#20.0

Aftercare? what they’re like after sex

Sanemi is sooo stern about aftercare, to the extent that sometimes aftercare feels not so caring. 😆 #soft dom vibes It doesn’t matter how exhausted you are; he’s coaxing you into a bath (or shower 🚿 ), watching you eat a full meal (full meal = at least one glass of water and a lil snick snack 😋), and making you brush your teeth. He’ll absolutely carry you from one location to the next, tenderly wash and pat dry your body, spoon feed you if you pout hard enough, and massage you to sleep 😴, but he’s not letting you pass out smelling of sex. 😒 “Dehydration is serious, my love, and I know you came at least once.” <— You definitely came more than once. 😌

Dirty Talk?

Sanemi’s generally quiet during sex—he’d rather listen to your pretty sounds than himself talking—but sometimes the most lewd things slip out from his mind to your ears. “Fuck yes baby, you like spreading your asscheeks while I fuck you, hm? Makes you feel extra exposed? Greedy? Bet you can feel how wet you are, what a mess you’re making.” He actually prefers when you talk to him, but not necessarily about sex. “What do we need to buy at the grocery store?” he asks nonchalantly, fixated on the sight of his cock inching its way into your pussy, slipping out and then farther in, becoming shinier and stickier with slick as his thrusts move deeper into your heat. “Seri-ously?” you huff, fingernails digging into his arms, unable to catch his gaze as he continues staring at his cock, “We n-need, we need eggs, milk, b-bread-” “I’m sure you’d like to be bread,” Sanemi interjects, voice tight with restraint, “Shit you’re so fucking gorgeous.” “You did not just-” “Shh darling, surely we need more than eggs, milk, and bread?”

Goofy? their sense of humor

Sanemi doesn’t like to be silly during sex, but it tends to just kinda happen anyway. 😅 Pinning you against the wall, one warm hand wrapped loosely around your neck, a muscular thigh nudging its way between your trembling legs? “Uh, Nemi,” you squeak, breath hitching as he nips at your collarbone, “I think I hit my tailbone-” “Seriously?” he grumbles into your skin, other arm slinking around your back to provide extra padding between your back and the wall. “Yes seriously,” you whine, eyes squeezing shut as he licks a hot path from the hollow of your throat up to the tip of your chin. “Shaddup,” he mutters, nose scrunching, “Gonna make me laugh.” “So my pain is funny to you?!” Groaning, he cracks a smile, exasperation expression meeting your petulant one as he shakes his head, “‘Course not, but I thought you liked when I shoved you into walls ‘nd stuff.” “Well yeah, but not when it hurts!” “Relax darling,” he purrs, sucking lightly on your cheek, grinning when you pout, “I’ve got you.” 😒😌😏

Hair? pubes maintenance

Unsurprisingly tidy. Sanemi has a weekly shave + trim schedule (for both his face and pubes). He’ll occasionally skip a week if you insist (sometimes a lil scruff is endearing ☺️), but he feels better knowing things are neat and maintained (for you and himself). Plus, since his hair’s so light, you might think there’s not a lot going on, but it actually grows quite fast 😅, and Sanemi absolutely notices when he starts shedding everywhere (even if you don’t).

No? turn offs

Sanemi would be hard pressed to be physically rough with you, but he’d also be hard pressed to disappoint you. He is capable and willing to explore more dangerous kinks—he doesn’t half ass anything—but best believe you’ll be negotiating and scripting scenes for days before he’s actually comfortable playing. “You really want me to spit on you?” he asks again, voice round with obvious concern, “If you don’t like it, then I can’t exactly take it back.” Your cheeks warm at his tone, eyes gentle as you meet his hesitant gaze, “We can always keep a cloth on standby. If I don’t like it, then you can simply wipe it off.” “That doesn’t address the potential psychological damage.” “Nemi, for me this is like… trying a new vegetable. There’s risk, sure. I might forever remember how much I hate zucchini, and how much it sucked to find that out. But I tried, and that’s what matters most to me.” “Your safety matters most to me,” he retorts, reaching across the dining table for your hand. Your fingers intertwine. You squeeze reassuringly. He cracks a faint smile, sighing lowly as he finally acquiesces, “Fine.” Grinning brightly, you lean in, cleavage visible as your breasts press into the tabletop, whispering conspiratorially, “Besides, I thought you liked claiming me as your slut? This is just another way to do so.” Eyes widening, Sanemi coughs loudly, face quickly reddening, unable to resist glancing at your tits as he mutters roughly, “I mean, yeah. I do. Of course I do.”

Toys?

Aftercare? what they’re like after sex

Giyuu’s very sleepy after sex. If you’ve discussed it beforehand, then he’ll muster up the energy to gently towel wash you, brush your hair (if things got ~intense 😉), and make sure you drink a glass of water, but he’s otherwise hopeless. And by “hopeless”, I mean: he’s passing out with his cock still leaking onto your thighs, warm mouth smooshed into your shoulder, and will moan softly—Hnngg—and proceed to roll over should you attempt to wake him. 😌

Body Part? their favorite body part(s)

Giyuu’s a thigh guy, or GTTG (Giyuu The Thigh Guy) for short. 🦵 Don’t get me wrong! He could totally cum fixating on basically any part of your body 🫢, buuut nestled between your thighs… life couldn’t get much better. 😌 He isn’t huge on marking you (aka: he is, but he typically refrains because one hickey is a sure slide to two, then four, then seven, then- 😇), but biting softly at your thigh, listening to you squeal, halfheartedly attempting to push him away as his fingers wrap around your knees, tongue slipping out to soothe your fresh “wound” — he’s entertained himself with your thighs for literal hours, and not necessarily even sexually. 😆 He’ll often push your legs apart just so he can rest his head on the plush of your thigh, the rest of his body cradled by the curves of your knees and calves.

If you were a vampire, then Giyuu would surely be your first victim, because his neck is just: 😍😋🩸❣️ It’s kissable, nuzzle-able, biteable, and sooo fun to rile him up with a simple swipe of your tongue (bonus points if you suck on his Adam’s apple 🤤). He smells delicious too; a gentle, unassuming fragrance of ripples on a pond (whatever those smell like 🌊) that’s strongest where his neck meets his ears. Step in close and interlock your fingers behind his neck, and he’s certain to wrap his arms around your waist, surroundings fading to a hazy buzz as he murmurs, “I love you.”

Cum?

Giyuu loves cum while he’s still horny (something about the way it glistens and slides down the backs of your thighs, collecting in droplets on your puffy folds, slightly watery and warm as it slowly dampens the mattress beneath you… he’s fixated for sure 😌), but as soon as post nut clarity hits, he’s desperate for a shower (something about its smell and stickiness, clinging to your skin—and his—reminding him of how amazing you felt… and of how messy things got… if you’re taking too long to collect yourself, then he’s scooping you up and carrying you to the bathroom for sure 🫠).

Dirty Talk?

He loves dirty talk, but has to pass a certain threshold (of horniness) to really ~get into it. 😅 Before that threshold, a simple So pretty baby while straddling his hips, your fingertips stroking his softly toned abs, will guarantee you a blushing, flustered Tomioka Giyuu, his own grip tightening around your waist. And after that threshold? 👀 Best believe you’ll be the flustered one, low whimpers pushed out of your chest as a cool hand rests gentle around your throat, steadying your body while his cock fucks needy and forceful into your warm, clenching hole.

Experience? their level of experience

Before meeting you, Giyuu isn’t a virgin, but he’s also far from experienced. He knows how to have sex, knows how to make someone else cum, but he doesn’t know how to enjoy himself. He’s always been physically sensitive—always quick to orgasm with enough wetness and friction—but physical pleasure without its emotional counterpart only does so much. And then he falls in love with you. 🥺💙 He falls in love with how delicately you kiss the tops of his shoulder, across his collarbones, tongue swirling in the hollow of his throat. Falls in love with how easily you raise goosebumps on his forearms, his thighs, your fingertips grazing lightly—teasingly—along the seams of his clothing, toying with the buttons on his shirt, the zipper on his pants, not willing to undress him unless he begs. In love with how begging means catching your wrists and holding them above your head, brought to neediness by your tender ministrations, safe enough to seek his own desires in the heat of your breathlessness. “I want to cum,” he whispers gruffly, your pulse warm in his palms, “So help me.”

Foreplay?

Giyuu thoroughly enjoys foreplay, to the extent that he has trouble lasting through it. 😅 He actually fares better when you go down on him, because he can guide your movements and pace. His large hands—normally cool to the touch and tender in their intentions—firmly cup your nape, sweaty and needy as your hair tangles soft between his fingers. When you choke on the sensation of his cock nudging against the back of your throat, he can only whimper and groan, hips chasing the quiver and wetness of your breath, grip ensuring you remain planted between his thighs. And when he’s close to cumming? He’s strong enough to gently tug you away from him, your lips shiny and insatiable, a low whine kissing his skin as you pout. But when he goes down on you? That same attention dissipates. Lost in the heat and clench of your thighs, the ache in his scalp as you cling to his hair, the incoherent babble of pleasure spilling from your mouth while you tremble and arch before him… is it really his fault for cumming with you? 🙃 After all, you didn’t stop him from thrusting his hips into the mattress, the edge of the couch, his own fist, as he flicked his tongue over your clit. You didn’t stop him as he whispered about how Beautiful, Stunning, Divine, Fuck… I think I’m gonna cum… you were, your moans rising in pitch as you met his dazed expression, his eyes dark and determined, the tip of his nose glistening with your essence. You didn’t stop him as his body shuddered before you, his cum splurting sticky and pearlescent, the taste of your orgasm gushing tart and warm onto his tongue.

Goofy? their sense of humor

In the beginning, Giyuu’s uber serious… mostly because he’s worried about dying of embarrassment should he fumble while trying to get/keep you in the mood. 🫠 That’s not to say he’s incapable of smiling! He doesn’t want you to think he’s having a terrible time either. 🥴 But gosh forbid he accidentally fart, or nudge himself against the wrong hole, or elbow you in the face, or- 😭 Eventually, however, he slips into a deeper comfort and trust with you, which inevitably leads to him smooshing your hair, chuckling when you queef, and taking a breather when you become literally tangled in the sheets (you can’t stop laughing, and he somehow finds himself grinning adoringly at you vs running out the door in mortification). 🥺

Hair? pubes maintenance

Giyuu keeps himself well groomed due more to habit and personal comfort, but hey — you benefit too! Plus, you know you’ve reached peak closeness when you’re showering together and you randomly ask, “My love, could I trim your pubes tonight?” and instead of shoving you out of the shower, curtain rod and all, he just blushes a deep red and mutters, “Yeah, okay.” 😶

Intimacy? their degree of intimacy

Intimacy and Giyuu are a complicated duo. 😅 On one hand, Giyuu definitely isn’t casual; casual and physical closeness, casual and feelings, casual and sex, are not how he prefers to pair such concepts. But intimacy is difficult for him too, because intimacy means trusting, and trusting means revealing his nakedness — not just undressing his lover. While you know from the get go that you aren’t just a one night stand, friends with benefits, or connected in some other vaguely defined manner, you also initially aren’t entirely sure exactly how deeply rooted his intentions and desires are. After all, he’s shy about meeting your gaze, keeps the lights dim, and hardly moans or closes his eyes… until you finally, finally ask him about it. “Giyuu, what am I to you?” 🥺 “I don’t understand.” 🙃 “I… well, I feel like when we have sex, you make love to me, but I somehow can’t make love to you.” He doesn’t properly answer you, seconds from dreamland after tiredly wiping his cum off your thighs 😴, but he was listening, and the next time he finds himself sliding slowly into you, he cracks a smile—rather than glance away—when you catch him in his contented daze. 💓

Jack Off? masturbation

Giyuu goes through phases of jerking off every day of the week to not touching himself for upwards of a month. There’s no pattern to the duration or frequency of each phase, and he doesn’t really consciously think about it either. Sometimes he’s horny, and other times he’s just not. That being said, solo masturbation and sexual acts with others (others being you) are separate entities to him. Whether he just came that same morning, or hasn’t cum alone in a couple of weeks, he’s always more than willing to feel your pretty cunt (or throat, or hands, because he’s not about to be picky) flutter and squeeze around his cock.

Kink? ~specific turn ons

Lace. 😍 Giyuu knows lace is often rough and uncomfortable 🥲, but there’s just something divine about seeing your breasts in lace and satin; about running calloused palms up your scantily clad thighs (if you ever want to buy a(nother) garter, then Giyuu will always hand you his credit card — no questions asked 😌), snapping your frilly waistband against your plush, warm hips; lapping at the delicate material covering your nipples till they’re perky and damp, gushing about You’re absolutely stunning and Can’t decide if I’d rather fuck you with these beautiful panties on or off. Sometimes, he’ll literally stop and stare (or make you ~model for him 😵‍💫), breath caught in his chest at how perfectly the floral embroidery matches your eyes; at how ethereal and whimsical you appear, the facade of angelic elegance dissipating as you perch on all fours before him, teasing fingers tugging at the sorry excuse of a string between your cheeks. “The longer you wait, the more likely I am to ruin these panties,” you purr, craning your neck to stare over your shoulder at his awestruck expression, “You wouldn’t want that, hm? Wouldn’t want me to have to buy a new set of lace for you?” Spoiler alert: of course he wants you to buy another set of lace for him 😖, but he quite likes your current set too 🥴, so he’s quick to lean over you, mouth messy and hot as he kisses you thoroughly, clever hand slipping underneath you to cup and knead your tit while his other maintains his balance on the mattress.

Location? where they prefer to have sex

Call him basic, but Giyuu likes having sex in bed. 🤗 It’s comfortable, safe, and a sturdy headboard (+ a couple of velcro straps and/or handcuffs) can make it not-so-vanilla too. He’s the reason you have so many pillows, because while he’s okay with taking one for the team and sleeping in any cum spots 🫡, he refuses to sleep on a stained pillow (understandable 😝). As a man who gets extra sleepy after sex, changing sheets/pillowcases usually isn’t in the cards for him, so he’d rather just have plenty of pillows and swap them out when necessary.

Motivation? ~general turn ons

Being nice to him. Giyuu’s got a bit of a praise kink, albeit less so that he’ll get go from zero to erection emergency zone if you compliment him 😆, and more so that he remembers your kindness and attentiveness throughout the day, and returns your care and affection tenfold at night 😉. He also appreciates clean and tidy nails, genuine smiles (although your fake laughter—when not targeted at him—does make him chuckle 🫢), and when you playfully tug his hair to redirect his focus. “Oi, babe, I said left,” you huff amusedly, pointing across the street. He nods slowly, smirking faintly as he promptly continues heading in the wrong direction (if only to get you to tug on his hair again 😌). 

No? turn offs

Giyuu’s pretty flexible. 😌 He can be kinky (after reading a dozen or so ~articles about how exactly to go about exploring X kink), he can be vanilla, but he isn’t into cheating/cuckolding. 😓 Not even for a roleplay scenario. He could be (pretty easily) discussed into having a threesome, or simply a voyeuristic counterpart 👀, but No. Cheating. He trusts that you love him, and he knows he loves you, but it just feels a lil too real to even think about, let alone play out. 😕

Oral? giver or receiver

Giyuu tends to be the receiver, because he has a 50/50 chance of lasting through foreplay whenever he’s the giver. 😶 That being said, he doesn’t exactly have a ~preference, and definitely doesn’t perceive giving oral sex to be a chore, annoying, or tiresome — he just doesn’t want to disappoint you by cumming too soon should you still desire penetrative sex after oral sex. 

Position? their favorite position(s)

Doggystyle, because Giyuu can’t get enough of hearing his thighs slap against yours. 🫢 From cupping the tops of your thighs and pulling your body toward him to both steady himself and fuck deeper into your cunt, to gripping the inside of your thighs to spread your legs farther apart while spitting lazily on your back Fuck, so fucking filthy for me, to listening to how sweaty and eager you are as your skin clings and claps to his, doggystyle is easily his favorite. A close second, when either of you are feeling too lazy for doggystyle, would be missionary, because once again, Giyuu can use your thighs to pull you closer and spread you wider (and his spit + your boobs = ✨shiny boobs✨). 

Quickie? a fan or not-a-fan

Giyuu isn’t a huge fan of quickies (not enough time to devour you whole), but your first few times together were quick nonetheless. 😏💀 After he’s gotten over his initial awe (let’s be honest tho — he never really gets over it 😍), he’s better about not ~accidentally making everything a quickie 😝, but you lowkey still have him wrapped around your finger. 😇 In other words, Giyuu doesn’t like ‘em, but you have the power to create them whenever you so desire. 😎😂

Risk? their risk tolerance

Low risk tolerance. 🙃 In theory, Giyuu isn’t against sexual risk taking (i.e. semi public sex), but in practice, he gets too flustered-embarrassed-mortified-at-the-thought-of-being-caught 🫣 to actually follow through. If you casually mention how hot it would be If you pressed me up against this wall and slipped your hand under my skirt to feel how wet I am, then he’ll do the press-you-up-against-the-wall part 😏, but will shakily vice grip the hem of your skirt, unable to continue (he wants to 😭, but just can’t 🥴). 

Stamina?

In terms of how long Giyuu can fuck you in a single position before his muscles give out? He has practically unlimited stamina. 😎 His lanky, lithe physique isn’t purely for show y’know! 😉 It’s for holding you up against a wall, cock thrusting upward into your dripping cunt as your nails dig crescent moons into his shoulders, his face buried in your neck as he focuses intently on the slick, lewd sound of his balls tapping your pretty asshole. And for holding you up above him while you straddle his hips, your legs cramping from exhaustion—Aw darling, can’t ride me any longer?—adoration in his eyes as he begins fucking roughly into your pussy, delirious on how willingly you allow him to pleasure your body. However, in terms of how long Giyuu can fuck you before he cums? … … … he’s working on it. 🫠 That being said, he makes up for premature orgasms with potential quantity! 😏 If you’re feeling especially horny, then he can usually manage an orgasm morning, noon, and night 🥰 — just don’t expect much out of him the following day. 😵‍💫😂

Toys?

Giyuu might be a lil jealous of them. 🤪 Not actually, he’s not that insecure of himself and your relationship… but you could totally rile him up by starting without him, winking exaggeratedly with your favorite vibrator grazing your clit as he walks into the bedroom, giggling when he promptly plops onto the bed beside you, still fully clothed, hand nudging you and your toy out of his way as he grumbles halfheartedly, “So I guess I didn’t need to hurry up the stairs after all, you’ve got everything taken care of.” 😔 Your failsafe solution? Gently grasp his noticeable bulge, and declare, “Clearly not everything, seeing as I’ve yet to solve this problem.” 😌😉😏😎 Will he cringe at your cheesiness? Yes. 🥴 Will he also frantically begin unzipping and kicking off his pants? Also yes. 😳

Unfair? how they feel about teasing/being teased

Tease at your own discretion, because Giyuu can not handle it. 😃 He enjoys it! But his imagination does wonders at filling in the blanks you’re leaving, and if you’re not careful, then he might just spill over before you’re ready! 😅 Teasing you goes pretty much the same, because as much as he tries to convince himself that you’re the one he’s edging, truly, he’s edging both of you, and he’s too in love with you to not succumb to his own delicate, torturous charm. 🙃💞

Volume?

Quiet and breathy, or desperate and babbling, with no in between. Push him far enough, and he’ll murmur filth nonstop (most of it incoherent 😅) until he’s shaking and cumming, or bask in the soft glow of his occasional grunts and low hisses. Sex in the morning is usually near silent, but sex in the evening frequently brings out the singular, guttural groan that always accompanies his hardest orgasms. 

Wild Card?

On rare occasions, Giyuu rims you. The stuttered, needy whine, and the feeling of your pussy tightening around his cock, whenever he brushes the pad of his thumb over your asshole do not go unnoticed by him, so he can only imagine how sensitive and gorgeous you would feel and sound if the tip of his tongue replaced his wandering hands — and he’s proven ~right when he rims you for the first time, and you practically wail at the hot wetness of his mouth. So good for me, letting me eat your pretty ass he rasps, spit bridging from his chin to your ass cheeks, your thighs quivering in his grip, drooling onto your pillow as you rock your hips backward toward his slick, skillful tongue What a fucking treat, getting to taste you here.

X-ray?

Giyuu’s cock is pretty. 7” erect, somewhat slim, with a fat and squishy tip that beads precum like it’s modeling for an advertisement. Its length always catches you off guard because it doesn’t look especially big (think cute twink vs beefy jock), but as he slowly pushes himself in a couple inches, pulls out till his tip catches at your entrance, and then slowly pushes himself in a couple inches farther than before, you can’t help but gasp. “Are you okay?” he asks softly, voice low and thick in his throat, eyes gleaming as he watches himself disappear into your luscious cunt, your body presented to him so stunning on your chest and knees. “Fuck,” is your graceful response, face buried in the mattress, back arching forward with every shallow thrust, “So deep.” He’d chuckle at your cliche whimper if he wasn’t so focused on not cumming, his hands cupping your hips in an attempt to handle you tenderly, the desperate clinging of your walls sucking away his self control as he slips farther, farther, deeper into your heat.

Yearning? sex drive

Horny, and by horny, I mean 24/7. Giyuu’s so used to it though (the perpetual state of being borderline turned on), that it doesn’t exactly feel like horny. He could fuck whenever (albeit, not necessarily wherever), but doesn’t need to (he’s a grown man y’know, he has ~some control 😉). This is a problem at first, because he refrains from initiating (afraid of scaring you away with his sex drive 😬)—to the point where you worry that you’re pressuring him into being physically intimate—but as soon as you communicate your concern, he’s quick (and embarrassed 😶) to assure you that I’m horny all the time. Do you want me to fuck you all the time? 😐 You might jokingly say Duh!, but his sentiment registers nonetheless. ☺️

Zzz?

Aftercare? what they’re like after sex

After sex, Tanjirou gently wipes you down, makes sure you pee and then drink at least three sips of water, and offers to grab/make you a snack as well. Sometimes, he’ll fall asleep before he actually gets around to grabbing/making you that snack, but it’s the thought that counts. 😅

Body Part? their favorite body part(s)

Tanjirou adores your hands. Whether they’re slipping playfully under the hem of his shirt, cupping his jaw, or gripping his biceps as he thrusts into your heat, your head tilted backward, eyelashes fluttering as you struggle to maintain eye contact—Eyes on me sweetheart, can you look at me? Want you to watch me—he swears his heart skips a beat (and his cock twitches) whenever you touch him.

Tanjirou’s back might be the best mattress in the world. Muscular and warm, few things beat sprawling atop him, appreciating the curve of his ass against your pelvis; or curling up beside him, running your fingertips along his spine until he exhales slowly, pressing a needy kiss to your shoulder, voice rough as he murmurs shyly If you keep doing that, then we’re going to have a problem. “That only I can fix?” you wink, giggling as his blush deepens. That only you can fix. Ball’s in your court; feel free to keep going. 😌

Cum?

If it wasn’t such a hassle to clean up, then Tanjirou would 11/10 cum on your tits every time. Something about your post haze flush paired with the lewd trickling of his cum down the curve of your tits… mesmerized, he absolutely grazes light fingertips across your chest, goosebumps raising as he circles your erect nipples, cum smeared viscous and warm into your skin. “So beautiful,” he whispers, lifting his hand to watch his cum drip from his fingertips to your stomach, “Perfect.”

Dirty Secret? shh

Tanjirou isn’t really into the thought of inviting someone else into your sex lives, but he is into the imagery of you covered in cum. Of course, multiple rounds could theoretically accomplish that, but his fantasy doesn’t exactly involve you covered in half dry, already flaking cum 🥴; he’d just love to see cum painted shiny and filthy across your face and tits, oozing thick and hot out of your pussy — all at once.

Experience? their level of experience

Not experienced in the slightest, but extremely quick to learn. An intuitive lover. On that note, hasn’t taken many lovers (you might’ve, in fact, been his first and only), so if you’re more experienced, then expect to lead the way. Don’t worry though: Tanjirou’s enthusiastic and determined, and if you offer him your intimacy and trust, then he’ll try his hardest to live up to your desires! Initially, he’s definitely insecure about his ~late introduction to sex (presuming you meet in your 20s/30s, and he’s still a virgin), but not so much for his own sake — he’s just worried about his self perceived inability to pleasure you.

Favorite Position?

As long as Tanjirou can see your face, he’s happy. What’s the point in having sex if he can’t bask in all of you, facial expressions very much included? ☹️

Goofy? their sense of humor

Never intentionally goofy, but the kind of tender awkward/occasionally clueless that makes you burst into laughter nonetheless. Will occasionally reprimand his cock when it ~misbehaves, “No, no, no, that isn’t the hole you want,” he grumbles, tip catching on your ass, “Cooperate, damn it, before [y/n] takes you from me.” And as much as you want to nudge his hand out of the way—because you really are better at guiding his length into you than he is, and you really would like to be orgasming sooner rather than later—you refrain from doing so, if only to hear a lil more of him scolding his penis. 🤭

Hair? pubes maintenance

Doesn’t have a regular grooming schedule, but you best believe if Tanjirou notices you removing a hair from your tongue mid giving him head, then the next time you tug off his underwear, his pubes will have ~magically disappeared.

Intimacy? their degree of intimacy

Sooo intimate. 🥺 If worship (of all varieties) is your thing, then Tanjirou is 100% your man. His intimacy is less so of the intense/overwhelming variety, and more so a sweet, soul deep sensation that the man you’re having sex with (Tanjirou) would do anything and everything within and beyond his power to ensure you orgasm to the highest possible plane. Of course, intimacy isn’t solely sexual, and his check ins before/during/after sex—“Is this okay?” “Are you having fun?” “You’re amazing.” “Feeling alright?”—are additional reminders that he values not only your physical pleasure, but your emotional and mental wellbeing.

Jack Off? masturbation

Unlike his (initial) inexperience regarding sex with a partner, Tanjirou’s relatively well acquainted with himself. Before you, he approached masturbation as more of a chore/basic bodily function (similar to feeling hungry and eating or feeling tired and sleeping). And now? Let’s just say he didn’t realize masturbating could feel so incredible (or disappointing/torturous 😭 because it simply doesn’t compare to you). 

Kink? ~specific turn ons

In case you missed it 😂, Tanjirou’s into cum. And as much as he enjoys giving praise, he appreciates receiving it too! Mind you, he prefers receiving praise in the form of babbling-because-he’s-fucking-you-so-deliciously; if he isn’t working for it (re: fucking it out of your pliant, greedy body), then he doesn’t want it. 😤😎 Lmao who am I kidding? He’ll take it all. 🤗 Also, while he’s not a BDSM-definition-dom, he can’t deny the feral protectiveness that arises when you kneel in front of him, hands clinging pretty and expectant to his thighs… and by feral protectiveness, I’m talking immediate urge to fuck your throat hoarse.

Location? where they prefer to have sex

Tanjirou’s a bed guy. Doesn’t have to be your shared bed in your shared abode; any house will do. 😃 Albeit, he’s a duality of respecting others aka not having sex in Zenitsu’s guest room… and being hopelessly hopeless for you aka easily seduced into having sex in Zenitsu’s guest room. 🤠 And don’t worry, you’re not actually coercing him; if he didn’t want to, then he wouldn’t.

Motivation? ~general turn ons

Along with cum and praise, Tanjirou drools (metaphorically, and sometimes literally) over muscular thighs, hard work, EYE CONTACT, and freshly washed hair. He jumps on opportunities to make you orgasm after you’ve had a long day of chores/errands/work — especially if you flick your hair in his direction after washing off the day’s sweat and grime (a second shower may be in order).

No? turn offs

Tanjirou leans vanilla, but he’s willing to try the ~light version of many things. Light hair pulling or choking while fucking you in missionary? He’ll try it. Light spanking and degradation? He’ll try it. Light sensory play (i.e. blindfolding, ice cubes, etc)? He’ll try it. Light bondage (i.e. tying your wrists together)? He’ll try! He draws the line at anything heavy though — he just can’t bring himself to really hurt or insult you.

Oral? giver or receiver

Initially, Tanjirou prefers to receive oral sex. He isn’t confident in his ability to give (yet), so as long as you assure him giving is enjoyable for you too, he’ll definitely feel safer receiving. However, with enough time, practice, and encouragement, he’ll eventually prefer to give. Sure, feeling your throat tight and hot around his cock is otherworldly, but getting to create that feeling for you? Tread cautiously though when threatening to suffocate him with your thighs — if you aren’t careful, then he’ll pass on from satisfaction first.

Pace?

No amount of familiarity can prepare Tanjirou for the hot suction of your pussy, soft gasp from his mouth lingering as he sinks into your heat. He always starts slow and precise, determined to bring you to climax—at least once—before spiraling into a fast and erratic pace. The slower he goes, the longer he lasts (and vice versa), so you’ve got the ultimate power begging him to, “Harder, Tan, wanna feel you cum, wanna feel you cum in my pussy,” or, “Easy babe, don’t want you to cum too soon, mmm, let me make a mess on your cock first, okay?”

Quickie? a fan or not-a-fan

Intimacy and quickies don’t necessarily go together, so Tanjirou isn’t the biggest fan, but if it’s quickie-or-nothing, then he’s more likely to opt for something.

Risk? their risk tolerance

When it comes to sex, Tanjirou’s risk tolerance is pretty low. He’s loathe to put you in harm’s way, so you’d have to have serious, detailed conversations (what you want to try, why you want to try it, etc) for him to even consider ~risky behavior.

Stamina?

Assuming he successfully staves off the initial—and immediate—urge to cum, Tanjirou can go for a couple of hours. Of course, those couple of hours involve more than penetration. Flicking his tongue against your clit until you’re whimpering and pushing at his head S-sensitive, Tan, Tan, f-fuck; guiding his cock down your throat as your eyes prick with tears, thrusting careful and shallow, murmuring for you to Keep your eyes open, you’re doing so well, so gorgeous; simply playing with your folds, marveling at how your slick squelches and smells, slipping a finger in every so often to ensure you’re still wet and supple — there’s plenty for him to worship.

Toys?

Toys make Tanjirou feel disconnected from you; it’s less of an ego thing, and more tactile. Why hold a vibrator to your clit when he could taste you with his tongue? Rub you with his thumb? Grind his pubic bone against you? Sure he can watch the reactions that toys elicit from you, but they don’t feel as organic—as home grown—as reactions earned with his own body. That being said, he’s more than happy to oblige if you ask to include a toy; just don’t expect him to bring them up.

Unfair? how they feel about teasing/being teased

Tanjirou has a love/hate relationship with teasing. He loves the intimacy and anticipation it creates, but simultaneously hates how it distracts from getting to undress you. If you’re already undressed? Hah, that’s even worse! 😵‍💫 And once his cock’s in your hand? Don’t even bother pretending to miss, leaking tip nudging against your inner thigh instead of slipping tight and full into your pussy — he will growl, calloused fingers gripping your ass, hips snapping firm and desperate until his cock’s shoved snug and thick in your hole.

Volume?

Tanjirou sounds so pretty. Breathy, choked groans when you deepthroat him; his signature gasp accompanying his first thrust into your velvety pussy; soft, guttural moans increasing in frequency and pitch as he nears his orgasm; a silent exclamation—of what’s likely your name (it is)—pressed hot and euphoric into your skin as he cums. Definitely feels embarrassed afterwards, “Sorry I was so noisy 🫠,” but consistent assurance will guarantee he continues vocalizing his pleasure (and eventually, he won’t feel embarrassed about it).

Wild Card?

Tanjirou likes tipsy sex. He doesn’t need alcohol to enjoy sex, and emphasis on tipsy not drunk (aka established relationship, comfortability, and consent), but it lowers the risk of him cumming too quickly, and his senses feel so heightened yet sluggish. An oddly addictive feeling: like watching something in slow motion—details focused and drawn out—while still experiencing it in real time.

X-ray?

Tanjirou’s cock isn’t ~aesthetic per se, but it certainly feels wonderful. A tad under 6”, angled slightly downward, and thick enough to tire your jaw quite quickly when giving him head. Its tip is fat and squishy, satisfying to rest on your tongue, eyes wide with false innocence as you stare at his reddened cheeks. Thin, barely noticeable veins wrap gradually up his shaft, and he will shudder if you cup his balls — they’re very sensitive (the left hangs lower than the right).

Yearning? sex drive

In a stable environment, Tanjirou’s a minimum one/maximum three times a week man, but he’s also more than capable of surviving No Nut November… or having sex daily for nearly a month straight, if you so request. Similar to a light switch, and a testament of his self control, he’s able and happy to adapt his sex drive to suit your sex drive (within reason 😆).

Zzz?

Event Schedule

tied for 5th place — Tanjirou & Tengen

in 4th place — Gyomei

in 3rd place — Giyuu

in 2nd place — Sanemi (incomplete)

in 1st place — Kyojuro

Surprise Bonus

As this poll progressed, it became apparent that NSFW content was going to win. However, mood boards/texts fanfics are ~low effort (comparatively) for me to create, so I considered hosting a dual-themed event for ppl who voted for a mood board/texts fanfic option...

Another major reason I considered a dual-themed event is bc 2k felt like a huge milestone, so I figured — why not celebrately hugely ?! 🤭😍

The caveat? Only ppl who originally voted for a mood board/texts fanfic option would be able to request them. Why? Most ppl voted for NSFW content (NSFW Alphabets or Threesomes), so most ppl were guaranteed either what they wanted, or close to what they wanted. I asked for opinions—I didn’t want anyone to feel that this was unfair of me to spontaneously offer—but I received precisely 1 response 😅 (in support of hosting a dual-themed event).

Therefore... I’m going to go ahead and declare this a dual-themed event !! 

Mood Boards/Texts Fanfics

If you voted for options 1-4 in this poll, then feel free to participate! From now until I finish all the NSFW Alphabets, send me a screenshot of your vote + additional info listed below.

Match Ups: personalized mood board » milestone 20.0, match ups, mood board, platonic or romantic + tell me about yourself — the more you tell me (obvi only stuff you’re comfortable sharing), the better I’ll be able to match you up 

Match Ups: personalized texts fanfic » milestone 20.0, match ups, texts fanfic, platonic or romantic + tell me about yourself — the more you tell me (obvi only stuff you’re comfortable sharing), the better I’ll be able to match you up

Pick a Character: personalized mood board » milestone 20.0, your-character-of-choice (from Demon Slayer), mood board, platonic or romantic

Pick a Character: personalized texts fanfic » milestone 20.0, your-character-of-choice (from Demon Slayer), texts fanfic, platonic or romantic

For example, if I voted for option 3, then I’d send an Ask like: “Hi! *insert screenshot of my vote here* For your MILESTONE 20.0 event, could I have a romantic mood board of me & Sanemi?”

If you don’t include a screenshot of your vote w/ your Ask, then I’ll delete it. To be fair to NSFW voters, mood boards/texts fanfics will be sfw.

To conclude...

I’m actually at a loss for words? 😭 I’m well aware follower count isn’t ~a thing on Tumblr 🤠 (which I’m grateful for lmao), but I also appreciate milestones, bc they provide an opportunity for me to tackle larger creative endeavors (aka events), and specifically give back to everyone supporting me & my writing. Thank you for sharing your laughs and pains w/ me, heartaches and warmth, frustrations and successes. I’m rooting for all of you, and am so excited for what’s to come. 💞

All my love,

Lyrics — Title; ~Word Count; CW

You’re moving different when we making love, baby tell me, tell me, who do you love, do you love now? — Who Do You Love; 600; 18+NSFW, explicit language, Fem!Reader, implied cheating, oral

Tengen knows he should call you out on your bullshit, just as he knows you’ve always been sensitive. You’ve always giggled when he pinches your earlobe, bright sound hitching as he leans closer, low whimper in your throat at the feeling of his tongue sliding smooth and soft from your tragus to the corner of your jaw. Just as you’ve always gasped into his mouth when he pulls you flush to his chest, breasts warm, nipples perking at the friction from his shirt, hands memorizing the tautness of his obliques as he cups your head, the curve of your ass. And you’ve always, always parted your legs for him: large palm shoved between your thighs, most of your weight supported by his build as you lean into him, unsure whether to grind onto his fingers, or to wait patiently as they graze over and over and over again, just barely applying enough pressure, and—intentionally—missing the ache in your clit.

He’s always been good, great, at frustrating you. Sexually. Finally tugging aside your panties—Please Tengen, I swear I fucking, just, p-please—smirking at their dampness, the stickiness of your essence. Always savoring a taste, eyes closing at your bittersweet pleasure, promptly returning for More, grinning into your kiss as you wiggle until his sweatpants fall off of your hips. You’ve always enjoyed “borrowing” his clothes. He knows your body, your moods, as well as he knows his own. In tandem, in sync. Carrying you to the bedroom, your ankles hooked behind him, tits bouncing slightly, precum leaking—tip smearing on your skin—with every step. Locating the nearest piece of furniture, bending you over it, quietly asking you to spread your cheeks, knowing your folds will always glisten, puffy and lewd, when you do. Too impatient, dangerous groan filling the living room as you get on all fours, ass presented prettily, even prettier after he slaps it, dropping to his knees so he can bury his face in your cunt, initially careful about jostling you, eventually too pussydrunk to remember. You always end up with rug burn.

He knows he should call you out on your bullshit, just as he knows you’ve never rejected him. Sure, you’ve said No. He’s said No too. Sometimes, the tandem wobbles. Sometimes, snuggling on the couch while your current obsession plays on the TV, or while reading a book, or while listening to music, or while taking a nap, is better than making love. Falling back in love is always better than fucking. Until now.

Until he learns that rejection doesn’t just sting. It decays. Decays the suppleness of your pussy suffocating his cock. And the satisfaction of your eyes welling as you struggle to deep throat him, spit dripping messy and shiny beneath you.

“C’mon baby, you can do it, hm, you’re so good for me,” he murmurs, one hand keeping your hair out of your face, the other keeping you gagged on his cock, tip twitching at your wet, choked noises.

“I-” you pull away sharply, something unfamiliar sunken dark and stiff in your glare, “I don’t want to.”

And then he knows.

Of course, it’s fine if you’re not in the mood. It’s fine if he’s accidentally pushed you too hard. It’s fine if you need a moment to reset. To reassess. To reassure each other.

But what does he do when you’re looking through him?

What does he do when you’re lukewarm to the touch?

What does he say?

What can he say?

Tengen knows he should call you out on your bullshit, just as he knows you’ll still promise I love you.

Always?

Always.

~~~

I’m still here in the darkness, back where we started, you make me a heartless monster. — You Don’t Go to Parties; 800; alcohol, explicit language

For the third time, in no less than thirty minutes, you shrug off the feeling that someone’s watching you, back pressed into the grimy wall of your best friend’s friend’s roommate’s apartment. Loud, unfamiliar music grabs at your skin, goosebumps raised despite the sweltering heat of too many bodies surrounding you, darkness blurring your perception of expressions and movements, the nostalgia of sipping rum and coke out of a red solo cup doing little to ease the knot between your shoulder blades. You don’t go to parties anymore, for a multitude of reasons, the dread in your stomach threatening to churn when you check your phone. How the fuck is it barely 9pm? You’d promised your best friend you’d stop by and stay for at least an hour, resigning yourself to people watching and anxiety suppressing after a mere five minutes of chatting with them, ending with your firm encouragement to Go talk to them! I’ll be fine! They’re totally eyeing you!

“I’m too fucking old for this,” you grumble, frustration swallowed by that same feeling, eyes squeezing shut in denial, nose scrunching as you tip your head back to down the rest of your drink, “Shit.”

A glimmer of deep red in your peripheral is your only warning, and then a heavy, aching scent fills your lung, cough forced from your chest as panic surges.

“Why are you here?”

His voice slices through your panic, soft and foreboding, so different from his typical enthusiastic exuberance — so different from when he was someone. When he was Kyojuro.

“Why are you here?” he asks again. Demands.

“Hi,” you manage to wave, awkwardness tingling in your fingers, “I’m leaving soon,” biting your tongue to stop the instinctive I promise from spilling onto his perfectly ironed button down.

“Good.”

“Y’know,” you blurt, confused by his stillness, dazed by his proximity, “I’m allowed to go to parties.”

His mouth twists into something bitter and ugly, tone bland, throat tightening, “I am aware.”

“So don’t be such an asshole,” you huff, irritation momentarily collapsing your pit of melancholy, “You look out of place too,” muttered petulantly, wishing he didn’t look so appealing, shoulders broad with tension and, “Are you angry or sad?”

“Do not act so casually toward me,” he bites, loneliness swelling with the urge to pluck your red solo cup from your grip — to offer you his trembling hand instead, “You ruined me.”

That coaxes a rough laugh from you, fleeting tenderness replaced by an uncanny smile, panic turned to dust in the wake of his righteousness.

“Tell me, then, tell me exactly how I ruined you.”

“I thought you were leaving.”

“Aww, are you too good for me now?” you scowl, arms crossing, “I’m sure you found somebody to fix you up after I ruined you. I bet it wasn’t hard either, moving on to another warm body, what with how pretty and perf-”

You would’ve missed his interjection if you weren’t clinging to every breath of his kissing your forehead, so close you could comfort him. You could trace the shadows under his eyes with the plush of your thumbs. Could caress the strain from his limbs. Tautness melting as you coat him with forgiveness. Could, but you won’t.

He nearly chokes on a stifled sob, hating himself for even looking at you, “You were never a warm body to me,” hating himself for ever losing you.

“So what happened to your heart?” you scoff, sick on the high of hurting him, desperate to let him go, “How exactly did I ruin you?”

“You taught me how to love you, and nobody else.”

You snort, his facade unraveling word by word, steel in his sternum as you stare cruelly, “Well isn’t that cliche.”

“I want to hold you. I want to hold you, and watch the sun rise on your face. I want to feel your eyelashes flutter against my cheek when you wake, just as they do when you drift to sleep. I want to see your nose crinkle when you smell my morning breath, to hear you giggle as I kiss you anyway. I…”

How he hasn’t let any tears fall yet, he’s not quite sure. He suspects it has to do with the thinness of your lips, or the steadfast silence with which you listen to him, not a sliver of gentleness evident as he eviscerates himself. For you.

“… I miss you. I miss you, and I apologize, and… I, I have no desire to learn how to love anyone new.”

“And I have no desire to be loved by you,” you lie to him, point blank, recoil more violent than a gun, “I’m leaving.”

—

If Kyojuro slinks from party to party, weekend after weekend, month after month, a year and running, hoping to catch a glimpse of your regret, then you’re none the wiser.

~~~

If you can’t find another reason to stay, then I know I’m gonna always have a lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely heart. — Lonely Heart; 600; implied sexual content

“You aren’t staying?” Gyomei asks softly, voice nearly swallowed by the movements of clothing scraping your skin All too familiar.

“Of course not,” you respond lightly, brows furrowing at the faint edge in his tone.

Why not? he wants to demand, “Oh, okay,” tipping blandly from his mouth instead.

“My shower runs hotter than yours,” you declare, that silly excuse a flimsy yet effective boundary as usual And there isn’t enough room for the two of us tacked on silently — a private boundary for your overwhelmed heart.

“So let me come over sometime,” he suggests smoothly.

“My place is a wreck, and I’m too busy to do anything about it.”

“Just clear off your bed. That’d be more than enough for me.”

He doesn’t mean to sound crass, doesn’t mean to imply that only physical affection perches on the taut electricity between your stubbornness and his oblivion, but how else is he supposed to approach you? How else is he supposed to cut through your insulation of excuses and escapes and blatant lack of interest — without shocking himself to half to death?

“Your bed’s already cleared off,” you retort.

He sighs, resigned to listening to you shrug on one of his sweatshirts—he can hear the abundance of fabric—wishing he could tug you in by its drawstrings, wishing he could make love to you. Wishing you would stay. Stubborn.

“At least return my cologne?” he gives in, returning to the comfortable suffocation of banter.

Giggling, you poke at his sternum, decidedly ignoring his stuttered inhale, resisting the urge to fluff his sex mussed hair, “I don’t know what you mean.”

“I can smell it on you.”

Your audible retreat drops like a boulder in his fragile pond of devotion and hopelessness, any taste of romance and proximity dispelled, rippling frantic and confused toward your mutual shore of No catching feelings, no hard feelings. Maybe it’s the lower register in his murmur, or the way he’s still sitting upright, unmoving—fixated—as you dress yourself, but you can’t bring yourself to take his bait.

“So I borrowed some, but I didn’t steal the entire bottle!”

“Borrowed?” he muses, “How does one borrow cologne? How does one return what they’ve consumed?”

You huff, pausing as you reach for his bedroom’s doorknob, “If it matters that much to you, then I’ll buy you another bottle. But I swear I didn’t even use a lot!”

“It’s alright,” he acquiesces, “Don’t forget to lock the front door.”

You always remember.

You always remember to shut his bedroom door, to coo Goodbye sweetie to Maru (his cat), and to lock his front door. To leave a dip in his mattress, wrinkles in his sheets, his body too large to roll over and imagine himself embracing the shadow of your departure. Gyomei knows his shower runs perfectly hot, just as he knows he would help you tidy your house. If you ever relinquished your address, that is. If you ever forgot to return his shirts, sweatshirts, cologne, hell you’d jokingly threatened to take Maru home with you once — then, then he knows he’d have you. He’d have your late night laughter, and your early morning drowsiness, the curve of your soul and the brightness of your gaze, every revealed fragment sinking him further, lonelier. Because you don’t. Because you can’t. Because you never find another reason to stay. Because you never forget what belongs to him, and what belongs to you. Because you never bridge the gap denoting closeness and close.

Because you always remember to leave Gyomei with his lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely heart.

~~~

I said meet me downtown at the dive bar, you’re the only one that makes me feel alive. — Kill My Time; 1,000; mild sexual content

Giyuu stands, eyes darting—the entrance to your favorite bar a few long strides away—tying and untying his hair. Literally why? strands sticking damply to his neck Could you just, I don’t know, cooperate?! checking his watch 10:28pm Two more minutes to get this shit right retying his hair I guess sixth time’s the charm? as it finally settles gracefully down his back. Well. He hopes it’s graceful, willing himself to not look at his reflection as he passes the bar’s floor to ceiling windows, his pristine, white sneakers contrasting starkly with the grey muddle of pavement. I don’t have time to try again. 

Inhale.

Rolling up and down the sleeves of his aegean hoodie, cotton feeling tighter than usual.

Exhale.

Smoothing the pockets of his slim heather joggers, wishing he’d worn nicer pants.

He knows to pull, not push, the heavy wooden door—he’s made that mistake one too many times—pausing awkwardly at the hostess booth. A cursory glance at the sea of dimly lit tables tells him you haven’t arrived yet, your typical spot unclaimed and unassuming, which means you’re probably-

“On time as always,” an amused voice climbs onto his shoulder, light and assured, goosebumps raising on his forearms.

He grunts. Turns. Does his best to swallow the abrupt coughing fit threatening to overcome him; to stop his eyes from widening in pleasant surprise; to restrain himself from wrapping his arms around you in a too comfortable embrace.

You look, “You hate when I’m late,” beautiful.

Your lips curve gently—Hi—familiar gesture loosening the anxious knot coiling in his gut.

“Because it’s rude,” you snort, “Time is money.”

Time is priceless he inwardly corrects you, mesmerized by how coolly your stare grazes his lungs: by how you look so different, yet still so you. The shade and tangle of your hair, the depth of your eyes, how your skin crinkles and glows. You seem like the you he remembers. You also seem like an entirely new you. Older, wiser, tired; haunting, brilliant, stern. His hands shove self consciously into his pockets, fixated on how effortless and well dressed you are, anxious knot recoiling. If there’s anyone who knows how costly time can be—It’s me—Giyuu realizes.

“You know we can just seat ourselves,” you remark, already walking toward an empty high table—your empty high table—nestled beneath a sepia toned wall scone.

He wonders if you call ahead to make sure it’s available before you arrive; wonders if you know he’d call ahead for you; if you know about the fragments of his heart ingrained in the wooden finish; if you ever admire them, let alone notice them, glinting under the shadow of your oblivion.

Following your lead, he sits tentative and tense, unable to meet the curiosity in your gaze, warm and guarded across from him.

“So what happened?” you tease slowly, fingertips drumming faintly, tabletop sticky with the residue of earlier encounters, “You missed me?”

Some things never change his eyelashes flicker heavily Straightforward entranced by the delicate rhythm of your knuckles Painfully so.

“You’re lucky I felt like going out tonight,” you muse, sharpening, “I was about to brush my teeth,” holding his breath as you drawl, “But how could I ignore you sliding into my DMs?”

“I didn’t know how else to reach you,” he offers weakly.

“I didn’t want to be reached,” by you.

He blinks, treading carefully, “Then why did you reply?”

“Because I felt like going out, but all my friends,” my partner, “Were busy.”

All my friends. Your retort stings, the feeling that you’re hiding something vital not escaping his notice either. Another reminder of time: of time he’d squandered before he could fully comprehend the degree to which you’d etched yourself into his lungs — every breath a placeholder for the lingering heat of your mouth upon his.

“I fucked up.”

You scowl, “You’re pathetic.”

“And you’re here,” he snaps, lips thin with regret.

You flinch, wispy sliver of brightness fading from your stare. He knows you, from the touch of your palm to the twitch in your jaw; the weight of your hatred as you flit in, out, and in. His life. Your revolving door. Constant. As see through as it is unbearable.

“I’ll go,” you hiss, barstool scraping angrily as you move suddenly, “This was a waste of my time.”

He isn’t clueless. He can read between your lines—You are a waste of my time—ringing clear and bitter, inhibition surrendered when it dawns on him: If I let them slip away, then not even fate itself will be able to tie us together anymore.

“You’re the only one that makes me feel alive.”

The velvet drag of your tongue behind his ear, how you’d hold him after loving him, kisses dappled feathery soft from his closed eyelids to the tendons of his wrists. Sometimes, the sheets tangled twice. Occasionally, thrice. And rarely, he got to watch the sun rise upon the angles of your face, sleep claiming the remaining threads of your attention.

“And how about me?” you scoff, “Who makes me feel alive?”

Once upon a time, Giyuu would’ve said I do, so certain of the way you’d cup his cheeks, his nose scrunched while your laughter caressed his flushed expression. Once upon a time, he would’ve said You? Why, you’re everything to me. And that would’ve been enough. Once upon a time, too much time ago, he didn’t just know you — he’d known how to nurture you. How to love you.

“Somebody else,” he guesses quietly.

“Somebody else,” you repeat firmly, tossing him a pitying glance before walking toward the exit, words uttered too low for him to hear, “But I wish it had been you.”

—

It barely registers as Giyuu looks away, the cold press of finality, engraved into his soul by your conquest — the snipping of red thread.

~~~

Is it weird that I’m drunk and on my sofa? Is it weird that I’m naked on my sofa? All alone, damn, I wish I didn’t know ya. — Moving Along; 600; alcohol, explicit language

Sanemi believes it’s a blessing in disguise that you blocked him shortly after breaking his heart. If you hadn’t, then you’d be receiving every single one of his calls—he’s nearing ten—while he lounges naked on his couch, beer cans stacked precariously on the floor beside him. Maybe he’s trying to convince himself that They’re just busy, or maybe he’s in denial about missing the sound of your voice—your voicemail message isn’t enough anymore—or maybe he’s finally feeling sorry, but Damn it, pick up your fucking phone. And then he remembers Oh. Yeah. They blocked you… dumbass promptly downing the remainder of his eighth beer.

From the moment he saw you, he’d known that someone would leave empty chested, the other walking away with a still dripping heart staining their sleeve, because he’d stumbled over himself to say Hi, I’m Sanemi.

“Hi Sanemi, nice to meet you,” you stick out your hand, slightly warm and very soft, “Do you come here often?”

“No,” he eyes your hand suspiciously, grimacing when he realizes how sweaty his own palm is, “First time.”

In hindsight, that clammy first touch should’ve been a warning sign.

“First time in a bookstore,” you deadpan, lips pursing, “Do you prefer the library?”

Gulping, he squeezes your fingers, hoping you’re fixated on his pretty purple eyes or his wintery white hair or anything other than his pulse trembling through his fingertips.

You smirk, squeezing back, “First time shaking someone’s hand too?”

“I don’t want to let go,” he admits, reeling inwardly The fuck is this? A fucking meet-cute?!

“So don’t.”

Your flirtatious quip haunts him, especially as he opens his ninth beer. Pressing its cool metal base to his bare stomach, he tilts his head backward, stupored sigh swallowed by the living room. If only they were here to sigh with me. That’s what he misses most. Not your beautiful smile, the silence of your focus, or the tang of your wit, but the familiarity of how easily and perfectly you annoyed him. If he sighed, then you’d sigh louder, and if he sighed even louder, then soon you’d be locked in a sighing competition, one sigh away from falling into laughter — from falling back in love.

“So what are we?” he asks carefully, watching your brow for signs of unease.

It furrows faintly, his gut coiling as he realizes: I can’t tell if they’re happy or mad.

“We’re together,” you answer simply, expression relaxing as you peck his cheek, “What did you think we were?”

I don’t know he almost says, waiting for a gush of elation, peace, specialness to register, “Dating?”

“Do you want to define our relationship?” you tease fondly, his face turning pink at your directness, “Because we can do that.”

“I’m yours,” he declares, quiet and decisive.

“Mine?” you wink, stealing a sweet, lingering kiss, murmuring lowly, “I like the sound of that.”

In hindsight, he should’ve listened better, swept up in giving himself to you — for nothing in return.

“And I like you,” he whispers.

“Mm, I like you too.”

You hadn’t lied to him. Not exactly. You’d obscured the ultimate truth for something more convenient. For something shiny and tender, masking a loneliness that he’d eventually learn he could never fill.

“I should go to sleep,” he mutters abruptly, chugging his beer with stubborn reluctance, burping wetly afterwards Tengen would be proud of me proceeding to knock over his aluminum tower Eh, I guess not.

Skin prickling, he crosses and uncrosses his ankles, sunlight shifting past noon, long shadows receding from his collarbones, brightness mixing achingly with the alcohol in his vision. Scowling at the blanket strewn across an armchair, too far from his reach, he settles for resting a forearm over his eyes And you should be here with me.

~~~

I kiss you on your neck, you were staring at the ceiling, I should've known right then and there you were a runaway. — Bad Omens; 400; mild sexual content

Genya knew he was a quiet lover. Growing up angry and resentful, while hurtful and still lingering, had also taught him the strengths of patience and determination. Perhaps fearful lover was another appropriate description for his iron gripped insecurities, but—generally—he opted to dwell on the softness, painstakingly nurtured, in his touch. He hadn’t known he could do gentle. Hadn’t known he was capable of intimacy. Couldn’t believe he deserved close enough to feel you breathing. Maybe that’s why you were slipping away?

He hadn’t noticed, initially. All relationships went through ups and down, him and Sanemi being exhibit #1, and he was well aware that he’d entered your heart with heavy shoulders. But he’d wanted to improve. He’d wanted to heal, to process, to drift away from the shadows that roused him nightly —  with you peacefully snoring beside him.

“Talk to me,” you murmur, scratching lightly along his spine, his lungs heaving as he blinks drowsily against the vivid sensation of abandonment, “You had another nightmare,” voice laced with concern, “I’m listening.”

You’re right, of course, but, “I’m fine,” he rasps, “Just need water.”

He gets up before you can get up for him, his long legs gleaming in the moonlight, your fingers curling tight around wrinkled, lifeless sheets. Your disappointed sigh doesn’t register, his ears still muddled with adrenaline, slim silhouette fading from the bedroom.

“Okay. I’ll be here.”

Eventually, though, he’d picked up on your fraying energy, the comprehension that you weren’t ever fully with him hitting precise and square as he hovered above you.

“Kiss me,” he whispers, straddling your waist, chest radiating heat as he nearly touches your skin, “Please.”

You acquiesce, careful hands wrapping around his nape, lifting yourself up to him, a familiar, aching pleasure guiding his mouth into a sorely missed deepness, your tongue shy as it flicks across his bottom lip.

Something’s missing, “May I kiss you?”

You nod, lying back, grey longing in your stare as he memorizes—for the hundredth time—the curve of your figure.

Now, he wonders how he hadn’t realized that that would be the last of your affection, pressed sorrowful and wishful into his movements of lust, masked by how much I missed you.

“Whatcha thinking about?” you ask brightly, your phone set aside.

“Thinking about how I want to pleasure you,” he answers smoothly, comforter crinkling as he turns toward you, “What did you have in mind?”

“Exactly that,” you wink, barely caught off guard, “My phone’s off and everything!”