I'm obsessed with the shinazugawa brothers right now / multi-fandon / GIVE ME A MONSTER / 22 yo / X: Learn English will open many doors for you. The door: fanfiction
Imagine you're a scientist. You work for, probably, not the most ethical of organizations. The work you do was supposed to involve research demonic power and it uses to better the world. But, instead, you've found yourself observing and dispensing of gallons of demon cum.
The idea started simple. Demons generate energy through their impulsive and sinful natures. So, if one can find a way to "milk" out that energy, then it could be used a potential limitless source to power anything one can dream of.
The drawback is that, between the seven deadly sins, Lust has been the only nature that's consistently drawn the most power over time.
Thus, you - standing in front of the observation bay windows - watching a demon pound away into a milking machine. He was large and muscular, thick horns jutting outwards and sharp enough to kill a man with the smallest of gestures. He had a name - supposedly - but demon language meant nothing but gibberish to human ears. You just called him "Dee".
The job wouldn't be so bad, The cum wasn't very useful and you had the job of disposing of it, if it weren't for the fact that the more "higher up" scientists had noticed this particular demons energy output rose exponentially when you watched them.
It wasn't being in the same room, whether it be through camera or window, the thing somehow knew when you were watching him. In recordings, he would fuck into the machine, for lack of a better word, "vanilla". Rhythmically fucking in and out almost bored by its predicament. But when you entered the room... When you watched the live feed...
Dee's breath hitched and he picked up the speed. His hips pulled out in long and swaying thrusts, becoming more targeted to the phantom mares inner collection chamber. As if he were fucking a real body. His body hunched forward and he breathed against the metal frame and spoke in demon tongue. And his claws, they dragged into the ground, being careful not "hurt" the fake body it was presented with.
It was showing off. Everyone knew that it was thinking of you when it thrust inside. That it wanted you to replace that the unfeeling, robotic hole that it fucked day in and day out.
And, what started out as disgust, was slowly turning warmth and arousal. You were growing jealous of the mechanical contraction it bred.
You shake your head of these thoughts. This isn't you. You're a scientist, dammit! You do not find the sight in front of you arousing.
You stare through the window at Dee continuing his fucking. His hips are slowly edging out of the machine before drawing back in. You can see the way the tight O around its silicone rim tries to suck Dee back in. Like it want to keep him there.
You feel your fingers touch your lips. Without realizing it, you had started dragging the palm of your hand over your groin, eliciting a small moan. You push your fingers inside your wet mouth and begin to coat them in saliva.
Dee pauses and lifts his head up, sniffing the air. Then pulls out completely. He spreads his cloven hoofs into a position that gives him more leverage and drags clawed hands over the phantom mare like one would on a lover.
You groan and pull your slicked fingers from your mouth and them downwards towards their goal.
You're naked now. How did that happen? The question floats in your mind but its quickly dashed by wetness rubbing against your entrance.
In the room in front of you, you see Dee circle his hips over the sucking entrance of the machine. You mimic the movement with your fingers, dragging them in uncommitted circles. Not satisfying at all. You whine. Alone in the room, no one can hear you debase yourself like this. Dee can't even hear you.
Shouldn't be able to hear you.
But his claws tighten into the metal plating and his cock spurts out cum over its entrance. He can feel how badly you want this too.
He thrusts inside, and sets the pace for rough-hard fucking. You try to match his tempo, thrusting fingers inside without thought. You're entranced by the sight of Dee fucking the mare like an animal. His breathing matches your own, ragged and desperate. You can't stop fucking yourself on your hand and you whine at how shallow they bury inside.
You want something deeper. Harder. Thicker.
But then Dee stops his thrusts and pulls out. You cry, "Why'd you stop? Oh..." You beg almost deliriously, but look to see a flood of cum pour out of the machine.
You’re panting, still naked in the observation room, thinking about what had just happened.
You had been watching Dee fuck the milking machine, just as you always do, and all the sudden you were overcome with the urge to shove your hand inside yourself as deep as it would go. That had never happened before. You should probably go report this.
But then you look up and see the machine beeping uncontrollably, - indicating that it’s full – and Dee standing off to the side, waiting to be ushered into confinement while the lab techs (usually you) to come in and clean up. His cock is still hard, leaking onto the floor. It always is. You need to go report what just happened.
You should grab someone else to clean up the machine. You should not be alone with Dee right now.
Instead you put your clothes back on and you use the key pad to open the door to Dee’s room.
You don’t look at him, cheeks warm with embarrassment, as you walk over to the machine. Dee should be locked up right now, but some overwhelming part of you doesn’t want that. You stare ahead at the tanks full of Dee’s cum and the thick mess spilling out of the mare. On any normal day this would take an hour or so to clean.
You awkwardly realize you didn’t bring you’re a mop or any janitorial tools to clean the inside of the sleeve, so resolve yourself to unlatching and carrying out the tanks for disposal. It’s a simple matter to flip a switch that automatically unhooks a tank. They’re already attached to wheels and handlebar for quick transportation.
But as you lean forward to grab hold of the bar, you feel a presence behind you. A clawed hand, bigger than your torso, wraps around your middle and a warm breath of air tingles down your neck. Your heartbeat starts to pound, but not out of fear. You should be terrified, but all you can feel is pulsing warmth in your crotch and a need.
For a moment, you wait for Dee to do something. Then, it occurs to you he’s waiting for your permission to go further. He understands that once you too start there’s no going back.
You bite your lip and spread your legs wider, turning your neck to show Dee you want this. There’s a rumble behind and you yelp slightly as tightens his hold around you and lifts you up off the ground.
He lays you down on to of the phantom mare and you gasp at the cold metal under your cloths. Your legs dangle a foot off the ground, but Dee’s hand is there on your back to keep you from falling. He rips through your pants effortlessly and you feel your body tremble in excitement. Is this really happening?
He positions himself as he would if he were just fucking the machine, but now he holds you still and presses the enormous head of his cock against your waiting entrance. It won’t fit, you think deliriously. You’ve taken the measurements. His cock is longer than you are tall and thicker than any human could realistically take. But, as he presses forward, opening you up for his pleasure, you begin to realize the merits of being fucked by a being from hell.
Your skin crackles with unknown energy as he slowly presses inwards. You moan and writhe beneath him, wanting more but terrified that he’ll reach your limits eventually.
He never does.
All you feel is pressure and pleasure as he fills you so completely, you cum before the real fucking begins. You feel him chuckle into your neck at your inability to keep control. You were about to get after him for it when Dee decides that he’s prepared you enough to start fucking.
You cry out at his rough treatment, fucking you so hard you know you should bruise or at least feel pain. But there’s none of that. Demonic cum pours within you as if you were the same as the phantom mare meant for collecting his seed. You feel like nothing more than his cock sleeve, and it feels glorious.
You cum at the feeling of cum filling your belly and demonic energy settling over your body. It’s all too much. You need to ask Dee to slow down, that you can’t take much more.
But then he leans down and speaks a language you shouldn’t understand, “Mate. Beautiful. Worship mate. Make you pregnant. Make you mine!” He rams inside of you and forces more cum into your depths. Your eyes draw up as you cry out the strongest orgasm of your life. It’s too much for your tiny human body too handle. And all of the sudden, all you know is darkness.
being Sanemi’s tsuguko and watching him get progressively angrier and angrier during training, to the point most of the junior slayers are in tears or throwing up or both. You wait until Sanemi storms off, broken training sword thrown angrily to the ground, before you calmly dismiss them, watching as they all scramble/crawl to put as much distance between themselves and the Wind Hashira’s estate as possible.
Once the last poor soul has finally dragged himself past the gate, you return to the manor. You know exactly where he is — the private courtyard around back, probably splintering every training dummy within reach. He barely acknowledges your approach, launching instead into an impassioned rant about fucking imbeciles and how they’re all going to get themselves killed, and when did the Corps start accepting these damn weaklings into its ranks?
You don’t say a word and your silence finally pushes him to turn around. The veins in his forehead are ticking and his pupils are pinpricks and he’s breathing like an ox — chest sweaty and heaving, beads of perspiration sliding between his pecs.
“What?” He barks, and you only raise an eyebrow.
Sighing, you lower yourself to your knees before him.
Giyuu loves it when you look him right in the eyes while he fills you up and whispers sweet nothings into your ear. The intimacy of it really gets him going; he loves watching the expressions you make with each thrust of his hips. He loves hearing the beautiful sounds you make for him. If you really want to get him going, he’ll be completely undone if you give him any sort of praise or moan his name like a prayer on your lips, he might just cum on the spot. He’d be super sweet after sex, too, helping to clean you up and running both of you a warm bath while you both talk about whatever’s on your mind.
He really is the sweetest. 💙
A/n: He loves eye contact, I don’t make the rules!
gym rat!Sanemi Shinazugawa doesn’t view the gym as a place to fraternize. He’s there for one reason and one reason only: to push the limits of his body as far as he can until he’s faster, better, stronger. He notices others only insofar as they forget to wipe down machines (“clean your nasty fuckin’ sweat off, asshole,” he barks), or they leave dumbbells by the mats instead of placing them back on the racks like a normal fucking person. Certainly he’s not the type to gawk at the female patrons just trying to squeeze a workout in like the other creeps around him. Hell, he once caught some wrinkled ballsack trying to sneak pictures of a younger woman squatting. It would’ve been nice to break the asshole’s phone himself, but watching gym personnel throw the loser out on his sorry ass after Sanemi had quietly tipped them off had been far more satisfying.
That’s why he hates this. You.
You, who started coming here a week ago, headphones on, eyes focused on the row of treadmills he can watch in the mirror while he lifts weights. It was impossible not to notice you then and it’s sure as hell impossible not to notice you now, wearing those matching workout sets that hug every muscle, show off every curve, and leave Sanemi with nothing but the distinct thought that your hips would fit perfectly in his hands and a half-boner.
It takes all of a few days for Sanemi to realize he’s no better than the other male shitheads he’s spent so much time reviling. Because yeah, he’s watching as you do your circuit, wander from the leg presses to the back extension machines. He’s on machine next to the bicep curl you’re been using, and when you leave to get the rag and spray to wipe it down, Sanemi help but notice the sweat print left behind by your perfect ass on the seat any more than he can ignore the image of him burying his face between your cheeks right after your workout, your leggings pooled around your ankles. And when he passes you near the weights area, he finds himself transfixed by the bead of sweat sliding down your neck and trailing between your breasts, and fuck if he doesn’t wish he could taste it for himself.
It’s frustrating, getting this worked up at the gym and being utterly unable to channel it into the ferocity of his workout. Instead, all he can do is storm off toward the locker rooms, find an empty stall, take his stiff cock out and work out all that pent-up frustration until it’s spent all over his fist and abdomen. Thank god he prefers wearing black when he sweats; the stains on the front of his shorts when he shamefully tucks himself back into place would be hard to hide.
If that’s not embarrassing enough, when he returns to the main area, he finds you’re still there, poised in front of the mirror, dumbbell in hand but not moving. And god dammit, he swears you’re watching him. Smirking. Like you know exactly what you’re doing, the kind of torture he’s enduring.
“Did you just steal cherries out of that garden?” “Ah, the guy who lives there steals our apples. It's a mutual understanding.”
“Truck broke down, eh? Wanna hop in? There ain't a gas station anywhere within the next 10 miles or so.” “Don't hold it over my head later.” “Oh, I absolutely will.”
“I'd get out of there if I was you.” “Why? It's just cows.” “Sure. But their bull just spotted you from over there, and he does not look happy.” “Oh, shit.”
“Seriously? I make out in my truck once and it gets in the town paper?” “Last month they had an article about a branch that fell. Trust me, we are currently the talk of the town.”
“Heard your ex showed up at the diner during your shift.” “I didn't realise you were part of the grapevine now.” “My neighbor makes very good cherry pie and she is very well connected… You good though?” “Yeah. Thanks for checking up on me.”
“What do you think you're doing? If you try to chop wood that way, you'll end up with an axe in your knee before you got enough to even light a fire. Come on, I'll show you.”
“Oh my god, what are you doing here?” “Oh, I was just on a nice walk in the storm. I came to check on you when the power went out, dummie. I know you don't like the dark.”
“Did you hear the news? John Smith's little one was seen running around with that delinquent that vandalized the town hall building!” “No! But that was always such a sweetheart!” “Well, you know what they say about apples and trees. Have you heard about what their mother did during the prom of ‘86?” “Why don’t you come in? I just put coffee on.”
honeymoon with Sanemi, except housekeeping at the resort you’re at grow mildly concerned because the DND sign has been posted non-stop on your door for three days straight and there have been noise complaints by guests and staff alike
Let it be clear that the honeymoon is not the first time you fuck after your wedding. It’s in a closet at the venue, between the vows and the reception, and while Sanemi mostly cums in you, he does pull out to leave a litttttle trail on your wedding dress so you can “wear his white.”
coming home early from your out-of-town work trip to surprise your husband!werewolf–
only to find him spread naked on the couch, jerking off into one of your unwashed shirts, while his face is buried into a pair of your panties… also unwashed. he might not like you wearing them–covering up his favorite sight–but he’s gotta admit it's like heaven to his senses. close enough to being drenched in your sweet and musk for him to shut his eyes and pretend you were lying next to him, at least.
“seriously?” you tilt your head at the scene before you. thighs involuntary clenching at the sight of his skin shining with a damp sweat.
fuck, you missed him.
the wolf just grunts over the wet strokes sounding from between his legs, throwing his head and taking a long sniff into the underwear at his face. more of your clothes surround him. scattered and sprawled out around the room so your scent will hit him from all angles.
god, they smell good. you smell better though, standing there watching him and starting to drip with slick he can taste from where he sits.
he should be sorry, but he’s not. what else was he supposed to do with his sweet thing gone and sack growing heavier and heavier with cum that’s supposed to be pumped into that pretty hole?
how you left him here all by himself? with no one to nuzzle his face against and fuck until the bed caves in? this is the only way.
“you were gone. i needed to blow a load before my balls exploded, so i improvised,” he shrugs, pausing his hand to suck in a few pants. turning his eyes back to yours, he gives you a charming smile. drinking you in with a hungry stare, and shining, heavy cock bobbing slowly from side to side as he angles it your way. “now, c’mere and give me a kiss. can’t you see how much i missed you?”
cause of you I'm thinking of werewolf!husband achingly humping into reader's pillow while he waits for her to pay the delivery guy for the pizza they forgot they ordered, only for her to be fucked to oblivion when she comes back to bed because he got so pent up with jealousy from overhearing the friendly convo she and the poor minimum wage dude had
MASTERLIST(S) | WEREWOLF HUSBAND TAG | INBOX ✉
@richeeduvie <3 i hope i did you n all werewolf lovers proud. warnings include (monster) smut, fem!reader, language, possessiveness, jealousy, bodily fluids, teeny pit of ass play, panty ripping, no size indicated (werewolf is just bigger than you lol); mdni. word count is 1.9k ⋆｡°✩
forgot that you'd ordered pizza was an understatement. you blame werewolf husband's tongue. it's got superpowers.
at first he doesn't wanna let you go. there's spit all over your lips and chin from the way he's been lapping at your mouth in-between kisses. as usual, he's naked and a little sweaty, having tugged you toward where he's halfway on his side and rutting his cock into the cotton of your shirt.
"wolfie, we can't just leave them out there. we gotta pay."
the reminder means nothing to your werewolf husband, who just grinds into you harder. nudging his cock right into your clothed belly, close enough to coming to make his legs shake.
"just throw one'a our wallets out the window and tell 'em to leave it on the steps. we're busy," he grunts, swiping some of his slobber from your chin and reaching past your belly to dig his fingers inside the center of your panties and mix it with the slick. he rubs upwards, dragging the touch right over your clit before removing his hand to press and wiggle the pad of his thumb into the swollen nub from over the thin material.
that almost gets you. almost.
you distract him with a few scratches against his hairy pecs long enough to wriggle out of his unknowingly-loosened grip. he does even realize your slinking away from him until his tongue slips out of your mouth, and his cock meets cold air.
"i'll be, like, two minutes. five at most," you promise, hastily searching for a pair of shorts to throw on to the sound of a second doorbell ring. at the same time, the two of you shout:
"be right there!"
"just leave it and go!"
you throw a loose sock in the werewolf's direction, accidentally snickering when it lands right on his face. as you scurry out, your husband just sulks in his surrendered groan, stretching his entire body at an angle that takes up the entire mattress and bobs his cock helplessly in the air.
huffing, again, he yanks your pillow from behind his head and shoves it against the underside his shaft. at least it smells like you. the feel is off though. understandably so. but he only rocks his hips harder. arching from the bed and thinking about you tonguing his sack.
since when did you start liking pizza so badly? you could be up here folded up like a pretzel or riding his face sloppy style. milking loads that pulse out to the rhythm of your name. squirting squirt he would rather soon drown in then have you away from him like this. all the way at the front door.
through all the pants and rushing blood, werewolf husband hears a "thank you so much, keep the change" that makes him pause.
it's you.
giggly and… kind.
quick but in that tone that will have the wolf wrapped around your finger, the one he should be sucking on right now, for the the rest of his life.
his balls tighten at the clunk of a shutting door. listening harder, your husband sniffs past the smell of tomato and cheese. swallowing at the sound of your footsteps trailing into the kitchen, then back toward the bedroom.
your arrival snatches a rough sniff from the wolf.
no way those shorts were that tight when you left the room, he would've noticed. and you nipples, they're… they're loud. exceptionally visible through your old shirt… which also happens to be dirtied at the cropped belly with stains of smeared precum. the skin of your stomach is showing and your lips are swollen and the side of your chin is still all shiny with a spot of werewolf drool.
oh, jesus.
"fuck me," your husband mumbles, thick and from the back of his throat. he watches you peel off the shorts and messy shirt but leave on the underwear. apparently wanting him dead
"see, told you. few minutes," you breathe out, scratching at the back of your neck and dropping the clothes onto the floor. "he was nice, too."
pizza man was nice, huh? that's… nice.
the wolf hums something low, pillow forgotten to watch you crawl onto the bed and back next to him. doing a little stretch before curling toward him to press slow kisses into his jaw. the only part of him that moves is his dick. jumping a few times at the feeling of your lips on him.
"was he now?"
"mmhm," you nod, nosing at the thick hair of his beard with more kisses. your hand reaches for his ear to catch one of his ear lobes with your fingers and tug. "said they were crazy busy tonight, and how it's only him and another driver. poor things."
poor things. like that weird ass movie you made him watch.
werewolf husband finally moves. he drags his eyes to yours and doesn't stop looking, staring hard as he rolls on top of you. you're talking and talking, and he just watches. mushing you between the bed now, rubbing the side of your face with his palm.
he doesn't wait until you're done to kiss you. in the middle of your fifth sentence, he's sinking his mouth onto yours and gliding his tongue past your lips.
while you kiss, his shoulders get tight. tight enough for you to pull yourself from the snog with a pinched brow.
"wolfie?"
"hm?"
"…are you okay?"
his eyes search you face, harder this time. after a deep breath, he pecks your nose and then lulls you onto your stomach.
"budge up a bit, baby," the wolf orders in a quiet voice with a grab of your hip to lift your waist. "little more… good."
nice.
you arch until your ass is poked up and out, arms folded accordingly to squish your cheek against. a sudden pressure against your clit tumbles a broken, whining moan from you. it's his thumb mashing the material of your panties into where you're all slippery through the fabric.
"shh, shh, shh," he peppers out when you start a desperate wiggle backwards, lightening the touch of his finger enough to make you pout. "i know, sugar."
from above, he takes another second to look at you. inhale until his lungs are full of your scent, and slowly rip the last barrier between you and he. the panties tear with a loud, stretching rip that you don't get a chance to react to before the head of your husband's cock is giving heavy, wet smacks against your ass.
what? you made him wait. it's only fair considering how good he's about to fuck you. well enough to you'll forget the nice pizza man.
"wolfie." a whimper from you, plus another squirm. he sees your asshole and slit clench at the same time, and grins.
"what's all this about, hm?" he dips his tip, only a little, into your pussy. just enough to make sure you feel it. "is it really pizza that gets my sweet thing all messy like this?"
he swipes his head again, only to growl at the pool of your juices that collect on his cock.
you were damn near leaking through your short shorts down there while talking to the pizza man. getting pizza.
the slide in is purposefully sluggish. a slow push of his hips forward with his hands keeping you from shoving back like your body keeps trying to do.
"aht aht. we'll get there… soon as you gimme a good please," the wolf rumbles out, voice a little strained when he laughs at the fast begs that exit you. laced with tears, you ask and plead with your husband.
betcha said please to the pizza man, too. he's not sure when or how, but you probably found a way. you're sweet like that.
the wolf's head throws back once he's all the way inside. you're squeezing so tight. warming him up already and almost making him forget what he's dragging this out for.
oh, right.
the pizza and its man.
your husband solidifies the hands on your waist. filling his palms with the plush blowing a breath with puffed out cheeks. there's a little sweat in his eyes, cause you make him hot, but all he cares about is the noise that crawls out of you at his first thrust.
he makes sure to go deep. deep and angled so that you're already starting to cream around him by the fifth thrust.
"w-wolfie–ah, fuck. yeah," your mouth pours out, clutching the sheets around your hands you as best you can, jaw hanging at each smack of his skin against yours.
there's a bit of green in werewolf husband's stroke. it knocks his balls, heavier-looking than normal due to all this waiting, back and forth with wild, sloppy swings. the green blinds him a bit, too, tunneling his vision until all he sees is you reaching backward to feel his side–
mm-mm. no, no. all you did was reach for the guy, and he's breaking already. what've you done to him?
"stomach," werewolf husband orders. "on your tummy, baby. like before."
he doesn't pull out when giving you a long enough second to shuffle off your knees and into the bed. he's laughably quick in following your movement, sinking himself balls deep inside you and sagging until you're slurring those words. he wraps an arm around your until his bicep is close enough for you to mush you mouth into, and you shiver out a fresh string of curses.
"oh, theeere it is, that's it." the wolf purrs his victory just over your ceaseless wails. "tha's what i was lookin' for."
"s'd-deep," you wheeze, clutching the arm at your face. you can feel him everywhere. from the inside out, then back around once more. the pump of his thrusts are keeping you unable to form any true sentences. all that leaves you is drool and one-to-two word, breathless communications. "i… i… feels–oh, god."
"am i deep, baby? you feel me nice 'n deep in there?"
"mmhm," you try to bob your head but it just slicks your lips against his wet skin as your body jerks according to his bounce of his hips.
"mmhm," he echoes, lip bit in a heated concentration, other hand spreading against the bed for more leverage. his ass, built up by long nights of running after prey in his younger days, is a sight to behold from behind. in all his rutting, you husband finds another grinding pattern to fuck you with that gets you louder. earns him another polish of moisture to ring around the base of his cock. rolls his eyes and tugs out the words that have been swirling around his head. "nice 'n deep in my pussy. mine. s'just fer me t'fuck like this long as we want…"
dinner is a long lost cause. neither of you even remember how to spell the word 'pizza' after your fifth peak, his fourth. you're still oozing dollops of the wolf's thick, thick seed while you teeter between an exhausted wake and irresistible sleep.
you barely move when he hauls his weak limbs until his face is back between your legs, tugging your cheeks apart to cup his tongue and swipe wide licks all the way up to your asshole. it curls in a way you've never been able to figure out, twisting in messy slurps.
honeymoon with Sanemi, except housekeeping at the resort you’re at grow mildly concerned because the DND sign has been posted non-stop on your door for three days straight and there have been noise complaints by guests and staff alike
SANEMI SHINAZUGAWA. Spends most of the afternoon hyping himself up by going through his lost rigorous workout moves (push-ups, bench presses, arm curls, you name it) all to make sure his muscles are at peak tautness and definition before he’s due to pick you up. Forgoes water and food for most of the day as well (he doesn’t want to be bloated), but that means he’s at risk of being irritable, so he purges all possible annoyance and irritation by grumbling under his breath at pedestrians. Sure, he looks a little nutty, but by the time he arrives at your door, he gives the appearance of total calmness, if not also a little shyness. He’ll hand you a single-stemmed rose and gruffly compliment your outfit before escorting you out to the car, making sure he flexes his bicep just a little.
TENGEN UZUI. Like Sanemi, he commits to doing fifty or so reps of push-ups to get his blood pumping and muscles popping. Spends approximately four hours beforehand artfully crafting the perfect first date outfit, except he goes through about six or seven changes before eventually settling on his first pick, though this almost makes him late. 100% still sprays cologne down his pants before he rushes out the door, just in case.
KYOJURO RENGOKU. Pep talk after pep talk to himself in front of a mirror. Tons of affirmations (“you will eat a normal amount of food!” or “you are handsome and affable and you absolutely blink normally!”), but he also practices the compliments he knows you’ll earn. Kyojuro is warm and self-assured, but he gets a little tongue-tied where you’re concerned, and he wants to make sure tonight goes absolutely perfectly. He leaves an hour before he’s due to pick you up so that he has plenty of time to stop and get you flowers — and a little thing of chocolate for your mom, like the good boy he is.
OBANAI IGURO. Nearly cancels at least four or five times beforehand, including once no less than an hour before he’s due to pick you up. He paces the length of his apartment, nitpicking every last detail — the location, the time, the food, his outfit — and somewhere, amidst all this anxiety, he can’t help but ask himself what the hell is so wrong with you that you would agree to go out on a date with someone like him. When his alarm goes off however, signaling it’s time for him to leave, Obanai goes through a series of ritualistic superstitions that always bring him comfort. He puts his right shoe on, then his left; adjusts his mask up the bridge of his nose once, then twice; and finally strokes the head of his pet snake three times before locking up and making his way toward you.
GIYUU TOMIOKA. Stares at his closet with a pinched brow and a frown for the better part of the afternoon. Can’t quite figure out when exactly he began purchasing clothing exclusively in that one particular shade of drab blue, but he doesn’t exactly have time to reinvent the wheel — or his wardrobe — now. Spends about half an hour trying to tame his hair into something less spiky, less obstinate, but it won’t cooperate so he pulls it into his usual ponytail and hopes you won’t think less of him for it. Feels a little self conscious right before he’s due to pick you up because he has a gift for you — jewelry, in fact — and he’s suddenly wondering whether a nice pair of earrings is overkill for a first date. Has to keep wiping his sweaty palms on his pant legs, but otherwise appears pretty neutral and calm.
GYOMEI HIMEJIMA. Meditates. A lot. He’s not one to express his nerves outwardly, even if his stomach feels like it’s full of angry bees, so he does what he knows best. He takes a cold plunge in the river in the morning, and then makes himself sit on the rocky, uneven shore even though the pebbles feel like a thousand, tiny sharp teeth digging into his flesh the longer he doesn’t move. But he sits there, well into the day, until there’s not a single nervous thought left in his brain — not the feel of your hand in his, not the sound of your laugh, both genuine and forced, not his choice of restaurant. There is only the gritty pain of sediment, and the chill over his skin. Is it overkill? Probably. But, Gyomei arrives at your place fresh and focused and remarkably calm, so it can’t be that extreme.
SHINOBU KOCHO. Truthfully? Shinobu doesn’t know how to be nervous about your date — she’s too busy with her experiments and medical research, nose buried between pages of text that she loses track of time. It’s only when Aoi sheepishly knocks on her door to ask about the time does Shinobu realize she’s due to meet you in less than half an hour. Getting ready is a rush, but she arrives right on time, smiling and breezy and so calm you can’t even discern the vein faintly popping above her eyebrow when she notices the hem of her skirt is just slightly uneven, or that there’s a faint stain on her blouse invisible to everyone but her.
MITSURI KANROJI. She’s a mess; flies around her room, rotates through hundreds of outfit combinations with the fury of a storm until it looks like her closet has thrown up. Obsesses over every detail, checking and rechecking the date, the time, the location. She talks to her cats the whole time, spewing her anxieties and nitpicks, and then imitates them answering her back. She’s a flutter of nervous energy but when she finally settles on an outfit, finally picks out the perfect perfume, she feels calm. Gives herself a short pep talk in front of the mirror and rushes to meet you, cheeks glowing pink and smiling brighter than the sun.
