#kny fandom

[barelyalivesstuff]

Shy Sanemi—⁠☆

Summary: Sanemi's too shy to fuck another child in you.

Warnings: NSFW content, MDI, f!reader, kinda oblivious reader, mention of pregnancy, raw intercourse and SHY SANEMI.

Characters: Sanemi Shinazugawa.

A/N: Yes! back to back! >:D. Forgive me for naming the child that I couldn't help myself.

It's been a few months since your little girl arrived—tiny, white-haired like her dad, with his fierce eyes but your gentle smile. Sanemi's been the most attentive father imaginable—up at every cry, rocking her to sleep with surprising tenderness, those scarred hands so careful it's heartbreaking.

But around you? He's a wreck.

You're in the kitchen of your quiet estate, humming softly as you prepare ohagi (his favorite, because you know him too well). Your body's changed since the birth—curves softer, fuller in all the ways that drive him insane—and you're completely oblivious to how you look in that simple yukata, hair loose, moving with that effortless grace.

Sanemi leans in the doorway, arms crossed, trying to act casual. But his eyes are glued to you, face heating up under those scars. Every time you bend to grab something or stretch, his breath catches. He wants you again—badly. Wants to pin you down, fill you up, give you another baby. The thought alone has him shifting uncomfortably, cheeks burning.

You turn, smiling brightly. "Dear? You okay? You've been staring for a while."

He jolts, averting his eyes fast—actually blushing like some inexperienced kid. "Tch, 'm fine," he mutters, voice gruffer than usual as he rubs the back of his neck. But he can't stay away. He steps closer, hesitant, like approaching a wild animal.

His hands—those big, rough hands—hover before finally settling on your waist from behind, pulling you gently against him. You lean back instinctively, still clueless to the hard evidence of his desire pressing against you.

"Missed holdin' you like this," he mumbles into your hair, voice low and shaky. His fingers trace your sides, dipping lower, thumbs brushing the curve where your hips meet your thighs. He's trying so hard to be gentle, but you feel him tremble.

You giggle, turning in his arms. "You're extra cuddly lately. Is it because Akira's finally sleeping through the night?"

He groans softly, forehead dropping to yours, eyes squeezed shut. "Somethin' like that." God, you have no idea. No idea how seeing you with their daughter—nursing her, cradling her—awakens something primal in him. How he lies awake at night imagining you round with his child again, imagining making you that way.

His hands slide up your back, then down again, bolder now—cupping your ass lightly, pulling you flush against him so you have to feel how affected he is. But when you blink up at him innocently, tilting your head, he freezes.

"...You drive me fuckin' crazy, y'know that?" he whispers hoarsely, face redder than ever. He steals a quick, desperate kiss—deeper than intended—before pulling back, breathing hard. "Want...want another one. With you."

You finally catch on, eyes widening. "Another...baby?"

He can't even look at you now, hiding his face in your neck, arms tightening like you'll run. "Yeah. If...if you want. Just—fuck, seein' you like this...can't think straight."

But before you can answer, he scoops you up effortlessly, carrying you toward the bedroom with determined (but still shy) strides. "Akira's napping. We got time."

And this time, when he has you beneath him—slow, reverent, but hungry—he doesn't hold back his whispers, how perfect you'd look carrying his child again, how he'll take care of you, how much he needs this. Needs you.

He lays you down on the futon like you're made of glass, even though his hands are shaking with barely restrained need. The room is quiet except for both of your breathing—his ragged, yours quickening as you finally realize just how worked up he is.

Sanemi hovers over you, white hair falling into his scarred face, cheeks still dusted pink. He can't meet your eyes at first, busying himself with untying your yukata, fingers fumbling more than usual. "Fuck... you're so damn beautiful," he mutters under his breath, voice cracking a little. "Especially now. After her. Carryin' my kid...changed you in ways that—shit, I can't stop thinkin' about it."

When the fabric falls open, exposing you fully, he groans low in his throat, hands immediately roaming—palms cupping your fuller breasts with reverence, thumbs brushing over sensitive peaks until you whimper. He's gentle at first, almost worshipful, lips following his hands—kissing down your neck, your collarbone, lingering on the faint stretch marks that appeared during pregnancy like they're something sacred.

"You have no clue," he whispers hoarsely, settling between your thighs, spreading them wide with scarred hands that tremble. "Seein' you feed her, hold her...makes me wanna put another one in you so bad it hurts."

His mouth descends without warning—hot, desperate licks and sucks that have you arching off the bed. He's not teasing; he's devouring, like he needs your taste to ground himself. When you tangle fingers in his hair and moan his name, he shudders, pulling back just enough to look up at you with those intense eyes, face flushed deeper than you've ever seen.

"Don't say my name like that unless you want me losin' control," he warns, voice wrecked—but he crawls back up anyway, shedding his own clothes in hurried, clumsy motions.

He's already throbbing hard when he presses against you, sliding in slow despite how wet you are for him. The stretch makes you both gasp—he buries his face in your neck, muffling a curse as he bottoms out.

"Fuck! fells...too good," he pants, starting a deep, deliberate rhythm. Every thrust is measured but powerful, hips rolling in a way that hits just right. His hand slides to your lower belly, pressing lightly. "Wanna see you swollen again. With my baby. Wanna watch you grow 'em...take care of you through it all."

The words spill out now that he's inside you—filthy, vulnerable confessions between kisses. "Gonna fill you up...make sure it takes this time. Want a whole damn family with you. And you want it, right? My love?"

“Y-Yes Dear-ah!” you moaned.

He's blushing furiously the whole time, especially when you clench around him at his words, teasing him about how cute he is when he's shy. That earns you harder thrusts, his hand gripping your thigh to hike your leg higher, pace turning relentless until you're both falling apart—he spills deep with a guttural groan, hips stuttering as he pushes as far as he can go, like he really means to breed you right then and there.

Afterward, he doesn't pull out immediately. Just collapses half on top of you, face hidden against your chest, arms wrapped tight like he's afraid you'll vanish. "...Love you," he mumbles, so quiet you almost miss it. "And her. And...whatever comes next."

You stroke his hair, feeling him relax bit by bit. But even spent, his hand drifts back to your stomach, tracing lazy circles—a silent promise of more to come.

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!

[kickingcat]

doodles :p

maybe i'll redraw my old kny sketches :3 small hakuji x koyuki cuz they deserve the world<3

[kkuron]

Genya!!

I still can’t figure out how I want to draw him PFFT.

[keznated]

😈👿

[muichirodoroid]

post war offbrand kamaboko squad (senjuro, genya, muichiro *kanao not pictured) i feel like muichiro would be tall as hell when he’s older bc of yoriichi and michikatsu

[light-between-lines]

Rengoku Kyojuro headcanons *ੈ✩‧₊˚ (1st time trying this out lol, not sure what it is entirely but here goes!)

• Rengoku isn’t the type of guy who’d have a girlfriend. He’s intentional, knows what he wants, and it’s not “dating.” He’s a real (fictional) man, so his immediate approach would be courtship to marriage because he’s gentlemanly, and old fashioned like that.

• And being a virtuous dude, he’s going to do things properly, like his mama taught him — being clear about his feelings and approaching it in a respectable manner.

• He won’t hold back on compliments, praise, or poetry. He’s loud, proud, and unashamed.

“You make me burn within!”

“You are radiant!”

“You are blessed among women!”

• You will know that he likes you (everyone will know because he won’t keep quiet about his beloved). He’s loud and honest about it.

• Very protective over you. He makes you feel safe and cared for — he desires to be the best man for you.

• Has an optimistic and positive outlook on life.

• The type who smiles through tears, has an armor of joy even in the face of death — his spirit is resilient!

• He’s a just guy who loves doing the right thing.

• He loves sacrificially. Patient. Kind. (Very 1 Corinthians 13.)

• He adores your cooking — and food in general. He'll make you try what he's eating, and share. Always exclaims how good it is.

“Umai! My love, this is delicious!”

• He has trouble allowing you to care for him. It’s new to him — being a demon slayer and all, it’s hard to let go of control or be pampered (tended to when all’s he's ever done was serve) when you have a job/life/time period like his.

• He has scars on his body (and mind) and allows himself to be vulnerable with you—over time, there's definitely a process of establishing trust. It can look like letting you help him bandage (and wrapped up) his wounds or taking courage in sharing his past or hidden thoughts with you.

• This man would definitely use pet names 🥺

“Beloved.”

“Dear one.”

“My love.”

“Bone of my bone,” that's what Adam called Eve, cause she was made from him (his rib) to him—his other half. (Genesis 2:23) Just throwing it in here cause, ugh, he's saying, “Mine.”

• Has a good sense of humor and loves a good laugh and jokes — not crass jokes, just silly and lighthearted things.

• Animals would surely love him, am I right? I'd definitely be drawn to him cause what? I'm sure moths love him tho cause he's a walking flame.

• Lets you braid his hair before bed or when snuggling.

• Cherishes cuddles. Holding you is a precious gift because of the amount of people he’s lost and seen die in his line of work — he appreciates life all the more, especially the moments he shares with you.

• Loves your touch. Whether you caress his cheek or give him forehead kisses, he welcomes it with gleaming golden eyes. He engraves it in his mind.

• Believes in God. Faith has given him the strength to push past his limits and has given him strength to keep going — to keep smiling.

• Favorite book in the Bible: Job. He admires Job’s perseverance in affliction.

• Loves reciting Song of Songs to you: “You are altogether beautiful; there is no flaw in you!”

• Prays before a battle — small, simple, not always verbal: “Lord, give me strength. Help me. Guide me. Give me victory.”

• He’d pray for you too when he’s out on missions:

“God, give her peace. Protect her. Comfort her. I pray she won’t feel lonely. Make Your love known to her. May she feel appreciated and seen by You.”

A man of good character and virtue.

And that’s why he’s not real — jk guys lol! 🤭

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ Idk if I did this right! It's random but feels in character to me. There's so much one could add heeee. Feel free to share your own version/thoughts! 🙆🏻‍♀️🤔😌

Side note: He's pretty like the sun. Like fire he burns bright. Alluring like a flame, he burns to the touch. Sunlight would envy his smile. He's a sight to behold when he draws his sword—even more so when he bares his heart.

Not me writing poetry 😭 send help—

[chaszpy]

rengoku !! he's so cute:((

hope you guys like it:3

[cuddlycutiepie]

Muzan Kibutsuji x Reader

⚠️ Suggestive content, Blood, slight angst (I think) ⚠️

‿̩͙⊱༒︎༻♱༺༒︎⊰‿̩͙ ‿̩͙⊱༒︎༻♱༺༒︎⊰‿̩͙ ‿̩͙⊱༒︎

You should have been nothing.

Another human wandering through the night, another fragile soul waiting to be crushed underfoot. Muzan had stepped over thousands like you without a second thought. He told himself that was all you were: a pawn, a name to remember only long enough to use.

But when his gaze fell on you in the lamplight of the market, something shifted.

You were ordinary, and yet not. Through you, Muzan saw an opening—a tenuous connection to Tanjiro Kamado and that cursed sister of his. A thread to pull, a pawn to sacrifice. He should have moved on. He should have used you and discarded you like all the rest.

And yet, he lingered.

Your smile—unafraid and unflinching—stayed with him long after he turned away. You looked at him not with the terror that most mortals instinctively bore, but with curiosity. It disgusted him that he noticed. It disgusted him more that he cared.

For days he haunted your steps, weaving himself into your routine like silk binding around flesh. At first it was calculated—approaching you on quiet streets, offering his hand when you stumbled, speaking with that velvet voice he wore like a mask. You thought he was kind, perhaps enigmatic.

He thought you were useful.

That was the lie he repeated whenever his eyes lingered too long on the curve of your throat, on the way your pulse fluttered beneath his gaze. That was the excuse he gave himself when he found reasons to remain in your company.

It is strategy, he told himself. Not weakness.

And yet weakness was exactly what it felt like when he caught himself thinking of you even in the company of his demons.

One night when the air itself seemed to conspire against him, you stood before him in your small room, shadows spilling across the floorboards. He had followed you inside without asking, as though he had every right, and you—foolish, trusting—had not pushed him away.

“Do you understand what I am?” he asked softly, his hand ghosting along your jaw. His thumb pressed lightly where your pulse leapt.

“I don’t think you’re as monstrous as you want me to believe,” you whispered.

That was what broke him.

He hated the words. He hated that you looked at him and did not see the terror he wanted you to. He hated that instead of killing you where you stood, he closed the distance and crushed his mouth against yours.

The kiss was fierce, almost punishing. He moved like a man starved, every motion claiming rather than offering. His hands gripped too tightly, pulling you against him as though he might vanish if he let go. Heat spiraled between you, your breath catching as he pressed you back, lips devouring, teeth grazing skin.

Every sound you made tore at him—half pleasure, half agony. Each gasp was a victory he should not have wanted, each touch a sin he despised himself for committing. The great Kibutsuji Muzan, undone by a human girl. It was intolerable. It was intoxicating.

He told himself he was conquering you. That every kiss, every shuddering breath, was proof of his dominion. But in truth, it felt like drowning.

When it ended, he sat back, staring down at you with crimson eyes. His chest heaved, his hands trembled—though he hid it quickly behind a sneer.

“You disgust me,” he murmured. But the venom in his tone was not for you. It was for himself.

And yet, the next night, he came again.

And the night after that.

Each time he swore it would be the last. Each time he told himself it meant nothing, that you were still just a pawn. And each time, he gave in to the same weakness, pressing you beneath him, consuming you with a hunger that shamed him as much as it thrilled him.

By the fifth night, he could no longer bear it.

Your humanity gnawed at him—fragile, fleeting, offensive to everything he was. The thought of losing you to age, to weakness, to the smallest wound was unbearable. The contradiction of his desire and his loathing tore at him until he could not endure another moment of your mortal imperfection.

On the fifth night, your body had softened against his in the aftermath of his intimacy. Muzan leaned over you, his eyes glowed in the dark, sharp and merciless. “You will not remain human,” he said finally, voice sharp with decision. “I will not allow it.”

Your lips parted in confusion, but before you could speak, his claw nicked your skin. His blood—thick, potent, venomous—flooded into your veins.

The scream that ripped from your throat was unlike any other sound you had ever made. Your body writhed, convulsed, every nerve set aflame. Muzan held you down, watching with rapt fascination as your humanity shattered.

And then—silence.

Your eyes snapped open, crimson and unearthly. The transformation was instantaneous, perfect. You had taken his blood without hesitation, without faltering. A feat few could manage.

Muzan froze. His disgust crumbled into awe. His lips parted into the faintest smile.

“You are… magnificent,” he breathed

But the price was steep.

Your memories were gone, erased by the flood of his blood. You looked at him with emptiness where recognition had once been. Muzan told himself it was better this way. A blank slate. Easier to shape. Easier to control.

And yet, as nights passed, something stirred in you. Subtle at first—a glance that lingered too long, a small laugh at words he hadn’t meant to be humorous. You tilted your head when he spoke, eyes narrowing as though you were trying to read him, trying to understand him.

Obedience shifted into something warmer. Something dangerous.

Muzan, who had loathed himself for ever desiring you, now found himself savoring every sign that your loyalty was not born of fear but of choice. The more you clung to him, the more his disgust twisted into reverence. He had made you, shaped you, elevated you above the fragile weakness of humanity. You were his creation, his equal, the only one worthy to stand at his side.

And he, the eternal king, found himself nearly bowing to you in his thoughts.

One night, as you stood before him with crimson eyes burning as brightly as his own, you spoke words that solidified his obsession.

“I am yours. I will destroy them all for you. Tanjiro Kamado. Nezuko. The slayers. Even the sun itself.”

Something inside Muzan—something he would never admit—quaked. He reached for you, his fingers brushing your jaw, softer than they had ever been.

“Together,” he whispered, almost worshipful, “we will end this world of vermin. Together, we will reign in the light they once denied us.”

And when you smiled at him, not with emptiness but with conviction, Muzan realized the truth he had once despised:

He was no longer disgusted.

He was enthralled.

You were no longer his pawn.

You were his queen.

And though the shadows of Tanjiro and Yoriichi still haunted him—reminders of the fear he tried so desperately to bury—Muzan now believed he could overcome even that. Not because of his own power, but because with you beside him, he no longer felt alone in his eternity.

In you, he saw not weakness, but salvation twisted into darkness.

And so, for the first time in a thousand years, Muzan smiled not with arrogance, but with something dangerously close to devotion.