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🥺 first time headcanon with Leo and Shion (separately)
I highly doubt this is either of their first times. They're good looking and very forward so I think they've managed to get their way before, Leo moreso than Shion because he’s popular, but for the sake of hcs let’s say they have been isolated and haven’t given up the v card yet.
TW: Shion’s gets pretty Shion-y but it’s all consensual <3
Leo Kurosagi
He bratted his way into your bed, egging you on until you were practically fucking him on a dare. He's pretty down bad for you but still refuses to admit it
He pretends this is a favor to you, out of curiosity or boredom but the fact is, he wants it because you're special to him and he wants to be close to you without having to be vulnerable (yet)
You're in his room, he's recently bathed and told Sho to make you deliver his food because he was too busy
He ordered enough for two and invites you in to chill with him
He's still in a towel, wet hair and definitely plotting
Then starts the bratting
He’s definitely trying to rile you up without pissing you off to the point of leaving, so you can tell it’s all in good fun
Weirdly though, he’s not really touching his food, but he’s taking frequent, very looong sips of his drink
(He’s nervous)
He scoots in to show you something on his phone and waits until you notice that proximity, then he turns to you, full of intent
“When are you going to admit you want to kiss me?” Translation: I want to kiss you but I refuse to ask
“When are you going to admit you want me to kiss you?” You see through his game, you have for a while, but you needed him to show you a side worthy of being with you
“I can take it or leave it,” he says cheekily. Its a reflexive response, a defense mechanism. So you call his bluff
You turn away and he grabs your arm. “Wait.” It was frantic. “Okay, fine. I want you.”
“To kiss me?”
“More than that.” He has his hand on the towel, waiting for you to react, gauging whether or not he’d send you away or get you to pounce on him if he dropped it.
You looked down and bit your lip, so he dropped it. He was shameless, leaning back and propping a leg up on the couch to give you a full view. His hardening cock rested on his stomach, slowly lifting as he got fully erect
“Well? You still hungry, honor roll?”
Of course, you pounce
He’s happy to explore your body and let you explore his. He takes his time to find out all the things you like
Kissing all over your neck to find the best spots, and he loves marking you and being marked, especially when no one can guess who it’s from. Even if they guess it’s you and him he’ll be cheeky and evasive about it so they wind up even more confused if anyone dares ask
He’s got fast hacker hands so once he finds the clit (he’s terminally online, he already knows where it is) he has no trouble
Surprises you by being pretty loud in bed. The more excited he is, the more he talks and the louder he gets
You’re pretty sure by the time you’re riding him everyone can hear you
And lets face it, he’s pretty sensitive so he’s going to be quick, but he’ll do a lot of foreplay and is happy to play with you until he’s ready to go again
You eat what he ordered between rounds, ice broken and walls down and have a really good time with him
Shion Genkai
Let’s say you accept his offer when he invites you to his bed in his chapter
There’s nothing romantic about it. It’s creepy, you don’t know if he’s going to hurt you. In fact, you’re almost certain he will, but he is a man full of need and a man you want to see unravel, so you followed
As soon as you’re in his bedroom he’s kissing you. Eyes open cuz he’s a freak like that. He drags his tongue along your skin, from your collar bone to your ear
His hands are wandering and his love bites are too hard. You’ll definitely be marked by him for the next few days
“Why are you being so still? A wife is supposed to please her husband.”
“The husband gets to have his way.” It was your way of giving consent, and seeing what he would do. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to please him, but you wanted to observe as much as you could while being a participant.
Shion smiles at that, covering his mouth because he’s feeling giddy.
“Such a good wife. Very well.” He uses your shirt to tie your arms around his bedposts. He strips while he’s kneeling on the bed, already having cut off the rest of your clothing with his artifact
He uses you like a toy, but he refuses to let you stay quiet. He does everything he can to make you moan and whimper, occasionally slapping your thighs and breasts, loving the way they jiggle and turn red and warmer to the touch
He litters bites all over, sucking more than kissing the spots he knows he hurt.
Occasionally he does bite or strike hard enough to make you lash out. He catches your leg when you try to kick him and gives your ass a hard smack, or bites your inner thigh
“Can’t kick me if I chew through your leg, can you?” He laps at some blood where his teeth broke skin. He’ll lick at your core as well but he’s not focused on your pleasure so it was more for him experimenting than trying to please you
He enters roughly and it takes him by surprise, he almost spurts then and there
Actually does a little, but not enough so that he’s finished
It makes him happy since you’re already claimed
“See that, wife? I painted your walls white. Now you’re mine for good. No other man’s going to want you when you’re dripping my cum. I’ll make sure you smell like it wherever you go.”
He definitely talks through the whole thing, sweating and flushed and glowing
He lasts a little longer than most because he’s bananas and who knows what he’s thinking
“Say my name.”
“Again.”
“Again.”
He releases to the sound of your voice crying out his name.
Definitely the roll over and fall asleep immediately type.
You aren’t getting cleaned up or untied. He’s not done with you yet
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Featuring all ghouls! (Some more detailed than others)
Categories: Unbothered Kings 😎, Visible Blush Damage 🍅, Reverse Uno ↩️,Since You're Here...😏, No Escape 🏃, Permanent memory 😵💫
(Did I search for pictures of their abs and screenshot all of them? Yes. Yes, I did☺️)
Unbothered Kings
Tohma:
You open the door without knocking.
Big mistake.
“I see,” Tohma says calmly. “I still have much to teach you.”
“I-I’m sorry.”
You leave immediately.
For a while there’s only silence.
Then, a quiet laugh escapes from the other side.
“Pfft...What an expression.”
Alan:
You open the door.
And immediately freeze.
Alan looks up.
For a few seconds, the two of you just stare at each other???
Being half-dressed around Vagastrom is nothing new to him.
But the way you’re looking at him (or more like his abs), is making him feel a little flustered too.
“...You gonna keep staring?”
“No! I wasn’t— or I didn’t mean to—”
You cover your face.
“Sorry!”
And escape as quickly as possible.
Ritsu:
You open the door.
“Oh, MC.” Ritsu glances up at you, then down at himself, evaluating the situation.
“It’s common courtesy to knock.”
You turn quickly.
“Y-you’re right. I’m sorry.”
You grab the handle.
“Where are you going? I’m not finished.”
HUH???
“I must educate you on the laws regarding trespassing.”
OH.
Fabric shuffles as he dresses.
“Entering private spaces without warning can lead to many misunderstandings but there’s also legal implications to consider—”
He pauses.
"MC."
"Y-Yes?"
"Please look at me when I'm talking to you."
He waits for you to turn around to continue.
"As I was saying..."
He doesn’t let you leave till he’s finished.
Haru:
You open the door.
He flinches in surprise. But immediately smiles.
“You’re here early.”
“S-Sorry.”
...
“Gahaha! What’s that look on your face? You gonna watch me change too?”
Visible Blush Damage
Kaito:
You open the door.
“KYAAA!”
Before you could process what's happened, Kaito put on his clothes with lightning speed.
“D-Did you see anything?
“N-No?”
“Good." He scratches his neck.
"J-Just so you know, my bodyisn’t in the best shape right now.”
"...I didn't see anything."
Lucas:
You open the door.
“M-MC.”
"Sorry!"
You turn around quickly.
He also turns away, covering himself.
The tips of his ears are red.
“W-What can I help you with?”
Rui:
You open the door.
He’s genuinely flustered.
“Wait! Wait! Wait! You can’t see me right now! I haven’t worked on my beach body yet!”
"Sorry?"
Afterwards...
He keeps casually bringing up old surfing photos.
"That one was last year."
"Don't I look so cool in this one!"
"This angle's bad but you get the idea."
Zenji:
You open the door.
“Ah— Girl.”
He covers himself shyly. Blushing a deep red.
“I see you’ve come to see art. But I am not a gallery.”
lol.
Lyca:
You open the door and enter without looking.
“What are you doing here?”
When you see him, you gasp.
“S-Sorry!”
“Whatever. It’s not a big deal."
Thankfully, it seems he didn’t take it too seriously.
But afterwards, when he walks out, he’s bright red. His ears tucked back.
“...Let’s go.”
Mio:
You swing the door open.
“Oh.”
“Oh.”
Silence.
“I can tell you’re a craftsman.”
Wait. Did you just say that out loud?
Mio’s eyes widen. His cheeks blush.
“Thanks?”
You leave immediately.
Reverse Uno
Haku:
The door opens.
You take one step in and you hear a soft awkward laugh.
“Haha. Just wait outside. I'll be done soon."
Your eyes widen.
“Oh! Sorry!”
You shut the door fast.
Silence.
“So...did you enjoy the view?”
“I didn’t see anything.”
You can’t see it, but you know he’s smirking.
“Mm. Sure you didn’t”
“Haku…”
Leo:
You don’t even have a chance to react.
“Wow.”
You freeze.
“I didn’t know the honor roll was such a perv.”
Your soul leaves your body.
“I–I didn’t mean to!”
Leo smirks, completely unbothered.
“You just walked right in. Didn’t even hesitate.”
“I thought no one was in here.”
“Mmhm.”
“I swear!”
“Are you dragging this conversation out just to get a few more peeps in?”
You turn and leave with a grunt.
He doesn’t let it go for the rest of the day.
“You knew I was changing in there, didn’t you?”
Sho:
You swing the door open without thinking.
Half-naked Sho blinks at you. Frozen.
“Oh– Sorry!”
You flip around and exit immediately.
For a moment there’s only silence.
Then the door opens.
“Senpai.”
You freeze.
Sho leans against the doorframe casually, a few of his buttons left undone.
“If you wanted to see me naked, you could’ve just asked.”
Since You're Here...
Jin:
You open the door.
It’s a mistake you realize immediately.
“Don’t you know how to knock?”
“S-Sorry.”
You turn to leave when—
“Stop.”
You slowly glance back.
Jin takes a seat on his couch, half-dressed, looking amused.
“What are you doing servant? Come here.”
“I—no, I really should–”
“Help me change.”
Your brain stalls.
His lips curl into a smirk.
“That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”
Jiro:
You open the door.
“Hello.”
You gasp.
“S-Sorry. I didn't see you there.”
He glances down at himself.
"...I don't really mind."
He looks at his shirt.
He walks over to you.
“Could you help me with these buttons?”
Ed:
You open the door.
He looks at you like he expected you to be there.
“S-Sorry.”
You turn to leave but–
“Now, now. Don’t be in such a rush.”
He purposefully slips the shirt off his shoulders, showing off his pale skin.
“Help this old man with his clothes, will you?"
Elias:
You open the door.
You freeze.
“Inspector...Are you here for a performance?”
“S-Sorry.”
“Oh, I really don’t mind if you stay.”
“N-No thank you.”
He chuckles.
“Well…that’s a shame.”
No Escape
Taiga:
You open the door.
“Brave of you,” Taiga says lazily, “to come in without warning.”
Your brain blanks.
“I’m sorry. I’ll leave.”
You turn. Open the door.
But he shuts it just as quickly.
You look back to find he's already behind you.
“...Taiga.”
With his hands pressed against the door, he leans in closer.
“You can’t just come in and leave whenever you want. This is my territory.”
Instinctively you step back but there’s nowhere left to go.
“Come on,” his voice drags, “Entertain me, kitty-cat.”
Towa:
You open the door.
His face lights up.
“Towa?!”
“Dandelion~”
“S-Sorry. I didn’t mean to walk in.”
You turn to leave.
“Dandelion!”
You look back to see he’s already lunging at you.
You escape out of the room just in time, but you hear rapid footsteps from behind.
He laughs, chasing you with no shirt on and just underwear.
“Why are you running?”
“BECAUSE YOU’RE CHASING ME!”
Despite the head-start, he catches up easily.
He hugs you from behind, twirling you around.
“Got you!”
“TOWA!”
Shion:
You open the door.
Shion stands menacingly in the middle of the room.
“S-Sorry.”
You try to leave but–
“Vepar.”
You switch places with the cardboard box right next to him.
“Shion–”
“You barged in and try to leave? How irresponsible..”
He pulls you closer by the wrist.
“I like that look on your face. Show me more of it.”
Permanent Memory
Subaru:
The moment the door opens, something moves.
Fast.
You blink.
Was it a mouse? A cockroach?
“Subaru? Are you in here?”
You scan the room for the source of the sound.
Finally you look down at the corner. Beneath a desk. Subaru crouching.
He covers his chest with the shirt.
"I'm sorry!" he blurts. "I should've put a sign! Or locked the doors! Or-"
“Don’t apologize, I’m the one who barged in!"
...
And for the rest of the day, Subaru doesn’t stop apologizing.
"I'm sorry you had to see that."
“I hope your eyes are ok.”
Yuri:
You open the door.
He freezes. Reddens. And nearly collapses.
When you try to help him, he gets even redder.
“You insolent, indecent worm. Leave at once!”
...
Every time your eyes meet after that, he looks away quickly, immediately red.
Ren:
“S-S-S-Senpai???”
“S-Sorry. Haru said that–”
Before you can utter another word—
“GET OUT!”
He pushes you out himself and slams the door.
…
He’s in a terrible mood for the rest of the day.
Romeo:
You open the door.
“BB! Ever heard of knocking?!”
"Sorry!"
You leave immediately.
But your horrified expression lingers in his brain.
He clicks his tongue.
“What's up with that face?! You should be honored you got even a glimpse,” he mumbles to himself.
…
He's pissed off at you for a while and you don't know why.
"Tomato girl, that girl, clean girl, coconut girl, downtown girl, it girl, soft girl, dark feminine girl, light feminine girl, ballerina girl, coquette girl, cottage core girl, vanilla girl, strawberry girl, party girl, indie sleaze girl, west village girl, east village girl, french girl, italian girl, riviera girl, mermaid girl, rockstar girlfriend, trophy wife, old money girl, new money girl, office siren, pilates girl, yoga girl, beach girl, farmer’s market girl, e-girl, cool girl, weird girl
What was once a fun way to find your niche or like-minded people has now become a part of the cyclical hell now known as the micro trend. These ‘aesthetics’ used to be lasting and instantly recognisable like the more foundational subcultures that came before them, but nowadays we’re really just saying shit. What do you mean you can just order a whole pre-curated style package because a TikTok slideshow told you that you’re like soooo #y2k?
Now the art of personal style is dying, and we all look the same.
Punk was a response to Thatcherite Britain. Rave culture was a reaction to the Criminal Justice Act. Goth emerged from post-industrial bleakness. These subcultures had music, politics, community; you didn’t buy into them, you lived them. So what on gods green earth is Tomato Girl reacting to? A slow summer and a Pinterest board? What does coquette stand for politically? What is the Guinness moustache 2 dot swap boy rebelling against? Nothing.
We’ve kept the aesthetic shell of subculture and hollowed out everything that made it mean something.
And look, let’s not get too nostalgic about it, we’re not sat here pretending there was ever some golden age where fashion was pure and untouched by money. Malcolm McLaren was selling punk from a shop on King’s Road before half those kids even knew what they were rebelling against. Subculture and commerce have always been in bed together; obviously, that’s not new. The difference is the speed; people used to spend years, genuinely YEARS, developing a look.
Trying things, abandoning them, finding a silhouette that felt like theirs, wearing something until it fell apart. Now you get three weeks before the algorithm decides it’s over, and you’re already behind. It’s not that fashion got commercialised, it’s that the commercialisation got so fast and so all-consuming that there’s no breathing room left to develop an actual point of view before someone’s already packaged it, sold it and moved on.
“Now the art of personal style is dying, and we all look the same.”
Now, back to my previous list of micro niche TikTok aesthetics or whatever you want to call them. I wonder if you may have noticed a word repeating itself a wee bit. We’re no longer women, we’re now, in fact, perpetually girls. And honestly, I don’t think that’s an accident. A girl is easier to package than a woman, easier to sell back to herself, easier to reduce to a mood board and an Amazon storefront; a girl can be a Pinterest board. But a woman, she has contradictions and weird phases and a jacket she’s had since she was seventeen that doesn’t go with anything, but she’ll never get rid of, and quite frankly, that’s a lot harder to shift units with. The word girl implies youth, softness, the kind of smallness that makes you easy to categorise and easier to market to. Which, if you’ve been paying attention, is exactly the point.
As Rayne Fisher-Quann, aka the Internet Princess, famously stated in her essay “Standing on the Shoulders of Complex Female Characters,”
“It’s become very common online for women to express their identities through an artfully curated list of things they consume or aspire to consume…the aesthetics of consumption have in turn become a conduit to make the self more easily consumable.”
These ‘aesthetics’ previously known as subcultures are now entirely about consumption; it’s no longer about politics and musical taste but more about buying or being perceived as someone who might buy something. For example, the quiet luxury trend was not about actually being rich and being quiet and graceful about it, but in fact, the point was more for people to think that you might be.
And although many would argue, really, there’s no such thing as personal style - cue the cerulean blue scene from The Devil Wears Prada - there’s no denying that across all media, people both facially and in terms of fashion are all starting to look the same, slowly moulding into one big beige lip flip slick back bunned fox eyed blob. Yet to make ourselves seem original, we declare that we’re wearing these items in a different way than the ‘other girls’.
“I’m not wearing Ugg boots in a clean girl way, I’m wearing them in an off-duty ballerina Slavic girl winter way”
Okay, girl, whatever you say. Either way, you’re still following the trend, and these big corporations don’t care whether your shoes are being worn in a basic way or a coquettish way because the money is still going into their pockets.
It’s become a performance of proximity, who got there first, who’s wearing it in the right way or the new way, who is in the know, who started the trend or really gets the trend and who is just a follower, like seriously if I had a quid for everytime I heard or even said myself “but they just don’t GET IT like I do” I would be lying on a beach in Thailand right now.
We speak of those with basic style as less than not for political reasons, or because we want to help the less fashion inclined, but because we want to inflate our own egos, we are better than you because we chose to follow a different trend. Although you may deem it as cooler, a trend is a trend, no matter the outcome.
And it’s not just how we dress, it’s who gets to be in the room. There’s a Reel doing the rounds at the moment that’s said what we’ve all been thinking – stop inviting the same rotating cast of freeloading influencers to everything and bring back actual curation.
Invite the film nerds to the screenings, the fashion nerds to the shows, and the music nerds to the listening parties. Right now, we’ve got people who couldn’t name a single track standing front row at gigs time and again that they got into for free, and will leave before the encore to make sure they get their post up while it’s still relevant. Proximity to a scene is not the same as being part of one. But I suppose when the whole point is just to be seen there, does it even matter if you give a shit what any of it is actually about? Apparently not, babes. Open bar, free food and a branded photobooth? Guess we’ll see you at the next one.
We’ve now reached what people call cultural stagnation. To paraphrase Walter Benjamin, whenever the aesthetics become politicised, then fascism is in trend, when it seems like art, beauty and fashion have hit a wall because we keep repackaging the same shit. The average person is no longer developing their aesthetic taste, and nothing feels new because we only seek algorithmic approval, so our taste is intrinsically tied to whatever gives us the most social clout. After being told what is considered to be the pinnacle of beauty, we find ourselves all trying to wear the faces of Hailey Bieber and Kylie Jenner while trying to achieve the bodies of the likes of Gracie Abrams (convincing women to dedicate all their energy to worrying about their weight is a whole other conversation). And we really do sit and complain about “everybody looks the same” until somebody actually looks different, then we hit them with the “Greek gods would go to war for you/ I love your confidence!” type comment section.
“Stop inviting the same rotating cast of freeloading influencers to everything and bring back actual curation.
Invite the film nerds to the screenings, the fashion nerds to the shows, and the music nerds to the listening parties. Right now, we’ve got people who couldn’t name a single track standing front row at gigs time and again that they got into for free, and will leave before the encore to make sure they get their post up while it’s still relevant. Proximity to a scene is not the same as being part of one. But I suppose when the whole point is just to be seen there, does it even matter if you give a shit what any of it is actually about?”
We buy bags with pre-added charms and jackets that are pre-distressed because the trend cycles go so fast, our clothing doesn’t even get the chance to feel lived in, everything is a signifier and can’t just be worn because it’s loved, but more to show or prove that you are someone. If she wears tabis, she’s a ‘real’ fashion girl; she goes to art galleries and posts fit check TikToks with her photographer boyfriend; if she wears Arcteryx, she’s chill, she drinks Guinness and goes on hikes for the gram. If she wears fur coats, she loves a messy night out, smokes tabs and is let in everywhere, no questions asked, because she knows the band. If she wears Tom’s trunks, she went to private school, loves drum and bass and goes skiing on the weekends.
None of those things have to be true; we just have to believe that they could be. It’s like we’re all desperately trying to make a point about ourselves, and really we’re all just performative asf. And duh, life itself is a performance, but we’ve essentially turned getting dressed into a personality test we administer to ourselves every morning, desperately asking, are we niche enough to be interesting but still hot enough to be desired, weird enough to have taste but not so weird that nobody wants to fuck us?
And when you actually clock what these aesthetics are, they are almost entirely built around a femininity that exists to be perceived. Not felt from the inside but read from the outside, filed correctly, appreciated from a distance. Somewhere along the line, the question stopped being how do I want to feel in my clothes and became will they get it? We absorbed the male gaze so young and so completely that we now curate ourselves for it voluntarily, document it ourselves, post it ourselves, tag the brand ourselves and call it self-expression. And babes, that is not self-expression, that is free advertising.
“Are we niche enough to be interesting but still hot enough to be desired, weird enough to have taste but not so weird that nobody wants to fuck us?”
Gen Z gets blamed for this, but it makes sense when you’ve grown up in an attention economy that demands you be legible at a glance. Personal style used to be the accumulation of a life: a concert tee, a dead relative’s coat, shoes worn down on one side. Now it’s a mood board made real, assembled to be read rather than felt. We’re not getting dressed, we’re making a case for ourselves. We’re at a point now where when we see somebody online showcasing their beautiful individual look, we are no longer inspired to find originality for ourselves, but instead find ourselves in comment sections demanding a step-by-step tutorial on how to copy the entire look.
And before you boys get too comfortable, you’re doing it too. The Salomons hiking boy who’s never been further than the Peaks but owns three shell jackets and needs you to know he could survive a Norwegian winter. The moustache mullet patchwork tattoo guy who keeps his keys on a carabiner, the boy who wears vintage band tees and beat-up Sambas, who’s definitely seen Fontaines D.C. four times and will tell you that every time you play ‘Favourite’. The raw denim enthusiast in full Oni selvedge who’s been to Japan once, visited one workshop in Kojima, and hasn’t stopped talking about it since. The record store guy in a deadstock flannel and New Balance 574s who needs you to know he has the original pressing and absolutely did not find it on Discogs. The “I don’t really follow fashion” boy who somehow owns every single piece from the Uniqlo U drop and is inexplicably head to toe Margaret Howell. The skater boy who hasn’t been on a board since 2019 but exclusively wears Rassvet, Fucking Awesome and one very specific Supreme drop from 2017, he got resale. The “I just threw this on” boy in a perfectly proportioned Rick Owens leather and Lemaire trousers, who, to make it clear, did not ‘just throw it on’.
Men have spent years mocking women for being trend-followers while quietly developing their own just as rigid aesthetic uniforms. The difference is they call it “having taste” rather than following a trend, which is somehow the most on-brand thing imaginable.
There was absolutely no need for us to reduce our interests to an aesthetic, to fit people into boxes. You are a complex, contradictory, multidimensional person; you are allowed to play and explore and like multiple styles of clothes and decor all at once. Not everything has to be curated to fit into a repostable TikTok. Unless it’s a really good one, in which case send it my way."
'Playfully Begging for a Kiss' Headcanons - Kid Pirates, Marines
“Help!” You shout, running over and collapsing into their arms. “It’s critical! Quickly! I need…a kiss!”
Kid: It’s a 50-50 on whether he’ll blush, depending on how off guard you caught him. (He’s confident, but there’s just something about you that makes him second-guess himself.) If he’s blushing, he’s more reluctant—he’ll still kiss you, but it will be more chaste and quick. He’ll probably get mad at himself for hesitating, and then pull you into a second, more intent kiss. But if he’s drinking, celebrating, or in otherwise high spirits from the start, he’ll hold you possessively and kiss you with tongue, an open-mouthed, assertive and claiming kiss.
Killer: “Eh?” Tilts his mask down at you. “A kiss?”
“Mhm. And quick, before I lose consciousness…”
“We certainly can’t have that,” he says, his tone amused.
He leans down and touches his mask to your face. You smooch his mask where his lips would be.
Killer’s powerful arms tighten around you fondly, and he stays like that for a second, enjoying the closeness.
(Only in the privacy of his own room, when you’re alone, would the mask come off.)
Wire: Secretly elated that you chose him, but he plays it off cool. “You’re dying, huh?”
“That’s right!” You place your palm to your head. “Oh, the agony! The misery!”
Wire grins. “Beg me for it.”
“Pleeaase,” you beg, batting your eyelashes. “Pretty please, Wire?”
“That’s my good Y/n,” he says, rewarding you with a heated kiss.
Heat: “Um…You want it now?” he hesitates, much more shy than most of his crewmates.
“I need it now! I’ll die! I’ll wither!” you curl your fingers through the strings of his corset and tug slightly. “It has to be from a handsome man with tattoos and sky-blue hair.”
“That’s really specific…”
“Ack! It’s happening! I’m dying!” You rest all your weight in his arms, groaning and moaning in pain. “Ohh… Need kisses… Won’t last…”
“Okay, okay.” He leans in to kiss you, but in his nervousness misses your lips, pecking your nose.
You giggle, grabbing his face and pulling him in for a proper kiss.
“Thanks, Heat!” you singsong, slipping out of his arms and skipping away.
The kiss has stunned him in place, feeling his lips as he watches you disappear.
Koby: “W-W-What?” he says, a blush lighting up his face. He’s holding you securely, but inwardly panicking because you’re in his arms.
“I need a kiss or I’ll die,” you reiterate, wrapping your arms around his neck. He reacts from head to toe, going stiff and wide-eyed in alarm.
He’s the one who is going to die, he thinks. “You’re—you’re not—but I!” he stammers.
“The sea is fading…I see a light…” You sag in his arms, closing your eyes.
“Y/n! D-Don’t do this to me! Hey!” he shouts. “I, I…!”
“If only I was so loved as to be kissed…” you murmur weakly.
IF no one else is around, that’s enough to do him in. Overcome with guilt at the idea you may not feel loved—so long as you keep your eyes closed—he’ll give you a very fast peck on the cheek, very close to the corner of your mouth like he wanted to kiss your lips but chickened out at the last second. Then he’ll very carefully let you go so you support yourself, making sure you’re steady, before he runs in the opposite direction, steam coming off his head. He will not be able to look you in the eye for at least a week or two.
Smoker: Looks down at you. The change in his expression is very subtle, just the slightest tilt of his brow, but you can tell he’s amused.
“Don’t I give you enough attention as it is?” he says.
“…No?” You say, giving him a look. “Obviously not.”
“Then I guess I’m a bad partner.”
“You might be, if you don’t kiss me,” you smile.
He rolls his eyes, but when he kisses you it’s with a hand gently cradling the back of your head, his other hands holding his cigars away from your body.
Doll: “Hm…I dunno,” she says. “Coming off a little desperate.”
“Of course I’m desperate! It’s a matter of life and death!” you insist.
“Oh, really?”
“Really! My head will explode! My guts will be everywhere! It’ll be horrible! Unless a beautiful woman kisses me!”
That makes her crack a smile. She glances aside. “Alright, alright. Come here.”
Doll kisses you only briefly, but it’s one that warm with her affection.
X Drake: His fight-or-flight response is triggered, and he freezes. The blush starts from his chest and goes up. He doesn’t say anything, and you peek an eye open. Clearing your throat, you repeat yourself.
“If someone doesn’t kiss me, I’ll die! Terribly! Horridly!”
“But,” X Drake finally says. “But. But…”
“You’re the only one who can save me, Drake!” you say dramatically.
He swallows, looking genuinely terrified by the prospect. “I, I mean… Um…”
You’ve never seen him so out of his depth, but you’re determined to try and wrangle a kiss from him.
“I need it… It’s gotta be you,” you say, looking up at him with those soul-piercing eyes. “I need you.”
He nearly passes out, his face beet red and eyes glazed over. When he gets his wits about him, he’ll run away with a hurried apology of “I’m sorry…I can’t!” over his shoulder.
Rosinante: Stares at you open-mouthed. You approached him in his own room, so the two of you are alone. You know him well enough to assume he’d never kiss you in front of the Family.
He leans you on one arm to support you, and with his other arm free, takes out his notepad, resting it on top of your head. You’re the perfect height to use as a table, it seems.
“Hey,” you protest.
He scribbles, which feels funny on your head, then holds the notepad out for you to see.
‘What.’
“You heard me.” You loll your head back against the crook of his elbow like supporting yourself suddenly got impossible. “I have a disease where if I don’t get a kiss in the next ten seconds, I’ll wither away.”
He’s quiet. You can spot the faintest blush creeping up his cheeks. You start counting down. When you get below five, you close your eyes.
“Three…two…one.” You say. You can feel Rosinante moving, and your breath holds in your lungs. Will he really…?
Softly, so softly and carefully, he presses his lips to yours. It feels like magic, ebbing between your lips. It lasts for a glorious few moments, and then it’s over.
He’s looking away when you open your eyes. He gently pulls away his support, turning away. He won’t write to you for the rest of the night, withdrawing into himself, but he will hold your hand for as long as you two still have privacy.
Aokiji/Kuzan: “My, my,” he says. “I’ll never get my paperwork done with such a distraction.”
“You’d rather do paperwork than kiss me?” you tease, knowing the answer.
“If I kiss you, I won’t have it in me to face the paperwork again.” He touches your cheek with the crook of his finger, tracing down to your lips. “Kissing you isn’t motivating…It’s all-consuming.”
“So that’s a no?” you say, looking as disappointed as you can.
“Hmm…You’re a bad influence, you know?” he says, angling you so he can kiss you properly.
Naturally he doesn’t do any more paperwork for the day, just makes out with you in his office. If he’s not feeling too lazy he might even fuck you there, but most of the time he’ll just pull you down for a nap with him.
Kizaru/Borsalino: “Ohh?” he says, tilting his head. “Now what’s this about?”
“It’s about…my impending death,” you say weakly. “Only a kiss can keep me alive…Hurry…”
“Ah, I see.” He takes off his glasses, pausing to wipe them when he notices a smudge. Then he puts them back on, looks down at you, remembers what he was doing, and takes off his glasses again.
“You took too long. I’m dead now,” you say, sticking your tongue out. “Bleh…”
“Well, that’s a shame. I can’t kiss a corpse, now can I?” He tries to set you down, but you lean your weight into him so he can’t without dropping you.
“I changed my mind. I’m alive,” you say quickly.
“That’s what I figured,” he says, and kisses you.
Akainu/Sakazuki: He’ll actually do it without much fuss if the two of you are alone. The harsh lines of his face will soften when he looks down at you, a subtle show of adoration. You’ll be on his mind the rest of the day. Be warned; he’s the type to react more so in bed, recalling how cute and perfect you were with increasing force behind his movements.
Fujitora/Isshou: He chuckles, wondering why he’s still surprised by your antics, but delighted that he is so.
“My,” he says, looking down at you fondly. “What an honor to be chosen for such an important mission.” He feels for your cheek with one hand, guiding himself down. For a moment he just pauses in front of your lips, fingers grazing the skin of your face like he’s committing it to memory. Then he kisses you sweetly.
Isshou is one of the few Marines who gives no fucks about doing this in front of people. He’ll kiss you in front of Sakazuki. He doesn’t care, he’d much rather enjoy kissing you than keeping decorum.
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Was reading your NSFW headcanons, and I saw the one saying that Elias prefers it hairy. What other ghouls would like a hairy bush? Think one that was completely unshaved, maybe even with a little happy trail?
oooooh….. i've lowkirkuinely been dying so this is short… but to answer:
nsfw under the cut!
TOHMA!!!!!! i know he goes lowkey feral for it. he would use his mind games to manipulate you into not shaving. he needs to explore the jungle every once in a while
and then…. towa. he loves nature after all, and nothing's sexier than a full bush. he will eat you out all day everyday and not get carpet burn because he's so in touch with nature or whatever.
zenji loves pussy in all forms but he will write poetry for a full bush. the wilderness has always had a tender spot in his heart.
lyca thinks it looks weird if you shave your coochie. he will ask "why are you bald? do you need to go to the doctor?" if it's hairless.
Synopsis: After an eternity spent as a hollow observer, Zenji suddenly regains his humanity and spends a night anchored to the world through the physical proof of your love
Tags: Zenji Kotodama x Fem! Reader, Fluff and Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Zenji is slightly OOC, Emotional Sex, Crying, Zenji becomes human, Vaginal Sex, Praise, Yearning, Confessions
Notes: Thinking of Zenji whose sense of self-control is sent flying out the window the moment he looks at you like this. I’m not used to writing smut, I’m sorry in advance.
The room is bathed in the warm yellow hue of a single lantern, the air heavy with the scent of his favorite ink and the faint, rhythmic sound of cicadas outside. For the first time in an eternity, Zenji isn’t hovering; both of you are sitting on the edge of the futon, his weight finally creating a tangible press against the fabric. His purple locks, untied and falling over his shoulders, brushing against his skin with a softness that makes him shudder—a physical sensation he had nearly forgotten how to process.
As he slides his glasses off, his thin red eyes trace the flush on your face. Any sense of ghostly self-control tends to fly straight out the window when he looks at you like this. He began to disrobe you with an agonizing slowness, his breath scorching against your collarbone. Every time you winced or shifted, he was there with a compliment, a verbal benediction to soothe your nerves.
“To look upon you like this… it is the only masterpiece I ever truly wished to see,” he murmured, his fingers—slender and calligraphy-trained—brushing patterns of profound love against your skin.
He leans in closer, the scent of him becoming overwhelming. His voice is no longer an echo; it is deep, textured, and vibrating against you. Zenji—human, solid, and radiating a feverish warmth—breathes harshly against your skin. You can feel the sweat from his brow dampening your temple, a physical proof of his existence that makes your heart hammer against your ribs.
He discards his own clothes with a frantic, uncoordinated grace, his skin flushed and sensitive to the very air of the room. When he sits before you, completely bared, he looks as though he’s waking up from a lifelong sleep. You reach out, your fingertips barely skimming the curve of his jaw, and you let out a broken, jagged sound—part laugh, part sob. "You are real," you murmur, more to yourself than to him. "You’re so beautiful..."
The sudden weight of your words has rendered him completely mute. He tries to speak, his lips parting, but his throat hitches, and only a small, shaky exhale escapes. Unable to find the language to match the miracle of your touch, he simply moves. He pulls you towards him until you are straddling his lap.
The moment your skin meets his, Zenji lets out a choked gasp. His hands fly to your waist, gripping you with a strength that is certain. He arches into you, his head falling back as he marvels at the friction, the feeling of your slick folds gliding against his length even through your panties. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his fingers spreading wide across your lower back to press you even closer, desperate to feel every inch of the contact he had been denied for so long.
Slowly, he leans down. He envelopes your nipple into his mouth, his tongue laving over the sensitive peak with a desperate hunger. The mewl you let out causes him to shudder, every moan that leaves your mouth sending shivers up his spine. He brings his hand up to fondle your other breast, his touch firm yet careful, as if he’s still adjusting to the fact that he won't simply pass through you.
The sensory overload seems to overwhelm him, and he needs to see you—all of you—anchored beneath him. His hands move from your waist to your shoulders and begin to guide you backward. He handles you like the rarest of gems, until your back meets the soft fabric of the bed. He follows you down, looming over you.
Greedy for the music of your gasps, he pries your legs apart with his knee, grinding his thigh against your pussy. He perks up at the sound of your sharp intake of breath, a hum playing on his lips even as his eyes remain clouded with a desperate, human need. He breaks away from your breast, trailing wet, scorching kisses down your stomach until he reaches the waistband of your panties. He pauses, looking up at you with those red, ink-dark eyes.
“May I proceed, my muse? Or is the prose too bold for the evening?”
You can barely process the words through the haze of pleasure, but you nod eagerly. Zenji’s smirk softens into something more genuine, a look of profound gratitude. Your trust is a heavy crown, but one he wears with pride.
“T-touch me, Taro… please,” you murmur, arching your hips. He crawls beside you and brings his forehead to yours, his skin burning against yours. His hand travels down, his fingers collecting your slickness before he begins to rhythmically circle your clit. You shiver, your hands finding purchase in his hair, pulling him closer. He groans into your neck. Gone is the ghost who watched from the shadows; here is the man who finally has the hands to hold what he loves.
“More,” he breathes against your pulse. “I want to hear everything. Every sigh, every note of your undoing.”
He trails his lips down the center of your body, marking every inch of skin as if he were claiming a territory he thought was lost to time. He moves with a deliberate, agonizing slowness, his hands sliding down to the backs of your knees. He hooks your legs, guiding them upward until they rest securely over his shoulders. He settles between your thighs, face-to-face with your dripping heat. He looks starved. He watches the way your pelvis rolls instinctively, trying to meet him, and he chuckles.
“My Dear, you’re so eager!” he teases, though his own hands are trembling. He places a soft, lingering kiss on your entrance, causing you to squeal. “So sensitive… and so very much mine.”
His tongue slides out, lapping at your folds with a steady, rhythmic pressure. But he isn't content with just a taste; he needs to know every part of you is solid. His long, slender fingers reach down, prodding at your entrance before sliding deep inside you. You gasp as he hooks them, his fingers applying a firm, circular pressure to your g-spot while his tongue continues its relentless work. He isn't just tasting you; he is devouring the reality of you, those delicate fingers that once only ghosted over biwa strings are now sinking into your warmth.
When he finally pulls away, the slick sound of his fingers leaving you makes your head roll back. He moves up the bed to position himself, the mirth in his eyes has completely vanished, replaced by a staggering, raw vulnerability. He holds himself above you, his muscles taut and shaking with the effort of remaining human.
“I’m afraid,” he confesses softly, his gaze locked onto yours. “I’m afraid that if I close my eyes, I’ll wake up cold and invisible again. Hold me. Hold me so I know I’m still here.”
You don't hesitate. You reach up and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down into a desperate, bone-crushing embrace. You hold him so tight that your heartbeats overlap. His hands clutching at your back as if he’s trying to merge his very soul with yours.
When he finally enters you, the sensation is so sharp, so present, that he has to bury his face in the crook of your neck to hide the sob that catches in his throat. He isn't just seeking pleasure; he is seeking proof of life. He buries himself to the hilt, remaining still for a long moment as his body adjusts to the overwhelming friction and heat. He grits his teeth, his fingers intertwining with yours. He begins to move—a slow, deliberate pace that hits every sensitive nerve with precision.
“You feel like… everything,” he gasps, his rhythm quickening as he loses his grip on his practiced composure. He couldn't find it in him to feel guilty when you felt so good against him. His movements are rhythmic and desperate, a man trying to write a lifetime of longing into a single night. He isn't quiet. He groans your name like a prayer, his hands clutching at the sheets or your hips as if he’s afraid that if he lets go, he’ll drift back into the ether.
He pounds into you, the squelch of your joined bodies the only sound he cares about now. He watches your eyes roll back, watches the way your body jerks under his, and it drives him over the edge.
As your climax hits, Zenji follows you instantly. He thrusts one last time, deep and desperate, emptying himself into you with a loud, broken groan. He came to the feeling of you clenching around him as your own orgasm washed over you. He collapses against you, his face hidden in the crook of your neck, his breath coming in jagged, sobbing hitches.
He doesn't pull away. He stays inside you, his human heart slowing down against your chest. When he finally lifts his head, his eyes are wet with silent tears. He reaches out, his thumb tracing your bottom lip.
“I spent so long as a ghost, watching the world pass by like a story I couldn't join,” he whispers, his voice trembling. “But tonight… tonight you made me a man. I love you. More than the ink loves the page, I love you.”
You look up at him, your vision blurring as your own tears finally escape. You reach up, your hand cupping the back of his neck, pulling him down just enough so your foreheads touch.
“I love you too, Taro,” you respond, your voice quivering but certain.
A soft, broken laugh leaves him, a sound of pure, unadulterated relief. He kisses you then—a soft, salty, human kiss that tastes of tears and sweat and a decade of unmade wishes.
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Hello~ Hope you're doing alright❤️ Can I request a reader x Subaru smut where Subaru got kinda mad/jealous because of the rumor (started by Leo lol) that the MC is sleeping with all the ghoul captains. Thanks a lot🩵 note: the reader and Subaru hasn't done that kind of intimacy before so she is surprised
Reader x Jealous Subaru
NSFW minors do not interact
“Is that the Honor Student over there?”
Subaru’s ears perk up at the mention of you.
“Who’s she with this time?” One of the general students drawled, his tone made Subaru’s skin prickle.
“Following Mido around like a lost duckling.” Another of the students that stood in a tight cluster piped up.
“She must have a death wish fucking around on an ex con like that.”
Subaru froze, he felt punched in the gut. What did they mean?
“You really think she’s getting it from all of them?”
“Kamurai definitely, she’s in his room ALL THE TIME.”
“She sits on Hoshibami’s lap at the casino, there’s no way they’re not doing it.”
“I’ve heard she lets Isami run experiments on her.”
“Kinky.” Another student snickers.
Subaru’s hands clench into fists.
It’s not true. It’s not true. It’s not true.
Alan starts down a path towards the main building but you quickly grab him by the hand and point the other direction.
Something so casual as holding hands that Subaru has been so afraid to do because of his stigma, you do it so easily with another man. Could you really be doing more?
“I can see the other Captain’s, but do you really think she’s doing the Vampire?”
“Oh hands down for sure, I’ve seen him hanging on her at the Obscuary bar.”
“Do you think they know about each other?”
“No way, there’d be another clash if they knew.”
“Don’t joke about that.”
Subaru finally gathers his courage and approaches the group. “Don’t you have classes to be at?” He asks them icily
Most of the students blush and scurry off, but a few give him a smug knowing look that makes him sick to his stomach.
Subaru always thought the two of you hadn’t gone further because you were respectful of his worries about his stigma. Was it really because you were being satisfied by others and didn’t need him?
Dark ugly jealousy reared in him, he tried to push it down but a lot of the things the others said weren’t wrong. You spent so much time with the other Captains, so close to them, letting them eat up your time and your personal space…
You and Alan had disappeared. Were you with him for school business or were you going back to his room to…
Subaru shook his head vehemently to dispel the image of you pinned beneath Alan in his bed.
Baseless rumors from gossip mongering cretins. That’s all they were.
***
As you sit next to him on the balcony eating lunch, Subaru studies your profile out of the corner of his eye. The dark jealousy roiling inside him, planted by the general students gossip has not subsided, but he hasn’t had the courage to broach the subject with you.
If it were really true, shouldn’t he be able to tell? In the way you look at him? In the way you move?
“Hey cutie!” A bright voice snaps Subaru from his thoughts.
You look up, a bright smile on your face. “Jo!”
Subaru feels anger and insecurity rise in him as he watches the captain of Dionysia approach.
“You planning on coming to see our show tonight?” Jo’s smile is dazzling as he looks down at you.
“She’s busy.” Subaru blurts out without thinking.
Both you and Jo look at him in surprise.
Subaru stares Jo down and Jo gives an awkward smile. “Is that so?” He gives you a sweeping bow. “Well now that we’re open again, you’ll have plenty of chances, just let me know when and I’ll save you a front row seat. See you later, cutie!”
You look at Subaru questioningly as he clenches his fists.
“I…I think you’re cute too!” He bursts out awkwardly.
You blink in shock as he places a hand over yours. “Please meet me at the tea house tonight.”
Without waiting for a response, Subaru jumps to his feet and strides off, back to Hotarubi.
***
You sit across from Subaru in the tea room, watching him curiously.
Subaru has every intention of being a gentleman, of being civil and just asking you. But his face flushes and he can’t find the right words.
He moves around to your side of the table and bows, forehead pressed to the tatami.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?” You ask confused.
Subaru sits up, taking your hands he presses his lips to your bare knuckles, letting his stigma take effect. He’s terrified of what he might see, you kneeling between Jin’s legs, riding Haru’s face, being taken like an animal on all fours by Taiga.
Instead he sees you tired, exasperated, lonely, despairing. Running errands while you fight for your life. Alan was lost the day you took his hand, you were just showing him the way. Jo’s invitation to the circus has been innocent in your eyes. Your hopes for Subaru’s invitation tonight however were far less pure.
“S…Suba!” You gasp in alarm, worried he’ll be overwhelmed by his stigma.
“You want to touch me.”
Your face goes a brilliant red as you try to pull your hands from his grasp, instead he pulls you forward pressing his lips against yours. He wills his stigma to quiet, trying not to invade your privacy more than he already has, while at the same time wanting to press forward and know everything there is to know about you in a way only he can.
“Subaru!” You gasp in surprise as he lowers you onto your back on the tatami, hovering over you, eyes dark with lust. “I want to touch you too.”
“Is it really ok?” You ask, searching his face, concern etched in his features.
No it’s not, you should be treated like a lady, your first time together should be special, wine, candles, music. Maybe a nice hotel room, certainly not the tea room floor. But Subaru's anger and jealousy won’t let him stop, he has to claim you before someone else does.
“It’s ok.” He whispers against your lips before initiating a deep passionate kiss. Your hands tangle in his hair and his shyly slide under your top. You moan against his lips as his hands find your breasts.
Your hands move to his belt, you both wriggle and shimmy, and tug at each other's clothes, impatient to find bare skin.
Greedy, Subaru feels so greedy, wanting to touch and feel every inch of you, wanting to envelop and devour you with his lust.
Subaru spreads your legs wide, kissing up your thighs, you’re calling his name and it’s so sweet but he needs more. He whispers your name like a prayer. “Let me make love to you.”
“Please.” You whisper back, wrapping your arms around his neck.
Subaru presses down on you, forehead to forehead, chest to chest, touching as much of your body as he can before he presses in between your legs.
You whimper when he enters you, your breath hot against Subaru's lips. Sweet, tight, heavenly warmth tightens around his cock and he almost whimpers as well.
Subaru is gentle as he moves in and out of you, savoring the feel of your body wrapped around his cock, your body pressed beneath his. You, claimed by him, his and his alone.
“Subaru!” You moan and cry his name as he makes love to you. Subaru presses his fingers between your bodies and starts to rub the little nub at the apex of your thighs. A circling pressure in time with his thrusts has you coming apart in mere moments.
Subaru watches in awe as you tense and shake, clutching him desperately.
“Suba, Suba, Suba!” You chant his name as you come, the sweet sound of your voice tipping him over the edge with you.
He should have pulled out, he knows he should have pulled out, but instead he buries himself deep inside you, filling you with his cum.
You smile at him, panting, sweaty, angelic.
He’s going to find whoever started those rumors about you. They’re going to rue the day they decided to hurt you.
