Welcome to my blog! My name is Angie, but I also go by Ang. Whatever one you use is fine with me. I'm not new to Tumblr and I wanted to put my two cents in and make content for other KNY enjoyers ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂)⸝♡
I will mostly write about Giyuu, but if you have any other characters you'd like me to write about, please let me know and I'll be happy to do it! Just please know that I'm still in school and have my own life, but I come on here regularly, so it shouldn't be too much of a problem ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ )
I LOVED your cam boy Giyu hc!!! I would like to request a fic in which reader is dating him and doesn’t know about what he does for work. Until reader has a sleepover with mitsuri and they’re watching movies on her laptop and she accidentally clicks on a saved tab (his live) then reader is like holy shit that’s my bf then reader goes home and tries to act cool and fails miserably
Caught Cum Handed
⌞art by Seriu_eau on twt⌝
⧽⧽⧽ You sleep over at Mitsuri's place. As you are both getting settled in to watch a movie, she clicks on a tab that reveals your boyfriend's true income.
Mitsuri’s room was warm and cozy, lit by the soft glow of her pink salt lamp. You were sprawled across her bed, legs tangled in a blanket, popcorn bowl between you both as she scrolled through her laptop.
“Okay!” she chirped. “I found the perfect movie for tonight. It’s got romance, comedy, and a really dramatic confession scene that made me cry for like…twenty minutes.”
You laughed. “That sounds like you.”
She beamed. “I know, right?”
She clicked her browser.
A tab opened.
Not the movie site.
Something else.
It was legs and a thick cock on the screen. The hand pumping the man's cock at a fast pace, moans coming out of the speaker.
Cum was shooting out from the tip and onto the toned abdomen of the man before you on the other side of the screen.
The thing is you recognized that penis.
It didn't belong to just anyone.
It was one you sucked.
One that fucked you.
One that made you feel amazing in every way possible.
That was your boyfriend's dick on Mitsuri's laptop!
Something that made Mitsuri gasp, slap the laptop shut, and stare at the closed lid like it had personally betrayed her.
“Oh my god” she squeaked. “I didn’t mean to click that! That was—just—ignore that! That was—not for sleepover vibes!”
You blinked, heart suddenly pounding. “Uh…okay?”
She waved her hands frantically. “I swear I wasn’t watching anything weird! It was just...something someone sent me! I forgot it was open!”
You swallowed hard.
Because you had seen enough.
Not the details.
Not the content.
Just a hand wrapped around a cock with moans that filled your ears every other night.
Your stomach dropped.
Mitsuri didn’t notice. She was already reopening the browser, clicking the correct tab this time, babbling nervously.
“Okay! Movie time! Let’s pretend that never happened! Haha! Ha…ha…”
You nodded numbly. “Yeah. Sure.”
She pressed play.
But you didn’t hear the movie.
Your mind was stuck on that split second.
That image.
That unmistakable profile.
You didn’t know what the tab was.
You didn’t know why he was in it.
You didn’t know what it meant.
But you knew one thing:
Giyuu Tomioka was not who he said he was.
You barely slept.
Mitsuri snored softly beside you, hugging her pillow, blissfully unaware of the existential crisis happening three feet away.
You lay awake, staring at the ceiling.
Why was he there? What was he doing? What does he actually do for work?
You replayed every moment you’d ever asked him about his job.
He always answered vaguely.
He always changed the subject.
He always looked guilty.
You swallowed hard.
When Mitsuri woke up, stretching adorably, she smiled at you. “Good morning! Did you sleep okay?”
You lied. “Yeah.”
She didn’t question it. “Let’s get breakfast!”
You agreed, but your mind was somewhere else entirely.
You walked into Giyuu’s house with your heart in your throat.
He was in the kitchen, hair tied loosely, wearing a soft navy shirt and sweatpants. He looked so normal. So gentle. So…Giyuu.
He turned when he heard you.
“Welcome home,” he said quietly. “Did you have fun?”
You stared at him.
Really stared.
Suddenly everything felt different.
The way he moved. The way he stood. The way his eyes flicked over you, assessing, calm, steady.
It was nothing compared to seeing him jerk off on camera for hundreds to see, including your best friend. Poor girl didn't know it was your boyfriend.
You saw him in a new light; sharper, heavier, more dangerous, more mysterious.
He frowned. “Are you okay?”
You tried to act normal.
You failed instantly.
“Me? Yeah! Totally fine! Sleepover was great! Mitsuri is great! Movies were great! Everything is great!”
He blinked. “You’re talking fast.”
“No I’m not! This is my normal speed!”
He stepped closer, concern deepening. “You look pale.”
“I’m not pale! You’re pale!”
He stared at you. “…I’m always pale.”
You made a strangled noise. “Right! Haha! True!”
He tilted his head. “Did something happen?”
You opened your mouth.
Closed it.
Opened it again.
“Nope!” you squeaked. “Nothing happened! Everything is normal!”
He studied you for a long moment, eyes soft but searching.
“…You’re acting strange.”
You laughed nervously. “No I’m not!”
He raised an eyebrow.
You looked away, cheeks burning.
Because you couldn’t tell him. Not yet. Not until you understood what you saw. Not until you figured out how to ask without sounding insane.
So you stood there, pretending everything was fine, while your heart raced and your mind screamed.
Giyuu reached out, gently brushing your hair behind your ear.
“Whatever it is,” he murmured, “you can tell me.”
You swallowed hard.
“Yeah,” you whispered. “I know.”
But you didn’t.
Not yet.
Not until you were ready.
Giyuu; quiet, patient, unknowable, simply watched you, unaware that your entire world had shifted overnight.
A few hours later:
You
hey mits!
i don't mean to bring this up in a super weird way, but the man on your computer last night was giyuu
Mitsuri
OH MY GOD
Y/N I'M SO SORRY
I NEVER MEANT FOR THAT TO HAPPEN, PLEASE FORGIVE ME!
You
it's fine! i was shocked as well 😭
i didn't know he had an OF
im still processing
Mitsuri
Y/N, i canceled my subscription. I'm so so so so very sorry!!!
i never mean to start anything, if i did
have you brought it up to him????
You
no
i'm kind of nervous to say something
Mitsuri
That's understandable
I hope we're sill friends, though. I don't wanna lose you over something like this ☹️
You
Of course! It's nothing deep if you already canceled everything.
I love you still <3
Mitsuri
AWWHWH I LOVE YOU TOO
You set your phone down and took a deep breath, slapping your cheeks to calm yourself down.
You had to say something.
And soon.
a/n: tummy hurts from too much little caesars detroit deep dish pizzaauhhhhhh
in honor of the new spiderman movie coming out last week, could you perhaps write some spiderman!giyuu hcs, please?? 🕷️🥹
absofuckinglutely
Crawl Into My Heart
🕷 Headcanons for Spider-Man! Giyuu
⋆˚꩜｡ The field trip was Sabito’s idea. He practically dragged Giyuu onto the bus, teasing him for being “a hermit who needs sunlight.” The research lab was sterile and bright, filled with scientists explaining genetic modification projects. Giyuu stayed near the back, hands in his pockets, trying not to draw attention.
⋆˚꩜｡ Sabito leaned too close to one of the containment units, tapping the glass with a grin. The spider inside; small, dark, and unnervingly still, reacted. It slipped through a gap in the enclosure, landing on Giyuu’s sleeve. Sabito froze. Giyuu barely had time to inhale before it bit him, a sharp sting that made his whole arm jolt.
⋆˚꩜｡ Sabito teased him for days afterward, calling him “Spider-Giyuu,” but Giyuu felt something wrong humming beneath his skin. A fever that wouldn’t break. A heaviness in his bones. A strange awareness of every sound, every movement, every heartbeat around him.
⋆˚꩜｡ When Sabito died, a senseless accident, a moment that shattered Giyuu’s world, the powers surged. His grief cracked him open, and everything spilled out. Strength. Speed. Instinct. Pain. Purpose.
⋆˚꩜｡ Giyuu grows up in a quiet corner of Brooklyn, the kind of neighborhood where the stoops are worn smooth from decades of people sitting on them, and the air always smells faintly of roasted nuts from the street vendors. He walks the same route home every day, passing the same mural on the side of the laundromat; a mural Sabito once joked looked like “a superhero mid‑pose.” Even after everything, Giyuu still glances at it, as if Sabito might be waiting there.
⋆˚꩜｡ Sabito was the sun in Giyuu’s sky, the loud, bright, unshakeable force who pulled him out of his shell. Sabito talked with his hands, laughed with his whole chest, and believed in Giyuu with a sincerity that embarrassed him. Losing Sabito didn’t just hurt; it rearranged the architecture of Giyuu’s world. Everything became quieter, dimmer, like someone turned the volume down on life.
⋆˚꩜｡ He keeps Sabito’s old Spider-Man comics in a shoebox under his bed. The box is taped at the corners, worn from being opened too many times. Giyuu doesn’t read them for fun; he reads them to feel close to Sabito. Sometimes he pauses on a panel Sabito used to rant about, remembering the way Sabito’s eyes lit up when he talked about heroes who never gave up.
⋆˚꩜｡ Giyuu is observant to the point of ache. He notices the way someone’s shoulders sag when they’re carrying too much, the way a stranger’s voice trembles when they’re scared, the way the city’s rhythm changes after midnight. He doesn’t speak often, but he absorbs everything, storing it quietly like a secret.
⋆˚꩜｡ He apologizes even when he’s the one hurt. If someone bumps into him on the subway, he murmurs “sorry” under his breath, even though he wasn’t at fault. It’s instinct. A reflex born from years of trying not to take up space.
⋆˚꩜｡ He loves Brooklyn in a quiet, reverent way. The cracked sidewalks, the graffiti that changes every week, the way the skyline looks like jagged teeth against the sunset; it’s imperfect, but it’s home. He knows which bodegas stay open late, which rooftops have the best views, which alleys echo too loudly.
⋆˚꩜｡ His room is immaculate, not because he’s naturally tidy, but because clutter makes him feel like he’s losing control. Everything is folded, stacked, aligned. His suit hangs behind a row of hoodies, hidden but always ready.
⋆˚꩜｡ Giyuu doesn’t lie well, but he’s excellent at omission. He’ll give you half the truth with a steady gaze, letting you fill in the rest. It’s not deception; it’s protection.
⋆˚꩜｡ He feeds stray cats on his fire escape, even though he pretends he doesn’t. One of them, a scruffy gray tabby, waits for him every night. He named it “Mizu,” though he’d never admit it.
⋆˚꩜｡ He carries Sabito’s old MetroCard in his wallet, even though it’s expired. The edges are frayed, the print faded, but he keeps it tucked behind his own card. Sometimes, when he’s anxious, he presses his thumb against it; a grounding gesture, a reminder of the boy who once stood beside him on crowded trains, laughing at how Giyuu always lost his balance.
⋆˚꩜｡ He’s the type of person who remembers small kindnesses for years. A stranger holding the door for him. A teacher who once told him he had potential. Sabito sharing his umbrella during a storm. These moments stay with him, shaping the way he treats others.
⋆˚꩜｡ Giyuu has a complicated relationship with silence. On one hand, he craves it; the quiet corners of the city, the hush of early morning, the stillness of rooftops. On the other hand, silence reminds him of Sabito’s absence. He fills the emptier moments with soft ambient music, the kind that sounds like rain on glass.
⋆˚꩜｡ He has a habit of staring at the East River, especially at night. The water reflects the city lights in broken, shimmering patterns. He likes the way it moves; steady, unbothered, always flowing forward. It reminds him that grief doesn’t stop the world, even when it feels like it should.
⋆˚꩜｡ Giyuu moves like water, silent and fluid, slipping through shadows with a grace that feels almost supernatural. Criminals often don’t hear him until he’s already behind them.
⋆˚꩜｡ He doesn’t quip. He doesn’t joke mid-fight. His silence is unnerving; a calm, steady presence that feels more like a force of nature than a person.
⋆˚꩜｡ His suit is minimalist, dark navy with subtle webbing patterns. Inside the gloves, stitched where no one can see, is Sabito’s favorite shade of teal. It’s his private tribute, a reminder of the boy who believed in heroes.
⋆˚꩜｡ He patrols at night, when the city softens and the noise fades. Brooklyn feels different after midnight; honest, vulnerable, alive in a way daylight never captures.
⋆˚꩜｡ Giyuu saves people gently, catching them like they’re fragile, lowering them with care. He checks them twice before leaving, making sure they’re steady on their feet.
⋆˚꩜｡ He hates attention. When someone tries to thank him, he’s already gone, swinging into the night before their sentence finishes.
⋆˚꩜｡ He apologizes to criminals when he webs them too tightly. “Sorry. I’ll fix it later.” They never know how to respond.
⋆˚꩜｡ Giyuu doesn’t kill. Not because he thinks it’s morally superior, but because Sabito once told him, “Heroes save people. All people. Even the ones who don’t deserve it.”
⋆˚꩜｡ Giyuu’s spider-sense feels like a ripple under his skin, a subtle vibration that spreads from his spine outward. It’s not painful, but it’s intense. A sudden awareness that makes the world sharpen around him. He’s learned to trust it completely, even when he doesn’t understand it.
⋆˚꩜｡ He doesn’t enjoy fighting. Every punch, every kick, every web shot is calculated, efficient, necessary, but never joyful. He fights because he must, not because he wants to. Sabito used to say heroes didn’t fight for glory; they fought because someone had to. Giyuu carries that belief like a vow.
⋆˚꩜｡ He keeps a small notebook of people he’s saved, not with names, but with descriptions.
“Woman with red scarf.”
“Teen with skateboard.”
“Man who cried afterward.”
He doesn’t know why he writes them down. Maybe to remind himself that he’s making a difference, even when it feels like he’s failing.
⋆˚꩜｡ Giyuu has a favorite rooftop, one that overlooks a quiet stretch of Brooklyn where the traffic hums softly and the air smells faintly of bakery bread. It’s where he goes when he needs to think, or breathe, or simply exist without expectation. Sabito once sat there with him, legs dangling over the edge, talking about dreams Giyuu didn’t believe he deserved.
⋆˚꩜｡ He hates seeing fear in people’s eyes, especially when they look at him. He tries to soften his presence, lowering his voice, keeping his movements gentle. He wants people to feel safe, not intimidated.
⋆˚꩜｡ He memorizes your routines without meaning to. The way you stir your coffee, the time you leave your apartment, the songs you hum when you’re distracted. He notices everything, storing it like precious data.
⋆˚꩜｡ Giyuu walks you home every night, swinging above the streetlights, keeping pace with your footsteps. You never see him, but he’s always there, watching over you with quiet devotion.
⋆˚꩜｡ He brings you small things; a warm drink, a book he thinks you’ll like, a flower he found growing between cracks in the sidewalk. He never explains why. He just leaves them near you, hoping you’ll understand.
⋆˚꩜｡ He listens to you with full presence, giving you his entire attention. When you speak, he watches your face like he’s memorizing every expression.
⋆˚꩜｡ Giyuu is protective in subtle ways, guiding you away from crowds, stepping between you and danger, noticing when you’re cold before you do.
⋆˚꩜｡ He’s terrified of losing you, terrified of repeating Sabito’s story. It makes him slow, careful, hesitant, but deeply devoted.
⋆˚꩜｡ Giyuu kisses like he’s learning, gentle and deliberate, touching your face like you’re something fragile and irreplaceable.
⋆˚꩜｡ He gets nervous around you in ways he doesn’t understand. His spider-sense doesn’t warn him about danger; it warns him about closeness. His heart beats faster. His palms feel warm. He becomes hyper-aware of every inch of space between you.
⋆˚꩜｡ Giyuu remembers every conversation you’ve ever had, even the small ones. If you mention liking a certain snack, he’ll quietly bring it to you days later. If you say you’re stressed, he’ll check on you more often. He listens with intention, storing your words like precious things.
⋆˚꩜｡ He’s gentle with affection, almost reverent. When he holds your hand, he does it like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. When he hugs you, he hesitates for a moment, a silent question, before pulling you close.
⋆˚꩜｡ He’s terrified of confessing, not because he thinks you’ll reject him, but because loving someone feels like handing them the most fragile part of himself. Sabito once told him love was brave. Giyuu isn’t sure he’s brave enough yet.
⋆˚꩜｡Giyuu doesn’t plan the reveal. It happens in a moment where he’s forced to choose between keeping his secret and keeping you safe, and he chooses you without hesitation. His mask comes off with trembling fingers, his breath uneven, his eyes searching yours like he’s bracing for impact.
⋆˚꩜｡ He looks terrified. Not of you, but of what this means. His shoulders are tense, his jaw tight, his eyes flicking away every few seconds like he can’t bear to see disappointment or fear on your face. He’s bracing for rejection, for anger, for the world to shift in a way he can’t control.
⋆˚꩜｡ Giyuu apologizes immediately. Softly, quietly, almost whispering. “I didn’t want you to be dragged into this.” His voice cracks on the last word. He’s not apologizing for lying, he’s apologizing for the danger he thinks he’s brought into your life.
⋆˚꩜｡ He expects you to step back. He expects distance. He expects you to look at him differently, like he’s something strange, something dangerous, something other. He’s ready for it. He’s prepared for it. But it still hurts.
⋆˚꩜｡ When you don’t step back, he freezes. Completely. Like his body forgets how to move. Your closeness, your calmness, your acceptance; it hits him harder than any villain ever could.
⋆˚꩜｡ He watches your face like it’s the most important thing in the world. Every blink, every breath, every shift in your expression. He’s memorizing your reaction, storing it like a lifeline.
⋆˚꩜｡ When you touch his face, he almost flinches. Not because he doesn’t want it, but because he’s overwhelmed. Your hand on his cheek feels like forgiveness, like trust, like something he never thought he’d deserve.
⋆˚꩜｡ He whispers your name like a confession. Like he’s handing you the most fragile part of himself. Because he is.
⋆˚꩜｡ After, Giyuu becomes more protective, but softer about it. Not controlling, not overbearing. Just present. He walks you home more openly now. He stands a little closer. His hand lingers on your back when crowds get too thick.
⋆˚꩜｡ He lets you see the vulnerable parts. The exhaustion. The bruises. The nights where he doubts himself. The mornings where he can’t shake the nightmares. He doesn’t hide anymore. He doesn’t pretend he’s fine. He lets you in.
⋆˚꩜｡ Giyuu talks more. Not a lot, he’s still Giyuu, but more than before. He tells you about patrols, about the people he saved, about the moments that scared him. He tells you about Sabito. He tells you about the spider bite. He tells you things he’s never said aloud.
⋆˚꩜｡ He relaxes around you in ways he doesn’t around anyone else. His shoulders loosen. His voice softens. His gaze lingers. He sits closer, stands closer, breathes easier. You become his safe place; the one corner of the world where he doesn’t have to be Spider-Man.
⋆˚꩜｡ He trusts you with his silence. Before, his quietness felt like distance. Now it feels like intimacy. When he sits beside you without speaking, it’s because he feels understood without needing words.
⋆˚꩜｡ Giyuu lets you touch him more. His hands, his hair, his face. He leans into your touch like it steadies him. Like it anchors him. Like it reminds him he’s still human beneath the mask.
⋆˚꩜｡ He becomes more emotionally transparent. Not dramatically, but in small, meaningful ways. A soft “I’m glad you’re here.” A quiet “I was worried.” A whispered “Thank you.” He lets you see the depth of his feelings, even if he can’t always articulate them.
⋆˚꩜｡ He starts showing up at your window. Not just after patrol, but before. During. Whenever he needs a moment of peace. He sits on your fire escape, waiting for you to open the window, his mask in his hands, his expression soft in a way he never shows the world.
⋆˚꩜｡ He starts kissing you while hanging upside down, hair loose, and hands gentle on your face, as if you were a porcelain doll.
⋆˚꩜｡ He lets you help him. With bandages. With talking through tough nights. With grounding him when his thoughts spiral. He doesn’t carry everything alone anymore.
⋆˚꩜｡ He loves you differently now. Not quietly from the shadows, but openly, gently, deliberately. Every action becomes a confession. Every touch becomes a promise. Every moment becomes something he cherishes.
⋆˚꩜｡ You become the person he comes home to. The person he trusts. The person he chooses. The person he lets see him, all of him.
⋆˚꩜｡ Giyuu cannot dance. His body moves beautifully in combat, but the moment music plays, he becomes stiff and awkward. Sabito used to tease him mercilessly for it.
⋆˚꩜｡ He gets stuck to things constantly. Street signs, fire escapes, his own bedsheets. He pretends it doesn’t happen, but he once spent ten minutes trying to unstick his hand from a bodega counter.
⋆˚꩜｡ He once tried to web a mug from across the room, thinking it would be convenient. It shattered instantly. He quietly swept the pieces and never attempted it again.
⋆˚꩜｡ He has a terrible sweet tooth, especially for bodega pastries. Sabito used to buy him one every morning before he died. In fact, Sabito bought one for Giyuu on his way to school, and that's when the accident happened. Oops!
⋆˚꩜｡ Giyuu forgets he’s strong, accidentally breaking pens, doorknobs, and occasionally entire chairs. He apologizes every time.
⋆˚꩜｡ He once webbed himself to a subway pole during a sudden stop and pretended it was intentional. It wasn’t.
⋆˚꩜｡ He’s weirdly good at knitting, something Sabito taught him as a joke. He makes scarves for people anonymously, leaving them in places where they’ll be found.
⋆˚꩜｡ Giyuu has a favorite bodega cat, a chunky orange tabby named “Pumpkin.” Pumpkin likes to sit on Giyuu’s lap when he stops by, and Giyuu pretends he doesn’t enjoy it, even though he absolutely does.
⋆˚꩜｡ He once tried to make pancakes, forgot he had super strength, and snapped the whisk in half. He stared at it for a long moment, sighed, and made toast instead. He broke the handle for that as well.
⋆˚꩜｡ Giyuu talks to Sabito sometimes, not out loud, but in his head. When he’s unsure, when he’s scared, when he’s overwhelmed, he imagines what Sabito would say. It helps him feel less alone.
⋆˚꩜｡ Sabito’s death is the core of his heroism. Not guilt, but love. Giyuu wants to save people the way Sabito saved him, to honor the boy who believed in heroes before Giyuu ever did.
⋆˚꩜｡ He keeps Sabito’s last voicemail saved, listening to it on nights when the city feels too heavy. Sabito’s voice steadies him, reminding him why he keeps going.
⋆˚꩜｡ He helps old ladies carry groceries, even if it means being late to a fight. He believes small kindnesses matter just as much as big heroics.
⋆˚꩜｡ Giyuu is secretly artistic, sketching the city skyline in a notebook he hides under his mattress. The pages are filled with rooftops, fire escapes, and quiet corners of Brooklyn.
⋆˚꩜｡ He has a quiet fear of hospitals, not because of pain, but because Sabito died in one. The sterile smell, the fluorescent lights, the too-white walls; they make his chest tighten. He still goes when he must, but he avoids them when he can.
⋆˚꩜｡ He believes in second chances, fiercely. He’s seen too many people fall apart to ever think someone is beyond saving. Sabito used to say everyone deserved a chance to be better. Giyuu carries that belief like a torch.
⋆˚꩜｡ He’s the kind of hero who stays with someone until help arrives, even if it means sitting on the sidewalk with them, talking softly, keeping them calm. He doesn’t rush away unless he has to. He knows what fear feels like. He refuses to leave people alone in it.
a/n: if i jumped to kill myself, he'd let my fatass fall 😹
⊹₊⋆ Headcanons for Plushie! Giyuu who turned human.
๋࣭⭑ He remembers everything. Every muffled conversation, every late‑night rant, every time you tossed him across the bed while looking for your charger, every time you got dressed; all of it is stored with perfect clarity. Plushie silence didn’t mean plushie ignorance.
๋࣭⭑ Your voice was his anchor. Even when you weren’t talking to him directly, he memorized the cadence of your speech, the way you laugh when your friends say something stupid, the way your tone softens when you’re tired.
๋࣭⭑ He knows your routines better than you do. The exact time you usually get up, the way you stretch before leaving bed, the order you put on your skincare; he watched it all from his unmoving vantage point.
๋࣭⭑ Giyuu felt every touch. Plush fabric dulled sensation, but he still felt pressure, warmth, and movement. The way you hugged him tight at night was the closest thing he had to a heartbeat.
๋࣭⭑ He developed a quiet devotion. Being held so close, so often, made him feel chosen even if he couldn’t respond. You were the only person who ever treated him like something precious.
๋࣭⭑ He got jealous of your phone. Not in a dramatic way, but he noticed how often you cuddled him while scrolling, laughing at things he couldn’t see. He wanted to be the thing that made you laugh.
๋࣭⭑ Giyuu loved being your comfort object. Every time you squeezed him during a stressful call or buried your face in him after a long day, he felt needed. It gave him purpose.
๋࣭⭑ He hated when you cried. Plushie immobility was torture. Giyuu wanted to wipe your tears, but all he could do was absorb them into his fabric and hope you felt less alone.
๋࣭⭑ Giyuu felt temperature changes. When you left him in the sun, he felt warm and drowsy. When you forgot him on the floor near the AC, he felt cold and lonely.
๋࣭⭑ He could tell when you washed him. The water felt like drowning and rebirth at the same time; terrifying but cleansing.
๋࣭⭑ Giyuu always knew when you squeezed him too hard. Not painful, but startling. He always wondered what emotion caused it; excitement? frustration? affection?
๋࣭⭑ He loved being tucked under your chin. That was the closest he ever felt to being human: your breath warming his plush head, your heartbeat vibrating through your chest.
๋࣭⭑ He woke up already knowing you. No confusion, no panic; just the overwhelming relief of finally being able to move, speak, breathe.
๋࣭⭑ His first instinct was to check on you. He didn’t care about his new body; he cared about whether you were safe, comfortable, and not frightened by his transformation.
๋࣭⭑ He was overwhelmed by sensation. Real skin, real breath, real warmth; everything felt too sharp, too vivid. But your presence grounded him instantly.
๋࣭⭑ Giyuu was embarrassed by his height. He’s taller than you now, but he remembers being small enough to fit in your arms. The shift feels intimate and strange.
๋࣭⭑ He’s emotionally fluent with you only. He learned your moods over years of plushie observation, so he understands you better than he understands himself.
๋࣭⭑ Soft‑spoken but deeply observant. He’s used to watching silently, so he still prefers listening over talking.
๋࣭⭑ Protective in a quiet way. He doesn’t hover or nag, he simply positions himself between you and anything that might hurt you.
๋࣭⭑ He’s awkward with physical freedom. He sometimes forgets he can move on his own and freezes in place out of habit.
๋࣭⭑ Giyuu is shy about affection. As a plushie, you hugged him constantly. As a human, he blushes when you brush his arm.
๋࣭⭑ He still seeks proximity. He sits close enough to touch you, but not so close that it seems intentional unless you invite him.
๋࣭⭑ Giyuu remembers every cuddle. Every night you held him tight is etched into his memory. He treasures those moments more than anything.
๋࣭⭑ He’s quietly possessive. Not in a toxic way; he just feels like he belongs with you, because you were the one who cared for him when he was helpless.
๋࣭⭑ Your loud phone calls used to amuse him. Now he tries not to smile too much when you get animated while gaming.
๋࣭⭑ He still flinches when you toss things on the bed. Old instincts; he remembers being thrown around accidentally. Giyuu remembers every time you consoled his plushie form when he hit the wall the floor.
๋࣭⭑ Giyuu loves watching you get ready. He used to see it from a fixed angle; now he can admire the details up close.
๋࣭⭑ He’s fascinated by your hands. They used to hold him every night. Now they’re warm, expressive, alive, and he can hold them back.
๋࣭⭑ He curls up small when he sleeps. Old habit; he’s used to being compact.
๋࣭⭑ He freezes when overwhelmed. "Plushie instincts" tell him to stay still and wait.
๋࣭⭑ Giyuu loves being held. He’ll never admit it out loud, but being hugged makes him feel safe in a way nothing else does.
๋࣭⭑ He folds your blankets with military precision. He watched you struggle with them for years.
๋࣭⭑ He keeps your room tidy. He remembers being kicked off the bed during cleaning sprees.
๋࣭⭑ Giyuu always checks your pillow before you sleep. Plushie instinct: make sure the human is comfortable.
Bonus
๋࣭⭑ He’s terrified you’ll stop needing him. As a plushie, his entire purpose was to comfort you. As a human, he worries he’s less useful.
๋࣭⭑ He’s grateful for every moment. Every conversation, every shared meal, every laugh; he never takes anything for granted.
๋࣭⭑ He feels undeserving of your affection. You loved him when he was nothing but fabric. Now that he’s human, he feels pressure to be worthy of that love.
๋࣭⭑ He’s quietly devoted. Not dramatic, not obsessive. Only deeply and unwaveringly loyal.
๋࣭⭑ He still sleeps on your side of the bed when you’re gone.
๋࣭⭑ He blushes when you call him “cute,” because you used to say it to his plush form.
๋࣭⭑ He sometimes sits in the exact spot you used to leave him, out of nostalgia.
๋࣭⭑ He melts when you hug him from behind; it reminds him of being held as a plushie.
taking fem giyuu to the beach and surprise buying her a pretty new swimsuit before to replace the Boring Practical one she definitely owns, and then getting to tell her how nice it looks on her 🥰 (mostly fluff, but there can be some silly dirty jokes from reader if it fits) pretty please and thank you when you have time!!!
You Look Beautiful
⋆.˚𓇼 You get Giyuu a new swimsuit to replace her old, boring one.
The morning is warm before it even fully arrives; sunlight spilling through your curtains in soft gold, the kind that promises a perfect beach day. You’re already awake, packing sunscreen, towels, snacks, and a cooler. But the real surprise sits folded carefully at the bottom of your bag: a new swimsuit for Giyuu.
You’d seen it days ago. A deep ocean-blue one-piece with delicate straps and a subtle pattern that reminded you of waves. Feminine without being flashy. Soft without being frilly. Something that felt like her, or at least the version of her she never lets herself see.
Her old swimsuit is well, for a lack of a better word.
Functional.
Plain.
The kind of thing someone buys because it “works,” not because it makes them feel good.
You want her to feel good today.
When she arrives at your door, she’s dressed in her usual quiet way: loose shorts, a simple tee, hair tied back. She carries a small bag, probably with nothing but her practical swimsuit, sunscreen, and a towel inside.
“Good morning,” she says softly.
Her voice is calm, but her eyes brighten when she sees you. She always looks a little surprised that you’re happy to see her, like she hasn’t fully accepted that she’s someone worth being excited about.
“Ready for the beach?” you ask.
She nods, a faint smile tugging at her lips.
The car ride is peaceful. Giyuu sits in the passenger seat, watching the coastline appear in the distance. She doesn’t talk much, but she doesn’t need to. Her presence is steady, warm, familiar.
At one point, she glances at you.
“You seem…excited,” she says quietly.
You grin. “I am. It’s going to be a good day.”
She looks out the window again, but you catch the tiny smile she tries to hide.
The sand is warm beneath your feet as you unload everything. Giyuu helps without being asked, carrying the heavier items with ease. She sets up the umbrella, smooths out the towels, and stands back like she’s waiting for instructions.
You touch her arm gently.
“Hey,” you say. “Before we go in the water…I got something for you.”
Her brows lift slightly.
“For me?”
You nod and reach into your bag, pulling out the folded swimsuit. Her eyes widen just a little, not in shock, but in that quiet, startled way she gets when someone does something kind for her.
You hold it out.
“I thought you might like this.”
She doesn’t take it right away. She just stares at it, then at you, then back at it again.
“…Why?” she asks softly.
“Because you deserve something pretty,” you say. “I thought it would look really nice on you.”
Her breath catches. She looks down at the swimsuit again, fingers brushing the fabric like she’s afraid she’ll ruin it.
“It’s…beautiful,” she murmurs. “But I don’t know if—”
“You don’t have to wear it if you don’t want to,” you say gently. “But I’d love to see you in it.”
She hesitates. Then nods.
“I’ll try it.”
She disappears into the changing stall near the restrooms. You sit on the towel, listening to the waves, trying not to imagine her overthinking every detail.
When she finally steps out, you look up, and your breath stops.
The swimsuit fits her perfectly. The deep blue makes her eyes look brighter. The shape highlights her strength without hiding it. She looks like the ocean carved her from its own colors.
However, she stands stiffly, arms hovering awkwardly at her sides, like she’s bracing for criticism.
“…Does it look strange?” she asks quietly. “I’m not used to wearing things like this.”
"Oh, I'm no better than a man."
Giyuu's cheeks flushed at your remark.
You stand and walk toward her, slow and steady.
“Giyuu,” you say, voice warm, certain, soft. “You look beautiful.”
She freezes and is stunned, like she doesn’t know how to process the words.
“You’re sure?” she whispers.
You nod, stepping close enough to gently adjust one of the straps on her shoulder.
“It suits you,” you say. “It brings out your eyes. And it makes you look like…you. Not the version of you that hides behind practicality. The real you.”
Her cheeks flush faintly, a soft pink that spreads slowly.
“I didn’t think I could look like this,” she admits.
“You can,” you say. “And you do.”
She looks down at herself again, touching the fabric lightly.
“…Thank you,” she murmurs. “For choosing this. For thinking of me.”
You smile.
“Come on,” you say. “Let’s go in the water.”
Giyuu stands at the shoreline, watching the waves roll in. She doesn’t step in right away. She’s cautious, thoughtful, measuring the water like it’s something she needs to understand before approaching.
You take her hand.
“I’ll stay with you,” you say.
She nods, squeezing your fingers gently.
The water is cool around your ankles. Giyuu moves slowly, letting each wave wash over her feet before taking another step. She’s not afraid, just unfamiliar, like someone who grew up near rivers but never learned to swim.
When the water reaches her waist, she pauses.
“This is enough,” she says quietly.
You smile. “Then we’ll stay right here.”
She relaxes, letting the waves push and pull around her. Her hair sticks to her cheeks, her swimsuit glistens in the sun, and she looks peaceful. More peaceful than you’ve seen her in a long time.
At one point, she glances at you, eyes soft.
“I’m glad you brought me here.”
“I’m glad you came.”
She hesitates, then speaks again, quieter.
“...Thank you for the swimsuit. I didn’t know I could feel pretty.”
You reach up and brush a wet strand of hair from her face.
“You’ve always been pretty,” you say. “This just helps you see it.”
Her cheeks flush again, deeper this time.
She looks away, but she doesn’t let go of your hand.
As the sun begins to set, you both sit on the sand, wrapped in towels. Giyuu leans against you, her head resting lightly on your shoulder.
She’s quiet, but not in her usual distant way. She’s quiet in a comfortable way; the kind that means she feels safe.
After a long moment, she speaks.
“I want to wear it again,” she says softly. “The swimsuit. I…like how it feels.”
You smile, brushing your thumb over her knuckles.
“I’m really glad.”
She turns her head slightly, looking at you with that gentle, earnest expression she only ever shows when she’s feeling something deeply.
“Thank you,” she says again. “For seeing me the way you do.”
You lean your head against hers.
“Always.”
a/n: my beautiful, awkward girl. come home i miss you
˗ˏˋ Giyuu fucks you so hard, he breaks the bed ˎˊ˗
Giyuu's low growls left his lips as his hips pistoned into yours.
The bed creaked with every heavy thrust that jolted your body. You were practically pressed against the mattress, sweat clinging to your body.
Hearing your moans only made him pound you harder.
“That’s it. Don’t hold back,” Giyuu groaned and threw his head back as he tried pushed your head into the pillow.
His cock rubbed your walls in all the good places, making you squirm and push your hips back against him.
Giyuu’s abdomen clenched as he came a third time, not stopping to pull out.
“Oh, baby. I missed you so much. My beloved wife.” He groaned and pressed his hands into your back, angling his hips upward.
This elicited a loud whine from you, body recoiling from every push and pull of his thick cock.
“Mgh–s’good!”
Giyuu brought his hands up to flip you over on you back and hike your legs over his shoulders, straightening his back and slid back into you with a low moan.
“…So perfect for me.” He huffed out as the sound of skin slapping increased, muting the bed frame creaking as the two of you made love.
Giyuu’s hands gripped your knees as his brows furrowed, looking down to see the creamy white ring that surrounded his cock where it slipped into you.
“Oh, yeah…mph! God, you’re the best thing that ever happened to me.” His voice a pitch higher as he quickly let go of your legs and hovered over you, pulling you into a messy kiss.
The frame repeatedly hit the wall, and the support under the mattress began to splinter.
Giyuu ground his hips into yours as his hands moved to grab your waist, moaning at how deep he was inside of you.
His balls slapped against your ass as he moved once again, chasing his fourth release of the night.
Your juices made a mess against his pelvis and the sheets, whining loudly as his cock rubbed your g spot repeatedly.
“Fuck, Yuu! I’m so close. Wanna cum, please!” You cried out as your legs began to tremble with the anticipation of your release.
Giyuu grunted as he focused his thrusts in a certain angle that made your mind go blank.
The bed gave in slightly, but Giyuu didn’t stop as he pounded his remaining energy into your greedy pussy.
“Cum with me, baby. Give it to me, and I’ll fill you up.”
Your walls clamped down on him as you squealed.
Giyuu roared as he rode out his own release, thrusting harshly into yours three more times until a sharp ‘CRACK’ echoed through the room.
His eyes widened and cheeks flushed immediately as he realized what had happened.
“Oh…I’m sorry. I’ll get a new bed.”
You looked up at him, mind still fuzzy from your orgasm, managing a small giggle.
“Yuu, there’s no way you broke the bed. Must’ve been a rough day, hm?”
“…Maybe.” His eyes darted away from yours as he settled above you, hiding his face in your collarbone.
You sighed and wrapped your legs around him, carding your fingers through his long tresses.
“…Maybe we should just leave the mattress on the floor if you’re going to go this hard.”
A huff was your response before silence settled over the two of you, the scent of sex and the lingering embarrassment of the fact that he had just broke the bed filling the room.
If you have something better, send it in and I’ll see if I can do it 🙂↕️I have requests to fulfill and I will get to them this week, but I want to busy myself before college starts. As for the ppl who wanted a pt2 to Validation, that will get done on Wednesday ‼️
*insert gif of vanilla looking amazed with sparkles*
Cats and Coffee Cakes
₍^. .^₎⟆ Headcanons for Cat Cafe Worker! Giyuu
𐔌˙. This was the only job that took Giyuu in because of his quiet nature.
𐔌˙. Giyuu moves through the café with a kind of quiet gravity, like he’s part of the building itself. Customers often describe him as “calming,” even if they’ve only seen him for a few seconds. He doesn’t rush, doesn’t stumble, doesn’t make unnecessary noise; everything he does is intentional, gentle, and steady. The cats respond to this immediately, drifting toward him like he’s a warm patch of sunlight.
𐔌˙. He’s the type of worker who blends into the background until you really look. Then you notice how the cats orbit him, how he always seems to be exactly where he’s needed, how he anticipates problems before they happen. He’s not flashy or charismatic; he’s quietly reliable, the anchor of the café.
𐔌˙. Every cat has a different “voice” to him. Not literally, but a distinct emotional texture he can read. He knows when one is overstimulated, when another is lonely, when a third is about to start trouble. He adjusts his behavior accordingly, offering space, comfort, or distraction without ever forcing interaction.
𐔌˙. The shy cats adore him. They’ll peek out from behind furniture when he walks by, following him at a distance like little shadows. He never pushes them to come out; he simply sits nearby, letting them approach on their own terms. Eventually, they do; curling against his leg or settling beside him with quiet trust.
𐔌˙. The troublemaker cats also love him, but in a different way. They’ll steal his pens, bat at his shoelaces, or climb onto his back while he’s crouched down. He never scolds them; he just sighs softly and gently removes them, like he’s used to being treated as a jungle gym.
𐔌˙. Giyuu opens the café before sunrise. The world is still blue and quiet when he arrives, and he likes that; he sense of being the first one awake. The cats greet him with soft meows and slow blinks, gathering around his feet as he moves through the space.
𐔌˙. He does everything in a specific order: lights, food, water, litter, toys, windows, music. It’s a ritual that centers him. Sometimes he pauses halfway through to sit on the floor with a cup of tea, letting the cats climb into his lap while he mentally prepares for the day.
𐔌˙. He talks to the cats in a low, almost monotone voice, but there’s warmth in it. Not baby talk, just quiet acknowledgment.
“Good morning.”
“Move, please.”
“You’re early today.”
The cats respond like they understand.
𐔌˙. Giyuu is meticulous about cleanliness. He wipes surfaces with slow, deliberate motions, making sure no fur or crumbs remain. He cleans the cat trees weekly, brushes out the tunnels, and replaces worn toys before anyone notices. He’s the reason the café always smells faintly of tea and cedar instead of animals.
𐔌˙. He rarely speaks to customers unless necessary, but when he does, his voice is soft and unexpectedly soothing. People often lean in to hear him, and he gets slightly flustered when they do.
𐔌˙. He’s also the one who handles grooming. Even the grumpy cats tolerate him, letting him trim nails or brush fur without fuss. He has a way of holding them, secure but gentle, and that makes them relax instantly.
𐔌˙. He keeps a small notebook tucked into his apron pocket. It’s filled with neat handwriting and tiny doodles of cats. Each page is dedicated to a different cat: feeding notes, medical reminders, favorite toys, personality quirks.
𐔌˙. The doodles are surprisingly cute; round cats with tiny paws, sleepy faces, little hearts. He doesn’t show the notebook to anyone, but coworkers have caught glimpses and tease him about it. He denies it every time, even though the blush in his ears gives him away.
𐔌˙. Giyuu is polite but reserved. He answers questions clearly but never elaborates unless asked. He’s not unfriendly, just quiet, focused, and slightly awkward around strangers.
𐔌˙. Children make him nervous at first, but he’s incredibly patient with them. He kneels down to their height, explains how to pet the cats gently, and guides their hands with soft, careful movements. Kids calm down around him, sensing his steadiness.
𐔌˙. He stays late after closing, cleaning the café until it’s spotless. The cats lounge around him, sleepy and content, watching him move from task to task.
𐔌˙. When he’s done, he sits on the floor again, letting the cats pile onto him. It’s his favorite part of the day; the quiet, the dim lights, the soft purring. He doesn’t rush home; he lets the moment linger.
𐔌˙. Before leaving, he checks on each cat individually. A soft pat, a whispered goodnight, a gentle scratch behind the ears. It’s a ritual he never skips.
a/n: im craving banana pudding someone plz get me some
