Ok. This shrimp was too well done not to share. LOOK AT THIS SHRIMP!!!! you can never replace the charm and joy of human doodles!!!! Whoever you are... Thank you for the shrimp ❤️
Warning: Fingering, Cunnilingue, Friends to Strangers to Lovers, FLUFF, Doggystyle Position, Unprotected sex, Nipple play...?, Missionary Position, Size Kink...?, Confession, Touch Starve Reader! (You just miss your Giant man), Voyeur (people be nosy), SoftDom! Gyomei, Basically, NSFW. 🤷🏻♀️
Also, be mindful that I didn't really mention much of the reader's appearance (Besides, she's a female) since I wanted to keep it vague for everyone to relate as much as possible, though it is definitely for the more voluptuous side of ladies. 😊
Please be mindful that the photos are not mine, but the making of the collage is.
MINORS DNI!!!! 🔞🙅🏻♀️ If you're not comfortable with this, please ignore!
P.S. All characters are 18 and up.
In the tranquil surroundings of a secluded temple, Gyomei lived a simpler life before he became the renowned demon slayer he was destined to be. The temple always smelled of damp stone, sandalwood incense, and warm rice.
It was humble—just weathered wooden floors and thin walls—but it was full of life. Laughter filled its halls from sunrise to starlight. Nine little voices could be heard, sometimes yelling, crying, or singing off-key, but they were always present.
At the center of it all stood Gyomei. A teenager, barely a man, he was broad and gentle and often went barefoot. He found purpose and joy in caring for the nine orphaned children, creating a family out of the remnants of their shattered pasts. The temple, with its serene atmosphere and lush grounds, provided a sanctuary for them all.
A young girl, close to his age, would often visit the temple. She wasn't from that world.
Not really.
Her robes were finer, and her shoes never touched mud. Coming from a home far across town with doors that shut more than they opened.
She returned nearly every day, drawn by something she couldn’t quite articulate. She arrived with gifts of rice, her delicate hands mending the tattered robes of the little ones, her laughter mingling with theirs, creating a symphony of joy that filled the air.
“You don’t have to help,” Gyomei had said once, voice soft as always.
“I want to,” she said, passing him a fresh rag. “Besides… I really like it here.”
Although she didn’t voice her feelings, he sensed the affection she had for him. In return, his heart swelled with warmth whenever she graced him with her presence.
As the evening descended upon the temple, it wrapped the building in a serene stillness. One by one, the children succumbed to sleep, tucking themselves into their futons like little foxes finding safety and warmth. Their gentle sighs filled the air, a soothing reminder of innocence and peace.
The paper walls creaked softly, responding to the whispers of the evening breeze, while crickets outside chirped their soft lullabies, creating a tranquil symphony that wrapped around the temple like a tender hug. She lay quietly, her eyes half-lidded, drawn to the moonlight filtering through the thin wooden slats, casting delicate patterns across the ground. Earlier, one of the younger children had nestled into her blanket, seeking her warmth, and now their small form pressed gently against her, anchoring her in a comforting reality.
Across the room, just a few feet away, Gyomei sat quietly in prayer, his presence grounding and calming. With his head bowed and hands clasped together, he moved his lips in silent rhythm, creating an intimate and sacred atmosphere. She longed to reach out to him, to bridge the space that separated them, but refrained from interrupting the stillness that surrounded him.
Still, a tender hope blossomed within her, yearning for him to come and join her, to share in that comfort. She watched with a mix of admiration and warmth as Gyomei finally exhaled a long, soft breath, signaling the conclusion of his prayers. He murmured the last syllables with a peaceful reverence, reaching out gently to extinguish the flickering flame.
The room fell into a gentle darkness, filled with an unmistakable sense of connection and shared warmth, as if the very air around them was wrapped in an embrace of understanding and compassion.
The room was bathed in moonlight.
With purpose, Gyomei rose from his kneeling position and moved across the floor barefoot, relying solely on his memory. She noted the powerful slope of his back highlighted in the pale blue shadows, the way his muscles flexed beneath the thin fabric of his robe.
He reached the mat beside hers, the floor creaking softly as he knelt down and settled onto his futon with barely a whisper. He adjusted the blanket over the little girl between them, then lay back slowly, mindful not to disrupt the stillness.
She felt his presence. So close.
Turning onto her side to face him, she noticed how his head shifted at the sound, as if he could sense her attention like sunlight penetrating closed eyes.
“Gyomei,” she said softly, careful not to wake the others.
He turned slightly, his motion deliberate and responsive to her voice. “Yes?"
His voice was different—lower, more intimate. It penetrated the dark and settled warmly in her chest.
“You pray every night. Do you ever pray for yourself?” she asked, her tone assertive.
There was a moment of silence, enough for her to catch the gentle rhythm of the children’s breaths.
“No,” he admitted. “Only for them.”
She shifted onto her back, her voice steady. “You should.”
He hesitated, the air around them thickening as he contemplated her words.
The little girl stirred slightly, sighing in her sleep with her small hands tucked near her chin.
“They feel safest when you’re near,” she stated, firm in her belief.
“I don’t know if I deserve that kind of trust,” Gyomei murmured, his voice tinged with doubt.
She shook her head, confident. “You do.”
A pause hung in the air, a moment of understanding. The moonlight illuminated his face, catching the strong angles of his jaw and the gentle slope of his cheek. She wanted to reach out, but instead, she declared, “I never feel lonely when I’m here.”
“Neither do I,” he replied, his voice catching slightly at the end, revealing the weight of their shared connection.
Words fell away, but an electric hum filled the space between them.
Without fully realizing it, her hand moved beneath the edge of the covers. It wasn’t intentional—she simply wanted to be closer. Her fingers glided towards where his hand rested at the center of the futon.
Then there was skin.
The brush of her fingertips met his rough skin, and he did not flinch—his hand opened slowly, a quiet invitation.
She inhaled, paused, then slid her fingers into his palm, tentative yet resolute, asking a question without uttering a word.
He responded by closing his hand around hers.
His grip was large and calloused, yet incredibly gentle, as if the precious girl between them was fragile.
Her thumb pressed into his skin with assurance, and his thumb mirrored the gesture, gliding along the back of her hand in a soothing rhythm.
Silence reigned, but they didn’t need words.
The way they held one another across that child’s sleeping body conveyed everything: ‘I’m here. I feel it too. I just don’t know how to say it yet.’
Their eyes closed, hearts racing, their joined hands resting between their bodies like a cherished secret.
With the sound of wind brushing through the temple eaves, they drifted off to sleep, facing each other in the dark, holding on tightly. They didn’t realize how precious this moment was, nor that it would be the last before everything changed.
Yet that night, in the stillness, she was his, and he was unequivocally hers.
The morning after that night felt like waking from a dream—the warmth of Gyomei’s hand still echoing in hers. In the still hush of dawn, something inside her had shifted. She couldn’t name it, but it had changed her, as if a quiet truth had settled inside her chest—one tied entirely to him.
Sunlight filtered softly through the paper screens, painting golden shapes across the wooden floor. Outside, birds sang gently from the trees. Inside, the temple began to stir. The children woke with sleepy yawns and tangled hair, their laughter spilling through the hallways as they chased each other barefoot across the polished wood.
She had only meant to slip away for a short while. Just long enough to grab a clean robe, a comb, and maybe a shawl for the cooler nights ahead. There was no need to tell Gyomei—he was likely still sweeping the garden when she stepped off the grounds.
She would be back before he noticed.
Or so she thought.
But the moment she stepped through her family’s ornate front gate, an unsettling stillness enveloped her, wrapping around her like a heavy fog. The quiet felt wrong—too quiet. The air crackled with unspoken tension, and the house hummed with frenetic movement, but not the usual kind. There was no cheerful chatter from the servants, no warm aroma of freshly brewed tea wafting through the air.
Instead, urgency pulsed through the atmosphere, a disquieting rush that prickled at her skin.
Then—her mother’s voice, cutting through the silence like a knife: “You’re just in time. We’re leaving.”
She froze on the threshold, her heart racing. “Leaving?”
In the grand front hall, her father stood like a conductor at the center of a chaotic symphony, directing servants as they hurriedly packed crates and sealed trunks. The entire house buzzed with activity—drawers were yanked open and emptied, treasured heirlooms were wrapped in linen and boxed, and furniture was hastily rearranged. Even the delicate porcelain vases that had sat sacred and untouched for years had vanished, leaving only empty spaces—gaps that echoed with unfulfilled memories.
Her bag slipped from her shoulder and hit the polished wooden floor with a soft thud, an unceremonious sound that felt like a tolling bell. “You didn’t say anything about leaving.”
Her mother turned to her, eyes like storm clouds—unreadable and heavy with unspoken fears. “We didn’t need to. It’s already decided.”
“How long?” she asked, dread pooling in her stomach like a stone.
“Permanently,” her mother replied, the finality of the word crashing over her like a tidal wave.
The word hit her like a physical blow. Her heart pounded against her ribcage, frantic and wild.
“No—wait, no. I’m not going. I need to return—my things are still at the temple.”
“You won’t need them where we’re going,” her mother interrupted, her tone sharp as glass.
“I live there now,” she insisted, desperation clawing at her throat. “I help with the children. I—”
“You don’t belong there,” her mother cut in again, the steel in her voice unmistakable. “That was never meant to be permanent.”
“I don’t belong here either!” she snapped, her voice trembling as the weight of her words hung between them like a bitter accusation.
Her father, resolute and unyielding, didn’t even cast a glance in her direction. A servant stepped forward to ease her bag from her grasp, but she snatched it back defensively, clutching it to her chest as if it were a lifeline.
“You can’t make me leave.”
Yet in the background, the ominous sound of the carriage being loaded rumbled like distant thunder. Her mother let out a deep sigh, pulling on her gloves with deliberate calm, as if trying to maintain her composure against an impending storm.
“You’re still a child,” she stated, her words cold and final. “You’ll come because we say so.”
“I’m not a child!” she cried, feeling the heat of defiance rise within her, fueled by desperation.
“Then stop acting like one,” her mother retorted, the edge in her voice cutting deeper than any knife.
Her breath caught in her throat. “Please… At least let me just say goodbye.”
“You’ll thank us later,” her mother replied, voice unwavering and merciless. “We leave now.”
The anguish burned in her chest as she turned away, tears threatening to spill over and betray her. Panic surged within her, a wild beast clawing for freedom. Every fiber of her being screamed to run—to escape back to where she truly belonged. To the temple. To him.
But then—
A hand, gentle yet firm, wrapped around her wrist. It wasn’t rough or cruel; it wasn’t a grasp of authority. A maid stood beside her, eyes shimmering with sympathy, her voice low and kind: “I’m so sorry.”
In that instant, her resolve crumbled, her strength faltering like a flickering candle in a gale.
And just like that, she was led away.
Through the heavy door, out into the world that was suddenly foreign, she was ushered toward the carriage, a dark vessel of her unwelcome fate.
No goodbye.
No last look.
Not even the comforting sound of Gyomei’s gentle voice to anchor her in this tumultuous storm.
Only silence.
And the haunting memory of his hand holding hers, warm and reassuring.
It felt like the beginning of a lifetime of regret, an unwritten chapter that would forever leave her longing.
But deep within, amidst the rising tide of despair, she made herself a promise, resolute and unyielding:
‘When I can… I’ll come back. I’ll find him. And I’ll finish what we never got to start.’
Years later, the temple was gone.
She stood alone before the old temple gates, the sky overcast, cicadas humming faintly in the heat of summer.
It wasn’t how she remembered it.
The garden had become overgrown. The wooden beams faded to gray. The once vibrant laughter of children was now silent, echoes swallowed by time.
She stood there now, a grown woman draped in simple, flowing robes, her heart heavy as she stepped inside the sacred grove, her sandals crunching softly over the brittle, fallen leaves. This place was hallowed, a sanctuary not only for her precious memories but for the essence of who she had once been—and who she had almost become.
Kneeling on the cool, damp grass, her fingers trembled with a mixture of sorrow and resolve as she lit a stick of incense for each child lost to the darkness. The sweet, smoky aroma curled into the air, mingling with her tears, which blurred her vision and streaked her cheeks.
She had asked around and heard the rumors: a demon attack, children mercilessly murdered. Among the dead, a lone boy had survived—labeled a killer, they said, with hands stained a dark crimson, a haunting contrast to the innocence of childhood.
But that was not the Gyomei she remembered. That wasn't the boy who held children with a delicate tenderness, as if cradling fragile porcelain. No, he was a guardian, a light in their lives, and the thought of him now painted with such a grim shade was unbearable.
“I came back,” she whispered. “Like I promised.”
Her eyes welling up, her heart aching. “I’m so sorry… I should’ve been here. I should’ve never left—”
And then she felt it—the air shifted, a subtle change that rustled the leaves and filled her with an unshakeable sense of presence. Quiet footsteps stirred the ground, and the weight of anticipation hung thick in the air. She turned sharply, her heart racing as it skipped a beat.
He was standing just beyond the frame of the gate. Taller than she remembered. Broader. His robes were darker now, worn and familiar. His hair was longer, his face more weathered… and his forehead now marked by a deep scar.
But it was him.
Her breath caught in her throat. “Gyomei...?”
His head tilted slightly, the weight of his unreadable expression layered with an unmistakable depth of emotion. The breath rushed from his chest, as if hearing her voice cracked open a dam within him, releasing a flood of pent-up feelings.
“...It’s you,” he replied softly, the words escaping like a quiet prayer into the twilight air.
“You’re alive… I thought—I was so scared…” she wept, the tears spilling down her cheeks, each one a fragment of the fear that had consumed her during the years apart.
“I thought you left,” his voice thickened, raw with the weight of truth. “Without a word. One day, you were gone. I waited. I prayed…”
“They made me go… my parents. I begged to stay. I screamed. But they took me far away.” The confession tumbled from her lips, filled with the anguish of helplessness. “I couldn’t escape.”
He stood in silence, a storm brewing behind clenched jaws, grappling with the tumult of emotions that swirled in the air between them.
“But the moment I could…” Her gaze locked onto his, eyes shimmering with determination and tears. “When I was old enough to leave on my own, I came back.”
Before she could think, she dashed toward him, throwing her arms around his solid frame. She melted into his chest, every sob tinged with the desperation of their lost years.
“You’re alive… you’re really alive…” His arms wrapped around her slowly at first, tentatively—as if afraid that she might disappear again. But as her warmth melded against him, he froze, paralysis overtaking him for just a heartbeat.
She felt it—the difference.
She was no longer the girl who had left. Gone were the innocent dreams and untested hopes. And he… was no longer the boy she knew, the playful friend; he had become a man forged by hardship and time.
His hands flexed around her back, breath catching in his throat as her curves pressed into him—her softness juxtaposed against the solid wall of his chest, her hips fitting against his form like a meticulously woven puzzle piece. He held her tighter, whispering low and shaken, “You’ve changed…”
Pulling back just enough to gaze into his eyes, her hand reached up, fingers tracing the thick curve of his bicep, gliding over the breadth of his shoulder.
“So have you…” she murmured, her voice thick with newfound intimacy. “You’re bigger. Stronger. And this scar…” She brushed her fingertips gently across the ridge on his forehead, her touch imbued with both reverence and longing.
He flushed under her caress, but she didn’t withdraw. Biting her lip, her palm continued its journey down his arm, feeling the warmth and strength that radiated from him now, broad, real, an anchor in the storm of their emotions.
The space between them crackled with tension, electric and palpable, as her eyes held a gaze that spoke of all the things left unspoken. And then, before doubt could take root, before shame or sorrow could pull them back into their past, she kissed him.
It wasn’t gentle; it wasn’t shy. It was a kiss born of desperation and longing, mouths colliding with an urgency that unraveled years of silence. Her hands framed his face, trembling with the weight of love long hidden, and in that moment, Gyomei shuddered, as if her lips had breathed life back into his soul.
He kissed her back, pouring into that embrace all the love he had carried in his heart through every prayer, every swing of his axe, every moment of stillness between battles.
When they finally pulled apart, her hand slipping into his, she whispered, “Let me show you,” a fire blooming behind her eyes, igniting a fierce hope.
“Let me show you just how much I’ve changed.”
He didn’t stop her when she pulled him away, his only response a nod—an unspoken promise that together, they would navigate the uncharted territory of their rekindled connection.
The walk to the inn was quiet, but it thrummed with something unspoken.
Her hand stayed tucked securely in Gyomei’s, her smaller fingers enveloped in his warmth. She walked close, her soft form pressed into his side as if her body was remembering the space it had always belonged in.
He didn’t rush.
Each of his steps was steady, measured, as if even now, he still carried the memory of small feet trailing behind him through temple halls.
The village fell away behind them, the sky dimming into a cool blue dusk.
Just past the last homes and rice paddies, nestled at the base of a gently sloping hill, sat the inn. Tucked in the quiet of the outskirts, it was a place for solitude, meant for travelers who needed silence more than company.
Soft lanterns glowed beneath its awning, the scent of cedar smoke and warm tatami curling in the air.
The front door slid open before they reached it.
An older woman stood in the frame—her yukata faded but well-kept, her eyes sharp despite the softness in her features. Her gaze landed on Gyomei first, and for a heartbeat, she said nothing.
Then, quietly, as if disbelieving her own eyes:
“Himejima Gyomei… You’ve been gone longer than usual.”
She stepped forward, bowing slowly, the motion full of quiet familiarity and unspoken concern.
“I was starting to worry. You never miss more than a day or two without a word.”
Gyomei returned her bow with gentle reverence, the wooden beads at his neck swaying softly with the motion.
“I apologize for the delay,” he said in a low, steady voice. “I… took a different path this time.”
As he spoke, his fingers tightened around the smaller hand in his—soft and warm, curled trustingly into his palm.
“Thank you for receiving us.”
It was only then that the innkeeper’s eyes shifted.
They landed on the woman at his side—curvy, grown, beautiful. Her robes were modest, but they clung slightly from the humidity of the evening, emphasizing the plush curve of her hips and the softness in her frame as she leaned into the Pillar's side.
The innkeeper blinked once. Then again.
Her breath caught.
She took in the girl's face—the gentle expression, the warmth in her eyes, the closeness of her body tucked into Gyomei’s side. The way his much larger hand enveloped hers without hesitation. The ease. The intimacy.
The unmistakable sense of something long-separated… now whole again.
“Oh…” she breathed, a note of realization softening her voice. “You’re her.”
She blinked, startled. “Me?”
“The summer girl,” the woman said, voice laced with fond surprise. “From the estate on the hill. You used to come with your family every year, didn’t you?”
She nodded slowly, surprised she remembered.
“Quiet thing, always sneaking off,” she went on with a chuckle. “We all knew where you were going. She’d wander right down to the temple and follow that tall, gentle boy around like a little ghost who’d found its home.”
Her cheeks flushed, the memories rising like heat.
“I remember,” she murmured. “I never wanted to leave.”
Her eyes softened. They drifted back to their joined hands—his thumb brushing over her knuckles, her arm curled around his.
“Well,” The innkeeper said, a smile tugging at her lips. “Looks like you found your way back after all.”
She didn’t ask any questions. She didn’t need to.
“Room at the end of the hall is empty,” she added, stepping aside. “I’ll see that the other guests keep to themselves tonight.”
Then, under her breath, just loud enough for her to hear:
“About time the mountain held onto his moon.”
Gyomei tilted his head, and she could tell he’d heard it too, but said nothing.
He simply squeezed her hand and stepped forward, leading her inside with the quiet steadiness that had always defined him.
As the door whispered shut behind them, the rest of the world fell away.
At last, it was just the two of them—and the night waiting to unfold.
Inside, the room was still. A single paper lantern bathed the woven tatami floor in golden light. A futon had already been laid out. The soft scent of hinoki wood and steeped tea leaves lingered in the air, grounding everything in stillness.
She said nothing at first.
She stood just beyond the threshold, her hand still held in Gyomei’s—his large, warm fingers wrapping around hers like a vow. Her whole body hummed with the weight of what had passed between them, and everything that hadn’t been spoken.
Gyomei listened with his entire being. The a gentle tension in his shoulders. The way his head tilted subtly toward her breath. The way he never let go of her hand, as though it anchored him.
“Gyomei,” she said softly, tugging him forward, “do you remember that night at the temple?”
He paused mid-step. “The night we held hands,” he answered, voice low and quiet, as if the memory lived just beneath his skin.
She nodded, her heart aching.
“I remember thinking,” she murmured, “if we were ever alone... truly alone…”
Her voice broke off, trembling with the enormity of what was about to become real.
He turned to her, slowly, reverently, and lifted both hands to cradle her face. His thumbs brushed her cheekbones as though committing her shape to memory—careful, unhurried, sacred.
“We are now,” he whispered.
She rose to her toes and kissed him.
This time, it was slower. Not frantic, not rushed—but sure. A reunion not of desperation, but devotion. A kiss that ached with years lost, love stored, and need neither had dared name. His lips moved with quiet reverence, fingers threading into her hair, one hand sliding down to press gently against her spine, drawing her close.
When they parted, her breath shook in her chest. The only sound between them was the faint rustle of silk as she slowly let her robe slip from her shoulders. It fell around her feet in a soft puddle of fabric, leaving her bare beneath the warm flicker of lantern light—and before him.
She saw it then. The way his head shifted at the sound. The sharp catch in his breath. Though he couldn’t see her, he could feel her—her heat, her nervous energy, the scent of her bare skin blooming between them.
She stepped closer and whispered, “I want you to touch me.”
Then, reaching for his hand—so much larger, rougher, warmer—she guided it down her side. His calloused fingers trembled as they skimmed over the softness of her hip. When she brought his hand higher, guiding him over the gentle swell of her breast, she gasped before she could stop herself.
He froze. Breath caught. Voice tight with restraint. “Did I hurt you—?”
“No.” She pressed his hand firmer to her chest. “Please… don’t stop touching me.”
She took his hand again and guided it lower—across her stomach, over the curve of her hip, and finally between her thighs.
He hesitated.
She did not.
She guided his hand directly to the place where she was already wet for him. When his fingers brushed her slick folds, a soft groan rumbled deep in his chest, and something inside him snapped.
He gathered her into his arms like she weighed nothing. Her legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. Her arms encircled his neck as he carried her to the futon and laid her down, not rough, but heavy with urgency.
He knelt between her legs, hands never leaving her skin.
She felt his breath graze her inner thighs, felt his hands slide from her hips to her knees, gently spreading her open for him. The reverence in the way he touched her—it undid her more than anything.
His mouth began lower, near her knee. His tongue flicked out.
He started slowly—licking, sucking, tasting the inside of her thigh. His saliva glistened on her skin, his tongue dragging in slow, deliberate strokes that made her hips twitch with anticipation.
He avoided her folds at first, teasing her.
Tracing the crease where thigh meets hip, kissing, sucking, tormenting the sensitive skin. She cried out, hips lifting, but he only moved to the other side, dragging his tongue along her skin, close, but never quite enough.
"Gyomei," she gasped, trembling. “Please… more. I need—”
He answered her with a low hum and pressed a thick finger inside her.
Her hips bucked.
Slowly, carefully, he began to stretch her, his finger curling with intention. Then another joined it, working her open, preparing her. Still, his mouth avoided her core—he kissed and worshipped every inch of the skin around it, making her writhe.
Her folds were puffy, slick, aching. His fingers scissored her open while her juices slipped down her thighs, glistening in the lantern light.
One of his hands slid up her body, found her breast, and began to knead. He pinched her nipple gently, rolled it between his fingers, feeding pleasure into her while his tongue finally slid between her folds.
She sobbed.
He devoured her slowly. Thoroughly. His tongue moved with soft, deliberate strokes. Wide, flat licks that made her whole body tremble.
She could feel her climax building—tension tightening in her belly, her muscles clenching around his fingers.
"Gyomei!" she cried out, her back arching as his mouth locked onto her clit, his tongue flicking, his fingers pressing deep inside and curling just right.
"Yes!" she gasped.
Then, he slowed. Pulled back.
She sobbed in frustration.
“Gyomei… please… I wanna feel so good…”
He lowered his mouth again, lapping at her slowly. His cock ached, throbbing beneath him with the need to be inside her—but this wasn’t about him.
This was for her.
Feeling bold, he added a third finger.
“A-ah! I—I’m—” she babbled, incoherent. Her entire body clenched, her thighs trembling around his head.
And then she came.
Her orgasm shattered her. Her cries filled the room as her walls gripped his fingers, her slick coating his hand and mouth as he drank her down greedily. The taste of her sweet, intoxicating left him dazed.
Her thighs clenched around his head from the overstimulation, her voice barely managing to call his name between broken breaths.
When she finally softened, boneless and shaking, he lifted his head. His face glistened with her release. He smiled.
Then he rose.
He loomed above her now, massive, trembling with restraint. The futon creaked beneath his weight as he settled between her thighs once more.
He held her gaze.
She reached up, brushing the scar across his forehead with reverent fingers. “I want to feel all of you,” she whispered.
“Then I’ll give you everything,” he promised.
And he meant it.
Then he stood.
Slow. Towering. Intentional.
He loomed above her, seven feet of silent reverence, his presence casting a warm shadow over her trembling form. The futon creaked beneath his weight as he climbed over her, the air thickening with anticipation.
His robe hung loosely at his hips, revealing the sculpted curve of his chest, his breath fanning hot against her face. One of his large hands cradled her cheek, rough thumb brushing gently across her lower lip.
“Let me remember you like this,” he murmured, voice soft with awe.
Then he kissed her.
And she melted.
It wasn’t urgent. It was deeper than that—full of quiet ache, heavy with meaning. His lips moved with certainty, reverent and slow, and her body instinctively followed.
Without speaking, her hands found the tie of his robe.
She tugged—gentle, deliberate—fingers curling around the knot like muscle memory from a dream.
He stood above her.
Breath catching.
Not resisting.
She tilted her head back slightly, meeting his face with a shy, yearning smile, the tie still held between her fingers. It said everything:
‘I want to see you. All of you.’
His jaw flexed, his throat worked around a breath—but he didn’t stop her.
She undressed him slowly, the robe parting in layers until nothing separated them. Until he was fully bare before her.
And it made her breath hitch.
He was immense. Vast. His body was carved from devotion and discipline, a cathedral of muscle and scars. Strength coiled beneath his skin like a silent hymn. His chest rose and fell with restrained breath, and though his eyes could not see her, he tilted his head, sensing her silence. Feeling her awe.
His hands, curled at his sides, trembled—whether from nerves or restraint, she didn’t know.
Didn’t care.
She licked her lips without thinking, hunger and wonder glowing in her eyes.
“You’re breathtaking,” she whispered, voice sacred.
He swallowed hard. His body loomed over hers like a mountain of heat and yearning, carefully not pressing into her. Yet she could feel every bit of him—his power, his need, his restraint.
With careful, reverent motions, he nudged her thighs open, his hand trailing the length of her side. She arched into his touch when his fingers brushed the tender dip of her hip.
Gyomei lowered himself, guiding his body between her legs like a man offering worship. He kissed her jaw, then lower, lips trailing down to the curve of her breast.
He paused, listening—feeling—her breath stutter beneath him.
“Gyomei…” she panted, her hands reaching for him, fingers curling around his forearm.
“Are you ready, my sweet?” he asked, stroking himself with slow, practiced motion.
She nodded, dazed with need—but her voice didn’t follow.
And he waited, gently coaxing, “Use your words, sweet one.”
“Yes!” she gasped. “Please… let us become one, Gyomei.”
His heart ached at the way she said it—with such innocence, such desperation.
He kissed her crown tenderly, chest shuddering. Then shifted, lining himself up. She felt the thick, hot pressure of him begin to press into her. Her body, slick and open from her earlier climax, welcomed him. But he was… massive.
Her breath caught.
The stretch stung, his size pushing her limits in a way nothing ever had. Her hands clung to the sheets, her body straining to take all of him. Yet she didn’t pull back.
She took him.
Burning. Shaking. Whimpering with every inch.
Every second pulled the years closer, collapsing all time and distance between them.
He groaned low, his arms wrapping around her—like he needed to feel her, to hold her, to anchor himself in her reality. In the soft heat of her. The curve of her body. The sacred place she’d allowed him to enter.
Their breaths tangled. The futon groaned. His movements are slow, like waves kissing the shore.
Her lips trembled as she whispered his name over and over, each time more broken, more reverent.
“You feel… incredible…” he groaned, forehead resting against hers.
“Gyomei…” she gasped, body rising with every thrust, “I—I can’t—”
He leaned down, pressing his chest against her breasts, one hand gliding along her waist until their fingers laced.
He didn’t answer with words. He kissed her—her shoulder, her throat, the swell of her breast—each touch a vow he couldn’t say aloud.
Their bodies moved in a rhythm of memory and rediscovery, wet sounds and desperate moans filling the air.
It wasn’t rough.
It wasn’t rushed.
It was worship.
“You feel…” he rasped, brushing his lips along her jaw, “…like heaven.”
Golden light from the lantern flickered across the room, painting the shadows of their reunion on the walls.
“I missed you,” she whispered against his neck, voice tight with tears.
“I dreamed of you,” he breathed, trembling.
Later, when her body was pliant and drenched with heat, he gently guided her forward. Without resistance, she followed, allowing him to maneuver her onto her hands and knees. Her breasts and arms cushioned by the pillow, hips tilted back in invitation.
He knelt behind her, and she could hear the ragged edge of his breath.
“You’re perfect…” he murmured, awestruck, one hand ghosting down the curve of her back. “...Every part of you.”
When he slid back inside, she cried out—air stolen from her lungs.
This angle was brutal and deep, the stretch sharp and unrelenting. She trembled, mouth parted around a broken moan. He groaned, one hand bracing her hip, the other reaching down to find her fingers again. Even now, he held her hand.
She grasped blindly, lacing her fingers with his.
Then—
He moved.
Slow at first. Then steady. Then—
Hard.
His hips snapped forward, wet slaps echoing with each thrust. Her moans turned breathless, forehead pressed to the pillow, body trembling with ecstasy.
“Gyomei—” she gasped.
“I’ve got you,” he panted, lips brushing her neck. “You’re mine—let go.”
And she did.
Everything blurred. Only his voice kept her grounded. His weight behind her, his hand holding hers against the mattress, his cock claiming her deeper with each powerful thrust.
Gyomei worshiped her like scripture, touching every inch of her, memorizing the shape of her, from the plushness of her thighs to the curves of her breasts, the softness of her belly, the sacred heat of where their bodies met.
Even in pleasure, he hovered—his massive body braced carefully above hers, his movements mindful.
But she didn’t want that now.
Not anymore.
“Gyomei…” she whispered. “You won’t break me… please… don’t hold back.”
He froze.
Then something inside him gave way.
His grip on her hip tightened, and the rhythm shifted—slower, no longer. Her body rocked beneath him, thighs trembling from the force, slick dripping down her legs.
“You feel…” he groaned, voice ragged, “so perfect… made for me.”
She sobbed beneath him, overwhelmed, shaking, clinging.
One of her legs faltered. He caught her, pulling her upright into his arms. Her back pressed to his sweat-slick chest, her head tilted against his shoulder.
“You said you wouldn’t break,” he growled in her ear, voice cracked.
“Then prove it.”
He moved again.
Thrust after thrust, body against body, soul against soul. The room filled with the sound of their union, moans, and wet slaps rising like prayer.
She felt everything.
His strength. His depth. His need.
“You feel… so good. So soft…” he gasped, each movement stealing breath from his lungs.
Her moans turned wild when he hit that spot—over and over—until her thoughts fractured.
“It’s always been you,” she sobbed. “Only you. I’ve wanted this for so long—”
Tears streamed freely down her cheeks.
Her mouth opened, tongue lolling slightly, a string of drool falling as her body lost control.
“I know,” he whispered, forehead pressed to hers. “I know.”
His rhythm grew desperate, sloppy, her slick coating his cock, dripping onto the futon. He kissed her again, hungry and trembling.
She wasn't kissing a boy she once knew.
She was being loved by the man he had become.
Her climax shattered her.
“I love you,” she sobbed, trembling.
“I love you, too,” Gyomei choked out, tears flowing.
He cried from the fullness of it—from how she felt, from how deeply he had missed her. From the prayer answered.
She called his name, body writhing, arching, pulsing around him. The pleasure was so powerful that it blanked her mind.
He followed.
Her orgasm pulled his from him. He groaned, low and primal, thrusting deep, stilling as his cock pulsed and emptied inside her.
Even then—
Their hands remained entwined.
Slowly, gently, he withdrew. She whimpered at the loss, shivering as his warmth spilled down her thighs—a tangible memory of their love.
He collapsed beside her, breath ragged, silent.
And for the first time since childhood…
They slept in each other’s arms.
No distance.
No years apart.
No child between them.
Just her.
Just him.
Flesh to flesh.
Soul to soul.
Still holding hands.
Bonus:
Inside the room, the air was thick with heat and longing, the futon creaking beneath the weight of bodies rediscovering each other. His deep groans mingled with her soft, desperate moans, echoing faintly through the wood-paneled hallways like a quiet storm behind closed doors.
Gyomei moved with reverent care, his massive frame arching protectively over her soft, curvy form like a temple ceiling sheltering sacred ground.
She was on her knees now, plush hips lifted, thighs parted, her upper body sinking into a nest of pillows. Each thrust sent a ripple through her generous figure, her skin flushed and trembling beneath his hands. He held her as if every part of her was a blessing—his rough palms worshiping the curve of her waist, the softness of her belly, the way her full backside met his hips with every slow, rolling movement.
"You’re… incredible," he rasped, his voice thick with awe as he leaned forward, lips brushing the curve of her shoulder. "All of you—every inch."
She whimpered, a breathy sound that melted into a moan as he laced their fingers together again, anchoring them both in the center of the storm.
Outside the half-ajar door, two maids stood frozen, eyes wide, mouths parted in silent shock, caught between awe and scandal.
"Merciful heavens," one whispered, clutching her broom handle like a lifeline. "He's... he's massive."
"He’s swallowing her whole," the other breathed, stunned. "Look at the size of him—he’s built like a damn mountain—and she’s so… soft."
"Curvy," the first corrected reverently. "And he’s touching her like she’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever held."
"He’s behind her—see how he’s holding her hips? Like they were sculpted just for him."
They watched with their hearts pounding, breath shallow, as Gyomei leaned over the woman’s back, whispering something only she could hear—his lips brushing her ear, his hand gliding down the dip of her waist, his body pressed to hers, slow and sure.
"The way she moves with him... like she trusts him with her whole soul."
"You think she feels small next to him?"
"With arms like those? She probably feels safe. Worshipped. I’d give up my next five paychecks for one night in that man’s arms."
Their breath caught as a new sound rose—a moan cresting into a breathless cry, the air now thick with years of want unraveling all at once.
"Do you think it’s their first time?"
"If it is, she’ll never recover."
"I wouldn’t want to. I'd build a shrine around that man and never leave."
They inched closer, swaying with morbid curiosity as the creaking futon shifted into rhythmic thuds and a sharp cry followed:
"Gyomei, please—yes, like that—don’t stop!"
The maids froze.
"Gyomei?" the younger whispered, blinking. "Wait... Gyomei Himejima?"
The other gasped, a hand flying to her mouth. "The Stone Hashira? That’s him?"
The name rolled over them like thunder, all the pieces clicking into place—the sheer size, the gentle strength, the scars, the reverence in every movement.
"I thought he vanished after the war," the first murmured, heart thudding. "But that's him. That’s Himejima."
"A Demon Slayer," the other breathed. "And he’s... he’s making love like it’s a sacred vow."
The younger maid gripped the doorframe tighter. "Sweet mercy, he’s doing something to her. She’s been calling his name like a prayer."
"He’s worshiping her with everything he’s got," the other murmured, entranced. "I didn’t know monks could even—"
"He’s not a monk anymore," the first muttered. "He’s a man. A very big, very devoted man."
Their cheeks were flushed, hands trembling, hearts caught in the haze of the passion they were witnessing. They didn’t know if they wanted to flee or stay rooted to the spot forever.
"That’s... that’s not just sex," the younger whispered, voice barely more than breath. "That’s someone being chosen. Cherished. Like she’s the answer to a prayer he never dared speak."
"And he’s finally tasting what he’s waited his whole life for," the other added softly, her eyes glossy with unspoken yearning. "If it were me... I’d never let him go."
Just as one of them dared to lean forward, eyes glazed with heat, a sharp voice cracked through the charged air behind them.
"You two."
They whipped around like guilty children, their faces blotched with red, hearts hammering in their chests. One clutched an empty tray like a shield, the other froze mid-peek, terror and embarrassment twisting on her face.
The innkeeper stood firm, arms crossed, gaze narrowed with authority honed over years of managing wandering hands and whispered desires.
"Have you forgotten yourselves? What part of 'privacy' did that creaking door not spell out?"
"We weren’t going to interrupt—" one stammered.
"So is half the inn," the older woman replied dryly. "But curiosity doesn’t give you the right to spy on something sacred."
"We were just curious!" the younger squeaked, still pink with arousal and guilt.
She moved past them, her robes brushing the walls, footsteps silent but sure. When another breathless moan met her ears—followed by a whisper of devotion—her expression softened.
Then she saw them.
Through the crack in the door: Gyomei’s massive body curled protectively over the woman beneath him. She wasn’t clinging to him, but to the pillow beneath her, her fingers buried deep in the fabric, knuckles white. Her expression—visible in profile—was one of open surrender, lips parted, brows drawn together in aching pleasure. Her whole body trembled beneath him, held not just by his hands but by the years of yearning finally coming undone.
Her throat tightened.
Years ago, she remembered that girl—spirited, cloaked in silks, but wandering like someone still searching. Always trailing after the tall, silent temple boy with soot-dark hands and a tenderness that never fit his size. Summer after summer, they returned like a promise unfulfilled. Always together. Almost always.
She reached out, laid her palm gently against the doorframe, and pushed it closed with care. The latch clicked softly, like sealing a secret.
She turned back to the maids, who stood overwhelmed, chastened but still dazzled, flushed with secondhand heat.
"That’s not a show for you to gawk at," the innkeeper said softly now, almost reverent. "That’s years of aching silence… finally answered."
Neither girl dared to speak.
The innkeeper exhaled, giving them each one last glance—part warning, part wistful.
"Let them have this. After everything... they’ve earned it."
And with a final sweep of her sleeves, she disappeared down the corridor, leaving behind only the faint creak of wood and the sacred rhythm of a love that had at last been reclaimed.
˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀ he’s massive. but treats you like you’re made of something holy.
tw: size kink, deep penetration, fingering, oral (f. receiving), slow prep, thick cock, overstimulation, praise, creampie, missionary/spooning, established relationship
═══════════════════════
You swear you fall in love with him a little more every time he touches you.
Not because he’s gentle.
But because he’s gentle despite the size of him - despite the power in his arms, the weight of his body, the sheer overwhelming scale of him against you. He could move you with one finger, carry you with one arm, crush you without meaning to.
But he never does.
He never even comes close.
He holds you like he might break if he isn’t careful.
Tonight, it starts with his hands.
Not even between your thighs yet - just on your back, brushing slow, tracing down your ribs with the kind of worship that makes your eyes flutter shut.
“Lay back for me." He murmurs, voice a low, warm rumble against your cheek. “Let me have all of you.”
You do. Because you always do.
Your body sinks into the futon, soft and open, and he settles between your thighs, massive shoulders eclipsing your view until all you can see is him.
His fingers slide from your hips to your inner thighs - thumbs brushing close, but not touching where you need him.
“Beautiful." He whispers. “You always are.”
Your breath hitches, thighs twitching wider on instinct.
“Opening up for me?” He asks softly.
You nod.
Gyomei lowers his head - not fast - and presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh. Then another. And another. Slow, warm, deliberate kisses that travel higher and higher until his breath is ghosting over your cunt.
Your hips jerk.
He pauses.
One huge palm smooths over your belly, grounding you. “It’s alright, little one. I'll give you what I need."
Then he parts you carefully with two fingers, leans in, and licks one slow, aching stripe from your hole to your clit.
Your gasp is immediate.
His responding groan is even louder.
“You taste…” He breathes, almost struggling for words, “divine.”
His tongue circles your clit - soft and deliberate, slow enough to make your spine bend. He takes his time, learning you all over again, kissing and licking like he’s savoring a sweet.
No rush.
No urgency.
Just slow, patient worship.
His hands stay wide on your hips, spreading you open, holding you steady as he sucks gently - not enough to overwhelm you, but enough to make you moan his name through your teeth.
“Gyomei.”
He hums into you, and the vibration sends your back arching off the futon.
“Shh." He soothes, pulling back just enough to breathe warm air over you. “Let me open you up.”
He brings two fingers to your entrance, coated thick in your arousal.
“You’re already dripping." He murmurs, cheeks slightly flushed. "So needy."
“I always need you." You whisper.
And then he pushes one finger in.
Slowly. So slowly it feels like your whole body is trembling with the stretch. His fingers are thick, longer than anyone’s you’ve ever known, and he moves them so carefully - curling just enough to make your breath catch, stroking deep enough to make you melt.
Your cunt flutters around him, tight and needy.
He feels it immediately.
“Easy." He whispers, leaning up to kiss your knee. “Let me in…there you go.”
A second finger joins the first.
You gasp, hips lifting off the futon, and Gyomei’s other hand immediately cups your belly, applying gentle pressure.
“You’re doing so well." He murmurs, voice thick with praise. “Your body welcomes me so beautifully.”
His fingers scissor slowly.
He knows your body better than anyone ever has.
“Gyomei." You whine softly, “Please - please, more….”
“No." He says gently, kissing the soft skin just above your mound. “Not until you’re ready. Not until it feels good. Not until your body tells me yes.”
He curls his fingers deeper. Hits a spot that makes you gasp loud, thighs clamping around his wrist.
He groans.
“There." He exhales. “There it is...”
Your walls flutter.
He pumps his fingers slow, deep, coaxing moans from your throat until your legs shake.
"Gyomei. I'm close…"
He lowers his mouth again - wrapping his lips around your clit while his fingers fuck you slow.
Your orgasm hits fast.
You cry his name, thighs trembling, cunt clenching tight around his fingers while he moans into you like he’s never tasted anything more addictive.
He doesn’t stop until your hips fall back limp.
Only then does he ease his fingers out - slow, gentle, stroking your thigh with his clean hand while he licks the other slowly, savoring your taste.
“Perfect." He whispers again. “You are perfect.”
He waits until you pull him up, until you meet his lips with yours, kissing him sweet and slow. His body dwarfs yours completely, arms caging you in.
“Ready?” He asks, forehead touching yours.
“Yes."
But he still moves carefully.
Gyomei lines himself up with one hand, the tip of his cock nudging your entrance. Even that alone makes your breath hitch.
He feels it.
“It’s alright,” he whispers. “I’ll go slow.”
He pushes in barely an inch.
Your back arches. Your nails dig into his shoulders.
He stills immediately.
“I’ve got you." He murmurs, kissing your cheek. “Just breathe. Let your body soften around me.”
You do.
And he feels it the moment you relax - your muscles loosening, your breath evening out.
He presses in another inch.
Then waits.
Kisses your jaw.
Your shoulder.
Your neck.
Whispers praise into your skin.
“You take me so well…your body is incredible…you make me feel so lucky…”
He pushes in deeper.
Slow.
Thick.
Overwhelming.
Perfect.
By the time his hips meet yours, you’re shaking and moaning softly into his ear.
You’ve never felt so full in your life.
He groans - soft, strained - his arms trembling as he holds himself above you.
“Tell me." He whispers, breath shaking, “Is it too much?”
“No." You gasp, eyes glassy. “It’s perfect. You’re perfect.”
His whole body shudders.
And then - carefully - he begins to move.
Not fast.
Not rough.
Just deep. Long, slow thrusts that make your breath stutter, your toes curl, your arms wrap around his back like you need to keep him there.
"Gyomei…I love you…”
He groans. Bends to kiss your temple. Your cheek. Your lips.
“And I love you." He whispers, voice thick and almost breaking. "For all of our lives, I love you."
His hips grind deep, hitting that place inside you that makes your whole body go soft.
“You’re doing so well…” He murmurs. “I can feel you holding me. So warm…so tight…so perfect for me…”
You come again - silent at first, then gasping, then crying his name into his shoulder as your body squeezes around him.
Gyomei groans deep, thrusts once…
And spills inside you.
Slow.
Heavy.
Full.
He stays deep, chest pressed to yours, one hand cupping your cheek while the other keeps your hips still, holding you through the aftershocks.
He doesn’t pull out.
He never does.
Not until you’re ready.
He just holds you. Lips brushing your cheek as he whispers,
“Thank you for letting me love you.”
And you smile - soft and drunk on him, on his gentleness, on the feeling of him still warm and deep inside you.
Oh God. You were going to die. This was it. It wasn't demons or Muzan that take you in the end. It was your damn husband and his insatiable lust and stamina.
Lying face down on the bed, you panted against the mattress, your face a mess of tears and sweat, hair sticking to your forehead, eyes rolled up and cheeks painted a bright red. Behind you, tugging at his cock and eager for round...whatever the next number- was your husband.
Maybe you shouldn't have riled him up the way you did. You know how possessive he can be so why on Earth did you purposefully get him jealous by flirting with another man? Oh, right. Because you wanted to get fucked rougher. Well, you got what you wanted and now you're going to die.
You jumped as you felt the familiar sensation of a fat cock press against your entrance, your stuffed cunt instantly begging for mercy. You swore that if he fucked you one more time- made you cum one more time- filled you with his seed even one more time- you'd see the pearly white gates call for you.
You gripped onto the bedsheets and pulled yourself away, your body working on autopilot as your husband had successfully fucked the brain cells out of you. You heard him chuckle as you tried to crawl away, your body feeling like jelly, your arms and legs numb and barely capable of getting you to the edge of the bed before:
A pair of hands grabbed you by the hips and dragged you back, laughing at your whine of protest. Uzui reeled his hand back and smacked you across your already beaten ass before he spread your legs and gave an equally painful spank to your pussy, making you scream.
"Now, what made you think that was a smart idea? Try running away again and see what happens."
Obanai lets you think you escaped before he grabbed you by the ankles, ignoring your cries as he pulled you back towards him. He flipped you onto your back like you weighed nothing, making you squeal as he took a nipple between his fingers and twisted, your back arching off the bed.
"Are you trying to piss me off even more?"
Just as you reached the edge of the bed, wondering if you could make it, you felt Rengoku press himself against your back and- oh- fuck! He slid right inside you! You gasped as the man pushed his cock in with one fell swoop, taking your breath away as he instantly started moving his hips, preferring to fuck you where you were instead of dragging you back.
"Get comfortable, baby. I'm not done with you."
Sanemi caught you the second you tried to move, simply reaching forward to grab a fistful of your hair and pull harshly. You yelped as your neck was forced to snap back, your back arching as your husband pulled at your hair, his other hand looping to the front to grab you by the neck before he leaned towards your ear and growled:
"I'm going to give you a choice. I can fuck you here, on the bed, or I chase you and fuck you where I catch you and trust me, I won't be as nice."
Gyomei didn't say anything, even as you got off the bed and onto your wobbly feet. You wondered if you could just leave when he said, in his booming voice:
"Are you sure that's what you want to do?"
You froze, body trembling.
Why was one sentence enough for you to rethink your whole lives decisions? You didn't know what Gyomei meant by it, but you knew it probably wouldn't be fun. With a gulp, you climbed back onto the bed before getting in front of your husband. You spread your legs wide as you lay down in front of him, reaching down to grab at his fat cock and press it against your entrance. The man smiled as he slowly started to sink inside your familiar heat.
"Good girl."
Giyuu grabbed you by the legs and pulled you back while also changing his own position. To your horror, you found yourself slung over his knee, a predicament you just experienced an hour before which was why your ass was a bright red already. You started apologizing profusely, kicking your legs like a toddler but your husband simply ignored your pleas and held you down, the task quite easy for him even if one arm of his was free to do the spanking.
"It seems one round wasn't enough to discipline you. Guess we have to go again."
A/n: So these aren’t really head canons, just scenes. I thought that would be better for this. I have been wanting to write this since I got this request. I don’t think I’m super funny, so I rewrote some scenes a few times and writing for each Hashira is a lot but, I love doing it and I had SOOO much fun with this. I hope it makes you laugh. I apologize for the delay!
Setting: KNY universe
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MDNI 18+
Cw: NSFW, smut, restraint, dominance, submission, interrupted sexual activity, rough sex, choking, group sex, accidental voyuerism.
Giyuu Tomioka
You're pinned against the wall of his quiet estate, Giyuu's usual reserved manner is replaced by a raw need as his lips crash against yours. His calloused hands grip your hips, pulling you flush against his growing cock.
“I've wanted this since I first saw you," he murmurs against your neck, his voice rough with desire.
He tears your bottoms down, fingers sliding between your thighs to find you already wet for him. He tugs down his pants and grabs your legs to wrap them around his waist. With one hand he lines himself up with your entrance.
Then—
Pure, sweet, bright eyed, Tanjiro walks in, with Nezuko on his back. "Mr. Giyuu!”
Giyuu immediately lets go of you, you fall to the floor with a thud, he barely pulls up his pants in time.
“I have a—“ Tanjiro freezes, eyes wide as he takes in the compromising position.
There’s a beat. A very long one.
Giyuu stares back at him, face completely blank, ears slowly turning red.
“We are—Training,” Giyuu says flatly, scratching the back of his neck.
Tanjiro nods too fast. “Y-YES SIR. VERY ADVANCED TRAINING. I SEE THAT NOW.” He spins on his heel so hard Nezuko is probably getting whiplash in her box. He marches straight back out the door. “I’LL—COME BACK IN….SEVERAL HOURS—MAYBE TOMORROW!”
The door slams.
You’re still on the floor, heart racing.
Giyuu exhales, drags a hand down his face, and without looking at you mutters, “This is why I live alone.”
From outside, Tanjiro’s voice echoes faintly: “I DID NOT SEE ANYTHING.”
Giyuu shuts his eyes.
“…I’m moving.”
Kyojuro Rengoku
“You truly burn so bright…it takes my breath away!” Kyojuro says as he carries you from his front door to his bedroom.
He lays you down gently before tearing down your bottoms. Then he’s diving between your legs, wasting no time. His tongue working with the same passionate energy he brings to battle. "So sweet for me,” he moans against your core, the vibrations sending waves of pleasure through you.
You grab his hair and pull him closer, “Kyo—don’t stop!” You moan loudly.
He’s just about to insert a finger when—
“Boy! Kyojuro! What the hell is all this—“ The former Flame Hashira, Shinjuro Rengoku, the father of the man between your legs, stops mid-sentence, face flushing with anger and embarrassment.
There’s a split second of stunned silence.
Kyojuro looks up from your thighs, bright as ever, completely unbothered. “AH! Father! Wonderful!”
You choke on air. Shinjuro scoffs.
“This is NOT wonderful,” Shinjuro snaps, turning sharply away and jabbing a finger at the wall.
“And you?” His fiery gaze turns to you. “Clothes. On. NOW.”
You hurriedly reach for your pants and can’t find them. You settle on covering yourself with Kyojuro’s haori that’s lying at your feet.
You clear your throat and look back at Shinjuro, who is giving you a death glare.
“It’s nice to meet you! It is truly an honor!” You nervously exclaim, trying to ignore the whole situation.
Kyojuro springs to his feet with military enthusiasm. “I apologize for the—SURPRISE TRAINING SESSION!”
“THAT IS NOT TRAINING,” Shinjuro roars.
From the hallway, Senjuro’s small voice pipes up, deeply confused: “Is everything okay…?”
“NO,” Shinjuro bellows back. “EVERYTHING IS NOT OKAY.”
Kyojuro leans down toward you, whispering with a grin far too cheerful for the situation, “We will…resume later.”
You hear Shinjuro grab a bottle off a table, muttering as he storms out, “I need a drink. Several. And I’m burning this house down.”
The front door slams.
Kyojuro beams at you anyway. “Well! That could have gone worse!”
Tengen Uzui
Tengen strips you, his three wives watching with amusement. He's always believed in sharing pleasures, and tonight you're the center of attention.
"Let's make this unforgettable," he purrs, his large hands exploring every curve as his wives join in.
Suma's giggling, Makio's whispering in your ear, and Hinatsuru's gentle laughter fills the room.
Just as Tengen aligns himself to enter you, the door slides open and his best friend Kyojuro stands there, face turning beet red, it almost matches his hair.
"Uzui? I was told to—“ He stammers backward.
“I—THIS IS NOT—I APOLOGIZE—“ Kyojuro stutters.
He trips over his own feet trying to retreat, arms flailing, nearly taking the door off its track before disappearing down the hallway.
There’s a stunned silence.
Suma bursts into laughter, doubling over. “HE SAW EVERYTHING!”
Makio snorts. “The Flame Hashira just combusted.”
Hinatsuru calmly reaches over and slides the door shut and locks it. “He won’t be back.”
Tengen throws his head back and laughs, loud and unapologetic. “HA! Now that is what I call an unforgettable entrance.” He grins down at you, utterly unfazed. “Don’t worry—he’ll recover. Eventually.”
From somewhere far away, Kyojuro’s voice echoes faintly:
“I WILL NEVER OPEN A DOOR AGAIN.”
Obanai Iguro
"Such a disobedient pet," Obanai murmurs, his tongue flicking against your neck as he restrains your wrists with his hands. You’re lying completely exposed on his futon. His serpent-like nature extends to his preferences in the bedroom. He likes dominance, control. It’s how he claims you.
"You’re all mine," he says as one of his hands wraps around your throat, the other still holding your wrists above your head, his lips trail down from your cheek and find your sensitive nipples.
You tug on his black hair to pull him up. You’re so desperate. You need him. You don’t want to be tortured.
His mismatched eyes meet yours, his grip on your throat tightens. “No. Remember how you didn’t listen to me? Remember your attitude? You’re going to beg for it.”
He shifts but doesn’t release his grip on your throat or wrists. He starts grinding against you, slowly and deliberately, while you beg and whimper for his cock.
Then…Mitsuri bursts in. "Iguro! I brought you—!” Her eyes widen as she takes in the scene.
There’s a full second where no one breathes.
Obanai’s grip loosens immediately like he’s been electrocuted. His eyes go wide but not with lust, with terror. “Kanroji—this is not—“
Mitsuri blinks once.
“Iguro—STOP!” she yelps, dropping everything and shoving Obanai off you with surprising strength.
Obanai hits the floor in a tangle of limbs and haori, hissing. “WHAT—KANROJI?!”
You blink, stunned, unable to form words.
Obanai stares up at the ceiling, equally shocked.
Mitsuri immediately kneels beside you, hands fluttering. “Are you okay?! He looked like he was hurting you! Iguro, you can’t just—just—choke people like that!”
“I WAS NOT HURTING ANYONE,” Obanai snaps, mortified, sitting up too fast. His face is entirely red beneath the bandages. He breathes slowly. “That was…consensual. Mutually agreed upon. Entirely—“
He gestures vaguely and finally gives up. “…Not violent.”
Mitsuri processes his words.
“Oh.”
Her face turns pink.
Then pinker.
Until it’s almost a deep red.
“OH.”
She slowly covers her face with both hands. “I—I—thought—you looked upset and I just—pushed you… oh Iguro, I’m so sorry!”
Obanai groans and drags a hand through his hair.
Silence stretches.
Mitsuri peeks through her fingers, glances between you, then Obanai, then back at you.
Her voice drops to a tiny, hopeful mumble.
“Um. If—if everyone is okay and I misunderstood and this was, um…on purpose…it seems…fun.”
“Yeah it…um…it is.” Obanai says, slowly and furrows his brows at Mitsuri in confusion.
“Maybe I could join?” She whispers shyly.
You look at Obanai.
Obanai looks at you.
You both nod.
And then you’re pulling Mitsuri towards the futon.
Sanemi Shinazugawa
"Fucking finally," Sanemi growls as he practically rips your clothes off and pushes you onto his futon. His rough handling sending thrills through you.
He's always been intense, yet gentle. But that gentleness is gone, replaced by pure sexual frustration. It’s been weeks since you’ve had any sexual contact.
He pins you beneath his muscular frame. "You have no idea how badly I've wanted you," he says, his scarred hands gripping your thighs and pulling you towards him, hard enough to leave marks.
He shoves down his pants and lines himself up with your entrance. He slowly thrusts into you and once you adjust, he’s fucking you into the futon with a punishing force.
Suddenly, Genya opens the door. "Nemi? I can’t find—“
All three of you freeze.
Sanemi reacts on pure instinct.
“OUT.” He yells.
He lunges for the nearest blanket, flinging it over you so fast it nearly knocks the air out of your lungs, then whips around, his veins bulging. “GET OUT. TURN AROUND. WHY ARE YOU IN MY ROOM.”
Genya’s eyes go wide. “I—sorry— I didn’t—“
“DO NOT FINISH THAT SENTENCE,” Sanemi roars, grabbing a pillow and hurling it at the door as Genya scrambles backward down the hall.
“I DIDN’T SEE ANYTHING,” Genya yells, sprinting away. “I wish I was blind.” He mutters to himself.
Sanemi hurries to the door and slams it shut.
He stands there, chest heaving, hair wild, hands clenched.
“I’m disowning him,” he mutters.
“He didn’t mean to—“ you try to diffuse the situation but Sanemi cuts in.
“Are you okay?” He asks, walking towards you.
“Yeah…I’m okay. Are you though?”
“I’ll be better once we actually get to fuck.” He groans, plopping onto the futon next you.
Gyomei Himejima
"Beautiful," Gyomei whispers against your skin, his massive frame hovering over you with surprising gentleness.
Despite his size and strength, he's tender in his lovemaking, his large hands exploring your body with reverence.
"I will cherish this moment," he says, his beads clicking softly as he moves.
He's just entering you slowly when—
Muichiro decides to stop by for a visit.
He slides the door open without knocking. “Gyomei, I was wondering if you—“
Silence.
Muichiro stares.
Gyomei freezes like he’s been struck by lightning.
The prayer beads stop clicking.
“Ah,” Muichiro says. “So this is what you’re doing.”
Gyomei immediately recoils, hauling himself back like he’s been burned. He scrambles for a blanket, covering you both with frantic gentleness. “I am sorry!” He booms, voice echoing through the estate. “This was not meant for anyone to see.”
Muichiro tilts his head. “…Should I come back later?”
Muichiro considers his words. “Okay.” He turns to leave, then stops, glancing back. “Is this why you’ve been smiling more?”
Gyomei’s face goes red. He presses his palms together. “Please forget everything you have perceived.”
Muichiro nods. “I will not.” Then, helpfully, adds, “You left the door unlocked.”
He slides it shut behind him.
The room is silent.
Gyomei exhales slowly, then bows his head toward you, mortified beyond words.
“I will be praying for forgiveness for the rest of my life.”
Mitsuri Kanroji
"Oh, I'm so excited!" Mitsuri squeals as she tackles you onto her futon, her strength surprising as she pins you beneath her.
"You're just so cute…and so hot…I’m going to melt!" she says, planting kisses at your neck and shoulders.
Her pink hair brushes against your skin as she undresses you with immense enthusiasm.
Just as she's about to start touching you with practiced ease, Shinobu slides the door open. "Kanroji—“ Shinobu’s eyes widen slightly before she smirks. "My, my, quite the workout."
Mitsuri freezes like she’s been caught mid-crime.
“Eep!”
She launches herself off you in a flurry of pink hair and limbs, immediately trying, and failing, to cover you with a blanket. “Kocho! I—I was just! We were—“
Shinobu raises a brow, smile sharp and delighted. “Stretching?” she offers sweetly.
Mitsuri’s face goes crimson. “NO—! I mean—YES—! But also—“
You barely have time to sit up before Mitsuri’s already spiraling, her hands flapping. “I didn’t mean to—I mean I did—but I thought you were coming over tomorrow—and I forgot to lock the door!”
Shinobu chuckles softly. “Relax. I’m not here to scold.” Her eyes flick between the two of you. “Honestly, I’m impressed. That position takes stamina.”
Mitsuri squeaks and dives face-first into a pillow. “I’M GOING TO PASS AWAY.”
Shinobu turns to you, utterly composed. “Just… hydrate.” Then she slides the door shut again, pausing only to add, “And maybe next time…lock it.”
Mitsuri lifts her head slowly, hair a mess, eyes wide. “Do you think she’s going to tell anyone?”
From the other side of the door, Shinobu’s voice floats back, sing-song sweet:
“Oh, absolutely.”
Mitsuri screams into the pillow.
Shinobu Kocho
"Are you nervous?" Shinobu asks sweetly, though her eyes hold a dangerous glint as she ties your wrists with purple silk.
She's always enjoyed mixing pleasure with a bit of pain, her small frame betraying her dominant nature.
“Don't worry," she purrs, trailing her fingernails down your stomach, "I'll make it hurt so good."
She's just teasing you with a small trail of kisses on your neck.
Then—
A soft voice.
“I—?" Kanao’s expression remains shocked as she takes in the scene, simply waiting for instruction.
Shinobu freezes.
Completely.
The silk goes slack.
“Um,” Shinobu says lightly, a beat too late.
She clears her throat, smile snapping into place like armor. In one smooth motion, she unties your wrists, drops a blanket over you, and straightens her haori. “Kanao, this is not what it looks like.”
Kanao blinks once. “It appears to be exactly what it looks like.”
Shinobu winces.
“Medical,” Shinobu tries. “Stress relief. Very advanced. You wouldn’t understand.”
Kanao nods, turns on her heel, and slides the door shut with surgical precision.
Three seconds pass.
Shinobu exhales slowly, pressing two fingers to her temple. Her smile is still there, but it’s cracked. “Well,” she says sweetly, looking at you, “that was deeply humiliating.”
* Even though he's one of the most dependable people in both the demon slayer corps and your marriage there are some things he undeniably needs help with
* Like shaving his face for example, every couple of days you'll tug on his haori sleeve and drag him over to the washroom. You'll sit him down in a chair and haphazardly climb your way into his lap to get better reach of his face due to how monstrously tall your husband is.
* And while Gyomei is sure he could manage this task just fine on his own, he can't deny that it feels nice having you so close and fussing over him. He'll just sit there for as long as you take, listening to you talk about your day while offering the occasional sympathy or hum of acknowledgment, smiling down at you from up above.
* One downside Gyome has found to adoring someone so... vertically challenged, is the stiffness of his neck. This man has to be looking down every time he wants to face you, not because he necessarily has to, but because he likes the feeling that you’re looking at him. That and it’s quite difficult to look anywhere else when a beefed up skyscraper is towering over you like that
* Something he finds quite cute that you’ve been doing is starting to use his haori as a blanket, he feels bad whenever he has to remove it from your clutches for missions, but it also means he can smell your perfume on his collar and that just makes him very happy.
* Sometimes he’ll also just leave it somewhere he knows you’ll find, like a trap, just so he can ponce and wrap you up in it like a burrito then drag you to bed when you’re overworking yourself
* When you guys were first romantically involved he was also always self conscious of where he was looking, he was scared that you would be offended if you thought he was staring at you like some creep. You interpreted this as him completely ignoring you but really he refused to look in your general direction to avoid any risk of offending you with his face
* One of his favourite things is actually when you do climb all over him, it reminds him of how strong he is, and how able he is in protecting you. Sometimes he will just silently flaunt this by (gently) manhandling you.
* One example being when he’s sleepily cuddling you and wants to turn over, instead of saying anything he’ll just turn over with you still wrapped tight in his arms. In order to grant your escape you need to press kisses to his jaw, that’s the tax, and it’s also the only place you can reach besides his chest and kissing his neck would cause his whole brain to reboot (he’ll just lay very still, and use his breathing technique to try and calm down)
cw: afab!reader, creampie, size kink, soft RAW sex <3
"you need to relax honey"
the absolute nerve—how are you possibly going to relax when gyomei is practically splitting you in two on his cock?
his sweaty forehead rests against yours, with his arms caging your head. your tits are flush against his chest, every inch of you caught in the drag of his hips moving into you at a gut-wrenchingly slow pace.
"gyo, faster," your nails dig into his back, carving crescent shaped indents into his skin.
and god, he wants to—wants to so bad—but how’s he supposed to move any faster with the way your pussy is clenching around him?
his hand fumbles down between you, fingers finding your clit in a desperate attempt to make you ease up, rubbing tight little circles with the rough pad of his thumb. your walls soften around him, drawing him in closer until his tip is kissing your cervix. he groans softly, pressing his face into the curve of your neck.
his movements falter, and for a moment gyomei just breathes you in, quiet and wrecked and somewhere between a prayer and a sigh.
"y-you d'know what you're doing to me sweetheart," his breath trembles against your skin, the air between you heavy.
but you're sure you do with the way his cock is twitching inside of you. each movement feels like a confession , like he’s trying to remember what it means to be gentle.
for a moment, the weight of every fight slips off his shoulders, and it’s only you, soft and steady, holding what’s left of him together. every move of his hips deep, like he’s trying to lose himself in you. your eyes go hazy, hair spilled across the pillow, the air heavy with the ghost of a pumpkin candle long since burned out.
your hips move to meet his without thinking, but gyomei's touch trails down to your waist, holding you still. hand drifting over even more and brushing the bulge inside of your stomach that's caused by his monster cock.
he feels the shift in you, the way your walls clench around him like you're trying to milk his cock for all it's worth. the way you flutter your eyes shut and just barely scrunch your nose.
and it's not long before he has your legs shaking around him and your back arching off the messy sheets.
"gyo—hah—fuck, i'm cumming!" your knuckles start turning white from how hard your clutching the pillow.
and gyomei trails just behind you, a low groan slipping from him as his cum paints your walls. he collapses into you, all heat and weight, pressing you into the sheets as if letting go of himself entirely.
"shit, gyomei," you're trying desperately to get him off but he stays rooted, heavy and relentless.
but eventually, his presence settles around you like heat instead of weight, and sleep pulls you under, fingers threading through his hair as his lips brush your temple.
sanemi was sprawled on his futon, shirt rucked up to his chest. his head was thrown back, muscles taut, and his fist was pumping his cock, a thick, veined thing that looked as angry and brutal as the man himself. the air was thick with the scent of sweat and sex.
his eyes snapped open, meeting yours. for a second, there was only shock. then, a grin spread across his scarred face. he didn't stop. he stroked himself slower, more deliberately, his gaze locked on you.
"see something you like?" he rasped, his voice rough. "you just gonna stand there and watch? or you gonna get over here and put that pretty mouth to use?"
he let go of himself, his hard cock slapping against his stomach. "close the door. now."
when you hesitated, frozen by lust and fear, he barked a low laugh. "fine. be a coward. but you're the one who came in."
he got to his feet, stalking towards you. he didn't give you a chance to run, his hand wrapping around your wrist and pulling you inside, the door sliding shut with a final click.
"you wanted to see, didn't you?" he growled, backing you against the wall, his body hot and solid against yours. his hand found its way between your legs, rubbing roughly through your clothes. "fuck, you're already wet for me. you like seeing me like that? like seeing me hard and desperate?"
he tore your clothes aside, his calloused fingers finding your clit. "gonna make you cum on my fingers, then i'm gonna fuck you raw on this floor. you're not leaving this room until you're full of me and screaming my name."
──── TOMIOKA GIYUU
needs your hands on him immediately or i fear he will die
his head was tilted back against the wall, stark naked. his hand was wrapped around his hard, flushed cock, stroking with a slow, desperate rhythm.
his dark eyes snapped open, meeting yours. instead of shock or anger, he cock visibly pulsed as if aroused at the simple sight of you. his hand stilled, but he didn't cover himself.
"you're here," he breathed, his voice rough and low. "i was thinking of you."
he held your gaze, his expression intense. "come here."
when you didn't move, frozen by the raw need in his command, he let out a frustrated groan. "now."
you stumbled forward, and his free hand shot out, grabbing your wrist and pulling you down onto the floor with him.
"you saw me," he murmured against your ear, his lips brushing your skin. his other hand resumed its pace on his cock, the wet sound obscene in the quiet room. "you saw how hard i am for you. touch me."
his fingers guided your hand to his length, wrapping them around him. he was hot and silky, pulsing in your grip.
"faster," he commanded, his breath hot on your neck. his hips began to buck into the combined circle of your fists. "yes, just like that. you feel so good. i can't stop thinking about this cunt, about being inside you."
his dirty talk was blunt, stark against his usual silence, and it made you burn.
"i'm going to come," he grunted, his body tensing. "where do you want it? tell me."
unable to form words, you just looked at him in a daze of lust. a humourful smile touched his lips.
"on your face," he decided, his voice a guttural growl. "i'm going to mark you with it."
with a final, deep thrust into your hands, he came with a choked cry, his release hot and thick, striping your face as he shuddered against you, his body finally going slack.
──── UZUI TENGEN
puts on one hell of a show with one hell of a filthy mouth
tengen was sprawled on a low couch, head thrown back, one massive hand wrapped around his thick, hard cock. his knuckles were white with the force of his grip, his hips pumping into his fist. he was glistening with sweat, muscles coiled and shining in the low light.
his eyes, hazy with lust, snapped to yours. he didn't stop. a wicked and proud grin spread across his face.
"well, well," he rasped, his voice a low thrum that went straight to your core. "look what the cat dragged in. come to get a show?"
you stammered an apology, but he tsked, crooking a finger. "get over here."
when you didn't move, he chuckled. "don't be shy. you like what you see? you like watching me get myself off?" he stroked himself slowly, his thumb swiping over the leaking tip. "bet you're wet for me, aren't you?"
you managed a nod, and his grin turned feral. "then come here and prove it. get on your knees."
you obeyed, shuffling forward until you were between his spread legs. the scent of him, musk and sweat, was overwhelming.
"good girl," he purred, his free hand tangling in your hair. not harsh, but possessive. "now open that pretty mouth. you're going to finish what i started."
he guided himself to your lips, the head of his cock nudging against them. "suck," he commanded, his voice dropping low. "suck my cock like a good girl. make me forget my own hand."
you took him in, and he groaned, his head falling back again. "fuck, yes. just like that. so much better." his hips began a shallow thrust, fucking into your mouth. "you take me so well. such a filthy little thing for me."
his grip in your hair tightened, setting a relentless pace. "gonna come down your throat," he grunted, his breathing ragged. "you're gonna swallow every drop. you want that? you want my come?"
you moaned around him, and that was all it took.
"fuck! here it comes!" he shouted, his whole body tensing. hot, salty pulses flooded your mouth as he held you there, milking himself through his climax.
when he was spent, he slumped back, pulling you up by your hair to look at him. his eyes were dark, satisfied.
"see?" he said, wiping your chin with his thumb. "much better with an audience." he pulled you onto the couch beside him, his hand sliding between your legs. "now, let's see how much of a mess you made for me."
──── IGURO OBANAI
makes you scream his name
his head was thrown back against the floor, his uniform undone. his hand was wrapped around his cock, stroking slowly, his breath coming in sharp, quiet hisses. his eyes were squeezed shut and lost in the pleasure.
you should've turned away and left. he didn't hear you seem to notice you enter the room, not until the floorboard creaked under your foot.
his eyes snapped open, wide with shock. he scrambled to cover himself, his face flushing a deep shade of red that you've never seen. "get out," he rasped, his voice strained.
but you didn't move. you stood frozen, your own face hot, your heart hammering against your ribs. your eyes traveled from his panicked face, down to the hand still trying to hide his hard, leaking length.
seeing your gaze, something in him shifted. the panic in his eyes melted away, replaced by lust. he had noticed that you were just as aroused at the sight.
"you like what you see?" he murmured, his voice low and rough. he slowly moved his hand away, letting you look your fill. his cock twitched under your stare. "what a naughty girl."
he held your gaze, his own intense and unwavering. "come here."
the command was harsh and left no room for argument. you stepped forward, your legs feeling like jelly, until you were standing over him.
"on your knees," he ordered.
you sank to the floor. he sat up, his hand cupping your chin, forcing you to look at him. "you wanted to see, didn't you? so watch." he wrapped his hand around himself again, stroking slowly, his thumb smearing the precum beading at the tip. "this is what you do to me. you make me weak. you make me filthy."
he leaned closer, his breath hot against your ear. "you're going to help me finish. open your mouth."
you parted your lips, and he guided himself inside, not deeply, just the head resting on your tongue. he groaned, a deep, guttural sound. "fuck. your mouth is so warm."
he began to move his hips, shallow thrusts into your mouth. "suck," he commanded. "just the tip. be a good girl and taste me."
you obeyed, swirling your tongue around the sensitive head. his free hand tangled in your hair, not pulling, just holding.
"i was imagining this," he panted, his thrusts becoming slightly deeper. "imagining your pretty mouth on my cock. your tight little cunt squeezing me dry. you want that? you want me to fill you up?"
you whimpered around him, the vibration making him curse.
"answer me," he growled.
"yes," you managed to whisper, your voice muffled.
"good girl." he pulled himself from your mouth, a string of saliva connecting you. he pushed you onto your back, yanking your clothes aside. he positioned himself at your entrance, the tip pressing against your wetness.
he didn't look away from your eyes as he pushed inside, burying himself in one slow, excruciating thrust. you gasped, arching off the floor.
"so tight," he groaned, his hips flush against yours. "all mine." he began to move, a steady, punishing rhythm. "you're mine to fuck. mine to use. tell me you're mine."
"i'm yours," you cried out, your nails digging into his shoulders.
"say my name," he demanded, his pace quickening, becoming frantic.
"obanai!"
he drove into you, hard and deep, his own release tearing through him with a choked cry. he collapsed on top of you, his body shuddering, his face buried in your neck.
after a moment, he lifted his head, his eyes soft but still possessive. he brushed the hair from your face.
"don't you ever walk in on me again," he whispered, his voice husky. "unless you plan on staying."
──── HIMEJIMA GYOMEI
has you jerk him off
the air was thick with the sound of his ragged breaths. you froze when you saw his large, calloused hand moving over his hard cock. he stopped instantly, his head lifting. "who's there?" he asked.
"it's me," you whispered, your own breath catching.
a deep groan rumbled in his chest. "you should not see this. you should go." but his hand didn't move from where it was wrapped around himself.
you took a step closer instead of leaving. "i want to stay."
he let out a sharp breath. "your scent...it was making this harder for me." he gave himself a slow, deliberate stroke. "do you know what you do to me? how my thoughts are unclean because of you?"
you were close enough then to touch him. "show me."
with a growl, his free hand found your wrist, pulling you firmly against his side. his touch was overwhelming. "you feel how big i am? this is all for you. all this ache for you." his thumb rubbed over the head of his cock, spreading the wetness there. "you want to help me? touch me."
your smaller hand wrapped around what you could, and he guided your movements, his own hand covering yours. "yes, just like that. your soft hands on me...fuck."
his hips began to thrust up into your grip. "i can hear your heart racing," he grunted. "i can smell how wet you are for me. don't lie." he leaned his head down, his breath hot against your ear. his movements became frantic, his massive body tensing.
"don't stop. don't stop," he whined before coming with a guttural cry, he spilled over your hand, his release hot and thick, his whole body shuddering against you. he pulled you into his chest, holding you tight as he caught his breath.
──── KIBUTSUJI MUZAN
makes you regret walking in by rearranging your guts
he was in his chair, robes parted, his long, pale hand wrapped around his hard cock. his head was thrown back, eyes closed, a faint sheen of sweat on his brow. he was so lost in the rhythm of his own touch he didn't hear you.
you gasped.
his eyes snapped open. the serene expression vanished, replaced by a chilling, predatory stillness. his gaze, those slitted red pupils, pinned you to the spot. he didn't stop. his hand kept moving, a slow, deliberate stroke.
"so," his voice was a low rumble, devoid of shame, dripping with menace. "you like to watch?"
you couldn't speak. you could only stare at the thick length of him, the way his fist moved, the precum glistening at the tip.
"close the door," he commanded, his voice soft but absolute. "if you're going to stand there like a stupid little slut, you might as well be useful."
your body moved on its own, shutting the door with a soft click. the lock engaged with a thud that felt final.
"come here."
you walked to him, legs trembling. he watched you, his hand never ceasing its lazy motion.
"on your knees."
you sank down before him. the smell of him, musky and dark, filled your senses.
"you interrupted me," he purred, his free hand tangling in your hair, not gently. he guided your face towards his cock. "now you're going to finish what you started. open your mouth."
you parted your lips.
"wider," he demanded, and you obeyed. he didn't guide you gently. he pushed your head down, forcing his cock into your mouth. it hit the back of your throat and you gagged, tears springing to your eyes.
"that's it," he groaned, his hips lifting off the chair to fuck up into your mouth. "take it. you wanted to see, didn't you? now you can taste."
he held your head still, setting a brutal pace. your muffled cries only seemed to excite him more.
"such a filthy little thing," he muttered, looking down at you with cold amusement. "sneaking in, getting wet from watching your master. you're no better than an animal in heat."
he fucked your throat until you were dizzy, saliva dripping down your chin. then he pulled you off by your hair, your lips swollen and wet.
"stand up," he ordered. he turned you around, bending you over the edge of his desk, scattering scrolls and papers. he shoved your robes up, his cold hand sliding between your legs. "soaked," he chuckled darkly. "just as i thought."
he didn't bother with preparation. he positioned himself at your entrance and drove into you in one sharp, deep thrust. you cried out, your nails scraping the wood of the desk.
"quiet," he snarled, one hand clamping over your mouth while the other gripped your hip hard enough to bruise. "you'll take your punishment."
he pounded into you, each thrust jarring and merciless. his breath was hot against your ear.
"this is what you came for, isn't it? you wanted to be my little whore. to be used by a demon." his pace quickened, becoming frantic. "you feel me filling you up? you're so tight around my cock. you're mine."
his movements became ragged, his control slipping. with a guttural groan, he spilled deep inside you, his body shuddering against yours.
he stayed there for a moment, buried inside you, his weight heavy. then he pulled out, cool air replacing the heat of him. he straightened his robes as if nothing had happened.
autism tests are so funny. I'm extremely literal most of the time, but people don't tell me that generally, so I'm inclined to answer disagree. because I'm taking the statement too literally
freak4freak is always so awesome but another character dynamic that i think is really great is freak vs freak. you're the only person who understands me and i'm the only person who understands you. unfortunately this also does not stop either of us from hating each other and in fact it might even make everything significantly worse for everyone involved
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