#barelywrites

[barelyalivesstuff]

Mrs.Tomioka—⁠☆

Summary: Giyuu's confused—why everyone is so shocked that you're his wife?

Warnings: fluff, emo Giyuu(kinda), who is also comfused as hell, wife!reader x husband!Giyuu and lots of fluff.

Characters: Giyuu Tomioka

A/N: I loooove this emotionally constipated boi :3.

Giyuu doesn’t understand why people think he’s strange.

He doesn’t talk much, yes—but he speaks when needed.

He doesn’t smile often, but what reason is there to smile when the world is still this full of blood and ash?

He does his work. He follows orders. He returns alive. That should be enough.

And yet—

Every time he walks into the mansion, the other Hashira go quiet.

Sanemi looks away. Shinobu’s lips curve like she’s holding back something. Mitsuri beams and waves like he’s a rare creature who wandered out of the woods.

He doesn’t mind. Not really. He’s used to being misunderstood.

But lately…things have gotten worse.

Because of you.

He first met you years ago.

A small Wisteria Crest house at the foot of a mountain—the air smelled faintly of herbs and tea leaves. You greeted every wounded slayer with the same soft tone, the same careful hands.

You didn’t treat him differently when he came in bleeding and silent.

You didn’t ask him why he never talked.

You just said, “Welcome home. Sit, please.”

He remembered those words more than he should have.

Now you’re his wife. Quietly. Secretly. A simple ceremony witnessed by Ubuyashiki-sama himself. No fanfare, no announcement.

Just you, smiling under the wisteria trees.

He still doesn’t understand why you agreed to it.

Sometimes, when he watches you brew tea, your sleeves brushing against the wooden counter, your face looking soo calm, kind—even pretty, he thinks maybe he doesn’t need to understand.

The first time it almost comes out is stupid.

You send him off with a small bento box—rice shaped like tiny fish, wrapped neatly in cloth.

He doesn’t notice Shinobu’s sharp gaze when he sets it beside him at the mansion during the meeting.

“Cute lunch, Tomioka-san,” she says, that poison-sweet smile of hers in place. “Did one of the Kakushi make that for you?”

“No,” he answers plainly.

“...Oh?”

He doesn’t elaborate.

Shinobu’s smile tightens. Mitsuri leans forward, curious. “Then who made it, Giyuu-san? It’s so cute!”

He looks down at the fish-shaped rice ball. He can still hear your voice that morning—‘Don’t skip meals again, alright?’ which forced his heart to flutter.

He simply says, “Someone.”

They don’t let him live it down for days.

Sometimes, after missions, Giyuu goes to the Wisteria House—your house, the one you choose to live in.

It’s quiet there—a peaceful one, not like the depressing one his estate is swallowed by. He leaves his blade by the door and sits where you tell him to.

You wrap his wounds with steady hands, humming softly. Sometimes he talks—only to you. Sometimes you tease him gently for his serious face, and he blinks at you, confused at how you can make something inside him unclench so easily.

When you smile, the corners of his mouth twitch upward before he even realizes it.

The next day, when Tanjiro spots him smiling faintly to himself, the boy looks alarmed.

“Giyuu-san, are you okay? Did something good happen?”

“...No,” he says.

He doesn’t understand why Tanjiro looks even more concerned.

One afternoon, you deliver some herbs to the Butterfly Estate. You greet the girls there with polite warmth—and when you pass Shinobu, you bow respectfully.

She almost doesn’t recognize you until you turn—and Giyuu is standing right behind you, carrying your basket without a word.

“Ah, Tomioka-san,” Shinobu says slowly. “Helping…the Wisteria House?”

“Yes.”

Your soft laugh betrays him instantly.

“He insisted on carrying it. I told him it’s fine.”

Shinobu stares between you both, her brow lifting, mouth curling into something dangerously amused.

“Oh? How gentlemanly of you, Tomioka-san.”

He doesn’t see what’s funny about it. He’s your husband. Of course he’d carry the basket.

Later that evening, Mitsuri corners him outside.

“Giyuu-san!” she gushes. “Who’s that lovely woman? The Wisteria one? You two looked so sweet together!”

He blinks at her. “…She’s my wife.”

Mitsuri freezes.

“…Your…what?”

“Wife,” he repeats.

Her scream echoes through the estate.

By the next day, everyone knows.

Sanemi storms into the training yard like a thundercloud. “You’re married? How the hell did that happen?”

“I asked,” Giyuu says.

“You—” Sanemi chokes on air. “And she said yes, TO YOU ?”

He nods.

Shinobu looks like she’s seconds away from fainting from suppressed laughter. “Tomioka-san, I must admit, this is rather...shocking news.”

Mitsuri’s the only one genuinely happy. She hugs you the next time she sees you and gushes about how cute the two of you are together.

Tanjiro, meanwhile, nearly bows himself into the ground when he realizes you’re his superior’s wife.

“Giyuu-san! I didn’t know! Congratulations!”

Giyuu just blinks. “It wasn’t a secret. I just didn’t say it.”

“...That’s the definition of a secret, Giyuu-san.”

He still doesn’t get it.

That night, back home, the world is quiet again.

You’re sitting outside beneath the wisteria vines, a book in your lap. The evening wind moves gently through your hair.

He joins you, sitting beside you with his sword laid down beside him. For a while, there’s only the sound of crickets and your soft humming.

Then you glance up at him.

“So…they know now?”

He nods once.

“And?”

“They were…loud.”

You laugh softly—a heart melting one, tilting your head toward him. “Did they tease you?”

He looks at you—at your calm, gentle eyes, the small smile tugging at your lips—and lets out a slow breath in weariness and to calm his raging heart.

“Yes.”

You reach over, brushing his sleeve lightly. “You’ll survive.”

He doesn’t say it, but when you rest your head on his shoulder and the wisteria petals fall around you both, he thinks this—this quiet, ordinary peace—is something he will fight to survive for.

He still doesn’t understand people very well.

But he understands the way your laughter feels like sunlight.

He understands how the scent of tea and wisteria means home.

And he understands that when everyone else talks too loudly, the quiet between your breaths is where he finds peace.

So maybe it doesn’t matter if no one understands him.

Because you do.

And that’s more than enough.

Mid-terms are pinning me down at my table, giving me backsho-. LIKES AND REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED!

Don't steal,copy,edit or use my works in any form without my permission.

Barelyalive out!

[barelyalivesstuff]

Knocked Up!—⁠☆

Summary: You getting knocked up by the kny boys!

Warnings: MDI, NSFW content, female!reader x kny!boys(separate pairing), raw intercourse, reader getting breed, breeding kink, somewhat insecure Obanai.

Characters: Giyuu Tomioka, Sanemi Shinazugawa, Obanai Iguro.

A/N: This is my first post so please don't hesitate to correct me✧⁠◝⁠(⁠⁰⁠▿⁠⁰⁠)⁠◜⁠✧. You can read the pregnancy fluff here!

***lower-case except the names cuz fuck this autocorrect.***

✯Giyuu Tomioka｡⁠*ﾟ

Giyuu swore he’d never cross this line with you. you were too soft, too sweet, too much like a fleeting dream he didn’t deserve.

but one late night in your estate, after tea and quiet laughter, when you leaned over him in that loose kimono, brushing stray hairs from his face…his self-control broke.

he takes you carefully, like you might shatter. every thrust is slow, deliberate, cock throbbing crazily inside your smooth—velvety walls, his forehead pressed to your shoulder, his mouth trembling against your skin.

you keep whispering, in that sweet, intoxicating voice of yours, “Giyuu…you’re so warm…please, stay with me like this.”you're so cruel! so unfair! how could you sound so innocent, like your pussy isn't trying to milk him dry, like, that messy pool of sweat and cum is not there, like, the scratches on his body are from the training only.

he tells himself he’ll pull out. he has to. but then you wrap your arms around his neck, cling to him with those sweet moans spilling from your glossed lips, and your pussy clenching down on his cock, desparately trying to ride out an orgasm“ah!—Giyuu you feel s-so nice! ah!-please come inside me!”hearing those stupid, cock-drunken words of yours caused his cock to twitch, instinctively he started to thrust hard and deep.

“d-don’t say things like that—ahh, I can’t—”his voice crackes just like his resolve, he buries himself deep inside your cunt, groaning raggedly into your skin as he fills his seeds inside you, shaking, holding you down to take all of him. when he realizes what he’s done, panic flashes across his face. he starts to pull out, stammering apologies—until you smile sleepily, pressing a hand to his chest, whispering“don't apologise, I wanted this, and I know you did too.”

That one soft line twists a knife in him. you're right he wanted this—even you wanted this but he couldn't help but feel guilty but the thought of you glowing with his child, walking around in his house with a with a big, round stomach was suddenly too powering and....arousing.

☆Sanemi Shinazugawa｡⁠*ﾟ

Sanemi’s was never going to be an accident. not once he had you beneath him, soft body trembling, eyes wide, pupils blown, lips swollen and parted like you were his prey. his cute little prey who shares her sweets with him.

he snarled against your throat, hips slamming into yours hard enough to make the bed creak you whined, gasped his name, tried to tell him he was being too loud and you were sensitive with the previous orgasms—ofcourse he didn’t stop. he never would, especially when he's getting to fuck the woman he loves.

“shut the hell up, my darling. I don't care if anyone hears, you’re mine that's all I care about. now, I'm going to breed this pretty, little pussy of yours and you're going to take it allll without wasting any drop, m'kay?”

true to his words he started to thrust inside you like there was no tomorrow, your cheeks burned, your eyes glassy with tears and pleasure as he pounded into you, biting and marking every inch of your skin he could reach. he pinned your wrists above your head with one hand, the other gripping your hip hard enough to leave bruises.

when you whimpered, “Sanemi—you’ll make me—pregnant—”, he snarled a broken laugh and thrust harder.“stupid woman, that’s the whole damn point. I’m gonna fuck a brat into you so everyone knows you’re mine.”

and when he finally came, it was with a vicious groan, grinding himself as deep as possible, making sure you felt every hot pulse of him spilling inside. he stayed there, pressed flush, biting your neck hard as he emptied himself.

afterward? He lay there sweaty and panting, glaring at your soft belly like he wanted to brand it“don’t even think about pushing it out. you’re keeping it. you’re mine now...and, by the way tomorrow is our wedding.”

☆Obanai Iguro｡⁠*ﾟ

with Obanai, it started hesitant. he touched you like he wasn’t allowed, like any second someone would drag him away for daring to ruin something so soft and pure.

“I’ll be careful.”he whispered hoarsely as he slid into you, shaking as if he were already about to break.“I won’t… I’ll pull out, I swear.” was the first and probably the last lie he ever told you.and once he was inside, once he felt your warmth hugging him so tight, he lost every shred of resolve he had.

your moans were gentle, unguarded, making his chest ache. you cupped his cheek like he was something to be cherished instead of the scarred, hissing hashira he was.and when you whispered, breathless, “Obanai…you f-feel so good! don’t s-stop!” his sanity snapped.his cock throbbed painful in your pussy“d-don’t say that—I can’t—too tight!”

with a broken groan he painted your walls white, clinging to you like he’d drown without you. he kept muttering apologies even as he kept thrusting, unable to stop filling you over and over, terrified but drunk on how right it felt.

afterward, he lay trembling against your chest, forehead buried in your softness, hissing quietly.“I shouldn’t have done tha—I’m disgusting, I am sorr—”your sweet lips were reason his ranting stopped.“no you are not disgusting, and don't worry I also wanted to have a family with you. you will make me your wife in this and every life, won't you?Iguro-san!”

Nodding his head he hugged your naked body, the image of you in a wedding kimono, stomach swollen with his child came into his mind, he would be lying if he said that he didn't want this.

So this is how it turns out ngl it's pretty crappy and cringe but it is what it is. LIKES AND REBOLGS ARE APPRECIATED!

Don't steal,copy,edit or use my works in any form without my permission.

Barelyalive out!

[barelyalivesstuff]

Baking Together—⁠☆

In which gachiakuta boys fell for your baking skills and you.

Very fluffly, gn!reader, no use of she, he or they, reader bakes goods || Thank you for the request dear<33

you bake late at night, when the base is quiet and your thoughts won’t slow down. tamsy always “just happens” to be awake too, lingering nearby like he’s not waiting for you.

you wordlessly slide a small pastry toward him. he doesn’t say thank you—just gives you that soft look, the one that means more than words, the one that makes the cruel world feel gentle, he eats slowly, savoring it, then carefully wraps the rest—because why won't he? a treat from ya is divine.

“for later,” he murmurs.

later always means when things get bad, when missions go wrong, when he needs something warm to remind him you exist.

enjin is loud about it.

“YO?? YOU MADE THIS??”

he takes one bite and immediately declares it the best thing he’s ever eaten—while dramatically slapping the poor table—which is objectively untrue but very on brand, he tells everyone, oh boy, he brags! he asks what you put in it like you used magic.

you tell him it’s just sugar and patience.

he grins. “yeah, sounds like you.”

somehow, he always makes sure you get first pick of supplies after that, while hugging you—more like cuddling you while standing.

zanka pretends he's chill about it, which to be honest his is not.

you leave something wrapped neatly on his workbench without saying a word. later, when you pass by, it’s gone, vanished.

hours after that, you find him hovering awkwardly near you. “uh. the cookie you made?”

you nod.

“…make it again sometime.” while blushing like he’s suffering from a fever.

he's awkward, but trust me he's trying!

corvus watches more than he speaks.

he notices how you always cut even pieces so everyone gets a fair share, how you taste-test first so no one else has to risk it, how you smile when people enjoy what you made, aw how are you so cute?

one day, he quietly watches you bake, next to you, eyes full of admiration.

you bake carefully.

when you hand him the finished product, his voice is low. “you didn’t have to.”

you shrug. “i wanted to.”

he keeps the moment deep inside his heart.

zodyl claims food is fuel and nothing more.

still, he always eats what you make. always finishes it. always asks—very curtly—if there’s more.

one time, you skip baking for a few days. he notices immediately.

“…you alright?” he asks, stiff, unsure.

you blink, surprised.

he looks away. “just asking.”

the next day, you bake again. he doesn’t say anything—but his shoulders relax.

follo never asks, you just notice the way he slows down near the kitchen, pretending to check something else, eyes flicking toward whatever you’re making. when you quietly hold out a small piece, he startles like he’s been caught.

“f-for me?” he asks, soft.

you nod.

he takes it with both hands, like it might break, and thanks you three times before even tasting it. when he does, his eyes widen, and a shy little smile slips out before he can stop it.

later, you find a neatly folded note left near your things.

it was really good. thank you :)

you smile the rest of the day.

Hope you liked it.LIKES AND REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED!

Don't steal,copy,edit or use my works in any form without my permission.

Barelyalive out!

[barelyalivesstuff]

Hungry—⁠☆

In which August can't eat a pussy without talking your ear off.

MDI, NSFW content, f!reader, cunnilingus, oral (f receiving), dirty talking(?), august talks A LOT || This thing was sitting in my drafts for 2 months lol *throws some glitter at your face cuz it's sounds funny af in my head*

the room smelled like rust, old motor oil, and the faint tang of whatever chemical august had been messing with earlier.

you’d barely kicked the door shut behind you before he was on you—grinning like he’d just found the last clean food in the slums, hands already shoving you in the bed, pulling your t-shirt up and yanking your pants down with zero ceremony.

“missed this pussy like it owes me money,” he announces the second he sees your pretty cunt. laying comfortably. way too comfortably for a guy who’s supposed to be “working” .

you grab a fistful of that messy blonde hair and pull his face where you actually want it.

“august. shut up.”

he doesn’t.

“ohhh fuck yes—look at her, already so wet she’s glistening like she got varnished—did you walk around all day thinking about my tongue or what?” his words vibrate right against your clit and you swear the whole room rattles.

you try to smother him with your thighs. he just moans like it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

“mmf—choke me with these thighs, babe, i’m begging—wait no, actually keep ‘em open i wanna see everything—fuck, she’s pulsing, you’re pulsing, holy shit—”

“august.”

“—bet i could make you squirt just by talking dirty to your clit, huh? look at that little thing jump every time i breathe on it—”

you finally lose patience, swinging one leg over his shoulder to switch positions—now he's on his back and you're dropping your full weight on his face.

his mouth sealed to your hole and his surprised “hnngh?!” muffled straight into your cunt.

for maybe six glorious seconds he’s quiet.

then—

the vibrations start.

he’s humming. full-on vibrating like a busted engine, tongue lapping broad and filthy while he makes these obscene, happy little noises that sound suspiciously like he’s trying to sing through your folds.

you grind down harder, partly to shut him up, partly because the pressure of his nose against your clit is stupidly good.

he still won’t stop talking.

or…attempting to.

“—s’good—fuckin’—mmph—drownin’ me—yesyesyes—use my face like a chair—fuck i love when you get mean—gonna cum on my tongue? gonna soak my stupid mouth? c’mon c’mon c’mon—”

every word is garbled, spit-soaked, desperate. he’s practically gargling you and still managing to run his mouth.

you can’t help it—you laugh. breathless, shaky, half-moan-half-cackle.

“you’re literally the worst,” you gasp, rolling your hips in a slow, mean circle. “can’t even eat pussy quietly for thirty seconds.”

he pulls back just enough to speak—chin dripping, eyes glassy and manic.

“quiet’s boring,” he pants. “and your pussy likes when i’m loud. listen—” he drags his tongue flat from your entrance to your clit in one long, obnoxious slurp. “she’s crying for me. telling me to keep talking.”

you shove him back in by the hair—hard.

“less talking. more sucking.”

“make me,” he mumbles into you, already grinning against your slick.

so you do.

you ride his face like it personally offended you—smearing yourself across his nose, his cheeks, his chin—until his hands claw at your ass and thighs like he’s scared you’ll actually stop. the muffled stream of filth keeps coming, wordless now, just desperate moans and greedy slurps and the occasional “fuck—yes—more—gimme—” whenever you lift up enough for him to breathe.

when you finally come it’s loud—louder than him, which feels like a small victory—and he drinks it down like he’s dying of thirst, tongue still flicking even after you start twitching from overstimulation.

you lift off, legs shaky.

he’s a mess. hair wrecked, face shiny from the nose down, lips swollen, pupils blown so wide he looks drugged. and he’s still grinning.

“so…” he rasps, licking his lips like he’s savoring the last drop. “round two? or you gonna sit on my face again and pretend you hate how much i talk?”

you drop back down—harder this time.

“shut. up.”

he doesn’t.

but honestly? you wouldn’t want him to.

Hope you liked it.LIKES AND REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED!

Don't steal,copy,edit or use my works in any form without my permission.

Barelyalive out!

[barelyalivesstuff]

Chibi—⁠☆

In which chibi you suddenly spawns from thin air...?

Fluff, gn!reader, chibi reader, very cringe writing || Thank you for the request dear<33

Tamsy is mid-task, crouched on the ground—cleaninghis boot, fully focused—when there’s suddenly a tiny shadow at his feet.

He freezes then looks down.

There you are. Palm-sized, eyes big.

“…What.”

You wave and then accidentally trip over your own feet.

Tamsy doesn’t move for a solid five seconds. His brain fully disconnects.

“…Is this a monster?”

“…Did Enjin do this.”

You tug his pant leg with both hands. He stiffens like you just detonated something.

“Oh—no—don’t—” he gets frustrated, lifting you with two fingers like you’re explosive. “You’re...small. Why are you small.”

You squeak happily and pat his cheek.

He goes silent instantly, jaw tight, looking away.

“…Great. I’m hallucinating and it’s cute.”

He ends up carrying you around in his pocket, pretending he doesn’t constantly check if you’re okay. If anyone asks, he denies knowing you—yet the moment you disappear for even a second?

Absolute panic.

Zodyl senses you before he sees you, something wrong is nearby.

He turns—and there you are. Sitting on a crate.

Legs swinging, zero fear in your eyes.

“…Explain,” he says flatly.

You blink. No explanation. You hop down and toddle straight toward him.

He steps back instantly.

“No. Don’t approach me.”

You keep going—determined.

“…I said stop.”

You grab his pants.

Zodyl fully freezes. Like a startled cat that refuses to acknowledge fear.

“…You’re warm,” you mumble, hugging his leg.

He exhales sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“…You appear to be harmless. Unfortunately.”

He lifts you by the back of your shirt, inspecting you like a strange artifact.

“You’re impractical. Loud. Stupid and fragile.”

You smile at him.

He pauses.

“…Fine. You can stay.”

He pretends you’re a nuisance, but positions you safely on his shoulder so you can’t fall. Anyone who tries to touch you gets the death glare.

Enjin is walking along, hands in pockets, humming—when suddenly poof.

Chibi you lands right in front of him.

He blinks.

Then crouches immediately.

“…Well, you weren’t here a second ago,” he says cheerfully. “That’s new.”

You look up at him with sparkly eyes.

He grins. Big mistake.

“Oh no. You’re adorable. That’s dangerous.”

You climb onto his boot like it’s a mountain.

He laughs out loud, lifting you easily and plopping you on his shoulder.

“Congrats,” he says. “You’re my new pokemon now.”

He introduces you to everyone like it’s the best thing that’s happened all week.

“Look at them! They just spawned! I love them.”

Feeds you snacks. Lets you nap in his scarf. Absolutely enables every bit of chaos you cause.

If you disappear even briefly, the joking stops.

“…Okay,” he mutters, eyes sharp now. “That’s not funny. Where’d my tiny friend go.”

Hope you liked it.LIKES AND REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED!

Don't steal,copy,edit or use my works in any form without my permission.

Barelyalive out!

[barelyalivesstuff]

Nerdy Enjin—⁠☆

Your new boyfriend, nerd!Enjin, is too shy to even touch you—so what happens when you tease him? THE MONSTER IS SET FREE!

MDI, NSFW content, f!reader, reader is small compared to him, nerd!Enjin, rough intercourse, raw intercourse, college!au, creampie, different positions, touching, Feral!Enjin, masturbating, horny!Enjin, teasing || Shoutout to my ex for telling me that from above, he got a nice view of my chest—he was 6'0, and I’m 5'2(barely :p).

The lights of the college library buzz overhead, casting a glow over the rows of tables where Enjin sits hunched, glasses slipping down his nose as he pretends to study organic chemistry. You’re right there beside him, his girlfriend of four months, the one person who makes his brain short-circuit faster than any failed experiment.

You’re tiny compared to him. You barely reach his shoulders when you stand beside him, and at 6‘3 Enjin has the perfect vantage point to see…everything.

Today you’re wearing one of those wide-necked tops you love—soft, thin cotton that drapes your shoulders and dips low across your chest. Every time you lean forward to point at something in his notebook, the fabric shifts, and the neckline gapes open.

He tries not to look. He really does.

But the angle is cruel. From his height, he can see the gentle swell of your breasts, the delicate lace edge of your bra peeking out, the way your skin looks impossibly soft under the library lighting. When you shift to cross your legs, the shirt slips a little more, and he catches the shadowed valley between them—full, warm, rising and falling with each breath you take.

His cock twitches instantly in his jeans.

Enjin swallows hard, thighs clamping together under the table. He’s already half-hard, the thick length of him pressing uncomfortably against the cloth. He can feel the heat pooling low in his belly, the insistent throb that starts every time you’re close and dressed like this. He’s too shy to do anything about it in public—too shy to even reach over and touch your thigh, let alone slide his hand under your shirt the way he imagines in the dark of his dorm room at night.

You notice him squirming and glance up, tilting your head. “You okay, baby? You’re red.”

“Y-yeah,” he stammers, voice cracking. “Just…hot in here.”

You smile—sweet, oblivious—and lean in closer to whisper something about the reaction on the page. Your chest brushes his arm for half a second. That’s all it takes.

He’s fully hard now, aching, the head of his cock leaking against the inside of his boxers. He mutters something about the bathroom and bolts before you can ask why he’s walking so stiffly.

In the single-stall restroom at the back of the library, he locks the door, yanks his jeans and boxers down just enough, and wraps a trembling hand around his cock. It’s thick, flushed dark at the tip, veins standing out from how badly he’s throbbing. He’s already slick with pre-cum, the bead of it sliding down the underside as he gives the first slow stroke.

He pictures you.

The way the neckline of your top had gaped when you bent over the table. The perfect view of your tits—soft, round, the faint outline of your nipples pressing against the thin fabric when you got cold earlier.

He imagines tugging that wide neck down, baring you to him, watching your breasts spill out, beautiful and perfect in his big hands. He imagines sucking one nipple into his mouth while you whimper his name, your fingers tangling in his messy hair.

His strokes speed up. He braces one hand on the tiled wall, hips jerking forward into his fist. The wet sound of his hand moving over his cock fills the small room—filthy, desperate.

He thinks about you straddling his lap in the library chair, body grinding down on him, your shirt pulled up so he can bury his face between your breasts while you ride him slow and teasing.

“Fuck—fuck—” His breath hitches. His balls draw up tight. He comes hard, thick ropes of cum splattering the toilet seat and his knuckles, his whole body shuddering with the force of it. He bites his lip to keep from moaning your name too loudly.

He cleans up fast, heart hammering, cheeks burning with shame and lingering arousal. When he gets back to the table, you’re still there, smiling up at him like nothing happened.

“You sure you’re okay?” you ask again, reaching out to squeeze his hand.

He nods, throat tight. “Yeah. Just…needed a minute.”

Later that week, you’re in his dorm room studying for midterms. He’s sitting on his bed, back against the headboard, laptop balanced on his knees. You’re cross-legged on the floor in front of him, wearing another one of those damn wide-neck tops—this time a soft gray one—why you love them so damn much, huh?

Every time you reach up to tuck your hair behind your ear, the fabric slides lower, exposing more skin, more of the curve of your breast. He’s trying to focus on the periodic table review, but his eyes keep drifting down.

You catch him once. Twice. The third time you smirk, small and knowing, and deliberately lean forward to grab a highlighter from the floor.

The neckline drops completely open.

Enjin makes a choked sound in his throat. His cock is already straining against his boxers—no underwear today, because he thought it would be safer. It wasn’t, sad isn't it :(?

You sit back up, pretending you didn’t notice, but your eyes flick to the obvious bulge tenting the front of his sweats. “Enjin…”

“I—I’m sorry,” he blurts, face scarlet. “I can’t help it. You’re just…you’re so—”

You crawl up onto the bed, settling between his spread thighs—laptop long forgotten, hands resting on his knees. “You don’t have to apologize, baby. I like it when you look at me like that.”

He’s breathing hard now, chest rising and falling. You reach up slowly and tug the neck of your top down, baring both breasts to him. They’re perfect—soft, perky, nipples already hard from the cool air and from the way he’s staring.

Enjin groans low in his throat. His cock jumps visibly under the fabric.

You don’t touch him yet. Instead you cup your own breasts, lifting them slightly, thumbs brushing over your nipples. “You want to touch them?” you whisper. “Or do you want to watch first?”

He can’t speak. He just nods frantically.

You sit back on your ass, now keeping your top pulled up, and watch him with teasing eyes as he shoves his sweatpants with his underwears down. His cock springs free—long, thick, the head glistening. He wraps his hand around it immediately, stroking slow and firm, eyes locked on your chest.

“God, you’re so pretty,” he rasps. “I think about this every time you wear those shirts. Every time you breath. I get so hard I can’t think.”

You bite your lip, pinching your nipples lightly, making yourself moan. “Show me how much you want me.”

His hand moves faster. The slick sound of it fills the room. He imagines pinning you down on this bed, your tiny body under his huge one, your legs wrapped around his waist as he fucks into you slow and deep. He imagines your breasts bouncing with every thrust, your moans filling his ears.

He comes with a broken whimper, cum spilling over his fist and onto his stomach in hot pulses. You watch every second, eyes hooded, thighs pressing together.

When he’s done panting, you crawl up and kiss him softly.

His cock softens slightly against your thigh as he catches his breath. His face is buried in your neck, trembling, whispering broken apologies and “I love you”s like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he stops.

But you don’t want to wait for a second.

You slide your fingers into his messy but smooth hair and tug his head back gently, forcing him to look at you. His glasses are fogged, cheeks flushed crimson, pupils blown wide behind the lenses. He looks wrecked already, but you’re not done.

“Enjin,” you whisper, voice low and teasing. “I don’t want to wait.”

His breath hitches. “W-what?”

You grind down slow, deliberate, letting your slick heat drag along his spent cock. He’s still sensitive, twitching hard again almost instantly despite just coming. “I said I don’t want to wait.” You lean in, lips brushing his ear. “Fuck me. Right now. Like you’ve been dying to.”

He freezes for a heartbeat—shy, sweet Enjin, the guy who blushes when you kiss him in public, who can’t even grab your hand without stammering. Then something shifts. His big hands clamp down on your hips, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, and his eyes darken.

“Fuck,” he growls, voice suddenly rough, low. “You sure?”

You nod, biting your lip. “Ruin me.”

That’s all it takes.

He flips you onto your back so fast you gasp—your body bouncing on the mattress, wide-neck top now bunched around your waist, breasts jiggling from the force. He’s toweriing over you now, full of lean muscle and barely-contained hunger, glasses slipping down his nose as he rips his shirt off and throws it somewhere with his glasses. His sweatpants are already shoved down; his cock—thick, long, veined, and already hardening again—slaps against his stomach.

He doesn’t ask, pulling your pants down with your underwear and throwing your half-off top somewhere. He then grabs your thighs, yanking them apart wide, spreading you open on his bed.

You’re soaked, dripping down your thighs from watching him come earlier, and he stares like a starving man, chest heaving.

“God, look at you,” he mutters, almost to himself. “So fucking tiny. Gonna split you open.”

The shy boy is gone. The monster is out.

He lines himself up, fat head nudging your entrance, and slams in with one brutal thrust—burying himself to the hilt in one go. You cry out, back arching off the bed, nails digging into his shoulders. He’s huge, stretching you to the limit, the burn delicious and overwhelming. He doesn’t give you time to adjust. He pulls out almost all the way and slams back in again, harder, setting a punishing rhythm that has the headboard banging against the wall.

“Fuck—fuck—take it,” he snarls, hips snapping forward crazily. “Take every inch, baby. You wanted this.”

You can barely breathe. He’s pounding into you like he’s trying to carve himself into your body, each thrust driving the air from your lungs. His big hands roam—gripping your waist, squeezing your breasts so hard you whimper, pinching your nipples until they’re swollen and aching. He leans down, sucking one into his mouth, teeth grazing the sensitive peak while he fucks you deeper, faster.

You’re small under him, legs splayed wdie, tiny hands scrabbling at his back. He hooks one of your thighs over his shoulder, folding you in half, opening you even more. The new angle lets him hit that spot inside you that makes stars burst behind your eyes.

“Enjin—oh god—” Your voice cracks into a moan.

He growls against your skin, biting down on your shoulder hard enough to leave marks. “Say it again. Say my name while I fuck you stupid.”

“Enjin!f-fuck—harder—”

He loses it.

He pulls out suddenly, flips you onto your stomach, yanks your hips up so you’re on your knees, ass in the air. One huge hand presses between your shoulder blades, pinning your chest to the mattress, the other grips your hip like a vice. He slams back in from behind, deeper than before, balls slapping against your clit with every brutal thrust.

“You’re mine,” he pants, voice wrecked and feral. “This little pussy—mine. These tits—mine. You tease me all fucking day in those shirts and now you’re gonna take it.”

He reaches around, fingers finding your clit, rubbing fast, rough circles while he rails you. You’re shaking, sobbing into the sheets, pleasure coiling so tight it hurts. He’s relentless—hips pistoning, cock dragging against every sensitive inch inside you. Fucking you senseless.

“Squeeze me—fucking suck me d-dry. ,” he demands, voice low and dangerous. “Come on my cock, baby. Let me fel that preety pussy.”

You shatter, orgasm hits like a fucking train—body collapsing, walls clamping down on him so hard he groans like he’s in pain. You scream his name into the pillow, thighs trembling, slick gushing around him.

He doesn’t stop.

He fucks you through it, harder, faster, chasing his own release. “Gonna fill you up,” he growls. “Gonna pump you so full—fuck—take it all—”

He slams in one last time, burying himself deep, and comes with a guttural moan. Hot, thick spurts flood you, pulsing inside, overflowing until you feel it dripping down your thighs. He keeps grinding slow, milking every last drop, hips stuttering as he rides it out.

When he finally stills, he collapses over you—careful not to crush you with his weight, but still blanketing you completely. His cock is still inside, softening slowly, keeping his cum plugged in. His arms wrap around you, face buried in your hair, breathing ragged

“…I—I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he mumbles, voice small again, pressing soft kisses to your shoulder where he bit you. “I got…carried away.”

You laugh breathlessly, turning your head to kiss him. “You were perfect. Mean and all.”

He blushes hard, hiding his face in your neck again. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, freak,” you tease, clenching around him just to make him groan. “And next time…do it even harder.”

He whines, already twitching inside you again.

Yeah...This is gonna be a long night.

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[barelyalivesstuff]

Super Shy—⁠☆

Gachiakuta boys are confused, cause you're super shy in public but a talkative menace in private.

Fluff, f!reader, reader is shy in public but very talkative in private and crack || Thank you for the request dear<33

In public, you’re quiet, always half a step behind Enjin, hands folded, eyes down. You nod when spoken to, answer in short sentences, and freeze up when anyone looks at you too long. People assume you’re intimidated by them.

Enjin thinks it’s funny—at first.

Because the moment you’re alone?

“You know what’s crazy?” you say, already crawling onto the couch next to him. “The way you never wash your coat. Like statistically it should smell worse than this.”

He blinks. “You were silent for six hours.”

“And I was saving my energy,” you reply, immediately looping an arm around his waist. “Also your hair does that weird flip thing on the left side and I’ve been staring at it all day.”

Enjin bursts out laughing, one arm automatically pulling you closer. You do not stop talking. About nothing, about everything, about the dumb way Zanka walks, about how Tamsy blinks too slowly, about how you once dropped food and thought the ground would swallow you whole.

“You’re like a different person,” Enjin mutters, amused.

You hum, cheek pressed to his chest. “You make me feel…unlocked.”

From then on, Enjin subtly keeps you close. A hand on your shoulder in public, a quiet “you good?” murmured just for you—because he knows when you get home, you’ll cling to him like a koala and talk his ear off until he falls asleep smiling.

You barely speak around Tamsy at first. Soft voice, polite nods, hands fidgeting with your sleeves. You avoid eye contact like it might physically harm you.

Tamsy finds it…interesting but boring too.

Then one night, you’re alone in the main room together, chilling.

“…Okay,” you say, exhaling. “I’ve been holding that in for HOURS.”

And suddenly you’re right next to him, fingers gripping his sleeve.

“Do you ever feel like Enjin would survive a nuclear explosion but die slipping on a banana peel?”

Tamsy stares, but you keep going.

“And I saw Rudo practicing an intimidating stare in mirror but he was looking like a raccoon. Also—can you believe Corvus said—”

He starts laughing, quiet at first, then full, shoulders-shaking laughter.

From that day on, Tamsy notices the pattern—you cling to him when you think no one’s watching, sit closer than necessary, whisper jokes just for him.

He never calls attention to it—never teases you publicly.

Instead, he makes sure you’re always paired with him.

Because he likes being the only one who knows how loud you really are.

You make Zanka happy in public by doing absolutely nothing.

You’re shy, small, reserved—everything he doesn’t know how to handle, he keeps talking around you, filling silence with noise, because you never interrupt.

Until one day, you’re alone training together.

“You know,” you say casually, sitting way too close, “you fight like you’re mad at gravity.”

Zanka chokes. “WHAT?”

And then it’s over for him.

You’re glued to his side, tugging his sleeve, leaning on his shoulder, talking nonstop about the dumbest things—how rocks look like faces, how you think Enjin snores, how you definitely could beat August in a staring contest.

“You’re evil,” he groans, but he’s smiling.

In public, you revert—quiet, distant and polite.

Zanka becomes aggressively protective without realizing why—because he knows—only he gets this version of you.

And that makes him stupidly proud. (A dork)

Zodyl assumes you don’t like him at first.

You barely speak, you avoid him, you look terrified whenever he addresses you directly.

He’s used to that.

Then one day, you’re stuck together on a random duty.

“…Okay but hypothetically,” you say, leaning into his side, “if we had to rank everyone based on who would cry during a scary story—Jabber’s lying about not crying.”

Zodyl freezes, you keep going—closer, ofter, clingier.

He listens, patiently. Letting you ramble until your voice fades into smiles and hums.

“You’re…comfortable with me,” he says carefully.

You nod. “You don’t expect me to perform.”

From then on, Zodyl positions himself near you in public—a silent wall, a shield.

And when you’re alone, he lets you talk, lets you hold onto his arm.

Because trust, to him, is louder than words.

You’re painfully shy around Corvus. Head bowed. Voice barely audible. You look like you’re afraid he’ll vanish if you say the wrong thing.

He’s gentle with you because of it.

But one quiet evening—

You sit beside him and suddenly grab his sleeve.

“Okay but listen. LISTEN! What if birds gossip?”

Corvus smiles instantly.

You talk for hours, about nonsense, about thoughts you’d never say out loud, about how you hate silence unless it’s with him.

You cling without realizing it—head on his shoulder, fingers tangled in his coat.

Corvus never moves.

“You’re very expressive,” he murmurs fondly.

You blink. “Only with you.”

From then on, he never rushes you in public. Never forces conversation.

He knows the real you comes out when it’s safe.

And he’ll always be that place.(I love this man so much<3)

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[barelyalivesstuff]

Warmth—⁠☆

In which Zanka is pretty dirty minded.

Fluff, suggestive, f!reader and crack || Thank you for the request dear<33

Riyo hadn’t even meant to start it.

They were just sitting around, killing time, when she leaned over with that annoying little grin and asked, “So…why do you like Zanka that much?”

You froze.

Then you laughed.

Then—unfortunately—you answered.

“I mean—have you seen him?” you started, hands already moving as you talked. “He’s loud and stupid and acts like he’s all bite, but he’s actually really sharp when it counts. And he’s loyal. Like, ride-or-die loyal. He doesn’t hesitate when someone needs him, and that’s— that’s really cool, okay?”

Riyo blinked once. Twice. “…Wow...You’ve thought about this.”

“And another thing,” you barreled on, heat creeping into your cheeks, “he’s kind without being fake about it. He knows who he is. And his fighting style is insane, and the way he carries himself—ugh. It’s just—Zanka is cool.”

Neither of you noticed the shadow that had appeared by the doorway.

You kept going. “Oh! And his hands—they’re really good for—”

Suddenly, a warm hand clamped over your mouth.

“STOP,” Zanka hissed, face bright red, eyes wide like he’d just walked into danger. “You are NOT finishing that sentence.”

Riyo lost it immediately. “OH? ZANKA? DIRTY MIND, MUCH?”

You pried his hand off, mortified. “What is wrong with you?! I was gonna say they’re good for warmth during winter!”

There was a beat of silence.

“…Oh,” Zanka muttered, looking away. “...That’s not what I thought.”

“You’re disgusting,” you deadpanned.

“Tch. Says the one rambling about me for five straight minutes,” he shot back—but his ears were still red.

Riyo cackled. “So you heard everything?”

Zanka shrugged, trying (and failing) to look cool. “Enough.”

You crossed your arms. “And?”

“…You’re not wrong,” he said quietly.

Later that night, it was colder than usual.

You were sitting near the fire, half-focused, when Zanka dropped down beside you without warning. No words, no warning, jst—plop.

“…What,” you said.

He didn’t look at you. Instead, he casually reached over and took your hand, threading your fingers together like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“Winter,” he said simply.

You stared at him. “…You’re never letting this go, are you?”

“...You said my hands were good for warmth,” he replied, smugness dripping from his voice, despite burning red himself. “I’m just being useful.”

You tried to pull away, to tease him, he tightened his grip—gentle, steady, undeniably warm.

“…They are warm,” you admitted.

Zanka smirked, glancing at you sideways. “Yeah. I know.”

And for the rest of the night, he didn’t let go once.

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