contains consensual rough sex, psycho energy with obsessive undertones, dirty talk, semi-public, praise/degradation mix, light fearplay, mild blood, overstimulation, face touching, possessive behavior, sensual dominance, fucked-up tenderness
He’s been watching you.
Not in the way a predator watches prey. No.
Ryu Ishigori watches you the way a gourmand studies a seven-course meal: slow, savoring, curious.
His tongue glides across the inside of his cheek as he tracks your movements through the crumbling Sendai ruins, and when you finally face him, blood on your blade and a smirk tugging your lip, he smiles like a man who’s just read a perfect wine pairing.
“Well,” he says, brushing ash off his fur-lined sleeve. “Aren’t you just the most beautiful thing in this wasteland.”
You raise your blade. “You flirting or stalling?”
He laughs before tucking his hands into his coat and tilting his head like a polite aristocrat. “Why not both? Though if it’s worth anything, I’d rather take my time with you.”
Your cursed energy flares. So does his smile.
The fight is explosive but controlled. He doesn’t try to kill you. Not really. He tests your strength like a lover teasing your boundaries, slipping in close just to whisper compliments mid-duel.
“You parry like a dancer,” he purrs, dodging a slash. “Did you train under someone? Or are you just that talented?”
You grit your teeth. “Stop fucking talking.”
“Now, now. That’s no way to treat a man who’s enjoying himself.”
Eventually, he traps you. Not with brute force but precision. Your back hits concrete. His palm presses lightly—just lightly—to your throat. He leans in. His breath smells like smoke and something faintly sweet. “You’re not scared,” he murmurs.
“No.”
“You should be,” he says, and then, softly, so gently it makes your stomach twist, he brushes your hair behind your ear. “But I like that you’re not.”
You stare at him. His eyes are blown wide with obsession, and yet his touch is tender.
“I want to taste you,” he says, voice rich and calm, like he’s inviting you to dinner. “Not just your body. Your limit. Your spirit. The moment you crack under me—I want that.”
You blink. “You always talk this much before sex?”
He huffs a breathy laugh. “Only when I’m starving.”
You should say no. But when he leans in and kisses you slow and reverent, his thumb caressing your jaw, you let him.
He undresses you like he’s unwrapping something rare. Not rushed. Not rough. He watches every reaction, every inhale, every twitch, and smiles when you gasp as his fingers stroke between your legs.
“You’re already this wet,” he says, soft and delighted. “God, you’re perfect. May I?”
“…Yes,” you whisper.
He sighs, relieved. “Thank you.”
Then he devours you.
But even then, he’s careful. Skilled. He holds your hips firmly but doesn’t bruise until you ask. And when you tug his hair, grind into his face, and moan his name like it’s a spell, he pulls away just to look at you.
“You’re the best thing I’ve ever tasted,” he says hoarsely. “I think you might be the only thing I’ll ever want again.”
He fucks you hard, yes—but also slow at first, deliberate. He whispers praise against your skin even as he slams into you harder, even as his teeth sink into your shoulder.
“Taking me so well. That brain of yours, so sharp and now look at you. Fucked dumb.”
You whimper. He grabs your face, thumb pressing into your cheek. “Still with me?”
“…Yes,” you breathe.
He kisses your temple. “Good girl.”
And then he ruins you.
By the time he’s done, your body is trembling, dripping, overstimulated and marked in places no one will see but him.
He holds you for a long time after. Presses his palm to your chest and listens to your heartbeat. “…Thank you,” he murmurs again. “You’ve given me something I didn’t think existed anymore.”
You barely speak, dazed. He pulls your clothes back on with eerie care. Straightens your collar. Kisses your knuckles. Then, with that same terrifying smile: “I’ll see you again, sweetheart. Don’t go dying on me. I’m not done with you.”
Your next mission was simple, track a C-grade curse nest, handle it alone, report back. You’d cleared the job quickly, efficiently. But something in your gut itched. A pressure.
Like you were being watched.
And then, like smoke curling at the edge of your vision—you feel it. That cursed energy. That slow, molten pulse. Familiar now. Like a matchstick struck against your skin.
You don’t bother turning around.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” you mutter, wiping blood off your blade.
Footsteps crunch slowly over gravel.
“I’m not?” The voice is calm. Smooth as lacquered wood. “How rude of me. I didn’t know this forest was yours.”
You exhale through your nose. “Ishigori.”
“Still using my full name?” he chuckles, finally stepping into your periphery. “After how close we got?”
You glance at him.
He’s dressed cleaner than any man has a right to be in cursed territory—charcoal pants, a pressed shirt under an open coat, as if he just walked out of a high-end restaurant. He’s even wearing gloves.
“You’re not my target,” you mutter.
“Nor are you mine.” He spreads his arms slightly, grinning. “A rare moment of peace, don’t you think?”
You don’t move. You don’t lower your weapon.
He steps closer. “I heard you were in the area. Took a detour.”
You raise a brow. “Heard from who?”
He doesn’t answer.
Instead, he stops right in front of you, eyes raking over your frame—subtle, hungry, but restrained. You can feel the tension he’s holding under that gentleman mask. The need to touch. To taste. To own.
But he doesn’t. Not yet.
“You look well,” he murmurs. “Still strong. Sharp-eyed.” His gaze flicks to your throat. “No new marks.”
You bristle. “You expecting someone else to leave them?”
He smiles wider. “I was hoping you’d let me do it again.” Silence stretches. Then, softly, almost conspiratorially—he steps even closer and says: “Do you think about it?”
Your pulse spikes. His gloved fingers skim along your wrist. Barely a touch. “That night,” he murmurs. “Your body. My hands. The way you trembled.”
You tighten your jaw. “You’re not here to fight. Don’t push your luck.”
His eyes flash. “No fighting. Just indulging.”
He moves behind you, slow and controlled, like a chef circling a rare cut of meat. His breath kisses your ear as he leans down.
“You remember what I said, don’t you?” he whispers. “You’re not a habit. You’re the main course.”
You step forward quickly, putting distance between you, trying to catch your breath.
He doesn’t chase. He just watches. Calm. Collected. Starving.
“I won’t touch you,” he says. “Not unless you ask.”
“…Why are you really here?”
He shrugs, brushing imaginary lint off his coat. “Because you made me feel something. I’ve killed a hundred sorcerers, but I only remember you.”
Your throat tightens. “You’re insane.”
“I’m honest,” he says, voice smooth. “You’re just not used to being wanted like this.”
You hate how true that feels. You hate that your fingers twitch with memory—the silk sheets, his mouth, the bruises he kissed afterward.
Ryu steps closer again. “Let me make you dinner.”
You blink. “What?”
He grins. “No games. No missions. Just us. Food. Wine. Conversation. I want to see what you’re like when you’re not bleeding.”
“And if I say no?“
He pauses. Then in a tone so sincere it stabs through your armor, he says: “Then I’ll leave. I won’t follow. Not tonight.”
You study him. There’s madness in his eyes. Hunger. But also patience. Focus. Like he’s waited his whole life for something to deserve craving. “…Where?”
He smiles. And it’s devastating. “I’ll send the coordinates.” And then, true to his word—he turns and walks away.
No fight. No threats.
But as he vanishes into the trees, you swear you hear him whisper to himself: “God, she’s perfect.”
The place he sends you isn‘t a restaurant.
It’s a private villa, remote, clean, designed. Tucked into the hillside like a secret, with lights that glow gold through polished windows. There’s soft jazz playing inside. Wine breathing on the counter.
And the scent of seared garlic and roasted something hangs in the air like an invitation.
You step through the door slowly. He doesn’t greet you.
He’s already in the kitchen, back to you, shirtless, barefoot, wearing slacks low on his hips. A towel’s draped around his neck, and his hair.
It makes you stop. You’d never seen it like this before.
Usually he tucks it into a rolled style, twisted and clean, like a man who prides himself on presentation. You assumed it barely reached his jaw.
But now? It’s undone. Damp from the shower. Tousled. Soft waves curling around his temples and brushing the edges of his cheekbones.
He turns, sensing you.
“Ah.” His smile curls slowly. “Early.”
Your eyes flick to his hair.
His grin sharpens. “Didn’t know I had that much, did you?”
You blink once. “You hide it.”
“I contain it,” he replies smoothly, walking toward you. “Control is elegance.”
He’s holding a wine glass. Not in a rush to give it to you, just offering it slowly, as if sharing is a gift you’ve earned.
You take it. He watches the way your fingers curl around the stem. “That’s a 2010 Clos de Tart,” he says. “Pairing it with duck tonight.”
You take a sip. It’s too smooth, too expensive.
He watches you drink. “You’re tense,” he notes. “Still expecting me to throw you over the table?”
“You said no knives.”
“I did,” he nods, stepping just a little closer. “But I never said I wouldn’t touch you.”
You raise a brow. “Are we doing dinner or posturing?”
“Both,” he replies, amused. “Sit.”
You do. Against your better judgment.
The meal is simple. Ridiculously well-cooked. Perfect portions, garnishes, plating. The man probably used tweezers.
And yet—he doesn’t eat much. He just watches. Elbows on the table, chin resting on one hand, damp strands of hair curling against his temple.
“You always look at people this intensely?” you mutter.
“No,” he says. “Just you.”
Your skin prickles.
He rises to clear the table without asking. Moves like someone who’s practiced this, not because he serves people, but because he likes the control.
You shift in your seat. “What do you do when you’re not trying to seduce someone?”
“I don’t try,” he says from the kitchen. “I choose.”
And when he returns—you feel it again: That gaze. Focused. Electric. He stops in front of you. “I told you I wouldn’t touch you unless you asked.”
You stand slowly. “I didn’t ask.”
He steps into your space. Close. Steady. “You’re going to.” His voice is low. Confident. Unhurried. The kind of calm that’s more dangerous than any threat.
You lift a hand, fingertips grazing through the hair at his temple. It’s soft. Still damp at the roots.
“So this is what you hide,” you murmur.
“Only from people who don’t deserve it,” he replies, tilting his face into your touch.
Your heart’s racing. He looks down at you like you’re dessert and wine and destruction all at once. “Tell me you want me.”
You exhale. “I do.”
His hand finds your hip. His other lifts to cup your jaw, slow and precise. And he kisses you. Not like the wild first time. No. This is measured. Claimed. Lips dragging, thumb brushing under your ear, every part of him pulling you into his pace.
He hums against your mouth.
“Still the best thing I’ve ever tasted,” he whispers. Then his forehead presses to yours. “Let me undress you properly this time.”
You’re not sure how you got to his bedroom.
Maybe it was the wine. Maybe it was the way his hand slid to the back of your neck during the kiss. Maybe it was that voice—that calm, composed voice saying “Let me undress you properly this time.”
Now you stand in front of him. His hands are on your hips. His hair is still curled slightly around his jaw, framing a face that’s too beautiful for the things he’s done.
You stare at him. Then you say it. “Why are you like this?”
He tilts his head, eyes soft. “Like what?”
“I thought you were going to kill me. Back in Sendai, when I saw your cursed energy—” your voice drops, raw, “I thought I was going to die.”
He brushes a hand over your side, slow, gentle. “You didn’t.”
“Right. Because you decided to fuck me instead?”
He laughs low, clean and delighted. “No,” he murmurs. “Because I decided you were rare.” His hand slides up to your ribcage. His thumb strokes your skin like he’s checking for cracks. “I’m not soft,” he continues. “I’m precise. I don’t waste effort on what doesn’t deserve it.”
You shiver under his touch.
He lowers his mouth to your collarbone, presses a kiss there—then whispers: “And I don’t damage what I want to keep coming back to.”
You should pull away.
Instead, your fingers find his waistband.
“You keep acting like you’re some refined gentleman,” you breathe, “but I saw you tear through a man’s ribcage with your bare hands.”
He smiles against your skin. “I washed them before I cooked.”
“Fucking psycho.”
His teeth graze your skin. “Maybe.”
He lifts your shirt, slowly, watching your face the whole time. “Arms up.”
You obey. Without thinking. Without fighting.
And that—that—makes him sigh.
“Good girl.”
You freeze. He notices.
“You like that,” he murmurs. “Even if you don’t know it yet.”
He kisses your stomach. One hand moving to your back, unfastening your bra with practiced ease.
“Let me look at you.”
He steps back.
You’re standing in nothing but your underwear now—exposed, vulnerable. But his gaze doesn’t leer. It catalogs. Like he’s building a memory of you in pieces. He walks around you once. Slow. One finger trailing down your spine. You hate how your breath stutters.
He stops behind you. Mouth to your ear. “I wanted to ruin you the first time,” he says. “But now I want to remember you.”
You whisper, hoarse, “This is insane.”
“Then tell me to stop.”
“No.“
He turns you, gently, and kisses you again. This time his hands are reverent, sliding down your arms, over your sides. He kneels in front of you without a word, fingers hooked in the waistband of your underwear. “You’re still tense,” he murmurs. “Let me help.”
Your voice cracks. “You’re the reason I’m tense.”
“And the reason you’re aroused.”
He pulls the fabric down slowly. Then he looks up at you, hair falling over one eye, mouth already parted as he breathes against your skin. “You still think I’m soft?”
You don’t answer.
Because then he licks up your thigh and your knees nearly give out. His mouth is barely inches from your core—tongue flicking out, teasing, savoring. His fingers spread your thighs with the same reverence he used slicing his steak at dinner.
But before he can go further, you stop him. Your fingers curl tight in his hair.
He pauses. “…Something wrong?” he asks, voice low, breath hot against your inner thigh.
You lean down slowly, gripping his chin, tilting his face up to look at you. “Yeah,” you say, smirking. “I’m bored of being dessert.”
Then you tug him up by his hair, fast, hard. His breath catches.
You don’t wait. You pushed him down onto the mattress, crawl over him like a threat, straddling his hips and pinning him with your thighs.
Ryu blinks up at you, hair a mess now, lips wet, hands still frozen mid-air. And then? He grins. “Oh. Okay,” he laughs breathlessly. “That’s how you want to play?”
You grind down once, slow and dangerous. His cock twitches through his slacks. You lean in, lips brushing his ear. “Stage is all mine, psycho killer.”
He exhales a sharp breath, arms going lax above his head. “Fuck,” he mutters, almost laughing. “I’m so fucking turned on right now.”
“Shut up,” you murmur, fingers dragging down his chest, nails leaving light scratches. “Your turn.”
You undo his pants with one hand, keeping your weight on him. His pupils dilate. His jaw clenches. He lifts his hips just enough for you to yank his slacks down. He’s already hard, of course he is and the second you wrap your hand around his cock, he groans. “Oh, fuck—”
You stroke once. Slow. Tight. He grips the sheets. You meet his eyes. “So responsive,” you say mockingly. “Didn’t take much to make you break, huh?”
“I’m not breaking,” he breathes. “You’re just—fuck—good.”
You smirk.
Then you slide down his body, never breaking eye contact, until your mouth is hovering just above his tip.
Ryu hisses when your breath ghosts over it. One of his hands shoots out to grip the headboard. You press a kiss to the side of his shaft. He twitches. “You said you liked detail,” you murmur.
“I—shit—yeah—”
“Good. Watch closely.”
And then you swallow him. All the way down. His eyes roll back. His hips jerk. You push him flat with your palm.
“No moving.”
You bob your head slowly at first—just enough to make him lose his goddamn mind. His legs tremble. His throat works hard as he swallows, breath shaking. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—” he groans.
Your lips drag up his cock with purpose, tongue teasing every vein. You hollow your cheeks. His abs flex.
“You’re gonna make me—fuck, you’re gonna make me come if you don’t—”
You pull off with a wet pop. “Beg.”
He blinks at you, stunned. “What?”
“You heard me. Beg.”
He stares. And then he grins like a man at gunpoint who’s never been harder. “…Please,” he rasps. “Please let me come. Fuck—do whatever you want to me.”
You crawl back up his chest, straddling his waist again. “You’re lucky I like the way you beg.”
You sink down on him in one motion. Both of you moan. Ryu’s hands shoot to your waist, but you grab them and shove them back down. “Uh-uh.”
He growls.
“You’re obsessed.”
“You’re not wrong.”
You ride him slow, grinding, forcing him to feel everything.
Ryu’s biting his lip now, neck arched, flushed to the chest, eyes desperate. “I’m gonna come, I’m—fuck, I can’t hold it, you feel so good—”
“Then come.”
And when he finally does, when his hips snap up and he spills into you with a broken moan and clenched fists—you lean down and whisper: “Who’s soft now?”
He laughs breathlessly, body twitching under yours. “…You should marry me,” he mutters.
You blink. “What?”
He looks up at you, eyes hazy, pupils blown. “I’m serious,” he pants. “You’re gonna be the death of me and I want it.”
His body’s still twitching beneath you. Chest rising and falling. Hair stuck to his forehead. Cum leaking down your thighs.
He looks fucking wrecked.
And you? You’re still on top of him. Breathless. Smirking.
You tilt your head, drag your fingers down his sweat-slicked chest, and murmur—“Big words for a tough guy…”
Your hips grind forward just slightly—slow, cruel, enough to make his legs tremble.
“…when I didn’t even come.”
Ryu’s breath catches. He blinks up at you. Then his eyes darken. Not in anger. In complete, feral awe. “Oh my god—” he breathes, eyes wide. “You’re unreal.”
You chuckle, leaning down to kiss the corner of his mouth. “You really came that fast, huh?”
“I—fuck off—you sucked me like it was a fucking death sentence,” he pants. “I saw God. I met my end.”
You laugh into his neck. But then—he flips. Literally. In one sharp, unexpected movement, he rolls you underneath him, arms caging you in, breathing heavy against your face.
“You didn’t come,” he whispers, voice shaking.
You blink. “Yeah. I know. I just said it.”
“I came inside you, and you didn’t fucking come—”
His hands are already moving, desperate, reverent—sliding down your stomach, between your thighs, two fingers slipping through his own cum leaking out of you.
He groans. Actually groans. “I made this mess,” he mutters, tracing the slick around your folds. “You took it—so fucking perfect—and you still… didn’t…”
He looks up. You freeze. His pupils are blown. Eyes glassy. Lips parted. Hair sticking to his cheekbone.
He looks insane. And then—calmly, sweetly, terrifyingly: “…Let me make it up to you.”
You barely manage to speak before he’s sinking down again.
But this time it’s different. There’s no swagger. No smirk. No games.
Just slow, obsessive reverence.
He spreads your thighs and kisses the inside like he’s praying. His hands shake as he lifts your hips to his mouth.
“I’m gonna make you come until you forget your own name.”
A kiss to your clit.
“I’m gonna taste you until I can’t remember food.”
A slow drag of his tongue. You shudder, head falling back.
“Ishigori—”
“No, no,” he murmurs, mouth against you, voice drunk. “Don’t say my name like that unless you mean it.”
Your legs jerk as his tongue swirls, slow at first, then focused. Intent. His nose presses into you. He groans into your pussy like he’s already addicted.
You fist the sheets. “Shit—fuck—”
He lifts his head, lips soaked, pupils nearly gone. “You like that?” he whispers, completely fixated. “I can do this all night. I’ll live here.”
You pull his hair. He moans. And then he goes back in with everything—tongue flicking, sucking, devouring you until your thighs shake.
You cry out as you finally come, grinding into his mouth, and he just keeps licking, arms locked around your thighs like he’ll never let you go.
Only when your body’s twitching does he pull back—face wrecked, lips shining, chest heaving.
He stares at you, like you just destroyed something inside him.
“I think I’m in love with you,” he says.
You blink.
“What?”
He climbs back up your body, grabs your face with both hands, and kisses you deep—messy, almost desperate.
“I said what I said.”
You’re still panting, limp against his chest, skin damp and trembling. He’s straddling your thigh, still hard, still flushed, staring at you like you’re the answer to every hunger he’s ever had.
You blink. Then—you laugh. Not mean. Not cruel. Just breathless and surprised and a little overwhelmed. “You’re such a fucking psycho,” you manage to say, giggling into your arm.
He smiles. Like he loves that answer. “God,” he murmurs, dragging a hand over his face. “You’re so fucking perfect. You don’t even know.”
You hum, tugging his towel off your pillow. “You’re insane. Like actually. You taste me once and suddenly you’re reciting vows?”
He shifts closer, grabs your face again—gentle, reverent.
“You don’t get it.” His voice is softer now, a little cracked. “I’ve had everything. Fought everything. Killed things people don’t even have words for. And none of them felt like this. You’re not just good. You’re—everything.”
His lips are at your throat again, but now it’s slower. Lingering. His hand on your waist tightens possessively, like he can feel you slipping out of his grasp already.
“You’re not leaving,” he says, matter-of-fact. “Not until I figure out how many times it takes to make you stay.”
But before you can respond—before you can mock him again, or kiss him, or tease—Something shifts. Like the air drops ten degrees.
That soft flicker of cursed energy—not his, not yours—foreign.
You feel it on your skin. A buzz. A static wrongness.
Your heart skips. Ryu goes still. His lips stop moving. His hands pause mid-stroke along your waist. He lifts his head slightly, like a predator catching scent.
You whisper, “Did you feel—”
He’s already moving. Quiet. Controlled. Like you flipped a switch.
He rises from the bed, muscles coiled and poised, no wasted motion. He walks across the room without rushing. He’s not frantic. He’s focused.
Before anything else, he reaches for his boxers on the floor. Slides them on with precision. No shame. No fluster. Just calm, unnerving intention. He doesn’t speak until he’s halfway to the balcony. “They followed you.”
His voice is quiet. Flat. Deadly.
You pull the sheet tighter around you. “I didn’t tell anyone—”
“I know.”
He says it like fact. Like gravity.
He stands at the glass door now, bare chest rising and falling, hands loose at his sides. His eyes scan the dark treeline, that chin-length hair still slightly damp, curling at his temples.
Then he hums. Soft. Like a man admiring the scent of wine. “They’re close.”
You sit up. “Ryu—”
“I’m not mad at you.” He turns toward you slowly. “But I’m going to erase them.”
Your throat dries. “…It could be a cursed spirit—”
“It’s not.”
His fingers twitch at his sides. Not clenched. Flexed. Like he’s warming up. Like his body is eager.
You swallow. “You’re not even putting on pants?”
He finally smiles. Crooked. Chilling. “I’m only going to need about 30 seconds.” He walks to the side table, picks up his zipper, shrugs it on over bare skin and boxers like it’s nothing. Like that’s just what he wears to kill. “I give them one chance to leave.”
“And if they don’t?”
He glances at you over his shoulder. That slow grin spreads again. Something unhinged underneath it. “I’ll bring you back their eyes in a bowl.”
Then he slides the glass door open and steps barefoot into the cold, night-drenched woods—not even slamming it.
The second he left, the room felt wrong.
Empty. Charged. Buzzing. You pulled one of his shirts from the dresser—black, oversized, warm from his body. Threw it over your head like armor. Then you sat back on the edge of the bed, trying to breathe through the silence.
Fifteen minutes. That’s how long he’s gone.
You don’t move.
Not when the cursed energy outside evaporates. Not when the forest goes still. Not even when the hum in the walls quiets like a held breath.
You’re afraid to look out the window. Because you know. You felt what he did. And then—The door opens. Slow.
You look up.
And your stomach drops straight through the floor.
He walks in without a sound. Not fast. Not angry.
But completely drenched.
His zipper jacket is open—unzipped halfway, stuck with something too dark to be water. His chest, his neck, his arms, slick with blood. Dried. Fresh. Splattered like he walked through a rainstorm of flesh.
His hands hang loose at his sides. Red down to the knuckles.
There’s blood on his throat. Blood in his hair. A streak smeared across one cheekbone like war paint.
And his eyes.
His eyes are the worst part. They’re bright. Wide. Excited.
He looks like he just fucked someone to death and liked it.
And then—he smiles. Like he’s happy to see you. “Problem’s solved.” His voice is low. Calm. Like it always is.
You don’t respond. You can’t. He steps further in. Leaves footprints.
Wet ones.
You blink once, eyes locked on the dark red trail behind him. His chest rises and falls slowly—like he took a walk, not carved someone apart.
“Are you okay?” he asks, head tilting slightly.
You still can’t speak. He looks down at his hands. Then shrugs, almost sheepishly. “I got a little carried away.”
You’re still sitting there. One of his shirts falling off your shoulder. Legs bare. Your skin still smells like sex and sweat and him.
But everything in your body is screaming something different now. He walks closer. You flinch. He notices. Freezes. A long, too-long pause. And then his smile softens just slightly. His eyes drop to the hem of his blood-streaked jacket.
“I’ll shower,” he says, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. “Don’t worry.”
He turns toward the bathroom, footsteps still wet. You don’t say a word. Because for the first time since you met him—you’re not turned on.
You’re not amused. You’re not even confused.
You’re scared.
Your pulse is thudding too hard in your throat.
And it hits you. All at once.
Not just a psycho. Not just obsessed. Not just dangerous.
To them, there is nothing sexier than seeing you in their clothing. Hoodies, T-shirts, old sweatpants, no matter what article of clothing, it doesn't matter. They leave their clothing out purposely just for you to find.
Is it cold outside? Oh, look, their cozy hoodie is on the sofa. Did you not like the new laundry soap? Well, their favorite band t-shirt hasn't been washed yet. Do all of your pants feel itchy? They have plenty of sweatpants for you to wear.
And like a hawk, they study detail of you in their clothing.
You are not foolish. You feel their eyes on you. Sometimes, you slowly tug off a t-shirt just to make them squirm. Other times you ingore wearing their old clothing in favor of your new cloths just to see them pout.
I personally believe her parents met when Ryu was by herself, patrolling the city when she spotted a demon lurking in an alleyway
Naturally she went to investigate, attacking instantly when she got close enough
However the demon didn’t fight back, merely defending itself and then disappearing as soon as it could
At first she thought it was strange, but just brushed it off as she went back to patrolling
However, when she spotted the same demon a couple days later, the exact same thing happened
She attacked, and he disappeared in an instant
This simultaneously confused and annoyed her, with Ryu now going out of her way to find that specific demon
She told her team about the unusual situation, but was reassured that he was nothing the hunters couldn’t handle
Regardless, Ryu still went out to get answers
It was weeks until she managed to corner the demon, pinning him against the wall with her blade to his throat
She asked why he was in the human world, growing more frustrated as he remained quiet for a few moments
He then said if she was going to kill him that she should just get it over with, which threw Ryu off long enough for him to slip away and disappear
From there a pattern would emerge, with the two of them frequently crossing paths when Ryu was patrolling alone
Unbeknownst to her, the demon was actually seeking her out, wanting to talk more
She’d basically interrogate him about his life as a demon, trying to find his intentions for not attacking her
However, from these questions she’d learn he wasn’t loyal to Gwi-Ma, trying to escape his voice
While Ryu was sceptical at first, the two of them grew closer, with her even answering the demons questions about her
That’s when she realised she genuinely cared about the demon
Not knowing how to handle these feelings, she instantly went out of her way to not see him
Eventually she began seeing him everywhere; in the crowd during concerts, in the corner of her eye when she was on patrol, sometimes even outside her house
However, he’d manage to get Ryu by herself, asking why she’d just leave him and that if she wanted to end things she should say it to his face
They’d definitely argue, saying that whatever they had shouldn’t even have happened since they were so different
The demon would eventually leave, promising not to find her again if she really felt that way
Months would pass, with Ryu missing him more and more
Even the other members would notice, but she’d just say she was stressed about maintaining the Honmoon
She’d try and find the demon again when she was on patrol, with no success
Eventually, when she was alone, she’d start talking to herself; asking him to come back
The moment those words left her mouth, he’d appear; neither of them talking when they locked eyes
From there the two would confess their feelings for one another, despite the two being a demon and hunter, allowing for their relationship to properly start
She wanted to tell Celine, but anytime she brought up the topic of demons, she saw the anger and resentment in her eyes
So instead they kept their relationship a secret, dating for years as Ryu made sure the other hunters never found him
At some point they would get married, merely exchanging rings as a symbol of their union rather than doing anything official
However, when she fell pregnant, she knew she would have to come clean
I believe this caused a falling out with the hunters, with Ryu disappearing since she knew they would never accept her new lifestyle
She continued to hunt demons for as long as she could, doing it from the shadows so her former group couldn’t find her
Her husband would help her during this, using his demon abilities to his advantage and fully taking over when Ryu became too pregnant though
When Rumi was finally born, neither one of her parents knew how to raise such a unique child
At first they were cautious, meticulously noting down her demon attributes and any behaviours they thought were abnormal
However, they very quickly grew not to care about her differences and focused on making sure she was happy
Rumi lived a rather sheltered life with her parents, staying home most of the time until around the age of three
At this point I believe Gwi-Ma heard of a rogue demon that was helping a hunter, sending all his underlings to capture them
Their family remained hidden for a while, however the demons managed to track down the area and they lived in
Not wanting to leave the humans of their city in danger, and knowing that no matter where they went Gwi-Ma would find them, they tried coming up with a plan to defeat him
However, Rumi’s father knew that this was practically impossible, and decided to face the overlord alone
He quietly said goodbye to his family, leaving them in the middle of the night
Ryu knew exactly why he had gone when she realised he was missing, not knowing how to go after him while also protecting Rumi
Eventually, she’d run into Celine who had heard about the concentrated number of demons in the area
Seeing Rumi with her demon markings, everything clicked into place and Celine was horrified
Instead of explaining herself, Ryu pleaded with her to understand that Rumi was still her daughter
This managed to convince Celine to take care of the child while Ryu went to go look for her husband
I believe they would only reunite at the final battle, with demons trying to drag her husband back to the demon world
In the process, civilians were being killed as well, Gwi-Ma managing to slowly make his way topside because of the influx of souls
Here Ryu would do her best to protect everyone while saving her husband, the two of them reuniting amidst all the chaos
This would catch Gwi-Ma’s attention, with him directing all his resources towards capturing the hunter and her demon husband
The pair would manoeuvre around the city, trying to draw the mob away from the public
In the end though, they knew what they had to do
Charging to Gwi-Ma, they lured all of the demons back into his flames in an attempt to push him back in the underworld
This worked, however, at the cost of Ryu and her husband’s life
Celine witnessed the carnage, unable to stop Ryu’s sacrifice since she was taking care of Rumi and trying to direct all the civilians to safety
Celine blamed Ryu’s demon husband on all this, vowing to never let another corrupt those she loved
Therefore, despite being half demon herself, she raised Rumi to hide and despise her demon side
do you think Ryu from street fighter would be into cunnilingus
ohhh i think he’d be so good at eating you out that it’d actually blow your fucking mind, because when did he learn to do . . that? everyone knows that when ryu commits himself to honing a skill, he’ll never shy away. not from fighting, not from training, and certainly not from this. not until he’s perfected it. in this case, he needs to be able to make that tongue move so good it has you cryin’!
ryu isn’t a man of many words, but when it comes to you, he finds himself speaking in touch instead of language.
and yes— he’ll worship between your thighs like it’s another discipline, another path toward mastery. he’s all slow and reverent at first; tongue languidly dragging up the center before he delves into your cunt and tastes of you.
ryu’s slurping essence straight from out your leaking core, suckling harder just to hear you scream. he’s making a wet sloppy mess out of the both of you, juices trailing down the defined edge of his moving jaw.
he only ever gets rough when you try to squirm away from how overwhelming it feels, with his warm, rough hands grip at your sides; then there’s the way he latches onto your clit with suctioned lips, now in favor of pressing tight circles into the pulse of it with his thick, calloused thumb.
he lifts his head just a bit, looks over the mounds of your bare breasts to catch sight of your blissed expression. you hum at him, carding your fingers through the dark tresses of his low cut.
that’s when he slips off his iconic red headband— fingers deft, eyes dark with a hunger he never shows in a fight, and loops it around your wrists, binding you in crimson. it isn’t harsh, just firm. your eyes widen for a moment before lust slips in, sudden and unmistakable.
“ryu? what are y—”
“it’s only to keep you safe,” he says, kissing your bound fingers. the cloth is warm from his skin. “you’re shaking too much.”
and the way he holds you there, tied gently with the same cloth that’s soaked in years of discipline, sweat, and spirit; makes every lick from his warm lashing tongue feel like pure devotion.
“stay still,” he murmurs, voice low enough to vibrate against you. your hips jerk, grinding against his face. “let me . . . finish you.”
he gives you a slow, lingering stare before bowing his head again, hands kneading into your thighs, strong forearms hooked beneath them, his mouth working you in hungry, deliberate drags.
ryu chuckles when you begin to shake, his laugh slightly prideful against your soaked folds. the warm sound shoots vibrations through you.
instead of easing up, he doubles down. keeps you open for him, determined to feel every shiver he pulls from you.
in this moment, it feels like you’re the only thing ryu would ever surrender to.
Hii! I saw your hc with Ryu, Yoru and Tao and I thought you wrote them so nicely! I wanted to ask, can I request a oneshot with Ryu please? :))
⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ 𐔌 . ⋮ only you ꒱࿐ ࿔*
˚⋆˚࿔ — Ryu Seno + reader (no gender implied) | suggestive, fluff ˗ˏˋ꒰ ★ ꒱
If it weren’t for the cracked down window blinds, you’d assume it was still night. And If it weren’t for the sun, you’d be three hours behind.
You shot up, the rest of your body emerging from the blanketed abyss you slept in. You rubbed the crust from your eyes and let out a big yawn, head staring at the gloomed grey walls as you questioned why you never painted over them.
The air was sticky with a languid feel. You stretched your back, cracked your bones, and continued to gawk at the emptiness tormenting you.
You turned towards your desk across from your bed─unfazed by it's overwhelming stacks of folders and the excessive papers barely being kept inside.
You muttered stalely, yawning one final time before getting up to begin your day─which didn't consume much of your time.
While the streams of water hit your skin you plainly glared at your feet, taking in and out small breaths. Your stomach twisted and swirled into a endless knot.
You placed a hand on your chest, like you were covering a wound, one impossible to seal up.
The black pit of your soul cried day and night. Years upon years. It was too much for your heart to handle. Eventually, you gave out and ran out of words. You even ran out of tears. It felt like everything inside you was hollow, like death was knocking at the door.
You stepped out the shower, shivering. Apart from the warm water you cleansed in, you felt the cold just as quick. You lazily brushed out your H/T hair just enough to get the knots out and put on whatever clothing smelled the nicest.
If it was any other day, you wouldn't even bother getting ready. Why would you? To you, there was no point.
Your feet dragged itself to your desk and like any other day, you got to work. Waking up and signing documents for Tatsuomi, just to go back to sleep to do it all the next day. It was draining to say the least. But money talks, doesn't it?
So in your depleted chair you sat, groggily reading through and signing documents.
Suddenly, in the corner of your eye, you saw your door swing open slowly, it's creaking too unbearable to ignore.
You acknowledged whoever might've came in, "theres no money in here if you're here to rob me, you're just wasting your time." And kept your attention on signing documents.
Then, you heard a husk, scratched voice. A monotone, bushed one.
You froze in your place before looking at the man's direction, blinking at him as if you really were getting robbed.
"...Ryu?" You spoke, clicking your pen shut.
He glanced at the mountain of papers.
"You busy?" He asked. "Well, I was but I could get back to this another day." You said, moving from the chair to the bed.
He cracked a smile. It wasn't big, but neither was it unpleasurable. He pushed back the front pieces of his hair with one hand, bottles of alcohol clinking in the other. He walked his way to sit beside you on the bed. "I brought drinks"
You yawned, reaching over him to grab one. "Of course you did." You commented. "Geez, I don't how you do it." He said, complaining for you. You stared at him with a face of confusion. "Do what?" You thought, "My job?" You blinked. He nodded. "Yeah, you're practically drowning in these papers all day Y/N, I hardly ever hear from you anymore."
You shrugged, taking a look around your room to get a bigger glimpse of what he meant. "...Mm, it's not that bad." You shyed away. He chuckled lightly. "Not entirely a bad habit to have, it just proves your hard working."
In the moment, you didn't know how to respond. Well, this was common. The interactions you have with Ryu completely digress your relationship.
Maybe it was the lack of sleep, or perhaps the continuous isolation you put yourself through. You couldn't help but feel as if there was an elephant in the room. Funny because there was nothing to announce. So, as you sat there in utter silence with Ryu, you wondered on and on.
Then, Ryu shifted his position to lay on his side, kicking off his shoes.
"Haven't seen you at the center lately."
"Well, I've been stuck confirming documents for Tatsuomi to transfer information to everyone else," you grumbled, before sighing and turning your tone into a more, snarky one. "Why, you missed me?"
He watched your movements intensely; every time you sipped from the bottle or readjusted your top.
"I'd be lying if I said I didn't."
You huffed, amused at his unwieldiness. "Glad the feelings mutual."
When you went for another sip, the bottle somehow ended up slipping out of your hand; covering you in alcohol. You mentally insulted yourself and your stupidity as you searched around the room for a towel. Only to realize that there was no clean ones.
You used the last clean towel you had and discarded it to the overflowing pile of laundry you have yet to get to. You sat back down and accepted your fate.
"No towels?"
"No," you picked up the now empty bottle from the floor. "It's all good, it'll dry."
"But you'll smell like alcohol, and I'm sure waiting for it to dry will be uncomfortable nonetheless." He made a good point. "There's no other option."
He held his tongue for a few seconds to think. "There's one." You tilted your head, curious and confused. "Like wh─" in a second, the mood shifted from something so subtle to a more prominent case scenario. "Ryu-?!" You watched him slip out of his robe, unraveling his black samue and handing it to you. "Get undressed, and change into this."
You wanted to decline, but knowing him, it wouldn't be worth it. "Ah, thanks..." You expressed your gratitude calmly. You tried to ignore the urge to gawk at his chest. It pained you to deny yourself like this. Like wiggling a treat in front of a dog─he was right in front of you.
"Sometimes I forget you have a nice build." You joked, getting up to change in the bathroom. He raised a brow, eyeing you make your way over there. "Do you really?"
"Yeah," you replied, leaving the door open just a wee bit so he can still hear you clearly. "All you do is drink and sleep all day, so it's kinda hard to remember haha."
"Are you down talking my physique? We're practically in the same boat."
"Key word, practically, not completely."
He smirked. "Getting smart with me, L/N?"
"Oh? Using last names now, huh?" You exited the bathroom. "Okay then, Seno."
"You look good in that." He confessed, caught in a trance by his clothes on you.
"Cut to the chase Ryu, you hoping for something?" You teased, sitting next to him again.
"Nothing you wouldn't wanna do." You felt your heart bump. "Nothing I wouldn't wanna do?" You repeated, indecisive on what to say. "What are you implying?"
He chuckled. "Must be the alcohol talking..."
"Ryu, don't diss it off!"
"Take it as you will."
"As I will?" You leaned into him, resting your chin on his shoulder. "So if I assume you want to have a crazy make out sesh, you'd be okay with it?" You batted your lashes playfully, purposely trying to get him back. "Just as I said," Ryu looked you deep in your eyes."Take it as you will."
Honestly, it probably was the alcohol talking. You didn't know what came over you or why you said that. But either way, you went for it.
There was no harm in that, right? It was just a simple make out. He pressed against you, slowly pinning you to the mattress. The kiss became messy; sucking your bottom lip, trailing down your neck and under your chin. His movements were unpredictable─on a whim. Like he imagined a moment like this many times before, but went off script when he got the real thing.
"Shit..." He cursed, his tone full of remorse. You've never seen his face so red, and you've never heard him so guilty. "Y/N...I apologize." He sat up, head staring down at the floor like a punished puppy. You gave him a small, sweetened smile. "Why are you apologizing?" You laughed lightly. "Ryu, you didn't do anything wrong."
"I...I went too far, I shouldn't have done any of that."
"Ryu it's fine, trust me, I liked it." You admitted, cocking your head to the side.
"You don't get it." He retorted, becoming aggressive. "We aren't anything, we're just friends and that right there just made it so much complicated."
"You don't think I know that?" You cupped his cheeks. "I let you go that far for a reason Ryu, if I didn't like it I would've said something."
He stayed quiet. You couldn't tell if it was because he didn't have anything else to say, or if he was struggling to say it. Whatever the reason was─you knew he wasn't finished. He held his head. "That's not what I'm trying to say."
"Ryu, it's all good, I'm serious."
"Y/N I love you, more than you could even imagine."
You brought yourself to a halt. "What?" He dragged his hand down to his face, covering himself from you. "I always have..." His voice was low, soft, so gentle, it could make you cry. It was scarily out of character. "...I came here to say it, but I didn't want it start off with me kissing you like that...I went ahead of myself, and I shouldn't have even if you liked it or allowed me to."
Everything he said was tuned out. The only thing you heard was that he loves you, that he always have. You put your lips on his once again, shutting him up, and most certainly catching him off guard. "Ryu, you took every word from my mouth..." You huffed in relief. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"
“I was...on edge.” his dulcet tone blessed each word that went through your ears. “I didn't know if I really wanted to take that chance of confessing to you...that fear of risking all we had really consumed me."
You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pulling him with you to lay down. You snuggled closer to him, melting into his hot, alcoholic scent. "That doesn't matter now Ryu, what matters is we're both where we want to be."
For the rest of the day, you didn't care about getting those documents done, or about how messed up your room was. You laid in bed, cuddled up with Ryu, only caring about him. And you were proud to say, that the feelings were mutual.
