you didn’t feel neglected. a little bit guilty for expecting more than you knew mikey could give. but you at least try to retain as much hope for yourself too. he’s a good person to you, despite how sometimes it might not seem like it at all.
the crack and unlock of your front door sounded aggressive. like the slowness before a burst of anger. immediately, rising to your feet, you step out of the dark space of the bedroom, taking shy steps to greet him. with a hope you don’t seem to extinguish.
you see him, hair falling around his face, eyes downcast yet tense with an underlying sense of aggravation. you know you shouldn’t try to get in his way. silence was the easiest, bitterest way of calming an issue. but you just can’t stand it anymore.
he’s mad. you can sense it.
꧁⎝ 𓆩༺✧༻𓆪 ⎠꧂
you’ve missed him more than you can voice out. “mikey.” you whisper. plenty of nights you’ve been frustrated and irritated at his silent indifference. it made you worry, wonder if he did even feel anything for you anymore.
he stops in his tracks as you unexpectedly rest your palms on his shoulders. mikey would’ve expected you to just stand on the sidelines like usual. “… y/n.” his breath shakes, like ice threatening to crack. for a moment, you think he’ll break.
but he clutches your torso, reciprocating your touch even more. arms raveling around your waist, pulling you closer, burying your head in his jacket. you look up just the slightest, not needing to crane your head so far.
for months mikey’s been so distant and cold to you. now the heat and warmth of his body are pressed firmly against yours, as if enveloping you in it. the feeling of his body against yours reignites the need you’ve tried to suppress for so long.
you respond eagerly, not wanting to miss up on the opportunity. your hands responsively tug on his jacket, as he shrugs it off. his body seems tense, like he’s trying to hold something off. mikey abruptly presses a kiss to your lips, like he’s attempting to devour you whole.
the kiss steals your breath, making your head spin dizzily and your body tremble in his grasp. he doesn’t let up, encouraging you for more. mikey seemed rougher, or was it just the lack of physical activity between you? your suspicions were confirmed as he utters out a plea.
a rare moment of vulnerability falling from his lips. “please help me,” he grunts, voice gruff and tense. you’d think you were going insane, hearing that from him. this was what you were missing the entire time. your head nods, bobbing against his neck.
mikey, who’s wrists nearly shake with barely suppressed need, pull you back into the bedroom, shutting the door after you with a kick. you drop yourself against the linen sheets, plopping down with a soft thud.
mikey quickly follows, unbuckling his pants and practically tearing off his shirt. his fingers fumble on the zipper of your hoodie and he groans with a satisfaction as you reveal you were wearing nothing underneath it.
one hand trails to the waistband of your sleep shorts, stilling reluctantly. “do you want this?” mikey whispers under his breath, just a silver of desperation in his shallow voice. he just needs you to say yes. he needs you. to get bullshit piling up in his head— you’re the antidote, he concludes.
as you mumble your approval of consent, mikey growls. his hands shoves down your sleep shorts, taking your panties along with it. immediately his fingers find your wet heat, digits swirling around in the pool of arousal.
his eyes widen. mikey’s left you alone for months. and you’ve missed him beyond words. he was starving you of himself, neglecting you so heavily in his line of work. the realization weighs heavy on him, only fueling his seeping desire.
there’s a sort of a rough feeling in the way he prods at your sloppy entrance. like mikey’s been so angry towards things that have happened but so sorry to you. as if he’s trying to fix things up with his touch, seal back the cracks of your longing relationship.
nevertheless, you feel good. “fuck. can’t believe this.” mikey grunts, and you’re not sure if he’s talking about how wet with slick you are or something that happened earlier. but his fingers slip inside you, exploring depths he’s left alone for months. he feels your need, how badly you’ve missed him in the way your hips buck against his palm, the way your clit pulsates under the firm pressure of his thumb.
wanton moans escape your mouth, chanting out ‘mikey’ like a mantra— like a song you just forgot you remembered. just as you feel a crippling hotness fill your core, his digits leave your inner walls, leaving you panting and slightly annoyed at the sudden denial of your orgasm.
mikey impatiently kicks off the pants and his boxers pooling at his ankles, giving his hardened cock pumps, nearly an angry purple at the tip. he doesn’t bother with protection, can’t bring himself to limit you of him even more. mikey settles in between your thighs, prying you open further.
his tip circles around you entrance, making you gasp out for more, before he plunders in. the penetration is deep and rough, stretching you out with a sting you missed.
“m—mikey.” you pant, eyes fluttering shut tightly as he sets a rough pace, hips not moving erratically but pounding against your insides with the slowest bit of aggression.
your soft tits bounce with each harsh snap of his hips. mikey groans, his pace rushing as he chases his pleasure, using you like a fleshlight. every drag of his length would’ve felt abrasive if it wasn’t for your copious amount of slick soiling and sticking to his pelvis, coating his shaft with your heady arousal.
his hands pull you closer— pull you harder against him, cockhead meanly beating against your cervix, hitting all the spots deep in you. it’s certainly not unsettlingly quiet anymore, the harsh scowls and desperate whines filling the air.
mikey’s being meaner, fuck, and you can feel all of it. but you don’t dare to raise your voice because this is what you’ve wanted. you missed this— the sting, the burn, the stretch of mikey violating your insides like a mere toy.
tears well up in your eyes as mikey stares down, his gaze intensifying. his mouth curls into a sick smile of satisfaction, and though he should feel bad for fucking you so hard like this, he doesn’t.
he can’t care much when you’re clutching and grasping around him like a lifeline. the tightest fucking vice he can shove his cock in. a droplet trails down your face and you can swear he grinned even further, lips curling in content.
his left hand even wraps around your throat, having twice the much leverage to meet his hips with your own, flesh slapping against each other in the hot air.
“fuck. yeah. cry f’ me like that,” mikey encourages further, cock splitting you open even more as he deepens the angle. you cry out his name, another little droplet running down your cheek. your face is absolutely wrecked at this point, stained with trails of salty tears that give him all the more reason to snap harder against you.
this isn’t mikey at all, willingly hurting you and getting off to it. you detect it all, the frustration he’s letting off as mikey fucks into you hard. your orgasm approaches you like an ambush, the sensation quickly building up as it becomes too much to take.
your walls clench around his dick, flexing over his length as if you’re gluing him inside of you. mikey groans in satisfaction, head falling back as he loses himself. it’s too much— so much you can’t handle this roughness. openly, you sob out his name, sniffling up the racing droplets on your face.
his thumb on your clit swipes over with aggressiveness, hard pressure blanketing you in an overstimulating state. your head short circuits, hips squirming and trembling. in return, mikey snaps his hips even harder, pushing you back in place. the shove of his cock is so deep, stinging deep in you, body struggling to keep up.
a few moments of more intolerable thrusts have you begging him to stop, though you wished you could take more. mikey’s hips stutter and jerk, before with a guttural groan of your name, he explodes in you. fucking his seed deep where it belongs, stirring your insides.
the next minutes feel foggy, like you’re blanking out as you sob out his name— mikey makes you cum two more times before he finally snaps out of it. he releases again, white seed filling you to the brim as your third orgasm subsides. your chest heaves, head heavy and eyes glossed over with excessive tears.
“o-oh my god. fuck.” mikey panics, eyes wide with realization. he’s pushed you beyond what you could’ve handled. made you feel used, while his intention was to just let off some steam. “b—baby. shit. i’m sorry.” he reluctantly pulls out, his cum seeping out of your abused hole.
mikey hisses before he forces himself to recover, arms wrapping around your body and settling you on his lap. “i’m sorry. fuck— y/n. i’m so sorry, baby.” you sniffle out as a response, eyes downcast.
it was too much. you bury your head in between the crook of his neck, fingers unstably curling in his hair. your other hand points to the bathroom across the bedroom door, urging him to take you there and clean you up.
mikey immediately obliges, setting you up with his forearms and marching to the bathroom. he sets you down on the bath, quickly running and testing out the water before it turns warm.
he grabs soap which he dispenses in the tub, shampoo, and attempts to light up a candle. anything to alleviate the mistake he’s made. the tub bubbles up, the air fragrant with the smell of the subtlest vanilla. mikey climbs in behind you, murmuring apologies as he lathers up shampoo in his hands.
“i’m sorry baby. i lost myself, fuck. i hurt you bad didn’t i? made you feel pain? i’m so, so sorry.”
your weak mumbles of reassurance tell him it’s okay. that you handled it anyway, though it seemed unbearable. his hands massage the tense muscles of your collar, a silent apology in their ministrations. you tell him how it did hurt. how bad you’ve missed him while he seemed so close yet so distant. mikey apologizes for it all.
soon, he carries you out the tub, drying you as you sit on the counter. mikey talks to you even more, voicing out problems and issue within the gang. he knows you’re probably sick of hearing his shenanigans, how you worry for him deeply despite his frequent indifference.
yet still you find yourself captivated by him. still want to love him unconditionally. that sets mikey with a deep sense of gratitude, one he knows that he should appreciate more. you love him.
so as he sets you back into bed, changing the sheets and moving you around gently, you wait for him. mikey quickly finishes up, jumping back into bed, hands curling around you torso as if keeping you attached to him. he cuddles you from behind, burying his face into your shoulder. spooning you, he says,
“i love you.”
꧁⎝ 𓆩༺✧༻𓆪 ⎠꧂
this man is so yummy bye even tho he’s ranked as the worse bf in the verse😇
sex with choso always has been vanilla, sloppy and passionate like the sensitive man he is. sometimes he’ll cry, which he constantly apologizes for, but you actually find it quite cute as he loses himself.
he doesn’t want to cause you discomfort, to shove you out of his comfort zone. you’re his precious girlfriend after all. and to even think about hurting you, it sets him with a deep worry, eyebrows furrowing as his overthinking has him fixated on a situation that’ll never happen.
until he sees your blood trickle.
(っ҂° ཀ•)っ⊹˚.
it was an accident, kissing your neck while you wrapped around him so tightly it nearly hurt to be inside you. your inner walls acting like they didn’t want him inside. your slick soiling and messily sticking to his pelvis, coating his shaft with your arousal.
choso had gone too far, wailing out your name before shutting his mouth too late. he had already had his teeth on the flesh of your neck, biting down unintentionally. hands flying to your chin to see if he harmed you bad.
at the sight, choso nearly sobs out an apology as he breaks the skin of your neck, eyes going wide at the sight of drawing blood so delicately. his nose crinkles, heart thrumming so loud in his chest you can feel his heartbeat quicken as choso begins to thrust in more quickly.
the red, velvet line seeping through the tiny bite, choso gasps pathetically. “i’ve made you bleed,” he inhales shakily, hips stuttering to a stop as he registers his doing. choso hilts all of himself, whining out your name. “i’ve made you… bleed.”
the realization dawns into him. and the sight of your blood fills his veins with something so hot and clouds his head with the thought to fuck into you harder—
faster. choso lowers his head down, into where he’d pierced your skin. he fears something has changed within him. something so horrible and bad it’s shameful.
“c-choso?” you call out, hips squirming as he suddenly slows down. choso’s face seems like he’s calculating something, coming up with a conclusion. the burn in your core doesn’t seem to calm down, desperate for more.
with a curious groan, he lets the warm, metallic tinge settle on his tongue, whimpering and shaking at the taste. you moan out as he begins to suckle on the cut like a crazed vampire, choso’s hips continuing with their frenzied thrusts once again.
every drive and drag of his cock against your walls drive him mad. the way you’re squeezing and clamping down on him for dear life only serves to make this worse for choso. the sounds that fall from his lips are like muffled sobs against your neck.
his hair is tussled, not in its usual hairstyle, sectioned out by two parts that look like little pucca pigtails. eyes blown so wide and abs flexing as he pushes himself in and in further, whining uncontrollably as he feels your cunt swallow his dick even more.
choso bites down even further, moaning into your skin as he savors the taste of your blood as he fucks you into oblivion. desperate, panicked thrusts like he’s gone absolutely mad. suckling on the laceration, shutting his eyes so tight his blood vessels would’ve popped.
and even then, him drawing his own blood and dripping it down your own body using his blood manipulation, only makes this newfound discovery even worse. he imagines the trickle of it dribbling over your sternum, or even better: over your breasts, down your stomach and even further down—
he stops himself as you squeeze him hard, crying out loud enough his thoughts circuit and cut off. choso releases his attachment the wound on your neck, praising you against your ear. whispering whiny declarations of ‘i love you’ and ‘you feel so good.’
you cum shortly after, gushing all over his cock and soiling his abdomen. then his hips get so unmeasured, thrusts so uncoordinated and messy it’s like he lacked experience at all. the feeling of his seed filling you up to the brim as he repeatedly moans your name, licking up the constant well of blood on your neck.
you smile at the sight of a tabby kitten chasing your tapping finger on the glass, rubbing its face against the glass as if rubbing against your hand. the tabby, given the name ame, swipes wildly as it tries to catch your finger.
you watch and listen with intent eyes as he meows, muffled by the glass. the tiny fluffy tail flickers back and forth like a metronome moving in sync with your wavering hand. you give a few final playful taps before moving down lower, seeing a labradoodle puppy ecstatic to see you.
you bend over to get a closer look, smile widening as it barks. “hi puppy,” you mumble against the glass, fingers rapping against the clear barrier. it’s almost closing hours, nobody else but you and kazutora’s in the pet shop. but he’s probably cleaning up, right?—
SMACK!
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ *ੈ✩‧₊˚‧₊˚
a stinging pain on your asscheeks spread like fire. startled, you yelp, turning your head around and seeing kazutora. silent amusement gleaming in his eyes. “ow!” you mutter, rubbing against your rear to soothe the stinging.
eyes slightly narrowed in interest, flickering between your hand over the curve of your ass and the puppy barking through the glass. it’s funny, he admits. like you’re mimicking the labradoodle pup.
he smiles. just the slightest. you’re used to this, the way he finds every opportunity to smack your ass against his hand. and you’re sure he even feels casual about it. kazutora shrugs, shutting his eyes as you berate him. can you blame him though?— he seems mystified every time he gets the chance to see your flesh ripple and bounce.
“kazu! that hurt!”
“oh did it?”
“yes, you idiot…”
“can i do it again?”
and just a little more teasing leads to… earlier closing hours (don’t tell chifuyu!) and kazutora repeatedly leaving a red imprint of his hand on your ass.
kakucho
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ *ੈ✩‧₊˚‧₊˚
kakucho is unsure about how he’s managed to keep such a gentle manner around you. especially after being like the most affectionate, doting partner, never even wanting to hurt you in the slightest.
it’s hard to say when exactly he became obsessed about occasionally smacking your ass every opportunity he could find, but he’s sure it started like this:
watching you bake across the kitchen, absolutely absorbed in perfecting the chocolate chip cookies. hands moving precisely and curling around the mixer. kneading the dough carefully. the wavering, fragrant air filled with the scent of cookie batter and cinnamon.
kakucho swears his hand moved on its own, planting against your rear with more force than intended. and he registers the feeling of your ass, soft and pliable under his palm. rippling through the fabric of your apron.
his heart quickened so fast, murmuring out an embarrassed apology. kakucho was worried he had hurt you— drawn a line and caused you pain. but when you turn your head around, smiling gently as if you had enjoyed it—
“i didn’t mind at all, kakucho.” you say innocently, licking off some cookie batter off your index finger. staring up at him, flour on your temple and hair messily moved away from your face.
kakucho’s heart drops. and needless to say, he’s become infatuated, so much every time you’re just the slightest bit of facing away from him, his hand (which he’ll swear over and over on his life moves on its own) lands against your ass on a daily basis.
sanemi
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ *ੈ✩‧₊˚‧₊˚
the hashira meeting concludes, a long lecture about introducing hashira training to the other slayers to prepare for muzan. nezuko kamado had conquered the sun, and lord ubayashiki knew the impending battle would come soon.
the training— institutionalized to improve and solidify the strength and skill they needed, would be organized by participating hashira. it was established in hopes slayers would awaken their demon slayer mark; a boost of power that would be proven to help in battle that would eventually result in dying at the early age of twenty five.
sanemi had been ticked off at giyuu’s indifference, the situation only alleviated by the seriousness of everyone else present. and as you’re walking alongside sanemi through the pathways of the ubayashiki estate, you don’t even dare to tease or piss him off.
the sun is setting, the horizon a vibrant color with hues of red and orange. you take a short stop to marvel at the sight before you, before bringing yourself back to consciousness, carrying your feet up and up, hand rested on the hilt of your sheath.
and so, as you step up the stone steps of the trail leading down the mountain, sanemi’s hand crashes against your bottom abruptly, startling you. you immediately turn around, face unamused but surprised.
you gasp out, nearly offended. you would’ve thought not to mess with him right now. but he’s seriously messing with you? “sanemi.” you grumble, turning your head to glare at him.
sanemi doesn’t say anything. he just stares at the stone beneath your feet. his wild white hair flows in the breeze, scarred chest accentuated even more at the lowering angle of the sun. you would’ve complimented him if it wasn’t for the ironic behavior.
“must’ve been the wind.” he mutters, resisting the curling smile on his scarred face. his light purple eyes focus on your hand, rubbing vigorously against your ass. sanemi quickly looks away as he notices your irritated expression. “sorry.”
“you bitch…” you groan as you press against the sting.
“…”
and later that night he gets to take out his earlier frustration on you, amazed by the way your flesh ripples like water with each pass of his palm. bickering about giyuu and the upcoming hashira training as if he’s not balls-deep in your cunt.
