I don't wanna see height, skin colour (especially red/pink ANYTHING {ffs omg}), hair colour/length/texture, etc. (unless the reader is a species other than human)
I love y'all but omg 😭 Just label it a self-insert 😃
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Hi love! Can you do a headcanon set with Toji, Sukuna, Gojo, Geto, Higuruma, and Nanami with the same concept you used when you did the Naruto men vs too much???
Sorry this took so long! I love the lineup you chose. Enjoy <33
JJK Men vs "Too much."
JJK men x Blackfem!reader
Jujutsu Kaisen men's reaction to you all soft and overwhelmed, stating it's “too much.” Each man reacts in his own way: some fold, some mock, some push you deeper. This post includes Toji Fushiguro, Ryomen Sukuna, Satoru Gojo, Suguru Geto, Hiromi Higuruma, and Kento Nanami.
𐙚18+ 𝑴𝒊𝒏𝒐𝒓𝒔 𝑫𝒐 𝑵𝒐𝒕 𝑰𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𐙚
Toji Fushiguro
Your fingers dig into the thick, scarred muscle of his shoulders, breath hitching as you whimper, “Toji—please, shiit—it’s too much.” He doesn't even flinch; he just hitches your hips higher, burying himself to the hilt with a slow, agonizingly deep stretch that steals your air. He watches your eyes roll back with a predatory, half-lidded gaze. “Too much? I haven't even started leaning into you yet.” His voice is a gravelly huff against your neck, devoid of mercy. He ignores your weak shoves, pinning your wrists to the mattress with one massive hand as he begins to rutt with a heavy, unrefined rhythm. “You wanted a man, didn't you? Now stay still and take the weight. You were built to be filled by a beast like me.” He doesn't stop until your mind is literal static, his thick cock hitting your depths until you’re sobbing his name and shaking uncontrollably.
𐙚
Ryomen Sukuna
Your body twists, trying to escape the rhythmic violence of his thrusts, your voice breaking as you sob that he’s "too much." Sukuna only sneers, his four eyes burning with a dark, divine malice as he looks down at your wrecked form. “Too much? I’m perfecting you, human.” He doesn't pull back; he uses his cursed energy to make the internal friction feel limitless, a soul-searing heat that has you screaming into the pillows. He catches your chin, forcing you to look at him as he bottoms out with a bone-grinding lunge that makes the sticky strings of your slick coat his thighs. “Your body was built to swallow me. Don't lie to your King while your pussy is begging for another inch.” He mocks your pathetic pleas, his dirty talk turning into an authoritative stream of ruin until you’re a cock drunk puddle, completely erased by his presence.
𐙚
Kento Nanami
You push weakly at his chest, whining that he’s bottoming out and that you’re far too overstimulated to breathe. Nanami actually pauses, his jaw tightening as he looks down at your puffy, tear-stained face. He folds for a heartbeat, his thumb brushing a stray tear from your cheek while his breath hitches in a rare moment of vulnerability. “I apologize. I didn't realize I was being so... thorough,” he murmurs, his voice a low, vibrating velvet. He eases back, letting you catch your breath while his hands linger softly on your hips—but then he looks your lips, your pretty face. The brief flicker of restraint in his eyes snaps, replaced instantly by a dark, clinical hunger. He drags your legs wide, pinning them firmly to the sheets, and slams back in with a sudden, brutal depth that leaves you gasping. He thrusts harder, pushing you up the bed, your skin slick with sweat, body jolting under his grip as his voice drops into a low, sweet-talking rasp that vibrates against your skin. “You’re doing so well for me, sweetheart. Just take it a little longer. You’re taking all of it like such a good girl. That’s it... just for me.”
𐙚
Satoru Gojo
You try to crawl away, gasping that he’s too big, that the Infinity is making you feel every single atom and it's too much. Gojo just laughs, that beautiful, arrogant sound ringing in your ears as he yanks you back by the waist, slamming into you so hard your breath leaves you in a strangled cry. “Aww, is the Strongest a bit too much for you, baby?” He mocks, his blindfold discarded so his Six Eyes can track every convulsion of your walls. “You’re so sensitive, it’s almost cheating.” He doesn't give you a second to breathe, his pace turning into a high-speed drill that targets your g-spot with terrifying accuracy. “Don't close your eyes. I want to see exactly when you break for me.” When you finally squirt, a hot mess against his thighs, he just smirks. “See? I told you that you could take more. You’re such a shameless little thing.”
𐙚
Suguru Geto
You’re gasping, hands trembling as you try to push him off, whispering that you’re he's too much. Suguru softens for a beat, his long fingers fisted in your hair as he kisses your forehead with a deceptive grace. “I know, my soul. It’s a lot to carry.” He slows his pace, his cock dragging long and heavy through your heat, letting you think he’s giving you the mercy you begged for—until he tilts his hips, finding that one spot that makes your vision spark. He pushes in slow, agonizing, until you’re stuffed full and shaking. “But you were made for this devotion,” he murmurs, his voice a low, vibrating rasp. “Don't push me away. Just take it for a little while longer.” He fucks you with a rhythmic, spiritual power until you’re sobbing into his neck, surrendered completely.
𐙚
Hiromi Higuruma
You sob into the pillow, whispering that it’s too heavy, that you can’t even breathe under the weight of his body. Higuruma pauses, his frame trembling with the effort of holding back. He barely eases the pressure for a single second, his eyes closing as if he’s trying to find his own composure, but the obsession is too thick. He leans back in, pinning you even firmer to the mattress. “Then let me be the only thing you feel,” he whispers, his voice a low, gravelly vibration. He doesn't use mean words; he uses the absolute, punishing weight of his sincerity. He pushes deeper, his hips moving in deliberate, slow circles that target your sweet spot with a lethal, rhythmic accuracy. “Look at you... shaking just because I’m filling you up,” he rasps, his dirty talk turning into a stream of clinical, sincere filth. “You’re so goddamn wet. Feels amazing when I’m bottoming out in you. I want to feel every muscle in this pussy clench around me while I'm in you.” He fucks you until you’re a panting, overstimulated puddle, his movements heavy and searching, refusing to pull back until you’ve swallowed every last, thick inch of him.
KNY men with you all soft and overwhelmed, whispering “please… take some out.” Each man reacts in his own way, but they all push you deeper. This post includes: Himejima Gyōmei, Tomioka Giyū, Uzui Tengen, Haganezuka Hotaru(sexy sword smith), Sanemi Shinazugawa, Akaza, and Kokushibō.
❤︎18+ 𝓜𝓲𝓷𝓸𝓻𝓼 𝓓𝓸 𝓝𝓸𝓽 𝓘𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓪𝓬𝓽 ❤︎
Himejima Gyōmei
Gyōmei is massive everywhere, and you feel it most between your legs. His dick drags too deep, blunt head bullying your cervix until you’re whimpering. You gasp it out—“please, take some out.” He pauses, prayer beads slipping through his thick fingers as if he’s debating mercy. His voice comes ragged: “Forgive me, but I cannot.” Instead of easing up, he rocks forward deeper, slow and grinding, making you choke. His chest heaves above you, sweat dripping, as he whispers almost reverently, “Your body was made to endure me.” He holds you open with his weight, thrusts deliberate, each one testing your limit. When you cry out again, his thumb finds your clit—giving you pleasure as punishment. His dick stays rooted, never giving an inch back, until you break around him.
-
Tomioka Giyū
Giyū pretends restraint, but once he’s in, it’s all quiet cruelty. His dick is thick enough to make you see stars when he bottoms out. You whine, “Giyū…please, take some out.” He doesn’t respond—just breathes through his nose, watching your face twist. He pulls back an inch like he’ll listen, then slams the whole length in again, stealing your air. “Too much?” His voice is flat, almost mocking, the faintest smirk tugging his mouth. Then he starts with shallow, teasing thrusts, just the head stroking your soaked walls until you’re begging for the depth he just denied. When you beg again for relief, he buries himself to the hilt and holds you down. “You’ll take all of it. That’s what you asked for.”
-
Uzui Tengen
Tengen makes it a performance. He’s big, flashy, and he knows it—the stretch of him inside you makes your thighs tremble. You gasp, nails clawing his jeweled arms, “please, Tengen, take some out.” He laughs, low and dazzling, hips never slowing. “Oh, you’re too sweet. Too good at begging.” He gives you a shallow roll of his hips, cockhead nudging your sweet spot just to watch you shiver, then slams the rest in with a groan. “Sound like music when you cry.” He alternates—teasing you with shallow strokes, then punishing you with the full length. His wives taught him patience, but with you? He breaks it, pushing until your voice cracks. He kisses your tears, grinning, “Flashy girls can take it flashy. Don’t hold back for me.”
-
Haganezuka Hotaru
The swordsmith is unhinged in bed, just like in his forge. He’s rough, obsessive, cock blunt and heavy when it sinks too deep. You cry out, “please, Hotaru, take some out.” His mask is off, his grin wild as he presses harder. “You think I’m letting go after all this work? No. You’ll take the thing.” He pounds into you, every thrust a strike, sharp and relentless, muttering curses between gasps. He smears sweat and soot across your thighs as he grips you open wider. His obsession is you now, not steel. When you sob into his shoulder, he growls, “Cry louder. Means I forged you right.” He stays buried deep until his cum overflows, filling you the way he hammers his steel—with manic devotion.
-
Sanemi Shinazugawa
He hears the tremor in your voice—“please…take some out”—and the way it makes him hum is almost tender. He doesn’t hesitate; his voice rough and sure. “You think you get to ask me to ease up?” Then he shoves back in, hard and deliberate. When you beg between moans, he leans close, breath hot, and mocks you with a rasped, “Shut up and take it.” His fingers braid into your coils, chin jabbing so you look at him while he fucks you, watching your plush lips part. He slaps your ass, hard, then buries himself deeper as if to prove a point—every inch taken, no mercy given. He keeps going until your legs tremble and your body folds around him, raw and full, and even then he doesn’t slow—just holds you there, teeth bared and breathing hard, like he’s claimed you by force of will.
-
Akaza
Akaza is hunger incarnate. His cock stretches you raw, bottoming out too easily. You choke, “Akaza, please…take some out.” He snarls, thrusting harder, voice shaking with lust. “No. I want it all. I want to ruin you.” He pins your wrists, presses you down, fucking you through every plea. The slick sounds are obscene, wet and constant, your rich skin shining with sweat as he drives deeper. His demon strength makes it worse—you can’t move, can’t breathe as his cock drills deep, each thrust stealing sound from your throat. He bites your shoulder bloody, groaning against your skin. “I’ll tear this pussy apart if I have to. Beg again—makes me harder.” He doesn’t pull back, not even an inch, until he spills inside you hot and endless, grinding deeper as if trying to brand you from the inside.
-
Kokushibō
Kokushibō is cold precision. His cock is long, thick, brutal in its stretch. You gasp, broken, “please…take some out.” Six eyes burn down on you, unblinking. “Pathetic.” His voice is a sneer as he thrusts deeper, forcing every inch into your trembling body, cock pistoning until your vision spots. He slows only to watch—to see how your cunt struggles to take him, how your tears shine under moonlight. “Your body denies me, yet it grips like it craves me. Which is it?” He pulls back shallow, just to give you a moment of false relief—then drives the full length home again, making you scream. He doesn’t stop until you’re shaking, ruined, creaming around him despite your pleas. Tears cling to your lashes, trembling before spilling down in glistening streaks. His aftershocks are cruel—grinding deeper while whispering, “I will never take less.”
Hello! Long time no see! Since it’s gonna be kink-tober, if you’re comfortable with it, may I ask for you to do a NSFW alphabet with Akaza? He’s my favorite demon (along with Douma) especially after the movie! Did you enjoy it by the way? I loved it!
NSFW alphabet — Akaza.
The NSFW alphabet, all about Upper Moon Three.
Pairing: Akaza x gn!human!reader
Genre: NSFW, fluff
Note: Reader is implied to be chubby. I haven’t written NSFW in a whole year and every time I do I feel like someone’s about to throw rocks at me and boo for including some of my own likes :,) BUT I TRIED MY BEST!! Enjoy!! <33
♡⁎⁺˳✧༚
A = Aftercare. (What is he like after sex?)
He’s very attentive. Clingy, almost.
Akaza doesn’t need to recover physically but knows that you do, so he’ll first stay by your side a little longer, his palms brushing up and down the skin of your waist. His arm tugged your body closer against his naked body. First and foremost, he makes you feel treasured and safe.
Second, he’ll take care of your every need. While you’re slowly slipping into a blissful sleep, you’ll feel a warm, damp towel dabbing some sweat away from your forehead, making you roll over in slight confusion.
Akaza is a caretaker. If he’s aware of it himself, you’re not sure, but it’s sweet to be pampered like this.
“Are you hungry? I can try to make something to eat. What are you in the mood for?”
♡⁎⁺˳✧༚
B = Bodyparts. (Favourite body part of his and yours)
His.
Probably his arms. They demonstrate his hard-worked for strength and can probably scare the piss out of disgusting, lowly demons and humans alike. For you though? It stirs something primal inside him to have you pinned against the mattress, you scratching and clinging onto his arm, your mind driven only by blind pleasure he was providing.
Akaza likes having scratch marks and even bites on him. Those are the only bruises he will not let heal so easily.
♡
Yours.
Easy, your thighs. The way they tremble around his head when he’a busy eating dessert, his hands gently gripping the plush of them to steady himself. Would you consider him a pervert if he admits that it is hard to sometimes stop himself from salivating at the sight of them?
♡⁎⁺˳✧༚
C = Cum. (Anything with cum, basically)
Akaza whimpers when he cums. He can’t help it, you drive him absolutely insane— he can feel your fingers scratching against his back while your head is thrown back into the pillow— how can someone not be thrown over the edge at the sight of that?
Sometimes, he doesn’t even get to the part where his pants come off. Akaza lives, breathed and exists to please you and be alls yours for the taking that he forgets his own pleasure completely, not until he feels something warm drip down his thighs. Well, now he’s going to have to remove his pants now, doesn’t he?
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D = Dirty secret. (A dirty secret of his)
He wants you to dominate him. Once you do, Akaza will probably get some kind of powerup and be finally able to defeat Kokushibo and make Douma eat dirt or something.
It’s a dirty fantasy he sometimes sees behind his eyes, you straddling him, your palms pressing down onto his chest to keep him in place, slowly snaking up to his neck to grip him there. Not to cut off his air, but to show him that you are in the lead here, not him.
To make him forget his name and to think his only purpose in this world is to be for your pleasure as your hips snap against his, shockwave after shockwave assaulting his body in the sweetest way.
For him to drool and snarl his teeth to try and get some semblance of power back but well knowing that there is not a chance he will.
“Hm? I’m not thinking about anything.” He can tell you’re not believing him. “Really. Stop looking at me like that.”
♡⁎⁺˳✧༚
E = Experience. (How experienced is he?)
He is a virgin, so his experience is limited to the colourful lights of the entertainment districts and the curious sounds he caught from some of the lavish houses. Why would he seek out company for pleasure? That just sounds like a lot of work for nothing. Akaza has better things to do.
But now that you share both half of his heart and brain, for a while, it was all he could think about. How was he supposed to ask you if you were willing to share a bed with him? You say you love him and all the other honeyed words, but what if you expect him to propose first? He has no idea how human affairs are like these days!
You had to do the first step but you’re definitely glad you did. Although once you breached the dam, there was no going back…
♡⁎⁺˳✧༚
F = Favourite position. (Self-explanatory.)
Back-to-chest.
It’s intimate and cuddly, wrapping his arms around you and muffling his moans in your shoulder. Bonus points if there’s a mirror nearby and Akaza can watch in the reflection just how much you’re enjoying this.
This works in an upright sitting position with him leaning back against the headboard. His hands would have free access to roam and touch wherever you permit him, while you can either face away, or something he loves even more, turn your body towards him.
The other way this position could go is by pinning you to the mattress below and using his body weight to pin you down. The most important thing for him is to have some form of skin-to-skin contact besides the existing one.
♡⁎⁺˳✧༚
G = Goofy. (How serious is he in the moment?)
4/10 seriousness.
For him, sex is nothing to be taken lightly most of the time. Akaza feels his soul both ascend and descend to the heavens and hells in the most pleasurable way at the same time every time he’s close to finish and every single move of yours is to be cherished and never taken for granted. So, he will not really go out of his way to make this funny. Although every now and then a little surprised chuckle might escape from his lips.
♡⁎⁺˳✧༚
H = Hair. (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)
His body is mostly hairless, but there is a little happy trail leading down to his length and before you ask, it is pink.
Akaza can control most of his body, meaning he can morph and shape it into whatever, so if you were to ask him to remove his pubic hair, he would. It’s no issue.
For you, he literally couldn’t care less if shave your pubic hair or not, although he prefers it to keep it natural. He doesn’t want you to feel pressured to shave it for him anyway.
♡⁎⁺˳✧༚
I = Intimacy. (How romantic is he in the moment?)
3/5 romantic.
Akaza tries to be romantic, as much as someone can be while being balls deep in someone.
Since there is no room to be very sweet and all in the moment, he’ll try his best o be before and afterwards. Akaza’ll sweet talk you with a lazy grin, his arms slowly wrapping around your shoulders to pull you close against his body. Praises and compliments spill from his mouth as his lips busied themselves by kissing a trail up your neck and your jaw.
Your breath hitched slightly as you felt his hand slowly brush over your waistband, his body pushing and guiding you onto the bed.
“You’re the most beautiful thing in the whole world. Fuck.” Akaza chuckled to himself and stared down at your body below him as he knelt over you. “I’m so doomed.”
♡⁎⁺˳✧༚
J = Jack off. (Masturbation headcanon) -> pillow humping.
The air around him felt hot. Way too hot. Beads of sweat formed on his shoulders as Akaza hunched over, his hands gripping the sheets below him. A pillow, your pillow, to be exact, was pressed between his flexing thighs. The friction the fabric of his pants working against the soft silk against the pillow was slowly driving his mind to madness.
He closed his eyes as another deep groan slipped him his lips. This was desperate and unlike him— what kind of magic did you use on him to let him end up like this? Desperately humping your pillow as if it were your thigh but it did not come close to comparison.
“M-Mhh— h-hah.” His brows furrow together in slight frustration as his hips moved faster and faster, shocks of pleasure riding up his spine, making him want more and more. Yet it wasn’t enough. It was never enough without you here.
Wherever you were, you have to come home now. Else he’ll completely loose it.
Akaza opened his eyes and awkwardly hopped off the pillow, staring at the wet spot he created during his second-long bliss. “Ah… Fuck.”
♡⁎⁺˳✧༚
K = Kink. (one or more of his kinks)
1. Bondage.
This goes both ways. Akaza likes the sight of you being bound by your hands and/or legs, beautifully arranged just for him in a way. It doesn’t have to be with ropes, he also likes pinning and binding you down with his own hands.
On the other hand maybe he prefers being bound by you instead. It’s unusual, being at someone’s complete mercy. You can bind his hands together or attach them to the bedposts, perhaps secure his arms behind his back or just trap him between your thighs. Sure, he can easily escape and wiggle out of the restrains, but Akaza certainly doesn’t want to.
♡
2. Predator-Prey-play.
Usually he’d despise using his demonic nature against you, but if it’s in context of the bedroom, maybe, maybe Akaza’ll not fight the coiling desire that is bubbling in his stomach at the thought of him (gently) biting down into the flesh your neck, you flinching beneath him.
The mental image of your eyes rolling back, your lips desperately trying to suppress a moan while he uses his strength to keep you pinned, his nails leaving crescent marks while he pounds into you at an almost inhumane speed… Akaza should probably bring this fantasy of his up to you.
♡⁎⁺˳✧༚
L = Location. (His favourite/preferred location)
Might be a little vanilla but he prefers to keep your sex life in the comforts of your bedroom. Everything he personally needs and/or can get for you is nearby, from lube and ropes to fuzzy blankets and towels.
Although there was the occasional sex in the dark forest, especially when you can’t keep yours hands to yourself of his eyes are especially appreciative that night.
The most experimental location was on one of the many rooftops of a colourful shopping district. While people went to get their shopping done before the last stalls close, you had Akaza pinned to the tiles and riding him silly. It was a one-time thing because he literally could not walk afterwards or for the life of him get you both off that roof, not before thoroughly recovering.
♡⁎⁺˳✧༚
M = Motivation. (What turns him on?)
Oh, there are too many to count. Akaza senses are very finely tuned, which does not make things easier— if you’re leaning over his shoulder to reach for something and your breath grazes his skin one too many times, you’ll see his flushed face leaning away from yours from the corner of your eye.
But mostly, he goes from 0 to a 100 whenever you’re being especially sweet on him. Soft touches, running fingers through his hair, sweet nothings in his ear… if he can sense that there’s an ulterior motive on why you’re being so attentive all the sudden, Akaza’ll eagerly respond.
“Don’t tease me. You’ll know what happened if you keep this up—“ Despite wanting to sound stern, you can hear how desperately he wants you to keep going. Please don’t stop pushing him now.
♡⁎⁺˳✧༚
N = No. (Immediate turn-offs, things he would never do)
Akaza would never, and he swore his life on this, NEVER hurt you intentionally. He frowns a little whenever he spots bruises forming on your skin after a rougher night, kicking himself mentally for going too far.
It’s fine if you’re into marking, spanking and such, but he’ll definitely draw the line at hurting you or drawing blood. Knifeplay, hardcore painplay and intense choking is something he does not want to do.
It’s too close to actual battles and fights against humans. Akaza doesn’t even want to think about that.
♡⁎⁺˳✧༚
O = Oral. (preference in giving or receiving)
He definitely prefers giving. Akaza is a muncher and you can fight me on this if you want, I’m dying on this hill.
For the fems…
Pussy if probably his favourite meal out there. He’d gladly let you suffocate him by sitting on his face— if he were able to die like that. Since he can’t Akaza’ll have to stay contented with working his tongue between your folds until you’re crying of overstimulation or physically have to push his face away.
He takes pride in making you cum, not caring about his own pleasure in return. But then again if you ever were to squirt on his face Akaza’d probably cream himself.
♡
For the mascs…
He was a little hesitant at first. Being in a relationship with a man isn’t (wasn’t) exactly common in Japan, but he did get more comfortable and curious after a while.
Akaza didn’t know how much he liked getting choked by your dick. His ears tear up slightly and his jaw slowly relaxes as he takes you in further and further, making your abdomen muscles contract slightly and your grip on his pink hair tightening…
♡⁎⁺˳✧༚
Q = Quickie. (His opinion on them)
Not exactly 100% fond of them but also not completely opposed. Akaza would prefer to take his time with you to kiss and touch every inch of your body as he likes and having you do the same, but if he’s especially pent up and with sun is rising soon, you’ll never catch him say no to one.
“I can make it quick.” You felt his lips forming into a grin as he nuzzled against his neck. “If you‘ll let me.”
♡⁎⁺˳✧༚
R = Risk. (How risky is he willing to be)
Akaza would not be up to getting it on outside while the sun is rising but he is more adventurous than you’d expect.
He isn’t exactly shy about doing it in public, as in he wouldn’t actively ask you to have sex with him in an alleyway, but if one thing leads to another and you tease and push him enough, he might be willing to first carry you out of sight (and ears) before being willing to undress himself. Besides, your body is for his eyes only.
♡⁎⁺˳✧༚
S = Stamina. (How much stamina does he have?)
As Upper Moon 3 and simply being a demon, he already has extended stamina. He doesn’t have a refractory period, so if you’re really in the mood and up for it, Akaza could for multiple rounds. You tried to tire him out once and compete on who’ll fold and melt first, and so far, you always tap out after round 4 or such.
Overall, he seemingly has infinite stamina.
”What? Tired already? Fine. Cuddles then?”
♡⁎⁺˳✧༚
T = Toys. (Does he own any? Use them?)
He doesn’t own any and would’ve been glad to live a little longer without knowing about the existence of sex toys. Why would anyone need toys like that? His hands suffice, why aren’t you happy with yours?
Then, Akaza was very opposed to using them on him. The idea was weird and always breaks his brain briefly. It didn’t take much to convince him to try it at least once though.
(Perhaps I’ll write a pegging fic one day)
♡⁎⁺˳✧༚
U = Unfair. (How teasing is he?)
He loves to tease with both his words and his fingers. If he’s in a mean mood, sometimes it’s both.
You’ll feel his sharp teeth grazing the skin of your shoulder, switching back and forth between kissing and biting.
“You wanted this,” you heard him whisper into your ear. Your hips twitched and nudged against his growing arousal as you were shifting back and forth on his lap. Away from his fingers, maybe, since he won’t stop teasing your folds, his thumb occasionally bumping against your clit. You felt his finger briefly slip into but it was not enough to enjoy it— immediately, he pulled back out.
“C’mon, give me more.”
♡⁎⁺˳✧༚
V = Volume. (How loud is he? What noises does he make?)
He tries to restrain his moans but he’ll end up groaning and whimpering in your ear anyway. Akaza is not exactly loud but not silent either.
Once he looses control and gets comfortable, he grunts and moans much more. His chest rumbles and they sound throaty, almost desperate. Besides the moans and whimpers he breathless praises between the kissing and suppressed noises, unintentionally most of the time.
♡⁎⁺˳✧༚
Y = Yearning. (His sex drive)
Akaza had no sex drive before meeting you. You corrupted him somehow.
He feels a little embarrassed at how much he is actually yearning for you, not even within the sexual context. Sometimes he’ll just fantasise about holding hands again and that’s enough to make him blush.
Overall, he has a rather high sex drive but barely acts on it without you initiating it first.
♡⁎⁺˳✧༚
Z = Zzz. (How quickly will he fall asleep?)
He doesn’t before you do. Akaza’ll make sure you’re all taken care and pampered first.
Like in A = Aftercare, he’ll wipe your sweat away, bring you some water or snacks if you want and then bundle you up in blankets and let your head lie on his chest until you drift away. His fingers brush through your damp hair, down to your shoulders and over your collarbone.
When you’re asleep, that’s when he really takes his time to view you full without you even realising you’re being so lovingly admired.
“I love you.”
♡⁎⁺˳✧༚
💠
Author’s note. Thank you for reading!
I couldn’t wait until Kinktober, I had to do this right away… Akaza got me feeling feels after the movie U can’t even. Please don’t throw stones at me for the things I wrote here
Anyways, make sure to EAT, SLEEP and DRINK enough!!
This one is soft, indulgent, and sensual—reader is playful, infatuated, a little shameless with her affection, and each man reacts in his own way. The focus is on fluff because the last headcanon was a little rough. Featuring: Kokushibō, Akaza, Giyū Tomioka, Gyōmei Himejima, Uzui Tengen, Haganezuka Hotaru, and Sanemi Shinazugawa.
❤︎18+ 𝓜𝓲𝓷𝓸𝓻𝓼 𝓓𝓸 𝓝𝓸𝓽 𝓘𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓪𝓬𝓽 ❤︎
Kokushibō
You love touching him. Every scar, every stretch of muscle under his pale skin. He doesn’t stop you when you press your palms to his arms, stroking up and down like he’s carved stone. He only watches, quiet, while you kiss his eyelids—tender, reverent. His lashes flutter, but he doesn’t pull away.
“Strange girl,” he murmurs.
You grin, kiss his forehead, trace down his jaw. He feels worshipped. And he allows it. For someone who’s lived centuries drowning in silence, in blood, the press of your warm mouth against his ruined body feels…dangerous. Like hope.
When you crawl into his lap and nuzzle at the lines of his ribs, he exhales a low sound, hand brushing the back of your head. He doesn’t understand why you’d want him like this. He only knows he won’t tell you no.
ᰔᩚ⋆.˚
Akaza
You get obsessed with his tattoos. You kiss them, lick along the curling marks like they’re sacred lines. Sometimes you take his wrist, tongue tracing the veins in his hand until he shudders and grips your thigh too hard.
“Little thing…” His voice is rough, shaky.
You smile against his skin, teeth scraping over the swell of his bicep. He loves how shameless you are, how greedy. Loves the way you don’t flinch from him. When you drag your mouth down his chest and whisper, “Pretty,” he almost laughs.
Pretty? A monster like him. But he lets you say it. Lets you claim every inch of him with lips and hands, even when it makes him ache with something unfamiliar.
ᰔᩚ⋆.˚
Giyū Tomioka
You leave hickeys everywhere. His throat, collarbone, shoulder. Each bruise dark on pale skin, like you’re marking him. Giyū never stops you—he just blushes and stiffens, ears pink, mouth set.
“Enough,” he mutters sometimes.
But he doesn’t push you away. He sits there, jaw tilted, while you press another bite into his neck. He swallows hard when you murmur, “Want everyone to see.”
Your soft little grind into his lap makes him shiver. He won’t admit it, but he likes being claimed, liked by someone who sees him as more than a quiet shadow. He likes the way you won’t let him fade.
ᰔᩚ⋆.˚
Gyōmei Himejima
You climb into his lap at random, grinding over his thigh or print like it’s instinct. He’s huge under you, warm, unmoving at first. Then his big hands settle gently at your waist, steadying you.
“Child,” he rumbles, embarrassed.
You only moan softly, rubbing harder. He feels your heartbeat racing against him, your body so small against his massive frame. His cheeks heat, but he lets you do it. Lets you use him as if he were yours.
When you bury your face against his chest, whispering sweet things—how safe he makes you feel, how much you adore him—Gyōmei trembles. That never ending flood of tears start. He’s not used to indulgence. To being touched with such eagerness. But he holds you tighter, rocking you slowly, giving you what you need.
ᰔᩚ⋆.˚
Uzui Tengen
You’re fascinated with his jewelry. Fingers always tugging at chains, rings, tugging his earrings into your mouth just to bite. He laughs, indulgent.
“You’re a menace,” he teases.
But when your teeth sink into his neck, leaving a sharp bite over his pulse, his breath stutters. You grin up at him, eyes wicked, and he just cups your chin with jeweled fingers. “Brat.” His voice is warm, amused. He lets you gnaw and mark, lets you glitter yourself with him.
You’re his favorite kind of chaos—bright, greedy, affectionate. He wouldn’t have you any other way.
ᰔᩚ⋆.˚
Haganezuka Hotaru
You play with his swords, fingers gliding along the hilt while he glares. But he doesn’t snatch it away. He only mutters, “Careful.”
Sometimes you sneak up behind him while he forges, pressing your naked body against his sweaty back. He freezes, tools clattering. “What the hell—”
You laugh, arms circling his waist. “Keep working.”
He growls, flustered, but he doesn’t throw you off. The heat from the forge mixes with your warmth, your skin against him. It’s distracting, maddening. But he secretly loves it—loves that you want to cling to him even when he’s at his most unlovable.
ᰔᩚ⋆.˚
Sanemi Shinazugawa
You get hooked on his scars. The pale lines that drag across his chest and face, the jagged grooves on his arms. You run your fingertips over each one like you’re memorizing them, like they’re holy scripture. He stiffens every time, jaw tight, eyes darting away.
“Quit starin’,” he mutters.
But you don’t quit. You kiss each scar, soft and stubborn, until his breathing turns uneven. When you lick along the ridge of one across his ribs, he curses under his breath, hand fisting in the sheets.
“Why do you… why do you look at me like that?” he asks, but it breaks, softer than he means it to.
You grin against his skin, whispering, “Because you’re beautiful.”
That word knocks the air out of him. Beautiful. He pretends to hate it. Pretends you’re annoying. But when you smile up at him like he hung the moon, Sanemi’s heart stutters, and he knows he’ll never tell you no.
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You scratch, bite, or hit too hard while they’re fucking you—they get rough. Featuring: Himejima Gyōmei, Tomioka Giyū, Uzui Tengen, Haganezuka Hotaru(sexy sword smith), Akaza, Kokushibō, and Sanemi Shinazugawa.
𔓐༉18+ 𝓜𝓲𝓷𝓸𝓻𝓼 𝓓𝓸 𝓝𝓸𝓽 𝓘𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓪𝓬𝓽 𔓐༉
Himejima Gyōmei
Your nails rake too deep down his back, and Gyōmei stills, chest heaving, sweat dripping from his temple. His voice rumbles low, like a warning bell. “Little one… that hurt.” Then his massive hands are locking around your wrists, pinning them to the bedding like nothing. He starts again, harder, grinding his thick cock into you so deep you’re sobbing. “If you claw, you take the pain back.” His thrusts are punishing—bruising hips, dragging your walls until you’re fluttering. You bite his shoulder in defiance and he groans, fucking you even deeper, hips slamming, bed groaning. “You’ll repent on my cock. Cry for forgiveness.” And he keeps you there until your voice is raw.
════ 𔓐༉ ════
Tomioka Giyū
You slap his shoulder when he slows down, too lost in rhythm. The crack of your palm against him pulls his head up, his dark eyes flat and dangerous. “Don’t.” He pushes you flat, face pressed into the futon, one arm twisted behind your back. Then he shoves back in, merciless strokes, all restraint gone. He leans down, breath in your ear, voice cold. “You’ll take what I give.” Every time you buck away, he pins you harder, fucking you rough until your breath stutters. His punishment isn’t loud—just sharp, efficient, merciless. You scratch again, desperate, and he ruts so deep you choke. “Do that again,” he mutters, “and you won’t walk tomorrow.”
════ 𔓐༉ ════
Uzui Tengen
Your teeth sink into his neck hard enough to bruise, and Tengen laughs—flashy, feral. “Bold little slut.” His jeweled hands are quick, flipping you onto your stomach. His palm smacks your ass, once, twice, sharp enough to make you gasp. Then his cock spears back in, pounding deep. “You wanna bite? I’ll give you something to scream about.” He fucks you rough, hand in your coils, tugging your head back so your throat arches. His pace is brutal, showy, hips slamming till the tatami creaks. You gasp apologies, sweet words, and he snarls against your ear, “Too late—your pretty body’s mine to ruin tonight.”
════ 𔓐༉ ════
Haganezuka Hotaru
You slap his chest when he growls too loud, and Haganezuka snaps. “Ungrateful brat.” His hands fist your thighs, holding you wide open while he drives in fast, messy, relentless. His mask slips off, teeth bared, sweat and soot streaking his skin as he snarls. “Scratch again. Hit me again. See what happens.” You dig your nails into his arms anyway, defiant, and he loses it—spits in your mouth, slaps your tit, fucks you until you’re crying. His voice breaks ragged, unhinged: “I’ll pound obedience into you. This pussy’ll remember who owns it.”
════ 𔓐༉ ════
Akaza
Your nails drag bloody lines down his chest. He moans, grins wide, eyes glowing red. “Pain for pain, pretty thing.” His hand wraps your throat, squeezing just enough to make your pulse stutter. He slams in hard, so hard the futon slides across the floor. “This body was made to take damage,” he hisses. “So give me yours.” Every time you claw, he chokes tighter, fucking you merciless, cock grinding against your cervix until you’re crying his name. He kisses your tears, cruelly sweet. “Beg me not to break you—and maybe I’ll stop.”
════ 𔓐༉ ════
Kokushibō
Your teeth sink into his arm, and his face doesn’t even flicker. Six eyes narrow, sharp. “Disobedience.” He pulls out slow, then slams back in, the force rattling through your bones. One hand pins your wrists above your head, the other presses your thighs wide apart, unmovable. His cock drags brutal and deep, veins stretching you till your vision sparks. “You bite the hand that holds you?” His voice is soft, deadly. He keeps you on edge, shallow thrusts, then plunges to the hilt without warning, over and over until you’re sobbing. He tilts his head, watching your tears. “Learn. Your body is mine to command.”
════ 𔓐༉ ════
Sanemi Shinazugawa
You rake your nails down his chest, drawing blood, and Sanemi snarls, grabbing your jaw so rough your teeth click. “The fuck you think you’re doin’, huh?” His cock slams back into you, savage, his hips snapping sharp enough to bruise. He pins your wrists above your head with one scarred hand, the other spanking your thigh until it stings. “Scratch me again and I’ll fuck you so raw you won’t sit for a week.” You bite his shoulder out of spite, and he loses it—drives in balls-deep, rubbing cruel circles that make your eyes roll back. His laugh is ragged, cruel. “Oh, you like it rough? Then take it. Take every inch, slut.” He fucks you into the mattress, punishing, relentless, until your sobs turn to broken moans.
KNY chars if you were as strong as them physically
gender neutral, and fluffy
I want Skittles also merry late Christmas to those who celebrate and happy holidaysss to those who dnt
✧ TANJIRO
Not jealous, really just amazed by you and your strength, because like, if you're strong, then that means you two can have each other's back, y'know, so he's pretty happy about it. Really likes sparring with you sometimes
He likes knowing that you both can protect each other.
✧ ZENITSU
Finds your strength something that he can also brag to you about, like he finds it so cool that you're as strong as him. Will also just randomly ask you to spar, just to see if you can still keep up with him
If you do end up outpacing him once, he kind of starts training better
✧ INOSUKE
obsesseddd with you and the fact that you're as strong as himmm, he will literally want to spar with you every chance he gets. He also would probably like to sneak attack you just to see how you handle that type of stuff
He loves sparring with you, like, it is so fun to him
✧ GIYUU
lwk thinks he's imagine it when you do block one of his strikes during a sparing session, so yk, he starts testing you by doing little things, and when he does realizes you're like, strong as him, he just accepts it
sees you more as someone who can have their own back, so he's not too worried abt you, but he's still watching yk
✧ KYOJURO
He's probably more excited about it than you are about it, like he's overjoyed by it, literally. But he does like the fact that you can, like, protect yourself while he's out doing things, and the fact that you both can stand in battle, you know?
encourages you a lot to do literally anything
✧ TENGEN
He likes that you can keep up with him and his speed and stuff, so he's, like, impressed and also very happy, in a more quiet way though
He encourage you to spar with him sometimes, just to see where you still stand
✧ SHINOBU
Was a bit surprised at first, but accepts it cs, what else can she do… But, she does find you so interesting after, so she'll, like, ask you questions about your training stuff, just to see if she was doing anything similar.
She does like it, though.
✧ GYOMEI
He likes it and respects it, not that he ever thought you were weak though. He does trust you a lot, though, so he hopes you trust him back, then you guys can have each other's back and stuff
Gives you pointers on stuff still though, if you want it ofc.
✧ SANEMI
kinda skeptical about you in the first place, then you match him blow for blow, and he's like, "alright…" and he just starts going harder on you since he wants to see if you can really keep up with him or not.
very much stops treating you 'gentle' in spars, not that he was to begin with though
✧ GENYA
won't rly admit it, but he was a little surprised at first, cs he wasn't really expecting that from you, like he wasn't expecting you to be weak but not strong either yk. takes it to heart, kind of, and starts training a bit more than usual
He's kind of stressed at you sometimes, for no reason, he says
✧ MITSURI
Loves it sosososo much, because that means you both can protect each other. does find it very exciting to have someone on the same level as her, like not stronger, not weaker
Will spar with you when you want if she cannn !
✧ OBANAI
Wasn't expecting you to be strong, lkw, but wanted to humor you anyways. But kind of impressed, even if he won't admit it to you, and he never will tbh </3
Also test you sometimes when he does decide to spar with you.
✧ MUICHIRO
Doesn't really mind, but likes that you can protect yourself and him if needed. He would protect you too if he had to, he likes that you both are the same level yk
But, he doesn't mindddd; if anything, he likes it, but doesn't just see you as strength.
DEMONS
✮ AKAZA
he reallyyyy likes it ofc, he likes the fact that you're strong, for one, and the fact that you're as strong as him ! Like he likes that someone can keep up with him finally. So he probably wants to train with you most times, but not like, alll that time
Finds you being strong as him interesting
✮ DOUMA
fascinated by you and the fact you can actually keep up with him. Butttt, he doesn't rly care that much, and will just probably try to test your strength in other ways, like his stupid ahh tricks </3
But he is intrigued by you, somewhat
✮ ENMU
Thrilled that you can keep up with him, sooo, naturally, he just goes rougher on you too, but to see if you reallyyy can stand it, or can only handle a bit of pressure.
He finds if good you can kep up with him, but also sees it as he should go harder on you then
✮ GYUTARO
literally just stares at you when he does realize you're not in fact weaker than him but as strong as him, since he was expecting you to be weak ngl. and he's kind of upset about it, in a more envious way, cs why are you as strong as him??
will randomly just stare as you then look away sometimes
✮ KOKUSHIBOU
really wasn't going to give you the time of day at first, but did anyways, cs, idk, why not. When he does realize it, though, he's quietly confused and also contemplating his next move. Cs if you're as stong as him, that means you can keep up with him, which also means you could be a threat…
literally just stares off into space thinking about what to do.
✮ MUZAN
really impressed, like really… So he's lwk thinking of trying to convince you to join him, cs having you as an ally is good. since you're up to par with him. But having you as an enemy, like that wouldn't be too smart of him, with his plan. Sooo, he wants to keep you, like, close with him yk
Not really scared of you, but like, the fact that you can keep up with him makes him a bit uneasy.
<3
♡ YORIICHI
He doesn't mind; in fact, he likes it since he knows you can protect yourself when he may not be around, yk. But he still likes the fact that he can protect you too. Really he won't treat you differently, since youre still just you to him, and you alwaysss will beeee <3
If you do convince him to spar with you, he does give you tips and stuff, but nothing too major, and he enjoys sparring with you.
@auttiedaysss ofccc, thank youuu !! ___ i wrote this like, ln, and it's longer than usual cs of the program I use to pre write lol, it makes my sentences look shorter than on tumblr
The entire time he spends looking for you, he's trying to stay calm and convince himself that you're okay. And like, not dead.
He looks in every direction of every noise until he eventually finds you, which he's instantly relieved by. But still worried, even as he checks you over for injuries.
⊹ ࣪ ˖ Zenitsu !
The whole time he's looking for you he's convincing himself of the worst. Like he's crying and everything, but still looking for you.
When he does find you alive, he just throws himself at you and probably won't leave you by yourself for like three days. Cs he's kind of worried you'll get lost again
⊹ ࣪ ˖ Inosuke !
Very worried, but puts it off as if it were kind of an inconvenience to go looking for you. Really, he's looking like everywhere for you, even in trees, you never know yk
When he does find you, it's like he wasn't worried, but you can tell he was, especially when he starts bragging about how he wasn't worried cs he knew you'd be okay.
⊹ ࣪ ˖ Giyuu !
He panics, but like, silently, and he lwk tries to stay calm since he doesn't want to start panicking and looking in places where he already looked. So for the most part it tries to stay level-headed.
When he does find you, he makes sure to get you back safe before he says anything, and then he finally relaxes a bit.
⊹ ࣪ ˖ Kyojuro !
He looks for you without stopping even once, because, like, what if you're in trouble? He has zero time to lose looking for you.
When he does spot you, yk, alive and okay, his grin slowly starts to show back. Though he doesn't give a full-blown smile until he's gotten you back safe <3
⊹ ࣪ ˖ Tengen !
He acts cool about it, really; he is so much not cool, like he's so worried but also knows that worrying isn't going to do anything. So he stays clearheaded for most of it.
The moment he finds you, he slings his arm over your shoulder as he guides you back. He'll carry you back if you're hurt though.
⊹ ࣪ ˖ Shinobu !
She doesn't really say much to anyone, and I think she'd probably be too focused on finding you to be, yk, teasing. She's actually rlly hoping you're okay with, like, mild injuries, getting them if there are any.
When she does find you, she focuses on getting back to treating your injuries before she teases you again.
⊹ ࣪ ˖ Gyomei !
The whole time he looks for you, he prays that you're somewhere okay and not dead, maybe with a few cuts, but not dead.
When he does hear your voice, calling out to him since you recognized him, he is very relieved as he guides you back. He does ask if you're okay, though.
⊹ ࣪ ˖ Sanemi !
He's upset and angry, because when is he not? Really, he's upset because he's worried, and he hates being worried. He's mad because he can't find you.
When he does find you, he checks you for injuries before then, guiding you back, all the way reprimanding you for getting lost. But like, you could tell he was worried.
⊹ ࣪ ˖ Genya !
His mind, like, keeps jumping to the worst possible scenario, even when he tries to convince himself that you're okay and not dead; his head just keeps jumping there
When he finds you, he focuses on getting you back before he can truly be relieved. ends up lwk tearing up once you're back because he thought you died.
⊹ ࣪ ˖ Mitsuri !
Lwk sobbing the whole time but actually still manages to look for you effectively, although a bit frantically.
When he finds you, she literally runs to you, very happy to see that you're still alive. You'll also probably get the biggest hug of your life.
⊹ ࣪ ˖ Obanai !
He looks for you silently, but inside, he's genuinely losing it, like his head is jumping to the worst case, so, he's trying to prepare for that.
When he does find you, alive and okay, he's very relieved inwardly! But still, he wouldn't show you that he was necessarily really worried for you. But you can tell by the way he stays close to you for the next few days.
⊹ ࣪ ˖ Muichiro !
Weirdly calm on the outside, inside he is very worried, but it doesn't really show in his face or movement. He probably also gets Tanjiro to help him look so that you both don't get stuck when he does find you.
When he does find you, he says something very simple like … and then tries to lead you out, gets kind of lost, and gets saved because Tanjiro was there.
Demons - !
✶⋆.˚ Akaza !
He kind of ends up abandoning his own responsibilities to find you. He's more upset than worried because like, what caused you to get lost?
When he finds you alone, he looks you over for any injuries, and if he finds any, he asks you how you got them… for a reason, of course.
✶⋆.˚ Douma !
The whole time he looks for you, it's like he's not worried like at all. He very much is wondering if you've gotten yourself killed, but it just doesn't really show.
When he does finally find you, he makes sure to surprise you and also tells you how much he missed you. In the most annoying way possible, but, he means it <3
✶⋆.˚ Gyutaro !
He's honestly a little terrified because he doesn't want to find you dead somewhere. And because he doesn't want to lose you too.
When he does find you, he checks over you, either to calm himself or to make sure you're like, really you.
✶⋆.˚ Enmu !
He's searching for you, mostly without taking a break, since he literally can't take his mind off of it until he knows where you are
When he finds you, he makes sure to get you back safe and lwk becomes a littleee clingy after that… Like appearing in your dreams the night after clingy.
✶⋆.˚ Kokushibou !
Externally, he's fine, just looking for you with no exact expression on his face. Inside, though, he's thinking of every place you could possibly be and what each outcome could possibly be.
When he finds you, he just grabs you as he guides you back so you don't get lost again and another so that he can calm himself from the thoughts.
✶⋆.˚ Muzan !
He gets literally every demon he can to look for you while also looking for himself, just in more particular places.
The second you're found, his irritation dims a bit, only a bit, because he's still upset that you got lost in the first place… He will question you on why you got lost, though.
<3
˖᯽ ݁˖ Yoriichi !
He just quietly looks for you with a level head in mind so that he doesn't panic. He also keeps the thought that you are alive, maybe hurt though, so he tries to find you quickly and efficiently.
When he does find you, he guides you back safely before eventually telling you how much you worried him. After, though, he'll try to always know where you are, but like, not in a creepy way, I promise. ,3
i found out i need glasses, they're cute, so i lwk don't mind
A/n: AHHH! My first Dōma one shot…tehe! This man stays in my mind. He’s too damn fine. (Also his partner’s gender is up to you. Personally, I think he’s a queer king. Let’s all be kind, no hatefulness allowed here.) This was written with a fem reader in mind but I think it can be interpreted differently.
Setting: KNY universe Plot: He’s always been his own puzzle, and you’ve always been drawn to him. Tonight, the boundaries get crossed, and desire speaks louder than fear.
It pretends to be with vast corridors stretching into themselves, paper walls breathing softly like they’re asleep, but sound carries here in strange ways. It bends, lingers, and remembers.
You weren’t trying to listen.
You tell yourself that as you slow at the edge of his domain, fingers curling reflexively into the sleeve of your haori when the sound reaches you. You hear his voice first. It’s bright, lilting, and unmistakable. A laugh threaded through irritation, sugar poured over something sharp.
Then another voice. His partner. They’re angry. But in that exhausted way that comes from repeating the same wound until it won’t close anymore.
You stop, silencing your steps.
Not because you want to intrude.
Because your body knows that voice.
Because your chest tightens like it always does when you hear that tone directed at him.
Truth is, Dōma confides in you. You know he doesn’t want to stay in this relationship but he clings to Hope with desperate fingers. He hopes it will get better. He hopes it will change. He doesn’t understand why he isn’t worth changing for. He doesn’t know how he couldn’t be enough.
He spills his emotions and confesses to you while you’re wrapped tightly in his arms. It’s never romantic. It may feel that way to you but to Dōma it’s normal. You try not to think about it too much… but you devastatingly fail.
“I’m trying,” Dōma says, and it’s almost playful, almost teasing, but you know him too well. There’s a strain beneath it, thin as ice about to crack. “You’re acting like I don’t care at all.”
“You don’t listen,” his partner snaps. “You never listen. Everything is a joke to you.”
There’s a pause. A longer one.
You imagine him tilting his head, rainbow eyes bright, smile fixed just a second too long. The way he does when he’s cornered emotionally and doesn’t know how to explain himself without sounding monstrous or hollow.
“I am listening,” he says finally. “I just… don’t feel things the way you want me to. I can’t change who I am. You have to love me as I am, sweetheart.”
“So that’s it?”
A sharp inhale, fabric shifting, footsteps pacing.
“You’re impossible, Dōma.”
Then you hear footsteps approaching.
You barely have time to turn before the door slides open and his partner storms past you, shoulder clipping yours without apology. Their eyes flick to you with recognition, resentment, something ugly and unspoken.
“And now you’re here… he’s all yours!” Their voice is bitter. They walk off with their hands thrown in the air like a surrender.
And then they’re gone, swallowed by the castle like they were never here at all.
The slams shut.
The silence afterward is tense and heavy.
You never imagined you’d be a sensitive topic in their relationship.
You thought you had hidden your feelings.
Regardless, Dōma couldn’t be more oblivious.
You stand there for a moment too long, heart pounding, guilt crawling up your spine. You shouldn’t have heard that. You shouldn’t be here at all.
This place and him has always been dangerous to you in ways that have nothing to do with violence.
But then you hear it.
A soft sound. Just… breathe.
It’s unsteady, barely audible, but it sounds like relief.
You slide the door open.
Dōma is seated on the floor, back against a pillar, one knee bent, the other stretched out lazily like he hasn’t just had his heart dragged across the tatami. His fan lies discarded beside him. His hair is loose, pale strands spilling over his shoulders like he forgot to care.
When he looks up at you, the smile is already there.
He’s put together too fast. He’s too cheerful. That’s his mask, perfect and polished.
“Oh!” he chirps. “I didn’t hear you come in. Were you looking for me?”
You close the door behind you.
“Are you okay?” You quietly ask.
The question hangs between you, fragile as glass.
He blinks slowly once.
Then he laughs.
“Of course I am,” he says easily. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
You don’t answer right away.
You walk toward him instead, steps slow, and light, as if the air itself is thick. With every pace closer, the truth presses harder against your ribs. You can feel it radiating off him, the discordant hum of something wrong, something aching beneath the performance he’s putting on.
You stop in front of him.
“Dōma,” you say quietly. “You don’t have to do that with me.”
Something in his expression flickers. Just for a second. The smile softens and loses its edge.
“…Do what?”
You sit down beside him.
Close enough that your knees brush. Close enough that his cold seeps into you like winter through silk.
“Pretend.” You whisper.
For a moment, he says nothing.
Then, without asking, without warning, his arm slides around you and pulls you in. It’s instinctive for him. Your back presses against his chest. He shifts and pulls you even closer until you’re sitting in between his legs, his chin settling lightly atop your head like it belongs there.
It always has.
At least you think so.
You inhale, and he smells like incense and sweetness, it makes your stomach ache. His hold is loose but possessive, hands resting at your waist as if he’s anchoring himself.
“I don’t know what I’m doing anymore,” he admits softly, voice no longer playful. “I keep thinking… if I just try harder, it’ll feel right eventually. That it’ll click.”
Your throat tightens.
You’ve heard this before. Only it was whispered into your hair, in quieter moments. Confessions disguised as jokes. Hope he keeps nursing even as it bleeds him dry.
“They don’t understand you,” you say before you can stop yourself.
His fingers twitch, and he exhales a breath that he’s been holding for too long.
“They don’t see you.” Your voice is weak but firm.
He hums and moves his head to look into your eyes. “That’s not fair. They care about me.”
“I know,” you say quickly. “I know they do. But caring isn’t the same as love.”
Your heart is pounding now. Loud enough you’re sure he can hear it.
You weren’t supposed to say this.
You were supposed to comfort him and sit quietly. Let him lean on you like he always does and pretend that it doesn’t hollow you out every time he chooses someone else.
But the words keep coming.
“They keep asking you to be someone you’re not,” you whisper. “To feel things the way people like us aren’t used to. And when you don’t, they get angry. Like it’s a failure instead of just… who you are.”
His arms tighten around you. He looks away at the ground in front of you both.
“You don’t deserve that,” you murmur. “You deserve to be loved in a way that doesn’t hurt you.”
He’s silent for a second, and he nods slowly.
Then he laughs again, but it’s softer now, a bit slower and uneven.
“You’re very kind, I admire that about you,” he says. “But you shouldn’t worry about me so much. I’ll be fine.”
You turn in his arms, until you’re facing him. Your knees brushing, your hips hovering above his, his hands still resting on your waist like he hasn’t realized he should let go.
Your chest feels too tight. Your vision blurs. The room starts to feel smaller.
You want to be quiet. You want to stop talking.
But looking into his eyes…you can’t.
“I can’t keep doing this,” you say quietly.
His smile falters. “Doing what?”
“Watching you hope,” you say. “Watching you stay because you think you should. Because you think love is supposed to hurt this much.”
He opens his mouth but don’t let him interrupt.
“I love you.” You confess, breathless, your voice faltering in desperation.
The words land heavily and tense.
The castle seems to hold its breath.
Dōma stares at you.
Then, inevitably—he laughs.
“Oh,” he says lightly. “Is that all? You scared me for a second. You know I love you too. It’s all platonic.” He brings a hand up to tuck your hair behind your ear.
Your chest caves in.
“I’m serious,” you say, voice trembling despite yourself. “I know the timing is terrible. I know you have enough going on. But…I—I—can’t stand pretending this doesn’t tear me apart.”
His laughter fades.
“Hey,” he says gently. “You should rest. You’re emotional right now. I’ll be okay, I promise.”
Something breaks in you. Your composure shatters. You sink completely into his lap. Fists clenched at your sides.
“If you don’t feel the same,” you say, swallowing hard, “just tell me. I can handle rejection. I can’t handle the longing, the yearning…the desperation.”
He goes very still. His eyes stare right through you. His face is frozen in an expression you’ve never seen before. It’s a mixture of shock and concern, his brows furrowed, his mouth slightly open, turning up at the corner.
The silence stretches until it’s unbearable.
You unclench your fists and bring your hands to your face. Reality catches up to you.
“I’m sorry Dōma—this is—“
“…I’ve felt this way for a while,” he admits at last, voice low. “I just kept pushing it away. For them. And because I thought you shouldn’t feel the same…you really shouldn’t.”
Your breath catches.
Slowly and carefully, he reaches up and cups your face, thumb brushing beneath your cheek like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.
“But you do?” he asks softly.
You lean into his touch.
“I do.” You mutter.
Something in him gives.
He pulls you closer, foreheads touching, breath mingling.
Then his lips find yours.
The kiss is hesitant at first, like he’s asking permission even as he takes it. Then it deepens, slow and aching, all the words you’ve swallowed pressed into the space between your mouths.
When he pulls back, his smile is small and trembles slightly.
“I’m happy,” he says quietly. “I know it doesn’t appear that way but I just… don’t like how rejection feels.”
You shift forward, gently pushing him back until he’s lying against the floor, hair fanned out like spilled moonlight. Your palms are resting on his chest where you can feel the muscles beneath.
“Then let me help you feel wanted,” you whisper.
He looks up at you, eyes wide and unguarded.
“Let me love you the way you deserve.” You lean down to whisper in his ear.
His hands slide to your waist.
“I can’t tell you no.” He cockily says against your shoulder.
You don’t wait for permission. You don’t need it. His words are the key that unlocks the last of your restraint.
You shift your hips, a slow, deliberate grind against the growing hardness beneath his clothes. The friction is electric, a jolt that travels straight up your spine and pulls a sharp hiss from between your teeth. His hands, which had been resting so innocently at your waist, tighten their grip, fingers digging into the fabric of your clothes, into your skin.
“My, my,” he breathes, a high, musical sound that’s laced with a teasing delight. “Aren’t we eager?” He watches you, his rainbow eyes darkening to something more intense, more predatory. He enjoys this. He enjoys watching you fall apart, watching you get desperate for him.
You answer him by doing it again, harder this time. You rock against him, setting a rhythm that is both a question and a demand. The layers of clothing between you are an offense, a frustrating barrier that you intend to break. Your hands move from his chest to the waistband of his pants, your fingers fumbling with the fabric. He watches your struggle with a lazy, triumphant smile.
“Having some trouble there?” He hums.
But his own hands are not idle. They slide up your back, tracing the line of your spine before finding the tie of your haori. With a flick of his wrists, a practiced ease that speaks of his own experience, he loosens it. The fabric parts, and the cool air of the room raises goosebumps on your skin.
You finally manage to undo his pants, and you peel down the fabric with a reverence that borders on worship. Then you’re quickly lifting his shirt over his head, desperate to see underneath. Each piece of revealed skin is a new landscape to explore. Like the sharp cut of his collarbones, the toned expanse of his chest, the hard planes of his stomach. He’s a work of art, cold and perfect and utterly, devastatingly yours. He shrugs out of the last of his clothes, and his hands return to you, more insistent now. He tugs at your undershirt, and you lift your arms to let him pull it over your head. His touch is cold, a stark contrast to the fire burning under your skin, and you shiver.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, his voice a low teasing sound that vibrates through you. His eyes roam over your bare torso, hungry and appreciative. “So worked up already. It’s adorable, really. All this for me?”
He’s trying to maintain control, to keep that playful, mocking tone, but you can see the cracks in his facade. You can feel the tremor in his hands, the way his breath hitches when your nails scrape lightly down his chest. You want to break him. You want to shatter that composure until there’s nothing left.
You lean down, your lips brushing against his ear. “I’m not the only one who’s worked up, am I, Dōma?” you whisper, your voice a sultry tease. “You’re just better at hiding it.”
His response is a soft, breathy whimper against your shoulder. One of his hands leaves your waist, sliding down your stomach, over the curve of your hip, until his fingers are ghosting over the edge of your panties. He pauses, his touch maddeningly light, a silent question. You answer by arching into him, a silent plea.
He takes the invitation. His fingers slip beneath the fabric, pulling them down with your bottoms. You help slide them completely off. His fingers quickly return, finding you slick and ready for him. He circles your clit once, twice, a slow, torturous exploration that has you gasping his name.
“Dō—Dōma” you whimper.
“That’s it,” he coaxes, his voice laced with dark amusement. “Let me hear you. Louder.”
He slides one long finger inside you, then another, his thumb still working that sensitive bundle of nerves. The pleasure is exquisite, a delicious feeling that has you rocking your hips against his hand, chasing more.
“Please,” you moan, the word torn from your throat. It’s a broken sound, pathetic and honest.
“Please what?” he presses, his fingers curling inside you, finding that spot that makes your vision blur. He lets out a high, breathy moan of his own, clearly enjoying the effect he has on you. “You have to use your words, darling. Tell me what you want.”
“You,” you gasp. “I want you.”
His free hand comes up to wrap around your throat. The threat is implicit. The power is absolute.
“You already have me,” he says, his voice low and hypnotic. “You’ve had me for a while. You were just too blind to see it.”
He tightens his grip just enough to make your breath catch, to make your head spin. The lack of air, the overwhelming pleasure, it all blends together into a dizzying, intoxicating rush.
“But I do like hearing you beg. Don’t stop.” He says, voice soft as silk.
Then, he adds a third finger, the stretch bordering on painful, but it’s a pain you crave. His thumb presses harder against your clit, and you can feel the knot in your stomach winding tighter and tighter, ready to snap.
“Dōma… I’m… I’m close,” you pant, your hands grabbing his hair.
“Not yet,” he commands, his voice leaving no room for argument, though it’s tinged with a desperate whine.
He pulls his fingers away, leaving you achingly empty, and you cry out at the loss. Before you can protest, he’s flipping you.
He hooks an arm around you and lifts you, maneuvering you with an inhuman strength until your back is flush against his chest, your ass against his hard cock. It’s a promise of what’s to come. Your body is arched against his, his skin cool against your feverish back. His hands grip your thighs, pulling them up and back until they’re pressed against your chest, leaving you completely open, completely exposed to him.
“Yes…I’ll take you just like this,” he breathes against your ear, his voice a possessive caress. “You’re divine like this and all mine.” There’s a light touch of intimacy in the way his lips brush against your temple, a stark contrast to the primal way he’s holding you.
He lines himself up with your entrance, the head of his cock teasing you, and you squirm, desperate for him to fill you. “Please, Dōma,” you beg again, your voice a ragged whisper. “Please, I need you.”
And then he pushes into you, a slow, deep, relentless glide that steals the air from your lungs. He fills you completely, stretching you to your limits.
A broken moan escapes his lips. “Oh… f-fuck,” he whimpers, his face burying in your hair. “You feel… so good…” He stills for a moment, letting you adjust, letting you feel the weight of him.
“You feel that?” he murmurs, his hands tightening on your thighs. “That’s where you belong. Wrapped around me.”
He starts to move then, a slow but powerful rhythm that has him hitting deep inside you with every thrust. His hips snap against yours, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing in the quiet room. One of his hands leaves your thigh to find your clit again, his fingers circling it in time with his thrusts.
The dual stimulation is overwhelming, a tidal wave of pleasure that threatens to pull you under. Your walls clench around him.
“Ah! I felt that.” He moans. “Don’t hold back,” he urges, his voice needy. “I—I want to hear you scream my name. I want everyone in this wretched castle to—to—know who you belong to.” His own voice is breaking with pleasure, soft moans and whimpers falling from his lips with every thrust.
His words are your undoing. The knot in your stomach snaps, your thighs tremble in his grasp, your body floods with a sudden heat, and your orgasm crashes over you, a wave of ecstasy.
“Fu—fuck! Dōma!” You cry out his name, your body squirming, your walls clamping down around him as you ride out the waves of your release.
“That’s it—just—just like—like that.” He whimpers and pants between the words, as his thrust become more erratic.
The feeling of you clenching around him sends him over the edge, his own release a hot, deep throb inside you as he lets out a long, loud moan of pure bliss against your neck. It’s heavenly.
You stay like that for a long time, a tangled mess of limbs and sweat, his breath warm against your skin. The silence that follows is different now. It’s not tense or heavy. It’s peaceful and content.
He presses a soft kiss to your shoulder, and pulls out of you.
“I told you I was happy,” he murmurs, his voice quiet, stripped of all its earlier mockery. It’s the most honest you’ve ever heard him.
You turn your head to look at him, his rainbow eyes soft in the dim light. “I know,” you whisper, a small smile playing on your lips. “Let me make you happy, too.”
And in the heart of the Infinity Castle, where sound bends, lingers, and remembers, you finally found your own quiet. Together.
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Plot: You sit beside dangerous and powerful men and touch them like they might break. A hand in their hair is a mistake they can’t stop.
Setting: KNY universe
A/n: Thank you for your request! I love writing some fluffy content about my faves. I want cuddles with Dōma next. 🖤
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CW: sexual tension, comfortable fear, power dynamics, and lots of fluff.
Muzan
He’s lying on the futon, sprawled out, shirt unbuttoned, hair a mess. You’re kneeling next to him. He called for you but you’re not sure why.
You don’t realize you’ve reached for him until your fingers are already there.
You shouldn’t be here.
Not with the demon king.
You shouldn’t enjoy his company, either. Certainly not the quiet moments, not the way the air settles when he enters a room, not the strange calm that comes from sitting beside something so dangerous it no longer needs to prove it.
Some days, he treats you like a burden. Like you’re too loud, too soft, too present. As if your existence is an inconvenience he hasn’t decided whether or not to discard. You’ve learned how to read the room before you speak. How to measure his moods in the angle of his shoulders, the sharpness of his breath.
Still, you find yourself chasing scraps of his attention.
You don’t want much. You’d settle for being a footnote in his story. A passing mention. Proof that, at some point, you existed close enough to matter.
Your hand hesitates.
‘This is a mistake,’ your mind says immediately. He doesn’t belong to anyone’s hands. Especially yours, but you can’t help the pulling effect he has on you.
“Muzan,” you say, softly almost like a question.
His eyes flick to you, crimson red, and assessing. “What is it, doll?”
‘Doll’ that’s his nickname for you. At first it was unsettling but now it’s become a beautiful sound that you crave.
Your fingers brush his hair.
It’s silkier than you expect. Too smooth. The smallest intake of breath leaves him. It happens so fast you almost miss it, but you feel it in the way his shoulder tightens beneath your touch.
“You’re trembling,” he says.
“I know,” you whisper. “You can tell me to stop.”
He doesn’t.
So you continue, slow and deliberate, threading your fingers through the long black strands. You don’t rush it. You let the silence stretch until it becomes unbearable.
Muzan’s hand comes down over yours.
But not to remove it. To anchor it.
“Don’t,” he murmurs, voice low, dangerous, and intimate. “Don’t make this something you cannot endure.”
Your pulse is loud in your ears.
‘Too late’, you think.
The room feels warmer like this. Or maybe it’s just the way his skin radiates heat beneath your palm, the way his thumb presses once against the back of your hand, absentmindedly.
“You should be resting,” he says instead, voice quieter now. “You’re always exhausting yourself.”
The words surprise you more than the touch.
You swallow. “I’m fine.”
His gaze flicks back to the ceiling, lashes lowering. “You always say that.”
You resume combing your fingers through his hair, slower now. Like he might vanish if you move too quickly. He lets you, without correction or reprimand.
Every time you get too close to him, he’s gone.
But not this time.
His breathing evens out beneath your hand.
It hits you then, this isn’t indulgence. It’s not distraction. He’s allowing this because he wants it. Because something in him has decided you’re safe enough for this.
“You don’t have to stay,” he murmurs, but there’s no command behind it. No expectation that you’ll leave.
You lean closer without thinking, your knee brushing the edge of the futon. “I want to.”
His jaw tightens.
“Foolish,” he mutters. But his hand shifts, fingers curling more securely around yours, guiding it back when it slips. As if he’s afraid you’ll stop on your own.
The realization settles heavy in your chest.
For all his cruelty, for all the ways he keeps the world at arm’s length—right now, he’s choosing stillness with you. Letting himself be seen like this.
You trace the rhythm of his breath with your touch.
And for once, he doesn’t pull away from the feeling.
Kokushibō
The moonlight pools around you both, pale and cold, catching on the edges of his clothes and the long cascade of his hair.
Kokushibo sits perfectly still as you settle beside him. He always does, like movement is a choice he only makes when necessary.
“You may speak,” he says, without turning.
“I was thinking,” you reply, staring at his hair. It’s darker than usual, almost swallowing the light. “You never let your hair down.”
A pause.
“…There is no reason to.”
You lift your hand anyway. You don’t touch him yet. Just hover there, fingers close enough to feel the chill of him.
“May I?”
“…If you must.”
That’s permission. But for him, that’s everything.
When you were brought in to serve and work for a man, you didn’t expect it to be a powerful demon or a majestically beautiful one.
Your fingers slide into his hair, careful, reverent. It’s thick and heavy. It smells faintly of iron and night air. You feel him exhale slowly, controlled, but his shoulders lower by a fraction.
“This is… unfamiliar to me,” he admits.
You smile softly. “You’re not pulling away.”
“I am choosing not to.” He murmurs.
Your chest tightens at that.
You continue, slow strokes, untangling centuries of restraint one careful pass at a time. When his head tilts, just barely, you know you’ve crossed into something neither of you knows how to name.
He leans forward a fraction, the weight of centuries shifting so subtly you almost miss it. Your hand adjusts automatically, following him.
“You are gentle,” he almost whispers the words. It’s not praising, just an observation. As if he’s cataloging a phenomenon he doesn’t yet understand.
You swallow. “Is that bad?”
“No.” Another pause. “It is… new.”
His shoulder relaxes beneath your touch, just a degree. Enough to matter. Enough to tell you this—this stillness, this quiet allowance is something that he’s choosing.
For the first time, he does not feel like a weapon waiting to be lifted.
He feels tired.
And for reasons he does not voice, he allows you to remain.
Dōma
Doma is already laughing when you start.
Something light and careless spills from him as usual, eyes bright, smile sharp and too pretty. He leans back against the cushions, sprawling like he owns the space…and he does.
“You’re staring,” he sings. “Do you like me that much?”
You don’t answer. You sit beside him instead, close enough that your knees brush.
Then you lift your hand.
“Oh?” His grin widens. “What’s this?”
Your fingers sink into his hair, cool and soft and deceptively gentle. You comb through it slowly, experimentally.
Doma goes quiet.
You’re confused on how you went from being a sacrifice to this— his chosen one. At first you accepted his offer to avoid your own demise. But you’ve grown to like the breathtaking demon.
“…Huh,” he says, blinking once. “That’s new.”
“Do you want me to stop?” you ask.
He laughs, but it’s different now. It’s lower and slower. “Why would I?”
Your hand continues, thumb brushing his scalp. You feel the way he leans into it, just a little too much. Like he’s forgotten how to pretend for half a second.
“Careful,” he murmurs, eyes half-lidded. “You’re doing something dangerous.”
Your heart stutters. “To you?”
His gaze sharpens and fixes on you.
“To yourself.”
That earns you silence.
It stretches and grows heavy. His head tips into your hand, like a reflex he doesn’t know how to stop.
“Just…be cautious,” he murmurs, voice quieter now. “You might make me think you’re sincere.”
Your chest tightens. “What if I am?”
For once, he doesn’t laugh.
He just lets you touch him.
And that might be the most honest thing he’s ever allowed.
Akaza
Akaza doesn’t sit still easily.
Even now, he’s restless with his arms crossed, jaw tight, and eyes averted. The room feels charged, like something waiting to explode.
“You don’t have to stay we finished our duty,” he mutters.
You sit beside him anyway, close but not touching. You watch the way his muscles tense, the way his breathing sharpens like he’s bracing for impact.
“Akaza,” you say, quietly. “Can I touch you?”
He scoffs. “Why would you want—“
Your fingers find his hair before he finishes.
That’s thing with him. Sometimes you just have to do it before he can argue.
His hair is coarse at first, then softer beneath. His breath catches hard.
“Hey—“ His voice breaks. He freezes. “Don’t.”
You stop instantly. Your hand hovers.
“…Don’t stop,” he corrects, barely audible.
Your throat tightens.
You continue, gentler now, slow strokes that aren’t meant to fight or challenge. He trembles under your touch, fists clenching against his legs like he doesn’t know what to do with all the feeling flooding him at once.
“I don’t… understand this,” he admits.
You lean closer, your shoulder brushing his. “You don’t have to.”
He exhales hard and shakily.
“I don’t like feeling weak,” he mutters.
“You’re not,” you say softly.
He scoffs, but there’s no heat in it. “You don’t know anything.”
You keep going anyway. Let the rhythm do the talking. Let your presence be steady, unmoving.
Gradually, his shoulders loosen. His fists unclench. He leans back just enough that his head rests against your thigh.
The trust of it hits you like a bruise.
“I want you to stay,” he says after a moment. Like it costs him something to admit. “If you want.”
You don’t answer.
You just keep your hand in his hair.
And for the first time in a long while, Akaza lets himself rest.
A/n: This is not my style or usual post. I just couldn’t stop thinking about it. I’ve seen this done for like every other hashira. So enjoy whatever this is. 🖤
Is it the way you always greet him gently? The way you look at him like he isn’t cold or strange or broken? Or maybe it’s the way you say his name, soft and unguarded, like he’s allowed to be human.
Whatever it is, it ruins him.
Giyuu who feels disgusted with himself every time his eyes linger on you longer than they should.
He tells himself he’s just being observant. A Hashira should be aware of his surroundings, right? That’s all he’s doing. Except his gaze keeps dropping to your mouth and the curve of your waist, and the soft sway of your hips when you walk ahead of him.
Every time he catches himself, he drops his gaze instantly, his throat tight with shame.
“This isn’t right,” he whispers to himself.
But he still looks.
Giyuu who is painfully aware of how kind you are to him.
To him, of all people.
You soften around him in a way you don’t around the others. You smile more. You speak gently. You thank him for small things nobody else notices him doing.
It makes him weak.
It makes him feel everything he tries to bury.
Giyuu who starts asking small, hesitant questions just to hear your voice.
“Did you sleep well?”
“Are you eating enough?”
“What soap do you use?”
He doesn’t ask himself why he wants to know…he just needs to know.
Giyuu who pretends not to watch when you train, but memorizes the sound of your breathing and the noises you make.
The soft grunt when you fall.
The tiny gasp when you stretch too far.
He hates how quickly his mind dirties those sounds when he’s alone.
Giyuu who had to leave the hot springs as soon as you approached because the thought of you naked next to him was too much to bare.
He had to palm himself behind a tree while staring at your bare breast that were just above the water.
Giyuu who accidentally gets too close one day.
You lean over him to grab an item from the top shelf. He’s sitting below the shelf and your thighs brush his arm.
Your warmth hits him so hard he goes still, breath caught, a flush crawling up his neck like fire.
That’s when he looks up and realizes he can see under the skirt of your uniform.
He’s so close, he almost leans in just to smell you.
He barely hears you say, “Are you okay?”
He softly flinches and nods stiffly.
Giyuu who swears he won’t think of you tonight.
He sits alone in his room, the lantern low, haori discarded, hair damp from a late bath. He tells himself he’ll meditate and clear his mind. He can control himself like a proper Hashira should.
He lasts five minutes.
Because he keeps remembering the way you smiled at him earlier…soft, warm, like he mattered.
And then the way you leaned in to adjust the bandages on his forearm, your fingers brushing his skin.
Your breath touched his wrist.
Your lips were so close.
Then he remembers the softness of your thighs, the forbidden view of what lies under your uniform and how close he was to your core.
Oh…what he wouldn’t do just to feel your walls wrapped around him, to hear you moaning his name in that sweet voice, to just completely ruin you.
His resolve breaks.
Before he knows it, his hand is already at his waistband, breath unsteady, heart thudding against his ribs in shame.
“…I shouldn’t.”
He whispers to himself.
He says it again when he palms himself through the fabric, shuddering at how sensitive he already is.
“I shouldn’t—think of you like this.”
But he’s already sliding his pants down.
“What am I doing?”
As his hand wraps around his cock.
He’s already stroking himself: slow, tight, like he’s trying to delay the shame building in him.
But he can’t stop himself, he imagines.
He imagines your hands.
Your breath and your sounds.
The way you’d look up at him with those eyes that undo him without trying.
He imagines you whispering his name the same way you did earlier… except broken, needy, trembling for him.
He bites back a moan. His head tips back against the wall.
“Y/N…”
Your name slips out of his mouth.
Quiet, shaken, and broken.
His fist works faster, now slicker, his hips lifting in short, needy stutters.
He imagines you on your knees for him, soft lips parting, that kindness in your eyes turning into something warmer like lust for him—for his cock.
He imagines you saying, “Let me take care of you, Giyuu,” as you press your soft lips against his tip.
His rapid breath hitches. He lets out a low whimper.
His grip tightens, his thighs trembling, his abs flexing as his hips involuntarily buck up.
“God— I’m sorry,” he whispers, even as his pace becomes frantic. “I’m sorry… I’m so—fuuuck.”
The apology breaks into a ragged groan as he cums in his hand, spilling hot and sticky liquid all over his fingers, his chest heaving, his hair sticking to his forehead.
Guilt floods him instantly.
He hates it. He wishes it would disappear.
He hates how badly he wanted it.
He hates how he already knows he’ll do it again.
Because he loves you.
Because he can’t stop loving you.
Because your kindness makes him weak, and his weakness makes him yours.
And he’s a pathetic mess over you. Here he is completely alone, breathless, trembling in the dark.
not sure if you’re taking requests or if you’ve done anything like this but could you do an uppermoons 1-3 x reader where they walk in on the reader touching themselves and saying their name 🫣
ꜰᴏʀʙɪᴅᴅᴇɴ ʜᴀʙɪᴛꜱ
ft. Kokushibō, Dōma, & Akaza
X reader
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Plot: You are Muzan’s human daughter, aka his failed experiment. Raised around demons and living in the infinity castle, you can’t help but feel drawn to the men that surround you. Your imagination and little crush on them goes too far. Setting: KNY universe
A/n: Thank you for this request. I am taking them. They are delayed at the moment and I’m having to pick and choose based off of the amount of time each one will take. There’s not much plot to this. This is just smut. I honestly didn’t know how else to make this into a storyline. I’m aware this might be “incesty,” considering they all have Muzan’s blood but I personally don’t view it that way.
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All characters are above the age of 18.
Fem/afab reader.
CW: SMUT, NSFW, masturbation, penetrative sex, Cream pie, power imbalance, dubious consent, rough sex, impact play (spanking), degradation, forbidden, praising, possessive behavior, voyeurism, and dark erotica.
(Side note: I’ve seen another writer do the “Muzan’s daughter” troupe, so please note I am not labeling this as an original idea!)
Kokushibō
The silk sheets of your bed feel cool against your skin as you lie in the darkness of your room. The only light comes from the sliver of moon filtering through the windows, casting patterns across the floor. Your fingers move feverishly between your thighs, slick with your arousal as they circle your clit. Your breath hitches, your back arching slightly as pleasure builds deep within your core. His name falls from your lips. "Kokushibō..."
The door slides open without a sound, so silently you don't notice until his presence fills the room. Your eyes flutter open to find him standing there, his six eyes glowing faintly in the darkness. He's supposed to be guarding your door, not standing inside your room, your father was very clear, but the thought barely registers through your haze of desire.
"Pardon me," his voice rumbles, deep and resonant. "I heard you call."
Your fingers still, but he holds up a hand. "I see," he says softly. "I apologize for my intrusion.”
You shift slightly and sit up. “Did you hear anything?”
Kokushibō exhales, “It is an honor to be the subject of your imagination. Though, that is all it can be.”
You quickly reach for him. “Wait—My father said you couldn't hurt me and that you had to protect me. He didn't say anything else.”
He stands there, blinking hard, like he’s battling his own restraint.
Then he subtly slides the door shut.
Slowly and hesitantly, your fingers resume. Kokushibō watches, his six eyes missing nothing as he crosses the room with powerful grace.
"You're so vulnerable like this," he murmurs, kneeling beside your bed. "Your cheeks flushed, your fingers glistening, your breath coming in those gasps."
Another gush of wetness flows from your heat. He reaches out, his long fingers hovering over your inner thigh. "I shouldn’t.” he says, his voice respectful but tinged with lust. He gets up to walk away and you grab his wrist.
“Please. Don’t leave.” You beg.
He turns around, unable to form words and his fingers join yours. His touch is electric, sending sparks of pleasure through your entire body. He seems to know exactly where to touch, and how to move.
"That's it," he encourages softly. "Let go for me. Let me see your face as you release while thinking of me."
Shocks of pleasure shoot through you, your body squirming as pleasure so intense consumes you entirely. Kokushibō is watching you with an expression of dark satisfaction.
"Beautiful," he praises, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin. "Now, I will pleasure you properly."
He positions himself between your thighs, and he quickly undresses himself with your assistance. His cock is already hard for you, the head already leaking precum. He rubs it against your slick folds, coating himself in your arousal.
"You will take it all. Won't you?" he asks, his voice guttural but gentle.
You quickly nod and whimper out of desperation. Then, he’s entering you. He fills you completely, the stretch pleasureful rather than painful. He gives you a moment to adjust before beginning to move, his hips rolling against yours in a slow rhythm.
"You feel incredible," he groans, his six eyes watching your every expression. "So tight, so wet, so perfect…for me."
Your hips rise to meet his thrusts. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, mingled with your moans.
"Touch yourself," he commands softly. "Just like you were. I want to feel you clench around me when you come undone."
Your fingers immediately find your clit, rubbing circles as he continues to move within you. The dual stimulation is overwhelming, your body trembling with your approaching orgasm.
"Yes," he encourages, his speed increasing slightly. "Let go for me. Let me feel you milk my cock.”
Your orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave, your body tensing. Your cunt clenches around him like a vice, your juices flowing down his shaft as you moan his name.
He follows you over the edge with a broken groan, his cock swelling inside you as he pumps you full of his hot, thick cum. It seems to go on forever, his release flooding your insides until it leaks out around his still-thrusting cock.
Then he finally collapses on top of you, his weight nearly crushing you, he's panting heavily. His six eyes scan your face.
"We're not done," he growls, already hardening inside you again. "I'm going to claim you until the only name you remember is mine."
Dōma
The incense in Dōma's chambers is thick, filling the air with sweet floral notes that do little to mask the strong scent of blood. You shouldn't be here, this is the Upper Moon Two's private sanctuary, but the pull was irresistible. You thought maybe you could talk to him, after all he is the only demon who bothers to talk to you. But he seems to be away. And you don’t think of yourself as a pervert.., but he is so hypnotizing. And suddenly you're sprawled across his futon, that smells of him, with your fingers between your thighs as his name falls from your lips in-between moans. "Dōma... Dōma." You’re so close. You’re hoping you don’t get caught doing something so vulgar and wrong.
Then—
"Well," his cheerful voice cuts through your filthy thoughts. "What have we here? The great master’s daughter, playing in places she shouldn't be?"
Your eyes fly open to find him lounging in the doorway, his rainbow eyes fixed on you with amusement. He's completely naked, his lean, muscular body on full display. His cock is already hard, standing against his stomach.
"Dōma!" you gasp, trying to cover yourself.
He laughs. "No need for modesty now, my little flower. I've been watching you for quite some time. I must say, I'm impressed with your... devotion. Tell me, do you think of me all the time? My hands? My mouth? My other attributes?”
He walks across the room, moving with an unnatural elegance that is both beautiful and terrifying. In seconds, he's on the futon with you, his cold hands pushing your thighs apart.
"Let's see that pretty cunt," he chirps, his fingers probing your wet folds with curiosity. "Oh my, you're absolutely soaked. And all for me? I'm truly flattered."
His touch is cold, but sends shocks of fresh arousal through your entire body. He seems to be studying your reactions as much as pleasuring you.
"Fascinating," he murmurs, his thumb circling your clit while his fingers explore your walls. "The way your body responds to me... It's so wonderfully human."
Without warning, he picks you up and shifts you onto his lap, your thighs straddling his hips. He positions his cock against your slick entrance.
“Shall we see how well the Master’s daughter accommodates a demon?" he asks it conversationally, like he’s not about to fuck you senseless.
“He–he can’t know–” you mumble, but you’re interrupted as he thrusts into you in one smooth motion.
You cry out at the sudden stretch. Your back arches and he wraps his arms around you. He gives you no time to adjust, immediately setting a rhythm that is relentless.
"Shh…my, my," he purrs, his hips rolling against yours in a way that makes drool drip from the corners of your mouth. "You're taking me so well. It's almost as if you were made for this."
His touch is exquisite, his hands roaming over your body as he fucks you fast, hard, and deep. You have no choice but to take it.
"You know," he says breathless, "I–if– your father knew you were here, moaning my name while I fuck you senseless... well, I imagine he'd be quite displeased. Fuck. But isn't that half the fun?" He buries his face into your neck and lets out a moan.
Then he changes the angle slightly, he sits up, and unintentionally hits that spot inside you that makes stars explode behind your eyes. Your hands fly to his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin.
"That's it," he encourages, thrusting slowly but deep. "Take control. Use me to make yourself cum. I can tell how desperate you’ve been for this."
Without hesitation you circle your hips experimentally and then begin bouncing. The sound of his balls smacking against your ass fills the room. He throws his head back and lets out a broken whimper.
“Jus–just like that. Yo–you’re–fuck.” He tries to speak, but is interrupted by the feeling of your walls fluttering around his cock.
You feel your release approaching. Your legs feel weak, heat fills your cheeks, and you’re mumbling his name as you continue to slam your hips down onto him.
Suddenly your vision goes white, your back arches again, and you’re soaking his cock with your juices as your orgasm takes a hold of you.
He follows you over the edge with a hoarse cry, his cock pulsing inside you as he pumps you full of his cum.
You collapse on top of him, your breathing heavy. He wraps his arms around you again and but this time he brings a hand up to caress your hair.
"You are marvelous," he says. "Now, let’s see how many times we can do this before your father comes looking for you."
Akaza
The training grounds are empty at this hour, most of the demons having retreated. You're back in your room, your body still thrumming with the energy of your sparring session with Akaza. The memory of his hands on you, his body pressing against yours as he demonstrated various holds and techniques, has you aching with need. Your fingers move between your thighs buried inside you. His name falling from your lips in a desperate plea. "Akaza... Akaza..."
A sharp knock echoes through your room, followed by the door sliding open. "Y/n? You left your—“
Your eyes fly open to find him standing in the doorway, his muscular frame filling the space. He's holding your fan, but his eyes are fixed on where your hand disappears between your thighs. His expression shifts from casual to intense in an instant, his gaze darkening with lust.
"Akaza!" you gasp, trying to cover yourself.
He steps inside, sliding the door closed behind him.
“I thought I heard you say my name. I should have knocked—but I’ll admit,” his voice is quieter than usual. "I've been wanting to see you like this since our training session."
He crosses the room, dropping your fan onto a table as he walks over to your futon. "Touching yourself while thinking of me? You're braver than I thought."
You’re not sure how to react, you know your father would kill him, maybe even you. But before you can think about it too hard, he kneels beside your futon, his hand pushing your thighs even further apart.
"Let me help," he whispers, his fingers replacing yours. "Now, let's see how much you can take before you break."
Then he moves, you whimper at the loss of his fingers, and he shifts between your thighs.
“Don’t worry. I’ll make you feel good. You’re strong, I know you can take it.” His tone is promising but dangerous, something you’ve never heard from him before.
He pushes down his pants and underwear. His cock springs up, thick and pressing against your entrance.
"Ready for me?” His voice is rough like he’s restraining from ruining you that very second.
“Please, Akaza.” You breathe out.
He slowly pushes into you. He fills you deliciously. He gives you a moment to adjust, then his hips are slamming against yours with a force that makes the futon shake.
"Fuck, you're tight," he grunts, his eyes locked on yours as he pounds into you. "Such a greedy thing aren't you? Wrapping around me like you never want me to leave."
“Don’t stop! I–I want to cum for you.” You moan, moving your legs higher.
The wet shlicks with each thrust fill your ears, along with your desperate whimpers and his groans.
"I need to ruin you," he moans, as he moves and positions your legs on his shoulders, almost folding you in half.
His hand comes down hard on your ass, your body flinches and your breath catches. The pain only pushes you closer to the edge.
"That's it," he growls, his pace becoming almost punishing. "Tell me how good it feels."
“Ah—feels—so good—“ you struggle to speak as his cock bullies your cunt.
“All that strength? Where’d it go?” He says, bringing another slap to your ass.
“Gon—mm—gonna cum!” You moan breathlessly, as tears form at the corners of your eyes.
You feel a familiar rush. You lose control over your senses. Your pussy clamps down around him, as you let out babbles of his name.
“You’re unbelievable when you’re weak underneath me.” He groans.
His thrusts become sloppier and he bucks into you hard and deep, burying himself to the hilt. You feel his cock throb inside you as he paints your walls white.
He pulls out and his eyes watch as your pussy leaks with his cum.
───── ✦ ───── ✧ ───── ✦ ─── A/n: I posted these head canons on TikTok yesterday and since it was glitching out, my video flopped. So I am posting these here along with a smut scene because I am a feral whore for this man. Like I want him so bad.
- Muzan wants you. He hates that he wants you, because of how desperate he truly is. He’d never let it show though. But you can tell through his self projection.
- Jealously is beneath him, but possession is not.
When he wants you, that's final. He will make you his.
- He chooses you in small, terrifying ways.
Your seat is always beside him. Your safety is always assured first. Your opinion matters most to him.
"I do not make
exceptions," he says.
Then, softer:
"You are the exception."
- He learns your habits and memorizes them.
The way you flinch at raised voices. The way you relax in silence. The way you keep things around you.
"You dislike that," he notes once.
"I will remove it."
There’s no room for argument.
- He allows vulnerability with you only in private.
"If you ever betray me," he says quietly,
"I would destroy the world before I destroyed you.”
That frightens him more than anything.
But it doesn't frighten you.
- His voice changes when you challenge him.
You talk back once. His eyes darken.
"Careful," he murmurs, stepping closer.
"I admire your courage."
Then rough and lower,
"Don't make me crave it in ways that you'll regret."
- He watches you like prey he's decided not to kill.
"You're aware," he whispers, eyes dragging over you slowly, "that every man in this room is imagining touching you."
Then he pauses. His gaze on your body sharpens.
"They wont."
When you ask why, he smiles thinly.
"Because you're already occupied."
- He thinks about breaking you, (constantly…he despises it) and chooses not to.
"You make me consider indulgences I outgrew centuries ago," he admits one night.
A slow, long, exhale.
"You should feel honored by my restraint you couldn't survive my ways."
Scene
The room was empty. Not really though, never really, but empty enough that the silence wrapped around you like a sheet, thick and suffocating, so that every breath sounded loud in your ears. Candlelight flickered against the walls, shadows twitching like they had their own heartbeat, like they were watching, waiting for him to decide whether you were worth the attention or the ruin.
He was there before you realized it, standing perfectly still at the edge of the light. Muzan. His presence alone was a physical weight, pressing into your chest and curling into your stomach. It made you hyperaware of every inch of yourself: the curve of your neck, the way your fingers flexed against the hem of your shirt, the shiver that crept along your spine.
“You’re late,” he said, calmly. Too perfect. His crimson eyes glinted against the dim flame, sharper than knives.
“I—“ you started, but your voice was swallowed by the tension he carried. “I have your intel and notes, from the Demon Slayer Corp.” You hated that you were betraying the corp this way. Betraying every comrade, every friend. You feared for your life. But the truth is, you feared life without Muzan even more.
He stepped closer. Just close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off him. “Do you understand why you were brought here tonight? You assume it’s because of your duty…Tell me, do you understand your significance to me? Most importantly…” he purred, low and dangerous, “what you do to me?”
The words were soft, and almost intimate. But the effect was anything but gentle. It wasn’t a question. It was a warning, a threat, and a confession all rolled into one. Your stomach clenched. Your throat went dry. The hair on your arms rose.
You swallowed. “I… I don’t—“
“You don’t know,” he cut in, a slow exhale that brushed past your cheek, “how hard it is to resist you. To look at you and not—“ He paused, jaw tightening, eyes flicking over your lips, your collarbone, the curve of your shoulder. “…do everything I want.”
Your breath hitched. You felt his gaze all over your body, tracing you with fire. You should step back. You should want to run. But some part of you…the worst, the most foolish part…wanted to lean in, press closer, tempt him, and see if he would break.
The ultimate betrayal is the way you betray yourself. For him.
“Do you know what you’re doing?” he hissed suddenly, voice low enough to scrape your nerves. His hand hovered just above your shoulder, trembling like he was restraining himself. The shadow of his fingers was enough to make your skin hum. “Do you understand how hard it is to resist touching you, holding you…and bending the world until it only matters for you?”
You couldn’t look away. Your own fingers curled into fists, your heart hammering so violently you thought he would hear it. “I…” You swallowed again. “I didn’t mean—“
“I know,” he said, sharp and cutting through the flutter in your chest. Then softer: “But you do this on purpose. Don’t you? You want me to want you.”
Heat rolled through you. Not shame. Not fear. Not even guilt. Something worse, sharper, more alive. And he noticed, of course he noticed. His lips twitched into something like a smile. A predatory and deliciously dangerous smile.
“You’re aware,” he murmured, stepping closer, almost close enough to brush against you, “that every man in this room would kill for one glance? And yet…” He lowered his voice until it was a growl, “you’re untouchable. You’re mine, whether you know it or not.”
The words burned into you. And then he did something that no one else had the right to do: he leaned in behind you, close enough that you felt the faintest brush of his breath along your ear. “If I placed my hands on you,” he whispered, smooth and lethal, “you wouldn’t pull away. You would let me. Wouldn’t you?”
You shivered, wanting to let yourself fall into him entirely. “Maybe,” you breathed, almost as a dare.
His laugh was low, dangerous, ragged with something like disbelief. “Brave,” he said, jaw tight, eyes glowing, “don’t be.”
The room felt smaller, impossibly smaller. Dim light flickered across his face, highlighting the sharp angles, the impossible perfection of him, and you realized that he was not just observing you. He was memorizing you. Every movement, every gesture. The way your lips trembled. The catch in your breath. How your eyes darted, defiant but betraying everything.
“I could ruin you,” he admitted suddenly, almost too quietly, “but I don’t want to. Not yet. You are… too valuable to destroy.”
You froze, the word ‘yet’ hanging like a knife between your ribs. Even with a whirlpool of emotions flowing through you, you felt… chosen. Safe, in the most terrifying way possible.
“Perhaps I’m to blame,” he said finally, eyes catching yours, impossible to read. “You make me consider indulgences I outgrew centuries ago. And still,” he pauses, slow, deliberate, and intimate, “you stand there. Taunting me.”
And in that moment, you realized something devastatingly clear: he wanted you. Every century of control he prided himself on, every shred of self-restraint, was cracking. And you… you were the one holding the hammer.
You wanted to laugh. You wanted to cry. You wanted to step forward, press your hand against him, let him know that yes, you saw him, knew him, wanted him back.
Because no matter how cold, how dangerous, how impossible he was, Muzan—Muzan Kibutsuji…wanted you.
You take one step forward.
It’s small. Almost nothing. But Muzan sees it anyway.
His eyes narrow at you. He’s not angry, not surprised, he’s focused. Like the world has finally aligned into something he can understand.
“Don’t,” he says quietly.
It’s not a command. It’s a warning.
You stop inches from him. Close enough that the air between you feels charged, humming, thick with everything unsaid.
“I’m tired,” you say, voice barely holding together, “of being afraid of you wanting me.”
Something shifts in his expression then. Not softness, never softness, but something dangerously close to honesty.
“This is dangerous.”He replies, just as quietly.
His hand lifts. He gives you time to pull away. Time to decide. His fingers stop just beneath your chin, not touching, waiting for consent.
Your breath shakes. You tilt your head up anyway.
That’s all it takes.
His thumb brushes your skin and it’s feather-light, almost reverent. It’s something you never expected and the contact sends a shock straight through you. Muzan inhales sharply, like even that is almost too much.
“You have not the slightest idea,” he murmurs, eyes locked on your mouth, “what you’re undoing.”
“Then stop me, you’re in control.” You whisper.
He doesn’t.
The kiss is not rushed. It’s slow in a way that feels intentional and devastating. His lips press to yours with controlled pressure, like he’s testing the boundary of himself. For a heartbeat, he barely moves, just enough to feel you there, to confirm this is real, that you’re not pulling away.
When he deepens it, it’s with restraint that feels almost painful. No teeth. No urgency. Just a quiet, consuming claim, like he’s imprinting himself into the moment.
Your thoughts scatter. Everything narrows to sensation: the faint scent of iron and smoke, the way his breath stutters just slightly against your lips.
He breaks the kiss first.
Forehead resting against yours, eyes closed, breath uneven. For a moment, he looks… human. And that might be the most dangerous thing of all.
“Oh,” he says, voice low and strained, “this changes things.”
You nod, pulse still racing, lips tingling. “I know.”
You didn’t have time to decide if this was a mistake. He decided for you. He grabbed your wrist and pulled you into his chambers.
The space was vast but severe, all dark wood and high, shadowed beams, lit by low lanterns that refused to soften anything they touched. The floor beneath your feet had been cool, your steps echoing just enough to remind you how exposed you were.
There was little furniture, only a long, immaculate table, a few precisely placed cushions, and at the far end of the room, a futon swallowed by shadow. The air carried a faint metallic edge beneath the incense, subtly.
Nothing in the chamber invited rest. Everything felt controlled, as if the room itself existed to watch and wait.
He didn't slam you into the wall, like you anticipated. He dropped. His knees hit the floor with a dull thud, and before you could process the shift, his hands were on your thighs, yanking them apart. He buried his face against you, right through the fabric of your bottoms. You felt the heat of his breath, the hard press of his nose against your clit. A sharp jolt went through you. Instinctively, you arched your back into him.
"You’re still clothed," he snarled, the words muffled by the material. "And yet, so responsive, so pathetically human."
His fingers hooked into the waistband of your pants and underwear, and he pulled. The fabric scraped against your skin as he dragged them down your legs. You stumbled, catching yourself on his shoulders. He pushed your knees wider, forcing you to stand over him, exposed.
“You really are such a beautiful sight…I could tear you apart, right here.” He whispered against your folds.
Then his mouth was on you.
He sealed his lips over your clit and sucked, hard. It was an aggressive pull that sent a shockwave through your entire body. Your hands flew to his hair, your fingers tangling in the soft strands to hold on. His tongue was flat and broad, lapping at you, tasting you with firm strokes. He ate you out like he was starving, like this was his first meal in a century. The sounds were wet and obscene. You wanted to hide your face in embarrassment but you knew better than that. Sucking, licking, and the occasional low hum of satisfaction vibrated right through your core.
He pushed one finger into you. Then another. His fingers curling inside you, finding that spot that made your vision white out. He pumped them in and out, a steady, relentless rhythm that matched the movements of his tongue. Your hips started to move, rocking against his face, chasing the pressure.
"Take what you want from me," he commanded, his voice rough.
You froze. Then your muscles trembled with the effort of grinding against his face while he worked you over. He was torturous. His fingers fucked you, deep and hard, while his tongue focused on your clit, flicking it, then circling it, then sucking it again until you were writhing, a mess of whimpers and pleas. You could feel the pressure building, a tight coil in your stomach.
"Please," you gasped. "Muzan, please."
He hummed against you, a dark, mocking sound. "Please what? You asked for this. This is what you begged for with every look, every breath. You wanted the demon king on his knees for you.”
“Just—ah—don’t stop.” You begged, between helpless moans.
He added a third finger. The stretch burned, but melted into pleasure. He pumped them inside you, stretching you, preparing you for something more. His mouth never stopped, the stimulation overwhelming you. You were so close. The movement of your hips grew more frantic. The coil was about to snap. Your thighs shook around his head.
"You’re pitiful …already about to cum for me,” he said, pulling back just enough to speak. His chin was wet, his lips glistening. "Falling apart on my fingers. So obedient. So perfect.”
He dove back in, sucking your clit with renewed force, his fingers curling inside you. That was it. The coil snapped. You came undone, hips jerking violent and sharp. You cried out, your body squirming, your cunt clamping down on his fingers. Wave after wave of pleasure rolled through you, leaving you breathless and shaking.
He didn't stop. He kept his fingers inside you, his tongue still working your clit and down to your folds, licking your wetness through the aftershocks, pushing you past pleasure into an almost painful overstimulation. You tried to pull away, to squirm out of his grasp. But one of his hands slapped hard against your thigh, the sound echoing through the room. His other hand clamped down on your other thigh, holding you in place. His demeanor has shifted. His restraint has shattered.
"No," he growled. "You don't get to run now. Take it. All of it. I’m going to ruin you and remake you as mine.”
He kept going, his tongue relentless, his fingers curling and stroking that sensitive spot until another orgasm, harsher than the first, was ripped from you. Tears streamed down your face, your body completely limp. Only his grip on your thighs kept you upright.
He finally pulled his fingers out, but only to stand up. He scooped you into his arms, your legs wrapped around his waist. He carried you to the table in the room, dropping you onto it so hard the wood groaned. He was over you in an instant, his body covering yours, his weight pinning you down.
He quickly tore down his bottoms, freeing his cock. It was thick, flushed a dark red at the tip. He took himself in hand, to slap it against your wet, swollen folds. You whimpered, body arching into him.
"You should be ashamed of how desperate you are for me," he said, his voice low and menacing. "I need you to take every inch, even if it breaks you."
He lined himself up and pushed inside. There was no gentleness. He buried himself to the hilt in one brutal thrust. The sudden, full stretch knocked the air from your lungs, a cry tore from your throat. He was impossibly deep, a thick, and heavy presence.
He let out a low moan as you adjusted to his size. “You were made for this…made for me.” His voice was deep yet broken, strained.
He started to move. Hard, deep, fast, and punishing strokes that slammed the table against the floor with each thrust. The room was filled with the sound of his hips slapping against yours, the wet slap of your bodies joining, his groans. His hands were on your hips, holding you in place, using you for his own pleasure. He leaned down, sinking his teeth into the soft flesh where your neck met your shoulder. It wasn't a gentle love bite. It was a claiming, a sharp, possessive pain that made your inner walls clench around him.
He groaned, his rhythm faltering for a second. "Again," he snarled against your skin. "Do that again."
“I—I—“ you tried to speak but couldn’t put a coherent sentence together.
You couldn't do it again. It was an involuntary reaction, a spasm of pleasure and pain.
“Since you’re helpless... I’ll control your body and pleasure. You exist to respond to me.” His voice was hardly controlled, yet terrifyingly commanding.
Suddenly he bit you again, harder this time, and you clenched around him once more. He fucked you harder, his thrusts becoming erratic, losing their rhythm. He was close. So were you. The sight of his blown pupils, furrowed brows, and flexing abs made a familiar knot grow in your stomach. He was rough but it was heavenly. Your back arched off of the table, your nails dug into the wood, and your orgasm consumed you. You let out a high pitched sob as your walls fluttered around his slick cock. He watched as you writhed underneath him and that only drove him closer to the edge. You could feel it in the tension of his muscles, in the desperate way he chased his own release.
He slammed into you one last time, his body going rigid as he came undone. You felt the hot flood of his cum deep inside you, a possessive mark. He buried his face in the crook of your neck. You were both panting, sweaty, and sticky.
Then he pushed himself up, his cock still inside you. He looked down at you, at the bite mark on your shoulder, at the tear tracks on your face, at the mess between your legs, and thrusted his hips again. His expression was dark and satisfied.
"I have claimed you. Don’t waste a drop. Be thankful for what I have given you and I’ll be thankful for what you have given me.” he said, it simply, like it was an undeniable fact.
He finally pulled out, and you felt the immediate trickle of his cum, mixed with your own slickness, dripping onto the table beneath you. A messy, filthy proof of his claim.
I hope you’re doing great and feeling happy and in peace:)
I was wondering, could you please make some Upper Three headcannons (Kokushibo, Douma and Akaza), like their likes and dislikes, hobbies, how would they be at intimacy, i think that would be so cool❤️
A/n: Soooo I decided to just put it altogether. Now, I have made a spicy version for all of them except Akaza on TikTok. (I’m sorry I’m biased) but I will be adding some spicy ones like how they are during intimacy on here following these for them all 🖤✨
Cw: None
Kokushibō
His Likes
Quiet Spaces
Rooms with low light and empty corners. Silence feels like home to him. It’s where he reflects, mediates, and hones in on his inner turmoil which is partly what motivates him.
Traditional Music (Took some research)
Shamisen, shakuhachi, anything old enough to make him remember a time when he was still human. He won’t admit it, but certain melodies make him pause, like muscle memory of dancing, pulling him back centuries. He’ll never say it out loud or even to himself but familiar songs make him remember small details of his past, he tries to avoid it but when he does catch a faint sound he can’t help but listen if you play it around him.
Order
Objects arranged in straight lines, minimal clutter, cleanliness to where it’s almost sanitary, nothing unnecessary should be within his sight. Disorder and chaos irritates him in a way he can’t explain to you. If you leave dirty laundry around he WILL pick it up and put it where it belongs almost immediately. He’s the kind of person who sweeps behind you as you’re walking. It’s because his mind is already too chaotic.
He’d look at you with confusion as you try to add a huge succulent to the kitchen: “You cannot decorate our home with spontaneity.” “It doesn’t belong here.”
Determination in Others
He respects people who fight until their last breath. He loves it when people are passionate, ambitious. It stirs something bitter and nostalgic in him. It’s one of the things he admires most about you. He’s always pushing you to pursue your dreams. But at the same time it makes him feel like he is inferior to you and undeserving of you. He will say things like: “Don’t waste your time on me, you should be following your dreams.”
His favorite time of day is midnight
He likes the way it masks the world and the darkness softens the edges, blurs the noise, makes everything feel a little less alive. He loves stargazing with you.
That You Don’t Fear Him
Not because he enjoys your confidence or any of that, but because it confuses him. It makes him feel human instead of a monster. It makes him think twice about himself.
Old Textures & Worn Fabrics
He prefers things that feel aged. Like frayed hems, rough cloth, the texture of something handled for years. New things feel too bright, too untouched, like they don’t belong to him and only him. You’ve purchased new clothes for him but he prefers to rewash and wear the same outfit everyday. He will try them on for you though.
Thunderstorms
He likes the steadiness, comfort, and somber. The sound of the rain might be the closest thing he finds to a heartbeat. He would cuddle you at night during a storm and hold you close, just admiring you or just sit with you close to him outside in silence.
His Dislikes
Loud, Uncontrolled Voices
Anything too energetic or emotional feels grating to him. He hates when you cry or yell. He says: “You’re weak.” But the truth is it reminds him of what he smothers everyday.
Mirrors
He doesn’t like being confronted with what he’s become. He avoids reflective surfaces with almost subconscious precision.
Modern Day: He would rather kill you than take a picture with you.
Warm & Crowded Places
He prefers distance, even from you sometimes. He spends a lot of his free-time alone and doing his hobbies. Warmth feels too human to him. Crowds feel suffocating.
Disrespect Toward Strength
He respects real strength: discipline, honor, and persistence. Seeing it mocked or wasted makes him cold with irritation.
The Smell of Freshly Cooked Food
It hits him with a pang of memory he doesn’t appreciate. He prefers that you eat by yourself most times. He will occasionally accompany you but only if you ask. It reminds him too strongly of a life he can no longer touch.
Being Questioned
Not challenged but questioned. Especially if you get jealous or insecure. He hates people prying into motives, identity, and meaning. He is a man defined by purpose and any inquiry feels like intrusion. He will open to you though when you least expect it but it must be on his terms.
Being Looked At Too Long
He can feel when someone studies him and really looks. It puts something cold and sharp under his ribs. He doesn’t like the idea of being known or seen. If you stare at him in admiration for too long he quickly looks away and in a sharp tone says: “It is rude to stare.”
Sudden Warmth
A hand brushing his arm, a lantern being lit near him, a body stepping into his space with too much heat. Warmth feels intimate in a way he no longer thinks he deserves. Any hug, hand holding, or kissing will be because he initiates it. He will never reject you if you make the first move but it will catch him off guard completely.
His Everyday Quirks
Modern Day: He Doesn’t Understand Modern Humor
Jokes slide past him. Sarcasm feels like static. He will stare at you with his eyebrows furrowed if you attempt to make him laugh. He watches people laugh the way someone watches fire: curious, confused, and vaguely yearning. He is captivated by yours.
He Values Names
He rarely says his own, but he remembers everyone else’s. Names feel like threads he can’t stop collecting. He believes it is the most important part of someone’s identity. The first thing he falls in love with about you is your name, calling it: “Beautiful.”
He Stands Too Still
When he’s not moving, he’s unnervingly motionless almost like a statue waiting for the world to breathe wrong. You are always asking him if he’s okay and he just nods, staring off into space.
He Softens Around Quiet People
It’s never visible or even perceived by anyone but his presence becomes less suffocating. He gravitates toward those who speak gently and live softly. He finds soft voices to be attractive.
He Has a Strange Respect for Artists
Painters, musicians, and poets. Their devotion reminds him of swordsmanship. He secretly finds artistic and creative pleasure in his own swordsmanship.
He Notices Micro-Expressions
Small changes: a shift in breath, the flick of an eye, a nervous swallow. He reads people too well, sometimes to his own discomfort. He knows when danger is near, he knows when someone is flirting with you even if you don’t, he knows when you are nervous around him every-time.
He Tilts His Head When he’s Curious
You find it cute even if it’s not in a human way. It’s more like a predator studying unfamiliar movement. It’s subtle, but unsettling the way his hair shifts, and how his eyes tracking every micro-detail of something. He simply just wants to understand the inner workings of everything around him. He also psycho analyses people a lot. Even you, especially if you argue.
He Pauses Before Saying Your name
Every time. Like he’s weighing the value of it, tasting the memory, choosing whether the word deserves to leave his mouth. It makes the simplest interaction him feel significant.
His Hobbies: He doesn’t have a lot.
Nighttime Blade Maintenance
He sharpens his sword the way some people pray. It’s always slow, relentless, and ritualistic. It’s not about the weapon though; it’s about the stillness it forces in him, like it’s the only place where his thoughts quiet.
Listening to Wind
He’ll stand near forests or open fields and just listen to nature. He hates the sounds of birds though. He can distinguish changes in the wind the way others hear shifts in music. It reminds him of the life he left behind, which he tries to avoid but part of him is achingly nostalgic.
Calligraphy
His handwriting is elegant but controlled, all restrained emotion. He doesn’t write letters he intends to send; he writes to remember he once had a name that wasn’t drenched in blood. If he has a memory he will write it down and never read it again. It’s his way of relieving that “weakness.”
Walking Without Destination
He wanders around with you. The walks are normally long and silent. You sometimes walks through abandoned roads or mountain paths with him. The movement soothes him. It’s the closest thing he allows to peace for himself.
Memorizing Voices
He doesn’t engage with people, but he studies the way they speak with cadence, hesitation, and confidence. He memorizes voices like he’s afraid to forget the sound of humanity. He’s always asking you things just to hear the faintest crack, pause, or shift in your voice.
Observing Swordsmen
He watches form, stance, and conviction the most. Sometimes he recognizes flashes of his brother and feels the ache of a wound that never healed. Sometimes he sits there and relentlessly criticizes them.
Dōma
His likes:
Pretty Things
He loves anything that is visually pleasing: patterns, symmetry, and colors. He collects things simply for the aesthetics like a unique colored rock or a flower he’s never seen before.
Perfume & Sweet Scents
He genuinely enjoys floral or sugary smells. They remind him of the temples he grew up in, not the bad stuff just the nostalgia of it all. He is always complimenting the way you smell.
Laughter
Not his own but because people laughing around him makes him feel “correct,” like he’s fulfilling his role and like he’s doing something right and productive. He doesn’t enjoy it because it’s a sign of happiness or joy.
Soft Textures
He LOVES silk sleeves, fur-lined coats, the plushness of cushions. He likes to surround himself with comfort he doesn’t internally experience.
Modern Day: I imagine his bed would have silk sheets, a fluffy comforter, and goose feather pillows.
Compliments
They don’t emotionally affect him, but he finds them entertaining and they build his HUGE ego. Now if you compliment something about his personality or core parts of his identity he will show the slightest bit of emotion but he moves on from it quickly.
Devotion
He needs to be around people who cling to him, adore him, follow him. He sees worship as a game that he always wins. He loves that you’re absolutely crazy about him.
Snowfall
Silent, soft, cold, blinding…it all appeals to his idea of beauty. He constantly tells you how much he loves how soft your skin is, how quiet your voice is, how cold your hands are…it’s small things that make him see the beauty in you.
His Dislikes
Unfriendly personalities
He enjoys people who speak gently, and who speak with a lot of flare. It gives him a script to mimic back. He mirrors other people’s personalities. It’s the only way he knows how to be “friendly.”
Emotional Messiness
Crying, anger, heartbreak; he finds it inconvenient and tedious. If you cry he’ll try to comfort you to the best of his abilities but he truly does not understand why you would waste your tears at all. If you yell he will just ignore you or ask you to lower your voice in a snarky way because it “truly pains him”. It doesn’t.
Silence with No Audience
He hates being completely alone. He is really clingy. He wants to spend every minute with you. He desperately needs attention.
Strong Personal Boundaries
People who say “no” confuse and bore him. He prefers pliability. He has insane charisma and being told “no” to something is an insult to him.
Intense Heat
Excess warmth irritates him, because makes him sluggish. He is not big on cuddling. If you do cuddle it will most likely just be your head on his chest. That’s what he will allow.
People Questioning His Morality
He doesn’t understand guilt but dislikes being challenged, especially emotionally. It chips at his illusion of being divine and perfect. He is sort of narcissistic. (Maybe that’s what makes him so hot. The ones that get it, get it.)
Being Ignored
He despises it. It feels like the world forgetting he exists. If you give him the silent treatment he will threaten to consume you just to get your attention, he won’t actually do it… hopefully.
Imperfections in His Surroundings
Crooked decor, broken objects, things out of place, or chaotic situations like crowds, they grate at him. It’s the only time you’ll see him really focus and almost shut down.
Serious, Stoic People
They’re harder to manipulate, and therefore less interesting to him. They are also less impressed by him and his ability and power, therefore they are no use to him.
His Everyday Quirks
Always Smiling
Even when nothing calls for it. Even when it’s eerie. Even if you tell him to stop, he can’t. It’s just part of who he is.
Blinks hard and tilts his head When “Feeling” Something
It’s him trying to replicate curiosity or empathy. If you open up to him he will hold your hand and blink hard before staring blankly at you and titling his head to the side like he’s truly listening. He’s probably not.
Mimics the Emotions of Whoever He’s Talking To
Almost perfectly but it is always slightly off, and uncanny around the edges. If you’re sad he isn’t the type to give solutions and listen. He’s the type to say “I relate.” And tell a story from his life to relate to you. He’s not being mean or malicious, he just does it without thinking of you first. He will stop if you remind him.
Moves Too Smoothly
Every step is silent, every gesture fluid. There’s no tension in his muscles. He appears behind you in an instant, when you least expect it. His arms wrap around your waist and he leans his head on your shoulder. He is amused by the shudder your body does when you can’t sense his presence and he sneaks up on you.
Touches EVERYTHING He Finds Interesting
Your clothes, your hair, any trinkets. And he’s tactile about it. If you’re wearing a new ring he will take your hand in his and fiddle with it saying: “How interesting…I’ve never seen anything like it.” He DEEPLY admires your sense of style.
Speaks in Soft, Airy Tones
He rarely raises his voice; even threats from him sound gentle. If he does raise his tone it’s to get your attention or because you’re talking over him. If you try to interrupt him, he doesn’t care. He keeps talking over you.
Notices Beauty Instantly
People, objects, and scenery he zeroes in on whatever is lovely. But lovely in an alive, soft, and smooth way. He’s not going to gawk over any “pretty” person. They must be up to HIS standard of beauty, which isn’t impossible, but instead it is extremely real. Natural beauty, soft beauty, pure beauty, is what attracts him to you.
He Freezes When Truly Thinking
Smile still on his face, eyes unfocused. It’s like watching a glitch in his façade. If you ask him a question he pretends to reflect on it by placing a hand under his chin but when your questions really intrigue him he responds with: “I’m not sure…I’ve never thought of that.”
His Hobbies
Painting
But only serene scenes and magical scenes, it’s the closest thing to emotional depth that he has to offer.
Reading Poetry
He likes the rhythm and the aesthetic of it. But not the meaning. He counts the beats and sometimes writes his own for you. Though, you never really understand it.
Arranging Flowers
Meticulous symmetry soothes him. He is the BEST at picking you flowers and making you bouquets. He is constantly doing it for you.
Collecting Trinkets
Fans, combs, and jewelry. They are trophies he finds “pretty.” You might notice some of your personal things go missing and you know he took them even if he denies it. He not only thinks they are pretty but it’s also his way of always staying close to you.
Hosting
He loves being the center of gatherings and parties. He throws a lot of parties in his freetime but he always keeps his distance during them and leaves without a trace once he’s sick of being around people.
Studying People’s Faces
The beauty is what fascinates him, not humanity. The way your eyebrows and lips move when you talk or make expressions is one of his favorite things about you.
Dancing Alone
He doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. But while he’s doing something he will move in slow and graceful movements like he’s performing for invisible followers.
Akaza
His Likes
Strength in Any Form
Physical, mental, moral he respects it deeply. If you have a traumatic past he will listen completely and tell you how strong you are.
Crisp Cold Air
It wakes him up and clears his thoughts. If you’re ever arguing he will step out and get some fresh air and take a deep breath before he ever says anything mean.
Well-Trained Fighters
They remind him of who he was and who he still tries to be. However he doesn’t like feeling inferior so there is a bit of jealousy if they are too good.
Simple Meals
Broth, rice, and miso. It’s phantom and smell tastes like something from his human life. He loves to sit next to you while you eat.
Soft-Spoken People
He relaxes around gentleness more than he admits. He will lay his head in your lap and as you stroke his hair, he fully opens up to you.
Straightforward Honesty
No games. No manipulation. Just truth. Don’t ever lie to him. He will never trust you again.
Moonlit Places
Open rooftops, snowfields, and forest clearings. To him it’s a light that doesn’t burn. It finds you the most beautiful when moonlight is shining down on your hair.
Acts of Loyalty
Nothing moves him more than devotion.
His Dislikes
Cowardice
People who run from responsibility or abandon others. He would have a million foster children and pets with you.
Overconfidence Without Skill
Bragging without the strength to back it up. If someone is bragging and cocky about anything he WILL challenge them. He likes to fight, but he wants to prove that he’s better more than anything.
Heat
Not warmth. But heat. It makes him irritable and unfocused. He will cuddle with you all you want, but he hates fire, candles, or warm weather.
Dishonesty
Lying feels like disrespect to him. If you lie to him even just once he shuts down. He will wonder if he wasn’t good enough or if he made you feel like you HAD to lie him. He values sincerity.
Cruel Mockery
He hates seeing the weak bullied, even if he can’t explain why. He will stick up for the weak and help the elderly. He is especially protective of children.
Those Who Harm the Innocent
A remnant of Hakuji’s code. He doesn’t go after women and children. He tries not kill good men. Even when he killed Kyojuro it wasn’t out of malice. It was for survival and to turn him into a demon.
Loud & Chaotic People
He prefers calmness. Loud people annoy him and agitate him. So do overly excited people. He doesn’t understand it and wishes everyone could be normal. He finds your calmness to be peaceful.
Being Cornered Emotionally
Questions about his feelings or past make him defensive. You’re never fully able to understand him. He opens up emotionally but will not go into depth. He might say: “I am feeling disheartened.” But won’t go into a lot of detail. If you pry, he just closes up.
His Everyday Quirks
Cracks His Knuckles When Thinking
It’s repetitive and grounding for him.
Looks Directly Into Your Eyes
Sometimes it’s too intense.
Stands Between You and Danger Instinctively
Even if it’s subconscious. He will never let anything bad happen to you. You won’t even let you fall.
Bows His Head When Showing Respect
It’s a simple habit from his human life. He doesn’t even think about it.
Gets Quiet When He’s Angry
He never yells. He’s just sharp, defensive, and controlled. Sometimes he’s just silent but you can feel the tension.
Memorizes Fighting Styles
He can recall anyone’s stance or technique instantly. It makes him even more keen on when danger is near.
Keeps a Careful Distance
It’s never out of distrust of you. But it’s fear of breaking something delicate. He fears if he gets too close to you, you’ll only see him as a monster and nothing more.
Notices Your Injuries Immediately
Even small ones. He will immediately fix it and if he can’t he will take you to someone who can. He hates seeing you hurt. The smell of your blood doesn’t even phase him: it’s only your pain that does.
His Hobbies
Training Alone at Night
Repetition calms him, it keeps him sane and grounded.
Meditation
He doesn’t call it that, but he sits in silence to regulate himself.
Snow Watching
He likes the purity and stillness of it. Challenge him to a snowball fight and you’ll definitely lose but it would be fun. The most fun you’ll probably ever have.
Woodcarving
It’s always small figures, and usually unfinished. It’s how his hands remember gentleness. If you receive a gift from him you immediately know it’s a wood carving.
Running
He runs far distances and he does it fast. It’s how he tries to burn off energy that never fades away.
Helping Strangers Quietly
He often finds himself carrying burdens, fixing broken things, and guiding lost people.
He does carefully and quietly. He disappears before they notice anything off about him.
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ʜᴇᴀᴅ ᴄᴀɴᴏɴꜱ: How they are during intimacy & their kinks
Upper Moons: Kokushibō, Dōma, & Akaza
x reader
A/n: This was part of a request and I did it separately to add warnings. I didn’t wanna mix fluff with sexual content. So here it is :) some of these might be repeats of my TikTok’s, sorry I’m just a girl and my brain only goes so far ;( plus how many kinks can a person have? (I say as I am an endless abyss of them. Please don’t be scared to request anything. I will do it. )
Cw: Smut, NSFW, praise, degradation, marking, possessive sex, rough sex, breeding, somnophilia, non con vibes, creampie, edging, cucking, voyeurism, fear play, blood play, impact play, spanking, overstimulation, size kink, manhandling.
Kokushibō
He touches like he’s afraid he’ll break you.
Slow, deliberate hands sliding along your hips, your waist, the curve of your spine.
He’s hyper-aware of his strength and every caress is controlled restraint wrapped in heat.
Praise & Degradation
He gets off on the contrast and worshipping you like a deity one moment, and reminding you of your place beneath him the next. It’s about control, but a deeply possessive, almost reverent kind.
Scene: The room is too quiet. He’s just looking at you, his six eyes scanning every inch of your skin like he’s memorizing it. You’re on your knees, but he’s the one who looks like he’s praying. “Exquisite,” he breathes, the word a low rumble in his chest. He sinks to your level. His knuckles brush your jaw.
“So fragile. So beautifully human.” His thumb traces your lower lip.
His gaze holds a terrifying fondness.
“And yet,” he murmurs, his voice dropping to a whisper, “you belong to me. Every tremor, every breath… it is all mine to take. Isn’t it?”
You can only manage a shaky nod. He smiles, a slight, cruel curve of his lips.
“Say it.”
You swallow. “I’m yours.”
“Good girl,” he purrs, and the praise is a brand on your skin. “Now… beg for me.”
Silence is his form of desire.
He stares for so long, unblinking, and intense.
His breathing deepens.
His thumb traces the corner of your mouth.
He doesn’t have to say he wants you; the air between you says it for him.
Marking & Ownership:
He needs to see his mark on you. A bite, a bruise, a handprint burned into your skin. It’s a visual claim, a reminder that you are his and his alone, a fleeting mortal claimed by an eternal being.
Scene: His grip on your hips is tight enough to leave bruises in the shape of his fingers. He’s watching the way his cock sinks into you, his gaze fixated on the place where your bodies join. He leans down, his teeth scraping the sensitive skin where your neck meets your shoulder. He doesn't break the skin. He just drags them, letting you feel the threat.
“Mine,” he groans, a raw, possessive sound.
He pulls out almost completely before slamming back in, forcing a loud moan from your lips.
“I want to see you painted in me.” He sinks his teeth in, sharp and sudden.
The pain is white-hot, followed by a wave of pleasure. He laps at the wound, his tongue rough against your skin.
“Perfect,” he whispers, admiring his work. “Now everyone will know who you belong to.”
He gets undone by soft, vulnerable moments.
A kiss to his throat.
Your fingers brushing his cheek scar.
You whispering his name in a trembling voice.
Those things unravel him more than anything carnal ever could.
Somnophilia
There's something infinitely arousing to him about your complete and unconscious trust. Watching you sleep, touching you while you’re unaware, and even waking you up with his cock inside you. It’s a violation that feels like worship to him.
Scene: You’re asleep, breathing softly, completely at peace. He stands over you, silently watching. He pulls the blanket back, his eyes tracing the curve of your spine. He strokes your hair, then lets his hand drift down your side. You stir, murmuring his name in your sleep. He smirks. He carefully spreads your legs. He positions himself between them, his cock already hard and leaking. He pushes in slowly, groaning at the tight, wet heat that welcomes him. Your eyes flutter open, hazy with sleep and confusion.
“Kokushibō…?” He’s already moving, a slow, deep rhythm that steals your breath.
“Go back to sleep,” he murmurs, his voice a low command. “Just let me use you.”
You do, your body pliant under his as he chases his release, your soft snores mixing with his quiet moans.
He holds you close
A hand on the back of your neck, guiding your forehead to his.
A palm at the small of your back, drawing you into his chest.
He craves closeness but rarely allows it; intimacy with him feels like being let into a forbidden room.
Breeding
The idea of filling you up, of marking you from the inside out with his seed, is like a damn drug to him. It’s the ultimate act of possession.
Scene: He has you pinned, your legs wrapped around his waist as he drives into you with a merciless rhythm. His six eyes are locked on yours, and you can see the desperate, primal need in them.
“I’m going to fill you,” he pants, his voice strained.
“I’m going to pump you so full of me you’ll taste me for days.” His hand presses down on your lower stomach, as if he can already feel himself inside you.
“I want to see you swell with my child. I want to see my mark on you forever.” The thought is so raw, so possessive, it sends you over the edge.
Your walls clench around him, and he moans, burying himself deep as he spills into you. He stays there, his weight heavy on you, his cock twitching as he empties himself.
“Mine,” he whispers against your lips. “You are utterly mine.”
Dōma
He studies you like art before he touches you.
He’ll trace a single fingertip along your jaw just to watch how your breath catches.
He doesn’t feel desire the way humans do, but he adores your reaction to his closeness like your pulse, your warmth, the tremor in your voice.
Edging & Mind Games
For him, it’s not about the release. It’s about the slow, beautiful unraveling of your composure. He wants to be the one to break you, to see that moment of desperate, pathetic need. It makes him feel like a god.
Scene: His fan is cool against your feverish skin. He’s been toying with you for what feels like hours, bringing you right to the edge with lazy, practiced strokes of his fingers, only to pull away with a soft, musical laugh. Your back arches. A whimper escapes your lips.
“Oh?” he tilts his head, his rainbow eyes gleaming with amusement.
“Was that a plea? How adorable.” He leans in, his breath smelling of something sweet and poisonous.
“You look so desperate right now. It’s my favorite look on you.” He drags a single nail down your stomach, making you shudder.
“I bet you want to cum, don’t you?” he coos, his voice dripping with false sympathy. “You want it so badly you can’t think straight. But you haven’t earned it.”His hand settles between your legs again, still. Just resting there. A promise and a punishment.
“Convince me,” he whispers against your ear. “Show me how much you need me. Maybe then… I’ll let you.”
His touches are soft, almost worshipful, but unsettling.
He holds your waist with gentle hands, but there’s a quiet possessiveness in the way his thumb settles in the hollow of your back.
Like he’s memorizing what it feels like to be wanted.
Cuckqueaning/Voyeurism
He loves an audience, especially when that audience is one of his devoted followers forced to watch. He wants to show them what true favor looks like, to make them watch as he defiles and worships you, the one he’s chosen above all others.
Scene: You’re on his lap, facing out, your back pressed against his chest. One of his hands is tangled in your hair, the other between your legs, working you with a skill that makes your head spin. And one of his most devout followers, is kneeling a few feet away, her face a mask of horror and envy. His chin rests on your shoulder, and he’s not even looking at you. He’s looking at her.
“Watch,” he says, his voice light and cheerful.
“See how beautifully she falls apart for me? See how she moans my name?” He curls his fingers just right, and you moan, your body arching.
“That’s it,” he purrs, his eyes still on the other woman.
“Isn't she just divine? So much better than you could ever be.” He kisses your neck.
“Don’t you wish it was you?”
He whispers praise in that airy, delicate voice.
Slow, warm breath against your ear:
“Ah… how lovely you are when you tremble for me.”
He doesn’t say it out of affection but he says it because your reactions fascinate him.
Fear Play
Your terror is the most delicious thing to him. He wants to see the fear in your eyes, to feel you tremble beneath him as he whispers all the horrible, wonderful things he’s going to do to you. The more you’re afraid, the more aroused he gets.
Scene: He has you tied to his soft bed, silk bindings digging into your wrists. He’s tracing patterns on your skin with the tip of a small, sharp ice pick he manifested. He hasn’t broken the skin yet, but the threat is there.
“You know,” he says conversationally, “I’ve been wondering what color your insides are. Do you think they’re as pretty as your outsides?”
You flinch, and he giggles. “Oh, don’t be scared. I’m not going to kill you. Not yet, anyway.”
He presses the point of the pick a little harder against your stomach. “I just want to see what happens when I… push.”
A single tear rolls down your cheek. He leans down and licks it away, his eyes wide.
“Mmm, salty. I love it when you cry for me. It makes my heart feel so full.”
He likes control, but only if you follow willingly.
He’ll guide your chin up with one finger, move your body with barely any pressure.
He prefers intimacy that feels unyielding, him leading, both moving in perfect, and eerie harmony.
Blood Play
He’s a demon who eats people. Of course he’s fascinated by your blood. He loves the taste, the smell, and the sight of it. He’ll drink it from a cut on your lip or lap it from a wound he made himself.
Scene: He kisses you, and it’s brutal. His teeth are sharp, and they cut your lip, drawing blood. He pulls back, his eyes wide with wonder as he sees the red bead on your skin. He dips his thumb in it and brings it to his tongue, humming in pleasure. “Divine,” he breathes. “You taste even better than I imagined.”
Akaza
He hesitates before touching you.
Even when he wants you desperately.
His hand will hover near your waist, your cheek, your throat just waiting for the smallest sign you want it.
Consent isn’t just important to him; it’s sacred.
Impact Play & Endurance
He’s a fighter through and through. He gets off on the sting of a palm against your skin, the way you flinch and gasp. But more than that, he gets off on your ability to take it. He wants to see you endure, to push past your limits for him. It’s a test of strength, and he finds your resilience incredibly arousing.
Scene: You’re bent over his lap, his hand rubbing circles on your ass before he brings it down in a sharp, stinging slap. You yelp, your body jolting. He does it again, and again, until your skin is flushed red and hot.
“You can take more than that,”his voice low and demanding.
He lands another hit, harder this time. Your eyes are watering, but you don’t say the safeword. You bite your lip and push back into his touch, silently begging for more.
“That’s it,”approval thick in his voice. “Show me how strong you are.”
His hand slides between your legs, and he groans when he feels how wet you are.
“Fuck, you’re soaked. You like this, don’t you? You like being punished by me.”
He grabs your hair, pulling your head back. “Beg me to hit you again.”
When he commits, he’s intense.
His forehead pressed to yours, breath shaking, and voice low like holding himself back takes everything he has.
He touches like someone who’s terrified of losing what he’s been given.
Size Kink & Manhandling
He’s built beautifully and big, and he knows it. He loves how small you feel in his arms, how easily he can lift you, position you, and hold you down. He gets a thrill from his own strength and your complete inability to fight him off, even if you wanted to.
Scene: He picks you up like you weigh nothing, tossing you over his shoulder. You squeal in protest, but he just chuckles, his hand smacking your ass. He carries you to the bedroom and throws you down on the bed, bouncing you on the mattress. He’s on you in an instant, his body pinning yours to the bed. He grabs your wrists in one of his large hands, holding them above your head.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble. “So small. So fragile.”
He grinds his hips against yours, letting you feel the hard, thick length of his cock through his pants.
“I could break you so easily.” He leans down, his breath hot against your ear. “But I won’t. Because I’m going to fuck you instead.”
His praise is raw and sincere.
“Stay with me.”
“You’re… incredible.”
“Tell me what you need.”
Every word sounds like a vow, like he’s pouring devotion into your skin.
Service Top
Despite his rough exterior, his ultimate goal is your pleasure. At the end of the day he only desires to make you happy and protect you. He’s obsessed with making you feel good, with making you cum so hard you forget your own name. He’ll spend hours between your legs, his tongue and fingers working you over until you’re a sobbing, writhing mess.
Scene: He’s kneeling between your thighs, his broad shoulders holding them open. His tongue is a masterful thing, flicking and swirling against your clit in a way that has you seeing stars. You’re already cumming, your thighs shaking around his head, but he doesn’t stop. He just doubles his efforts, his tongue fucking into you, his nose rubbing against your sensitive nub.
“Akaza, please, I can’t,” you whimper, trying to push his head away.
He just growls, his arms wrapping around your thighs to hold you in place.
“You can,” he demands, his voice muffled by your flesh.
“One more. Give me one more.” He sucks your clit into his mouth, and you squeal, your back arching off the bed as another, more powerful orgasm rips through you.
He finally pulls back, his face glistening with your juices, a look of smug satisfaction on his face. “Good girl,” he purrs.
He loves when you anchor him.
Your hands in his hair, your grip on his shoulders, your chest against his just grounding him.
He melts under soft touch, growing more passionate the gentler you are with him.
Just read your argument hcs with upper moons. I loved it. Can I request for the reader having enough of them and starts to reflect on themselves, so they decide to leave so they could cope— it’s not permanent but for some while. And how they’ll react to it?
A/n: Thank you for your request and support. I loved the angst in this. I’ve been DYING to write something sad. I hope you enjoy. 🖤
Setting: Takes place in kny universe. Synopsis: Slow burn tension with the Upper Moons. Head canons and scenes of soft touches, sharp words, broken pasts, and the kind of longing that shouldn’t exist between enemies.
Cw: Break-ups, Toxic relationship dynamics.
KOKUSHIBŌ
How He Reacts When You Leave
~ He doesn’t chase you. He doesn’t argue. His entire body just stills.
~ He blames himself instantly. There is no denial and no confusion. To him, this ending was written the moment he let himself care for you. He always feared this moment.
~ He lets you leave because he believes he has no right to hold you there, but the absence hits him hard.
~ He becomes even more withdrawn, cold, and ghostlike than ever. Your absence triggers every old wound he carries, and for the first time, he wonders if he’s the reason every bond he’s touched has died.
~ He tries to “fix himself” in quiet ways like meditation, discipline, and silence.
~ He practices the things he couldn’t say to you, murmuring confessions into an empty room. They never come out right to him.
~ He makes a single vow in your absence: “If you return, I will not run from you again.”
Scene:
Your footsteps creak down the hallway, slow and soft. The air feels tighter with each step, like the whole house is holding its breath.
Kokushibō stands in the doorway, framed by dim light, unmoving except for the faint rise and fall of his chest. His presence feels heavier than usual.
“You are leaving,” he says, but his voice is barely sound at all.
Your throat burns as you nod. “I need space.”
The scent of cedar and old rain clings to him. His fingers twitch at his side. His instinct is wanting to reach for you, shame forcing them still. His eyes lower to the floor, lashes hiding the way they flicker as if watching memories that hurt.
A long and soft void settles between you.
“I ruin what I hold,” he whispers. “Letting you go may be the only kindness I can give.”
You swallow hard. The air tastes bitter.
He lowers his head, but not to bow, but to surrender. Something cracking open silently inside him.
You turn. You walk. The weight of his gaze presses between your shoulder blades until the door closes.
He drops to his knees beside it, palm pressed where your warmth touched the wood.
DŌMA
How He Reacts When You Leave
~ His first response is a laugh. It’s sharp, airy, a little too bright like he truly believes this is a joke.
~ When you don’t smile or soften, his expression fractures for half a second, then goes back to normal. He calls you dramatic to protect himself from a feeling he doesn’t recognize.
~ He tells himself you’ll return. Everyone does. He convinces himself your absence is a temporary weather pattern.
~ But the silence in his temple hits him harder than he expects.
~ He tries to fill the void with attention, worship, noise… but everything feels strangely flat.
~ He grows irritated with himself for missing you, for noticing the cold, for feeling anything at all.
~ Eventually, he stops smiling for entire minutes without realizing it.
Scene
The screen door slides open, and winter air curls around your ankles. His temple glows silver in the cold light, all sharp edges and soft echoes.
Dōma looks up, smiling sweetly, but there’s a faint crack along its edge.
You see it.
He knows you see it.
“You’re leaving?” he repeats, tone dipped in honey.
Your coat rustles as you tie it. The knot feels too tight.
“I need time,” you say, voice steady only because it has to be. You try so hard for it to be.
Something flickers across his expression.
He walks toward you, steps soundless. The cold radiates off him, reaching your skin before he does.
“So serious,” he says softly. “So… uncharacteristically calm.”
Your fingers brush the doorframe. His presence chills the space around you.
“I’m not doing this to entertain you.”
He tilts his head, eyes wide, sweeping your face with slow focus.
“No tears,” he murmurs. “No trembling.”
His gaze lowers to your hands. “You usually tremble.”
“Not today.”
His smile softens but only barely.
The cold of his fingers hovers near your sleeve, trapped by a boundary he knows better than to break right now.
When you step out, your breath fogs the air between you.
The door closes.
The temple falls silent.
Dōma stands completely still, watching the last trace of your warmth fade from the wooden floor.
AKAZA
How He Reacts When You Leave
~ Panic hits him instantly. He thinks he’s done something unforgivable.
~ He follows at first, not to stop you, but to make sure you’re not leaving from a place of danger or overwhelming emotion.
~ When he realizes you’re leaving to heal from the hurt he caused, he crumbles.
~ He wants to beg you to stay, to promise he’ll change, but begging makes him feel like the powerless boy he once was, so he regrettably freezes.
~ He lets you go because he loves you, even though every piece of him screams to run after you.
~ He channels every ounce of panic and guilt into trying to fix himself. He starts training, meditating, pacing, and apologizing into the night air.
~ Every place you once sat or laughed or touched becomes a painful memory.
Scene
You fold your clothes slowly and carefully, like each one carries a tiny piece of your resolve. The room smells like soil and fading tea, and warmth already thinning.
Behind you, Akaza’s breathing is uneven.
“Wait—“ he chokes out. The floor creaks as he steps closer. “Just… tell me why.”
You turn. His eyes are bright and frantic. Hair mussed from running his hands through it. His chest rises and falls like he’s sprinted here.
“I need time to think,” you say softly.
The words hit him like a body blow. His shoulders drop; his breath stutters.
“Time…from me?” His voice cracks down the center.
You nod.
The panic drains out of him, leaving something quiet and devastated in its place. His hands curl at his sides, trembling.
“I can fix this,” he whispers, voice trembling. “I can be better. I will—just don’t—“
You place your hand on his chest but not for comfort, as a boundary.
“I know you can. But this isn’t about fixing you. It’s about giving myself space to breathe.”
He goes painfully still.
His forehead dips toward yours, stopping just short.
“Please tell me you’re coming back,” he whispers.
“I am.”
His eyes close like those words are oxygen.
Not possessive.
Not demanding.
Just heartbreakingly hopeful.
When your silhouette disappears into the trees, his voice trembles into the silence:
“I won’t leave. Not again. Not when you need me most.”
