rukai.. my beloved.. go into full detail about keisuke’s kinks 🎤
thank you for the req vile honeyyy <3 i hope i explained this thoroughly… words cannot convey my thoughts for this man
💢 MINORS, DO NOT INTERACT!
⚠️ warnings: SMUT!!!, knife kink, blood kink, primal play, lowkey dub-con maybe(??), exhibitionist kink, he crawled his way up from hell, p in v, toys, he’s obsessed, implied bisexual baji (but he’s got a pref for women), bunny-wolf comparison, fem!reader !!!
ⓘ : you’re in an established relationship with him.
starting off let’s discuss his knife kink…
he likes to drag his blade across your skin all the time. it’s a simple graze, not nearly enough to cut, but he’ll apply more and less pressure depending on your reactions. he tracks every single shudder and breath you take. how your pulse will start sprinting when he brushes the very tip of his blade against your precious inner thigh, tracing an imaginary heart with his knife across your flesh. he likes watching you panic when he does this with you. gives him a sick satisfaction that you hand to him best.
he’ll hold his trusty pocket-blade to your throat, slowly trailing his way down, cutting your delicate ribbon choker and baring you completely to him. that manic, borderline crazed look in his whiskey brown eyes as he takes advantage of you ignites something inside.
never trust this man when you have a bra on. the moment he decides he wants to see your tits, he’s going to chop that thing into two clean halves and you’ll be left with money well-wasted and bite marks around your nipples. he won’t ask, no. why should he? you’re his girlfriend, you should know he doesn’t give a shit about how expensive it was. he’ll cover that cost anyway. lingerie is useless when you’re with keisuke baji.
he slices your clothes so casually. especially loves doing it in public — it’s just a tiny slit to your skirt and the side of your panties, no one will notice. right?
and speaking of putting you through bullshit for anyone to see, he’s a little bit of an exhibitionist. loves the thrill of getting caught, shutting you up with his fingers or his fat cock and pulling away like nothing happened the instant you’re in dead sight of people. he’ll silently tease you about it too, the bastard. the wink that he personally sends to you goes completely unnoticed by everyone, it’s so brief and only you’d understand.
he’s got a kink for restricting you especially. whether it’s pinning your wrists behind your back when he’s thrusting into your poor cunny so hard the bed threatens to break with your sanity or expertly keeping your legs forced apart as he devours you like a man starved, sharp teeth scaring against your folds and tongue working into your hole like it’s his cock.
he’s a genius with tying knots, by the way. do with that what you will.
he adores power play, primal play, anything of the kind. anything that puts you at his mercy, because there’s nothing more this brutish sadist loves than having you so pathetic for none other than him. he’ll taunt you, set a timer for two minutes or five, just to give his sweetheart a headstart even though you both know you can barely even dream of successfully escaping him. whether he gives you thirty seconds or twenty days to run, he will always catch up, and at an alarming speed.
sometimes, he simply likes to watch you. observing comes most naturally to him. learning everything about you, your inner-most and the petty things that get on your nerves. that includes staring at you while you masturbate, half-lidded eyes narrowing as you struggle to get off. poor thing. your own fingers will never be as good as his own when it comes to satisfaction. he almost takes pity on you, maybe he’ll help out.
maybe. he’s not going to do shit. the only reaction you’re getting from him is an obvious tent in his pants and the ghost of a cruel smirk curving his lips.
this doesn’t mean he only likes to observe how you turn yourself on, though. not at all. the reason why one of his favourite things to do is play you with his butterfly knife is because of the many, many actions he coaxes out of you. he watches how you react to his touch, that sweet noise you make when he hovers a centimetre away from your ear, how your body just arches into him.
he’ll have you spread out, perched on his firm thigh with your front to his. you’ll feel the roughness of his thumb as he rolls your clit, dragging his touch achingly slow in the middle of your folds and down to your hole. there, he’ll part you, commit the way your arousal and cum drips out so cutely to his memory. on another occasion, he’ll watch how his own body reacts to you. pressing his dick against your mound, not quite fucking into you or grinding, but just letting it rest there. he’ll watch how both of you twitch, how he can only last a minute and a half of dragging his pierced tip up and down your cunt before he slams into you until you can feel him in your tummy.
another one of his kinks is marking.
what better way to show you off and silently declare to the world that you’re his than having your neck covered in hickeys? or a new bruise on your thigh, or a noticeable handprint on your ass, or a bite mark on your shoulder that makes it seem like a dog jumped you? by the time keisuke is done with you, you’ll look like you’ve been mauled. and honestly, you were. he can be gentle when he wants to be. he just doesn’t want to be gentle most of the time.
it goes the other way around too. the surge of pride he feels when he looks at an all too obvious bite on his neck or broad shoulder after spending the night with you pales in comparison to any other high. leave scratch marks on him. own him. make him bleed. he’s as much of a masochist as he is a sadist. the cocky smirk he wears when someone points out he has claw marks on his back is something he can’t hold back with a simple bite to the inside of his cheek. he’ll subtly try to show it too, wear a low-hanging collared shirt just to expose the hickey on his clavicle that you left two days ago, even roll up his sleeves to show your marks on his big forearms or decide not to wear a choker so people can see the bruise on his throat.
he gets so, unbelievably turned on when you’re mad. half of the time, he only gets pissed when you’re yelling at him, but the other half? the amount of smugness he embodies when he’s enjoying your anger is enough to rival any fratboy who just fucked the hottest girl in college.
he won’t even respond when you’re barking at him about something or the other, he’ll only peer down at you with a deadpan expression and those hungry eyes of his. you barely seem to register the amused twitch of his lips. he doesn’t bother hiding how funny you are to him.
“you’re such a— no i’m not fucking done! i—“
he’ll haul you over his shoulder and smack your ass, “i don’t care. shut up already. tired of hearin’ you yap.”
and in the following minutes he’ll fuck you so stupid you forget a speck of the reason why you ever were so enraged. he’ll taunt you about it afterwards, leaning against the doorframe as you drink water to relieve the soreness you developed in your throat ‘cause you screamed his name so much, hands tucked in the pockets of his low-hanging sweatpants that get you bothered all over again. you’re curled up on the bed, still reeling from the sensation of his cum generously coating your abused pussy.
“still mad at me, little girl?”
he’ll definitely keep sextapes of you both. sometimes he gets a little frustrated when you’re not around, and the sound of your pornographic moans and the way you arched your back so deliciously when he pulled your hair to wrench your head toward him in one of those videos is the only thing that can relieve him. it’s good for blackmail too.
he incorporates toys into your sessions. if he’s got the audacity to drive you insane with his knife, he’s got the audacity to edge you with a vibrator and make you ride his pillow until you cum. yes, his pillow. he’s a pervert, what did you expect?
he’ll turn your vibrator on to the lowest setting, allow it to torturously press against your pretty cunny and stare at you helplessly roll your hips, grinding your ass on his hardening cock and your clit against that toy turned weapon.
keisuke finds you totally fascinating. that fucked out expression you make when he fucks himself home inside your squishy walls, how your eyes roll back when his piercing hits just right, how your tits bounce with every violent thrust. it’s all the more mesmerising if you’re wearing jewelry while he’s at it. he’s almost like a crow with how he observes the way your rings and the chain of your necklace glint in the light. you can’t help but be entranced by his own bling. that crucifix hanging way below his collarbones — how ironic that he of all people wears a cross. it seems to be the only thing you can properly focus on other than his fangs when he’s fucking you so deep that your vision blurs.
he looooves how different you are compared to him. you’re like a bunny against a wolf, all cottony and sweet to every sense. it’s a reason he prefers women far more than men. it’s a reason he prefers you over everyone.
“you’re so soft,” he’ll mutter and cup a delicate breast in his hand. he scoffs absentmindedly, cherishing the moan you let out at the feeling of his fingertips grazing your nipple.
“look at you,” his tone borders on a growl, “you’re weak. could break your spine in two.”
your breathing hitches. is that… a threat? he’s threatening you while fondling you like dough. “what?”
“made a mistake trusting me with you. bend over.”
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