[saintkaylaa]

Wanna Makeout .ᐣ

✮: Enjin, Gris, Tamsy, Jabber, Zanka, Follo

note: asking them if they wanna makeout when they’re busy !

warnings: cursing, suggestive, sexual, crack, lowk always latina!reader in Enjin’s, f!reader

I BLOCK MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS

[slutreputation]

Cuddling turned into kissing. Kissing turned into moaning. And before either of you realized it, Isagi had his hands all over you, stuttering “Are you sure?” as if he wasn’t already halfway in love and one pelvic thrust from owning you finally completely.

The sex? Beautiful. Sloppy. A little shy, but desperate and real. You pulled his hair. He gasped like he’d never been touched. He whispered your name with reverence and worship.

But then, you’re lying there, both of you sweaty and spent, your head on his chest and that’s when it happens. His hand starts twitching like he’s holding a damn whiteboard marker.

“You know,” he begins, staring up at the ceiling. Apparently seeing something else entirely, “You completely changed tempo midway through.”

“Tempo?” you blink to your man.

“Yeah. First you were slow and kinda teasing. I could read your rhythm. But then when you started rolling your hips? That shift caught me off guard. I didn’t recover fast enough.”

Your mouth falls open - he’s analyzing… sex.

“I was controlling pace early on. But I lost dominance after you said ‘just like that.’ that was a feint mental manipulation. You broke my defense line.”

You sit up. “Yoichi, are you doing a match review of our first time?”

He looks at you, dead serious. “How else am I supposed to improve?”

You snort so hard it turns into a wheeze.

He sits up too, eyes sparkling with genuine intensity. “No, seriously. You’re unpredictable. It’s like one second you’re kissing me gently, then the next—bam—sudden top position. No warning. That flipped the momentum.”

He pulls a notebook out of his bag. “Okay, so if I were to score myself out of 100—stamina was decent. A bit sloppy with the rhythm near the end. Positioning was okay, but I overextended my thrust range. Could tighten my form.”

“Yoichi.”

“What?” he blinks innocently. “I’m just saying that your moan at minute 13 was the clutch moment. I felt like I scored a hat-trick.”

You throw a pillow at his head. “You’re insane.”

He catches it and smiles. “Maybe. But I’m only insane for you.” and then he pins you back down on the bed. “So… rematch?”

You nod. He’s already on top of you again, flushed and focused. But this time, he’s not nervous. He’s calculating. Too calculating.

“Alright,” he mutters, gripping your thighs like he’s setting up for a corner kick. “This time, I’m not letting you dominate possession.”

Wait. What? Before you can question it, he pushes his thick cock back into you with precision. His hips grind against yours like he knows the angle and studied it.

“Pace control,” he mumbles into your neck. “Starting slow. Gonna build pressure.” you moan loudly and he smirks. “See? That reaction? Predictable now. Read it like a counterattack.”

You choke on a gasp as he thrusts harder, more focused now, body pressing you into the bed.

“God, you feel so good,” he groans. “Like scoring the perfect goal. You’re my golden ratio.”

You’re barely alive as he rails you into the mattress.

“I adjusted my stroke depth too,” he mutters. “Less over-penetration. More friction—fuck—better scoring chances.”

“Yoichi.”

“Shh, baby. I’m in control of the midfield.”

His hand snakes around your throat to ground you there while he pounds into you with ruthless precision. He’s sweaty. His hair’s in his eyes. He growls when you clench around him.

“Don’t squeeze like that unless you’re trying to make me lose the lead,” he breathes, laughing through a groan. “But I won’t choke in the final minutes.”

You’re crying now, and moaning his name like a chant.

“That’s it. Keep chanting. Stadium’s full. You’re cheering for me.” he leans down, forehead to yours. “You’re my win condition, baby. My only goal. You hear me?”

Your legs are shaking. Your mind’s gone. He fucks you through one more orgasm, then holds you tight when you collapse.

“Post-game interview time,” he says breathlessly, kissing your forehead. “Rate that out of 10.”

“Negative 300,” you mumble. “You’re not real.”

He grins. “Cool. Now let’s see how you hold up in extra time.”

[slutreputation]

cw ⌇ overstimulation ◞ webcam sex ◞ humiliation

You didn’t expect him to actually follow through when Hugo mentioned a cam. Especially considered who he is

But Hugo never joked when it came to making you blush and break. Your body was his playground and tonight he got you straddling a chair in front of his laptop, webcam light glowing red. Due the size difference his face was completely hidden. No one would recognize him.

“Smile for the camera, doll,” he whispered. His voice was almost smug. He had tied your wrists behind your back. Legs spread and dripping with need. “Private stream. Just us. You, me and that greedy cunt.”

Maybe it was the truth. Maybe it wasn’t. Hugo could be unpredictable sometimes.

You squirmed in the chair. Thighs slick and the vibrator he’d shoved inside you buzzed faintly. Every shift of your hips made you moan and your face felt hot, knowing he was watching. The cam was watching. Maybe others too.

“Beg.”

“Hugo, please—“

“For the camera. Let’s hear it.”

It was hot. It was humiliating as you looked directly at the glowing lens. “P-please, I need to cum.”

He groaned, fist already lazily stroking his cock as he circles closer. “Putain, c'est bon. Say it again.”

The vibrator pulsed harder and you cried out, forced to repeat yourself louder, filthier, until your voice cracked. Every plea made his grin widen, made his hand pump faster.

When you finally broke, your orgasm ripped through you with a sob, he chuckled. “One.”

Without a word he slid the vibrator out of your quivering pussy and set it aside. He urged you up from the chair and sat down himself while you stood with your back to him.

Your soft plush pussy right in front of the lens. All while his face was hidden and yours was too.

The sheer anonymity and depravity had your thighs shake. A few tears slipped down your cheeks, because this was new. It was hot. You didn’t know what to expect next.

Hugo grabbed your waist suddenly and nudged your hips down until his thick crown pressed against your entrance. You whimpered softly as he fed every thick inch into your quivering cunt.

The angle was humiliating.

The webcam captured perfectly the way your body took him, the stretch of your hole and your bouncing tits. A tear fell down your cheeks and pearled down your soft flesh.

“You’re clenching so tight,” Hugo groaned as he bottomed out and your ass snuggled against him.

His hand reached down around your knees, spreading you wider until your back was flushed against his chest. The cam filmed silently how your creamy juices dripped down onto his balls.

He thrusted so slow that you felt every ridge and vein. He fucked into you so hard from below that you started sobbing.

Your pussy clenched so desperately as he filled you over and over again until you fell apart. White hot pleasure had your eyes rolled back as you cried so fucking beautiful for him.

“Two,” he whispered and delivered a devastating smack against your swollen clit.

Your whole body jolted. You tried to squirm away, but you were completely at his mercy. Where you belonged.

He didn’t let you breathe. Another wet smack to your clit as your head lolled back. The camera recording your wrecked expression so prettily. Hugo pulled all the way out and slammed back into you, punching against your cervix with short brutal thrusts.

“V-vivian—“

Smack. Smack. Smack.

Because how dare you using this name on him when it was reserved for sweet moments?

“Shut up,” he hissed.

You looked at him scared and apologetically as he claimed your mouth with his. A hot filthy kiss which had you sobbing into his mouth.

“Tu es si belle comme ça,” he whispered.

Done. You were done.

Another orgasm tore through you. Your body seized up before going Slack against him. So fucking soft and pliant for him. .

Hugo might be dominant, but the moment you went soft he went rigid. His hips snapped uncontrolled, cock pounding desperately as he chased his own pleasure. His balls tightened as he let out a roar of pure need. Hot cum splashed against your pussy walls and you whined. So hot and wet.

Only for you. Only for him.

“Say it,” he commanded.

“Thank you. Thank you,” you whispered against his lips.

“Good doll.”

He reached over and shut off the cam. He never told you in the end if it was just for the thrill. If you might anonymously ended up on some website. Or if the whole French team saw you getting wrecked while stroking themselves…

[slutreputation]

cw ⌇ semi public sex

The final whistle filled the silence of the stadium that held their breaths the last few minutes. Then it exploded - a sea of red and gold and pure ecstasy.

One heartbeat there was only silence inside Bunny’s head and the next thousand of people screamed. Spain’s bench emptied before his teammates tackled him to the grass. A few were openly crying with pride.

Someone else was yelling, “¡campeones! ¡somos campeones!”

Because the scoreboard above them glowed in impossible white letters.

Spain 1 – 0 Argentina

114’

Goal: Bunny Iglesias

The fucking winning goal. The world cup. The one that made his dick so hard that he almost went delirious with need and adrenaline.

Right now he couldn’t breathe. Part because of grown men crushing, hugging, kissing his cheeks. He’d fucking done it.

Newspapers had already written him off as being too reckless. The mornings he had spent alone, because he couldn’t bear looking at you - his girl. The injury that almost costed him his career and left him scarred for life.

It had all ended here.

Gold confetti exploded from the roof. The captain hauled him upright before immediately hugging him again.

“You lunatic!” he laughed through tears. “You actually did it!”

Bunny laughed too, half hysterical. He really did - against the goat nevertheless.

He couldn’t wait to check his phone and call his family. His parents sadly couldn’t come during his grandma being sick.

But you were there.

“Bunny!”

His head whipped around so fast his neck almost snapped. His body had barely the time to calm down and now shot his entire blood south again as he watched you running towards him.

Your hair a complete mess, the Spain jersey with his name hanging off one shoulder and your soft body bouncing with each step. You were already crying.

“Bunny!”

He opened his arms and you launched herself into him. He caught you easily. Plush thighs wrapping around his waist as you kissed his face all over.

You felt it, but for now the celebration was more important.

“You did it,” you whispered against his lips. “You won.”

“I won,” he echoed, sounding like he still couldn’t believe it.

Another kiss followed, then another. Teeth clashing, tongues licking and the cameras and teammates celebrating fading into nothing.

He was grinning so hard his cheeks hurt. He was also so hard his cock hurt.

She buried her face against his neck. “I screamed so loud I think I scared the people sitting next to me.”

“Won’t be the only time you scream today, corazón.”

“Bunny!” you squealed laughing into his neck. But then your expression softened. “I’m so proud of you.”

That sentence almost broke him. You had never stopped believing in him. You laughed, cried and cheered with him.

“Oh, don’t you start crying too,” you laughed.

“I’m trying not to.”

“Liar.”

“I’m absolutely lying.”

The celebration that followed was a lot. The teammates and him running around in flags. Singing with the fans and applauding them for the support. Them chanting ‘Bunny! Bunny! Bunny!’ while you filmed it in the background.

Eventually the medal ceremony began. One by one the players climbed the podium while fireworks in red and yellow and glitter filled the sky. The golden trophy gleamed beneath stadium lights.

When Bunny stepped forward, the FIFA official placed the gold medal around his neck. It was cold, but it was also real.

He touched it with trembling fingers. World champion. His winning goal.

Was this real life?

The trophy celebrations lasted forever as they hurled the trophy up. Photos. Kissing the golden trophy. More hugs and confetti.

At some point he finally escaped the chaos and found you again standing near the edge of the pitch. And mierde, the way you watched him - soft, proud, his.

You looked at your Bunny.

Without saying anything he slipped the ribbon over his head. You frowned. Then gasped as he gently placed the medal around your neck.

“Bunny.”

“You wear it.”

“No, no, no. It’s yours.”

“It’ll always be mine.” he rested his forehead against yours. “But I don’t get here without you.”

“No, no. Put it back on,” you immediately reached for the ribbon.

He caught your hands. “I’m serious.”

“Bunny.”

“You sat through every terrible match.”

“There were… a lot,” you choked out.

“You celebrated every goal like I’d won the lottery,” he whispered “You stayed awake until three in the morning when we played overseas.”

“You called each time.”

“You reminded me who I was whenever football made me forget,” his thumb brushed away another tear rolling down your cheek. “So wear it. For me.”

“I didn’t score.”

“You just made sure I always could.”

A bubbly sob escaped you as you hugged him tightly. In return he lifted you until your feet left the grass.

“I love you,” you mumbled into his shoulder.

“I love you more.”

After an hour or maybe more Bunny dragged you towards the tunnels where the changing rooms are. Usually families aren’t allowed in here.

But Bunny had been twitching, throbbing and leaking since almost two hours. He thanked everyone for the broad designs of the shorts so no one hadn’t spotted it. Or they did and ignored it.

“Bunny, we can’t—“

Somewhere in the background Ramos is shouting. But his voice fades away more and more as Bunny lead you deeper into the catacombs.

You’re filled with need too. Your cunt had creamed since Bunny went forehead to forehead with an Argentinian player. Even more so after the winning goal.

Now he presses you face first against the wall. Back arched your plushy ass looks all round and delicious. Bunny would eat that, but this had to be a quickie.

His big hand slapped against the wall next to your head as he reached around to fumble with the button of your pants. He was impatient.

“Let me,” you whispered as you pushed your jeans and panties down.

They dangle around your knees like an offering. Those blue panties drenched in your need and Bunny wanted to suck the fabric clean of it as your sweet musky scent filled his nostrils.

“Here, Bunny.”

Oh, you knew what he was thinking.

He caged you in further as he dragged his shorts down and slapped his cock against your drenched folds. The sound was obscene, echoing through the tunnels.

You were sure his teammates heard.

“Cariño,” Bunny choked out as he shoved inside you.

There was no time to adjust he plowed into you with frantic thrusts. You went cross eyed from the sheer pressure, pleasure. Thighs shaking as he owned your body like he had owned the field, the goal.

The obscene slap of skin on skin filled the narrow corridor, underlined by your strangled moans and Bunny's guttural breaths against your ear. His hips slammed into you with a rhythm that matched the roaring chant still echoing from the stadium above.

"Fuck! Cariño—" his voice cracked as he buried himself deeper, one hand gripping your hip hard enough to bruise while the other flattened against the cold concrete beside your head. "You feel that? That's what you do to me."

You couldn't form words. Your forehead pressed against the wall, eyes squeezed shut. His cock dragged against that perfect spot inside you with each brutal thrust, sending shockwaves through your lower stomach until you felt like bursting.

"Answer me." his teeth grazed your earlobe before clamping down gently, a possessive gesture that made you gasp.

"Yes—yes Bunny!"

He rewarded you with a deeper angle, the smacking of his hips against your ass had the skin turned red.

The smell of sweat and grass and sex mixed in the stale tunnel air. Somewhere in the distance, a door slammed. Footsteps. Laughter. His teammates were close.

"Let them hear," he growled against your neck. "Let them all know exactly who I'm fucking tonight."

Your orgasm built like a wave during extra time. Overwhelming, destined to break you apart before Bunny would put you together again.

Your fingers scraped against the wall, searching for purchase as your body began to tighten around him.

"That's it," he urged, his rhythm turning sloppy, desperate. "Come for me. Now."

The leader spoke now - the one who commanded the field, now commanded your cunt. Your body.

It was an explosion of pure ecstasy as your walls clenched down around him. A broken cry escaped you as you rode the highs of your pleasure. You almost missed as Bunny followed you desperately. His hips stuttered as he emptied his balls deep inside you.

The guttural moan that vibrated against your spine prolonged your orgasm until you almost blacked out.

For a long moment neither of you moved. His forehead rested between your shoulder blades. His breath was hot and ragged against your skin. Your legs felt like jelly. Then he pulled out slowly and you felt his release trickle down your inner thigh.

“I’ve wet wipes in my purse,” you whispered breathlessly.

“No.”

He reached down and caught the few pearls of salty release with your panties. Then shoved the fabric half into you.

“Keep it. I want you to smell like me when we celebrate with the team later,” he tilted your face back and kissed you softly.

“Whatever my world champ wants.”

… fuck, this had him almost hard again.

[slutreputation]

cw⌇ oral f.receiving ◞ fingering

Nagi had never gone down on a girl before. He’d seen porn, sure, heard locker room stories, some good, some awful. The kind that made it sound like a gamble, too strong, too bitter, too wet, too weird. He never really understood the appeal. Seemed like effort, and effort wasn’t exactly his thing.

But this was different. You were different.

You were lying beneath him on his bed, bathed in soft moonlight, your shirt already pushed up, panties damp and clinging to your heat. Your thighs were spread just enough for him to fit between them, one of your hands buried in his messy hair, the other curled around his wrist.

“Are you sure?” you whispered, breathless.

Nagi blinked slowly, pupils blown wide. “Yeah,” he said, rougher than usual. “Wanna taste you.”

He didn’t sound cocky, rather curious and hungry. He kissed down your stomach, dragging his lazy tongue across your skin, hands settling on your hips like he needed something to ground him.

When he reached the waistband of your panties, he paused. With both hands, he tugged them down slowly. His breath hitched. You were already wet, glistening, flushed, and so warm he could feel the heat radiating off you before his mouth even touched you. And the smell wasn’t like he expected.

Not strong or weird or off-putting. It was sweet. Yeah, sweet and soft, and addictive. It made his head feel fuzzy.

He leaned closer, burying his face between your thighs with a curiosity that felt like compulsion. The first lick was tentative. One slow drag of his tongue from your dripping entrance up to your clit.

He stopped and froze. Then groaned. A real, guttural, needy sound from deep in his chest, like something inside him had just snapped.

He pulled back slightly, wide eyes blinking up at you like he was in a trance. “You taste…” he murmured. “Holy shit.”

Then he dove back in. Gone was the lazy hesitation. His hands gripped your thighs, pulling them over his shoulders, spreading you wider as he licked you with long, hungry strokes, tongue swirling around your clit like he needed to memorize every inch of you.

Every lick was messier, deeper, filthier. He slurped noisily, moaning against your pussy as his lips wrapped around your clit and sucked just right. Your back arched.

“S-Sei—” you gasped, fingers tightening in his hair.

He didn’t stop, or slowed down. His hips were grinding into the mattress, because he couldn’t take it either. Your thighs started to tremble, your moans coming quicker as his tongue moved faster, more confident with every second. He was fucking you with it now, licking into your core like a man starved, like he’d been missing this his whole life and had no idea.

You came on his tongue with a loud cry, your body shaking beneath him, and he didn’t let go. Not even for a second.

He kept going. Lapping up everything you gave him, groaning like he was drunk on your taste, like this was the greatest thing he’d ever experienced.

“Shit,” he whispered, pulling back, long enough to look up at you. His chin was slick, his hair wild, eyes glazed over. “You’re fuckin’ delicious. Can’t stop.”

You whimpered. He slid two fingers into you, and curled them just right as his mouth latched back onto your clit. You nearly screamed. Your hand flew over your mouth as your hips jerked against his face, but nagi didn’t stop. He moaned into you again, tongue flicking hard now, fingers fucking you deep and steady like he’d done this a hundred times. Like he was born to do this.

“You’re gonna come again,” he murmured into your folds, lips brushing your swollen clit. “C’mon, baby. Let me taste it.”

Your orgasm hit even harder this time. You cried out, hips lifting off the bed, thighs squeezing his head as he kept licking, sucking, working you through every wave until your body went limp beneath him.

Only then he slowed down he kissed your inner thigh gently - one, two, three times - before resting his cheek against it, eyes closing.

“Think I’m obsessed now,” he mumbled, smiling lazily against your skin.

[slutreputation]

cw ⌇ lot of dirty talk ◞ sex

He thought it would be slow and careful. Maybe a little awkward. You were quiet most of the time, at least when it comes to the usual chit chatting. You simply didn’t waste your breath.

So when you whispered “Take it off, Sae. I want to see you.” as your fingers curled in the waistband of his sweatpants, he figured it was the heat talking.

When you kissed him again, all wet and deep, with your hips writhing up against his thigh, he thought he had you figured out.

Maybe you liked control. Maybe you were bolder than he realized.

But nothing could have prepared him for what came next.

You were on his bed. Sheets half pulled down, a warm summer night creeping in through the window and the scent of your perfume soaked into his pillow. You were already naked beneath him, skin flushed and glowing in the dimmed light.

Sae had just sunk into you. His breath caught, his jaw tight, hands clenched in the sheets beside your head when you wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him in deeper.

“You feel so fucking good inside me, Sae. You’re stretching me just right. I’m already so full.” you moaned.

He froze. His hips stuttered once, his breath punched out of him and you smiled. Smiled like you’d just won something.

Your nails scratched lightly down his back and you tilted her head, licking into his jaw as you added. “Do you like it when I say that?”

His mouth opened, then closed. Heat raced up the back of his neck, blooming across his cheeks. He never blushed, but right now he felt it, high and hot and humiliating. “Y-you…” he managed, but you just kept going.

“You’re fucking me so well, baby. Every time you push in, I feel it right up in my stomach. Want me to say it again? Want me to tell you how big you are? How deep?”

An embarrassing loud groan slipped out. His hand moved quick to cover your mouth - like you’d let him. You caught his wrist and locked your fingers together. Wicked little thing.

“Oh, no no,” you whispered, syrup sweet and obscene. “You wanted to take your time, right? Be slow, be gentle?” your eyes fluttered, then met his again. “Then you’re gonna hear every fucking word, Sae. Because I’m not stopping.”

He could barely breathe. He tried to stay composed, truly he did. He tried to keep pace, keep rhythm, act unaffected, but the more you talked, the worse it got. Every roll of your hips came with something new, something even filthier.

“God, you’re so deep. I bet you’d love watching yourself fuck me from the back, huh? Bet you’d lose your mind if I moaned your name like this while I came on your cock.”

“Shut up,” he growled desperately.

“Make me.”

His hand found your throat before he could think better of it, holding you still, steady. His rhythm stuttered into something rougher, more ragged. Forehead dropped to yours.

“You’re insane,” he whispered.

“And you’re blushing,” you shot back, triumphant.

He was. He knew he was. His whole body was running hot. His usual calm shattered somewhere around the second “Fuck me harder, Sae,” and now he was thrusting into you like he had a point to prove. His hand moved from your throat to your jaw, then slid down to your tits, squeezing hard.

You moaned at that, arching into him. “That’s it. Don’t you wanna hear me? Wanna hear what you do to me?”

“I already know,” he muttered through gritted teeth.

“Then fuck it into me. You want me to come around your cock, don’t you? Want me to scream for you? I will. I will if you keep fucking me like that—”

He cut you off with a kiss, messy and biting. Your mouth would not stop moving, but your cunt clamped down even tighter the dirtier you got. And sae realized, with no small amount of panic, that if he didn’t shut you up soon, he was going to come way, way faster than planned. He buried his face in your neck, breathing hard, sweat clinging to both of them.

“You’re a menace.”

“You love it,” you gasped. “Love hearing me talk about your cock like it’s the only thing I want. And you’re right, ‘cause right now, it is.”

You clenched around him and he whined. An actual, broken sound that slipped from his throat before he could catch it. He hadn’t made a noise like that since he was a teenager.

You giggled, breathless and cocky, and kissed the shell of his ear. “You gonna come, baby? Just from my voice? That’s so fucking cute.”

“I’m going to gag you next time,” he muttered.

But there was no next time yet. Only now. Only you wrapping your legs around him tighter, moaning louder, dragging him closer to the edge with every filthy word.

And when you whispered, “Come for me, Sae. Fill me up, please. I wanna feel you dripping out of me when you pull out,” he snapped.

He growled into your neck. Shoved in deep and came with a stuttering curse, his hips jerking, the heat rushing through him like wildfire. Your words didn’t stop even then and that somehow made it worse. Better. More overwhelming.

He collapsed against you, heart pounding, still buried to the hilt. “You’re trouble,” he said against your skin.

You grinned, smug and satisfied, dragging your fingers through his sweaty hair. “You’re welcome.”

[tomiokasangel]

can you do headcannons of someone walking in on hashiras fcking the reader LOLLL I just thought this would be so funny

ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴋɴᴏᴄᴋ

ft. Giyuu Tomioka, Kyojuro Rengoku, Tengen Uzui, Obanai Iguro, Sanemi Shinazugawa, Gyomei Himejima, Mitsuri Kanroji, & Shinobu Kocho

X reader

───── ✦ ───── ✧ ───── ✦ ───

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

───── ✦ ───── ✧ ───── ✦ ───

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?”

“Yes,” Gyomei says instantly. “Much later. Possibly never.”

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 tilts her head. “Should I leave?”

“Yes,” Shinobu says instantly. “Immediately. Please.”

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.”

She pauses.

“…Tea?”

[peppermint-monster]

Gyomei Himejima X Chubby Reader!

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.

[ih8simps]

Don’t go to sleep mad JJK SMAU

Pt 2 feat Choso, Suguru, & Yuuta

This made me want to try some actual angst … coming soon… maybe lol

The taglist is growing 🥹🫶🏽. I appreciate you all, truly: @lover4art @chewiebee @loverboulder @tori8760 @nina-from-317 @gojoleclerc @samishiperfixatedagain @lily-42 @silentfriday @supergraphlcultramodernglrl @sleazysaltedcat @groovyravenagain @meramerasoul @lovinglystupendousknight @v4mpyyb4tzz

[ih8simps]

Don’t go to sleep mad JJK SMAU

Pt 1 feat Gojo, Toji, & Sukuna

Taglist 😌😊❣️✨: @lover4art @chewiebee @loverboulder @tori8760 @nina-from-317 @gojoleclerc @samishiperfixatedagain @lily-42 @silentfriday @supergraphlcultramodernglrl @sleazysaltedcat @groovyravenagain @meramerasoul

[ih8simps]

Breaking up with your Situationship

JJK SMAU Pt 2 feat Sukuna, Choso, & Yuuta

Disclaimer: I tried to be way less aggressive in this one 😅 (these are my faves I can’t be too mean to them lol)

Guys, will I ever be able to commit to actual angst??? Taglist: @lover4art @chewiebee @loverboulder @tori8760 @nina-from-317 @gojoleclerc @samishiperfixatedagain @lily-42 @silentfriday @supergraphlcultramodernglrl @sleazysaltedcat @groovyravenagain @meramerasoul @lovinglystupendousknight @v4mpyyb4tzz @asian-woody @akashiluvv

Hey :) @b-is-obsessed

[ih8simps]

Breaking up with your Situationship

JJK SMAU PT 1 feat Gojo, Toji, & Suguru

Is this even worthy of my taglist 🤔 : @lover4art @chewiebee @loverboulder @tori8760 @nina-from-317 @gojoleclerc @samishiperfixatedagain @lily-42 @silentfriday @supergraphlcultramodernglrl @sleazysaltedcat @groovyravenagain @meramerasoul @lovinglystupendousknight @v4mpyyb4tzz @asian-woody

[saintkaylaa]

Go On With Ya Day .ᐟ

𝜗𝜚: satoru, suguru, nanami, choso, hiromi, ino, toji

note: sometimes you gotta read your man’s text and go on about your day ! tiktok trend. this was pretty hard ngl so, sorry if it’s shite

warnings: cursing, sexual, murder, mom!reader in toji’s, f!reader

I BLOCK MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS

[saintkaylaa]

Caffeinated Jealousy .ᐟ

ʚɞ: levi, eren, armin, jean, porco

note : they offer to buy you a coffee/drink for your study group session, only someone already beat them to it !

warnings: cursing, jealousy, kms jokes, toxic porco, f!reader

I BLOCK MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS

[coralbae]

sucker for you

synopsis you tease the men by putting things in your mouth suggestively (mostly) characters gojo, geto, nanami, toji, choso, sukuna, ino warnings nsfw, inappropriate use of guns and food

smau taglist: @saturnsurn @cisseadven @angelica-115 @chosos-prettyprincess @chewiebee @renrenrenren17 @sug4rk1tty @seungkwansflower @henzypoo @dayhsdreaming @jinjoohaaa @godofstory @strawberryshortcakkitty @chloeee20 @anthy-jay-ander @winkii @claymoreshaze @sxpernova @serennovasworld @r0vena @ophirei @love-d-luxe @letis1a @msdarkshadow @duckie3801 @turtlefairyy @estrnrea @kurtcobaingirlie @tojiscreampie @kekeanna266 @ruiislove @floravyn @nina-from-317 @mimicosmos8 @ang3l10 @erenspersonalwh0re @elliegj-xx @emptypsycology @lcckedheart @riykya @duckie3801 @chosoprettygirl @maemeru @gonergirll @yourfavouritebedrotter @vasperfangz @ttoxicity @asian-woody @hibiscussmellsgood @lillylovestoji92

want to join my taglist? fill out this sheet! -> •

[theogmiemiew]

Kaiser jerking off with your panties while away ♡

18+

The luxury hotel room is suffocatingly quiet, thousands of miles away from home. The team's strict policy against bringing partners on this one away tour meant leaving you behind in his house, and Michael Kaiser has been in a foul mood ever since.

He hates being apart from you, not because he misses simple conversation, but because every hour away from his penthouse is an hour he can't physically control you

It's long past midnight. Kaiser lies sprawled across the king-sized bed, wearing only a pair of sweatpants. His sharp blue eyes glare up at the ceiling, his mind racing, utterly consumed by thoughts of your plush body left behind in his bed.

He pictures your magnificent shapes, the swell of your hips, and the way you look when you're completely under his thumb. He imagines how easy it would be to just stay there with you, to keep you locked away from the rest of the world so that you'd always be his.

The sheer obsession makes his blood burn. Within moments, a violent surge of heat hits his lower half. His sweatpants strain visibly against a rock-hard, throbbing boner, his body reacting instantly to the dark, possessive fantasies taking over his head.

A slow, dangerous smirk tugs at his lips. He reaches over to his nightstand, unzipping a hidden compartment in his leather travel bag.

He pulls out a pair of your worn panties- stolen from your laundry hamper right before he left, without you ever noticing

Bringing the delicate fabric to his face, he inhales deeply, closing his eyes as your sweet scent fills his senses. The smell of you, combined with the heavy tightness in his groin, pushes him over the edge.

His breath hitches, his chest heaving as he grips his rigid, aching length through his pants with one hand, while pressing the stolen silk firmly against his lips and nose with the other

"Fuck.." Kaiser mutters into the soft fabric, his voice thick, low, and heavy with dangerous intent as his hand starts to stroke himself through the cotton. "Can't leave you alone for a single week...Schatz. Just wait till I get home."

Kaiser's breathing grows ragged, uneven, each inhale deepening the scent of you into his lungs like a drug. The panties press against his lips as he strokes himself harder through the fabric, hips twitching with restless need.

His eyes stay shut tight, conjuring up every detail: your sleepy morning face buried in his chest. The way you whine when he doesn't kiss you goodnight. How your thighs squeeze around him during sex- how tight and warm and perfect everything about you is.

A low groan rumbles from deep in his throat.

He hates this- the distance, the silence without your presence filling their shared space- but right now.. Right now it's just him... and your scent, driving him absolutely insane.

Suddenly aggressive with need, Kaiser tears off both sweatpants and boxers in one swift motion. His thick cock springs free, hard as steel, and without hesitation or shame (he never has any), he wraps his long fingers around it firmly at base to tip..

Then, he starts pumping slowly... deliberately.. savoring each stroke while still clinging to those stolen panties like a madman obsessed beyond reason.

He looks so good too..unfairly so, his bare torso, sweaty and sculpted from training… then slowly descending down: abs tightening as he breathes… hip bones jutting slightly above sweatpants pooled around his thighs…

"Gott..." he curses under his breath, squeezing at the hard ridges under his cockhead to pump more precum out, slicking his dick up.

He brings your panties down from his face to press them against that wet tip, the silk catching the moister instantly, and then he slams back into his hand with renewed hunger.

It's filthy. It's obscene. His cock is so wet, dripping so much precum it makes slick sounds each time his tattooed fist closes around his tip, and he can feel his toes twitching within his socks, his eyes rolling back as he brings the panties back up and laps at them like a hungry dog.

Kaiser's tongue drags slowly over the silk, tasting what little of you clings to it, fabric soaked in your warmth, your musk. He licks like a starving man offered a single crumb, desperate, possessive, shameless.

A shiver rips down his spine.

His toes curl inside those expensive black socks, his tummy churns with coiling pressure as he feels himself getting closer to his release-

And then you text him. The sweet picture of your contact lighting up his phone screen next to him, making him involuntarily squeeze tighter at his cock.

"Scheiße..!"

He peels his hand off his cock, watching it throb painfully from orgasm denial and exhaling sharply through his flared nostrils like a frustrated bull.

Then he picks up his phone and sees you...asking him how his day was...innocently telling him about how much you miss him... God help him.

He grabs at his twitching cock with renewed fervor, his fist closed tight around the slick length and flying over himself, jerking himself off at an impossible pace and letting out a loud, shameless moan.

And he doesn't even try to suppress it. Fuck dignity.

Because right now, Michael Kaiser can allow himself to be just a man, a feral one, licking his woman's dirty, stolen panties while masturbating in some impersonal hotel room halfway across the world from you because he cannot stand another second without feeling connected to you somehow.

And when his thumb accidentally catches for a second too long at his sensitive slit, when your panties go so far down his mouth he actually chokes on your smell, he cums.

Thick ropes spill over his tattooed fingers, hot pulses of gooey cum erupt uncontrollably all over himself, the sheets below catching some mess as his breath hitches into broken gasps.

Coming down to his senses, he finally opens his pretty blue eyes and stares down at himself, letting go off his limp cock covered in his cum with a heavy sigh.

He's fucking pathetic..

His nose scrunches up in a way you'd call adorable as he reaches over with your panties, wiping himself clean with a look of disgust.

But then his eyes land on his abs...glistening with sweat, that soft trail of blond trailing down to his dick, hair soaked through with his cum...

He smirks darkly, biting on his lower lip in mischief, reaching for his phone and snapping you a picture of his cum stained six-pack as a response to your message saying "what are you doing, Micha? How are you feeling?", before shutting his phone closed and throwing it back on the mattress carelessly.

He would have to do a lot of explaining to you when he wakes up in the morning, because what he didn't notice was the damp fabric of your favorite pair of panties- the ones you've been frantically searching around for for days now- showing up in the corner of the pic, clutched tightly in his left hand.

He's screwed.

[xkpzx]

@zutaraweek day 5: legacy

A legacy of moving forward together (and some new parent shenanigans they can laugh about later)