denji uses your thighs like a good boy
inspired by this twitter video and here’s a bonus
masterlist
denji let out a shudder as you undid his belt and pulled everything down. his dick twitched eagerly, already fully hard for you, “s-shit..” he whined with his hips bucking, trying to feel friction—his hand gripped the sheets, looking at you with his golden eyes, filled with lust.
“please .. touch me ..” the words came out almost breathless, like a pleading whisper, with his hips still slightly bucking. just to tease him just a little bit, you dragged your finger up and down his length in playful motions—his dick throbbing under your touch making him throw his head back at the little sensations, pre-cum already forming at his tip. “a-ah—cmon .. c-cmon don’t be like that!” he whimpered, his fingers clutching the sheets even tighter than before, “so needy, ji ji.”
he couldn’t help but whine at your words, shaking his head ‘yes’, making his collar jingle, the jingle only making him more squirmy and aroused. a yelp filled your ears as you tugged his leash, making him hover over you, and putting both of your legs on his broad shoulder. his breath hitched as you pressed his dick between your thighs. the heat made his body shudder. his arms wrapped around your legs to anchor himself, fingers digging into the back of your thighs, definitely making bruises.
“shitshitshit!” rambling out words, hips jerking in the perfect, tight squeeze around him—the side of his head dropped against your calf, breathing ragged and uneven. every movement between you two made him twitch and leak even more, voice cracking into little whimpers.
you tug on this leash, giving him the go-ahead to start—denji sucked on his teeth at your firm command, his hips jerked forward in a rough, desperate thrust, the tight slick of your thighs made his vision blur. a broken ripped from his throat as he rutted against you, his rhythm already shaky and erratic. “f-fuck—! i’m s-sorry! ah!”
scrambling to get his words out as he continued to fucked your thighs, every drag of his dick against your skin sent sparks up his spine, his muscles tensing at the pleasure coiled tight in his gut.
“p-please—hngh—gonna .. gonna cum—!” he choked out a warning, hips stuttering the closer he got. a strangled whine came out as his collar tightened around him, “did i say so?” his muscles locked as he struggled not to move, still throbbing painfully in your thighs, aching and neglected. “n-ngh! f-fuck no you didn’t! i’m sorry b-baby.” pleading, he looked at you with pure desperation, his breath coming in ragged pants.
relieving pressure on his neck, you permitted him to keep going—his hips snapped forward, his dick eagerly sliding through with a slick, filthy sound. denji’s arms tighten around your legs, his rhythm rough. “t-thank you! ah—fuck! .. i love you s-so much!” he babbled between, his voice cracked with every movement, he looked at you again with those puppy eyes—looking for permission to cum.
shaking your head ‘no.’ he started to cry as the pleasure slowly started to turn into pain, as his dick ached to spill. slowing down in his thrusts, more deliberate, each drag of his length made his stomach clench tighter. barely thinking straight, hot tears dripped from his face to your legs, his mind hazed with desperation.
his tip became more red and bruised as the seconds ticked on, begging to leak. “i-i can’t anymore .. p-please baby.” he whimpered like a wet dog, looking at you with glossy eyes from unshed tears. shoving your fingers in his mouth to shut him up, his tongue wasting no time to lap and suck them—twitching pathetically. whining around your fingers, coating them in his spit, pulling back just to speak, he muffled something incoherent with glistening lips, “mmf—hah—”
his eyes fluttered shut as a nasty noise escaped him—sucking your fingers deeper as he fucked with rough, uneven strokes. nuzzling into your calf, he bit down into your skin as he felt his release boiling up in his stomach again. “n-ngh.. n-no n-no!"
denji’s movements escalated into frantic thrusts, the wet sounds from your thigh becoming louder—with a choked cry, his voice filled the room as he nuts, spraying all over your boobs and stomach. “am i a good puppy?”
denji loves your boobs. tits. whatever you wanna call it really. he cherishes them like they are his own balls.
he likes the weight of it, and the fluffy soft feeling. it's nice to feel and squish, fondle and hold, sleep on and bite. yeah he's into those yummy fluffy pillows.
"denji, baby, i really have to get ready for work." you whine when he sucks a sixth hickey into your skin, in between the valley of your boobs. he sure is taking his damn time.
"i jush.. luf.. your tifths.." he murmurs, mouth still suctioned on your skin and his eyes shimmers when he glances at you from under his lashes. oh he's so cute. he's so cute..!
you bring a hand to his head and pet his golden locks, his tongue licking the bruise he's made and smiles sweetly at you, eyes crinkling with satisfaction.
"denji-kun." you tease, grabbing the tufts of messy hair and gently tugged, "please let go baby, you can suck on my tits later okay?"
he whines and latches onto your waist like a clingy sloth to a tree, his face rubs into your tummy as he childishly whines, "don't wanna!! why'd ya have to go when i'm not done yet!" his large amber eyes are staring straight into you 'have some compassion!' it says.
"okay, hey, i swear that the moment i get home you can do whatever you want." your brows furrow when he makes a small noise of denial and you take his face between your palms,
"denji you are the sweetest boy ever, you know i can't skip work." you sigh when he nosed your clothed stomach in attempt to make you change your mind, it honestly kind of works.
"ya always leave me hangin’ " he releases you from his hold hesitantly but you take his cheek and gently kissed his forehead.
you held one of his hands and placed it over the swell of your chest, "last squeeze before i leave?" his greedy hands are on your boobs again and groped the tender flesh between his fingers.
"mmm.. niicee." his dazed smile are all teeth when he leans forward and plants his face in between your cleavage.
you pinch his ear with a roll of your eyes, "alright that's enough big guy." when you stood up to leave he made grabby hands at you.
..whatever, he'll just make due with your shirt over a pillow.
denji doesn't know what it means to feel real, genuine love. he thinks you're crazy hot, obviously, but he's initially confused or at the least suspicious of the affection you show him - it's like he's waiting for you to drop the ball and try to snag the chainsaw's heart.
when the sting never comes, when you never betray him, never make a grab for anything other than his hand, he relaxes. having denji's heart means having a constant shadow. he's clingy.
has zero experience and no idea what he's doing. everything he knows about relationships comes from the manga he reads - it leaves much to be desired. he wraps an arm around your shoulder too tight, suffocates you in his warmth when you hug, sleeps stuck to your side with no hope for escape.
denji is clumsy but sincere. his hands are sweaty when he holds yours, he'll bump your forehead instead of kissing you, mumble awkward comments like "you smell good." or "you're cute."
his kisses are sloppy. teeth bumping, hands wandering, he gets caught up in grinning and laughing and then laughs harder when you pull away and act annoyed.
loudly jealous. you can see it, hear it, from a mile away. talk to some other guy and he's all huffing and puffing and "why don't you just date him if he's such hot shit!" give him some time, he's working on it.
movie and video game nights are a must. except, he falls asleep during every movie and breaks the controller when he loses. you can't really complain, though, not when it means having him doze against your shoulder.
he thinks he's the shit, the best boyfriend ever. he'll drape his jacket over your shoulders when it rains, walking with his hands behind his head and saying, "yeah, i know, i'm a gentleman," with a nonchalant shrug (he's eyeing your reaction too carefully for someone so 'confident').
tries to play it cool when he gets flustered. he’ll tinge pink to his nose if you mess with his hair or lean into him and try to save face by saying things like, “come on .. you’re makin’ me feel all weird inside.”
he's broke, so dates are far from fancy. you two find a hole-in-the-wall ramen joint, take a walk down the neon streets of tokyo, or lay on the dewy grass in a park. he tries to pay for your meals, but you're faster (he didn't have the money, anyway).
makes you have sleepovers with him in aki's apartment (much to aki's dismay). drags you onto the futon with him and passes out the second he's got you in his arms, "you're the best thing i got," he mumbles in his sleep, curling around you.
trusts you to fight for yourself, but won't think twice if it looks like you need help. he'd swing in, snag you out of the way of a blow with carefully human arms despite his chainsaw head, "i gotcha." he mumbles, "still with me?"
sometimes he just stares at you with this big, dopey grin, all pointed teeth and shining eyes, like wow, i can't believe somebody likes me.
aki is not one to beat around the bush. he's long since been aware of his .. condition, his fate, it's only fair that you know, too.
he takes you to a rooftop, sits next to you with his loose hair blowing in the wind, "to tell you the truth," he says, "i don't have a lot of time left." he turns to face you then, eyes half lidded, expression simply, but so deeply, sad, "but, whatever i do have, i'd like to spend it with you."
it hangs over you two every day. every touch, every kiss, every shared night, there's the weight of what's unavoidable following you. it's heavy, but it's worth it.
if you ever argue, ever yell at him, he goes quiet, forcefully calming himself down before saying something like, "i don't want to fight with you," so gently it almost hurts.
protective in a 'i have to stop you before you can even start' way. he's always nagging with things like, "don't leave your socks on the floor," or, "don't touch that," or "drink some water." it's his way of saying he cares about you.
you start to adopt his morning routine. you two wake up together, do skincare, make coffee - he's memorized how you like it, then sit on the patio while he smokes a cigarette and you watch the sunrise. your little bubble of peace is precious to him (until it is inevitably broken by power and denji).
lowkey judges your skincare routine. "is that hand soap?" he asks the first time you slide in next to him to wash your face, "that's abysmal. you need to correct that." he buys you new products that same day.
malewife patient zero. he cooks the best meals, folds your laundry perfectly, and keeps the plants alive (plus denji and power!). he likes when you hug him from behind while he cooks, even if he acts like it's bothersome. think 1950's housewife but a man and also hot.
big routine guy over here. he lives for that sense of normalcy. every night, he reads in bed while you scroll on your phone. he'll casually adjust himself if you flop onto his chest, and shut off the lamp he was using to read the second you fall asleep.
gets twitchy if he hears you've been hurt. he insists on being the one to see you first, to patch up your wounds. "be more careful," he whispers, hand clutching yours tightly, "please. i can't lose anyone else."
aki will never stop worrying. but you're the one person who can make his shoulders relax, his voice soften. some nights, when you're half asleep, you catch him just looking at you. like you hung the moon. "i can't believe this is real." he murmurs lowly, brushing hair back from your face before laying beside you.
angel doesn't have a lot to live for. he wanted the quiet life. the country mouse. he said it himself, he'd rather die than keep working.
that was, until you came along. until you kept sitting beside him despite the danger, until you become someone he thinks about when he's looking for a reason to get up in the morning, until you became the one he looks for first when he enters a room.
he acts detached at first, "don't touch me," he'd warn, "you'll drain your lifespan." but then he becomes the one that lingers, the one that leans closer when he knows now more than ever that he shouldn't.
doesn't help with chores, or work, or anything, really, he just sits nearby, "you know, human," he says, head casually tilted to the side as he watches you with lazy curiosity, "you make living a lot less awful."
chronic napper. anywhere and everywhere. slumped against a wall, standing up, your lap, he'll take whatever perch he can find. you've become his preferred pillow.
if you fall asleep beside him, he stares at you, tracing your face with his eyes because he can't touch you. sometimes he hums, old hymns, soft lullabies, something to fill the silence and bring you sweet dreams.
touch is complicated. he wears gloves so he can hold your hand, but even then, he's cautious. you'd be lying if you said you weren't cautious, too. even though you want, more than anything, to caress his face, to feel his lips without a barrier between, each time, one of you pulls away. he can't do that to you. and you can't brave the consequences.
if you try, if you reach for him, he recoils, stepping back, "stop. it's not worth it." he says every time, though his eyes harbor such intense longing; it looks like tears will spill over any second.
never says 'i love you'. it's too much, too serious. if he admits it, he worries he'll lose you the next second, he'll get to close. you, instead, get a feather trapped in the pocket of your coat, a gloved hand closing over yours, his quiet voice when he says "you keep me tethered." but not 'i love you', never 'i love you'.
angel's wings get in the way of literally everything. it's like he doesn't have control over them. "oops." he mumbles when they flap against your side. "my bad," is all you get when they knock your work from the table.
talks about death like he's talking about the weather - calm, detached - it's never been anything but inevitable to him, a simple countdown. but, he turns to you mid-sentence, catches your expression, and falters, "ah, well," he shrugs, eyes moving skyward, "now that i have you, i'll at least die happy."
if you get hurt, it shakes him. he hovers nearby, never too close but not far, either. "don't touch me," he says, "but stay alive."
you kissed once. only for a second, maybe two. a fleeting, too short press of his lips to yours. he pulled away like he'd been burned, wings fluttering and twitching as he averts his head, "that can't ever happen again."
kishibe didn't mean to fall for you. he was never supposed to fall for anyone. but he kept showing up where you were anyway, cigarette in his mouth, smirk on his lips, pretending it's nothing but coincidence.
never officially calls himself you're boyfriend or says you're 'dating'. "we're just .. spending time together." he says, but his hand brushes the small of your back and his lips press against your temple that same day.
dates are far from normal. he takes you devil hunting with him, teaches you to throw a knife or shoot a gun. you ask if it counts as a date and he shrugs, "why not? you're here, i'm here. what else do ya want, huh?"
used to only refer to you by your name, but one night, while drunk, he calls you 'sweetheart' and you never hear your name from his lips ever again.
old fashioned in the way that he offers you an arm while you walk down the streets, compliments you - "wow, look at you, sweetheart" - when he sees you, holds the door for you. he'll wave you off dismissively if you try to thank him for anything.
he says 'i love you' in the most unceremonious way possible. like, a slip of the tongue after he says goodnight followed by a "don't make me repeat myself," before he promptly walks off with a heart that's beating just a little bit too fast.
sometimes he's a little too reckless. he'll come home bloody, still half-grinning, "you should see the other guy," he winces as he speaks, collapsing against the couch. if you patch him up, he watches you, something unreadable in his eyes, "you've got good bedside manner, doc," he chuckles roughly and takes a long swig from his canister.
kishibe is used to violence. you bring a warmth he thought was long off the table for him. he grumbles when you kiss his scars or clean his wounds, but he secretly loves it.
won't let you drink from his flask or smoke one of his cigarettes, he nudges you aside with ease, holding the canister above your head where you're hopeless to reach for it, "nope," he smirks, playfully stern, "don't need you gettin' hooked on this shit, too."
the kids - being power and denji - treat you like you're their parents. they tease kishibe about you til he's angry enough to hit them across the head and send them both running, "damn kids," he'll grunt, adjusting his coat, "thought i taught 'em when to quit."
dreams about settling down with you. marrying you, starting a family. he'd never thought himself a father before meeting you, but he'd be lying if he said he wasn't considering it now.
he doesn't really get your apparent infatuation with him. on late nights, he'll lean against the balcony railing, turning to you with a thoughtful expression, "you really want to waste your time with an old man like me?" he asks. assure him that you do, and he's laughing - a gruff, breathy sound - "well," he says, "you better not kick the bucket before i do. deal?"
boyfriend!Denji who has ZERO romantic experience with women, and so when he starts dating you, he believes all there is to a relationship is kissing, sex, kissing and more sex...
boyfriend!Denji who can't keep his hand or eyes off of you. whether that be holding your hand as he skips past civilians on the road, as you try to keep up with him, holding you so tight at night you think he's forgotten you need oxygen. and the way he's constantly stating at you as if you hung the moon itself.
boyfriend!Denji who gets so flustered when you kiss him out of nowhere, he forgets how to breathe. his eyes genuinely go wide, his brain buffering like a lagging video. but only seconds he’s chasing your lips again like a starved puppy who finally found food.
boyfriend!Denji who acts tough around everyone else- power, hayakawa, even makima, but the second he catches you looking at him from across the room, he practically melts. and when you cup his face when you kiss him, his head tilts into your palm like he’s never been touched gently before (because honestly, he hasn't. not like this).
boyfriend!Denji who brags about being your boyfriend to anyone who’ll listen—then gets shy when you overhear him. “I wasn’t bragging or anything... i just want people should know I got someone cool, y’know?”
boyfriend!Denji who doesn’t understand the difference between romantic and domestic, so now he’s walking around your apartment shirtless, taking hour long baths in your bathtub, eating sttange concoctions he's made he swears taste great on your couch like he lives there. You’d tell him to leave, but he grins stupidly and offers you a bite. (you agree, and try to hide the slight shock on your face when you realise its not the WORST thing you've ever tasted...)
boyfriend!Denji who doesn’t say “I love you” often, because the words feel too big, but when you catch him watching his side of the bed when he thinks you're asleep, with that goofy smile, you know he means it anyway.
boyfriend!Denji who never knew what real love was like, but when he met you he knew instantly you were the one, his person, his everything
taglist: @geumtsuri
guys the pictures kept moving order when I would save the post so I couldn't put them sorry 😓😓
“Is it cramps?” Denji murmurs, getting into your bedroll, gently nuzzling his face against yours. “Yeah…” You mumble back, feeling the usual symptoms that come with having a period.
Denji’s hand slides down your body, making you peer at him from the corner of your eye, ready to shy away, not wanting to make a mess of his fingers, or worse, the bedroll. To your surprise his hand stops under your navel, pushing down and rubbing your lower stomach.
“What’re you doing…” You blink a few times from confusion. “Hm? I’m massaging you, that helps with cramps doesn’t it?” Denji’s face expresses his inner want to do good, to make you feel better, but he doesn’t have a uterus. He knows that when he gets a cramp in his calf from working out, nothing feels better than when you massage it away.
“It’s not really the same Denji.” You smile, endeared by his sweetness. You place your hand over his, stilling his firm motions. “Just lay your hand flat, the warmth helps more.”
“Oh.” Denji hums, laying his hand flat, resting his head on your pillow, curling himself around you. You lazily wrap an arm around him, he nibbles your skin with his pointy teeth. “I can smell it…” He breathes in deeply, making you furl your nose, trying to push him away. “Ew! Stop! Denji!” He fights against your hands, pinning you down to snuggle.
“It’s not bad, don’t be shy—i’ve smelled worse.”
You don’t doubt him, knowing all the nitty gritty of his shitty childhood. “Still…thats so gross, i don’t want to know that you know.”
“Fine. Jeez.” Denji giggles, nosing your neck, giving you little kisses all over. “Hey…what did you think I was gonna do earlier?” He leans up, squinting at your now sheepish face.
“Nothing!”
dividers by @cursed-carmine
a/n: filler before i begin working on requests ^_^
a/n: change of pace from my usual arcane fics, i was thinking about some anime boys and well…yeah
been a while since i’ve watched some of these animes so i’m hoping my picks aren’t too ooc than they already are >.>
enjoy ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡
cw: dubcon, noncon, nsfw - mdni 18+
his call comes late at night, rousing you from sleep when you hear your ringtone going off.
“o-oh, hey? what’s up?”
your voice drips like honey, so sweet and slightly rough from being woken up and he just knows you’re rubbing sleep from your watery eyes, none the wiser to what he’s doing on the other end of the line.
he tells you he’s feeling…ah, under the weather and he just needed a friend to talk to but don’t worry if you’re tired! he would absolutely hate to disturb you and he’s already lost too many friends from talking about his feelings.
needless to say, he’s got you hook, line and sinker. he won’t even be doing much of the talking.
easy prey.
his hand palms over his rock hard dick, it’s been that way since the mere idea of this popped into his head, as he listens to you chatter away about something he couldn’t care less about; he isn’t even trying to hide his breathless panting and the non-stop wetness of his dick, sloppy with precum, thrusting into his tight fist. the tip throbs an angry red as he holds back his release again and again and again just so he can continue getting off to your cute voice.
at some points, you ask him if he can hear some noises too and for a moment his heart stops and he wonders if you’ve caught him red handed.
but then he remembers that it’s just you, coddled and blissfully unaware of the sin that surrounds every aspect of life, so all he has to say is that his tv is on in the background and you’re back to talking again. perfect.
his blood is pumping red hot as his strokes grow uncoordinated and even more furious than they were before and he finds himself fighting the urge to ask you what you’re wearing. no that’s too much, too soon, so he instead chooses to bite down on his lip until the taste of iron fills his mouth. a small price to pay.
“helloooooo still there?” you call out after ten minutes of him being seemingly unresponsive, assuming he’s finally managed to fall asleep. you don’t bother to end the call, after all you know how comforting it is to sleep with your friend still on the phone after a bad day.
he imagines shoving his dick into your wet mouth mid-sentence, cock growing impossibly harder at the mental sight of your surprised face, you gagging because you’re unaccustomed to a dick his size - scratch that, any dick and all the debauched things he would teach you.
eventually he hears your gentle snores, of course you fell asleep before the main event, throwing his head back and grunting way louder than he did before knowing you definitely won’t be waking up. his chest heaves and legs shake from the orgasm that overwhelms him and he almost ends the call from the guilt rising inside of him - almost. but then he catches sight of his thick cum splattered right where your contact photo was and his cock twitches as if he didn’t just come seconds ago.
good thing you didn’t end the call; he decides he can have a little more fun with (or without) you - he still feels a bit under the weather, of course.
denji was and has always been a guy who considered personal space to be an optional thing, most specifically yours.
never having had anyone stay, aside from pochita, he grew to cling to the warmth of others. even if it meant sticking to people like the gum under their shoes. and when you came by, he didn’t hesitate on sticking to you too.
whether that’s clinging to your side during missions (much to aki’s dismay), always reaching for your touch, or even insisting on tagging along to you and your friends’ girls day out! just like he is now . .
“but— c’moooon babe! i-i can carry your guy’s bags or something. yknow, make myself useful!” he whines, holding onto your arm as you shuffle your way around the room in search of your things. “you won’t even know I’m there! hell, i’ll even pay for you guys!”
you couldn’t help but stop and silently turn your head to look at him, offering a soft look of confusion. you both stare at each other, blinking before denji starts to speak. “… ok maybe not that but— c’mon!” he pleads, crocodile tears starting to form on the lining of his lashes.
as if some god had heard denji’s tantrum and pleas, you hear the ‘ping!’ from your phone, signaling a new message.
“the dog can come if he stays quiet and lets you finally come down.”
you couldn’t help but let out a small smile, airy laugh beginning to fill the room. you grab your things and make your way to the door, turning to look at denji. “you comin?”
content: busty!reader, pervy!denji, lazy intimacy, breast fixation, oral fixation(receiving), dirty talk, dry humping, pure smut.
It starts with your phone in your hand and Denji between your tits. Again.
You didn’t even call him over—he just gravitated toward you like a heat-seeking puppy. One second you were scrolling through your feed, and the next his head was on your chest, arms wrapped loosely around your waist, face buried right between the soft weight of your breasts.
Not touching you to start anything.
Just… there.
Melting into you.
Groaning low like he was sinking into the best sleep of his life.
“Fuck, you’re warm… ‘m never movin’ again.”
He says that every time. And yet, somehow, every time, he gets a little bolder.
At first, he just nuzzles—lazy, puppy-like, breathing slow. Then he licks. Small, absentminded flicks of his tongue along your skin, your cleavage, the curve of your breast where it spills out of your tank top. You ignore him, barely reacting.
You’ve learned not to engage too fast.
Denji’s like a wild animal when it comes to your chest: if you act like it’s normal, he stays soft. If you respond? He turns rabid.
“You okay down there?” you murmur, thumb scrolling TikTok.
“Mmmh,” he mumbles, lips dragging across your cleavage.
“Better than okay. You smell so good… fuck…”
It escalates slowly. His hand slips under your top, warm fingers sliding up to cup one of your tits like he’s done it a thousand times—and he has. You sigh, arching just slightly when his thumb brushes your nipple.
He doesn’t stop scrolling your skin with his mouth.
Denji kisses lazily at the swell of your breasts, open-mouthed, messy. His tongue drags between them, then over the soft underside. He moans like he’s tasting something, not just skin.
“Tastes like heaven,” he mutters against you.
“Feels like I’m suckin’ on god’s tits or somethin’.”
You snort, but don’t push him off. He’s hard—you can feel it against your thigh—but he hasn’t even tried to take off your shirt. He’s just content to lay there and worship you.
His mouth finds your nipple and wraps around it with a slow, languid suck.
“Mmmnn…”
He doesn’t stop. Not for minutes. Maybe hours.
Every now and then you feel him hump gently against the bed or your leg, desperate and subtle, like he’s trying to get himself off just from sucking your tits.
…
“You wanna fuck?” you ask eventually, voice low, teasing.
He shakes his head against your chest.
“Not yet. Wanna stay here a little longer. ‘Til my jaw gives out.”
“You’ve been at it forever, babe.”
“Still not done.”
His voice is whiny, almost sleepy. His tongue swirls your nipple again, slower now, worshipful.
“Could die like this. Between these huge fuckin’ tits. You’d bury me with a boner.”
You laugh, carding your fingers through his messy hair. He hums at the touch, rutting harder now, but still refuses to move.
“You’re obsessed,” you murmur.
“Yeah,” he groans, mouth open on your skin, spit slick and hot.
