hello~ welcome to Everything All At Once! a writing blog/general blog of mine
Last Masterlist Update: 07/9/26
My AO3 is here!
REQUESTS ARE CLOSED.
i mostly just write on this blog for the according fandoms:
1.My Hero Academia
2.Dragon Ball Z/Super/Dragon Ball Super: Super Hero
3.The Amazing Digital Circus
4.Cells At Work!
5.Demon Slayer??
DIVIDERS ARE MADE BY @adornedwithlight and @saradika-graphics GO LOOK AT THEIR CUTE/COOL STUFF!!
Please make your age visible in your bio (because some stuff is 18+)
!!any blank or ageless blogs will be blocked!!
2. no negative comments or anything that is hate related as it will result in to being blocked as well
3. feel free to send me your imagines/drabbles of the topics of any character wether SFW or NSFW (if nsfw i need to see your age in bio!!!) as seen above ⬆️
4.I cannot write for OC's (sorry)
5.I do write NSFW but the limit is no piss, scat, adult babies or anything like that
My Hero Academia
Yuga Aoyama 💫
An Aoyama Fan's Nightmare
DORM CHECK (18+🔥)
The Nightrobe 🔥 (18+)
PARTNERS 💕 (AOYAMA X READER FIC)⬇️
Part 1
Part 2/3
Part 4/5
FINAL PART
✨Bf Aoyama Drabbles✨
Class 1-A headcanons and such
Class 1A Girls + music they listen to
Class 1A Boys + music they listen to PART 1
Class 1A Boys + music they listen to PART 2
IzuOcha
A Handhold and Something More..💗 (first kiss shortfic)
KiriMina
Alternate Ending Chapter 383 KIRIMINA STORY 💕
Revenge at The Sports Festival
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Dragon Ball Z/Super/Super Hero 🐉
Fav DBS/SH Characters NSFW Imagines
Son Goku Comfort Hc's
Frieza x F! Saiyan Reader
Frieza/Reader/Frost request
Dyspo NSFW alphabet (18+🔥)
Gamma 1 and Gamma 2 Content
Gamma 1 and 2 Threesome fic Part 1 (18+)
Gamma 1 and 2 Threesome fic PART 2 (18+)
Gamma 1
Nsfw headcanons (18+)
Gamma 1 bf headcanons
Special to Us (fluffy)
Gamma 2
X Reader headcanons (sfw and nsfw)
Supreme Kai Pairings (ship headcanons)
Universe 3 x Universe 9
Universe 4 x Universe 7
THE AMAZING DIGITAL CIRCUS! 🎪
Kinger👑 Tweaking (Part 1) (trigger warning)
Kinger Tweaking (Part 2) (trigger warning)
Caine catching reader trying on his suit (fluff)
Jax curing your stress (NSFW)
Caine curing your stress (NSFW)❤️🔥
GENERAL TADC HEADCANONS
Comforting Pomni after a Panic Attack 💝
Zooble SFW Alphabet 📐
An army of...GIGANTIC GANGLES?? (no warnings!)
CELLS AT WORK!!🦠
Neutrophil Squad Bf Analysis (Sfw)
Character Alignment ft Immune Cells
Character Alignment Memes 2
Nsfw Neutrophil Hcs (18+)
Wanna Make Out? (4989 x Reader) (NSFW)
A Distraction (2048 x Red Blood Cell! Reader) (trigger warning!)
WBC SQUAD WHEN DRUNK
🗡️Samurai Jack 🗡️
Skull Leggings (Demongo x Reader) (NSFW)
Fluffy ending of Skull Leggings 💙
Demongo x Reader Blurb (NSFW)
Urges (Demongo x f! Reader) (NSFW)
Samurai Jack SMAU: Send Help, Not Nudes (18+)
Samurai Jack Characters finding out your contact name (SMAU) (sfw-ish)
idk if you write smut but if you do! Can you do a NSFW alphabet with douma
︵‿︵‿୨♡ Ｎｓｆｗ Ａｌｐｈａｂｅｔ ♡୧‿︵‿︵
A- Aftercare, How are they after sex?
He wants to relax with you after sex. I can imagine him pulling you close and then taking his pipe out and smoking while you fall asleep in his arms. He always waits for you to fall asleep then he might take a nap for a little while but most of the time he just watches you sleep
B- Bodypart- what's their favorite body part of theirs and their partners.
He likes his fingers because of how good he can make you feel with them, they're so long and he knows how to curl them just right to make you go crazy. He likes your thighs, he loves being between them, laying on them, fucking them, leaving marks on them. It doesn't matter what he's doing with them he loves it all.
C- Cum, anything to do with cum basically
He likes to get it everywhere; he likes coming on your face, chest, thighs, stomach anywhere he can see that he made a mess of you.
D- Dirty secret, A dirt secret they have
He touches himself to the scent of your perfume sometimes if you're not home and he's needy.
E- Experienced, how experienced are they?
He's very experienced. He's been alive for hundreds of years, so he's seen pretty much everything and knows how to pleasure his partner.
F- Favorite position
Doggy style. He loves fucking you into the bed from behind, being able to pull your hair and whisper filthy things in your ear. He loves seeing you on all fours gripping the sheets because of him.
G-Goofy, are they serious or humorous in the moment
He's definitely a mix of both. It really depends on what mood he's in. If he's in a good mood and he just wants to spend time with you, he'll definitely be a bit goofier but if he's stressed and he wants to have sex to blow off steam he's a lot more serious.
H- Hair, how well groomed are they?
He's very well groomed, I can see him not really liking the feeling of hair on himself and he keeps himself very well groomed.
I- Intimacy, how intimate are they?
I would say he's intimate and romantic like 70% of the time. Sometimes he just wants to have sex to get stress out and when he does that he's not very romantic
J-Jack off
he doesn't really need to and has never really needed to. He has you now and before he had you, he had multiple of his followers who were willing to help him. He might occasionally if he wants to get off and he doesn't feel like waiting for you but that's not very often.
K- Kink, one or more of their kinks
Biting. He loves leaving marks and bruises on your neck and he loves the feeling of you biting him even if it won't leave a mark.
L- Location, where do they like to do it?
Literally anywhere. He is willing and able to give it to you anytime, anywhere.
M-Motivation, what gets them going?
He likes it when you initiate things. When you show him that you want him.
N- No, things they won't do, turn offs
He's the type of guy where if his partner isn't happy, he's not happy. So, anything that you don't like and turns you off turns him off as well.
O-Oral, do they prefer giving or receiving
he prefers receiving. He loves it when you give him head it's one of his favorite things to do with you.
P-Pace, are they fast are slow
He is fast and rough. No matter how much he tries to go slow or try and be gentle he gets lost in the pleasure and ends up going fast and rough.
Q- Quickie
He doesn't like them. He doesn't like being in a rush with you. if he's going to have sex with you, he wants to take his time and have a few hours with you.
R-Risk, do they take risks?
Absolutely, he'll try anything with you and is always up for risks.
S-Stamina, how many rounds can they go?
Oh, he can go for hours. He can go all night if you'll let him.
T-Toys, do they own them? How many?
I can see him owning a few but I don't think he'd use them often
U-Unfair, how much do they like to tease
he LOVES teasing you, sometimes he goes till you're in tears begging him to touch you
V-Volume, how loud are they?
he's VERY loud, he does it on purpose sometimes, he likes his followers or whoever is in the other room to hear how good you feel to him.
W-Wild card, random headcannon
He loves making out, it's one his favorite things that gets him in the mood
X-Xray, what's going on under those clothes
He's def bigger than average, I'd say like 9 inches.
Y-Yearning, how high is their sex drive?
Very high, he needs to have sex everyday sometimes even a few times a day.
Z- Zzz, how fast do they fall asleep after?
Since he's a demon, he doesn't really need to sleep and most of the time he doesn't, and he'll just lay with you while you sleep.
dōma never understood the appeal of abstinence until he met you. for more than a century, he had obeyed the simplest of creeds: hunger should be fed, desire fulfilled, pleasure taken whenever it presented itself.
tonight is no different. while his appetite in the physical sense was already glutted, his carnal desires never waned for you. and curse that freakish stamina of his! judging by the hardness nudging your thigh, it was clear that he could’ve kept going without pause, had it not been for your human limits.
four drawn-out rounds and still, he could not leave you alone. after being denied the comfort of staying inside you, dōma sought consolation elsewhere, mouthing languid kisses to your shoulder, in both quiet worship and tender defilement. (it wasn’t morality that stayed his fangs from tearing into your arteries—to dōma, it was more of a game. curiosity turned self-inflicted torment. he’s somewhat of a masochist.)
you mumbled half-heartedly about needing rest, but he ignored it entirely. “just one more kiss. pleasepleaseplease pretty please?” you both knew one kiss would never suffice—greedy thing that he was. cold lips trailed down your neck, nipping lightly. you evoked an instinct to consumeconsumeconsume, but for now he’d leave just a trail of shallow marks, little crescents fading to bruises by morning. proof that he’d been a ‘good’ lover and a ‘bad’ upper moon.
before you could squirm away, he caught you around the waist and tumbled you back onto the futon in a careless sprawl of limbs. laughter spilled out as he pressed you down, his birch-coloured hair framing your face like a halo of moonlight. “where d’you think you’re going?” he chirps, the very picture of mischief. “can’t leave me all alone— that’s just cruel!”
when he trailed lower, tongue flicking out to tease your already-sensitive nipple, you swatted his shoulder. “dōma!” you hissed, exasperation colouring your voice.
“what in the world has gotten into you?”
“ouchie! now was that really necessary?” dōma whined, lower lip jutting in a pout that belied the gleam in his rainbow eyes. “i was just tasting,” his words muffled as his hot wet tongue flicked once more. “you’re so cute… i could eat you right up.”
he propped himself on an elbow, watching you with a dopey, lovelorn smile. one you’d come to expect from him, and often it made you feel as though the two of you were in on some bone-chilling farce. for behind those hypnotic, iridescent irises, there was usually nothing at all.
but something shifted. and dōma must have felt it too, because for the briefest instant, a shallow crease appeared between his brows, uncertainty marring the usual placidity of his face. quickly followed by the rosy blush dusting his cheeks, wholly out of place. he blinked, once, twice, as though surprised by himself.
and then, the mask was back on place. whatever had just passed—some errant chemical mimicry of emotion or simply a trick of nerves—he dismissed it without a second thought. familiar vacancy settled back in, tranquil as ice reforming over water. a soft chuckle escaped and when he bent down again, brushing his lips against the curve of your throat, there was tenderness. whether it was genuine or only another act in his repertoire, you could no longer tell. it scarcely mattered.
Warnings: porn with plot, cunnilingus (fem. receiving), biting kink, douma being freaky like he always is, I need him to shove me up on the counter and make out with me you guys don't understand ,I don't care if he's apathetic IMMA MAKE HIM FEEL SOMETHING
A/N: Based on this video. Creator: if you are not good at cooking you are shipped with Douma. (Prolly because he constantly wants to get freaky) and bippity boppity boo a devious idea has come to my brilliant mind once again! SO NOW IM BACK! And yes I like Douma now fight me
word count: 3.2k
Summary: You and your demon bf are ordered from Muzan to do one simple task in the kitchen, making a cake . only problem is that you have to forcibly resist Douma's antics..can't be that hard, right?
Ever since the big meet up for the upper rank demons ended, the first thing that Lord Muzan does is call you and Douma up to his quarters.
This can't be good.
"I have only one task for you two specifically. I need a cake done by evening," Muzan explains his narrow red eyes don't leave the notebook he's writing on. He tears out a sheet of paper and hands it to you. "I think i can trust you two to complete it thoroughly, right?"
The way he accentuated 'thoroughly' rang alarm bells in your head, causing you to quietly yelp as a hint of blush crept up your face. You knew exactly what Muzan was talking about. Suddenly, a fan unfolds right in front of your face as Douma chuckled at your little reaction before facing Muzan, "Pardon me Lord Muzan but what makes you think we can't finish this miniscule kitchen task?"
Muzan's frown sours, "Don't play coy, Upper Two. You and your significant other are prone to getting so distracted from each other that anything around you doesn't seem to matter. If you want, I can go over the last two times this has happened if you don't remember."
The both of you went silent. Douma's trademark smirk lessened as he continued to wave his fan towards your warm face until you bring it down gently with one hand. "He has a point." you quietly admit, looking up at your boyfriend. The demon sighs and closes the fan.
"If i have to renovate the kitchen again, i won't hesitate to punish you both in some way." Muzan sneers, voice darkening, "now then, get going. Don't fail me."
And with a snap of his fingers, you two were instantly transported to the big kitchen in Muzan's castle. It's a little brighter than his lab and had more of a muted white pallette with some parts black for the appliances. The first thing that you remember is the good times that you had with all the 6 upper demons before Daki and Gyutaro were offed. And then your eyes scanned to the certain spots where Douma and you got freaky while either something was burning or boiling over. You had to stop forming the mental images of that before you started to blush again.
Maybe Muzan is right, you really need to build some resistance.
A beautifully clawed hand rests on your shoulder as Douma peeks over at the sheet of paper in your grasp. " 'Blood-Red Desire Cake', huh? Sounds delicious to me~" he comments, licking his lips close to your ear. Too close. A shiver courses down your spine as a shaky exhale slips out but you cut it off with a deep inhale through your nose as you take the demon's big hand to clasp in both of your hands and then looking into Douma's rainbow eyes.
"Douma, baby. You know I believe in us, right? Lord Muzan needs this cake done without any..distractions. So what I need from you is to dial down the innuendos or anything that you know makes me malfunction. Do you think you can do that?" you ask in a soft tone, smiling as you did so. Douma returns your smile back as he crouches down to pat your head. "I'll try my best, dear lotus~"he answers almost like a croon, "but the same applies to you as well, you know.". The demon giggles, sauntering past you.
You let out a small sound of shock, "Hey, I just don't want to be the next head on Lord Muzan's chopping block."
Sigh. This is not gonna be easy for you. At all.
You saw the deception through Douma's eyes and it was as rich as his own demonic blood..
Four items were set before you on the marble counter. A box of red velvet cake mix, red food coloring, white icing, and a small tube of fake edible blood. Not sure where Muzan got that from but you weren't going to question it. At least it's not real. Flipping over the cake mix box, you scan over the instructions. "Okay, so what do we need here?" you speak to yourself. An arm drapes across your shoulders as Douma inserts himself into your own self convo,"Well from what it says here-" he cuts himself off and blows on the shell of your ear. Your grip on the box hardens,teeth baring trying to hold yourself from biting your lip.
"Douma, we just talked about this. You know how that gets me.". The demon laughs, soft and airy enjoying the response you gave him as you wanted to die on the spot from that one action.
"Alright, i'll stop. For now, let's get to work, yeah?"
Soon enough, things started off smoothly. As you read the instructions Douma assembled the ingredients for you to combine (along with some lingering touches here and there). You hook the mixing bowl into the mixer and turn it on. On another counter, Douma was starting to mix the red coloring into the icing. "So exactly how red does Lord Muzan want the icing to be?"
Walking over to his side you look into the bowl, clicking your tongue in thought, "...maybe like his eyes,or your shirt or if we're really going to detail," you whisper, "the blood of your victims."
Douma's head turns to you ,eyes dilating in desire as his voice immediately drops at a sultry tone.
"Ooh~now that's a very naughty visual. Coming from you of all people~" he purrs, his top fangs biting his lower lip . Oh, how you wanted to kiss him so bad from that sight alone. But you had a better idea..
If he's going to be insufferable, you're going to be too.
With that, you take a small swipe of icing from the bowl and smeared it on Douma's jawline and took a slow, sexy lick of it off of his face. His movements completely stopped.
For the first time you actually saw the platinum blonde demon flush for a second and you couldn't help to giggle like a gremlin at him. Next thing you know is that Douma shoved his tongue into your mouth in a way that made your stomach do a whole flip. The cult leader's tall stature cages you as he continues to taste the sweetness of the frosting that lingered on your tastebuds. As much as you didn't want it to end, you forcibly pull away from the messy kiss, lightly panting as pink already begun to spread from your cheeks to your ears.
"..mm~ you taste delicious, my dear. so bold, im almost glad you stopped me, hehe. But aren't we forgetting something?" Douma inquires, his thumb pointing to the still-active mixer on the opposite counter still beating the cake mix.
"Oh, shit! "you swore under your breath, just about pushing the demon out of the way to turn the appliance off. You look at the bowl and thankfully the mix hasn't liquified yet. Blowing a sigh of relief, you slump against the edge of the counter, all while Douma witnessed your clumsy scrambling, wearing that shit eating smirk.
"Y'know what's funny, you saying you want no distractions, but yet you still walk right into them," he teases in that silky sing-song tone, "Are you even trying? Although, i get it, I am irresistible.". The demon combs his birch colored hair back with one hand in a cocky manner while one hand perched on his hip. Your hands clench into fists out of frustration, he's lucky he's right or you would have punched Douma in the face already for being so full of himself.
"Alright Douma, i'll let you go with that one but mark. my. words. From now on, i'm going Akaza mode on your ass! We are going to get this damn cake done, so try what you will, it won't affect me anymore." you declare, mentally putting your foot down. Your eyes baring into your lover's rainbow ones, sending a message that you weren't playing around.
Douma had to stifle a chuckle but ended up half bent over laughing, sounding almost half insane.
"Ha, ha..'Akaza mode' huh? Oh I'm shaking~" Douma remarks, pretending to be scared.
So expected from your boyfriend. Only because there is no way you can resist him but you'd be damned if you were to try..
The next few minutes of preparation of mix to cake pan along with the red icing were done in dead silence. Douma was at your side on the same counter now, intentionally challenging you with long dreamy stares with slow blinks in between. You return some of them back but only for a second before focusing on your work. He hated to admit it, but he was starting to feel a bit..annoyed from the lack of attention. Meanwhile, you were fighting for your life, reaching into the deepest parts of your mind, attempting to think about things outside the subject of your boyfriend.
Once you got the mixture into the oven, you head to the big white sink that looked like Muzan bought it out of a horror movie set but a little more modern.
Now, there it was.
Douma's chance to pounce on you.
No way you can sense him from behind. Maybe he could really break you if he'd graze his fangs across your neck or he could press his body against you? Oh, the devilish ideas were really starting to spur the demon on. Douma reaches out..
But little did he know, he went for the obvious move you predicted.
Immediately you felt the gap between you and Douma's hand about to come in contact with your shoulder. So instead of giving him the opportunity, you snatch the side hose, spun around and pulled the trigger.
"Back up!" you shout, spraying Douma in the face with water, who reacted a little too late to shield himself when his back collides with the marble top. After wiping the excess water off his face, he takes notice of your defensive stance, hose at the ready as if he dared to move again. That fiery speed, your serious, steely gaze, your chest raising and falling as you steadily breathe..yep, he almost saw the third uppermoon demon's spirit inside of you. And of course to Douma, it made him forget to theatrically act out and instead be elated by your newly developed resistance.
"Oh wow. You sure weren't lying about your 'Akaza mode', that..was amazing!" Douma expressed, then his lips form a fake pout ,"aw, but now i'm drenched from head to toe~" He pinches a section of his top that now hugged his arm.
As well as the rest of his body...
In which your eyes could not pry off of now that Douma's now wet compression shirt clung to each intricate muscle of him. From his collarbone all the way down to his abs. Confusion was etched upon Douma's features but as he looks down and then up at you, it dissipated fast. Pale eyelids lower as his rainbow irises darkened with realization. The demon's smile widens much so that you can make out his fangs coming into view.
"You're staring little lotus~ you like what you see?" Douma asks in a flirty tone, arms resting on the counter in a way that presented his body more to your vision. It's so unfair how he can be this hot sometimes and this time..
You caused it to be this way.
You turn away from Douma, grumbling under your breath as heat crept up your face once more.
Keep it together..
"Hey~don't hide from me now,", Douma taunts, "it was fun seeing you all tough thinking you could resist me this whole time. It's cute really..". Suddenly you feel the embrace of the demon's two strong arms around your waist as he starts to sway you with him idly.
"Look at me.." the demon softly urges. Soon, you tilt your head up at Douma and he presses a kiss to your forehead, trailing more feathery kisses to your cheek and further down until he paused at your neck. Instantly your heart races. Douma's breath fans across your neck, tantalizing and warm. "D-Douma-dono..please.." you stammer, trying to not sound nervous. But it doesn't fool your demon boyfriend in the slightest. In fact, he continues the torture by gliding his fangs across the sensitive skin, earning him a whine out of you.
"ah~now that's what I like to hear but watch how you use that title in here as it's taking every ounce of me not to-"
ding!
Both of your heads snap to the oven, the noise cutting the tension quick.
"Are you gonna get that? or do you want me t--"
"I got it, don't go anywhere." Douma insists. He grabs the oven mitts from the handle of the black appliance and opens it up. He pulls out the pan revealing the perfectly baked and appetizing red velvet cake. For once you and your partner have successfully made something in the kitchen without getting lost in each other.
"Well, won't you look at that? We actually created something edible without charring it." you smiled proudly at your boyfriend.
"We sure did, sure don't want my beautiful cells torn to shreds. Remember, this is for Lord Muzan."
Douma sets the pan on the stovetop portion of the oven and then takes off the mitts. "By the way, doesn't this need to cool down in order to ice it?" the demon asks.
"Uh, yeah why--oh!"
As fast as the response fell out of your mouth, Douma has already lifted you up and sat you on the nearest empty counter. Cold lips quickly become warm as he nibbles on your mandible, making you shiver and gasp. The blood from your brain leaves as you feel that familiar heat in your lower abdomen as Douma's hands now wander, his nails ghosting everywhere, all over the curves of your waist and then sharply groping your hips.
Willingly, you let go of the last of your resistance when Douma kisses you hard. His tongue snakes it's way into your mouth again but more passionate than rough. Douma's hands slide from your hips and hook onto the undersides of your thighs, pulling you closer to his body. Your legs instinctively wrap around the demon's waist, already feeling his prominent bulge of his crotch rubbing against your clothed core.
"There's no need to resist anymore, my lotus~" Douma coaxes, his silky voice almost hypnotizing. Your breathing hitches heavy, heart pounding against your ribcage so hard that your demon boyfriend can probably hear it. Arms frozen at your sides, unable to decide if you want to claw at his back or wrap around his neck.
Fuck it.
You couldn't help but moan into the kiss, your arms raveling around Douma's neck. After a few more minutes of making out and grinding on your boyfriend, you pull away. Those rainbow orbs shone of only mirth now as he affectionately bites your lower lip.
"Y'know..there is one thing that we haven't done in here yet~" Douma purrs as he kneels down between your thighs,his face now at a dangerous proximity from your panties. With a singular nail he pulls them down, revealing your glistening folds coated with your arousal. The scent of you invades Douma's senses, a wave of heat shoots through him as he lets out a shaky moan. "mmh~ so good for me, now let me hear you beg, yeah?" the demon smirks and then licks a big wet stripe up your slit while his eyes stared at your face twisting in pleasure.
Wonderful
"~oh gods, please Douma-dono..need you so bad~" you pleaded desperately as your boyfriend peppered kisses and bites on the columns of your thighs.
"Trust me, i'm going to do you how we did on one of the lower rank demons' graves." Douma lustfully growls against your cunt, the vibration sending a jolt up your spine. The demon dives in without no hesitation, flatboarding his tounge on your clit before it breached into your needy hole. Instinctively, you roughly card your fingers through Douma's plantinum blonde locks as he eats you out like he was on Muzan's blacklist. Your upper half doubles over in pleasure while mewling out your boyfriend's name uncontrollably.
Sure, you knew he ate your kind but god, Douma works magic between your legs like it's nothing. Wet and obscene squelching noises can be heard now,a blessing to Douma's ears as always. He palms his aching erection as he happily drinks you from the source.
Circles, Zig-zags, even figure eights. Each new motion Douma performs inside of you brings you to a higher arc of ecstasy, only to be let back down slowly. The coiling sensation in your core was beginning to unravel and fast.
"Fffuck Douma~ ", you groaned, "don't stop,baby~"
Douma moans into your hole, multi-colored eyes rolling up to his head from the way his name lewdly sung from your lips.
The way your cunt kept fluttering and sucking his tongue back in had Douma completely pussy-drunk on you. The pace that started out sensual becomes unrelenting and feral. The demon's large hands now abandoned his member and rose up to pry your plush thighs open more. Pale blue nails nearly break your skin, but the slight pain only makes you wetter. Douma shoves his face in further than its ever been, his nose now bumping into your clitoris, tongue just tasting and dragggiing that sweet spot in your walls that has your legs trembling and your grip on his scalp tighten. Moans and whimpers were the only sounds that came out coherent, only because the demon proceeded to edge you, pulling back to suck on your sensitive nub.
"..close already? aw~ poor thing,bet you wanna cum do 'ya?" Douma teases in mock-pity at you, then goes back to french kissing your slit. You double over again before you tip your head back as you curse, feeling your boyfriend smirk in the apex of your thighs.
Minutes for what seemed like hours pass by you're about near humping face as soon as your climax washes over you. A silent cry escapes from you as your cunt gushes all onto the demon's mouth, letting only a little dribble down his chin. Finally, he withdraws his tongue from you, followed by a pop. Lightly panting, Douma notices that his own release has already happened, considering that the sweet ache in between his legs faded away. And now being literally "soaked" in other terms, but he wasn't bothered one bit.
"Holy..fuckin'..moly.." you huffed, followed by a tired giggle, "you're such a hot mess, you know that?"
The demon nuzzles his face against your thigh, humming in adoration.
"All for you my dear lotus~" Douma whispers, his fingers tracing lazy shapes into the skin. Content silence falls upon the kitchen, the both of you relax in the effect of your afterglow..
"By the way..where are my panties?"
a/n: I was going to extend this but the piece would be waaaayyy too long teehee, hope you enjoyed!
𝐌𝐔𝐙𝐀𝐍
Muzan fucks you like you were created for no other purpose than to sate his pleasure - and he makes damn sure you never forget it.
In the velvet-draped gallery of the theatre, his hand slips beneath your dress before the first act even begins. His fingers are cold and merciless, tugging your panties aside and sinking into your pussy without hesitation. The demon king finger-fucks you until you’re trembling. Pearly-white juices seep out of your pussy, making the cushion beneath you darken with dampness. Muzan’s lips brush the shell of your ear, voice silken and cruel all at once, “Stay quiet. Do you want them to hear what a whore you are for the world's wealthiest demon?”
By the next act, you’re already astride him, straddling his lap on the narrow seat. The hem of your dress is shoved high, bunched up against your stomach, leaving your white garters and stockings gleaming in the low light. You hardly have time to breathe before the hiss of fabric and the snap of a button announce the opening of his fly. Muzan doesn’t bother with tenderness - the rock-hard head of his cock nudges between your labia and pushes deep, splitting you apart by degrees until you’re full to the brim of his manhood demonhood.
“Pathetic,” he sneers, his hands bruising your hips as he begins to drive into you. The tempo is merciless from the beginning. It gets faster and harder though, until every thrust rips a strangled sound from your throat. The thick vein beneath his shaft drags over every sweet spot inside your needy cunt, each roll of his hips pulling you closer to breaking right here and right now, in his arms.
Below, the orchestra swells - violins rising, horns blooming in elegant unison - while Muzan clamps a hand over your mouth to silence your desperate gasps. His breath tickles the edge of your jaw, smooth as velvet and sharp as poison at the same time. “You hear that?” Kibutsuji whispers, “They believe this stupid spectacle to be the height of beauty. But I know better. The true performance is here. Your body breaking for the demon king while those mere humans sit beyond the curtain, enjoying what they call art.”
His nails dig into your waist as he lifts and drops you onto his cock, guiding you like a marionette. You shudder and arch into him despite yourself, trembling with every snap of his hips as your back rests against his chest.
Kibutsuji licks his fingers and puts them on your labia, spreading your lips and rubbing them up and down, occasionally spanking your clitoris.
Muzan only smiles, dark and joyless, watching you crumble as his cock splits you open again and again and again until he cums deep inside you, painting your velvety walls white with his seed. “That’s it,” he growls, his lips almost tender at the column of your neck as he keeps on fucking you deep, even after cumming inside you just a moment ago. “Break for me again, doll. You were made for nothing else.”
𝐃𝐎𝐔𝐌𝐀
The temple is still full of his worshippers cleaning after the latest mass when Douma pulls you away, his pale fingers lacing with yours. This is just another one of his whims.
His laughter sparkles through the altar chamber, sweet and crystalline, while he presses you to a marble pillar. His lips brush over the column of your throat, tongue flicking where your pulse jumps the fastest. “So sensitive already,” he croons, delight dripping from his voice. “How precious. You’re like a little bell, my lotus petal - one touch, and you ring just for me.” His smile is wide, but when his mouth claims yours, the kiss is unhurried, almost tender, his tongue stroking yours as though he wants to taste every breath you give him.
Moments later you’re completely naked and sprawled across the temple altar, legs parted for the Upper Two, your skin lit golden by the lanterns hanging at the ceiling. He kneels between your thighs, fumbling at his hakama with boyish impatience, cock already flushed and straining the material of his pants. “Ahh, look at this,” he sighs as he frees his cock and guides it into your slick, pinkish pussy. “All I needed was a glance, a kiss, and now I’m hard enough to burst. You must be a little succubus, hmmm? Sent here to ruin me.” His giggle bubbles up as his hips snap forward, burying him inside until your walls flutter around him. Your head rolls back and you gasp at the sensation.
The chants of his disciples echo from the next chamber like background music for his sin.
Douma throws his head back and laughs. “Oh, sweet lotus! If only they knew what their god was really doing, what he has his hands full of.” His thumb strokes your cheek affectionately as he leans down to kiss you while he pounds his cock into you, rainbow eyes glittering with lust.
Your hands grasp his forearms tightly as your eyes meet his. Shallow gasps, quiet moans and his name escape your slightly parted lips, the signs of the overwhelming pleasure swallowing you whole.
He presses his palm over your mouth and nose when your moans grow louder, watching your lashes flutter with oxygen-starved desperation. “There, there, my doll,” Douma soothes, though his hips don’t slow. “Be good for me and I’ll let you breathe. Wrap those legs around me, yes, just like that, so my cock can kiss your cervix! Don’t you love me enough to risk dying on my cock?”
When you sob that you can’t take more, your pussy swollen and red from the hard sex, he only hums and proceeds to fuck you even harder. “See? You said you couldn’t take it anymore, but your pussy’s still sucking me in! Such a greedy doll you are, Y/N.”
The moment your cunt clamps down around Douma’s dick, fluttering tight in desperate climax, he spills instantly inside you, groaning in sheer bliss as your spasms milk his dick dry. Douma’s grin softens when he sees your face: mouth parted, eyes glazed, chest rising fast. “Ahhh, look at you. My lotus. My little masterpiece! You’re such a good girl! You’re making me so proud!” He pulls out with a wet squelch. Douma’s eyes glitter as he watches the mess of his seed leak from you, thick and white, slipping down your folds.
“My pretty doll looks even prettier glazed in white,” he coos as his fingers smear the mess over your clit, circling it slowly until you twitch. He licks his thumb and index finger clean and beams down at you. “Don’t wipe it away. I want my little lotus to wear me all day long.”
𝐀𝐊𝐀𝐙𝐀
Akaza has you pinned against the shrine gate, moonlight striking his tattooed skin like paint on a war god. The red torii creaks with every violent slam of his hips, your body bent against the wooden beam as he takes you without pause. His fists dig bruises into your waist, growls tearing through the silence of the moonlit garth.
“Don’t look away,” Upper Three snarls, yanking your head up by your hair, forcing your eyes to meet the blaze of his yellow irises. His thrusts are relentless, brutal, the gate rattling beneath his strength. “I said look at me. Watch the man who’s breaking you.”
Every snap of his narrow hips rips cries from your throat, but he devours them in a bruising kiss, teeth clashing, tongue claiming yours until you taste the sharp tang of copper where his canines split your lower lip. His hand drops to your throat, squeezing it - not enough to choke, just enough to remind you who owns you. “You’re strong,” he growls against your lips, his breath hot, “But not stronger than me. I’ll pound you into the earth until your body only remembers the shape of my cock carved in your pussy.”
His rhythm of his thrusts is savage, punishing.
Then you both hear it - voices. The shuffle of sandals, low murmurs as worshippers finish their vigil.
Akaza slows his pushes, hips dragging deep and slow instead of frantic. His lips peel back in a snarl, fangs flashing as he whispers, “Filthy weaklings. I’d love to smash their heads like fruit but you…” His thrusts slow down and he drags his dick out of your wetness until only his cockhead stays in your pussy, “... You keep me busy like no one else.”
The voices fade, footsteps carrying the humans away, leaving only the pounding of your heart and the sharp creak of the gate. Akaza picks up pace again, rutting into you like a dog in heat, his head rolling back until the moment his whole body tenses. He buries himself to the hilt, cock twitching as he spills hot inside you, forehead pressing to your nape, his voice breaking into a softer tone, “You’re my only weakness.”
𝐊𝐎𝐊𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐁𝐎
Your bedroom is dimly lit by the faint glow of the moon spilling through the curtains, the shadows stretching across your cozy bed.
Kokushibo’s six eyes glint in the darkness as they drink in every detail of your trembling curves beneath him. Each thrust from behind makes your body shudder, his heavy balls slapping wetly against your cunt as he pins you to the mattress. “You are such a disgrace to your family,” he rasps, centuries of disdain curling around his words, “And yet absolutely exquisite in your shame.” His massive hand twists your wrists behind your back, lifting them slightly so your spine arches perfectly for his pleasure.
You gasp, knees trembling against the soft sheets, and Kokushibo chuckles low and dark, the brush of his teeth along your ear making you whine quietly. “Just like that. Scream for me, woman,” he utters, voice velvet and cruel, vibrating deep from within his muscular chest.
The demon chuckles suddenly, and your pulse quickens. “Your parents, in the next room, asleep, oblivious that their precious little girl lets a demon ruin her insides. Let them stay unaware, my little, pathetic piece of meat.”
You tremble, a heady mix of fear and exhilaration coursing through your entire being - partly from the thrill of being so exposed to Kokushibo, and partly from the thought that someone from your relatives could walk in on you being fucked by a demon.
A flicker of courage rises in your chest, and you tilt your head back just enough to meet his gaze, voice trembling yet daring as you speak, “I… I’m not just a piece of meat, am I?” You bite your lower lip, breath hitching in the quiet room as you curl hands in fists, tugging onto your sheets. “Because your cock wouldn’t swell so fast inside me if I were.”
His free hand hovers over your hip, and you feel him throb inside you, twitching against your slick heat. Then he pounds harder, deliberate and punishing, every thrust sending shivers through your body as he pushes so deep inside your dripping pussy that he takes your breath away. A low, dark laugh rumbles from his throat, “Perhaps not,” he states. “I’ll give you that, mortal.”
You shiver beneath him, caught between fear and lust, wetness pooling thick and hot between your thighs, dripping down even as he fills you completely with his massive dick.
This is not the first time he has claimed you. For nearly a month, he has come to your bed night after night. The first time, fear coils in your chest - you were certain he would devour you as any demon would - but when you satisfied his primal, male needs, he spared your life. Since then, he has returned without fail, marking you, claiming you, and leaving you aching long after he vanishes, slipping away before the sun can catch him.
“Yes, take it all,” Kokushibo coos between brutal thrusts. “My little morsel, shivering and leaking for me. Only I get to claim you, ever.”
As his climax nears, he releases your wrists, letting your exhausted body slump against the sheets. Yet even then, he does not let go, large hand gripping your nape, pressing your head firmly toward the mattress as he bends you to his pleasure. When he finally comes, and when a low growl escapes his lips, sharp spanks mark your ass, each leaving a red handprint of Kokushibo’s palm. He watches with dark amusement as your flesh jiggles beneath every spank he delivers.
Slowly, he pulls out, flipping you onto your back and spreading your thighs to admire your reddened, slick pussy, still leaking his seed. “Do not think I am done with you yet,” he growls, voice low and possessive.
Before the fog of overstimulation swallows you whole, the last thing you feel is the tip of his massive cock pressing back into your ruined, quivering pussy once more, and you know that tonight he will claim you completely again and again and again, with the house and its residents oblivious to your debauchery.
𝐆𝐘𝐔𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐎
The alley reeks of blood and rot, lanterns flickering weakly against the damp stones.
Gyutaro has you pinned against the brick wall, the shadows of the Red Light District shimmering above your heads, your dress shoved high above your hips, revealing the soft skin of your thighs, abdomen and pubis. His wiry body leans over yours, every jagged, vicious thrust tearing your pussy open, marking you as his. “Hahhh! Yeeaaaah,” he croaks, drool glinting at the corner of his mouth. “You dirty little thing, lettin’ me use you out here, where anyone could see. My perfect little whore.”
His nails dig into your waist and the back of your thighs. Every thrust drives you harder against the wall, his narrow hips forcing your legs to curl around him, splitting you wide and filling you so completely that you whimper helplessly.
“Say it,” he hisses, voice hoarse, “Say you love bein’ ruined by me.”
You tremble under him, heat pooling thick between your thighs, your pussy slick and aching. “Y-yes!”
He leans close, teeth brushing your shoulder, and a guttural, broken laugh rumbles from him, “That’s it. Such a good little pet for me,” he praises. “Mine, all fucking mine.”
Passersby laugh in the distance, and a group of drunk men finish their sake in the alley next door. You clamp your hands over your mouth, trying to muffle your desperate cries, but Gyutaro peels your hands away with a rough tug. “No, no, no. I wanna hear all of it,” he growls into your ear, “Every filthy, needy sound you make as my cock splits open that pathetic, whorish, little cunt of yours.”
As your pussy grows slicker, dripping and trembling with need, signaling that your climax is close, Gyutaro can’t hold back any longer. He slams his long cock deep into your cunny, pressing your body fully against the cold wall. His crooked hands find the décolletage of your dress and tear it roughly apart, freeing your breasts to spill into his grasp.
Without hesitation, his mouth wraps around one of your hardened nipples, teeth grazing lightly as his tongue flicks over the sensitive bud, teasing and torturing every nerve. His hips jerk violently against yours, each short, erratic thrust driving straight to the tip of your nerve endings, humping you with animalistic desperation.
Your cunt clamps around him violently, and he moans, letting his dead seed spill into you, thick and hot, filling you to the brim. His long hands cradle your body, holding you close. “You’re mine now,” he snarls, his cock swelling and pulsing inside of you, painting your inner walls with his semen again and again. “Yeah, just like that, my little pet, take it all.” He doesn’t pull out, letting it coat every inch of your walls, the damp coldness clinging to you.
“Ruined, just like me. That’s how I like you the most,” Gyutaro coos, stealing a kiss from your lips.
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Warnings: porn with plot, cunnilingus (fem. receiving), biting kink, douma being freaky like he always is, I need him to shove me up on the counter and make out with me you guys don't understand ,I don't care if he's apathetic IMMA MAKE HIM FEEL SOMETHING
A/N: Based on this video. Creator: if you are not good at cooking you are shipped with Douma. (Prolly because he constantly wants to get freaky) and bippity boppity boo a devious idea has come to my brilliant mind once again! SO NOW IM BACK! And yes I like Douma now fight me
word count: 3.2k
Summary: You and your demon bf are ordered from Muzan to do one simple task in the kitchen, making a cake . only problem is that you have to forcibly resist Douma's antics..can't be that hard, right?
Ever since the big meet up for the upper rank demons ended, the first thing that Lord Muzan does is call you and Douma up to his quarters.
This can't be good.
"I have only one task for you two specifically. I need a cake done by evening," Muzan explains his narrow red eyes don't leave the notebook he's writing on. He tears out a sheet of paper and hands it to you. "I think i can trust you two to complete it thoroughly, right?"
The way he accentuated 'thoroughly' rang alarm bells in your head, causing you to quietly yelp as a hint of blush crept up your face. You knew exactly what Muzan was talking about. Suddenly, a fan unfolds right in front of your face as Douma chuckled at your little reaction before facing Muzan, "Pardon me Lord Muzan but what makes you think we can't finish this miniscule kitchen task?"
Muzan's frown sours, "Don't play coy, Upper Two. You and your significant other are prone to getting so distracted from each other that anything around you doesn't seem to matter. If you want, I can go over the last two times this has happened if you don't remember."
The both of you went silent. Douma's trademark smirk lessened as he continued to wave his fan towards your warm face until you bring it down gently with one hand. "He has a point." you quietly admit, looking up at your boyfriend. The demon sighs and closes the fan.
"If i have to renovate the kitchen again, i won't hesitate to punish you both in some way." Muzan sneers, voice darkening, "now then, get going. Don't fail me."
And with a snap of his fingers, you two were instantly transported to the big kitchen in Muzan's castle. It's a little brighter than his lab and had more of a muted white pallette with some parts black for the appliances. The first thing that you remember is the good times that you had with all the 6 upper demons before Daki and Gyutaro were offed. And then your eyes scanned to the certain spots where Douma and you got freaky while either something was burning or boiling over. You had to stop forming the mental images of that before you started to blush again.
Maybe Muzan is right, you really need to build some resistance.
A beautifully clawed hand rests on your shoulder as Douma peeks over at the sheet of paper in your grasp. " 'Blood-Red Desire Cake', huh? Sounds delicious to me~" he comments, licking his lips close to your ear. Too close. A shiver courses down your spine as a shaky exhale slips out but you cut it off with a deep inhale through your nose as you take the demon's big hand to clasp in both of your hands and then looking into Douma's rainbow eyes.
"Douma, baby. You know I believe in us, right? Lord Muzan needs this cake done without any..distractions. So what I need from you is to dial down the innuendos or anything that you know makes me malfunction. Do you think you can do that?" you ask in a soft tone, smiling as you did so. Douma returns your smile back as he crouches down to pat your head. "I'll try my best, dear lotus~"he answers almost like a croon, "but the same applies to you as well, you know.". The demon giggles, sauntering past you.
You let out a small sound of shock, "Hey, I just don't want to be the next head on Lord Muzan's chopping block."
Sigh. This is not gonna be easy for you. At all.
You saw the deception through Douma's eyes and it was as rich as his own demonic blood..
Four items were set before you on the marble counter. A box of red velvet cake mix, red food coloring, white icing, and a small tube of fake edible blood. Not sure where Muzan got that from but you weren't going to question it. At least it's not real. Flipping over the cake mix box, you scan over the instructions. "Okay, so what do we need here?" you speak to yourself. An arm drapes across your shoulders as Douma inserts himself into your own self convo,"Well from what it says here-" he cuts himself off and blows on the shell of your ear. Your grip on the box hardens,teeth baring trying to hold yourself from biting your lip.
"Douma, we just talked about this. You know how that gets me.". The demon laughs, soft and airy enjoying the response you gave him as you wanted to die on the spot from that one action.
"Alright, i'll stop. For now, let's get to work, yeah?"
Soon enough, things started off smoothly. As you read the instructions Douma assembled the ingredients for you to combine (along with some lingering touches here and there). You hook the mixing bowl into the mixer and turn it on. On another counter, Douma was starting to mix the red coloring into the icing. "So exactly how red does Lord Muzan want the icing to be?"
Walking over to his side you look into the bowl, clicking your tongue in thought, "...maybe like his eyes,or your shirt or if we're really going to detail," you whisper, "the blood of your victims."
Douma's head turns to you ,eyes dilating in desire as his voice immediately drops at a sultry tone.
"Ooh~now that's a very naughty visual. Coming from you of all people~" he purrs, his top fangs biting his lower lip . Oh, how you wanted to kiss him so bad from that sight alone. But you had a better idea..
If he's going to be insufferable, you're going to be too.
With that, you take a small swipe of icing from the bowl and smeared it on Douma's jawline and took a slow, sexy lick of it off of his face. His movements completely stopped.
For the first time you actually saw the platinum blonde demon flush for a second and you couldn't help to giggle like a gremlin at him. Next thing you know is that Douma shoved his tongue into your mouth in a way that made your stomach do a whole flip. The cult leader's tall stature cages you as he continues to taste the sweetness of the frosting that lingered on your tastebuds. As much as you didn't want it to end, you forcibly pull away from the messy kiss, lightly panting as pink already begun to spread from your cheeks to your ears.
"..mm~ you taste delicious, my dear. so bold, im almost glad you stopped me, hehe. But aren't we forgetting something?" Douma inquires, his thumb pointing to the still-active mixer on the opposite counter still beating the cake mix.
"Oh, shit! "you swore under your breath, just about pushing the demon out of the way to turn the appliance off. You look at the bowl and thankfully the mix hasn't liquified yet. Blowing a sigh of relief, you slump against the edge of the counter, all while Douma witnessed your clumsy scrambling, wearing that shit eating smirk.
"Y'know what's funny, you saying you want no distractions, but yet you still walk right into them," he teases in that silky sing-song tone, "Are you even trying? Although, i get it, I am irresistible.". The demon combs his birch colored hair back with one hand in a cocky manner while one hand perched on his hip. Your hands clench into fists out of frustration, he's lucky he's right or you would have punched Douma in the face already for being so full of himself.
"Alright Douma, i'll let you go with that one but mark. my. words. From now on, i'm going Akaza mode on your ass! We are going to get this damn cake done, so try what you will, it won't affect me anymore." you declare, mentally putting your foot down. Your eyes baring into your lover's rainbow ones, sending a message that you weren't playing around.
Douma had to stifle a chuckle but ended up half bent over laughing, sounding almost half insane.
"Ha, ha..'Akaza mode' huh? Oh I'm shaking~" Douma remarks, pretending to be scared.
So expected from your boyfriend. Only because there is no way you can resist him but you'd be damned if you were to try..
The next few minutes of preparation of mix to cake pan along with the red icing were done in dead silence. Douma was at your side on the same counter now, intentionally challenging you with long dreamy stares with slow blinks in between. You return some of them back but only for a second before focusing on your work. He hated to admit it, but he was starting to feel a bit..annoyed from the lack of attention. Meanwhile, you were fighting for your life, reaching into the deepest parts of your mind, attempting to think about things outside the subject of your boyfriend.
Once you got the mixture into the oven, you head to the big white sink that looked like Muzan bought it out of a horror movie set but a little more modern.
Now, there it was.
Douma's chance to pounce on you.
No way you can sense him from behind. Maybe he could really break you if he'd graze his fangs across your neck or he could press his body against you? Oh, the devilish ideas were really starting to spur the demon on. Douma reaches out..
But little did he know, he went for the obvious move you predicted.
Immediately you felt the gap between you and Douma's hand about to come in contact with your shoulder. So instead of giving him the opportunity, you snatch the side hose, spun around and pulled the trigger.
"Back up!" you shout, spraying Douma in the face with water, who reacted a little too late to shield himself when his back collides with the marble top. After wiping the excess water off his face, he takes notice of your defensive stance, hose at the ready as if he dared to move again. That fiery speed, your serious, steely gaze, your chest raising and falling as you steadily breathe..yep, he almost saw the third uppermoon demon's spirit inside of you. And of course to Douma, it made him forget to theatrically act out and instead be elated by your newly developed resistance.
"Oh wow. You sure weren't lying about your 'Akaza mode', that..was amazing!" Douma expressed, then his lips form a fake pout ,"aw, but now i'm drenched from head to toe~" He pinches a section of his top that now hugged his arm.
As well as the rest of his body...
In which your eyes could not pry off of now that Douma's now wet compression shirt clung to each intricate muscle of him. From his collarbone all the way down to his abs. Confusion was etched upon Douma's features but as he looks down and then up at you, it dissipated fast. Pale eyelids lower as his rainbow irises darkened with realization. The demon's smile widens much so that you can make out his fangs coming into view.
"You're staring little lotus~ you like what you see?" Douma asks in a flirty tone, arms resting on the counter in a way that presented his body more to your vision. It's so unfair how he can be this hot sometimes and this time..
You caused it to be this way.
You turn away from Douma, grumbling under your breath as heat crept up your face once more.
Keep it together..
"Hey~don't hide from me now,", Douma taunts, "it was fun seeing you all tough thinking you could resist me this whole time. It's cute really..". Suddenly you feel the embrace of the demon's two strong arms around your waist as he starts to sway you with him idly.
"Look at me.." the demon softly urges. Soon, you tilt your head up at Douma and he presses a kiss to your forehead, trailing more feathery kisses to your cheek and further down until he paused at your neck. Instantly your heart races. Douma's breath fans across your neck, tantalizing and warm. "D-Douma-dono..please.." you stammer, trying to not sound nervous. But it doesn't fool your demon boyfriend in the slightest. In fact, he continues the torture by gliding his fangs across the sensitive skin, earning him a whine out of you.
"ah~now that's what I like to hear but watch how you use that title in here as it's taking every ounce of me not to-"
ding!
Both of your heads snap to the oven, the noise cutting the tension quick.
"Are you gonna get that? or do you want me t--"
"I got it, don't go anywhere." Douma insists. He grabs the oven mitts from the handle of the black appliance and opens it up. He pulls out the pan revealing the perfectly baked and appetizing red velvet cake. For once you and your partner have successfully made something in the kitchen without getting lost in each other.
"Well, won't you look at that? We actually created something edible without charring it." you smiled proudly at your boyfriend.
"We sure did, sure don't want my beautiful cells torn to shreds. Remember, this is for Lord Muzan."
Douma sets the pan on the stovetop portion of the oven and then takes off the mitts. "By the way, doesn't this need to cool down in order to ice it?" the demon asks.
"Uh, yeah why--oh!"
As fast as the response fell out of your mouth, Douma has already lifted you up and sat you on the nearest empty counter. Cold lips quickly become warm as he nibbles on your mandible, making you shiver and gasp. The blood from your brain leaves as you feel that familiar heat in your lower abdomen as Douma's hands now wander, his nails ghosting everywhere, all over the curves of your waist and then sharply groping your hips.
Willingly, you let go of the last of your resistance when Douma kisses you hard. His tongue snakes it's way into your mouth again but more passionate than rough. Douma's hands slide from your hips and hook onto the undersides of your thighs, pulling you closer to his body. Your legs instinctively wrap around the demon's waist, already feeling his prominent bulge of his crotch rubbing against your clothed core.
"There's no need to resist anymore, my lotus~" Douma coaxes, his silky voice almost hypnotizing. Your breathing hitches heavy, heart pounding against your ribcage so hard that your demon boyfriend can probably hear it. Arms frozen at your sides, unable to decide if you want to claw at his back or wrap around his neck.
Fuck it.
You couldn't help but moan into the kiss, your arms raveling around Douma's neck. After a few more minutes of making out and grinding on your boyfriend, you pull away. Those rainbow orbs shone of only mirth now as he affectionately bites your lower lip.
"Y'know..there is one thing that we haven't done in here yet~" Douma purrs as he kneels down between your thighs,his face now at a dangerous proximity from your panties. With a singular nail he pulls them down, revealing your glistening folds coated with your arousal. The scent of you invades Douma's senses, a wave of heat shoots through him as he lets out a shaky moan. "mmh~ so good for me, now let me hear you beg, yeah?" the demon smirks and then licks a big wet stripe up your slit while his eyes stared at your face twisting in pleasure.
Wonderful
"~oh gods, please Douma-dono..need you so bad~" you pleaded desperately as your boyfriend peppered kisses and bites on the columns of your thighs.
"Trust me, i'm going to do you how we did on one of the lower rank demons' graves." Douma lustfully growls against your cunt, the vibration sending a jolt up your spine. The demon dives in without no hesitation, flatboarding his tounge on your clit before it breached into your needy hole. Instinctively, you roughly card your fingers through Douma's plantinum blonde locks as he eats you out like he was on Muzan's blacklist. Your upper half doubles over in pleasure while mewling out your boyfriend's name uncontrollably.
Sure, you knew he ate your kind but god, Douma works magic between your legs like it's nothing. Wet and obscene squelching noises can be heard now,a blessing to Douma's ears as always. He palms his aching erection as he happily drinks you from the source.
Circles, Zig-zags, even figure eights. Each new motion Douma performs inside of you brings you to a higher arc of ecstasy, only to be let back down slowly. The coiling sensation in your core was beginning to unravel and fast.
"Fffuck Douma~ ", you groaned, "don't stop,baby~"
Douma moans into your hole, multi-colored eyes rolling up to his head from the way his name lewdly sung from your lips.
The way your cunt kept fluttering and sucking his tongue back in had Douma completely pussy-drunk on you. The pace that started out sensual becomes unrelenting and feral. The demon's large hands now abandoned his member and rose up to pry your plush thighs open more. Pale blue nails nearly break your skin, but the slight pain only makes you wetter. Douma shoves his face in further than its ever been, his nose now bumping into your clitoris, tongue just tasting and dragggiing that sweet spot in your walls that has your legs trembling and your grip on his scalp tighten. Moans and whimpers were the only sounds that came out coherent, only because the demon proceeded to edge you, pulling back to suck on your sensitive nub.
"..close already? aw~ poor thing,bet you wanna cum do 'ya?" Douma teases in mock-pity at you, then goes back to french kissing your slit. You double over again before you tip your head back as you curse, feeling your boyfriend smirk in the apex of your thighs.
Minutes for what seemed like hours pass by you're about near humping face as soon as your climax washes over you. A silent cry escapes from you as your cunt gushes all onto the demon's mouth, letting only a little dribble down his chin. Finally, he withdraws his tongue from you, followed by a pop. Lightly panting, Douma notices that his own release has already happened, considering that the sweet ache in between his legs faded away. And now being literally "soaked" in other terms, but he wasn't bothered one bit.
"Holy..fuckin'..moly.." you huffed, followed by a tired giggle, "you're such a hot mess, you know that?"
The demon nuzzles his face against your thigh, humming in adoration.
"All for you my dear lotus~" Douma whispers, his fingers tracing lazy shapes into the skin. Content silence falls upon the kitchen, the both of you relax in the effect of your afterglow..
"By the way..where are my panties?"
a/n: I was going to extend this but the piece would be waaaayyy too long teehee, hope you enjoyed!
Hiiii I'm a new follower and I have a request if you can be able to...
Could you please write some headcanons of how the upper moons 1-3 + muzan would eat you out? 😩
(I just started watching demon slayer not too long ago and omg the demons are finnnnnneeee)
how the upper moons would eat you out !!
including: kokushibo, douma, akaza, muzan.
a/n: hii tysm for followinggg, i actually had a fun time writing this! alsoo im soo sorry for posting this late i was supposed to finish this the day you asked but i was locked in on roblox🥹✌🏽
mdni, smut below cut !!!
Kokushibo
Kokushibo approaches the act with the same methodical precision he applies to his swordsmanship. There is nothing hurried, nothing careless about the way he touches you. He positions you before him like a ritual preparation—body arranged just so, limbs placed with deliberate intention, the atmosphere heavy with anticipation.
He does not speak. Words are unnecessary when his actions convey everything.
His hands are the first point of contact. Long fingers, calloused from centuries of gripping his blade, trace the inside of your thighs with a reverence that borders on worship. The touch is light at first—feathery strokes that map your skin, memorizing every contour, every sensitive patch. He watches your reactions with those six eyes, cataloging each twitch, each sharp inhale, each trembling exhale. He learns your body like a technique he intends to master.
When he finally lowers his head, it is with the grace of a falling leaf. His breath ghosts over your cunt, warm and measured, before his lips press a single kiss to your inner thigh. Then another. Another. He works his way inward with excruciating slowness, building anticipation until your hips shift involuntarily, seeking his mouth.
He denies you at first.
"Patience," he murmurs, the first word he's spoken. His voice is deep, resonant, vibrating against your sensitive skin.
His tongue emerges like a blade from its sheath—controlled, precise, devastating. He traces your folds with the tip, following the natural lines of your body like calligraphy strokes. The pressure is exact, never too much, never too little. He finds your clit not by accident but by design, circling it with a rhythm that feels premeditated.
He maintains that rhythm without deviation. He does not speed up, does not slow down, does not vary his technique until you are arching into his mouth, breath catching, fingers gripping the sheets. Only when your body signals impending climax does he change his approach—and even then, it is calculated.
He slides two fingers inside you, curling them with surgical precision, pressing against that spongy wall of nerves while his tongue continues its relentless circles. The combination is devastating, orchestrated to push you over the edge with mechanical efficiency.
When you come, he does not stop. He draws out every wave, every contraction, licking through your orgasm until you are trembling and oversensitive. Only then does he pull back, a thin string of saliva connecting his lips to your center.
He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, his expression unreadable.
"Acceptable," he says. But the faintest curl at the corner of his lips betrays his satisfaction.
He will do it again, you realize. He has cataloged your responses, identified your weaknesses, and he will refine his technique until "acceptable" becomes "perfection."
Douma
Douma views the act as performance.
Not in a self-conscious way—he is beyond such mortal concerns—but in the sense that he approaches every interaction as a spectacle, a show to be witnessed and appreciated. That he happens to be the performer and the audience simultaneously is simply part of the entertainment.
He is theatrical from the moment he begins. He kneels before you with exaggerated reverence, pressing his palms together in mock prayer, a beatific smile spread across his features.
"Let us begin our communion," he says, his voice dripping with false piety. His rainbow eyes glitter with amusement. He knows exactly how ridiculous he looks. He does not care. If anything, he revels in it.
He takes his time undressing you, not with the reverence of Kokushibo but with the flair of a showman. Each piece of clothing removed is accompanied by a dramatic sigh, a murmured compliment, a lingering touch that borders on teasing. He treats your body like a gift he is unwrapping, savoring the reveal with theatrical delight.
When he finally settles between your thighs, he presses a kiss to each one, then to your mound, then to your clit through the fabric of your underwear—if you're still wearing any at this point. He looks up at you through his lashes, that infuriating smile still in place.
"This is my favorite part," he announces, as if sharing a delightful secret.
He is chatty. Gods, is he chatty.
"You taste divine tonight. Have you been eating something different? Or is it simply the anticipation making everything more exquisite?"
He punctuates his commentary with licks, each one deliberate and showy. He has a tendency to pull away at the worst moments—right when you're getting close, right when the pleasure crests toward its peak—just to make some observation or ask a question.
"Do you like it when I do this? Or perhaps you prefer—"
He demonstrates both options, watching your face with clinical fascination. He takes notes. Not literally, but you can feel his attention sharpen, cataloging your reactions with the same intensity Kokushibo uses, but for entirely different reasons. Douma wants to entertain you. He wants to be the best you've ever had, not out of pride but out of a deep, incomprehensible need to be interesting.
He switches techniques constantly. Fast, slow, broad strokes, pointed flicks, suction that borders on painful before softening into something gentler. He hums while he works, melodies from forgotten eras, the vibrations adding another layer of sensation.
When he brings you to climax, he does not stop talking.
"Yes, that's it. Beautiful. Absolutely exquisite. You should see your face right now—I wish I had a mirror—"
He licks through your orgasm with enthusiasm, lapping at you like a man dying of thirst. When you finally collapse, trembling, he sits up, chin glistening, and claps his hands together.
"Bravo. Encore? No? Perhaps later."
He will absolutely bring it up at dinner. "Remember that thing I did with my tongue? I've been thinking of variations."
Akaza
Akaza is intense.
There is no other word for it. The moment he decides he wants to taste you, everything else ceases to exist. The world narrows to the space between your thighs, and he attacks it with the same ferocity he brings to combat—but tempered with a desperation that borders on reverent.
He does not ask. He takes.
Not violently—never violently, not with you—but with a certainty that leaves no room for ambiguity. He pushes you onto your back, settles between your legs, and buries his face in your cunt like he's been starved for it. His first contact is a full-mouthed kiss, tongue pressing flat and firm, tasting you in long, greedy strokes.
He groans against you. The sound vibrates through your core, making your hips buck.
"Fuck," he breathes, the word muffled. "You taste—fuck."
His hands grip your thighs, fingers digging into the flesh hard enough to bruise. He does not seem to notice, or perhaps he does not care. His focus is absolute, his attention laser-locked on the act of devouring you.
He is not methodical. He is not theatrical. He is hungry.
His tongue moves with desperate, frantic energy—licking, sucking, pressing, probing. He alternates between deep, broad strokes that cover your entire cunt and sharp, focused attention on your clit that makes you see stars. There is no rhythm, no pattern, just raw, unfiltered need.
He pulls away only to breathe, and even then, his mouth hovers over you, his breath hot and ragged, his eyes wild and intense.
"More," he growls. Not a question. A demand.
He dives back in.
He uses everything—lips, tongue, teeth (gentle, careful pressure that borders on pain before backing off), his nose pressing against your clit while his tongue works your entrance. He brings you to the edge so many times you lose count, each time pulling you back just before the fall, savoring your desperation.
"Please," you gasp, not knowing what you're begging for.
He groans in response, the sound desperate. He hooks your legs over his shoulders, pulling you closer, deeper, until his face is completely buried in your cunt, nose pressed against your clit, tongue fucking into you.
When he finally lets you come, it is with a roar of satisfaction that vibrates through your entire body. He does not relent, does not slow, does not stop until you are sobbing from the overstimulation, pushing weakly at his head.
Only then does he pull back, his face slick, his eyes burning with possessive fire.
"Mine," he says, and the word is a vow.
He will do it again within the hour. He will not be satisfied until you are completely wrecked, until you cannot walk, until the only word you remember is his name.
Muzan
Muzan does not kneel.
This is the first thing you must understand about him. He is the progenitor, the king of demons, a being who has lived for over a thousand years and answered to no one. The idea of him placing himself beneath anyone—even in an act of intimate service—is almost incomprehensible.
And yet.
He does it because he chooses to. And that choice makes it infinitely more significant.
He arranges you on the bed with imperial precision. He does not undress you himself—that would be beneath him—but he instructs you to do so, watching with cold, appraising eyes as you comply. His gaze moves over your body like a general surveying a battlefield, assessing worth, calculating value.
When he is satisfied, he approaches.
He does not lower himself to the bed. Instead, he remains standing, looking down at you with an expression of detached curiosity. His hand reaches out, fingers tracing down your torso, pausing at your hip, your thigh, before sliding between your legs.
He examines you like a specimen. His fingers part your folds, exposing you to the cool air, to his unblinking stare. He does not touch where you want him to—not yet. He simply looks.
"So this is what you offer," he murmurs, more to himself than to you. "Interesting."
He brings his fingers to his lips, tasting your essence with the deliberation of a sommelier sampling wine. His eyes close briefly, and when they open, there is something new in them. Interest. Perhaps even hunger.
He finally kneels.
But even on his knees, he exudes authority. He does not grovel. He does not plead. He positions himself between your thighs with the grace of a predator settling into a strike, and when he lowers his head, it is with the deliberate intention of a king bestowing a gift.
His tongue is inhuman.
Not in the grotesque sense—it appears normal, pink and wet and warm—but in its precision, its control, its ability to adapt in ways no human tongue could match. He can make it longer, thinner, can change its texture from smooth to rough with a thought. He uses this ability with calculated cruelty.
He starts with soft, broad strokes that cover your entire cunt, his eyes fixed on your face, watching every micro-expression. He finds the spots that make you gasp, the angles that make you moan, and he files that information away for later use.
He does not rush. He takes his time, drawing out the experience, savoring your responses like a connoisseur tasting a rare wine. Occasionally, he pulls away entirely, leaving you aching and empty, just to see the frustration flicker across your face.
"You want more," he says. It is not a question.
"Yes."
"Do you deserve more?"
The question hangs in the air. He waits for your answer, his tongue tracing lazy patterns on your inner thigh, deliberately avoiding where you need him most.
"Please," you finally say.
He smiles. It is not a kind smile.
"Good answer."
He returns to your cunt with renewed purpose, his tongue now focused on your clit, flicking and circling with inhuman speed. He adds fingers—three, four, more? It's hard to count, hard to think when he's doing that—curling them inside you, stretching you, filling you.
The pleasure builds like a storm, overwhelming and relentless. He does not let up, does not slow, does not give you a moment to catch your breath. He drives you toward climax with merciless efficiency, and when you finally break, he does not stop.
He keeps going, drawing out your orgasm until it borders on painful, until you are shaking and crying and begging him to stop. Only then does he pull back, licking his lips, his expression one of cold satisfaction.
"Adequate," he pronounces. "We will try again tomorrow. I expect better results."
He will not tell you what "better results" means. He will simply push you harder, demand more, and take immense pleasure in watching you fall apart beneath his touch.
Bonus: All Four Simultaneously
In the impossible scenario where all four Upper Moons decide to share you, the experience would be overwhelming in every sense of the word.
Kokushibo would focus on your upper body, pinning you in place, whispering instructions in that calm, measured voice. "Breathe. Do not fight it. Surrender."
Douma would narrate the entire experience, offering commentary that ranges from poetic to obscene, laughing at the absurdity of the situation even as he buries his face between your thighs.
Akaza would consume himself with one goal: making you come as many times as possible. He would track each orgasm, pushing for the next, never satisfied until you were reduced to a trembling, incoherent mess.
And Muzan would watch. He would stand apart, arms crossed, eyes gleaming with cold amusement, directing the scene like a conductor leading an orchestra. His pleasure would come not from physical participation but from the absolute control he holds over every aspect of the experience.
Gyomei approaches cunnilingus like prayer—reverent, methodical, and devastatingly intense. He'll lower himself to his knees before you, massive hands resting on your thighs with surprising gentleness. Despite his blindness, he doesn't need to see; he maps your body through touch and sound, fingers tracing the curve of your hips, thumbs parting your folds with deliberate care.
He holds you down when you try to squirm away from too much sensation, not cruelly, but firmly—grounding you. His fingers slide inside you, two thick digits curling to find your sweet spot while his tongue works your clit in figure-eights. Gyomei doesn't stop until you come undone, and even then, he keeps licking gently through your aftershocks, murmuring prayers of gratitude against your slick thighs.
After, he'll rest his head on your hip, breathing heavily, and whisper, "You are sacred, every part of you."
Obanai
Obanai eats pussy like it's an act of worship—he's kneeling at your altar, and his snake Kaburamon coils nearby, watching with unblinking eyes. Obanai doesn't speak much during sex, but his focus is absolute. He'll position you however he wants—on your back, legs spread, or bent over the edge of a futon—and then he disappears between your thighs.
His tongue is precise, almost clinical at first. He traces the shape of your labia, parts you with his thumbs, studies your body's responses like a map. He finds your clit quickly and circles it with the tip of his tongue, eyes half-lidded, watching your face the entire time. Obanai doesn't blink. He stares at your expressions—every flinch, every bitten lip, every time your eyes roll back—and adjusts his technique accordingly.
He alternates between fast, flicking strokes of his tongue and slow, deliberate suction. He'll take your clit between his lips and suck gently while his tongue presses against it from below, then switch to lapping at it with the flat of his tongue in long, wet drags. His fingers find their way inside you, curling and pressing in a rhythm that matches his mouth.
Obanai gets off on your sounds. He'll moan against your pussy when you gasp his name, the vibration making you clench around his fingers. He doesn't stop until you've come at least twice—he considers it a matter of pride. Afterward, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, looks at you with that intense, unreadable gaze, and says nothing. But the way he traces a finger along your inner thigh afterward says everything.
rengoku
Rengoku attacks cunnilingus with the same fiery enthusiasm he brings to everything. He doesn't ease into it—he dives in headfirst, spreading your legs wide and burying his face between them with a loud, appreciative "DELICIOUS!" His voice booms even muffled against your skin.
He's messy. Spit everywhere. Sloppy, wet, enthusiastic licks that cover your entire cunt in a chaotic rhythm. He doesn't worry about technique so much as sheer intensity. His tongue is everywhere—lapping at your clit, dipping into your entrance, sliding along your folds before returning to suck your clit into his mouth with a pop.
Rengoku talks while he eats you out, murmuring encouragement between licks. "You taste incredible! More—let me hear you!" He'll look up at you, eyes gleaming, mouth slick with your arousal, grinning like a man possessed. His hands grip your thighs hard enough to bruise, pulling you closer, practically fucking his face into you.
When you start to come, he redoubles his efforts, moaning against your clit, tongue flicking faster until you're screaming. He doesn't let up until you push his head away, and even then he licks his lips, chuckling. "Taste that? That's happiness!" Rengoku's cunnilingus is exhausting, overwhelming, and absolutely unforgettable.
sanemi
Sanemi approaches eating pussy like it's a battlefield—aggressive, competitive, and determined to win. He'll pin you down, one hand on your hip, the other gripping your thigh hard enough to leave fingerprints. No foreplay, no teasing. He goes straight for your clit, tongue flat and rough, licking in harsh, demanding strokes.
He's not gentle. He bites sometimes—not hard enough to break skin, but enough to make you yelp. He'll drag his teeth along your inner thigh before diving back in, sucking your clit with punishing suction, flicking his tongue against it until you're shaking. Sanemi wants to break you, wants to make you lose control completely.
He growls against you, curses under his breath—"fuck, yeah, just like that"—while his fingers shove inside you, two then three, curling and pumping in a brutal rhythm. He doesn't care if it's too much; he wants to see you overwhelmed, crying, begging.
When you come, he doesn't stop. He keeps licking, keeps sucking, dragging out your orgasm until you're sobbing and trying to crawl away. Then he pulls back, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and smirks. "That's right. Remember who owns this pussy." He's rough, possessive, and leaves you completely wrecked.
giyuu
Giyuu is quiet, almost shy about eating pussy, but devastatingly good once he gets going. He starts hesitantly, pressing soft kisses to your inner thighs, breathing warm against your skin before he finally lowers his mouth to you. His first touch is featherlight—just the tip of his tongue tracing your folds, tasting you gently.
But once he hears your first moan, something shifts. Giyuu becomes focused, almost obsessive. He settles into a steady rhythm: long, languid strokes of his tongue from your entrance to your clit, each one deliberate and unhurried. He closes his eyes, losing himself in the taste, in the way your hips rock against his face.
He's methodical. He'll lap at your clit in tight circles until your breathing changes, then suck it gently between his lips while his tongue flicks against it. His fingers slide inside you, slow and deep, curling to find that spot that makes your back arch. Giyuu doesn't talk, but he moans—low, needy sounds that vibrate against your sensitive flesh.
He takes his time. He'll edge you, pulling back when you get too close, only to start again with a different angle or pressure. Giyuu wants to draw out your pleasure until you're begging, until your voice cracks saying his name. When he finally lets you come, he holds you through it, tongue working you softly through the aftershocks.
After, he rests his cheek on your thigh, looking up at you with those sad, intense eyes, and whispers, "Stay." Just that. He stays there, breathing you in, not wanting to leave.
tengen
Tengen is loud, theatrical, and absolutely convinced he's the best at eating pussy—and frankly, he might be right. He'll position you dramatically, propping pillows under your hips, spreading your legs wide, and making a show of it. "Behold! The flamboyant art of cunnilingus!"
He starts with his whole mouth—open-mouthed kisses that cover your entire cunt, tongue sloppy and wet, lapping at you like he's drinking from a fountain. He moans loudly, making sure you hear how much he's enjoying it. "Mmm, exquisite. You taste absolutely divine, my darling."
Tengen switches between techniques like a performer switching instruments: fast flicking of his tongue against your clit, slow deep licks that dip inside you, sucking your clit while his fingers work your g-spot. He uses both hands—one gripping your ass, the other pressed flat against your lower belly, feeling his tongue's effect on you from the outside.
He talks constantly. "Tell me how it feels. Louder. I want the whole estate to hear how good I make you feel." When you come, he hums against your clit, the vibration sending you into another wave. Tengen makes sure you come at least three times before he's satisfied, then sits up, grinning, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
"That," he declares, "is what I call a flamboyant finish." He expects applause.
shinobu
Shinobu brings her butterfly aesthetic into cunnilingus—delicate, precise, and lethally effective. She kisses her way down your body slowly, pausing to nip at your ribs, your hips, your inner thighs, before finally settling between your legs. She doesn't dive in immediately; she hovers, breathing warm air against your wet folds until you're squirming.
Her first touch is barely there—just the tip of her tongue, light as a butterfly wing, tracing the outline of your clit. She repeats this, featherlight touches that drive you insane, never giving you the full pressure you crave until you beg for it. Shinobu loves making you beg.
When she finally gives in, she uses her tongue in sharp, precise strokes—quick flicks against your clit, alternating with soft suction. Her fingers glide inside you, slender and cool, moving with surgical accuracy. She finds your g-spot immediately and presses against it while her tongue circles your clit in a steady, maddening rhythm.
She's quiet, but she smiles against your skin when you moan. Shinobu takes pride in unraveling you, in reducing you to a trembling mess under her skilled mouth. She'll edge you repeatedly, pulling away just before you peak, only to start again with a different technique.
When she finally lets you come, it's with a soft laugh, her tongue working you through it until you're oversensitive and twitching. She sits up, wipes her mouth daintily, and says, "There. Much better, isn't it?"
mitsuri
Mitsuri eats pussy like she's starving and you're the only meal that matters. She's loud, enthusiastic, and completely unrestrained. She'll moan against you from the first taste, hips grinding into the futon as she devours you with zero shame.
Her tongue is strong and flexible, lapping at you in broad, hungry strokes. She uses her whole mouth—sucking, licking, kissing, biting softly. She's messy, drool mixing with your arousal, sliding down her chin, but she doesn't care. She's too lost in the taste, in the sounds you make, in the way your thighs squeeze her head.
Mitsuri grips your hips and pulls you closer, practically smothering herself in your pussy. She alternates between fast, frantic licks and slow, deep passes of her tongue that dip inside you. She fingers you while she works, her strong fingers curling perfectly against your g-spot, matching the rhythm of her mouth.
She talks between licks: "You taste so good... I could do this forever... Please, come for me, I need to taste it..." Her voice is desperate, genuine. When you finally come, she moans loudly against your clit, tongue flicking faster, drinking every drop of your release like it's nectar.
Afterward, she collapses on top of you, face still buried between your thighs, mumbling happily, "Can we do that again? Right now?" Mitsuri is insatiable, and she'll happily spend all night proving it.
a/n: someone texted me just to say my writings ass🥹 anyways i caught myself cheesing writing sanemis part ngl✌🏽
A/N: Part Three of Demon Slayer Characters as Physical Touches!
Kamaboko Squad here. Hashira here. I was totally going to post this yesterday, but I got too distracted by Ororon and old Barbie songs.... ANYWAYS, I'm thinking of making a fourth part of including extra characters like Hotaru and Yoriichi, etc.
Pairings: Kokushibo x Reader, Doma x Reader, Akaza x Reader, Gyutaro x Reader, Daki x Reader
Fandom: Demon Slayer
Contains: Fluff, HCs, Physical Touches
Kokushibo🌙🖤
Kokushibo isn't a big touchy-feely person (in my opinion), but he would still try to express it in the most minute ways!
e.g., A single, firm pat on your shoulder to express that he's proud of you (rare, I know :crying:)
Always sitting beside you in close proximity, not near enough to be touching but enough to feel your warmth.
ALWAYS offers his hand to help you up, but he lets go immediately when you're standing
Somehow you're always in his way??? (You're not, he just likes any excuse to touch you) So he's always moving you out of the way, either by your shoulders or arms.
Koku wants to be THE best, and by default, since you associate with him, he always wants YOU at your best too. So he's constantly fixing something on you. Whether it's your sleeve, your necklace is slightly out of place, or a single hair out of place, it does NOT go unnoticed by this man.
If you decide to spar with him, he will *always* pass you the sword/wooden sword. Ofc you accept it, but he's just standing there holding it in his firm grip and you're like um...hello? let go???? LMAO, but he just wants to feel your hand on his.
Doma🪭🩷
This man is so handsy. Not because he loves you (homeboy cannot feel human emotions), but he's seen from his time as a cult leader) that physical contact makes others happy, especially those dearest to him. (read: You).
Randomly picks you up and spins you around because he thinks it's funny.
Pinches your cheeks whenever he teases you!
Always has a hand resting on you, whether it be on your back/arm/head, he is always touching you!
He does not mind at all if you use his lap as a pillow when he's sitting on his cushions! In fact! He will pull you into his lap like it's the only seat in the room. Wants you to sit on his lap so he can wrap his arms around you and hold you close to his chest while laying his chin on your shoulder
He loves looking at you!! So he will ALWAYS tilt your head up to look at him, or he will cradle your face in both of his hands just to admire you.
Laces your fingers so tightly with his that it almost hurts, but he refuses to let you go.
Akaza👊💙
He CHERISHES you. You can't convince me otherwise.
Definitely is the type to hug you from behind. He just always wants you in his arms. Akaza feels like you're most protected that way.
Occasionally, he will press his forehead to yours, after a bad mission or when he's just doing too well. Your comfort and presence are grounding to him. AND HE WILL KISS YOUR FOREHEAD.
You're not allowed to sit anywhere else but his lap tbh. Say goodbye to chairs or other comfortable surfaces, it's lap time.
Does not hesitate to wrap you up in his coat/scarf (JUST PRETEND HE HAS ONE-)
If you're scared/nervous, he always pulls you to his chest and wraps you in his big, strong arms. :SOBBING:
He is the TYPE to kiss your fingertips one by one just to see you smile and giggle. It's such a wonderful sound to him.
Whenever you're talking to him, it doesn't matter what you're talking about; he will always gently stroke your face while looking at you like you are the most breathtaking and magnificent thing he's ever seen.
Gyutaro🎐💚
Homeboy is a mix of hesitant and light touches, to straight-up clingy and desperate touches.
His hand will hover over yours before brushing over your knuckles with ghostlike touches.
Always resting close enough to you that your shoulders touch, but he's always so tense, like he's bracing himself.
Man is in your personal space bubble 24/7. Even if he isn't touching you, he's just looming over you. (HELP)
Whenever he clings to you, he wraps his arms around your waist and buries his face in your shoulder.
Another founder of the DEATHGRIP on your hands whenever you're holding hands.
He curls around you protectively while you sleep. (my heart...)
You cannot tell me he doesn't snarl at people who look too long at you. He's wrapped around you like a human (demon) shield.
A rare sign of affection, but he will press his forehead against yours, holding your face with shaky, careful fingers like he's scared he'll hurt/break you.
Daki🏮❤️
Wraps her arms loosely around your neck and sways side to side idly.
Always pressed close to you. Hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder, like she owns the air around you.
Hooks her arm through yours and doesn't let you go.
Whenever you two walk, she's always behind you with her hands on your shoulders.
Pulling you against her side with no warning whenever she feels threatened/jealous
She boops your nose with hers in a mock-cute way, but she secretly adores the closeness.
Curls herself around you in bed, leg thrown over you so you can't escape.
Rarely will she curl into your chest whenever she feels vulnerable, but she won't ever admit it.
Loves wrapping you in her long, flowing kimono sleeves and just holding you there.
Tends to rest her head on your lap while playing with your fingers.
hiiii I love ur works!! may I request manhandling for akaza and if it's okay, maybe douma too.. 😓👉👈
── 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊 𝐌𝐄 𝐒𝐎 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐋𝐘 ! manhandling with akaza and douma
✦ content. fem reader manhandling, dubcon elements, size kink, degradation, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, rough sex, biting, blood mention, creampie, predator/prey dynamics, choking, semi-public risk, aftercare (akaza), lack of aftercare (dōma), manipulation, power imbalance
author's ✿︎ notes. this request is soooo hot. honestly i could've written it in a totally different way-- but i chose to keep it close to the anime. the upper moons currently have a hold on me. anyways, thank you for this request & i hope it is up to your expectations. i love you angel
✎ 𝒂kaza 𓂃 ♡︎
the shrine had long since lost its holiness. once, maybe, people had come here with prayers, with offerings, with trembling hands clutching candles and coins, whispering for blessings into the air. but now the roof sagged under the weight of moss and rain, wood split open by years of rot, the altar cracked and jagged like teeth. it smelled of mildew, of damp stone, of something long forgotten. when you stepped past the broken gate, it felt like walking into a mouth that meant to swallow you whole.
you told yourself you came here to investigate, to track whispers of demons prowling in the area, to follow duty where it called. but the truth slipped into your mind, unshakable—you shouldn’t be here. not alone. not in the silence of night, where even the wind dared not move through the trees. the stillness pressed on you, heavy as a weight on your chest, until the fine hairs at the back of your neck prickled.
that was when he appeared. you didn’t see him walk in. you didn’t even hear the floorboards creak. you just felt it first—the crushing weight of presence, like the air had turned to stone, like your lungs forgot how to breathe. akaza stood where the moonlight bled through the broken roof, tattoos glowing faintly under pale light, eyes sharp, unblinking, unhuman. his voice cut the silence, low and steady, carrying a cruel amusement.
“hm. another slayer wandering in where they shouldn’t. fragile little thing… you really thought you’d make it out of here alive?”
your sword was already in your hand, heart hammering as you forced your body into motion. you lunged first, trying to seize control, trying to bite down on fear and twist it into strength. the blade sliced toward him—but it never landed. his hand lashed out, faster than thought, knocking steel aside as if it were nothing more than paper. his other hand clamped around your wrist, fingers digging so deep you swore he could crush bone if he wanted.
you jerked, twisted, fought, but it was useless. his strength was overwhelming. before you could gasp, your back slammed against the cracked altar, the sharp edge biting into your spine. the impact knocked air from your lungs, leaving you gasping like a fish on land. your blade clattered across the broken floor, useless.
akaza’s grin stretched slow, wolfish, as he leaned close enough for his breath to ghost against your face. “you fight with spirit,” he murmured, grip tightening when you tried to squirm free. “but spirit won’t save you. not when you’re this weak. not when you’re this breakable.”
his free hand moved to your uniform, fingers curling into the fabric over your chest. the tear was sharp, merciless—the sound of cloth splitting open echoed loud in the empty shrine. he didn’t bother with precision; he didn’t need to. your haori ripped down the middle, falling open to expose the skin beneath. his hand slid inside, palm rough and hot against your bare stomach, pushing higher until he gripped your breast hard enough to make you gasp.
“too fragile,” he drawled, thumb brushing over your nipple as if testing, then pinching cruelly, making your back arch against the altar. “i could crush you with one hand… but no. i’d rather break you in other ways.”
your legs kicked, trying to push him off, but he seized both thighs at once, fingers digging into flesh. in one brutal motion, he forced them apart, spreading you wide over his lap as he dragged you closer. the wooden altar dug into your back, sharp and unyielding, as he shoved your legs up until your knees nearly pressed to your chest.
“stay still,” he growled, pressing his weight forward to pin you. his hand slid down, tugging at the waist of your trousers. another rip—fabric splitting as easily as paper—and he yanked them off, leaving your lower half exposed to the cold air and his heated gaze.
you opened your mouth to curse him, but the words broke into a cry when he shoved two thick fingers between your folds, spreading you open with obscene ease. the intrusion was rough, fast, forcing your body to react before your mind could catch up. slick coated his fingers almost instantly, and his grin widened, sharp and cruel. “already wet? pathetic little slayer—your body betrays you.”
he withdrew just long enough to shove his own trousers down, his cock heavy and flushed, the sight alone making your stomach twist. then he lined himself up, the blunt head pressing against your entrance. the resistance was sharp, the stretch nearly unbearable—but he didn’t pause, didn’t give you time to adjust. with one brutal thrust, he slammed inside, burying himself to the hilt.
you choked on the breath that ripped from your lungs, body bowing off the altar as the stretch burned through you, walls clenching desperately around the intrusion. his grip on your thighs tightened, forcing them wider, locking you in place as he pulled back and slammed into you again, harder, deeper, the sound of your body taking him echoing through the ruined shrine.
“fuck,” akaza groaned, head tipping back, tattoos glowing faintly in the moonlight. “so tight. even your cunt’s trying to fight me.” his hips snapped forward with punishing force, each thrust rocking the altar beneath you. “but you can’t win this fight either, can you?”
your cries tumbled out broken, sobs and whimpers spilling into the cold night air as his pace grew merciless. he leaned down, his mouth hot against your jaw, teeth grazing before sinking in—not enough to pierce, but enough to make you jolt. “you’re trembling,” he muttered against your skin, voice dark, taunting. “your body loves this. every squeeze, every twitch—you were made to be ruined like this.”
each thrust forced slick down your thighs, dripping onto the altar, pooling beneath you. your nails clawed helplessly at the wood, leaving shallow grooves as heat coiled low in your belly, unbearable and blinding.
“don’t hold back,” akaza snarled, hips snapping into you faster, deeper. “cum for me—show me how weak you are.”
and when it broke, it was violent, tearing the breath from your lungs as you convulsed around him, tears streaking down your cheeks. your orgasm hit hard, walls spasming, dragging a guttural groan from his chest. he pounded through it, chasing his own high, until his hips stuttered and his cock spilled hot ropes of cum deep inside you, filling you until it leaked messily around his length.
you slumped against the altar, trembling, throat raw from sobs. akaza stayed pressed to you, cock still buried deep, his grin cruel and satisfied. his thumb brushed a tear from your cheek almost mockingly. “fragile little thing,” he murmured, voice rough, “and yet you take me perfectly.”
then his hips shifted again, his cock twitching back to life inside your overstimulated cunt. his grin widened, sharp as a blade. “we’re not done. i’ll break you over and over—until you forget what it means to stand against me.”
✎ 𝒅ōma 𓂃 ♡︎
the lotus temple was quiet. too quiet.
by day it seemed serene—bright lanterns swaying, golden statues smiling benignly, prayers murmured into incense smoke. but by night, when shadows pooled in the corners and the air grew still, it became something else. the painted faces of the bodhisattvas warped in the dark, their smiles eerie and knowing, their hands reaching endlessly in frozen blessing. you should have turned back the second you crossed the threshold, but you didn’t. curiosity or duty carried you inside.
and that was when you heard it—the laughter. light, airy, musical, but wrong. it didn’t echo properly. it slid through the dark like oil, clinging to your skin, chilling you to the bone.
“ooh… a guest.”
your stomach dropped. he hadn’t stepped from anywhere—you simply blinked, and he was there. dōma, upper moon two, sat casually at the base of a massive statue, lotus-shaped war fan twirling lazily between his fingers. his eyes—bright, gleaming with too much light to be human—fixed on you with a delight that felt like claws dragging over glass.
“how lucky am i?” he said with that too-cheerful lilt, tilting his head as if truly considering it. “the night was starting to feel so lonely, and here you come stumbling in. a pretty little slayer, all alone. ahh, i feel blessed.”
your blade was already out, shaking slightly despite your grip. you lunged—fast, precise, desperate. but before the tip could even graze him, his fan clattered to the floor and his hand shot out, clamping around your throat with effortless strength.
“tsk, tsk,” he sang, voice bubbling with laughter as he lifted you effortlessly off the floor, legs kicking. “so aggressive! but you’re trembling… do you really think you can hurt me?”
you clawed at his wrist, the pressure at your throat making spots dance in your vision. he smiled wider at your struggling, as though each desperate kick was entertainment. then, with a casual swing of his arm, he slammed you down against the polished temple floor. the breath flew out of your lungs, chest heaving uselessly as your sword skittered out of reach.
“much better,” dōma hummed, kneeling over you, pinning your wrists above your head with one hand as if they were weightless. “look at you… all pinned down like a little insect. don’t worry, i’ll take good care of you. i always take care of my guests.”
his free hand slid over your chest, fingertips featherlight, deceptively tender. then, with a sudden vicious tug, he gripped your uniform and ripped it open down the middle. fabric tore under his claws like paper, exposing the soft skin beneath. his eyes glittered as he leaned down, tongue darting out to lap across your collarbone with mocking reverence.
“mmm… delicious,” he purred, teeth grazing. “so warm. so human. you make the cutest noises when you squirm, did you know that?”
you tried to jerk your wrists free, tried to shove him off with your knees, but his grip was unyielding. he only laughed at your struggles, as if they delighted him. “oh, don’t pout. it’s fun when you fight. but you’ll learn—” his hand slid lower, cupping you between your thighs through the fabric of your trousers, squeezing with enough pressure to make you gasp, “—you’ll always lose.”
he didn’t wait. another sharp tug tore your trousers at the seam, leaving you half-bared under him. his fingers trailed along the edge of your underwear before hooking in and yanking those away too, discarding them in a careless flick.
“ahh, now that’s better,” dōma cooed, eyes darkening with something hungrier as he spread your legs apart with his knees, forcing you open under him. “so pretty like this. like a flower, just for me.”
you hissed through your teeth, shame and fury burning hot, but it only made his grin widen. he shifted down, one hand pinning your wrists still, the other spreading you with merciless ease. when his fingers pressed inside, the intrusion was sudden and unrelenting—two sinking deep without warning, curling against sensitive walls that made your body betray you with a sharp, unwilling moan.
“ohhh, listen to that,” he crooned, pumping his fingers at a punishing pace, each thrust stretching you open further. “music to my ears. mm, you’re squeezing me so tight already. how adorable.”
slick coated his fingers quickly, dripping messily onto the floor. he withdrew them just to lick them clean, humming with obscene delight at the taste. “sweet, sweet, sweet. just as i thought.”
then he freed himself—trousers undone with a lazy tug, his cock heavy and flushed, obscene in the dim temple light. he aligned himself with your entrance, teasing the head against your folds, smearing slick across your swollen skin.
“you ready?” he asked in a sing-song voice, mocking because he had no intention of waiting. “of course you’re not. but that’s the fun part.”
he slammed into you in one brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt. your body arched violently off the floor, a cry tearing from your throat as the sudden stretch burned through you, hot and unbearable.
“nnnh—” dōma groaned, eyes fluttering, his smile turning near feral. “ohhh… that’s perfect. you’re so tight. oh, you poor thing, you’re shaking already. don’t worry, i’ll break you in gently.”
he didn’t mean gently. his hips began to snap forward in quick, merciless thrusts, his cock driving deep again and again until the wet, lewd sounds of your bodies echoed through the temple. every movement shoved you harder into the cold floor, wrists aching under his grip, legs spread wide by his weight.
“so loud,” he teased, laughing between groans. “every moan, every cry—ah, i could eat you up.” his lips pressed to your jaw, sucking a bruise there before nipping cruelly. “and maybe i will. but not before i’ve ruined this sweet little body.”
your climax built sharp, unbearable, heat curling in your belly as each thrust hit deeper, harder, stealing every breath from your lungs.
“that’s it,” dōma sang, his pace quickening, hips slamming into you so hard it hurt. “break for me, my good girl. cum for me—i want to feel you drown on my cock.”
when it hit, it was devastating, your walls clenching violently around him, squeezing him so tight he groaned loud, head tipping back. he fucked you through it, riding your trembling spasms until his thrusts grew sloppy and he spilled inside you, filling you so deep the warmth leaked back out around him.
he slumped over you briefly, panting, then licked the tears off your cheeks with a bright, delighted hum. “mmm. salty. sweet. perfect.” his grin curved cruel and charming at once. “see? i told you i’d take care of you. aren’t you glad you wandered in?”
his cock twitched still buried inside, his smile widening like a blade. “and don’t pout, little flower. we’ve got all night.”
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